ã€ŠMetaworld Chroniclesã€‹


 Chapter 1 - Some Things Begin, Something Ends

    Gwen Song awoke to the melody of Grande Valse blaring with the strength of an air siren.

    Reflexively, she groped for her smartphone, making the familiar sliding gesture to unlock. Instead, her vague fingers encountered the strange sensation of physical buttons. A moment of frantic fumbling ensured, then a sound began to stream:

    ¡°BBC World Service, September 21st, 2001: An ancient Red Dragon has destroyed a section of the London Metro, resulting in over two hundred dead and thousands injured, paralysing the city. Authorities have linked this latest incident to similar occurrences involving Magical Creatures carried out by the anti-tower cabal known as Spectre- Magister Livingstone, Mayor of London, calls the latest terrorist attack a day of infamy¡­¡±

    More terrorism, Gwen groaned wistfully. Finally she found the mute button.

    Slowly, synapses dulled by Moet & Chandon ignited one by one.

    Red Dragon?

    What¡¯s that, a new euphemism for WMDs?

    Wait¡ª Her mind performed a double-take.

    The date was correct. It was September twenty-first ¡ª but the year appeared to be missing a decade and a half. It had been 2017 when she stumbled into bed, but the report had said 2001.

    Regaining a measure of lucidity, she inspected the brick in her hand to confirm the date, only to be bemused by an alien device constructed of ceramic-seeming material, with a screen that looked nothing like back-lit LED.

    The only clue that it may be a Nokia was the bloody ringtone.

    She turned the device over.

    No logo. No ports. No battery sliders.

    This isn¡¯t her iPhone.

    Her brain throbbed.

    Could she have been roofied? In her office, at her very own corporate party? That would be absurd. Even if she had, there were security guards and staff who were sober enough to send her to a hospital. Concurrently, her joints were on fire. She was dizzy and light-headed, hungry and hollowed out. Additionally, the sickening sting of digestive acids lapped at her throat.

    But for now, she chose calm over panic.

    She inspected her surroundings.

    Firstly, she was sleeping in a single bed.

    Secondly, she wasn''t naked or anything. She wore her PJs, although, for some reason, her silk nightie had transformed into coarse cotton. A sloppy, cheap-looking duvet covered her body. The print was vaguely familiar¡ªa horrid, half-faded floral design commonly used for IKEA curtains.

    The bedroom felt claustrophobic; the ceiling low and oppressive.

    Recognition dawned.

    Isn''t this her old apartment? From when she was a kid? Why was she in the bedroom of her adolescence? What had happened to her bayside home? Her French-windows?

    The bedroom to which she now occupied had existed only in the distant past.

    She had been in high school, living with her divorced father.

    ¡°Is this a lucid dream?!" she muttered to herself.

    Her voice!

    It was youthful and sweet and without the abuse of all-nighters, scalding coffee, and copious amounts of alcohol.

    She closed her eyes to think, but the memory of her last conscious hours was a scrambled mess of whites and yellows.

    Slowly, in fragments, recollections came.

    Here was her old home. Her original home. The apartment she¡¯d grown up in as a girl-child. Over yonder was the fold-out desk she had piled her clean laundry on. Next to the cabinet was the basket for her dirty laundry. To her right was her study desk, which her father sometimes used as a Mahjong table. She could even see her study guides.

    But where she expected volumes on chemistry, physics and literature, she instead saw thick bound volumes with strange names.

    Allenberg¡¯s Primer for Astral Theory? Otsu''s Primer for Evokers?

    Without warning, her head split.

    "Ow!"

    A jackhammer ripped through the interior of her skull. Memories flooded her brain, bloating its synapses so that she felt as though two fingers were pressed against her optic nerves. If anything, the sensation was akin to the time she had forgotten to take her quinine tablets in the Amazon and had malaria shitting on her brain for a week.

    I have an aptitude test today. A stray thought boomed across Gwen''s consciousness.

    No, you don''t, Gwen dissuaded the voice in her head. You just had a staff party where you celebrated your consultancy''s second anniversary. You drank and danced and forgot all about what champagne could do to a woman who was no longer in her twenties.

    Unbidden, another thought solicited her stream of consciousness, accompanied by gut-wrenching anxiety. Her chest convulsed. She couldn''t breathe.

    Today is an important day.

    I need to go to the Awakening Test.

    Mother will be upset if I fail.

    "Ugh!" Gwen fought back the acid reflux threatening to escape her oesophagus. Jesus Christ, she cursed. Was she now suffering from paranoid schizophrenia? Dr Monroe never said anything about MPD disorders!

    "Shut up!" she threatened the ceiling.

    The voice ceased.

    She ran a hand over her forehead and found it drenched with perspiration.

    "Alright," she whispered to herself. Her mind remained sceptical even as her senses seemed helplessly invested in this new reality. Cynically, she pinched herself hard on the thighs until a welt appeared and her eyes moistened.

    "Shit," Gwen affirmed her worst fears. ¡°Why is this happening?"

    Frustrated, she rubbed her eyes. Her fingertips came away with crusty chunks of dried mucus, which she crushed between her fingers. Shit, had she been crying?

    Click.

    Her internal discourse was interrupted by an intruder. Instantly, her blood ran cold. She was trapped in a strange parallel world, who or what could be coming through that door?

    The door opened.

    It was her brother, Percy, who peeped in with a face still drugged with sleep.

    ¡°Dad called and said you have to get up now,¡± he informed her. ¡°It''s your PMAE today.¡±

    She quietly regarded the boy, mindful of any buttons or cross-stitching that would reveal a skin-suit.

    Percy was her brother, an athletically-inclined adolescent with olive skin and large luminous eyes. He had the thick lips of their mother, taking after the family''s mixed heritage.

    She pulled the cover over her collarbones and scowled at her brother. What kind of an idiot barges into the room of their teenage sister? She was hardly dressed for decency.

    "Oi! Get out of here!" she yelled angry nothings even as Percy yawned disinterestedly.

    With her brother gone, she pulled herself out of bed. A full-length mirror ran the length of her built-in-wardrobe. Now that she was up, she had to ensure that all the pieces of her body were present.

    This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    What she saw was the reflection of a dark-haired girl who was a little underfed but reasonably proportioned. She had the pale skin and high cheekbones of her mixed father but had inherited her mother''s eyes. Her striking irises, afflicted with central heterochromia, possessed an amber core bound by a ring of dark emerald, hinting at her cosmopolitan origins.

    Gwen pulled on her earlobes, watching her simulacrum wince.

    No luck.

    It wasn''t a lucid dream.

    She was indeed back in her teenagehood.

    After a moment of deliberation, she removed her pyjamas for a more thorough inspection.

    When she had struck the big three-o, she had wondered about her adolescent body. Would she have loved or loathed it? Though her answer was ambivalent, what she found queer was her paleness. Her skin was unusually pallid, almost as if she''d rarely seen the sun. By her recollection, she had spent the whole summer of 2001 hawking ice cream at Bondi and learning to surf. As a result, she had been positively caramel. Compared to her old Billabong body, her present physique smacked of anorexia.

    Still, at a meter-eighty, she cast an impressive figure for a fifteen-year-old.

    As young as twelve, people had assumed she was older. She had been denied children¡¯s fares at carnivals and accosted by boys who thought her their age. Once, a bloke at Bondi had propositioned her, offering to teach her about her maturing body.

    Gwen dug through the wardrobe and found something to wear, straight away arriving at a pair of cut-off jeans and a white tapered tee.

    The door opened again. It was Percy.

    ¡°Why are you in your Sunday clothes?¡± he questioned in his youthful voice. ¡°You need to be in your uniform for the Awakening.¡±

    At the mention of the word, another wave of nausea bowled her over.

    "Get out!" she hissed. Percy fled.

    She held herself against the mirror until the buzzing went away.

    A little immodestly, she performed a self-examination, concluding that it wasn''t that time of the month.

    "Fine, I''ll go to the damned test." She told her reflection. "Happy now?"

    She searched through her wardrobe again and located her school blouse and skirt. She remembered being horrid at chores, so it must have been her brother who had collected and packed the laundry.

    Making a note to thank young Percy, she Googled her fragmented memory and found the school blazer hanging in a separate section of the closet.

    She inspected the result.

    The Blackwattle High School senior uniform was a little loose around the bust but appeared otherwise handsome and prim. A grey-white tartan skirt, a navy blazer, and a white blouse gave the costume the feeling of a private academy. There was a vest as well, but Gwen had forgone it for reasons of budget.

    D-Ding!

    An alarm went off on her phone.

    ¡°You¡¯re going to be late for the train!¡± her brother called out.

    Gwen opened the door to see Percy with a piece of toast packed in foil, the acrid smell of Vegemite and cheese polluting the air.

    ¡°Thank me later.¡± He grinned, revealing pearly white teeth.

    ¡°Cheers,¡± she replied, her teenage voice sounding strange as it reverberated through her skull. She needed more time to collect herself, but the urgency of having to attend the Aptitude Test hastily drove her through the door.

    Following an internal compass, she managed to board a train for the city.

    The streets of Sydney''s CBD were the same old familiar concrete and bitumen, but the transportation had shifted from the grumble of fossil fuel into the thrum of humming mana cores. For the moment, Gwen was glad that no airships sailed across the horizon, completing the vision of a dystopian Weimar Metropolis.

    The journey towards Blackwattle Bay proved enlightening. In her brave new world, trains ran on ley-lines, fed into a network of mana conduits known simply as the Grid. All around her, geo-dynamic mana powered the city''s infrastructure, the most important of which were the Shield Barriers.

    A shield what? She pinched her brows.

    Shuddering memories informed her that humanity was hardly safe in this world, that despite the rule of Mageocracy over the Earth, much of it remained under the control of Demi-humans and Magical Creatures. Hell, there wasn¡¯t even an aviation industry thanks to the presence of predatory monsters ruling the skies. The average man could only survive in secured enclaves, sheltered against the unknowable world beyond the Shield Barriers.

    Despite wearing her blazer, Gwen shivered uncontrollably. Apathetic to her distress, the silent carriage dumbly made its way on enchanted rails into the heart of the city.

    She disembarked at Pyrmont, finding herself among like-patterned uniforms walking to school.

    The day was Saturday, the day of the Aptitude Test, A.K.A. ¡°The Awakening¡±.

    ¡°Awakening¡± to what though?

    Magic.

    M-Magic?! Mages? Spells?! Gwen shook her head, attempting to make sense of her new lexicon. Where the hell had she ended up? Was this budget Hogwarts? You¡¯re a Witch, Gwen?

    With great agitation, she trawled her mind again, fishing the flotsam and jetsam of her fragmented memory.

    One by one, details emerged.

    Where her old world had had the SAT and the HSC, this world had the dreaded Projected Magical Aptitude Exam, or PMAE for short, undertaken to segregate Mages from the multitudes.

    As it stood, the vast majority of humanity were non-magical citizens, lovingly denominated as "NoMs". In a world of Spellcraft, NoMs lived in the Mages¡¯ shadow, living diligent lives as administrators, service personnel, labourers for manufactorums and bodies for the frontlines.

    For the mundane citizen, ascension was improbable. For those with a magical lineage, one could additionally become a Magus or Magister, whose rare convergence of sorcerous, physical and intellectual potential ensured a charmed life.

    I can''t fail the test!

    Okay! Fine! Gwen assured her spirit of PMAE past.

    She ruminated on her new knowledge.

    So¡­ apartheid. Gwen bit her lower lip as the unpleasant epiphany traversed her mind. Moreover, her imminent ordeal seemed especially dubious. Was her memory informing her that a single test determined if she would be a worker ant or an august queen?

    That seemed ridiculous to Gwen, whose old world at least entertained the illusion of egalitarian meritocracy. The PMAE appeared solely based upon manifest destiny.

    Even assuming she passed, what of the life she had been living one inebriation prior? She had worked tirelessly to build a company of her own, collecting devoted staff over a decade. They¡¯d just had their second anniversary, and she''d only recently acquired the Lendlease account.

    Fuming, Gwen trudged with resentment towards her destination. In the distance, the Blackwattle campus appeared more extraordinary than her memory served. An entire wing of buildings appeared appended to the existing sandstone facade that loomed over the bay. Concurrently, the Fish Market next door bustled with semi-magical bounty, disseminating an ignoble stench of discarded seafood.

    ¡°Gwen!¡±

    A chirpy voice rang out from the multitude of bobbing heads walking the steep incline up toward the school''s gymnasium.

    She turned to see a spry Asian girl rushing towards her, two imposing masses rioting as she ran, her face plump with adorable baby fat.

    ¡°Gwen-Gwen!¡± The girl embraced her before landing a quick peck on her cheek. ¡°Ooo! I missed you so much! I am beyond happy that we''re seniors together!"

    She recognised the overfamiliar girl as Yue, a Shanghainese girl whose family had immigrated from the southern capital. Yue¡¯s china-doll face was milk white and porcelain, punctuated by the small pink of her mouth. Her eyes, two luminous crescents beset by prominent lashes, seemed to swallow Gwen with their softness.

    The sight of a friend she had not seen for a decade took the words right out of her mouth.

    Yue Bai had been her closest and dearest friend back in high school, though they had drifted apart when Gwen escaped her home.

    ¡°It''s only been a month.¡± She smiled back, hiding the fact that the original Gwen wasn''t in the driving seat.

    Though faint and spectral, she could sense her alter ego hovering around somewhere in the dark recess of her brain like the Ghost of Banquo, only she hadn¡¯t done anything to warrant its unpleasant haunting.

    Beside her, Yue began an endless stream of small talk.

    Gwen listened as her old friend chittered excitedly about the latest gossip¡ªwho had been tested for what; who had been picked for which scholarship; what was the best element was to pair with which School of Magic.

    When the duo finally made their way into the hall, the rest of the student body was already waiting in the auditorium.

    The headmaster and the instructors were in militant dress uniforms that reminded Gwen of decorated veterans on ANZAC Day. She scanned the hall for more familiar faces but was quickly shuffled into place by a prefect.

    Upon the podium, the principal addressed the assembly.

    ¡°Students, staff, members of the chancellory, welcome to the 2001 PMAE. This exam is carried out statewide on Spellcraft course Year ten students. In a moment, you will be asked to approach the dais and place your hand on the Awakening Crystal¡­¡±

    A murmur spread across the auditorium as the officious announcement reverberated through the air. The principal, a raven-haired man of advanced age, spoke sonorously over the assemblage.

    She recognised the man as Magus Jules Bartlett, principal of Blackwattle. Under the man''s watchful eye, generations of Acolytes came and went, all remembering the ever-present personage that was Principal Bartlett at the gates, 0700 sharp, dutifully greeting each student. Amiable and approachable, the principal was a man fond of oration.

    ¡°Students! Young Mages! The Path of Spellcraft is glorious but fraught with danger and risk! Upon the Path, many trials shall beset you¡ªforbidden knowledge, creatures horrid and savage, Demi-humans cruel and heartless!"

    The students broke into a murmur.

    ¡°For now, your lives are peaceful - but make no mistake, let not your daily comfort confuse you. We are beset on all sides by forces far greater than humanity itself. Compared to the creatures of the Wildlands, we are weak. Compared to the creatures of the Deep, we are few. Compared to the beings of the Elemental Planes, we are mortal!"

    "Yet WHY is it that man persists upon the Material Plane? Why has man survived the aeons to establish our civilisation on Earth against all the odds? It is because, through the application of Spellcraft, we are strong! We, the human race, are united in our mastery of sorcery!"

    Abruptly, the principal¡¯s voice took on a new intensity and volume.

    "The PMAE is only the first step, but it is a significant one. It will define who you are and what you aspire to be. Do not fret; there is a place in our world for everyone. No matter your talent, you will be appreciated! The survival of one contributes to the survival of all!"

    Thunderous applause filled the auditorium as the students roared their collective approval. Though confused, Gwen clapped alongside, not wanting to appear the stranger.

    "All of you already possess magical affinity; your studies in junior high have proven that you are worthy to be Mages,¡± the principal announced confidently, ¡°Some of you, perhaps, may even become Magus! But know that be you Citizen, Mage, Magus, or Magister: only united, can human civilisation push back the tide of the Wildlands seeking to subsume us."

    Compared to the earlier clamour, the applause grew demure. Gwen wondered if each student was thinking of their chances at the hands of Fortuna, pondering whether they would awaken to glory or slumber in anonymity.

    To her understanding, the principal had told a compelling truth. Who would not wish to possess the power of destruction and creation? Who would not desire to wield the raw elements of nature, to freeze one''s foes with shards of eldritch ice, to blast apart the monsters that threatened one''s home?

    But it wasn''t the old Gwen who now had to face the music. It was her, and Gwen realised she had no idea what was going on. The only sensation she truly felt was numbness¡ªnumb for the world she found herself in, stunned by the chaotic emotions smothering her over and over.

    Survival of humankind?

    Magic to rule the world?

    She was in her PJs an hour ago!

 Chapter 234 - What doesnt kill you...

    ¡°He¡¯s going to be healthier than ever.¡± Gwen¡¯s babulya patted her on the shoulder. ¡°Give it a week, and Percy can return to school.¡±

    Beside his hand-wringing sister, Percy was suspended above a levitation module designed to prevent pressure-sores while he recovered.

    ¡°Hey, sis¡­¡± her brother moaned. "I am... fine!"

    At the sight of several hundred acupuncture needles sticking out from Percy¡¯s full-body plaster cast, her eyes grew moist.

    ¡°It''s not as bad as it looks, the bones need to set properly, that¡¯s all.¡± Klavdiya tapped on Percy¡¯s vitals while Gwen shivered at the sight of the needles. ¡°I''ve foregone Regeneration to implement a strengthening technique. Why waste a perfectly good opportunity?¡±

    Her brother moaned, his every utterance plucking at Gwen''s heartstrings. His face retained a mess of blue bruises where the truck''s grill had said hello. She had wanted him recovered by the hour, though babulya''s advise that gradual healing was always superior to the brute-force of battlefield triage.

    ¡°Who did this?!¡± Gwen snapped, her hair rising into the air as though she¡¯d turned half-Hag. Her flaring temper elicited a quiet ''eek!'' - revealing a meek existence hiding behind her babulya in the form of a girl in Xiangming''s charcoal-ivory uniform. ¡°You there! What do you know?¡±

    Mei trembled.

    She wanted to meet her idol, not be eaten by her.

    ¡°A truck!¡± Mei spluttered. ¡°A truck hit Percy!¡±

    ¡°That truck has seen its last haul!¡± Gwen seemed to almost rise into the air. ¡°Where¡¯s the driver?!¡±

    Her babulya intervened.

    ¡°Arrested - the driver is an NoM, and he is entirely blameless.¡± The old woman stared her granddaughter down until she acknowledged the unfortunate man''s innocence.

    Mimicking Caliban with a prey denied, Gwen returned her attention to Mei.

    ¡°Alright, then why were you playing in traffic? Belay that, how the hell can a bloody truck hurt a Mage? Percy¡¯s got Abjuration Shields!¡±

    Mei teeteredon the verge of tears and would have cried but for the fact that she couldn''t breathe.

    ¡°Not¡­ Mei¡¯s fault¡­¡± Percy moaned. ¡°Blame¡­ Alain¡­¡±

    ¡°Who the fuck is ALAIN?¡±

    ¡°My cousin¡­¡± Mei squirmed. ¡°He was fighting with Percy.¡±

    ¡°YOUR KINSMEN PUSHED MY BROTHER ONTO THE ROAD?!¡±

    ¡°His servant did,¡± Percy¡¯s schoolmate cowered. ¡°It was an accident!¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll show him an accident!¡± A sliver of Dragon-Fear licked at Mei''s ashen face, made paler by the bright cobalt emanating from Gwen''s electric eyes. "You better not be lying to me."

    ¡®Slap!¡¯

    ¡°Gwen!¡± Her babulya struck her head from behind. ¡°Enough! You''re in a hospital!¡±

    ¡°Urrrrghn!¡± Percy keened like a wounded cat. ¡°Sis, the needles¡­ why¡­¡±

    ¡°Shit, Percy! I am sorry,¡± Gwen knelt by the bedside. ¡°Where does it hurt?¡±

    ¡°Where does it... not hurt?¡± Percy''s complexion turned to paste.

    Klavdiya sighed.

    ¡°Gwen, leave us. I need to reset the needles.¡±

    ¡°Sorry, Babulya. Sorry, Percy.¡±

    ¡°Mei, go explain what happened,¡± Klavdiya commanded Percy''s schoolmate. "Away from here. Your grandfather should be here shortly."

    ¡°Yes, Nainai.¡±

    Stepping outside, Gwen and Mei were met by two boys who had been waiting for them to exit.

    The older of the two was an able-bodied youth standing close to six-foot, with a sharp, angular face and semi-transparent, pale amber irises. The other was a boisterous looking troublemaker with slicked-back hair, a head shorter than the first, standing with the gait of a wannabe triad hoodlum.

    ¡°Brother Ma, Senior Li!¡± Mei bowed deeply. ¡°I am sorry about Percy; it¡¯s all my fault.¡±

    ¡°No need to be so distressed," the Ma boy answered after a ninety-degree bow. ¡°Miss Song, it¡¯s a pleasure to meet you finally. I have heard nothing but praise from my Uncle in regards to your abilities.¡±

    Gwen scanned the boy''s face, her brain quickly connecting the dots.

    ¡°You¡¯re Professor Ma¡¯s¡­¡±

    ¡°Nephew, Ma¡¯am. Please call me Kelvin.¡±

    The two shook.

    ¡°Well met, Kelvin.¡±

    ¡°This is Don Li, my vice-captain. We¡¯re Percy¡¯s Seniors.¡±

    Don bowed deeply as well.

    ¡°Please accept my most sincere apologies." Don lowered his head. "I was supposed to be looking out for Percy, but I arrived too late to stop Alain.¡±

    ¡°I take it all of you know who this Alain may be?¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s my cousin.¡± Mei swallowed.

    The dual-Elementalist''s glare wilted the girl with its intensity.

    ¡°Let¡¯s talk outside.¡± Gwen pointed to the balcony. ¡°I need some air.¡±

    The three teenagers regarded one another, passing a measure of understanding before following the renowned Worm Handler. Once outside, the trio was surprised to find that Gwen had summoned both her Familiars.

    ¡°Shaaa!¡± Caliban slithered about in its obsidian serpent form.

    ¡°EEE!¡± Ariel emerged fully fluffed with Almudj¡¯s Essence.

    The sight of the Worm Handler''s twin monsters stupified even the usually stoic Kelvin. Beside their captain, Mei took up his right arm, shivering uncontrollably; on Kelvin''s left, Don clutched his captain¡¯s left arm with equal vigour.

    ¡°It''s alright. I am working on something.¡±

    To ease their apprehension, she coiled Caliban behind her, while Ariel set forth on a diplomatic mission.

    ¡°Eeee?¡±

    Ariel cocked its head, its luminous eyes blazing with a rainbow-hue.

    ¡°Can¡­ can we touch it?¡± Mei instantly melted. She had been waiting for this moment for the better part of a month.

    ¡°Of course," as a generous God, Gwen offered her Ariel for petting.

    Ariel took the better part of a minute to charm its targets, who instantly became its servant, hungrily massaging its mane, brushing its tail and touching its feet.

    ¡°Watch the horns,¡± Gwen warned them, sending a stream of Essence into Ariel, feeling the mounting stress in her Astral Body decrease. ¡°They discharge electricity, sometimes.¡±

    ¡°Senior!" Mei raised her hand. "I am a Lightning Mage too!¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s good to know, Sister.¡±

    ¡°Hee hee hee.¡± Mei''s anxious face broke into a grin, growing so giddy that she bodily embraced the fluffy body beneath her.

    ¡°Shaa!¡± Caliban sulked. Why does Ariel get all the fun? It seemed to say. Not wanting Caliban to feel left out, Gwen picked it up bodily and coiled it around her shoulders so that it could nuzzle her face.

    "Wow, Caliban looks magnificent," Mei remarked.

    Gwen ignored the unintentional double entendre.

    Instead, she commenced her gentle interrogation.

    ¡°So, you kids got a tale to tell?¡±

    ¡°Ma¡¯am.¡± Kelvin dipped his head awkwardly. ¡°We¡¯re the same age. You¡¯re seventeen, right?¡±

    Gwen measured Kelvin from head to toe.

    ¡°Sorry,¡± she apologised, realising working at the office amongst adults had thrown off her biological metronome. ¡°Gents, Mei, I would like to know what happened to Percy. I wish for every detail.¡±

    Mei faced the Void Sorceress and her Mongolian Death Worm.

    ¡°I¡¯ll start. It¡¯s my fault that all of this happened¡­¡±

    With a tender voice that matched her petite face, Mei told the tale of Percy helping her rebuff Alain¡¯s possessive jealousy, finishing with Alain¡¯s ambush and her friendly-fire. The final result, she explained, was a serendipitous convergence of circumstances, truck included.

    ¡°And his Shield didn¡¯t manifest?¡±

    Caliban''s faceless mien slithered closer.

    ¡°I think I paralysed him,¡± she explained, guilt written all over her face. ¡°I hit him with my Body of Lightning; there¡¯s a paralytic effect to the attack.¡±

    ¡°I see." Gwen remained all business. "Gents, your turn to verify.¡±

    ¡°As Percy¡¯s Team Captain.¡± Kelvin stepped up. ¡°I can verify that Alain had an issue with Percy. A part of their conflict is because I chose Percy over Alain for the final slot of our team. If anything, I may be the originator of their conflict.¡±

    ¡°Not true.¡± Don stepped between Gwen¡¯s Familiar and his captain. ¡°Alain¡¯s a reptile. I was the one who was negligent. I should have smacked the little er-bi before this happened.¡±

    ¡°Don, watch your language!¡± Kelvin chided his second.

    ¡°Sorry, Miss.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s fine, Don.¡± Gwen considered the two boys, carefully observing their body language. Don appeared to be a Water Mage, while Kelvin was a high-tier Mineral Mage. The act they were putting on was likely for her benefit, though she had to applaud the fact that the two boys covered for Mei, who, in her opinion, was the real catalyst.

    ¡°I should have gone with Alain.¡± Mei appeared crestfallen.

    With a glance from its Master, Ariel stood on its hind legs and licked the girl¡¯s face. In return, Mei hugged Gwen¡¯s Kirin around the neck and buried her face into its mane.

    Gwen sighed. The kids were wary.

    ¡°I see, so Alain¡¯s to blame. Tell me about him.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s my cousin,¡± Mei reinstated the unfortunate fact. ¡°He¡¯s potentially the next head of the family after Uncle Tsung died in Tibet. In our Clan''s bloodline, it''s just my sisters, me and another cousin left, that and our mothers."

    All women? She glanced at the boys.

    ¡°The Yang family is well-known,¡± Kelvin intruded, realising that their gweilo senior likely had no idea. "They¡¯re descended from THE Yang family of yore.¡±

    Gwen''s stone-like mien remained unimpressed.

    ¡°They¡¯re a family that¡¯s existed since the Song Dynasty,¡± the Mineral Mage made another attempt to impress. ¡°The one who lost three generations of sons to the Khitani Centaurs in the Song Dynasty, then again lost all their sons defending Southern Song against the Mongol Clans¡­¡±

    ¡°Alain came from Xian originally,¡± Mei nervously continued, stroking Ariel to calm her nerves. ¡°He received a bloodline talent from his mother, which is something our ancestors call the ¡®Pure Yang Body¡¯, meaning he excels at Fire Magic. His grandmother''s my great aunt, so we¡¯re twice removed. His mother suggested that he and I should wed so that we could reignite the old bloodline.¡±

    ¡°Your family''s renown notwithstanding.¡± Gwen furrowed her brows. ¡°Let¡¯s say I beat Alain up, who¡¯s going to save him?¡±

    ¡°His¡­ mother?¡± Mei''s voice was barely audible. ¡°She¡¯s a Fire Magus.¡±

    ¡°Miss Song, you¡¯re not thinking of¡­¡± Kelvin felt the need to interject before the matter escalated. ¡°I am kin to the Yangs. My Uncle is married to one of the Yang women. If you want reparation from Alain, please let me know.¡±

    Gwen cleared her throat.

    "Very well. I want a public apology, fair punishment from the school, and all medical expenses paid-¡± Gwen paused. ¡°Plus something else as compensation. I¡¯ll leave that to this Alain.¡±

    ¡°¡­¡± Kelvin looked at Mei, who looked away.

    ¡°What? Don''t tell me that''s too much?¡±

    ¡°Crystals and favours are alright,¡± Kelvin spoke with great care. ¡°A public apology is a bit¡­¡±

    ¡°A bit what?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think-¡°

    ¡°Then I¡¯ll break every bone in the little twirp''s body, an eye for an eye.¡± Her threat echoed across the courtyard like thunder. ¡°Where is he now?¡±

    ¡°At h-home.¡±

    ¡°Your home?¡± Her orbs scorched her quivering victim.

    Mei pleaded with Kelvin: the boy subtly shook his head.

    You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

    ¡°Miss Song,¡± Kelvin thought he¡¯d give assuaging another go. "If it would-"

    "Gwen?"

    Guo Song, Chairman of the Confidential Communications Committee, pushed open the door the to balcony''s exterior.

    ¡°SIR!¡± Kelvin bowed deeply, quickly followed by the others.

    ¡°Yeye!¡± Gwen ran to her grandfather, suddenly a teenage girl. ¡°Percy¡¯s injured, and I know where the culprit is.¡±

    Gwen''s statement of intent was enough to Petrify the horrified Mei. It was one thing to face the famed ¡®Worm Handler¡¯, but quite another to displease a man capable of sitting on one of the twenty-four inner seats of the CCP¡¯s central committees.

    ¡°Very good.¡± Guo turned to the others. ¡°You may go.¡±

    The trio retreated, not daring to attract Guo''s ire.

    ¡°Grandfather, I think you scared that girl half to death.¡±

    ¡°I am sure that was you,¡± Guo remarked dryly. ¡°Why would I scare her? Percy brought her home once. We spoke.¡±

    Gwen raised a brow.

    ¡°She¡¯s a Yang, right? Good family. A respectable bunch.¡±

    ¡°Well, it¡¯s another Yang that did this to Percy,¡± Gwen quickly explained the situation. ¡°... rather than taking it out on the duelling field, he tried to ambush Percy in public.¡±

    ¡°Hmm.¡± Her grandfather''s bulldog jowls quivered.

    ¡°Your counsel, Grandfather?¡±

    ¡°What''s your intent?¡±

    ¡°Bring Alain here as a companion for Percy,¡± Gwen ground her teeth. ¡°A tad worse for wear, of course.¡±

    ¡°That might be unreasonable.¡± Guo''s mildness caught her off-guard. ¡°The right thing to do would be to get them to issue compensation and an apology.¡±

    ¡°I asked for that,¡± Gwen complained, wondering if Percy had fallen out of favour. ¡°The Ma boy said Alain''s too proud for that. But I am perfectly capable of squeezing blood from a rock if need be.¡±

    ¡°Hmm... even for the Yangs, not offering a public apology is a little presumptuous.¡± Guo raised a brow.

    ¡°If you''re indisposed, Grandfather, I can handle this myself,¡± her voice grew impious. "No one touches Percy."

    "A commendable sentiment." Guo appraised his granddaughter''s passion.

    ¡°I¡¯ll go and challenge the little prick and anyone else they¡¯re willing to throw at me. I could also take Tao''s advise. I am sure an apology is easier to stomach than being homeless.¡±

    To her astonishment, Guo patted her shoulder disarmingly.

    ¡°The Yangs¡­ have given much to the Party.¡± Her grandfather pointed to the city below. ¡°One son during the first collapse of the Front, then another in the Reclamation. Only recently, they lost their sole remaining male heir to a rebellion in Tibet. They have no Magisters left; a few women Maguses remain, but no one of note. Do you truly wish to browbeat a family like that, knowing your guan-xi with the Fungs? With me? With your Uncle Jun and his... dragon?¡±

    ¡°I¡­¡± The fire she''d been stoking dimmed. ¡°That would be bullying.¡±

    ¡°That is the correct answer.¡± Guo took a deep breath. ¡°Still - an apology must be had. Direct involvement of Jun or I would only make our House lose face, so I''ll leave it to you. Can I trust you handle it, tactfully?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll do my best, Grandfather,¡± Gwen replied, thinking of her brother''s broken body next door. ¡°Percy will have his apology, one way or another.¡±

    Unaware of his family discussing the matter of his vengeance outside, Percy readied himself for restful slumber, hoping that when he woke, his bones would have mended and he could return to school. Not only that, grandmother had promised that after her acupuncture technique, his bones would be better fortified against future mishaps.

    Other than that, Gwen''s screw up aside, it had been a good day.

    Having Mei, Captain Ma and Vice-Cap Li visit him was tremendously inspiriting, filling his chest with a cosy warmness.

    Conversely, having Gwen teary-eyed as she attempted to feed him in front of Kelvin, Don and Mei was torture.

    Thankfully, he was soon left alone. With his family and friends gone for the night, he circulated a mote of mana into the Kirin Amulet nestled against his chest, then descended into darkness.

    When Percy opened his eyes again, he knew it to be a lucid dream.

    He knew this because the sensation of estrangement from his physical body was identical to the one he experienced while under the influence of the Amulet¡¯s ritual.

    Calmly, without undue alarm, he scrutinised his surroundings.

    A mausoleum.

    More precisely, the Song''s family tomb in Hubei.

    The oppressive atmosphere was as he recalled, made more so vivid by the hundreds of Spirit-plaques decorating the place, each with names of his ancestors carved into chunks of incense-wood.

    ¡°Hail, child of Ying Xing.¡±

    A voice floated through the air as an unearthly chill infused his spine.

    Holy shit! Percy sniffed the air and scanned the scene, scanning for the source of his unease.

    Stay calm! He commanded himself. His stoicism surprised even himself. The lite-Necromancy he had committed in Hangzhou was doing wonders for his tolerance against supernatural surprises.

    More importantly, what had the voice declared? Song Ying Xing? Wasn''t that the progenitor?

    His first suspicion had been that the dream was brought on by the entity in the Amulet, whose presence he had felt but could never decipher. Strangely, his second thought was of his sister.

    ¡°Hail.¡± Percy bowed, his body feeling distended and displaced. ¡°May I ask who¡­¡±

    ¡°This one knows of the living heir.¡± The disembodied voice resonated across the hallowed hall.

    Living heir? Percy recalled his grave-sweeping visit with the family to their Hubei home. As the heir of House Song, he had spent three hours dusting down every nook and cranny of the mausoleum, eyeballing every plaque an inch away from his nose to make sure that not a single spec of grime remained. After Guo saw just how eagerly he had applied himself, Percy¡¯s grandfather grew mightily pleased, praising Percy in front of Ying Xing¡¯s plaque with such fervency that for a spine-tingling minute, he''d thought Guo was enacting a Necromantic ritual.

    After that, they left to join the rest of the village, setting off hundreds of lanterns, filled with wishes and messages to their ancestors, into the sky.

    The spectacle had touched Percy quite profoundly: there was something to be said when at the stroke of midnight, from all around the mountain, the river, the village below and the city in the distance, a great river of lanterns lifted into the air, turning the horizon into a vista of light.

    So, was this ''being'' one of his ancestors?

    Had ''he'' come to answer the messages he wrote on the lantern, asking for a blessing no less than Gwen''s?

    If so, could an ancestral blessing be considered Necromancy by the Tower?

    ¡°My Lord.¡± Percy swallowed, remembering his grandfather¡¯s instructions. ¡°This descendent greets the Ancestor.¡±

    Slowly, the miasma coalesced within the chamber collected until it formed into a shape more familiar to Percy than even the Ancestral Hall and its plethora of dead Songs etched onto plaques.

    First came a stag¡¯s horns, then a tiger¡¯s maw, fishes¡¯ scales, lion¡¯s mane, carp¡¯s whiskers, solidifying until Percy gasped with breathless anticipation. There was no doubting it. From its presence, it¡¯s guise and aura - he was facing the real deal. This must be the being inside his Amulet!

    Swirling motes of Negative Energy surrounded its body.

    Percy recognised the mana of the miasma shrouding the Kirin''s skin like a rash; it belonged to him. It was the ritual used by the Songs.

    A sudden thrill ran through his body. If Gwen could tame herself a Kirin, why couldn''t he? Whatever she could manage, he was confident he could as well.

    ¡°Long has this one slumbered.¡± The Kirin¡¯s voice was rumbling thunder on a stormy, cloudless night. ¡°Until awakened by the intrusion of a nameless one.¡±

    Nameless one? Was that Gwen¡¯s doing? Percy racked his brain.

    ¡°Lord Kirin.¡±

    ¡°Do not patronise me, Child of Song, let us broker no words of deceit.¡± The Kirin thundered. ¡°This one and the heir are not allies.¡±

    ¡°Umm¡­ we are not?¡± Percy almost kicked himself. Did he fuck up already? What did Gwen do to get on the Kirin''s side? An offering? Offer what? Herself?

    ¡°Foolish youth. It was your ancestor who deceived this one.¡± The Kirin exhaled two churning streams of jet-black ash, slicing the air with its whiskers. "A despicable man.¡±

    Maybe I should get the hell out of here. Percy eyed the exit. To his chagrin, the gate of the Ancestor¡¯s Hall opened into an abyss of space.

    ¡°Having now roused from slumber, this one shall broker for thy pitiable ritual no more! The heir will no longer usurp this one''s strength!¡±

    Wait, WHAT?! Percy did a double take. What the hell does that mean? What about his training?

    From above, the Kirin''s eyes were twin orbs of smouldering stone.

    No, that can¡¯t be right. Percy willed himself to focus. Necromancy was always ''take'', never ''give''.

    ¡°If it''s your Essence¡± he accused the Kirin. ¡°I bet I can still use the ritual and compel your stone to give up its nourishment.¡±

    Perhaps because it had been caught lying, the Kirin grew in stature.

    Instantly, its presence filled the tomb.

    Before its Demi-God visage, Percy was a slab of fish!

    But the motes of Negative mana cascading from the Kirin''s side told a different story.

    For a minute, boy and Kirin both observed one another.

    ¡°Your words hold some weight,¡± the Kirin¡¯s annoyance rocked the interior of the mausoleum, cascading dust and ash all over. ¡°Yet how soon you forget the reason for your sad state. Did your Fulu not fail when you needed it the most?¡±

    Fulu? Percy searched his brain forthe unfamiliar term. Fulu- ''Fu''- those were Taoist talismans, were they not? Did the Kirin think his westernised Spellcraft was a form of sectarian Taoist magic?

    ¡°What are you saying?¡± Percy demanded. ¡°What does my Spellcraft have to do with¡­¡±

    ¡°The Protection charm which you abused with such liberty,¡± the Kirin continued. ¡°And your body-transfusion sorcery, do you truly believe they belong to you? That you¡¯re a genius?¡±

    ¡°It was you?!¡± Percy was an intelligent and perceptive young man.

    ¡°Good, thou comprehends," the Kirin gloated. "This one could go on, but one tires of unprofitable word-games. As thy ancestor had broken his compact to this one, so now one demands reparation from his descendant.¡±

    Though his instinct told him to leap out the door and into the abyss, Percy remained in front of the Kirin. Did this mean that he had been chosen? Was he elected for some higher purpose? What of his sister? Did she not meet the ancestors?

    ¡°What did the progenitor promise you?¡± Percy carefully enquired.

    ¡°Servitude, then freedom.¡± The Kirin loomed over him with the oppressiveness of a tombstone. ¡°But then an imbecile split my heart stone in two, negating the possibility of this one''s eventual emancipation!¡±

    Grandfather Guo! Percy blinked.

    Holy Kirin shit, no fucking way!

    His Grandfather had split the family amulet in twain to give both Jun and Hai a chance, breaking the Song''s tradition of having ¡®one¡¯ true heir.

    ¡°Lord Kirin, what is your desire?¡± Percy kept his voice level and steady, hiding his excitement.

    ¡°The other half of this one''s heart-stone.¡±

    ¡°...¡± Percy''s silence refuted the Kirin¡¯s claim. There was no way he could do anything to uncle Jun, nor did he want to.

    ¡°This one does not make demands without commensuration,¡± the Kirin continued. ¡°Within this one''s wisdom lies the knowledge of your ancestors, two hundred generations of them, each a Master in their own right. Even in the parlance of thy ineffective Fulu, this one can trivialise all obstacles in the heir''s cultivation!¡±

    "Your meaning?"

    "This heir would be a Master in no more than a decade!"

    Though the Kirin spoke of his ascension, for some reason, all Percy could think of was Gwen returning victorious from the IIUC. In three years, it would be his turn. He would join the IIUC, and there, he would supersede Gwen''s accomplishments! His future would be incandescent!

    But still, he didn''t trust the creature at all.

    ¡°No,¡± Percy swallowed his desire. Too much ambition was a dangerous thing. ¡°No deal. I am not harming my family.¡±

    ¡°FOOL!¡± the Kirin roared. ¡°Dost thou believe that this one demands the lives of thy living kin?!¡±

    ¡°Then¡­¡±

    ¡°As heir, the other half of the Amulet will return to thee, one day,¡± the Kirin explained. ¡°Be it naturally, or via conspiracy, that is not for this one to enact nor say. This one is an immortal being. What is half-a-century when this one has waited for over a millennium? This one desires a deal - that within thy natural lifespan, thou shall join the two halves of this one''s heart stone and free one from servitude.¡±

    "And in return?"

    "This one shall aid in thy training; thou shall be as heaven to the mundane earth."

    Percy mulled the Kirin¡¯s clarified offer.

    The damn thing was desperate, but they both had their backs against the wall. Without the Kirin¡¯s tacit support, his new found talents would come to an abrupt end, his future training all the more arduous. Instead of catching up to his sister, he would be swimming upstream against the current. The Duelling Team, his university placement, being his sister''s equal, they would all have to be forfeited.

    As for the cost of the Kirin¡¯s offer?

    The Song¡¯s would lose their Amulet, presumably.

    But by the time he was an old Magister on his deathbed, who would be left?

    Guo and Klavdiya would be long gone.

    Hai and Jun, most assuredly.

    And Gwen?

    He somehow doubted someone who could manifest a pseudo-Kirin at seventeen would be hankering for a training crutch. Though Gwen could benefit from the Amulet, her need wasn''t dire. Simply put, she couldn''t pass on the family name, her training was already leagues ahead of Percy''s, and she was in no shortage of Crystals nor Spirit.

    Percy''s final concern was for his future scions, though as a teenager himself, he couldn''t conceive of such a thing. Even his grandfather''s obsession with the House of Song was but a parcel to his ascension.

    ¡°Once free, wouldn¡¯t you run amok?¡± he demanded of the beast. Probing its offer for weaknesses.

    ¡°If thou cannot best this one even during the infancy of one''s rebirth.¡±The Kirin¡¯s expression grew twisted as a tendril stroked its chin. ¡°Perhaps the cultivator should give up his Dao before he hurts himself.¡±

    Fucking dick-mouth, Percy snorted internally, deriding the Kirin''s fleshy, prehensile whiskers. His gut feeling told him that the damn thing would absolutely not go peacefully. But then again, who said Percy would hold his end intact? His ancestor was a perfect example, wasn¡¯t he? In time, with power, research, another century of advancement in Spellcraft, he may very well end up with a Kirin for a mount!

    ¡°And you would accelerate, rather than delay my Spell- Cultivation?¡± Percy reiterated.

    ¡°Thy ascension shall be celestial.¡± The Kirin''s whiskers oozed a strangely thick, black liquid.

    In the light of the tomb, the Kirin''s appearance was positively demonic.

    Wait-a-second, what if this was all just a dream? Percy reminded himself. He was taking a lucid fantasy far too seriously. So long as he had control over himself, over his mind, and so long as he had his sister to give up a helping hand, what need he fear? Why, if he told Gwen-

    ¡°Thou shall keep this one''s contract in confidence,¡± the Kirin¡¯s burning orbs narrowed. ¡°Else do not blame this one if thy Fulu fails at a most desperate hour.¡±

    ¡°What, and lose you the only means of your freedom?¡± Percy fired back.

    ¡°¡­ the descendants of the Song are crafty,¡± the Kirin grumbled. "If this heir is unwilling, this one does not mind if one is returned to his superior Kin."

    "Kin?" Percy''s spine turned to ice. "What Kin?"

    "One''s Sister." The Kirin''s visage grew cruel and haughty; its maw dribbled with dark malice. "She and this one could be happy together."

    The fucking nerve of the damned mongrel! Percy''s expression grew instantly dark.

    "Listen well." He strode toward the beast, his body suddenly alive with vigour. "You and I are in the same fucking boat. Do you understand, ya MUTT? I am your best hope. Gwen will eat you up; you won''t even have a whisker left."

    "The heir is willing then?"

    With a dire vehemence, Percy caught one of the Kirin''s whiskers with a terrific grip, feeling a dull heat singe the skin on his hand.

    "Yes, I am willing!"

    The bond between them, the connection previously engendered through the ritual, grew immeasurably more intimate. Percy felt lifted into the air as the haze entered his body, filling every pore with its strange Astral energy.

    "You fuck me over, mutt," Gwen''s brother growled with a fury he didn''t know he had possessed. "And I''ll make sure you''ll be living in limbo for all of eternity."

    There was a pause.

    "Then one... obeys." The Kirin bowed. "So long the heir keeps one... fed."

    In the material world, where Percy''s body floated over a bed of air, a warning glyph flared. A night nurse rushed into the room to check the patient''s vitals, only to find that all was well. After she triple-checked the Biomancy array, she wrote it off as an error, then resumed her patrol.

    Meanwhile, hidden under Percy''s bandages, the Kirin-Stone Amulet turned the colour of jet.

    Jun shot awake, covered in a snail-sheen of cold sweat.

    ¡°You were murmuring something.¡± Ayxin sat by the bedstead, her eyes casting a gentle glow over the hotel room. ¡°Bad dream?¡±

    ¡°... Do you always watch me sleep?¡± Jun remarked, unnerved by the sight of Dragon-kin looming over his once sleeping form. He reminded himself that Ayxin was, despite the perfection of her current guise, an apex predator.

    ¡°My kind rarely sleeps outside of our domain, so yes.¡± Ayxin¡¯s eyes swept over her lover¡¯s body. She could sense the rushing of his blood, the air in his lungs, the Ash in his mana conduits, and the thrumming Essences of Magical Creatures stowed within the amulet around Jun''s neck. Now that her man was awake, what had once been a tranquil balance of the metaphysical was now thrown into disarray. ¡°What¡¯s wrong? Why did you rise?¡±

    Jun touched a hand to his pendant.

    ¡°Nothing. Just a bad feeling.¡± He circulated a mote of mana into the heirloom device, failing to find any irregularity.

    Ayxin slipped back onto the bed, serpentine in the manner her waist arched and her limbs folded around Jun¡¯s torso. She pressed her palms against his chest, then circulated her Essence into her lover¡¯s body, probing Jun¡¯s conduits for symptoms of damage or distress.

    ¡°I sense nothing.¡± She laid a pale cheek against his neck. ¡°You¡¯re fine.¡±

    Jun took her hand in his own, his other hand resting on her thighs.

    ¡°If we were on the Mount, I could use the Scrying Pool,¡± Ayxin advised. ¡°Maybe it¡¯s that niece of yours again. According to my father, her time of peace should be ending very soon.¡±

    ¡°I''d imagine that being the case.¡± Jun wetted his dry lips. ¡°No one ever said the IUCC would be safe.¡±

    ¡°There is no need to fret.¡± The corner of Ayxin¡¯s mouth formed into a curl. ¡°Father promised her that Golos would be there thrice. She¡¯ll be fine.¡±

    Jun wanted to say the Yinglong''s involvement made it worse, though he knew Axyin was right. There was nothing he could do, not to mention Gwen was more than capable of taking care of herself. Relaxing his shoulders, Jun guiltily kissed the Dragon-kin''s delicate fingers. With Ayxin''s white-jade figure lounged against his chest, Jun couldn¡¯t help but feel that he had betrayed something of the life he had lived, tempering his craft like an esoteric Daoshi, waist-deep in Undead.

    ¡°Hahaha,¡± Ayxin¡¯s laughter was accompanied by daring fingers.

    Jun looked down.

    ¡°You did that on purpose!¡± He couldn¡¯t help but taunt his insatiable lover.

    Once Ayxin had gotten past her prudish pride, it was as though a dam had broken. As for Jun, his usual apathy to delights of the flesh was swept away by the supply of draconic-vigour supplied by Axyin. The first time they had finally gotten down to business, the double-king frame snapped under the vigour of what Gwen had sulkily dubbed the horizontal fandango, attracting a mid-night apology from the management of the Pudong Ritz-Carlton.

    ¡°Privacy Mode,¡± Jun commanded the room.

    The double-drape curtains, enchanted to block Divination, closed of their own volition. The first time Ayxin had invited him to enjoy the view, he had remarked with a throbbing vein a very terrible observance.

    On his right was the looming form of the Pearl of the Orient, A.K.A the Pudong Tower, looming only five blocks away and close enough that he could see the Mages working late into the evening.

    On his left, some six kilometres away, was the CCP Super-Structural Tower, looming at half the height of the Ritz-Carlton but covering a dozen-times the ground space, one of its Towers pointed right toward him.

    Was it a coincidence that the presidential suite just happened to be wedged between the two Towers, within strategic-Scry range?

    Ayxin pushed him against the bedframe.

    He was a patriot, Jun grumbled. But he wasn''t THAT patriotic.

 Chapter 235 - Some like it Hot

    Eric Walken took a sip from his bone china cup, closed his eyes to savour the taste, then gingerly rested it against the porcelain saucer with a crisp clink.

    ¡°Did you manage to keep your head?¡±

    ¡°Mmm,¡± Gwen murmured over sips of Royal Earl Grey.

    ¡°You lie better when you''re angry.¡±

    Ignoring her opponent''s smug superiority, Gwen instead allowed the scent of Wildland cornflower and bergamot to enliven her tastebuds. It was Walken''s shout; according to him, she should be glad because there was only so much tea left from the pre-colonial days.

    ¡°So?¡±

    ¡°So what?¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s your plan?¡± The Magister indicated to the table, or perhaps he was referring to herself. "Go on; help yourself."

    To return the favour for her sponge cake, Walken bought tea and scones with fresh cream and homemade jam. When she marvelled at the spectacle of a Magister making strawberry conserve, Walken expressed that thanks to a diluted aristocratic lineage, his mother had possessed a deft hand at crafting artisanal preserves of all kinds, a trade he had inherited after her passing. In fact, within his storage ring, he had no less than fifty jars in fourteen flavours, each a unique product of his physical labour.

    Cautious but curious over Walken''s boastful narrative-laden conserve, Gwen halved a warm scone with her butter knife in readiness.

    ¡°To answer your question, I am going to pay the Yang family a visit this evening,¡± Gwen informed her Instructor. ¡°Grandfather wants a public apology.¡±

    ¡°That''s what he wants. What about you? What do you want?¡±

    ¡°A good grovelling would be a good start.¡± Gwen applied the jam liberally. The cream was a little runny, so she dipped her conserve-covered morsel instead.

    Walken watched as the girl bit off a tad more than she could chew, cramming the rest into her mouth before the jam and cream dribbled on her dress.

    How wasit that this scone-eating glutton had cornered him? Walken reflected as he passed her a serviette. He suspected that not even Kilroy would have believed his Apprentice of attaining such heights of larceny.

    The girl dabbed the cream from her mouth, then gave her lips a once over with her tongue. Having tasted its sweetness, she eyed the rest of the marmalade hungrily.

    ¡°Eye for an eye,¡± the girl answered, crumbling a second scone. ¡°Surely that¡¯s not asking for too much.¡±

    ¡°That''s not what you told me earlier.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± she grumbled. ¡°The family¡¯s protected by some Saving Private Ryan bullshit.¡±

    ¡°Saving who?¡± Walken raised a brow.

    ¡°Some guy called Ryan,¡± Gwen explained, feeling generous. ¡°Lost a whole bunch of brothers, so he¡¯s the last Mage standing in his House. Tower says maybe this family should have at least one child surviving after giving so much to the Frontier, so they send in a Hero Magus trying to extract the boy from the Front. Hero leads a party into the heart of the war, losing guys left and right until he finally finds junior Ryan. The problem is, Junior Ryan refuses to leave his mates, so Hero stays and fights, ultimately dying so that Junior Ryan could return home. That''s who this Alain Yang is, the last man, and he thinks he¡¯s bloody invincible because anyone who kicks his ass would be bullying a venerable old House filled with widows.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s¡­ quite the story.¡± Walken racked his brain, bemused that the girl was telling the truth. ¡°Yet, I don''t believe I¡¯ve never heard of this.¡±

    ¡°Master told me the story.¡± Gwen cloaked her uneasy deception with a scone. "Mmmmph... maybe a different war? Somewhere in Europe?"

    ¡°Right¡­¡± Walken studied her face. ¡°But you know, there¡¯s more than one way to skin a cat.¡±

    ¡°Oh, I know.¡±

    ¡°Do you now? Then tell me. What type of revenge have you planned? What are you after? Despoilment? Leverage? Control?¡±

    ¡°There are types of revenge?!¡±

    ¡°Revenge should never just involve brutalising your opponents.¡± Walken raised a finger. ¡°It shouldn¡¯t be immediate either. Before one takes on the role of an Avenger, one¡¯s purpose must be made explicit. Needless vengeance brings nought but suffering; retribution should accompany restitution."

    Does Walken think he''s Titus Andronicus? Gwen ruminated upon the buttery dough. I am not fomentinga blooding Roman tragedy here!

    ¡°I just want an apology,¡± she explained carefully. ¡°I don¡¯t see why they would refuse. My ire carries some weight these days; I''d imagine.¡±

    ¡°How optimistic.¡± Walken chortled.

    ¡°Why, do you have something to add, Eric?¡±

    ¡°Gwen.¡± Eric Walken formedthe tips of his fingers intoa triangle just under his chin. ¡°Care for some advice from someone who has survived three decades of intrigue? I promise to satisfy.¡±

    "You talk big."

    "I never just talk."

    Gwen considered her Instructor''s confidence. Walken reminded her of a manager waiting to show her a project proposal.

    "If this goes pear-shaped, I want ten flavours of conserve as compensation."

    "Deal." Walken winced, touching a finger to his Storage Ring. "Consider this a trial for the wisdom I shall dispense in the IIUC to come."

    ¡°Well then.¡± Gwen inspected her piece of cake. ¡°What did you have in mind?¡±

    ¡°Master Alain has taken ill and is not taking guests,¡± a pale and shuddering servant informed her stone-faced guest, cowering before her towering visage.

    Almost disbelieving her ears, Gwen turned toward her guide, the affable Mei, who stood red as a beetroot beside the giantess.

    ¡°Tell Alain he has five minutes to present himself and make his case in person.¡± Gwen reiterated her demand, dispensing with the politeness. ¡°Or else he can stay cooped up in there for the rest of his natural life.¡±

    ¡°Yi, tell Alain to get out here!¡± Mei hissed beside Gwen. ¡°This isn¡¯t a joking matter! Where is Aunty Vivian?¡±

    The servant quickly scurried away.

    Sweating profusely, Mei invited Gwen to sit with her in the main living room while they waited.

    Visibly fuming, Mei''s guest settled into a tub-chair with her back arched and her legs crossed, her simmering furore just shy of its boiling point. Beside her, Gwen¡¯s host remarked the way her senior seemed to fill up the spacious living room effortlessly, her worshipful orbs studying every inch of Gwen¡¯s smouldering visage.

    Gazing into the middle-distance, Gwen thought back on Walken¡¯s divined foresight.

    Though not explicit on details, Walken had correctly described the core strategy the Yangs would employ: to delay and hope Gwen would go away.

    That Gwen herself had miscalculated Alain Yang''s resolve was also infuriating. After all, just for the occasion, she had prepared a battle-garb.

    Considering the information at hand, she had hoped that a first-impression foot-in-door approach would suffice. To that end, she attired herself to appear bold and resolute. From the feet-up, she had equipped a pair of four-inch black stilettos with stockings in sable, paired with a high-waisted plaid skirt, finished with a charcoal collared blouse and a white-ribbon tie. Additional auxiliary arnaments included straightened hair, bold eye-liners and a matt lipstick with a palette called ruby-revenge.

    But for all her imposing impressiveness, she struck a wall the moment she requested Alain''s presence.

    Beside her, Mei''s head lowered apologetically.

    ¡°Please accept my apologies, Senior. Mother is away on assignment, and Aunty Vivian has run of the house, if you don¡¯t mind waiting just a day or two, I am sure we will have a satisfactory answer for you.¡±

    ¡°Mei.¡± Gwen reached over with a finger and lifted her chin. ¡°This isn¡¯t your fault. I don¡¯t even want to harm Alain. I want a public apology for my brother.¡±

    ¡°I know that.¡± Mei glanced in the general direction of the west wing courtyard. The Yang estate had a setup just like the Songs, consisting of four quadrants. Mei''s family lived in the east wing while the branch family lived in the west. The south held rooms for the servants, including the main kitchen, and the north consisted of a communal area connecting to the central feature-garden. When neither Alain nor a servant with tea emerged after five minutes, Mei keened for the future of her House.

    ¡°Take a seat,¡± Gwen implored her host. ¡°I am a patient woman. Why don¡¯t we talk about something, Percy said that you wanted to see me?¡±

    ¡°I did, Ma''am!¡± Mei flushed. "I am sorry we had to meet under these circumstances."

    "No worries," Gwen assured her. "So, what do you want to know?"

    For the next ten minutes, Mei fired off a barrage of inquiries.

    What was it like in Fudan?

    When do the courses start each year?

    How competitive were the students?

    Who were her Instructors?

    Why did she pick Fudan over Jiantong?

    Gwen meanwhile, engaged in counter-intelligence, affirming that Mei''s mother worked as a low-level Secretary for an outer District west of Shanghai''s CBD. It would appear that other than their Matriarch, the rest of the family lived on a collection of government subsidy and widows'' pensions. It was why Alain''s mother, an only child enjoying the rare support of her family, positioned herself as an economic cornerstone within the surviving Yang household.

    ¡°Can¡­ can I see your Void Magic?¡± Mei pleaded, her eyes glimmering with desire. ¡°Does it consume everything as they say?¡±

    Not adverse to humouring the girl, Gwen performed a little experiment with a tea-cup, handing over to Mei half a glass perfectly sliced in two.

    ¡°Mao!¡± Mei thumbed the half-consumed vessel as though she had uncovered an unearthly treasure.

    ¡°Would you like to see Ariel?¡±

    ¡°CAN I?¡±

    ¡°Of course,¡± Gwen addressed Mei with a friendly smile. She felt a motherly affection for the girl - though arguably, their shared Lightning Element was likely the culprit. ¡°Ariel!¡±

    ¡°EE! EE!¡±

    Ariel appeared on the plush carpet, poised and handsome, its mane moved by an unseen breeze, a star in its very own dog-food commercial.

    ¡°Oh, ancestors.¡± Mei trembled with excitement. ¡°Can¡­ can I feed it?¡±

    Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

    ¡°Of course,¡± Gwen directed Ariel to play nice with Mei. ¡°Take your time.¡±

    It took all but a few minutes to lure out the rest of the household.

    ¡°IS THAT A KIRIN?¡±

    ¡°Leilei! There¡¯s a KIRIN HERE!¡±

    ¡°AEEEE!¡±

    ¡°Lingzi greets Senior Song.¡±

    ¡°Leilei greets Senior Song.¡±

    ¡°Yaozi greets Senior Song.¡±

    ¡°Hello, girls,¡± Gwen greeted Mei¡¯s relatives.

    Embarrassed by their lack of manners, Mei introduced her family members. Lingzi and Leilei were her younger sisters, while Yaozi was her cousin.

    ¡°Ah-Hui, Ah-Jia, come look, a real Kirin!¡±

    An older woman in her thirties joined the gaggle of giggling girls.

    ¡°Greetings Ma¡¯am.¡± Gwen rose from her seat.

    ¡°Don¡¯t mind us, Miss Song.¡± Mei¡¯s youngest aunty flanked the fray, unable to resist Ariel¡¯s allure. ¡°It¡¯s we who should be apologising.¡±

    Servants as well, came from the other sections of the house to witness the fabled Kirin of Fudan, powerless to constrain their curiosity. By Gwen''s count, there were almost twenty individuals in the central courtyard, all of which were women.

    Good God, her cheeks twitched, wondering if anyone had ever been hen-pecked to death in a place like this.

    As more women emerged, a picture began to paint itself.

    Why was it that Alain Yang refused to present himself for a scalding?

    Why did the Yangs fear no retribution from a family like the Songs?

    Where did the boy get his confidence?

    The answer was right here.

    The noble and distinguished Yangs had been reduced to a house of women;

    ones who lived in an ivory palace, protected by reputation and sympathy.

    And Alain? The boy grew up in such a place! How suffocatingly must he be doted upon, the vehicle of the lineage''s bloodline talent, knowing that only he could carry on the name ¡®Yang¡¯?

    ¡°Mrs Yang,¡± Gwen accosted the aunty. ¡°Are you able to speak for-¡±

    ¡°No, I am afraid.¡± The woman gave her a wane expression of helplessness, already regretting not recusing herself. ¡°But I will ask my late cousin''s wife to come and speak to you.¡±

    ¡°That would be great. Thank you.¡± Gwen breathed out, watching the woman saunter away.

    ¡°Eeee! EE!¡±

    ¡°So cute!¡±

    ¡°Adorable!¡±

    ¡°I am in love!¡±

    ¡°Feel its fur!¡±

    Gwen almost felt guilty watching the guileless women gang-petting Ariel, drunk on fonts of oxytocin.

    After a while, the aunty returned with a servant.

    "This is Ah-B¨¡n," The aunty''s face was a cloud of harried displeasure. It wasn''t hard to imagine the tongue lashing she''d just received. "Vivian says to take him and... excuse yourself."

    Ah-B¨¡n immediately collapsed to his knees, touching his head to the ground.

    "It is Ah-B¨¡n''s fault that Young Master Song was wounded." Ah-B¨¡n grovelled. "Please punish Ah-B¨¡n."

    That they sent out a servant to be vilified incensed Gwen considerably, though her feeling of the moment was a crushing sympathy for the pitiful attendant. To Gwen, punishing Ah-B¨¡n was no different than shooting an irresponsible owner''s dog for biting her kin. The guard dog was doing its job; why should it be punished for loyalty? A single word from Alain would have tethered Ah-B¨¡n to the ground, harmless as a statue.

    "Ah-B¨¡n." Gwen''s stiletto was an inch from the grovelling servant''s face. "You don''t have to apologise for Alain, and I won''t accept your apology."

    "Please, it''s Ah-B¨¡n''s fault!" The simple man begged.

    "No, as I said..."

    "Please punish this Ah-B¨¡n for his transgression!"

    To her surprise and mild disgust, the man touched his forehead to the tip of her shoe.

    An arc of electricity zinged from the metal plate holding up her four-inch heel.

    "Ah-B¨¡n! Get up!" She slipped a sliver of Dragon-fear into her voice.

    As though bitten in the ass by a Mongolian Death Worm, Ah-B¨¡n stood.

    "Miss, please punish-"

    "Ah-B¨¡n, shut up," Gwen growled. "Have some respect for yourself man! You''re a human being! Not a masochistic dog!"

    The man slowly raised his head. He''d thought himself tall, but this Mistress Song was taller still by an inch.

    "You stay here and don''t move," Gwen gave the man an order before turning to Mei''s younger relatives. "So, this Aunty Vivian of yours: is she a naked Mole-rat or what? In what stratum, under what subterranean depth is she hiding?"

    Lingzi, Leilei, and Yaozi all burst into laughter.

    "Eeee! Eeee!" Ariel joined in as well.

    "What''s a naked mole-rat?" Mei asked, fighting her impolite mirth.

    "A hairless rat, ugly as sin, looks like a wet bag of pink skin. It''s got a nose like a star, with five little fingers it uses for digging - look, I''ll show you. Minor Image!"

    Horrible at anything other than graphical data, Gwen conjured an abstract testicle.

    "Haaa! Haahaa!"

    "Haaa! Oh, Mao!"

    "I can see Aunty as a naked Mole-rat for sure."

    ¡°ARE YOU QUITE DONE YET? MISS SONG?¡±

    Finally! Gwen breathed out.

    The voice that next emerged from the west wing filled the air space like a raid-siren. Like Helena Huang, Vivian Yang possessed the sort of bansheetimbre that assailed one''s eardrums like nails on a chalkboard, a decibel away from decimating wineglass.

    The crowd parted to reveal who could only be Alain¡¯s mother, a hellcat of a woman with a scrunched face, her hair piled in a manner that screamed ''I demand to see your manager''.

    Unbowed, Gwen straightened herself, meeting the woman halfway. When they finally stood toe to toe, Gwen was almost a head taller, awarding her a clear physical vantage.

    ¡°My Alain will not be bullied by the likes of you!¡±

    Gwen could feel the elemental Fire radiating from Vivian''s body like the glow from a roaring furnace.

    ¡°You think your family can threaten us? Just you try! Let¡¯s see how the PLA likes it when the Yang family''s trodden on, huh?!¡±

    The woman wasn¡¯t uncomely, though Gwen noted she was extremely annoying.

    ¡°Miss Vivi-¡±

    ¡°YOUR BROTHER~!¡± Alain¡¯s mother continued, her chest enormous and heaving, threatening to body-check Gwen''s less endowed attributes. ¡°Is a little white-faced soft-rice eater!¡±

    Gwen blinked. What the hell is a soft-rice eater? Did the woman mean porridge? Beside her, Mei¡¯s face turned the colour of liver even as her sisters giggled and snickered.

    Like a Tiger Shark sensing blood, Vivian Yang fell upon Mei.

    ¡°YOU LITTLE STRUMPET!¡± Vivian barked, her face a mask of indignant horror, as though she''d caught Mei looking for Li''s at Nanjing Road. ¡°I wonder, are you still a virgin? If not, Alain will take one of your sisters. How do you like that?!¡±

    ¡°Ewww!¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t want to! Alain''s ugly!¡±

    The sisters immediately burst into protest.

    ¡°Now, now.¡± Gwen put up a hand to interrupt aunt Vivian''s rebuttal. ¡°Let¡¯s keep this civ-¡±

    ¡°DON¡¯T TOUCH ME!¡± the woman snapped at her, almost biting her fingers. ¡°Who do you think you are?!¡±

    ¡°Aunty Vivian¡­¡± Mei pleaded.

    ¡°You shut your whore mouth!¡± Vivian Yang howled the girl into submission. ¡°Wait until your mother gets home; the things I am going to tell her! To think she¡¯s working herself to the bone at the government office, keeping you girls at some of the best schools in Shanghai, and all she¡¯s getting in return is ungrateful children who¡­¡±

    Gwen locked out the female equivalent of white noise.

    She hated to admit it, but Walken had been right on the marmalade.

    A contingency plan made controlling one¡¯s temper far easier.

    "Caliban!" she silently commanded her other Familiar. "It''s time."

    Caliban stirred.

    It had waited, invisible, on the roof for so long that its grey-drool had encrusted into crispy snail-trails against the seams of its carapace.

    ¡°!¡±

    An order came from its Master.

    Void-tinged slime oozed from between its reticulated chitin.

    With a barely audible plop, it landed in the bedroom of the one who had attracted the ire of its Mistress.

    Alain Yang stared forlornly at his abused visage in the mirror.

    His handsome mien was ruined, destroyed, despoiled by the hated Percy Song. First, the bastard stole his Mei m¨¥im¨¥i, and now the er-b¨© had ravaged his good looks!

    Apologise? No way.

    He would rather die twice over than to cower in front of Percy Song, watching the young man¡¯s self-righteous mug twist in satisfaction.

    How could they fault him? Be it the House of Yang, or Mei, they all belonged to him, and he would go to any length to ensure that it stayed that way.

    ¡°Hmmph!¡±

    Now that Alain thought of it, wouldn''t the greatest pleasure be to deny Percy Song his love of Mei? The only reason Alain had felt so strongly about Percy''s friendship with Mei was the fact that Percy wanted what belonged to him.

    Alain rechecked his reflection.

    A part of his scalp, about two fistfuls of hair, was removed entirely, leaving a bald-patch that the Medical-Mages saidmay never recover naturally. When he protested, they informed his mother that nothing short of a minimum tier 5 Regenerate would be enough to re-grow the boy''s decimated follicles.

    But the House of Yang didn¡¯t have the clout to spare for such a thing. A civilian-tier Regenerate scroll wasn''t rare, but it was classified and subject to supply-constraint. Conversely, A military-issue Spell Scroll was too difficult to acquire without the necessary connections.

    Angrily, Alain glared at his appearance, growing more upset with every moment. Just now, after his mother¡¯s youngest sister came, his mother had sent out Ah-B¨¡n as an offering of peace. Having grown up with Ah-B¨¡n, Alain had been unwilling - though he knew better than to try to rebuke his mother. After all, it was Ah-B¨¡n who had launched Percy into the street, an act which Alain had awarded 10 HDMs.

    But as expected, Ah-B¨¡n wasn''t enough.

    After the whole courtyard erupted into laughter, his mother could take it no longer and went to deal with Gwen Song herself. Even now, he could hear her banshee screeches going off at full tilt at Percy¡¯s sister.

    Alain smirked.

    His mother was a Mao-damned force of nature, but when she could steer her destructive potential toward outside forces, the woman was without equal.

    ¡°Let''s see how you like her banshee wail¡­¡± he chuckled to himself.

    ¡®Plop!¡¯

    A strange sound resonated through the space of his spacious bedroom.

    Alain turned.

    ¡°Hello?¡± he said to the room. Perhaps it was one of the other servants, Yi maybe.

    His eyes floated over the unmolested details of his bed, his bannister, his table, his chest-of-drawers.

    ¡®Tsssss!¡¯ Something sizzled.

    Alain looked down.

    A drop of some strange liquid had fallen between his legs and was now eating a hole through the chair.

    Reflexively, he looked up.

    "!"

    A sensation of sudden vertigo slammed into his brain as Alain fought to keep his eyes peeled.

    The hellish visage that emerged consisted of an open maw, fully a meter-wide, pink and lined with razor-sharp teeth, from within which two tentacles writhed as though pregnant with slithering horrors.

    Petrified, Alain''s helpless eyeballs followed the contour of the beast until they took in the creature''s visage in its entirety. From above, limbs that were spindly and spider-like, akin to rapiers, long, thin and obsidian, trapped him as though a bone cage had descended overhead.

    ¡°SHAAAAAA!¡±

    A splatter of grey-goo fell on his face.

    ¡°ARRRRRGH! ARRRRGH! ARRRRGH!!!¡±

    His handsome face was forfeit!

    Though the gloop was merely cold and clammy, all Alain could do was scream. In an instant, the boy became a marionette of whatever natural impulse his failing biology chose to impose upon its terrified flesh. First, he pissed himself; then after a moment, as though his large intestines were trying to flee his trembling, paralysed form, Alain fertilised his underpants.

    ¡°SHAAAA! SHAAAA! SHAAAA!¡± the creature matched his screeching, bar for off-tune bar.

    Caught in the odious-throes of his noxious expulsions, Alain vomited, kneeling over until he was curled into a ball, hugging his shit-stained knees to his chest, his eyes spinning in their sockets.

    ¡®Click!¡¯ A door opened.

    ¡°Master! Are you alright?!¡± A girl-servant who attended Alain¡¯s needs from outside the bedroom pushed into the room. Like the others, she had been distracted by the commotion caused by the Kirin and hadn¡¯t noticed her Master¡¯s cries until theygrew loud enough to penetrate the sound-warded walls.

    ¡°AEEEEYAAA!¡± She burst into a terrific clamour. Her Master was rolling in a puddle of his own sick and excreta!

    As more details filled her vision, her heart sank; at this moment, she hated the young man so much it was difficult to put her agony into words. Was this - was this a new way to abuse her? Was it because she laughed at his hair?!

    Gwen returned her consciousness to the present once Caliban was safely tucked away in its pocket dimension.

    ¡°You white-eyed wolf! How could you invite the sister of that soft-rice eating whore-son into our home¡­¡±

    Jesus Christ, Gwen took a breather to gather her wits. How is it that the woman was still going? Vivian Yang''s capacity for inventive abuse was expert enough to attract an hourly rate.

    ¡°ENOUGH!¡± she snapped back, her Essence-infused command cracking the air like a super-sonic bullwhip. A wave of Dragon-Fear radiated out from where Gwen stood, paralleled by twin-circles of electric blue illuminating the amber of her eyes so that her irises grew viridescent. ¡°Another word out of you, and I am leaving. And once I leave, I am not coming back.¡±

    ¡°THEN LEAVE!¡± Alain¡¯s mother grew triumphant. Her face full of self-exaltation as her Fire-Affinity fought off the paralysis imbued by Gwen¡¯s projected prescence.

    "Very well." Gwen turned to Mei. "I will say my piece, then go."

    "Gwen-"

    ¡°Mei.¡± She took the girl¡¯s hands. ¡°If you do not want to marry this woman¡¯s ''whore-son'', you just let me know. If you''re willing to trust me, I can assure you beyond any doubt that NOTHING can compel you into an unhappy marriage.¡±

    ¡°HOW DARE-¡±

    Gwen glared at the woman. This time, she focused her Essence.

    Alain¡¯s mother choked as though taken by the throat.

    Mei shuddered as Gwen continued.

    ¡°Regardless of your relationship with Percy, know that I am offering you not only my protection - but also my Grandfather¡¯s as well. If need be, even the Nantong Fungs will give you and your mother a helping hand.¡±

    ¡°Thank you.¡± Mei swallowed. ¡°I¡­¡±

    ¡°No need.¡± Gwen hugged Mei close to her chest to hide a pang of oppressive self-loathing at having to play out Walken''s advise. ¡°If your mother is keen tomove to a better Secretarial Department, she can speak to my grandfather. He¡¯ll put in the right word with the right people.¡±

    ¡°Senior Song!¡±

    ¡°Miss Gwen!¡±

    ¡°Thank you, Sis!¡±

    Mei¡¯s relatives gushed with adoration, swept off their feet by Gwen''s unexpected generosity.

    To think that the Worm Handler had come for retribution, only to deliver salvation! What a good person she was! How rare and precious!

    ¡°As for you.¡± Gwen turned to the dumbfounded mother of Alain. ¡°Pray that we do not meet again.¡±

    ¡°Mei!¡± Gwen extended a hand to Mei.

    ¡°Yes, Sister!¡±

    ¡°My coat.¡±

    ¡°Right here!¡±

    Gwen slipped into her jacket, assisted by her fellow Lightning sorceress.

    ¡°Ariel!¡±

    Her Kirin followed overhead.

    Like a queen in the finale of a film, she strode from the central courtyard on clicking heels, cutting a dashing and unforgettable picture through the door - beyond which a chauffeur Gwen had earlier requisitioned from Mina awaited. Key to the ploy, Walken explained, was to get the hell out so that the ball was firmly left in her opponent''s court.

    ¡®Thunk!¡¯

    The door slammed.

    With a final wave at Mei, Gwen was away.

    Vivian Yang was the first to recover.

    ¡°Mei!¡± Alain''s mother immediately caught the object of her ire. By now she had realised that the girl had left a world of troubles at her doorstep. If Mei''s mother was to move to an actual department with influence and power, there was no way she could pressure Mei or her sisters into marrying Alain. Moreso, if word of the generosity of the Songs spread, there would be mounting pressure for Alain to apologise. ¡°You¡¯re in for a world of-¡±

    ¡°MILADY!¡± A servant rushed into the courtyard.

    ¡°WHAT IS IT?¡± the wannabe Matriarch barked at the servant.

    ¡°It¡¯s Master Alain!¡±

    ¡°What is it?¡±

    ¡°Master Alain¡­ h- he¡¯s¡­¡±

    ¡°Out with it!¡±

    ¡°Master¡¯s Alain¡¯s not himself! He''s shat himself!¡±

 Chapter 236 - A Paradox of Prophesy

    It took another week for Percy to return to school.

    Meanwhile, the public news was that Alain Yang had taken seriously ill and that the boy would be taking the rest of the term off to recuperate. Naturally, rumours were cultivated, then flew circles around the campus.

    Some saidthat Alain¡¯s condition was a result of his House¡¯s inter-factional drama. Others alluded to the strange co-incidence that Percy¡¯s sister had visited the Clan of Yang.

    A few well-connected informants remarked that after Biomancers had performed examinations on the young Alain, they found no injury nor signs of magic used on the boy. As for Gwen, she had been with the family the entire time, going as far as to take Vivian Yang¡¯s abuse for a good ten minutes before she lost her temper and left in a huff.

    Later in the week, new rumours surfaced.

    Gwen''s culpability was further ''refuted'' by Mei herself, who proudly informed the others of the fact that Secretary Song had recommended Mei¡¯s mother for an escalated promotion. In one bound, she moved from the relatively impoverished District of Zhejiang to the Central Administrative Region of Shanghai proper.

    The student cohort took note, as did the teachers. The incident impressed upon the minds of the busy students that the House of Song had repaid insult with unbridled generosity. That and no one wishing to keep their pants unsoiled should mess with Percy Song.

    But Percy''s school life was no longer Gwen¡¯s concern.

    Percy¡¯s sister was now neck-deep in training, paddling through her mid-semester practicals and Tonglv paperwork, riding her Essence like a bucking dragon as April approached, bringing with it the pre-selection round for the IIUC.

    Buoyed by their mutual understanding, Walken took up the majority of Gwen¡¯s training, working to push her toward her best condition.

    When Week 8 came to a close, Gwen paid another one of her bi-weekly visits to Magister Wen, whose stoic undertaking of harvesting Void-Matter continued unabated. This time, for Wen''sbiometric update, an unwelcome guest in the form of a cocky Englishman overlooked hershoulder.

    Once all the measures were done, Walken, babulya, Wen, and Petra all sat together looking over Gwen''srecords.

    Annoyed with the stickybeaks over her shoulder, Wen read out the numbers aloud one by one.

    ¡°Evocation 5.01.¡±

    ¡°Conjuration 5.74.¡±

    ¡°Transmutation 3.25.¡±

    ¡°Abjuration 2.44.¡±

    ¡°Divination 1.65.¡±

    ¡°Illusion 2.25.¡±

    ¡°St Peter''s ghost.¡± Petra sucked in a breath of cold air. ¡°Your Conjuration growth is absurd! Every tier of Affinity is exponentially more difficult."

    "You haven¡¯t been snacking, have you?¡± Wen remarked suspiciously. Even Petra, with all her practice and research, focusing solely on Enchantment, just edged past tier 6.

    Gwen''s expression grew instantly sour - were effort and hard work that hard to believe?

    ¡°Why the surprise?¡± Walken placed himself between his student and her critic. ¡°She practices with hyper-tier magic, and she has two Familiars conjured most times of the day. Her expenditure on a good day of practice exceeds 800 VMI, over five times an average acolyte of her age. Perhaps the question should be why her Conjuration isn''t higher.¡±

    The two Magisters exchanged a chilly back and forth.

    ¡°Doing unusually well with Transmutation as well,¡± Wen continued, tapping the paper. ¡°Care to explain?¡±

    ¡°Flight tutorials,¡± Gwen declared her extra-curricular activities. Thanks to a suite of body-enhancements, she was growing accustomed to the G-force exerted by the drops, loops, and sudden accelerations required for dog-fighting, though she had years of catching up to reach Alesia''s state of absolute ease, likewise lacking Kitty''s natural talent. For now, aerial Void and Lightning Bolt were at a passing rate, while higher-tier magic required momentary immobilisation.

    Her other first-world regret was the disuniform flight capacity of her creatures. The entire time Ariel dog-paddled beside her effortlessly, she had fantasised about Caliban flying alongside. Capturing a Magical Beast capable of Flight, however, would have to wait until her next opportunistic adventure. Likewise, if there were ways to get her Draconic-deerhounds aloft, it would revolutionise her tactics.

    ¡°And your VMI¡­¡± Walken read on, ignoring his counterpart. When he got to Gwen''s metrics, he couldn''t help but take a moment to process what he was seeing. "Marie, is that reading accurate?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s correct, Magister Walken.¡± Magister Wen cleared her throat. "And its Marie-Roslyn, you may call me by my title."

    ¡°Of course, Marie-Roslyn,¡± Walken thought out aloud. Seeing Gwen''s statistics, he couldn''t help but be reminded of his fight with Sobel. ¡°Looking at Gwen, one wonders what Elizabeth Sobel could measure. When we fought, she certainly suffered no shortage of mana nor vitality. The woman was a veritable engine of Void-infused destruction.¡±

    ¡°A high Affinity with a VMI over a two or three thousand ought to do it,¡± Wen observed with displeasure. ¡°I read your report of the Sydney incident. Volumetrically, the Conjure Elemental she deployed would have consumed just over a thousand VMI.¡±

    "Mmm... yes, her coverage was certainly... impressive," Walken noted.

    "I hope you mean monstrous." Gwen''s grandmother raised both brows. "I worry for Gwen if that woman''s her enemy."

    "Shultz and de Botton are Sobel''s enemies too," Walken reminded Gwen''s babulya. "If I were Sobel, I''d worry about the Morning Star first and foremost."

    Beside her Instructors, their student was in a world of her own, thinking about her Void Elementals, recalling what they had done to that herd of Draconic-Stags. Just the memory was enough to make her shiver. That somehow, combined with Caliban, such a thing had brought her the most orgiastic experience of her life - a euphoric encounter arguably better than sex - AND boosted her Lightning Affinity, was most disconcerting.

    ¡®CLAP!¡¯

    Walken''s hands met in prayer, waking Gwen from her chamber of horrors.

    ¡°Well, that¡¯s it!¡± he announced. ¡°Time to send our baby chick into the world and see how far she could fly.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s only April.¡± Gwen regarded her Instructor with alarm. ¡°The IIUC doesn¡¯t start until August.¡±

    ¡°Nonetheless.¡± Walken was brimming with confidence. ¡°You and your teammates will have to pass muster. The first few should be without incident, I would think. As for the others, we shall see.¡±

    Gwen nodded. With Petra having declined her invitation, it was down to herself, Richard, Lulan and possibly Kitty. Of the three, it was Lulu who worried her. Though the Sword Mage was a fantastic disrupter, her lack of a Spirit made her uncompetitive when pitted against Mages who could rely on their Spirit to manifest magic, possessing both IFF and the means to divert Lulan¡¯s attacks and attack at the same time. Likewise, while Lulan could use her Spell-flurry to negate bodily damage, her berserker-state required extensive recovery time, mayhap even medical attention.

    For this reason, since January, Gwen had asked Mayuree to look out for Earthen Cores with Elemental Spirits, even a minor one, though no suitable specimens had made it through the House of M¡¯s Auction House since the beginning of the semester.

    Still, they had until August. If Lulan were to be knocked out, Gwen would lose a vital ally.

    ¡°If you are all done, I am returning to my laboratory.¡± Petra''s teacher appeared not in the mood for socialising.

    Considering Wen''s research had saved Walken''s life, Gwen found it strange that the Magister seemed turned off by Walken. Likely, the astute academic instinctively sensed that Walken was a rotten apple.

    "Not staying for lunch?" Gwen''s babulya implored.

    "Not today, Klavdiya."

    ¡°Magister Walken.¡± Gwen¡¯s babulya extended an open hand. ¡°Will you be joining us? Petra?¡±

    Petra looked to her Master, who gave consent.

    ¡°You have until 2 PM.¡± Wen bowed her head, then left.

    ¡°Very well, then.¡± Walken took Klavdiya''s fingers, an act which immediately attracted his student''s ire. ¡°Allow me to intrude upon your generosity, Director Song.¡±

    Marong and Mayuree sat opposite the radiant form of Miss Maymyint, eldest daughter and the preeminent heir of the House of M. Of the nine surviving children of the Matriarch¡¯s lineage, Maymyint was the oldest, a true child of the worshipful one¡¯s womb, blessed by the Goddess.

    Maymyint was the tallest of the three siblings present, elegant in her silken saffron attire, her auburn hair pulled back and half-covered by a jewel-encrusted shawl. Her face was sharp, bird-like and predatory, beautiful and imposing, as one might feel while observing a Mithril-taloned Harpy-eagle. Her lips, unlike her siblings¡¯, weretight and severe, a red gashacross her pale face. Her eyes as well were formed of twin-slits, darkly made up with bold liners to emphasise her grey irises, punctuated by a hooked hawkish nose.

    Besides the three, Lei and another young man, Maymyint¡¯s attendant, stood still as a statue, waiting for the slightest need from Miss Maymyint and the siblings.

    ¡°The Tyrant has demanded his tribute,¡± Mayuree¡¯s eldest sister informed her lessers. ¡°And you are of age, Mayuree.¡±

    Marong¡¯s amber eyes narrowed dangerously. A condensed sliver of smoke oozed from his nostrils until it curled about his general vicinity.

    Mayuree meanwhile, sat across from Maymyint, pale-faced and loitering, fighting to keep the content of her lunch inside her. Since this morning, she had been suffering a splitting headache; with Gwen so close and all her immediate problems resolved, however, she couldn''t figure out why her Divination was screaming blue murder.

    Now she knew.

    But she did not regret holding off on a self-Scry. A tangent of fate such as this was more likely a result of her interference than one of unmolested probability.

    ¡°But I¡¯ve contributed so much to the House!¡± she protested feebly. ¡°I can¡¯t be the last!¡±

    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

    ¡°You did indeed.¡± Maymyint ignored Mayuree''s agitation. ¡°You are not the last this time. In its growing greed, the Tyrant has requested three girls. The House, on the other hand, needs more time. As you are ranked 5th, you will join Mayindra and Mayshweyi. Still, you may survive yet, you of all people should know.¡±

    ¡°Maymyint,¡± Marong growled. ¡°That¡¯s not the deal.¡±

    ¡°It is now." Their sister sighed. "Why are you fighting me? I didn''t deliver the verdict. Blame the Tyrant."

    ¡°We¡¯re not accepting it.¡±

    ¡°Makes no difference to me,¡± Maymyint scoffed at the Smoke Mage derisively. ¡°The Manipuri Shadowmen will return you to us, one way or another.¡±

    ¡°You forget I was trained in Manipur.¡± Marong¡¯s form grew hazy.

    ¡°And you forget why you are ranked third.¡± Maymyint untangled herself from meditation, freeing her hands for spellcasting.

    ¡°Brother Marong¡­¡± Mayuree interjected before things could escalate. Marong was strong, but when it came to combat strength, Maymyint was preeminent. As for Mayuree; she was dead last.

    ¡°Mayuree dear.¡± Maymyint reached across space between them with her claw-like fingers and touched the trembling skin under Mayuree¡¯s fringe. ¡°Do not fret. You were born for this, as was I, as was Marong. Why else would the Goddess bring us into this world?¡±

    ¡°But I don¡¯t want this.¡± Mayuree recoiled as though Maymyint''s fingertips were branding irons.

    Born for this?

    What kind of life exists to be surrendered?

    Was the House of M a luxurious cattle pen?

    Since she was a child, Mayuree had heard the stories.

    Away from Shanghai, deep in the old country, there slumbered a creature of tooth and nail, scale and tongue, fire and madness, all compressed into a body capable of unimaginable cruelty.

    Every so often, once a year or a decade if they''re lucky, the Tyrant would demand a tithe. The last tithing had occurred when Mayuree was a child, Magus Maymaruya had spoken of how two of her siblings, twins, had been given up, along with hundreds of others.

    As for her self-Scryed vision, her dalliance with taboo...

    Mayuree had seen herself, exposed and trembling, waiting for violence to descend. If she were lucky, there''d be gnashing of bloody teeth. If not, her suffering would be unimaginable.

    It was in that moment of crisis that she caught the silhouette of a familiar body, accompanied by a visage of viridescent irises.

    But Divination wasn''t an exact Spellcraft.

    What she had seen was a vision, more impression and abstraction than reality and representation. What the revelation foretold was an interjection, not how, when, where or why.

    In the comfort of recent events, Mayuree had begun to wonder if Gwen had fulfilled her prophecy.

    When the accounts for the Centurion program came in, herself, Marong, and Magus Maymaruya all could only gawk at the surreality of the Short-Loan Credit Program. Via the House of M''s new membership initiative, all of their ventures had been tied into what Gwen had called a closed consumer eco-system. Furthermore, inarticulate in the accounting of credit, their competitors had been mired in the mud of bureaucracy.

    The company''s coffers swelled like a noon-tide. Though Mayuree had no military exploits, no gifts of Spellcraft and no political clout to speak of - she had fattened the family''s standing as no fellow sibling had done before.

    She was no longer last.

    Far from it, she was fifth!

    Gwen had saved her life.

    It wasn¡¯t at all what Mayuree had expected, but her friend had bought her time. The Centurion program would generate countless crystals yet, vastly more, infinitely more. It was a proverbial money tree.

    When the program reached its maturity, would the House have garnered enough HDMs to move a Tower Faction to eradicate the Tyrant? Safe in fifth-place, she could even wait for her friend to ascend.

    After all, Mayuree''s saviour possessed five Schools of Magic, two Elements, and if age were to be taken into account, her combat potential wildly out-classed their eldest sister, Maymyint.

    Moreover, Gwen was the scion of an even greater power! When Gwen stated that she desired a Tower one day, Mayuree was under no doubt that her friend would have her way, that given time, Gwen would bestride the world atop her floating fortress!

    Then, and only then, would Mayuree invite Gwen to her ¡®home¡¯, below which the Tyrant would cower! Together, they would put the infernal beast down like a rabid dog and harvest its Core so that finally, My?ma would have its due, and the House of M would no longer be the house of M¨², the House of nothing.

    That had been Mayuree''s plan; until Maymyint appeared.

    Had the Tyrant sensed something?

    Was she the victim of a conflict within the House itself?

    Did someone desire the business that she had built up, wishing to take it for themselves?

    Either way, refusing to return home was futile.

    As for Gwen, at this moment, Mayuree no longer could confidently say that her friend had yet to fulfil her destiny. If their ties of fate had indeed been satisfied, then she would only invite Gwen to her death. How could she lead a sister into a trap, knowing that an indomitable foe lurked below?

    Mayuree lowered her eyes.

    She had played herself into a Divination paradox. Knowing that Gwen would save her, she had approached her and messed with their fate. Now that Gwen had saved her once, it was unlikely that her friend could do so again. When one railed against fate, strange things happened. Mayuree was a bloodline Diviner, but she was no Oracle of Delphi.

    ¡°You don¡¯t want what?¡± Maymyint broke into a mocking bout of bitter laughter. ¡°Since when had what we want mattered?¡±

    ¡°Mayuree.¡± Marong nudged his sister. ¡°Tell Maymyint about Gwen.¡±

    Mayuree gaped in horror.

    ¡°No!¡± she blurted, tongue-tied and panicking. She couldn''tdo that. To continue her futile struggle would only endanger others.

    ¡°What¡¯s this?¡± Maymyint¡¯s grey eyes scanned over the siblings. ¡°You have a prophecy? Why haven¡¯t you informed the Matriarch?¡±

    ¡°I have¡­¡± Mayuree swallowed. ¡°But it¡¯s not important.¡±

    ¡°Mayuree!¡± Marong chided her. ¡°This is not the time for sentimentality! It''s your life! You gave Gwen the Eland Core! You helped her with her lodging! You gave her opportunities at every turn! It¡¯s time you received the help you paid for!¡±

    ¡°Gwen''s not a thing I bought!¡± Mayuree protested. ¡°She¡¯s saved me already! Don¡¯t you see?! Maymyint¡¯s here as punishment for my trespass! You know the rules, a Diviner should never Scry themselves! I interfered needlessly, and how it''s all too complicated!¡±

    ¡°This ''Gwen''.¡± Maymyint licked her lips. ¡°Do you happen to mean Gwen Song? The one who proposed the Centurion program?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s right,¡± Marong interjected. "She''s fated to save Mayuree, which means she must have a way to deal with the Tyrant."

    Mayuree leapt at her brother, but the Smoke Mage¡¯s arm-thick haze was enough to keep the powerless Diviner subdued.

    ¡°I know this Gwen. She¡¯s an eater of Dragons: a Void Sorceress. I¡¯ve fought her once, and the stink of the Tyrant radiating from her body was enough to insinuate she made a habit of killing their kind. If it¡¯s her, I don¡¯t doubt Mayuree¡¯s vision. That girl has the means to change My?ma¡¯s fate.¡±

    ¡°Marong!¡± Mayuree crashed against her brother, almost hysterical in her desperation. ¡°Shut up! Shut up!¡±

    ¡°This is for your OWN good!¡± Marong pushed his sister against the sofa forcefully. ¡°Stop fighting me, you fool!¡±

    Beside her distressed mistress, Lei bit her lip with such vigour that her complexion took on the colour of the table cloth. If she could only get away for a moment, she could contact Mistress Song, and her Mistress would be saved from this indignity!

    Marong continued, deadset on the course he had set.

    ¡°Gwen Song has two Familiars. One is a Kirin, thick with Draconic-Essence, the Goddess knows how many Draconic-beings she had consumed to metamorph it from its original form. Her other Familiar, a Death Worm of some kind, takes on the form of creatures it consumes. It¡¯s a Void Beast - nothing like anything we have ever seen before. Its potential is unfathomable. Furthermore, from the reports we managed to skim from Fudan, the girl is proficient in Five schools of Magic, and her VMI rivals that of a seasoned Magus.¡±

    ¡°Mmmmphm!¡± Mayuree struggled against the smoky tendril keeping her lips sealed.

    ¡°Her Uncle is the Ash Bringer, the Hero of the Northern Front, currently dallying with the Huangshan Dragon-princess called Ayxin. Her grandmother is the director of a PLA Research Hospital. Her grandfather is a CCP Senior Secretary. I have also received reports that she is a family friend of the Scarlet Sorceress, Alesia De Botton and the Morning Star Gunther Shultz - that she could be related to the late Magister Kilroy of Oceania. She''s the one who collected the Dragon Cores we bought!¡±

    ¡°And that¡¯s who Mayuree thinks will ¡®save her¡¯?¡±

    ¡°Correct.¡± Marong nodded. ¡°That was Mia''s original vision.¡±

    Maymyint lowered her hands, then adjusted her shawl.

    ¡°And how do you propose we move someone like that?¡± the sibling¡¯s eldest sister demanded. ¡°You¡¯re inviting destruction for the House of M.¡±

    ¡°We have to persist in the Mayuree¡¯s prophesy,¡± Marong proposed. ¡°The girl is going to be in the IIUC in a few months.¡±

    ¡°Is that so?¡±

    ¡°I believe the Matriarch can submit a Questing application to the governing body of the IIUC. Our coffers are overflowing right now.¡±

    ¡°What a curious proposition, Marong. How confident are you that this will go well?¡±

    Mayuree kicked out at her brother. Marong caught his sister¡¯s legs and held them down with his hands.

    ¡°I want to give Mia a chance.¡± Marong held the girl¡¯s feet immobile. ¡°Gwen Song will come, and she will make a difference. I have absolute confidence.¡±

    ¡°Very well.¡± Maymyint¡¯s smile was positively rapacious. ¡°I will confer your offer with Mother.¡±

    ¡°Good. So - Mayuree stays here in the meanwhile?¡±

    Maymyint shook her head. Before Marong could object, she turned to Mayuree.

    ¡°Are you going to tell ''Gwen'' about all of this, Mayuree?¡±

    Before Marong could stop her, Mayuree nodded furiously.

    ¡°Ngar lee¡­¡± Marong groaned. ¡°You idiot!¡±

    Freeing her legs while her brother despaired, Mayuree¡¯s feet finally connected with his face, snapping his head backwards.

    ¡°Sar!¡± Marong covered his face. In the next instance, a torrent of blood poured from between his fingers. She had gotten him square on the nose.

    ¡°I can¡¯t tell if you¡¯re putting on an act, or if you are that naive,¡± Maymyint remarked, looking at the siblings. ¡°Either way, I will be taking Mayuree with me to the old country. Pending on Mother¡¯s approval, I will contact you shortly. You can bring this ¡®Gwen¡¯, or you can not. It makes no difference to Mother. The tithing cannot wait. You have until Thadingyut, the Festival of the Naga to save your sister. Mia, be a good girl now, and come along.¡±

    Shocked by the violence she had committed on her brother, Mayuree froze in horror. Marong had always picked on her, though she never had she wounded him.

    ¡°I¡¯ll take you back in a stasis field if I have to.¡± Maymyint straightened her back, her body long and slender, her neck elegant and serpentine. ¡°Your servant can pack for you.¡±

    ¡°Mia¡­¡± Marong had just managed to stop the bleeding. ¡°You¡¯ll be safe¡­¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t involve Gwen in this,¡± Mayuree begged her brother.

    ¡°Sorry.¡± Marong half-closed his eyes, then exhaled deeply. ¡°I don¡¯t care about her. I only care about you.¡±

    ¡°Then I¡¯ll tell her everything!¡± Mayuree spat from between clenched teeth. ¡°She won¡¯t come!¡±

    Marong groaned audibly.

    Maymyint began to laugh.

    ¡°One wonders how you hope to survive.¡± The sister¡¯s mood improved considerably. ¡°Enfeeble Mind!¡±

    A flash of Radiance emanating from Maymyint¡¯s fingers blasted through Mayuree¡¯s forehead, equipping her with an enchanted halo. Instantly, Mayuree¡¯s eyes lost their lustre, their eldest''s spell bypassing the House of M''s Mind Shield charms. The raw emotion that had hovered all over Mayuree''s face ceased at once. Her mouth open and closed, but no words issued forth; it was as though the girl had grown suddenly dull.

    Marong shuddered with barely suppressed anger.

    ¡°Don¡¯t look at me like that, little brother,¡± Maymyint jeered. ¡°You want to save her or not?¡±

    Marong held his tongue.

    ¡°To repay your good behaviour, I will make a case in front of Mother. Send me all your reports.¡± She turned to her servant. ¡°Thum, help them pack. Lei, you¡¯re coming with Thum. Mia is going need a lot more looking after. Once you have her things, have Marong arrange transportation to the ISTC. We leave this evening.¡±

    ¡°Yes, Ma¡¯am.¡± Lei remained impassive.

    ¡°By your will.¡± Maymyint¡¯s manservant bowed.

    The House of M''s eldest paused.

    ¡°Marong, don¡¯t go against the will of our Matriarch. Who knows, the Tyrant might prefer men for its subsequent tithing.¡±

    Marong remained stoic and stationary. He couldn¡¯t bear the sight of Mayuree taken away, but what he could stomach was what came next.

    Even if Mayuree loathed him for the rest of her life, a sister that hated him was better than one that was dead or driven to insanity.

    Lei closed the door behind her.

    She dug into her dress and produced the communication Device her Mistress hadleft her.

    The Message bracelet was for her use, manufactured by Magus Maymaruya for Leiso that Mayuree¡¯s friend could call and ask what and when was dinner.

    Lei punched in the glyph clumsily. She had never used an outbound Message before. With any luck, Miss Song wasn''t in training, because once Mistress Maymyint was out of Shanghai, it would be impossible to-

    ¡®WHOMP!''

    A ball of air struck the side of Lei''s head.

    ¡°I am astounded.¡± Thum held onto Lei¡¯s body as she slumped. ¡°Miss Maymyint said that her sister would be a handful, but who¡¯d have thought a mere NoM servant would have the gall to oppose the eldest?¡±

    ¡°She better not be dead.¡± Marong¡¯s voice came across dangerously.

    Maymyint¡¯s servant gave the House of M¡¯s No.3 a wry grin.

    ¡°Miss Maymyint will ensure the both of them arrive safe and sound.¡± Thum pursed his paper-thin lips. ¡°You should probably inform my kinswoman. I find it hilarious that she¡¯s absent at a time like this. I had been expecting to test her growth.¡±

    ¡°Kitty being here wouldn¡¯t have made a difference.¡± Marong creased his brow. Had Kitty been present, things could have gotten infinitely more complicated. For example, how could Marong explain why Gouding B1''s penthouse exploded?

    ¡°Of course not.¡± Thum wrinkled his nose. ¡°I¡¯ll be taking the NoM now if you don¡¯t mind.¡±

    Marong stepped aside.

    ¡°I respect you, Sir Marong.¡± The Mage bowed. ¡°Please live a healthy life, at least until the Matriarch asks for your ultimate service. Dimension Door!¡±

    With a burst of silvery Conjuration, Maymyint¡¯s bodyguard departed.

    Marong took a moment to stifle his haggard breathing, then raised his Message Device beside his face.

    "Maymaruya, is Kitty with you?"

    ¡°She is, Young Master Marong. What¡¯s wrong?¡±

    ¡°Come to the penthouse at B1 as soon as you can." Marong materialised a lit-cigarette. " I have something that we need to discuss.¡±

 Chapter 237 - Brothers and Sisters

    "Try adding a spin," Gwen instructed her companion.

    Lulan grimaced with concentration, then let loose her projectile.

    "Thrust!"

    A slab of iron ''wooshed'' through the air, spinning and swirling until it made a terrific ''CLANG!'' against the Force Barrier.

    "No, not like that- here." Gwen closed her eyes and concentrated, then materialised the thing she had in mind. "Minor Image!"

    A jagged pie-chart materialised, mimicking a saw-blade.

    "That''s a whole other sort of magic." Richard tossed in his two-cents from the sideline. "I can do it with Lea''s help, but I don''t think it''s possible for a Sword Mage. Lulu, watch Lea."

    The petite form of Richard''s Undine lifted a hand into the air, then made a sphere. Gradually, the orb began to spin until it flattened into a disk-shaped object.

    "That''s it!" Gwen clapped. "That''s what I wanted."

    "It''s not a sword." Lulan studied the spinning ''disk'' with evident frustration. "I can only do Swords."

    "It''s a sword spinning REALLY FAST." Gwen looked toward Richard for advice. "Clanner-magic''s not that rigid, is it?"

    "I think its best if we teach her with Western Spellcraft," Richard observed.

    "Let''s try this again," Gwen informed her companions. "Shield!"

    A double-glazed semi-sphere Shield materialised.

    "Give me your best attack! Add a SPIN!"

    "Slash!" Lulan''s face grew flush with effort as an enormous blade, almost the height of her whole body, descended onto Gwen''s Shield after making several rotations.

    ''CRACK!''

    The entire frontal quarter of Gwen''s Shield turned white as the mana compressed. In the next moment, with great expedition, her barrier returned to its usual transparency.

    "It''s too hard!" Lulan growled.

    "Nah, you are getting stronger," Richard assured his party member. "Gwen just has a little too much mana to spare, don''t worry."

    "Lulu, give me an ''Impale''." Gwen took a deep breath and readied a receiving stance. She manipulated her Minor Illusion to show a cone rotating on its centre-line. "Try adding a spin like so! Like a drill!"

    Lulan wounded up a straight; her face grew red with concentration.

    "IMPALE!"

    A slab of gleaming iron materialised, then accelerated forward suddenly, it corkscrewed a few times, then drifted slightly off-course.

    ''THUNK!''

    The better half of Gwen''s Shield turned opaque as she slid back about a meter. Had she not been ready for the immense impact, she would have been knocked over. Earlier, when they sparred, Lulan had kicked her through the air like a billiard ball, sending her bouncing all over the training hall.

    "I think the spear-point is Lulu''s best attack, to be honest," Richard remarked. If anything, he could parry the sweeps and slashes, but there was little his water could do to against a head-on collision.

    Gwen meanwhile, struggled to recall what little physics she had learned. For Void magic, an element that did not exist in her world, she had no idea how to apply her scant recollection of Senior Physics. For Lightning, however, she had some idea of how her self-generated electricity could empower future technological phenomena, though that would have to wait for a time when she could avoid being burned at the stakes for witchcraft.

    As for Lulan''s giant roving slabs of iron girders, she was sure that there had to be a better way to utilise the girl''s ability to summon construction material.

    For a while now, they''d been thinking of a way to improve Lulan''s Sword-spells. Lulan''s basic skills had been honed to a razor edge, but, lacking support from Huashan, she wasn''t getting any new tricks, as the saying goes.

    If so, Gwen wanted her companion to develop something awe-inspiring, something that wouldblow the examiners, and ideally their competitors, away.

    Considering the brutal-physics of Lulan''s attacks, Gwen had racked her brain for something that could drastically improve the girl''s offensive potential. At first, she had imagined Lulan''s ''Slash!'' and ''Impale!'' as tree-lopping, lacking finesse but high on destructive-momentum. Then thinking of arborealprofessionals, she recalled hiring a pruner to cut down a half-dead gumtree in her backyard. That particular memory had then elicited the notion of a chain-saw.

    Naturally, Lulan couldn''tsummon a chainsaw.

    But what about spinning saw-blades?

    Just thinking about the scene gave her the shivers. What would a creature or a Mage think when a free-floating angle-grinder spinning at 2400 RPMs descended from above?

    The chances of Lulan learning higher-tier magic like the vibrating blade the Elder had used was nil. If so, why not set Lulu on a new path of Spellcraft, one that combined Gwen''s knowledge of physics and Lulu''s penchant for armed metallurgy?

    Take the saw for example - Gwen was sure her Shield, or any barrier for that matter, would be decimated by a spinning, 24-tooth saw.

    Failing that, how about a rotating ''shell'' of metal ''fired'' from the Elemental Plane of Earth? Didn''t Wikipedia say that the old smooth-bore rifles could only manage 40 odd meters, while the simple addition of a rifling groove made the same weapon shoot over 400 meters with unerring accuracy?

    If so, Gwen hypothesised - could Lulan become a skirt-wearing 88mm tank gun? What if people mistook her as a Melee Mage - only to cop a 15-kilogram solid-slug projectile to the face?

    She had learned enough from Spellshaping to know that such a thing was entirely possible - after all, basic Earthen Evocations like Catapult and Stone Lance followed the same principles, only their designers lacked the aerodynamic knowledge necessary for ballistics.

    "Are we done?" Richard mopped the sweat from his body with a flick of his wrist. "Got fifteen minutes till the party."

    "Yeppers." Gwen moved to change out of her exercise clothes. No one wanted to attend a tea party smelling like sweat. "Come on, Lulu, you change too."

    ¡°G¨¡nb¨¥i!¡±

    ¡°G¨¡nb¨¥i!¡±

    ¡°Cheers!¡±

    ¡°G¨¡nb¨¥i!¡±

    ¡°Cheers!¡±

    "Thanks, everyone!"

    Teacups, wine glasses and beer bottles clinked.

    Since summer in Shanghai was intolerable, it was only between March to May that alfresco cafe sprouted like spring flowers across Gouding and University Road. Taking advantage of the temperate weather, Gwen had organised a final get-together at a floral Eden called ''Birds-sing and Flowers-fragrant'' to catch up before the IIUC selection.

    On the family front, Richard and Petra, Mina and Tao chatted across the long table beside Gwen¡¯s usual companions, Lulan and Kusu, who occupied the middle. To her right, her workmates Dai and Ken accompanied the timid figures of Lily, Pu and Jon, who huddled on the far side, too tongue-tied to speak.

    ¡°I wonder where Mayuree¡¯s gone,¡± Gwen declared to Petra and Lulan. ¡°Kitty too, strange that they¡¯re not here. No one''s answering either.¡±

    Richard shrugged.

    Petra affirmed that she hadn''t seen Mayuree for at least a few days.

    ¡°Sorry, I am late!¡±

    Gwen looked up, surprised to find that it was Marong who had come in the Diviner''s place.

    ¡°Marong! A pleasure.¡± She extended a hand. ¡°Here, take a seat! Where¡¯s Mia?¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s gone back to the home country for a while,¡± Marong explained. ¡°Urgent family business. She¡¯s asked me to come and see you in person to offer an apology.¡±

    ¡°No worries.¡± Gwen gave the man her best smile. ¡°Please, don''t stand on ceremony, we''re all old friends here.¡±

    Betraying her projected ease, Gwen felt strangely haunted by Mia''s uninformed absence. It was queer that she didn¡¯t leave her a Message. For so long, almost a year, Mia had been a constant companion by her side whether Gwen willed or no, and now her company, and Lei''s meals, suddenly ceased.

    "I think that''s everyone." Gwen gestured for the NoM waiter. "Six Afternoon Delux sets."

    "At once, Mistress."

    Turning back to the table, Gwen re-introduced her cadre of friends, family and acquaintances to one another, thanking them for coming to her luncheon on such short notice. The whole ordeal had been spontaneous, she explained: she had fancied a proper afternoon tea after tasting Walken¡¯s scones, then serendipitously, a group luncheon resulted.

    ¡°Stop, you''re making me self-conscious.¡± Dai and Ken laughed when Gwen told everyone that they were the eldest of the bunch. Ken especially appeared awkwardly out of place with his suit and tie. ¡°We¡¯re old men compared to you folks, but we''re young at heart.¡±

    The table resounded with mirth.

    The truth was that Lulan was the youngest of them all: she had turned seventeen in November, followed by Gwen, who would finally hit the big one-eight in May. Richard was already twenty and would finish his accelerated three-year degree at the ripe old age of twenty-two, the same as Kusu, who had joined Fudan a little later. Dai had his birthday in late February after a private party which Gwen had declined to attend, while the oldest was Ken, who confessed to being twenty-six.

    ¡°There¡¯s another wunderkind here?¡± Ken indicated Lulan, sceptical that he could be ten years the girl¡¯s senior. ¡°I see why you booked a tea house.¡±

    ¡°Last time, Gwen took Lulu to a bar¡­¡± Kusu confronted Gwen accusingly. ¡°Lulu came home raving like a lunatic, soaking from head to toe in sick.¡±

    ¡°Hahaha¡­¡±

    ¡°Haha¡­¡±

    "A cute thing like you, Miss Li? That had to be a sight!"

    ¡°Ow!¡±

    Lulan pinched her brother.

    ¡°So, any plans for your eighteenth?¡± Dai took the opportunity to put forward a plan he¡¯d been fermenting for some time. ¡°Don¡¯t tell me you¡¯ve got nothing planned.¡±

    ¡°Well, depending on the Selection¡­¡±

    ¡°Nonsense!¡± Dai interjected. ¡°Why would you of all people have any problems with the April round? What are they going to do? Hire the other dual-element Void sorceress Fudan has lying around?¡±

    ¡°I shouldn¡¯t underestimate-¡±

    The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    ¡°Nor should you overestimate their selection criterion,¡± the boisterous young man assured his teenage employer. ¡°Father is vouching for you. Dean Lou is vouching for you. Your family, I assume, is vouching for you. I don¡¯t even think you need to attend the interview, to be honest. There''s going to be blood on the Dean''s carpet if they reject you.¡±

    Listening to Dai''s audacious claim, Lily, Pu and Jon immediately re-calculated what they thought they knew about their long-time classmate: anyone else being so obnoxious would be vexatious - but this was the Princeling of the Fung Clan!

    ¡°I am more concerned about Lu,¡± Dai snorted. ¡°You remember Lu? He''s Wanli''s owner. He aspired to join as well, but you¡¯ve filled his niche and then some.¡±

    ¡°I am sorry to hear that,¡± Gwen offered her condolences. She then turned to Marong. ¡°What about Kitty? Is she going to be a part of the trials?¡±

    ¡°I dare say she will,¡± Marong assured Kitty¡¯s least favourite neighbour. ¡°She¡¯s in seclusion right now to wrap up her final training.¡±

    ¡°She is?¡± Gwen cocked her head. ¡°I saw her just last week!¡±

    ¡°With Mia absent, she''s gone with the wind.¡± Marong shot her a waning smile. ¡°You know how she is.¡±

    Which was true, Gwen had to admit. Kitty had no love for herself nor Marong. With Mayuree gone, nothing was keeping her at Gouding B1. With a week to go, going into seclusion for that final push may be just the thing.

    Soon, servers arrived with tiers of delightful petit-fours, scones and jam, fresh fruits from the Wildlands, and daintily cut sandwiches in alternating flavours of cucumber and rabbit-terrine. After working her way through a double serving of pastries, Gwen turned her attention to her cousins.

    ¡°Tao, did you ever get your new single off the ground? Was my editing any help?¡±

    ¡°Aww yeah.¡± Tao gave her a cool nod of acknowledgement, making a ''W'' with one hand. ¡°Yo lyrical flow got my juices flowing, Gee. Dem sick beats kicking up ill rhymes, yo lambs be helpful, Gwennabitch.¡±

    ¡°Iambic meter,¡± Gwen corrected her cousin, wondering what the hell her Ioun Stone was doing to translate Tao so well. Tao was under the impression that her analogy had been about lambs bleating in two-beat syllables.

    ¡°Shaaa!¡± A cry emanated from under the table.

    ¡°Woa! Cali-bitch, you back fo mo?¡±

    ¡°Peaches, language¡­¡± Mina groaned. Why didTao persist in making every gathering a place for social suicide?

    ¡°Shaaa!¡±

    Her family was used to Tao''s befouled linguistic antics, but Gwen''s other friends couldn''t help but stare. ''Cali-bitch?'' ''Gwennabitch?'' what werethese words coming out of the man''s mouth?

    ¡°EEEE!¡±

    ¡°I got Ariel covered!¡± Lily declared from her end of the table. Gwen''s Conjuration crew of Fudan''s ''normies'' had taken up with Ariel to absolve the need for awkward conversation with the strange and haughty folks sitting opposite.

    ¡°Sorry Lil, thanks for looking after Ariel.¡± Gwen flashed an appreciative grin. With her hands, she drew the audience'' attention. ¡°Lulu, you recall Lil. Right? You guys met last time we had dinner, about a month ago.¡±

    ¡°Greetings.¡± Lulan nodded, though it was clear her memory was fuzzy. "I do remember you."

    ¡°Hello,¡± Lily inclined her head. She vaguely recalled Lulan. "I think we met."

    ¡°¡­¡±

    ¡°¡­¡±

    The two girls stared at one another.

    ¡°My father was recently promoted to the Chief Superintendent of Jiading,¡± Lily stated, switching to a universal ice-break the Guan-er-dai used to pass the time - speaking to each other by talking about their families. "How''re things at Huashan?"

    ¡°My Shifu is dead, and I am excommunicated. Were it not for Gwen, I would be homeless,¡± Lulan explained carefully.

    "... right. How about you, Tao?¡± Lily shifted her conversation to the other side, hoping their parents were alive, hale and well-connected.

    ¡°Mah old man? He¡¯s Bao Wang, the biggest dawg in town. My fam owns Wang Group Enterprises, ho.¡±

    ¡°Peaches!¡± Mina scolded her brother. ¡°What did father say about bragging? Sorry, Lily, Peaches is a fruit.¡±

    ¡°This bitch was the one who asked! Ow! Why are you slapping me, fool?¡±

    ¡°¡­¡± Lily sipped her tea. Was anyone here a ''normal'' person? She was beginning to be very thankful of Pu''s advice that they should NOT look Gwen up for Questing and adventuring.

    ¡°So, what courses are you guys doing?¡± Kusu suddenly cut in. The whole ordeal was much too painful to watch.

    ¡°Conjuration.¡±

    ¡°Evocation.¡±

    ¡°Wow, that¡¯s great; I am doing a mix of first and second-year courses right now..¡±

    ¡°Cool, who¡¯s your Lecturer?¡±

    "Birch, Lee, Griggs, and Wu, you?"

    ¡°Which university are you attending Mina?¡±

    ¡°I am studying at a vocational Hospital.¡±

    ¡°Wow, you¡¯re from the Wang family, and you¡¯re still working?¡±

    ¡°Dad says we all need a trade, so¡­¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s an admirable attitude!¡±

    Good work, Kusu. Gwen applauded Lulan¡¯s brother. The young man was level-headed and for a Clanner, possessed an admirable temperament. Once they were out of university, she was sure that there would be a place for Kusu in her organisation. Lulan might be the superior Mage by far, but Kusu was talented in other ways Lulan couldn¡¯t begin to match. In her eyes, the man had the making of a Majordomo.

    With the further side of the table finally talking, Gwen returned to Dai.

    ¡°You never gave me an answer,¡± Dai implored. ¡°Well?¡±

    ¡°Are you going to organise one for me?¡± Gwen could read Dai¡¯s face like a book.

    ¡°Well, you¡¯re my boss, and my...¡± Dai coughed, suddenly sensing a chill.

    The rest of the table perked up.

    Mina''s expression darkened.

    Giving her cousin the A-okay, Gwen turned to Dai with a bone-tingling smirk.

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, sweet prince." Her luscious lips kissed the air. ¡°We¡¯ll be friends and colleagues, always.¡±

    The others collectively winced.

    Having delivered the Friend-Zone kiss of death, Gwen relented.

    ¡°A party sounds like a good idea.¡± She patted Dai on the shoulder before turning to Marong. ¡°Is Mayuree going to be back in May? That''s May 25th.¡±

    ¡°I sure hope so, if nothing goes awry.¡± The Diviner¡¯s brother chuckled along with the rest. ¡°You¡¯re welcome to use one of our establishments if you like.¡±

    ¡°Or one of our hotels!¡± Tao counter-offered. ¡°Father will clear the whole grand ballroom of Park Hyatt on the Bund if it¡¯s for you.¡±

    ¡°No problems there,¡± Mina confirmed. ¡°I¡¯ll speak to dad. How big are you thinking? Two hundred guests?¡±

    ¡°I was thinking of something a little less public¡­¡± Gwen baulked. Two hundred? Was she going to invite her whole university cohort? ¡°Just family and friends, you know?¡±

    ¡°Not possible!¡± Dai bolted upright, brimming with anticipation. ¡°It¡¯s your eighteenth! You¡¯re one of the instrumental members of the Nantong Tonglv Committee! A teenage prodigy and soon to be selected for the IIUC! You¡¯ve never come out, right? No one in our high-society circles has seen you in the flesh! That has to change!¡±

    ¡°Dai¡¯s right,¡± Richard remarked expertly. ¡°A society-gathering is a great opportunity to gain some ¡®Guan-xi¡¯. Perhaps you can do a demonstration to spread the news of your prowess to our future competitors. They have their IIUC selection right about now as well. Remember what Walken said.¡±

    Ergh - Gwen''s head swelled to twice its usual size. She caught Petra looking and realised her cousin was right yet again.

    Why didshe always make herself suffer?

    "Don''t hurt yourself." Magister Lee loomed over Gwen and her Death Worm. "Though I am happy you are making progress, that was a close call."

    Week 9''s workshop took place in the lower campus, in a place unceremoniously called ''Spellcraft laboratory No. 5'', an open-plan arrangement spanning the space of several classrooms, divided via single-pane Force Barriers. Due to its limited capacity to house individual students, the Spellshaping cohort had split into morning, afternoon and evening sessions, with twenty-odd students attending each of Michio Lee''s lessons.

    Just now, Gwen''s Void-spell misfired, sending a splutter of Void-matter into the range.

    "I am still trying to stabilise the spell." Gwen pointed to a white-board filled with arcane Glyphs and incantations. "Though Void is unstable by nature."

    The spell she was trying to create was an original Invocation of her own making. Though Walken had given her innumerable advice, her 1001 puzzle assortment of Major and Minor Incantations was proving to be a significant cerebral challenge.

    "Start from the beginning." Magister Lee conjured a saddle-chair. With his broad chest and well-muscled arms, the man cut a dashing figure anywhere, even on a faux-saddle. "Explain your rationale."

    Gwen cleared her throat.

    "As you would know, Sir, the quality of Void as an offensive element lies in its ability to ''disappear'' materials. Motes expend themselves to ''absorb'' anything it touches. In work carried out with Magister Wen, we rationalised this as the Void ''consuming'' matter by diminishing itself to send its target into the Quasi-Elemental Plane of the Void itself."

    "My current staple is Void Bolt, or black-lightning; a spell which conjures a mass of Void Matter to strike my enemies. More accurately, it should be called an unguided Void-missile which emerges from translocation point A, projected toward a predetermined direction. Compared to Lightning Bolt, it has significant travel time and canbe dodged."

    "Considering the limitation of expending Vitality, I wanted to create a spell that possessed the lethality of the Bolt but at a far lower cost - one that maximised the characteristics of Void."

    "Very good - go on."

    "In essence, I wanted to materialise a projectile form that is energy-efficient while generating maximum tactility."

    "Proceed carefully this time."

    "I can show you the tier 2 variation, Sir. Right now, I can''t manage Homing or propulsion."

    "That''s fine."

    Gwen focused her mind.

    "Chakrum!"

    The air hummed.

    Had Lee been standing at eye-level, he would have missed the paper-thin ring that materialised half-a-meter in front of them. From an elevated angle, however, it was as though an ''O'' shaped hole had formed in time-space, with the light at the ring''s centre becoming distorted and warped.

    "A combination of Evocation and Conjuration!" Lee observed. "Marvellous."

    "It''s the most efficient form-factor, Sir," Gwen explained. "The ring is spinning too, though you can''t see it. That was as far as I managed. Next is propulsion, and ideally a homing function."

    "Does it cut well?"

    Gwen scrunched up a piece of paper and threw it at the ring. Soundlessly, the paper-ball fell into two sections. The smaller portion, trapped in the ring''s midst was then reduced to powdery snow.

    "Would you consider ''Chakrum!'' anti-personnel or anti-creature?"

    "Creature, Sir. ''Charkrum'' is one-tenth the expenditure of a Void Bolt, at least so far. Once we factor in distance and other capabilities, I anticipate one-quarter."

    "Excellent, well done!" Lee slapped her shoulder. "My recommendation would be a channel function to decrease or increase the diameter of the ring. Likewise, you could test if adding or decreasing revolutions impact efficacy of the spell. In the future, I would venture to say that what you may consider an alteration to Blade Barrier that could make the spell a Void Element staple! Likewise, imagine if you can create an offensive Shield that''s a perimeter disk of Void-Matter, and co-currently activate it with a neutral Mana Shield, it would make a most excellent melee counter! A disk with a hollow core! Who''d have thought?"

    Gwen wasn''t about to tell the Magister that she came up with the idea after working with Lulan and thinking of Xena, Warrior Princess.

    "After our examination in week 13, go to Fudan T2 at once and have your spell registered," Lee reminded her. "You haven''t disappointed me, Gwen. High five?"

    Observed by a dozen others, Gwen coyly gave her handsome Instructor a high and a low. Her draconic-strength however, ensured that both were thunderclaps, drawing ire from the girls as only she could.

    "Wow, she certainly did leave in a hurry." Gwen glanced over the penthouse apartment where Mayuree''s things remained here and there.

    "She''ll be back soon enough," Marong smoked on the lounge. Without his sister, he could puff as he pleased. "Too bad she took Lei with her."

    "I miss Lei already." Gwen sighed. "So, you''re living here alone?"

    "I''ll be gone next week." Marong gave her a strange smile. "You''ve been orphaned, Miss Song."

    Gwen laughed until she caught the man''s mirthless mien.

    "Gwen." Marong exhaled, tipping his fag. "Can I ask you a serious question?"

    "Sure, shoot."

    "How do you feel about Mia?" Much to her dismay, Marong''s expression grew strange and severe enough for Gwen to take a seat.

    "Not... romantically, if that''s what you mean," Gwen replied apprehensively. "I mean, girl-friends do slumber parties, and Mia does have a super-king bed, so..."

    "How close are you guys, as... what''s the word? Mates?"

    Gwen smiled at the sound of Marong''s attempted slang.

    "Mia''s a sister, I suppose. She''s small and petite and cute and innocent, kind of reminds of another little sister I have. God, I miss her. Hell, I miss Mia already, and it''s only been a week."

    "A sister? Are you serious?"

    "Do I look serious?" Gwen raised a brow.

    "I suppose you do." Marong paused. "Thanks."

    "Why, you feeling a little protective?" Gwen laughed. "I thought you loved bullying her. You''re the big bad brother, right?"

    "Hardly - did you know we''re not direct-siblings?"

    Gwen blinked. What didthat mean?

    "In the olden days, in the old country, before even the Great War in Europe, there was a King by the name of Thibaw Min, son of Mindon and the Priestess Mibaya, of the Royal Kingdom of My?ma. The King was a cruel and wicked man. Fearing succession from his young siblings, he slaughtered all of his half-brothers during his coronation, keeping alive only his half-sisters, whom he would wed to loyal ministers, or give as gifts to the aristocracy."

    Marong''s captive audience blinked, wondering why the Smoke Mage was waxing history midway through a conversation about Mayuree.

    "The Britannic Mageocracy had little patience for indulging a small South East Asian nation''s civil war, however, and it wasn''t long before Thibaw Min capitulated, becoming a Protectorateof the Mageoracyandrenamed Burma."

    "Thibaw knew then that he had made a terrible mistake killing the most talented of his family members, whose talents were now lost to him. After the British introduced the Imperial Magical System, he expended a thousand year''s collated wealth on hundreds of concubines, fathering countless children with talented abilitiesso that when the time came for the Kingdom to rise again, they would not be bereft of talent."

    "So you and Mayuree are half-siblings?" Gwen inquired.

    "Thibaw Min has been dead for half a century." Marong chuckled. "Mia and I are cousins, but our blood is a little more intimate."

    "Like... Clanners?"

    "Indeed." Marong nodded. "It''s a complicated matter, but to summarise, we descend from a pair of half-sister Priestesses from the King''s harem, who themselves were related to the old King."

    "A harem!"

    "Is that so surprising?"

    "I suppose not..." Gwen forced her brows to lower. A person needs to be culturally sensitive. "So, is Mia a princess?"

    "Without name, title, or country?" Marong scoffed. "Not to mention we are half-bloods, carrying maybe a quarter of Min''s stock at best. No, Mia and I are not royalty, though there are those of us who are directly descended. We are... spares."

    "Oh, er... Sorry." Gwen lowered her eyes, wondering if she had stepped on one of Marong''s funny bones. Heir and spares, eh? That seemed to be the way any royalty functioned, look atWill and Harry. "Look, I don''t care about that. Mia''s an important friend and a sister; that''s all that matters."

    Marong did not dignify her with a response. It was as though all the words in the world had dried up.

    After an awkward ''goodnight'', Gwen left for her apartment.

    Marong reached into his suit-pocket and extracted the recording crystal of a Vid-cast recorder. He dialled a Glyph into his Message Device.

    "Maymaruya."

    "Master Marong?"

    "I have a testimonial I''d like to send to the Matriarch. Can you arrange it for delivery to Yangon?"

    "At once, Young Master."

    Marong closed his eyes and tried to picture the girl who had just left. She was so young, so fresh, and so inundated with the Tyrant''s scent. Had he made the right choice or had he doomed himself and Mayuree? But that was a moot point now. Without his sister, his life would be Mu - nothing. And for Mayuree, something infinitely worse.

 Chapter 238 - An Interview with the Void Sorceress

    It took only six more days for the fated ''/'' Gwen had marked off on her calendar to become an ''X''.

    As it was a Wednesday, she cleared her schedule of both classes and work, practised a few mock-interviews with Walken, filled herself up to her throat with Magus Kumiko¡¯s summons, then joined the others for her afternoon appointment.

    According to her Instructor''s insider-information, unless she cock-up by boasting about the dubious nature of the Void, its hunger, and her many mental malignancies, her selection was assured. Additionally, a case for Lulan and Richard''s inclusion should be put forward in the manner of a ''package deal''. If one had leverage, Walken remarked, then leverage away.

    Nonetheless, the waiting room and the attention of two dozen others made Gwen ever more conscious of the expectations laid at her feet.

    ¡°I feel sick,¡± Gwen expressed a distinct desire to retire to the bathroom to practice Rodin''s Thinker.

    Petra, Richard, Lulan and Kusu gaped at their ventilating sorceress.

    ¡°It''s the anticipation.¡± She tried to put her eccentricity into words. ¡°I can''t help thinking that something''s going to go wrong."

    ¡°Once bitten, twice shy?" Richard pointed out. "You did fail some pretty important tests, I recall."

    ¡°The first was when I was ten.¡± Gwen retrieved her alter-ego¡¯s memories. ¡°I failed the first aptitude test and got placed into a public high school when I turned twelve.¡±

    ¡°You did?¡± Petra had never been privy to her cousin''s true mediocrity.

    ¡°Now that I think about it, she tanked her PMAE too,¡± Richard appended the other¡¯s knowledge of their almighty sorceress. ¡°Did you manage to pass your AMAE?¡±

    ¡°I skipped it, remember?¡± Gwen grinned guiltily. ¡°If I had gotten back to Australia, we would have continued onto Year 12 and then had our Advanced Magical Aptitude Exams in July.¡±

    Her friends, particularly Lulan and Kusu, stared.

    ¡°Y-you¡¯re not even a high-school graduate?¡± a gobsmacked Kusu stuttered. ¡°You don''t have a Higher-Education Magical Aptitude Certificate?¡±

    ¡°Ah-ha-ha¡­¡± Gwen cringed.

    ¡°Wow, that''s impressive."

    ¡°Incredible!¡± Lulan gazed upon Gwen with awe. "I had Questing Credits, but you received an LCS scholarship without higher-education qualifications?"

    The combined visage of the Flowers of Fudan was drawing attention from all over, though as usual, the ever-resourceful Mineral Enchanter had earlier set up a Privacy Ward.

    "You enrolled younger than I did though," Gwen praised the youthful Lulan. "I mean-"

    The corner of her eye caught a pale and lithe silhouette.

    ¡°KITTY!¡±

    There was no mistaking it. Gwen could spot the pale-skinned pixie a mile away.

    ¡°I¡¯ll bring her over.¡± She left the group before the others could react.

    As she approached, Kitty seemed to drift further away. When she finally got to the other end of the hall, watched by the two dozen or so contestants scheduled for the first round of interviews, the girl was gone.

    ¡°That¡¯s strange,¡± Gwen moped when she returned to her friends. ¡°I think she¡¯s avoiding me.¡±

    ¡°Well, you can be exceedingly bothersome,¡± Richard quipped. ¡°Caliban sniffs and licks everything; you leak Dragon-fear without warning, Ariel zooms around the apartment, knocking down anything not bolted down, leaving a fine dusting of fur over every conceivable surface, including my cereal.¡±

    ¡°Hmmph! Sif!¡± Gwen pouted. "My babies are perfect!"

    The others joined the jeering.

    ¡°At least you''re not nervous anymore.¡± Richard cracked his knuckles. "Nor am I, to be honest. Walken''s a good bloke to have around."

    ¡°I am scared,¡± Lulan confessed. Though Walken gave her a pep talk, she had little in the way of a true speciality. ¡°What if I don¡¯t make it, Gwen?¡±

    ¡°Oh, Lulu, you¡¯ll be fine!¡± Gwen hugged the girl close to her chest, feeling her thudding heart jackhammer against Gwen¡¯s own. ¡°You did well against me in our sparring sessions. You¡¯re kick-ass, okay?! Just wait till we find a Spirit for you and finish our Signature Spells. You''ll be an unstoppable Panzerschreck!¡±

    "Armour... scare?" Richard laughed at her Gwenism. "What?"

    Between herself, Richard and Lulu, the three of them were making decent headway. Their current problem was the lack of sufficiently powerful propulsion. Lulan¡¯s ¡®sword draws¡¯ materialised her blades as she spell-flurried, using the kinetic energy of her heavy-blades to crush or slice her targets. With an alteration to the original spell, it should be possible to exponentially increase the expulsion rate of Elemental Iron by reducing the weight and mass of her Conjure Blades through compression. Assuming it was possible to attain a projectile velocity of a large-bore gun, which Gwen recalled to be almost a thousand meters-per-second, they could then work on generating torque to stabilise Lulu¡¯s shot. Unfortunately, as a half-assed physicist, Gwen could only half-guess as to the mysteries of conserving angular momentum, leaving facts to trial and error. Had she been forewarned of her interstellar adventure, she would have taken the subject for her HSC.

    ¡°Oi, I think one of us is up." Richard was the first to notice the Proctors standing at the door.

    ¡°GWEN SONG - S.I.D: 12598 S0203, are you present?¡± an announcer called out, his voice permeating the room.

    ¡°PRESENT!¡± a shrill voice answered. Gwen took a deep breath. "Wish me luck!"

    "You won''t need it," Richard scoffed. "Don''t forget to give us a plug!"

    ¡°Gwen Song, S.I.D: 12598 S0203,¡± Gwen announced to the tribunal overlooking her selection.

    The converted training hall had a lesser Cognisance in effect, materialising a stream of Quasi-Elemental Lightning as her boot-heels echoed through the enormous chamber. Observing her were four Adjudicators: one she knew, one she had seen prior, and two she did not. Chief among the gathered was the Dean, Jiang Luo, sitting beside the Chief Registrar, a lady-Magister called Clarine Lee. To her left was a Caucasian man she had never seen before. To her right, was another, a grey-haired Asian man with an austere appearance. These two had the bearing of Tower officials: presumably, one was from Pudong, and the other was a CCP Tower Mage.

    ¡°Miss Song, we welcome you to the 2004 IIUCselection interview. In the next few minutes, we will ask you for a demonstration, as well as answer a few questions. Should you wish to withdraw, you may do so at any time.¡±

    The voice that spoke was shrill and sharp, belonging to the Registrar.

    ¡°Dean Luo and I will adjudicate, while Magister Eckermann and Wu will affirm or reject our decision. A majority of three out of four is needed to pass. Should our votes tie, you will be included as a reserve member.¡±

    ¡°Yes, Ma¡¯am.¡± Gwen straightened the hem of her cotton blouse. All in all, the scenario reminded her of the time she had to apply for a Citibank ''Young Women in Banking'' Cadetship grant.

    For this momentous occasion, she had taken great care to dress her team. Richard, thanks to his tall and athletic bearing, made for a natural model. With a healthy dash of gel to style his hair, an expensive jacket, boot-cut chinos and a pastel shirt, the young man was effortlessly cool. Lulu was a little more challenging, for the girl had a reputation and Gwen wanted the interviewers to see her as someone adorably in ''control'' of her notable capacity for ultraviolence. After dragging the wide-eyed girl through half a dozen shops in K-11, she dressed the petite athlete in semi-formal belted shorts, knee-socks, booties, and a linen jacket in sunburst yellow. Kusu was, of course, confounded by Lulan¡¯s new look, which to Gwen signalled a sign of success.

    As for herself, she had a very particular appearance in mind. Considering the infamy of her worm-handling moniker and her reputation for sassing authority when confronted by her betters, her preference was for something ambivalently wedged between youthful exuberance and earnest industry. Her usually straight-brushed hair was thus left loose and comfortable, juxtaposing an upper body hidden demurely behind a neutral-toned long-sleeved blouse. For her lower body, she favoured full mobility with a pair of cargo shorts that showed off the entire length of her white legs, ending with a set of pumped steel-toes.

    The style was minimalist, military, and urban-chic, clean in the extreme, but simultaneously aesthetic and pleasing. Gwen''s only regret was that Petra wasn¡¯t competing. If so, she could guarantee her cousin''s selection on the Vid-cast ratings alone.

    ¡°Miss Song, why do you wish to participate in the IIUC?¡±

    Walken had coached her on this topic already, and so Gwen channelled a mote of her Essence to fluff-up her confidence before attending to her viva voce.

    ¡°Lord Magisters - Dean, thank you for giving me the opportunity to be here. For your consideration, I would like to offer an official and a private rationale for my inclusion in Fudan¡¯s IICU team. In the capacity of myself as a student of this austere tertiary institution, I would like to put myself forward for Fudan because the university has helped me in my time of need. When I arrived as a refugee from Sydney, terrified, helpless and confused, it was Fudan who offered me - a mere girl from the Frontier - an opportunity to study with the best Shanghai had to offer. For this reason, I wish to repay the Dean for his generosity and to show the world that Fudan is a first-class institution.¡±

    Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

    The observers took notes. The Dean beamed.

    "Why do I want to join the IIUC? I fear my rationale is a selfish one. I desire a stage, one of of great influence. I am a Void Mage, and we all know that Void Mages are unstable, self-destructive, deranged and dangerous. This is simply not true. For me, the Quasi-element of Void is a tool - one via which I will exact a price on the Demi-humans who dare to invade our domain and slaughter our people! I will use the IIUC to prove to the world that Void Mages are not to be feared, but celebrated! That Mages like me will be the catalyst of a lasting peace! That one day, atop a Tower of my own making, Humanities'' enemies will quake in its shadow and loathe the prospect of war!¡±

    ¡®CLAP! CLAP! CLAP! CLAP!¡¯

    ¡®Clap... Clap. Clap...¡¯

    Confused by the other''s inaction, Gwen searched for the second source of ecstatic applause, finding Ellen clapping mirthlessly beside her boisterous Master.

    The other three Adjudicators marked the Dean with unfriendly warnings before turning back to Gwen.

    ¡°Miss Song. What is your desired position?¡±

    ¡°Offensive Caster or Battlefield Controller, Lord Magister.¡±

    "Very well - begin your presentation."

    Gwen stepped back and took a deep breath. After careful deliberation with Walken, they had decided on one hell of a show and tell. For weeks she had been preparing a spell that would not only impress, but demonstrate her absolute control over the Void.

    After raising both hands, she paused for drama.

    ¡°You may feel a slight discomfort.¡±

    ¡°Proceed.¡±

    Gwen drew a finger through the air. A Glyph materialised, darker than black, gnawing into the fabric of space and time. Entwined with Almudj¡¯s Essence, Void-matter flooded through her mana conduits, feeding into the modified Conjuration staple made timeless by Magi Morden.

    With herself as the epicentre, a wave of Dragon-fear and vertigo radiated from Gwen¡¯s body. Having anticipated her spell, the Dean was already channelling mana through his Astral Soul to offset the side-effects of Gwen¡¯s creature-conjuration, snickering as his peers paled in unison.

    As for the Dean''s pet subject, she was now wreathed in midnight, visible only thanks to her viridescent irises casting a pale emerald glow across the Draconic-deerhounds slithering into being from a rift in space.

    Allwerefamiliar with Morden¡¯s Hounds. Most of them had seen the unique effects of Draconic-magic as well and arguably, at least two of them had seen Void Mages up close, but none had ever borne witness to the terrific visage that was the amalgamation of all three.

    Dean Luo was the first to shake himself from the horrid sight of Void-tinged deerhounds. Activating a suite of diagnostic magic, he took an intimate gander at the alien creatures now paddling across the training hall¡¯s floor.

    Visually, the creatures were dogs - large ones at that, measuring a good two meters from head to toe, though the proportion of the animals appeared to possess more head than any other anatomy. That was the disconcerting thing: Void-clad in obsidian plates, about half of the hound consisted of a large, phallic-shaped head that ended with no face, but what presumably was the beginning and end of a meter long jaw. From between the slit, a viscous grey-goo oozed as the Void-beasts prowled, all seven of them.

    ¡°Caliban!¡±

    The beasts'' alpha slinked into being.

    ¡°Shaaaa!¡± The jet-black Death-worm screeched.

    As one, the hounds stood to attention.

    The Void Sorceress turned to face the judges, her complexion heart-breakingly pale, as fragile as white-jade porcelain.

    ¡°They obey every command,¡± Gwen explained, not a hint of exertion to her voice. ¡°The hounds have also inherited the Elemental traits of Void-beings. In tests conducted with Magus Kumiko¡¯s summoned creatures, they can recover from physical damage by consuming bio-mass. Furthermore, unless fully Banished or dispelled by Lightning, the creatures persist until their vitality is exhausted.¡±

    ¡°They also draw their constitution from your health; do they not?¡± Magister Eckermann, the grey-haired Tower Mage from Pudong, enquired with a conservative air.

    ¡°Yessir,¡± Gwen affirmed the Magister¡¯s suspicions, though she did not append the Magister''s enquiry with additional details.

    ¡°They are capable of pack-tactics?¡± the CCP Magister queried.

    ¡°Indeed.¡± She glanced at her dogs.

    Immediately, her pack separated, each taking on a corner as if guarding the general perimeter.

    ¡°What of their prowess?¡± Registrar Lee continued the line of questioning.

    ¡°Exceedingly lethal,¡± Gwen stated without exaggeration. ¡°They are yet to be battle tested in the field, though thanks to Magister Walken and Magus Kumiko¡¯s generosity, the pack can dismantle a Tier 7 Bristle-back Hog without losses. I would say that against creatures below the giant-category, my deerhounds¡¯ prowess remains¡­ unmatched.¡±

    ¡°Very impressive,¡± Dean Luo spoke loud enough for the other¡¯s to hear. ¡°She has my vote.¡±

    The others shuffled in their seats.

    Registrar Lee glowered at the Dean.

    ¡°We''re not supposed to inform you in person, Miss Song. But since the Dean is so adamant and your performance so extraordinary; I shall concur.¡± Registrar Lee raised her hand.

    ¡°I have no objection.¡±

    ¡°Neither have I.¡±

    ¡°Right.¡± Dean Luo beamed at his protege. ¡°Gwen, congratulations. Second round trials will begin in Semester two, near the ides of June. We will be testing your teamwork. Assuming everything goes well, you¡¯ll be looking to represent our institution!¡±

    Gwen bowed deeply.

    "As to that very matter, Dean, Sirs and Madams, may I have a minute of your time?"

    "No-"

    "Go ahead, Gwen."

    The others remained silent.

    "Sirs, Madam, you may know already, but my cousin Richard Huang and my companion Lulan Li are also keen to prove their mettle in the IIUC. We''re a team, and together, we are all at our best. My cousin Richard and I came first in the Hengsha Island Dungeon even before we came to Fudan. As for Lulan, she has been Adventuring with Richard and myself, and we have managed to clear the Nantong Water-Ghost''s lair without incident, going so far as to rescue a scion of the Fung Clan. Together, our complementary skills become multiplicative, greatly increasing our operational efficacy. If I am to be my very best in acting for Fudan, I wish to have my left and right arms by my side."

    "..."

    "I understand," the Dean assured her.

    ¡°Miss Song, you may leave now.¡± Registrar Lee insisted. "We will take your account into consideration."

    ¡°Thank you, Lord Magisters, Dean - Thank you for your guidance."

    With that, she packed her creatures, then retreated to the exit.

    Once outside, a dozen pairs of eyes converged on the eye-catching girl with the impossibly pale legs.

    ¡°Richard, cover me.¡± Gwen stalked across the floor, her boots striking staccato steps as she pushed past the crowd.

    Very quickly, her friends surrounded her.

    Gwen materialised a half-bottle of Maotai she had earlier purchased and chugged the rest in one go, exhaling a sweet scent of distilled sorghum as her vitality regenerated, returning a spot of colour to her cheeks.

    ¡°Do you think imbibing alcohol is considered cheating?¡± Gwen packed the bottle away. ¡°Would it count as a potion?¡±

    ¡°Of course not.¡± Richard grinned wickedly. ¡°If anyone else can afford it, or can slam it down as you do, they¡¯re welcome to replicate our strategy.¡±

    ¡°I think they might ban it once the cat¡¯s out of the bag,¡± Kusu warned her. ¡°If you can convert the vitality from treasure-grade consumables like Maotai, wouldn¡¯t that imply an unlimited capacity for Void?¡±

    ¡°First I¡¯d have liver failure,¡± Gwen returned seriously. ¡°My body''s still stuck processing the booze. It¡¯s not as though I am an alcohol-fuelled combustion engine.¡±

    Kusu cocked his head.

    ¡°Nothing.¡± Gwen stifled a burp. ¡°There it goes. Yeah, I don¡¯t think Maotai is a long-term solution either. Maybe some of that Spiritual Ginseng¡­¡±

    ¡°Ask your Grandfather?¡± Richard implored.

    ¡°Naw, he¡¯s saving for babulya and Percy,¡± Gwen replied sweetly. Though Guo could use a few extra years, he still wanted to reserve the best herbal ingredients for his wife and his grandson. To Gwen, that was an entirely respectable sentiment.

    ¡°Ask Jun?¡±

    ¡°And owe Ayxin? No thanks,¡± Gwen reflected sourly. She hadn¡¯t seen the pair of them in forever. She wondered what they were doing - well, she could guess what they were doing. It was more so a question of Axyin popping out a litter of baby Ash Dragons. Rather than the proverbial Queen of Dragons, she could be ''Aunt'' of Dragons.

    ¡°So, how did the whole thing go?¡± Lulan asked anxiously. "What should I expect?"

    ¡°Well.¡± Gwen cleared her head. ¡°When you first walk in, you¡¯re going to be hit by A LOT of diagnostic magic¡­¡±

    ¡°So, what do you think?¡± Dean Luo sat in his office, attended by his cosplaying Familiar.

    The other three Magisters lounged comfortably in tub-chairs and sofas dotting the Dean¡¯s Roaring Twenties'' smoking room, recently renovated after a disastrous mishap involving a hysterical Ellen.

    ¡°The Void Sorceress'' a shoo-in, I¡¯d imagine.¡± Hans Eckermann, the Proctor for the Pudong Tower, sipped his coffee.

    ¡°Of course, if you dare deny her, Eckermann, I¡¯ll fight you.¡± The Dean chuckled. ¡°And her friends?¡±

    ¡°The Water Mage is an interesting character,¡± Magister Wu remarked after swallowing a mouthful of scalding tea. Unlike western variations, the green-tea from Fur-peak was best taken at its hottest and most fragrant.

    Gingerly, Ellen flittered about, acting the attentive maid.

    Magister Wu Gusong of the Shanghai Tower, more commonly known as the CCP Tower, regarded Dean Luo¡¯s Dutch wife. He was aware of the theory that humanising one¡¯s Spirits allowed them to attain higher tiers of Affinity and hastened their spiritualisation, though he¡¯d rarely seen anyone bother with something as nebulous as clothing their Familiars. The latter, in Wu¡¯s opinion, was an indication that Luo was a confessed sexual deviant.

    ¡°How so?¡± the Dean pursued the matter. ¡°There¡¯s no taking back a vote.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s his aspiration that I find strange.¡± Wu cocked his head, turning away from Ellen¡¯s distracting visage. ¡°Not an ounce of self-promotion, but an assurance that his presence will ensure Gwen Song will emerge victorious from the competition? That¡¯s a first. One would have thought he was a foster-child of her House, not an expatriated student from Prince¡¯s Frontier Scholarship program.¡±

    ¡°Did you read the report I attached?¡± Luo glanced at the others. ¡°It''s Richard Huang¡¯s second-year proposal for the subjugation of the lower-Nantong delta¡¯s remaining Demi-humans. He''s been exterminating them with the Li girl, joined by a rag-tag team of local Mages.¡±

    From their blank expressions, the answer was no.

    ¡°Ellen.¡± The Dean materialised a stack of reports. ¡°Give these out.¡±

    The others took a minute to read through the reports.

    ¡°Monstrous!¡± The Chief Registrar spat when she got to the recommendations segment. ¡°I can see this working, but Mao¡­¡±

    ¡°Interesting, hmm?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d love to recruit him for the Grey Ghosts.¡± Magister Wu whistled. ¡°I want to say he¡¯s needlessly cruel, but you have to admit, it¡¯ll work.¡±

    ¡°Is this boy the kind of influence we want on the girl?¡± Magister Eckermann pointed out what they¡¯d all been thinking.

    ¡°Undoubtedly,¡± the Dean interjected. ¡°You remember what Seoul U did to us last year? There¡¯s a naivety in our young Mages, hand-reared by Clan and in a green-House, that must be offset by someone with a practical focus.¡±

    ¡°But Gwen Song was raised in Oceania, was she not? Why isn''t she like this?¡±

    ¡°She''s fair and of the gentlersex, perhaps?¡± the Dean alerted the others with a useless bit of information. ¡°Stubborn and altruistic too. Not debilitating by any means, but it¡¯s there. She won¡¯t look kindly on the sort of length her cousin is willingto go. In my opinion, the two together make for a perfect balance between prim propaganda and pragmatic problem solver. She¡¯ll give us good optics, I am sure. You''ve all seen her. The Vid-cast ratings will be phenomenal.¡±

    Wu snorted.

    ¡°The last time we broadcasted the IIUC live¡­¡±

    ¡°...Was a disaster.¡± Dean Luo shook his head. ¡°Don¡¯t worry; I¡¯ve got a good feeling about this year. If anything, I''ll take responsibility.¡±

    ¡°Fine. What about the excommunicated Clanner?¡±

    ¡°I voted yes to offer Gwen Song more autonomy,¡± the Dean explained. ¡°On a team of five, she could have operation authority if it¡¯s three to two. Gwen can occupy dual-roles of Control and Offence, while Li can be an Offensive-interceptor. The cousin can likewise occupy dual-roles as mobile Defence and Battlefield Controller.¡±

    ¡°Agreed.¡± Eckermann made his opinion known. ¡°Assuming this report is true. She''s a fantastic soldier. What she lacks in talent, she makes up in enthusiasm. Did you see her Questing data? Two thousand and four hundred plus confirmed kills. She could be a career officer, at the very least a decorated NCO."

    ¡°I¡¯ll agree for the sake of the Water Mage, not for your prot¨¦g¨¦,¡± Wu declared, glancing sideways at the Dean. ¡°I want to see him in action. If he¡¯s as good as I think he is, I want him enrolled in the Ghosts."

    ¡°You can try.¡± The Dean opened both hands. ¡°I won¡¯t stop you.¡±

    Magister Wu ignored the Dean''s quip and returned to sipping his tea.

    ¡°I guess my ¡®nay¡¯ vote doesn¡¯t matter then,¡± Registrar Lee grumbled. ¡°We¡¯ll reconvene in June for the team selections.¡±

    ¡°Very well.¡± The Dean applauded himself. ¡°Ellen, see the guests out, then go give Gwen and her friends the good news.¡±

    ¡°The announcement is one week from now, Sir,¡± Ellen, trained in processing simple paperwork and reading the calendar, informed her Master.

    ¡°Ah~, what¡¯s the harm?¡±

    ¡°You have another thirty candidates to interview, Sir¡­¡± Registrar Lee frowned. ¡°Please don¡¯t play favourites. This is an important event for many of the students. Even a reserved position is a highly sought-after accolade.¡±

    The Dean grumbled.

    ¡°Fine. Ellen, get me Walken.¡± He ignored the others. ¡°Gentlemen, Elaine, we''re done here.¡±

 Chapter 239 - Flight of the Bumble Bee

    Gwen could hardly believe the first round of the Selection had come and gone like a sunshower. The announcement for the twenty-two candidates was posted by Saturday on the bulletin board just outside Guanghua Towers. Atop the list, perhaps at the Dean¡¯s behest, was her name, below which Richard and Lulan¡¯s names were buried.

    While perusing the list, she also located the others.

    Kitty Liang was among those chosen, as expected.

    Lu Fung, Dai¡¯s cousin, was also among that number.

    Her senior, Tei Bai, was there as well, together with a few other well-known names from the Duelling Club.

    As for the rest, she couldn¡¯t put faces to the too-similar syllables. Just the last name Li appeared no less than four times on the list.

    ¡°Oh, thank the Chairman.¡± Lulan saluted in the general direction of the Crystal Tomb. ¡°I see Senior Huang is up there as well, haha.¡±

    ¡°Good work, Lulu.¡± Gwen hugged her companion from behind. Lacking Mayuree¡¯s presence, she was running out of things to snuggle. For all of Ariel¡¯s wonders, human contact was nourishment for the soul. When the Lulan in her arms failed to respond; she followed the girl''s eyes. ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡±

    ¡°Jinwei Li¡­¡± Richard followed Lulan''s gaze as well. ¡°Is that someone you know?¡±

    ¡°I think so.¡± Lulan exhaled, shivering a little. ¡°I think that¡¯s one of my seniors from the Clan.¡±

    ¡°So what?¡± She squeezed her cheeks. ¡°Once we get some new magic happening, you¡¯ll kick his ass.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll work harder!¡± Lulan replied earnestly.

    ¡°If you¡¯re anxious, we''ll call in some outside help,¡± Gwen plagiarised Walken¡¯s advice. ¡°Let¡¯s put in a CC request for a high-impact solid-projectile spell. Failing that, we can put in a request to learn that spell you told me. Currency makes the world go round, after all."

    "Crystals can convince even ghosts to mill the rice." Richard borrowed an old Confucian observation.

    ¡°The Heart-piercing Sword.¡± Lulan nodded. ¡°It¡¯s a tier 6 spell that¡¯s only taught to the inner-sect students.¡±

    ¡°I still can¡¯t believe that¡¯s the extent of your Sect¡¯s spell-tiers.¡± Gwen grimaced. When Richard asked Kusu to produce a Spell-list, they were both surprised to find that the Huashan Sect had never converted the full extent of their ¡®Sword-Path¡¯ invocations to the Imperial Metric System.

    ¡°We¡¯re an ancient Sect, but we¡¯re poor,¡± Lulan lamented. ¡°Huashan isn¡¯t rich in resources or Magical Beasts, and all of our practitioners utilise the Iron-Heart Technique, so outsiders can¡¯t use our spells.¡±

    A Sect that has fallen behind in the economy of Spellcraft, Gwen mused privately. Their predicament was akin to a country still stuck bartering wood while the rest of the world had moved onto Petrol-bucks.

    ¡°Let¡¯s get to it then.¡± She took Lulan by the arm. ¡°I can pony up the CCs if you¡¯re short. The earlier we get help, the sooner you''ll be smashing faces.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll be alright.¡± Lulan tore her eyes away from her cousin''s name. ¡°I haven¡¯t spent a single CC in two years¡­¡±

    "Ooo! There it goes!"

    The sound of an excited squeal rang across the generous space of the Instructor-only training hall.

    "The form is sustaining nicely." Walken tracked the floating ring as it sliced through the air soundlessly.

    Ah~, the joy of creation, Gwen patted herself on the back.

    Arguably, the dopamine hit from reaching a Spellcraft milestone was akin to succeeding in a business project, only-

    "I say, it''s coming back toward us," Walken remarked drily, clearing his throat.

    Considering the limited range of the training hall, Gwen had designated the spell to curve as to avoid hitting the walls. Unfortunately, the disk of destruction appeared to be on a parabolic path back to its designer.

    "Shit!" Gwen stood in front of Walken. "Caliban!"

    "Shaa!"

    Caliban leapt into the air as though the subject of a Crufts cosmic horror commercial and snapped at the dark band.

    A section of the Chakram disappeared into the creature''s maw, the rest of her disk, having lost its angular momentum, hurtled toward Gwen and her Instructor with murderous glee.

    "Shield!"

    A frontal Lightning Shield in a semi-sphere was just enough to catch the wildly spinning, half-eaten disk.

    Holy shit! Gwen felt her back soak with cold sweat. She was sure she had seen something similar in the past where some self-tracking projectile ended up maiming its owner. The sense of d¨¦j¨¤ vu just now was intense!

    "Perhaps a termination invocation should be built in," Walken announced drily. "We wouldn''t want any surprises like that in the field."

    Much like Lulan¡¯s, Gwen¡¯s Signature Spell had hit a snag.

    Void Matter wasn¡¯t like Lightning.

    Despite the inexplicable rationale behind conjuring thundering plasma, Gwen''s knowledge of electricity made her spells more or less a matter of common sense. For instance, in the case of her first-ever Lightning spell, Blast Bolt, all she had to do was designate two points, the resultant lightning then flowed between the two spatial tears into the Material world, saturating an area with Lichtenberg figures.

    But for Void, she could only make a face and keep trying.

    In a physical sense, Void-matter was akin to magnetised Ferrofluid in itsviscosity. When left alone and kept sizzling on a plane of pure mana, Void-matter formed hydrophobic droplets of all-consuming anti-matter, hungrily skittering about, trying to find the slightest incline to escape.

    When an invocation spell-shaped the fluid, it took on the elicited form. Lightning Grasp, for example, evoked a dangerous splutter of crackling dark lightning, while a dark gash of consuming energy formed the basis of Void Bolt. As for the thrice-damned Cloud Kill, her Void-matter manifested a fine-mist particle field. The latter, Gwen noted, was especially dangerous, corroding anything and everything, rapidly consuming her vitality on useless things like the air, soil, plants, and so on. Only in hyper-dense concentrations of biomass should she even consider activating the spell, not that she would wish such a grotesque agony upon anyone.

    As for the optimal employment of the Void element, Sobel had the right idea: Void was an element almost tailormade for Conjured Creatures.

    Nonetheless, she needed a Void-specific attack spell and Gwen was confident a ''Chakram'' should work.

    Lucy Lawless¡¯ flawless multi-kills aside, there were perfect historical examples of Chakrams been used as early as the Delhi Sultanate. If her memory of the BBC Documentary served, records stated that these rings ¡®cut through all¡¯ and had a range of sixty to a hundred meters.

    As for her current progress, functionality was prevented by the fact that when she ceased supplying mana to the spell, the ¡®ring¡¯ fell into a liquid state. At a range of just over twenty-meters, she would splash her target rather than cut it.

    That''s why to prevent structural collapse, she increased the rotational momentum and added a persistent ¡®cache¡¯ of mana to be used while the projectile remained in flight.

    ¡°So it¡¯s a Frisbee,¡± she told herself. Or more accurately, an Aerobie. She recalled playing with one when she was a kid. On the packaging of Percy¡¯s one time Boxing Day toy, it had boasted of holding the Guinness World Record for the longest throw of an object without velocity-aiding features, measuring at 400 or so meters. Unfortunately, she did not read the instruction¡¯s small print - ''Aerobie does not float¡¯.

    Two throws at the beach and that was the end of Helena¡¯s $19.99. Suffice it to say, Percy was heartbroken, and her mother had grown insufferable.

    Maybe that''s why the thing came back to her?

    ¡°You¡¯ll have to keep experimenting with the incantation order.¡± Walken arranged and re-arranged her spell-stack into new variations while she checked her notes. ¡°Give that a go.¡±

    ¡°I don''t get why it doesn''t do as its told,¡± Gwen grumbled. ¡°Check this out, Lightning Chakram!¡±

    A ring of blue-white plasma launched into the distance made a loop around her target, then fizzled as it returned to her.

    ¡°Cake-walk.¡±

    ¡°With your tier 6 Affinity and Ariel helping you spell-shape, why wouldn''t it work?¡±

    Gwen petted her pseudo-Kirin.

    Ariel purred, its whole body vibrating.

    Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.

    ¡°You could have finished by now,¡± Walken remarked sardonically. ¡°If you were to ''upgrade'' Caliban.¡±

    ¡°Ah, but you forget.¡± Gwen gave her Instructor the stink eye. ¡°I am a masochist.¡±

    ¡°Of course, my apologies.¡± Her Instructor amused himself at her expense. ¡°Let me know how those combinations go.¡±

    ¡°Will do.¡± Gwen packed her indexes, manuals, primers, notebooks, data slates, assorted tea and biscuits. ¡°See you tomorrow, Eric.¡±

    ¡°Hey Marong, does Mia have an ER Message Device in Yangon?¡±

    Feeling strangely unsettled one morning, Gwen decided to shoot the Smoke Mage a Message before he returned to the old country.

    ¡°You¡¯re joking, right?¡± The Message came back during breakfast. ¡°All Divination Messages are routed through a Tower. We don¡¯t have a Tower in Yangon - or My?ma for that matter. The closest Tower is in the Chengdu Frontier in China, over two thousand kilometres away.¡±

    Gwen slapped her forehead.

    ¡°In that case, is there any way to contact her?¡±

    ¡°Send me a Message, I¡¯ll relay it over, and when she sends you a Message, I¡¯ll route it through Chengdu when I or someone from the trade consortium is there. We do have a brisk jade and gemstone trade with China, so expect a week¡¯s turn-around.¡±

    "Okay, will do, thanks Marong."

    After Magus Young''s Evocation lecture, she did precisely that.

    ¡°Mia, it¡¯s me, Gwen. I hope you¡¯re doing well in Yangon. How¡¯s the old country, your home sweet home? Too bad you can¡¯t send me pictures of the place, I¡¯d love to meet your extended family one day. Before you ask, yes, Marong and I spoke about it, and I don''t mind at all. In other news, I¡¯ve been selected for the IIUC! It was a breeze. Richard and Lulu have been chosen as well. I am sure you know already that Kitty¡¯s on the list as well, though she¡¯s been avoiding me. Ariel and Cali are doing well, as is everyone else. If you run into trouble or if people bother you, let me know! Maybe I can do something, ask for a few favours, that sort of thing. Marong says you¡¯ll be back in May. Don''t forget the 25th! It''ll be our second one! Can¡¯t wait to see you again - Gwen.¡±

    ¡°Got it. It¡¯s cute,¡± Marong''s Message fired back. ¡°I¡¯ll leave in two days. Hopefully, she''ll make it to your party.¡±

    ¡°Make sure she does!¡± Gwen warned the brother. "Or I am holding you responsible!"

    Marong failed to reply, but she was confident Mia wouldn¡¯t miss the birthday party, not when Dai wanted to make the spectacle equivalent to the first inauguration of the Gwen administration.

    After a pleasant weekend spent with family, a new week began. Now deep into the academic term, practicals took precedence over theory.

    Conjuration¡¯s twin-modules: ''Advanced Translocation of Objects and Localised Effects'' and ''Conjuration of Elemental Effects, Duration and Interactions'' came to an end, with the remaining three weeks dedicated to tutorial workshops. With her Affinity and her VMI, Birch''s benchmarks were passed without incident.

    Conversely, Evocation required several degrees of additional effort. As the weaker of Gwen''s two Schools of Magic, her finesses was, as MagusYoung put it: 40% Ariel and only 60% herself.

    ¡°You¡¯re too generalised,¡± Young observed critically, puckering her lips in thought. ¡°I know you¡¯re capable, Gwen, but you¡¯re hardly going to match a Master Evoker at this rate. The weakness will show in the future when higher-tier magic becomes available to you. Your lack of specialisation will impact the efficacy of your support mandalas, especially when drawing multi-layer strategic-class invocations.¡±

    Gwen felt a stab to her pride.

    The Magister was right. Even with Walken chalking up incantation combinations and helping her with calculations, her limited knowledge hamstrung her progress.

    ¡°If you¡¯re keen to make Signature Spells, take Deconstruction of Spell Theory for your second semester, then Critical Appraisal of Spell-Structure when you return from the IIUC next year,¡± Young recommended wholeheartedly. ¡°For a future Tower Master, the ability to deconstruct and re-construct magic is expected. DST3040 re-hashes existing theory and breaksdown the processes involved in the evolution of the Imperial Metric System. As for CAS4010, it¡¯s taught by Magister Julian Fennen on loan from the Imperial College of London. He¡¯s only in Fudan until his research concludes, so I¡¯d hurry.¡±

    Listening attentively, she took the headful of advice with humility, realising just how far she had to go. Thankfully, Magus Young¡¯s critiques aside, she had achieved nothing but sterling results in her practicals.

    Meanwhile, her bestiary course with Instructor Chen had been usurped by Walken. With Aella the winged serpent leading the way, Ariel¡¯s ability as a Kirin-shaped all-weather, carrier-capable, multirole combatant transitioned from dog-paddling to dogfighting.

    A little disconcertingly, perhaps because of their mutual Draconic-nature, or maybe because they both hailed from Australia, Ariel had grown attached to the rainbow-hued Couatl.

    ¡°Play-sparring is the best training.¡± Walken¡¯s philosophy was unexpectedly lax. ¡°To mature a Familiar like yours and mine, we need to constantly give them new experiences, fresh encounters, opportunities for them to think cognitively and develop their Ego.¡±

    ¡°Caliban can recognise NoMs now, I think,¡± Gwen informed her trainer. ¡°It knows the meat-bun lady at Five-Mile Dumplings and the guy who sells Teatime Bubble Tea. Normally, it only recognises Mages.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s the mana signature,¡± Walken explained patiently. ¡°Lacking eyes, I suspect your little monster has a sense-ability akin to the Death Worm, who can identify prey through the tremor of their footfalls. Do you feel Ariel has grown?¡±

    ¡°Eeee! Eee!¡± Ariel affirmed Walken''s suggestion.

    ¡°Ariel, say Mama!¡±

    ¡°Eee! EE?!¡±

    "Child! Child!" Aella was merciless in its superiority.

    Ariel sulked.

    ¡°It could do with more Draconic-cores, I¡¯d imagine." Walken studied the Kirin as it struggled to enunciate the simple words. "It took Aella about two decades to be able to form thoughts complex enough to communicate. Linguistics, unlike Empathic Link, is a hugely complex trait. It requires abstract reasoning found only in sapient creatures. With your Consume ability and that Conjure Familiar Henry constructed for you, I¡¯d dare say¡­¡±

    ¡°Come on, Eric,¡± Gwen intervened. ¡°Broken Vid-caster much?¡±

    "I try." Walken shrugged.

    ¡°Anyway.¡± Gwen turned back to her creatures. ¡°Cali seems to do okay with the dogs though, despite its simple-mindedness.¡±

    ¡°The pack-instinct comes from Morden¡¯s Hounds,¡± Walken flatly denied any possibility of Caliban¡¯s imminent ascension. ¡°Caliban is top-dog, that¡¯s all. Were you to lack a creature such as Caliban; the Bloodhound would fill in as the Alpha. Morden was a master since before the Victorians.¡±

    ¡°Too bad he¡¯s long gone.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯d think.¡± Walken smiled. ¡°He has descendants still living in Scotland. They have their home at Inverness - an infamous bunch, in fact, notable for their dislike of the Britannic Mageocracy.¡±

    ¡°Truly? That''s amazing.¡± Gwen felt seriously impressed by the longevity of Morden¡¯s bloodline.

    ¡°I wonder what they think about a teenage girl-Mage selling improved variations of Morden¡¯s spells.¡± Walken chuckled. ¡°The House of Morden isn¡¯t what it used to be, but in Scotland, their word carries weight.¡±

    ¡°Gunther took care of it.¡± Gwen grinned back at her Instructor, wondering if he was trying to frighten her. ¡°I am just an incidental benefactor of my Master¡¯s Estate.¡±

    After her retort, Walken chose the wisdom of silence.

    As for her lesser courses, Translocation and Utility Divination both progressed swimmingly. Thanks to peripheral improvements and some tricks of the trade, Gwen could now Dimension Door up to a maximum range of three hundred odd meters, pending her familiarity with the terrain. In total, she could DD up to six times in quick succession before she expelled her lunch. Additionally, if she were to apportion her DDs into twin-sets with three-second intervals for recuperation, she could manage ten consecutive casts.

    If the time came again for a dine-and-dash like that time with uncle Jun, she was confident in her escape.

    ¡°That¡¯s impressive.¡± Birch had applauded. ¡°Even at the higher end of tier 7, I can manage five kilometres on a good day. Your accuracy, however, will improve with experience, or in your case, with the growth of your Divination. If you ever train up Ariel''s scouting capabilities, you could increase your range yet again.¡±

    Speaking of Divination, her practice with Arcane Sight, a spell that allowed her to detect invisible creatures and see through low-tier Illusions, was going well. As for her primary goal, the much-anticipated Link Sight, a few months of dedicated labour remained.

    Finally, for her Gen-Ed subjects, her tutorials had gone relatively well. Feedback from Professor Ma was that her peers enjoyed her teaching style as well as her unique workshop questions. If all goes well and she successfully aided Ma in grading the two-hundred-odd papers by the end of Semester break, she would receive two perfect High-Distinctions.

    What remained then was Spell-Shaping and Magister Michio Lee¡¯s far too optimistic anticipation that a girl without a Higher Magical Aptitude Certificate was going to impress him with an original Void spell.

    ¡°Sorry, Sir- KITTY!¡± Gwen apologised to Wing Commander Dienhart before intercepting Mayuree¡¯s bodyguard mid-air.

    ¡°Hey!¡± Gwen levelled off against the girl while they sped through the illusory obstacle course. ¡°Congrats on passing the interview.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t talk to me.¡± Kitty¡¯s rejection came fast and hard, her voice sharp and full of icicles. The Dual-Element Mage suddenly banked, performed a corkscrew before threading through a loop.

    Gritting her teeth, Gwen supplied more mana to the body-reinforcement spell taught by their Instructor to reduce the effect of sudden acceleration and deceleration. Focusing her mind, she followed Kitty¡¯s manoeuvre, barely making it through the target ring.

    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± Gwen was faster on the straights because she could afford to burn her reserves. ¡°You weren¡¯t like this when Mia was around.¡±

    ¡°Will you shove off already?!¡± Kitty snapped, suddenly accelerating upward toward the next target.

    Gwen overshot her trajectory and had to loop around to point herself in the right direction.

    When flying, movements towards the zenith consumed the most mana, while dives were the most economical. Interestingly, it was breaking and banking that exerted the most significant burden on one¡¯s mana pool, not to mention one''s physical body.

    ¡°Come on, don¡¯t be like that!¡± She persisted, leaving behind a dense trail of inefficiently spent Lightning mana.

    On the sideline, Wing Commander Dienhart was enjoying the show. Kitty was a natural dogfighter. The girl¡¯s petite frame in addition to her Ice and Air element gave her the nimbleness of a pixie. Gwen, on the other hand, reminded Dienhart of a wyvern, a powerhouse flyer that executed every manoeuvre, accomplished every turn with pure athleticism. Still, considering the girl could only fly in linear trajectories when she arrived, he was satisfied as a teacher.

    But after twenty laps of the sparrow versus wyvern aerial tag, even the Wing Commander grew annoyed.

    Kitty landed, pale and puffing from the excessive expenditure.

    Gwen performed a summersault overhead when she failed to check in time, landing far enough that she had to walk the rest of the way.

    ¡°Have you heard from Mayuree?¡± Gwen inquired earnestly, not the least puffed out.

    ¡°Sure.¡± Kitty looked up, her pale eyes the colour of blue-tinged glacier. As the mana drained from her body, however, her irises took on a pecan hue. ¡°Mia''s doing well.¡±

    ¡°That''s good to hear. How¡¯re things back in the old country?¡±

    ¡°Cosy.¡±

    "No Tyrant troubles?"

    "None at all," Kitty replied, her face hidden by her shoulder-length hair.

    ¡°When do you think she¡¯s coming back? I¡¯ve got a party on the 25th of May; you¡¯re invited as well. I hope Marong gave Mia the Message."

    In the next moment, Kitty¡¯s expression grew catty and hostile.

    ¡°I need to train.¡± The girl turned from Gwen. ¡°We¡¯re not friends, Miss Song. Please don¡¯t talk to me unless it''s life or death.¡±

    Before Gwen could retort, the girl ran off, aided by body-enhancement magic.

    A none too pleased Wing Commander Dienhart reached her side, sympathetic but otherwise offended.

    ¡°I shouldn¡¯t butt in,¡± the veteran growled. ¡°But don¡¯t bring that kind of drama to my lessons. In the field, I¡¯d have both of you disciplined. Mark my words, you''ll be up to your knees in latrine duty.¡±

    ¡°Sorry, Commander,¡± Gwen apologised. ¡°I don¡¯t know what¡¯s happening either.¡±

    ¡°Well, whatever it is, you better at least reach Kitty¡¯s lowest lap record.¡±

    ¡°Yessir!¡± Gwen snapped to attention. In the next second, feeling frustrated and irritable, she took off in a blast of silvery Lightning, threading through the gaps in the obstacle course with the bumbling grace of a honeyed-up bumblebee.

 Chapter 240 - Slippery Slopes

    April passed without Gwen catching Kitty even once, not even when she commanded Ariel to camp at the entrance of the penthouse, terrifying the cleaners who came every Monday night.

    The whole ordeal had left a sour taste in her mouth, for if they were to be on the same side for the IIUC, what did their current relationship forebode for their future teamwork?

    Her immediate instinct was to consult Marong, but Mayuree''s brother had left as well, leaving her with well-wishes and a promise that the House of M would soon deliver her friend''s return Message.

    As for the week ahead, other than her dedicated class and work times, she had set herself two tasks.

    One was a luncheon with Senior Bai to discuss potential competitors, and the other was to make tangible progress in her twin endeavours of completing her Chakram as well as Lulan¡¯s Panzerschreck.

    Of the two, Senior Bai was her first order of business.

    Bai Tei looked around the small, cramped restaurant awkwardly, uncomfortable in his mandarin jacket.

    For their secret wish fulfilment, the other members of the duelling club had goaded him into dressing up for the occasion. In his Storage Ring, he even had a bouquet of rare Wildland flowers from a nearby florist.

    "How many?"

    A heavily set NoM woman who Bai could only assume to be the lady-boss of Fengbo Village, famous for its Beggar¡¯s Chicken, asked if he was alone or with a group. Close to dinner time, the place was packed shoulder to shoulder, its air gravid with the scent of spiced fowl.

    ¡°I am looking for someone.¡± Bai swallowed, quickly undoing a few buttons.

    ¡°Senior! Over here!¡±

    Bai cursed those bastards at the Duelling Club.

    When the girl stood to reveal herself, the whole restaurant took note. It was like that time when he went with Uncle Chu to the Front, where a hundred Jiang-shi suddenly turned toward him with their phosphorescent eyes when he prematurely activated his magic.

    Regretting everything, he squeezed past the patrons toward the girl, finding her alone. Curiously, there was a ring of space which surrounded their table.

    ¡°Shaa!¡± The answer to Bai¡¯s silent enquiry revealed itself, sloppily absorbing on an enormous stock-bone with its lamprey¡¯s maw.

    ¡°EEE!¡±

    Beside Caliban was her other Familiar, likewise sitting on the floor with a bone of its own, chewing away happily.

    ¡°The boss-lady was very kind.¡± She flashed him a winning smile. ¡°Come, sit.¡±

    He couldn¡¯t help but notice that she wore a flattering dress; though arguably, Gwen could wear a rice-sack and be no less attractive.

    Pausing slightly, Bai purged his head of useless thoughts with a mote of Elemental Dust, then sat. The stupid idiots at the club had warped his expectations, but it didn''t mean he should continue to entrench himself in fantasy.

    ¡°My shout,¡± Gwen offered. ¡°Whatever you like.¡±

    ¡°You can order,¡± Bai informed their honorary member. ¡°My sense of taste has¡­ declined somewhat.¡±

    ¡°Oh, is that an elemental trait?¡±

    ¡°Something like that.¡± Bai nodded. ¡°Our senses dull over time, and the stimulus required to reach the old threshold grows increasingly more and more demanding. My Master takes his salt by the fistful.¡±

    ¡°I am sorry to hear that.¡± Gwen''s expression was one of devastation. For a foodie like her, ''sans taste'' was a fate akin to death.

    ¡°Coming from a Void user, I am grateful.¡±

    The girl''s smile was as sweet as nectar.

    ¡°Mama Chu! Beggar¡¯s banquet! Extra Chicken!¡±

    ¡°You heard her, Banquet-extra-chicken!¡±

    ¡°Coming right up, Miss!¡±

    After the juicy morsels filled the void left by the absence of meaningful conversation, Bai began to query Gwen''s unexpected generosity. That was when under no uncertain terms, she asked Bai to give her a rundown of who would pose a ''threat''.

    ¡°To you? Why would anyone be a threat to you?"

    ¡°To Lulan or Richard, I mean.¡±

    ¡°I see.¡± Bai mulled over the list in his head. ¡°I am confident Richard can assume the second Defence slot, or a Controller position. However, your ex-Clanner is indeed in a precarious position.¡±

    ¡°Any advice?¡±

    ¡°Realistically? No, it¡¯s a fair competition, leave it to the Proctors. You''re not thinking of anything unsavoury, I hope.¡±

    ¡°But can you tell me about them at least?¡± Gwen fluttered her voluminous lashes innocently. ¡°I can access their Tower records with CCs, but that doesn''t tell me about their quirks or their characters. I would prefer not to walk into the June training session blind as a dingbat.¡±

    Bai regarded Gwen¡¯s pleading eyes. The dim glow of her vivid pupils in the amber ambiance of the restaurant¡¯s sickly bulbs told him that it was a terrible idea to give the girl what she wanted. After their fateful encounter on the duelling field, his Clan had given him express advice to tread lightly.

    ¡°Please?¡± The Void Sorceress flashed her pearly teeth, her face coy and full of feigned innocence.

    ¡°I shouldn¡¯t.¡± Bai circulated another mote of Dust. ¡°That information is privy to Fudan DC.¡±

    ¡°Give me something.¡± She leaned in. ¡°Biggest threat to Lulan¡¯s assured selection. That''s all I ask.¡±

    His mind caught in a jumble, a name came to Bai¡¯s lips. After masticating the syllables in his mind, he relented that it wasn¡¯t so bad if he let one through.

    ¡°What¡¯s in it for me?¡± Bai averted his psychic assailant¡¯s wanton eyes.

    ¡°Whatever you like,¡± the girl teased him.

    ¡°I want you to leave him alone. How¡¯s that?¡±

    ¡°Sure.¡± Gwen''s swift response made light of his request. ¡°I promise.¡±

    ¡°Hmm,¡± Bai grunted. ¡°Jinwei Li¡±

    ¡°From Lulu''s family?¡±

    ¡°Yes. A third-year - keeps to himself usually; quiet and doesn¡¯t speak much. Jinwei hails from Huashan¡¯s Inner Sect, the Patriarch''s faction. He''s sitting at the apex of Lulan¡¯s generation.¡±

    ¡°Would Lulu know him?¡±

    ¡°Presumably. From what I''ve heard from the other Clanners, your girl''s problems with her Iron Heart technique makes her a bit of an outcast. On the other hand, Jinwei is a decent fellow. The strange thing is, he¡¯s never shown any interest in Fudan¡¯s extra-curricular pursuits, like most Clanner prodigies, he¡¯s enrolled to receive a degree from a C9 university, then go home. It was the same with Lulan Li; they¡¯re only here for the formal certification.¡±

    ¡°How about you?¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t say I am not in the same boat, but I do enjoy my time here.¡± Bai smiled. ¡°The reason I am telling you this is because I can¡¯t figure out why Jinwei would sign up to the IIUC. He¡¯s a third-year, meaning even if he¡¯s a part of the winning team, all his gains are limited. For Lulan and Kusu, a win could be huge. They could find new Masters, gain scholarship grants, receive positions in the CCP or Pudong Tower - as for Jinwei; he''ll receive a better position, that''s all.¡±

    ¡°So you think he¡¯s here for Lulu?¡±

    ¡°Its as good a reason as any other,¡± Bai confessed. ¡°There¡¯s no promoting Huashan¡¯s Spellcraft because no one else can use it. I mean, take yourself, for example, your Spell List uses IMS incantations, and your purpose is to peddle Void Magic to the public. For Jinwei, who knows?¡±

    ¡°That is suspect." Gwen¡¯s eyes flashed dangerously. "If he¡¯s here to pull Lulan¡¯s leg¡­¡±

    ¡°Gwen, you promised¡­¡±

    ¡°Yeah-yeah.¡± The Void sorceress averted Bai¡¯s eyes. ¡°Thanks, Senior Bai. I owe you one.¡±

    Bai sipped his ice tea. Hopefully, the Clan of Li saved themselves the trouble. If not, and if Jinwei Li attempted to sabotage Lulan¡¯s IIUC opportunities, then Bai could only pray that Huashan preached the Confucian teachings that the Junzi must remain unbound by negative emotions of resentment and vengeance.

    Likewise, as a disciple of the old Masters, it was his duty to give the girl at least a little guidance.

    "Gwen." Bai cleared his throat, then smiling, he adopted a segment from the Analects. "The gentleman is never contentious. Even in losing, he shall retire to drink the forfeit-cup. So that in victory or loss, he remains a true Junzi."

    The girl''s grin was enough to melt the smile right from his face.

    "Oh, but Sir," Gwen assured her senior of her best intentions. "I am not a gentleman."

    As it turned out, Eric Walken was precisely the sort of scoundrel Confucious feared.

    ¡°Here are the stats on your competitors.¡± Walken passed over almost two-dozen data slates. ¡°Have a look and advise me on how you wish to proceed. Remember, all¡¯s fair in love and war.¡±

    Banishing Senior Bai from her mind, Gwen lowered her eyes and perused the data slates.

    Anita Wong

    Position:: Defence

    P.O.B:: China, Beijing

    Ethnicity:: Han

    Age: 19

    Eyes: Amber (Clear)

    Hair: Black

    Height: 168CM

    Transmutation (5), Abjuration (3)

    Quasi-Elemental:: Mineral (Calcite)

    Spirit:: Rock-Eater (Minor)

    S.I.D:: 12598 S0203

    Questing Class Permit:: A2

    P.P.M.I.D:: 9443399 002

    Note:: Persistent Crystalline Effects, Spirit can restore Caster¡¯s mana by consuming Transmuted or Conjured Earth Elements.

    There¡¯s even a picture of the young woman, a northerner with sharp cheekbones and a mirthful smile.

    Quickly, Gwen skimmed through the others, pausing whenever she struck a familiar name.

    Karie Mok

    Position :: Utility

    P.O.B:: China, Hangzhou Frontier

    Ethnicity: Han

    Age:: 20

    Eyes: Black

    Hair: Dark Blue

    Height: 154CM

    Divination (5), Illusion (4)

    Prime-Elemental:: Air

    Spirit:: None

    S.I.D:: 12598 S0101

    P.P.M.I.D :: 8942379 003

    Questing Class Permit:: A4

    Note:: Currently the sole specialist Diviner in Selection

    The only Diviner.

    Gwen touched a finger to her lips.

    Alas, that spot could have belonged to Mayuree.

    Now that Miss Mok was the sole Diviner, the only recourse was that she and this girl must both enjoy a most cordial working relationship.

    Next was her cousin.

    Richard Huang

    Position:: Defence, Control

    P.O.B:: Australia, Sydney

    Ethnicity: Eurasian

    Age: 19

    Eyes: Grey, Dark

    Hair: Brown, Dark

    Height: 185 CM

    Conjuration (5) Abjuration (4)

    Prime Elemental:: Water

    Spirit:: Lea (Sapient Undine, High)

    S.I.D:: 12601 S0203

    P.P.M.I.D :: 8341279 005

    Questing Class Permit:: AA2

    Note:: Undine Spirit allows complete control of water with effectiveness up to tier 8. Key strategist. Unless selected with Gwen Song, the contestant will withdraw from the IIUC.

    Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

    The note flooded Gwen with a flush of warmth.

    Lu Fung

    Position:: Offence

    P.O.B:: China, Nantong

    Age:: 18

    Ethnicity: Han

    Eyes: Black

    Hair: Black

    Height: 172CM

    Conjuration (5), Divination (3) Evocation (2)

    Quasi-Elemental:: Lightning

    Spirit:: Wanli (Medium)

    S.I.D:: 13598 S0203

    P.P.M.I.D :: 8342228 004

    Questing Class Permit:: A3

    Note:: Aerial Familiar.

    Poor Lu, she thought to herself. The Conjurer would have been amazing if not for their mutual redundancies. Even though Lu appeared to have completed his Divination for Link-Sight before she did, she wasn''t confident in his chances.

    Lulan Li

    Position:: Offence

    P.O.B:: China, Shaanxi Frontier

    Age:: 17

    Ethnicity: Han

    Eyes: Brown

    Hair: Black

    Height: 164 CM

    Huashan Sword-Art (5)

    Prime-Elemental:: Earth (Iron)

    Spirit:: None

    S.I.D:: 16798 S0102

    P.P.M.I.D :: 8783379 003

    Questing Class Permit:: AA2

    Note:: Experienced Questing Mage. Unless selected with Gwen Song, the contestant will withdraw from the IIUC.

    Lulan was such a sweetie.

    Kitty Liang

    Position:: Offence, Control

    P.O.B:: China, Qinhai Frontier

    Age:: 18

    Ethnicity: Hui

    Eyes: Brown (Light)

    Hair: Black

    Height: 159 CM

    Evocation (5) Transmutation (5)

    Para-Elemental :: Air / Ice

    Spirit:: Ice Roc (Minor)

    S.I.D :: 11597 S0103

    P.P.M.I.D :: 8341279 005

    Questing Class Permit:: A4

    Note:: Exceptional aerial combatant, excellent control over dual-elemental magic.

    The next slate was for herself, with the same headshot she had taken when she enrolled.

    Gwen Song

    Position:: Offence, Control

    P.O.B:: Australia, Sydney

    Age:: 17

    Ethnicity: Eurasian

    Eyes: Hazel (Green)

    Hair: Black

    Height: 182CM

    Evocation (5), Conjuration (5) Transmutation (3)

    Abjuration (2) Divination (1) Illusion (2)

    Quasi-Elemental :: Lightning / Void

    Spirit:: Ariel (Pseudo Kirin, Minor) Caliban (Void Beast, unconfirmed)

    S.I.D:: 12598 S0203

    P.P.M.I.D :: 9840598 001

    Questing Class Permit:: A2

    Note:: Void Mage. The individual is extremely dangerous. Potentially unstable. Candidate backing including Nantong Fungs, Dean Luo, Jun Song and Ambassador Ayxin of Huangshan.

    Am I taller again? Gwen furrowed her brows. She wasn¡¯t going to become a basketball player at this rate, was she? And ''extremely dangerous?'' Well, she supposed that was right. Unstable? Now that¡¯s just rude-

    AYXIN?

    The Dragon-princess had put in a word for her? Was this her returning a favour, or was this at uncle Jun¡¯s behest? If Ayxin made a request, then her selection was most certainly assured. No official would risk the sanctuary of Shanghai just so that they could follow ethical guidelines for a Questing competition Fudan had failed for two decades straight.

    After taking a moment to take in the gravitas of her nepotic rise to power, Gwen quickly flipped through the data slates until she found the one Senior Bai had mentioned.

    Jinwei Li

    Position:: Offence

    P.O.B:: China, Xian

    Age:: 20

    Ethnicity: Han - Uyghur

    Eyes: Grey (Light)

    Hair: Warm Brown

    Height: 176 CM

    Huashan Sword-Art (6)

    Prime-Elemental:: Earth (Iron)

    Spirit:: Onyx Cricket (Medium)

    S.I.D:: 12598 S0203

    Questing Class Permit:: AA1

    P.P.M.I.D:: 8235909 003

    Note:: Commendation from General Yingyi Hao for exceptional valour in combat.

    Jesus, Gwen swore under her breath. Lulan had nothing on this guy. It was like comparing herself to Lu Fung.

    The headshot showed a serious looking young man with large, oval eyes more typical of nomads living on the western steppes. The rest of the man¡¯s face was atypically Han-Chinese, pancake flat and delicate, with thin lips and a straight, flattering nose. Rather than handsome, Gwen found the young man strangely effeminate.

    Walken glanced over her shoulder. He liked to do that a lot, she noticed.

    ¡°That one''s giving you grief?¡±

    ¡°Not yet.¡± Gwen mulled her options. ¡°Where did you get these?¡±

    ¡°Found them lying around."

    The two exchanged a look.

    ¡°So that you know, the Chinese have a saying: strike first and gain the upper hand,¡± Walken spoke beside her ear. ¡°Why resolve a problem when you can prevent one?¡±

    Gwen swallowed apprehensively, reading her Instructor''s thoughts.

    "Wouldn''t that be... unethical?"

    "Ha!" Walken snorted. "You think they wouldn''t do the same to you? They''re afraid, that''s all! The University - the Tower - your allies will skin anyone who dares!"

    "But-"

    "No ''buts''!"

    "Eric-"

    "Gwen - if you can take advantage of a situation in some way, it is your duty to do so. Why should the race always be to the swift or the contest to the strong? Should your competitors be allowed an advantage merely because of their superior gifts, rarer talents, their God-gifted grace? Of course not: victory, Gwen, is the gift man gives himself. Your contemplation of ''fairness'' is a disservice to yourself."

    "I am pretty sure that is NOT what Ecclesiastes says," Gwen recognised at least a part of Walken''s faux bible blurb.

    "No, but it is the psalm of victors." Walken''s face burned with a fervent faith.

    Her teeth clenched.

    The man''s advice was difficult to refute.

    What is fairness? She found herself questioning her motives. Where''s the line separating morality and immorality? Was this a case of the hero¡¯s hubris turning them into the villain? What would she do? Use the Fung Clan to pressure Huashan until the Clan relented, or use her money to crush the Clan''s finances, then use the leverage to force them to give up all their secrets for Lulan while simultaneously withdrawing Jinwei? Given the next four months, it was doable.

    But that would be evil.

    Or would it?

    Wouldn¡¯t her enemies have done the same, relenting but for the lack of gall?

    It¡¯s a slippery slope! She cautioned herself against Walken!

    BUT! The crony capitalist in her mind stood up in her four-inch heels. Isn¡¯t ruthless competition the whole point? A true Laissez-faire market of ''fair competition'' was just a pipe dream, something that never existed in the first place. In a perfect world, if they were bakers and not Mages, they would all submit their pies to market, and everyone would have a fair shake of the sauce bottle. The reality though, was that if she were to bake the world''s greatest sausage roll, it was more likely some scoundrel on the other side would try to steal her recipe, break her fingers, or prohibit her goods from sale.

    As such, as the one holding the tongs, shouldn¡¯t she reciprocate?

    To be fair was to be unfair to herself: that was the case for business, if so, why shouldn''t it apply to her competitors here?

    An arc of electricity leapt from her hair, singing the air.

    Opposite, Walken marvelled at the girl¡¯s hawkish gaze staring into the middle distance, her lips muttering words only she could hear. As shades of colour played through the pale complexion of her face, the Magister couldn''t help but be reminded of how Gwen had deceived him.

    Blackmail? Extortion? Coercion? What terrible plans must the girl be concocting now?

    The next morning Gwen Song woke from troubled dreams, finding herself transformed in her bed into a horrible vermin.

    ¡°God, you look terrible,¡± Petra observed when she finally crawled out of bed. ¡°Are you not using your Essence?¡±

    ¡°Errghn,¡± Gwen excused herself. She had spent the whole night fantasising about all the things she shouldn''t be doing.

    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡±

    ¡°¡­ nothing.¡± She made a face, wondering if she should tell Petra she¡¯s deciding on whether to undermine her competitors unscrupulously.

    ¡°How¡¯s the Chakram going?¡± Her cousin misread her anxiety.

    ¡°I am testing out propulsion and range with Magister Lee on Thursday.¡± Gwen sighed. ¡°Making new spells is hard.¡±

    Petra laughed.

    ¡°It took Master and me two years to formalise Spell Cubes as a new class of Magic.¡± she chuckled. ¡°Of course it¡¯s hard.¡±

    ¡°But you¡¯re pioneering a whole new branch of Spellcraft, going where no Mage has ever gone before!¡± Gwen buttered her cousin and companion. ¡°I am just trying to put some age-old knowledge together in a functional way.¡±

    Petra blushed.

    ¡®Ding!¡¯ Gwen''s Message device chimed.

    ¡°Sorry, let me get this. Lulu, what¡¯s up?¡­ What? WHAT?! OKAY, WAIT FOR ME!¡±

    ¡°Sorry, Pats - emergency!¡± Gwen scowled.

    The bastard! She spat internally. To think Huashan would strike when she least expected it!

    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± Petra watched her cousin fly into a seething malevolence. ¡°What¡¯s this about?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve been looking up a guy called Jinwei Li,¡± Gwen explained from the bedroom, quickly slipping out of her nightie and slapping on whatever was on hand. ¡°Struggling - STRUGGLING with my conscience to not send the guy to meet the Mermen in Nantong, and now he comes calling at Lulu¡¯s!¡±

    ¡°Who¡¯s Jinwei?¡± The Russian observed her glowering, pink-fleshed cousin. ¡°Another molester?¡±

    ¡°Nope!¡± Gwen growled, spluttering as she struggled into her dress. ¡°Worse!¡±

    ¡°Ahahahaha¡­¡± Gwen laughed awkwardly, holding Lulan close to her body, a hand gripping each shoulder. ¡°As I thought, it¡¯s all a misunderstanding!¡±

    ¡°Gwen¡­¡± Lulan winced. ¡°You¡¯re hurting me.¡±

    ¡°Sorry!¡± Her fumbling fingers relaxed.

    A few minutes ago, she had charged head first into Lulan¡¯s apartment with both Familiars akimbo. The moment Gwen saw Jinwei looming over Lulan, she let loose a surge of concentrated Dragon-fear like a shaped-charge, blasting the poor Sword Mage with the force of a high-tier Horrify.

    On reflex, Jinwei leapt backwards, a gleaming sword materialising in each hand, filling the air with the sound of screaming metal.

    ¡°Take him down!¡± Gwen commanded. "But keep him alive!"

    Ariel leapt onto Lulan¡¯s dining table, scattering plates, fried tofu, soy sauce, porridge and pickles all over. Meanwhile, Caliban slithered through the kitchen to flank the Mage, banging through the cramped space, sending down a torrent of spice-jars, cups, glasses and a pot lid.

    ¡°On your knees, Asshole!¡± Gwen''s voice thundered through the room, shaking plaster from the walls. ¡°How dare you!¡±

    ¡°Gwen, no!¡±

    "I haven''t finished eating!" Kusu despaired.

    Lulan tackled Ariel as it zoomed toward Jinwei, hugging it close to her chest. Kusu sidestepped, halting Caliban¡¯s advance.

    ¡°Miss Song! Why are you attacking me? I am here at your behest!¡± Jinwei fired back, both swords raised for self-defence.

    Perplexed, Gwen commanded her Familiars to stand down.

    ¡°What? Explain yourself!"

    ¡°I am here because of the request you and Lulan set at Fudan T2!¡±

    Gwen looked at Lulan nodding her head desperately. Kusu likewise moved his chin up and down vigorously.

    ¡°Cousin Jinwei is here for the Heart-piercing Sword Quest,¡± Lulan¡¯s brother informed their saviour. ¡°Hence, you and Lulu invited him.¡±

    Ariel gave its Master a look, asking if it should maim the guy and be done with it. Caliban slobbered all over, despoiling Kusu'' rug.

    ¡°Ah~...¡± Gwen cringed, feeling herself shrink. She grabbed Lulan, then hid behind the girl''s profile to mask her evident mortification.

    The Old Gods beyond! She groaned. It was true; she was the reason the man was over at Lulan¡¯s apartment in the first place. To the poor bugger, it must seem like she and Lulu had lured him into a trap, and now the three of them were going to send him to the hospital for a long time.

    ¡°Sorry!¡± she apologised again, recalling her complaining Familiars. ¡°Shall we¡­ take a seat?¡±

    The trio looked around the apartment. Its current state suggested a trio of Tasmanian devils had ravaged the Li siblings'' abode.

    ¡°Or not.¡± Gwen squeezed Lulan''s arm like a stress ball, making the girl wince. ¡°Erm¡­ brunch, my shout?¡±

    Thankfully, with an hour to spare before class, there was enough time for the foursome to gather at a local cafe and discuss the matter of Jinwei¡¯s visit.

    ¡°I am here for the CCs,¡± Jinwei confessed. ¡°As well as a peace offering from the main family.¡±

    An olive branch? Gwen sipped her coffee.

    ¡°I am not going back,¡± Lulan stated right off the bat.

    "You tell ''em," Gwen affirmed Lulu''s decision. "No one is going to make you go anywhere."

    Kusu appeared pained, thinking of the leverage lost after Lulan refuted Jinwei¡¯s offer without even hearing the man out. A simpleton his sister was, but she was honest and dear to his heart.

    ¡°I am afraid returning would be impossible,¡± Jinwei answered earnestly. The young man''s almond eyes gave him an affable appearance. ¡°The two of you broke Clan law. If anything, it¡¯s a miracle that both of you have retained the Iron-heart technique. Normally, we are honour-bound to retrieve the catalyst.¡±

    ¡°Then why are you helping Lulu?¡± Gwen''s voice cut through the space between Lulan and her cousin. ¡°You joined the IIUC trial. I want to know why. Is it to sabotage her chances?¡±

    ¡°Nothing of the sort,¡± Jinwei refuted the accusation. ¡°I¡¯ve been instructed to support Miss Li and if need be, gift her my slot if she happens to fail the selection criterion.¡±

    Both Lulan and Kusu appeared bewildered.

    Gwen remained dubious. This gift was equally a threat.

    ¡°In exchange, the Huashan Clan would like to ask Miss Song to repay the favour.¡±

    ¡°Oh?¡± Gwen crossed her arms. ¡°A favour from me?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡± Jinwei simpered. ¡°Could you ask the Fung Clan to give us a position in the Nantong Tonglv project? Or rather, could you ask them to allow us to tender for a position?¡±

    Gwen''s brows formed the Chinese pictogram for ''eight''.

    ¡°All the major Clans have a stake in the project,¡± Jinwei explained. ¡°Either in exploration, subjugation, security or infrastructure. As a state venture, Nantong is exceedingly safe and especially lucrative, so much that it''s now called the ¡®Southern Miracle¡¯. The word from one of our sources says that it¡¯s going to be one of the most profitable infrastructural projects within a decade, and you''re somehow involved in all its sudden transformation.¡±

    Venture capitalism, Gwen snorted. When credit-derivative economics attended Tonglv''s 19th-century shipping operations, it''s only natural there''s going to be boatloads of crystals to be made.

    ¡°¡­ But so far we¡¯ve been kept out of every possible avenue. Members of our Clan can¡¯t even take up positions as guards for the construction teams.¡±

    Must be Dai, Gwen discerned.

    Or perhaps his father, Shen.

    The Fungs knew that she had ''beef'' with the Huashan Sword Mages.

    Assuming she was right, was Patriarch Shen trying to do her a solid? No, that kind of thinking was foolish. In business, one acted only on principles of leverage and benefit, privileging one''s interest. Rather than rebuking Shen Fung, it would be easier to allow Huashan into the second-stage expansion.

    ¡°Senior Jinwei says the Clan is short on funds,¡± Lulan added timidly. ¡°They need crystals and CCs to rebuild the mount¡¯s infrastructure, as well as hire experts to decipher the Clan¡¯s Magic for the IMS Spell List.

    A Clan attempting to modernise? Gwen studied Jinwei''s reaction. The young man seemed amiable enough, though as usual, the more harmless a rival appeared, the more sceptical she felt.

    ¡°What makes you think Lulu can¡¯t make it on her own?¡±

    ¡°The fact that you put out a 200 CC notice requesting for an incantational algorithm to replicate the Piercing-Heart Technique?¡±

    Okay, there is that, Gwen grumbled.

    ¡°So, you¡¯re pawning your Clan¡¯s magic, is that it?¡±

    ¡°As a peace offering, yes. Of course, since I took the Quest, I assume you¡¯ll be paying the CCs.¡±

    Gwen scoffed.

    Lulan pulled at her sleeve like a kitten begging for treats.

    Gwen sighed.

    ¡°Very well, Mr Li, what do you propose?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve brought the scrolls for the Heart-Piercing Sword, and I¡¯ll demonstrate and teach Lulu the magic in a Cog-Chamber. If you can provide a Magister capable of dismantling or reconstituting the spell, we¡¯re willing to share the spell with outsiders under the condition that we publish as a co-contributor and receive credit for the new spell.¡±

    Which means they can teach it to their Clan members without paying CCs, Gwen mulled over the Sword Mage¡¯s offer. As for Magisters skilled in deconstructing magic, she had Wen, Walken, possibly Petra, and other human resources to call on.

    That said, she wouldn''t be sharing her limited knowledge of physics with the Sword Mage Clan. What Lulu and Lulu alone would be firing from the Heart-Piercing Sword spell would remain her very own Signature Spell.

    Rationally speaking, Li''s barter was acceptable. With Tonglv''s Stage 1 nearing completion, there''s plenty of pie left.

    ¡°And in addition to that, you¡¯ll occupy a competitor¡¯s slot, help her in the June try-outs, and bow out if you¡¯re chosen instead of herself?¡±

    ¡°Assuming our Nantong predicament is resolved by then, of course.¡±

    He''s dual-wielding a stick and a carrot, Gwen meditated while giving the man the evil eye.

    ¡°Lulu? Kusu?¡±

    The siblings had nothing to say; it wasn¡¯t as though they had sway with the Fungs.

    ¡°Deal.¡± Gwen extended a hand. ¡°Help Lulu, and everyone wins. Stab her in the back, and your Clan becomes penniless, and you''re food for Caliban.¡±

 Chapter 241 - The Perils of Fame

    ¡°Of course, Patriarch. I¡¯d love to attend.¡± Gwen tore herself from her note laden table. Her workspace was starting to resemble Petra''s in more ways than one.

    Herself, Dai and Ken had been invited to attend the Tonglv Canal''s first major milestone.

    Just the thought of it quickened her blood.

    A single transmuted wall, a hundred meters deep and a quarter-kilometre wide, stood between the waterway and the South China Sea.

    After the ribbon-cutting, a steady stream of water would gush into the channel, connecting it to the Yangtze River, after which a torrent of HDMs would swell with the tide, overflowing Nantong''s coffers.

    Grains, vegetables, stone, steel, lumber, and livestock from the Su-Hang tableland would enjoy an unimpeded passage to the South China Sea, bypassing the inundated Port of Shanghai, finally relieving Shanghai''s inundated waterways.

    She quickly fired Richard and the others a Message, only to recall that they were already on the way to Nantong. As principle contributors to the eradication of Demi-human infestations in the region, Richard¡¯s party had a place of honour among the adventurers and mercenaries, away from the big-wigs. Instead, her replacement companions would be Ru¨¬, Effi and Terence, all of whom had been invited by Dai.

    Thus attired in the porcelain blue attire her grandmother had gifted her, she stepped into the limousine with Dai and the others, cautioning her NoM companions about the displacement sickness that came with long-distance Teleportation.

    ¡°Senior Bai, Gwen''s on the Vid-cast!¡±

    Bai halted his sparring match when one of the Fudan DC members came running into the gymnasium, waving his arms like a madman.

    ¡°Our Flower of Fudan is on CCVC-1!¡± he hollered. "Someone change the Divi-stream!"

    CCVC-1 was the official channel for state broadcasts. It ran a 24-hour news service, looping the latest incursions, attacks, victories and conquests made by the CCP.

    ¡°I am turning it up!¡± Someone else fired off a glyph at the overhanging Vid-caster.

    In the next moment, all eyes gathered on the projection, searching for the familiar silhouette of their leggy mascot.

    (Music Plays)

    (The CCVC-1 LOGO zooms out to reveal a reporter standing atop the canal, below which hundreds of thousands of officials and local elites thronged shoulder to shoulder.)

    Zhuli Wei

    ¡­ therefore, the Tonglv Committee has chosen today, the 22nd of April, as the auspicious day to ¡®break earth¡¯ and inaugurate the canal. Though initially a troubled project attracting criticism from the Central Bureau for its wastefulness, recent administrative changes have brought new life to the Tonglv Project, now designated one of the most successful government infrastructural projects in a decade, receiving not just attention from the District¡¯s Office, but from Central as well - Lu Joan reports.

    (The picture cuts to another reporter wearing a formal cocktail dress.)

    Joan Lu

    Thank you, Zhuli, as you can see behind me, the Big Three responsible for the completion of the Canal¡¯s main transit artery arenow making their way onto the stage for the ribbon-cutting ceremony. Leading them is Secretary Shen Fung of the Nantong Fung Clan, a loyal and local member of the Party who has laboured since two decades ago to integrate the Nantong Frontier into Greater Shanghai Metropolitan Region.

    (The reporter approaches Shen Fung)

    Good afternoon, Secretary Fung, how do you feel about your achievement?

    Shen Fung

    To say that I feel proud would be an understatement. This project is my child. To ensure its success, I have scoured every resource from Nantong. I want to say I deserve the credit, but that is not true. The real honour goes to the people and the Party! Personally, I would like to thank our decision makers from Central for supporting my vision and the dreams of Nantong''s workers. Likewise, I am grateful to our craftsmen, both NoMs and Mages, who have laboured day and night for the better part of six years to ensure that today, our earth-breaking ceremony is not a dream, but a reality. The prosperity of Tonglv is the prosperity of the people!

    Joan Lu

    Well said, Secretary Fung.

    (Shen Fung leaves to join a group of local power brokers - but not before he directs Joan''s attention to a group of young people, at the head of which is his son, Dai Fung.)

    Next, we have a leader who is familiar to many of us - the recently promoted Chairman Tu Guangshao of the Shanghai Economic Exchange. Chairman Tu of the Greater Regional Economics Committee has been instrumental in reforming the financial operations of the Tonglv project.

    Chairman, how do you feel about this day?¡±

    Guangshao Tu

    Joan, good to see you again.

    (Tu bows toward the audience)

    To our viewers at home, Tonglv is a sea-change, not only for Nantong but for China itself. Though I cannot reveal too much, this project and its administrative practices will go down in history as the beginning of China¡¯s economic rebirth. Soon, we will return to being the ''middle-nation'' of the human world. In the decades to come, all of us, and all of you, whether in the Districts, in Xian, Beijing or Shanghai or the Frontiers, will feel the positive impact of our nation''s economic growth. I am truly happy to have served Mao''s teachings and the People''s Republic!

    Joan Lu

    Thank you for your service. Chairman Tu.

    Guangshao Tu

    Chen Quin! Stop dawdling! Get over here!

    Joan Lu

    Next, we have Magister Chen Quin, formerly of Jianqiao University. Within the triumvirate, Magister Chen represents the Overseer Committee. Thanks to his efforts, corruption and nepotism have had nowhere to hide. Magister, what do you foresee for the future of Tonglv Canal?

    Quin Chen

    A good question. Tonglv will, in the next five years, overtake Shanghai''s Port Authority in the volume of goods exported from the Su-Hang region. Like comrade Tu ha stated, our international port shall be the most progressive ventures the Party has ever embarked. For the people of Nantong, this region will become a new industrial centre for processing, packing and shipping. Naturally, this means that we - the Overseer Committee from Central, will be keeping a close eye on matters!

    Joan Lu

    Excellent, Magister Chen. Can you introduce us to some of your proteges?

    (The Lumen-Recorder dutifully pans toward the group of young men and women the Big Three had been conversing with.)

    Quin Chen

    Of course, young people are the future of our nation. James! Bring Dai, Ken and Gwen over.

    (One of the men, an older gentleman, hesitates. Though placed on the spot, he follows through with Chen¡¯s demands.)

    Joan Lu

    You¡¯re Professor James Ma from Fudan University!

    James Ma

    I am pleased and honoured to be here.

    Joan Lu

    Has the famous rivalry between Fudan and Jianqiao ceased? Are you and Magister Chen working together? What are your thoughts on the Canal?

    James Ma

    ¡­ No, and yes. I am afraid the Canal''s importance supersedes any academic rivalry. This project is a boon for both Mages and NoMs. The number of jobs it will bring will completely transform this region; it would not be unrealistic to say that millions of people, our non-magical workers especially, will now be employed in one capacity or another-

    (Ma continues to speak about the boons of the Canal for the local NoM population. Joan can barely get a word in.)

    Quin Chen

    Perhaps it''s best to hear it straight from the source. Young Dai, the son of Secretary Fung, has been instrumental in Tonglv¡¯s progress. He has brought in innumerable investors with that silvery tongue of his.

    (The Lumen-recorder quickly moves toward the group of young people. A few of them look entirely at ease, while a few others appear mortified. The shot pauses on Dai, then subtly zoomed out as to capture a breathtakingly beautiful young woman beside the Fung heir.)

    Joan Lu

    Mister Fung, can you tell us more about your involvement in all of this.

    (Dai glances at the girl beside him, then begins to speak. Curiously, the beauty remains stoic.)

    Dai Fung

    Chairman Tu and Magister Chen are too kind. To say that I am instrumental in any of this would be a joke. If anything, we should thank the people, the Secretaries who have worked tirelessly to make this possible, not to mention the Party itself. Just being here fills me with a feeling of ardour and worship for the New China my generation will inherit. As for the details of the operation, Miss Song here is the one you should be interviewing.

    (Finally receiving a cue, the Mage operating the Lumen-Recorder zooms into the girl¡¯s face. The girl¡¯s eyes widen slightly, then she swallows. Her lips part, but no words emerge. Though the shot is flawlessly aesthetic, she appears speechless.)

    Joan Lu

    Miss Song?

    Dai Fung

    Gwen Song.

    Joan Lu

    Miss Gwen Song, it¡¯s a pleasure to meet you. I am Joan Lu, Central-Chinese Vid-Cast One.

    Gwen Song

    ¡­

    Dai Fung

    Please don''t mind her, Gwen is feeling shy because of the Lumen-recorders. Mark my words though, you will be seeing and hearing plenty more of her from now on. This young lady is a staple member of Fudan¡¯s IIUC team. This year, they¡¯re going international!

    (The Lumen-recorder performs a one over of the girl, scanning her from her wind-tossed hair to her gleaming Mary-Janes.)

    Dai Fung

    Earlier, my father and the others have been discussing how we should be cutting the ribbon, though I think we have just the omen. Gwen, can we borrow your Kirin?

    Joan Lu

    A Kirin!

    Dai Fung

    Indeed! Gwen is famous around Fudan and has caused quite a stir when she returned from Huangshan with a blessing that surprised us all. Her Uncle, you should know, is the Hero of the Northern Front, the Ash Bringer!

    If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

    Joan Lu

    A Kirin AND the niece of a national hero! Miss Song, we shall be keeping a close eye on your progress from now on!

    (The girl flashes a gentle smile before turning to her companion.)

    Gwen Song

    I am doing what now?

    Dai Fung

    You said it was fine.

    Gwen Song

    I never sai- You never said I was going to be on T- on Vid-cast!

    (The Lumen-Recorder quickly pans away, returning to the stage where the ceremony is about to begin.)

    ¡°There¡¯s Ariel!¡±

    ¡°Oooh! Lord Kirin!¡±

    On the gigantic Vid-Caster, Bai and the members of Fudan¡¯s Duelling Club giddily watched as Ariel, resplendent and fully fluffed, shot a streak of cobalt-lightning toward a giant ribbon tying together the final floodgates of Tonglv Canal¡¯s seawall.

    Slowly, still held aloft by currents of air, the two-storey ribbons fell apart to the sound of thunderous applause filling the valley.

    Below the noble visage of Gwen''s Kirin, an enormous, strategic-class Transmutation glyph blazed, ejecting two rods of ferro-concrete each the size of a small skyscraper, returning their mass back into the Elemental Plane of Earth.

    There was a sound of rumbling, then a sudden ratcheting of pressure and moisture. A taste of salt filled the air as all sound save the thundering chunder of the ocean was drowned out.

    Twin plumes of white water shot into the newly completed Tonglv Canal, a million-million litres of blue-green sea rushed into the basin, painting the grey-concrete black. Vapour from the crashing waterfall filled the atmosphere, kept away from the VIP personnel standing upon the ceremonial platform, drenching the observing crowd further away.

    A roaring cheer echoed across the churning valley.

    For those soaked to the bone, the wetness was a benediction. The people of Nantong had awaited this baptism for far too long. To them, the wet wasn¡¯t just so much brine; what Tonglv signified was the floodgates of progress; its spillage the water of life.

    After about a minute of silent awe, one of the Fudan DC members turned to the others.

    ¡°How about our princess, huh?¡±

    ¡°I love the way she stared into the Vid-Caster not knowing what to do.¡±

    ¡°Haha, our Worm-Handler can¡¯t handle Lumen-recorders.¡±

    ¡°Maybe that¡¯s her weakness. I¡¯ll bring one next time we duel.¡±

    ¡°Hahaha¡­¡±

    Gwen slipped out of her dress, then still wearing her bra and panties, freefell into her bed.

    Her brain attempted for the N-th time to catch up with the events of the day, yet still somehow failed to process the chaos that followed.

    First, Dai had asked her if using Ariel to perform an auspicious, ¡®good luck¡¯ ceremony to bring fair tidings and good optics was a good idea. Then suddenly, while she was daydreaming about her Chakram and still weighing the pros and cons of Ariel''s public appearance, the reporter started firing off questions.

    Her immediate reaction was to explode with a combo-chain of pointless Communist clich¨¦s, but thankfully her brain was working fast enough to seize her glib tongue and shove it back down her throat.

    Platitudes?

    New China?

    The Party?

    The Will of the Workers?

    Praise Chairman Mao?

    Holy shit! Are these guys still stuck in the Cultural Revolution? ''There will be no loyalty, except loyalty towards the Party. There will be no love, except the love of Chairman Mao?''

    More importantly, was she willing to paint herself in their colour?

    It was too dangerous!

    Looking like a deer caught in the path of a Disintegrate was far better than having the Pudong Tower and the Britannic Mageocracy doubt her integrity in the future. If she were to start ass-kissing the CCP and pass out little-red books on national television, she might as well start demanding a position in the Inner Party now.

    But while she looked on dumbly, Dai ran his mouth to ''save'' her.

    After that, they had walked onto the ceremony stage, where ten-thousand lumen-globes attached to recorders blitzed her until she was blind. Moreover, Patriarch Fung, Chairman Tu and Magister Chen dragged her onstage again for red carpet shots.

    But that wasn¡¯t the end of it, Dai and herself were requested by what she could only assume to be the propaganda corps to stand beside the churning levy with an adrift Ariel for more lumen-pics. When she attempted to dilute the attention by including Ru¨¬ and her other co-workers, her NoM companions fled the scene.

    Even after all was over and done, there remained the after-party back at the Fung building.

    There, as a result of her exposure, her status as an uncooperative guest had suddenly transformed into that of an unbidden co-host. Thus accosted on all sides by hungry-looking men, her hyper-vigilance against potential molesters had stretched her stress-levels to a breaking point. It was almost midnight when she finally goaded Dai into sending her back, exhausted and haggard, stumbling home to fall into a dreamless slumber.

    ¡°There she is!¡±

    ¡°Shaa! Shaa!¡±

    ¡°Mao! WHAT IS THAT?!¡±

    At Fudan¡¯s Guoding St entrance, a dog-pack had found their prey.

    A dozen lumen-globes fired their payload at the surprised maiden wearing her Friday casuals, a youthful combo combining a denim mini-skirt and a quarter-length blouse.

    When the paparazzi gang had burst from the street corner and accosted her, Fudan''s infamous Worm Handler reflexively erected a Shield. Caliban meanwhile, leapt in-between its Master and the men with large, pipe-like recording instruments, letting loose a threatening growl.

    Unfazed and hardened by years of reporting for the Front, a veteran paparazzo strafed to one side to catch a close-up side-profile of his next paycheck.

    "SHAAA!"

    A second later, he found himself on the floor, staring straight up at the sky with a Mongolian Death Worm sitting on his chest.

    ¡°Arrrrgh!¡± the man screamed while Caliban drooled all over his face, tentacles flailing this way and that.

    ¡°Cali, back!¡± the girl called out in a blind panic, un-summoning her fiend.

    A dozen cameras shifted between her panicked expression and the man on the floor, who by now had taken up his best impression of a critically injured international soccer player grazed on the shoulder by a damp feather.

    Confused by the exhibition but seizing the opportunity, the pack''s quarry ran for the gate, only to find that at least half of the men had anticipated her intent. From the speed of their movements, she gauged these were Mages and that there was no escaping them.

    Ten thousand llamas raced throughher mindscape as she sought for a way to escape her predicament. It was all very confusing to her, whose only experience with the media was a paid interview on the Sunday Telegraph promoting ''Women in Finance''. Why Magical Reporters? She cursed the tabloid press. Was the country so at ease that they could spare mystic personnel for the back pages?!

    She couldn¡¯t Dimension Door into the university, and she couldn¡¯t fly, which left her with one option.

    ¡°Jump!¡±

    Pulling on her skirt, she ran for the wall then leapt over the barrier, careful as to avoid the wards. As a student, she should be safe, though the reporters would have to enter through the gate and there, the campus guards would prevent their entry.

    When she landed, it was in a pile of filthy, wet leaves the gardener had piled up against the wall.

    Incidentally, she was wearing a white blouse.

    The girl sighed, closed her eyes for a moment to control her raging Essence, then materialised her laundry Cube. Using the device while attired ensured that her clothes never entirely dried out and that she would have to endure a horrid clamminess for several hours.

    ''Pa! Pa! Pa!'' Lumen bulbs flashed.

    She looked up.

    The fucking reporters had Levitate.

    Auspicious Kirin seals the deal in Tonglv

    25th July 2004

    The Shanghai Times

    A surprise appearance by a Kirin at the Tonglv Opening Ceremony shocked spectators and wowed officials on Thursday, marking the opening date with an auspicious and fortuitous conclusion.

    The soon to be operating Tonglv Canal will begin with a daily load of forty to sixty ships, reaching 1,500,000 Tons of cargo traversed per twenty-four hours while at capacity. At present, initial estimates show that the canal will generate 33,200,000 HDMs in its first two years as Tonglv''s stage 1 construction reaches its conclusion.

    The canal''s stage 2, involving the expansion of the Nantong Industrial Region, will see another, 3,320 km2 of infrastructural development with an estimated extension cost of 9,730,000 HDMs over three years. Once completed, the Nantong-Tonglv region will form the largest industrial-economic bloke outside of Shanghai itself, second only to the Guangdong peninsula. By 2008, the Central Economics Committee has estimated the total economic benefit generated by the project to exceed 1.2 billion HDMs.

    "By the end of 2004, the number of jobs for magical personnel will exceed, 20,000. By the completion of stage 2, we fully expect 50,000 full-time jobs to materialise for the Canal''s non-magical workers, with an additional 120,000 certification-required auxiliary positions anticipated, as well as countless seasonal positions for labourers, up to half a million," Professor James Ma from Fudan University has stated.

    More on Page 4.

    Guan-er-dai goes Berserk:

    IIUC Contestant Assaults photographer in brazen attack

    26th April 2004

    Cai Lin : Daily Shanghai

    New socialite darling Gwen Song: niece to the Hero of the Northern Front, Jun Song, allegedly attacked a newspaper reporter shortly after arriving at Fudan University¡¯s Gouding Road entrance, according to eye-witness reports.

    Miss Song, a second-year student at Fudan University, is the infamous Void Mage Shanghai''s second-oldest tertiary institution has been rearing for the IUCC face off against their academic rivals both local and overseas. Famous for her prodigious parallel cultivation of five Schools of Magic and her dual-element of Void and Lightning, the attention-seeking sorceress was seen attending the Tonglv Canal opening ceremony in the company of Dai Fung and was revealed to be personally acquainted with the Tonglv Big Three.

    Jeffery Liu, a news reporter of 32 years of age, stated that he approached Miss Song with other reporters to take lumen-pics of her.

    ¡°I took a few¡­ and as I walked to the side, giving her plenty of space, her Familiar charged me, ripped my shirt, then tripped me,¡± he said after the alleged incident.

    "As her monster did this, I fell over. I fell to the ground," Liu stated. ¡°I bruised my spine. The monster could have killed me at any time. I was fighting for my life.¡±

    "At no stage did I touch her or speak with her."

    Miss Song has offered no comments for the incident, but her Familiar was quoted declaring ¡°Shaaa! Shaaa!¡± Which according to other students interviewed by Daily Shanghai, inferred that it was ready to kill.

    Jeffrey Liu has spoken with Shanghai Municipal police about the incident later Friday but said he would not make a formal complaint about the matter.

    ¡°Are you kidding me? If I snitched on the granddaughter of Secretary Song, ten heads wouldn¡¯t be enough to chop!¡±

    ¡°Miss Song may be beautiful, influential and talented, but she represents the very symptom of what''s wrong with our society,¡± an anonymous source was quoted as saying. ¡°She thinks she¡¯s better than us; she thinks she''s untouchable.¡±

    Fudan University''s admissions office has declined to comment.

    ¡®Smack!¡¯

    Dean Luo whacked his prized student across the head with a rolled-up piece of newspaper. On the cover was twoimagesof Gwen, her white legs akimbo, first standing over an agonised reporter with Caliban over hischest, then with her fleeing the scene in a compromising position. On page four there was another picture of her looking peevish while wearing a wet blouse.

    ¡°Seriously?¡± the Dean wanted to break something. Maybe taking the chair and throwing it out the window would make him feel better. ¡°After all we did - after everything I''ve done! Why did this happen? Do you hate me, Miss Song? Is this payback for Walken?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not my intention!¡± Gwen spluttered. ¡°They caught me by surprise! I never intended to harm the man!¡±

    ¡°I know that!¡± Luo growled. ¡°They know that! BUT THE WORLD DOESN¡¯T KNOW THAT!¡±

    ¡°Can I sue them or something? For defamation? I''ve got crystals. A lot of crystals...¡±

    ¡°It''s a LITTLE LATE for that, Miss Song! What did your grandfather say?¡±

    ¡°To leave it alone¡­¡± Gwen sulked.

    Guo had been blissfully unaware at work, happy over the fact that his granddaughter was on the Vid-cast for such an important Party ceremony when the cleaner, Zao, walked in with the tabloids clutched under one arm. Guo had made a habit of always speaking to the workers, and that was when he saw a deeply disconcerting sight on the front page of a news rag famous for its yellow journalism.

    The resultant fallout had been spectacular, but the Chairman of the Confidential Communications Committee fought down his hypertension, knowing better than to pick at an open sore.

    The tabloids were an arm of the state''s Censorship Bureau. Usually, it was harmless entertainment. When needed - it became a scalpel for slashing defacing dissidents.

    Towering over an indignant Gwen, the likewise informed Dean rested his face between his meaty palms.

    ¡°You¡¯re grounded.¡±

    ¡°What?¡± Gwen performed a double-take. G-grounded? What was she, a ten-year-old?

    ¡°They¡¯re not going to let this go, so you¡¯re grounded. Until this thing blows over, you¡¯re going to stay here, in Fudan. I¡¯ll tell the maids to clear out one of the international guest houses for you. Petra can come and stay as well if you feel you''ll be lonely. I honestly believe she would prefer living a spit''s distance from Heilong Laboratory. Until the comp, focus on your studies and finish up your spell list. I¡¯ve got far too much riding on your IIUC right now. I can¡¯t afford to have you running around Consuming reporters.¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t hurt him!¡± Gwen screeched. ¡°O come on, how¡¯s that fair? I need to work!¡±

    The Dean remained adamant.

    Now committed, he approached the girl pleadingly and for a moment, wondered if taking a knee would make his case more convincing.

    "Gwen," he solicited her empathy. ¡°Until the IIUC starts, for both of our sakes, I need you to be picture perfect and your reputation unsullied. For your work, I¡¯ll get Birch to go set up a short-range Teleportation Circle at Guoding Road. So can you please, PLEASE stay out of trouble? Is it so hard to stay focused on your training for four months?¡±

    Gwen grew red as a beet, swallowing the ¡®You¡¯re not my Dad!¡¯ sentiment simmering at her throat.

    She owed the Dean this much at least.

    "Okay." She relented, "I still have my birthday though. It''s going to be big, or so Dai tells me. Everyone is going to be there, including the Big Three..."

    The Dean looked as though he was passing a kidney stone.

    "How about..." Gwen felt she should probably give the Dean a hug. "... I give you an invitation?"

 Chapter 242 - Paranoid Draconoid

    Spring erupted, emerald and wet as a whistle as Gwen¡¯s second summer in Shanghai cast the domed city into a heat haze, wilting the greenery. Cloistered by the university¡¯s shaded lanes, youths in the May of their lives, lithe-limbed and slick with sweat, came and went, the gossamer fabrics of their shirts and dresses clinging to their skin.

    Gwen Song, infamous Worm Handler and now man-handler of reporters, sat on a bench with her white legs crossed, Kirin to one side and cosmic horror on the other, taking a breather.

    Earlier, after so long, she had received a Message from Mayuree, stating that matters at home forbade her from travelling abroad. The Tyrant, Mayuree¡¯s Message had read, was wreaking havoc around Yangon, meaning all of her formidable powers of Divination were required to avert the worst of what disasters their developing nation-state must now endure.

    ¡°Sister Maymyint is going to attend in my stead,¡± Mayuree¡¯s sweet voice had chirped happily, devoid of any disappointment. ¡°I¡¯ve prepared a wonderful present for you: look forward to it!¡±

    Gwen exhaled, her body languished and beaten.

    It wasn¡¯t so much that she was sad Mayuree couldn¡¯t attend her birthday party. It was more so that her friend had been such a constant companion of her uni-life that in her absence, something felt amiss, like sliced salmon without wasabi. With Yue and Evee, it was at least her choice. With Mia, it was as though she''d been suddenly uprooted. That all three were absent and unavailable, not even on her LRM Message device made her all the more upset; especially Evee, who was away on fieldwork. As for Yue, Gunther had said that Alesia took her on exchange to New Zealand so that her friend could Fireball enemies other than Mermen.

    "Is there something you want for your birthday?" Gunther had asked for both himself and his sister-in-craft.

    Gwen declined, informing her brother-in-craft that he had already given her too much, especially that family insignia ring.

    Gunther had laughed, informing her it was no big deal, which made her all the more guilty. They had prepared a gift, he hinted, but it was with Alesia.

    Conversely, the month spent within the confines of Fudan had been fruitful. At the very least, a high-distinction average was assured.

    Regarding the incident, Walken inferred that he felt forces unseen were testing her. Her grandfather had said more or less the same thing, though his exact advice was to ignore it altogether because ''the lotus is unsullied by the mud'', which Gwen took to mean she was ''sludge proof'' so long as she held value.

    Not wasting the extra time afforded by her confinement, she and Magister Lee had finished her new spell. They had furthermore lodged the blueprint into the Tower¡¯s Spell Bank, marked ''Not for Exchange'' but to future proof copy-right claims. The process had been tedious, involving the Dean, Magister Lee and a drop of her blood, but when all was said and done, Gwen held the certification in her hand and felt the unique joy of creation.

    Void Chakram

    Evocation-Conjuration (4)

    Casting Time: 14 Major, 13 Minor Incantation

    Range: Far

    Components: Somatic, Verbal

    Duration: Instant, Persistent

    This unique Void-spell creates a ring of Void-matter which rotates to form a flat disk with a deadly cutting edge, maximising the efficiency of the expended vitality.Future revisions may include Seeking, Channelling, Echoing and other additional effects.

    On the footnote of the entry was the tab ¡®author¡¯ with her name ¡®Gwen Song¡¯, together with a publication date, the institution and the certifier.

    Conversely, Lulan¡¯s Panzerschreck wasn''t yet ready, though Jinwei, Magister Walken and Kusu were hard at work modifying the magic.

    "Eeee!"

    Ariel rolled its furry body over her thighs, resting its head on her chest. Immediately, the heat grew insufferable.

    How was it that Shanghai was so bloody humid?!

    She had half a mind to get her clothes enchanted with cooling and drying Glyphs!

    Still, heat or otherwise, her reprieve was at an end.

    For the next eight hours, she would cease to be herself.

    ¡°Why do I feel like I am getting married,¡± Gwen sceptically remarked while a stylist straightened out her hair and another thickened her lashes. For the last hour, she had sat in the ready room of the Four Seasons'' grand ballroom, attended by half a dozen maids chipping away at her body.

    In all honesty, it was what she had expected. Leaving her birthday celebration to Dai had been a classic manifestation of her masochism, and now she was asphyxiating under an avalanche of bothersome details.

    At first, they had planned for a hundred odd guests, mostly people Gwen knew or had known through the course of her stay in Shanghai.

    In the first draft, Gwen¡¯s immediate friends and family would attend. Babulya, grandfather, uncle Jun, her father and his new wife, now heavily pregnant, as well as her brother. She had even invited Mai and her brother¡¯s DC Captain, Kelvin Ma.

    After the Tonglv episode, the Nantong Fungs decided to make an appearance, bringing with them Patriarch Shen and an entourage that included his wife, his relatives and the young woman Gwen had saved from the Water Ghost¡¯s den, Lihong.

    A week later, they received the coup-de-grace.

    By mid-May, the news of Ayxin''s appearance had made the rounds through high society.

    Somehow, Gwen''s birthday bash was now an official gathering attended by Shanghai¡¯s big-wigs, involving the Tonglv Big Three, Ayxin the Dragon-princess, Wang Enterprises, the leading mistress of the House of M, a whole host of notable names and worthy titles, as well as the children attached to the city''s movers and shakers.

    Her eighteenth, as it were, was now no more than a convenient excuse for the men and women of wealth and weight to meet and greet. Excluding herself, many marriages of convenience and politics would emerge by the night¡¯s end, blessed by a Kirin and a Dragon.

    As for Gwen herself, she wasn¡¯t allowed to mingle until the moment was ripe. While her friends ate and drank like kings and queens outside, she was locked up inside the ready room, watching the clock make its ponderous circles while the maids modified every inch of her existence.

    "Er... no padding," Gwen declined the generous offer.

    Worst of all, she couldn''t choose her dress.

    For a birthday girl, she should arguably be wearing red. When Gwen saw the selection of dresses Dai had recommended, all she saw were faux wedding outfits.

    After a tart exchange with Dai, Magus Maymaruya brought the dress she would be wearing.

    It was Mayuree¡¯s gift.

    Mia¡¯s selection wasn¡¯t quite the flesh-peddling, skin-coloured mini-dress Q¨©n had made her wear, though it wasn¡¯t much better stylistically speaking. The dress Mayuree had picked out was a gem-encrusted gown in salmon pink, sleeveless and studded with pearls.

    ¡°Now that''s what I call impressive apparel.¡± Dai smacked his lips, swallowing at the sight of her white arms peeking in and out of the diaphanous shawl. ¡°Just one of those South Sea pink pearls is worth a dozen HDMs. The whole outfit? Probably close to five or six thousand.¡±

    ¡°Why?¡± Gwen moved her legs, struggling against the thirty centimetres of freedom the dress¡¯ fishtail setting allowed. The damn thing was absurdly heavy. Had she been any less of an ox, she would have had to buff herself with Enhance Strength and Fortitude.

    "To flaunt of course.¡± Dai smirked. ¡°Those are Creature Cores, you know. You''re wearing the lifetime income of a low-level official.¡±

    She wanted to say that wearing the remains of ten-thousand oysters was revolting, but the dress was Mayuree¡¯s heartfelt gift, delivered from her homeland. Only by wearing it happily and without complaint could she send Mayuree sparkling lumen-recordings.

    ¡°Miss,¡± one of her assistants interrupted her daydreaming from below. Thanks to her four-inch heels, the dress was hoisted an inch above the floor. With her piled hair, she was almost two meters tall. ¡°You have ten minutes.¡±

    Gwen eyed the door.

    It was time to put on a face to meet the faces that you meet.

    Dragons, as a race, were not the sort to feel torn.

    An act was right because a Dragon had performed it, and because one of their kind had performed it, the results, therefore, must be right. Only a Dragon had the right to contest another Dragon.

    When she resided on the Mount, Ayxin was second only to Ruxin, who was the oldest. When Ruxin left to claim a lair of his own, Ayxin became the penultimate being on the Mount.When Golos erred, she punished him. When Ryxi failed some task, she berated him. As her father had never harshly rebuked Ayxin, she could only presume her wisdom preeminent.

    But coming down to the mortal world, meeting Jun and then the girl, she felt the tumorous growth of doubt swelling under her scales, filling her with disquiet.

    The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    Her progenitor had plans for the girl, or more accurately, the girl featured strongly in whatever future the Yinglong had foreseen.

    Though hardly possessing the God-like wisdom of her immortal father, Ayxin couldn¡¯t help but feel a chill whenever the girl inched forward in her progress, sensing that somehow, the calamity of which her father spoke of wasn¡¯t so much one for the humans, but for the Yinglong as well, and maybe even Ayxin and her lover.

    Arguably then, Ayxin should keep away from the calamitous sorceress. But when Ayxin wilfully bonded with Jun, a relative to the girl and her caretaker, the Yinglong had remained silent. This contradiction was the source of her anxiety. As the faithful ¡®vessel¡¯ of her father''s will in the material world, her life outside the mountain peaks of the Yinglong''s five-taloned palm was most unnerving.

    ¡°Ayxin?¡± Jun carefully passed her a flute of bubbling, fermented grape-vinegar.

    Below their raised dais was a multitude of human officials, each wanting a word or sign from the Princess of Huangshan. It was a scene not unfamiliar to Ayxin, who centuries ago, had seen the same clich¨¦d deference and worship even as a girl-child. Perhaps in another nation, she would be less conspicuous and visible, but here, among these descendants of the Yellow Emperor, she was a goddess.

    For the folk of the yellow river, the worship of the Shenlong, the Yinglong and the Dragon-kind were engraved into their bones, carved into the nation¡¯s lore. Even their most common idioms and Confucian psalms drew inspiration from her kith and kin.

    A sudden blast of music filled the hall.

    The Master of Ceremonies, an NoM with a glib tongue and a sculpted, flawless mien, announced the entrance of the calamity into their midst.

    The crowd turned as one.

    Ayxin exhaled. At long last, she could rest.

    "Miss Gwen SONG!"

    Inching forward, Gwen recalled an old 80¡¯s show called Wrestle-Mania which used to be on television.

    The fighting had made no sense, and the storylines were convoluted, but what did impress was the increasingly more elaborate entrances taken by the wrestlers every other episode.

    Never had she conceived that her childhood fantasy would come true in such a spectacular fashion; that one day - she would be a woman whose entrance warranted BGM.

    Smoke, exploding confetti, illusory flames and an orchestra accompanied her arrival, attired in a pink-pearl wonder. On stage, an MC accounted for her presence as though she would run onto the dais, shoulder-barge Dai, then slam him against the ropes before gutter-stomping his face to the ground to the cheer of ten thousand spectators.

    To Gwen''s crystal-counting eyes, the whole setup was an exercise in excess.

    A giant, golden ¡®Eighteen¡¯ in Chinese pictograms floated across the high ceiling of the Grand Ballroom, completely negating the faux 1920s colonial Shanghai decor, while hundreds of guests, most of whom couldn¡¯t give two shits about her, cheered half-heartedly, waiting for the show to be over.

    Quickly, she skittered, inches at a time, for the embrace of her family and friends.

    Babulya was wiping away a tear of joy.

    Guo looked festive and pissed in equal measure.

    Her uncle stood next to a smiling Dragon-vessel.

    Her father and her step-mother were nowhere to be seen.

    Her mother had declined to attend.

    Tao and Mina, and their parents clapped alongside her grandmother, besides which stood Richard, Petra, Lulu and Mina, her classmates and workmates.

    Her Instructors, all of them, including Walken, stood awkwardly, joining the circle of applause.

    And finally, Dai and the Nantong power-brokers gave their public benedictions before retreated to a private corner.

    What then followed was an hour-long gifting ceremony, followed by another hour of lumen-pics. The reporters, Gwen noted, were perfect gentlemen when in the presence of the Secretaries.

    Grinning and bearing it all, her only solace was that she had stuffed herself prior. Should the tabloids obtain a picture of her in a 5000 HDM dress, holding multiple pheasant drumsticks in each hand, she would run afoul ofpunishing headlines.

    With the main event over, Gwen had half-a-mind to tear the bottom of her dress to let her legs breathe. Despite escaping to the balcony, she found no solace in the damp humidity of the hotel¡¯s sky garden, but at least she could avoid the cacophony of men and women peddling politics. Inside, Richard had gathered a little following of his own, consisting of young ladies; likewise, Petra''s unbidden escorts had cornered her for pictures. Unseen, the Li siblings were off trying to load up on the mana-rich banquet, while the Wang siblings were with their father, being passed around the room like chattel at a flea market. After giving Gwen a thick red envelope full of currency cards, her grandparents had likewise left to mingle politely with Gwen''s betters. As for the principal culprit of her party, Mister Dai Fung, the young man was having the time of his life beside his well-spoken father, evidently born and bred for statesmanship.

    In a way, Gwen was glad that Dai¡¯s mislead celebration had rectified her myopia regarding her love-struck buffoon. Ultimately, she rationalised, Dai really was his father¡¯s son. Even though they worked together and the young man¡¯s efforts at love were incompetent, he was clearly in his element here, far better than she could ever be.

    As for herself, it was only by sending forth Ariel and warding herself with Caliban that she could escape to the balcony to elude the chicken noises crowding her head.

    But she wasn''t alone for long.

    ¡°Miss Song,¡± came the voiceof a woman whose accented syllables had the slightest of lisps. The slender woman wore a one-piece dress in cerulean, punctuated by an enormous pearl fastened at the throat, beneath which a serpentine figure tantalised the viewer. ¡°I hope I am not intruding.¡±

    Gwen turned politely, recognising the face from the gift-giving ceremony.

    Caliban slithered aside. The eldest of the House of M approached.

    ¡°I am Maymyint - Mayuree is my little sister.¡±

    ¡°We met earlier; it¡¯s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Maymyint. Thank you for your extravagant gift.¡±

    The two women gingerly shook.

    ¡°Do you like the dress? Mia picked it out herself.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s lovely.¡± Gwen touched a hand to her pearl-plated bodice. ¡°She shouldn¡¯t have, its far too precious for the likes of me.¡±

    ¡°Think nothing of it; she speaks of you daily.¡±

    ¡°How is Mia?¡±

    ¡°Homesick.¡± Maymyint smiled. Gwen noticed her mouth was overlarge and predatory. ¡°While in her homeland, I may add. She misses you.¡±

    ¡°I miss her too,¡± Gwen declared wistfully.

    ¡°You may see her sooner than you think.¡± Maymyint opened her palm to reveal a Storage Ring. ¡°I have another gift for you from our Matriarch. However, it¡¯s best if you hold off opening it until the right time.¡±

    Gwen held off her impulsive curiosity.

    ¡°Please take it,¡± Maymyint implored. ¡°This is an important moment for Mayuree.¡±

    After a moment of hesitation, Gwen plucked the ring from Maymyint¡¯s palm.

    ¡°Can I ask-¡±

    ¡°You will know,¡± Maymyint replied cryptically. ¡°All I can say is that it has to do with Mayuree¡¯s talent.¡±

    ¡°Ah~.¡± Gwen realised what the woman was selling. She would keep it about her person for now. ¡°I¡¯ll take care of it then. Can you tell me what Mayuree¡¯s doing now?¡±

    Maymyint¡¯s smile split from ear to ear.

    ¡°I have just the thing.¡± The woman flashed her pearlescent teeth. ¡°I¡¯ve brought some Lumen-pics.¡±

    ¡°Ooo.¡± Gwen cooed. ¡°Let¡¯s see!¡±

    ¡°Here.¡± Maymyint produced a portable lumen-caster, one of the latest models from the States. With a few input glyphs, a picture of Mayuree appeared, dressed in the traditional garb of her people, standing next to an enormous elephant.

    ¡°How cute!¡±

    ¡°You¡¯d think, but they stink.¡± Maymyint''s tone grew mirthful. ¡°Here¡¯s the next one.¡±

    Sure enough, there was a picture of Mayuree half-sick with nausea.

    ¡°Do you have one of the Quay?¡± Gwen asked, recalling that Magus Maymaruya had waxed sentimentally about the old colonial districts.

    ¡°Naturally, she and I had coffee and croissants by the Yangon river; it¡¯s a must, you know,¡± Maymyint explained, swiping through the images. ¡°Mia is such a sweet and gentle girl, so obedient; unlike her brother Marong.¡±

    Arm in arm with Jun, Ayxin made the round through the ballroom while her companion politely fended off the guests. She had moved from the dais because she had grown tired of the praises, promises and the stupidity of her moon-eyed worshippers.

    That and Ayxin figured she should give Gwen her gift in person, ideally away from the prying eyes of the Humans, whose bodies reeked of onions, old soy sauce and greed.

    Focusing her mind, she sensed the presence of her scale just outside in the sky garden and instructed her two caretakers: the Tower Magisters assigned to her whenever she left the Pudong Special District, to disperse the crowd.

    The Masters obliged, finding no reason why someone of her position should be denied such a simple request.

    Gwen was with company, though as Ayxin approached, the two parted amicably.

    Lowering her head, the woman stood to one side while Ayxin passed.

    "?"

    Ayxin paused, causing Jun to fall out of step.

    She sniffed the air.

    Not wanting to leave his niece waiting, Jun parted from his companion to join Gwen by the balcony while Ayxin turned to regard the quietly cowed woman, whose long hair hid her face.

    ¡°You,¡± Ayxin commanded the slender female. ¡°Look up.¡±

    Quivering a little, the eldest of the House of M did as the Dragon-princess asked.

    A beautiful enough face, Ayxin observed, but cruel and sadistic, full of deception typical of the Humans. There was something else there as well, something familiar to Ayxin, though it was faint, dilute, almost negligible.

    ¡°Re wux ir di udoka?¡± Ayxin twisted her fleshy, clumsy tongue to produce the correct Draconic.

    ¡°Nomeno ir waphic ergriff ekess faestir,¡± the woman replied inexpertly. Her words were nervous and strained. For the female, the language wasn¡¯t a projection of the soul, but a kind of mimicry, a crude facsimile.

    But the accent wasn¡¯t what had bothered Ayxin.

    She took a fistful of the woman¡¯s hair and brought it closer to her face.

    There was a scent here, a vaguely familiar one. One Ayxin hadn¡¯t sensed in half-a-century, not since their eldest left to found his lair.

    ¡°Hey! What are you doing!¡± Gwen''s churlish, tactless voice rang across the garden. ¡°That¡¯s my friend¡¯s sister! Leave her alone!¡±

    ¡°Qe gethrisja!¡± Ayxin barked at the thin-blooded peon.

    The woman formed a prayer with her hands held overhead, fell to her knees, touched her forehead to the cold, damp pavement, then retreated while facing her superior.

    When Gwen arrived with Jun, her demeanour was catty.

    ¡°Did you enjoy yourself?¡± she demanded of the Dragon-kin.

    Curiously, Ayxin felt a strange sense of comfort. Having someone speak so candidly, even more so than Jun, was refreshing. It was how she had conversed with her brothers at on the Mount, and it was the sort of banter that she sorely missed.

    ¡°Congratulations on surviving your eighteenth cycle,¡± Ayxin shot back. ¡°Impressive for a Void Mage. I wish you at least another decade.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t you know,¡± the girl riposted, grinning with confidence. ¡°By eating more of your kind, I could live as long as you.¡±

    ¡°Or you could die of indigestion.¡±

    ¡°Or my appetite could grow calamitous.¡±

    The two women sparked, the unstoppable spear meeting the immovable shield.

    Beside Ayxin, Jun gulped his wine.

    ¡°Ayxin has a gift for you,¡± he quickly clarified. ¡°Here.¡±

    Ayxin opened her hand to reveal another Storage Ring: the sort used to hold living things in stasis. For the gift, Ayxin had chosen the smallest container permissible.

    ¡°We got you ginseng,¡± Jun explained. ¡°It¡¯s only five-hundred years old, but Ryxi raised it.¡±

    ¡°Does Ryxi know about this?¡± Gwen glanced at Ayxin, imagining a howling white serpent.

    Ayxin shrugged. Even in showing nonchalance she was simply stunning. Ever since she had taken up with Jun, her body had grown less androgynous and far more feminine. Any day now, she imagined, she would be heavy with egg. Just imagining her partner cradling a child-sized egg, singing it lullabies was enough to put her in a good mood.

    ¡°Thank you.¡± Jun¡¯s niece took the ring with both hands, then bowed earnestly for the gift.

    ¡°It¡¯s a lively one,¡± Jun warned her. ¡°It¡¯ll make a run for it at the first opportunity, so make sure you¡¯re on guard. Don¡¯t take more than a few slices at a time; you might bloat.¡±

    ¡°What?¡± The girl laughed.

    ¡°He means your body will explode from the excess vitality,¡± Ayxin appended Jun''s prudishness. ¡°You¡¯re no Dragon-kin, no matter what the Old One has engendered.¡±

    The atmosphere once again grew awkward.

    ¡°We¡¯ll talk later.¡± Jun realised having the two women in one place was mental torture. Both were arguably Dragon-touched, and with their Draconic-blessings also came pride, possessiveness and a natural tendency to butt heads. ¡°If I am out of Pudong next month, we¡¯ll meet for lunch.¡±

    ¡°Sure thing, Uncle Jun.¡± Gwen gave her uncle her best smile.

    Turning to her best side, Ayxin gave Jun''s niece a wilting glance before leaving with her man, one hand clasped to his waist, leaving Gwen seething and white-knuckled, clutching the ginseng ring.

    Sensing Gwen''s agony, Ayxin¡¯s mood improved immensely as she sauntered away, her irritated demeanour passing as though a summer sunshower. Not only had she given the girl a herb watered with Ryxi¡¯s expulsions, but she had also shown the arrogant whelp that no matter how many mountains of crystals, rare ingredients and magical items she would amass, her heart¡¯s desire would forever belong to Ayxin.

 Chapter 243 - Many hands make Light Labour

    From her make-shift den, the Worm Handler of Fudan emerged. Though paler for the effort, her indoor incarceration throughout the smothering summer was overall for the better, touching on many of her milestones.

    First and foremost, ''Link Sight'', A.K.A Ariel Vision, was now complete. When activated, she could see the world from Ariel''s eyes so long as she kept up her concentration, albeit staying stationary was necessary should she wish to avoid sensory nausea.

    Curiously, while wearing Caliban V.R, what she saw was a greyscale world where the only vibrancy came from people and things that showed signs of life. The more vitality a creature or person possessed, the more vivid their ¡®presence¡¯ appeared to Caliban¡¯s ¡®senses¡¯.

    ¡°How curious.¡± Walken was surprised as well. ¡°Many creatures can hide their visual presence or their mana signature, but few can hide their life force. What''s the range?¡±

    Unfortunately, even at a dozen meters, Caliban-sight gave her a terrific headache. Perhaps, Gwen thought, if Caliban could acquire a form factor with a powerful sense ability, her Familiar could improve its ''Foodar''.

    Her second milestone was the improvement of her Void Chakram, which conceptually, took the form of an Aerobie Drone.

    After several revisions, her superior control over Conjuration took precedence over Evocation, creating a hovering ring that could be commanded to ¡®seek¡¯ a target up to two hundred odd meters away. One disadvantage was her low-tier ''seeker'' invocation, inferring that when a creature left her line-of-sight, the ring returned to a linear trajectory.

    When all was said and done, she published the spell into the Spell directory as an addendum to her original.

    Void Seeker

    Conjuration-Evocation (5)

    Casting Time: 50 Major, 31 Minor Incantation

    Range: Far, LoS

    Components: Somatic, Verbal

    Duration: Persistent

    This spell creates a projectile ring of Void-matter which rotates to form a flat disk with a deadly cutting edge; this entry is for the seeker variation with termination on target loss.

    Her next objective was to create multiple ''rings'' as to possess both a Void and a Lightning variation of her staple offensive magic - Ball Lightning. When used in conjunction, electricity wouldstun the target while her Void Aerobies slice and dice, or inversely, her Void spell couldchip away scale or hide, opening the target to electrical permeation.

    And finally, Lulan submitted her Panzerschreck.

    Panzerschreck

    Evocation-Conjuration (5)

    Casting Time: 58 Major, 23 Minor Incantation

    Range: Extreme

    Components: Somatic, Verbal

    Duration: Persistent

    This original spell is designed with the Huashan Iron Heart Technique as a prerequisite, though sufficiently skilled Conjurers utilising solid Elements may forgo this process. Panzerschreck, also known as Armour Scare, is a Signature Magic created through repurposing Huashan Sword School''s ¡®Piercing-Heart¡¯ technique. Upon manifestation, this hybrid spell launches a projectile of penetrative solid metal. The shape of the missile (See appendix 1.1 and 1.2) allows for extended displacement.

    As a part of their deal, for Huashan''s facsimile, Gwen had omitted the appendices which included footnotes for a rotating, four-finned projectile. When finally Lulan test-fired the finned-rods into the distance, Gwen couldn''t help but realise that she had subconsciously reproduced an old world junior-science staple - Match-rockets!

    Lulan was blasting off bloody match-rockets! The DIY aluminium rocketry had been the bane of 90s parents whose apartments lacked internet and whose kids couldn''t be nannied by smartphones! Thanks to her chain-smoking father, there had been an endless supply of Red Heads in the house, meaning many a boring summer, Gwen had launched a fusillade onto a neighbour¡¯s roof. The neighbour had then berated Morye when one of these smouldering projectiles lodged in the mesh screen, melting the cheap plastic.

    Unfortunately, aiming the Piercing Heart Sword remained an art form. Though Gwen had a vague idea of the mathematics involved, it would take more than herself for Lulan to gain the accuracy afforded by computerised artillery trajectories. For now, the inconsistency of Lulan¡¯s firing angle, the weight of her conjured ammunition, and the configuration of her ¡®swords¡¯ all impeded repeatable performance metrics. For the near future, they would have to CC up a ballistics mathematician or buff Lulu''s aim with ¡°True Strike¡±, a spell exclusive to Diviners trained in manipulating the threads of probability.

    In bearing witness to a dozen near-hits, Walken expressed his scepticism of the spell''s usefulness. Gwen conversely, assured Lulan that should their magic attain perfection, it would revolutionise low-tier, long-ranged assault spells. Though Lulan was effectively attacking with strangely-shaped swords in the eyes of the others, Gwen knew that if and when they could aim the damn thing, accuracy exceeding several kilometres should be entirely possible, expelling the common perception that only strategic spells had distances exceeding line-of-sight.

    If she could furthermore secure non-magical staff capable of such calculations, their institutionalised knowledge could be used again and again. Gwen was confident that when the time came, the single-most terrifying reality of the Great War, that strange arithmetic of chance, would befall any enemy foolish enough to siege her city.

    But as for her immediate endeavour, it was the teamwork meet-n-greet that occupied her afternoon.

    Gwen found her future companions sitting in a conspicuously large rectangle consisting of sixteen candidates.

    Most notably, Lu Fung was missing.

    The Dean cleared his throat.

    ¡°As you have noticed, some of your nominated peers have chosen to drop out from the second stage,¡± the Dean explained. ¡°I will not speak of why they have retracted their applications, though I will reiterate that by today¡¯s end, six of you shall be stricken from the roll.¡±

    A collective shuffling spread through the crowd.

    ¡°Good. Now introduce yourselves. Gwen, you start.¡±

    At the mention of her name, the others turned to regard the infamous Worm Handler of Fudan, as seen on TV.

    Gwen stood then courteously bowed from the waist.

    ¡°Hello, my name is Gwen Song, a Void and Lightning user. I am well versed in Conjuration and Evocation, and my Familiars are Ariel and Caliban. I aspire to be a member of the Offence or Control team. It¡¯s a pleasure to meet you all.¡±

    Concise and without a hint of ego. The Dean nodded approvingly. For all her blunders outside of the university, Gwen had a knack the others lacked.

    Lulan next bowed her head.

    ¡°Lulan Li, Sword Mage. I am an Earthen user and a CQB Combat Mage.¡±

    ¡°Richard Huang. Defence or Control. Team Gwen. Conjurer with Abjuration as my secondary School of Magic. I possess a high-tier Water Spirit.¡±

    ¡°Hello, I am Lea,¡± Richard¡¯s Undine, resplendent, semi-transparent and sensuous, hovered above her Master. That Richard''s spirit matched Dean Luo¡¯s Ellen was enough to set the others on edge, so much that the ¡®Team Gwen¡¯ which preceded his boast fell on deaf ears.

    ¡°Anita Wong.¡± A girl with the same irises as Petra raised her hand. ¡°Mobile Defender. I can retrieve or restore mana by having my Spirit consume transmuted stone. My Mineral is Calcite: it looks like this. I will be providing you with armour-buffs and makeshift defensive formations."

    Without an incantation, Anita transmuted a clump of turf, producing a small knee-high barrier of jagged, hex-pyramidal crystals.

    ¡°Bai Tei.¡± Senior Bai stood and bowed. ¡°Defensive position. Dust Abjurer. I am on my third selection and my second IIUC. I will be in your care.¡± A third-year, Bai was widely known throughout the university and needed no introduction. In all likelihood, with his seniority, Bai would take on the position of Team Captain.

    ¡°Karie Mok. I am a two-timer as well, along with that gravedigger over there,¡± the headliner Diviner of the team announced. The girl had a catty mien that reminded Gwen of a typical ¡®Young Miss¡¯. Her slightly upturned eyes gave her a feline expression both haughty and aggressive. ¡°I am your only Diviner, so when the time comes, listen to what I say, else ignore me at your peril.¡±

    The rest of the team stiffened.

    ¡°I am¡­ E-Eunae Lee,¡± a quiet voice spoke from somewhere.

    Eunae?! Gwen arched her neck to see, noting that it was indeed the South Korean bestiary exchange-student who had presented herself. Extending a hand, she waved at Eunae.

    Eunae waved back with comparably less enthusiasm. The last time they parted, Caliban had scared her shitless.

    ¡°I am¡­ a Positive Magic user. And I have a Familiar Spirit called Luyi¡­¡±

    A healer?

    Many a furrowed brow met Eunae''s proclamation.

    Curiously, Gwen didn¡¯t recall Eunae being short-listed in April.

    ¡°Eunae is a Utility caster,¡± the Dean explained. ¡°She is skilled at dispelling curses, hexes, and mind-afflicting enchantments. Likewise, her Familiar engenders a group-wide Area of Effect Rejuvenating effect that detoxifies and wards against poisons. Isn''t that right, Miss Lee?¡±

    Eunae nodded fiercely.

    The Dean had a point, though most teams would prefer a dispeller-Enchanter who could also buff. For day-long Quests, it was entirely possible to glamour the questing party for up to 24 hours without the need to include said Enchanter in the away team.

    Comparably, Eunae''s active inclusion would detract from the team''s power level. Had Walken been present, he would have reminded the others that teams from Europe may field Witches, whose infamous hex-spells offered buffs and debuffs in equal measure, all the while retaining a respectable tier of individual firepower.

    ¡°Yessir, I have received permission to participate from Ewha U."

    ¡°Wait, she¡¯s Korean?¡± Karie stated the obvious. ¡°We¡¯re going to be competing against Seoul U, aren¡¯t we?¡±

    ¡°Half-Korean,¡± the Dean reminded their Diviner. ¡°Just as Jiro is half-Japanese. The IIUC is not a nationalist conflict, Miss Mok. It¡¯s a skill-exchange between academic associations and Fudan, unlike Tsinghua or Jiantong, remains committed to being an international university!¡±

    Karie Mok shrugged.

    Gwen could sense the tension even from the front of the row.

    ¡°Rene Mui,¡± spoke the next girl, one Gwen had presumed was South-East Asian until she announced her name. ¡°I hail from the Thundering Peninsula south of Guangdong. I am a Magma Mage studying under Instructor Hufei Chen. My preferred position is Offence.¡±

    ¡°Jiro Peng,¡± the half-Japanese member declared himself. ¡°Fire Evoker, tier 6. Just in case anyone¡¯s wondering, no, I have never been to Japan. I was born and raised right here in Shanghai; my grandmother was a refugee from Okinawa. I have contracted an Undying Firebird named Tanyu.¡±

    Impressive! Gwen wanted to clap. She knew of Jiro¡¯s Firebird from Walken, who had said that the young man''s flames were near-impossible to douse without first incapacitating Jiro.

    ¡°Kitty Liang¡­¡± Gwen had been staring at Kitty since they arrived, making the girl uncomfortable in more ways than one. Her voice was quieter in public, a complete one-eighty when compared to the girl who screamed at Gwen to fuck off. ¡°Ice and Air. Control or Offence. I have a Roc Spirit, a juvenile. My speciality is aerial combat.¡±

    ¡°Tai Sun, Earthen Mage, Abjurer. I am from the Taishang Sect, a Defender like Senior Bai,¡± another contestant intoned dejectedly, realising that the stationary defence position was likely going to be Bai¡¯s alone.

    ¡°Gigi Yang, Ermei Sword Mage.¡± A young woman with flowing, waist length hair glanced at Lulan and Gwen. ¡°I am a Mineral user as well. My speciality is CQB, like Miss Li. I am aiming for an Offence slot.¡±

    ¡°Chen Chan, Mud Mage.¡± A stout young man yawned. ¡°Control. Jiangsu.¡±

    ¡°Jinwei Li, Sword Mage.¡± Jinwei, Lulan¡¯s cousin, said nothing else.

    ¡°Miriam Yen, Salt Mage. I hail from the Qingdao Five River Sect.¡± A muscular young woman with an impressive physique struck out her chest. ¡°Defence, offence, I don¡¯t care. Our Clan¡¯s Magic is very versatile.¡±

    ¡°Tsai Fu, Earthen Conjurer-Enchanter. I can make terracotta-golems,¡± their final member intoned miserably, realising that when Dean Luo had advised that he rethink the application, he was trying to spare him the embarrassment.

    Eight Clanners, excluding Lulan, Gwen noted. Almost half their number.

    That in itself was enough to indicate the unbalanced influence exercised by the Clans. She wondered if the Dean already had a short-list of ten in mind, balanced between independents and Clanners. Presuming herself, Richard and Lulan counted as independents, that left room for the Diviner, possibly Eunae, then finally five or six Mages from Sects.

    ¡®CLAP! CLAP! CLAP!¡¯

    The Dean''s meaty palms met in prayer.

    ¡°Good, now that you¡¯re all acquainted. Let¡¯s proceed with the teamwork examination. Conjure Objects!¡±

    Upon the open lawn of the campus oval, a mass of strange and twisted components, some metal, some rubber, some large and small, mundane and magical, littered the immaculately mown turf.

    It was an awe-inspiring display of control and mental fortitude.

    ¡°Those are the dismantled parts of ''four'' planar purifiers,¡± the Dean began. ¡°The scenario, based on a prior IUCC Quest, is that you and the other teams from three universities are fighting for machine parts to save the NoMs living in your Frontier Districts. As this is a trial to gauge how well you mesh with others, we will not be taking your Magical Ability into account. As such, sans sorcery and in teams of four; each group will occupy a quadrant of the field! Your quadrant and everything on it will belong to your team.¡±

    This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    Immediately, the IIUC contestants scanned the field.

    Feeling an intense d¨¦j¨¤ vu, Gwen spontaneously searched their surroundings for quintessential components. Blessed with fortified vision, she quickly spotted a bundle of nondescript paper in the furthest quadrant almost two hundred meters away. Though the writing couldn''t be seen, she could ascertain with confidence that she had spotted the assembly manuals.

    ¡°Richard, Lulan, to me!¡± She took the initiative before the others could act and the Dean could continue.

    Eunae sidled toward Gwen pleadingly, though Gwen was glancing at Kitty, or barring that, Karie.

    Without a word, Jinwei walked behind the trio.

    ¡°¡­¡± Gwen exchanged a look with the zealous Clanner. Mate, you¡¯re too keen, her eyes chided the young man; if he had joined an opposing camp, he could have served as a mole.

    Taking Gwen¡¯s cue, the others shuffled into their respective assemblies.

    Group 1 consisted of herself, Lulan, Richard and Jinwei.

    Group 2 consisted of Rene, Jiro, Eunae and Karie

    Group 3 consisted of Bai, Chen, Gigi and Tai.

    Group 4 consisted of Miriam, Kitty, Anita and Tsai.

    ¡°I am happy to see that you are all very keen.¡± The Dean grinned. ¡°As stated, this a contest to see how well you work together, not just as a group of four, but as a whole, to reconstruct these purification filters as quickly as possible and within the time limit. The group to reconstruct the LAST filter will face harsh penalties when we consider who to exclude. Likewise, the members who assemble the filter FIRST will receive priority.¡±

    ¡°Also, in considering your actions, scores given will be used to calculate seniority within your IIUC party. Students with the highest team-work rating will receive the title of Captain and Vice Captain, while those of you with the lowest, up to the 10th member, will be subordinate. Once established, your leader''s decisions are absolute. During the competition, should you exercise insubordination, you will be punished accordingly. For the six members soon to be disqualified, you may be called upon for the competition if there are casualties among the core members, or if a replacement is deemed necessary.¡±

    The Dean gave them all a smirk of encouraging confidence.

    ¡°Now, who will choose first?¡±

    Gwen''s hand shot up, but to the surprise of all, she turned to face Karie¡¯s group.

    ¡°Karie, you¡¯re our only Diviner, so I want to give you the first pick.¡±

    In response, the Diviner gave the Worm Handler a head-to-toe, trying to ascertain her ploy.

    ¡°Why don¡¯t you pick first?¡± the Diviner offered. ¡°I can¡¯t use my talent, after all, talk about stupid.¡±

    Gwen extended a hand to the other two groups.

    ¡°Kitty? Senior Bai?¡±

    Kitty and Co. appeared indecisive.

    ¡°Ladies first.¡± Senior Bai folded his arms. As one of the people who were sure to be selected, he was more interested in Gwen''s game.

    ¡°Very well.¡± Gwen breathed out. She pointed to the east quadrant, which had the least amount of parts. ¡°We¡¯ll take that one.¡±

    ¡°Miss, I do believe the west quadrant has two Cores,¡± Jinwei spoke just loud enough for her to hear.

    ¡°Trust me on this.¡±

    ¡°Miss...¡±

    ¡°Gwen must know something.¡± Lulan stopped her cousin, who looked unconvinced.

    Very soon, the others picked their quadrants.

    ¡°Your time starts now," the Dean announced before sauntering away to the bleachers, simultaneously informing the Proctors to activate the surveillance mandala.

    A gentle thrum hummed over the field for a split-second.

    ¡°Alright everyone, with me,¡± Gwen told the group to follow. ¡°Over yonder, hop to it.¡±

    ¡°Shouldn¡¯t we be taking inventory?¡± Richard glanced at the others, wondering what it took to steal from the others. With Lea, he should be able to pull it off. From the look of their quadrant, they didn¡¯t have a Core.

    ¡°No need; just come.¡±

    The group followed.

    At the furthest edge, watched by dozens of curious passersby, Gwen retrieved a stack of paper weighed under a glass panel.

    ¡°That¡¯s¡­¡±

    ¡°The instruction manual.¡± Gwen waved it in the air for all to see.

    ¡°How did you know?!¡± Lulan exhaled a sigh of relief, glad that Gwen indeed knew what she was doing.

    With a deft splay of both her hand, Gwen fanned out four copies of the manual.

    ¡°How curious,¡± Richard observed. ¡°I think I am starting to understand how the game is played. Shall we thrift for a Core first? Senior Bai''s quadrant has two; maybe get them to give up multiple surplus parts. Between the two teams, I am sure we can corner at least one other team. How about we start with Kitty?¡±

    ¡°That''s beside the point,¡± Gwen urged her peers to huddle. ¡°Listen up.¡±

    She held the instruction just out of sight.

    ¡°This isn¡¯t a game for us to win,¡± she explained. ¡°This is a game to determine who leads and who leaves.¡±

    ¡°Ergh¡­¡± Lulan swallowed nervously. Of the three, she was the least likely to be picked, though she had a lifeline in the form of Jinwei.

    ¡°So forget about coming first,¡± their companion intoned seriously. ¡°Instead, we¡¯re going to do everything we can to facilitate everyone else''s'' success.¡±

    Her team regarded her strangely, even for Gwen, this was too much of a mental pitfall.

    "I am not sure if you noticed." She struck a thumb out at the Dean, her mind working furiously to construe a passable analogy. "But the old man never said anything about winning or losing..."

    In the mid-00s, during her university days, Gwen had edged past several thousand contestants to participate in the HSBC Young Businesswoman¡¯s program in Hong Kong. After a week of mind-numbing seminars and corporate speakers, the bank''s organisers had taken the young women out to a countryside retreat. Within the 7-day conference, they networked through copious amounts of hiking tours, cooking classes, self-defence and nature tours - all based around the Ocean Park Marriott Resort.

    On the fourth day, the organisers had told the girls, a splintered gathering of twenty out of a hundred women from international universities, to file into a gym where a disturbing splay of bike parts dotted multiple quadrants.

    Then, drawing lots, the girls split into four teams.

    The goal, explained the organiser, was for the girls to work together to assemble the bikes.

    The winning team received a 1000 USD spa voucher for the Park Regent¡¯s upper floor sauna, enough for all five team members to receive the full treatment.

    Number two received buffet vouchers for the seafood feast, valued at 250 USD.

    Number three and four received a pat on the back.

    Not so gifted at bike-assembly, but gung-ho for spa treatments, the girls were all fired up. Gwen, of course, had assumed natural command of her bartering team and had just managed to hog about half the number of wheels when the organiser brought in a local boy looking decidedly miserable compared to the sea of pastel blouses.

    ¡°Mr Ning says that there¡¯s going to be bikes donated to our orphanage," the boy informed the company of sweaty young women busy at work with spanners.

    SHIT! Gwen spewed when she realised the whole point of the exercise was applied ethics. The didactic trial was for the promotion of teamwork in a manner that moved individuals away from a mentality of individual gain toward synergy value, prioritising the welfare of the children who were waiting for their bikes: especially bikes not missing parts because someone was desperate for a spa ticket.

    In hindsight, it was a rather blatant attempt at force-feeding ambitious young women a ladle of chicken soup for the soul.

    Not to mention the orphan HSBC had picked out was cute as a button, instantly slaying half the young women in the room.

    Afterwards, the assemblage had all gone to the orphanage and donated individually to the organisation, which was then matched dollar for dollar by HSBC. A little photo-op was had, and the kids, the businesswomen and their bikes all made it into the local paper, as well as on HSBC''s social media. Gwen and a few of the comelier girls also made the cover of HSBC''s in-house magazine.

    Principally, the takeaway was as follows:

    The contestants gained a spa Groupon and feel-good memories.

    The kids received donations and half-a-dozen K-Mart bikes.

    HSBC gained good-will and good optics.

    Win - Win - Win.

    That''s how the game was played.

    ¡°And that¡¯s how it is,¡± Gwen informed the others.

    Lulan and Jinwei looked at Gwen as though she was the strategist Zhuge Kongming reborn.

    Richard gave their opponents across the oval a cursory glance.

    ¡°Okay, we¡¯ll play it your way,¡± he apprised his over-imaginative cousin.

    In Gwen''s words, the whole thing was a mind-fuckery experiment to see if people are willing to work together or if they¡¯re keen to succeed selfishly at the cost of the overall objective. As with any corporate group activity, the test was to see how people react when situational duress met underlying personality. Usually, unless an employee demonstrated destructive, spectacular failure, there was no right or wrong thing to do. Presumably, the Dean was interested in seeing which of the students possessed leadership and follower-ship, and who had the tendency of being an asshole.

    Teamwork and cohesion, Dean Luo had reiterated, were equal to Spellcraft, as arguably, all the teams possessed relatively similar tiers of Magic.

    Which, according to Bai, was minotaur shit. Progenitor colleges like Oxford and Cambridge undeniably possessed an unbridgeable advantage in terms of Spellcraft knowledge. Analogically, Gwen supposed, it was like competing against European countries in the Winter Olympics as a Jamaican Bobsled team. If Fudan couldn¡¯t get its teamwork together, it may as well save itself the shame.

    ¡°Great, help me arrange everything first, take the parts that we have, and lay it out on the diagram,¡± Gwen entreated her companions before approaching the corner boundary where all four teams bisected.

    ¡°Ladies, gents, a moment of your time?¡± Her Illusion-powered holler echoed across the oval.

    The splintered parties gathered, leaving all but two individuals to wander.

    Kitty¡¯s aloofness came as no surprise, though the fact that Karie, their Diviner, also stood apart was a sign of troubles to come. Did the woman think her position was unassailable? Gwen frowned. If she recalled correctly from her notes, the Mok family was a well-to-do merchant House like the Wangs. What hadthe woman hoped to gain by putting on airs?

    ¡°I have the blueprints and the assembly instruction.¡± Gwen waved the paper back and forth. ¡°Let¡¯s facilitate a trade agreement to make this hassle-free. I am going to give everyone the first page with the parts and numbers list. Lay out your quadrant''s components like what Richard and Lulan are doing, place surplus parts onto the left margin and your core-components in the middle. After that, we''ll do the old'' swap meet!¡±

    With a mote of Void, she cleanly sliced the booklets'' bindings, then portioned out the first two pages, a double-spread diagram.

    The others regarded one another. Was the scheming Void Sorceress trying to trade them the manual page by page? What deviousness!

    ¡°Senior Bai,¡± Gwen implored sweetly. ¡°Do you trust me?¡±

    ¡°I do.¡± Bai nodded, not understanding her game but comprehending her goal. ¡°Chen, Gigi, Tai. Do as she says.¡±

    ¡°Yessir.¡± The others obliged. There was no point refuting Senior Bai, who was the most experienced individual, and whose Clan was famed for its precepts of righteousness and piety.

    ¡°Alright, let¡¯s see where this is going.¡± Lacking a clear leader and feeling jilted by their Diviner; Rene, Jiro and Eunae went about picking parts to bring to the borderline. Watching the diminutive Eunae rolling a length of pipe was entirely endearing, Gwen chuckled. Why was it that healers were all so cute?

    In the final quadrant, Tsai and Miriam were commanded by Anita to do the same, joined momentarily by Kitty, who gave Gwen a dirty look.

    ¡°Karie,¡± Gwen called out to the Diviner. ¡°Teamwork!¡±

    The disdainful girl shot her a wilting look of disapproval.

    Maybe she¡¯s on the rag, Gwen accounted for the Diviner¡¯s hostility, she couldn''t imagine why Karie Mok was so hostile.

    It took about ten minutes for the groups to arrange their pieces.

    ¡°Would anyone like to start?¡± Gwen raised her extra three copies of the instruction manual.

    ¡°Sure: I''ll give you a core, a left-ventricle tubing, and the transformer actuator for all three copies of the manual,¡± Senior Bai offered with a glint in his eye.

    ¡°Ha! No can do. One-copy per team,¡± Bai''s counterpart snickered. ¡°Richard, what else we got?¡±

    Richard read out a list of surplus parts which he had deduced after Gwen''s counter-intuitive purpose.

    ¡°Cheers, Dick. Senior Bai, we''ll trade you a right-ventricle seal, an exhaust gasket and a filtration panel.¡± Richard pointed to the parts, demonstrating a sharp eye for puzzles.

    ¡°But¡­¡± Bai gazed at Gwen¡¯s quadrant, then back again, confused by the offer. From what he could see, Gwen was trading out parts she required herself.

    ¡°Lulu.¡± Richard passed a second list over to Lulan. ¡°Go and trade for these with group 3. Jinwei, go trade for these with group 4. Bring back the parts and put them all into the surplus pile.¡±

    ¡°Senior Bai.¡± Gwen smirked at the perplexed Clanner, her eyes forming two smiling half-moons. ¡°You said you would trust me.¡±

    ¡°Because we¡¯re on the same team?¡±

    ¡°Yep," the girl elegantly inclined her head. "Isn''t that what teamwork is all about?"

    Dean Luo realised the jig was up as soon as Gwen¡¯s group traded away their share of essential components.

    A wave of disappointment and dejection washed over the Dean, who had prepared a speech.

    Despite what appeared to be the total sum of parts that made up four filtration systems, he had laid out only three full systems, while the fourth was a different model with similar parts, serving no purpose other than to confuse. In their scramble to chaotically barter for the necessary components, the contestants would first create bad blood by having the group with access to the instruction manuals trade for essentials, ensuring individual success. As a direct result, at least one group would realise that irrevocably, having given away an essential part, they had been duped. The remaining three may then become the target of sabotage, as the only way to avoid disqualification is to ensure that at least one other team failed, or reached a stalemate.

    Furthermore, as a result of unplanned, chaotic bartering, confusion would arise, resulting in a scenario where blame and praise would further decay teamwork. Historically, Luo recalled that when Jiantong had utilised a similar exercise, the winner had memorised the manuals, then bartered all four away for multiple core components to two teams, leaving one to be utterly exploited, thereby completely demolishing their competitor¡¯s chances. For the two surviving teams, an embittered process had caused tempers to flare, exposing the best and worst of the contestants.

    What Gwen was now doing was thus unprecedented.

    The girl was facilitating exchanges to benefit her opponents.

    Had she figured out the rules of the contest? The Dean mulled unpleasantly. It was highly improbable that anyone should know of his intent in advance. He had been subtle in his phrasing, not to mention every other contestant had exactly reacted as Luo had anticipated.

    With Gwen''s approach, rather than losing points for self-preservation, aggression, or subversive actions, Gwen and her team were gaining points for cooperation with every item exchanged even as the remaining three teams did their best to undermine one another¡¯s chances at completing their device first. The devious thing, Dean noticed, was that Gwen''s team had no point-deductions at all.

    A win via win-win? The Dean grunted. Was the girl trying to exercise the ethos of the Middle Path?

    ¡°DONE!¡± Bai Tei stepped back from the completed filtration unit. ¡°We¡¯re first!¡±

    ¡°Well done!¡± Gwen clapped from across the dividing line.

    Bai''s team exhaled collectively. Even toward the end, Gwen had no tricks up her sleeve, like forcing them to offer up their almost-completed filter.

    ¡°I don¡¯t get it.¡± Bai gathered his team behind him. ¡°What¡¯s in it for you?¡±

    The girl smiled secretly as Richard, Lulan and Jinwei parcelled out the last of their useful parts to teams 3 and 4. By now, Gwen''s quadrant was full of unusable trash which Dean Luo had conjured for the express purpose of inciting conflict.

    The remaining two teams, consisting of Kitty¡¯s and Karie¡¯s, fell into a stalemate. Each held the parts the other desired and was thus refusing to trade.

    Gwen wanted to call out that if they were to exchange components until the final piece, it could come down to sudden death. That would be a fair and square measure of luck and skill, and it would ensure two more filters were completed.

    ¡°TIME¡¯S UP!¡± The Dean returned to the oval, happy that his ploy wasn¡¯t a complete failure. ¡°Gather up!¡±

    The groups again converged, forming two lines.

    ¡°I have good news and bad news.¡± The Dean inspected the lonesome filter.

    The gathering of students stiffened.

    ¡°As stated, the goal of this exercise, your primary objective, is for your group, and that means all of you, to reconstruct the filters as soon as possible.¡±

    Karie¡¯s party, consisting of Rene, Jiro and Eunae, blinked as they exchanged hostile glances with Kitty¡¯s party, consisting of Miriam, Anita and Tsai.

    Senior Bai cast a curious glance at Gwen, who looked entirely at ease for a group that had not attempted a single filter.

    ¡°Likewise, this is an exercise for us, the examiners, to observe your ability to lead, follow and achieve Quest objectives, as well as to demonstrate creative thinking, problem-solving, negotiation and conflict resolution.¡±

    The Dean gave the failed groups a wilting glare, ignoring the smiling Gwen.

    ¡°If this was the IIUC, then you''d all be back on the ship tomorrow. You have already lost the Match for Fudan.¡±

    Silence reigned.

    ¡°The origin of this exercise harkens back to 1993,¡± the Dean continued. ¡°The objective for the second round of the IIUC, set in Inner Mongolia, was the restoration of the Frontier District¡¯s drinking supply. However, the shipment of filter parts had been waylaid by Centaur hordes, resulting in less than six functioning arrays. For this Quest, Fudan had been pitted against Tsinghua and Tokyo U. Having collected core components in their first foray, our friends from Japan managed to reconstruct two filtration systems within their assigned District. As for our parties, they managed one unit each, both as a result of having lost parts to a spell scuffle and having failed at bartering with Tokyo U for the necessary components. For this reason, Tokyo U managed 678 CCs, disqualifying our measly 320 CCs.¡±

    ¡°In hindsight, the primary purpose of the exercise was the preservation of the Districts, which was impossible without planar filtration for the supply of clean drinking water. Within the ruling, any action significantly contributing to your primary objective was awarded CCs. Had a team aided in the reconstruction of all six units, their CC count would have exceeded 600, excluding time-completion bonus and kill counters!¡±

    The other members slowly turned their eyes toward Gwen, some worshipful, others suspicious and hostile.

    ¡°Therefore!¡± the Dean barked. ¡°Let this exercise be a lesson in myopia! Let not your desire to win, to reign over others, cloud your judgement! Always keep your eyes on the true objective of the quest. Think critically! That is the purpose and method of the IIUC!¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s horse shit,¡± Karie, the Diviner, mumbled under her breath.

    A few of the others, mostly Clanners, agreed.

    The Dean ignored them.

    ¡°Gwen,¡± he called out to his dearest troublemaker. ¡°Bai as well, I want to talk to the both of you. As for the rest - dismissed! Results will be out by Monday.¡±

    ¡°Gwen, thanks.¡± Senior Bai gave his junior a thumbs up.

    ¡°Shall we?¡± Gwen stepped aside as to follow her Senior. Along the way, she glanced at Kitty, who stood dejected and shaking, then followed the Dean as to escape the humid heat of the field for the cool interior of his office.

 Chapter 244 - The Fonder Heart

    ¡°That¡¯s true.¡± The Dean acknowledged her proposal in a way that Gwen felt bordered on insult. ¡°Thanks to that display, I¡¯d almost forgot your exotic mental predicament. We wouldn''t want that flaring up in the middle of a match now. Still, promise me you won''t just do as you please.¡±

    ¡°I will listen to Senior Bai to the best of my abilities,¡± Gwen assured the Dean.

    ¡°And I will heed Gwen''s advice as needed,¡± Tei promised besides her. ¡°We¡¯re a team, as she said.¡±

    ¡°You can work it out among yourselves.¡± The Dean affirmedapprovingly. "I am glad we have finalised the list. Two months left until our first match, have you lodged your deferment?¡±

    "Yessir."

    ¡°I¡¯d prefer to keep studying,¡± Gwen stated. ¡°Semester Two is going to start anyway.¡±

    ¡°I am afraid that¡¯s impossible. You¡¯ll be travelling in and out of Shanghai starting August,¡± the Dean reminded her. ¡°It''s normal for students to defer their studies during the IIUC - or are you saying you¡¯re not confident you¡¯ll last until February?¡±

    February inferred the final match, not to mention the much-lauded award ceremony seen around the world.

    ¡°There¡¯s much studying to be done before a match as well, you¡¯ll receive the location and a general guideline for the match weeks prior, though as for the fine details of the Quest, you won''t know until the day.¡±

    At the Dean''s insistence, Gwen reassessed her schedule.

    Should she defer? It was probably the right idea. She wasn¡¯t so arrogant to think she could pass her courses while travelling away for two weeks every month for four months, then again well into February, not to mention there remained work to be done in Nantong and with the House of M.

    ¡°I shall heed your advice, Sir. Thank you.¡± Gwen bowed.

    The Dean gave her a paternal pat on the head.

    ¡°I look forward to your performance, Miss Song.¡±

    ¡°Of course.¡± Gwen received the Dean¡¯s benediction. ¡°I¡¯ll be sure not to disappoint!¡±

    ¡°Good. Tei, what do you think about the team makeup?¡± The Dean turned to Tei. ¡°Sound me out.¡±

    ¡°Of course, Sir.¡± Tei bowed. ¡°The core members are me, Gwen and Karie. The teams are flexible, but ordinarily, I would suggest the three of us plus a member for Control, for example, Richard or Kitty, and another Offence, such as Lulan, Rene or Jiro, depending on environment and our competition''s makeup.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s good.¡±

    ¡°Conversely, for missions requiring mobility, I¡¯d suggest replacing myself with Anita, bring in Richard to replicate my counter-dispelling, then Kitty and or Lulan. For base defence Quests, we can split the teams, with a mobile strike team emphasising firepower, while Jiro would work wonders on defence with his persistent flames. So long as Gwen remains in play with her Familiars, we shouldn''t have issues with small-scale encounters.¡±

    ¡°I notice our Cleric appears to be missing. You haven¡¯t seen the synergy between Gwen and a Positive Energy user yet, have you?¡±

    ¡°No Sir.¡±

    The Dean chuckled.

    ¡°Make sure you do. Now, what¡¯s your opinion on our two trouble makers?¡±

    ¡°Karie isn¡¯t normally so obtuse,¡± Tei defended his former team member. ¡°I¡¯ll speak to her when I get the chance. Maybe it¡¯s something at home.¡±

    ¡°Kitty should come around,¡± Gwen defended her ¡®friend¡¯ as well, thinking perhaps Mia or Miss Maymyint could help. ¡°I¡¯ll convince her, one way or another.¡±

    ¡°Then I shall rest reassured.¡± The Dean tapped the table thoughtfully. ¡°It is possible to replace members mid-competition, but only if they¡¯re dead or incapacitated. Concurrently, there¡¯s also a penalty for bringing in members mid-competition due to casualties: five per cent, if I recall correctly, so let¡¯s not make any mistakes. If those two are not suitable¡­¡±

    Fudan''s Captain and Vice-Captain both gulped.

    ¡°Not that I am without confidence in the two of you.¡± The Dean cleared his throat. ¡°But you should spend time with your team. I am thinking of sending you all to get to know each other in an Orange Zone, nothing too serious, a light exercise.¡±

    ¡°That would be ideal, Sir.¡± Gwen¡¯s eyes lit up. ¡°We can do synergy building!¡±

    ¡°Yes, I''d thought you might have something in mind. I¡¯ll let you know when I have the details. It¡¯ll have to be somewhere isolated, and a senior staff member will accompany you.¡±

    ¡°Of course, Sir.¡±

    ¡°Then that¡¯s it. I''ll put out the notice. You two, stay out of trouble.¡±

    Bai and Gwen both bowed.

    ¡°You especially.¡± The Dean gave Gwen an expectant look. ¡°Stay clean for two months!¡±

    Monday-week: a semi-circle of students studied the bulletin board.

    2004 IIUC Final Selection:

    Offence: Gwen Song (Vice Captain)

    Offence: Lulan Li

    Offence: Rene Mui

    Offence: Jiro Peng

    Defence: Bai Tei (Captain)

    Defence: Anita Wong

    Control: Richard Huang

    Control: Kitty Liang

    Utility: Karie Mok

    Utility: Eunae Lee

    "Do you think they''ll broadcast this year''s IIUC?" an anonymous voice raised an important question.

    "They better." A member of the Fudan DC slapped the first on the back. "I, for one, look forward to seeing our Captain and the Worm Handler on Vid-cast!"

    Karie Mok sat in the living room of her family¡¯s estate, drowning out the silence by cranking up the Vid-caster.

    With a clumsy fumble, she poured herself a thimble of her father¡¯s Zhuyeqing, a white wine fermented in the hollow of a still-growing giant bamboo, then knocked it back in one gulp.

    The sticky alcohol crawled down her throat like a line of fire, its vitality flushing her body with a gradual warmness that dispelled the bone-chilling paranoia she had acquired since returning from Dean Luo''s competition.

    The day prior, she had spoken to Tei Bai, and the two of them had parted amicably, with Karie promising to perform her duty.

    Now, she was regretting everything.

    ¡°Young Miss¡­¡± Lao Gu, an old butler of the family that had followed her from Shandong when she was just a child, eyed the bottle nervously. Like most of the city¡¯s fu-er-dai, his young miss was prone to occasional excess.

    Ignoring the NoM, Karie poured herself another thimble.

    Though she wasn¡¯t the future-telling sort of Diviner, she wasn''t imperceptive enough to ignore her Sigil. What her gut feeling told her was that under no circumstances should she further involve herself with Gwen Song.

    The paralysing dread had caught her entirely unaware, as only a week ago, she had been filled with optimism and hope that 2004 was going to be different.

    Yesteryear, their Team Captain had been an arrogant Clanner from the Wutang mountains, a Kenshi from one of the oldest sects in China. He had ignored Vice-Captain Bai¡¯s advise at every turn, going so far as to antagonise the intelligence Karie had Scried when she contradicted his assessments. In Tibet, as a result of the idiot¡¯s decision to play the ¡®fisherman¡¯ against the ¡®clam and the crane¡¯, Tsinghua had taken the egg while the rest of them were left fending off a very angry mama-Roc.

    So this year, when Tei told her that he was vying to be Captain, she had naturally assumed that she was going to be his second. That way, cooler heads would prevail, not to mention as the only Diviner and the team¡¯s chief source of intelligence, she was the pragmatic option.

    The addition of Gwen Song had been another reason why Karie had been glad to be participating in her final IIUC. The new girl was phenomenal, her talents and her combat track-record both unmatched - if rumours could be believed. Through her family connections, Karie had verified that the girl had out-duelled Wonsoo Liu, the famous Battle Mage. If so, it meant that Fudan had a powerhouse on par with low-tier Magisters from the Front. With herself in command and Bai wielding Gwen Song, breaking through the Asian round was assured. Merely imagining a Jap Shikigami eating a Void-sphere to its Core was enough to send shivers down Karie''s spine.

    Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

    A shiver without cessation.

    When they had met face to face, a sudden sliver of eldritch ice had pierced Karie''s spine, then twisted its sinews and nerves until her face was bloodless. During the exchange, when the Void sorceress twice attempted to speak to Karie, the Diviner''s nerves had revolted.

    Instinctively, she wanted to leave there and then, but she couldn''t risklosing so much ''face''. The price of quitting was too high, even if her Sigil warned that attending the IIUC with Gwen Song meant courting death.

    She cursed her second-rate bloodline.

    To drop out now - what would her parents think? Of course, the IIUC was dangerous, her father would say, of course, people died. But she went to the last one, didn¡¯t she? If she was afraid, why had she joined in the first place? Furthermore, she wasn¡¯t the foretelling sort of Diviner, so who knew if her prediction was even accurate? Chalk it up to nerves! Her parents would say. She should toughen up and get on with it! Chairman Mao didn¡¯t give up on the Long March even knowing that most of his comrades would perish!

    And they would be right.

    Would her father give up on a venture because he might lose money? Would the army stop protecting its citizens because PLA Mages may perish?

    Karie wasn¡¯t the Oracle of Delphi; she was just a young woman, a mundane one at that. She wanted to be an Intelligence Officer, maybe work in the Central Bureau, serving as the occasional Field Officer only when needed, ideally a safe distance away from the Front.

    But this was death! Her prescience pierced her morbid mind. She had to choose life!

    Having never imperilled life and limb, she couldn¡¯t imagine how such a thing was going to happen. Was Gwen Song going to murder her? Was a Mongolian Deathworm how she met her end? Perhaps the Void sorceress would err in a moment of crisis, then Karie would die in an uneventful accident.

    Ensnared by visions and revisions, the Diviner floated between decision and destiny. Was it even possible to change fate?

    She took another sip.

    The throbbing in her head dulled.

    The pinging of her Sigil quelled.

    She felt like a proverbial carp wedged between a rock and a hard place.

    After all, what was the point of being famous, and deceased?

    ¡°A toast to the 2004 Fudan IIUC team members!¡±

    A few minutes into the party, Karie Mok knew she was going to be sick.

    It didn¡¯t take a Diviner to foretell that turning up to a mixer with a hangover wasn¡¯t the best idea.

    The group had gathered at Gwen Song¡¯s behest at M on the Bund, a chic riverside cafe overlooking the most scenic stretch of the Huangpu River. In the past, Karie had once or twice enjoyed high tea with her friends here.

    That a section had been cleared out and reserved solely for ten university students was a scene she¡¯d never expected. Even for someone at her family¡¯s stratum of wealth, it seemed like a waste of money.

    Gingerly, hoping that her brain wouldn¡¯t spill from her ears like soup, she scanned the faces sitting around the circular table:

    Lulan Li, Senior Tei, Jiro and Anita weren¡¯t affluent by any means. The girl from Seoul, Eunae, wasn¡¯t going to splurge on people she¡¯d never seen before. Kitty Liang? Never heard of her. Richard Huang? She heard he was a workaholic. It meant that only Gwen Song had the clout to burn the hundred odd HDMs necessary to empty a place like M on the Bund for something as trivial as a celebratory dinner.

    Karie wasn¡¯t opposed to diplomatic generosity, but when the host was stuffing her to a barrel to throw her into the Huangpu River, she could hardly summon the enthusiasm expected of her.

    In a moment, the entr¨¦e arrived, a fist-sized ''drunken'' South Sea Scampi ceviche in shell, served over a bed of crystalline lychee flesh.

    Karie held her breath.

    The rich aroma of sweetened mirin was enough to force her stomach into bouts of convulsion. She wanted to leave, to go home, curl up into a ball, then find a way to call this whole thing off.

    ¡°Senior Mok, Are you alright?¡±

    Karie looked up to see a pair of vividly amber-emerald irises bearing down with the weight of mountains.

    Gwen Song, resplendent in a shimmering little black dress, had been making the rounds, wooing the contestants, standing so tall in her heels that should her peers slink back in their seats, they could kiss the flesh of her thighs.

    ¡°I am okay,¡± Karie lied. Comparatively, she wore comfortable casual cotton. The invitation had stated semi-formal, except Karie was neither in the mood nor the right state of health to make herself ready.

    ¡°You look pale.¡± The girl reached out with a wayward hand, her white fingers landing gently against Karie''s shoulders.

    ¡°!¡±

    Without warning, a deathly dread engendered.

    Her host''s touch was vivifying.

    Karie almost leapt from her seat; such was the shock surging through her marrows, travelling up her spine to hammer at her teeth, that she bit her tongue.

    ¡°Jesus, Karie, you''re as white as a sheep!¡± The accursed Void Sorceress leaned in until her face was an inch away. ¡°Eunae, can you come and see if Karie¡¯s okay? I think she¡¯s coming down with something.¡±

    ¡°No!¡± Karie turned from the girl''s demonic gaze. She took a chunk of raw scampi and threw the translucent flesh into her mouth. ¡°See? I am fine! I just, oh¡­¡±

    The raw prawn, the mirin, the peculiar crustacean savouriness, all of it was too much.

    ''Bluuarrrrgh~!''

    Before she could swallow, her hangover escaped her body, permeating their group''s surroundings with rancid expulsions.

    Without expression, Karie''s host allowed the admixture of acid and undigested canap¨¨ to slide from her shoes.

    ¡°Goodness, Karie. Can I get you some water?¡±

    Mao! Was her future murderer trying to kill her with kindness?! The Diviner moaned audibly before raising a foul-smelling hand that sent the rest of the table reeling.

    She took Gwen by the hem of her dress.

    The girl was fighting her revulsion, Karie could see that, and she was winning.

    ¡°I don¡¯t want to go,¡± Karie begged.

    ¡°What?¡± Gwen blinked.

    ¡°Please¡­¡± She slumped against the girl''s abdomen, pleading and blubbering. ¡°Don¡¯t make me go to the IIUC¡­ I don¡¯t want to die.¡±

    It took several seconds for the rest of the party to fall into a sombre silence.

    If anyone else had just said that, they could have laughed it off, but Karie was their Diviner. If a Diviner was begging to leave, what did that foreshadow?

    Slick with sick and lukewarm with the foul expulsion of Karie¡¯s gut-wrenching plea, the party¡¯s host turned to regard the rest of her team.

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry,¡± she intoned carefully, keeping her face straight and her smile untouched. ¡°I am sure that''s the alcohol talking.¡±

    The rest of the team agreed to reconvene a few days later.

    To continue the party after a display like that was impossible. Even if the House of M cleaned up the mess, the glaring asymmetry of their team makeup would only serve to produce paranoia in the team members.

    Worse still, the news of Karie¡¯s withdrawal had somehow spread.

    Gwen sighed. They weren''t the bloody Fellowship of the Ring, but to think they''d suffer a casualty so soon was goddamn disheartening that she couldn''t help but feel cursed. She hadn¡¯t expected that they¡¯d become friends quickly, but to think her team would grow distant before they had gotten close was unacceptable.

    And this was why she was now in the Dean¡¯s office with Senior Bai, discussing countermeasures.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know where else we can find another dedicated Diviner.¡± Bai exhaled with exasperation. ¡°I am sorry Sir, I failed you.¡±

    ¡°No, no, Mr Bai.¡± Dean Luo massaged his temples once Gwen and Bai made their case. ¡°One has to wonder what in Mao''s crystal tomb was going through Miss Mok¡¯s head. Sufficient to say, her career, in more ways than one, ended before it began, if that makes you feel any better.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t blame her,¡± Gwen intervened on the young Diviner¡¯s part. ¡°Being from the Frontier, I¡¯ve seen death, Sir. I would even say I have come close to experiencing it half a dozen times. Daring death and danger aren''t for the faint-hearted; I can entirely empathise with Miss Mok if she lacks the mental fortitude.¡±

    The Dean shook his head.

    Were he not confident that Jiantong and their competitors had signed bilateral pacts of non-interference, he''d have suspected foul play. To be caught committing a criminal act against the terms of the IIUC would disqualify the institution for the foreseeable future and drastically undermine one''s academic standing. Likewise, if one must move against Fudan, why not target Gwen? Be it bodily harm, scandal, bribery or any other form of creative larceny; each method was superior to forcing out a Diviner he could replace with a dozen lessers.

    ¡°This puts our plan in disarray, but alas, there¡¯s good news as well.¡± To Gwen and Tei''s surprise, the Dean grinned. When fate conspired to make one succeed, what could one do but thank the heavens?

    ¡°Sir?¡± His students looked up expectantly.

    ¡°Miss Maymyint, you may come in now.¡±

    The two students turned to see the House of M¡¯s premier representative in a python-skin leather outfit that left little to the imagination. When their eyes met, Miss Maymyint¡¯s lips split to form a toothy smile.

    ¡°Miss Song, well met.¡±

    ¡°Miss Maymyint!¡± Gwen gasped. ¡°You¡¯re still here in Shanghai?¡±

    ¡°Business, dear, you should know that. Have you checked your account lately? We''ve paid you a sizable bonus to aid you in your future endeavours.¡± Maymyint¡¯s voice drifted across the room sultry and sweet, carrying the slightest hint of a lisp.

    ¡°Hahaha¡­¡± Gwen answered awkwardly, not wishing to talk shop in front of the Dean. She had indeed checked her account recently. Between her Tonglv coffer and her House of M proceeds, Gwen could purchase an apartment or two near Fudan without crippling her bottom line. Were she not so absurdly busy with matters of magic and the competition itself, she would have invested the money by now, likely into a Wang Group commercial property.

    ¡°Miss Maymyint said she wanted to surprise you.¡± The Dean nodded at the woman, one he had met through the Grey Faction¡¯s trade conferences. ¡°I think we found our Diviner.¡±

    ¡°OH MY GOD, MIA?¡± Gwen instantly connected the dots, squealing despite herself.

    Maymyint affirmed Gwen''s hypothesis with a nod.

    ¡°Wonderful! How come? She said the House of M wouldn''t consent."

    "I now consent." Mayuree''s eldest sister flashed her pearly teeth. "I am sure Mia would love to help a friend in need."

    "Ha! That she does! When will Mia be back?¡±

    ¡°I am afraid she won¡¯t be.¡±

    ¡°W-what?¡± Gwen caught herself, confused by Maymyint''s apologetic expression. ¡°But you said¡­¡±

    ¡°Your team will be heading over to meet with Miss Mayuree.¡± A boisterous grin touched his face. ¡°Not only has the House of M entered the IIUC as a sponsor, but they¡¯re also offering to pay for the first round wholesale. Miss Maymyint has told me that Jiantong and our old nemesis, Tokyo U, have both agreed to the location of the first match in Burma.¡±

    ¡°Esteemed sir, it''s My?ma.¡± Maymyint coughed gently.

    ¡°Ah, my apologies,¡± Dean Luo bowed his head. ¡°So: Gwen, Tei, what do you think? It¡¯ll be a home game away from home. Your team will travel to My?ma in October, and Miss Mayuree will meet you there.¡±

    Both Tei and Gwen turned to regard Mayuree¡¯s sister with expressions of awe.

    ¡°Hahaha¡­¡± Maymyint let loose a string of cackling laughter. ¡°How charming you children look. Think nothing of it. Gwen has brought us many boons, more than she knows.¡±

    Gwen blushed, as did Bai for a different reason. Suddenly her heart filled her with glee and gladness. With a blessing such as this, it was entirely possible to bring the team back on track. With a ¡®home ground¡¯ advantage in having the House of M as their sponsor and a member of the House of M on their team, they possessed every advantage.

    ¡°Sir, wouldn¡¯t there be a conflict of interest?¡± Gwen asked just in case.

    ¡°You think Oxford and Cambridge play fair when they threw LMU and Sorbonne into the forest of Gwydir?" Dean Luo was in a good mood. "Some of the Brits have Elven blood, you know!¡±

    How was she supposed to know that?

    ¡°Gwen, the IIUCExamination Committee is an independent organisation with an oversight committee consisting of European, American and Asian Towers¡¯ senior members,¡± Bai explained patiently. ¡°Contestants must also submit themselves to surveillance magic by wearing a special beacon on their persons. Having local knowledge doesn''t incur a penalty. As a matter of fact, teams are encouraged to visit early to learn the local customs.¡±

    Gwen grimaced; she had almost forgotten this world¡¯s obsession with panopticon surveillance.

    "I can hardly wait." She breathed out.

    "I know how you feel." Maymyint''s eyes formed two thin slits. "You know what they say - absence make the heart fonder!"

 Chapter 245 - Second Chances

    ¡°Once again, toast!¡±

    Celebratory dinner 2.0 at M by the Bund proceeded happily.

    Though the team had initially grown cynical over Karie¡¯s departure, the news that a bona fide bloodline Diviner would replace Karie had come as a welcoming boon. Additionally, when Gwen announced that the first match would take place in My?ma and that their Diviner and the local sponsor were both her close confidants, the team grew hot with anticipation for the first round.

    If even with insider knowledge, the support of the local populace, as well as the favour of the country¡¯s government they still lost - then Fudan should probably give up participating in the IIUC for the foreseeable future.

    ¡°This time, we¡¯ll show those bangzi and wokou the might of the middle-kingdom!¡± Anita, the Mineral Transmuter-Abjurer, suddenly dropped a bomb in Gwen''s lap. Hailing from Manchuria, the woman had grown up in a region where nationalism ran high after the Sino conflict.

    Mild racism, weak to alcohol. Gwen noted.

    Banzi, referring to a corncob, was an ethnic slur for conquered Koreans: during the occupation of Manchuria by Japan''s Seventh Army, enslaved Korean Mages were given oft-faulty wands by their commanders, resulting in the spectacle of mana-drained mages having to beat the occasional Chinese rebel-fighter to death with a stout rod of transmuted metal.

    Wokuo, meanwhile, referred to Japanese pirates that marauded throughout the 8th to the 17th century, raping and pillaging China¡¯s coastal cities while its apathetic scholar-bureaucrats watched with disdain, too busy with in-fighting to enable a meaningful mobilisation.

    Before Anita could deliver a second jingo, Gwen rose from her seat, distracting Jiro and their on-loan Cleric while Bai silently Messaged Anita.

    Meticulously, she annotated her mental HR roster.

    Their defender hailed from Beijing. Her family was military, thus ensuring that she had attended three separate high schools before arriving in Shanghai. Cool-headed when sober, the Mineral Mage possessed a strong nurturing instinct. When complimented about her cropped hair, she inferredthat her father had always wanted a son. When she got older, leaving her hair long became insufferable for someone used to let their scalp breathe. From Gwen''s observation, the young woman had taken a keen interest in the diminutive Eunae.

    Across the table, Rene was the sole daughter of a mining magnate in Guangdong, formerly Canton under the Mageocracy, whose holdings over the Thundering Peninsular allowed him to establish a commanding presence from the mainland Frontier to the volcanic half-island. After three toasts, Rene furthermore revealed that she wasn¡¯t the real daughter of House Mui, but an adopted one. Her mentor, Instructor Chen, was a family friend who hailed from the same region, acting as her guardian in Shanghai.

    Jiro¡¯s introduction was tamer by comparison - he was just a regular rube, the young man explained - until he became trapped in an Elemental Dungeon near Hubei. While inside, he was separated from his peers and ended up surviving without support for a month. While avoiding certain death, dizzy with hunger, he discovered a raided Firebird nest and rescued a remaining egg.

    ¡°I was going to eat it¡­¡± Jiro explained, too honest for his good. ¡°When I cooked it with Flaming Hands, it hatched. Since Tanyu would have died without food and without its parents, I formed a contract with it.¡±

    The party burst into laughter and applause at the serendipity of Jiro¡¯s fantastic rendezvous with fate. ''Miraculous encounters¡¯, as the Taoists would have it, was a matter of karmic cause, a predestined gift from heaven. Though such gains could be brought to term by human intervention, the results were seldom as spectacular as ¡®destiny¡¯.

    ¡°Tanyu! Fly!¡±

    With a word from Jiro, his bird burst from his forehead, trickling a flaming trail of embers. Despite the sudden fever felt by Gwen on her face and arms, not a single strand of her hair curled, indicating the immense control Jiro possessed over the flames. Unlike Gwen¡¯s Familiars, however, Elemental Spirits manifested only momentarily, incapable of holding its corporeal-form for long.

    ¡°Sal!¡± Rene intoned, inspired by Jiro''s display. With a sizzling burst of sulphur, something that looked like a log of smouldering tar about the size of a football rolled onto the floor, charring the polished wood.

    ¡°Oh shit!¡±

    Decommissioning her spirit, Rene apologised profusely.

    Indeed a hot head, Gwen noted mentally. One prone to impulse, not unlike Yue. Conversely, Jiro''s temperament was more constrained, likely owing to his Firebird and his mundane middle-class upbringing.

    "Not to worry," Gwen assured the Evoker. "It''s nothing."

    Next, she turned her attention to Eunae, who squirmed beside the Void sorceress.

    Eunae dared not disobey her Vice Captain, though the proximity of Caliban a foot away was enough to keep her in flight or flightier mode. To prevent her escape, Ariel prodded the Positive Energy caster with its tentacle whiskers, demanding scratches behind the ears. Thus knuckle-deep in Ariel''s luxurious, celestial coat; the Cleric complied.

    ''The meek shall inherit the earth'' Gwen observed of Eunae, though she wondered how the meek hoped to keep it. When in My?ma, their healer may need a Gunther-esque lesson in ultraviolence.

    "That''s enough about us; what about you?" Anita pointed a pair of chopsticks her way.

    As for Gwen, a one-two combo of survival and sacrifice in Sydney by Richard and herself was enough to win her new friends over. When Lulan further interjected with her story of Gwen''s timely rescue, the others clapped and cheered, toasting their indomitable Vice-Captain, who downed half-a-dozen shots without so much as a blink.

    But the morbidness of her tale paled against the magnificence of Richard¡¯s Familiar, the Undine Lea, who had instantly enthralled the group with her elfin elegance and ethereal grace.

    ¡°Through Richard, I got to see the world!¡± Lea flitted about, enchanting every eye from around the room. It wasn¡¯t every day that a diaphanously shawled humanoid Spirit with unfathomable bean-green pools for irises allowed herself to be gawked at by mortals.

    Charmed, a tipsy Jiro fervently declared that he too wanted Tanyu to assume a humanoid form; ideally, one with a long head of flame-orange hair, trailing embers from her dress, fully embracing Dean Luo''s Path of the Dutch wife.

    When finally with the last dessert dusted, Gwen could see that the team had regained its morale.

    Very soon, with the Dean¡¯s blessing, the team would travel to the Yancheng Frontier for a training retreat. There, for the next month, they would patrol the newly enclosed Orange Zone, helping the locals as they dealt with Nantong''s overflow of exiled magical fauna, supervised by none other than Eric Walken.

    Monday.

    Fudan Handan campus training arena.

    ¡°I am sorry, Percy,¡± Gwen apologised to her Message bangle. ¡°I''ll be stuck at Yancheng for a few weeks; we¡¯re leaving in two days.¡±

    The remiss was entirely her fault. Gwen''s brother had reminded her a month ago and then again just now that Xiangming DC was participating in the best of eight from Metropolitan Shanghai, but as a result of Karie''s fiasco, Gwen had forgotten all about her promise to attend Percy''s matches.

    Both siblings had held great expectations, for in the months since his injury, Percy¡¯s talents had blossomed yet again. Though not in possession of the sheer number of Schools Gwen was known for, his ability to exercise new spells effortlessly in combat far outpaced his already prodigious peers.

    ¡°Fine, Mei says hi,¡± Percy sulkily mumbled his disappointment. ¡°I suppose the IIUC is more important than some district comp¡­¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re a hundred years too young to guilt trip me, ya little prick,¡± Gwen fired back. ¡°Send me the Lumen-recordings. Are Babulya and Gramps going?¡±

    ¡°Yep,¡± Percy answered quickly, hiding his embarrassment. ¡°Wish me luck?¡±

    ¡°Go get em,¡± Gwen chirped happily. ¡°Break a leg.¡±

    ¡°Why would I break-¡±

    Gwen hung up.

    ¡°Okay, sorry about that.¡± Gwen turned back to her training partners. ¡°Let¡¯s pick up where we left off.¡±

    Her body rose into the air, buoyed by a growing mastery of Flight. In a shimmering moment, a double-glazed sphere encased her surroundings.

    ¡°Lava Burst!¡±

    Rene had been stewing her mid-range assault for a whole two minutes while Gwen took the call. From a tear in space, a phosphorescent orange geyser poured into the shielded arena, flooding the constrained space with the stink of sulphur.

    Gwen¡¯s Shield caught the worst of the strike, rapidly turning opaque as the torrent of molten silica rapidly cooled, petrifying against her barrier.

    ¡°Nice! Void Seeker!¡±

    A dark ring of soundless Void tore through the haze of smoke and ash, making straight for Rene.

    ¡°Anita!¡±

    ¡°I see it! Barrier Shard!¡± The Mineral Mage expanded a barrier of calcite into the air, intercepting Gwen¡¯s Void projectile. The ring bit deep, almost exhausting the depth of the pearlescent wall even as it regenerated.

    ¡°Ball Lightning!¡±

    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

    Gwen commanded her Familiar to join the fray.

    Ariel appeared on the far side of the duelling arena, its Invisibility shedding with the empowerment of its stag horns. After a split-second of incandescence, four electric orbs struck Gwen¡¯s opponents square in the back before erupting into spheres of crackling electricity each a meter-wide.

    ¡°Replenish!¡± Anita replaced the black and charred shards of Mage Armour with a word, grunting as her mana dipped just below half. Comparatively, her opponent wasn''t even sweating. Their Vice-Captain had been tossing out mid-tier attacks like popcorn from a griller. ¡°Resist Elements!¡±

    ¡°Cone of Lava!¡± Rene¡¯s comically translated invocation manifested as a raging torrent of magma and stone, possessing an equally fantastic capacity for material and elemental damage. At the spell''s apex, just as it connected with Gwen¡¯s Shield, the Evoker unleashed a second-stage spell shape.

    Now under the command of Transmutation, the spray of molten stone transformed into a pair of clasping hands, catching Gwen¡¯s spherical Shield like a baseball caught between a pair of smouldering mitts.

    "Calcify!"

    Anita followed up with a Transmutation of her own, coaxing jagged crystalline spikes from the cooling stone.

    ¡°Dimension Door!¡± Gwen reappeared just below the splash of lava as the two halves met with a terrific crunch. Above and below her exit, an erupting pustule of tenebrous Void-ink consumed the falling debris.

    ¡°Cone of Lightning!¡± she fired back a fan-shaped blast of her own, filling the space between her and her teammates with sizzling streams of cobalt electricity.

    ¡°Barrier!¡±

    Both Anita and Rene took a burst of fulmination to the face before Anita¡¯s blockade stymied the brunt of Gwen¡¯s assault.

    ¡°Blink!¡± Rene moved past the barrier as soon as their mutual line of sight was lost, shedding a cluster of ruined hexagonal calcite rods.

    As she emerged, a coiled Caliban, invisible and waiting, took her full in the abdomen before curling itself around the girl in the manner of a boa constrictor.

    ¡°Spike!¡± Anita activated the embedded effect of her Mage Armour.

    Rene watched as the Mage Armour''s calcite shards penetrated the creature¡¯s carapace.

    "Burst!" A follow-up trigger ensured grievous injury.

    The fiend''s masochistic response was to open its protective shell, expelling a mass of pulsating purple flesh.

    Gwen took a hit in vitality as she readied Ariel for another strike.

    ¡°Lightning Bolt!¡±

    Anita took the brunt of the formidable discharge, discarding another dozen rods of charred calcite, made brittle after redirecting the lightning sorceress¡¯s assault.

    ¡°Rene, Blink back!¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t! It¡¯s got- oh shit!¡±

    A wave of vertigo and nausea washed over the Magma Mage as Caliban''s Void-tinged fluids smothered her. The calcite ''burst'' had been a terrible misstep.

    ¡°Time out! Time out!¡± Anita waved frantically at Gwen. ¡°Rene¡¯s going to be sick!¡±

    And she was.

    After Caliban kissed her on the head with lamprey tentacle, the defender was on the floor spewing her guts out. Gwen told her Familiar to back off before it could make matters worse with its singing.

    ¡°Anita, Rene, are the both of you alright?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, I am fine.¡± Anita dispelled her Crystal Skin. ¡°Rene?¡±

    ¡°I''ll be fine soon¡­¡± the young woman was on all fours, forcing herself to ventilate. Being a student of Instructor Chen, her recovery was quicker than most. ¡°I can¡¯t wait to see our opponents face Caliban.¡±

    ¡°Ha.¡± Gwen grinned, materialising towels for her teammates. ¡°Eunae!¡±

    ¡°Coming!¡±

    A deer Sprite, cute as a button, hopped toward the trio.

    ¡°Invigorate!¡± Eunae dropped a low-tier buff, dispelling Rene''s vertigo, quickening her allies¡¯ restoration of mana and stamina.

    ¡°Gwen, how large is your mana pool?¡± Anita¡¯s glass-like irises flashed. ¡°I am counting eleven T-5 and fourteen T-3 to 4 spells, and that''s discounting your Shield and your Familiars.¡±

    Gwen grinned awkwardly.

    ¡°She¡¯s at half-tank,¡± Richard called out from the sidelines.

    ¡°No way!¡± A clamour broke out from the rest of the team, demanding her VMI.

    ¡°Gwen, you want to tell them?¡±

    ¡°I am sitting on...¡± Gwen made a cute face. ¡°250¡­ or so?¡±

    The room grew silent, punctuated only by the occasional ¡®Shaaa!¡¯ ¡®Eeee!¡¯ and ¡®Yii!¡¯.

    ¡°I am on 82¡­¡± Rene appeared devastated.

    ¡°78¡­¡± Anita confessed. ¡°I am relying on my Affinity for mana conservation and my Rock Eater for recycling¡­¡±

    ¡°I am a little happy that I didn¡¯t take the opportunity to brag about my 71¡­¡± Jiro coughed. ¡°But seriously - really?¡±

    Gwen could only appear bashful. The matter of her VMI was a morally dubious subject. To brag would be worse than an insider trader telling their junior staff that if they pulled themselves up by the bootstraps, they too could sit on their laurels and retire with superannuation, surplus properties and stock options.

    ¡°Enough about me. Senior Peng, your fight with Richard was amazing.¡± Gwen made a masterful pivot.

    Indeed, the duel between Richard and Jiro had indeed been incredible.

    By the second minute, Gwen''s cousin had filled the duelling arena with water, while Jiro had lined the wall with bubbling fire.

    Were it not for Senior Bai¡¯s intervention; the loser would have been severely injured, be it Richard being boiled alive, or Jiro drowning. Though Gwen suspected that Lea could have cycled the heated water back into the Elemental Plane, the draw was likely planned out by Richard to test Jiro''s mettle. As a result, Gwen knew another thing about Jiro - the Fire Evoker would prefer to be unconscious than be beaten.

    ¡°I hope My?ma has plenty of water,¡± Lulan declared, having seen Richard in action in Nantong. ¡°Senior Huang is indomitable where there are massive bodies of water.¡±

    Conversely, Gwen noted that Lulan''s optimism inferred Richard¡¯s threat-level was effectively cut in half in arid environments, meaning Kitty would make the superior Controller.

    As for their Kunlun Clanner, the girl did attend practice, though she remained aloof and apart from the rest of the team. As for promising to obey Gwen¡¯s commands in combat, the girl had bitten her lip, then stared at her toes as though possessed.

    What irked Gwen was Kitty''s imperviousness to her persuasion, though her lack of cooperation did not imply incompetence.

    In an earlier bout against Lulan, she had demonstrated supernatural aerial agility against the rapid assault of the Sword Mage, caught only by surprise when Lulan test-fired a Piercing Heart Sword at point-blank, sending the Shielded Ice Mage tumbling below.

    Then, perhaps because of Gwen''s passive-aggressive bitching, Lulan fell upon the Ice Mage with the ferocity of a frenzied badger. Having spent almost four months duelling Gwen and adventuring with Richard, the girl¡¯s combat sense was sharper than a void-tinged razor. With the blunt edge of her massive, iron-girder blade, Lulan had beaten kitty around the enclosed space of the duelling arena until the girl was spewing rainbows, only stopping when Gwen commanded Lulan to return. In an open field, Kitty¡¯s forte would truly shine, but duelling a CQB Caster like Lulan indoors demonstrated the greatest weakness of a Mage that relied on avoidance as a primary mode of defence.

    ¡°I take it Gwen doesn¡¯t much like the Clanner?¡± Jiro nervously grinned as Lulan shook off icicles from her hair. ¡°You know, our team has only two Sect-born Clanners. Senior Bai and Kitty. Maybe Dean Luo is not too happy with the Sects?¡±

    ¡°Won¡¯t surprise me,¡± Rene observed likewise. ¡°You know how they are. No offence, Senior Bai.¡±

    ¡°None taken.¡± Tei Bai battered a hand. ¡°We did have a terrible Captain last year.¡±

    "The Dean''s going for broke.¡± Rene''s pencil-faint lips formed a smile. ¡°I think we might be the only team from China that¡¯s not choked full of Sect Mages.¡±

    ¡°Good,¡± Anita joined the trio. ¡°Less ego is fine with me.¡±

    ¡°I noticed another thing.¡± Jiro scratched his brows, then counted the members on his hands. ¡°Does our team seem incredibly cosmopolitan to you?¡±

    "For example - I am ''Japanese''," Jiro continued with a hint of self-loathing. "Eunae is South Korean, Lulu is an ex-Clanner, Captain Bai hails from one of the most respected Sects in Shandong, Richard is Australian-Chinese, Gwen looks Anglo, and our Diviner is Burmese."

    "Now that you mention it." Bai appeared contemplative. "Last year, we were all locals, the whole ten of us."

    The team regarded one another.

    Perhaps it was serendipity, or maybe it was by design, but they were undoubtedly an ¡®international¡¯ team. Assuming Fudan broke through to the regional competition, wouldn¡¯t it mean that all of Asia had something to cheer for, that someone in their squad would tickle a nationalist fancy here, there and everywhere?

    Six pairs of eyes converged onto their Vice Captain, a woman who remained ''at half-tank'' after duelling an offence-defence combo.

    Each by each, Gwen''s teammates wondered if they should prepare a speech for the Vid-Casts, just in case.

    ¡°Gwen is going to Burma.¡± Jun sat against the rails, looking out over the muggy city below, bathed the colour of a florid fruit shop. ¡°Just like you said.¡±

    ¡°Then it has come to pass,¡± the Dragon-kin¡¯s reply drifted out from the suite¡¯s interior. When she emerged, it was with the bearing of a queen, regal in her gold-spun robes of midnight.

    ¡°Mao, you¡¯re beautiful.¡± Jun''s breath caught in his throat. Even after six months, his companion continued to surprise him.

    ¡°I know.¡± Ayxin willed a lounge to withdraw from the wicker coffee table before taking a seat.

    ¡°Ayxin, may I enquire after your sibling?¡±

    ¡°Of course. Do you mean Ruxin or Golos? Or heavens forbid, Ryxi?¡±

    ¡°Ruxin.¡± Jun realised his eyes no longer cared for the city, so he may as well take a seat beside his lover. ¡°You said he was in Burma.¡±

    ¡°You''re asking about something that occurred twenty, maybe thirty years ago.¡± Ayxin cocked her head, holding her lover''s reflection intact between her golden irises, following her silhouette in his dark robs. ¡°Our kind isn''t cut out for maintaining filial relations.¡±

    ¡°Gwen tells me that her friend, the Burmese girl, told her that a Dragon overran their kingdom,¡± Jun began, taking care not to sound too concerned. A Dragon¡¯s possessiveness could be triggered by the slightest provocation, which would deny further avenue of enquiry on Gwen''s behalf. ¡°Which incidentally, happened some two decades, ago, in 1982, to be exact, in Yangon.¡±

    "So?"

    ¡°So Ruxin could arguably be this Tyrant,¡± Jun noted the change in Ayxin''s demeanour. "The timestamp matches up."

    ¡°OR, the tyrant could be any other ambitious whelp. After all, my kind enjoys building lairs.¡±

    "But powerful drakes are exceedingly rare, and I recall you saying Ruxin was on the hunt for a nest."

    "Hmm~."

    "For what purpose?"

    "The lair?"

    "Yes."

    Ayxin spared the subtlest of glances at her still-flat abdomen.

    ¡°If you''re that curious - Ruxin is just over six centuries, so he''s at an age where his instinct for leaving offspring is strong. Unlike my father, whose magnificence permeates the land, melding with its leylines, Ruxin''s obligations are physical, like ours.¡±

    ¡°Wait," Jun snorted. "Your kind goes ¡®musth¡¯?¡±

    ¡°Are you inferring that I am an Oliphant?¡±

    The Ash Mage broke out in a terrific cold sweat.

    ¡°That was humour,¡± Ayxin assured her partner. ¡°An Oliphant is no match for me. I could kill one right now if I wished. As for musth, I am too young for that and Ryxi is a sexless albino eel, so no, not all of our kind are subject to the instinct of procreation."

    "Then..."

    "For a true-blood like Ruxin, there is a period between the fifth and tenth century where our bodies mature; after that, high-dragons tend to shed their mortal coil. It''s an uncertain time for an adult, for most of them will perish during these five centuries.¡±

    ¡°Now that IS news to me.¡± Jun was all ears. Ayxin''s casual banter wasn''t anything like the sort one would find in a textbook. He was learning mythic physiology straight from a dragon¡¯s mouth. ¡°Dragons are some of the most powerful beings on the Material Plane, so howis it that so few high-dragons exist?¡±

    ¡°Eaten by one another.¡± Ayxin shrugged attractively. ¡°Going musth, or as we say, vaeri di tobor vur marfedelom, serves as ritual and trial. Before ascension, our kind needs to mate. Before we can mate, they need a lair. The bigger the lair, the more likely you¡¯re able to convince another dragon to submit. For true dragons, the rule is one drake, one mountain."

    ¡°So in Burma-¡±

    ¡°Assuming Ruxin is there,¡± Ayxin emphasised on the inferred ¡®if¡¯. ¡°He would need to build a lair, an impressive one at that since our Father is a true ancient. After which he would wait for a competitor, ideally a pureblood, then best them.¡±

    ¡°And then?¡± Jun felt he may yet regret his curiosity.

    Ayxin¡¯s eye formed two smiling half-moons.

    ¡°Then they get industrious, as we shall,¡± she snickered. ¡°Or Ruxin enjoys a nourishing meal. The consumption of other dragons equal in age can bolster our power.¡±

    Jun¡¯s mouth hung half-open.

    ¡°I am starting to see why there are so few dragons.¡±

    ¡°True dragons. There¡¯s plenty of bastards.¡± Ayxin frowned as her mind brushed upon a particularly diluted bastard she had accosted in May. ¡°Most creatures would be happy to submit.¡±

    ¡°I am assuming there¡¯s a downside to mothering demi-Gods.¡±

    ¡°There is. For a mortal, gestation is rare without external aid, and bearing the child or egg to term is even rarer.¡±

    ¡°Your mother-¡±

    Jun suddenly bit his tongue, realising his curiosity had gone a step too far.

    ¡°When she served as father''s Divine Vessel, my mother was cared for by the best royal physicians the Dynasty had to offer.¡± The mirth in Ayxin''s replies faded. When she next spoke, her tone was indifferent. ¡°Your niece should be perfectly fine - so long as she doesn¡¯t play the fool and pull the Tyrant¡¯s whiskers.¡±

    "Gwen, staying out of trouble?"

    A flashback of Huangshan flashed across Jun¡¯s mind¡¯s eye. When Ayxin had caught him in her pocket dimension, he had fully expected Gwen to run. Instead, he had to extract Caliban from Golo¡¯s rectum before it ate Ayxin¡¯s brother from the inside out.

    Straining the limits of his imagination, he tried his best to imagine Gwen NOT tearing off the Tyrant¡¯s whiskers with an ¡®HA!¡¯

    ¡°Ayxin,¡± Jun implored with a hint of desperation. ¡°What did Golos mean when he said he¡¯d save her thrice?¡±

 Chapter 246 - Milu No.5

    As an Orange Zone, Yancheng formed the largest prefecture in the Jiangsu Frontier, bordering Lianyungang to the north and Nantong to the south, with the Yellow Sea marking most of its coastal waters.

    Like most of China¡¯s coastal cities, the region had existed since antiquity. It''s etymology - consisting of ¡®salt¡¯ and ¡®city¡¯, was derived from the region''s abundance of sea salt.

    When a nation as large as China needed salt for internal consumption and export, it could afford no half measures when building its coastal salterns. During the summer season, hundreds-of-thousands of shallow brine pools dotted Yancheng¡¯s shores, fed by ten-thousand channels extending twenty kilometres inland.

    During high tide, a torrent of concentrated sea water, dredged up by undersea currents, deposited millions of litres of brackish-brine, attracting innumerable Halophilic monsters desperate for the white-pink mounds. Once inland, the beasts were met by half a million labourers, their skin split and encrusted, their blood and sweat mingling into the crystalline mass.

    From Yancheng¡¯s ISTC station, Fudan¡¯s 2004 IIUC team trekked its way from the splendour of the city into the mud-strewn countryside, the asphalt below them changing from tar, to gravel and finally to crushed stones long shattered into to jagged shards by haulier-trucks.

    The city¡¯s labourers, hard boiled by the relentless summer sun, raised their half-blinded eyes to regard the troop of fair-skinned Mages making way toward the coast, their mouths grinning with delight, revealing tea-stained teeth yellow with age.

    Though their life wasn¡¯t easy by any means, Yancheng was a generous city.

    Thanks to the District General''s abundant investments, their children attended school, with those who excelled receiving an opportunity to attend the civil exams in Shanghai or Beijing. For families whose lineage produced a Mage, they would receive an apartment in Yancheng''s inner Districts, and their progeny was free to attend the state''s Spellcraft academy.

    Thus enchanted with friendly faces, the workers waved at the intrusion of pallid bodies so dissimilar to their own, dreaming of one day seeing their scions returning in similar triumph.

    "Don''t you think the people here are so much friendlier?" Gwen waved back. "You don''t see happy peasants like this back in outer Shanghai."

    "Life expectancy is about mid-forty here." Richard gave his cousin a gentle pat on the head. "It''s an Orange Zone, the mana here mangles their bodies, but the salt is worth much more than the lives of NoMs."

    "Oh..." Her hands suddenly felt like lead.

    "But you know," Richard wisely observed. "Better here than D-109!"

    ''Klang!''

    "Panzerschreck!"

    "Kree! Kreeee-"

    The flailing, armoured horse-shoe crab ruptured, spraying bright blue-ichor across the salt. Built like a tank and impervious to low-tier magic, it was the thing''s own misfortune for choosing Lulan as its opponent.

    "Well done!"

    "Good work Lulu!"

    The group appraised Lulan''s demonstration.

    As a part of their journey across the salterns, the members each displayed their spells on the occasional monster that barred their way.

    Watching the briny-blue blood, Gwen raised a hypothesis.

    ¡°Do you think it¡¯ll work?¡± She licked her parched lips, tasting the salt in the air. ¡°Salt is Negative energy and Water, right?¡±

    ¡°I doubt it.¡± Richard shook his head. "I don¡¯t think Caliban will gain Affinity that way. Even assuming these Monsters have traces of Negative Energy, your Affinity is too high and theirs too low.¡±

    ¡°So you¡¯re saying there¡¯s a chance?¡± Gwen grinned.

    ¡°You could try.¡± Her cousin shrugged. ¡°I¡¯d imagine anything alive isn''t going to be rich in naturally-occurring Negative Energy¡­¡±

    Realising Dick was right, Gwen cursed her cousin¡¯s astute observation.

    ¡°Gwen.¡± A Message spell blossomed beside her ear. ¡°I see something.¡±

    Above the group, choosing to be alone, Kitty had volunteered to be their spotter. When the girl thrice refused Gwen''s invitation, Gwen deployed Maymyint to act on her behalf. Over dinner at Mayuree''s apartment, Gwen had sat the three of them down to air old grievances. Meekly, the Mage from Kunlun had offered an apology, going so far as to drop to her knees before Gwen forcibly picked her up by the shoulder. According to Kitty, it was Gwen¡¯s closeness to Mayuree, which she thought was undeserving, that was the root cause of their antagonism. As for Gwen¡¯s part, she wholeheartedly forgave her IIUC companion.

    ¡°It¡¯s a Salt Fish,¡± Kitty updated her observation. ¡°Big one, too.¡±

    ¡°Alright, everyone-¡± Bai raised a hand. ¡°Who wants to take this one?¡±

    ¡°Me! I would.¡± Gwen pointed to a comically salt-encrusted Caliban. ¡°I think you guys should get used to seeing Caliban eat.¡±

    Both Jiro and Rene moved up keenly, wondering what new nasty surprises Caliban had in store. They had already seen plenty through their practice duels, but her Void Worm had a knack for surprises.

    ¡°As a forewarning,¡± Gwen informed the others. ¡°Keep a comfortable distance until you get used to it.¡±

    ¡°SHAAAA!¡± Caliban burped, returning to its Master briefly before once again turning invisible.

    ¡°Mao, that was something else.¡± Anita hugged the shivering Eunae. ¡°What a horrible way to die.¡±

    ¡°I hear you.¡± Jiro closed his eyes for a moment before opening them again. ¡°So that¡¯s the spider-form?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡± Gwen landed beside her team. ¡°If we get a chance, I¡¯ll show everyone Cali¡¯s stag-form. It¡¯ll take most of my vitality though, so fingers crossed we run into plenty of biomass.¡±

    ¡°How was the bug?¡± Richard enquired.

    The ¡®bug¡¯, as it were, was a gigantic silver-fish encrusted with hardened salt from head to toe. Creatures such as these were usually passive, choosing to hide inside its armour while it demolished Yancheng¡¯s salt stockpiles. Not bothering with penetrating its carapace, Gwen had Caliban''s spider-form flip thething over with its scything claws, then devoured it from the middle, where its exoskeleton was the softest.

    ¡°Could be better.¡± Gwen swallowed the tingling pleasure with a poker face. The bug registered a three on the Nephres'' Scale. ¡°The vitality barely made up what I had to spend.¡±

    ¡°They process salt for a living and stay virtually stationary,¡± Richard sniggered. ¡°Not much vigour is needed to live the life of a salted fish.¡±

    ¡°Hahaha¡­¡±

    ¡°Pufft!¡±

    The rest of the party burst into laughter at Richard¡¯s wordplay.

    ¡®Salted Fish,¡¯ as it were, was slang for a no-good-lay-about.

    ¡°Kitty, how far to our destination?¡±

    ¡°Two hours across the salterns, or twenty minutes if we fly.¡±

    ¡°Well, ladies and gents?¡± Gwen turned to her party. ¡°More sight-seeing? Or shall we get to our lodging?¡±

    ¡°Two more hours of salt flats?¡± Rene brushed a fine powder of salt from her jet-black hair. ¡°No thanks.¡±

    ¡°Let¡¯s get going then.¡± Bai lifted into the air.

    Of the party, Richard, Jiro and Eunae were the only ones who did not possess the actual Flight spell. Richard himself could manage thanks to Lea, though his flight made for disastrous dog-fighting. Jiro and Eunae conversely managed through Magical Items. Of the many items banned in the competition, those granting basic ''Flight'' were not among that number.

    One by one, the group fell into a V formation.

    ¡°Eek!¡± Eunae shrieked as they passed an assemblage of several hundred bronze-skinned workers.

    Gwen and the others halted in alarm, only to burst out in laughter.

    Eunae was flying through the air with her legs clamped and her hands tightly pulling against the hem of her skirt. As a result, she was having trouble bracing her forward momentum.

    ¡°No one forewarned Eunnie?¡± Gwen turned to her peers suspiciously. She was wearing full-length spats, Lulan and Anita wore their military cargos, while Rene and Kitty wore jeans.

    ¡°I completely forgot.¡± Anita grinned, smacking her thin lips. ¡°I mean, Eunae''s charming enough to eat.¡±

    ¡°Muuuu!¡± Eunae growled, shaking a fist. The threat couldn''t have been more adorable.

    The others each expressed varying degrees of mirthfulness.

    ¡°I have a pair of pants you can use.¡± Their Captain handed over an impressive pair of men¡¯s trousers.

    ¡°She can use it as a tube dress, Captain!¡± Jiro hollered at the ballooning cargo pants Tei offered the girl. Compared to Gwen, their Korean compatriot was indeed a pocket-sized pixie. ¡°She¡¯ll be blown away!¡±

    ¡°Bloody oath you guys.¡± Gwen snorted, exasperated by the good-natured teasing; happy that for once, she wasn''t the ass on display. ¡°If that''s the case, Eunnie and I will go ahead.¡±

    Gwen scoped up Eunae by the waist and her legs, then shot forward with a burst of speed, gesturing for the others to follow. ¡°Trust me. They can''t see anything at this speed!¡±

    The Kirin sorceress tightened her grip.

    "Wait!" Eunae panicked, but it was too late.

    "To infinity and beyond!"

    The team arrived at Lanyan Manor, exhausted from the constant acceleration.

    Long distance flying not only relied on concentration and mana pool but exhausted one¡¯s physical constitution. Velocity wise, at a reasonable pace, a flyer without Air affinity could manage twenty-odd kilometres per hour. Conversely, a full-paced hustle burning mana reserves could reach eighty-odd kilometres an hour.

    Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

    Of the flight group, it was Kitty who reigned supreme, but none could come close to Gwen¡¯s lightning-trailed, full-throttle afterburners.

    Besides the team, Eunae sat to one side, wild-haired and wide-eyed, blowing bubbles through her lips.

    ¡°Does hair-preserving magic exist?¡± Gwen pulled at her wind-tunnelled hair, dismayed at its stubborn resistance. After a few discouraging attempts, she tied off a bushy ponytail.

    ¡°I am sure there are coiffure spells out there.¡± Anita¡¯s gelled crop remained unsullied by their hasted travel. ¡°Or magic items made for that purpose.¡±

    ¡°Or something like an aerodynamic barrier.¡± Gwen picked out a bug from her shirt. If she had been slower with her Shield, Eunae would have copped one in the grill. ¡°I¡¯d hate to imagine what would have happened if I had my mouth open; it''s not every day I have Eunae with me.¡±

    "Hahaha..."

    Exhausted chortles addressed her ill humour.

    The District they now arrived in was Dafeng, one of the original townships belonging to the Clan of Fung. An ancient town, the region remained rich with fauna, producing all kinds of exotic fare for Shanghai¡¯s insatiable markets.

    According to Senior Bai, there existed a legend long ago that beneath Dafeng was a Dragon Vein, re-classified in the 21st century as a ley-line.

    As an Orange Zone Frontier, Dafeng was additionally famous for producing a unique fauna called the Mirage Deer, or ¡®Milu¡¯, a chimeric monster with ¡®the tail of a donkey, the head of a horse, the hoofs of a cow, the antlers of a deer.'' Most famously, the Milu held within their body a scent-gland which could substitute for ambergris.

    Across Yancheng, the local population worshipped the Milu, long associated with the legend of the Dragon-vein. To many, an abundance of these benign and skittish creatures indicated the region was safe from disaster or invasion.

    ¡°Famously,¡± Senior Bai explained as the servants brought the Mages drinking water in silver vessels. ¡°The Communists hunted the Milu for their musk-gland, said to possess a scent that induced heavenly hallucinations. As a result, the CCP almost lost Dafeng because of a local rebellion. It took the public execution of the local Secretary to pacify the District.¡±

    ¡°Not a Purge?¡± Gwen¡¯s response was one of surprise.

    ¡°Dafeng¡¯s production of salt had to be maintained.¡± Bai pointed to the distant salt fields. ¡°And it was Patriarch Shen from the Nantong Fungs who delivered the verdict.¡±

    Such is life, Gwen observed. This far out from the city, the CCP¡¯s centralised command structure gave way to regional allegiances. Likewise, only by monopolising the natural resources of the Jiangsu Frontier could the Clan of Fung swallow a project as ambitious as Tonglv canal.

    "We''re ready for you, ma''am," the team''s NoM housekeeper, a womanly matron, informed them with a bow. "Please forgive our tardiness."

    "No worries, it''s our fault for arriving ahead of schedule," Gwen apologised.

    The estate Fudan rented was a property volunteered by the Fungs, a fully furnished, 12th-century abode sitting at the saddle of a low-rising hill. To its rear, a vast bamboo forest swayed, gently brushing its whitewashed walls of chalk. From the left side, the manor''s frontage offered a view of the salt plains, while to the right, untouched marshland kissed the county of Shenyang, just visible on the horizon.

    Each of the contestants had a room to themselves, though this far from the mana-grid and the waterworks, the ancient estate lacked modern amenities. Not keen on the compost bathrooms the NoMs had dug out at the property¡¯s rear, Gwen offered her Portable Habitat to her team, setting up the portal on the central dais of the courtyard as to provide hot showers and flushing toilets.

    ¡°Woa, fancy!¡± Rene, who came from a military family, was suitably impressed. ¡°How the hell did you get your hand on one of these? Portable Habitats are restricted military hardware.¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s Secretary Song¡¯s granddaughter,¡± Jiro reminded the Magma Mage. Already, the two fire-oriented casters had grown close. ¡°What¡¯s a few trips to the surplus storage under the CCP Tower?¡±

    ¡°Ha.¡± Gwen chose not to expose the origin of her pilfered Portable Habitat. ¡°At any rate, here¡¯s the glyph key. It¡¯ll change every 24 hours, so Message me if you¡¯re locked out.¡±

    For the next three weeks, leaving from Lanyan Manor, the students ventured out in twos and threes, courting trouble.

    In laymen¡¯s terms, it meant the students formed small hunting parties to roam the countryside, visiting counties, speaking to the village heads, finding Monsters to murder and warrens to clear.

    As summer brought the peak season for the production of sea salt, a deluge of Salt Fish, Ripper Claws, White Hoppers, Marsh Worms and the occasional Saltmire Merfolk threw themselves toward mountainous piles of gleaming pink crystals.

    Day by day, pair by pair, rapport grew between her teammates.

    Unsurprisingly, the others took an immediate liking to Richard, whose experience as an Adventurer brought respect and acknowledgement. Lulan likewise enjoyed working with Rene and Jiro, finding accord through their like-minded personalities. Curiously, ever since her beating, Kitty had taken up talking with Lulan as well, making Gwen wonder if Kitty too had a masochistic streak.

    On the matter of tactics and teamwork, Senior Bai had asked Gwen to practice on the others her mastery of Dimension Door. Now unrestrained by regulations against Teleportation within the city limits, they enacted the torturous training known as ¡®how many DDs can you travel with Gwen before seeing rainbows¡¯. Thus far, Lulan held the record at twenty-two casts with ten-second intervals, while Eunae managed just five before she painted the pavement.

    In between errands, Gwen engaged the group in ice-breaking exercises from her old world. Everything from Truth and Lie, where each member shared two ¡®truths¡¯ and a ¡®lie¡¯ about themselves, to Spellcraft Survival, where each team of three contestants had to scramble for a stack of spell-cards, then explain how they would survive a Black Zone using only these spells.

    Additionally, she had been busy preparing a secret surprise of her own - the creation of a memorable experience with which to conceive an empathic resonance between her teammates, engendering sympathy and camaraderie.

    Her rationale was simple - a robust sense of fellowship was necessary to offset the conflicts of interest that may soon be in play.

    That was why, with the help of Magister Walken, his winged serpent, as well as Ariel VR, she tracked down a herd of Milu.

    From above, the chimeric creatures indeed appeared as their moniker suggested - combining donkey, horse, cow and the massive antlers of a deer into a single animal. From the scale-patterned fur on the beast¡¯s back, Gwen suspected that they were diluted Draconic-fauna. The problem was how she was going to drive a herd of these creatures back toward Lanyan Manor.

    ¡°Eeee!¡± Ariel offered a solution.

    ¡°You can?¡± She was surprised by the clarity of her Familiar¡¯s empathic communiqu¨¦. Her creature was becoming more and more intelligent every day, evidence that Walken and Dean Luo¡¯s training was paying off.

    ¡°EE!¡± Ariel assured her.

    ¡°Alright, here goes.¡±

    She willed a volley of draconic-essence into her Familiar.

    Above the Milu, Ariel materialised, shedding its invisibility. When the Milu readied their long limbs for a hasted escape, her Kirin let loose a burst of Dragon-fear.

    As one, the Milu froze.

    ¡°EEE!¡± Ariel pawed through the air.

    ¡°Eeeer?¡± the leading stag bleated, expelling the contents of its bladder.

    ¡°EE! EE!¡±

    ¡°Eeeer?!¡±

    ¡°EE!¡±

    ¡°Eeeer!¡±

    Half a kilometre away, Gwen wordlessly watched the spectacle through Ariel¡¯s eyes.

    Did deer speak? She asked herself. Could venison feel?

    ¡°Eee!¡±

    Ariel informed her it was safe to approach.

    ¡°Dimension Door!¡±

    Three teleports later, she was among the mystical Milu, smelling an awful mouldy dankness that only carpets fermenting for decades in a swamp could produce. How were theMilu were prized for perfume again?

    ¡°EE!¡± Ariel¡¯s resplendent horns sparked.

    One of the Milu turned away from Gwen, then without warning, sprayed her with something from its anal glands.

    ¡°Ari-!¡± Gwen burst into tears. She had not put up a shield because that would have been the last she''d see of the Milu. More importantly, her mouth was open. ¡°Oh¡­¡±

    In the next moment, a heavenly scent encompassed her sinus.

    The fragrance was indescribable, as though a masterful perfume maker had distilled rosewood and sandalwood, bergamot and lavender, together with all the wildflowers on the marsh into a musky concoction.

    ¡°Oh my.¡± The fragrant was so heady as to make her momentarily dazed. ¡°Milu No.5?¡±

    Now that Gwen was marked andscented, the creatures visibly relaxed.

    ¡°Eee!¡±

    ¡°Right now?¡±

    ¡°EE!¡±

    Heeding her creature¡¯s command, Gwen channelled a mote of Almudj¡¯s Essence into her forefinger.

    The leading Milu approached, gingerly sniffed her glowing green mote on her palm, then lapped her hand clean.

    ¡°Eeeeer!¡± the buck leapt into the air, taking flight for a dozen meters, then landed with a wet thunk.

    ¡°That¡¯s good, eh?¡± She was beginning to see Ariel¡¯s plan. ¡°Gather up, plenty for everyone! You wanna eat, you gotta work!¡±

    A minute later, she was surrounded by a dozen Milu, furiously licking away, filling the swampland air with their scented blessings.

    Who''d have thought? Gwen sighed - that one day she too would be a Disney Princess.

    Up above, a discrete observational distance away, with the manner of an antagonist warlock stepfather, Eric Walken hovered with an active suite of diagnostic magic, an eye in the sky scrutinising his ward below.

    At first, he thought Gwen had wanted to hunt illicit game to feed her friend, or perhaps bolster Caliban with a new form. What he had in turn witnessed was the strangest thing, a girl feeding monstrous creatures viridescent essence while they furiously muzzled, licked and nudged her to and fro.

    "Essence!"

    With a bell-beat of fluttering wings, his Coatl descended, seeing no reason why it should resist its impulsive desire for the emerald essence.

    Weren¡¯t the Milu supposed to be rare and noble, skittish and impossible to capture? Walken scoffed at the fawning venison below. Why wasit that with Gwen, nothing could be normal?

    On the last night of the training camp, the team''s two leaders extracted the ingredients for a dumpling feast.

    ¡°I had it packed before we left,¡± Gwen boasted with self-satisfaction. ¡°They¡¯re from Yang¡¯s, on Gouding Road. All we have to do is make it!"

    Under a Milky Way unsoiled by light pollution from the city, sweltering beside boiling pots, the Fudan 2004 IIUC team folded dumplings and made chit-chatter, laughing at one another''s failed attempts at wrapping dough.

    Kitty, Anita, Eunae and Richard ate their pork-n-cabbage dumpling as is, while Gwen, Lulan and Anita preferred chilli and vinegar. On the far right, Rene and Jiro huffed over the crushed remains of ghost-pepper, audibly ventilating from the chilli oil.

    ¡°Tei, you¡¯re going to die,¡± Gwen observed. Senior Tei wasn''t good with chilli.

    ¡°Eunae,¡± Bai implored their Cleric seriously. ¡°Drop me a Revitalise.¡±

    "Revitalise!" Eunae acceded as Bai delivered another morsel to his lips.

    ¡°Ah-,¡± Bai lamented, closing his eyes. ¡°That hits the spot; I am going to miss this taste in a few years.¡±

    Nodding sympathetically, Gwen topped up the supply of rice wine, taking the opportunity to deliver a well-timed speech.

    ¡°Friends, teammates, comrades! Lend me your ears!¡± She raised a shimmering glass, its surface brimming with prohibitively expensive Mao-tai.

    The rest of her team likewise raised their cups.

    ¡°Within a week, we shall venture from Shanghai into Burma, taking our first step toward the International Inter-University Competition! Therefore, I would like to offer a toast - to us, to Fudan, and to the future!¡±

    ¡°Ganbei!¡± A clatter of glasses echoed through the night.

    ¡°I believe I speak for many of us when I say that our prospects are daunting. From our familiar campus, we shall venture into the blue-dark of battlefields unknown. But - in our endeavour, let us know no fear; for we set sail beyond Shanghai''s shores for fame, fortune and friends. As we step into each new continent, facing enemies hostile and competitors fierce, let us know no doubt; for each new challenge, difficult as they shall be - is an opportunity.¡±

    "Hear-hear!"

    "Well said!"

    ¡°Thank you," Gwen''s voice reached a new crescendo. "For all of us, the IIUC is a detour on our Path of Spellcraft, we take this road, not for ease - but for potential. By stepping where no leaf had been trodden black, we shall employ the best of our energies so that when we emerge the victors, we shall have exercised our greatest potential!¡±

    "Toast!"

    "Drink!"

    "Another!"

    "As for our endeavour - I am reminded of Sir George Mallory, a Magister who perished mapping Everest. Once, a detractor demanded of Sir Mallory, ¡®Why are you doing this?¡¯ The Magister''s response has since stuck with me. ¡®Because it¡¯s there,¡¯ he had said, ''why try, if not for the tallest peak?''¡±

    ¡°Well.¡± Gwen raised another thimble. ¡°For the spring of our youth, the IIUC is our peak, and together, hand in hand, arm in arm, we are going to reach for the top! TOAST!¡±

    ¡°For the IIUC!¡±

    ¡°For us!¡±

    ¡°G¨¡nb¨¥i!¡±

    ¡°Ariel!¡± Gwen sounded out internally. ¡°Do it now!¡±

    ¡°EE!¡±

    Without warning, a viridescent Ariel lit up the night.

    ¡°Oooh!¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s Ariel!¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s it doing up there?¡±

    ¡°Barbanginy!¡± Gwen allowed the channelled mana to flow through her Conjuration conduits, piling on the collated ethanol she''d drank all night.

    An emerald halo erupted across the starry vista, forming a sudden Aurora Australis as Almudj¡¯s blessing poured into the essence infused Elemental Sphere, adjusted for maximum displacement.

    When eventually her breathless teammates looked down from the celestial spectacle, they were met with yet another miracle.

    ¡°Mao! Milu! Senior Bai! It¡¯s the Milu!¡± Rene called out, spilling her drink.

    ¡°Ancestors!¡± Even Tei Bai felt his jaws unhinge.

    From the hillside, a dozen Milu rode toward them, encircling the young Mages who stood to receive them.

    ¡°What an omen!¡± Anita touched a hand to her lips. ¡°I can¡¯t believe it!¡±

    ¡°A blessing!¡± Jiro looked up at Ariel, then at Gwen. ¡°From the goddess of victory herself.¡±

    Bathed in the emerald light from above, Richard reached Gwen¡¯s side.

    ¡°Thank you.¡± He embraced her in an uncharacteristic act of piety. ¡°I never thought we¡¯d come so far, so quickly.¡±

    ¡°Dick.¡± Their fingers touched. ¡°I want to thank you as well. Without your support, I may not have gotten here at all.¡±

    Lulan was next, though the girl was more direct, opting straight away for hugging Gwen tightly and digging her face into Gwen¡¯s bosom.

    ¡°Kitty?¡± Gwen opened her arms, indicating to the wide-eyed straggler. ¡°Mia¡¯s not here, and I¡¯ve got a vacancy.¡±

    The Ice Mage¡¯s lowered her head, the smile that had just touched her face suddenly fading from her lips. Rigidly, the petite sorceress turned away.

    ¡°Kitty, don''t play the coy maiden. You know you want it!¡± Rene, mistaking Kitty¡¯s body language for bashfulness, took the girl by the arm and pulled her unwillingly closer.

    ¡°Me too!¡± Jiro, incited by the friendly atmosphere, pushed Rene and Kitty into Gwen¡¯s arms. "Anita, come on!"

    "Ah, whatever." The stoic Senior Bai let himself go, bringing Eunae, who was desperately trying to reign Luyi away from the Milu.

    Soon, trapping an asphyxiating Kitty inside a human sardine ball, the team huddled for the first time.

    At Ariel¡¯s command, the group of Milu approached.

    ¡°Shut your eyes!¡± Gwen called out, though her warning was drowned out by the crush of bodies. ¡°Close your mouths!¡±

    One by one, the deer turned their fluffy tails toward the group, then gave the soon to be traumatised humans the benedictions for which the Mirage Deer were famous.

 Chapter 247 - The Importance of a Strong Handshake

    ¡°This whole ordeal sounds dodgy,¡± Gwen said drily, forewarned by Mayuree to be wary of prophecies.

    ¡°Yet, stranger things have happened to the both of us,¡± Jun observed his niece, likewise unsure of what to make of his draconic partner¡¯s ambiguous foreshadowing.

    ¡°I suppose. Let¡¯s recap.¡± Gwen had been taking notes on a slate. ¡°The Tyrant may or may not be Ayxin¡¯s minimum five-hundred-year-old brother, a pure-blooded Thunder Dragon with a raging libido. Likewise, Ruxin was last known to have travelled to Mandalay, the old Burmese royal capital, with the express purpose of banditry, nest-construction and dragon-on-dragon insemination.¡±

    ¡°That''s¡­¡± Jun smacked his lips, raising both brows. ¡°Surprisingly concise.¡±

    ¡°Also, according to Ayxin, I may be saved by Golos.¡±

    ¡°Not her exact words.¡± Jun furrowed his brows. ¡°Her exact words were, ¡®Golos shall act to prevent Gwen from assured self-destruction, as well as intervene should her life be in imminent threat of annihilation.¡¯¡±

    ¡°Annihilation!¡± Gwen marvelled at the choice of the Draconian¡¯s diction. ¡°What am I? A flatworm? So if I am only half dead, or enslaved, or trapped in a cave or mildly dismembered, Golos is going to leave me alone?¡±

    ¡°You could interpret it like that.¡± Jun broke out in cold sweat. ¡°I feel a lot less confident now that you¡¯ve clarified the Yinglong¡¯s condition.¡±

    ¡°You know what I think?¡± Gwen held her uncle''s hand, feeling the clammy skin of his palm. ¡°I think the Yinglong is tempting me to act rashly, thinking that Golos will be there as a fail-safe - when in reality, I could be in all sorts of trouble without Golos needing to step in. For example, Golos can¡¯t come into Shanghai, but I could go right now into the lobby, fire off a dozen Void spells and get booked into Tianlanqiao¡¯s stasis bay. When you think of it like that, this ''save your ass thrice'' business is pretty suspect.¡±

    ¡°Please don¡¯t say that.¡± Jun eyed the security partition nervously. ¡°The walls have eyes.¡±

    ¡°Just a hypothesis.¡± Gwen grinned. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, Uncle. I know how to take care of myself. I¡¯ve got a whole team with me, and Magister Walken, whose interest and mine coincide, at least for now.¡±

    ¡°Nonetheless, a scorpion is a scorpion,¡± Jun sagely acknowledged. ¡°Betrayal is in his nature.¡±

    ¡°Oh, but Eric''s my arachnid until we dismiss our common goal,¡± Gwen assured her uncle. ¡°But of course, I¡¯ll be sure to watch my back. Or at least Richard will.¡±

    ¡°His roots go deep, within the Grey Faction I mean, and with the Mageocracy¡­¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll be careful, Uncle. Don¡¯t forget, Gunther remains a hard counterspell for a disgraced Magister like Walken.¡±

    ¡°I am just worried about you.¡±

    ¡°I know.¡±

    ¡°¡­ Q¨©n¡¯s expecting in three weeks,¡± Jun changed the subject. ¡°I think Hai would be happy if you were to send him a Message, you know - a sign.¡±

    She bit her lip, though it was hard to work up a fury when her uncle Jun had just given her a stout shot of paternal care and security. Despite everyone in her family coming out to see her off, her parents remained absent.

    ¡°Alright.¡± She nodded. As much as she wanted to worry about Walken¡¯s ulterior motives, Ayxin¡¯s vague revelations and her father¡¯s new child, what she should be focusing on was getting to Yangon in one piece, survive the meeting with her Asian regional competitors, then work her way to London to compete for fame, fortune and Evee. ¡°I shall - should I do it now?¡±

    ¡°At your leisure.¡± Jun coughed guiltily. ¡°But play nice.¡±

    ¡°I am always nice,¡± she replied sourly. "When am I not nice?"

    ¡°Don''t sound like such a step-mother,¡± Jun remarked with a pearl of wry wisdom. ¡°You¡¯re too young for that.¡±

    ¡°Am I not an old soul?¡±

    ¡°Well-¡± Jun was reminded of the secret they shared. ¡°I suppose there¡¯s that.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s fine. I''ll give Hai my benediction.¡±

    Jun patted her hand in return.

    ¡°I should go. The others are waiting for you.¡±

    He opened his arms, and the two shared a hug, with Gwen tagging him with a peck on the cheek.

    ¡°Good luck with your egg making, Uncle. You have my benediction.¡±

    Jun gave her an exasperated glance.

    ¡°And watch your health - they say too much Dragon isn¡¯t good for your kidneys. Let it come naturally.¡±

    ¡°Get going, you rascal.¡± Jun gave her a phantom kick in the buttocks.

    Leaving her flustered uncle with a wink, she returned to the lobby of the ISTC.

    ¡°Gwen! You¡¯re back!¡± Dean Luo and the others gathered outside were already knee-deep in the media pit.

    ¡°Here.¡± Gwen materialised the signatures Jiro and Rene had requested, as well as additions so that no one else was left out. ¡°Personalised and fresh from the Ash Bringer himself, as requested.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll treasure it!¡± Jiro beamed. ¡°I am thankful!¡±

    ¡°Thanks.¡± Rene reverently swept her eyes over the scrawled pictogram. ¡°I am going to send this back to my Patriarch!¡±

    The power of the CCP¡¯s propaganda machine was nothing to scoff at, Gwen noted internally. Not even Gunther, a Mage capable of shit-canninga Leviathan the size of a suburb, was instantly recognisable in the middle of a street. Comparatively, when Jun intercepted the team at the ISTC lobby earlier, Rene and Jiro¡¯s eyes almost fell out of their sockets.

    ¡°Alright, everyone here? Let¡¯s get a good angle in.¡± The Dean motioned for the CCVC-1 crew to begin. Sensing an opportunity, Luo had brought with him a Vid-Cast crew from the state¡¯s propaganda office.

    The group of young Mages, each arriving at the ISTC separately, had bought their families with them. For Gwen, this included her grandparents, her brother, as well as Mina and Tao. Except for Lulan, who had only Kusu, Eunae, who had no family in Shanghai and Kitty who came alone, the rest wereinundated with well-wishes from loved ones.

    First came the Dean¡¯s grandiose introduction, after which a suitably large assemblage of rubbernecking spectators added to the already crowded lobby.

    ¡°We have full confidence in you lot breaking through the Asian round,¡± Dean Luo informed the youngsters, winking at the Lumen-recorders. ¡°So say something for the future broadcast!¡±

    As Captain, it was Tei''s duty to begin.

    ¡°Comrades, greetings. I am Tei Bai, the Captain of the 2004 Fudan IIUC team. I want to make our country, our university and our people proud by showing the world that our nation is ready to join world leaders in the development of Spellcraft. Father, mother, Patriarch Wuyue, please accept my most sincere gratitude for making me who I am today."

    Tei dropped to his knees and kowtowed toward a grim-faced man wearing a matching outfit in grey and black, standing amidst a small contingent of Clanners from Taishan, eliciting a round of appreciation from the crowd.

    Next was Gwen, who presented an entirely different image to the sombre, funeral-director mien of Tei Bai with her sleeveless dress and tender complexion. With a mote of Essence flashing her irises emerald, she gave the lumen-recorder a bright and vivid smile before delivering her carefully worded portion.

    ¡°Hi everyone, I am Gwen Song, Vice-Captain of the team. I would like to thank the city of Shanghai, the knowledge bestowed upon me by Fudan, and the generosity of the Dean in offering us this rare and wonderful opportunity. Over there are two people to whom I am deeply indebted, without whom none of this would have happened. Nainai and Yeye, please accept my most sincere gratitude!¡±

    The crew instantly panned toward the delighted expressions of Gwen¡¯s grandparents as well as the parents of the other students who had come to the ISTC station to fare their scions well. With a twist of her dancer''s figure, Gwen skipped between two lumen-recorders to embrace both of her grandparents.

    The crowd¡¯s applause exploded. What could be more heartwarming, more picturesque than a scene of filial piety such as this? As for the girl¡¯s parents, who knew? It wasn¡¯t uncommon in this day and age to have a young prot¨¦g¨¦ whose parents had given their all to the state.

    ¡°Take care, Gwen.¡± Her babulya kissed her on the cheeks. ¡°Did Jun say his piece?¡±

    ¡°Yes, Babulya, I¡¯ve got everything I need.¡±

    ¡°Gwen, do not fail-¡± Guo remained as stoic as ever, his seriousness exacerbated by the presence of the propaganda crew. "-and be careful."

    ¡°I will, Grandfather.¡± Gwen bowed. ¡°Percy!¡±

    Percy tried to hide behind their grandfather but was dragged out by his sister to face the glaring crystalline eyes of the lumen-recorders.

    ¡°This is my brother, Percy, future IIUC contestant.¡± Gwen hugged her sibling from behind. ¡°He will be greater than even myself in the future; I just know it!¡±

    Percy blushed from the immodest and outlandish boast, drawing laughter from around the room.

    ¡°Sorry for missing your matches, bud.¡± Gwen hugged her brother close, pressing their faces together as the CCVC crew moved on to their next target. ¡°As compensation, I¡¯ll bring back something nice.¡±

    She remained with her family while the rest of the crew followed her suit, choosing to stand with their relatives to maintain the motif of filial piety.

    When the crew got to Lulan, she instead retrieved Gwen, making her doubly flustered as the Sword Mage heaped praise on her saviour, aided by a grateful Kusu, choking like a misty-eyed father sending their child off to the first day of school.

    Richard was no better, again redirecting back toward Gwen. Thankfully, her cousin spent at least a small part of his interview leaving an on-air message for his parents, informing them that he had a home ready for them and that by the end of the IIUC, he may have enough CCs to bring them to Shanghai.

    This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

    When finally the interviewer reached the reluctant duo of Eunae and Kitty, both stammered a few lines about being thankful to Fudan, then clammed up, uncomfortable with such an extroverted display of egotistical self-promotion. For Eunae, Gwen suspected the girl¡¯s participation would likely be negatively received, at least until they thrashed the Korean teams, making Eunae the sole object of worship for the nationalistic peninsular¡¯s prideful citizens. As for Kitty, she could only presume that the ordinarily quiet girl loathed the idea of whoring herself out.

    ¡°Mayuree, Miss Maymyint, I am bringing Gwen Song! I am coming for you!¡±

    The Ice Mage¡¯s stalwart finish came as a pleasant surprise, and Gwen couldn¡¯t help but give Kitty a righteous thumbs-up.

    When finally the CCVC crew came full circle, the team formed behind the Dean and presented the universal symbol for cringeworthiness - extending their arms and forming a V with their fingers - before finish up at the entrance to the ISTC¡¯s inner chamber.

    ¡°GOOD LUCK!¡±

    ¡°FAREWELL!¡±

    ¡°SAFE RETURNS!¡±

    The family and friends of the contestants waved one last time; then with a synchronised bow, the Fudan 2004 IIUC team was away.

    Unlike the ISTC station at Singapore, Gwen¡¯s first port of entry into Shanghai, China''sInter-City Teleportation Circles shared identitcal algorithms, likewisemanufacturedwithmatching metrics to reduce wavelength fluctuation.

    Without so much as a single Eunae kneeling over to paint rainbows all over the silvery glyphs, the team arrived at Chengdu, where they would meet up with the other Chinese Team picked for My?ma.

    ¡°I¡¯ve just received the news.¡± Walken joined the group as they gathered in Chengdu ISTC''s lobby. ¡°Your remaining competitors are Kyoto University and Seoul University.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re not against Tokyo?¡± Tei took in a breath of cold air. ¡°Mao¡¯s tomb¡ª Kyoto, we¡¯re in for a tough bout.¡±

    The rest of the team exchanged uncertain glances.

    Within China''s nine leading research institutes, only three Chinese universities ranked high enough in the Asian Regional academic rankings to issue teams for the IIUC. Of the Group of Twenty in Greater Asia, Fudan barely scraped past the finishing line at 19th, Jiantong at 13th, while Tsinghua solidly locked in 2nd or 3rd place, interchanging with their rivals from Tokyo. Peking University, though ranked 4th, had little interest in competition with the old colonial powers, emphasising instead on gatekeeping the PLA''s most secretive mystical arts.

    ¡°I¡¯d say so.¡± Walken studied each of the team members, disdained by their dismay. ¡°Here are your current matchups: Of your Asia qualifier group: Kyoto is ranked 1st, Seoul 9th, Jiantong 13th, and Fudan is 19th. It¡¯s not an unusual spread, as the organisers prefer to avoid having top group match ups. When we¡¯re on the global stage, the same dynamic will apply. For your first round, Fudan, a rank 154thuniversity, will pair with competitors in the top hundreds, or whatever is closest, assuming any of them has made it that far.¡±

    ¡°Well, its no surprise we¡¯re the underdog!¡± Richard butted in. ¡°That¡¯s how I like it! That¡¯s how we do it in Australia!¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s right.¡± Gwen pumped her fists. ¡°In Australia, the underdog never loses! Fact! Nine times out of ten, a million in one shot taken by an underdog will succeed!¡±

    Her teammates giggled nervously, evidently doubting their Vice-Captain''s mathematical abilities.

    ¡°Ho! FUDAN!¡±

    Before she could continue, a thunderclap resounded across the vaulted ceiling of the ISTC station. A second team had arrived, and they were now making their way across the interior, awaiting transfer to the international terminal of the Chengdu ISTC array.

    It was their old rival, Jiantong.

    Senior Bai glanced at Gwen, cautioning his lieutenant before the two moved up to greet their counterparts.

    Unlike the Fudan students, Jiantong has been long affiliated with the Communist Party¡¯s Shanghai branch, with their best and brightest graduating into secretarial posts as well as military officerships inside the PLA Tower.

    As one, Jiantong marched on Fudan''s chaotic formation, neat in their dark navy uniforms, paired with pale blue collars and black military chinos. Unsurprisingly, the most eye-catching aspect of their team jersey was a bright red iconography depicting a hammer, anvil and sword, alongside spell-books, forming the circular logo for Jiantong, symbolising craft, knowledge and military might, each in equal measure.

    Conversely, Fudan wasn¡¯t nearly so strict on uniforms, which combined with its intake of international students, was why it was famous for its ¡°Fudan Flowers¡±.

    The Captain of Jiantong, Gwen noted, was a bloke with a military crop, a square jaw, and dark, hawkish eyes that gave him an intimidating disposition, like a man waiting for the perfect moment to deploy a shiv.

    Behind the militant looking young man was another with the face of a schemer, scrunched and rat-like, a born villain. Just from the motes of pale mana drifting from the man¡¯s garb, Gwen could tell he was an Illusionist and a high-tier one at that. Though not wanting to judge a book by its cover, the man''s appearance had nonetheless forced her to do a double-take. Thanks to planned pairings and generations of good breeding, Mages in general, especially ones with rare abilities, were rarely uncomely. Considering the position of Gwen''s team and the rest of the Jiantong team, the Illusionist''s unfortunate face struck her as peculiar.

    As the groups approached one another, her theory was validated by two exceedingly beautiful young women, both with their long hair tied up in knots, glaring past her at Lulan.

    ¡°Tei Bai, Captain.¡± Tei extended a hand.

    ¡°Gwen Song, Vice-Captain,¡± Gwen likewise made herself known, a little pleased that she was as tall or taller than the entirety of the Jiantong team.

    ¡°Ah, the great Tei Bai, the prodigy of the Taishan Bai Clan,¡± the presumed Captain of the Jiantong team had introduced himself as Xiang Ying of Wutang. ¡°We finally meet.¡±

    ¡°Bai shixiong.¡± The Illusionist beside Ying bowed, interjecting before Bai could address the Jiantong Captain. ¡°Pleased to meet you. I am Kurong Tsung from the Wutang main house.¡±

    After her Captain''s turn with the duo, when Gwen moved to shake the Captain¡¯s hand, Ying instead gave her a smile and a nod, then left her hanging.

    Tei was mid-bow when he caught Gwen¡¯s awkward condition.

    ¡°Is something the matter, Bai shixiong?¡±

    ¡°Ying shidi, please return my Vice-Captain¡¯s greetings,¡± Tei returned gruffly.

    ¡°If shixiong wishes it, it shall be done.¡± The Wutang Sword Mage known as Ying then turned to Gwen, extending a hand. ¡°It¡¯s a pleasure to meet the infamous Worm Handler.¡±

    Shocked at having been called the titillating moniker to her face, Gwen¡¯s cheeks flushed scarlet before Ying'' calloused fingers enveloped her own. Like all Sword Mages, the caster''s hand possessed the stinging grit of sandpaper.

    Then, for some reason, the man squeezed her hand.

    It took Gwen a moment to realise the man wasn¡¯t trying to cop a feel but was squeezing her fingers in the crushing sense.

    Bemused and in mild discomfort, Gwen winced.

    Ying Xiang grinned.

    Senior Bai¡¯s expression grew dark, while the Illusionist¡¯s grew mirthful.

    The rest of the team on either side watched their leaders dance the braggadocio fandango, anticipating what was next to come.

    Growing annoyed, Gwen attempted to retrieve her hand, only to find that Ying¡¯s fingers had become a vice-grip.

    ¡°Ying shidi, you are going too far.¡± Tei raised a not-very-polite finger, hoping Gwen wouldn''t just keep Ying''s hand as a souvenir. ¡°Don¡¯t do it, Ying. It won¡¯t end well.¡±

    ¡°Oh?¡± Ying Xiang¡¯s gaze stabbed at Tei. ¡°You know, I''ve heard some very scandalous things about your flower. Does it break your heart to see her hurt, Bai shixiong?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not what Senior Bai means.¡± Richard, who had been observing the ordeal, snorted out loudly. ¡°You bloody inbred Clanners, you have no idea, do you? Go on; keep it up.¡±

    A clamour resounded from the Jiantong camp.

    ¡°Well done, you¡¯ve just insulted my whole party. What¡¯s your name?¡±

    ¡°Richard Huang.¡± Richard rested a hand against the small of Gwen''s back so that an understanding passed between them. ¡°Say, are you any good wielding a sword left-handed?¡±

    ¡°Mr Xiang,¡± Gwen interjected, playing along, growing misty-eyed, waiting for the man to lower his guard. ¡°You¡¯re hurting me.¡±

    Suddenly, without warning, a split-second before Gwen was about to crush the man''s fingers, the Sword Mage relented.

    ¡°You''d be better off charming the Fungs.¡± Ying Xiang met her eye to eye. ¡°A competition such as this is no place for a soft and delicate thing such as yourself. Is living the life of a princess in Nantong not thrilling enough for you?¡±

    As if confirming his Captain¡¯s point, the rat-faced Illusionist also extended a hand for Gwen to shake.

    Lulan, growing furious at Jiantong¡¯s rudeness, took a step forward, only to be halted by Richard when on the other side, two young women likewise looked as though they were keen to step forward.

    Gingerly, with great timidness, Gwen tended her slender white fingers and took the Illusionist¡¯s rougher counterpart.

    ¡°It¡¯s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Worm Handler.¡± The Clanner known as Kurong grasped her handas thoughmanhandling a hock.

    ¡°Oh no, Mr Tsung.¡± Gwen activated her Essence, locking eyes with the Jiantong Captain. ¡°The pleasure¡¯s all mine.¡±

    ¡°AEEEEEEAA! A-ANCESTORS!¡± Kurong broke out into a sudden clamour, so much that the two young women behind him looked about ready to materialised their swords. ¡°Y-YOU WHORE!¡±

    Ying Xiang''s expression hardly changed.

    ¡°You''d be better off slinkingback down the sewer you birthed out of,¡± Gwen stated coldly, ratcheting up the pressure so that Jiantong''s Vice-Captain fell to his knees, one hand caught in her vice-grip while the other futilely tried to form an Abjuration Shield. ¡°A true competition such as this is no place for a soft and delicate stool such as yourself.¡±

    ¡°Haha!¡±

    ¡°Oh Gwen, that¡¯s brilliant!¡±

    Her teammates jeered.

    ¡°Hahahaha¡­¡± To Gwen''s dismay, Ying Xiang began to laugh as well, paying no heed to his screeching Vice-Captain. ¡°I like you, Miss Song. I see your moniker is no joke. You have handled Tsung shidi expertly.¡±

    Stepping back, the man bowed from the waist.

    ¡°Allow me to apologise. May I please have Tsung shidi back?¡±

    With a show of generosity, Gwen returned the Illusionist to his team.

    ¡°I am going to destroy you.¡± Kurong didn¡¯t find the joke nearly as hilarious as his Captain.

    "I am terrified," Gwen hummed jovially. "No one has ever said that to me before. Look at my trembling hands."

    She sneered at the man¡¯s writhing, snot-covered face, wondering if it was the inbreeding talking or if the man was indeed that arrogant.

    ¡°Tsung shidi! Apologise!¡± Ying Xiang¡¯s faux amicability curdled. ¡°Do you not understand the meaning of a friendly greeting? Did Song shimei not humiliate your shameful display? How much face must youlose before you¡¯re satisfied?¡±

    Kurong opened his mouth to speak, but a proverbial cat in the form of Gwen¡¯s upturned lips had caught his tongue.

    ¡°Bai shixiong.¡± Ying made a gesture with an open palm and a fist, then commanded his team to back away. ¡°Let us continue this in Burma.¡±

    ¡°Indeed, I look forward to it.¡± Bai returned a bow, then directed Gwen and his party away from the Jiantong team, who retrieved their pallid Vice-Captain.

    ¡°What the hell was all that about?¡± Gwen inquired of Bai. ¡°Was that guy slow in the head?¡±

    ¡°He must be,¡± Richard chuckled. ¡°Good work, Gwen.¡±

    ¡°I am afraid the both of you have been used.¡± Tei sighed. ¡°Still, it was a good show of force. No matter.¡±

    ¡°How so?¡± Gwen raised a brow. She had thought her comeback worthy of an Emmy.

    ¡°Ying Xiang was initially trying to bait you,¡± Bai explained. ¡°If you couldn¡¯t withstand his taunt and carelessly activated your magic, you may be in trouble with the authorities here before we even commence the match.¡±

    ¡°But I am not stupid enough to do that,¡± Gwen pointed out.

    ¡°He knows that now.¡± Bai nodded. ¡°It''s a test of your mettle. What followed was his real ploy. I should have stopped you, but I too was curious as to Ying¡¯s intent.¡±

    ¡°Which was?¡± Richard and others were now gathered around their Captain, the only true Clanner among them.

    ¡°Intra-Clan Politics.¡± Bai lowered his voice. ¡°All Clans have problems with succession, more so for a big sect like Wutang. Ying Xiang is a genius, a genuine prodigy, but Kurong Tsung is the favourite grandson of the current Patriarch. Just now, I suppose we just watched Ying Xiang wield the two of you against his cousin.¡±

    ¡°Seriously?¡± Gwen shook out her hand, feeling dirty. "They don''t give a shit about teamwork and morale?"

    ¡°They do, but Ying is likely trying to cut off the gangrene first. They say in Wutang that the way of the sword is the way of ren - of people,¡± Senior Bai intoned. ¡°To wield the sword is to wield the heart of lesser men, the blade: their want, the handle: their fear. A strike should not be so easily anticipated, yet the blade will cut precisely when needed.¡±

    ¡°How mystical.¡± Richard appeared unconvinced. ¡°But no more substantial than what Prince¡¯s used to spew about the distinction that awaited when serving the Four Houses.¡±

    ¡°Xiang shidi will prove a difficult challenge,¡± Bai warned his teammates. ¡°I know you all have little sympathy for Clanners and our magic, but do not underestimate him. His is a talent that comes once in a generation.¡±

    ¡°Yes, Captain.¡±

    ¡°Alright, Senior Bai.¡±

    "We need your advice."

    The team murmured their agreements.

    ¡°Good, let¡¯s get to our hotel.¡±

    Once the other¡¯s followed Bai from the lobby, Gwen found herself waiting for their instructor, who had been watching the whole while without so much as a peep.

    ¡°Gwen.¡± Walken sidled beside her. ¡°A word.¡±

    ¡°Eric?¡± Gwen fell in step beside her frenemy advisor.

    ¡°Your team needs a confidence boost.¡± Walken touched his forehead. ¡°I can vouch for the fact that very few contestants will be capable of handling your unmitigated potential, almost none in Asia, so my first advice to you is to bolster your team''s confidence. I don''t think your Captain truly understands just how much terror you''re capable of sowing. More poignantly, I don''t think your opponents have a clear idea either.¡±

    ¡°How am I to do that?¡± Gwen chuckled. ¡°Caliban ambush?¡±

    ¡°Oh, nothing so nefarious.¡± Walken eyed the Jiantong team as they sauntered away to their hotel. ¡°I think its best to start removing obstacles and laying dominos.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re saying¡­¡± Gwen¡¯s expression grew scandalised.

    ¡°Exactly saying that.¡± Walken¡¯s lips grew cruel and calculating. ¡°When we get to Yangon, there¡¯s going to be a reception. The organisers are going to be there, and traditionally, the end of the dinner reception heralds duels between the various team¡¯s Captains and Vice-Captains - all captured for broadcast entertainment, of course. When that happens¡­¡±

    ¡°If that happens-¡± Gwen studied the man¡¯s gleaming eyes.

    ¡°Pick someone, anyone, and crush them. To strategise our matches to come, you need to put the fear of Gwen into them. Don¡¯t hold back, and don¡¯t pause for breath until your team has regained its confidenceandyour opponents'' have turned into Christmas pudding.¡±

 Chapter 248 - A City of Gold

    The team''s modest hotel overlooked Chengdu¡¯s CBD, its well-lit laneways a mishmash of dynastic and modern architecture. Unlike Shanghai, a young city rich with colonial facades, Chengdu had existed as a tamed Frontier since the Spring and Autumn epoch, earning the moniker of ¡°The Country of Heaven¡±. Most famously, it was the seat of Liu Bei¡¯s capital during the infamous Three Kingdoms period, a civil war that reduced China¡¯s population from 56 Million in 150 AD to a mere 16 Million a century later, rapidly expanding the dominion of Demi-humans, spurred by a decimated Han Dynasty.

    Regretfully, it wasn¡¯t possible for the students to participate in two local specialities: the first of which was hotpot by the river, and the second being a chance to consult the esoteric Xi¨®ngm¨¡o-Ren, a group of benign demi-humans sages, for advice on spiritual cultivation.

    Pandas who were people? Pandering to Pandarens? Gwen could hardly keep her hands from itching. She had seen pandas in her old world, but picturing attired, talking pandas proved too preposterous. If she could meet one called Po, who could perform panda style, who also spoke like Jack Black, she would lose her mind.

    ¡°Perhaps on the way back?¡± Richard patted her shoulder while she forlornly gazed at the giant bamboos covering the southern inclines of Tiantai Shan. ¡°It¡¯s not like the Pandaren are going anywhere.¡±

    "Is there such a thing as peacock-people living around here?"

    "What kind of question is that?" Jiro, who had also wanted to see the Pandaren, chuckled bemusedly. Richard had told him that sometimes, Gwen spoke gibberish. This was known as ''Gwenism''.

    The next day, following a final checkup of their gear, the Fudan group returned to the ISTC for their long-range Teleportation. Their waypoint wouldbe the Kunming Frontier, routing through Pu¡¯er, famous for its tea, then finally to Yangon.

    With all preparations complete, the group stepped onto the glowing dais.

    ¡°Hold on to Eunae,¡± Walken advised. ¡°I dare say Yangon''s still using colonial algorithms.¡±

    Eunae paled as Anita steadied her by the shoulder.

    ¡°Yangon ¡ª Mia,¡± Gwen implored the general air. ¡°Here we come!¡±

    As the excessive motes of Conjuration burned off, the students were left marvelling at the marbled interior of what appeared to be a Romanesque municipal building consisting of a dozen columns surrounding a central dais where the ISTC¡¯s scripts covered the surrounding white stone.

    Flanking the contestants on either side were attendants in maroon wearing silk brocade longyi, a sarong covering the lower body, paired with dark western shirts, while their faces with their caramel complexion, were white with markings made from thanaka. Among that number were also several young monks with saffron shawls draped over one shoulder, regarding the contestants with great curiosity. One of the young monks immediately ran forward with a bucket, meeting Eunae and Rene midway.

    As Gwen¡¯s eyes took in the sight of a brand new country, the third of which she would visit after her trans-dimensional displacement, her eyes fell upon her much anticipated local confidant, flanked by her brother.

    There, in the middle of the two dozen or so Burmans was Mayuree in bright orange and lime, looking a treat like a citrus-pandan pudding, wearing a tube dress in brocaded silk that covered her from chin to ankle.

    Gwen almost burst out in laughter at the outlandish outfit, so different from Mayuree¡¯s usual fair in Shanghai, though she nonetheless lunged forward to embrace her friend, pressing the girl against her bosom.

    ¡°Mia! I¡¯ve missed you so much!¡±

    ¡°Gwen! Me too.¡± Mayuree¡¯s body relaxed as their arms enveloped one another. ¡°It''s been forever.¡±

    ¡°Wow, look at you.¡± They separated after a few seconds, with Gwen taking another look at her friend¡¯s made up face. ¡°You look different, somehow.¡±

    Juxtaposed against her most recent memory, Mayuree seemed older. There was a wanness to her friend¡¯s once carefree mien, a tightness around the lip and the eyes.

    ¡°We''ve got trouble back home,¡± Mayuree wryly smiled, averting her eyes. ¡°But it¡¯s a beautiful place as well. I can¡¯t wait to show you everything.¡±

    ¡°That sounds wonderful!¡± Gwen gave her another hug before turning to her companions. "As for your troubles, that''s what I am here for."

    Behind her, an inch away, stood a Kitty fuming with impatience and agitation.

    ¡°Ah-¡± Gwen made an ¡®O¡¯ with her lips. ¡°Sorry, go ahead.¡±

    "Marong!" She turned to her next target.

    "Gwen," Marong stood stoic as a sentinel. "Welcome to our home."

    While Kitty and Mayuree caught up, Gwen introduced the rest of the team to their Diviner.

    ¡°She looks nice.¡± Anita grinned. ¡°Small and cute.¡±

    "Woa, a Smoke Mage!" Jiro whistled. "It''s a pleasure to meet you, Marong."

    "Likewise." Marong shook the hands of the assembly. "Is your healer going to be okay?"

    Eunae appeared already wasted.

    "Restoration!" The group''s cleric resigned herself to shameful self-medication. "I am sorry..."

    "That''s alright Eunnie." Gwen patted her head. "You''ll get used to it."

    ¡°Will we have time to get to know Mayuree?¡± Rene''s attention wandered between their Diviner and the elegant decor covering the room before enquiring their advisor. Thanks to a Restoration from Eunnae, she was back on her feet.

    ¡°Of course, you¡¯ll have a week to get used to the place, its people and culture," Walken affirmed the pallid Fire Mage''s enquiry. "See the sights, get to know the locals, and most importantly, get used to the weather.¡±

    ¡°Great, thank you, sir.¡± Rene then turned to her companion. ¡°Jiro, what do you make of that?¡±

    ¡°Ho.¡± Jiro was already looking out the window at the verdant city outside. ¡°I think a few of us are about to enter hell.¡±

    ¡°The Jiantong team arrived earlier,¡± Marong informed Gwen and their companions as they exited the ISTC compound.

    The air outside felt as though the team had passed between a portal separating the Plane of Water and the Material Realm. The humidity inside the glyph-cooled room had been at best twenty per cent, but now it was well into the eighties, instantly smothering the bare-limbed girls with a snail sheen of sweat.

    ¡°Better than I imagined.¡± Rene caught the air with her hands. The moisture was almost tangible. ¡°Jiro?¡±

    ¡°Wet,¡± Jiro remarked, circulating elemental fire through his mana conduits. ¡°I should burn off a little moisture before it gets clammy.¡±

    ¡°H-How is this possible?¡± Gwen moaned, caught between the dilemma of stripping off her long-sleeved shirt protecting her from the sun and wearing waterlogged linen. ¡°Mia, how are you not feeling this?¡±

    ¡°I was born here,¡± Mayuree snickered at the sight of the team encountering the monsoonal weather for the first time.

    ¡°Weren¡¯t you born in Shanghai?¡± Gwen watched a beat of sweat visibly forming on the back of her hand.

    ¡°I mean I belong here,¡± Mayuree corrected herself hurriedly. ¡°Aren''t you from Australia. Isn¡¯t it hot there?¡±

    ¡°The heat there is dry!¡± Gwen decided a sunburn was better than whatever the hell she was experiencing now, and so stripped out of her skivvy, exposing the sports-top underneath. ¡°Is Magus Maymaruya with us? I don¡¯t think I can handle this. It¡¯s only been two minutes!¡±

    ¡°Gwen, come under the shade,¡± Richard offered hiscousin a moment of respite under a watery umbrella made by Lea. ¡°I''ll take care of the moisture if you stay close. The heat is going to take some getting used to.¡±

    ¡°Maymaruya¡¯s looking after things in Shanghai,¡± Marong regretfully informed his sister''s companions. ¡°Come on; our destination is just up ahead.¡±

    The boulevard that led from the ISTC interchange had signs beyond Gwen¡¯s Ioun Stone¡¯s ability to translate, with only the character of "????????????" being transcribed as ¡°Yangon City¡±, while the rest remained undecipherable thanks to the rarity of Old Mon scriptural glyphs.

    According to Mayuree, the district through which they walked is Dagon, forming the centre of Yangon city, and their destination was the centre of all activity in Yangoon - the Shwedagon Pagoda.

    What they were passing now was what had been translated by Marong as ¡°Goddess'' Park,¡± a nature reserve built for the conservation of local avian populations as well as a riverside wind-buffer for the temple complex just behind it. Rather than taking mechanised transport, the walk allowed the students to accustom themselves to the sights of the inner city, as well as orientate their bearings.

    In her old world, Gwen had visited Burma during her Contiki wanderlust days, though in the late naughties, the paranoid Military Junta had made exploration nigh-impossible for the aspiring self-guided tourist. Even so, she had seen the glory of the Shwedagon Pagoda first hand, marvelling at its golden dorms during sunset, smiling at saffron monks puffing on hand-rolled cigarettes grinning back at her outlandish, immodest attire.

    In the Yangon of her present, the city was an amalgamation of British, Chinese, Indian and local influences, creating a strangely chimeric city that Gwen could only compare to the Milu.

    All around them, across the park and behind them, once august sandstone buildings were overgrown with moss, ferns and mildew, many of which layuninhabited, robbed of its succour of administrative officials and hard-working busboys running messages for their brocade-vested masters.

    The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    ¡°The welcoming ceremony will take place here¡ª¡± Mayuree proudly opened her arms as they cleared the tree line, following the contour of Theingottara Park, finally arriving at the north gate of Shwedagon Pagoda. ¡°While the reception tonight will be at the Secretariat Building downtown at Kyauktada.¡±

    Gwen wanted to talk some more, but Mayuree stopped the troop of gawking Chinese tourists with a wave of her hand.

    ¡°Everyone, I am going to share my Message Glyph with you. Once we enter the Shwedagon sanctum, there should be as little talking as possible, so please use Silent Message if you must converse with someone. We don¡¯t have a Divination Tower here, so I¡¯ll act as the foci for your devices.¡±

    Gwen and a few of the others already possessed Mayuree¡¯s Glyph, as for the others, it only took them few moments to ping their devices against the Diviner¡¯s bracelet, transforming her into a localised signal tower of sorts.

    When they raised their heads again, the group had cleared the guarded crossing leading toward Shwedagon Pagoda''s north gate and was now beholden by its awe-inspiring visage. There, standing on either side of the entrance, towering above the students some ten odd meters, were two enormous statues of terrestrial dragons, their heads the likeness of a lion¡¯s maw in a reptilian skull, with golden manes belonging to that of lions and marble flesh for theirgargantuan bodies. Within the dark sockets of their eyes, what could only be Creature Cores burned a brilliant coral even in the daylight, suffusing the statues with life, warning worshippers and intruders alike that should they misbehave, the Chinthe guardians of the pagoda would assist in their reincarnation.

    ¡°Ladies and Gentlemen from Fudan,¡± Mayuree¡¯s voice resounded within their heads once the connections were complete. She turned toward them with her brother and their array of servants fanned on either side, then made a polite curtsey, kneeling by twisting her body to one side. ¡°Welcome to my humble country. Welcome to My?ma."

    Lead by their Captain, the rest of the team bowed.

    "No shoes," Marong informed them after the formalised exchange.

    "No socks either," Magister Walken advised, evidently an experienced traveller. "Keep them in your Storage Rings, and keep audible chatter to a minimum."

    With lowered heads and a humbler posture, the group moved between the two guardians, bound by supernatural forces that had shielded the pagoda against all offenders.

    Once inside, they became surrounded by throngs of saffron-clad monks lining either side, making way for the travellers from afar. When Gwen smiled at the monks, they grinned back as they had done in the past, revealing betel nut stained teeth stained by years of religious tea drinking.

    The maroon-gold interior continued for several hundred meters, florid with inscriptions and murals in sandstone inlaid with pearl and ivory, dotted here and there with precious jewels and Creature Cores. In the distance, as though the group were nearing enlightenment, the marble-plated courtyard awaited.

    When Gwen questioned Mayuree as to the story contained within the sculptural relief, her Diviner directed her Message to a young monk who had accompanied alongside the team.

    In the next moment, his voice filled their minds.

    ¡°To answer your question, Lady Song¡ª the murals, they mark the travails of Gautama Buddha as told in the P¨¡li canon. Through its erudition, our people observe the Way of the Elder, by reciting the Tipitaka via hymn, learning the Dhamma, remembering the taming of the land by he who journeyed from the west unto our holy land. It is here that Gautama met with the Kings of the Mon and the Pyu, the wisest and earliest men of My?ma. If you look to your right¡ª¡±

    The students caught a glimpse of what had to be a dragon, or a dragon-like being, kneeling on its forepaws toward a man with a golden halo surrounding his head.

    ¡°¡ª you shall see the taming of the Naga Goddesses as Lord Buddha''s disciples. After Lord Gautama taught them, they aided the Kings of Mon and Pyu to make peace with the Min Mahagiri, the land gods.¡±

    Gwen¡¯s eyes followed the mural, finding another image in which eight mighty Nagas, each with the face of beautiful women and the body of draconic-creatures, were pulling apart what appeared to be a western-looking dragon.

    ¡°That doesn¡¯t seem like a very peaceful negotiation,¡± she remarked.

    ¡°Ah¡ª, the Asura reneged on their promise,¡± the monk continued, not missing a beat, his voice flowing like a gentle stream. ¡°It was greedy for the treasures which the Kings of Mon and Pyu had prepared in praise of Gautama Buddha¡¯s visitation. You see, the Min Mahagiri was immortal and could not be slain, so each of Gautama¡¯s Naga allies took a piece of the land god within them to ensure that it would be stricken from the Eightfold Path, denied from the circle of reincarnation.¡±

    ¡°Goodness,¡± Gwen struck out her tongue. Now she knew how to deal with the Yinglong. All they had to do was get eight Towers to curb stomp the thing - then each city could imprison a chunk of the Yinglong with mystical magic. So long as their converted 5th-century magic held out, the subjugation should be no sweat at all. It was little wonder the CCP was so thrilled at Ayxin''s interest in Jun.

    ¡°Honoured guests, we are almost at the exit¡ª¡± the young monk hummed melodically. ¡°The path on which we now enter is the Pilgrim¡¯s Path, once you exit the Chinthe¡¯s maw, please follow the dragon¡¯s spine in a clockwise direction. You will be gifted wildflowers and prayer flags, as you proceed, please dispense them into the offering alcoves.¡±

    In the next minute, the students burst into the light.

    By design, their eyes took time to adjust to the vivid brightness, slowly perceiving the single most dazzling construct they had ever seen.

    Above them, a golden wonder of celestial brilliance, the Shwedagon Zedi Daw glowed, a conical masterpiece piercing the heavens. Its arches and bellies and bells polished to a mirror sheen by pious artisans, refracting the light in such a way that their entire vicinity appeared cast in permanent benediction.

    ¡°Please step to the right.¡±

    Gwen and the others distinctly felt as though they had walked into the realm of a waking dream.

    Stupas, hundreds of intricately wrought stupas, dotted every inch of Singuttara Hill, each held a little bodhisattva within, some with many arms, others with multiple heads. A few held weapons, while many sat atop magical creatures.

    Dragons and Nagas¡­ Gwen mouthed to herself as they passed these spectacles of gold, ivory and other unnamable precious metals. Almost everything here had to do with subjugating, taming, and in a tantric manner of speaking, "mingling" with draconic-beings.

    Feeling the ice-cold marble underfoot dispel all heat, they arrived at the first spectacle.

    ¡°First, is the house of Lord Kakusandha, the Buddha of the present Kalpa. Please offer your charity with generosity and an open heart¡­¡± the young monk sang, moving on without so much as a glance at the visitors. ¡°But do not tarry, come. There is a long way to go.¡±

    It took Gwen several seconds to realise that the pool below the buddha¡¯s lily overflowed with mana crystals of all colours. Caught by the reverence of the place and its sanctifying aura, she allowed a fistful of HDMs, almost twenty shards in total, to add to the pool.

    With great dismay, her teammates followed suit.

    ¡°Gwen,¡± Richard tapped her shoulder as they made for the second statue. ¡°A little too generous. Lulan was biting her lip so hard she had to receive a Healing Word from Eunae.¡±

    ¡°Oh?¡± Gwen flashed the others an apologetic smile before continuing.

    ¡°So generous, Gwennie,¡± Mayuree voice came through from the front. ¡°But you could afford to be generous.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t see you or Marong dropping crystals,¡± Gwen chided her friend.

    ¡°Ha.¡± Mayuree skipped ahead.

    "All proceeds go to expanding the complex," Marong explained patiently, his voice possessing a rare reverence. "You''ll soon see where it all goes."

    Another quadrant later, the party arrived at their second stop.

    ¡°Here we have the house of Lord Ko?¨¡gamana,¡± the monk continued. ¡°As before, please let your charity speak for itself.¡±

    This time, Gwen allowed five HDMs to drop, letting her companions breathe.

    After the southern Buddha, they came to the third Buddha, Kassapa, then finally, they were back where they began, at the perpendicular of which lay the Buddha of origin, Lord Gautama.

    Unlike the other statues with bodies of gold, Gautama¡¯s androgynous form consisted of white jade so rich in appearance that it was without a single speck or blemish. Upon its crown, adorning the space above its head, was a band of silvery metal Gwen recognised as mithril.

    ¡°Pure Mithril!¡± It was Eunae who blurted out the imperial term for the precious metal. ¡°Wow!¡±

    ¡°Just how rich is your country?¡± Gwen marvelled at the size of the intricately wrought crown. She had heard of the rare mithril variant from her Opa when he was casting Magical Items. If mithril was the rarest variant of silver, prized by humans and Demi-humans alike, then PureMithril was as sterling mithril to common silver, used to inscribe strategic arrays like Interstate Teleportation arrays, capable of capacitating almost unlimited volumes of mana.

    ¡°We¡¯re a wealthy country,¡± Mayuree exhaled. ¡°Yet we¡¯re poor, thanks to the Tyrant.¡±

    The others nodded sagely. Gwen had already informed them of the problems facing Mayuree¡¯s country. Curiously, Gwen wasreminded of Maymyint''s gift of a Storage Ring. What had Mia''s sister meant when she said to open it when the time was ripe?

    Another round of clinking crystals followed, then finally, Fudan¡¯s troop arrived in front of the golden stupa.

    Dropping to his knees, the young monk, as well as the rest of their entourage, dipped their heads against the pavement, leaving the guests to stand awkwardly.

    ¡°Don¡¯t mind it,¡± Marong informed his sister''s companions. ¡°Prayers given from those without faith have less weight than that of a feather.¡±

    "I never took you for the religious kind." Gwen cocked her head, noting that Marong had remained stationary while his sister offered a prayer.

    "But doesn''t this place just fill you with joy?" Mayuree gazed at the golden stupa, picking herself from the floor.

    "I suppose it does," Gwen acknowledged her friend''s worshipful gaze. With so much gold, her knees felt weak.

    After the saffron-robed monks straightened out their burgundy attires, they once again assumed their places beside the guests.

    ¡°We are about to enter the great stupa, where you will receive benediction from the reliquary. Here entombed are eight strands of Gautama¡¯s hair, worshipped by the descends of the Mon and the Pyu, each the weight of a mountain.¡±

    Their monk guide then formed the team into two lines.

    In pairs, they entered the temple.

    And what a temple it was!

    Jade, gold, mithril, platinum and innumerable volumes of other precious jewels adorned every conceivable surface. From the floor to the wall to the ceiling, every inch of the place was carved and papered over with gold leaf, polished and maintained by some unknown ancient enchantment so that the light from a single candle was enough to illuminate the hall in its entirety. Considering the state of the mirrored floors, every step felt like defilement, filling the contestants with shame and self-loathing.

    Was all the treasure of the world contained here in this place? Gwen couldn¡¯t help but feel a tingle in her capitalist soul, beckoning the colonial blood of her Opa¡¯s Indo-Dutch ancestors. Just how many tons of gold was here? Just how many jewels, how many Creature Cores, how many ingots of mithril had gone into a place such as this?

    If she was a dragon - how could she resist?

    How could a creature born from avaricious appetite endure even for a moment, the idea that he or she wasn¡¯t the master and possessor of what is probably the single most extensive curation of precious metals in South-East Asia?

    Inside, the stupa split into four quadrants, each held up by two pillars of sculpted jade, forming an octagramic mandala consisting of strange Glyphs and tantric patterns that did not exist in modern Spellcraft. Coiled upon each of these pillars were sculptural forms of Naga guardians, the eight divine beings which Gautama took as disciples, each morphically half-cobra, half human, some male, some female, and some possessing features of both genders.

    Once the spectacle of the temple''s interior wore off, the students finally noted that they were not the only ones who had arrived.

    To their right adjacent quadrant weretheir old rivals from Jiantong, with their Captain standing like a Taoshi while the rest of the team sat in kneeling meditation.

    Toward their left adjacent quadrant stood a group of young men in prim navy uniforms, followed by two demure women trailing at the group¡¯s end. Compared to Fudan¡¯s rag-tag of casually dressed Mages, these young men and women from Seoul carried themselves impeccably, without a single strand of hair out of place. Their uniforms, a two-tone charcoal-navy blazer and silver-brocade tie, spoke of a nation that valued perfection in all things, from flawless complexions to trousers without a single wrinkle.

    Finally, just out of view, the Fudan Mages caught sight of an assemblage of oddly dressed young men and women in ceremonial outfits. Leading the group was a girl in what Gwen could arguably discern as a Miko¡¯s outfit, with its white haori and red hakama, wearing a thin golden crown. Behind the leading Miko were men wearing the ivory linen of the Shugenja, indicating that they were esoteric followers of Onmy¨­d¨­, the Path of Yin and Yang. Having heard and seen these attires during culture tours in her old world, she could only imagine what kind of real-world magic these practitioners could bring to bear against Fudan.

    ¡°ALL-ARE-ARRIVED!¡± the young monk who had accompanied them cried out.

    GONG!

    GONG!

    GONG!

    Three strikes heralded the beginning of the ceremony of benediction.

    Upon an elevated dais open for all to see, young monks opened the shawls of an elaborate palanquin, revealing the figure of an ageless, androgynous seated figure in the lotus stance with a golden shawl draped across one shoulder. Below, an enormous lotus-flower bore the visage aloft, its pink-white petals glistening as though dripping with freshly collated dew.

    Gwen¡¯s eyes widened, her Almudj¡¯s Essence thrummed with pleasure, humming in resonance with whatever force that now emanated from within the palanquin.

    It''s a statue! It took her a moment to realise this was a life-like carving in jade so rich it had the consistency of porcelain flesh.

    As one, the Monks began their chant, reciting the tale of Gautama¡¯s instruction of the Naga and his taming of Min Mahagiri, the great Lord of the Mountain.

    GONG!

    A fourth gong rang out; then from the stupa¡¯s centre, a gentle light befell those held within its interior, infusing them with its blessing, banishing all fatigue, all disease, and for the moment, all desire.

 Chapter 249 - Cocks and Hens

    Shuttle buses outside the great stupa took the contestants to their next port of call - the old colonial administration - now ironically once again the headquarters of the government-in-exile, a building stoically named the Secretariat.

    The exit from Shwedagon Zedi Daw proved just as mystical as the Rite of Unfettered Body. Each of the contestants took up a candle as they exited the stupa, forming a long line of warm light that lit the exterior of Singuttara Hill, bathing the entirety of Dagon and the northern half of the city with its magnified, quasi-magical splendour.

    ¡°Even now, the light from the stupa and the glare from its guardian beasts keeps the Magical Creatures away,¡± Mayuree informed the team with a tone of reverence. ¡°It¡¯s the only reason Yangon has never fallen to Demi-humans.¡±

    Which would make sense, Gwen supposed. Had the Mongolian Centaur tribes taken Yangon in the 13th century, as the Mongol Empire of her world had, it was highly unlikely so much gold and precious ornaments would have remained. When finally the group exited the stupa, Gwen enquired about the dome¡¯s aurora.

    ¡°If you mean the bud,¡± Mayuree replied to Gwen¡¯s continued enquiry, then indicated to the crown of the stupa with an expression of immense pride. ¡°Five thousand, four hundred and forty-eight diamonds of varying shapes and sizes, inlaid through mithril Glyph-work bisecting two thousand three hundred and seventeen rubies studthe tip. At the zenith of the stupa lies the heart of an ancient Naga, gifted to the Mon and Pyu kings of old, it¡¯s the source of the stupa¡¯s protective power.¡±

    ¡°Sounds almost like a Shielding Station, only with gold and jewels,¡± Gwen recalled the giant Creature Core she had seen in Australia.

    ¡°It IS similar,¡± Richard was the one who butted in. ¡°The mandalas used by modern Spellcraft have their origins in Hindi and Tibetan scriptural magic.¡±

    ¡°I find it curious,¡± it was Magister Walken who spoke next, his mana-threaded voice just audible between the two cousins. ¡°That My?ma has revealed itself to possess both a Shielding Station by another name, as well as an ISTC array? Gwen, walk with me.¡±

    ¡°Eric?¡± Gwen blinked at her instructor once she fell out of step withMayuree, who joined the others ahead, spinning yarns about the city and its many buildings.

    ¡°I have decided to take your friend¡¯s account of this country with a grain of salt,¡± Walken advised. ¡°Not that I am trying to come between the two of you, but if I were the ruler of a Frontier with this much resource, I would not be advertising my wealth either. In fact, something to offset unwanted foreign investments, like a rogue dragon, would be ideal.¡±

    ¡°But¡­¡±

    ¡°I know¡ª you¡¯ve told me already,¡± Walken dismissed her protest. ¡°You believe what you want, but where I stand, someone or some ¡®thing¡¯ has allowed all of this to happen. That ISTC array looks like it''s recently refurbished. I am unsure if your Professor Birch got that far with his lessons, but embedded within Imperial Metric standards for IST Circles are geo-dynamic Divination arrays used to pinpoint Translocation. Ergo, there must exist a private Divination array somewhere inside the city, tethered to the Chinese network and the outside world. All, alas, isn¡¯t what it seems, including your friend. You must be careful; understand?¡±

    ¡°I think so,¡± Gwen answered quietly, mulling over Walken¡¯s suspicions.

    ¡°It would be nice if that other cousin of yours, the Russian, were here,¡± Walken snorted, leaving Gwen to ruminate. ¡°I have a feeling that before long, we¡¯ll begging for a good Mind Mage.¡±

    Though the contestants had left behind the vaulted dome of the pagoda, they nonetheless felt suffused by the blessing invoked by the reliquary commemorating the fabled progenitor of the Eightfold Path, an existence on par with men like Confucius, author of the Path of R¨², or his Western counterparts like Christ, said to be the shepherd of humanity.

    It was with a great sense of Zen, therefore, that the studentsarrived at the Secretariat, also known as The Ministers¡¯ Building, located in the colonial heart of Yangon¡¯s downtown. Spread across six acres of the most prosperous real estate in the city, the old colonial building had fallen into momentary ruin when British Mageocracy left former Burma. In the last two decades, the interim government, having lost its northern capital, now laboured away in its old halls, blushing at the irony of having to return to a place of national shame to keep the daily affairs of the city in operation.

    Within the compound¡¯s quad was the central courtyard, a wondrous English garden that had survived multiple purges, revolutions, a rebellion and an assassination. It was here that a duelling arena had been constructed, together with viewing platforms for the dignitaries, a section for the outdoor ball, and an undercover canopy under which servants swarmed with zesty canap¨¦s and phalanges of liquor sitting in vats of ice.

    After changing into more suitable clothing for the evening in their guest rooms, the contestants entered the building¡¯s centre. There, they met with fanfare blasting from a live orchestra - the very first time Gwen had seen such a thing since arriving inthis world: a whole pit of violas and trombones and saxophones and viol and piccolos, alongside traditional Burmese instruments which she could not identify. As they entered through the overhanging tent, taller than any canvas Gwen had ever seen, her eyes swept over truckloads of tropical fruit of every colour and description, lichees the size of oranges, oranges the size of grapefruits, mangoes the size of melons and pomegranates the size of Texan pumpkins.

    ¡°LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!¡± A gentle light suffused the centre of the boisterous proceedings. Filing in quadrant by quadrant, the teams reached the front of the circular assembly.

    A troop of Mages slowly rose above the crowd, borne aloft on platforms conjured through levitation.

    ¡°Welcome! Students, advisors, and guests, to the reception for the first regional round of the 2004 IIUC. Tonight, in beautiful Yangon, thanks to the sponsorship and invitation issued by the House of M of My?ma, we are gathered here for a grand purpose.¡±

    The man who spoke looked about in his sixties, possessinga European accent that Gwen placed in middle Europe, likely the Germanic regions.

    ¡°I am Chief Proctor and Magister, Lutz von Schlabrendorff, and I, together with Assistant Proctor Magister Evelyn Hass and our team, will be overseeing your actions in the field. For our presence here tonight, I would like to thank Miss Maymyint of the House of M, Matriarch Nanmadaw Me Nu, protector of My?ma and its Frontier provinces, and the Brussels-based IIUC Organisational Committee.¡±

    Having heard the Matriarch¡¯s name for the first time, Gwen had half a mind to fire off a Message to Walken, but her instructor was standing several paces behind the Chief Proctor together with the advisors from the other teams.

    ¡°I know you¡¯re all eager to get to the food and drinks, and even more so to get to the duelling field, so I¡¯ll keep this short.¡± Magister von Schlabrendorff drew a few laughs from the crowd. ¡°The International Inter-University Competition has its roots in a union of European Universities desiring a means to facilitate cultural exchange, establish academic rankings, as well as engender friendship and camaraderie among the future leaders and Tower Mages. Here and now, each of you represents the apex of what your cities and renowned academic institutions have to offer!¡±

    He waited for the applause to recede.

    ¡°I understand your spirit of competition¡ª that you¡¯re here to WIN. But winning isn¡¯t everything. Though this old man¡¯s words sound like sophistry, let me remind you that victory¡ª total victory, is a rare and precious thing in the real world. Against our Demi-human neighbours both hostile andfriendly, we succeed in degrees, often so pyrrhic and minute that one wonders if the cost was worth it after all. Nonetheless, such is the real world, and the solution to humanity¡¯s great dilemma is one that requires great power, great wisdom, and great foresight.¡±

    ¡°The competition heralds a singular victor, but even in defeat, there is much to gain. You are in a beautiful country with creatures dangerous and people friendly. I have even been informed that up north, a Tyrant of the Draconis sub-type haunts the mineral-rich mountains! Through adventure and danger, make friends! Enjoy yourself! You are at the beginning of your lives. Remember, not even Sir Jonathan Cornwell, recipient of the Victoria Cross at the age of sixteen, Knight, and Magister at age twenty-four made it to the final round of the 1996 IIUC. So, enjoy the evening! Your quests shall be given, one week from now!¡±

    Suddenly, as if pigmented particles freed into a gentle swirl of air, colour filled the sky and the scent of supper enveloped the crowd. A flurry of Maids dashed the teams¡¯ formations, caramel in colour and nubile in their tropical sarongs, carrying glistening hors-d¡¯oeuvre: from glazed cutlets to rainbow salads to burlesque splays of pork and pheasant baked until golden. Another troop of waiters followed, dark-skinned and back straight, supplying flutes of silvery gins and cordials, splicing concoctions from a colonial epoch long gone.

    With Mayuree hanging from one arm and Richard and Lulan standing guard not too far away close to the buffet table, Gwen piled her plate and stuffed herself with the exotic fair, all the while thinking of Walken¡¯s warning, sparing subtle glances at the kitten-like Mayuree meowing about the splendours of Yangon.

    As the music moved from trumpet to ambience, the moist air came alive with chatter and laughter, innuendo and introductions. Guests who Gwen assumed to be local powerbrokers wandered in groups. Bodies young and old mingled and entwined, the men seeking out the women, surrounding the confident girls as the Dancing Lights painted their faces in garish hues.

    Though a dozen dignitaries had made themselves known to Gwen, Mayuree¡¯s presence seemed to act as a ward, leaving her a measure of privacy. She had abused the opportunity to work through a giant crab claw when a petite foursome from Kyoto U approached, led by a fifth. The leading girl was the Miko with the golden crown, though now she was dressed in pastel casuals consisting of a long skirt and a frilly top.

    ¡°Song-sama, Mayuree-sama, good evening, my name is Yuki Kamo, Captain of the Kyoto team and second in line to the Kamo Clan, 39th generation from Kamo no Yasunori-sama. These are my teammates and members of our Clan, Masahiro Kimura, Hiroki Hiroyama, Yamato Kamo and my Vice Captain, Ichiro Otsuki. I wanted to make your acquaintance earlier, but you were indisposed.¡±

    Gwen realised that Kyoto¡¯s Captain was referring to the fact that she¡¯d been politely eating for the last hour, stopping only to comment on the food.

    ¡°G¡¯evening.¡± Gwen quickly stowed her unfinished crab-leg before running a cleaning cantrip over her hand. ¡°I am Gwen Song, Vice-Captain of the Fudan Team. Over there is my Captain, Tei Bai, and those are my companions, Lulan Li and Richard Huang, though they¡¯re indisposed.¡±

    ¡°Hello.¡± Mayuree bowed her head.

    The group exchanged bows, handshakes and nods.

    ¡°We are honoured to meet you, Miss Song. Please excuse my rudeness. Is it true that you are in service to a Kirin Kami-sama?¡±

    ¡°Say, yes,¡± Walken¡¯s voice, delivered via a Silent Message, whispered by her ear. The old man was holed up across the room, speaking with the other advisors, who were undoubtedly keeping an eye on their students as well.

    Gwen knew from extensive reading of Murakami and Yoshimoto, as well as her dozen or so viewings of Lost in Translation, a miscellany understanding of Japanese culture. Combined with her Mage world research, she understood that ¡°Kami¡± denoted an anthropological ¡®God¡¯ framed from shamanistic spiritualism, Shinto Buddhism, dynastic Taoism and Fusui naturalism, formulating a faith system based on the Amatsukami and the ya-o-yorozu no kami, the eight million-fold spirits that reside in all things.

    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    As such, it came as no surprise that a theocrat would find intense interest in a heavenly being.

    ¡°I am, Kamo-san,¡± Gwen replied with what she could recall of her Japanese honorifics from her Hokkaido vacation. ¡°Would you like to see Ariel... kun?¡±

    ¡°Please!¡± The group bowed in tandem because politeness wouldget a personanywhere.

    ¡°Ariel, come out!¡± She gestured toward an empty patch of air, wary of the lights, the tent and the palm trees.

    A jolt of Essence was enough to maximise its presence, and without disappointment, Ariel manifested in its celestial glory.

    ¡°EEE! EE!¡±

    Stag¡¯s horn, fishes¡¯ scale, lion¡¯s mane, horses¡¯ hoof and swishing tail instantly drew every eye from across the room.

    ¡°Okami-sama!¡±

    The Captain of Kyoto U¡¯s expression grew instantly reverent. Possessed by a fair complexion, crystal clear eyes and pink, cherry blossom bud lips, the young Miko appeared far younger than her real age, more so in her casual wear.

    All but one of the group bowed deeply, this time from the waist. It would appear their respect for Ariel was magnitudes beyond their perception of Gwen herself.

    ¡°May we interact with your Familiar, Song-sama?¡±

    ¡°Please, just Gwen is fine.¡± Gwen squirmed. Not even paying seven hundred USD per night at Suizantei had someone called her anything other than customer-sama.

    ¡°Ariel!¡± Mayuree cooed. ¡°Gwen, may I?¡±

    ¡°Sure.¡± Gwen watched her companion skip away.

    ¡°EEE!!¡± Ariel snuggled against its companion, kissing Mayuree on the lips, drawing envious gasps from the crowd.

    That¡¯s Mia alright, Gwen¡¯s nerves calmed somewhat. There was no way Ariel would mistake someone else for Mayuree, not when the desperate Diviner was the one who gave Ariel its first Creature Core.

    ¡°Gwen-san, I would also like to be blessed by Ariel-sama!¡±

    While the Shintoists excitedly crowded around the manifested Kami, Gwen¡¯s eye met with Kyoto U¡¯s Vice-Captain, who had stayed behind to speak.

    Where their female Captain had the bearing of someone used to deference, the young man with the name Ichiro Otsuki had the bearing of someone used to being obeyed, standing almost a meter-ninety and beanpole thin, the shugenja¡¯s face had a gauntness to it that made him appear a decade older.

    ¡°Oro? Kirin-sama¡¯s scales are patterned like the Fumishi deer-kami.¡±

    ¡°The horns are the same as the stag-kami in Itsukushima though.¡±

    ¡°Ariel-sama is licking my fingers! Kami-sama is blessing me!¡±

    A crash of jovial sounds only Ariel could elicit added to the happy atmosphere of the reception.

    ¡°Song-san, I am told you are also in possession of another Kami, a thing of Asura,¡± the young man began, sidling closer.

    ¡°No Caliban until the duel,¡± Walken¡¯s advice once again rang in her ear. Bloody hell Eric, Gwen halted herself from making a face. Was this harassment? It felt like harassment. The old man may as well be breathing down her neck.

    ¡°I am.¡± Gwen nodded, then quickly recalled the man¡¯s name. ¡°Otsuki-san.¡±

    ¡°May I see your other Kami? Gwen-san?¡±

    ¡°You shall, Otsuki-san,¡± Gwen fired off an amiable enough grin. ¡°In good time.¡±

    ¡°I would be very grateful.¡±

    ¡°Trust me, Caliban isn¡¯t good for a gathering filled with NoMs...¡±

    Meanwhile, others had joined the Kirin quadrant of the party. A few of the students from Jiantong gave Gwen curt nods before joining the Japanese foursome. They were then joined by two prim young women in miniskirts and blazers, the iconography of their uniform possessing a Roman laurel wreath, a blazing wand and a quilt-pen over a backdrop of scrolls, indicating they were from Seoul U.

    That an Asian university had a Romanised logo reminded Gwen of Walken¡¯s earlier instruction.

    According to her advisor, after the North fell to the Undead unleashed by its crazed leadership, Seoul and its surrounding cities completely embraced the Western way of doing things, going so far as to embrace Christianity in lieu of its indigenous Mu-shamanism.

    Modern Seoul was thus a city with more in common withLondon or New York, serving as a centre of economic and magical development for the region. Unique to their geography, the Koreans enjoyed some of the most experienced combat Mages in Asia. Where China had sent its Mages to grind out the Beijing-Liaoning Front, Seoul¡¯s proximity to the Kaes?ng-Yeoncheon Front meant it was permanently one catastrophic failure away from annihilation by the Undead horde a strategic spell¡¯s distance away. In the decades since the nation¡¯s American and British Mageocracy allies pushed back the tide of Undead, the peninsula hasonly not fallen, but prospered, becoming one of the largest manufacturers of wands, staves, and magical implements in the world.

    ¡°Which makes their magic the same as ours, only they¡¯ve got proper military training.¡±

    But perhaps most famously, Korean disdain for the atrocities of the Sino War and the crimes committed against the nation by the communists and the Imperial Japanese Mages had only grown, exacerbated by territorial disputes and trade routes.

    When her eyes drifted from the girls, she caught two more approaching bodies.

    ¡°Song-Hubae!¡±

    Gwen¡¯s conversation was interrupted by a call out from across the room by one of the young men.

    Ichiro continued to speak, ignoring the duo from Seoul U, though a second ¡°Song-Hubae!¡± cut him off mid-sentence, leaving no doubt as to their explicit purpose.

    With an expression that could chill drinks, Ichiro Otsuki stepped aside to make room.

    ¡°Hello.¡± Gwen tipped her chin just a mite, displeased with the men¡¯s intrusiveness. ¡°Gwen Song, Vice-Captain, Fudan.¡±

    Her lack of deference seemed to rub off on the men the wrong way, as their body language instantly took on a tightness that wasn¡¯t there when they had interrupted her and Ichiro¡¯s conversation.

    ¡°Lee Sung,¡± the first young man introduced himself, likewise spartan on manners. ¡°Captain.¡±

    Another Magma Mage! Gwen¡¯s brow twitched. And one far more practised than Rene. Whether because of the Mage¡¯s absurd Affinity or style, she could sense the heat radiating from his torso. Much to her surprise, when Sung came closer, she couldn¡¯t help but notice the man was exceedingly impressive as well, not in the stoic seriousness of Tei, but in a manner that was raw and imposing, like if Dai was descended from Mao himself.

    ¡°Lee Si-won,¡± the other young man introduced himself. ¡°Vice-Captain.¡±

    ¡°Ask if they¡¯re from ¡®that¡¯ Lee family.¡± Walken¡¯s voice came through. ¡°If they are, ask them for a duel.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re both from the Lee Clan?¡± Gwen pretended to mull over the name for a second. ¡°From the Yooksung Chae¡ª¡±

    ¡°¡­¡±

    ¡°¡­¡±

    Sung¡¯s impeccable jawline bulged.

    Oh shit, Gwen bit her tongue in turn. While the Chaebol, the ten families accounting for fifty per cent of Korea¡¯s GDP referred to themselves as such, they loathed it when outsiders used the word, regarding it as a sort of ironic insult. In her old world, when Samsung¡¯s indicted president went to prison, the phrase Chaebol had been dragged through the Korean media as a scapegoat for the nation¡¯s economic woes; its etymology of ¡°wealth¡± and ¡°locked gate¡±, inferring avarice and greed. In this world, she could only imagine what reputations the Chaebol must hold.

    ¡°¡ª the Yooksung Group?¡± she finished awkwardly.

    Curiously, she knew more about the Yooksung Conglomerate than the Clan behind it. When working on Nantong¡¯s accounts, she had noted that a behemoth-tier Korean entity akin to Samsung existed across the South China Sea, accounting for almost seven per cent of Nantong¡¯s precious mineral and Crystal exports, and twelve per cent of its Spellcraft and Imbued Material imports. That a single company possessed as much inventory flow as the top two Japanese import-exporters, Mitsubishi Heavy Industries and Tokugawa Mana-Solutions, was enough to burn the name into her mind.

    ¡°I see you are acquainted with our humble family business, Song Hubae.¡± The Magma Mage came closer, radiating displeasure. When the man was inches away, Gwen realised he was likely twenty or twenty-one, the maximum age for the IIUC. In Seoul, males had their Mandatory Military service between the age of seventeen andnineteen.

    ¡°Perhaps Song-Hubae doesn¡¯t think we¡¯re worthy of her attention,¡± Seoul U¡¯s Vice-Captain snorted derisively. ¡°She¡¯s a prodigy, after all.¡±

    The younger companion to Seoul U¡¯s Captain was likely a sibling, from the man¡¯s pallid complexion and bloodless lips, she sensed he was probably an Ice Mage. From the surface, the man was at least as attuned to the Para-Elemental Plane of Ice as Kitty. Unlike his taller counterpart, the man was a head shorter, barely taller than Gwen without her booties.

    ¡°Are the two of you done?¡± Her previous companion, Ichiro, butted in before Lee and Lee could continue.

    ¡°Does it look like we¡¯re done?¡± Sung fired back, cocking his head bullishly. ¡°Go and play with your priestesses, Jap. We have business with the owner of the Kirin Spirit.¡±

    ¡°Ku,¡± Ichiro scoffed. ¡°You think a servant of an Okami would lower herself to traffic with bumpkins such as yourselves? Need I remind you that only four decades ago, Seoul U was called Keij¨­ Imperial University. Maybe you should offer a proper Seonbae-nim to your betters.¡±

    ¡°Oh, look, Sung Hyung, the jjokbari thinks he¡¯s funny. I wonder how he fares in the arena. They never learn until beaten back.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d think I would fare better than you, Lee-kun,¡± Ichiro sniggered nastily. ¡°If you have the time, I¡¯ll squeeze that Seonbae-nim out of you yet.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t give up your treatment, jjokbari.¡± Sung¡¯s temperament flared. ¡°Don¡¯t think we don¡¯t know who you are ¡ª you¡¯re the Kotodama User Seonsaeng-nim warned us about. But if we know your tricks, then you¡¯ve lost already. To think they would allow a Mind Mage into the IIUC, how laughable.¡±

    ¡°Ha, you speak as if you know the weight and meaning behind your words, yet we both know that your reliance on Western Spellcraft has made you weak and common. Why would I be here if even a simpleton like you can ward against my kotodama?¡±

    ¡°See, that¡¯s precisely the thinking that can get a fool killed in a competition like the IIUC¡­¡±

    Gwen, meanwhile, realised the cocks were happy enough tossing one another that they no were longer in need of a hen to ruffle. Taking a step backwards with meticulous care, she slipped away from the group, double-checking to ensure her cocktail dress was in order, then went to check on her Captain.

    ¡°Thank you for sharing Kami¡¯s benediction with us, Song-san,¡± Yuki caught up with Gwen after she was a safe distance away. ¡°As a fellow servant of Kami-sama, we would like a chance to cooperate if our interests should be mutually beneficial.¡±

    ¡°Of course, Kamo-san.¡± Gwen found herself bowing as well, accepting her new role as Ariel¡¯s servant. Yuki punctuated each of her statements with a cute nod of the head, making it impossible to dislike the girl. ¡°We¡¯ll speak again later.¡±

    When Gwen sauntered through the grass toward her Senior Bai, her companion caught her with a glance and quickly approached.

    ¡°Gwen, we got trouble.¡± Tei pulled her close by looping an arm around her elbow. ¡°I think the Emei Sect¡¯s goading Lulan for a duel, and then there¡¯s a cousin of some sort harassing Eunae as well¡ª¡±

    Just as Gwen was about to suggest that they should let their teammates resolve individual encounters to gain experience, her confidence was betrayed.

    ¡°Upstart whore! If you want to play the crafty chang-yeo, you¡¯ll regret it.¡±

    A Seoul U contestant, one Gwen had yet to meet, broke out in an explosive clamour while mid-way engaged with Eunae. Before Gwen could even make heads or tails of what was happening, the usually timid Eunae reached across between them, then slapped the young man across the face with an audible Pa!

    The rest of the audience immediately cleared a ring of space around the scarlet-faced duo. As if on cue, a strangled violin croaked its last caw, spreading the contagion of silence.

    ¡°Gwen,¡± Walken¡¯s wary voice came across as a worried whisper. ¡°Temper¡­¡±

    ¡°You hit me!¡± The young man was in disbelief. ¡°This nyeon hit me!¡±

    Eunae appeared to be in shock as well, staring at her hand as though it was suddenly alienated from her body.

    ¡°Eunae.¡± Gwen started in Eunae¡¯s direction.

    ¡°S-Seonbae-nim-¡± Her mouth opened and closed like that of a fish¡¯s.

    Pa!

    A resounding slap echoed across the room.

    Eunae staggered backwards, disorientated by the blow until she ran into a table laden with fruit and desserts. Tripping over her own feet, she was on the verge of making a spectacle of Fudan when Richard¡¯s Undine appeared suddenly behind her, catching the girl in her arms.

    A split-second later, Lulan appeared beside the healer, having expertly Misty Stepped beside the wide-eyed girl, joined by Rene, Anita and Jiro, who had bull rushed through the crowd, lacking the finesse possessed by the Sword Mage.

    A dash of blood trickled down the corner of Eunae¡¯s mouth. The slap had cut her lip.

    Were this any other time, Gwen would have enjoyed the fruit of her team building labour, but for now, all she could do was drift toward the red-faced young man with a terrible expression on her face.

    ¡°Gwen, this is a good opportunity-¡± Walken¡¯s voice was the last thing she heard as she tapped the young man on the back.

    ¡°What do you want?¡± It took the young man a second to realise it was Gwen Song, the Vice-Captain of the Fudan Team; a visage that had been circulated to all his team members, that he now faced.

    ¡°You have two seconds to apologise to Eunae.¡± Gwen¡¯s voice drifted as though in a trance. ¡°Go on, chop chop.¡±

    ¡°Are you crazy?¡± the young man scoffed, his face twisting with equal parts disbelief and disdain. ¡°Hey¡ª Sung Seonbae-nim! Is this nyeon slow in the head?¡±

    ¡°One.¡±

    ¡°You-¡±

    PA!

    Gwen¡¯s blow was quick, too quick for the naked eye to follow. Empowered by her Almudj¡¯s Essence, her irises blazed viridian as her palm struck the offender¡¯s jaw, snapping his head back so far that for a second, the newly recovered Eunae screamed, thinking that Gwen had decapitated her victim.

    Thankfully, Mages were a hardylot, and it only took a single pirouette of the lad¡¯s body for his head to catch up.

    It was only then that Newton¡¯s laws caught up to speed. Gwen¡¯s victim was lifted off his feet and sent half-flying, half staggering backwards into the very table Eunae had almost encountered. Unfortunately for the displaced member of Seoul U¡¯s team, Fudan¡¯s Mages had no wish to cushion the fellow before his face connected with the table, his body cannoning onto the fruit and juices, turning the man into a harlequin coleslaw.

    As if on cue, the Yooksung duo appeared to inspect the scene with frigid miens.

    ¡°Gwen, I am sorry¡ª¡± Eunae began, on the verge of tears. ¡°Sung Seonbae-nim¡ª¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s my cousin.¡± Captain Lee pointed a thumb at the groaning young man buried in fruit, ratifying their existence as the Yooksung trio. ¡°He¡¯s a LEE... You¡¯re a Lee. So what¡¯s the meaning of this? Eunae Hubae, does Uncle Jae have a death wish?¡±

    ¡°Sung Seonbae-nim, I am so sorry¡ª I- I wasn¡¯t thinking¡ª Gwen Seonbae-nim¡¯s not herself¡ª she has a high Affinity, and she is a Lightning user and¡ª¡±

    ¡°I asked you.¡± Sung¡¯s eyes were two clinking beads of coal. ¡°What the hell do you think you¡¯re doing, Eunae?¡±

    Globs of panicked moisture finally escaped Eunae¡¯s eyes.

    Gwen pulled Eunae behind her, cutting the girl¡¯s plea before she could finish her blubbering.

    ¡°It¡¯s not like I didn¡¯t give your dickhead a chance to apologise.¡±

    With another deft move of her hand, she brushed off Walken¡¯s mosquito voice buzzing at her ear, a plan formulating in her mind even as the words left her mouth.

    One... Two... Three... perfect.

    She could do it. With Eunae¡¯s help, it was possible.

    ¡°Let¡¯s make this easy. YOU and YOU and this prick, assuming he can get back up. We''ll takeit in the arena. We settle this as Mages, leaving our families out. Are you game, Sung Seonbae?¡±

 Chapter 250 - Chain Reaction

    ¡°The three of us?¡± Sung Lee¡¯s surprise was enough to misplace his building anger. ¡°Against you?¡±

    ¡°Against me¡ª and Eunae.¡± Gwen reached behind her and took her Cleric by the hand. ¡°If you¡¯re not sure, I¡¯ll let you add one more member.¡±

    ¡°Gwen!¡± Eunae squeezed Gwen¡¯s hand back, her dainty little palms sweating buckets. ¡°I can¡¯t!¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t you worry about a thing,¡± Gwen assured her healer, her tenderness matched only by her surety. How like her old self Eunae now behaved, not daring to breathe or Achoo when the stakes were up. ¡°Remember our training. Just keep me topped up.¡±

    ¡°But my appa¡­¡±

    Gwen turned her delicate profile toward the Lees.

    ¡°Tell me, Lee & Lee.¡± she no longer felt the desire to play their game of honorific bingo. ¡°Will you punish Eunae¡¯s family if I beat you black and blue and break you in front of ten million spectators?¡±

    Her audacity was such that both of the Lees appeared lost for words.

    ¡°Proctor von Schlabrendorff!¡± her voice rang out, magnified by Clarion Call so that it echoed across the courtyard. ¡°I require a pressing consultation!¡±

    While they waited for the proctor to arrive, the impromptu fruit salad of the Lee Clan had been recovered by one of his female team members.

    ¡°Idiot! What took you so long?!¡± the young man spat at the woman. ¡°Take care of this now!¡±

    ¡°At once, Seonbae-nim.¡± The girl obediently picked a piece of orange from the man¡¯s vest. ¡°Cleansing! Prestidigitation!¡±

    A splash of water cleaned the young man¡¯s face and torso as he fumed, glaring dangerously at Gwen, and Eunae, after which a blast of air dried him out. Evidently, the last Lee was an Air Evoker.

    ¡°Out of the way!¡± He pushed the girl away with impatience, then tried to stand, only to find himself once again on the floor, still concussed from Gwen¡¯s humiliating blow. ¡°Ssi-bal-nyeon! You¡¯ll regret this. I am going to kill you.¡±

    ¡°Where have I heard that before?¡± Gwen rolled her eyes expertly at the Korean variation of cunt. She then turned toward the crowd, spotting the horse-faced Illusionist from Jiantong. ¡°Senior Ying! I am going to do you a favour.¡±

    ¡°Ho? What¡¯s this?¡± Ying Xiang made himself known by stepping forward. He had enjoyed the bitch-slap very much.

    ¡°Throw your Vice-Captain in. I¡¯ll take care of them as a package deal. If you recall, he also wanted to have a go.¡±

    Ying Xiang cocked his head toward Kurou, his Vice-Captain.

    Then to the Illusionist''s abject horror, the Jiantong Captain pointed a rudely erect finger toward him so that the entire assembly could see.

    ¡°Shidi, we all heard what you said to Miss Song in Chengdu. So let¡¯s not waste this opportunity. Join the Seoul-party and take her out of the competition, I am counting on you.¡±

    The Kurou''s face instantly grew scarlet.

    ¡°Xiang shixiong, what are you saying?¡± the Illusionist spluttered. ¡°A Wutang Kenshi cannot gang up on a girl with the bangzi.¡±

    ¡°No, you should join us,¡± the Korean Ice Mage, Lee Si-won, answered Kurou in Ying¡¯s stead. ¡°We¡¯ll be sure to take care of you.¡±

    ¡°ALRIGHT. Cool your Sigils!¡±

    The greying visage of Magister Lutz von Schlabrendorff made his appearance.

    ¡°Sir!¡± The students bowed, saluted, stood to attention and curtsied.

    ¡°What¡¯s the matter here?¡± The Magister had seen it all, but it was his job to ensure that the young bucks left the competition in one piece. ¡°I haven¡¯t even given out the quest, and you¡¯re already on each other¡¯s throats. I understand the weather here¡¯s hot, but the duelling segment of the evening isn¡¯t for another hour.¡±

    ¡°Esteemed Sir,¡± Gwen cut in before either of the Lees could speak. ¡°The Korean team has just threatened one of the members of my team, declaring that they will seek retribution against her family in Seoul should she aid me in any fair capacity.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s a lie!¡± Lee Si-won snapped, suddenly discerning Gwen¡¯s game. ¡°Magister, we said no such thing, this girl is a bag of scorpions.¡±

    ¡°Miss Song, your response?¡± The Magister knew her by name and appearance.

    ¡°The truth speaks louder than lies.¡± Gwen shook her head. She then marched into the centre of the circle which had opened up to accommodate the feud. Opening her slender white arms, she faced the crowd, allowed a controlled trickle of Essence to flow outside her body, then addressed her audience like a ringmaster. ¡°Who among you dares to stand up for the downtrodden? Speak up for the oppressed? If you are true Mages, righteous Kenshi, make your voice heard!¡±

    ¡°As a neutral party.¡± Ying Xiang took a step forward, his eyes twinkling with mirth. ¡°She asked them for a duel, asking if they would punish Miss Lee¡¯s father. Mister Lee¡¯s response was to leer rudely.¡±

    ¡°This is true!¡± Richard stepped forward. ¡°I too witnessed a most audacious expression of arrogance. Even in silence, the dishonourable cur was threatening the family of my shivering teammate! Just look at her!¡±

    ¡°I saw what I saw.¡± Ichiro smirked at the Lees, happy to get a knife in.

    Eunae looked as though she could faint.

    ¡°Magister!¡± Gwen turned back toward the Chief Proctor. ¡°Is this what the IIUC has become? A game of nepotism and coercion? For shame!¡±

    ¡°Fudan, tone down your melodrama.¡± Magister von Schlabrendorff gave her an officious warning. ¡°You are decades too young to goad me, Fr?ulein.¡±

    ¡°But sir.¡± Gwen dipped her head attractively, wringing her hands. ¡°How may I teach these young men a lesson of respect and humility if they threaten my healer? I am but a humble peasant in Shanghai, what if they menace my dear old grandparents next?¡±

    The audience blinked. Gwen Song, a dual-element sorceress with a Kirin, a peasant? If so, what were they? Cabbage?

    The Magister sighed.

    ¡°Mister Lee,¡± the Chief Proctor began. ¡°Can I have your word that nothing will come of this, whatever the result?¡±

    ¡°Sir!¡± Si-won¡¯s expression grew dark. ¡°The girl¡ª¡±

    ¡°You may retort or retaliate in any capacity befitting a Path of Spellcraft.¡± Schlabrendorff furrowed his brows, evidently growing impatient. ¡°Speak through craft, Mister Lee, not through politics, and certainly not through me! I know something of your nation, and I know the power your families wield. Do not take my old age for senility! If I should find out that actions have been taken against the family of that young lady over there, during or after the competition, I will strip Seoul U of its title even if you are crowned the victor! Do you comprehend the gravitas of your offence? That is a THREAT.¡±

    ¡°But¡ª¡±

    ¡°Si-won! Shut up!¡± Sung¡¯s voice came across as a bark, silencing his spluttering brother. ¡°The Magister is correct. We have fallen into Gwen Hubae¡¯s trap. Let us speak through skill and craft. All else, to take the Magister¡¯s words: is sophistry.¡±

    ¡°The two of us?¡± Si-won fumed.

    ¡°I would much prefer the three of you, plus that pervert over there.¡± Gwen pointed to Kurou. ¡°He tried to cop a feel when I shook his hand, then started bawling that he would maim me when I caught him out.¡±

    ¡°I did not!¡± Kurou howled, his face flashing shades of white and red. ¡°You lying biaozi!¡±

    Ying struggled for his next breath.

    ¡°There it is.¡± Gwen shrugged casually. ¡°So, you young gents game for a sixsome?¡±

    The Lees¡¯ regarded one another.

    ¡°We will accept, but without the help of the deviant.¡± Now that a fight was imminent, Sung¡¯s face lost its ire. Instead, a strange calm returned to his voice. With violence imminent, the young man was now in his element. ¡°You and Eunae will duel me, Si-won and Jung-min. First to Shield-Break, Oxford style.¡±

    Gwen had since learned from Senior Bai that in international duels, there were two norms. Oxford style implied that contestants entered the duelling arena without pre-buffs or conjured creatures. Conversely, the Harvard format, pioneered by the Americans, meant one began combat with a pre-allotment of buffs on either side, accompanied by having Familiars summoned and raring to go.

    ¡°I am not a pervert!¡± Kurou spat. ¡°You, Lee Bangzi! I challenge you to a duel!¡±

    ¡°Agreed.¡± Gwen nodded curtly, ignoring the sexual-deviant. ¡°Magister, will you preside? I am afraid I won¡¯t be able to hold back.¡±

    ¡°Your confidence astounds me.¡± The Chief Proctor raised both brows. ¡°But you have also piqued my curiosity. Very well, Miss Song. I shall personally adjudicate for this match.¡±

    The Magister then turned to all of them. ¡°I must also remind you that as Yangon is lacking a Tower, your short and medium-range Contingency Teleportation Rings will have limited operability. Likewise, should your ER Contingency Rings return you to Seoul or Shanghai, you will be disqualified from the IIUC.¡±

    Without so much as a wrinkle of the brow, the Captain of Seoul U removed a ring from his finger.

    ¡°I would imagine you¡¯d have this much conviction at least, Gwen-ssi.¡±

    Gwen likewise invoked an incantation, knowable only to the attuned owner, then removed Gunther¡¯s Contingency ring. Just as a precaution, she patted her Ghosting Amulet.

    ¡°To the death, then?¡± She smirked at her fellow competitors.

    ¡°To Shield-Break!¡± Magister von Schlabrendorff spluttered, growling at the girl. ¡°You hotheads are really stuffing my snout! Get to it! I¡¯ve still got dinner to finish.¡±

    The crowd parted, forming an open lane to the duelling arena, at the ends of which four advisors awaited.

    ¡°Kurou, stop acting the eyesore and get back here!¡± Ying barked at his devastated cousin. ¡°Congratulations, even without Uncle Cao holding your hand, you survived.¡±

    The Jiantong Vice-Captain looked as though he could have duelled his Captain then and there, but another member of the team pulled him back into the crowd.

    ¡°Gwen!¡± Ying Xiang formed a martial greeting with his hand and fist as the sorceress passed Jiantong¡¯s assembly. ¡°May you have fair winds on your journey forth.¡±

    Gwen nodded, then returned to comforting Eunae, who clutched her arm with such vigour as to deform her supple flesh.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know if I can do this, Gwen,¡± Eunae keened. ¡°That¡¯s my cousin; he¡¯s the son of Uncle Lee!¡±

    Gwen pulled the girl up so tightly that their faces had an inch between them.

    ¡°Eunnie, when that other bloke called you a crafty cunt, you stood up for yourself. GOOD JOB. That¡¯s how it is in this world. You can¡¯t keep retreating, because that¡¯s an invitation for brutes like them to goose-step all over your face. They might not be bad people deep down, but living a privileged life has gone to their heads. It¡¯s a disease, Eunnie, and you and I are the cure.¡±

    Eunae understood the logic, but decades of ingrained fear and loathing couldn¡¯t be removed simply because of spectacular words. Concurrently, Gwen¡¯s speech was audible enough that many of the audience members bore complex expressions, caught between mockery for the Seoul team and the hypocrisy of their privileged existences.

    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    ¡°You¡¯ll see, Eunnie,¡± Gwen assured her companion, thinking of Gunther, acknowledging that only with action could the naive be taught wisdom. ¡°Clear your head. We¡¯re going with Formation C.¡±

    At the end of the human corridor, her team awaited, each offering a word of advice.

    ¡°Be careful.¡± Lulan and Richard had full confidence in their Vice-Captain.

    ¡°Kick their ass!¡± Anita made a face at what she perceived to be impeccably-dressed corncobs. ¡°How dare that bastard touch Eunae, I could have strangled him myself!¡±

    ¡°Gwen, good luck!¡± The others patted her and Eunae on the back.

    ¡°Don¡¯t overextend yourself,¡± Tei remarked worriedly. ¡°This isn¡¯t the final match.¡±

    ¡°She¡¯ll be right, mate,¡± Gwen smirked. ¡°We¡¯ll share a bottle of Mao-tai after. I have got a feeling I¡¯ll be thirsty indeed.¡±

    Maymyint withdrew her mental tendrils from her sister¡¯s addled head as to focus on the new drama stirred by her unpredictable saviour.

    From the fact that Gwen Song was willing to strike a Lee from Yooksung Conglomerate for a second-rate healer from an inferior branch of the clan, her confidence only grew. Marong was right; the Lightning Sorceress was a creature of great passion and deep sentiment, a born leader in a time of crisis, but also unsuitable for hard-hearted ruling, especially when men possessed the appetites of beasts.

    Still, to combat three of the Lees: two siblings from the main House and a cousin, aided by nought but a healer? That would be a sight to see! If such a Mage could exist, maybe Mayuree¡¯s vision may not be so far off from the truth.

    ¡°My lord,¡± she opened a silent channel. ¡°They are about to begin.¡±

    ¡°Silit,¡± came the reply, its voice filling every nook and cranny of her skull. ¡°Majak ve dout saurivic.¡±

    In the next moment, Maymyint¡¯s world grew dim as a transcendent force suffused her body, shoving aside her feeble, humanoid consciousness with the carelessness of a stampede of Aurochs crushing the tender grass underfoot. Even as her anima shuddered with unspeakable agony, Maymyint cared not for the abuse. Her body brimmed with borrowed divinity, and there was no greater ecstasy.

    ¡°To Shield Break.¡± Magister von Schlabrendorff reiterated bleakly while the crowd below bellowed in wonder at the sight of a sorceress and her diminutive healer standing on one side while three men, each possessing the bearing of seasoned Combat Mages, spread out on the opposing field.

    Below the Force Barriers set up for the occasion, a crew of lumen-recorders took up their spaces around the arena, ready to transmute the spectacle for future viewing.

    Far above, the Magister¡¯s tier 7 Divination magic, The Eye of Providence, enveloped the entirety of the Secretariat within his command, relaying its sights and visions into a secondary enchantment, Eidetic Memory, likewise tied to his fellow proctors.

    Below, the dark-haired contestants readied themselves.

    When Lutz von Schlabrendorff cycled into the Asian Pacific Region, he had known it would be a thankless task. The reason for the complication of an already complicated network of competitive academic institutions was hostile history: such as the fact that China ratified the UN mutual defence treaty to challenge Japanese holdings in 1945, Japan after deserting its Sino ambitions in 1953, and Korea after immense opposition from the Japanese in 1991. For five decades, from micro-conflicts to macro-regional disputes, hatred stemming from the Sino War had been maintained to keep a burgeoning population gratified.

    To think that an hour ago, he had given a speech on the urgency of camaraderie, companionship and cooperation, and before dessert, the youngsters were already at each other¡¯s throats.

    Chief Proctor Lutz von Schlabrendorff wasn¡¯t happy at all.

    ¡°You may begin in Three¡ª¡±

    ¡°Two¡ª¡±

    ¡°One¡ª¡±

    A spark of mana erupted mid-field.

    ¡°Commence!¡±

    Even knowing his prot¨¦g¨¦e¡¯s plan, Walken¡¯s heart simmered at his throat.

    In the opening seconds of the duel, a Shield of Faith, combined with a Spirit Guardian conjured from Eunae¡¯s Familiar, readied itself to intercept the first wave of Seoul U¡¯s assault while Gwen began her invocation.

    His ward had chosen her targets expertly despite their incomplete intelligence, as all three Lee Clan Evokers'' first instinct was to burn down the upstart, thereby preserving their reputations.

    Sung Lee unleashed a twin-headed, persistent Flame Hydra, a powerful eruption of Magma which continued to track and attack his targets, setting up his subsequent assaults.

    Si-Won, the Ice Mage, instantly and expertly evoked a Missile Swarm, forming a prehensile cloud of icy daggers, hundreds of them, that would relentlessly pummel their target.

    Jung-min, the youngest and the team¡¯s controller, burst open the space surrounding Gwen with a Sonic Thrust, forcing her to move away from Eunae.

    Together, the Lees employed one instantaneous disruptor, one mid-range, mid-strength AoE, and a heavy-handed finisher, demonstrating the Clan¡¯s expertise and experience.

    If the girl were a lesser Mage, her only choice would be to Teleport away, setting her assailants up for a second discharge. Should the Lees¡¯ further coordinate their attacks, she would tire out, at which point she would teleport outside of the duelling area and admit her loss, or take the hit and hope she survived.

    But Walken felt an aching exaltation as Caliban emerged in its stag form, exploding from thin-air as though a cascade of dark ink had poured into the arena, filling the confined space with the gut-churning miasma unique to the Void.

    Oily and covered in a film of dripping Void-matter, the creature caught the brunt of the sonic blast without so much as a wrinkle on its faceless mien, even as a chunk of its torso blew out with a violent Chonk!

    "SHAAAAA!"

    Tilting forward on its stiletto legs, Caliban flew into a deadbolt, catching a portion of the Missile Swarm, losing the better half of its faceless mien.

    Relentless, it hammered on, striking sparks on the shielded floor, skittering toward the three astonished Mages without breaking its stride.

    Mid-way, it encountered the magma hydra; it¡¯s multi-pointed stag horns erupted into sixteen prehensile tendrils, each a slithering length of lamprey penetrating the body of the twin-headed ophidian. When furthermore Sung¡¯s magnificent two-stage spell exploded across Caliban¡¯s body, ripping out chunks of flesh and gouging holes the size of Gwen¡¯s torso, it leaned forward¡ª

    And re-birthed into a skittering spider-demon half the size, fully healed, Hasted and twice as angry.

    ¡°Si-Won!¡± the leading Lee called out, himself erecting a Magma Arc, an offence-defence spell that shielded his team while also exploding outward in a terrific arc of flaming lava.

    ¡°Glacial Geyser!¡± A burst of ice, instantaneously forming underneath Caliban and with a minimal margin of error, caught the spiderling in the rear, preventing it from coming closer.

    ¡°Hurricane Blast!¡± The third Lee remained on Gwen, attempting to banish the Void Sorceress to open up Eunae for a thorough thrashing.

    As a chilling draft of cyclonic air descended upon the female duo, Walken tasted a sharp tartness of nervous bile. He found himself clenching his fists when Luyi, leaping in between the Evocation manifest and the girls, made a barely audible ¡®Eep!¡¯ before the Air Mage¡¯s superior firepower dashed the Guardian Spirit to smithereens. In the next split-second, the remaining impact descended, catching Eunae¡¯s Shield of Faith, painting the semi-dome a stark white as its mana compressed and the barrier strained.

    Walken found himself clenching his teeth.

    Four seconds! His mind screamed. Just four more seconds!

    On the far side, Caliban escaped once again, this time slipping from the icy prison as an enormous centipede, its carapace slick and obsidian. Unfazed, Sung Lee retaliated with a Magma Breath, stopping Caliban in its tracks, sheering away a dozen legs with a chunk of lava-encrusted shale. Beside him, matching his brother spell by spell, a Creeping Ice ripped through Caliban¡¯s torso, snapping its lower body clean off.

    With a wiggle, Caliban fell to the floor and lay still.

    The crowd gasped for air, not yet recovered from the horrid sight of the sable-coated nightmare invading their shuddering souls.

    NOW! Walken had to stop himself lest he gave away Gwen¡¯s game.

    Quietly and without warning, at the precise moment in which Caliban met a grisly, temporary end, Ariel materialised above the Lees, crackling with emerald lightning, its horns charged with Almudj¡¯s punishing fury.

    ¡°CHAIN LIGHTING!¡± Walken found himself mouthing the words.

    ¡°Barbanginy!¡± Gwen¡¯s voice reverberated from within the duelling arena.

    The Magister¡¯s mind burst into brilliant happiness as the Lightning Bolt connected first with Sung Lee, striking the man¡¯s hastily erected Shield.

    Then, as if on cue, it zig-zagged across the field to strike Si-Won, who was forced to put up an Ice Barrier.

    Before the lightning could plough through the Ice Mage¡¯s protection and trigger his Shield, it travelled onwards toward Jung-min, blowing past his protection in a single strike.

    ¡°Shield-Bre¡ª!¡± the command from Magister Schlabrendorff exploded across the assembly, but Gwen¡¯s Chain Lightning wasn¡¯t yet finished.

    It shot upwards and struck her Kirin in full.

    Walken¡¯s lips curled, his heart galloped, his blood kindled; he finally understood why Kilroy took so much joy in showing off his Apprentices.

    From Ariel, a new bolt descended.

    ¡°Ha-ha!¡± Walken wondered if he looked like a maniac about now, but he couldn¡¯t give two shits. Gwen¡¯s Chain Lightning was a skill he had taught. It was uniquely his, and now it was going to be seen around the world, magnified a million times in every institution across Asia, Europe and the Americas.

    The second bolt was weaker, but Gwen¡¯s Essence-infused Barbanginy was tens of magnitudes stronger than mortal lightning.

    Crack!

    A split second later, the bolt struck Sung Lee, splitting his Magma encrusted Shield in twain, revealing a disbelieving face.

    Crack!

    Si-Won¡¯s Ice Shield was insufficient to withstand the returning bolt. With a singular sound of shattering ice, a split arc from the viridian surge licked the Ice Mage, blasting him off his feet with a clattering of teeth.

    ¡°¡ªeak!¡± Magister von Schlabrendorff hadn¡¯t even finished his first announcement.

    Crack!

    The bolt persisted, seeking out the final member of Lee¡¯s team for another round of electro-vivification.

    Oh, Gods! Walken felt his heart skip. She better not be thinking of killing a Lee. If there was one group that took a blood debt with absolute gravity, it was the profoundly tribal Korean Chaebols. Gwen could kiss her peace goodbye if the boy were to be summarily executed in the middle of a duel before the IIUC had even begun. Any hope that a second Shield could be erected was non-existent; between the sundering of his first and the return of the bolt, no more than a second had passed. Even an Abjurer would need a breather before refreshing a buffer.

    ¡°Sung Hyung!¡± Jung-Min¡¯s voice called out as the bolt struck, lighting the man like a candle.

    While the crowd watched with open mouths at the first casualty of the IIUC, the bolt returned to Ariel.

    From which a third cycle engendered.

    ¡°Shield Break! Shield BREAK!¡± the Magister howled. ¡°GWEN SONG! STOP THIS DUEL AT ONCE!¡±

    With a glance from its Master, Ariel fizzled the circulating Chain Lightning, reminding the assembly that Gwen retained complete control.

    Together with Walken, the assembly¡¯s eyes first caught the illustrious form of the prowling Kirin swishing its tail. Then of the smouldering trio, of which only Seoul U¡¯s Captain, Sung Lee, remained ruffled but otherwise unmolested.

    ¡°Shaaa!¡±

    Caliban, once again reborn, slithered from the mangled corpse of its former self, back to its regular size and original shape, ready for probing.

    ¡°Shaa! Shaa!¡± It hissed at the Seoul U¡¯s Captain, who looked around dazed, as though he had entered a strange new metaphysical world, one in which a girl from Fudan had cracked his Shield, then turned his gaze to Gwen.

    Finally, Walken¡¯s swelling eyes landed on his student.

    Eunae huffed, a hand placed against Gwen¡¯s back, Luyi feebly lingering by the Cleric¡¯s side.

    As for the architect of the spectacle that now befell the lords and ladies of My?ma, she stood quivering, drenched from head to toe in perspiration, her complexion was the colour of lily buds, pale with shades of bruised blue.

    Slowly, with great care, she withdrew her arms, locked in place for quick-casting, then packed her white legs so that she appeared dignified. With chest heaving and eyes wild, she reached over with a hand to take her healer by the shoulder, then planted a kiss on Eunae¡¯s forehead.

    Walken¡¯s heart soared and soared until it strained as though a viol played to the highest pitch. At this moment, in his eyes, there was no greater sense of pride. She was his muse.

    ¡°Eunae,¡± she uttered audibly.

    Walken found himself walking down the advisor¡¯s dais toward the exit of the duelling platform, at which point his ward¡¯s sweet voice dispelled the charm that had enthralled her beholden audience.

    The girl was a natural.

    ¡°Muster up another jolt, Eunae¡ª¡± Gwen managed. ¡°Go heal your cousins.¡±

    Sung Lee wanted to hurl a Dragon Breath when Eunae, the cousin he had half a mind to remove from the Clan¡¯s roster permanently, offered to heal her kin.

    But when she approached, eyes wide with fear, he found that he could not speak.

    Earlier, when Jung-min had called for his help, he couldn¡¯t do a thing, so what right did he have to deny his junior¡¯s mercy?

    ¡°Sung Seonbae-nim¡­¡± Eunae¡¯s gentle bosoms rose and fell as she lowered her head.

    Slowly, he reached out and touched her head, feeling her soft hair between his fingers.

    ¡°Eunae,¡± he croaked finally, finding a measure of strength returning to his jaws. ¡°Tell Gwen-ssi, that we¡¯ll do our best in the competition, and that I won¡¯t underestimate her again.¡±

    ¡°Yes, Seonbae-nim.¡± Eunnae bowed deeply.

    ¡°And¡­¡±

    ¡°Seonbae-nim?¡±

    Sung Lee swallowed, finding his throat swollen when the words reached his mouth.

    ¡°Nothing.¡± He cleared his throat. ¡°Go now. Heal Jung-min.¡±

    Gwen was glad the applause went on for so long because she was firmly stuck in place until her Essence restored her Void-ravaged body.

    When was the last time she felt this? She wondered. Her joints were sore, her vitality exhausted, her head swam, and her vision hovered.

    The abuse of Caliban¡¯s shapeshifting ability to instantly restore its form was a strategy she had actualised after a great deal of experimentation with Walken, aided by Magus Kumiko. It was something that could only be used in the presence of a Cleric, and now she had traded the secret away to catalyse their strategy, which was to put the fear of Gwen into Kyoto, Seoul and Jiantong.

    ¡°Tss...¡±

    Gwen sucked in a breath of cold air. A raging headache, another aftermath of overtaxing one¡¯s vitality, was now pounding her brain into mochi.

    When finally Eunae returned from healing her cousins, thus ensuring that there was no possible way they could target her family without shaming the clan, some semblance of movement returned to her limbs.

    Glancing above, she caught the Chief Proctor regarding her with a complicated expression before nodding amiably.

    ¡°Victory! Fudan!¡±

    Then, aided by her Cleric, she made for the exit.

    When she almost faltered at the platform, it wasn¡¯t Richard who caught her slipping body, nor Lulan nor the others, not even Lea or Captain Bai.

    To her and her companions¡¯ amazement, it was Walken, his taut face pink as a pippin, who barged through her friends, crashed through the crowd, then caught her with his wiry hands.

    ¡°Eric?¡± She found herself held by the old man''s arms.

    ¡°You almost burst my heart, Gwen.¡± Walken crushed her against his chest, so hard that she could feel the ribs beneath his tunic. ¡°Well done!¡±

    Far from the duelling platform, Maymyint discretely wiped a blood-tinged tear from her eyes with a maroon handkerchief.

    The appeasement of her master made Maymyint happier than even that old codger, Eric Walken, who even now was coddling his ward.

    ¡°I will have her delivered to Kachin right away, my Lord,¡± she promised.

    ¡°Tepoha sanipkur, let them play their mortal games,¡± the voice echoed within her mind, switching to human speech to reduce the burden on her feverish brain. In the next moment, her lord¡¯s slow chuckling grew into a bone-thrumming roar of merriment. ¡°Make the arrangements. If and when the bastard meets my darling niece, I want them both frothing and seething.¡±

 Chapter 251 - Old Fashioned

    Cla-Clang!

    Clung!

    Clang!

    Lulan exchanged swings with the girls from Emei, inspired by Gwen to go for a two-on-one.

    "Plum-blossom Strike!"

    Risking a shallow wound to trade blow for blow, she allowed one of the Hsu sisters, Vicky, to gash her thigh with a mana-charged thrust, thereby overextending her reach.

    "Heart Seeking Sword!"

    KRUNG!

    The slab of iron that suddenly emerged was enough to send the girl flying, scattering a vivid crimson arc across the invisible barrier. Above, the adjudicator did not call for a halt, as Sword Mages, unlike Western casters, usually forwent Shields for Transmutation-focused defence such Lulan''s Iron Heart, or the Falling Feather technique employed by the Emei sisters, negating blows and blasts through the application of Taoist mysticism.

    Lulan landed without so much as a grimace, her Iron Heart technique instantly closing her flesh wound.

    Vicky Hsu, conversely, didn''t fare so well. Coughing up a mouthful of bile and blood, she had to be aided by her sister.

    "Thank you for the instruction, Lulan shimei."

    "Hsu shijie, the same," Lulan returned, stowing her iron-slab back into the Elemental Plane of Earth.

    The crowd clapped and cheered, though their heart wasn''t in it.

    After the first match, nothing else could setthe blood to boil, not when it had already evaporated.

    The duels ran at half-strength at best. The members of Seoul U had retreated earlier, taking with them their advisor, likely to strategise and lick their wounds. Kyoto meanwhile, sent out a few members who stuck strictly to Western spellcraft.

    Gwen chose to stay close to the buffet table, sipping Mao-tai and pulverising the vitality-rich crab claws harvested from Yangon''s mana-rich river between her carapace-crushing teeth.

    At present, Kyoto U''s shugenja and priestess sat politely to one side, holding small talk while Ariel and Caliban slithered about underfoot, teasing the Mages for crystals.

    On her other side sat Jiantong''s Captain, already flushed from his second glass of rice wine, speaking slowly and carefully lest he fell into a potential honey trap.

    Eunae meanwhile, sat on a stool beside a jubilant Anita, blissfully supping on a young coconut.

    "I feel so full of vitality," she remarked to the team''s Mineral Mage, blushed by the booze. "Come what may- let me at em!"

    The rest of the team broke into laughter while Richard returned with Lulan.

    "Healing Word!" Eunae managed the Sword Mage''s flesh wound. "Does it hurt?"

    "There isn''t much sensation when myIron Heart is active," Lulan clarified, stretching her leg. "Thanks, Eunae."

    "You should have gone for the face," Richard advised with a grin. "It''ll take a Regenerate to restore sensory organs, and I have a feeling the Emei girls are underplaying their hand."

    "They have a sword formation that''s famous among the Clans, a kind of low-tier Simulacrum," Lulan agreed with the second statement. "Vivian has to be the Illusionist, Vicky''s blow feltlike a Transmuters."

    "They can formation all they want." Richard laughed. "Good spell fodder for Chain Lightning."

    Fudan''s party collectively sighed with satisfaction. What a spectacle that had been. It perfectly demonstrated that certain spells, when mastered, constituted significant milestones.

    For Fire Mages, the ubiquitous Fireball at tier 3 was the single most practical magic in existence. For Evokers especially, even well into their career as Magisters, the spell remained a constant companion, an invocation so ingrained it could manifest with a thought.

    Conversely, for Mineral and Earthen Mages, it was Stone Shape or Transmute Stone that made all the difference, swiftly adding versatility and utility to all Schools of Magic.

    As for Air Mages, Flight served as the tipping point of their advantage, after which no other Elementalist mighthope to catch an Air Affinity Combat Mage without Teleportation or a means to restrain their mobility.

    Finally, for Lightning Mages, their sweet fruit of deliverance came at the end of a long, hard road in the form of Chain Lightning, originating from the Icelandic Gothar. The earliest records pointed to a Mage of antiquity known as Thangbrand the Priest, who deployed the ancient magic against Ice Giants.

    As for Gwen''s specific variation of Chain Lightning, her private instructor had delivered a spell which, in Walken''s words, secured his previous career. Incepting as an Air Mage, he initially struggled to invoke complex multi-target strikes, and so had spent years researching and modifying the original incantation so that with Aella''s aid, he could replicate the spell.

    When applied to Ariel, the two then discovered that her pseudo-Kirin was capable of reinvigorating a refracted bolt, continuing the cycle. With Gwen''s current Affinity, the second sequence reduced her Chain Lightning to half-strength, while the third cycle was little more effective than a low-tier Lightning Missile. However, when fused with Almudj''s Essence, it took three cycles for the bolt to be reduced to its original strength, arguably capable of returning for a fourth and final strike.

    Though impressive, the spell was highly conditional. First, targets had to be intimately displaced. Second, while cycling, targets must remain within range, as a single Teleportation or Blink could disrupt the flow of the spell as it refracted from each victim. Third, Ariel must remain in range and immobile, opening her Familiar to banishment, assaults, and other dangers. Lastly and finally, the spell''s effectiveness dwindled against Abjurers who are capable of dampening her lightning, as each strike relied on carrying over energy from the last. In the worst casescenario, a skilled Earthen Mage with a strong metal-element may ground the first strike, undoing the spell altogether. In tests conducted with Walken''s conjured targets, it was against clustered aerial foes that the Signature invocation truly shined.

    Thoughas Walken noted,countermeasures were her opponent''s problem: as a group; they fed her Chain Lightning. Alone, she could eat them alive.

    That was the "Fear of Gwen" hehad intended.

    All that was left was the competition itself.

    Magister Lutz von Schlabrendorff stood by the window atop the Royal Strand by Seikkantha Park. His suite overlooked the Secretariat below, where the students should by now be returning to their rooms.

    For the next few days, the students couldsocialise and get to know the people and the land. Of course, the competition itself would take place in Kachin, ten hours Mage Flight north of Mandalay, but the students didn''t know that.

    Standing in the middle of the luxurious living room, the Magister closed his eyes, allowing greater focus.

    "Reveal Dweomer."

    Lutz invoked a high-tier detection spell which reacted to the presence of unsavoury enchantments within the vicinity of the caster. At his behest, a ripple of vibrant energy manifested as a sphere radiating from the caster, enveloping the top floor of the hotel.

    "Hmm¡­" Lutz grunted with displeasure. He was being watched. For the defeated ruling remnant of an uncivilised frontier, the audacity shown by this House of M was astounding.

    "Obfuscate!" A second invocation from the School of Illusion was enough to render any Divination below tier 7 senseless.

    "Evelyn," the Magister spoke into a Message spell of his own making, utilising a private network established between himself and the advisors for the various teams. "Inform Walken I need to speak with him."

    "Yessir," came the reply from Magister Evelyn Hass, his right-hand woman.

    Lutz had all but ten minutes to set up the lumen-projector and conjure two servings of Old Fashioned before Hass returned, signalling Walken''s arrival.

    "Come in." Lutz unlocked the door with a wave of his hand.

    "Eric, it''s been too long."

    "Good to see you too, Lutz."

    The two shared a friendly handshake.

    "Please, take a seat, make yourself comfortable." Lutz indicated to the spacious hotel room. "I''ve got something interesting to show you."

    Each of the veteran Mages took up a spot around the room while Magister Hass left the room.

    "Replay," Lutz commanded the lumen-recorder.

    The scene now projected in the living room was the match between Gwen Song and Seoul U.

    Manipulating glyphs only he could see, Lutz''s Panopticon Engine, a sophisticated crystalline device operable only by the Chief Proctor, shifted its angle until it focused on the dais upon which the House of M''s representative, the lithe Miss Maymyint, holding a flute of golden liqueur.

    "Eric." Lutz indicated to the sight of their female host. "As you are aware, a part of the Panopticon is designed to identify oddities, such as malignant magic utilised to aid students to gain an unfair advantage. In reviewing suspicious magic during the match¡ª observe."

    The Mages watched a thin golden thread materialise, linking Maymyint and Mayuree.

    "Now that IS interesting."

    Walken knew that The Eye of Providence was a class III restricted Divination Spell originating from a darker era under the Papal Inquisition. With it, a Diviner may monitor and record the activities of students and their actions during the competition.

    "Well, Eric? What do you have to say for your local contestant?"

    "If you must know, she was a temporary shoo-in," Walken grumbled darkly. "The original Diviner quit, saying that she didn''t want to die, and her sister, our host, volunteered Mayuree. I can assure you, Lutz- if there is any attempt at subverting the fairness of the game, my team will have no part in it. I''ve proctored in the past. I know how this works."

    If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    Lutz von Schlabrendorff regarded his old friend from the Grey Faction, then exhaled. "Needless to say, if this happens during the Quest, penalties will apply."

    "Maybe the House of M is planning something," Walken changed the subject. "Can you do me a favour and route some information from the betting houses?"

    "You think they''re trying to make a quick mound of HDMs? It''s nothing so crass," Lutz refuted Walken''s hypothesis. "The House of M donated three-hundred thousand HDMs to the competition''s coffers, Eric, and they''re paying for all expenses incurred while we''re in Burma."

    Walken smirked at the nation''s old colonial name. To think that only a decade had passed since the Mageocracy pulled out before the Orientals had a dragon infest the north. It was laughable how incompetent these prideful independence governments could be.

    "What do you suggest?"

    "Nothing. I''ll leave that to you." Lutz offered his old colleague a glass of the Old Fashioned, now suitably infused. "The IIUC must go on. Remember, so long as our host holds up their part of the agreement with the Committee, we are a strictly neutral party. For good reasons, we do not interfere, even if the contestants are to lose their lives."

    "So, this is a favour?"

    "Would you believe pity? You need this. Don''t you?"

    Walken grunted. Pity was the right word. To think one of the Oceania Ten was now reduced to chaperoning an eighteen-year-old girl Mage like a steward.

    "What happened to your famous impartiality?"

    "The match hasn''t started yet. Can''t a man chat with an old friend?"

    "Well then, thanks, Lutz." Walken breathed out, bowing his head slightly. "I appreciate it."

    "I am doing it for the girl as well." Lutz von Schlabrendorff scratched his temple. "A talent like that, remind you of someone?"

    "Sobel?"

    "Who else?"

    "Gwen is¡­" Walken checked his tongue. "...different."

    "Time will tell." Lutz appeared unconvinced. "Like Sobel, I anticipate the Mageocracy will squeeze a decade out of her at least, two at best. Though I don''t think there''ll be another Kilroy to ferment a second Sobel. I still can''t believe old Henry died such a needless death. He was the best of us."

    "They could use her to fight Sobel, you know." Walken tasted a metallic tang of guilt on his tongue. "I can tell you Gwen has good cause to give it her all."

    "Ha!" Lutz von Schlabrendorff laughed, swirling his drink. "Good luck with that, Eric. May the best team win."

    "I thought the competition isn''t about winning?"

    Lutzvon Schlabrendorff swilled the last of his drink; then the room filled with rye-scented laughter.

    Walken teleported back into his hotel room, feeling an urgent need to set matters into motion.

    He discerned immediately the error of letting his passions ferment, channelling a little too much of Henry. He reminded himself that his old rival had grown soft, and that was why he failed. Henry had let his students'' affections affect his thinking; he allowed his sentiments for his wife to impact his judgement.

    Mayuree, defrauding the competition? He found that unlikely. No, this was something more. Something nefarious. He could feel it in his bones; it was just the sort of thing he would plot.

    Shuffling out of his jacket, he washed his face to cool his head.

    How to proceed? Walken asked himself.

    The contents of the match remained unknowable. Lutz wasn''t THAT generous.

    Should they swallow the risk and persist in their suit?

    To bail¡ª to reconvene, may very well waste their immovable advantage. As the team stood now, Jiantong''s Captain was amiable to cooperation, Kyoto U had been charmed by Gwen''s pseudo-Kirin, and Seoul had been suitably oppressed.

    As for Mayuree.

    If this were the Eric Walken of the past, there would a hundred and one ways to make the Diviner cough up the truth.

    But thanks to Gwen'' soft-heartedness, disabling the girl was out of the question, not to mention they genuinely needed a Diviner.

    As for the path of least resistance, Walken knew he had to do the unthinkable; he had to tell Gwen the truth.

    "Yes? Who is it?"

    Gwen opened the door to find Eric Walken standing at the entrance of her Secretariat''s west-wing guest room.

    "Gwen, we need to talk."

    Had Walken''s face been any less the likeness of a basilisk, she would have thought the old man desiring a heart to heart, but the firmness of Walken''s jaws indicated this was serious.

    "Right, what''s the matter?"

    "Bring your Habitat."

    At the mention of herportal Faraday cage, Gwen realised the trouble might be more severe than she initially thought.

    "Righto, one sec."

    In her spacious guest room were almost a dozen girls fondling Ariel and playing cards. Within her seraglio of feminine figures, she had the hungover Lulan, the thankful Eunae, Anita, Rene, and to Walken''s great surprise, Yuki, the Captain of the Kyoto team, as well as a few of her companions, was even now holding Gwen''s Kirin with a dreamy expression. Together, the girls had been playing Da-Lao-Er, a game she had learned from Tao, engaging in an equally entertaining but far less destructive royal rumble.

    After much grumbling and a promise to leave Ariel behind, Gwen met Walken in the courtyard. One HDM later, the duo joined in the grey space of the habitat''s courtyard.

    "Here''s fine." Walken eyed the conjured home. "Listen well. The Chief Proctor has just informed me that your friend Mayuree is under suspicion of using Mind Link to violate the rules of the competition."

    Gwen''s eyes grew as large as hen''s eggs; a complaint reached her lips reflexively.

    "Hold your horses." Walken put up a hand. "Lutz doesn''t know Mayuree as you do, nor does he have the information that we have, such as your involvement with her, or the House of M."

    Gwen swallowed. She did not recall telling Walken any of this. If so, where had he gotten the information?

    "Call it due diligence." Walken gave her a sideways look. "Something that will preoccupy much of your time should you ever come to possess a Tower. So, are we in agreement that your previously naive friend lacked the mental means to execute such a daring subversion?"

    "Definitely." Gwen nodded, thinking of the demure Mayuree, who could be overexcited and careless but who certainly wasn''tcapable of pulling a con like this. "What do you propose?"

    "I don''t believe this Maymyint is so foolish as to mind-tap Mayuree in the middle of a match. More than likely, I think it''s plausible that your friend is under the influence of her sister to perform some bidding. The more I hear about this, the more I am starting to suspect that there''s some disastrous event on the horizon. The Tyrant, your friend, the House of M, My?ma, all of it. There''s a piece of the puzzle missing, but I just can''t put my finger on the pulse of it."

    "Ah¡­" Gwen realised immediately the precise piece of the puzzle that Walken was missing, objectively speaking. There was one thing Walken could not discover through observing her finances, habits and charming her host of loose-lipped mentors. "Eric, there''s something I think I should tell you."

    Walken ceased his pacing, then met her eyes.

    "Don''t get angry, because its not something I would have trust you with at any rate."

    Walken sighed. "Go on."

    "Well¡­" Gwen organised her thoughts. "See, this whole thing started when I entered Fudan, and I ran into Mayuree and Kitty at the Scholarship Exam¡­"

    Walken listened with increasing grimness while Gwen clarified the conditions of Mayuree''s prophesy-driven friendship.

    "The Matriarch of the House of M must be senile to pull a stunt like this," Walken spluttered. "Even assuming Mayuree''s vision is correct, there''s no proof you haven''t saved her already. Unless she''s the Oracle of Delphi, her foresight could be entirely impressionistic or abstract."

    Walken paced back and forth.

    "I assume that somehow, the House of M is growing desperate to defeat this Tyrant. Paying tithings to a dragon that occupies a mountain isn''t news. It''s a tradition as old as time itself. I think something has disturbed the status quo."

    Gwen watched her advisor wrack his brain.

    "So, the primary outcome, assuming their ploy works, is that they planned for the Tyrant, a draconic-being of some sort, to attack Mayuree. Then, assuming Mayuree lives, there can only be one outcome¡ª someone has to defeat the dragon, thereby freeing their nation from the threat of the Tyrant."

    "BUT¡ª" Walken continued. "That''s not possible. From what I can see, My?ma is a wealthy country. There''s bound to be at least a dozen Magister-level casters, not to mention they can hire mercenaries. That they remain in thrall means the Tyrant is beyond the ability of Mages without the backing of a Tower to challenge. It implies the Tyrant must be at least five or more centuries old, starting to moult, drawing power from the land''s ley lines, only then is it beyond the challenge of a mortal Mage. Only a Tower can cut the dragon off its near infinite supply of mana."

    Her advisor exhaled.

    "I think their plan is doomed to fail." Walken shook his head. "Either these locals have no idea what they''re facing, or there are greater powers at play than we can know."

    "Should we inform the proctors?"

    "No."

    "Why not?"

    "The IIUC Committee won''t act," Walken explained. "Lutz has a spell called the Eye of Providence. It''s highly restricted Panopticon-Class Divination linked to the Towers. When the competition begins, you will all carry beacons that make you subject to direct observation. During the competition, Lutz and the others will not interfere, no matter what happens. Afterwards¡­"

    "There''ll be hell to pay?"

    "Yes, which is why none of this makes sense." Walken gnashed his teeth. "What''s there to gain for the House of M? You win, the Towers will come down on My?ma. You all die? They would come down on the House, then the dragon. My?ma will be a Black Zone."

    The two of them remained silent while they mulled on the matter.

    "I guess I''ll play it by ear." Gwen''s thoughts turned to her friend. "Poor Mia¡­ and that snake Maymyint! To think she helped me with Kitty. Bloody Kitty, I wonder if she''s in on this."

    "Presumably the House of M will send you toward the north, where the dragon will be in your path. As for the Tyrant: one can only guess what creature lurks in those mountains. Either way, the teams have enough offensive firepower to wound it, though defeating it would be impossible."

    "Eric." Gwen grounded her teeth guiltily, realising she had omitted yet another a critical fact. "Can I tell you something else? You can''t get mad, okay."

    Walken furrowed his brows. "What now?"

    "Er¡­ I might know who the Tyrant is."

    Her advisor blinked.

    "Alright." The old man appeared unfazed. "Confess."

    "I have it on good authority that it''s probably an in-law... my Uncle''s wife''s brother; someone called Ruxin. According to Ayxin, he came to My?ma some three decades ago, the exact time that the Tyrant appeared. He''s a full-blooded Thunder Dragon, about five hundred years old, and he''s looking to nest and mate."

    "¡­ okay." Walken pinched his forehead. "So an AsiaticBlue Dragon in the moulting phase, going musth- anything else?"

    Golos'' name simmered at Gwen''s throat. She had promised herself not to count on the stupid prophecy as a part of her plans, but the dots were joining together inside her head. Even if Golos came in at the eleventh hour to save her from certain death, how could he possibly fight a mature Dragon? The Thunder Wyvern, by Jun''s count, was just over two centuries old, he is a young buck and would only be dragon fodder. It made far more sense that Golos shows up to explain that if Ayxin lost her niece, her new husband would be furious, meaning Ruxin would have to now deal with both Axyin and Jun, as well as the family, friends, institutions, and the country of anyone else who went down with her. Surely Mayuree isn''t worth that much trouble.

    "Wait, I do!"

    Gwen materialised the Storage Ring Maymyint had given her.

    "Maymyint gave me this, and told me to open it when the time comes."

    "Allow me." Walken volunteered his well being. With great care, he attuned himself, hawkishly watching every mote of mana.

    It was just a mundane Storage Ring.

    And within was a device Gwen recognised as a transponder.

    Walken inspected the device, a thing carved from jadeite.

    "A paired transponder?" Walken palmed the device a few times. "One way as well. It''s not for tracking you, but for directing the user to something else, a sister-device. Stranger and stranger."

    "I guess we''ll find out," Gwen said. "Should we confront Maymyint?"

    "Leave it." Walken appeared deep in thought. "Against a schemer, it''s always best if they think us ignorant. If you claim to know this Tyrant and he confronts your team, there may be something that we can use to our advantage."

    "You know what." Gwen fingered the transponder gingerly. "What if this whole thing could be resolved just by me having a chat with Ruxin? I could wax some sentiments about his sister, about his dad Yinglong whom I hung out with, sort of, and about how we''re like, family and stuff now and we''re not a threat to him. I could tell him all about the House of M''s ploy to turn the world against him, and he could deal with Maymyint himself, saving us the trouble."

    "That''s an absurd proposal." Walken baulked.

    "I''ll make a good case, I can be very convincing," Gwen insisted. "Think about it, what would Ruxin gain by attacking us unprovoked? The ire of the entire IIUC committee from the most powerful universities around? Does the dragon even want to keep his mountain? If he kills or maims us, there''ll be Towers, least of all from Gunther, parked five-deep in his ass by next month. I imagine brooding eggs while been pounded by Gunther-beams would be pretty hard."

    "At the very least, this land will be cut off to him," Walken agreed. "Still, don''t do something so stupid if you don''t have to. When the match starts, proceed as you will. If Ruxin starts rampaging, take your friends and run. You''ll be fine so long as you''re not the slowest, there''s plenty of fodder."

    "¡­ Eric, seriously?"

    "A dragon breathing down on you isn''t serious enough?"

    Gwen rolled her eyes.

    "Gwen." Walken faced her seriously. "Listen to me. You might think that I am a coward, and I know your real zodiac is that of the mule, but you have to listen. Your life is extraordinary- many people are looking toward your future. Gunther and Alesia are waiting for you so that one day the three of you might visit Sobel. Your friends, Yue, and Elvia are waiting for your return to Sydney. Your grandparents are anticipating your triumph. Petra, your friends, and I, we''re all looking forward to what you''ll do in the future.

    "This is the IIUC. People fail all the time, and sometimes, contestants die. Gwen, despite everything: you''re allowed to fail. The IIUC is a stepping stone, an important one, but just a step. In life, you''ll have failures, but don''t falter by dying. If you perish: all is lost. There are no second chances, no second life. Even Deathless Henry, someone I''d never thought would be gone from this world, lost his life, and now all of us are adrift in the wake of his passing. You must survive; else none of this is worthwhile, understand?"

    Their eyes met, and the Magister could see that the girl was digesting his thoughts, becoming more miserable for the wisdom of his words.

    "In the meanwhile." Walken sighed in turn. "Keep an eye on Mayuree, but let nothing slip."

 Chapter 252 - When it rains, it pours

    For their layover, the team had the choice of exploring Yangon on a motorised rickshaw with a young monk as a guide or join Mayuree''s coach group. Though the city had no restrictions on flying, the local populace frowned upon Mages gliding over the golden stupas that dotted the city, and so magical locomotion mostly remained within the realm of discrete teleportation and mechanised transport.

    To Fudan''s surprise, the leadership of the Kyoto team agreed to Mayuree''s offer, with their squad Captain taking such a shine to Ariel that Gwen was beginning to feel awkward for having to zap the girl in the competition to come.

    For the first day, the Mayuree Express took the group into the local craftsmen''s district, urging the contestants to dispense some of their first-world HDMs. At the Dagon Market, the girls single-handedly elevated families by distributing the equivalent of yearly incomes as they stuffed their storage rings with hand-made shawls, scarves, local dresses and silk-print fabrics. As for the men who had decided to join, Richard entertained his Familiar, Lea, who fancied the floral colours and myriad spices that dotted the place, while Jiro and Ichiro seemed to hit it off after losing their minds within the hour.

    For the tour''s luncheons and dinners, Mayuree introduced the local fare, consisting of Mohinga fish soup with rice noodles, creamy aromatic catfish curry, deep fried curdled tofu, and Laphet Thohk ¨C pickled tea salad.

    It was between a delicious meal of fried fish in caramelised fish-sauce and stuffed pork-skewers that Mayuree showed her true colours.

    "This meatball is so buttery!" Gwen, the gastronomic adventurer, had been nourishing her ever-lingering hunger when Mayuree''s expression grew strange. Not realising, Gwen smacked her lips, giving her glistening, greasy lips a quick lick, then complimented the local cuisine. "What an original taste! Like a firm oyster."

    "What''s wrong?" Anita poked what appeared to be a musk-scented poached egg.

    "If you scrap off the curry¡­" Richard noted. "You''ll find that it''s an entirely original ingredient."

    Gwen performed the careful operation by following Richard''s advice, realising that Mayuree had made a crack at her expense, knowing that she was willing to eat anything.

    "I see!" She gagged, relishing the creaminess on her tongue, feeling a little disgusted. "It''s an eye- yeah? It''s a goat or a sheep''s eyeball!"

    Mayuree shook and quivered as she stifled her merriment.

    The rest of her teammates, as well as their guests, laughed as well, though much more awkwardly.

    Below the table, Ariel and Caliban chowed down as half-a-dozen Mages gingerly put their bowls onto the floor, donating the still simmering goat gonads out of the goodness of their dear hearts.

    After a quaking Gwen forced a fried gonad between Mayuree''s resisting lips, subsequent meals were taken at colonial establishments, as well as at modernised hotels around the port, where the majority of the country''s trade with China, India, and colonial Indochina took place.

    From roof-top restaurants, the team dined on Australian steak and drank French wine almost a century old, eating seafood from the Gulf of Martaban, prying crystal flesh from scampi and crabs fresh from the Bay of Bangor.

    The next morning and the next, they sat drinking cold-dripped coffee and enjoying the morning sun from a lounge thirty-stories high, realising just how nourishing and comfortable the unfiltered sun could feel on the skin.

    All the while, Gwen studied her friend. It was without a doubt that this was the Mayuree she had known, but there was also a queerness to her actions, akin to the unsettling sensation of entering an uncanny valley. While Ariel interacted fine with Mia, Gwen felt a disingenuine and jarring sense of reservedness. As a mental parallel, Mayuree''s exuberance reminded Gwen of some of her colleague''s wives whose manic joy smacked of a morning and afternoon glass of Chardonnay.

    It was finally on the fourth day that Gwen managed to corner Mayuree alone in the public spa of the Strand hotel, their modesty preserved by a layer of Egyptian cotton. After some teasing here and there, Gwen had invited Mayuree to join her for some high-spec skin pampering, taking advantage of the House of M''s unlimited lavishness.

    "Ah-." Gwen exhaled as a female masseuse worked her elbows into the nook of her shoulders. She then turned to her companion. "Thanks for everything, Mia."

    "Don''t mention it." Mayuree was a little distance away, enjoying a good ginger-lime rubdown from a pair of giggling young women awed by the duo''s presence. "It''s the least I could do for my friend."

    "So." Gwen caught the unnatural formality. "I never asked why you decided to join the IIUC. You''re just putting yourself in danger, you know."

    "But you''re here to save me, right?" Mayuree buried her head in the elevated lounge, where an aperture left the customer''s nose and mouth free to breathe. Below, a pool of essential oils distilled from Wildland jasmine wafted upward, nourishing the mind.

    "That goes without saying." Gwen allowed her neck to relax as the masseuse worked on her legs, starting with her rather sensitive toes. "Still, to think all of this began with an Eland Core. I wonder if I''ve paid it off by now, do you recall how high the auction had gotten? Five thousand?"

    "Ten thousand," Mayuree remarked. "But you''ve done so much more for us."

    Close but no Cigar, Gwen corrected her friend silently. She was starting to pick up little pieces where Mayuree''s memories lapsed, not unlike herself when it came to alter-Gwen''s childhood. From what Walken discerned, Mayuree was glamoured under something akin to the tier 5 Hypnotic Suggestion or the more invasive tier 6 Implant Agenda. Both spells sealed away certain aspects of the victim''s ego, while the latter operated as a trigger, forcing the victim to enact a particular action when a condition was met.

    "According to Irene, spells like Dominate Mind havea fatal flaw," her advisor stated after casually dismissing his encyclopaedic knowledge of Mind Magic. "The controlled target tends to draw knowledge subconsciously and without the benefit of context or subtlety. They can blurt out long-held secrets in the presence of the wrong party, or reveal knowledge of themselves otherwise kept sacred."

    And so, from Gwen''s subtle goading of Mayuree in recounting their good times at Fudan, she was beginning to figure out when Mayuree was and wasn''t in the driving seat.

    As for the dispelling of whatever potential enchantment holding her friend, she had two options. The first was to find a Mind Mage of equal power to Maymyint, who Walken anticipated was tier 6 at best. The second was for their resident Cleric, Eunae, to attempt a Greater Dispel Magic once they were away from the city.

    At any rate, for now, all she could do was roll the dice and move her piece the allocated number of squares.

    If there was one good that came with co-trafficking in Maymyint''s deception, it was that the team got to dip their feet in the proverbial water of Yangon River, gaining access to offices and temples.

    My?ma, as they now knew, was divided into the wealthy south and the ravaged north. In the south, the presence of Yangon and its Buddhist pagoda had pacified the region''s dangerous demi-humans for aeons, ensuring a relative prosperous human settlement.

    Up north, midway to the old royal city of Mandalay, was the abandoned city of Naypyitaw, half-built and barely populated when the Tyrant laid its claim. After that, over the next three decades, the north continued to decay, losing infrastructure even as its mining operations boomed, uncovering seam after seam of gold, gems, jade, and other precious minerals. From this cache, a portion went to the Tyrant as a tithe, while the rest was traded away to maintain the House of M''s hold on Yangon, the last seat of power of the old regime.

    As for the Tyrant itself, Gwen and co were shocked to find that the locals knew only of its existence as a sort of natural disaster. Even when she consulted with the older monks, their stories consisted only of mystical euphemisms, such as that of the hubris of Aung San, who tempted the Earthen Asura and its incessant greed, bring divine retribution.

    When she asked about operations relating to the House of M, the monks had no idea, and the labouring NoMs, mostly illiterate, struggled to understand her inquiries. But overall, the people of Mayuree''s homeland differed little to NoMs elsewhere, desiring a universal wish for shelter, food, and procreation.

    "If you mean the cherished scions of Nanmadaw Me Nu." An old abbot''s face grew kind when finally Gwen explained that she wanted to know more about Mayuree and Miss Maymyint. "Then they are our saviours. Many of us fled from the holy stupas and monasteries in the royal capital when the Tyrant came, and we would have starved to death were it not for the actions of the Matriarch and her children."

    "So, the old leader of the nation was General Aung San, three-decades ago?"

    "We do not speak of that demon." the old master sighed. "May the tempter of the Asura be returned a thousand-fold onto the eight-fold path to atone for his sins."

    When she enquired further, the old master wished her well and returned to his meditation, leaving Gwen with the distinct impression that somehow, the web of truths had gotten even more complicated.

    The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    One week later, upon the seventh morning of the student''s arrival, the contestants returned to the Secretariat to receive their Quest.

    Seoul U had by now recovered from their earlier setback. After an impressive entrance in their charcoal uniforms, the Lee brothers dipped their heads at Fudan as they passed, snubbing the others.

    Kyoto once again appeared in their traditional attires, with half the team dressed in the Miko''s scarlet hakama and ivory haori, their long ponytails tied with a red ribbon. Ichiro and Yuki both bowed their heads as Fudan took their place, with the girls waving at Gwen as she passed.

    Finally, besides Fudan stood their old rivals, Jiantong, who tensed as Fudan''s Mages looked their way. Their Captain, however, appeared far more relaxed than his peers, particularly the anxious-looking Kurou, who averted his eyes when a certain Void Sorceress looked his way.

    Upon the same dais stood their exam proctors, a team of ten Magisters and Maguses, as well as Maymyint with a group of representatives from the House of M.

    "Contestants, welcome!" Magister von Schlabrendorff once again greeted the students. "I hope that in the days since your arrival, you have gotten to know the local culture a bit better and understood its people''s needs and desires, their values, hopes and fears. Now, as you are well aware of our purpose, let us proceed to the competition itself!"

    A cautious silence descended upon the contestants as their ears strained.

    "Students, ladies and gentlemen, allow me to announce the first round of the 2004 IIUC. Your Quest comes from the House of M of My?ma, our host and sponsor. The location will be the State of Kachin, located in Northern My?ma, south of the Chinese border and north of Mandalay. In a moment, the details of your Quest will be given to you in the form of a scroll, upon which you will imprint your mana signatures as an acknowledgement of its contents."

    With the details unveiled, the students began to murmur.

    "Your team will use a Teleportation Circle to reach Mandalay, from where you shall assemble a party of five individuals to complete objectives in Kachin State while the home team completes quests around Mandalay in support of the away team."

    "As for your objective itself, the away team will proceed toward the mining township of Hpakan, an Orange Zone, famous in all of South East Asia for its production of the highest calibre of jadeite. There, each university shall be assigned a village, namely Kamaing, La War, Nanmati and Mogaung. Your objective is to resume the production of jadeite from the region, clear the area of hostile monsters, then rally the local populace to clear the roads blocked by landslides from the monsoonal rains, and to reconnect the village with the Mandalay Militia to re-secure the region."

    "During the competition, the IIUC basecamp will be located sixty kilometres Mage flight away in Hpakan with a medical facility provided by the House of M, as well as emergency Teleportation Circles for contestants wishing to quit. The total examination time for the mission is fourteen days, starting from today. CCs will be given based on your performance achieving said objectives, tallied after extensive review one week after the competition. Expect to receive your results by the end of August."

    The Magister allowed the moment to sink into the contestants'' heads.

    "Make sure you leave a full manifest of your carryon items with the Quarter Master. Remember, offensive Magic Items, implements, weapons, scrolls, personal vehicles and classified items not crafted by yourself are forbidden. You may keep them on your person, but you may not use them. Any transgression will result in harsh penalties and even disqualification of your whole team."

    Magister von Schlabrendorff took a deep breath, watched by forty hopeful faces.

    "Students! We of the IIUC committee look forward to your sterling performances! Step forward to affirm your consent for the daring glories ahead, and I shall look forward to seeing you all in Hpakan!"

    Gwen checked-in a list of her items after affirming her willingness to participate in the IIUC''s My?ma round. As Walken had stated, the presence of death and danger on a quest like this was par for the course.

    According to the waiver, the IIUC Committee wouldnot interfere under any circumstance to rescue the students, even if they chose to leave the competition. The rationale was that in the past, certain parties had exploited the presence of a dozen Magisters and Maguses to push forward political agendas or to clear out a stubborn region, endangering students to force the committee''s hand. Not wishing to dissolve their long-running IIUC, nor willing to be wielded by scheming individuals, the Brussels Committee resolved to introduce an unreasonable but arguably understandable policy of non-interference.

    The exception to the rule was that in the event of a catastrophe, a team''s Advisor could step in to aid or save the students with healing restoratives as well as scrolls utilised for escaping from danger, though that would disqualify the team.

    Fudan''s two five-person parties lacked an Enchanter-crafter, and so they carried little more than the prepared suite of defensive items, as well as a complement of antidote and healing injectors.

    Across the laneway, Gwen marvelled at the stacks of hand-written talismans carried by the Japanese team which had to be each individually verified and recorded, as well as other arcane implements akin to wands.

    To their left, Jiantong presented an allotment of enchanted swords, implements crafted by the Sword Mages for their use, as well as a stack of Fuda, Chinese magical amulets, crafted by a quiet, unassuming young man called Jiufan Chen. After activating her Detect Magic and having a sneak-peek next door, she noted with disquiet that these were Illusion and Earthen empowered talismans, likely for a misdirection formation.

    Conversely, Seoul U presented a host of utility Magitech from sleek Message Devices to Portable Habitats to Rings and Amulets for the whole team. Even their uniforms were magically enchanted.

    When finally Gwen presented her articles, the presiding Enchanter-Magus gave a start, her breathing quickening as she inspected the increasingly lavish stock of passive items. When Gwen allowed Gunther''s Contingency Ring to be examined, the woman''s eyes widened, and her mouth opened and closed a few times.

    "A Royal Asscher original?" The woman''s breath caught in her throat. "From an E-Evil Eye''s optic Core?"

    "It''s on loan from a family member." Gwen smiled at the woman, quickly withdrawing her hand. "Could you¡­"

    "Of course." The female Magus promptly finished her inventory check. "Please keep safe, young Miss. There''s not many of those left in the world. Every stone spent is one less treasure that will grace the Mageocracy with its beauty."

    Afterwards, Gwen felt the band burning her ring finger. I should give it back to Gunther, she told herself, possessingno desire to lose the GDP of a small city. The pressure of such a thing was too much for a girl from the Frontierto handle.

    With their items thusly declared, the students boarded the coach for the ISTC array for their transportation to Mandalay.

    First was Kyoto, then Seoul U, then Jiantong and finally, four hours later, the underdog of the competition, Fudan, waving at the lumen-recorders as the Glyphs flashed silver and white, distorting the rational rules of space and time, piercing through the Astral Realm.

    It was raining when the team arrived in Mandalay.

    The dry months had already arrived at the lowland seaside regions of the nation, but where the Himalayan range curved through the north of Burma, its sky-high peaks blocked all access to the traversing clouds pregnant with lowland moisture, extending the wet season well into early September even as temperatures soared to a stifling thirty-six.

    The great gusto the teams had summoned at the Secretariat was immediately dampened by the tepid air of Mandalay, submerging the students under swamp water.

    Outside the refurbished ISTC chamber, the jungle crowding the verdant royal capital dawned green and glistening from the continued monsoonal efforts, with the vigour of the city gone entirely to the vegetation. Across the central business block where the old colonial buildings smouldered with mildew, the buildings glowered; here and there, mud was knee-deep, growing grasses higher than sugarcane. This deep in the Green Zone, the district felt abandoned even as it bustled with monks and labourers moving to and fro, some braving the rain, others hiding under roofs cross-thatched with banana leaves.

    Improbably young and bald, a group of monks greeted the contestants as they arrived, emerging from the rain, drenched from head to toe in twos and threes. Behind them were children, almost all barefooted, splashing through the mud to catch a glimpse of the newly arrived Mages from "Big Town" outside the country''s borders. To Gwen, they appeared as beautiful and happy children, skinny and caramel, with gleaming white teeth yet to be stained by betel-nut tea.

    Once the team relocated to an assembly point, they huddled to plot their next step.

    "From here, you''re all alone." Walken activated some imperceptible magic to manage his impeccable hair and beard, now fraying thanks to the excess moisture. "Considering the nature of the quest ahead, your Captain Bai will explain."

    "Alright, everyone." Tei took a deep breath. "On the surface; it looks like we have two tasks. The first is to send out an away team to reach our assigned village- La War - as soon as possible to assess the situation. The second is for a home team to organise a local force to begin pushing northward to meet the first team in a fortnight. I think we can safely assume that our proctors will assess our ability to get as much accomplished in two weeks as possible. Gwen, can you explain the team makeup and our projected activities?"

    "Pertaining to necessary talents, I will lead the away team, consisting of me, Anita, Richard, Lulan and Mayuree," Gwen explained. "I have full confidence that in a mountainous region like Kachin state, there will be no shortage of landslides due to the monsoonal rain. Assuming this is what the examiners have planned, we are essentially engaging in search and rescue missions, combining area defence with disaster relief. Anita and Lulan are both well versed in Stone Shape and Transmute Earth, essential for maintaining the safety of our assigned settlement. Richard''s ability to shift large volumes of water¡­"

    Gwen pointed at the bucketing rain.

    "¡­ will be essential in anything that we do. Mayuree will be able to locate missing persons, serve as a relay for our Messages, and detect allies and enemies through the dense jungle. As for myself, I should be able to handle most creatures in the Orange Zone, as well as any of our competitors. If nothing else, I doubt anything can catch up with my vomit-inducing Dimension Doors."

    Her teammates shared a few nervous chuckles, lacking her natural confidence. Kitty, Gwen noted, stared intently at the floor. The girl had been avoiding her as always, only sticking to Mayuree whenever the two could be alone.

    As for the mission, Gwen''s confidence was founded on old world headlines. Owing partly to the clarifying power of her Ioun Stone and partly due to her essence-altered powers of recall, she remembered that Kachin State had been famous for all the wrong reasons in her old world.

    Kachin was the hotbed of horrors that formentedthe Kachin Civil War, begotten by the British when they erased the old border between My?ma and the traditional land of the Kachin-Jinpo people. For decades after the pullout of the Empire, the people of Kachin demanded independence, only to be met with brutal massacres orchestrated by the Burmese Junta. As late as 2015, she recalled that Kachin suffered from an inundation of yearly rain, exacerbated by the poorly planned mines dotting the mountains like hornet hives. Knowing the House of M''s appetite for profit, it was entirely possible that "Corporate" had left the local villages to fend for themselves while the company''s miners drew back into Mandalay.

    According to their proctor''s documents, Kachin was an Orange Zone partly because the local Demi-human tribes had long-resisted the rule of the My?man government, and that they should beware of the complex web of alliances between each village. As for Mandalay, the old royal capital was the last outpost of true human civilisation before the young Mages stepped foot into the Wildlands.

    "Thank you, Gwen," Tei continued where she left off. "Meanwhile, me, Rene, Jiro, Kitty and Eunae will be organising a supply train with the locals to leave in one week. Assuming Gwen''s hypothesis of what lies in store is correct, we will be able to maximise our CCs if our supply can supplement your rescue efforts, or at least shorten the time it takes to produce visible results."

    "That rain is going to be a problem." Richard raised his hand. "Lea says it''s going to continue to pour like this every few hours, day and night. I can keep us dry, but it''s going to waste unnecessary mana."

    "Let''s get changed then." Gwen pulled at her sundress, its sheer fabric already clinging like a second skin. She glared miserably at the rain, yearning for the American-made body-armour Jun had brought to Huangshan. "I guess it''s going to be soggy skin-suits all the way..."

 Chapter 253 - Small Mercies

    After her trip in Singapore, Gwen knew that traversing through a sub-tropical jungle wasn''t going to happen without permanent protection. There were bugs- and there were bugs, then there were parasitical carnivorous plants, barbed roots, spiked fruits, flesh-eating flowers and predatory fauna.

    But torrential rain was new.

    In Australia, flood and fire reigned, but the precipitation wasn''t ten-thousand Calibans in a chorus of "Shaaa!" for hours on end.

    "I don''t think flying in this weather is going to be very practical," Gwen grumbled as she walked into the pouring rain to test her gear. Immediately, her combat mesh sagged, her potion pouches drowned, and her Chinese-made water-repelling combat boots grew sodden. "I think we could swim there¡­"

    "I feel unwell." Jiro raised his hand, his fire element reacting badly to the moisture.

    "Yep, glad we''re staying behind to organise the supply train." Rene shuddered as she watched the swell of water stream through the street.

    Earlier, the team had taken a tour through the city to gain their bearings, taking in what they could of the old Royal Capital. Historically, it was originally constructed by King Mindon, the last pre-colonial ruler of old My?ma before a civil war incited by the British Mageocracy looted its riches. When the deposed royal household attempted to reclaim the ancient capital in 1967, the Tyrant routed their army. Then in 1973, the city was sacked anew, with the Tyrant ravaging the jadeite-encrusted Kyauk Taw Gyi Pagoda and looting the Jade Pillar.

    As the ancient capital now stood, the administrative district was surrounded by a moat, while individual stupas of varying sizes acted as Shielding Stations, warding away the magical beasts and creatures that lurked in the jungle and the city''s many canals. What was once a vibrant capital of a million souls now wasted away amidst an emerald sea awash with flora, with barely two hundred thousand of its inhabitants remaining; all of whom serviced the mineral and gem trade that lied at the heart of My?ma''s wealth.

    Whoom! A low rumble passed overhead.

    "There''s Seoul U." Mayuree was the first to note their mana signature.

    Fudan''s contestants looked up to see five Mages travelling in a wedge formation, parting the cascading rain with water-repelling cloaks, making a ghastly racket as their Captain ploughed through the deluge.

    "Looks like they got crystals to burn." Richard raised a brow. "I wonder if there are CC penalties for spending more crystals than one would otherwise earn in a quest."

    "There''s not a problem as far as I know." Wry smiles echoed Tei''s reply. "Brute force is one way to do it, though they''ll be visible for kilometres, not to mention they might anger whatever''s living below."

    "I wonder how the others are getting to their villages," Gwen said.

    "We''ll find out soon. Our assigned settlements are less than ten to twenty kilometres apart. Don''t forget to watch out for our Korean friends, last year they herded all their monsters into our district," Tei warned the away team. "They lost CCs, but we failed our objective."

    "Gotcha, I''ll keep an eye out." Gwen wondered if the Lees held fresh grudges or liked revenge served cold.

    "Alright, then." Richard eyed the rain. "Stay close for now. Lea will divert the flow of water. Let''s hope this rain stops before my mana drops."

    "Hold up!" Something clicked in her head. "Ariel!"

    "EEE!" Ariel appeared in the rain. As expected, its fish-scale fur was hydrophobic.

    "Ah-ha!" she exulted, recalling that Dragon Carps swam through air and water alike.

    The others formed up behind.

    "Gwen, everyone, safe travels." Walken nodded at the students.

    "We''ll be waiting." Gwen bowed her head. "Eunae, Kitty, everyone. Take care!"

    "Don''t let a hair on Mia''s head get damaged!" Kitty bristled. "Promise!"

    "I promise!" Gwen replied, though her eyes landed on Eunae, who together with Walken, returned a subtle nod.

    With Ariel leading the teardrop slipstream, the Fudan party formed into a bizarre train, blasting through the water like a slick comet.

    While serving as the locomotive''s engine, Gwen envisioned lashing together eight of her bloodhounds, Caliban, and a phosphorescent Ariel, thinking oh fun it it is to ride an eight hound Kirin-sleigh.

    Trailing behind, the rest of the party observed the urban sprawl dwindle into reclaimed nature, beyond which were five hundred kilometres of Wildland as the reindeer flew.

    To the traveller''s left, the Irrawaddy River roared brown and turbulent through the landscape, making up-stream travel impossible. In the distance sat the Arakan mountains, forming the border with Bangladesh, its vast catchment pouring south toward the Bay of Bengal.

    The party had clocked about two hours of monotony when they spotted their first place of respite, Pan Kone, a mining-cum-fishing village. This far north, human settlements fed off the river''s riches, with its NoMs panning for gold and gems cascading from the Arakan basin into the lowland.

    "Pitstop," Gwen communicated through the Silent Messages provided by Mayuree''s presence. When flying, the buffeting wind and streaming water ensured that oral communication was all but impossible.

    As one, the team descended.

    The village consisted of a few hundred huts made from thatch and wood, resting on stilts that lifted buildings some two meters from the ground to avoid the inevitable flood. In the centre of the village, on the highest point of a hill, stood the communal hut, a brick and mortar building on concrete foundations.

    "Hail." Lulan raised both hands as they landed on the decking. "Can we dry ourselves here? We''re international students from Fudan University on a quest to aid Kachin deal with the monsoon."

    An old abbot waved back.

    "Come in," he offered with nonchalance. "The guest area is readied for your arrival."

    Gwen inspected the interior for signs of the others, herself grateful to be out of the downpour. "Have the others arrived before us?"

    "The Japanese arrived an hour ago." The venerable priest nodded benevolently, revealing darkly stained teeth. "Though they left shortly after."

    "Old Master, what''s the rain like this season?" Gwen wrung the water from her hair. "How are things in Kachin? I bet it''s hard to keep up an insurrection when you can''t even keep your sandals dry."

    "Ho, you claim to know Kachin''s troubles, young Miss?" The abbot appeared startled by Gwen''s audacious claim.

    "I know there are dissenters up north," Gwen teased the abbot for answers. Though she had no evidence, a hypothesis had been fermenting in her mind ever since she saw the devastation at Mandalay.

    "It''s true, the wet season isn''t good for fighting," the monk returned. "Worry not Miss. What is your quest in Kachin State?"

    "To re-open the transport routes for the mines." Gwen drew a line with her fingers. "Can you tell me about the roads? How bad are they?"

    "The last shipment was four days ago," the abbot said.

    "How do you know so much about Kachin?" Mayuree asked innocently. "Even I don''t know anything about it."

    "It''s not hard to imagine." Gwen coughed, masking her white lie. "I mean, mud, rain, mountains, mines and roads in a third-world country, what else could happen?"

    "My country is not... whatever that means!" Mayuree pouted. "We''re reclaiming our Frontier."

    "Haha." she laughed, noting that some of Mayuree''s habits were starting to return. If and when they met up with Eunae''s party, she would have the girl step into a dispelling mandala. Her advisor had stipulated that so long as it didn''t impact their quest, there should be no dramas with the proctors. When she had disputed the delay, Walken riposted with a Chinese proverb: don''t hit the grass carelessly and frighten away the snake.

    "Master Abbot, have many lost their lives this season?"

    "Too many." The monk grew solemn. "The mines grow hungry for lives. But the Kachin''s jadeite has gotten purer and more brilliant as well. Tempting those who dream of moving to the southern city."

    "How about the Tyrant, old sir?" Gwen continued. "The Arakan mountains are only a day away by Flight."

    At the mention of the Tyrant''s proximity, Mayuree visibly flinched, her complexion instantly blanching. Gwen reached out and patted her friend''s hand assuringly.

    "We haven''t seen Lord Naga return to these waters for a long time," he affirmed Gwen''s expectations with words distinctly different to the ones used by the abbot in Yangon. "One begins to wonder if he has forgotten his Buddha-given duty to tame the river."

    "Hold on," Richard cut in. "Are you saying the Tyrant is a water-based Naga? Isn''t it an earthen beast?"

    "Lord Naga is the land; its body is the river, its claws are the mountain''s horns, the whiskers are the great trees crowning the peaks." The monk stiffened. "Being a thing of the world, who may tell what form Lord Naga favours? Take your rest, strangers from another land, I shall leave you now."

    With that, the abbot bowed, then left the team to nurse their tea.

    The party members regarded one another.

    "Old man''s got a temper." Richard scratched his head. "I suppose with a place like this. It''s easier to believe the Tyrant an angry deity than a greedy lizard. That way, they can swallow the fact that half of their country is buried and gone."

    "I was going to ask about Aung San, actually," Gwen remarked. "Back in Yangon, they told me that it was Aung San that initiated trades with the Tyrant. I can''t help but feel there''s something we''re overlooking."

    "General Aung San is the reason the Tyrant took the north," Mayuree repeated an oft-heard platitude Gwen had been told a thousand times in Yangon.

    Aung San, Gwen mulled the name over and over.

    Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

    In her old world, Aung San was the man who brought independence to Burma, alternatingly playing the Japanese and the British against each other while fermenting a socialist force for the liberation of his nation. Ironically receiving the Order of the Rising Sun from Emperor Hirohito, Aung San then betrayed his Japanese allies by leading a joint-taskforce of Communist and British forces to repel the occupation. Unfortunately, his victory drew ire from the British, the Communists and the Japanese, and so the Major General perished- after which martial law befell Burma.

    In this world, "General Aung San" was a man whose struggle was futile. Informed by hindsight from her old world, she could see how the Commonwealth''s Tower system would have dissolved Aung San''s desire for true independence. For a nation to succeed in this world, how can they refuse Shielding Stations, Towers, ISTC Arrays, and publically funded Spellcraft schools?

    To her, the geopolitics of Mia''s home was the real puzzle.

    Though Mayuree''s House of M hailed from the old kingdom, their rule had been usurped by the British Mageocracy. Meanwhile, Aung San fought the Mageocracy, not only from the British but from the old imperials as well. Then, between the British Mageocracy pulling out in the mid-1950s and General Aung San''s contact with the Tyrant in the early 1970s, Burma lost its northern cities and provinces, including the Jade Pillar, excavated by the pre-exile House of M.

    The Pillar''s loss is an important distinction, for if the materials were present and the host nation could subsidise the expense, the Mageocracy would have fast-tracked the installation of the Mandalay Tower. Had Burma kept the Jade Pillar, Henry Kilroy might have graced his presence in Yangon or Mandalay. Which then left her with a million-HDM question.

    Had Aung San brokered a deal with the Tyrant? If so, that''s a Bingo.

    It could explain why citizens in Yangon, atypically a British stronghold and the jewel of the old colony, denounced Aung San and believed the Tyrant their greatest obstacle to rebuilding, and also explain why the north looked like an abandoned stepchild.

    When she excitedly explained this to Walken, her advisor had told her that indeed, her hypothesis showed a political acumen that would have impressed even a senior scholar at London''s Imperial College.

    "But your goal here is to gain more CCs than Seoul, Kyoto, and Jiantong- so Gwen, can you focus on what''s at hand? Please don''t accidentally liberate an Indochinese nation while you''re questing. My heart isn''t as frail as Henry''s, but it''s not robust by any means."

    "But¡ª"

    "Give it a decade or three, when you have a Tower of your own, you can fly it down to Naypyitaw and declare it a new Protectorate, but for now, keep yourself safe, and keep your hands out of someone else''s internal politics."

    Walken''s wisdom had been enough to stifle her fancies, though when they arrived at the ruined capital of Mandalay, she couldn''t help but observe that the city''s disrepair was intentional. From the fact that the people here seemed utterly unfazed by the "Tyrant" flying down to raze the town with dragon fire, it was evident that an invasion was the least of their concerns.

    Moreover, if she went by the cardinal rule of ''he who benefits'', it was evident that the House of M reaped the highest profits out of the current situation.

    But why would the House of M risk Mayuree and Gwen''s prophesy? Why break the status quo? She didn''t know, and for someone who liked their accounts balanced, not knowing was worse than constipation.

    Then just like that, the rain stopped, the sun emerged, and humidity became an unbearable slick.

    "Let''s get a move on!" Richard ushered the party outside.

    "Buffing up." Anita concentrated for a moment, then cast her Abjuration magic. "Crystalline Armour! Enhance Ability!"

    "Right, let''s make haste," Gwen affirmed the team''s desire to trade speed for sight-seeing encounters.

    Allowing her thoughts to slide, she lifted into the air, holding onto Mayuree, followed closely by Lulan, then Richard and Anita picking up the rear.

    "Let me know when you''ve reached maximum velocity." Gwen made sure the others were watching before vocalising her next words. "I feel the NEED¡ª."

    "What do you need?" Lulan replied faithfully, her eyes twinkling. "I''ll do anything."

    "¡­ for¡ª" Gwen choked. "Nevermind. Let''s go."

    "Gwen! Slow down; look there!"

    Below, glaringly visible, was a dark brown gash in the landscape.

    A landslide! Gwen exalted guiltily, glad to be right but feeling downright bastardly to be happy that her foresight came true.

    "I don''t think this one is under our jurisdiction," Anita commented.

    "Hard to say, but this IS Kachin State, and our objective is to ''complete objectives in Kachin State'' and ''rally the locals''." Richard threw in his two cents. "Take a look?"

    "Lowering altitude." Gwen made the call as team leader, simultaneously materialising her Invisible Familiar. "Ariel!"

    As they approached, the scene of the devastation became explicit. Two dozen wooden huts among a hundred or so spread alongside a stream had been buried under a mass of earth. From every other interval, a branch or the upturned roots of an enormous Padauk or Banyan demonstrated the unstoppable force of savage nature.

    When the Mages had gotten close enough, several figures stirred from the mud, and dozens more emerged from huts yet to be submerged.

    "Mia, stay behind me." Gwen grew conscious of the crystalline armour surrounding her torso, making her appear decisively aggressive. "Anita, can you suppress the armour for now? I''ll be fine."

    Their defender performed as her leader requested.

    "Hail, we''re Mages from Shanghai, and we''re here to help," Gwen declared with a blast from her Clarion Call. "When did this happen?"

    The audience below bowed their heads, then fell onto their knees into the mud.

    "Mia, what are they doing?"

    "I don''t know." Mayuree appeared perplexed as well.

    "Looks like they''re kowtowing," Richard remarked drily. "Are these the indigenous people of Chin State that we''ve heard about?"

    "Gwen!" Mayuree suddenly stopped. "I don''t think some of them are human! Mana signatures indicate some of them have Cores!"

    The team tensed. Besides Richard, Lea sprung into being.

    "Raise your faces!" Gwen commanded, hoping her Ioun Stone worked on Demi-humans as advertised. She could see that the villagers had been trying to dig out their neighbours, but it would appear the loss of the village hall also meant the loss of relevant tools, as well as the local shaman.

    "I don''t know about this." Anita readied a barrier. "We''re not here to save Demi-humans."

    Lulan kept a Heart Seeking Sword simmering at the edge of her lips, paralleling Anita''s conjecture.

    The leading figure pulled back a ragged, mud-strewn cowl to reveal a young man''s face. It was human enough, Gwen acknowledged- until she saw his single-slit eyes, that and subtle scales covering his chin and neck where a human would grow a beard.

    "Wow." Richard whistled. "Serpent-folk, never seen those before."

    "Cannibals," Anita spat. "We read about them in the Bestiary."

    "Hold your positions," Gwen snapped. "Richard, get Lea to cover me. You guys stay here. Ariel, with me. Mia, use Comprehend Language and translate for me if they don''t speak the local tongue."

    As her team took up positions, Gwen descended.

    "What''s happened?" She arrived a few inches from the mud. "Is this your village?"

    "It ith," the serpent man spoke with, as expected, an occasional lisp. "The Land God is angry with us, not enough tribute, dethtroy village, many deaths. Please help us, great Mithtriss. Though I fear we have nothing to offer but prayerth for your good health."

    By now the others had also removed their cowls, evidently used to ward off the water. Almost immediately, like many a scene from a disaster flick, the survivors congregated toward hope, no matter how feeble or futile. From where she hovered, it was evident that most of them were human, or human-enough, as it were, to pass unnoticed in Mandalay. Only a few, like the young man, possessed enough reptilian features to be Demi-Humans, potentially a sign of the Tyrant''s Essence permeating the land.

    "Gwen, we don''t have time to spare." Anita''s voice came through Mayuree''s routed Message service, calmer now that most of the citizens appeared to be indigenous NoMs. "The rain will come soon."

    "There are others, still buried." Another survivor, visibly the village''s alderman, glowed with hope. He lowered his head in genuflection. "Please show mercy, Mistress."

    "It''s because the rain will come that we must help," Gwen said aloud. She knew it was better that they leave right now, but she had no desire to abandon these people to wallow in desperation. "Is there anyone here who can use magic?"

    "None, Mistress Mage." The slit-eyed young man once again got on all fours, urging the others to do the same. "Our abbot has perished. The temple was buried."

    "We should go." Anita''s voice grew urgent even as the villagers despaired.

    "Alright, form up! Follow my command." Gwen''s commanding voice absolved any need for further discussion. "We''re doing what we can! Consider this practice. Lulan, I want a sloped and cantilevered wall of earth around the village''s rear from the north-east to the south-west boundary, a meter minimum to help divert the runoff toward the river. Richard and Anita- start excavating the buried huts. Drain the mud to make retaining back-fill for Lulan''s wall. Lea and Mia, you''re with me; we''re going to look for survivors."

    She landed with a plop, her boots digging ankle-deep into the squelching mud. In the next moment, her eyes blazed with emerald Essence.

    "Alright everyone, back to your huts. I am going to conjure some help."

    While Gwen usually utilised her Lightning element, her Hound Pack and Blood Hound spell retained the ability to bring forth the original conjuration.

    When six draconic-deer hounds the size of small horses materialised, the inhabitants of the unnamed village fled back into their huts, leaving only the old man and the reptilian youth to gape at the quasi-magical beasts. When furthermore a brilliant Kirin and a strange, nauseating ophidian joined the fray, the young and old cowered on the floor, muttering prayers to Buddha.

    With Mayuree''s Arcane Eye and Caliban''s life-sniffing as a guide, the dogs began to furiously overturn the loosened earth, parting sediments and boulders, splitting trees with their bites and dragging bodies from crushed homes and humpies.

    Anita began her excavation too, uncovering the shattered portions of the village, forming piles of mud that crawled across the landscape while Lulan erected coarse iron barriers from the mineral-rich earth beneath in the design that Gwen had demanded. Aided by Richard, who diverted the squelching water and wrung the moisture from the soil, the trio made quick progress in erecting a flood barrier where the village''s border met the hill''s saddle.

    When it became apparent the foreigners meant the villagers no harm, the surviving members reemerged to aid with the effort, moving piles of debris and dragging the bodies of the deceased away so that they could be recognised.

    "Gwen, over here!" Mayuree called out suddenly, her eyes alive with excitement. "There''s someone alive! We need to hurry!"

    Gwen''s hounds furiously went to work, tearing through the earth while Lea helped with the shifting soil until they uncovered the mud-brick foundations of a basement. Taking advantage of her liquid state, Lea squeezed into the gap between the crumbling brickwork and retrieved, after a blow from Gwen''s alpha hound, two children and their mud-clad, asphyxiated mother.

    "Cao!" Anita inspected the mother, having had some experience in the military. "We''re too late."

    The children, wild-eyed and disorientated, burst into tears at the sight of monsters dragging their mother''s body.

    As for Gwen, she knelt into the mud and performed her own inspection. The woman''s skin was warm to the touch despite the hypothermia, from Caliban. she noted a mote of vitality remained.

    With a word, she dispelled her Crystalline Mage Armour and un-clicked her combat mesh, then knelt to place two hands on the woman''s chest. After three dozen compressions aided by her enhanced strength, she pulled the mother''s head back and delivered two lungfuls of air. When after two repetitions the woman failed to revive, she materialised a potion injector and stabbed the woman just under her breasts.

    Then, with renewed vigour, she pounded at the mother''s heart, pushed with both hands for another thirty compressions, and began the rescue-breaths anew.

    "What''s she doing?" Richard grew as puzzled as the rest of the team.

    The villagers likewise gathered to watch the strange spectacle, drawing the children away from the peculiar Mage and most importantly, her Asura monstrosities.

    Ignoring hundred-odd pairs of eyes, Gwen felt for the woman''s pulse again.

    "SHIT!" She cursed. Anita was right, if they had been a little faster, or if she had not bothered with conserving her combat potential and conjured her Void-dogs or empowered Caliban-

    Unsure what else to do and willing to try anything, she gathered a mote of Almudj''s Essence on her tongue, then gave in to a moment of spontaneity. With the next compression done, she breathed her Essence, along with a life-giving breath, into the woman''s lungs.

    Wake up! The woman''s chest inflated under Gwen''s fingers. Live! Else your kids would be orphans!

    "Gasp!"

    The body underneath her suddenly shuddered.

    "NECROMANCY?!" Anita spluttered, leaping back a safe distance.

    Richard''s eyes were likewise widened in disbelief, echoing that of Lulan and Mayuree''s. The woman was dead, wasn''t she? Anita had said so. How could Gwen bring the dead back to life by breathing into them and pounding at their chest? Was this a new form of Raise Dead?

    "It''s CPR." Gwen collapsed on her buttocks, but not before turning the woman on her side. Taking a deep breath, she addressed Anita''s hypothesis. "She was near death, not dead. No one can bring back the dead like that. Lea, can you dry her out?"

    "Tell it to the walking corpse." Anita swallowed nervously. "I don''t think the others will believe this. That NoM was dead as a plank of wood. Trust me, I know. There was no breath."

    Meanwhile, the woman vomited up a mouthful of mud and silt, spraying mucous here and there.

    "She''ll be alright, but she''ll be out for a while," Gwen explained. Unlike in a movie, fever, disorientation, confusion and delirium afflicted the victim of asphyxiation. Often, there was permanent brain damage. "You there, warm her up and get her to vomit up whatever else she can."

    But the villagers weren''t listening.

    As one, they had begun a wave of willing prostration.

    "Buddha! It''s she who cures the world of dukka!" The village alderman declared loudly. "All hail the incarnation of Lord Bhai?ajyaguru!"

    "¡­"

    Gwen lifted a mud-clad hand to refute the claim. She was six-foot in a skin-tight bodysuit half-covered with mud, with only her soiled face showing, not to mention she had a full head of hair tied into a bun. What part of her looked like a saffron-clad Buddha carrying a medicine gourd, sitting on a jade lotus?

    "Looks like we have a new deity on our hands." Richard laughed, happy that the villagers had become pliant, reminding himself to ask Gwen about that revival technique. "Gwen, who brings the newly dead back from the grave!"

    "Please don''t," Gwen groaned. "Mayuree, was that all you could find?"

    Mayuree nodded, shocked by what she had just witnessed.

    "Anita, Lulu, the wall?"

    "It''s finished." Anita bowed her head reverently.

    Lulan gushed in full agreement.

    "Righto." Gwen got to her feet, uncomfortable with the worshipful gazes. "We should go."

 Chapter 254 - Foul Play

    Before they left, the village alderman sent away the young man to fetch a token for the village''s saviours.

    "Please take this, Lord Bhai?ajyaguru." The two prostrated. "Should the others turn against you, show them this and our kin will know that you have saved our lives in this time of need."

    Gwen observed the jade pendant, meticulously carved with the image of a Buddha riding on a Naga of some sort. From what she could see, the quality of the jadeite was exquisite, for half of it glowed shallot-green while the other half had the richness of lamb''s fat.

    "I can''t." She shook her head, pushing it away. "It''s too precious."

    "You must." The two prostrated once more, raising the item like an offering. "The food you have left us more than makes up for this small thing. As Buddha preaches: the karma from saving one life exceeds dedicating a seven-tier stupa."

    Earlier, Gwen had also left the village a portion of her SPAM collection, some forty cans worth, together with instant ramen. Nephres'' ring was large enough to stow a pallet of canned goods. After her other mishaps involving Void-hunger, Gwen promised to live by Scarlett O''Hara''s creed.

    "Gwen, take it." Richard was shameless.

    "You saved her. You deserve it." Mayuree appraised the composite jadeite carving. "It''s the villager''s well-wishes you are receiving. The jade isn''t that precious."

    Reaching out gingerly, Gwen allowed the alderman to wrap the jade pendant around her wrist.

    "Thank you." She made a note to stow it in her ring. "Take care."

    After leaving the kowtowing villagers, Gwen once again resumed her place at the fore of the formation, equipped with a newly buffed crystalline armour. She had half a mind to give a little speech about how well they did, but her party had Necromancy on the brain.

    She did her best to explain cardiopulmonary resuscitation, but she couldn''t recall if this world had such a thing. CPR had been developed in her old world by the American Heart Association in 1956, but in a world of rejuvenation and regeneration treatments, why would Mages care for CPR? It was only her Master, who had literally and metaphorically lost a good chunk of his heart to his wife, that seemed to struggle with arrhythmia. As for the medical science passed down to the NoMs, she had no idea if somewhere across the ocean someone had gifted the life-saving technique to the masses, for no resuscitation routines had graced her first-aid classes in Blackwattle or Fudan. The last person she had performed CPR on had been Debora¡ª

    Gwen stifled a gag, suppressing the memory.

    "Gwen." It was Anita who Messaged her privately. "I am glad we helped that village."

    Anita had donated some of her supply as well, her calcite encrusted heart growing soft as the children thanked them and the adults wept.

    "Don''t mention it." Gwen redoubled Ariel''s forward momentum. "Let''s hope La War''s doing better."

    By dusk, the light grew too dim to continue travelling, for the inundation of low clouds meant a dearth of stars, preventing meaningful navigation, not to mention the forest''s denizens were principally nocturnal. Though Mayuree could potentially use her Divination to steer them in the right direction, the Mages were exhausted and tired from seven hours of flight, four of which had been spent in the downpour.

    Alighting on a clearing amidst a cascade of Dancing Lights, Flare, and Illumination, the students found shelter in an alcove provided by a Banyan tree''s walled roots. Atop the indent that held their Portable Habitat, Gwen left a Faithful Hound, while around the place Mayuree placed Alarms and Anita drew crystalline Warding Glyphs.

    "We''ll leave first light, 0600," Gwen informed the others. "As for now, who can cook?"

    Richard was the only one to raise his hand.

    Gwen was a calamitous chef, and Mayuree had never cooked in her life. As for Anita and Lulan, both declined the opportunity to poison their teammates.

    "Seriously?" Richard scratched his head. "What do you guys eat if you''re adventuring alone?"

    "SPAM boiled in water," Gwen proudly boasted of her resistance to toxins. "You can dunk bread rolls in the meat water¡­"

    The team gagged, happy to let Richard work his magic.

    Anita, Richard and Lulan each had a room of their own, but for Gwen''s paranoia, Mayuree slept with her in the master bedroom. Thus enfolded in Gwen''s thousand-threaded sheets, the Diviner passed the night restlessly, quaking when Gwen wrapped a restless leg around her diminutive companion, terrifying the girl with the unsolicited invasion.

    A 0500, the party made and ate breakfast prepared by Richard, then set out once more. During the night, Gwen''s faithful hound had slain at least a dozen snakes of varying sizes drawn to the thrum of faint mana where the portal to the habitat manifested. Additionally, a family of White-Leaf Macaques, primates native to the Yunnan region, had set up above the student''s encampment, curious but wary of the invisible guardian.

    The group set out again at 0600 as planned, taking advantage of the lull in the weather. An hour and close to eighty kilometres later, the wet caught up, cutting their speed in half. Following another three hours of near-typhoon conditions, the Fudan Party finally spotted the beginnings of the plateau they would call home for the next ten days - La War.

    From above, La-War looked like any other village large enough to grace a mention on the topographic map. Sitting atop a series of hills that made up the surrounding region, its founders had taken advantage of the natural clearing formed by jutting outcrops of igneous rocks, then slashed-and-burned through the surrounding jungle to enable pebbled paths connecting the hundred-odd or so houses to an arterial roadway below the valley.

    The residences on the outskirts of the village were a composite of bamboo and banana thatch, elevated on wooden stilts, while the wealthier, larger constructs consisted of corrugated iron and concrete plasterboards in green and carmine. In the centre of the village was presumably the town''s hall, two storeys tall and painted a brilliant cerulean. All along the border of the township were thick rolls of brambles new and old, forming a formidable barrier against the local fauna.

    Below the brown and barren hill-scape of the village itself was a cascading tier of rice fields carved into the hill, twenty-deep at its very bottom, where lapping waters met a gushing stream.

    "We''re students from Fudan!" Gwen declared several times before her party alighted in the square. "We''re acting on behalf of your government''s request for aid."

    Gathered at the square, consisting of a tennis-court-sized plateau beside the hall, was the village''s longyi-attired alderman, together with a group of young women adorned with patterned thanaka. As the Mages landed, the villagers prostrated.

    "Please, there''s no need." Gwen landed in the mud with a wet, sucking sound as the soil gave way. "No! Don''t kneel! Go inside! Inside!"

    The hall''s interior consisted of a double-storey covered courtyard, then a converted loft where the Mages may rest if they chose to humble themselves, as well as what passed for a shrine paying homage to an unknown Buddha, besides which sat a nine-headed jadestone Naga.

    "Master and Mistresses." The alderman kowtowed, ignoring Gwen''s protest. "Welcome you to La War. I have readied warm meals and baths if that is what you desire."

    "That would be lovely. Your name, sir?"

    "Please call this one Shwe, Mistress."

    "Righto, Shwe. I am Gwen. This is Richard. That''s Anita, and over there is Mayuree and Lulan." Gwen decided getting to the business end of things was likely for the best. "Please tell me about the village. How big is it, how many people there are. How many work for the mines. And what''s happened so far since the monsoon started."

    The Mages took their seats in what looked like a meeting room. The alderman remained at attention, commanding the young men and women to bring towels and tea.

    "We are a village of eight hundred and seventy-two, Mistress Gwen, including the children." The alderman appeared not to know who Mayuree was, which suited Gwen just fine. "The La War jade quarry is five kilometres from here. We are an open quarry, so the rain has not given us too much trouble. About half of our people work there. Manager Mingyi lives on top of the mine itself, overseeing the operation and defending it against poachers."

    "Poachers?" Gwen raised a brow.

    "Rogue miners, Mistress." The man nodded. "They have their uses during the dry season, but when they are desperate, they will try to steal raw jade stones at night. It''s not so unusual to find a few that have slipped and lost their lives. During the wet season, many fall to their death; others drown in the pits."

    The party grimaced.

    "Any major incidents so far? Landslides or other geological incidents?"

    "We werewaiting for your esteemed arrival to clear several blockades formed by the rain, Mistress," the alderman affirmed her hypothesis. "That and we are harassed by rebels now and then, who flee into the mountains after stealing supplies."

    "Rebels?" Richard snorted. "Working for whom?"

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    "For Aung San." The alderman gave Richard a peculiar glance. "They have fortifications in the Arakan mountains, west of Kachin."

    "Ah." Gwen nodded. "What can you tell me about this Aung San?"

    "Not much, Mistress," the man said. "The General has not been seen for many years, but occasionally, we get raiding parties who disrupt our mining and raid our village."

    "What makes you think they''re Aung San''s forces?" Gwen asked. "The General hasn''t been seen since almost thirty years ago, right?"

    "Who else would attack us?" The alderman''s expression appeared offended, as though Gwen was asking if Buddha truly saves. "The Masters from Yangon haveassured us that they will keep Aung San in check, though the occasional party slips past the border patrols."

    What patrols? Gwen exchanged a look with Richard. From Mandalay to Kachin, it was nothing but jungle.

    "Mayuree, any ideas?"

    Her expatriate friend shook her head. She wasn''t privy to the Burmese operations of the House of M.

    "Thank you, alderman." Gwen turned her attention back to the old man. "Please be at ease. We will rest for a short while, then go and inspect these collapsed roads. I have a feeling there''s likely more work once we get to the mine as well."

    "Of course, Mistress. Please rest well."

    The alderman left the Mages in a hurry, leaving the girls behind as servants.

    "Hello, what''s your name?" Gwen said to one of the girls.

    "¡­" the girl quailed.

    "Ariel." Gwen conjured her secret weapon.

    "Eee!" Ariel appeared with a flash, swishing its tail adorably.

    "Aeeeee! Buddha protects!"

    "A monster! Don''t eat us!"

    "Asura!"

    The girls fled.

    "Hahaha¡­" Richard burst into laughter. "Good work. I wanted some quiet, and you''ve managed just that."

    Gwen bit her lips.

    "Don''t worry bud, it''s not you," she assured her Kirin, who looked offended.

    Meantime, the downpour continued to bucket down, drumming on the tin room with the cacophony of someone pouring a semi''s load of loose gravel.

    "Let''s dry out." Gwen produced a magic cube for dehydrating laundry. "I might take up that bath."

    "Lord Mages!" The alderman stumbled into the room, noting that only Richard sat in the middle of the converted loft. "It''s terrible! We need your aid! Where are the wo- the Mistresses?"

    "I''ll get them." Richard cocked his head at the alderman, studying the man''s panic to ensure his distress was genuine. Satisfied, he fired off a Message. "Alright, they''re coming. What''s wrong?"

    "Something''s happened to the stream!" the man blustered, spraying spittle all over Richard. "It''s gone! Just gone!"

    Gwen and the girls emerged after a few minutes in their magically laundered skin-suits, making the alderman avert his eyes.

    "Where''s it all happening?"

    "Just upstream. Please do something. Hurry!"

    Anita raised a finger to berate the bellicose old man, but Gwen interposed with a pat on the shoulder, calling Ariel to her side.

    "Should all of us go?" Mayuree asked.

    "We''re going together," Gwen affirmed.

    Upon arrival, it became evident that the alderman''s woes were well-founded, as the quickened stream that had swiftly surged only hours prior had now dwindled until it was at half. Considering the deluge that even now flowed into the canal, it was self-evident that something had blocked the stream further up, building up potential energy somewhere out of sight.

    "If this were Nantong, I would be advising we evacuate about now." Richard drew from a wealth of his experience working in construction for the past year. "My suggestion is we put up barriers and blockages to disrupt and disperse the flow."

    "Agreed." Gwen flew into the air to survey the surroundings. Under the persistent downpour, the vista of the village had the likeness of a Monet masterpiece. "Let''s have retaining barriers starting from the right bank, half a kilometre wide, diverting to the left. We need to spread the momentum of whatever is coming down over a large surface area. Lulu, what do you think?"

    "I can try putting up those diamond-shaped wave breakers like the ones in Nantong."

    "You beauty. Anita, you''re reinforcing Lulan''s obstructions with whatever you can dredge up. Richard, see how much of the silt you can flush out of that stream."

    "What about me?" Mayuree asked.

    "Stay here, let everyone know, and keep your Scry active. If you see something coming, get the hell out."

    "How about you?"

    "I am heading upstream with my dogs." Gwen did her best to disregard the water stream down her face and into her mouth. "If I can find out what''s blocking the river, maybe a wide-area Barbanginy will reduce whatever''s coming down next."

    "Alright," Richard noted the efficacy of Gwen''s task-arrangement. "Take care, and D-D back if there are Monsters."

    "Will do," Gwen said. "Mia, stay close to Richard."

    "I''ll take care of her," Richard passed his cousin a subtle acknowledgement.

    "Okay!" Mayuree nodded, looking decidedly nervous without Gwen nearby.

    "Sir Mages, the rice fields¡­" The alderman was struggling under the weight of the water pouring from the heavens, drenching his conical hat.

    "Old feller." Richard''s stood between the alderman and the girls as they set to work, with Lea forming an umbrella screen to ward away the water. "I don''t think you have time to be worrying about your fields. Not when your village could be the next thing to go. Let''s get some heads together, and I''ll tell you how to keep everyone safe."

    This time, Gwen spared no expense in deploying her resources.

    From Wikipedia and Nat-Geo documentaries, not to mention her old Geography teacher, Mr Ayres, she tried to recall what she could. There was abrasion, which pointed to damage dealt by boulders; attrition, meaning something wore out the banks; and hydraulic action, which pointed to water erosion. From the looks of the mountain stream, it was evident that some sort of collapse was inevitable as the villagers had left nature to take its course.

    As her Lightning Hounds discharged when encased in water, it was up to her Void Hounds to do the job. Compared to the non-elemental variation, the slavering netherworld mouth-on-legs were far more adept at eating through obstacles, be it trees, rocks, monsters or otherwise. Furthermore, even if they were injured, she could revitalise about half their number before her vitality ran into the red.

    As for her Familiars, she kept Ariel hovering above to ward off the rain while Caliban lurked, invisible but for the persistent drizzle.

    After passing the village''s clearing, the landscape sloped upwards. Where the water in the stream had reduced, Gwen could see the imperilled banks crumbing like waterlogged fondant, with networks of old roots exposed and torn by boulders propelled through the water. Here and there, jagged granite deposits the size of cars validated her fears.

    "Chakram!"

    Her attempt at slicing the boulders met with another expectation versus reality lesson of life. Void Chakram couldn''t be used in heavy rain. The water consumed her paper-thin disks.

    Along the way, she encountered the occasional over-ambitious mudskipper, a dozen goblin-like, fish-faced Demi-humans she couldn''t identify, a giant salamander creature that fled with surprising speed, and a ten-meter boa that tried to have a go at one of her hounds. More fortuitously, the eroded river revealed a century-old snapper-turtle that attempted to ambush her, only to be dragged out of the mud by her dogs.

    Naturally, whatever Caliban and or her dogs ensnared fed her vitality, restoring what she had expended. The snapper, in particular, had a nourishing essence. Her only regret was that without Percy, no Core had survived, leaving no tangible resource to be collected.

    After half-an-hour of leading her dogs through the slog, she reached the source of La War''s woe.

    As expected, a natural levee had formed upstream, ten-meters wide and then some, created by collated trees, leaves, mud and shifting soil catching an exposed escarpment where normally the stream cascaded freely. Thankfully, the rainfall had by now grown sparse, affording Gwen enough visibility to figure out a viable solution.

    But when her dogs scampered up the waterlogged plateau, they were met with a burst of magic¡ª

    "GRRRR! Yip!"

    CRINK!

    ¡ª followed by the distinct sound of an elementally-induced blast.

    A wave of cold permeated atop the dam. One of Gwen''s hounds had instantly expired.

    Suddenly livid and smarting with sensory feedback, Gwen hastened her ascent, rising above the barrier with a combination of Jump and Flight.

    "YOU!" she howled at the sight of a familiar face.

    "YOU?!" The face of Lee Si-won, Vice Captain to Seoul U, stared back at her. "You''re the source of those abominations?"

    But Gwen wasn''t interested in the Korean Vice Captain.

    She was gazing with trembling outrage at the sight of the frigid water sloshing atop an enormous, near-overflowing bank of ice, frozen in place so as to collate into an ever-growing pool.

    SO THAT''s why the river dried up! She immediately recalled what Tei had told her about Seoul''s favourite methodology, that winning isn''t about winning, but instead having your opponent''s fail. Had Seoul known about the landscape and the topography of the villages? Was that why they left so early from Mandalay, going so far as to burn HDMs to mitigate the rain?

    "Caliban!"

    "Ssi-bal!" Si-won swore, kicking into action without a second word. "Creeping Ice!"

    But it wasn''t Caliban who came on first, but Gwen''s hounds, yelping and yapping as they skittered across the thinly formed ice, slavering with grey goo. Si-won''s frost-laden AOE caught the first two dogs as they entered its range, freezing their paws to the water, but the remaining few skittered across the rime.

    "D-Dimension Door!" Si-won reappeared some hundred-odd meters away.

    Gwen was in no mood to see the culprit escape. She wanted to drag the man back to base camp, and pending on the bastard''s honesty, maybe even have Richard work the prick under with a Lea special.

    With a Dimension Door of her own, she and two of her dogs appeared less than a metre away, quicker than Si-won could re-orientate his bearings. A splash of tenebrous, nauseating Void-ink splattered all about them, sizzling the ground and consuming all that came into contact. Though the well-trained Acolyte immediately erected a Shield, the unexpected offensive teleport had caught him unaware, sending out a jolt of reactive mana as the defensive spells woven into the fabric activated.

    "Taser!" Gwen''s low level spells now possessed near-instantaneous activation. She lashed Si-won''s shield several times in quick succession while her dogs bit and clawed its surface, surprised that they failed to penetrate an Evoker''s shield.

    "Dimension Door!" Si-won made another desperate teleportation back to base.

    "Ariel! Ball Lightning!"

    This time, she allowed four orbs to chase down the escaping Evoker before Teleporting in herself to once again close-in with Si-won, knowing that Seoul U''s Vice Captain''s best spells were all mid-range AOEs.

    "Shield!" Si-won could do nothing as the deerhounds continued their hunt, covering the distance of a hundred meters in a matter of seconds. Meanwhile, a spider-form Caliban, Hastened and terrible, leapt from tree to tree, aiming for any lapse in his judgement.

    When he reappeared, the orbs also reached their destination, detonating with terrific force, stripping away his defences.

    "Icy Eruption!" Si-won pointed a finger some distance away.

    "Lightning Bolt!" Gwen exchanged spells with her opponent, though it seemed she wasn''t the target of Si-won''s newest assault.

    Her bolt caught the Mage in the chest, sending the man staggering backwards. To her wide-eyed surprise, he remained standing.

    THUMP! CRACK!

    The ice dam erupted with a terrific noise as a tectonic volume of half-congealed water began to shift.

    "!"

    Her Divination Sigil pinged.

    The feeling of foreshadowing she had felt since seeing the icy levee erupted. She realised with growing dread what Si-won had in store for her friends below. "Caliban, keep him occupied!"

    She Dimension Doored away from the target of her ire to inspect the damage afflicting the debris-strewn blockade. When she arrived above the Korean-made beaver dam, she could see that the ice magic holding it in place had been withdrawn and that its structural integrity was disintegrating.

    "Fuck!" she called Ariel to her side. If that morass of ice and mud picked up momentum, it would take out half the fucking village.

    But what could she do? She wasn''t a Water Mage, and so she couldn''t divert the stream. She wasn''t an Earthen Mage, and so she couldn''t erect a barrier to hold the dam. At a time like this, an artillery-Mage like herself was helpless. Against the relentless physics of the natural world, even Barbanginy was no more effective than a low-tier Bolt.

    "Shaaa!" Caliban''s cry came across her Empathic Link. It and the dogs had injured their prey, but then Si-won had disappeared; likely propelled by some defensive item to safety. She commanded her creatures to return, then made a quick calculation for the trip back to La War.

    She could at best manage two-hundred meters per Dimension Door, and she had at least fivekilometres through dense woodland to cover before she could message Mayuree.If sheaveraged five Dimension Doors per kilometre to make the exhaustive distance, it meanttwenty-five continuous casts before she was in range.

    CrinK-CRACK!

    The dam gave in to its momentum.

    The time for doubt was over.

    The Void sorceress vanished in a flash of thunder and lightning.

 Chapter 255 - Shattering the Peace

    By the twentieth Dimension Door, Gwen''s vision started to see stars.

    A forceful circulation of Almudj''s Essence brought her rebellious innards into obedience; then she flew for the next minute before activating another five instances of her short-range teleportation.

    "Mayuree!" her voice roared across the Diviner''s projected network. "There''s a mudslide incoming! You''ve got two to three minutes at best!"

    "Did you blow the blockage?" Richard''s voice came through.

    "My Divination is going off like crazy!" Mayuree informed her. "Did you do something?"

    "Not me, it''s Seoul U, they''re trying to rat-fuck us!" Her tone communicated both her anger and her urgency. "Get barriers up; we need to divert this thing. Sacrifice a portion of the village if you have to, get everyone to move up to the central hall!"

    "Alright, you heard her," Richard commanded the others. "Shwe, get a move on! Lulan, Anita, you''re with me. Mayuree, make sure everyone in the village knows!"

    "Right away!"

    Meanwhile, Gwen lifted into the air, thankful that the rain had slowed to a thankful drizzle. From her topographic vantage, she could see the movement of the debris bearing down on them merely by tracking the trees being pulled into the undertow as the massive morass of sediments roved across the old riverbed. Whatever was coming was picking up speed and momentum with all the impatience afforded by gravity, taking every advantage of the shallow topsoil.

    "Scratch that, you''ve got three minutes!"

    "Get back here!" Richard informed her. "I need your Barbanginy."

    Another half-dozen Dimension Doors later, she reappeared pale and disorientated, a hundred meters atop the now chaotic village, watching its denizens milling about like headless chooks.

    Lulan had constructed two dozen diamond-shaped breakers at the village''s eastern border, where the river flowed downhill through the rice fields. In the worst-case scenario, half of the structures should survive the incoming mudslide, though the rice field below looked to be the ultimate victim of Seoul U''s ploy. As much as Gwen loathed Si-won, it seemed mass murder wasn''t his first intention, though the avoidance of collateral damage certainly wasn''t weighing on Seoul''s morality scale.

    "What''s she doing?" Gwen asked as Richard approached, his complexion flushed from exertion.

    Behind him, Anita was excavating something at the eastern border, widening a gap in the earth.

    "Lea says there''s an underground cavern below the eastern edge," her cousin explained. "I want you to collapse the top for us so that when the flood arrives, it''ll go into the crevasse."

    "Is that safe?" Gwen baulked at the possibility of an even bigger landslide as a result of tens of thousands of tons of water and mud gushing into the hill''s midst.

    "At worst, this half of the village will sink." Richard pointed from the first hut to the tiered rice fields. "Careless hydro farming has hollowed out the limestone bedrock; we should explain to the aldermen that it was going to happen sooner or later."

    "Bloody hell," Gwen spat. Reconstruction wasn''t a responsibility with whicha team stationed for ten days could be or should be saddled. "Those bastards..."

    "Don''t lose your cool." Richard patted her on the head. "I would have recommended the same. If we too had a geographical advantage, it will take a fool not to make use of it. We''ll lose a portion of the village, but the people are safe, and rebuilding isn''t impossible."

    Gwen forcibly rescinded the impulse pressing against the inside of her skull.

    "Hmm, it''s close," Richard remarked as the puddles began to ripple chaotically.

    Indeed, the land beneath their feet was humming with energy now, sending the villagers into a blind panic. Were it not for Mayuree''s village-wide instruction to flee to the hall; the likelier outcome would have been a hundred or more rubberneckers staring at the riverbed, scratching their heads and wondering why the huts were trembling.

    "INCOMING!" Lulan leapt from one of her recently finished diamond-barriers to take a better gander. "Mao! It''s huge!"

    "I am done!" Anita likewise flew into the air; her Mage Armour covered with silt and mud. "I''ve widened the chasm. Gwen, do your worst!"

    "Wait, see how Lulu''s barriers do," Richard informed Lea to be ready to redirect the incoming tide. "If¡ª"

    CRASH!

    The wall of mud, boulders, branches and uprooted Banyans struck the mounts of earth strengthened by Lulan''s iron with a tectonic force. Under the mass of such unfathomable pressure, her diamond-shaped barriers folded like origami, eliciting a gasp of dismay from the wide-eyed Sword Mage.

    "Well, shit." Richard, who had seen the Nantong Engineers work their magic, now realised there wasfar more to engineering than met the eye. "Gwen!"

    The Void sorceress focused her latent energies, tapping all available mana from her Gate of Lightning, pumping pure power through her conduits.

    "Ariel!" she commanded her Kirin, then charged it with as much Essence as she could humanly muster without popping a cranial artery.

    In the next instant, the mudflow cleared half of Lulan''s barriers, then bore down on the village like a dark tsunami, staggering the very hill upon which La War made its home.

    Lulan blinked beside Gwen, ready to take her friend to safety should the need arise. Anita lifted herself upward so that she was out of reach of the mud-flow below. Richard meanwhile, poured his mana into Lea, emptying a pressurised deluge of streaming white-water into the crevasse Anita had made earlier.

    "Thundering Shatter!" Gwen invoked another unique spell gifted to her by Walken. An invocation designed for Air Mages but adapted by the Magister for use with the Lightning element.

    BOOM!

    Combined with the power of her Almudj''s Essence, the shattering force of the fulminating spell made the earth beneath them jump, shaking plates and clattering chopsticks, freeing spades from anchored racks.

    There was a brief lull in the noise as their ears rung with tinnitus, then an enormous gash opened across the village''s eastern escarpment, followed by thunderous rumbling as the entirety of La War''s eastern boundary began to split and part from its granite foundations.

    From above, a cascade of brown sludge, having consumed Lulan''s barriers, raced over the hill, funnelling into the river bed, quickening the collapse of the surface, engendering a crashing waterfall down through the cavern below.

    Gwen and the party retreated through the air, grim-faced and tired as dogs as the low rumble of falling earth continued unabated for several minutes, filling the gorge below with debris while up top, the overflow decimated the prized rice fields the village had tendered for decades.

    The villagers, having bornwitness to the destruction of their home, had not expected the hill itself to give way, taking with it their tiered and tiled livelihood. As the first few minutes of stunned silence passed, they burst into tears, fell to their knees, and began to weep uncontrollably.

    Their summer harvest was gone!

    For the simple folk of the mountain: food security ruled over all. As labourers and farmers, they cared not for international competitions, dragons, nor the pride of national institutions of study. With the rice fields intact, they would survive and maybe even thrive. With it gone, they would starve.

    "O, Lord Buddha have mercy¡­ have mercy!" The alderman led the village in spontaneous prayer. It was all good and well that they had survived, but what about the winter to come? There wasn''t enough time left to plant a new batch!

    As for the party from Fudan, the Mages took the lull in the action to recover some of their mana.

    Below, the landslide had gone on its merry way, diverted by Richard''s quick thinking, gone to plague whoever was downstream, ripping through Kachin''s sloped valleys with renewed vigour.

    "Is it over?" Gwen swallowed, happy at least that there wasn''t choking dust thanks to the sudden atmosphere.

    "It''s over." Richard gave her a reassuring squeeze on the arm. "Fuck me, that almost had us dead and buried."

    "Gwennie!" Lulan hugged her arm, trembling uncontrollably. For a second there, she''d imagined herself jumping at the mud, cleaving it apart with her sword. That would have been very foolish, and short-lived attempt at being useful.

    "Cao!" Anita was covered from head to toe with cold sweat, drenching her skin-suit. "Mao''s tomb, my whole body hurts, and I am not even injured."

    "Is everyone alright?" Mayuree rejoined the party. "The villagers are accounted for, but¡­"

    "If everyone''s alive, that''s good enough for now," Gwen answered pragmatically, sensing a new ire rise in her chest. "Let''s settle things with the village; then we''ll discuss Seoul U."

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    After almost an hour wasted assuring the alderman that help wouldarrive in ten days in the form of food, supplies and Mages, the villager''s worst fears werelaid to rest. Seizing the opportunity, Gwen then willed a mote of Essence into her being and pacified the crowd by stating that the great sacrifice of rice hadnow placated the mountain spirits.

    To further hearten the peasants that they would be alright, Gwen deposited a hundred HDMs into an urn which she then gifted to the alderman for his quick thinking in saving the village, instantly bringing the labourers back to their side and absolving the future drama that would have followed had the mine''s workers turned against the students. With funding, she explained, they could buy plants and equipment, not to mention rice for the winter and new rice for planting in spring. As Buddha wills, she told them, their misfortune shall herald a better tomorrow.

    "What now?" Anita brooded darkly, glancing toward the north. By the time she and Lulan had reinforced the new landscape as best as they could, it was already night. "Gwen, we can''t just let this go."

    "Of course not." Gwen sat cross-legged in a singlet and running shorts, fanning her legs with a scented banana leaf. "First thing tomorrow I am going to head toward Mogaung and contact the Kyoto team. I''ll convince them that working together against Seoul will be for the benefit of the locals, as well as each of us. For all we know, Seoul may have made a move against them as well."

    "What about Jiantong?"

    "Jiantong is an unknown. If I can get Kyoto on our side, Jiantong can either play ball or get rat-fucked by Seoul. Neither of their captains seems the trustworthy kind."

    "Ha!" Lulan puffed. "Oh, I shouldn''t laugh."

    "Laugh! Laugh all you want. We''ll have the last laugh!" Gwen growled. "I still can''t believe we almost lost the bloody village. Imagine that, our IIUC could have been over just like that."

    "You have no idea," Richard butted in with a horrifying hypothesis. "If I were Sung Lee, I wouldn''t be unleashing the mudslide in broad daylight."

    "¡­" The rest party sat with their mouths open, unable to fathom such brazen ruthlessness.

    "Those bangzi arseholes!" Anita made her opinion known.

    "Pretty sure it''s just the Lees," Gwen muttered. Indeed, the Machiavellian accomplishments of Korea''s Chaebol were legendary in her old world. For a world of magic and monsters, where those with power and influence ruled unconstrained by the rule of Law, she could only imagine what little regard the princelings possessed for the lives of several hundred third-world villagers.

    "Want me to come with?" Richard stretched, lying down so that his head rested on her thigh comfortably. He met her eyes, appeasing some of her anger. "If Jiro was here, he could probably build some rapport for you with their Kotodama guy."

    "Ichiro?"

    "That''s the one." Richard closed his eyes to rest. "We shouldn''t remain only on defence though. Maybe a little offensive of our own? Slaughtering each other''s villagers will likely fail the quest outright. I think Seoul was trying to instigate a little ''accident'', something like unforeseen collateral damage. Which means we could likewise prevent their progress, so long as the villagers are safe. Didn''t you say Ariel could speak to Wildland beasts?"

    "They sort of pantomime while I guess the content, its charades all the way," Gwen confessed.

    "Remember that hordeof monkeys we saw? The one waving at us and throwing fruit?"

    "Richard, that wasn''t fruit-"

    "Well, their diet must be high in fruit-fibre. I reckon you have something they''d want."

    "Such as?"

    Richard grinned. "Assuming these are Leaf-Macaques, they won''t be able to resist a good bottle of booze."

    "Ah¡­" Gwen realised what Richard was getting at. If she could utilise the Milu, why not some other local fauna? "That''s evil."

    "Good people get cheated, just as good horses get ridden," Richard appropriated a well-known Confucian proverb. "Seoul can do as they will, but I''d be shocked if they lack complete disregard for their village. Why don''t you see what you and Ariel can round up?"

    "Sounds like I''ll need navigation and detection then, Mia, can you come with?" Gwen asked, feeling safer if she could keep an eye on Mayuree.

    "Sure!" Mayuree pipped up. Following Richard''s lead, she then laid her head on Gwen''s opposite thigh. "Mmmm, comfy!"

    Lulan balled her fists, her breath quickening.

    Anita stifled a laugh, "Let''s rest up."

    The party had chosen to sleep in the converted loft of the town''s central hall. If they happened to be inside the Habitat and if another incident were to occur, it was unlikely any of them would notice until it was too late.

    For further insurance, Gwen had her Lightning Hounds on patrol, Ariel guarding up top, and the sleepless Caliban slithering below. Concurrently, Richard had Lea patrolling the stream, while Mayuree set up Alarm beacons at distanced intervals.

    Richard was the first to fall sleep, perfectly happy with his Gwen pillow, smirking at Lulan''s crestfallen expression.

    Fudan''s Vice Captain rolled her eyes, then resigned herself to a night of meaningful meditation, restoring her spent Essence in anticipation of tomorrow.

    Early the next morning, Gwen took a cold and soapy shower at the hall''s back to enliven herself, then dried off and slipped back into the taut skin-suit. Though the rain had ceased, the heavy clouds hovering here and there suggested it could turn within the hour.

    "Mia, ready?"

    Her partner for the day likewise dressed, though the quasi-magical suit fitting Mayuree had been appended with a suite of protective items from rings to amulets to bracelets.

    While Richard, Lulan and Anita worked to stabilise the village''s exterior and clear the road to the mine, she and Mayuree had several stops to make. The first was Mogaung, where Kyoto should have set up camp, followed by a heavily forested region where the party had spotted legions of quasi-magical monkeysyesterday. After the fact, she would loop through the south and make for the first of the villages, Kamaing, to suss Jiantong''s willingness for cooperation.

    With Mayuree in tow, Gwen blasted through the air at full-tilt, leaving a trail of dissipating Lightning as she raced through the mountain, threading through the gorges, shattering the peace.

    Half a kilometre from the Mogaung, Gwen halted in the air.

    There was a giant in the village.

    At first, she had thought Kyoto had brought a bloody Golem with them, but even for construction Golems, the damned thing was far too heavy. That and itlacked signs of mechatronic artifice. The automaton appeared more like a playdoh toy, a sort of brown, rotund Michelin man.

    "Ichiro! Yuki! It''s Gwen Song from Fudan; I request parley!"

    Her projected voice echoed across the valley.

    It took a minute for the Kyoto Mages to respond. When they did, it was in the form of a ponderous giant moving toward her, stomping through the jungle, parting trees with its clumsy hands. From above, the facade of the Japanese goliath almost looked cute, with a blank slate for a face, and two sunken dots for eyes.

    "Gwen-san!" Yuki appeared at the head of the doll in the literal sense, lifted from its earthen scalp.

    "Yuki-san, you''re driving that thing?" Gwen spluttered. "That''s cool bananas."

    "Haha, it''s nothing, Gwen-san. You''re too modest." Yuki bowed, as did the giant, slowly. "What do you think? My Kami''s name is Dororo-kun. He''s an Earthen Spirit, isn''t he cute?"

    "Your Spirit is a three-storey mud-man?" Gwen grew doubly impressed. "Where do you stash him?"

    Yuki giggled. "No, Gwen-san, this is a collection of all the local Kami who agreed to help!"

    "Right." Gwen gave her a thumbs up.

    "It''s true." Mayuree baulked, running a Detect Magic over the creature. "Gwen, that thing is full of Spirits! They''re tiny, but there are thousands of them!"

    "Mayuree-san, welcome." Yuki bowed again. "Please follow me. You may rest on Dororo-kun if you wish."

    Dororo lifted a giant stump of a limb, upon which Gwen and Mayuree gingerly alighted on the giant''s head.

    "Dororo''s is... alive!" Gwen placed a hand on the creature''s exterior, where an elegant bed of turf had grown. "Wow."

    "You are too kind, Gwen-san." Yuki''s attention wandered, searching for Ariel. Gwen obliged by having the Kirin materialise inches away from the Japanese Miko, eliciting an excited squeal. "Ariel-sama! I am happy you are well!"

    From the village below came the sound of cheering, which to Gwen was jarring, especially considering the lukewarm reception they had received themselves and the fact that Imperial Japan''s past atrocities had burned so vividly in the minds of those living in Yangon.

    When they alighted from the giant, Gwen finally grasped just how massive Dororo-kun truly was. It was as though a townhouse was moving through the landscape, yet where it''s bridge-breamed sized feet landed, the ground did not deform. Instead, every step seems to invoke spurts of natural growth, germinating grass and mushrooms.

    Awaiting for them below was three moreof Yuki''s religiously attired compatriots and Ichiro.

    "Gwen-san." Ichiro went through the motions. "Ariel-sama."

    "Eee!"

    "Of course, Ariel-sama." The Mages produced crystals for Ariel, making Gwen decidedly embarrassed, like a mother whose child had been caught begging for lollies. Beside them, Ariel''s HDM treats caused the NoMs to gape with jealousy.

    "Masahiro-san, Yamato-san, Hiroki-san, well met." Gwen nodded. "Ichiro-san, its good to see you again as well. I am here today to talk to you about Seoul U."

    "Ah." Ichiro passed a glance back and forth with Yuki. "Did you manage to stop their man-made landslide?"

    "You knew?" Gwen raised a brow.

    "Why didn''t you stop them!" Mayuree reflexively accused their opponents.

    "Mia, shush," Gwen chided her Diviner. "Why would Kyoto stop Seoul''s ploy against us? It''s not like they owe us anything."

    "I was sure you would figure something out, Gwen-san." Ichiro was starting to remind Gwen of Walken in some ways. Maybe it was their aura or that semi-rigid smile that they both wore. Richard had said that Ichiro was the brain of the operation and he should be the one she should win over.

    "We did, and everyone''s safe," Gwen affirmed the man''s mocking confidence. "How about your side?"

    "Dororo-kun took care of it." Yuki nodded toward her conjured Familiar, assuming it could be regarded as such. "The spirits forewarned us, and we were able to chase off their Captain before he could collapse the horn of the mountain."

    Gwen looked up to see that Kyoto''s village was sheltered under an igneous protrusion, likely a large slab of granite, the sort that was prone to having segments flake off in the event of seismic activity. For a well-trained Magma Mage, it wasn''t impossible to manifest a controlled, but malicious catastrophe.

    Now that dozens of villagers had emerged to ogle the friendly Ariel, Gwen couldn''t help but notice that thenumber of Demi-humans far exceeded La War, which had been entirely human but for a few with the occasional hint of reptile. Here, at least half of the villagers showed some sign of adaptation to the mana and essence-rich environment.

    "The Spirits are abundant where the ley-lines meet." Yuki noticed her wandering eyes. "We do not mind. Transgenesis is common in Kyoto. The old Capital is a cosmopolitan city, unlike Tokyo, or your Shanghai."

    "I see." Gwen could only guess at what "transgenesis" meant. Instead, she moved to push forward her case for cooperation. "Yuki-san, Ichiro-san, I would like to propose a temporary alliance between the two of our academies against Seoul University, are you willing to hear me out?"

    "Had we not offered back in Yangoon?" Ichiro answered in Yuki''s place. "Kyoto will not lose to anyone, but we do not like the methods used by the citizens of our old colony."

    Sung Lee might murder you for that comment, Gwen though, masking her immediate dismay. "Good. I am sure that you''re all aware that our objective is less mutual sabotage, and more so to do with the delivery of supplies to the villages, the securing of the local district, and the re-opening of the mines. There''s that, and the welfare of the local populace."

    "Agreed." Ichiro studied Gwen''s face. "That is also how we like to do things."

    "Shall we agree then to a non-aggression defence pact? I shall speak to Jiantong as well, although I don''t believe they will be very pliable."

    "Gwen-san," Ichiro halted her proposal.

    "Ichiro-san?"

    "What makes you think we may not ask you to remain a guest here?" Ichiro said suddenly. "Wouldn''t that assure our victory?"

    "Ichiro-kun!" Yuki snapped at her Vice Captain. "Ariel-sama will not allow such a thing!"

    Mayuree sidled closer to Gwen.

    "You could try." Gwen smirked, squaring her composure while she bluffed. "On the other hand, Caliban''s out and about, hungry as always. It would be a shame if a terrible misunderstanding occurred. In my haste to escape, it could get nasty."

    "I jest." Ichiro nodded agreeably, satisfied with her answer. "For Yuki-sama''s sake, we will trust you, for liars and those with evil hearts are anathema to a celestial Kami."

    "Sure." Gwen met the man''s gaze head-on. "Once our villages are safe, and our routes clear, we can settle matters amongst ourselves. Who has done more for their hamlet, improved the local conditions and produced the most jadeite- Let''s have a match exactly as the Chief Proctor intended."

 Chapter 256 - Riposte

    That Ichiro alone accompanied Gwen while Yuki and the others stayed behind hinted to her that perhaps, Dororo-kun''s maintenance wasn''t so easily sustainable. Juxtaposing the Imperial Metric System, Kyoto''s native sorcery was an eye-opening integration of Western spellcraft into a system of magic that operated on an entirely different resource - in this case, Kami, or the Spirits of the land.

    When she questioned Ichiro on the matter, the lanky young man carefully volunteered that in Kyoto, the practice of Onmy¨­d¨­, the Path of Yin and Yang, had ruled the Japanese psyche for aeons. Rather than separating from the natural world, Mikos, Onmyoji, and the Yamabushi, esoteric ascetics of the Ya-o-Yorozu no D¨­, the way of eight million gods, chose to live among their Demi-human kin. Though initially a contentious divide that sowed tensions between Kyoto and Tokyo, the rise of the Grey Faction in the Mageocracy eventually saw Kyoto''s philosophy as an exemplar of peaceful co-existence.

    "I would love to visit one day." Gwen tried to imagine a city full of crow-men and cat-girls, with the latter proving to be a sure hit with a particular demographic of visitors.

    "And you are welcome to, Gwen-san," Ichiro smoothly answered. "We shall be expecting you. In spring, the Sakura of Gion is in full bloom, while the mermaids sing and strum the shamisen; held aloft by lanterns in a floating world."

    "Wow..." Mayuree cooed. "How wonderful."

    Dreaming of a mystic Kyoto, Gwen and her party moved toward their next objective, what Ichiro termed "Sarugami Hill" - the domain of the monkey king.

    "Gwen-san." Ichiro''s tone was cautiously optimistic. "In Nagano, the Saru-Kami has its domain in Jogokudani. In my experience, they are proud, chaotic and unruly. How do you hope to tame them and bend them to your cause?"

    "I have Ariel." Gwen patted her pseudo-Kirin, eliciting a purr. "I''ve got plenty of food in my ring, as well as a cache of special sauce."

    "Special¡­ sauce?" Ichiro tasted the words, hoping the synaesthesia would provide a clue.

    "You''ll see."

    The trio took almost an hour before Mayuree indicated that she could sense a dense clump of creatures somewhere to their south. As the rain waned, Gwen recognised the landscape for the one which they had passed along the way.

    "Ariel, go and parley." Gwen graced her Familiar with a generous dose of Essence, eliciting a curious glance from the Shugenja. "Bring me their leader."

    "The Saru-Kami are more willful than you think," Ichiro warned her. "Will Ariel-sama be safe?"

    "Sure." Gwen nodded. At worst, a burst of Dragon-fear should bring the monkeys to order, or scatter them.

    Several minutes later, a great hoot went up from the hills, followed by the swarming of what must be ten-thousand bodies roving across the treetops. When Ariel reported that all was well, Gwen led Ichiro and Mayuree into the midst of a horde of macaques hanging from every branch of every tree.

    "EEEE!"

    "Eek eek, ook!"

    "EE, EE?"

    "Ook! Hoo hoo, Eek!"

    "EE, EE?"

    "Incredible!" Ichiro was genuinely impressed. "You can understand the language of the wild Kami?"

    Gwen lowered her eyes.

    "No need for modesty. You are truly blessed, Gwen-san."

    Jesus, she cringed. How could she confess to him now that all she heard weremonkey noises? That and Ariel only responded via vague sentiments?

    "Ook! Ook! EEEK!"

    Suddenly, the whole forest burst into clamour, forcing Ichiro and Mayuree to cover their ears.

    An enormous macaque descended from a tree, almost as tall as Gwen, with golden fur, dark, intelligent eyes and most saliently, a glaringly red ass.

    "Ook! Ook! EEK!" it began to speak.

    "What''s happening now, Gwen-san?"

    "I don''t know! I don''t understand a word they just said!" Gwen yelled back, her face flushed as a pippin. "Ariel understands, but I can''t comprehend complex thoughts."

    Ichiro appeared betrayed.

    Sighing, he formed a strange Sigil with his hands and fingers.

    "O Kami of the forest, heed the call of this humble servant. Allow your wisdom to correct our imperfect speech."

    A bright spark manifested where the Yamabushi stood, growing more solid until it took on the form of a mud-monkey.

    "Ook? Ee-eek? Oo? Hoo¡­"

    Something passed between the monkey statue and the "Sarugami".

    "It says that a Mage killed its mate," Ichiro translated. "Er... ninth mate."

    "Macaques can be polygamous?" Gwen spluttered. "And he has a harem?"

    "The Boss is the Matriarch of the family¡­"

    "Oh." Gwen bowed her head toward the regal Matriarch. That the monkeys had a female monarch was pleasing to know. "What do they think of Ariel''s proposal? Are they willing to harass Nanmati village in exchange for my reward?"

    "The special sauce?" Ichiro waited to see what Gwen would produce. "She would like to taste it first."

    "Very well." Gwen stepped forward.

    She willed into being a bottle of Maotai, then unstopped the seal with a flourish, suddenly filling the space with a delicious scent of fermented sorghum.

    "OOK!" The Matriarch performed a backflip. The rest of the horde salivated.

    Richard was right. In the Bestiary, it stated that Wildland macaques were famous for brewing "Monkey Wine" from quasi-magical fruits and that their immense strength and intelligence were all in part associated with these quasi-alchemical concoctions. As such, the older the monkey, the more appreciation they had for good liquor.

    But she wasn''t done yet.

    Congealing a drop of Almudj''s emerald Essence on her fingertip, she allowed it to drip into the bottle, infusing the crystal liquid with a viridescent magnificence.

    "That''s¡­" Ichiro''s composuremelted in the face of unexpected divinity.

    "OOK! OOK!"

    Taking Gwen''s hand in its pink, hairless fingers, the "Boss" took a hearty swig from the bottle.

    "Ook! Ook! Ook!" it howled, sending out a great cacophony.

    "Five bottles," Ichiro translated, calming himself. It was impossible that the girl was a land-god. She did not study the D¨­. An ¨­kami would never possess a stranger.

    After half-an-hour of "Ooks" and "EEK!", Gwen traded two hundred-cans of SPAM and three bottles of Essence-infused Maotai for the Sarugami''s support.

    According to the Matriarch, her man had curiously ventured too close to some Mages when without warning, one of them used air to crush her lover against a tree, then left without even eating the poor bugger, a greater sin than the first.

    "Ook! Ook! Eek-Ook!"

    "Are we good?" Gwen asked Ichiro after explaining who the likely culprit was.

    "They agree," Ichiro nodded. "She says to show them what to do."

    "Show them what to do?" Gwen scratched her head, mimicked by a hundred macaques. Having never harassed a rural village in either life, she had thought the monkeys the mercenary experts. "Tell them when and where we''ll meet. I''ll figure something out."

    The allied party''s next stop was Kamaing, Jiantong''s domain.

    Kamaing, like La War, was a saddle village with a deep gorge that fed on the estuaries running downhill from the Arakan basin into the Irrawaddy river. At its furthermost edge, it housed the Monastery Of Mahawithudayama, a sizeable temple of four hundred monks sitting adjacent to a village of almost a thousand souls, making it the most populated of the four.

    As they flew into range, what was disconcerting was that a massive landslide had visibly carved through the lowland. Though the debris had spared the town itself, it was self-evident that the village''s access to the southern highway and the estuaries connecting it to the main river had been cut off.

    "To think Seoul had even planned for this!" Ichiro sucked in a breath of cold air. "I am both disgusted and impressed."

    Fuck me, that''s on us, Gwen perspired, wiggling a brow at Mayuree in case the Diviner''s honesty got the best of her. If one followed the path of the mudslide, she could bet it led straight back to La War. Topographically, each of the university''s assigned villages sat within the region''s rolling hills, with La War and Kamaing on one end, and Nanmati and Mogaung on the other. Together, the four areas formed a sort of oblong circuit. Mogaung had the highest overall elevation, followed by Seoul''s Nanmati, then La War and finally, occupying the fertile lowland was Jiantong''s Kamaing.

    "Halt!" Ichiro stopped the party from advancing about five hundred meters out. "There''s something here. Diviner, what can you see?"

    Mayuree had sensed something as well, though her premonition operated on unease and danger rather than wisdom.

    "One second." She slowed to a standstill. "Detect Magic! Scry!"

    A few moments later, the Diviner turned to her party with an apologetic expression.

    "I can''t see anything," she lamented. "There''s a barrier set up, and there''s Illusion Magic all over the place."

    "Must be their Vice Captain, that or the Fuda user," Ichiro affirmed Mayuree''s findings.

    "Why not both?" Gwen shrugged. She took a deep breath, then activated Clarion Call. "Jiantong, this is Fudan and Kyoto. We are at the edge of your boundary! We demand parley!"

    A moment later, an illusory projection of none other than Kurou appeared.

    "Well, bugger. How awkward." Gwen blinked at the image of the visibly gloating Kurou.

    "Hello, Song Shimei," the horse-faced young man neighed. "Whatever your proposal, allow me to say Cao-Ni-Ma. We will not be entertaining your hare-brained schemes, not until you Fudan fools beg for forgiveness. We know that landslide came from La War, and even now, Ying shixiong and my allies from Emei are taking care of your deserter from Huashan¡ª"

    "SHIT!" Gwen grabbed Mayuree by the arm, revving up a Dimension Door. "Ichiro! We''re going back to La War! Catch up if and when you can!"

    Klang!

    Krung!

    KUNG!

    "Hei-ya!"

    Lulan contorted her spine so steeply as to form a perfect U, narrowly avoiding the pair of swords just grazing her hair.

    "Plum-flower Strike!" Vicki''s sword reversed course mid-swing, slicing downward without warning, scraping across her metallic flesh, parting Lulan''s skin-suit.

    "Five-Petal Gale!" Below, as though a blooming white-yellow plum flower, five illusory swords caught Lulan''s legs, scoring hits across her boots, her calves and her thighs.

    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    "Sweep!" Lulan desperately attempted to protect her upper torso from the girls, parrying one blow with Anita''s crystalline Mage Armour while battering away Vicki''s swing with her iron-clad arm. "Misty Step!"

    "Blossom Burst!" The girls were relentless, reappearing a second behind Lulan as she sought to lead the fight away from Richard.

    Not too far from where the girls fought, Richard stood in front of a collapsed Anita, already pale-faced and staggered from a sword blow that had dealt no visible wound but had dropped her like a rock.

    "We should finish this quickly." Ying Xiang stood with both hands open, like a man hawking wares at a market. Behind the Sword Mage, twin swords hovered in the air as though feathers tangled in a current, behaving as the wind behaves. "Care to make this easy?"

    "Sorry mate, I don''t think so," Richard remained entirely relaxed. "Got to give you Clanners credit though. That was a slick hit."

    "You flatter me." The Captain of Jiantong inclined his head. "I dare say she would have returned to Shanghai in a burst of Conjuration were it not for your water ghost. May I commend you for deflecting a blow from my Flowing Snowdrift Style."

    "Commend away." Richard glanced at the empty sky. "Fair warning though. Gwen should be back soon."

    "As you will. Silk-cutting Sword!"

    The lengthier of the twin swords flew through the air with a melodious whisper, making for Richard''s throat.

    "Lea! Water Shield!"

    The Water Mage''s command activated simultaneously. Around Ying, a water prison began to manifest, quickly enclosing the Captain while around Richard, a Water Shield parried the sword indirectly, wary of its collated mystical energy, misdirecting the blow without directly confronting its momentum.

    "Hmmph!" Ying Xiang grunted, sensing his attacks being neutralised. Taking the crafty Water Mage would be far more complicated than the Mineral Abjurer, who had made the mistake of taking a direct blow, deceived by the strike''s illusory gentleness. "Cloud Ascending Step!"

    With a stomp, Ying teleported some ten meters into the air, eluding Lea''s Water Prison.

    "Rain of Blades!"

    The second implement, his heart-sword, split into two dozen sword-spears before descending upon Richard and Anita.

    "Cresting Wave!"

    Richard saw no need to move. Before the swords could hit, a breaking crest of water, manifesting as a fantastical fountain, broke overhead, diverting the swords so that they penetrated blade to the hilt into the soil, missing their targets. In the distance, Richard noted that Lulan wasn''t faring well against the Emei sisters at all. Despite his bluff, he had no idea if Gwen was going to make it back to base before their mana was exhausted, whatever was to happen, he couldn''t allow Lulu to be disabled or Anita to be teleported back.

    Tsing!

    The blade of Ying''s main-hand sword penetrated Richard''s shield without warning, then stabbed into Richard''s shoulder.

    "Focus, Mister Huang!" Ying pushed the sword deeper, but despitehis exaltation, disappointment came just as quick when the sword passed through Richard''s body, taking with it a chunk of Richard''s skin-suit, but with no visible spray of red.

    "I can do this all day. You should have used that mystical magic you put into Anita."

    "I really should have," Ying agreed wholeheartedly. "But the IUCC isn''t the place for butchery. Are you tempting me to kill you outright?"

    "Nah, Mate, I am notoriously hard to kill." Richard pointed a finger back at his assailant. "Too bad you won''t get a second chance. Lea!"

    His Undine burst into fine particles of mist, shrouding Richard and Anita.

    "Cloud-leaping Step!" Ying cursed, clearing the sodden space the Undine now occupied. If the spray had caught him, Mao knewwhat would have happened.

    The truth was he was at a disadvantage against a soft-defence expert like Richard, especially considering his Familiar was impossible to track and could act wholly independently. If they weren''t in a competition, he could have used a Fuda to dispel the Familiar, but for now, Jiantong''s Abjurer was back in their village, protecting the town against outside incursions.

    Ying made a feint, forcing Richard to raise his shield. "Misty Step!"

    "Shit!" Richard cursed, realising Ying had abandoned him and Anita and had gone straight for Lulan. The girl held her own against the twins, but it didn''t take a Clanner to realise her Huashan Style was a horrible match-up against an armour breaking specialist from Wutang. "LULAN! TO ME!"

    Lulan''s response was immediate. After so many months adventuring together, her trust in Richard was no less than her faith in Gwen.

    "Misty Step!"

    Abandoning her swing and even her defence, she took a shot to the right breast, which deflected off Anita''s armour, then copped a blow to her left arm, gashing her flesh an inch deep. The unexpected opening had surprised the two Emei girls, who understood their mistake when Ying appeared a brief second behind where Lulan had been, signalling the girls to use their mana potions.

    Lulan meanwhile, rallied within range of Richard.

    Psssht!

    A healing injector stanched the blood seeping from two dozen injuries.

    "Xiang shixiong, do we continue?" the Emei girls asked.

    Ying''s hesitation lasted only a second. "Flank them; we have to send at least one of their Earthen Mages home."

    "Ariel, Barbanginy as soon as we D-D into range!"

    "No! Not yet!" Ichiro obstructed Gwen from instantly teleporting into the fray.

    The team had come in stealth, with Mayuree running a Scry on La War from the dense woodland surrounding the village. When she reported that Anita was down and out and that Richard and Lulan now bathed in blood, Gwen''s preeminent redress was triple-homicide.

    "Don''t you dare." Gwen glared at Ichiro dangerously, her green eyes threatening to swallow the man bones and all. "You have two seconds to make your case."

    "Temper!" Ichiro knitted his brows. "For the servant of a Kirin-sama, you have much to learn from Yuki, Gwen-san. Your companions are safe for now, and we have unexpectedly caught up. Why waste this opportunity?"

    "He''s right." Mayuree tugged at Gwen''s skin-suit. "I''ve got a... er... good feeling about this?"

    At Mayuree''s behest, Gwen suppressed her boiling Essence, wondering just how is it that dragons dealt with an ego consisting of pure clumps of elemental energy.

    "If you trust me." Ichiro''s lips curled upwards, studying Ariel''s master as he spoke his next words with great care and conviction. "Then you must first wait..."

    "Wait? For how long?" Gwen pictured Lulan''s torn and bleeding body with a growl. "Even Buddha''s patience has a limit..."

    "I am at my alchemical limit."

    "Me too," Richard remarked. "Shall we-"

    Ding! Ding!

    Like a celestial choir drawn from seventh heaven, Gwen''s voice crackled across the private channel.

    "Lulu," a command came across loud and clear. "Drop a Panzerschreck on one of the Emei girls, either one''s fine, pick the one that cut you. Do it now before they notice, in one... two..."

    Lulan needed no second guessing, nor did she hesitate to immediately began gathering what was left of her latent energies, her mana now buoyed by hope and happiness. With a grunt of supreme effort, all her anger and frustration manifested into a final spell before she was OoM.

    "Panzerschreck!"

    Splash!

    A shrieking blur flew past Richard''s shield, ignoring the liquid defence.

    Thunk!

    Faster than the eye could follow, her unexpected assault struck the weaker of the Emei girls square in the stomach, catching her midway through a spell.

    A micro-second of bewildered incredulity followed before Vivian folded like a prawn, spraying pink-mist from her lips, then tumbled through the air like a rag-doll.

    Lulan turned to regard Richard, struggling to perceivethat Gwen''s concept of a solid-projectile could be so powerful as to negate the innate defensive magic all Sword Mages trained since childhood. What the duo had hoped was that the Panzerschreck would blow the Jiantong Mages some distance away to be caught by their allies, but neither of them had expected Lulan would fold the sister like a paper crane.

    Then came Gwen''s next command.

    "Richard! All attack! We''re coming in hot!"

    "HALT!"

    A thunderous command fulminated across Vivian, Vicki and Ying''s Message channel just as Ying forewarned his Clan sisters about the build-up of earthen mana from Huashan''s deserter.

    Unbidden, the fatigued trio ceased all movement and stifled all thought, their Astral Souls suddenly alienated from their bodies.

    THUNK!

    A Heart-seeking Sword caught Vivian square in the abdomen. Besides her, Vicki, who shared a sympathetic link with her twin-sister, blanched as her body ignited with nerve-fraying agony.

    Unlike the girls, Ying''s recovery was near-instant. He dived for Vivian, understanding the trouble he would be in if one of the prized twins of Emei died under his watch. The IIUC could wait, and the girls could try again next year, but if one of them perished, that was the end of Emei''s hopes and dreams for the next decade.

    Crack!

    His heart sank. Trouble always travelled in multitudes.

    A Dimension Door completed its manifestation, accompanied by a bolt of blue-white plasma, then finally, the boom of a familiar voice reverberating the horizon.

    "...Chain Lightning!"

    Richard stopped Lulan before she somehow squeezed out another Panzerschreck, in her excited state, anything was possible.

    Above, a coil of electricity pivoted past the pirouetting Vivian, struck Ying''s staggering body, then moved onto Vicki. Still stunned, the Emei Sword Mage put up no barrier nor resistance, merely allowing the spell to run its course before she too fell from the sky like a wilted flower.

    Jiantong''s Captain fared better, just managing a stoic parry before he impressively caught the first falling girl, then performed a mid-air Misty Step to pluck the second one, swallowing Gwen''s attack without so much as a grimace.

    "I YIELD!" he shouted toward the direction from which the electricity had emitted. "STOP ATTACKING!"

    "Gwen!" Lulan squealed, mangling Richard''s liquid arm in her excitement. "I knew you''d be back!"

    "And earlier than expected." Richard bit back the pain. "I wonder what happened at Kamaing? I hope it''s still standing."

    Ichiro scratched his nose, doubly impressed by the regular manifestation of Gwen''s Chain Lightning. Her range, accuracy and power were all far above the Lightning Mages he had seen back home, and to think she was so much younger than his peers.

    Of course, Jiantong''s Captain was incredible as well. Whatever the man did to withstand a tier 6 blast from Gwen, it marked him as someone equally extraordinary.

    "That was amazing." Gwen marvelled at the Kotodama user''s unexpected prowess, which they had routed through Jiantong''s Message channel after Mayuree tweaked her magic. "I''d hate to be on the receiving end of one of those power words."

    "I got lucky," Ichiro confessed. Catching their fatigued, anxious and unsuspecting opponents off-guard was the only reason the seasoned Combat Mages had lost their composure. Usually, Kotodama was utilised for commanding Kami. Against someone like the Void sorceress, whose body brimmed with Essence, he doubted the girl would even flinch.

    "I YIELD!"

    Their opponent made his case, carrying a girl in each arm.

    "ACCEPTED." Gwen''s face finally discarded the murderous aura she had earlier wornwith vim and passion. "Let''s see how pliable they are."

    The trio emerged from the village''s western tree line, joining Lulan and Richard who princess-carried the unconscious Anita. Far from the Mages, safely tucked away in the town above, the entirely of La War''s citizens gawked at the aftermath of the Mage battle, etching every detail of the titanic struggle to be passed on with every intention of gross exaggeration in subsequent retellings.

    "I am going to perform triage before their Contingency Rings activate." Ying Xiang threw down his swords before landing on the soft turf and lowering the girls to the floor. His gaze swept from Gwen to Ichiro and back, comprehension dawning in his eyes. "Then we talk."

    "Granted." Gwen brought out both Ariel and Caliban, so that together with Ichiro, Mayuree, Richard and Lulan, they had Jiantong surrounded above and below.

    Ying gave her a cautious glance before producing two healing injectors for the girls, stabbing the syringes into their thighs. When a flush of colour returned to the girl''s battered bodies, he furthermore produced three pills, one for himself and the larger ones for the Emei sisters. While the girls moaned and squirmed as their flesh mended, he poked about their torso, activating some indecipherable fount of mystical energy. Finally, he turned to Richard. "Here, take this¡ª for your Mineral Mage."

    Richard caught the pill, a dark herbal sphere with a sweet, fragrant scent.

    "Take it orally. It''ll heal internal injuries, as well as concussions. Expect a day or two before she recovers."

    "Ying, what do you have to say for yourself?" Gwen demanded. "Why did you attack us?"

    "Why?" Ying placed a finger on each of the girls'' necks, then let out a strangled breath. "You attacked us first, didn''t you? The landslide came from your village."

    Gwen looked at Richard, who shrugged.

    "That was Seoul U." Gwen pointed to the eastern border of La War, where a quarter of the village had now turned into cliff-side villas with a view. "Not us."

    "Whatever you say," Ying retorted, fully accepting of the outcome regardless of the rationale. "You''re the victors. I hadn''t expected you to return so soon, and most certainly not with a Jap in tow. What can I say? What isn''t meant to be- isn''t meant to be."

    "The pleasure''s all mine, Xiang-san." Ichiro bowed. "I don''t suppose you''re thinking of leaving, just like that?"

    "And why not?" Ying nodded. "You bested our assault and defended your base. Good work. Keen to grill or boil us?"

    "You hope to continue the competition?" Richard said.

    "Do you have a better idea?" Ying smirked.

    "Maybe you shouldn''t be going home so readily," Gwen suddenly interjected. "Care to know why I got here so quickly? Why I knew how and where to ambush you?"

    Ying raised a sceptical brow.

    "Your brother-in-craft, Kurou, rat-fucked you." Gwen smirked in return, allowing her mocking laughter to trickle through the air like birdsong. "He told us where you would be, and in exchange, we had to make sure you wouldn''t return to Wutang in one piece."

    "Kurou? No way." Ying''s face was all smiles, but Fudan''s Mages could all spot the vein throbbing on his forehead. There was no amount of bluff that could mask the equivalent of a scarlet centipede bulging against Ying''s skull. "He wouldn''t dare!"

    "You can ask him later." Gwen raised her dominant hand, forming a Chakram hoving above her dominant hand, causing her party to gawk. "Left or right arm? Maybe a leg? I can tell you now; anything consumed by my Void doesn''t grow back."

    "WAIT!"

    "Caliban!"

    "I SAID WAIT!"

    Her Familiar opened up into its Spider Form, polluting the space where Ying stood with a torrent of Void-induced vertigo. Caliban grew into a horrific six-foot arachnid.

    "Don''t forget to tell Kurou he owes me." Her Dragon-fear flooded the air. "He''s promised to cooperate."

    "STOP! WE FORFEIT!" Ying wailed through clenched teeth. "As Captain of Jiaotong, I declare Jiantong forfeits!"

    Gwen''s monster settled down.

    "Very well, Fudan and Kyoto bear witness to your forfeit." Gwen''s voice was cooler than a cucumber. "You may now leave. Tell Kurou to make for Hpakan at first opportunity. If you need healing supplies, we''re happy to spare some for our fellow competitors."

    "No need." Ying''s shoulders slumped, all tension draining from his body. "Cao, tell me, have I been had?"

    "No hard feelings." Gwen struck out a hand to shake the man''s hand.

    "Touche." Ying recalled their first meeting, meeting her halfway. "Maybe this is for the best. We won''t have made it far, not with our internal problems."

    Meanwhile, Mayuree and Lulan helped the Emei girls on their feet.

    "Thank you for your mercy, Song shimei." Vivian coughed. From the looks of bloodstains trailing from her facial orifice, several months of physiotherapy would likely follow.

    "Likewise, Li shimei." Vicki stooped. "I hope we meet again under better circumstances."

    "Yes." Lulan wasn''t sure how to respond, just a few minutes ago, they were at each other''s throats.

    "Anytime." Gwen offered them each a handshake. "It''s a competition, and we areall creatures of necessity. Oh, and Ying?"

    "Yes?"

    "Thank Kurou for us."

    Ying''s jaws clenched and unclenched. "I will."

    "Good." Gwen grinned. "Have fun."

    "..." Ying retrieved his swords. "We shall take our leave. Goodbye, and good luck."

    The moment their opponents were out of sight, Gwen fussed over Anita and Lulan''s wounds. Conversing with Richard, she applauded the help she had received from Ichiro and elucidated their current alliance.

    "So, how''d we do?" Gwen flashed a grin at the lanky Kotodama user. "That was all thanks to you. Lots of CCs for Kyoto, I bet."

    Ichiro mulled for a moment before answering, opening his mouth to speak, but struggling to express his conflicted feelings.

    "You are too modest." The man met Gwen''s green and gleaming eyes with a complicated disposition. The wooden gaze he held was of someone who had raised a chicken only to hatch a cockatrice. "Gwen-san... I asked you to negotiate a ceasefire."

 Chapter 257 - Virtue in Vengeance

    The party was up just before dawn on the fourth day of their Kachin expedition.

    The local women made a rice noodle broth from the wild game Gwen''s hounds had brought back to the village, eliciting much happiness in a rural Frontier where meat was a rare luxury. By now, the villagers had warmed up to the contestants, and so among the laughter of children poking at Gwen''s dogs and horrified parents spanking said children, the team readied themselves for their duties.

    Considering Anita''s condition, Richard volunteered to defend the village and look after their recovering teammate while Ying''s internal medicine ran its course. The remaining trio was to make for Nanmati to meet with Yuki and Ichiro, joined by Gwen''s mercenary macaques.

    When they had yesterday shared dinner to discuss strategy, both sides agreed that there was no way for Seoul to win, so a little pressure was sure to make them amiable to cooperation, with reparations in the form of cleaning up their mess.

    "Good luck, and give em hell." Richard gave Gwen a high-five while glancing at Mayuree. "Don''t forget to keep an eye out."

    "Don''t worry, Richard," Mayuree assured Richard naively, mistaking his concern. "If Gwen''s in danger, I am in danger, and I''ll let her know."

    "Thanks, Mia." Richard patted Gwen''s canary on the head. "Look after her, eh?"

    "I will!"

    "Who''s looking after who?" Gwen snorted. "Take care of Anita. Wait for my good news."

    With that, the trio lifted into the air, then blasted off with a boom toward Nanmati.

    Sung Lee meditated outside Nanmati''s hall, his countenance grim and smouldering, the mana within his conduits simmering at a boiling point.

    Four days prior, heedless of expending their allocation of magical items, the team had made it to Kachin before any of their competitors. Their Diviner, Jae-joong, had mapped the topography of the four villages within the first day, laid out a prediction of their opponent''s abilities, then charted a path forward for a close victory.

    The plan involved sabotaging Fudan and Kyoto''s way forward, all the while maintaining their own.

    It was unscrupulous, he knew, but all was fair in a competition where their team''s talents left them little choice but to refuse to play by the rules.

    Of their number, only Sung was capable of using Shape Stone and Transmute Earth en mass. The rest of their otherwise offence-focused arrangement lacked the utility. From the outset, Seoul''s Mages were soldiers, elites from the Kaes?ng Front, not engineers nor rescue workers.

    Comparatively, Si-won, whose versatility included ice constructs, couldn''t help with clearing landslides or expediating excavation.

    Jung-min, who insisted on coming along to get back at Fudan, was only useful for scouting and disruption.

    Jae-joong, the Earth-Element Diviner, had already proven his usefulness, but he couldn''t use Transmutation Magic.

    And Yoon-Seok, their Abjurer, was a Salt user, an expert defender, famed in Kaes?ng, peerless against the Undead, but likewise, useless when it came to debris removal.

    As for the fillers from the lesser families, the two female members of their team occupied the positions of a utilitarian Enchanter focusing on buffs, and a Water Mage of middling affinity. Together with the girls, the remaining three had been left behind to organise the supply-train from Mandalay.

    In opposition, Kyoto''s five-element mastery of Onmy¨­d¨­ allowed elemental shifts to change their Kami to one suitable for excavation and rebuilding, while Fudan had two Mages capable of churning massive volumes of earth, and a Water Mage with a sapient Spirit.

    What displeased Sung more than anything was that Fudan had received prior knowledge from their native member that Kachin was going to be a disaster zone, and that their quest would involve very little killing.

    According to Advisor Kim, the fairness of the competition was unquestionable, but still, the fact that Fudan, a lower-tier institution, held such an advantage was an unforgivable coincidence.

    But Sung wasn''t the type to believe in serendipity. Victory, as his father had said, was for man to grasp with his own hands, and that was why they had to employ every advantage.

    On the first night, when he and Jung-min arrived at Mogaung to destabilise the mountainside, an army of clay dolls had suddenly accosted them, hurling boulders the size of melons at the Mages with terrific strength. Even after decimating the conjured constructs with a Magma Nova they kept on coming, countless and relentless. Somehow, despite departing later and seemingly without haste, Kyoto''s defence had time to spare.

    When Sung further unleashed a Magma Burst, followed by a Runic Strike, a giant the height of the Secretariat building in Yangon tore itself from the mountain and began to hurl small hills at himand Jung-min. When he haphazardly issued a Magma Strike against the cracking facade of the horn looming over the village, the giant braced itself, then caught the crashing debris.

    After that, Sung knew they had done all they could, and that it was time to go. While the giant lay buried in the rubble, half-wrecked and arms open to protect the northern slope of the village, he had Jung-min expedite a rapid retreat.

    He had expected better news from Si-Won, the second most competent member of his team and one he could trust with his life.

    Instead, his sibling returned, cladin blood.

    A deep gash ran down the side of his lumbar where his thrice-enchanted uniform, designed to withstand blows tier 5 and below, had been torn to shreds. When they sliced away the runically weaved silk and glamoured glyphs, they saw that a section had been corroded, extracting from Si-win a pound of flesh.

    Worse still, even after Si-wonoverdosed his alchemical limit, the injury refused meaningful reconstruction. Where the flesh did mend, it warped. Even after cutting away Si-won''s necrotising tissue and using a Restoration Potion, he couldn''t sit or stand.

    "His Astral Soul is damaged," Jae-joong returned grimly after an inspection with Detect Magic. "He used a D-D ring as well. That''s going to cost us CCs. The only contestant capable of doing this to Si-won would be¡ª"

    "The Void user," Sung spat. "I know."

    When he had thought about it; was it not evident that Gwen Song had goaded them into that absurd duel? Sure, Jung-min had wanted to teach Eunae a lesson about allying with their opposition, but the public tongue-lashing their team had received from Magister von Schlabrendorff, followed by their unexpected defeat, had benefitted Fudan far more than it diminished Seoul.

    When Sung reviewed the fight with Advisor Kim, it became self-evident that Fudan had not only won the moral battle but the magic one as well.

    "Eric Walken is trying to game our strategy," Advisor Kim had warned him. "If you move in groups of two or threes, your flexibility will be drastically reduced. Meanwhile, thanks to their Ace, Fudan can move the sorceress alone while her other team members defend or flank. I think it''s best not to obsess over the girl, and instead focus on a strategy involving the natural environment."

    Avoid Combat? Sung huffed. Korea, possessing the best Combat Mages in all of Asia, running from a second-string university in Shanghai?

    The very notion was absurd!

    Their loss had been a miscalculation, a misstep.

    In terms of raw power, Sung did not believe himself the girl''s inferior.

    Upon Gwen Song''s neck was a laurel he was happy to behead to adorn his crown. When the girl laybroken, his victory shouldburn all the brighter.

    In anticipation, he had resolved all of Nanmati''s immediate problems. The existing flood had been diverted and the roads cleared of debris. He had even paved the mountain path with smooth basalt and crushed granite conjured from the depth. The route to the mine was likewise reaching completion as well, reinforced by a hardened flow of magma disintegrating the overgrown vegetation, creating a temporary crust that should survive a few months at least, enough for the proctors to gauge the increase in productivity.

    Had thedelay of their opponents succeeded, a stalwart defence was all that remained, something in which the Combat Mages of Seoul excelled.

    Whatever the media wouldsay in the coming days, a victory was a victory. To draw on an old idiom his father oft-repeated: it does not matter how you go, so long as you go to Seoul.

    "Seonbae-nim!"

    A sudden clattering of feet disrupted his meditation.

    Jae-joong, Jung-min and Yoon-Seok burst into the hall. "You''re not going to believe this."

    "What is it?" Sung opened his eyes. "Have the heavens collapsed?"

    "Just about." Jae-joong''s complexion was pallid. "Gwen Song is here, and she brought an army!"

    "The local peasantry?" he asked. It made sense that the locals were up in arms. If so, it meant Si-won had succeeded. Hopefully, the collateral damage wouldn''t overly diminish their CC gains. "Is she trying to use them as fodder?"

    "If only!" their Diviner spluttered, struggling to describe what he had earlier Scryed. "She''s here with Kyoto U, and¡­ an army of monkeys, they''re demanding our cooperation."

    Sung exhaled.

    Diplomacy. No surprise, considering both Fudan and Kyoto''s team leaders were women. They must feel so confident in their advantage to brazenly waltz into the enemy''s zone like this, heedless of the defences Sung and his Abjurer had set. Now, all he had to do was smash the girl''s well-meaning plans to smithereens.

    "Jung-min," Sung Lee, heir apparent to Yooksung Conglomerate, addressed his cousin, who suddenly flinched from the attention. "You began our troubles by harassing Uncle Jae''s daughter, and so for the good of Uncle Lee, it may be best if you took responsibility."

    Indeed, Sung told himself. Whatever happens now, Gwen Song had only herself to blame.

    "They know we''re here." Yuki led the way, mounted on Dororo''s head, with a dozen macaques hanging from the giant''s arms, torso and legs, having the time of their lives.

    "So, I''ll do the talking?" Gwen felt an exhilarating rush, her blood quickened by their victory over Jiantong. "Also, a reminder, I promised Jung-min for Mrs Matriarch."

    "Ook, ook!" the Matriarch gesticulated viciously, cackling in a human-like manner.

    "I fear that may be impossible, Sarugami-sama." Yuki bowed her head. "Please recall Buddha''s mercy, even for one who lacks it himself."

    "Ook, Eek! Eee!"

    "Vengeance will only bring calamity," Yuki said. "Please reconsider. The family of Lee Jung-min is powerful, indeed, and your land lacks the means to defend against their retribution."

    "Eek?"

    "That would be for the best, Sarugami-san."

    "That''s right," Gwen added a proverb of her own. "The rarer action is in virtue rather than in vengeance."

    "Well said, Gwen-san," Yuki translated for Gwen.

    "Ook!"

    The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    Gwen knew she looked strange speaking to Ariel and Caliban via pantomime but listening to the Kyoto priestess having a full blown conversation with a monkey was mind boggling on a whole other level.

    "Gwen." Mayuree unexpectedly tugged on Gwen''s sleeve. "I don''t have a good feeling about this."

    "Oh?" Gwen glanced at Kyoto''s Mages with apologetic eyes. "How bad?"

    "My head''s buzzing," Mayuree confessed. "It wasn''t so bad before, but I think I... we''ll be in mortal danger."

    "Maybe you should remain here," Gwen assured the Diviner. Considering their overwhelming advantage and the fact that there was no way for Seoul to back out, she had full confidence in the Korean''s ultimate capitulation. Still, considering Mayuree''s "condition"...

    She glanced at Lulan, who appeared impatient to get on with it, then to Yuki and Ichiro, whose politeness bordered on wretchedness. That there was danger was undeniable, but going home on a hunch wasn''t an option either.

    "It''s fine. I want to come with you." Mayuree struck out her chest. "We''re in this together!"

    Gwen nodded.

    With that, Dororo began to move.

    To Fudan''s and Kyoto''s surprise, they managed to ride the giant doll almost on top of the village before Sung Lee emerged from the Nanmati''s central hut, flying toward them with two others in tow. It was a good sign, one that demonstrated humility.

    To Lee''s right was Jung-min, the Air Evoker-Transmuter, looking paler than a ghost.

    To his left was their Abjurer, whose mana signature Gwen immediately identified as a Salt user.

    "Welcome, Song Hubae," the man said. "To what do we owe this pleasure?"

    "I see you''re missing an Ice Mage." Gwen observed the trio. "Is Si-won still recovering from his escapade? Or has he teleported back to Seoul already?"

    "Si-Won''s life hangs by a thread." Sung Lee met her gaze head-on. "But never mind my brother. I see you have brought the locals."

    "I have brought victims of your careless and wanton desire for violence!" Gwen''s eye sparkled with haughty malevolence. "Least of all, the Matriarch of the mountain, whose mate was murdered by Jung-min over there for sport!"

    "OOK!"

    Sung turned to regard his cousin.

    "We killed some apes during the survey, while we were breaking for lunch," he answered quietly, in a world of his own. "They got too close. It was nothing."

    "There you have it." Sung returned his gaze upon the unsuspecting Void Sorceress, noting how frail her white neck appeared. "Is that all?"

    "Ha! You wish! I come to represent Fudan, Kyoto, the people of Kachin and the residents of the land," Gwen declared, taking the opportunity to make her case. "For your transgression, Seoul U must provide reparations, cease hostility, and henceforth cooperate with future operations. You may have lost the IIUC, but you need not lose your honour or your reputation. You can make this right, Lee Seonbae-nim! We can work together¡ª"

    The Magma Mage listened to Gwen''s speech with a look of intense concentration.

    "Gwen!" Mayuree was the first to notice. "He''s channelling magic!"

    "HALT!" Ichiro barked beside Gwen, interrupting Gwen''s oratory, sending a ripple of mana through to air to assault their opponent. "Stop him!"

    "Salt Ward!" Beside the Magma Mage, Yoon-Seok, Seoul''s Abjurer, erected a barrier which shimmered as the effects of Ichiro''s Kotodama rippled across a semi-visible screen.

    "Gwen-san, beware his Banish!" Ichiro hissed. "And stop the Magma Mage!"

    "Lulu!" Gwen commanded Lulan even as she moved to cast Ball Lightning, understanding that diplomacy had given way to brawn.

    "Panzerschreck!" Lulan let loose a slab of solid iron, rapidly spinning as it made for the Captain of Seoul U.

    "Lightning Sphere!" Combined with Gwen''s explosive bursts of blue-white electricity, the space above the village erupted into a dazzling light fantastic.

    "Element Ward!"

    CRUNK!

    From somewhere within the explosion, Lulan''s shell spiralled away, deflected by a barrier. Faster than the naked eye could register, Lulan''s solid-slug landed in the mud, skipped thrice, then slammed into a hut, collapsing the structure and sending a dozen inhabitants fleeing. When the slug re-emerged, it was crimson with gore.

    Gwen stared in horror as the building collapsed, momentarily speechless.

    "You¡ª!" With a mental command, her Lightning-charged deer hounds broke from the tree line surrounding the village and made for the collapsed structure.

    "Gwen! Something''s coming!" Mayuree detected a seismic swelling of elemental Magma, her danger-sense kicking into the red. "We have to get out of here!"

    "We''ll keep the settlers safe, Gwen-san." Yuki''s habitual demurity wrinkled with uncharacteristic anger. "Seoul appears to have forsaken all regard for their quest."

    "!"

    Gwen''s Divination likewise pinged. Shit was about to hit the fan.

    "Monkey!" She screeched at the hooting Matriarch. "Get your kin back into the forest! Do it now!"

    "OOK!" With a mighty leap, the Matriarch disappeared quick as a whistle, leading her pack away from Dororo.

    "Dororo! Help the villagers!" Yuki urged her giant, who even now was shedding little models of itself onto the ground.

    "It''s a little too late for that," Sung Lee''s booming voice roared across the cloudy sky. "PLANAR ALLY - MOLTEN GUARDIAN!"

    Spurts of lava, accompanied by jets of lemon-tinged sulphur, burst into being below where Gwen and the others hovered some dozen meters in the air. Where Dororo stood, space distorted, tearing the fabric between the material and the immaterial.

    In the blink of an eye, a gate into the Para-Elemental Gate of Magma came into being, sending up a twenty-metre jet of yellow-green gas.

    "Dimen¡ª"

    Suddenly, Gwen found that she couldn''t breathe. When she inspired to cast Dimension Door, her throat caught on fire.

    Below, an orange vortex of flowing, flaming earth engulfed the immediate vicinity, crashing into Dororo''s vine-strew legs, sending up a great sizzle of burning vegetation, made worse by the stench of rotten eggs.

    Yuki''s complexion turned white as a sheet, suddenly gnashing her teeth as her eyes spun uncontrollably, struck by such unfathomable agony even as she choked for breath.

    "Oooooooo!" Dororo stomped its feet, ripping itself limb from limb, only to step once more into yet more lava, sending Yuki into a second, convulsive bout.

    A horrid, bone-chilling epiphany flashed across Gwen''s inward eye. She realised she had seen the gaseous magic first-hand, though she had never subjected herself as a victim.

    Jung-min! She caught the Mage with her watering eyes. Her variation created floating motes of lightning. For an Air Mage, they could arguably flood the vicinity with a variety of noxious gasses.

    But Cloud Kill was forbidden for use against human personnel! She screamed internally. Did the bastard have a death wish?

    "Ooooo!"

    Dororo was now waist-high in lava and crumbling rapidly. Ichiro promptly activated a Shielding Pendant around his Captain; then with a blast of silvery Conjuration, he activated both their Translocation Amulets, no longer caring for the CC penalty.

    Simultaneously, Sung''s conjured monster materialised. From a maw that now opened into what looked to be the nine layers of Dante''s Inferno, a jagged, obsidian head emerged, exhaling mustard, kindled with scintillating brimstone. With yet another billow of unbearable heat, an arm freed itself, followed by a second, moving with a rapidity that was surprising for a thing of such mass.

    FUCK! Gwen realised the error of having both Mayuree and Lulan with her. Could Lulan take a hit from the lava giant? She thought desparingly. Mia needs to teleport the fuck out, right now.

    Overhead, the fiery salamander had fully formed. It was now taller than the decimated Dororo, with a body brutally barbed with obsidian shards in the manner of a sadistic plate mail. From its visor, a single flaming eye looked out with unfathomable rage, cruel with a wanton desire for ultraviolence.

    Without warning, it opened its mouth, dribbling magma so hot that Gwen was sure the white glow was pure plasma.

    Then without mercy, a volcanic torrent erupted.

    Gwen''s eyes grew hazy, her throat constricted, and her lungs burned.

    Shamefully, her first thought was of her Ghosting Amulet and her Contingency Ring. Arguably, Mayuree was also in possession of both as well, but Lulan-

    JESUS! Lulu had neither!

    Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! Gwen wanted to bite off her tongue. If she had cared for her friends, she should have burned her crystals and brought damned Contingency Rings for Lulu!

    Her eyes swept over Mayuree, who had fallen to her knees, gasping and fumbling for air. Shit! Gwen realised yet another miscalculation. She had her draconic-constitution and resistance to poisons, but Mia was just a girl. She really should have left her back in the forest, even if she was paranoid over the Enchantment afflicting Mayuree''s mind.

    WHOOMP!

    A shimmering shield appeared around Gwen. Instead of teleporting herself away, Mayuree had activated her Ring of Protection but had set it onto her friend.

    WHAT THE FUCK? Gwen silently cursed her Diviner. Until Mia''s Ghosting Amulet activated, Mayuree was here to stay. Did she have to suffer an attack? The instructions had stated that the amulet was triggered by invasive magic.

    "Eaaarrrgh!" Lulan unleashed a cracked and broken howl of frustration.

    To Gwen''s dismay and despair, Lulu charged toward the flaming sword with one of her own, manifesting a massive slab of iron two-metres tall and as wide as her torso to meet the incoming cloud of smouldering, volcanic air.

    GOD DAMN IT! Gwen cursed her myopia. In the heat of the moment, both of her companions were all heart and no brain. When all three of them possessed a selfless, masochistic capacity for martyrdom, all they could do was trip over one another''s feet. If even one of them had said, "fuck this for a lark," and had Dimension Doored away, then the matter would have been infinitely less complicated.

    ARIEL! She commanded her hidden Familiars, thanking God she had that much foresight at least. CALIBAN!

    "EEEE!" Ariel slammed into Lulan, escaping with the Sword Mage.

    "SHAAA!" Caliban instantly expanded into its Spider form, ripping Mayuree from Dororo''s back before leaping into the fire, where Gwen hoped she had enough vitality to carry Mayuree to safety.

    The lava burst descended.

    Her shield crinkled.

    Her world grew white-hot, but not before she lost her footing. Below, Dororo had turned to ash.

    As she fell, Gwen hoped to God that when Caliban drained her vitality, or when she began to sizzle like a takoyaki, her Ghosting Amulet would trigger its Dimension Door, allowing her to teleport away. With her Essence, hopefully, her scars would heal. If not, maybe Babulya had a thing that could help.

    CRACK!

    Unbidden, a cacophonic burst of thunder broke overhead.

    "There it is again!"

    In Hpakan, where a dozen Magisters and Maguses gathered around a lumen-caster, the Mages were puzzling over the scene even now unfolding in Nanmati. Where the conversation had earlier centred around Jung-min''s illicit use of Cloud Kill, now they had bigger problems.

    "Perhaps it''s drawn to the mana build-up?"

    Despite the titanic battle occurring below, their eyes were drawn to a blue-white silhouette flittering in and out of the range of von Schlabrendorff''s eye of providence.

    "Think it''s related to the Tyrant?"

    Lutz von Schlabrendorff shook his head.

    "Hass, get a team ready..."

    Heedless of the CC penalty, Ichiro took his Captain away from the crumbling Dororo, mindful of his betrayal.

    As versatile Yuki''s synergy with her Kami could be, that very same connection made for a glaring weakness, which was that her consciousness conjoined with her construct, possessing the Miko''s senses as a gateway into the material world.

    Once a safe distance away, Ichiro felt a pang of guilt as he looked back at their Fudan allies, still standing atop the burning Dororo, facing the full fury of the Molten Guardian, a famed Asura of the inferno world.

    That a member of the Lee family could still access an ancient deity of Korea''s long lost Shamanistic faith wasn''t something anyone could have predicted. Likewise, that Seoul would stoop so low as to use Cloud Kill, even in its non-lethal capacity, was unthinkable by any rational Mage.

    Was winning that important? Ichiro took in a lung full of fresh air, stunned at Seoul U''s twisted conviction.

    "Ichiro..." Yuki moaned in his arms, her pale body flushed and welting from the sensory feedback, even now aflame with the sensation being burned alive, yet lacking the sweet surrender of unconsciousness.

    "Annul Pain!" Ichiro invoked his magic, exhaling as Yuki''s spasm thankfully ceased, dispelling Dororo.

    "Help them-"

    "I know, Yuki-sama, but..." Ichiro looked up, wondering just what a Mind Mage could do at a time like this. Above the Void sorceress, he saw the monster''s assault descend without mercy.

    Run, you baka! Ichiro''s throat constricted.

    But Fudan did not flee.

    Instead, what occurred betrayed all logic and expectation.

    Without warning, Gwen''s celestial Kami tackled the Sword Mage, sending her flying away, while her Asura Kami snatched Fudan''s Diviner and leapt from Dororo''s head.

    Then, she fell into the now dispelled Dororo.

    Then, the clouds broke overhead.

    Then came a wyvern.

    Gwen Song had a third Familiar?! Ichiro baulked. But no, that was impossible.

    It was an enormous brute; the largest Ichiro had ever seen, descending from the heavens with a velocity that tore the air asunder.

    Banking into a graceful arc, it made an effortless swoop past Seoul U''s battle line, first snatching a surprised Sung Lee up in its jaws, then swatting their Air user so hard with its spiked, van-sized tail that the Mage descended like a meteor.

    In a matter of seconds, less than the time it took for him let loose a bewildered "NANI?" the Seoul team was reduced to a stunned Abjurer hovering alone over a flaming hillside, smothered with still tumbling lava.

    "Uwa-!" Ichiro couldn''t help but expel the uncouth utterance from his lips. In a moment, a feeling of uncontrollable sublimity erupted from his throat. "UWAAA?!"

    The magma giant stumbled as the conduit of mana sustaining its presence in the Material world was cut off. Sung Lee was either dead or had been teleported away.

    Gwen Song fell among the flaming debris, engendering a burst of brilliant Conjuration, then re-appeared a hundred meters away before she could sink into the fire, protected by two Illusory simulcrums.

    She was safe!

    But still, her unscathed escape filled Ichiro''s mind with wild and wagging exaltations of incomprehensible awe.

    His Master once said that some were born blessed by the ¨­kami.

    But how could one know that they were blessed by the Shinkai and watched over by the Sun Goddess; that they existed to walk the Kannagara no Michi?

    Did, for example, having a wild fucking Wyvern descend from the heaven to eat your enemies then fly the fuck away count?!

    An ejaculation of emotions erupted from the Yamabushi''s heart, constricting his chest. It wasn''t every day that a humbled monk bore witness to the will of the world.

    Jung-min considered himself lucky that as a Mage attuned to Air, his superior reflexes was enough to mitigate a portion of the wyvern''s kinetic blow even as it sundered his unsuspecting body. His shield had shattered near-instantly, but the split-second was enough for him to shift his momentum.

    When he came to once more, he was on the forest floor.

    It would seem that lady luck had not abandoned him even in his direst hour, for he had crashed through the soft canopy, then landed in the rotten, mud-strewn undergrowth.

    "Argh..."

    Something had broken for sure, for Jung-min couldn''t move his limbs, although his physical infirmity was nothing when compared to what awaited him. As the number one son, Sung Lee was without fault in all matters. As such, the responsibility for Seoul U''s catastrophe of an IIUC would fall to Jung-min. For not only had the bastardly Jung-min invited trouble by harassing Eunae, their little cousin on Fudan''s team, he had also used illicit magic on fellow contestants, disqualifying the potentially victorious Sung Lee, the team''s saviour.

    It was a good narrative; he had to admit. Sung Lee was a good fit for the next family head.

    "Hahaha!" Jung-min then recalled that the wyvern had snatched up Sung Lee like a dog treat. "That''s too funny."

    "Ook?" A hairy face appeared overhead, an inch away from his face.

    "Ook?" Another joined the first.

    "Ook?" A third.

    Jung-min''s laughter choked in this throat, and not because laughing drew agony from his torso. Turning his head, he gazed toward his dominant hand where his Contingency Ring would be.

    Sitting on said hand and weighing down said limb, was an enormous macaque with a bulbous red ass, bearing her fangs.

    "Ook!"

    "Ook!" "Ook!"

    "Ook, Ook!" "Ook!"

    "OOK!" "OOK!" "OOK!" "OOK!"

 Chapter 258 - Accounting for Victory

    Golos nullified the Quicksilver Fuda he had stolen from Ryxi once he was a safe distance away from the commotion, feeling a heady rush course through his demi-divine body.

    Snatching the "Calamity" from certain doom without endangering his own life had been something he¡¯d mulled about nightly, and now he had done it.

    Wyverns weren''t made for dancing, but Golos reflexively performed an aerial barrel-roll.

    The only thing to dampen his spirit was that the meal he had earlier acquired disappeared in a burst of silver. It was the Human''s Contingency Ring, he knew: all the big-wig humans had one, but a drake could only hope.

    As for what came next, he should be free in no time at all! Unlike the bookworm Ryxi, Ruxin always made good on his promises!

    ¡°Never in my life,¡± Lutz von Schlabrendorff remarked to the proctors stationed in the village hall of Hpakan. ¡°Have I ever seen someone disqualified via impromptu Wyvern.¡±

    ¡°Perhaps he''s an agent of karma,¡± a second proctor noted. ¡°Sometimes, the actions one takes arean affront to both heaven and earth.¡±

    There was a brief flash of Conjuration.

    ¡°Talk about bad luck.¡± A third proctor observed the contingency trigger. ¡°Who would believe us if we were to spin a tale? Thunder Wyverns don¡¯t gro- Why''s it doing a barrel roll? Is it circling back?¡±

    "No, it''s gone." A fourth fiddled with the rangefinder.

    ¡°Maybe the girl knows the wyvern?¡± A fifth raised a finger.

    ¡°You mean, like old chums?¡± the third snorted.

    ¡°If she could command a tier-ten draconic-class Magical Beast to initiate a surgical strike, why would she need to participate in something as pedestrian as the IIUC?" the fourth snorted. "Why not just apply herself to the Tower as the first acolyte in the history of Spellcraft to tame an adult Thunder Wyvern? I¡¯ll put in a good word with Berlin. We¡¯ll take her, no questions asked.¡±

    The rest of the Magisters sipped their tea while von Schlabrendorff mulled over the aftermath.

    ¡°Regardless, Fudan and Kyoto remain,¡± he said at last. ¡°Inform Magister Kim to collect his students. Explain to him for now, Seoul U forfeits, casus fortuitus. If Seoul plays it smart, we shall leave it at that. They act up, that''s at their own peril. As for Jung-min, the committee demands an example is made. Remind Kim to tell his employers that participation in the IIUC, as it is with the Mageocracy, is a privilege, not a right.¡±

    ¡°Shouldn¡¯t it be ''casus Draco?''" Another Magus burst into appreciative laughter.

    ¡°Let¡¯s hope it''s minus dracones from here on.¡± Von Schlabrendorff¡¯s brow twitched. ¡°I don¡¯t envy anyone having to explain another incident to Brussels.¡±

    ¡°Ha, what are the chances of it happening again?¡±

    The Chief Proctor grunted.

    ¡°Where''s our team?¡±

    ¡°They should be arriving, sir...¡± Hass marked the map. ¡°...right about now.¡±

    "Good. Once Kim is gone, bring Magister Walken..."

    Perhaps the most disturbing thought to come out of the whole ordeal, once Gwen forced herself to re-orientate her bearings, was Walken''s displeasure. It was a sentiment as off-putting as it was disturbing, but she couldn''t shake the fact that for her "own good", Eric had expressly forbidden acts of impulsive martyrdom.

    It was just as well that there was a lot on her plate: Golos, Ayxin, the Yinglong, what she had told Uncle Jun, Mayuree''s mind-fog, and the IIUC, but for now, there was a more pressing concern.

    Nanmati was on fire.

    When the great lava-thing lost its mana-link, it exploded in every which direction, erupting like a volcano, spraying ash and burning brimstone over the wooden village.

    Meanwhile, her two simulacrums, each a modified Mirror Image, independently pantomimed, drawing the attention of precisely no one.

    "I am over here! You''ll never catch me!" one said.

    "Over here, you big lug!" The otherone winked.

    Suddenly, without warning, they ran in opposite directions.

    Before she could respond, her companions arrived.

    ¡°Gwen!¡± Mayuree¡¯s voice came across their channel before Caliban¡¯s half-baked form could be seen running across the hardening lava. Comically, Caliban had Mayuree strapped to its back like a spider with a bundle of eggs, so that when it ran, she added to the Void-beast''s aberrant visage. ¡°How could you! Why didn¡¯t you save yourself!¡±

    ¡°I am fin- Oh God! Puahaha!¡± When Mayuree came closer, Gwen saw that her friend had received a perm from the flash-fire, spontaneously engendering a horrible afro.

    ¡°You could have died!¡± Mayuree burst into tears. ¡°It¡¯s not funny!¡±

    ¡°GWEN! HOW COULD YOU!¡±

    Lulan Blinked into Gwen''s vicinity, then gripped Gwen''s collar with both hands balled and white-knuckled.

    ¡°Alright, alright.¡± Gwen pulled out her Amulet, noting that the Core had been spent. ¡°Grill me later, Lulu, the bloody village is on fire.¡±

    ¡°What about him?¡± Lulan pointed to the floating Abjurer.

    ¡°Oi!¡± Gwen hollered at Yoon-Seok with a blare from Clarion Call. ¡°Is your team forfeiting?¡±

    It took the Abjurer a few seconds to reignite his cognitive functions.

    ¡°I need to find my brother!¡± he called back, drifting back and forth. ¡°I request a ceasefire! Has anyone seen Sung? Or Jung-min?¡±

    ¡°Good enough.¡± Gwen turned back to the burning village. What she should be feeling was spine-tingling horror. Instead, she felt a light-headed chirpiness which she could only attribute to the thrill of surviving a near-death encounter. ¡°Where¡¯s Yuki and Ichi?¡±

    ¡°They left us!¡± Lulan hissed like a trodden cat.

    ¡°Don¡¯t be an idiot.¡± Gwen patted down her friend''s frizzled hair. ¡°They did what they¡¯re supposed to do and expected to do. You, me, and afro-Mia are the idiots. For the future, we need to work out a who-saves-who contingency plan.¡±

    "A-Afro-Mia?"

    WHOMP!

    A Teleportation Circle manifested mid-air.

    A party of proctors stepped through the Astral tear.

    ¡°Spread out and control the damage,¡± the leading Mage declared as he stepped through, speaking to his peers before turning to Gwen. ¡°Contestant Jung-min and Sung Lee have been sent back to the CCP Tower at Dali. Additionally, in violation of article seven, section four, involving the malicious employment of sanctioned spells against Magical personnel, I declare that Seoul University¡¯s IIUC credentials are suspended pending further review. Remaining members of Seoul University shall leave the competition area and return to Hpakan to report to Chief Proctor von Schlabrendorff.¡±

    Above, as though suddenly recalling something of dire importance, Seoul''s Abjurer made for the central hut.

    "Fudan, Kyoto, you may return to your respective duties."

    Gwen exhaled a breath of relief. Now, with Seoul U''s rightful expulsion, only two teams remained. Insofar as she was concerned, Fudan had won.

    ¡°That leaves just Kyoto and us.¡± Lulan channelled her inner Richardbefore makinga chopping motion with her hand.¡°Yuki and Ichiro are here. If they¡¯re wounded, maybe we could¡­¡±

    ¡°Whoa, cool your jets.¡± Gwen reflexively checked for lumen-recorders before reminding herself that the Chief Proctor needed no such thing to craft compelling reality television. ¡°Trust me. We''ll do this fair and square. Whatever Kyoto thinks they¡¯ve got, I¡¯ve got better.¡±

    Lulan nodded, caught between faith and instinct.

    All around them, the Magisters from the IIUC committee moved about the village, quenching fires with magical items or spells and attending to the villagers who were burned or injured. At first, when a number of corpses were unearthed, Gwen bristled with injustice. But then the rescuers lifted Lulan¡¯s hut, the hypocrisy of the carnage alone was enough to engender a minute of inconsolable oppression from the Fudan party.

    ¡°Mia, go with Lulu and offer them some compensation.¡± Gwen wasn¡¯t sure if this was the right thing to do, or if it helped, but she couldn''t just shrug and leave.

    Her companions nodded, then went about their solemn duty.

    ¡°Gwen-san! Ariel-Sama!¡±

    Behind her, both Yuki and Ichiro appeared. The two had returned earlier, though they had chosen to first help with the damage to the village.

    ¡°Hey. You¡¯re safe.¡± Gwen exhaled. ¡°Sorry for what happened.¡±

    After doubly taxing herself, Yuki appeared paler than a snow-spirit. ¡°Allow me to apologise for our retreat, Gwen-san. You stood to face that Molten Guardian while we showed our cowardice.¡±

    ¡°No worries,¡± Gwen dismissed their apology. ¡°No need for drama. You did what¡¯s right.¡±

    ¡°We are very shameful.¡± Ichiro bowed from the waist.

    ¡°Entirely forgiven.¡± Gwen felt that the Japanese habit of excessive piety was in itself a form of annoying passive-aggressiveness: like they were trying to guilt trip her anger. ¡°I am not even upset.¡±

    ¡°We can pay for your item to be replaced,¡± Yuki suddenly announced. ¡°Please, it¡¯s the least we can do.¡±

    ¡°Alright, deal.¡± Gwen nodded quickly, her dour mood leaving scant room for kindness. ¡°I¡¯ll bill you the invoice.¡±

    ¡°This makes us feel less burdened, thank you.¡± Ichiro bowed again in return. ¡°Was that a wyvern?¡±

    ¡°Who knows?¡± Gwen averted their imploring eyes. Instead, she looked toward the heavens. ¡°What a magnificent occurrence that it came to our aid. How fortuitous, eh?¡±

    Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

    The Japanese duo agreed.

    ¡°Well,¡± she smiled back. ¡°I guess our alliance is at an end. Ichi, Yuki, may the best team win from here.¡±

    The trio exchanged measured looks, followed by weighty handshakes.

    "Indeed, Gwen-san.¡± Yuki''s cheeks glowed with anticipation. ¡°We shall put in the greatest effort.¡±

    ¡°Gwen, they came home with us,¡± Mayuree remarked to the scene below.

    When the trio returned to La War, they were followed by a stream of monkeys swinging from tree to tree, forming a great expedition. After alighting at the village¡¯s bramble barrier, the triumphant trio, together with the village''s defence, were met by the Matriarch of the macaque, who had come to see Gwen.

    ¡°You brought back the troop." Richard emerged, together with Lea. ¡°They¡¯re friendly, I hope.¡±

    ¡°Friendly enough.¡± Gwen approached the Matriarch, flanked by Ariel and Caliban. ¡°Matriarch?¡±

    ¡°Ook! Ook! Eek! EEEK!¡±

    ¡°EE! Ee? Eee!¡±

    ¡°She says she wants to thank you for delivering their enemy.¡± Lea appeared beside the Kirin, translating Kirin for Gwen even as Ariel passed on the Matriarch¡¯s thoughts. ¡°She wants to know if there¡¯s anything else you want. A service of some sort.¡±

    ¡°We did?¡± Gwen glanced at Mayuree, who looked to Lulan, who shrugged. ¡°How?"

    ¡°Ook! Ook, Eek!¡±

    "You er... gave her a Mage? They did things- terrible, unspeakable things."

    "What kind?" Gwen made a face.

    "Unspeakable." Lea looked at Richard, then at Gwen. "As I am not familiar with the anatomy of humans or monkeys."

    The party allowed that to sink in.

    "So," Gwen changed the topic. "What can we do for them?"

    ¡°She wants to know what she can do for you,¡± Lea translated. "A monkey always pays her debts."

    An idea came to Gwen''s head.

    Behind Richard, just beyond the bramble wall, she could see Shwe the alderman and the rest of the villagers holding staves and sticks, ready to defend their village against the Wildland macaques. Though Gwen knew the beasts preferred Wildland flora, magical creatures were infamously omnivorous.

    ¡°Lea.¡± Gwen¡¯s expression took on a feeling of keen industry. ¡°Ask if Mrs Boss is averse to lasting peace in the region. We¡¯ll supply them with food, and I¡¯ll be happy to offer another two bottles of Maotai. All they have to do is observe our workers, then you know; monkey sees, monkey do.¡±

    From a grey, drizzling sky, the wet continued, bringing with it its usual assortment of problems. Though stung by the kinks in Fudan''s teamwork and communication, Gwen resolved to leave them for the aftermath of the competition. Now, with external threats removed, her real work would begin, requiring every measure of her time and concentration.

    First, she sent out Anita and Lulan with a team of villagers to repair the roads and bolster the stability of their transport infrastructure.

    Then, she experimented with the monkeys. Though her macaque mercenaries were ill-suited for disciplined labour, they made for excellent patrollers. Roving as a hooting pack, the monkeys chased away Earthen Gobs, Snots and other Wildland fauna as they roved from camp to camp, having a great lark.

    Gwen and Mayuree meanwhile, worked to put her plan into action.

    Drifting south and swinging by Kamaing, she first attempted to convince Jiantong''s village to find gainful employment through herself.

    "We''ll treat everyone the same, equal pay, equal benefits," Gwen appealed to the alderman. First, she would offer diplomacy. If that didn''t work, she could be convincing in other ways. "It''s an extra hour''s trek, I know, but our Mages will open a new path through the macaque''s territory. You''ll be safe if you go through that."

    "How can we trust you?" The Alderman understandably had his reservations, considering that the Chinese Mages that had come to help them had evaporated. According to his story, some liberties had been taken by Jiantong''s Vice Captain with the local women as well. While consensual, the understanding had been one of quid pro quo; the problem was that having given many a tit, the chief''s family had received no tat.

    It was at this juncture that Gwen noticed the alderman, a middle-aged man, was eyeballing her tightly wound figure.

    "Gwen." Mayuree, who had been quiet this whole while, interrupted their conversation before Gwen switched plans. "Didn''t the alderman from the first village give you something of a token?"

    "Oh?" Gwen recalled that indeed, she did have proof of her trustworthiness. With a flick of her wrist, she performed a quick sleight of hand, then produced a piece of jade. "I was given this by the alderman of a lowland village. He said to show it if we were to run into problems."

    Kamaing''s leader blinked. "You saved Takaung? We have one of our own in the monastery."

    "With this, can you trust us?" she proposed with an edge to her voice.

    "I need to verify this with the abbot." The sweating alderman quickly left. Meanwhile, after praising Mayuree, Gwen inspected the relatively prosperous township from the second floor of the hall. As she had observed on her last visit, Kamaing was the most populated of the four municipalities and would have afforded Jiantong a significant advantage.

    After twenty minutes, the alderman returned with a dozen others.

    "We will work." The man returned the mutton-jade solemnly, averting hiseyes. "Please make it safe for us to travel."

    "Wonderful!" the girls cooed. "I''ll let the Boss know at once!"

    "The... Boss?"

    "Ah, yes." Gwen figured now was as good a time as any. "I''ll introduce her. If you can keep your working relationship up, I dare say much of Kamaing''s troubles will soon be over!"

    After the successful recruitment of at three hundred able bodies, Gwen moved to execute the most pivotal part of her plan. With Mayuree cradled protectively in her barrier, she proceeded toward the jade mine to meet with Manager Mingyi Mok.

    From the sky, the mine itself was typical; an open pit punctured into the Arakan basin were seams of jade ran rich through the metamorphic rock, compressed by aeons of seismic pressure into vivid veins of serpentine, quartz, nephrite and jadeite. It weresmall operations such as these that produced Khotan and Feicui, the basis of the House of M''s northern expeditions. Originally, each of the villages had staked different sections of the dig, but Gwen saw no reason why many hands couldn''t make light work.

    As with third-world mines everywhere, the conditions were upsetting to anyone possessed of a social conscience, involving the sort of operational work and health that existed only in nightmares. From the stench of the place as soon she and Mayuree flew into the pit, she guessed that the dozen or so dredged pools of fetid water, tens of meters across and swarming with insects, were not only neglected but had been collating everything from human waste to local fauna to monsoonal run-off.

    The roads moving into and out of the mine were likewise strewn with mud, with deep trenches carved from the wagons that came and went, immeasurably complicating future operations.

    As for the jade mine itself, it seemed that magical means had been used to collapse entire walls into a canyon from which miners would then pick out by hand the shards and blocks of nephrite and jadeite. From the depth, workers then transported stones up a human chain to carriers, who then slogged their way from the interior of the mine up to a station, where the rocks were inspected, weighed and recorded until finally, they were transported down the main arterial highway down to Mandalay''s regional headquarters.

    On the northern cliff of the mine, overlooking the operation, was a series of huts made from galvanised iron and fibrous-concrete sheeting. Within the abode, cloistered in relative comfort, the girls found the Manager, a bulbous man thrice the circumference of a local, attended by two young women.

    "Nagas below!"

    Manager Mingyi visibly quaked when the two girls descended from the grey heavens without warning, spilling a bowl of piping hot pho in his haste to kowtow. After Gwen and Mayuree introduced themselves, he obediently gathered the dozen sub-managers and supervisors under his control, most of which were Southern Burmese loyalists to the House of M. A few, Gwen noticed, wereHan Chinese.

    ¡°These are our jade inspectors.¡± Mingyi mopped the sweat from his quivering jowls. As the first obese individual Gwen had seen in Kachin, Mingyi grew fat not in the manner of portly western men but the rotund jackfruit.

    ¡°I¡¯d like to see the accounts.¡±

    ¡°The¡­ accounts?¡± The man''s eyes widened, his belly quaking like a flan. "You don''t want to see the jadeite?"

    ¡°No. I want historical statements.¡± Gwen turned her striking irises upon the line of pallid men stinking of sweat. ¡°I will need to see paper records of how much jade is being produced historically over the last twenty-four months, as well as the mine''s outgoings.¡±

    ¡°Ah¡­¡± Mingyi stammered. ¡°Of course.¡±

    The man wobbled across the office, its floorboards straining to hold his weight. ¡°Right here, ma¡¯am.¡±

    ¡°Manager Mingyi.¡± Mayuree added her scowl to Gwen''s. ¡°Are you forgetting who I am? I am a representative of the House itself. I have operational authority from here to Mandalay.¡±

    Aww, Gwen gushed. Business Mayuree was adorable.

    ¡°I am not sure what you mean, Miss Mayuree.¡± The Manager pulled out stack after stack of half-rotten paper dank from the monsoonal air. It would appear the cupboard was not moisture sealed. ¡°It¡¯s all here¡­ it¡¯s¡­¡±

    ¡°MISTER MINGYI!¡± Gwen snapped her fingers. A stack of arm-thick reports fell onto the mahogany table in the centre of the man¡¯s disgusting food-strewn desk. ¡°These are district reports from Magus Maymaruya going back the last five years. I acquired them while in Yangon. Do I have a reason to be worried?¡±

    In truth, her "reports" were the accounts for the Centurion Project, but the manager couldn''t know that.

    ¡°Of course not.¡± To her astonishment, Mingyi attempted to straighten his spine. ¡°But as you can see, with weather like ours, the records don¡¯t keep too well. Still, I wish you the best of luck in matching them. Mister Wong, our accountant, will do his utmost to help.¡±

    Lifting herself on her toes, Gwen walked toward the table, then sat with her legs crossed over to one side. Despite the unkind contour and practical nature of her skin-suit, the sight of a first-class woman from a first-world city titillated the line of men Mingyi had gathered for her pleasure.

    Mayuree stood to her right, whispering of what her Scry had found in the mine, in between the walls of the building, and in hidden basements.

    ¡°Caliban!¡±

    Gwen¡¯s netherworld serpent slithered into being.

    As one, the Manager and his men fell to their knees. The weaker of the bunch retched while the others whimpered.

    ¡°I am going to ask one more time.¡± Gwen crossed her legs. ¡°Mr Wong. Step up.¡±

    The man crawled forward.

    ¡°Have you ever stolen from the mine?¡±

    ¡°I-¡±

    ¡°SHAAA!¡± Caliban opened its carapace.

    ¡°Oo! Buddha have mercy!¡±

    ¡°One chance,¡± Gwen helpfully noted while Caliban crawled into her lap, drooling grey goo. ¡°Now answer.¡±

    ¡°I have sinned!¡± The accountant quivered. ¡°My men pilfered from pit 17 and 21 last year, and 14 the year before!¡±

    ¡°Lies. Grotesque and ugly lies. But even a little honesty is better than none. Maybe you¡¯ll have a limb left when this is over. Go stand to the right.¡±

    ¡°No! I also stole from pit 2! And I took bribes from Mr Mok and Mr Gu!¡±

    ¡°Shut up!¡±

    ¡°Wong, how dare you!¡±

    ¡°Miss Song, he''s delirious!¡±

    Gwen leapt from the table.

    ¡°CONFESS!¡± she let loose a bark, smothering the men with Dragon-fear. ¡°Your wives and your children are waiting for you. Your nice homes in Yangon, in Mandalay, your maids and servants, all waiting for the return of their master. But I am not here to play around, gentlemen. I am here on a mission. I am here from the House of M! I know you have stolen, I know how much you have stolen. The worm is Caliban, a Void Beast born from the righteous hunger of an Old One: when Caliban eats you from the inside out, there will no return to the eight-fold path. You won¡¯t even wander the endless plains of Limbo. What awaits you will be oblivion. OBLIVION! YOU-you son of a hog, what¡¯s your name?¡±

    ¡°Leo, Miss.¡±

    ¡°Money or mercy?¡±

    ¡°M-mercy!¡±

    ¡°Then go and stand to the right. You and I are going to go over the books, and if I don¡¯t find the answers I am looking for..."

    "ARIEL!"

    Ka-BOOM!

    A roll of thunder fulminated across the mine¡¯s exterior.

    "EEEEE!" Ariel passed by the window, glorious and awe-inspiring.

    ¡°...then our company will be trimming the fat.¡±

    ¡°D-Deva!¡±

    ¡°Mighty Buddha!¡±

    ¡°So.¡± Gwen walked a circle around the men, each cowed under her electric gaze, watching as Manager Mingyi¡¯s face turned a shade of green. ¡°To reiterate. I am here on a mission of mercy. If you chose oblivion, that¡¯s your choice. If the little wealth you have collated is worth more than reincarnation, then so be it.¡±

    She patted Caliban, who opened its carapace to unleash arm-thick tentacles of red and blue.

    ¡°The last man to confess gets eaten by Caliban.¡±

    ¡°And that¡¯s how production will increase by fifty per cent, is it?¡± Richard, Anita and Lulan joined Gwen and Mayuree at the mine by the evening, having reached the entrance with La War''s labourers. For the foreseeable future, the party was to be stationed in the managerial office to implement Gwen¡¯s desired changes.

    ¡°Simple, isn¡¯t it?¡± Gwen threw down the stack of rotten accounts. ¡°When a NoM¡¯s greed is enough to endure my Dragon-fear, you know they¡¯re hiding a lot more than they let on. I am having them cough up what they ate as well, with any luck, anything between six-months to a year''s supply may soon be ''uncovered''.¡±

    ¡°Money makes the world go round.¡± Richard sipped his beer, confiscated from the Manager''s private larder. ¡°Why am I not surprised.¡±

    ¡°Hopefully, once we implement hygiene protocols, safety measures, basic protective equipment and you guys complete the railway I asked for, efficiency will increase ten-fold. For now, I¡¯ve allocated for a quarter of the funds we''ve recovered to pay for additional workers from Kamaing. With the monkeys acting as escort, the roads should be safe."

    ¡°How are you doing all this?¡± Anita sipped her porridge. Thanks to Ying¡¯s quasi-magical pill, she was feeling much better and had been well enough to contribute to the excavations. ¡°Are you an Economics Major? Are you studying to take on a Manufactorium?¡±

    ¡°Nothing of the sort.¡± Gwen awkwardly chuckled. ¡°I read a lot in my spare time.¡±

    ¡°You know six Schools of Magic, and you have time left to read about governing NoMs?¡±

    ¡°Gwen¡¯s going to be a Tower Master someday,¡± Lulan pointed out. ¡°She needs to know all this.¡±

    ¡°Well, then Master Song,¡± Anita drily observed, smacking her lips. ¡°I am glad to be on your team.¡±

    ¡°Thanks, Ann,¡± Gwen smirked somewhat stiffly. ¡°I hope it¡¯s enough to beat Kyoto.¡±

    ¡°I am sure it is,¡± Richard piped in with a voice full of confidence. ¡°Walken said the quest is about improving the region¡¯s production, stability, the lives of the people, and the amount of resource transported back to Yangon. I somehow doubt Kyoto¡¯s priests and priestesses know accounting and work-health-safety! Ha! I doubt they¡¯ve laboured with NoMs in their whole lives. Wondrous their craft may be, the laziness of labourers and the greed of administrators are beyond magic."

    ¡°Nicely put, Dick!¡± Gwen raised a stubby.

    Bottles clinked. Their victory was at hand.

    From here on, Fudan had just under a week to set things in order; then, they would push back toward Yangon, hopefully meeting Bai and his team halfway, signalling the culmination and conclusion of their first mission in the International Inter-University Competition.

 Interlude - One Night in Yangon

    Within Bogyoke Park, Yangon, sat Kandawgyi Lake, the largest man-made lagoon in the city. The opalescent body of water was first commissioned by King Thibaw, criticised by the British for his love of material excess and ceaseless warmongering, though during the occupation, it became a favourite hangout for expats.

    Upon the lake, tethered to its centre by centrifugal currents of pure mana, gently rotating where the city''s ley-lines met, was an enormous pleasure barge, the largest of its kind ever built. Named the Karaweik Palace, the ship was clad in foiledgold and studded with gems and jewels, with its interior floor plated with an interlocking herringbone pattern of nephrite and jadeite. On either side, two enormous statues of life-like Nagas, each twenty metres tall and two hundred long, formed the perimeterof the ship from the shore. From atop heads the width of two men, egg-sized ruby eyes watched over the tranquil lake, guarding its precious cargo: Matriarch Nanmadaw Me Nu, protector of My?ma and its Frontier provinces.

    While the IIUCraged in Kachin, the Matriarch hid as she had always done for the last half-century, cocooned in luxury, lying on a divan of enormous length and girth, enfolded in silk, satin and chiffon, wary of the outside world, usually asleepto preserve her remaininglife.

    Within the high vaulted walls of the floating palace, three kept company; though only two engaged in conversation. The first was Me Nu, radiant on her divan, the second was Maymyint, prostrated on all fours, and the third was Marong, quiet as a whisper of smoke, blended into the ever-burning incense, no more obtrusive than the gentle scent of sandalwood.

    Marong had never expected that he would venture this far.

    The throne room usually fielded two Manipuri Shadowmen, his seniors by decades, standing in the antechamber, followed by four elite guards within the sanctum itself. Strangely, only an hour ago, an order had come from the Grandmaster to transfer every single member of the House of M''s precious guards northward for a final confrontation with the Tyrant.

    Marong was himself a member of the House of M''s elite force, but as a scion, he also existed outside of the cult''s organisation.

    When the irrational command came, he felt the sea change in his smoke, swirling with hidden eddies clouded by conspiracy.

    There was another reason for Marong''s suspicion.

    Usually, he opted to remain as far from their Mind Mage sister as possible. Maymyint was the eldest and the favourite of the Matriarch. Even when Marong was a child, Maymyint had remained exactly as she was now, aloof, beautiful, and cold-blooded. Thanks to her inherited Radiant Element; she commanded unquestionable loyalty from the House of M''s caretakers, especially its troop of secretively trained mercenaries in the mountains of Manipur, including its Grandmaster, a powerful Vairagi and Marong''s teacher.

    After Me Nu had cheated Mayuree of her promised protection, he had found himself increasingly drawn to his eldest. And it was from the many incidences when Marong lurked to see what treacherous plots Maymyint trafficked, that he caught a whiff of the Tyrant. At first, it was faint, but as he followed Maymyint day after day, the musky scent clung to his nostrils like pork grease.

    Was Maymyint in contact with the Tyrant then? Marong knew he had to find proof, though since Mayuree went away, he had found no evidence of collusion.

    But then an order had come from the Grandmaster, and much to Marong''s shock, the Shadowmen not only obeyed: they had left Me Nu unprotected. He was incredulous, for the contract between the Vairagi and Me Nu was etched out in dragon-tongue, in the writing of the Naga, and only Me Nu could revoke it. Not in all twenty-four years of Marong''s life had he ever witnessed Me Nu not being protected by at least four of the Vairagi''s elites, the only force she trusted, which was why he had slipped into the theatre to bear witness to the rare sight of a furious Matriarch.

    "FOOL!"

    Thwack!

    An invisible lash snapped across Maymyint''s body, sinking her into the floor.

    Me Nu''s wrath was terrible indeed, so much that Maymyint''s pain, which should have delighted Marong, stirred even his smoky form. In Marong''s eyes, Maymyint existed as a favourite of the Matriarch, unassailable in her superiority. Never had he seen her berated, much less whipped and beaten. Sometimes, he had thought the pair mind-linked, for they often finished each other''s sentences.

    "You dared to move my Shadowmen without my consent!" Me Nu snarled, baring pointed canines of flawless ivory.

    "The decision is to the benefit of the House of M." Maymyint passively touched her head to the floor. "Matriarch, please understand."

    "Benefit? By leaving me unprotected?" Me Nu spat, her ageless face growinggrotesque with wrinkles. "Call our Mages back!"

    "We need them in Nagaland if we are to retake our home!" Maymyint protested. "Mother, you have to listen!"

    "Silence! Do you think I don''t know you meddled with the tithing? Why is Mayuree with the foreigners? Why are the transports going out now?"

    Thwack!

    Another blow, harder this time, was enough to send Maymyint skittering across the polished jadeite floor, leaving a vivid streak of red. From the tiles, Marong could see that Maymyint was bleeding from her mouth.

    She defiantly raised her head.

    "YOU DARE?!" The Matriarch rose from her divan, revealing her scale-covered lower body. "You, who art the flesh of my flesh, how dare you utter such imprudence? Maymyint, you forget your duty."

    "Imprudence?" Maymyint spat blood. "You, who stole life from my siblings, who fed your scions to the Tyrant, speak of duty?"

    Like an agitated cobra, Maymyint suddenly stood. "You''re past your prime, old bitch."

    For a second, Marong thought the flow of time had ceased.

    "You have grown cheeky." Me Nu regained her composure. "Tyrtrol!"

    Maymyint prostrated by throwing herself on the floor with a violent snap.

    Marong likewise felt the blood in his veins urging him to obey, though when it came to off-shoots like him and Mayuree, their genetic heirloom had thinned enough to gift them freedom.

    "Confn trelkilt," Me Nu continued in the old draconic tongue, her expression demonstrating full confidence in her command over her children. "It seems the liberty I have gifted you hasgone to your head, Maymyint. You believe yourself beyond your role as tithing for our little Tyrant up north. But some lessons, I see, mustn''t be remiss. You, my child, are just as expendable as your brothers and sisters. You, arrogant whelp, are no more important than Mayuree, who you so eagerly volunteered."

    At the sound of Me Nu''s words, Marong tensed, relying on years of training to quieten his disquieted heart. Maymyint volunteered Mayuree? His complexion would have blanched but for his dissipated body. Then it wasn''t the Matriarch?

    Maymyint forced herself onto her knees.

    "But why have you sent all our forces northward, leaving the city unprotected? Are you perhaps planning a coup?" Me Nu continued, growing more upset by the minute, feeling naked without her guards. "I sense something on you, dear child. What could it be?"

    By the time Marong had calmed himself, the Matriarch had left her throne and was encircling Maymyint. As usual, their so-called mother''s deathless face was something that made one''s spine squirm. Said to be the descendant of a great Naga, Me Nu was the last remnant of the Royal Family deposed by the British, a surviving daughter of the Mon and the Pyu. The way she moved reminded him of a serpent, made more so vivid by the jewel-encrusted scales just below her neck, cupping her shrivelled breasts.

    "Vataka!"

    Maymyint knelt.

    "Open your mouth."

    Maymyint obeyed.

    "Wider!"

    Marong''s sister stretched her blooded-lips so far that her jaws appeared unhinged.

    The Matriarch reached out with fingers crusty with dull serpent scales, then drew out Maymyint''s tongue. Quickly, like a dash, Me Nu''s tongue flickered.

    "Ho?" Me Nu dug a nail into Maymyint''s pink appendage, daring the woman to bite. "What is this? Someone else has marked you in my stead. I can smell it on your breath and in your blood."

    Marong meanwhile, was considering the possibility of getting the Matriarch to rescind her order for Mayuree. If he should approach their "Mother" with suspicions of Maymyint'' treachery against Mayuree''s contribution, could he bring his sister back?

    "You always had a glib tongue." Me Nu relented her grasp, then patted Maymyint on the cheeks, wiping the frothy blood on her daughter''s cheeks. "Tell me, child, how is it that you have met with the Tyrant without my knowledge? What is your purpose? Use the Void Sorceress to make the IIUCMages join your fight? You know the proctors do not interfere, no matter the sacrifice made by the students. Are you truly hoping a group of children would defeat our enemy of three decades? Your plan appears to be full of holes, my dear. Tell Mother what it is that you have truly envisioned. I know you''re smarter than that."

    "I planned for your departure from this world," Maymyint spoke, her voice different somehow. "Are you so discontent with rotting away in your palace, Me Nu? You haven''t left here, nor seen the sun for how long? What''s the joy in life, when you live in a gilded cage?"

    That last metaphor, Marong mulled. Was that for Me Nu, or was it for Maymyint herself? In a way, wasn''t it the same for all their siblings? Cocks and hens locked in gilded cages, fattened up to be of use to the House of M¨¹, a house of nothing?

    "Ssejinw!" Me Nu commanded, fuming at her daughter''s insolence.

    "No, I will not." To Marong''s shock and surprise, Maymyint not only disobeyed their Matriarch''s Draconic speech but rose to both feet. Instead, she opened her mouth, split her tongue in twain in the manner of a serpent''s and delivered a power word of her own. "Vataka!"

    Unbidden, surprised and caught utterly unprepared, Me Nu found herself hitting the floor on all fours, just as Maymyint had done so before.

    "How does it feel?" Maymyint''s trilling voice quivered with excitement. "Old whore! Now the shoe is on the other foot! HA!"

    "YOU!" Me Nu''s eyes rolled in all directions. "How?"

    Marong knew that Me Nu''s dragon-speech held her children in check. When she fully applied her will and her Mind Magic, it was almost impossible to resist her command. That Maymyint had found a way to combat their Matriarch''s blood magic was an impossible thing. Distinctly, Marong recalled the Grandmaster warning him that any descendants not subject to Me Nu''s control were sent to the Tyrant, that or fed to the pseudo-dragon-carp in the lake.

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    "I have a new Master now!" Maymyint snarled. "I am free!"

    Before Marong could rebuke the irony of what Maymyint had declared, his sister reached out with both hands and took Me Nu by the arms. "Hag! Your time is done! Progress waits for no one!"

    Tzsss!

    "ARRRRRGH!" Me Nu screamed as radiant energy seared her scales and melted the golden mounts upon which her jewels were clustered.

    "Make me prostrate?" Maymyint exalted as she tore a chunk of charred flesh from the Matriarch''s body. "That''s the last time you threaten me!"

    "Guards! GUARDS!" Me Nu cried out.

    Marong''s eyes, were he still in his physical form, would have bulged from their sockets. Maymyint, attacking the Matriarch! It was insanity; the world had gone topsy-turvy!

    "You ingrate!" Me Nu struck out with a blow of her own, but her body, as Marong suspected, was old and frail, a scarecrow wearing a skin of youth the House of M had supplied for almost half a century. Beneath Maymyint, Me Nu''s lower body suddenly fused, becoming the likeliness of a snake, but whatever Maymyint had done was keeping the Matriarch bound in her human form. With this final indignity, Me Nu grew desperate. "Are you working with Aung San?! Did he set you up for this? Do you hope to give up the House to those peasants?! To those rebels?!"

    Maymyint didn''t speak. Instead, she pushed Me Nu to the floor and began to choke the life out of their matron with a sadistic glee that bordered on orgiastic joy.

    "Is it the B-British?" The Matriarch choked and howled, her face turning half-cobra before turning back again. "No-Tsss-M-Maymyint- Sss-spare-"

    Mindful of his incorporeal heart pounding away somewhere in the Astral Realm, Marong descended into the throne room, slinking across the ground, mingling with the smoke from the sandalwood incense. He had no love for the Matriarch, but this was an opportunity.

    An opportunity that would likely never come again in his life.

    A chance to be free.

    Maymyint was going to be another Me Nu. Nothing would change with her reign. Even so, their eldest had the right idea. If his sister could make the hard choice to fight for her future, then so could Marong.

    "Garrr¡­ Garrrrk¡­ Fles¡­ of mine..." Me Nu struggled for breath. Scales painted with golden flakes began to cascade from her body as her waning vitality began to shed what age should have taken long ago, filling the antechamber with a musical series of clinks and clangs.

    "All shall end in Nagaland," Maymyint boasted even as the flesh of her mother began to soften. "When Mayuree and her friends clash with the Tyrant, when the Shadowmen stir up Aung San''s nest, they will smash themselves against the fortress."

    "F-fool¡­"

    "Oh, I don''t expect either side to succeed." Maymyint giggled, ratcheting up the pressure on her sizzling fingers. There was blood now; Marong could see broken skin on Me Nu''s throat, affecting a great stink as the Matriarch''s ancient plasma steamed and boiled. "All they, and Gwen, and the IIUC teams have to do is create a distraction and then¡­ hahaha¡­"

    Me Nu shrivelled, her clawed feet kicked, then all life departed.

    Maymyint looked around, dazed by the blood and gore covering her from her throat to her thighs, baked into her dress.

    With still shaking hands, she began to draw a communication glyph from the floor, using the Matriarchs blood as a convenient medium. Marong meanwhile, slipped just behind his Enchanter sister, mindful of her sensitivity to magic, keeping his magical signature at a minimum.

    With a flourish, Maymyint completed the circle. "It''s done!"

    The glyphs activated, proving the potency of their Matriarch''s demi-human serum. In the next instant, a sudden stink of draconic-essence permeated the room.

    Marong knew by now his sister was in league with the Tyrant. If so, they were all in danger. Mayuree was in danger, Gwen was in danger, the House of M was in danger, and so was all of My?ma.

    But not if he could get his way.

    It was funnyhow when the Matriarch had sent him to Manipur for ten years of torturous training, he had sworn to kill her and free himself and Mayuree and that now, he was going to avenge the old bitch.

    But first, Marong sought to know what his sister was trafficking.

    "So you have chosen satisfaction after all," a deep and rumbling voice rolled across the throne room, eliciting a willing prostration from his proud sister. "Was diplomacy too difficult?"

    Shit! His ghostly anatomy puckered. That''s NOT the Tyrant!

    With one hand, he worked the killing spell, with the other, he readied himself to activate the necrotic device tethered to his craft. Maymyint possessed a Contingency Ring, meaning he had to offset any healing she received when she reappeared in her contracted Tower.

    Without warning, Maymyint grovelled so low that Marong found himself vis-a-vis with a glowing eye, electric-blue and golden-slitted, staring past the woman and toward his incorporeal visage.

    Their eyes met.

    Every cell in Marong''s body, astral and solid, stood at a standstill.

    "Humph," the voice hummed. "Tell me of events in Kachin."

    "Gwen Song and her ilk are at each other''s throats," Maymyint obediently replied from the floor. "They should be resolving their quest very soon. I have arranged for Mayuree''s extradition to Nagaland once they reach Indaw."

    "And the Tyrant?"

    "Fuming."

    "Delicious, and what of your promise to Marong?"

    "Lord?"

    At the mention of his name, Marong felt his magic begin to unravel.

    "Did you not assert that young Mayuree will be safe?"

    Maymyint appeared confused by the unexpected inquiry. "Forgive your servant for not understanding. The sorceress and my sister are bait."

    "Indeed they are," the voice grew low. "You may proceed as planned."

    "As per your will." Maymyint bowed, just stopping herself before she slammed her head on the jade carvings.

    "Go now. I shall be in contact."

    Without a word, Maymyint shuffled away, leaving the mangled, half-transmuted corpse of Me Nu, surrounded by precious jewels and gems, to decorate the otherwise spotless golden throne room.

    Very slowly, mote by mote, Marong began his retreat.

    "Marong." The eye abruptly refocused its attention, and now it addressed him directly. "Your foster mother and something of a matron is dead. Do you hold any affection for her, or is your allegiance akin to that of your surviving sister?"

    Before Marong could answer or turn to flee, a dense coil of mana flooded the throne room, making the air as thick as molasses. Something incredibly dense was gathering at the centre, as though a cumulonimbus cloud had suddenly formed in the throne room''s golden interior. In an instant, a dark fog, moist and wet like a monsoonal thunderstorm, filled the vacant space, painting the cold walls with moisture.

    Marong had been through enough danger to know that nothing good would come of staying any longer.

    "Blin¡ª"

    "Zexenuma!" the voice that now boomed across the room made Me Nu''s earlier command sound gentler than the archery of rain on Kandawgyi. The weight of Maymyint''s masters'' words pressed in upon his skull with the force of a Stone Spear to his brain, seizing the entirety of his being. He understood the word; in the draconic-tongue, it was a simple command to "Stay" - as one would say to a dog.

    With a crash, his physical form fell into the material world, striking the floor with a resounding thunk.

    Now held hostage by rebellious limbs, Marong stood still as a statue while the cloud collated, growing solid, crackling with lightning and fulminating with low thunder until it took on the form of a man.

    Slowly, as though with all the leisure in the world, his assailant stepped onto the jade-green tiles of the throne room.

    Without regard for his captive audience, the monstrous existence exercised his humanoid form, flexing his fingers and extending his legs, craning his neck this way and that. When finally Marong gathered his wits, the Smoke Mage couldn''t help but shudder; for he was staring at perfection.

    Maymyint''s master was tall, at least two meters, with strong jaws, broad shoulders, a compact torso and long limbs. Where Marong had dark hair, the man had a silver mane that sprouted just above his bushy, ash-white brows, tucked behind the ears and flowing tillhis waist.

    The creature''s physiognomy was majesty personified, his physique without earthly equal.

    When Marong''s gaze fell lower, his eyes involuntarily widened.

    Abruptly, the man willed a black-silver longyi into existence, leaving his upper body exposed and glistening, rippling with vitality.

    "Sva escho," the man intoned with ease, his open mouth hinting at the flickering, forked tongue hidden within.

    Without warning, all the tension drained from Marong''s body.

    "Who are you?" Marong quaked. "You''re not the Tyrant."

    "Of course I am not the bastard," the man snickered. "You call me Ruxin, your new sovereign."

    Marong sniffed the incensed air.

    He finally recalled the origin of the nostalgic scent.

    How could he have forgotten the stink that Gwen had brought into his home?

    Who else could have easily dominated Me Nu?

    "You¡­ you''re ¡­from¡­" Marong felt his bones groan. A primal terror unlocked from somewhere deep within his marrows, flooding his spine with adrenaline he couldn''t expend. The Yinglong? Was this the Yinglong itself?! A mythic class being, here?! What had Maymyint invited into their home? Was his eldest insane? More importantly, was the Yinglong interested in their country? Was one dragon now going to fight the other for territory? If so, what about Mayuree?

    "I suppose I am." The dragon called "Ruxin" smiled gently. "I am but a vagabond prince looking for a home. In this, we are alike: two princelings of worth, seeking their fortune in a hostile world."

    Marong felt sticky perspiration drenching his sneak-suit. Alike with a mythic being? To say he was tongue-tied was an understatement.

    "Humph, I had thought you quick-witted like your sister," Ruxin observed. "Speaking of which, killing Maymyint there and then was a delicious display of good judgement. But did you think I could not detect your hostility? Had I less care for your sister, you would have delayed my plans..."

    The dragon laughed. "How shall I deal with you, young Marong?"

    Opposite, Marong''s head was abuzz with chaos, though within that primordial chaos of dread and despair, survival and surprise, came a strange clarity.

    First of all, he knew that there were two paths ahead. One in which he and Mayuree lived, and one in which he and his sister were dead. Either way, Ruxin would get his way. Maymyint was right in one aspect: that Yangon had survived this long without a Tower was an anomaly. The status quo Me Nu had maintained with bribes was untenable; the House of M''s mercantile network would only last so long before external forces, and internal strife blew the lid.

    Restoration of the Mon and Pyu bloodlines?

    A return to the governorship of My?ma?

    Marong could hardly relate to those ageing aspirations, for they were the dreams of an older generation, apparitions from the past.

    Compared to old compatriots like Maymaruya, Marong was born in the mountains of Manipur, shipped to Shanghai for his education, then returned to Manipur to be trained as a tool for the Royal House''s restoration. He had a dozen siblings then, Thint, Ne Win, Sein, Kwat, Un, Khun and others whose faces he could no longer recall, that and Mayuree, who had clung to his sleeves and cried at every turn, the youngest of their batch.

    Now that Maymyint had sold their homeland, why should he remain loyal to a cause that had never been his own, now usurped by another for personal gain?

    The words that came to his throat surrendered themselves with a fantastic satisfaction, "delicious" as the dragon would say, for it was Maymyint who had shown him the way.

    "My Lord Ruxin, are you familiar with the Centurion Program?"

    His unexpected meander must have surprised even Ruxin. Where the dragon had worn the contemplative boredom of a predator toying with his prey, there was now a slight rise to his brow.

    "Maymyint had mentioned it." Ruxin nodded with pleasure. "Profitable, I believe."

    "Did she inform you that Gwen Song was the progenitor of the program?"

    "Not as such."

    Marong observed he had been allowed to continue.

    "Lord Ruxin, Gwen Song lies at the heart of the Centurion Program." Marong took a gamble. "Maymyint is a fool blinded by her lust for power, which is why she failed to have your interest as her core priority. I know she seeks to borrow your Lordship''s terror to cow the House''s foxes into submission, but please allow this one a moment to clarify her fault."

    "Very well, you have it."

    "My Lord." Marong wracked his brain for details, cursing that he had only read the reports in a cursory sense. "The Centurion Program is a credit system the likes of which we have never seen before, at least not in Asia. What Gwen had helped Manager Maymaruya set up in Shanghai is but the seed of something infinitely greater. With only one tier 1 city feeding into the program, the Shanghai division of the House of M has become the preeminent investment our operations now possess. The program, my Lord, is pure profit, not resources dug from the earth, but wealth from thin air, credit and interest, usury by design on an industrial scale. If the program could be successfully replicated in Tokyo, in Seoul, in Singapore, in Hong Kong and beyond, what it may well produce could be the equivalent of many a My?ma and all of its pits of nephrite and jadeite!"

    "You had my curiosity." The dragon''s eyes were burning holes into Marong''s brain, branding him somehow in ways Marong could not begin to imagine. "But now you have my interest."

    "Allow me to be your regent," Marong proposed, falling to both knees. "Maymyint has incurred Gwen Song''s ire and can neither compel nor elicit her aid. Moreso, if and when Mayuree perishes, that will be the end of our cooperation. Your exalted expansion will be hundreds of times more arduous; our competitors will have us by the throat. For the Centurion Program to continue, and for you to reap its benefits, my Lord, Gwen must remain on our side. Mayuree must remain tethered to Gwen, and I: I shall be your regent where your Grace''s presence is too precious."

    Ruxin''s grin grew until Marong thought for a moment he was going to be swallowed whole.

    "You sister promises the loyalty of the Shadowmen of Manipur."

    "The Grandmaster is my master, Lord," Marong''s voice croaked. "I know him. He will follow you or I or Mayuree even, so long as our supply lines remain intact. His is a developing Frontier, and our alliance is one of mutual benefit, untethered to any one person."

    "You lost something of a mother already." Ruxin clicked his tongue. "Now you trade a sister for a sister?"

    "This one desires only to serve." Marong touched his head to the floor. "Mayuree is but an instrument which your Lordship must preserve, just as Maymyint is one my lord hasexpended."

    "Raise your head."

    When Marong looked up, he saw Ruxin''s glowing, single-slit eyes staring back down.

    "Allow me to clear a mild misunderstanding, young Marong." Ruxin appeared to mull over his next words. When he finally delivered them, Marong''s whole world began to quake. "I shall accept your offer as my regent, your sister shall live, and I shall even allow you the liberty of exacting your human justice, as I had allowed Maymyint. But - let me elucidate on how the events shall now proceed."

    In a moment, Marong''s mind flooded with knowledge, bloating his brain against the confines of its mortal casing.

    "You see, young Marong." Ruxin''s voice filled every nook of his skull. "What you failed to understand is that the jade, the land, the people, Yangon, Mandalay, Kachin, Nagaland, the Tyrant, Aung San, your sister, yourself, the House of M and even the Calamity... ALL shall belong to me."

 Chapter 259 - Burmese Days

    From day one in Mandalay, it was self-evident that there was insufficientfood, medicine, machinery and materials for all four universities to attain a balanced ration of CCs. When inevitably, fights broke out, leading to impromptu duels all over the city, the teams convened to work out a formal system of splitting the resources without actually setting fire to the whole thing.

    The resulting solution was a reasonable point-system where duels determined the amountof goods each team accumulated. The result was that having sent their ace members northward, Seoul and Jiantong staggered, while Fudan and Kyoto proved similarly matched. To further ensure fairness, a proctor was invited to supervise the duels, after which the assets were distributed accordingly.

    "I wonder if the northern expedition teams are working as amicably as we are," remarked Anwei, a member of Jiantong''s supporting team, much to the mirth of his peers.

    "I believe Gwen would welcome something like this," Tei assured them, thinking of their selection trial. "Rest assured; she works very well with others."

    On the fourth day, Jiantong received news that their Captain had forfeited the match. Embarrassed beyond measure, Tei supervised the splitting of their rival''s loot between the Koreans, the Japanese, and Fudan.

    "I heard your Ace was the one who forced Jiantong to capitulate," Chong Jei, a cautious member of Seoul U, observed as he received their surplus manifest. "I hope she''s not thinking of challenging our Lee Sunbae-nim."

    "Gwen is fully open to cooperation," Tei said to his Korean counterpart.

    On the fifth day, Seoul received news that they were returning home. The girls cried while the young men fell into a disbelieving stupor. Kyoto and Fudan agreed to split the loot from Seoul U fifty-fifty.

    "..." A Kyoto member held his tongue lest Tei unleashed another prophetic curse.

    "That''s our Gwen," Eunae declared proudly after returning from consoling her Korean compatriots. "I heard she took out Sung Lee, Si-Won and Jung-min. The three might already be back in Korea."

    "Wocao, Gwen is a monster." Jiro whistled.

    "Just Kyoto to go then." Rene waved at their final opponents. "I can''t wait to hear it first hand. Gwen, taking out two teams back to back? I wonder if she bothered to take a breather in between the slaughter. Maybe in two days, we go home the victor."

    The rest of Fudan''s team members took a moment to imagine Caliban hunting down Kyoto''s Mages one by one.

    With thus a week to reorganise their northward expedition, Tei and Kyoto U''s representative, an Onmyoji called Kyu Sakamoto, began to pressure the local government for logistical support. Unsurprisingly, they initially met with ceaseless stonewalling until, without any particular reason, the provincial governorship relented, gifting the teams with vehicles and materials galore.

    "Unexpected boons," Jiro, always open to a good fight, suggested something was afoot. "Is never a good thing."

    "It doesn''t matter; we proceed as planned, we''ll be fine as long as we''re careful," Fudan''s Captain assured his team.

    So it was that on the tenth day since arriving in Mandalay, with little to no knowledge of events in Kachin, the teams set out, protecting a great train of supplies.

    It was just as well that they now possessed military cargo trucks, not to mention NoM operators. Though their lumbering engines were decades old and likely from the last war, it would suffice for the journey north. Only a week ago, Tei was looking into buying buffalo and donkey carts. As for critical supplies such as potions and medicines, those remained in Tei''s ring.

    At the forefront of the convoywas Kyoto, clearing the landscape with their communally conjured Kami. For the journey ahead, the teams had agreed on cooperation over conflict. Rene worked on filling potholes and securing earthen banks with quickly solidifying pillars of Magma. Tei meanwhile, planted wards to keep away magically inclined fauna. As for their NoM labourers, the masses riding along within and atop the trucks were cared for by Kyoto''s Abjurer, Yumi, who worked with Eunae in looking after the three-hundred NoMs who accompanied the convoy, dispensing minor fortifications of strength, spirit and stamina.

    "If fighting starts¡­" Tei informed both parties, for it didn''t take a veteran to taste the tension in the air. "Gather the NoMs between the first and last six vehicles. I have wards set up."

    "As you will, Tei-san." Yumi and the others were happy to oblige. "If something terrible were to happen, do you think the examiners will intervene?"

    "Not while the competition is ongoing," Tei dispensed his wisdom freely. "That''s how it is, I am afraid. Our mission may prove no less complicated than that of our A Teamin Kachin."

    Gwen had never been to Indaw, a small township adjacent to a lake mid-way between Mandalay and Kachin. But as a fan-girl, she did know that it was the setting for Burmese Days, George Orwell''s seminal novel and that the author''s home sat in the next town, Katha, only five kilometres over.

    But in this world, there was no Nineteen-Eighty-Four. Had there been someone of Orwell''s talent, their worthiness in a colonial backwater like this would have manifested only in Spellcraft, meaning they would have fled Burma at the first sign of Aung San''s independence movement.

    What remained then, was a fishing township of ten thousand souls on the shores of Indaw lake, one of the smaller bodies of water to grace Kachin''s northern catchment, fertile with loam and fecund with rice paddies, filled to the brim with mortal and magical flora and fauna.

    As their half-kilometre troop of labourers made slow but steady progress down from Kachin through the main arterial highway, Gwen was beset by a new and unexpected problem, one that jolted her from the Zen of micromanagement.

    Mayuree had come down with a fever.

    That Mages had illnesses was only something she had experienced herself, though her episodes were usually Void-related. What troubled Gwen was the timing of the occurrence. Now that victory was at hand, and they were on their way to meet with Tei and the rest of the team, Mayuree suddenly fellill?

    It took a significant leap of faith to believe such a coincidence.

    And yet, she couldn''t discount the fact that Mayuree had flown with her through wind and rain. That the weather had been humid, hot and cold, and that they had both gone through an excess of stressful encounters of late in a tropical, insect-infested region.

    If that wasn''tenough to bring on a burning fever, then what was? God knewwhat pathogens lurked in the undergrowth or their drinking water.

    First, she had attempted a Remove Disease injector. When that didn''t work, she abducted the Abbott of the monastery at Kamaing to La War to check on her friend. When the well-respected healer couldn''t diagnose Mayuree, Gwen felt at wit''s end. Logic told her to leave Mayuree at La War while she brought over Eunae, but a growing sense of paranoia brought on by Mia''s glamoured disposition made her risk aversive. Finally, she relented to bring over Kyoto''s Captain and Vice Captain to examine Mayuree, hoping that perhaps, the Japanese had an idea.

    After a suite of diagnostic magic, as well as a consultation with presumably a relevant Kami, Ichiro had this to say.

    "She''s not sick," the Shugenja informed her. "It''s her Divination that''s acting up."

    "What?" Gwen and the others from Fudan looked from Mayuree to their Japanese counterparts.

    "Mayuree-san, how do you feel? Have you seen any visions?"

    "That can''t be. I don''t feel fearful or frightened," Mayuree protested feebly, her face unusually pallid and her brows covered with a snail-sheen of sweat. The Diviner had remained lucid, though she couldn''t hold down food and she tossed and turned in her sleep with the vigour of one possessed.

    "There''s a charm suppressing your talent." Ichiro drew a line of pale Enchantment from Mayuree''s forehead. "Your Sigil is alerting you, but an Enchantment in your mind is preventing you from acting on it. That is what is causing the fever."

    "Can you do something, Ichi-san?" Gwen croaked, unused to seeing sickness and suffering in those to whom she had grown close. Before they left, Walken had advised that they should minimise disruption to the competition; now that Fudan had it in the bag, she was willing to expend certain certainties to repair Mayuree. "Name your price."

    "We are happy to help." Yuki stopped Ichiro before the exchange grew uncomfortable. "A fellow Mage is ill. It is all of our duty to ensure she recovers."

    "But she isn''t sick, Yuki-sama," Ichiro pointed out. "I fear Gwen-san has problems of her own; ones we cannot help."

    Which meant they should mind their own business, Gwen deciphered.

    "Ichiro-kun." Yuki dialled her imploring eyes to eleven. "Please."

    "I don''t have access to a dispelling mandala," Ichiro confessed, red-faced and embarrassed. "It''s not that I do not wish to help, Gwen-san, just that it isn''t safe. Without a mandala to drain the embedded magic, the feedback could make Mayuree-san''s condition worse."

    Which ultimately led to their present condition involvinga delirious Mayuree, bundled and strapped to Ariel''s back, kept snug and warm and shielded from the rain by Lea. As an offering of compassion, Yuki, Masahiro and Hiroki cleared the road ahead with Dororo, working with Richard, Lulan and Anita to excavate the overgrown highway buried under rubble and ruin.

    At night, Gwen slept with Mayuree in her Habitat, enduring the girl''s feverish mumbling and muttering even when cradled against Gwen''s cool dermis. Outside, her dogs patrolled their surroundings, protecting their troop of NoM labourers sleeping beside rows of carts, punctuated by the rare motor vehicle.

    Two days later, from half a kilometre up in the air, Gwen caught sight of Indaw.

    "There''s Gwen!" Eunae waved as Gwen alighted among her fellow Mages from Fudan, a bundle strapped to her back.

    "Eunae! Mayuree''s sick!" Contrary to the Cleric''s great expectations, Gwen landed with a stumble. "We need to do that thing. Are you good to go? Tei, how long are we resting in Indaw?"

    "We planned to move tomorrow morning," Tei hailed his Vice Captain, who hastily bowed. "The NoMs need rest. What''s wrong with Mayuree?"

    "Ichiro says she''s glamoured and her Divination is clogged," Gwen crudely explained. "Her brain is melting."

    Before Tei could speak, a furious Kitty pushed past Fudan''s Captain.

    "How could you!" Kitty''s crow-black scowl sliced at Gwen''s conscience. "You liar! You said Mia would be safe!"

    "Mia IS safe." Gwen fumbled for words, finding none that would suffice, serving only to infuriate a livid Kitty who saw evidence to the contrary.

    "I don''t believe you!" Kitty snarled. "Liar!"

    "Kitty!"

    "Get off me!"

    "Kitty, calm yourself, Mayuree needs help," Tei intervened. "Gwen?"

    "I need at least an hour with Eunae in the Portable Habitat," Gwen explained, too anxious to bother with Kitty''s prodding, settling instead for eventual hindsight. "Tei, you''ll have to trust me. Can you hold the fort?"

    "Sure," Tei told the others to clear out and go find the incoming team and their labourers. "I''ll take care of the rest. You take care of Mayuree."

    "Eunae?"

    "I am ready." Eunae nodded. "Master Walken gave me everything I needed."

    "Gwen, please!" Kitty reached out to peel the groggy Mayuree from Gwen''s back. "Where are you taking her? What are you doing?"

    "KITTY! NOT NOW!" Gwen barked, striking the girl with dragon-fear, driving the pleading Ice Mage back. After three days of not sleeping, her patience was on a short fuse.

    Kitty stumbled, dazed despite her best efforts.

    "You may come in when I tell you." Gwen found a space between two trucks, canvased and well shielded from sight, then laid down the Habitat. "Tei, I am counting on you, let me know if anything''s wrong. Eunae, let''s go."

    The Habitat opened its portal. Gwen authorised herself, Mayuree, Tei and Eunae, adding in Richard and Lulan just in case.

    Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

    "STOP!" Kitty screeched. When she reached for the portal, she found its mirror-like surface incorporeal and intangible. "NO!"

    "Miss Liang, compose yourself!" Tei glared. Kitty had been a perfect Captain''s little helper the whole erstwhile in Mandalay, so it was off-putting to see the girl in such a wretched state. "Gwen knows what she''s doing, and Mayuree will shortly return, so stop embarrassing us any further! You''ll be on Vid-cast! Act professionally!"

    When Kitty turned, her expression was such that he reflexively allowed a half-syllable of Dust Shield to touch the tip of his tongue. Thankfully, Ice Magescooled rapidly.

    "Sorry," Kitty mumbled, then stalked away, likely trying to find somewhere dark and cold to brood.

    Tei shook his head, then met the gaze of Jiro and Rene, who had kept a safe distance as soon as Kitty began to act up.

    "I told you she''s in love," Rene remarked to Jiro. "The girl talks about nothing but Mayuree at night. Never had I thought an Ice Mage could be so fired up."

    "But¡­" Jiro glanced at Kitty''s retreating figure, then at the portal. "They''re both girls?"

    It took Eunae twenty minutes to set up the Dispelling Mandala Walken had taught.

    "Magister Walken said that when dispelling persistent-effects like embedded Mind Magic, it''s not the same as the disruption type Dispel," the girl explained as she drew lines onto the grey floor of the Habitat''s interior space with a reagent dispenser. "The mandala''s effects can be multiplied many times, depending on the type of material used. Right now, I am using a mithril and silver compound. The Magister couldn''t find one in Yangon, so he took one from his private collection."

    Wily old Eric seemed to have many things in his "private" collection, Gwen noticed. From marmalade to cigars to vintage wine to magical reagents.

    "Is it going to work?"

    "Seonsaeng-nim said it should dispel anything tier 6 and below without incident," Eunae returned her enquiry, evidently feeling impressed enough by Walken to use a culture-specific honorific. "We practised a few times. He''s an excellent teacher."

    "I suppose he''s got his merits."

    "You''re so lucky," Eunae gushed.

    Gwen felt conflicted. When they returned, there would be a tongue lashing from her excellent instructor, though for now, Eunae''s worshipful tone made her skin crawl.

    "I know Mayuree is important to you." Eunae seemed to enjoy their little role-reversal now that Gwen was the flustered one and she was the one helping. "But as long as we follow sir''s instructions, Mayuree will be perfectly fine!"

    "Magister, I think you should look at this." Evelyn Hass brought Chief Proctor von Schlabrendorff over to the Lumen-projector.

    A day prior, half of the examiners'' group had relocated to a mobile field base in Katha, from where they would witness the handover between the two convoys as the teams once again converged before moving up into Kachin. On the fourteenth day since commencement from Yangon, a declaration would announcethat the first round of the qualifier was over, and contestants would then be sent home for a week of recuperation before embarking on the second round of the qualifiers.

    "It better not be a dragon," von Schlabrendorff grumbled as he set down his coffee.

    "I would prefer a dragon at this rate." Hass punched in a dozen glyphs in quick succession, zooming the map out. "A group of unregistered magic users just appeared in the lake''s centre."

    "What was there previously?"

    "An old jetty sir, it wasn''t anything suspicious¡­"

    "None of our business, either way." Von Schlabrendorff motioned for the others to gather. "What''s the House of M doing? Are they expecting our students to engage in extracurricular labour?"

    "Looks like our hostiles numbers in the twenties." A third Magister operated his lumen-caster. "I am not seeing anyone with a significant mana signature but- WOA!"

    "Is that a Swamp Hydra?" A fourth zoomed in on the shape that just appeared. "How are they transporting something that size through Teleportation Circles?"

    "Two Hydras! Was there another force in Burma with so much resource?" The third wracked his brain for data. "Does a Frontier of this size even have that many mid-tier Mages?"

    "I would presume the Rogue Mages are Aung San Yuzana''s freedom fighters, from Nagaland," von Schlabrendorff remarked. "Pay them no heed. One assumes they''re here to loot or destroy the supplies. Also, knowing where they''re from, I don''t think they''re Hydras."

    "Nagaland?" The fourth checked his notes. "Our Indian Protectorate?"

    "Originally belonging to the Mon and the Pyu empires, then annexed to the Mageocracy, then lost in the Beast Tide," von Schlabrendorff reminded his Mages. "But yes. That''s where the Tyrant is said to have originated."

    "So the Tyrant is a..."

    "And those are¡­"

    "What else?" von Schlabrendorff scoffed. "Isn''t it natural for Nagas to live in Nagaland?"

    Yuki and her crew of Onmyoji were the first to notice the sudden change in the elemental composition of the air, sensing a wave of distress as the local Kami fled from the lake, dispersed by the disruption in the natural flow of the ley-lines'' energy.

    "Everyone!" Ichiro''s voice boomed across the township, enhanced by his vocal prowess. "We''re under attack! Monsters approach from the lake! Unidentified casters are moving into range!"

    "Ichiro-san. We''re here!"

    "Captain Bai! Where is Gwen-san?"

    "She''s indisposed," Tei apologised. "We''ll set up a perimeter for now."

    "Then we''ll do our part as well." Yuki joined the two men. "Dororo will shield the south entrance to the village, while Koishishi will guard the west. Are we moving the convoy out?"

    "You''ll have to go first." Tei nodded. "Gwen''s immobile for the time being, and it''s too dangerous to spread our forces along a battle line. We''ll clean up the rear as soon as we''re ready to mobilise."

    Meanwhile, two to three hundred meters away, combat had been joined. A cacophony of elemental effects erupted where the lake met the village, sending up plumes of dark smoke where fire, earth and other volatile forces dismantled the old colonial dock. Towns with a population density like Indaw generally possessed a local militia involving a handful of low-tier Mages led by a Senior Mage, accompanied by able-bodied NoM soldiers.

    "They''re sacking the town!" Ichiro scowled. "Bastards!"

    "Tei, are we withdrawing?" Jiro drifted overhead, nodding in passing at Ichiro. "Mao! Look at those Hydras! A big green bastard and a purple one! I haven''t seen one since Yunnan!"

    "Is this a part of the test?" Anita, Rene, and the others had by now also located their Captain.

    "Tei, they''re not here for the town." Richard had finished erecting Walls of Water in a wide perimetre in an effort to calm the labourers. "They''ve spotted us, and they''re coming here. Ichiro, can you take care of the NoMs? When the fighting starts they''re going to panic."

    Ichiro nodded. The last thing they needed was bodies adding to the anarchy.

    "O Kami of the land and water, humble this one. Calm our disquieted hearts! PEACE!"

    The Kotodama user sent out a ripple of magic with a sudden eruption of his baritone voice. Where his power word resonated, Fudan and Kyoto''s hired labourers, together with local villagers who had fled toward the trucks, ceased their terrified milling and instead looked to the student Mages.

    "Great work." Richard gave the man a thumbs up. "Load the NoMs up so we can draw the fighting away from the village. Jiro, Rene, you guys fought Hydras before?"

    "Twice." Jiro rose into the air beside Richard. "It''s their unlucky day that I am here."

    "First time." Rene joined them. "BUT, I am sure well-done Hydras don''t regenerate."

    "I''ll cover them." Anita followed, buffing the duo mid-flight.

    "Don''t damage the supplies!" From a Storage Ring, Teiproduced four yellow parchments scrawled with red glyphs. "Ichiro, these are for your trucks. They''re single use, effective against tier 5 and below."

    He thenleapt from vehicle to vehicle, activating the wards drawn on the canvas.

    "Thank you, Bai-san." Ichiro received the Fuda, then retreated to reconvene with his team.

    "Tei! They''re here!" Jiro''s voice came through the Message device. "Engaging!"

    "Keep the Hydra at a distance! Stone Vaults of Taishan!"

    Two-dozen tombstone pillars erupted from the soft ground; forming an impromptu Stonehenge around their circled convoy.

    "God, that''s morbid." Richard winced. "I think a few of the NoMs fainted."

    "It''s the Negative Energy." Tei Bai ignored the Water Mage''s good-natured jab at his Clan''s secretive arts.

    "Tei, Richard, you want me on offence or defence?" Lulan asked the two defenders.

    "Lulan, check on Gwen," Tei said. Lulan functioned best in close quarters, but first, they needed an electrifying distraction.

    The Sword Mage disappeared into the portal.

    "Here it comes!" Jiro''s voice came through. "HO! LOOK AT THAT!"

    Across the village, where Kyoto University was encamped, a giant mud-man with two holes for eyes was wrestling a six-headed Hydra into the earth, pummelling the thing to the ground and wrangling its heads one by one.

    "Mao that''s impressive!" At Fudan''s defence perimeter, Jiro''s burning passion became inspirited by Kyoto. Droning with a low voice, the Fire Mage''s incantation grew to a crescendo as he reached the climactic conclusion of his tier 6, wide-range AoE. "PHOENIX PINIONS!"

    Though no actual sound echoed, the members of Fudan imagined a great caw as a burst of flames escaped from Jiro''s Firebird Spirit, growing in length and girth like a peacock''s blooming feathers. Once the plumes of vivid, multi-coloured fire fanned out against the sky, they burst into three-dozen flaming arrows, then descended upon the incoming wave of enemy Mages who had barrelled past the NoM militia''s non-existent battle line, flanked by a Hydra on either side.

    A multitude of defensive magicks activated at once.

    "Show off!" Rene laughed, her cheeks warm in the glow of the firelight, delighting in the inundation of Elemental Fire left by Jiro''s show of force. "Salamander Skin!"

    Suddenly, the Magma Mage clad herself in shifting plates of molten earth. Without pause, drawing glyphs in the air, she then pulled at the Para-Elemental Plane of Magma for a signature spell named after the enemies they were now facing.

    "MAGMA HYDRA!" A clump of liquified earth burst from the ground, sprouting no less than five heads, each three meters tall. It was a turret-type spell, one which allowed three consecutive micro-fireball blasts from each of the five Hydra heads. For a defensive battle, there could be no better offence than feeding enemies into a kill-zone established by an endless array of lava blasts.

    From above Fudan''s convoy, a hail of ice began to descend.

    "Crystal Shell!" Anita was ready to cover her two damage dealers.

    "Dust Haze!" Unlike Jiro''s multi-coloured fire or the scintillating beauty of Anita''s crystal, Tei''s aesthetics were downright depressing. From erected pylons of condensed dust drawn from the dismal Plane of Dust, a miasma spread, deadening all elemental effects caught within its range, transforming attacks into black snow.

    Half a kilometre away, one of Kyoto''s twin giants affected a great howl, flaking stone and flinging mud to abruptly metamorph into a molten colossus. It was the elemental-shift for which the Onmyoji was famed, and when it swung its limb, a torrent of fire, thick as a two-lane street, caught the air, turning the lake into a great burst of superheated steam. Where the blast had passed, Tei caught the sight of an enemy Mage peeling from the pack, his shield suddenly exhausted. A second later, the man was aflame, a human torch stumbling across the scorched turf.

    Meanwhile, Fudan''s Mages flanked their attackers from the right, suppressing the second Hydra with fire and magma. Unfortunately, the Hydra''s rubbery skin proved resistant to heat, for heedless of the barrage, its six cobra-heads snatched NoM militiamen from in-between buildings.

    PSSSCH!

    A jet of odiously corrosive fluid ejected from between the maw of a thrashing Hydra head, smothering an unsuspecting member of Kyoto''s team with a generous coating of slime.

    The acid-clad victim immediately teleported away, leaving his shield to corrode and collapse.

    "Forked Blast!" came a mid-tier assault from Rene, cowing the Hydra momentarily. "You guys'' alright?"

    A gesture of thanks from their compatriots arrived in the form of a boulder that crashed into Fudan''s Hydra, sending it careening into a building.

    "Oi, these Hydras have no¡ª!" Rene called out.

    A Fireball enveloped the Magma Mage, sending her skittering across the oily-streaked sky but otherwise unharmed.

    "Refreshing your Mage Armour!" Anita called out from below.

    "No need!" Rene returned the favour with a self-seeking Magma Bolt, sending an enemy backwards with a violent snap. "Barely singed me!"

    By now, about three parties of enemy casters had begun to converge. Curiously, they appeared to be seeking something, for though they attacked the students, they avoided damaging the convoy.

    "Compress our battle-line!" Tei called out to his team. "Stay within range of the tombstones!"

    Though Tei had seen many a time when Mages by the hundreds worked together, it was the first time he had experienced the real chaos of a Mage on Mage, open field melee. Unlike battles against the Undead, whose monstrous wave tactics brought the occasional Wight or Spectral Rider, a fight such as this was pure anarchy.

    More disturbingly, he could see that the incoming force was professionally trained, for they moved in four groups of five Mages each, with a minimum of five or six dedicated Abjurers. If the hostiles were to launch an all-out attack heedless of losses, Tei had no confidence he could protect the convoy. What he needed was a force multiplier from their side, like Kyoto''s Kami dolls.

    Then, as though conjured by a Wish, the Habitat''s portal shimmered, materialisingthe rest of Fudan''s team.

    When Lulan burst into the pocket dimension of the Habitat, she discovered Gwen and Eunae puzzling over Mayuree''s belayed foretelling.

    "It''s a trap!" Mayuree was trying to inform the two that this whole ordeal of coming to Kachin for the IIUC was folly and that Maymyint and the Tyrant were involved somehow. "Maymyint had offered me to the Tyrant! Marong tried to stop her, but I-I think I am on its list! If today''s the fourteenth, then I am supposed to be in Nagaland already!"

    "Calm yourself, Mia." Gwen cradled the girl in her arms, unsure what else she could do. "No one is taking you anywhere. Tell me from the beginning. What happened after you spoke to Maymyint?"

    "She struck me with something, an Enchantment." Mayuree touched a finger to her sweat-stained brow. "I can''t remember anything after that. It was like my whole mind was stuck in wool."

    Eunae checked the mandala to ensure that they had performed the procedure correctly.

    "We''ve dispelled something between tier 5 and 6," the Cleric informed her Vice Captain, pointing to the part of the patterned array on the floor that had grown dark. "The mandala is mostly used up."

    "A memory-binding spell?" Gwen wished she had as much access to Mind Magic as Walken so that she could tell what was wrong with Mayuree.

    "It seems so." Eunae turned to Mayuree. "Mia, we''re in Indaw right now, and er... it''s August."

    "A-August?! Are you saying we''re in Kachin? Right now?" Mayuree gripped Gwen''s arm like a startled koala to a gumtree. "We can''t be in Kachin! I was- I thought it was July! Oh, my Goddess!"

    "Mia, we''ve almost won the first round of the IIUC," Gwen calmly intoned. "We have legions of Magisters with us, eight of the best from Fudan, ten from Kyoto and Mages from the House of M. It''ll be fine."

    "But¡ª" Mayuree coiled like a cooked prawn, then was suddenly sick.

    Gwen didn''t mind the stink, although seeing her chippy Diviner in this state made her heart ache. Agonisingly, she thought of Kitty, who even now was outside ready to point accusatory fingers, feeling both guilt and annoyance.

    "GWEN!" Lulan chose this moment to burst through the tear between dimensions. "We''re under attack by Mages from the mountains!"

    "Right now?" Gwen gingerly lifted herself to avoid splashing Mayuree''s sick back into her friend''s hair. It hasn''t even been ten minutes after they ran the mandala, and now some vagabonds from the mountain wereattacking them? The timing was far too perfect. "How?"

    "They came from the lake. I don''t know if they''re after us, or the convoy, or the town, it feels like spells are flying everywhere, and Hydras!"

    "Hold up, start from the beginning." Gwen struggled with Lulan''s incoherent spiel. "Why Hydras?"

    "They''re not Hydras," Mayuree moaned. "They''re Nagas, from Nagaland! Gwen, leave me-"

    "Shhhh..." Gwen wiped her Diviner''s mouth with a handkerchief.

    Lulan stared at the newly recovered but doubly frantic Mayuree.

    "Is Mia okay?"

    "No, she''s not," Gwen assessed grimly.

    "They''re here for me! They''re recovering their Master''s lost tithe!" Mayuree moaned.

    Gwen stroked the whimpering Mayuree. If what Mayuree said was true, then the Tyrant was supposed to take delivery of the House of M''s tithing in July. If so, was Mayuree right? Moreover, was this aploy of Maymyint''s? Werethey getting the Tyrant to butt heads with the IIUC proctors? Admittedly, the competition wouldbe delayed while the Magisters dealt with the dragon; if that''s the case, what victory or change could the House of M attain? Likewise, if she assumed Aung San was involved somehow, what manner of independence could be preserved when a Tower rakes over Arakan with spellfire?

    Though her danger sense remained placid, Gwen could sense in her bones that a controlling force was driving these forces to clash, though a missing piece of the puzzle eluded her.

    Who was the beneficiary of it all? She wondered. That was the answer she couldn''t find. As for now, keeping Mayuree in the Habitat wasn''t a possibility as magical disruptions to the device would send Mayuree spiralling into the material world. The best she could do was have someone like Tei, Anita or Richard take care of her while she and the others chased off their attackers.

    "Let''s get out there then." Gwen had Eunae make Mayuree comfortable by propping the girl against Luyi, the healer''s fawn. They then took the opportunity to buff themselveswith Enhanced Ability, Flight, and conjuring seven baying electric-deerhounds eager for action.

    "Ariel! Caliban!"

    "Eee!"

    "Shaa! Shaa!"

    "Eunnie, keep Mayuree close. Lulu, you''re with me." She took a deep breath. "Let''s make this quick."

 Chapter 260 - Kitty come Home

    "Tei! What the hell''s happening?" Gwen burst through the portal, followed shortly by Lulan, Mayuree, and Eunae. Where Indaw had been a lakeside township a few hours prior, it was now a setting for Rambo II. "Jesus, are we in a war zone?"

    "Mia!" Kitty Blinked in from thin air, embracing her companion with a fierce possessiveness. "Are you alright?"

    "Kitty." Mayuree was caught in her bodyguard''s arms. "The Tyrant''s after me!"

    The corners of Gwen''s eyes twitched.

    "I am not sure what''s happening here, but first, let''s get mobile. We don''t want Kyoto to getting too far ahead of us." Tei would have liked the whole story elucidated from the beginning, but he knew the situation could only get worse if they stayed. At the west gate, their rival''s convoy had already cleared the town. "We''ll be moving northward. Your friends from Kyoto are keeping our unexpected friends busy for now."

    "N-northward?" Mayuree spluttered. "No! We should be going south!"

    "We''re very close to finishing the quest, Miss Mayuree," Tei patiently explained even as his shield dampened a Fireball. "Please move to the centre for your own safety."

    "I am staying with Mia," Kitty interjected.

    "You-" Gwen bit her tongue, forcing herself to delay her admonishment, giving in to the fact that from Kitty''s perspective, she had indeed taken very little care of Mayuree. "Fine, go. Keep her and Eunae safe."

    The Ice Mage shot Gwen a cold scowl of disapproval before directing their Healer and Diviner toward a truck with enough space for the agonised Mayuree to lie down.

    "No! Don''t leave me!" Mayuree reached out in futility.

    "I''ll be within teleportation range," Gwen parted from her Diviner. Fucking Maymyint, she cursed internally. Whatever the hell that slithering snake in the grass may be planning, she would give the bitch a piece of her mind as soon as they returned to Shanghai.

    "Gwen, up here," Tei invited her up to the back of the end truck, a semi-trailer with a shipping container, within which Gwen willed her dogs and Caliban, anticipating a future ambush of whatever may come within melee range of their cargo.

    Unfortunately, the multi-team Spellcraft exhibition rampaging in the sky above proved more chaotic than a geometric Picasso.

    "I can''t tell who''s who." Gwen observed the melee. Buildings were falling, and Nagas were rampaging, Fireballs erupted here and there, followed by flashes of close-quarter combat as spells exploded through windows and lit up the alleyways. Indaw was by no means a large town, and from the looks of the collateral damage, there may not be an Indaw thereafter.

    Crack!

    In the distance, she heard the familiar sound of Lightning Bolts materialising and striking the ground, making a familiar sound of fulmination as the air turned to plasma. An enemy Mage was throwing down a volley of explosive bolts, peeling away at a building where the local militia had sheltered themselves. Below, civilians fled in panicked mobs, roving across the street as the half-brick, half-galvanised iron construct began to disintegrate.

    "Does anyone anywhere give a shit about non-combatants?" Gwen ground her teeth even as Fudan''s supply convoy began to withdraw. At the very least, she gave a shit about her NoMs. She would ensure the men and women that came with them returned to La War unharmed, even if they had to pack themselves like sardines to one side, barely caring to breathe or Achoo in the presence of Caliban and her dogs.

    "I dare say... no." Tei empowered a Fuda.

    "Incoming!" Two blooming mid-air Water Shields punctuated Richard''s warning, catching a series of flaming missiles, one of which exploded into a Fireball, showering the hopping NoMs below with scalding liquid. "Fuck me dead. They weren''t this keen before."

    "I think I know why." Gwen opened her conduits, transforming her invisible Ariel in the process.

    "Dick, can you mark my enemies for me?"

    "Will do! Lea?"

    Globules of glowing water immediately condensed around five Mages who had gotten too close to Fudan''s retreating convoy for comfort.

    As Gwen incanted, her Kirin Familiar positioned itself. If they were going to punt these bastards back to the mountains, she would do it without adieu.

    Sensing her mana build-up, two of the hostile Mages attempted to disrupt her casting. One materialised a spear of stone, while the other conjured a sudden squall of falling fire.

    "Tomb Shield!"

    As usual, Tei Bai''s barrier offered stoic defence and morbid aesthetics in equal measure, consuming both attacks effortlessly even as the Dust''s necrotic aura chilled Gwen to the bone.

    "Barbanginy!"

    Gwen''s retributive counter-fire lit up half the battlefield, painting the low clouds a viridescent green.

    With Ariel in position, her bolt made just over two revolutions between five enemy casters, blitzing from one to the next with instantaneous clamours of cobalt-green electricity. The initial hit, by far the most potent, singularly shattered an Abjurer''s bronze-coloured Earthen Shield, sending her enemy into convulsive bouts of epilepsy. The resultant ricochet then ping-ponged from Mage to Mage, tearing through their depleted defence, sending the unsuspecting rogues tumbling from the sky.

    "Flame Burst"

    A torrent of Magma caught a Mage as she fell.

    Gwen''s irises contracted upon seeing Rene giving her a thumbs up and an encouraging wink.

    "Go for the kill," Richard interrupted her internal revelry with a spot of unwelcome advice. "Gunther told me to remind you now and then of Blackheath."

    Before she could retort, Richard demonstrated his point by firing off a jet-blast of white water, sending another falling enemy spiralling into the distance, crashing into a Wall of ever-burning Fire deposited by Jiro.

    "Gwen, focus," Tei intervened when he caught her reddening face. "Look, Kyoto''s no different."

    Indeed, Kyoto''s giants were fending off the waves of incoming Mages with fire and stone. What Gwen''s Captain underscored was the fact that Dororo, though cute as Gumby himself, was in the process of crushing a shielded enemy Mage like a soft-boiled egg.

    Klang!

    "ARRRG¡ª"

    A brief scream drew Gwen and Tei''s attention to their right flank, where Lulan had caught an assailant flying close to the ground and around the town''s waist-high vegetation. Unlike Gwen, whose Ariel could gauge when an enemy was disabled without wasting excess energy, the Sword Mage powered every swing without reserve, cleaving through her enemy''s flesh and bone alike. After a dozen flurries in quick succession, an Heart-Piercing Sword impaled her target''s chest, pinning an indigenous-seeming man into the gore-strewn asphalt.

    Elsewhere, another enemy fled into the distance, aflame with a burst of orange-white fire that refused to extinguish, dashing into the rice paddies in a futile attempt at salvation.

    The remaining enemies scattered, likely to regroup and reorganise. Gwen''s instantaneous slaying of their Abjurer had opened a glaring hole in their defence.

    "Mercy is a privilege," her Captain remarked drily before activating his Message bangle. "Gwen, take the left flank. Jiro, Rene, you take the right. Mayuree, Message our drivers and tell them to increase speed!"

    "Oi, we got a big one incoming!" Richard collapsed a Wall of Water to refresh yet another. He and Jiro had been alternating walls every few hundred meters to discourage pursuit. "Gwen! Hydra on the left!"

    "It''s a Naga!" Gwen shouted, concurrently sending out a mental command, unleashing her dogs from the container''s interior. "It''s mine!"

    A Naga slithered from the tall grass toward the trucks, making haste across the pavement with surprising velocity for a creature of impressive bulk. When the beast broke the fields of still-green rice, Gwen could see that in lieu of Richard''s six-headed monster with a body like a brontosaurus, the Naga possessed no limbs, but a massively muscled torso with the likeness of a boa-constrictor. From chest to chest, the creature''s central mass was at least the width of their cargo-trailer.

    "That''s not the Hydra we fought earlier!" Tei reinforced his wards. "Mao! That IS a Naga!"

    Nagas were inherently draconic, meaning their resistance to magic was many times that of the pseudo-draconic swamp monster known as the Hydra. If that was the case, it explained how the serpent slithered through spellfire without being cooked, battered or electrocuted.

    "Fuck!" Richard swore as the Naga reared to its full height, each cobra head expanding their multi-coloured hoods. "Shit! Lea! Diffusion Shield!"

    As one, all six head began to hurl globs of sputum at the convoy.

    Lea managed the catch two of the six projectiles, Richard caught two, and the two gnawed at the Tomb Shields Tei had laid down earlier, sliding off the grey barrier to sizzle the asphalt with an odious stink of carbonising acid.

    "Nasty stuff." Richard''s disgust was met with agreement. "Don''t let it get close!"

    "I know! Tomb Wall!" Tei formed a circular Sigil with both hands, catching the Naga mid slither, sending its momentum awry by launching it a meter into the air.

    Catching the Naga''s disorientation, Gwen''s deerhounds closed in at once, crackling with electricity as they tore into the Naga''s scale-covered body, tearing out great fleshy chunks of rubbery flesh and lichen-covered scales. Feeling the pain, the Naga thrashed, sending its heads to snap at Gwen''s dogs. Her deerhounds, however, agile as ferrets and designed by Morden for the express purpose of monster hunting, evaded the envenomed strikes with yips and yelps. With an encouraging "EE!" from Ariel, the dogs renewed their assault by moving down the serpent''s body and attacking its mid-section, snapping at its forked tail.

    "Do Naga heads grow back?" Gwen shouted at her captain.

    "I have no idea!" Tie Messaged back. "This is the first time I''ve seen an old-world Naga. I''d thought they had human faces and were intelligent creatures."

    "Guess we''ll find out." Gwen waited for her dogs to position the Naga before she tapped into the Gate of the Void. "Void Seeker! Chakram! Chakram!"

    This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

    "Dust Bolt!" Tei threw in his support.

    "Jet Blast!" Richard expended a portion of his mana to elicit a stream of super-pressurised water from a tear in the Elemental Plane of Water, aiming to hinder the creature''s forward momentum.

    "Lava Lance!" From across the field, Rene spared a spell, striking the Naga from the rear flank.

    "Fire Lance!" Jiro added his piece.

    Gwen waited until her allies'' spells had rocked the Naga''s body before allowing her deadly frisbees to complete their arc, simultaneously enduring a spell of dizziness.

    ''GARRRRGH!" the Naga bellowed with a sound akin to a dozen elephants trumpeting.

    With the din of a mosquito swarm, her warrior princess Chakrams kissed her prey.

    Thonk!

    Thonk!

    Thunk!

    The first managed half a neck before it dissipated.

    The second struck a foot lower, fizzling at the spine.

    The Seeker struck the same place as the first, completing its trajectory to exit on the other side.

    Two of the Naga''s heads parted like zip-sawed fingers from a careless woodworker''s hand.

    The remaining four howled, baying for violence.

    Twisting its body to shake the deerhounds, the now quad-headed Naga made a spring-loaded charge at the moving semi-trailer. Two of its heads stretched with unexpected reach, slamming into the steel container as Tei and Richard parried left and right.

    "Ariel!"

    Gwen''s Kirin rammed into the creature, its horns crackling with electricity as it sent the Naga off course. The hounds had by now recovered, and once again, they mounted the Naga, snapping at its wounds and digging into its flesh with explosive bolts of electricity. Meanwhile, sensing the creature''s draconic vitality through her hidden Caliban, Gwen brought to mind a spell which was perfect for the occasion.

    "Tei! I need a moment."

    "You got it!"

    The manifestation took the better part of ten seconds, then one by one, two by threes, torrent by torrent, a cascade of electric elementals from a vivid Elemental Swarm smothered the air. In a second, they fell upon the Naga, exploding across its vibrant scales and gnawing at its open wounds. Thanks to Ariel, she no longer had to fear friendly fire from her numberless elementals.

    Tei snuck in another Tomb Wall while the creature stumbled blindly.

    The Naga stacked into the pavement heads-first.

    "You really are built for monster hunting," her captain remarked. "Your true talent is wasted on Mages."

    "Ha!" Gwen''s blood was up, the success with the Naga had offset the shame brought on by Richard''s reminder. "The greatest is behind! Caliban!"

    From the back of the final truck where it had laid in waiting, Caliban slithered from the vehicle''s interior, transformed into its spider visage to the background music of screaming NoMs, then leapt for the thrashing Naga, trailing a snail sheen of saliva.

    "Onslaught!" Gwen opened her vitality-valves, eager for Caliban to continue its evolution. Walken did say that with enough high-tier creatures in its gullet, Caliban could very well attain Ariel''s cognisance. If so, there was no better candidate. "Consume!"

    "Lightning Sphere!" Ariel aided its brethren below with a paralytic explosion, keeping the Naga contained and incapable of movement.

    "Scorcher!" Jiro performed a flyby, momentarily breaking from his harassment of the enemy Mages, cutting a line of still-burning fire across the Naga''s lower back. By now, the Firebird user had left a kilometre of vivid fire that denied all cover to their enemies.

    "Panzerschreck!" Lulan aimed for a head, taking off a chunk of jaw even as she revved up a second. With a target as large as this, she felt confident in her aim.

    With a jerk, the Naga staggered; the creature''s hurt and agony plain for all to see.

    "SHAAA!" Caliban leapt into the air, casually allowing a cobra-strike to snap one of its limbs, then landed on the creature''s back. Without delay, the spiderling''s underbelly maw deployed, opening its grotesque cargo bay to unleash a gut full of writhing tentacles red and blue, eager to hunt for the creature''s Core.

    "HISSSSS¡ª NO!"

    The bark that came from the Naga was like an exploding gasket, with its final syllable ending in a cry of human anguish.

    Without warning, its torso shrank, shaking loose Gwen''s dogs and momentarily confusing Caliban as it deflated.

    An illusion? Gwen wondered, but before she could react, Caliban renewed its assault. She could feel her creature''s appetite hollowing the interior of her chest. It had been a long time since Cali had fed, and her monster was hungry enough to eat a herd of horses.

    "Astaka, save¡ª" was the final cry she heard from the massive pile of deerhounds encircling Caliban''s engorged form, indicating that it had swallowed something. When she panicked and commanded Caliban to regurgitate what could have just called out for parley, her monster opened its maw to reveal nought but a mass of newly hungry tentacles.

    SHIT! The immediacy of her mistake struck her. There was eating the creature''s Core after a desperate battle, and then there was swallowing a demi-human mid-fight. There was also the fact that she just Consumed a sentient being, but that mental commiseration would have to wait.

    When would the vitality hit?

    By her previous counts, she had a few minutes at best.

    "Richard," she cried out. "I need to meditate!"

    It had been such a long time since Caliban ate something that broke her Nephres'' Scale. If a high-tier, high-affinity healer was a ten, what new ecstasy would a four-meter-tall sentient Naga reach? She could be out for minutes to an hour!

    "Gwen!" Tei had a Dispel ready go. "What''s wrong?"

    "I need a moment!" Gwen confessed a half-truth. "Caliban needs to digest."

    "Oh." Tei glanced at where the Naga had been just a moment ago, trying to catch Caliban in the chaotic action. Under where Fudan''s Captain stood, Gwen struck the container of Tei''s truck with an audible moan. When she looked up, the glazed orbs of two dozen labourers from La War met her eyes.

    FUCK! She could feel Caliban throbbing. There was no bloody way she was about to fall into a convulsive, orgiastic fit in front of strangers. "RICHARD!"

    "I am here!" Lea appeared overhead, setting a barrier shield of murky water over her master''s cousin.

    Once the watery womb enfolded her, Gwen commanded Ariel, Caliban and her dogs to guard the perimeter of their moving line of vehicles while she could maintain them. Furthermore mindful of the deluge of vitality soon to bloat her conduits, she relented on switching Caliban to its stag form, refraining it from consuming any more enemies.

    "Shaaa!" Caliban burped, sprouting and twisting until it reached its full height, it''s faceless mien scanning for targets to impale.

    Now cut off from external stimuli, she took a second to process the final visage of the desperate Naga. With her Essence-enhanced kinetic vision, her hindsight was truly twenty-twenty. The Naga was a woman; she recalled- an indigenous looking serpent folk with blue-green scales.

    Right before Caliban did his terrible ferreting for Cores, her enemy had reverted to a Demi-human being. After that, Caliban was large enough to swallow its target wholesale.

    She wanted to say she felt ill, that it was accidental; but in truth, her regret paled against the ecstasy of dominating her opponent.

    Worry not, the Caliban of her mind lubricated her conscience. The servants of Aung San attacked first, and Mayuree had to be protected. If she was going to eat it anyway, what difference did it make?

    Her digits twitched.

    Her abdominal muscles contracted.

    In her head, she could hear Caliban singing a happy song of madcap violence as it charged a party of screaming, screeching Burmese Mages fleeing its Medusa''s visage. Retracting her legs, Gwen pressed her knees to her chest, coiled in a foetal position, clenched her jaws to avoid making too sweet a moan, then readied herself for the oncoming metamorphosis.

    "What a magnificent thing!" Lutz von Schlabrendorff found himself hunched forward, an inch away from the projection. "Absorption! Who''d have thought such a thing is possible."

    "It''s not," a fellow Magister, a British member, corrected the chief proctor from across the table. "We have Void Mages as well. They can''t do that."

    "Oh-ho? Then explain that."

    "It''s her Void Beast, or the girl, or her unique magic," the Magister remarked. "Doesn''t it remind you of someone? Although I hear Fudan will be releasing a Systematic Study on the subject soon. Submitted by Magister Marie-Roslyn Wen, I believe, the details are said to be very intimate."

    "Then we shall drink to interesting bedtime reading," a Magister chuckled, sipping his tea.

    "I find the refractory period after Consume particularly interesting."

    "A curious flaw," von Schlabrendorff agreed. "One I welcome gladly."

    "Sir," Hass interrupted the men''s appreciation of the Void Element. "There''s an anomaly within Fudan''s formation."

    As one, the Magisters turned to the lumen-projection.

    "What the devil are they doing?"

    "Hass, who does that Enchantment signature belong to?"

    "Their controller, sir, someone called Kitty Liang. Her profile states she''s from Kunlun, although the House of M remains her employer."

    "Note the use of non-registered magic and deduct CCs accordingly," the chief proctor grunted. "Wait, what''s happening now?"

    "Their controller and their diviner appear to be breaking away from the party, sir."

    "Where are they going?"

    "Heading North-North-East, sir." Hass manipulated the map so that it zoomed outward. "Assuming trajectory by crow-flight, they''re aiming for the border of Nagaland and Burma."

    "Can you get me a visual before they''re out of range?"

    "Yessir, I''ll bring them up now."

    There was a thrum of circulating mana as the Divination engine worked its magic, channelling the long-range Scry enabled by the Chief Proctor''s Eye of Providence. From a bird''s eye view, the magical vision fell forward with a sense of induced vertigo until it centred on the vague shape of two petite outlines.

    The smaller of the silhouettes had secured the first in what looked like a frosty cocoon; a spell used to capture subdued Mages. Concurrent with the lilac flush of Transmutation, Kitty''s signature additionally exhibited the unmistakable golden halo of Enchantment.

    "An implanted glamour!" von Schlabrendorff raised a brow. "Not something we could have detected without an actual activation. Hass, additionally note the Mind Magic now active on the Ice Mage. Mark the signature and re-check records from Mandalay. Penalise Fudan accordingly if it has impacted the competition''s outcome. I am starting to see where this is going."

    "Which is where exactly?" a fellow Magister patrolled the footage. "My word, they''re going awful fast. That girl sure can fly. What are they fleeing from?"

    "From the Void sorceress."

    Lutz von Schlabrendorff glanced at the glyph that indicated Gwen Song remained stationary within the travelling convoy.

    How long would it take the girl to wake up? He wondered. More importantly, would the girl take the live bait and rush into Nagaland? If it were himself, he would not have put faith in a Mage from the Frontier having the gall to charge headfirst into certain doom. But having observed Walken''s student for the better part of two weeks; he was starting to sense a disturbing trend.

    As for their current dilemma, he could only bank on Walken''s projection that the deposed Royal House of Burma was playing with dragon fire. When he had questioned Walken about the man''s unruly student and the possibility of the girl''s connection to a certain wild Wyvern, his old acquaintance had hinted that the girl had links to mythic presences in both China and Australia, though neither received official verification. "Gwen thinks the Tyrant might be related to her in some convoluted way." Walken had explained his limited knowledge of the girl''s multi-pronged affairs. "Though I disagree, her speculations do hold some merit."

    For von Schlabrendorff, one Dragon or two made no difference. The dilemma was whether or not a rescue action was warranted. For now, as one of Fudan''s Mages had betrayed her team, there was no protocol for the IIUC proctors to intervene. As for alerting Walken, with the competition ongoing, it was improper for von Schlabrendorff to feed his friend any more information. By logic, regulation and creed, he was a neutral observer.

    "How far is Nagaland from Hpakan?"

    "About a hundred-and-fifty kilometres, sir."

    "Tell Hpakan to send out a relay team," von Schlabrendorff commanded his second. "Whatever happens, the record shall speak for itself."

    Fudan''s victory was short-lived.

    Just as they managed to disable about half of the Mages pursuing their convoy, there was a cry of blue murder coming from the middle of the transport column.

    Hot-headed and bathed in spellfire, Jiro and Rene had ignored the interruption entirely, while behind them, Bai and Anita had their hands occupied deflecting bolts of fire, stone and electricity aimed at the truck''s wheels. It was only Richard who heard, though when he finally pulled from the battle to inspect what had occurred, a great blast of air blew through the tarped roof, sending him skittering into the roadside rubble, scattering the NoMs that rode with them in every direction.

    After Richard cushioned the NoMs'' deadly trajectories and recovered the tumbling Eunae, he found the girl dazed and covered in a thin crust of rime, safe thanks to her distressed nature Spirit.

    "Well, shit on a stick," he swore. "KITTY?! MAYUREE?"

    Looking up toward the hazy sky, he could scarcely make out Kitty''s Flight form, already reaching an impressive altitude, visible only thanks to a trailing cocoon.

    Without warning, Aung San''s Mages retreated, pursuing the fleeing Kitty as though Jiro had lit a flame up their arse.

    When finally the confusion cleared and combat concluded, Richard measured his team''s present predicament.

    "Lea, how''s Gwen?"

    "Recovering," Lea replied. "She''s burning up, but I think she''ll be okay."

    "STOP THE TRUCKS!" Tei called out from the rear, ordering the terrified NoMs back onto the vehicle. "Wocao! What the hell just happened?"

    "Kitty''s gone," Richard informed their Captain as he knelt beside Eunae. "With Mayuree. She attacked Eunae."

    "I''ll be f-fine," Eunae clattered while she circulated a healing spell from an anxious Luyi. "K-Kitty''s gone c-crazy!"

    "Give me some heat!" Richard called out to the returning Mages.

    "Maybe she is trying to help us?" Jiro landed shortly, likewise troubled by Kitty''s unexpected escapade. With a word, a Firebird settled beside the shivering Eunae. "Are you sure Kitty''s not carrying out some crazy plan instead?"

    In Jiro''s experience, Kitty was quiet and shy, but in no way a traitor.

    "I don''t think Kitty is trying to help, Jiro¡­" Rene read Richard''s iron expression far more readily than the straight-laced Fire Mage.

    "What happened?" Anita and Lulan were the last to join them, having come seeking Eunae''s aid to heal the NoMs. "Kitty took Mia? Why?"

    Richard''s answer came in the form of a complicated expression aimed at their vice captain''s privacy bubble. Before he could clarify further, the barrier burst, revealing a radiant looking Gwen flush with supernatural vitality.

    "Let''s not worry about the ''why'' just yet." Richard felt his fingers grow suddenly numb. "Here comes the waking dragon. Who wants to hold her down while I give her the bad news?"

 Chapter 261 - Waiting for Godot

    "Eunie, Resistance, Bless and Fortify! Annie, Mage Armour, Haste and Expeditious Retreat¡ª" Gwen barked at their defender, all pretence of politeness driven from the usual mildness of her mannerism. "Come on, chop-chop! Every second wasted is an opportunity lost."

    Anita obliged, moving her lips even as Captain Bai''s bloodshot eyes screamed for her to refuse.

    "I am coming with you," Richard insisted.

    "Me too," Lulan volunteered.

    "Mao!" Tei Bai growled. "We''re in the middle of a match!"

    "A match we''ve won." Gwen turned to her Captain coldly. "Deliver the goods, connect Mandalay to the villages, and collect our CCs. Don''t bother me if you''re not going to help."

    "We''re a team, Gwen."

    "And MIA is a PART of your team!" his Vice Captain snapped, then sighed. "Sorry Cap, the time for words will have come later."

    Tei pursed his lips, looking to his other teammates for help.

    "I''ll come too." Jiro declared.

    "Count me in." Rene likewise disappointed Tei.

    Fudan''s Captain facepalmed with both hands.

    "Thanks, guys." Gwen inclined her head. "But I need to arrive fast, and when I leave, it needs to be VERY fast." And without additional burdens, Gwen added mentally.

    "Do you know where to go?"

    "Yeah." Gwen materialised a transponder unit. "Minty had it all planned it out, right from the start."

    "You could be facing a whole dragon," Richard forewarned. "Gunther is going to miss his one-of-a-kind Ring."

    "Worth it," his cousin replied. "And no. My only purpose is to take Mayuree back."

    "Maybe Mayuree''s Contingency Ring will activate?" Tei implored. "Save you a trip."

    "I somehow doubt that, Cap," Gwen replied as she lifted into the air. "Tei, please take care of things."

    "Lea," Richard implored hisSpirit to partitioned a droplet of her elemental Essence into a vial. "Hold onto this. Lea will redirect us to you. Promise me, NO FIGHTING. We''ll come as soon as we can."

    "Right. Mia and I will be back in a jiffy." Gwen slipped the container into her potion pouch, then without adieu, Fudan''s primadonna blasted off.

    "Phew." Anita finally breathed, the tension draining from her face. "Mao, I thought we had to fight Ariel and Caliban!"

    Tei turned away, then stepped on the truck''s bonnet. "Let''s not tarry then, move out!"

    Xiao M¨©ao Liang was eight-years-old when she wandered the Wildlands. Her home, the Sect of Kunlun, had failed the test of time. Though the sect had survived since the Han Dynasty, the splendour of the cities proved too alluring for the younger generation of their warrior-hermits, and one by one, either tempted by a better life or slain by the monsters on the mountain, they dwindled into irrelevance. In the end, Xiao M¨©ao''s venerable guardian, a distant relative, took the orphaned child down to Lhasa, through Bhutan, and finally to Manipur, where the Grandmaster of the Shadowmen then introduced Xiao M¨©ao to the House of M¨¹. By the end of their journey, her ageing guardian had grown worn and threadbare. With his dying breath, he tethered her to an heir of the Mon and Pyu, assured by the promise of provisions for his heir.

    So it was that at the age of eleven, Xiao M¨©ao entered Mayuree''s service as her companion.

    "Xiao M¨©ao means cat!" her young mistress had been adamant on the name of her new pet. "You''re Kitty from now on!"

    The M¨©ao in Xiao M¨©ao stood for "sprout", representing her Clan''s hope that one day, she would grow into a mighty tree. Though her impromptu name change had foreshadowed her future in the House of M, the newly minted Kitty Liang had been satisfied with a home and a friend.

    At the age of fifteen, she tapped into a secondary element: Air, something the old Daoshi of Kunlun would have celebrated. She was given more resources to cultivate her skills, then assigned to higher tiers of learning.

    At sixteen, she returned to Mayuree, who was now responsible for a division of the House of M''s mercantile operations in Shanghai and served as her friend''s companion and guard in Senior school. She had by then learned of the seniority system among the House of M''s siblings, so had sworn to protect her friend against all harm, even her kin.

    At eighteen, six-months into university at Fudan, Mayuree came to her with a vision.

    "She''s going to save my life one day!" Her companion had stammered, brimming from the crown to the toe with confidence. "Kitty, my saviour is going to be at your scholarship practical!"

    And that was the first time Kitty met Gwen Song.

    Even without Mayuree''s divined wisdom, Kitty knew that the Void sorceress was going to be her bane. Faced with a giantess wearing an uncommonly comely countenance, Mayuree became instantly smitten. When her best friend''s eyes positively glowed at the auction, it was enough to send a frosty shiv twisting into her heart.

    After that, whether serendipity, fate or overt wilfulness on Mayuree''s part, Gwen Song entered the orbit of their lives.

    At first, the crass Frontierswoman was just an annoyance; then with increasing regularly, she began to show up at their apartment at B1, abandoning her hovel to invade the sanctum of Kitty and Mayuree''s abode.

    Gwen''s constant presence had incensed Kitty to no end, far worse than when Marong, Mayuree''s sister-obsessed inbred brother, decided to move into the masterbedroom.

    Day after day, Mayuree grew closer to the younger woman, eating with her, drinking with her, even questing together and finally, starting a business together; an equal partnership, something Kitty could never achieve.

    Somewhere in between, Kitty witnessed Gwen Song eating a woman alive, starting from the head. Who was to say Gwen would not turn her appetite on Mayuree? Or that her aberrant Void powers wouldn''t hurt Mayuree in some horrid, unforeseen way?

    But Mayuree would not listen, and that had hurt Kitty profoundly. Unable to respond, she instead took breaks, going out to quest, to train up her skills so that when she returned, she could best Gwen Song and prove that it was she who would save Mayuree, and not the six-foot space invader.

    "Gwen..."

    Mayuree''s half-frozen murmuring shook Kitty from her retrospection. They were at an altitude mundane Mages couldn''t reach, where the air was cold enough to freeze the moisture from one''s dermis. Kitty wasn''t afraid of the cold, as per her elemental trait, while Mayuree was safely cocooned in her Rime Shell, a spell Kitty usually used for bounties.

    After the IIUC selection, Maymyint had summoned her in Shanghai. There, three Shadowmen had cornered Kitty so that the Mind Mage could ferret through her brain. When she then tried to escape, to warn someone, anyone, their punishment had not been kind.

    After that; her memory became a haze.

    Training. Gwen Song. The competition. Yangon. Mandalay. Everything had been a blur.

    Then they arrived at Indaw, where Aung San''s Mages attacked.

    As soon as Gwen collapsed in her grotesque throe of pleasure, Kitty knew what she had to do. An ardent desire blossomed in her head, and Maymyint''s command that Mayuree must reach Nagaland''s border outpost before the fourteenth day of the competition became paramount to her continued existence.

    With her capture spell, she had disabled a feverish Mayuree and an unsuspecting Eunae, and now, she would travel to the basin north of the Arakan mountains, just past Manipur.

    There, in the rolling green hills of Nagaland, she would find the mountain trail where for the last thirty years, members of Mayuree''s family had been exiled to maintain the House of M''s operations in the north.

    And when she arrives?

    Kitty couldn''t guess even if she tried.

    For now, she could only lament her friend''s divined wisdom.

    Gwen Song was Mayuree''s boon.

    While herself, Xiao M¨©ao, had grown into Mayuree''s bane.

    Nagaland.

    A flock of Wildland Doves took to sudden flight across a winding landscape which an imperial cartographer once labelled, "The Naga''s Rise".

    The unusual crests and valleys of Nagaland werea formation both natural and supernatural, for here was the homeland of the Naga, a race of mythic beings once worshipped as lesser Deva. Ancient Tibetan records stated that the Nagas descended from the many-headed dragon Xiangliu, itself defeated by one of the seven followers of the Yellow Emperor, a dragon called Zhulong, occupying the Aspect of Fire.

    Atop the emerald valley lay the highest locality in southern Nagaland, Saramati Peak, the kissing-point of old colonial Burma and India, long before the cartographic border was made irrelevant by the Beast Tide.

    Below the peak itself, in between the saddle of two rising hills, was the beginning of what the Generals of Yangon would call the illusive Tyrant''s Lair, the home base of Aung San''s rebellion, and the last bastion of the man who once dreamt of Burma''s independence.

    Within its vaulted underground palace lived the surviving children of My?ma''s aborted independence. The first was Astaka, scion of Kauravya, the youngest Naga to follow Gautama Buddha. The other was Aung San Yuzana, inheriting the will of their father.

    Astaka''s name meant "he who has eight parts", or as Yuzana had translated, he who desires the Noble Eightfold Path. Within the mountain''s depth, many manuscripts remained intact, unsullied by the twenty-five centuries that had passed since Gautama reached the state of nirvana, ascending into the Unbound Land, taking with him his many-headed disciples.

    What Astaka recalled of his past lay only in fragments, memories baked into the jade shell of his egg, etched onto his Core when he hatched into the uncaring world; for the Naga aredemi-dragons, creatures younger than the divine likes of the Shenlong, Yinglong and the Zhulong, whose eternal existence hailed from a higher plane. Comparatively, Nagas were terrestrial, having their beginnings in the material plane, incubated by a convergence of elemental forces given will and shape.

    "Yuzana!" Astaka fought to hold his humanoid shape intact, shaken by the horror of what he had witnessed in Indaw. "Where are you?"

    "My lord, I have arrived." A human woman entered the resplendent halls in which Astaka fumed. "What''s the matter? News from the south?"

    "She ATE Virana!" The Naga''s metamorphic form revolted, no longer capable of holding back the raw emotions burning at his throat. In a moment, his body bloated, swelling and growing until no less than seven heads sprouted from his shoulders, expanding until his mass filled the cavern. "She''s gone, Yuzana, GONE! Not even her soul remained! Virana will never be reborn, do you understand? They diminished her, wholly and completely!"

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    "What of my Mages?" the daughter of General Aung San pleaded. In the dim viridescent light of the jade plated hall, the woman appeared ageless, with a soft halo of radiance just above her temple. A human observer would have placed her in the forties, though her mien was well preserved, possessing the suppleness of one younger. "If even your Nagas are defeated¡­"

    "They are in retreat," Astaka wailed. "I''ve commanded Nila and Ugra to flee. But Virana is no more!"

    "How many of my kin still live?"

    "Eight or nine, before Virana''s life was cut short." As the Naga spoke, each head uttered a word, yet together, their fluency flowed without pause.

    "Lord Astaka, can you speak to them on my behalf?" Yuzana bit her tongue, stifling her grief even as she spoke. It had been Astaka''s idea to take the tithe by force, and she knew the Naga''s regret was exclusive to his kin and not hers.

    As six heads continued to wail, one lowered itself toward her face.

    "Mistress?" came the voice of one of her officers. "Mistress! We''re in pursuit! The target Lord Astaka had requested now moves toward Nagaland! W-we''ve lost half our men, including Kuhara, your brother. I¡­ I am truly sorry."

    "We''re past the time for sorrow." Yuzana lowered her voice, stroking the Naga''s cobra-like mien. With time, Astaka would grow one more head, completing his namesake and come into his destined power. As for now, Astaka remained a young adult, barely past his fourth century. When Yuzana''s father first found the creature and actualised their alliance, he had thought the being unparalleled, but since his demise and during Yuzana''s conflict with the lineage of the Pyu and Mon, she had come to realise the reality of the Naga''s immature power. That was why, rather than completing her father''s wishes, she had to cultivate Astaka''s growth. For even if they were to decimate Yangon, entirely possible with Astaka, his siblings and her Mages, without the Pillar of Jade and the Naga firmly seated in Nagaland, they couldn''t resist the imperialists. "Do you know why they had a change of heart?"

    "No, mistress, the one bringing the tithing is Kitty Liang from the House of M. We won''t be able to catch up."

    Kitty Liang, Yuzana mulled over the name. She knew of the dual-element sorceress, though they had never fought.

    "Are you followed?"

    "No, ma''am."

    "Good, once she nears the outpost, return to your villages."

    Astaka''s head floated away.

    Yuzana tempered her disquieted heart.

    For months, even before their betrayal, Astaka''s temper had been terrible, smothering the mountain with storms and landslides, making the lives of those farming on its tiled rice-terraces utterly impossible.

    If the levy was now delivered, did that mean Me Nu yielded? Could it be that the delay was not the fault of the House of M, but outside forces at play, such as the foreign Mages?

    At the thought of these invaders in her homeland, Yuzana felt a wave of anger. Again and again, the Mageocracy meddled in their affairs. An international university competition in Northern Burma? Who were they trying to fool?

    As for their lost kin, Virana was only two centuries old. Yuzana had watched the Naga moult as she took on her human form for the first time. It had been a feat much celebrated by Astaka, who saw Ugra, Nila and Virana as future mates. When she had first heard Astaka boast of his planned incest, Yuzana had been appalled, but in the decade since, she had come to accept that the Essence of higher beings had little to do with organic physicalities. In mating and eating, Nagas like Astaka magnified their "being". That was when Yuzana had the brilliant epiphany of making Me Nu sacrifice her army of diluted brood to their "Tyrant". As the old saying goes, even the meat of a mosquito could be nourishment.

    Then there was Kuhara. She had told her younger brother not to go, but he had romanticised himself a friend to Astaka. If Astaka was displeased and troubled, Kuhara had boasted, then it was his duty to make his compatriot well.

    "Yuzana?"

    Yuzana blinked. "Yes, my Lord?"

    "Your eyes are wet."

    "Pay it no heed, my Lord. Nonetheless, I have good news. The Diviner is on her way."

    "The line of Nahusha have capitulated?"

    "I cannot be sure, my lord," Yuzana confessed. "But you shall soon have what was promised."

    The good news seemed to distract Astaka from the new grief of losing a sibling, catching the lord of Nagaland between anticipation and melancholy.

    "Come." Astaka''s response was to slither for the exit. "Let us question this soon to arrive Mayuree. I desired to know what manner of cosmic horrors they had to commit to rob me of my sister''s Essence, and what her ''mother'' means by their gross delay!"

    Maymyint''s beacon flashed in the right direction, but the bloody thing was far from a GPS, meaning every so often, Gwen had to readjust her trajectory, losing time and distance.

    The bitch had planned for everything, Gwen grumbled as she Dimension Doored another kilometre forward, hoping the periodic displacement added to her haste. When she left Richard and company, she had been confident that with her estimated velocity of just over a hundred kilometres an hour, she should be able to catch up to Kitty. It was like a real-world application of those mathematics questions her high school teacher used to give out:

    A Kitty has absconded with Mayuree, travelling at 75 KM/H for forty minutes, and a very angry Gwen is in pursuit at 100 KM/H with the addition of Dimension Door at 1 KM for every 5 KMs covered. Calculate when Gwen could catch up to Kitty and light the traitor up like a Christmas Tree.

    The arithmetic was unfortunately not in her favour, considering Nagaland can''t be more than two hundred kilometres away and she kept getting lost, but she had to try. It was her idea to participate in the IIUC, and she had been more than happy for Mayuree and Kitty to join her. She had also been overconfident that there was no way Maymyint could meddle with the competition, and in a way, she was right. The match was almost over, and barring a Kyoto miracle, Fudan would win. If she hadn''t been in a hurry to chomp down on Caliban''s upgrades, she wouldn''t have allowed this to happen.

    Likewise, she couldn''t have accounted for the fact that Kitty was a mole for Maymyint, and that she had planned to send Mayuree to the fucking Tyrant like a frozen turkey. Fucking Kitty! Gwen fumed. To take advantage of her single incident of absence! No wonder Kitty avoided her like the plague. She should have known Maymyint would have Mayuree under watch and key. For how long had Kitty awaited the opportunity?

    The sheer level of convolution was astounding.

    Was Maymyint expecting me to fight a fucking dragon? Gwen wondered.

    Had news gotten out that she had bested a Thunder Wyvern, only for it to be Chinese whispered into a Thunder Dragon? Was that the ploy? Did "saving" Mayuree by blasting Kitty from the sky, scooping up her friend and flying the fuck back to Hpakan where a dozen high-tier Magisters awaited not occur to the genius Maymyint?

    What of when Gwen returned to Shanghai? What was Maymyint''s plan then? She willed a mote of Essence into her body, then pushed herself harder against the buffeting air.

    So long as she caught up to Mayuree, then everything would be fine.

    The drizzle that washed from Saramati Peak transformed into a deluge, painting the iron-rich escarpments white with rain, filling the canyons below with blood-tinged streams of ochre and rust.

    "What.. what happened here?" Astaka''s mood mirrored the weather, or perhaps it was vice-versa. Ever since a few months ago, he had felt invaded, violated, as though the land that belonged to him was slipping from his grasp. Losing the connection to his domain was an impossibility when the Jade Pillar was in his control, but the paranoia he felt was compounded by the fact that he knew the scent of the invader.

    It was Yinglong; it had to be. Though Astaka had never met the elder being, his knowledge of the divine dragons was written into his blood, burned into his Core by the ancestral memory of the Naga''s progenitor, whose ascension ended at the five-digited claws of a Fire Dragon.

    Now, his paranoia manifested in reality.

    At Saramati Peak, Yuzana had her kin set up a listening post which could observe all activity in the lower valley from Lay Shi to the densely forested province of Sagaing. From the mountain''s vantage, Yuzana had witnessed the coming and going of convoys and invasions from the south.

    But when Astaka had arrived with Yuzana and her mountain Mages, what greeted them was a massacre. Around the camouflaged outpost reposed the bodies of Yuzana''s kin, some crushed, others half-eaten, one torn bodily limb from limb, almost as if a ritual took place. As for the stone shelter itself, the structure which Astaka had his Nagas built had been singularly destroyed, shattered as if by a mighty blow from a creature no less potent than Astaka himself.

    "A thunder¡­ dragon?" Yuzana allowed a clump of blasted soil to pass her fingers, noting that the silica had fused into glass. Concurrently, the unique presence of the dragon-kind, mockingly known as the "stink", was unmistakable.

    "A scion of the Yinglong." Astaka tasted the air, each of his massive heads snapping at invisible particles, catching the scent of his enemy. "Yuzana, more and more, I feel Me Nu wants war."

    Kitty descended, knowing that her destination neared, feeling the conclusion of her compelled quest in the thrum of magic confounding the chemistry of her brain.

    Exhausted, she hovered over an upper saddle near the peak of Mount Saramati, observing the sheer drop on one side looking down toward low land Burma, while the opposite sloped back, descending into Nagaland.

    She then landed with Mayuree in tow, surrounded by a group of human Mages, two with the dark indigenous skin of the mountain folk, and three with fairer complexions, all wearing the nationalist Burmese garb of a shawl and lungi. There was one other observer, half-naked, a demi-human serpent-folk, who watched from the side.

    With a wave of her hand, she dispelled the cocoon capturing Mayuree, sending her friend tumbling onto the grass.

    Then she knelt and was still.

    Maymyint''s Mind Magic faded.

    Her senses returned.

    She was free.

    She opened her eyes like a new-born babe. Having regained her faculties, Kitty realised she recognised the woman who now approached, for she was the number one enemy of Yangon, second only to her father.

    "I am Aung San Yuzana," the woman intoned. "I see you have brought the offering."

    "I¡ª" Kitty paused, her tongue suddenly caught in a snare. The offering? Slowly, she turned to regard Mayuree.

    Her friend was unconscious, preserved by magic.

    "Naga got your tongue, girl?" Yuzana prodded Kitty''s kneeling body with her foot. "You''re not a part of the tithing. You may go."

    Kitty''s eyes widened in horror.

    "No, I- I can''t..." she mumbled.

    "Oh? Are you going to join us?"

    "No! What?" Her mind struggled to catch up.

    "What indeed." Yuzana''s expression took on the bearing of a steel mask. When she spoke, her voice was full of command. "Tell me, child, is the House of M now in league with the heavenly dragons? Have Me Nu sold us out to the Chinese, or the British, or worse yet, to the dragons of the middle country?"

    Kitty backed away, shuffling until she rested against Mayuree''s rime-covered form. Her mana was low, but she had potions. Two periodic injections ought to get her home.

    "What do you know of that?" Yuzana pointed to her right.

    Kitty followed her fingers until she saw half-a-dozen bodies, mangled and desecrated, preserved by magic for burial.

    "I don''t know."

    "You don''t know very much, do you? Do you think I don''t know who you are or who you serve? Go from here, and tell Maymyint we shall require another shipment if they wish to preserve the peace. Whatever she had planned, it will not succeed so long as our Lord rules Nagaland."

    Instead of answering, Kitty reached down and wrapped an arm against Mayuree''s hypothermic figure. If she could somehow get away, maybe there could be salvation yet.

    "Are you daft, girl?" Yuzana jeered. "What are you¡ª"

    "FREEZING FOG!"

    Without a word, having no plan beyond the immediacy of now, Kitty activated a spell she had held at the tip of her tongue, one that exercised little harm, but which offered her a chance to use her supernatural agility. From around her body and the space surrounding her Astral Form, a torrent of icy particles, enhanced by the additional of Elemental Air, burst where she stood, obfuscating all vision while simultaneously slowing her enemies.

    With a careful tug, Kitty drew Mayuree into a princess-carry, then made an upward Jump into the air. If she could clear a certain height, she was sure that no Mage present could catch up to her, at least until Mayuree could be injected with a Restoration Potion and the two of them could work out a better strategy.

    "DOWN! Dog of Me Nu!" The voice that burst from overhead possessed the mass of seven behemoths clamouring at once.

    "Shield!"

    All Kitty could do was cradle Mayuree in her arms while she manifested an Ice Shield, retracting her arms and legs to protect her friend''s head and neck.

    WHAM!

    The air in Kitty''s lungs compressed at once, cracking her ribs as her barrier shattered, driving her into the rocky ground with a terrific velocity that exceeded her initial ascent. Her legs struck the floor first, her thighs cushioning her precious package as both knees cracked against the granite rock bed. With a grunt of supreme effort, she rolled to disperse her momentum, feeling her skin scrap as the cold stone violently kissed the left side of her face.

    For a split-second, Kitty thought she had stood back up, for such was the rush of adrenaline coursing through her veins, but when she opened her surviving eye, she found herself sprawled out on the floor with Mayuree lying over her.

    Before the agony struck, she ran a mote of Ice through her body, dulling all sensation. Move! She commanded her rebellious limbs. Move! Damn you! Mia!

    "Grrrghk¡­ Miaaaa¡­" was the sound that issued from her lips, even dulled, the pain was everywhere.

    Something loomed overhead, eclipsing the sun.

    Seven heads, each the size of automobiles, tasted her broken body.

    Where did the Naga come from? How had she missed such a being?

    Mayuree! She returned her mind to the only thing that mattered, only to see Aung San Yuzana''s men pulling the Diviner from her.

    "I still have questions for this one," a voice resounded from each of the cobra heads, indicating Mayuree. "But before we begin, I could use a light snack."

    Kitty''s one remaining eye stared toward the heavens.

    Her tormentor laughed.

    But the Naga''s semi-conscious victim was no longer trembling at its impressive maws. Neither the Tyrant''s flickering forked-tongues nor the fangs that would soon sink into her torso bothered her, for Kitty''s cyclopean vision caught something just behind the Naga, first, a spell flare, then a familiar Kirin silhouette.

    Suddenly, the Tyrant reared its head as to snap at something in the air.

    A bolt of cobalt zinged past the space between the Naga''s open mouth, curving around the massive girth of its serpentine body, then blossomed into a semi-sphere of brilliant viridescent energy enveloping the entirety of the outpost, expanding until it reached a dozen meters in diameter. A portion of it caught the Tyrant, sizzling the creature''s skin with its plasmic discharge. The rest of the blast enveloped Aung San Yuzana and her Mages, taking the unsuspecting casters off their feet, leaving an untouched Mayuree to tumble violently against the blasted stones of the plateau.

    "Yuzana!"

    With a twist of its body, the Tyrant arched with unearthly haste and swallowed Aung San''s daughter. A split-second later, the second stage of Elemental Sphere erupted, ringing out in a massive nova twenty-meters wide, slicing across the outpost, destroying all that remained, disintegrating the bodies of the fallen, fusing sand to stone and wiping four of Yuzana''s Mages from the face of Nagaland.

    Crack!

    Almost simultaneously, a blast of lightning landed beside Mayuree, revealing a giantess in a bible-black combat-suit, cascading lightning and venting electricity as she scooped up the Diviner''s rigid body and hoisted her across one shoulder.

    "Gwen¡­" Kitty choked, her meek lungs incapable of generating a louder sound. The spell had just caressed Kitty''s body. Hope soared. If it was Gwen, maybe she could save them both.

    "Hello¡­" Her Vice Captain took a half-second to catch her breath before she dematerialised in the next, leaving only her last words for Kitty. "¡­ and good luck with your Contingency Ring."

    <ul>

    <li></li>

    </ul>

 Chapter 262 - O Brother, where art thou?

    Sagol Kangba, Chief of the Salai Leishangthem, Vairagi and Grandmaster of the Shadowmen of Manipur, watched his men and women as they carried out their meticulous work.

    His Shadowmen numbered only a hundred, but Sagol''s confidence was absolute. Since the fall of the Imperialists, it was the Shadowmen who had defended the Meitei people against the Burmans, the Hindus, the Muslims, the Chinese and the demi-humans. His troops made an inferior standing army, but they made excellent scouts, spies, assassins and saboteurs.

    Each of his warrior ascetics was trained from birth, hand-picked from talented children. His troops could stalk like cats, scale walls like geckos, slither like snakes through the smallest windows and infiltrate even monstrous lairs. Thanks to the Tyrant''s absence and a freshly failed sortie, the remaining Mages were to the Shadowmen as bleating goats brought to the butcher.

    At dusk, the screaming ceased.

    Sagol Kangba praised Deva and Asura alike as a dozen of his men, gore-strewn and breathing heavily, parted the ivory gates with the delicacy of a blushing bride on her wedding night.

    One by one, his remaining disciples returned. With a little melancholy, he counted seven and sixty.

    The last to arrive was Sagol''s best, the son of his previous employer.

    With Marong''s return, the sovereignty of Sagol''s homeland was now assured. His disciple had promised that he would personally see to Manipur''s protection, though it wasn''t in Marong that Sagol placed his faith.

    That belonged to their mutual patron.

    Unlike Miss Maymyint''s secretive orders, Sagol Kangba had been present in Marong''s meetings with their exalted client, having been spared no detail as to their lord''s meticulous plan, so vast, so complex and yet so well composed that Sagol at once realised the futility of resisting the new master of Nagaland, Manipur and Kachin. It was almost ridiculous to think that he had laboured beside Me Nu for half a century without progress.

    "My Lord." Marong bowed. "The Pillar awaits your pleasure."

    "Marong, Sagol." Their lord''s generosity was astounding. "Well done."

    Sagol Kangba inclined his turbaned head, imploring his master to proceed. Even in his human form, the majesty of the dragon was palpable, an existence beyond mortal reproach.

    "But before we divest the Tyrant of his power," his white-maned majesty chuckled as he inspected the men. "Let us wait, for in patience lies the root of a thousand virtues."

    Gwen chugged the Potion of Invisibility, hoping to hell the illicit concoction didn''t have a use-by-date, for her present condition was as Richard would say, "up shit creek without a paddle."

    She wiped the milky residue from her lips. Thanks to her illicit potion, she could hover within teleportation range.

    Through Ariel''s Link Sight, she saw the traitorous Kitty settkeher cocoon before her captors, then knelt on one knee before offering Mia with the grace of a vacuum-packed Costco brisket.

    Fighting an impulse for immediate retribution, she layered her eyes with Detect Magic. The Divination staple lacked utility while out of range, but at least she could gauge her enemy''s capabilities. With a quick scan, her eyes swept the plateau.

    The leader was a woman, and from her palpable aura, Gwen detected a mote of Radiance. Shit, she exhaled with great care. No matter how inferior regular Radiant Mages were compared to Gunther, they made incredible disruptors. As for the others, they were Senior Mages at best, likely the woman''s supporting casters.

    Near the ruin was a serpent-folk, one with an outlandish mana signature. While Mages like Gwen and her enemies below displaced the Astral winds: here was a bloke whose aura formed a proverbial whirlpool. Considering the context, it didn''t challenge the imagination to say that that this would be her Naga encounter.

    Very well, she told herself. Her present obstacle involved five rebel Mages and a giant-ass Naga beyond her abilities.

    Quickly, she ran over the potential scenarios. Firstly, Nagas were terrestrial creatures. Whatever this Naga could be, it wasn''t Golos, who could eat, piss and shit while corkscrewing at Mach 1. Secondly, if she alternated between Void and Lightning Dimension Doors, even with a passenger drastically reducing efficiency, she should be able to make it at least twenty to forty kilometres before she had to switch to flight. Thirdly, an alpha-strike should¡ª

    VOOMP!

    An expansive burst of liquid nitrogen ruptured across the plateau. It was a spell Kitty had previously demonstrated, Freezing Fog. Simultaneously, the serpent folk changed into its Naga form.

    What? Gwen gave a start¡ª then quickly banished any seeds of doubt before they could germinate. Mayuree had prophesied that she would save her life, and that time was now.

    Ariel! She called on her invisible Familiar. On my mark, unleash hell!

    Astaka, whose name signified the Eight-fold Path of perception, resolve, speech, conduct, livelihood, effort, and mindful union, was not true to his name; instead, he was proud, lustful, greedy, resentful, wanton, impulsive, wrathful and very powerful.

    For a Naga, the formative years began with cannibalising one''s brood, hunting down Magic Creatures, consuming rare flora and finally progressing toward hoarding precious materials. For Astaka, it was only after gaining his sentience in the second century that he inherited the wisdom his forebearers had left, and even then it took decades of instruction by Aung San and Yuzana to temper his baser impulses. Eventually, given enough time, Astaka would reach Enlightenment, slowly shedding his physical form to meld with the land, becoming a higher being.

    Presently, Astaka was very upset.

    Bound by earthly desire, he could only bow to the alchemical tyranny of testosterone, adrenaline and blood.

    He felt a wild desire to destroy anything and everything, wanting nothing more than to crush the female figures even now half-a-kilometre away under his scaled belly.

    But first, Astaka took stock.

    Yuzana, his mentor and ally, was in his gullet. While under his guard, he would use the power of the Pillar to heal her.

    Her kin, the men and women who came with her, weredead. As dead as the men and women of their commune who had guarded the outpost, killed by thunder and lightning.

    His tongues flickered.

    THAT STINK!

    How could he not recognise it? Was their ambusher a daughter of the Yinglong? Was she betting that he would take her sire''s invasion with a grin?

    "Thran!" his heads barked, invoking powers granted by the Jade Pillar, commanding the air itself to bestow the power of flight.

    Though he knew Yuzana would advise against it, he was a dragon, and his dignity, nay, his DIVINITY; could not allow such insults to go unpunished.

    "SCION OF YINGLONG! I COME FOR THEE¡ª"

    "CHAINS OF ICE!"

    Before Astaka could clear the ledge, a sudden tug from behind sent him careening into the cliff-face.

    It took Kitty several more seconds to realise that indeed, she had been abandoned.

    If so, then she was out of luck.

    She had never told Gwen that her teleport was a slave to Mayuree''s master. Until Mia''s ring triggered, hers would remain inert. That had been their relationship in the House of M. What she andMayuree shared wasn''t the same as what Gwen shared with Mayuree. That was why she had hated the Lightning sorceress, for being Mayuree''s equal, something Kitty could only mime.

    Good luck with your Contingency Ring!

    Kitty felt a sudden urge to cry, to curse, to laugh.

    But Mia had been saved! She comforted herself. Gwen had slain all the Mages present, and even now she was kilometres away. The prophecy came true; Gwen rescued Mia. Everything had been ordained from the beginning.

    Though her legs lost all feeling, Kitty touched a hand to her face.

    If you''re so happy that Mayuree was no longer in danger, then why are you crying? She mocked herself. Are these tears of joy?

    "Thran!"

    A bark from the Tyrant shook her from her self-pity.

    Kitty craned her neck, bearing witness to the absurd sight of a Naga the size of a pleasure-barge lift into the air.

    No! Her mind rioted. Wasn''t Mayuree''s safe? How could the Tyrant fly? Nagas were terrestrial creatures! Did that mean that even if she had escaped with Mayuree, her act would have been futile? If so, why had she even tried? What did her suffering mean?

    A dreadful sense of oppression suffused her beaten body. For what reason was she made Mayuree''s companion all these years ago? Was it for this? For delivering her friend to her death? The western Gods are cruel, or so she was told, but the eastern divinities appeared no less sadistic.

    "SCION OF YINGLONG! I COME FOR THEE¡ª"

    At the Naga''s battle cry, a sudden clarity suffused her feverish mind.

    Perhaps there was still a way to save Mia after all.

    If she were to die, her final act could not be one of futility.

    "CHAINS OF ICE!"

    What remained of her mana drained from her body, creating six chains tethering her opponent''s tail to the granite below.

    With a comical lurch, the Naga crashed into a nearby cliff face, making Kitty laugh out loud.

    "You''ll never catch them," she shouted at the bloated beast.

    "Vermin, I had forgotten about you." The Naga recovered, then with an effortless sweep of its tail, it tore the icy chains from the rock, stone and all. She could tell its anger was magnified now. There was a rainbow sheen running up and down its flaring cobra hoods.

    For some reason, Kitty recalled a story Mayuree had told her about a monk who gave himself to a starving Naga so that the creature would not eat its brood.

    "You won''t have her." She did her best to spit at the creature. "Mayuree is not for thee."

    A moment of silence passed between them, a moment Kitty hoped would last for all of eternity.

    "You have gifted me a wonderful idea," the Tyrant''s voice boomed, its eyes growing cruel and cold as it opened its maw. "You shall be the witness to your allies'' suffering..."

    An arm-thick fang penetrated her chest, filling her body with molten lead, paralysing every nerve. Even in the darkness, she could hear it speak.

    "...and believe me, they shall suffer for a very long time."

    After two kilometres of Dimension Doors in the dim dusk, Gwen took a break to reorientate herself. While adjusting her human cargo, she had injected Mayuree with a Potion of Restoration, defrosting her friend and returning the Diviner to a semblance of consciousness. If she was going to be teleporting blindly through the woods in the dark, having a working Diviner was going to be a godsend.

    "SCION OF YINGLONG I COME FOR THEE¡ª"

    From the mountain, the Naga''s almighty battle cry suddenly cut out, as though a cat had arrested all seven of its tongues.

    "Mia! Are you awake?" Gwen gave Mayuree a playful slap, wondering if the Tyrant had changed its mind.

    With a shudder, Mayuree opened her mouth, then was sick over Gwen''s shoulder. "Wha- G-Gwen? GWEN?! Where are we? Where''s Kitty?"

    "She''s with her friends back on the plateau." Gwen made a quick teleport to the next clearing. "Considering what she did, I was very charitable."

    "No! Maymyint glamoured her!" Mayuree''s words exploded like a thunderclap beside her ear. "I saw it in Indaw, a spell activated, then Kitty started acting crazy!"

    Gwen faltered, first her step, then her incantation, then she stumbled again from the nauseating feedback. Kitty, glamoured?

    "A-Are you certain?" Her scalp crawled, her skin broke out with a terrific slick. If Mayuree was right, then she had just made a terrible mistake. "The proctors never detected¡ª"

    "Gwen, Shield! NOW!"

    She obliged.

    WHAM!

    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.Crack!

    A chunk of granite weighing at least half a ton skidded off her double-glazed barrier, driving her bodily into the soft earth before ricocheting into a Banyan tree, shattering the ancient wood.

    Two seconds later, a cascade of magma immolated the treetops.

    The girls looked up.

    From the sky, a floating Naga expelled bolts of elemental energy, mostly earthen, but also that of malformed rock, molten metal, blue-white fire, and even the occasional deluge of acid from its serpentine heads.

    OH FUCK! IT FLIES! She gulped the burning air, then Dimension Doored twice in quick succession.

    BOOM!

    An eruption of heat blossomed close enough for her to shield up for the second time. When the debris settled, the distinct Dragon Fear of the Naga pressed in from above. A part of her entertained the possibility of a fight, but with Mayuree on her back, a slugfest was impossible. Alternatively, she could try to activate Mayuree''s Contingency Ring, but that would send her Diviner right back to Minty, likewise raising the question of whether Mayuree''s ring would work at all.

    "Scion!" The Naga''s chorus was loud enough to give her a headache. "Come and face Astaka, Master of Nagaland!"

    Gwen rolled her eyes at the Naga''s feeble offer of parley. Wait- she blinked. Scion? Scion of the Yinglong? Did he mean her? Does the Naga think he''s fighting another dragon?

    "I am a mortal Mage! I seek no quarrel with you! I wish only to return with my friend!" She broadcasted through her Clarion Call, continuing her zig-zag teleportation. "Mia, Scry ahead and plot me a path! Is Kitty''s Contingency Ring linked to Yangon, Chengdu or Shanghai?"

    Mayuree''s arms suddenly tightened.

    "Her ring won''t activate!" Mayuree''s speech pieced her brain like a sliver of Kitty''s ice. "It''s slaved to mine! It''ll only activate after mine does!"

    "Y-You''re shitting me!" Gwen spat. "Why was I never told? What kind of fucking ring is that?"

    "That''s how it has always been," came the choked reply. "Kitty''s not allowed a normal one."

    "FUCK!" Gwen swore, narrowing avoiding a branch. "FUCKING HOUSE OF M! GODDAMN BASTARDS!"

    She could feel Mayuree tremble, but she hadn''t intended to blame her friend. She knew who to blame.

    "As soon as you''re safe, I''ll go back for Kitty!" Gwen promised, feeling Gunther''s band weighing down her ring finger. Blood will have blood, she thought of that aphorism from Macbeth. Is this what they mean by you live long enough, and you''ll become the villain? Maymyint had used Mayuree as bait, and she had left Kitty as bait, and now she was going to be Naga bait.

    "Which way?" She refocused on the task at hand. "Mia, I don''t know what''s happened to Kitty, and I can''t fight with you here, so I am going to send you away with Ariel."

    "No!" Mayuree tightened her grip. "I won''t leave you. I''ll activate my Ring, maybe..."

    "Too risky!" Gwen hissed. "Listen! Do you want to save Kitty or not? Can you Scry the mountain top?"

    Mayuree''s voice choked. "We''re outside my range. I just tried Messaging her as well. The spell isn''t pinging!"

    "FUCK!" Gwen''s heart sunk. "What does that mean? Is she..."

    "I don''t know! Kitty could be unconscious!"

    "You dare flee?!" the Tyrant''s voice poundedthe valley. "VATAKA!"

    Draconic Essence flooded the vicinity. Mayuree''s tiny body seized up at once, seizing even her choking sobs.

    "BUZZ OFF WITH THE GOBBLEDYGOOK!" Gwen hollered back, feeling a hidden heat compressingher brain as Almudj''s will pushed back against the invasive command. "Dimension Door!"

    "VATAKA! VATAKA!" the Tyrant''s response was more rage, more anger, more disbelief. "You lie! No mere mortal can resist our will!"

    "SHUT UP!" came Gwen''s verbal riposte from the wending woods. "GO FUCK YOURSELF."

    The next barrage grew in intensity and radius.

    "Thaczil, tyrtrol ve!"

    She had no idea what the creature was incanting, nor did she care. With enough Dimension Doors, she maybe could circle back.

    "Oof-!"

    In between her spells, something snagged her foot, coiling around her ankles and digging into the leather of her boots. Her forward momentum, compounded with that of Mayuree unbalancing her from behind, sent her face first into the forest floor.

    "ARRGH!" An indescribable line of agony travelled up her leg.

    "Gwen!" Mayuree headbutted her Vice Captain''s iron-hard skull.

    Gwen felt it before she saw it. A thorn-studded vine had snagged her left leg, and where it had coiled against her combat boots, hooked spikes now strangled her calve. Thankfully, at least for her, poisons weren''t a problem.

    "Void Bolt!" A quick spell was enough to sever the vine and prevent it from regenerating. When she limped on, she noted that the landscape had taken on a conscious hostility. Her first instinct was to Void Skin, but she had Mayuree strapped to her.

    "I am sensing hostiles everywhere." Mayuree huffed, bleeding from a cut above her eye. "Gwen, leave me!"

    "That''s the plan! Dimension Door!" Gwen made a snap decision to teleport upwards, above the treeline, she could once again combine Flight with short teleports. "Ariel!"

    Her Kirin reappeared just as she stabilised her flight, limping even in mid-air. A few hundred meters away, floated the Battleship Agro-Asta-Fuck, barreling toward her like a natural disaster. She wanted to conjure up another Barbanginy, possibly a twin-strike, but knew whatever Essence she had in reserve was best used to keep up her health. It didn''t take a genius to know that if Almudj''s blessing dried up, the slightest injury wasgoing to bring the pain.

    With a click, she unstrapped Mayuree, then against all protest, bundled her against Ariel, simultaneously slipping the vial from Richard into Mayuree''s potion pouch.

    "Gwen, don''t!" Mayuree kicked and squirmed. "Let me fight! I''ll use my items! I''ll distract the Tyrant!"

    "Ariel!" Gwen ignored her. Instead, she charged up her next attack. "Wait for the signal. Take Mia back to Richard!"

    "EE EE!"

    Behind the duo, their assailant was pleased that he had flushed the pheasants from the bush.

    "Deceiver! Your demise shall be slow and agonising!" The Naga slithered toward her; its seven tongues tasting the air as though slathering her skin.

    Gwen meanwhile, collated as much potential energy as she could into a spell that had served her well in many an occasion.

    "Eat this, arsehole! FLASHBANG!"

    BUNG!

    "Hissss!" The Naga recoiled, its hypersensitive organs flaring white-hot. "Dishonourable hag!"

    Following Gwen''s behest, Ariel decamped eastward, invisible but for the small girl on its back.

    Psssht!

    Gwen meanwhile, took the advantage offered by the Naga''s momentary blindness to airdrop Caliban into the undergrowth before stabbing herself with a healing injector.

    Cali! She mentally commanded her beast to Consume at will. If the bloody Naga thought he could turn the vegetation against her, then she would show him the meaning of deforestation.

    Below, the forest came alive with roving foliage.

    Behind, Mayuree was already a speck upon a speck.

    "Void Skin! Chakram! Chakram!" Gwen retooled her defence against untoward ambushes, then sent her discs against the Tyrant. With a sound of cutting silk, both of her meat-slicers scored palpable hits, drawing dark blood where semi-chromatic scales had been consumed.

    Woa! She marvelled at the potency of her new spell, realising at once that the Tyrant wasn''t like Golos. The wyvern was a tough customer because it had been clad in Lightning. Comparatively, this Astaka was an earthen Naga.

    "Shaaa!" Caliban was making a feast of what little life animated trees provided.

    "YOU!" The Naga was suddenly in an uproar. "You''re the one!"

    "I am flattered." Gwen worked her restored ankle before engaging yet another Dimension Door. She looked for a way around. Maybe she could teleport right through the bastard. "I don''t date snakes, too clingy."

    To her surprise, the Naga''s riposte was to regurgitate something from one of its heads.

    "Bleurgh!"

    It was a woman.

    What. The. Fuck. Her mind struggled with the spectacle. Was this Astaka''s Simulacrum? The disturbance was akin to Caliban''s culinary adventures, only in reverse.

    "How dare you hurt Astaka!"

    When the woman further began to speak, she had to realign her knowledge of reality. Though slime slathered, the being was alive and kicking. Not only that, she recognised her as the leader of the rebel Mages on the plateau. What did that mean? Gwen''s eyes widened. She had thought the woman perished.

    "Radiant..."

    OH FU¡ª her mind caught up. She blinked.

    "...Blast!"

    TSSSS! The spell struck before she had time to react.

    Her Void Skin broiled with the sound of a searing steak, sending an eye-rolling rush of agony into her brain. The blast had resembled a shotgun of light particles, catching her from chin to chest.

    "Radiant Bolt!" A circular imprint glowed red-hot on her shoulder, weaker than the first, but still painful.

    "Flashbang!" Gwen retorted with a distraction. She had to buy herself time.

    TSSSS!

    BUNG!

    FUCK! Unbridled tears gushed from her eyes. She recalled training with Gunther, thankful that the most Radiant evokers lacked her brother-in-law''s ability to mimic the Death Star. In a one-on-one duel, she could tank every attack until she could overwhelm her opponent, but now she was alone and facing off a Naga. Concurrently, Ariel was half-a-kilometre away with Mayuree, and Caliban was collecting vitality from below. Moreover, she couldn''t concentrate on higher spells if she got branded every few seconds.

    "Yuzana! She ate Virana!" the Naga chorused. "I need to consume her to recover Virana''s Essence!"

    "As you wish, my lord." The woman recovered quicker than Gwen had anticipated. "Scorching Radiance!"

    Gwen rapidly descended, pre-shielding with a double-serving of Void in a semi-dome, flying in a direction perpendicular to Ariel''s trajectory. The problem was that she had effectively blocked her line-of-sight, leaving her to retreat blindly.

    Tssss!

    THUNK!

    A half-dozen beams of radiant fire ate away at her shield, followed by conjured stones from the Naga.

    Allowing the momentum of the boulders to accelerate her fall, she quickly erected a second shield. Below, Caliban reported that there was little vitality to be had in these moving trees and walking shrubs, an unwelcome reality furthermore complicating her dilemma.

    "Dimension Door!" She disappeared and reappeared.

    "Radiant Bolt!"

    As expected, Yuzana gave chase, though thankfully the forest provided cover while her Void Skin diffused the threat of molesting tendrils and tripping vines.

    "Radiant Bolt!"

    A Banyan burst spontaneously combusted.

    "Radiant Blast!"

    "Void Bolt!"

    Her Void consumed itself before she could reach the enemy Mage. As had been proven by Gunther, Radiance was a bad matchup for Void, or at least the Evocation variation. As before, a burst of eye-searing brillance struck her paper-thin armour, causing such a distraction that she almost ran headfirst into a tree.

    WHAM!

    Whoomp!

    A volley of stones crashed to her left.

    A fall of fire ignited to her right.

    "!"

    They were herding her! Gwen''s Sigil tingled. She had to do something and do it quick. Could she ambush the Radiant Mage with Caliban? She could, but first, she had to disable the woman.

    Taking advantage of her superior agility, she dodged from roving tree to grasping vine, even so, the wayward mote of Radiance scalded her skin and drained her vitality. Were it not for her draconic-constitution and her Void element, she would be nearing medium-rare.

    "Shaaa!"

    Watching Caliban''s casual slaughter of animated lumber, a spell came to mind. An invocation she had never wanted to use against another human being.

    "Radiant Strike!"

    Tsss! Her back sizzled. Some of her armour flaked off even as an odour of skinsuit and saut¨¦ed flesh suffused her nostrils.

    All compassion evaporated from her mind.

    "Caliban! To me!" she called out. There was plenty of life left in her Familiar. Were she and Yuzana vis-a-vis, she could Consume the bitch, but she couldn''t afford the incapacitation, not with the Naga panting like a seven-headed Cerberus over a juicy bone.

    A split-second later, a hasted Caliban bodily retrieved her, deposited her on its back, then began to skitter through the forest, shredding through the twisting branches and thorns that sought to impede the duo.

    "Radiant Bolt!"

    A mass of tentacles from Caliban''s underbelly served as a temporary barrier, leaving behind a trail of smoking sinew and writhing tissue.

    The last syllable of the horrid spell lapped at Gwen''s lips.

    "Die!" Yuzana descended, buzzing like a Giant Hornet. She swooped closer toward where Gwen and her minion leapt from tree to tree, skittering high and low and in between before letting loose a wide-area AoE in an attempt to catch the two. "Sundering Sun!"

    From a pinpoint just ahead of Gwen, the forest grew as bright as day.

    "Cloud Kill!"

    A black haze a full twenty-meters in diameter formed near-instantaneously into a semi-dome, smothering the air with particles of corrosive Void-matter, each alive with the insatiable appetite of the Quasi-Elemental Plane of endless hunger.

    "ARRRGH!" The Radiant Mage flew face first into the darkness. "ARR¡ª"

    Yuzana''s scream suddenly cut short. Her spell ceased. Ten-thousand little pin-holes appeared over the woman''s face and clothes, pock-marking every inch of her body. She suddenly fell forward, choking and hacking like a hag as she rag-dolled onto the sodden, Void-smothered vegetation.

    "Yuzana!" The great Naga descended, once again attempting to save its companion by swallowing her into the safety of its gullet.

    "Shoe''s on the other foot, fucker!" Gwen halted Caliban, for the opportunity wouldn''t last. The Radiant Mage must die, else she would never get back to Kitty. "Cali!"

    Caliban leapt forward, metamorphosing into its Horror Stag form.

    "Void Seeker!"

    A whispering disc paralleled Caliban''s charge while her Familiar''s stiletto legs churned the dark earth, lowering its sixteen-prong tentacle horns for entry into the Mage''s delicious body.

    With a corrosive hiss of disintegrating scales and skin, the Naga displaced the boundaries of her Cloud Kill just as Gwen herself made an acrobatic Jump from Caliban''s back to avoid her Negative Energy cloud.

    Her mind gauged the distance to clear the Tyrant in a single Dimension Door. While it busied itself with the Radiant Mage, she could teleport back to their Ice Mage. If all else were lost, she would bring back Kitty''s body, in front of which she would offer Maymyint''s head.

    "Blueeargh!"

    The Tyrant regurgitated yet again, a scene that made Gwen despair. The mucus that came from its jaws slathered the Radiant Mage, negating the permeation of her Void-matter.

    Her Seeker closed-in.

    She called up another attack.

    "Chak¡ª"

    Kitty came sliding out from the snake''s gullet, falling headlong into her Cloud Kill and directly into the path of her Seeker.

    Gwen''s Chakram caught in her throat. Her spell backfired, flooding her Astral Body with a paralytic surge of violent, void-tinged mana.

    CANCEL! She shrieked internally even as her organs revolted from the backlash. As Caliban slid to one side, she caught sight of Mayuree''s partner kissing the obsidian mass, a second before she could dispell its effect.

    NO! Her limbs seized. How could this happen?!

    "She''s DEAD!" came such a cry of anguish that Gwen''s heart skipped a beat. For a second, she had thought herself the source of that unhappy eruption of grief. "YOU! HOW DARE YOU!"

    The Naga took the words right out of her mouth.

    Towering over Gwen''s nauseated body, Astaka reared on its impressive abdomen, all seven cobra-hoods flared, shivering with rage. There was a thrum of mana from the ground below; then its serpentine torso shuddered. With a grotesque crackle of crunching bone and peeling scales, an eighth head exploded from Astaka''s shoulder-blades, completing its namesake.

    While she reeled, first from her mana burn and then from the spine-numbing Dragon-Fear pouring from her assailant, the Naga swept its heads down and across with the likeness of a man swinging a set of snake-tipped cat-o-nines. As its brutal body made the one-eighty necessary to complete the motion, uprooting trees and dashing boulders the size of sedans, it caught Caliban as the Familiar circled back to shield its master, first crushing it against one head, then against another, then against the ground, clubbing her beast until its shape was barely recognisable.

    "Shield!" Gwen poured every ounce of summonable effort into her barrier.

    The first blow was comparable to Golos when he had ambushed her. The next shattered her double-barrier like fragile glass, and the third conformedher body to the shape of its cobra-snout.

    GUNTHER! I AM SORRY! She clenched her fist, circulating Essence like mad. She had fought off the Radiant Mage, but she had forgotten Alesia''s advice. Never duke a Mythic in melee range. No matter how powerful a Mage might be, a blow from a millennia-old creature the size of a building wasn''t anything human magic could withstand, because why the fuck else would they build Towers?

    Without the need for magic, she flew through the air.

    Her world slowed. Briefly, Gwen''s superior kinetic vision caught a familiar silhouette.

    Her Deus Ex Machina had arrived.

    "YOU IDIOT!"

    The fulminating howl of frustration followed the spectacle of an enormous, bone-white Wyvern tackling the Tyrant head-on.

    "You''re the FOOL!" the Tyrant returned Golos'' insult, which had been directed at Gwen. "Dishonorable rascals of the Yinglong! I KNEW YOU WOULD COME!"

    Her world sped up, and Gwen''s trajectory continued. Instead of receiving the aid she had anticipated, she struck the forest floor, bounced from the foliage, then slammed into a tree trunk, felt her ligaments tear, then crash-landed against the root of a Banyan tree. She must have blacked out for a second because her Void Skin had deactivated and at least a dozen gashes had appeared where there had been none. When she tried to move, an unbearable agony travelled up her right arm, indicating a revolt of bone and flesh.

    "Ow¡ª" She gasped for breath. Just as she wondered if her incredulous appetite for assault and battery was boon or bane, creeping vines descending from the Banyan hoisted her into the air like a leg of ham.

    There was a strange clattering of teeth just beside her ear.

    "ARRGH! GOLOS!" Gwen screamed as barbs began to sprout, digging into her tender flesh.

    There was no doubt that Golos was as mighty as it was dim. Busy fighting the Naga, the wyvern craned its neck to fire off a jet of blue-white plasma toward where she hung.

    Gunther! Gwen closed her eyes. I''ll pay you back!

    "SHAAA!" came the cry of a blighted angel.

    Caliban caught its master before she could be sent back to Shanghai, having restored its stag-form in the intervening seconds between the Naga''s sweep-attack and Golos'' intervention. When the teeth-covered trees once again reached for the master-creature duo, Caliban activated its all-consuming tentacles.

    "Father''s whiskers, this bastard is strong!" A dozen meters away, Golos was proving to be the inferior of the two. "Help me, you idiot!"

    Where the Thunder Wyvern crackled with blue-white lightning, whipping at the Tyrant with its spiked-club tail, the Naga could not give two shits. Comparatively, it possessed eightvectors of attack, a far larger body, and superior elemental resistance.

    "GARR!" Golos howled, pierced by multiple fangs.

    The Wyvern''s associate was frantically searching for her Controller. What had been a virgin forest was now a disaster zone. Where her Cloud Kill had been, nothing living remained bar for the titanic struggle between Golos-zilla and knock-off Ghidorah.

    Gwen felt her mind grow numb.

    "CALAMITY! HELP ME!"

    How was she going to explain this to Mayuree?

    "DO SOMETHING!"

    Did she kill Kitty? Or was Kitty already dead?

    She looked up. Her first thought was to flee. She was rightly fucked up, and the Naga was too strong. If she left Golos to battle the Naga for the next fifteen minutes, she was sure to get away.

    "GWEN!"

    But the damned wyvern had come to save her, had it not?

    Golos was no Kitty, but how could she leave another ally to die?

 Chapter 263 - Veni Vidi Vici

    Wincing, Gwen injected herself with a second Healing Potion while simultaneously drinking an Elixir of Restoration, burning past her alchemical limit for the day. With an unbearable itch, her wounds healed and her arm popped back into place, though as for full mobility, that would take dedicated physiotherapy.

    "Golos, hold on!" she hollered back. "Keep up your lightning!"

    "AARRGH!" Golos hooted like a madcap baboon as it lost another chunk of armour.

    "Caliban, keep me covered!"

    "SHAAA!"

    "First this one, then you!" the Tyrant bellowed, punctuating its threat by puncturing Golos''s rump. "Have patience!"

    "Dimension Door!" Gwen appeared behind their enemy, just out of reach of the Naga''s heads. Caliban stood directly in front, ready to serve as her meat shield or to take its master away from danger. "KEEP IT PINNED!"

    "RAWAAAR!" Golos exploded, flaying scales from the Tyrant''s neck and back, beating at the Naga with its wings and its tail, raining scales and dark blood.

    Gwen forced herself to calm. She recalled Walken''s story of Sobel''s spell in Sydney. For all her feelings of vitriol, there was no denying that the bitch''s mastery of the Void was second to none. According to Walken, Sobel''s elemental swarm had been the most horrific and practical demonstration of the Void''s consumptive abilities hehad ever seen.

    If so, she had an inkling of what she had to do.

    Sensing imminent danger, the Tyrant pushed back.

    With a supreme grunt of supernatural effort, Golos pressed forward, pounding the earth with his massive thighs, taking several envenomed strikes to the neck, back and torso as he attempted to immobilise the Naga.

    "VOID SWARM!" Gwen finished her Conjure Elemental with a single breath.

    Her shadow distended.

    The space around her shimmered, then began to tear as her incantation invited Caliban''s fellow-fiends from the otherworldly expanse of the Quasi-Elemental Plane of the Void. The first time she had used the spell, it was in the presence of her Uncle, against the herd of unsuspecting deer. She had been hungry then, far weaker, less practised, green as a sapling.

    Now, she''ll plague them all, even to roaring!

    From one lamprey came two, from two came three, and from three came a midnight tide of screeching, crawling, sucking things without noses nor lips, only teeth, pouring toward the sole source of concentrated vitality not clad in lightning.

    Caliban exalted in the display, barking sing-song repetitions of "Shaa!" and "Shaa!" as its tentacles writhed, bathing in the caress of its numberless siblings.

    Beware! Beware! Gwen felt as though the Abyssinian maid in Coleridge''s epic, strumming her dulcimer of arcanistry as she invited the thousand young from the wending woods where the stars glimmer darkly. With all her vitality thus committed, she would eat the fucker like air!

    "Father''s whiskers!" Golos sucked in a breath of fetid air, heeding Gwen''s advice in cladding his scales within a sheath of electricity.

    "Asura!" the Tyrant bellowed, attempting to untangle itself from Golos. "USURPER!"

    The carrion swarm of darkling lampreys reached Astaka''s thrashing body; then as one, the hive latched on like a tide breaking over the entangled statue of a Wyvern and Naga amid a titanic struggle.

    One by one, the lampreys latched on; with each mote they stole from Astaka, the leech-like abominations bloated and swelled, growing to twice, thrice their usual size! Even when Astaka rolled its brutal body, crushing Golos and leeches alike, smearing the ground with Void-tinged ichor, the creatures came on with the relentlessness of the Void''s insatiable hunger.

    A trickle of renewed vitality entered into her body, hot against her abdomen, gorging her mortal vessel with the milk of paradise.

    Her breath caught in her throat, her limbs quivered.

    Without reserve, she fed these dangerous, mind-numbing motes back into the Conjuration Sigil, attaining an epiphanic realisation that this was how Sobel had maintained her magic. As one, her creatures reared their phallic, eyeless heads, then redoubled their efforts, slithering up the Naga''s body with renewed vigour.

    "INSOLENCE!"

    For the second time, there was a groundswell of raw mana.

    As though a quickened toadstool after autumn''s rain, the Naga grew yet again in size, doubling its girth. Like a child wrangled by an adult, the twenty-meter Golos fell backwards, shanked by fangs the length of broadswords. As a sixth head dipped, Caliban attacked, but with a violent snap, it cleaved Caliban''s upper torso, head and all, from its stalwart lower body.

    Pssshk!

    A small microburst of acidic venom hurled forth from the seventh head.

    "Shaa!" Spider-Caliban burst from the remains of the stag, expanding its torso to shield its master.

    "DIE!" The final head descended, shaking lamprey-leeches from its scales. The Tyrant''s maw unhinged. No matter which direction Gwen or her creature fled, they would soon enter its gullet to be digested.

    Still channelling her thousand young, Gwen renewed her Void Skin, then performed a quick hypothesis in her head.

    Here was an opportunity.

    If the acid and the creature''s internals proved impenetrable, then she would find herself back in Chengdu, or possibly Sydney. If she could survive long enough for Caliban to do its terrible work, then she would be one half-millennia Naga richer and Caliban may very well attain the gift of garb.

    "TONIGHT, I FEAST ON THE FLESH OF THE YINGLONG."

    She prepared her body for the worst.

    "NEVER!"

    To her chagrin, a Thunder Wyvern foiled her plans, placing itself between the Naga and herself.

    "Golos!" she screeched, but how could she complain? It wasn''t as though Golos could read her masochistic mind and deduce that she wanted to skinny dip in acid.

    "Flee! You''ll perish instantly!" Golos''s rescue had arrived a little too late, meaning the Naga caught him by the neck before he could dodge the blow intended for Gwen. When the Tyrant''s jaws snapped shut, it caught Golos right in the middle of his serpentine neck, crushing scale and bone alike.

    A look of strange elation overcame Golos'' face as his wingtips grew limp. "That''s t-three times¡ª"

    Gwen felt an upwelling of emotion. Though Golos owed her, her chest nonetheless constricted. Staring at the skyscraper-sized Naga, she wondered if she could Dimension Door into the Tyrant''s body, for the thing was now the length and girth of a blue-whale, so massive that her lampreys appeared as though aphids.

    What couldshe do to save Golos? Should she save Golos?

    Back when they first met, he had tried to maim her, hell, he even threatened to rape her. Then she had probed him with Caliban, but still-

    "Gurrrrk!" Golos gurgled, a spurt of blood rained over Gwen and her shrieking Caliban, sizzling her Void Skin. At once, her lampreys rejoiced.

    "Hahaha!" Astaka savoured the blood from Golos'' throat. "Delicious!"

    You should go. A voice of reason called out to Gwen. Kitty''s dead, Mayuree''s saved, what more was there to do?

    But her body refused to move. Was it because of her spell? No, the thousand young were doing their job; the Tyrant was beyond her lamprey''s abilities, her theft of its Essence was a drop in the bucket against the ley of the landscape itself. If so, how could she hope to usurp the life of Kachin, Nagaland and all its flora and fauna? She may as well run a pump into the Bay of Bengal to stem the tide.

    "Be patient, insect. You''re next," the Tyrant commanded her, and that''s what she did, caught between spectacle and indecision, unable to leave her ally, neither wanting to flee nor knowing what else to do.

    Walken would slap me, Gwen thought unpleasantly.

    Another head approached.

    The Naga was getting impatient.

    Her confidence crumbled.

    She was at her limit.

    Was Golos right? Could her worms eat this thing from inside out? Or would half of her instantly dissolve, sending not enough of her to Gunther to be revived? How much would an acid bath hurt?

    "!"

    Her useless Divination pinged. Could a Sigil be sarcastic?

    Her world grew dark.

    Then it suddenly grew white.

    Not the white that one would expect to see at the end of the tunnel.

    Nor the silvery-white flare of Conjuration from her Contingency Ring.

    It was instead the alabaster of ionised plasma, the retina-searing white of unadulterated power drawn from the Quasi-Elemental Plane of Lightning.

    "VHIRA, VILKLVI!" Came a fulmination of thundering bolts so turbulent that the ground shook, the heavens split, and the dusk turned to midday.

    "BROTHER!" Golos'' jubilance was drowned out by the cacophonous discharge sundering their ophidian enemy. Above the duo, one of Astaka''s offending appendages suddenly erupted, blazing blue and green from its eyeless sockets.

    A great trumpeting of agony erupted from a chorus of cobra-headed tubas.

    Fighting the revolt in her conduits and the dizziness assailing her trembling innards, she forced herself to focus. If she tarried any longer, she would be the first Mage to be sent out of the IIUC as a result of being sandwiched between a Naga and a hard place.

    "Never overextend." A belated piece of advice penetrated the noise.

    It wasn''t silvery Conjuration that enveloped her, but a pair of arms with the stiffness of steel cables, cradling her waist, pulling her away from the Tyrant, wading through her mass of Void-spawns as effortlessly as a lightning-charged scalpel through bible-black butter.

    Gunther? A d¨¦j¨¤ vu of Blackheath struck. Or could it be Uncle Jun?

    This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

    But she was wrong on both accounts. The man that had pulled her from certain teleportation was a being of paradoxical intimacy, a stranger she already knew. His presence, or the "Stink", as Marong would say, was all too familiar. She had inhaled it many times already, on her Uncle, on Ayxin, on Golos, from all the fauna she had consumed on the Yellow Mountain. It was the same Essence held captive within her mortal body.

    She craned her neck to regard the saviour of Gunther''s Contingency Ring.

    A pair of soft eyes the colour of pale water met her halfway, half-covered by a head of shocking silver.

    "My prodigal niece." The dragon-kin had a baritone voice, deep like lowering tempest. "I had expected to meet you under better circumstances."

    CRACK!

    A spear of vertical lightning pierced a second cobra-head, penetrating the offending ophidian mass from snout to neck, blowing out the back of the serpent''s brain like a too-ripe melon.

    "HISSS!"

    Astaka reeled, suddenly afraid as any intelligent Naga would be when an enemy effortlessly disabled two of its eight heads.

    "Astaka, you''re looking worse for wear." Ruxin''s voice filled the clearing even as he cradled his niece with the earnest affection of a young man and his golden goose. "For offending our father, I''ve come for you and everything you own. So that you know, your palace has fallen, and the Pillar of Jade is mine as well."

    "YOU!" Astaka tossed Golos aside, folding the Wyvern''s body into a groaning heap. "IT WAS YOU!"

    "Watch out!" Gwen pushed against her captor''s arms, though she may as well be striking concrete.

    Ruxin took the hit head-on.

    A semi-sphere barrier protected Gwen and Ruxin from the assault, though it failed to dissipate the force of the blow.

    KLANG! There was a sound of metal-on-metal, then the humanoid dragon was sent flying.

    Gwen''s world twisted and turned while they spun, feeling as though trapped in the violent tumble of a drink driving commercial, only ending when Ruxin righted himself some fifty meters away.

    "That was embarrassing," the dragon apologised to the girl in his arms. "Are you alright?"

    "Can you let me down?" she demanded with the sourness of a tart. Though she was safe, her suffering was exquisite. Kitty was dead, and she had seized up like a deer. In the end, she couldn''t drink danger as though it were the wine of life. She could not jest as a Naga swallowed her whole. She had called her own bluff and had found herself wanting.

    "Are you hale?" Ruxin''s patience was perplexing.

    "I am." Gwen answered her self anointed "uncle", paying no heed to the dragon''s semi-divine visage. For the foreseeable future, she was out of shits to give.

    "Good." Ruxin made two gestures. One toward Gwen, and one toward Golos. "Keep safe and keep away. I''ll be along shortly."

    Before she could retort, there came yet another groundswell of mana, the very same that Astaka had employed twice over.

    Her stomach lurched. When she blinked again, she had been translocated into an untouched clearing, stranded beside Golos'' broken body.

    Ruxin assumed his natural form.

    Had he not sent his niece away, she would have witnessed the awe-inspiring sight of a pure-blooded Thunder Dragon forty-meters from whisker to tail. She would have awed at his lion''s maw and tiger''s claws; gaped at his handsome head upon which sat a mane of vibrant feathers, marvelled at his stag horns, as majestic as they were potent.

    Twisting and turning, Ruxin caught each of the Tyrant''s heads within the confines of his coiled length, paralysing his opponent with blue-green bolts of electrical discharge.

    "How!" The Naga thrashed, its body shrinking rapidly, deflating like a punctured balloon as the mana from the ley flowed from its body into his opponent''s. "W-WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?"

    With a swipe of a five-fingered claw, Ruxin crushed one of Astaka''s heads against a tree, toppling both.

    "You still don''t sense it?" the dragon appeared thoroughly amused. While Astaka diminished, his form seemed to grow not in size, but majesty. "You''re no longer tethered to Nagaland, Astaka. I am your new lord and master."

    "Impossible!"

    "Oh, it''s possible. Watch."

    A burst of raw mana suddenly infused Ruxin''s twisting form, healing his wounds and suffusing him with the same energy that the Tyrant had abused earlier to overcharge Gwen''s darkling swarm.

    "GARRGH¡ª"

    With a sickening crunch, another of the Tyrant''s heads burst.

    "Stop!" the Tyrant was in full panic now. The loss of each head afforded an experience of mortality in its purest form. "No more!"

    "A pitiful thing like you, stealing the essence of the land- how droll," Ruxin remarked. "You are far from ready to join the Vaeri di tobor vur marfedelom. I am beginning to doubt if it is even worthwhile making you my consort. Perhaps serving as my nourishment would be better."

    Each of Ruxin''s claws now grasped the remaining four heads effortlessly. Though the Jade Pillar was far more suited to an earthen drake, the power of the land nonetheless flowed pure and unsullied from hitherto undespoiled by man.

    "Well?" His claws tightened. "Do you yield?"

    "I¡ª" Astaka choked, comical in that all four heads hesitated as one.

    "Tir wux tyrtrol dout pliso?" Rux demanded in the dragon-tongue, cementing his offer of mercy. Once agreed, there would be no challenge except if Astaka were to outstrip Ruxin''s power, or if Ruxin perished before the Naga. "Serve me, or nourish me."

    "S-si vield, ekess qe dout katima!" The Naga lowered itself.

    Ruxin exalted. Finally, after decades, his plan had come to fruition. For paltry beings with a century''s life-span, human sages were wise in ennobling the simple virtue of patience. Now, he had a brother and a niece to tame.

    Eyeing his rear, Caliban skulked in its serpent form, warning Golos that one wrong move and it would revisit their last rendezvous.

    "Why didn''t you run away?" Gwen sat with her back against the Wyvern''s neck, stroking its ear ridges. Despite the good news from Ariel that Mayuree was safe, Kitty''s absence made her melancholic and apprehensive, which led to the unusual choice of makingGolosherconversation partner.

    "Dragons never run," Golos grunted. "We triumph, we yield, or we die."

    Gwen nodded, pressing her palm into the Wyvern''s scales so that it prickled her flesh.

    "I wanted to run," she confessed.

    "Yet, you stayed." The Wyvern groaned, then to her surprise, Golos shat out a nugget of wisdom. "We are responsible for our own lives. The weak die, because they are not strong."

    Gwen chuckled, recalled what she had conjured up against the Naga, then thought about her master''s wife. If might made right, what did that make Sobel?

    "I wonder about that." She smiled weakly. "Even so, thanks for saving me."

    "I did it for myself," Golos reprimanded her with a silvery iris, its gold-on-obsidian slit browsed her pale face. "If I died, I died for myself."

    "Well, I couldn''t save my friend," Gwen castigated herself, more so because Golos'' simple philosophy was brutally rational. For some reason, she just wanted to tell someone or have someone tell her off. "I watched her die, or maybe I killed her by accident, I don''t know."

    "She human?"

    "Yeah."

    "Then it doesn''t matter," Golos said. "Humans die so easily. Even if she lived, she would be dead in a century. She is not like us."

    "Us?"

    Golos snickered. "What manner of a Calamity could you be if you perished with time? Father could nap, and you would be dust. What are you, a Calamity for gnats?"

    "Will you suffer this Calamity to live?" Gwen picked at a piece of debris stuck between Golos'' scales. Even now, his wounds wept. "What does the Yinglong mean by it?"

    "Why don''t you ask Ruxin?" Golos growled threateningly. "I''ve paid my debt."

    "Shaaa!" Caliban wiggled its faceless, bullet-shaped head.

    Golos grumbled.

    "I see the two of you are getting acquainted," came a voice from above.

    Gwen looked up to see Ruxin in all his silver and mithril glory. The dragon appeared to have a thing for the divine, evident in his chiffon lungi, pearlescent robe, silvery hair and alabaster skin, punctuated by slitted, golden eyes.

    "Ru¡ª" Gwen paused. Should she be addressing a five-hundred-year-old dragon as such? What was a viable honorific? The man had arguably saved her, maybe not her life, but certainly from much suffering. "Lord Ruxin, is the Tyrant defeated?"

    "Quashed and gone." Ruxin dipped his pointed chin. "The Tyrant rule these lands nolonger."

    "Brother, I can''t move," Golos whined. "And you''re late."

    "I came as soon as I could," Ruxin apologised, surprising Gwen with the brothers'' cordial relationship. "Dislodging the Pillar and subverting its power proved a challenging task."

    "Why are you in Kachin, Lord Ruxin?" Gwen continued carefully, trying to digest the brother''s dialogue. "You know, I had thought you were the Tyrant."

    "Me, the Tyrant? Ha!" Ruxin laughed. "Oh, and call me Uncle Ruxin. Or just Uncle, if you like that."

    "Lord R¡ª"

    "Ah-ah." Ruxin wagged his slender fingers.

    Gwen felt her lips curl.

    "Unc¡ª" The title stuck in her throat. "Ruxin."

    "There, isn''t that far more comfortable?" Ruxin chuckled. "Golos, relax your defences."

    Wyverns did not sweat, but whatever Golos did was enough to make Gwen wince sympathetically, sweating in his stead.

    "Irisv!" Ruxin muttered a draconic power word. To her amazement, a Lightning of renewal, not of death and destruction, washed over the Wyvern. "There, let it do its work. Do use your human form, Golos, how do you even hope to talk to Gwen looking like that? What if you sat on her? Mortals are malleable, you know."

    Golos grunted as bones popped back into place, flesh mended, and scales grew back.

    "Care for a jolt?" Ruxin pointed at Gwen''s shredded suit.

    "What was that?" Gwen hid her shame with both hands, the potion had worked, as did her worm''s theft of the Tyrant''s vitality. She didn''t need the healing, though she remained enthralled by Ruxin''s display. A healing Lightning? Could such a thing exist?

    "An old magic¡­" Ruxin teased her. "Something you might acquire one day."

    The dragon glanced at Caliban, then gave her a wink.

    Gwen looked around, feeling flustered.With Ruxin acting strangely human and Golos accusing her of being inhuman, she wasn''t sure how to proceed, and so she did what was right, considering the circumstance. "Look, um¡­ thanks, Ruxin, for saving us."

    "If the Tyrant ate you, Ayxin''s nagging would rot my ears," Ruxin said. "But, to answer your first question, I had no idea of your coming until Golos here told me of his dilemma. As for myself, I had planned for some time to subvert this Tyrant from his lair, to think you would be involved, how serendipitous, hmm?"

    "I see." Gwen mulled over Ruxin''s words. "So, what happens now?"

    "Well, first, we need to greet our voyeuristic friends."

    "Our what?"

    "Excuse me." Before she could react, he cupped her skull with both hands.

    From her scalp, a queer sensation spread, draconic in origin and older than anything Gwen had ever experienced, suffusing her mind.After the first second of mild panic, her mind began to turn inward, shifting her consciousness until she was floating above the clearing, above the landscape, then scurrying East until she saw an encampment where several astounded proctors sat beside an array of wires connected to boxes of carefully arrayed HDMs and storage crystals.

    "Which one of you is Gwen''s Chief Proctor?" Ruxin''s voice resounded in her head.

    "By the Magi! Is it talking to us?" One of the Proctors leapt from his seat, tearing the Ioun Stone from his head.

    "You hear it too?" The second checked his device, punching in a series of glyphs.

    "I, Ruxin of Huangshan, is speaking to you. Are you not trained in speaking to your betters?" the voice in their heads continued.

    "Is it piggybacking off Magister von Schlabrendorff''s Eye of Providence?!" the first Magister opened his mouth like a hungry carp. "Astounding!"

    "Lord Ruxin?" one of the Magisters was quicker on the uptake. "H-how can we serve?"

    "Finally," Ruxin continued. "As you have deduced, I am utilising Gwen Song''s contract glyph right now, so I''ll make this short before her brain burns out."

    "What?!" a female voice intruded.

    "I am now the undisputed ruler of the Wildlands known as Manipur, Nagaland and Kachin." Ruxin''s voice blasted across the communication devices. "Bring me your leader. We shall negotiate for the future fate of Burma, as well as discuss your trespass of my domain."

    VOOMP!

    The box of storage crystals suddenly ignited, as did the Divination Engine.

    Ruxin''s mind retracted.

    "You''re the ruler of what now?" Gwen shook off the queasiness that came from simultaneously existing here and fifty kilometres away. With great humiliation, she realised she''d been drooling.

    "Of everything!" Golos''s human voice was like sandpaper.

    She turned, only to be confronted by an enormously exposed Golos, mostly man, some dragon, looking like a bruiser found outside a fantasy pub on Oxford St on a Friday night. He was very well equipped. Wyverns have spiked clubs for tails, after all.

    "Shaaa!" Caliban wiggled its tail.

    Ruxin snapped his fingers, and Golos was suddenly wearing a longi.

    "The ruler of a modest kingdom, from the tip of Arakan to its northernmost edge and then some." Ruxin laughed expansively, joined by Golos, whose laughter came with a half-second delay. He then regarded Gwen with a grin. "I am, as of today, a landed dragon."

    Was that-Gwen swallowed. A human joke?

    "But¡­" Gwen glanced at the handsome dragon sceptically, struggling to link everything. Golos, Ruxin, the Yinglong, the Tyrant, the House of M? Was Maymyint somehow involved? That would be absurd; they were completely unrelated. "How?"

    With great benevolence, Ruxin placed a hand on her shoulder, and another on Golos, as one would a pair of prized hounds.

    "Why." The dragon savoured the words as though they gave him the greatest pleasure in the world. "With the help of my family."

    Richard, Lulan and Jiro flew as fast as their spells, affinities, and items could afford, speeding through the darkness as they made for Lea''s essence vial.

    Some fifteen minutes ago, the northern tip of Kachin, near the Nagaland border, lit up as though day, signalling what could only be a cataclysmic event in its near vicinity.

    Could this be Gwen? Richard''s cynical-self informed him that of course, who the hell else could it be? The blast of light wasn''t a Barbanginy, but some similarities were unmistakable.

    For a while more, the trio flew in silence, each conserving their focus to maximise locomotion.

    Ding!

    A pale blossom of light bloomed beside Richard''s ear.

    "Hello? Richard?" came the sound of Mayuree''s voice.

    Oh, thank fuck! Richard adjusted the trajectory of his flight.

    "Mia! Where are you? Where''s Gwen?"

    "EE EE!" came a sound from Ariel in the background. "Ee! Ee! EEE!"

    "What''s happened?" Lulan''s face was a mask of anxious worry.

    "Gwen''s finished fighting the Naga," Lea translated for her companion, whispering in his ear. "She was getting all kinds of beat up, but she''s safe now."

    Richard turned to the others.

    "She''s fine, apparently," Gwen''s cousin informed their companions. "I think that... er... she fought off the Tyrant?"

 Chapter 264 - A Murderer and a Villain

    "I fear there''s no trace of her,¡± Ruxin explained with great patience.

    At her behest, Ruxin returned the trio back to the spot where he and the Tyrant had concluded their titanic struggle. Where previously a primal landscape thick with Banyan, moss and tendrils of tropical creepers existed, now she bore witness to a barren apocalypse worthy of Vietnam.

    When Gwen explained the House of M''s involvement with the Tyrant and her stake in the matter, Ruxin informed her that the Tyrant''s rivalry with Me Nu was likely a bastard-on-bastard form of tribal cannibalism. The first few generations of the Mon and Pyu would have done well, he explained, but the life-spans of consecutive scions would have diluted until, twenty-centuries later, they became vermin.

    ¡°But your ties to the House of M interest me.¡± Ruxin cocked his flawless mien. ¡°Very soon, I shall have a vast and dire need for mineral resources. Nephrite and jadeite are useless to me. I need precious gems and crystals imbued with Water, Air or Positive elements. Are you familiar in the ways of human barter?¡±

    ¡°I am." Gwen found the cooperative dragon an amicable listener. ¡°Though first, I have accounts to be balanced with their eldest.¡±

    ¡°Spoken like one of us,¡± Golos added on the sly, struggling to catch up with the duo¡¯s conversation as their topic teleported from conspiracy to politics to blood-grudges.

    ¡°Surely nothing so savage.¡± Ruxin furrowed his brows. "Is there something to gain?"

    Gwen winced. There was indeed much to gain: her Centurion profits being the least of it. Fooling oneself was much harder than prettying up her intentions, but she nonetheless persisted. ¡°We can''t have suffered for nothing, and Kitty can''t have died for nought.¡±

    ¡°Shaa!¡± sensing her intentions, her Familiar enquired if she was hungry.

    Her response was to stroke Caliban¡¯s carapace in apprehensive silence. Anyone would be hungry after an expenditure of vitality like that, but her appetite wasn''t for physical nourishment.

    The dragon observed his niece with an indecipherable expression before looking to the north.

    Ding! A Message bloomed beside Gwen¡¯s ear, bringing welcome tiding of Mayuree, Richard and her friends.

    "Your humans?" Golos licked his chops. "I could eat."

    The Wyvern rose from the floor.

    "Golos, please don''t," Gwen pleaded. For a second, she had forgotten that Golos¡¯ primary diet was sentient Merfolk. The Wyvern wasn''t a buddy to be chummed with; he was a bonafide man-eater.

    ¡°Be nice.¡± Ruxin raised a stern finger in warning. ¡°No goading them. No eating them.¡±

    "Thanks." Gwen nodded at her "Uncle".

    "Niece," Ruxin addressed her with an overfamiliarity that drew her eyes. "Let me gift you with a little perspective. In the employ of your talents, how many creatures haveperished? How many insects, how many flowers and fungi, had you consumed through your Void Beast? Where you had fought, the land is dead, empty, drained of all life. BLIGHTED. Did your heart shudder then? If not, why is it so indecisive now? Those creatures, in time, would have been a part of my being, each alive with vigour and the desire for multiplication and division. They were miniscule, yes, but a part of something infinitely greater than the singularities you mourn. So, my niece, if you must weep, mourn for million dead whose ascension you had quashed to save one."

    Gwen paled. Having one''s ambiguous hypocrisy explained in no uncertain terms was too staggering a blow.

    "If you must act, exalt in your actions," Ruxin finished by poking her forehead before brushing back a strand of her wild, blood-matted hair. "That''s our creed."

    "But the rarer action is in virtue than in vengeance," Gwen retorted with a line she had stolen from her old world, the very same she had sprouted to Yuki and Ichiro. "Is that wrong?"

    "Hahahaha..." A burst of burlesque laughter rebuked her aphorism. Ruxin shook his head, then gave her cheek a condescending pat. "Do you know why no one hunts true dragons?"

    She nodded.

    "That''s right. We''re a vengeful few." Ruxin''s euphemism struck within her a dreadful cord. "If you truly believe in that human wisdom, then your Kitty has died a dog''s death."

    ¡°Gwen!¡± came a chorus of voices.

    Before her team could begin their draconic-encounter, Gwen flew out to embrace her teammates, then kissed Ariel for a job well done, receiving a tongue bath in return.

    Mayuree stood expectantly, awaiting the good news.

    What she received was Gwen bowing from the waist.

    ¡°I couldn¡¯t save Kitty!¡± came her friend''s voice, loud and clear, ringing across the clearing. ¡°I left her to die on the plateau. I failed you. I failed the team.¡±

    Mayuree¡¯s lips parted, then closed, then embraced her saviour with a fierceness betraying the Diviner''s tiny body, digging her face into Gwen''s shoulders to stifle her broken-hearted groans. Ariel joined the huddle, nuzzling its master and her friend over and over.

    "It''s my fault," the girl moaned. "All my fault."

    ¡°Wocao! Kitty¡¯s dead?!¡± Jiro blustered. "Was she a traitor then? Why?¡±

    "Jiro!" Richard scolded the Fire Mage with his eyes.

    "Sorry." Jiro bit his tongue.

    "Richard." Lea appeared beside Richard. "Those two down there, they''re dragons."

    ¡°Right. We''ll talk later, and in private.¡± Richard coughed, wary of the demi-divine presence in white, accompanied by a half-naked barbarian brute. ¡°Lea''s right. Your friends look important... and impatient.¡±

    Setting aside her tumultuous emotions, Gwen guided her troop below, where with great mindfulness, she placed herself between her draconic and human companions.

    ¡°Behold, Lord Ruxin, Thunder Dragon, first prince of Huangshan, now lord of this land,¡± she explained. ¡°That¡¯s Golos, I fought him before, for those of you who know of it. He¡¯s the Thunder Wyvern who helped us with Seoul.¡±

    Richard bowed.

    Golos grunted.

    ¡°Your Eminence." Unlike the others, Richard had been schooled by Prince¡¯s in addressing sentient, higher-tier demi-human beings. ¡°Richard Huang, at your service. I am Gwen¡¯s cousin from Sydney. This is Lulan Li of Huashan, and this is Jiro Peng of Shanghai. We are her Fudan University teammates.¡±

    The others quickly fell into line, realising they were hinds gazing upon a momentarily satiated lion.

    ¡°Sir!¡± Lulan bowed mechanically.

    ¡°Lord!¡± Mayuree knelt in the mud, conditioned by Me Nu''s teachings.

    ¡°Dragon Lord!¡± Jiro saluted, sweating from every pore.

    ¡°EE EE!¡± Ariel crouched, bowing to the superior presence.

    "Shaa!" Caliban nuzzled the new arrivals.

    ¡°Be at ease.¡± Ruxin raised a hand. ¡°I am not so mighty as you think. Do not mind the titles. Shamefully, it is I who is in my niece''s debt.¡±

    Richard took the news stoically, Lulan appeared pleased. Mayuree, meanwhile, had been conditioned to grovel on the forest floor, while Jiro was about to lose his shit.

    ¡°Gwen, you¡¯re kin to a dragon?!¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a complicated situation, Jay.¡± Gwen motioned for the young man to calm himself. ¡°And please, not a word.¡±

    ¡°Oh¡­ of course! Ma¡¯am!¡± The young man made the sign for silence.

    After Jiro''s outburst, the conversation ceased.

    "What will you do now?" Gwen enquired of Ruxin, aware of the growing awkwardness. Simply put, the dragons had no interest in her human companions. Gwen wondered if an analogy would involve expecting her friends to baby-talk her cats.

    ¡°I believe this is where we part.¡± Ruxin waved at Gwen''s companions before commanding Golos to stop flaring his nostrils at the quivering Mayuree. ¡°I shall return to the palace in Nagaland to oversee the transition."

    ¡°Come with us.¡± Golos murmured at Gwen. "We''ll populate the mountain, you and I¡ª"

    Slap!

    Ruxin smacked his brother over the horns.

    "I have requested a meeting with your Chief Proctor," the Thunder Dragon reminded her. "Some good news for this competition of yours should disperse your looming cloud, I would hope."

    Gwen turned her eyes up toward the dragon''s ivory face.

    ¡°Ah-ah, not a frown further.¡± Ruxin poked her where her brows knitted, finding great amusement in the act. ¡°Likewise, I shall prepare reparations for your service. Look forward to it!¡±

    Crack!

    A beam of white lightning caught the dragon¡¯s divine figure. To Gwen''s eyes, it appeared as though Ruxin had been beamed up by the USS Nagaland.

    The team turned to Golos expectantly.

    Grumbling, Golos broke into a sprint, leapt, then transformed into a resplendent Thunder Wyvern, making for the peak in the distance, leaving a trail of vibrant sparks.

    With the dragons gone, the tension burst like an overflowing meniscus.

    "Phew, shall we head back?" Richard unwound.

    "Cao, my heart almost exploded." Jiro exhaled.

    Gwen helped Mayuree from the floor.

    "Mia, there''s more," Gwen invited Mayuree to stand beside her. "Here is where I fought the Tyrant. My Void Elementals... may have consumed Kitty''s body."

    Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

    Two days after Kachin''s draconic seachange, the handover from Mandalay to Hpakan was complete. The roads were cleared from the mines all the way down to the old capital, and its people returned to the labour of extracting precious stones from the earth.

    Thanks to the newly arrived machinery, supplies and medicines, industry returned to the region, regaining the vigour it had enjoyed before the monsoonal deluge.

    At their quest''s conclusion, a grand speech was given by the proctors, curiously missing their leader and his assistant.

    When the others received news of Kitty¡¯s passing, the celebratory mood grew tragic. The team''s grief, however, was fleeting. That Mages died executing their duties was a tale as old as time. Everybody, explained Tei, knew of loved ones who died to monsters. Mages, whether in fable or in reality, died not from old age or disease, they died fighting.

    "Celebrate her life," Tei offered his condolences after performing a brief service, plying the trade of his family business. "Do not dwell, if you are right, her final act was to save Mayuree, let us remember that instead."

    "May Kitty be reborn to a better life," Yuki and the Kyoto team proffered sympathy and praise in equal measure. "You made the right choice. Mayuree is safe, our quest is completed, and the Tyrant is defeated. Isn''t that enough, Gwen-san?"

    Was it enough? Gwen''s response was one of ambivalence. Since their return, she had spoken to Mayuree many times, though each and every time, her friend plied her with platitudes and kind words of forgiveness, serving only to exacerbate her guilt.

    On the day of their southward return to Mandalay, a servant brought a Message from Marong.

    ¡°Me Nu is dead,¡± Marong''s voice came through. ¡°Maymyint has murdered our ''mother'' and usurped the House of M. I should have sensed her ploy when Mia was suddenly offered to the Tyrant. She''s after our Centurion program. That''s how this whole fiasco began."

    Was that it? Gwen again found herself astounded by the greed of her own kind. Since this began, she had wondered what Minty stood to gain, why the woman wanted to inherit Me Nu''s shitshow. Now she knew.

    ¡°Mayuree and I are at the end of our line,¡± Marong explained, his voice heavy with desperation. ¡°Gwen, I am afraid Mayuree is going to remain in your care for the foreseeable future. If an opportunity arises, I am going to end Maymyint''s tyranny over us, once and for all.¡±

    Mayuree¡¯s eyes widened. "Marong, no!"

    ¡°Don¡¯t fret.¡± Gwen patted her on the shoulder. ¡°Let me speak to Walken when we get to Yangon. If Marong wants to do this¡­¡±

    The room grew suddenly cold.

    ¡°¡­ then we do it together.¡±

    Magister Lutz von Schlabrendorff wrinkled his nose.

    Though the NoMs had gone and scrubbed the underground palace thoroughly, there was no doubt in his mind that a great deal of violence had soaked the stonesas of late.

    ¡°Sir, shall we proceed?¡± Magister Hass straightened her dress uniform.

    They were, after all, meeting with a being who had existed a hundred years before the dissolution of the Holy Roman Empire. A pure-blooded Thunder Dragon, first Scion to the Yinglong, and "Uncle" to Fudan¡¯s Void sorceress.

    The last title made the Magister splutter with indignity, exhaling a lungful of frustrated air.

    After reviewing Ruxin''s demands and communicating with his superiors from the Mageocracy, it had been decided that Lutz von Schlabrendorff would be their negotiator for the control of lower Burma. His orders from above were to secure Mandalay and Yangon, with the added proviso that a Tower was built in Yangon as soon as possible.

    Which meant that, after negotiations with Ruxin, he would continue south with his team of newly minted diplomats to meet with Me Nu about the possibility of re-establishing a Mageocracy-controlled faction, a prospect infinitely complicated by unseen foreign interests in Yangon.

    ¡°Right, let¡¯s go.¡±

    The proctors-turned-diplomats entered the sanctum, following a hundred-meter long seam of jade polished to perfection, then stepped into an underground hall bright with mother-of-pearl.

    ¡°The remodelling is going to take some time,¡± a voice called out from the throne, a giant circular divan carved from a single piece of jadeite. ¡°I am an open-air dragon if I do say so myself.¡±

    ¡°Your eminence, Lord Ruxin,¡± von Schlabrendorff reverently intoned, then bowed. ¡°The Mageocracy stands in awe of your victory over the Tyrant.¡±

    A man in white stepped from the raised platform. A single glance was enough to discern that indeed, the regal specimen was the scion of a mythic being.

    ¡°You must be Lutz von Schlabrendorff, Gwen told me about you,¡± Ruxin nodded. ¡°And you must be Evelyn Hass. Welcome to my new domain. Allow me to apologise for the lack of servants, we are in the process of reorganising.¡±

    From behind the divan, emerged two men, naked from the waist up and colourfully tattooed, with complexions the colour of caramel. They were followed by a third, an elderly man with a formidable bearing.

    ¡°Bring our guests some tea and food, whatever¡¯s in the storeroom,¡± Ruxin commanded the younger two. The young men bowed, then they weresuddenly gone, leaving nary a trace of mana.

    The Shadowmen of Manipur! Von Schlabrendorff¡¯s brows twitched. Which meant the older man was the Vairagi. Are these rustic hermits now working with Ruxin? What did the Meitei people hope to achieve by allying with a dragon?

    ¡°Well then.¡± Ruxin looked around. ¡°Tika, bring us a table and some chairs.¡±

    Lutz von Schlabrendorff blinked. There was a woman in the room as well, but Ruxin''s presence was such that he had scarcely noticed her. She looked to be a local, a serpent folk, with half-moon eyes and thick, sensual lips, possessing an androgynous allure. From her petite frame, she was likely a Meitei.

    The woman called ¡°Tika¡± moved between the two parties, then muttered an incantation in dragon-tongue under her breath. At once, the jadeite floor shifted.

    Four chairs; von Schlabrendorff counted with dismay. One for Ruxin, one for himself, one for the Meitei of Manipur, and one other.

    "Am I the last to arrive?" a voice boomed across the hall.

    Von Schlabrendorff turned, confirming his hypothesis.

    "Magister, I am sure you''re acquainted with Magister Wei Lin from the People''s Liberation Army."

    "I came as fast as I could." The Magister bowed deeply, then grinned at his Mageocracy counterpart. "Surely the Mageocracy isn''t thinking of drafting new borders without our consent? This isn''t 1973 all over again, is it?"

    Von Schlabrendorff laughed.

    Wei Lin laughed.

    Ruxin and the Vairagi both joined in the merriment.

    ¡°Gentlemen, take a seat." Ruxin made himself comfortable as the servants arrived with rice paper, dried meat and well-water. "Let us partake in this communion of mortal sustenance, then I shall tell you of how things came to be, and where hence they shall go.¡±

    Walken had prepared an hour-long scolding for his wayward student, but then Gwen arrived a day earlier than anticipated, with Marong and Mayuree in tow, enquiring as to the most practical means of murdering a certain Maymyint.

    His first reaction was to wonder if his prot¨¦g¨¦ had been replaced by a doppelg?nger.

    His second was to recall that Maymyint was an Enchanter.

    His third was to deliver the summary report from the Examination Committee verbatim.

    "So Kitty was glamoured..." Gwen''s voice grew as frigid as the Void. "And I left her to die. Very well. I see."

    "And she tried to save me in the end." Mayuree fought back choking sobs.

    ¡°¡­ and you are certain Me Nu died to Maymyint?¡± Walken demanded of Marong, who nodded.

    ¡°I witnessed the deed, as well as her contacting the Master of Nagaland."

    "And all of you are prepared?" Walken felt ten years younger. "Mentally and spiritually?"

    "We are." Gwen spat between pearly teeth. Between Ruxin, Golos, Mayuree, Marong and Walken''s report, there was now no doubt as to the source of all their woes.

    ¡°Then Maymyint must not be ''murdered'',¡± Walken began with great sagacity. "She..."

    "Shaaa!" Caliban complained.

    ¡°...I mean,¡± Walken continued. ¡°That she must disappear. She must flee into the wilderness to live as a Wildland Rogue for the rest of her days.¡±

    The three youngsters listened to Walken as he laid out the pros and cons of Maymyint¡¯s decision to "relent" her place as the head of the House of M, escaping the consequences of her crime.

    ¡°... and there we have it. For vengeance, for justice, for profit and for the triumph of good, the deed should be done. Not to mention an Enchanter is our missing piece of the puzzle.¡±

    He watched as Gwen''s face flushed a dark crimson.

    ¡°Please.¡± Marong sank down on both knees. ¡°We need this. Only you can make Maymyint retire beyond all trace of Divination.¡±

    Gwen''s breathing grew audibly laboured.

    The girl gets it, Walken rejoiced. She understands.

    "Think what Gunther would do," Walken distastefully advised. "Or Alesia."

    He had already explained her circumstance very well.

    In the psychomachia of virtue and vice, she had cause and justification.

    In the ways of a lawless Frontier, she possessed both might and means.

    In the secret court of her heart, her croaking Caliban roared for revenge.

    "When?" the girl muttered.

    "Why now, of course," Walken offered his most sympathetic presentation. "Strike while the iron''s hot."

    Yangon.

    Kandawgyi Lake.

    In Karaweik Palace, the late Me Nu¡¯s pleasure barge had taken on a new mistress.

    The news had yet to spread, for Maymyint dared not cement her place without first dealing with the loss of Mayuree, Kitty, and possibly Gwen Song and the subsequent fallout with the IIUC Committee.

    There would be reprimands, which Maymyint was willing to accept. She had even readied scapegoats, Rogue Mages operating from Indaw, saboteurs she had long since set up to infiltrate Aung San¡¯s mountain forces, ready to take the blame.

    After that, came the real business, the cornerstone of her plan.

    Her master from the shadows had it all mapped out.

    As a real dragon and as a being of thunder and air, he had no need for earthly items like the Pillar of Jade to subsume the land. Therefore, the Pillar would fall to her, and she would grace the Mageocracy with an offer they could not refuse.

    A Tower in Yangon.

    She would be a hero, single-handedly responsible for returning a piece of fertile and populated land into the welcoming arms of humanity.

    Maymyint chuckled to herself, eager for the good news from the north, delighting in the sound of her reverberating laughter. According to her Shadowmen, her master had been successful in retrieving the Pillar of Jade. All that''s left was to seize her prize.

    Knock. Knock.

    She roused with a start, glancing at her side to ensure that her guards were present. Soundlessly, two elite Shadowmen melded into the half-lit gloom of the opulent palace.

    ¡°Come in.¡±

    The massive golden doors yawned open. Slowly and with great deliberation, Marong entered.

    ¡°Marong, what a surprise.¡± Maymyint felt her fingers tingle. She had been awaiting the confrontation ever since Mayuree arrived with her guard in Indaw. ¡°What¡¯s the matter, Brother?¡±

    Marong held the door for so long that, for a brief moment, Maymyint wondered if he had a whole platoon of Mages ready to storm the throne room.

    Just as she was about to scold his tardiness, a second figure came through the door.

    ¡°Maymyint.¡±

    The voice that spoke was sicky sweet, not at all like Maymyint¡¯s own. She had always hated that voice, the innocence, the hope, the melodrama of it irked her to no end.

    ¡°M-Mayuree!¡± Maymyint bolted upright in her throne, her spine suddenly ramrod-straight. ¡°H-How?¡±

    ¡°The Tyrant is no more,¡± Marong intercepted his sister¡¯s speech. Together, the two began their advance. ¡°Gwen fulfilled the prophecy.¡±

    ¡°I-impossible!¡± Maymyint¡¯s eyes searched the room for her guards. ¡°It possesses the Jade Pillar! Not even...not even¡­¡°

    She swallowed. There was no way Gwen Song defeated the Tyrant; it had to be a bluff. She had seen Marong and Mayuree grow into adults. She knew them better than anyone. The siblings must be at the end of their wits, that was why they had forced this audience upon her, to threaten her, to gain their freedom.

    And yet... if Gwen Song could defeat the Tyrant, then was it with help? Perhaps Ayxin? Her master¡¯s sister, or even the Ash Bringer? The man had appeared formidable, but there was no way a mortal could beat down a dragon with an infinite supply of vitality and mana.

    But then again, what did any prophesy matter? Her Master would soon return, and it was Maymyint who had the dragon''s backing. If so, what need she fear?

    ¡°You lie.¡± Maymyint resumed a semblance of calm. ¡°You¡¯ve escaped, somehow, and now you¡¯re trying to undermine my authority. Very well, I''ll play your game. Your survival was an impressive feat. Marong, Mayuree, what do you want?¡±

    ¡°Vengeance for Kitty,¡± Mayuree snarled. ¡°You glamoured her! Sent her to her death! There wasn¡¯t even a body left!¡±

    But the fool lived to die for you. Maymyint silently lambasted her dimwitted sister.

    ¡°An accident.¡± She remained calm, masking her disdain. ¡°There are costs when progress has to be made. The Tyrant had to be lured from its lair, you understand. The House of M will only grow from here. With myself in command and no Tyrant and no Me Nu, do you have any idea how much we stand to make? How extensive our restaurants, auctions, consortiums¡ª"

    Marong disappeared in a puff of smoke.

    "MARONG! YOU DARE? Guards!¡± Maymyint barked without hesitation. Marong was a fantastic Mage when it came to combat, but he had made the stupid decision to bring his sister. ¡°Dominate!¡±

    A blast of Radiance filled the room.

    Glamoured, Mayuree suddenly ran forward, opening her arms so that she became a human shield to protect Maymyint.

    A moment later, Marong reappeared, a safe distance away with both hands raised.

    ¡°Changed your mind?¡± Maymyint chuckled. "Guards, kill him."

    Marong¡¯s expression, to her surprise, was one of ridicule.

    Where are the Shadowmen? Maymyint''s brows knitted, suddenly realising a fatal error. Are they refusing to attack a colleague?

    "Guards!" she called out at once. "OBEY YOUR CONTRACT!"

    Silence reigned.

    Marong chuckled.

    "Fool! I still have Mayuree," Maymyint hissed. "You¡ª"

    SCHUNK!

    Mayuree turned to regard her sister with tear-stained eyes, seemingly free of her Mind Magic.

    Maymyint blinked as her body grew weightless.

    Below, a pair of scything blades had sprouted from her chest, one through her breast, the other through her abdomen. She opened her mouth to protest her surprise, though nought but frothy blood gurgled from her lungs.

    With great effort, her eyeballs swivelled upwards.

    "MAS¡ª"

    "SHAAAA!"

    Two enthusiastic tentacles met her halfway.

    Marong watched.

    Mayuree turned away.

    Outside the opulent throne room, a sorceress was sick all over the floor, simultaneously assailed by pleasure and revulsion.

    On the 23rd of September, 2004, Maymyint, eldest of the House of M, fled into the Wildlands, never again gracing the material world.

 Chapter 265 - Tricks and Trades

    "Very well." Magister Lutz von Schlabrendorff signed off on the tablet in front of him. "287 CCs for Jiantong."

    "Poor sods." A second Magister winced. "In-fighting''s the worst."

    "It''s an old story," another voice joined in around the table. "Comes with the territory if you''re a tribal caster. Strong soloists, horrible teamwork."

    "It''s not as though we''re immune," another snorted. "Swap out Sects for families, and what do you get? Europe''s homogeny is incidental, I''d say."

    "Quiet!" Von Schlabrendorff raised another slate. "Are we agreed on Seoul?"

    "Since the Orientals have applied for ''withdrawal''." The third shrugged. "That''s that."

    "They''ve submitted a request for the memory crystals," Magister Hass reminded her supervisor. "Or at least for the lumen-crystals NOT to be widely circulated."

    "If they''re willing to do it, they''re willing to show it." Von Schlabrendorff frowned unpleasantly. "No exceptions."

    "Understood, sir."

    "Seoul U, 0 CCs. Withdrawn. Remind Magister Kim that both our time and materials need to be repaid." The chief proctor signed off on the next slate. "Tell Brussels to keep an eye on them. All communique must be available on the public record."

    "Yessir."

    "Next, Kyoto. Any questions?"

    The table collectively shifted their gaze to the final stack of documents and data-slates.

    Where Kyoto''s collated data generated a report the thickness of von Schlabrendorff''s thumb, the volume beside it could be used to stop a Magic Missile.

    "Very well, then, including penalties for illicit use of logged Magic Items, 2640 CCs to Kyoto."

    "Next, Fudan¡ª" Magister Hass retrieved the upper-most tablet.

    The room broke out into a great clamour.

    "Are you out of your mind, Lutz?" A Magister who''d awaited the whole tedious meeting was at the limit of his patience. "You may have convinced Brussels, but how are you hoping to convince anyone else? Japan will be in an uproar! Seoul will challenge! The Chinese will have their day and never let us live it down!"

    "SILENCE!" Von Schlabrendorff banged the table. "We will examine an itemised list, and I shall explain. If you remain dissatisfied, you may appeal to Meister von Braun."

    The protest died a slow death even as tensions remained high.

    "First, we shall begin with Fudan''s accomplishments," von Schlabrendorff began. "Hass?"

    "Fudan University was the only team to stop and aid the local population, detouring to engaging in search and rescue operations in Takaung. One survivor was recovered and revive¡ª"

    The table exploded.

    "SHUT UP!" von Schlabrendorff barked. "Another interruption and we are done!"

    The others returned to their seats.

    Magister Hass continued. "One survivor was recovered and revived. The village then received food and shelter, enough for aid to arrive from the larger townships closer to Mandalay. For Samaritanism in the spirit of the quest, 100 CCs."

    "Fudan was the last team to arrive, landing at La War. Concurrently, Seoul U was involved in the construction of a dam which they used for flood control. As they have withdrawn, we will no longer contest this matter. During this incident, Gwen Song engaged and wounded Lee Si-Won, resulting in the collapse of the dam, and the partial destruction of La War. Subsequent evacuations and management of the village''s damage yielded a total of 340 CCs for this event."

    "What follows are events that lead to forfeit by Jiantong and Seoul U. You shall find these in sections 1.3.2 and 2.4.2. A comprehensive spell-list can be found in your appendix A. Items in appendix C. No CCs were awarded nor deducted for these events as they do not pertain to the given goals of the quest."

    "Following their competitors'' exit, Fudan repaired damaged roadwork to the jade mines. At the mine itself, Fudan implemented sanitation measures as well as introduced work safety for the local villagers. Wages and a reward system was established to punish laziness and catalyse responsible behaviour. Villagers from Kamaing werebrought in through diplomacy. A local tribe of Wildland macaques was bribed to form a temporary truce with the human inhabitants, ensuring the safety of both La War''s and Kamaing''s citizens. Most importantly, discrepancy within the manager''s statements and a new accounting system were implemented. In exchange for evading punishment, resources estimated at 40,000 HDMs are pending recovery. The itemised list is on appendix, section F. In total, 2,130 CCs were awarded."

    "From Mandalay, Fudan''s second team organised resource distribution through a point-duelling system alongside Kyoto U. For minimising conflict and enabling cooperation, 340 CCs."

    "During the Indaw engagement, Fudan exterminated one hostile tier 8 Naga and five Rogue Mages, while minimising collateral damage to the township. With the total loss of two trucks and forty-eight NoMs taken into account. 250 CCs."

    "Finally, Fudan''s convoy arrived intact in Hpakan with 90% of all goods delivered without further incident. Taking into account critical goods and no other loss of life. 150 CCs."

    "This brings us to 3310 CCs," Hass finished. "Now for the deductions."

    "The Chief Proctor has previously detected the illicit use of Mind Magic on the Diviner, Mayuree. A warning had been given to Fudan''s advisor, Magister Walken, who elected the party at fault to be Miss Maymyint, our point of contact for Yangon''s central administration. During the competition, an incident occurred. Miss Kitty Liang fell under the control of a mid-tier Embedded Agenda Enchantment, a highly illicit example of Mind Magic strictly controlled under Article 17, though as Burma remains an extra-territorial Frontier, the legalities remain complex."

    "During this incident, our surveillance systems suffered a setback. However, we have it on the authority of the proctors present that Fudan had initiated the following actions."

    "Gwen Song. Illicit use of unregistered, restricted Magic Item - Superior Potion of Invisibility."

    "Gwen Song. The lethal use of Class II Restricted-Magic ''Cloud Kill'' on another Mage. Though the victim, presumed to be Aung San Yuzana, is a Rogue Mage, thereby not under the protection of the Tower''s laws."

    A grudging murmur spread through the table.

    "Gwen Song. Suspicion of Conspiracy. Records show that the individual ''Golos'' who intervened during the incident in regards to Seoul U is known to her. If proven, match interference of this kind may be escalated to disqualification."

    "That''s right!" a Magister called out. "Conflict of interest!"

    The chief proctor stared him down.

    "Kitty Liang - Mind Magic and match interference. Although the incident did not directly tamper with the results, therefore, no CCs will be deducted. As a side note, Contestant Gwen Song engaged Kitty Liang in a friendly-fire incident resulting in her teammate''s death. Details are in section IV-I."

    Hass waited for the decision to sink in before delivering her final line."After review, Gwen Song''s actions cannot be construed as seeking an advantage, nor having resulted in one. As for the involvement of third-party Magical Creatures, Magister von Schlabrendorff will clarify."

    Hass turned on her heels, then stood primly behind Lutz, her superior.

    "That''s all very well and good, but aren''t you missing something?" a Magister raised a bundle of documents in frustration. "I want to know why Fudan is receiving a SEEDED position for the IIUC!"

    "Why is there no mention of the Tyrant in your report?"

    "What about Ruxin? What about the Thunder Dragon?"

    "I heard she fought a Mythic! To a stand still!"

    "What of her ties to Sobel? She used a similar spell¡ª"

    "What''s going to happen to the other Asian teams?"

    "You''re destroying our neutrality! Blatant favouritism from Brussels!"

    "You Grey Faction scoundrels!"

    "Are your militant meatheads any better?"

    Von Schlabrendorff sipped his coffee while the other proctors tired themselves out. Recent events had indeed been a victory for the Grey Faction, though his fellow proctors likely had no idea of the details.

    "I understand your frustration." Von Schlabrendorff''s voice overpowered the outburst. "But let me enlighten you on events as they now unfold. A deal has been made with Ruxin, the new Lord of Nagaland, Manipur and Kachin, a lease of sorts for the foreseeable future. If you don''t like it, make a petition and tell your backers to pay a visit to the Jade Palace in Nagaland. My authority in this comes from the top - London, Berlin and Beijing are in agreement."

    The table fell into sullen silence.

    "A few days ago, I visited Lord Ruxin as the representative of the Mageocracy," von Schlabrendorff explained with great patience. These men had brought an axe to grind, and he had waited for their choler to dull before delivering a bite of his own. "Though an official announcement has yet to be made, I will inform you of where we stand. From October, the Mageocracy will resume governorship of Yangon as a Frontier Protectorate, while the Chinese will establish a military presence to the north, in Mandalay. In exchange for resource autonomies, as well as Gwen Song''s guaranteed passage through to the IIUC''s international round, Yangon will receive the Pillar of Jade."

    A collective shuffling of chairs filled the room.

    A Tower in Yangon!

    A Human Frontier returned to the fold!

    "Lord Ruxin''s initial demand." Von Schlabrendorff cleared his throat. "Was to gift Fudan 100,000 CCs in the IIUC to ''get it over and done with''."

    A new silence fell over the room.

    "I choose instead to preserve our dignity," von Schlabrendorff vocalised sardonically. "As such, all of you will join me in agreeing that Fudan has achieved Seeded status, taking one of Asia''s two slots, with a total score of 3310 CCs, a new record for the Asian Qualifiers. Are there any questions?"

    "I''ve got one."

    "Go on, Magister Corey."

    "Why Gwen Song?"

    "I am afraid that isn''t for me to say, James."

    Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

    "Fine, then I have a question." A dozen heads turned to regard the elderly scholar. From her pregnant vowels and elongated ''e'', it was evident that the hawkish Magister hailed from the American west coast. "Is this because Gwen Song raised the dead?"

    A new hush filled the chamber.

    "No," said von Schlabrendorff. "That is a separate matter¡ª"

    "I find that hard to believe," the woman interrupted Von Schlabrendorff. "Whatever you might say, the demi-human she aided had been asphyxiated. Your own observations crystals indicate her breathing had ceased."

    "The woman was a demi-human being," Von Schlabrendorff added. "Their physiologies are different."

    "Nonetheless," Magister Williams persisted. "That''s Necro¡ª"

    "Magister Milford Williams!" von Schlabrendorff snapped. "There was neither Positive Energy nor Negative Energy present during the incident! For all we know, it was luck! Sheer luck!"

    "And the Grey Faction, including her disgraced advisor, has no interest in this matter?" Williams scoffed. "Need I remind you that her wardens in Sydney, Magus Shultz and De Botton belong to our Middle Faction."

    "What are you suggesting?" Von Schlabrendorff growled.

    "What I am saying..." Willams snarled. "Is that the Grey Faction is up to its old tricks, trying to hog a good thing!"

    Then, as if gasoline to a Fireball, the room ignited.

    With great care, Ru¨¬ placed a blanket over Gwen''s hunched, groaning body, then tip-toed from the spacious open-office with the others.

    Suddenly appearing at the office after her return from Yangon, Ru¨¬''s lady boss had thrown herself into her appointed position as advisor for the House of M, shackling her NoM assistants to the small, single floor office while she tirelessly poredover the flood of paperwork coming in from Yangon, Hong Kong, Guangzhou, Chengdu, Singapore and more.

    "How long has she being awake?" Terence, dark eye-bags under his eyes, breathed a sigh of relief. "Any longer and I would have died."

    "How do I look." Effi poked at her bloated face.

    "You look like a Pandaren." Ru¨¬ wanted to laugh, but she was afraid of waking her boss. "I think she''s been up for four days."

    "I am going to find a motel close by and fall unconscious." Terence stumbled away. "Message me."

    "Where''s Ken and Dai?" Ru¨¬ asked of her companion.

    "Ken''s gone on the third day, says he''s got an emergency back at Secretary Chen''s," Effi reminded her. "Dai said he''d come back when the Boss is sane again."

    "¡­ Alright." Ru¨¬ licked her cracked lips. From the looks of it, she would be sleeping at the office again.

    Ding!

    The lift opened.

    "Richard!" At the sight of Gwen''s dashing cousin, her heart was suddenly aflutter. The others followed, bowed, then took the lift down.

    "Ru¨¬," Richard acknowledged the secretary. "Is Gwen¡­"

    "Asleep," Ru¨¬ explained her bosses'' situation to the young man. "Oh, hello there, Miss Mayuree."

    The House of M''s heir was also one of Ru¨¬''s bosses. According to Gwen, she was now the boss of her boss.

    "I have something for her." Mayuree indicated her Storage Ring. "It''s from my brother. He said it''d cheer her up."

    "She''s asleep just now," Ru¨¬ said.

    "We''ll wait." Richard smiled attractively. "Have you eaten? Know any place good?"

    Ru¨¬''s face flushed a bright crimson; all thoughts of fatigue fell from her mind.

    "I do!" she answered enthusiastically. "I know just the place!"

    "T-three thousand and three hundred?!" Dean Luo spluttered, spilling the tea he''d been nursing.

    "And Ten," Walken finished. "Also, she''s picked up Enchantment."

    "One thing at a time." Luo raised a hand in protest. "Mao, how in the world? Kyoto or Tsinghua takes home the cup every other year just breaking twenty-five hundred!"

    "She also liberated Burma, by accident." Walken raised his teacup in the manner of a man having read a mildly interesting scandal in the tabloids. "I expressly forbid her, you should know. It''s all on record, I am sure."

    "And Enchantment! That''s good news." Dean Luo paced back and forth, then stopped. "Did you just say¡­"

    "Then fought a pseudo Mythic Naga to a standstill, then triple-teamed it with a Thunder Dragon and a Thunder Wyvern," Walken continued with a deadpan dryness only the English could afford.

    Dean Luo stopped by the alcohol cabinet and poured himself a stout glass of Maotai; his heart wasn''t as shatterproof was it had been in the old days.

    "Anything else?"

    "Revived a dead woman by accident."

    Luo spilt half a glass of the precious alcohol over his hand and the carpet, filling the room with the pleasant scent of fermented sorghum. "Necromancy?"

    "Nothing of the sort, I think it has to dowith her Druidic Essence," Walken calmed his old friend before correcting himself. "Well, Draconic-Essence."

    "Eric, you old fox." Luo sucked in a breath of cold air. "Mao, what have you unleashed."

    "We." Walken replaced his cup, then repeated himself. "And Wen as well. If we share the credit, we share the blame."

    "There''s bad news as well..." Walken explained the problem with Kitty before elaborating on what the team had told him. "But then there''s the good news."

    Dean Luo optioned to find a place to sit so that if he went into cardiac shock, he could be revived with his dignity intact.

    "She liberated both Mandalay for the CCP and Yangon for the Mageocracy?"

    "Well, we can''t say it likethat. The Yinglong''s scion is the mastermind I am sure. If I''d been in the thick of it, I would have suspected Ruxin the moment he came out on top. No one, not even a Dragon, comes out with a total victory without meticulous scheming. If you want my opinion, I think the old drake''s gotten a bit too greedy. Considering one of Gwen''s companions died, the secrecy won''t do either of them favours in the future."

    "Now that''s a confrontation I am not looking forward to." The Dean sighed. "BUT, the result is that we have a seeded spot for the IIUC?"

    "Yes."

    "Mao!" Luo was sweating. "First time we''ve gotten close, and we''re going straight to the main competition!"

    "MASTER!" Ellen teleported into the Dean''s office. "There are hundreds of reporters beating down the front gate! They want to talk to Fudan''s IIUC team! They want interviews. They''re clamouring for Gwen!"

    "Where''s Gwen now?"

    "Working - believe it or not." Walken grimaced, tapping his forehead. "She needs time to sweat off her angst, I am afraid. Her final School of Magic didn''t come easy."

    "Ellen." The Dean nodded understandingly. "Get me Tei and anyone else from the team who''s at Fudan right now. Set up the Guanghua tower''s auditorium. When''s the match broadcasting?"

    "In two days, Sir."

    "Eric?"

    "I''ll talk to her. For now, she needs time."

    "Thanks." the Dean peeked outside, where already he could see more reporters gathering. "Ellen, clear my schedule. It''s going to be a busy week."

    Gwen realised she must have fallen asleep, because she had lost consciousness during the day, and now it was night time.

    "Ru¨¬?"

    The office was deserted, though that wasn''t a bad thing.

    When she moved from the table, a blanket shifted from her back, still warm from her body''s heat.

    Good old Ru¨¬, she thought to herself, then leaned back in her chair.

    It had felt good.

    Killing Minty, that is.

    Watching the woman''s smug face as she goaded Marong and Mayuree, she had never felt so sure of anything in her whole life. When Caliban struck its appendagesthrough her unresisting body, she had felt a sadistic rapture.

    Then came the horror, and the pleasure, which was mild in so far as the scale was concerned, but still enough to buckle her legs with quivering delight. That hadbeen the worst, as all her pent up self-loathing ripped out of her oesophagus, emptying her stomach twice over, painting the jade-tiled floors.

    Then strangely, catharsis.

    The Greeks weren''t kidding when they privileged Nemesis, divine balancer of life, dark-faced daughter of Justice. There was something to be said of having a good purge now and then.

    After that, she picked herself from the floor. Consulted with Mayuree and Marong, then switched off something in her head so that she could coast through the darkness that came with her crisis of conscience.

    Two days later, she was back in Chengdu.

    Then, without visiting her much anticipated Pandaren, she was back in Shanghai, being hugged by Petra, who gave her a big, sloppy, comforting kiss on the forehead.

    At Petra''s behest, Gwen had promised to call Babulya the next morning, but then she looked up at the ceiling and recalled that only a few walls away, was Kitty''s now vacant bedroom.

    That very night, dressed in her best professional outfit, she showed up to work and inspected her worker''s progress. The next morning, she requested an interim report from Magus Maymaruya, as well as stacks of Tonglv documents, after which the rest became a blessed blur of unthinking arithmetics and compounding interests.

    According to Marong, when he declared in favour of Yangon Tower following their disposal of Maymyint, the lesser factions in the House of M broke into a riot of succession fantasies. All quailed, however, when the Vairagi of the Shadowmen made an appearance and affirmed their allegiance.

    When Marong''s contemporaries began calling him the new Me Nu, Marong pointed out that instead, it was Mayuree whonow reign at the House''s peak. Mayuree, a companion to she who defeated the Tyrant, who in turn had the backing of the new master of Kachin, Manipur and Nagaland. A woman who undoubtedly would come one day into her own Tower.

    A fox who borrows the tiger''s borrowing of the dragon''s terror? Gwen had read over the letters of loyalty, to which she responded with a full financial review.

    That and she recommended for Marong to begin training an elite troop of accountants.

    "Borrow some of the NoMs to teach the Shadowmen," she had Messaged back. "You can call them Mayuree''s Shadow Auditors."

    "I shall begin at once," Marong informed her. "Also, your requested items will arrive in Shanghai soon. Take it ''on the house''. What we owe you will take time to repay. For now, let us shoulder some of your burdens."

    What Marong referred to was her request for upper-tier Contingency Rings for Lulan, Richard and a new ring for Mayuree. At the 10,000 HDM tier, the rings came with contracts for triage and sanctuary in the Mageocracy''s Towers.

    Stripping out of her workwear, she took a shower in her private bathroom, feeling as though she was peeling off a layer of old skin. As she slid into the silk she had gotten from Hangzhou, a recollection resurfaced.

    She dropped her brush.

    "OH, SHIT!" She cursed, almost slipping on the tiles. Frantically, she punched in the Glyphs to dial her Babulya.

    "Gwen?" Pale Divination bloomed beside her ear. "How are you feeling?"

    "Babulya! I am sorry for not calling sooner!" Gwen apologised profusely. "I''d been so distracted by everything that''s happened. Is Yeye there? I want to apologise as well."

    "I am at the hospital right now," her Babulya''s soothing voice came through. "Richard told us everything. Congratulations on the match. The official results are out tomorrow, so I hear."

    "Thanks, Babulya." Gwen felt a sudden exhilaration. It was a beautiful thing to have one''s anticipations confirmed. "Everyone did their best. How about you? How have you been?"

    "Busy as always."

    "How''s Percy?"

    "The usual, trying to chase after you, although it looks like he may have some distance to go. Guo said that you liberated a country?"

    "Aha¡­" Gwen laughed awkwardly. "I think you should ask Uncle Jun about that. I happened to be in the right place at the right time."

    "He''s such a good boy." Her grandmother sighed happily. "Guo''s work has become much easier since Jun found himself with that dragon princess. To think my boy would find himself a dragon-kin! Who''d have imagined he would find someone older than his parent? I didn''t know where to put my face when Ayxin called me ''mother''!"

    The shared laughter dispelled some of Gwen''s residual ill feelings.

    "Ah, Babulya, you''re the best."

    "I try, dear. So, I am assuming you''re calling because of Hai?"

    "I forgot to Message Father," Gwen confessed. "I told Uncle Jun I would, and yet¡­ did Q¨©n¡­"

    "She did," her babulya informed her. "I delivered the child myself. A boy."

    "Congratulations."

    "Thank you." Her babulya''s tone was ambivalent. "Your Yeye says he''s torn, but I can see that he''s the happiest he has been in decades. The child''s name is Shui. Song Shui."

    "Water?"

    "Aye, a name which we hope he lives up to, for there shall be trials for the child yet."

    "Is he going to be another Salt Mage?"

    "Let''s hope not." Klavdiya''s voice grew uncertain. "Mao willing."

    "I''ll call him and congratulate him," Gwen promised.

    "You do that, dear, and take care. Will you be joining us on Sunday? There''ll be a gathering at home."

    "I''ll try, babulya."

    "Good night."

    "G''night."

    The Message died.

    Ding!

    "Gwen, you''re up?" came the voice of Richard.

    "Yeah." She stretched her fingers. "What''s up?"

    "Well, you''ve been in a cave for four days, so we''d thought to bring you some real food."

    "God, yes." Gwen realised that indeed, she was finally hungry. For four days she had survived on chocolate, coffee and magically appearing take-out that Ru¨¬ had left on her table.

    "Mia has a package for you as well. Says it''s from Marong."

    "Cool, see ya soon."

    Gwen then left a Message for her father, lacking the courage to deal with her old man''s frustrations.

    "Dad, congratulations on your new son. Song Shui, was it? It''s a good name. Please give my best wishes to Aunty Q¨©n as well. There''ll be a gift from me soon!"

    She shut the Message Glyph before someone could reply.

    After a few more minutes of darkness and sullen silence, she Glyphed on the lumen-globes so that the office grew bright as day.

    "Yo!"

    The door opened.

    "Gwen, how are you feeling?" Richard visibly appeared to relax when he entered the bright room and saw her in a pastel dress. "We got you an XL dan-dan mien."

    "Cheers." Gwen stood so that all her friends could see she was indeed better than the bedraggled hellion that had returned from Burma with a chip on her shoulder and a bone to chew. "Sorry, everyone. I had lots of accounting to do, both personal and business."

    Richard had returned with more people than she thought. Including Ru¨¬, there was also Mayuree, Lulan, Kusu and Petra.

    Hugs were exchanged all around before her companions made themselves comfortable. While Gwen ate, Ru¨¬ made tea and prepared biscuits and cakes for the Mages, playing the part of a perfect secretary.

    "So what''s this package?" Gwen asked after an exchange of teas, cakes and ices. "The Rings?"

    Her Diviner materialised an intricate looking wooden chest from storage.

    "The Rings are being sent to Fudan T2. Marong says these are from your collaborator." Mayuree invoked the unlocking incantation, then opened the box.

    Within the chest, nestled in velvet silk, weretwo perfectly preserved Creature Cores, so dense with Earthen mana that their observers felt as though a mild Petrification spell had come into effect.

    "Mao¡­" Lulan was the first to react, accompaniedby an open-mouthed Petra. The Sword Magealone was the Earthen Mage, and she felt an unmistakable connection to the stones. "A-are those¡­ higher-tier Naga Cores?"

 Chapter 266 - A Mage of many Talents

    "Left or Right?" The casualness of Gwen''s voice betrayed the rarity of Ruxin''s leftovers.

    "The left one," Lulan replied, halfway between a dream-come-true and a waking nightmare. "Gwen, this is a higher-tier Spirit!"

    "Good." Gwen retrieved the Core as one might a packaged sirloin from the supermarket, then tossed it between Lulan''s lap. "Here, it''s yours."

    "NO!" Kusu blurted beside his sister, rattled by the fortune fallen from heaven. "That''s a debt we can''t repay. In all of Huashan, there is a single Sword Spirit! You''re buying Lulu a ring already. We can''t¡ª"

    "Why would I demand reparation?" Gwen pushed the Core into Lulan''s unresisting hands so that its odds and ends poked her thighs. "I need an offensive caster who can kick arse in Europe. What''s fairer than that?"

    "Don''t be ridiculous," Kusu spluttered. "Gwen, be reasonable. Lulan, give it back."

    Lulan agonisingly lifted the crystal.

    In response, Gwen procured the second Core, then tossed it toward Petra.

    "Here Pats, my tuition fees."

    Petra caught the Core, then ran her hand over the surface. In the past, Petra informed Gwen of the impossibility of her finding a unique, higher-tier, sapient, sentient Spirit. A Mineral variation was astronomically scarce, which was why she had given up long ago.

    "Hmm, condensed Nephrite. Interesting. I''ll let you know if I can attune." Petra wasn''t nearly so shy. "Lulu, just so you know, the earlier you receive a sapient Spirit, the easier it is for them to attain humanoid forms. Gwen, are you sure?"

    "Absolutely."

    "Thanks." The girl inclined her chin. "The benefit will be mutual."

    "Absolutely." Gwen nodded back, then turned to Lulan and Kusu. "See? Is that so hard?"

    Kusu looked athis sister, who hugged the Core like a newborn.

    "Those are¡­ priceless," Richard butted in, renewing his understanding of Gwen''s generosity. "Perfectly preserved high-tier Cores are as rare as hen''s teeth."

    "But their value lies in use, not worth." Gwen shrugged. "Think about the Jade Pillar. What good had it done in the hands of the Tyrant? I don''t need currency, and I don''t wish to hoard. Their only worth to me is what they can do for Lulu and Pats. I could trade them away as well, but I doubt an equitable trade would be possible."

    "You say that." Richard smacked his lips drily. "But you could have bought a high-rise building near the Second Orbital¡­"

    "You''re overestimating their exchange rate," Mayuree chipped in, enlightened by Gwen''s disregard for gifted treasures, so different to the late Me Nu and Maymyint. "The Cores are rare, though they''re unlikely to find buyer, even with Spirits. We''re looking at anywhere between 30,000 HDMs to 150,000 HDMs, and Mages with bloodlines worth that kind of investment usually don''t lack for Spirit Cores."

    Lulan begged her pale-faced brother with pleading eyes, who relented after a defeated dip of his head.

    "Lulu." Petra motioned for her to get up. "Gwen, you still have that private training room booked?"

    "I am coming as well." Gwen grinned, motioning for the others. "Let''s see some magic!"

    "Kusu, chill!" Richard slapped Kusu on the back so that the young man wouldn''t asphyxiate. "Don''t mind it so much. Everyone gets a fair shake of the sauce bottle on Team Gwen, eh?"

    "Fair dinkum," Gwen added yet another Aussie slang to the mix, confusing the siblings to no end. "No worries, Kusu, Lulu''ll be right."

    The rest broke into laughter.

    "Umm¡­ Miss Song?" Ru¨¬ meekly implored at her mystic betters as they casualyexchanged gifts worth more than her lifetime earnings. "Can I go home now?"

    "Gwen! Come quick! They''re everywhere!" Mayuree''s Message burst through the ceiling, causing Gwen to risefrom her bed with such force that her bedframe threatened to revolt.

    "Oh, Goddess!!" Mayuree yelped at the pale wonder suddenly materialising in her living room. "Lei, get Gwen a robe!"

    "What is it¡ª Oh my God! Lei!" Their ill-dressed intruder performed a double-take, then embraced the NoM woman with suffocating passion. "You''re safe! You''re back! Thank God!"

    "Miss Song." Lei winced as her bones creaked. "I can''t breathe."

    "S-sorry!" Gwen released the matronly woman from her death-grip. "I am just so happy to see you again. We''ve been surviving on takeout¡­"

    "Hey!"

    "Hahaha¡­"

    "Let me get you a robe, Miss Song."

    Lei quickly retrieved a robe from the laundry.

    "So, what''s the matter?" Gwen studied the spotless penthouse, wondering if Mayuree had seen rats or cockroaches.

    "Look down." Mayuree indicated toward her panoramic panes.

    "HOLY¡­"

    Below, like a maliciously conjured swarm, a milling assembly of three dozen reporters and their crews meandered through B1''s external garden.

    "What do we do?" Mayuree pressed against the glass. "Last time, you got in so much trouble."

    "Let me ask." Gwen wasn''t sure if she had permission to deal with the paparazzi herself and so turned to her master of dubious schemes. She punched in the Glyphs, then waited for the Divination to connect. "Eric?"

    "Gwen." Walken sounded tired. "What''s happened?"

    "Mia and I have been blocked in by the paparazzi at B1," she explained, playing the Message aloud. "I need to take my team to T2 today to get their rings registered and Contingency contracts validated. Judging from the crowd, did we win?"

    "I am not going to ruin it for you." Walken''s tone was effervescent but evasive. "Just so you know, Luo and I have been dealing with your fallout for the last three days. It''s good that you called because we''re conscripting you for the day. There''s going to be a press conference at the Guanghua auditorium, where your scores are announced. As for you, get dressed, impress the gallery outside, then get back to the campus. Richard and the others won''t be needing your supervision, even if you''re paying for their rings."

    "Actually, Marong''s paying."

    "Good God." Walken bit his tongue. "I don''t know if I am impressed or appalled."

    "Our interests are mutual."

    "Of course," her instructor concluded with a patronising pause. "Now go. Call me when you get here. Magister Wen is looking forward to sampling your latent abilities."

    At the mention of the zealous researcher, her joy soured.

    "Alright, Eric." She turned to Mayuree and Lei, still wearing borrowed bathrobes. "We gotta doll up for the press."

    "What are you going to wear?" Mayuree averted her eyes from the second floor. There would be nine of them at the conference, making the reality of Kitty''s passing all the more poignant. "What do you think I should wear?"

    "Miss Song!"

    "Gwen Song!"

    "Vice Captain Song!"

    The mob of reporters moved forward, then staggered back when confronted by a blue-white Kirin pacing beside an obsidian Deathworm.

    After which the creatures'' owner arrived.

    As one, devices were raised, buttons depressed and glyphs fired. For a few brief seconds, the frontage of Gouding B1 grew incandescent.

    To the press corps, the Familiars'' mistress was magnificent. Raven haired and crimson-lipped, she appeared a treat in crow-black chiffon, hiked just enough so that the pale length of her white legs induced voyeuristic guilt. As she approached, popping lumen-strobes vivified her hazel orbs, punctuating the click-clacking of her Mary-Janes.

    The girl stopped just short of the gate, flanked on either side by her Familiars.

    "I need to report to Fudan for a medical, but I am happy to answer a few questions." Fudan''s Vice Captain teased the crowd with a red-lipped smile, then chose to privilege the CCVC-1 crew.

    "How do you respond to rumours of your involvement in Burma''s liberation?" A state-sanctioned reporter levitated a recording instrument toward the sorceress.

    "Serendipity and chance, an incidental affair which cost our team greatly." The girl''s shoulders drooped. "Though the outcome has favoured humanity, we lost Kitty Liang, our Controller and our friend in the incident. Whatever good that may emerge from our victory, I dedicate it first and foremost to her memory."

    The journalists quickly jotted down her words.

    "You." Fudan''s Void Sorceress next picked a young man in a newspaper cap.

    "Are allegations that you brutalised Seoul''s Chaebol true? News from Seoul is that three of their members returned to the city''s Tower."

    The girl lowered a hand as to scratch the faceless obsidian surface of her purring Void-creature. "Ah. Talk about a loaded question. No - Fudan was not involved in sending them back. During the competition, Seoul U engaged in bad faith tactics, actions that resulted in angering a local Land God, who then punished Seoul for their unlawful trespass. We were just lucky to be in the right place at the right time. That said, Fudan did indeed crush Seoul U in a two-on-three duel."

    A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

    "Is it true that you bested a high-tier dragon-subtype Magical Beast in single combat?"

    Before answering, Fudan''s Void Sorceress gathered both Familiars around her waist, attracting another shower of captured lightning.

    "I did, and the battle was arduous and hard-won." She smiled for the cameras. "It was a Naga, by the way, a brutish beast of many heads, tireless in its ferocity. Our triumph was thanks to the unique skills offered by my team members. A concerted effort, of which I played only a small part."

    "Miss Song! Will you be joining the PLA T¡ª"

    "I am sorry, here''s where we must part," Gwen apologised. "We have matters to attend to at the campus."

    Their subject then brought forward a petite Southeast Asian girl, as well as a stunning Russian the reporters recognised on record as Gwen Song''s cousin. When all three stood side by side in sable, the journalists realised that the girls'' choice of colour was for their aforementioned, deceased companion.

    Collectively, the girls bowed.

    The reporters parted respectfully, though not without a third tempest of lumen-pics.

    Both Walken and Fudan''s Dean applauded the demonstration of humility and camaraderie when Gwen called the others to inform them of the dress code for the Press Conference, which would follow after Wen finished poking the girl''s innards.

    Begrudgingly, Gwen had left Mayuree to accompany the others to Guanghua T2 while herself, Walken, Magus Kumiko and Luo joined Wen and Petra at the Cog-Chamber attached to Wen''s Heilong Laboratory.

    After an exchange of social superficialities, they were ready to begin.

    "Gwen, follow my demonstration." Petra handed her an HDM crystal imbued with fire and what appeared to be a rod of steel. "Enchantment is a little different. We need to acclimatise the Sigil before we move onto biometrics."

    Obediently, Gwen palmed both items, looking for a slot to insert the crystal like a battery.

    "That''s a pre-inscribed Glyph rod," Petra explained, amused by her cousin''s clueless fidgeting, recalling that Gwen had come from a public high school. "All that''s missing is the transfer invocation. It''s only three Major incantations. Ready?"

    Wen punched in few Glyphs only she could see, activating the Cognisance illusion with a thrum while Petra baby-talked Gwen through the process.

    "How''s the paper coming along?" the Dean entreated his top Gwenology researcher. "There''s been a lot of interest from all three Factions."

    "With this, we can publish soon," Wen informed her employer, then held her breath while their subject aped her cousin''s rudimentary Enchantment. "Watch."

    "Imbue!" Gwen commanded the rod in her hand.

    Spak!

    The crystal shattered.

    "Too much mana!" Petra slapped the HDM out of her cousin''s hand. "Careful! Are you alright?"

    "I am fine." Gwen shook her fingers, unharmed but for a spot of redness. "This is harder than it looks."

    "Enchantment is the most difficult School of Magic," Wen called out from afar. "The Glyph and inscription system was originally borrowed from Dwarven Runes and antiquated runic scripts."

    "Like English thrifting words from German and French," Gwen noted where she possibly could have gone wrong. From the sudden flare-up, she likely imagined the manifestation in the manner of one expecting Conjuration or Evocation.

    "Let''s try again." Petra produced a water-imbed HDM this time. "This one''s safer."

    "Alright." Gwen took account of both.

    "Follow my lead." Petra resumed her demonstration of guiding her mana through her conduits, explaining the arcane process of drawing Elemental energy into Glyphic arrays.

    "Imbue!"

    The crystal exploded, showering both Gwen and Petra with conjured water.

    "Getting better." Petra wiped away a face full of clear liquid, looking up to see Gwen tear-stained with squid-ink, both upset and discouraged. "Less mana, imagine an eye dropper, not a water hose."

    The duo succeeded on the fifth attempt.

    "If you activate your Enchantment and direct the mana here¡­" Petra demonstrated with the imbued rod, now looking worse for wear. "Water emerges where the quadragramic Mandala creates a small channel into the Elemental Plane of Water. A parallel Eikman''s Circuit allows you to adjust the force, while these secondary Bravlovski''s Nodes function as an on-off trigger¡­"

    Petra''s unwitting jargon reminded Gwen of when the company''s egg-heads were trying to teach her how to administrate the company''s website. Very quickly, she realised her time was far better spent wining and dining clients than fiddling with IT.

    "Congratulations." Walken extended a hand to Wen. "It''s done."

    "Can we confirm her metrics?" Luo found himself sweating profusely. "Important people need to be notified."

    "Petra!" Wen called out. "We''re moving onto biometrics!"

    "Umm... are we not testing her Void Familiar?" Beside the Magisters, Magus Kumiko raised a demure hand. More and more, she felt drawn into some strange conspiracy. "If so, may I go?"

    Luo slapped his forehead.

    "My apologies, Magus Kumiko." The Dean dipped his chin. "Please proceed. Miss Song, is your Familiar ready?"

    Gwen''s response was to conjure Caliban with a thought. More and more, her Familiar spell was attaining reflexive mastery.

    "Shaa!" Caliban slithered into being, happy to be out and about again after the showing in front of the press. "Shaa! Shaa!"

    Magus Kumiko meanwhile, set up her usual Summon Creature a safe distance away.

    "Summon Creature!"

    Where she had drawn the glyph array on the floor, an untethered Tusker Boar appeared, dragged through space and time, reformulated from the raw Essence of the Wildlands.

    "Caliban!" Gwen readied herself, noting the presence of Onibi behind her, ready to deliver whatever Positive Energy Magus Kumiko could spare. "Naga form!"

    ¡°SHAAAA!¡±

    Caliban coiled then leapt toward the stunned porcine beast. As with its stag-transformation, its carapace split, weeping spurts of dark ichor as its serpent form perished. First, its midsection grew grotesquely pregnant, then with the likeness of a bloating balloon toy, the rest of its body elongated. Without warning, three heads mushroomed where one had existed, each coagulant with jostling chitin, forming faceless miens in the manner of bullets. A second later, with the force of a runaway carriage, Caliban rammed head-first into the cowering boar, bowling it to the floor.

    "ONSLAUGHT!" a shrill command filled the Cognisance Chamber.

    Magister Wen''s fingers blurred as she annotated the recording.

    "SHAA!"

    Caliban''s armoured heads began to split; from each lamprey-lip erupted a mass of tendrils and tentacles, some with the likeness of bloodworms, others more akin to squid tentacles barbed with hooked-teeth.

    The porcine beast''s squeals reached a new feverish pitch, mirroring the harrowing discomfort felt by Gwen''s advisors until finally, the noise cut short with a gurgling whimper.

    The demonstration had lasted no more than half a minute, but already Magus Kumiko found herself sick twice over, exacerbated by Onibi''s mass transfer of her Positive-charged mana into Fudan''s headlining sorceress.

    When the monster snapped itself shut, she found herself heaving yet again.

    "How is it?" Wen wetted her pencil-thin lips. "Compared to the Stag or the Gila?"

    "I don''t think the Naga-form is usable without support, or a great deal of excess vitality," Gwen confessed. "When the heads came out, I could hardly move."

    Stoically, Wen then requested defence data, which Gwen consented for both Spellcraft and her personal curiosity.

    "Crystalline Spear!"

    In quick succession, a dozen projectiles, almost ethereal, struck Caliban''s carapace, driving it backwards and tearing off a chunk of bloody chitin.

    "How is it?" Walken looked over Wen''s shoulder.

    "Much tougher," Wen remarked, moving away.

    Gwen took a deep breath while she massaged her ribs. Though Caliban took the damage, their empathy had grown more intimate.

    "My turn. Gwen, are you ready?" Walken raised a finger.

    "Go ahead."

    "Lightning Bolt!"

    She flinched as Walken''s spell singed Caliban''s carapace.

    "Draconic resistance?" Wen remarked.

    "I think so," the Dean agreed. "Walken?"

    "I concur." Walken beckoned Caliban to slither closer, then fed the beast three HDMs, one for each head. "Usually, Caliban is weak to oppositional elements. See the scuff here? I think it repelled some of the lightning. Fascinating! It looks like Marie has her work cut out."

    "Shaa!" Caliban waved its three heads.

    "I''d imagined more heads." Luo walked a circle around her Familiar, offering his tithing. "Five-plus-one, wasn''t it?"

    "I don''t think I have the vitality," Gwen offered her thanks to Onibi and its master. "Thank you, Ma''am, for always helping us."

    "You should take care," Kumiko warned her student. "If that had been anyone but you, they would have lost consciousness. I think the more heads you conjure, the more it taxes your body, and the more powerful your creature becomes."

    "She could probably manage four if she had a mind to." Wen tapped her tablet. Heedless of Gwen''s clammy complexion nor her colleague''s disapproving expressions. "Now, let us obtain some stats."

    At Wen''s private laboratory in the Heilong building, Gwen sat on a bench, wrapped in a towel while her new biometrics were printed out.

    "Looks like we''ve got a disproportional increase in Evocation and Transmutation, in addition to Enchantment as a new metric." Wen, Luo and Walken crowded around the scripts as they emerged, with Wen reading out the results. "Here they are¡­"

    "Evocation 5.31."

    "Conjuration 5.80."

    "Transmutation 3.75."

    "Abjuration 2.54."

    "Divination 1.67."

    "Illusion 2.45."

    "Enchantment 1.30."

    A collective exhalation resounded, leaving Gwen to gape in shock-horror at the unexpected boost in both Evocation and Transmutation.

    "Gwen?" Petra reached her side, noting the sudden change in her cousin''s body language. "Are you alright?"

    "I..." Gwen fanned herself with a hand. "I just¡­ I need a moment."

    "Your VMI is now on record as 302 from 254." Wen looked up. "Had a good meal? There should be diminishing returns, according to our studies. You said there was one Mage who was Consumed, who are the others?"

    "Alright, that''s enough." Walken stepped in between the researcher and the two girls.

    "Nominal increases, about 0.2 in both elements, impressive but nothing out of the ordinary. 6.67 and 4.51. There''s still a way to go." Wen exhaled with exasperation. "Wasting opportunities ismost unbecoming if you''re serious about winning."

    When Gwen confrontedWen''s critical eyeswith her bloodshot orbs, the Magister dutifully pursed her lips.

    "Need I remind you we have a conference later?" The Dean cut in before the academic could dig herself deeper. "Petra, I think Gwen could use some fresh air before the conference."

    Seeing that her cousin looked about ready to snap, Petra happily obliged.

    "Go take a break, but don''t leave the campus." Luo ushered the two girls out of Wen''s laboratory. "There''s a few hours still. Get some food, get something to drink, and get Gwen cleaned up. I am counting on you- Fudan is counting on you."

    With the girls gone, The three Magisters each took up their poisons.

    Magister Wen had initially procured water, though realising the sanctity of the moment, she accepted Walken''s thimble of eighteen-year-old single-malt.

    "First, a toast." Walken raised his glass. "To our girl of many talents."

    The three clinked.

    "I need more data." Wen wasted no time in speaking her mind. "Her team is down a member, isn''t she? Take Petra. She''s been taught the right mix of contingencies to deal with matters in Europe, she''s a registered Mind Mage, and she''sstill below the age restriction."

    "That''s not a bad idea, actually," Walken agreed. "Gwen''s one weakness would be against Mind Magic. Certainly, there''s potential."

    "I''ll lodge the request." Luo raised his glass.

    The three clinked.

    "So, I am assuming we''re all thinking the same thing: an Omni-Mage at last." Wen turned crimson from the spirit. "How shall she thank us in the future?"

    "I''d be delighted if she doesn''t purge the three of us," Walken snorted.

    "Why would she?" Wen turned her cup, frowning bemusedly. "We made her. I taught her the theory. I unclouded her fear of the Void, made it into an exact science. My apprentice, Petra, filled her empty little brain with knowledge. Shouldn''t she be grateful?"

    "Ah- Marie." Walken shook his head. "That''s why you''re a researcher and not a politician. You''ve got less empathy than that girl has in her little finger. We''re all benefiting from her ascension; you have to remember. She doesn''t owe us anything. We''re tagalongs, parasites, enablers of her appetites. Who knows how or what she would think or do in the future?"

    "But she''s a nice lass." The Dean licked his lips apprehensively. "Even the death of a house slave was enough to drive her wild. How many of us could manage that?"

    "That''s because she hasn''t tasted the bitter pill of power." Walken chuckled. "Her type is especially prone. The power of sovereignty is fraught with temptation, after all. An Omni-Mage? More like a walking invitation to conflict and disaster! Can you imagine it? Our bumbling Gwen, saving her ''Mates'' but abandoning a city to be ravaged, or perhaps vice-versa... Once, twice, it takes a toll¡­"

    Walken tapped his forehead.

    "...if and when it happens, and it will happen - she won''t be able to sleep. She''ll drink to excess, and then she''ll get over it. Thenit happens again, and the cycle repeats, only the refraction period grow shorter. It starts with this Kitty, and then who? Petra? Mayuree? Richard? After a decade pursuing influence and power, sacrifice becomes business as usual. So long as your family, your friends, your clan, your Tower, your Faction benefits, the means justify the ends."

    "I am happy to say I did not everenjoythat much privilege." Luo slugged back the thimble. "She''s such a do-gooder.And she''s neither greedy nor power-hungry, you never know..."

    The others nursed their cups.

    "None of that matters to me." Wen ran a hand over Gwen''s bio-metric scripts. "I want to see the ¨¹bermensch. I want to see Void Magic prosper. I want to be referenced in every paper and every journal. If I can have that, she can Consume me for all I care. A creation consuming its creator is rather poetic, don''t you think?"

    "I envy the simplicity of your fervour." Walken refilled their glasses. "I really do."

    "I''ll drink to that." Luo lifted his tumbler. "As for now, let''s head to the conference, shall we?"

 Chapter 267 - Hell hath no Fury

    Though her nerves remained a wreck from the affirmation of Kitty''s demise, Gwen knew there was a time for self-loathing, and a time to put on a happy face. In her old corporate world, an ambitious woman must always keep up outward appearances, and so by the time she and Petra had arrived at the auditorium''s backstage, Gwen had meticulously prepared a flawless face to meet the press.

    "Gwen! How''ve you been?" Anita was the first to break ranks when she saw Petra, her whole face lighting up like a lumen-globe. "Ah- Miss Kuznetsova! It''s an honour. Your work with crystal spell-storage is astounding!"

    "Mao! Miss Kutznetsova?" Jiro appeared a split-second later. "Hi, Jiro Peng, I''ve been a fan of yours since my first-year!"

    With constrained politeness, Petra made small talk with her admirers while her captain accosted Gwen for an update.

    "Lulu and Dick are finishing up at T2. They''ll be with us soon," Gwen assured her leader. "How''s it looking out there?"

    "A few hundred reporters, with CCVC 1 front and centre, flanked by the foreign press, followed by the regional broadcasters, then the independent press. There are likely Tower Magisters in the VIP, not to mention Party officials from Central."

    "Woo-" Gwen whistled. "Tough gig."

    "Ha!" Tei smirked. "They''re here for Fudan in name only. I dare say they''re here to witness Yangon''s liberator."

    "Not tonight they''re not." She indicated her teammates. "Lulan fought the Naga too, Eunae kicked ass in the duel, you fended off two teams of Mages from the back of a convoy, Richard diverted streams to save La War..."

    "Alright, alright..." Tei sighed appreciatively. "I get it."

    Having heard Gwen rattling off their names, the others joined the conversation.

    "I am so nervous, I can''t breathe." Eunae paced back and forth. "What do you think they''re going to ask? I saw some Korean journalists earlier!"

    "Probably about how good it felt to thrash your family." Gwen patted her Cleric on the head. "As for nerves, we''re all tense. Right? Tei?"

    "I don''t know." Her captain grinned. "I am not the one who has to describe how I fought off a mythic Naga."

    "I didn''t though," Gwen pointed out. "The dragon took it down."

    "Tell that the propaganda corps." Her Captain shook his head. "We have thirty minutes until the national broadcast finishes, do you need to meditate? You look tired."

    "I''ll be fine." Gwen gingerly sipped her bottled-water through a straw as to preserve her perfectly pencilled lipstick. Sliding one foot over the other, she shook out her stiffening calves, causing Jiro to drop his jaws and Rene to punch him in the arm, eliciting a round of collective laughter.

    "Tei..." Gwen packed her ambivalence in a box and moved onto more commercial matters. "...has anyone ever taught you about the power of branding?"

    Lulan, Kusu and Richard arrived half an hour later, whereupon attendants ushered them into the dressing room before stripping then dressing the duo in black. Having affirmed Gwen''s sentiment for Kitty, the team collectively wore sable, with the girls in assorted attires and the boys in dark pants and blazers. Additionally, Tei had brought armbands for all of them to signify that they were in mourning. Standing in a line, Fudan''s team resembled a trendy troop of fascist fashionistas ready to model funeral couture.

    Yet, despite the dour attire, the atmosphere remained jovial. From the rear, Jiro and Rene jested and joked with a jittery Anita. Lulan and Eunae studied patterns on the floor, terrified by eyeballs that would soon pin them to the wall. In front of her, Tei stood rigid as a statue, while Richard appeared lost in thought, staring in the middle distance.

    In truth, it was only she and Mayuree who felt genuine grief for the passing of Kitty, while the other''s sadness manifested as appeasement, enduring the inconvenience of mourning out of respect for their feelings.

    Gwen sighed silently, weighing the sincerity of her malaise, questioning if her upset was genuine.

    The music in the hall ceased.

    "NOW!" the voice of Dean Luo could be heard. "Please welcome our contestants for the 2004 IIUC, Team Fudan!"

    "Gwen." Tei made himself taller, though he remained half-a-head shorter than his heeled Vice Captain. "Focus."

    "I am right behind you," Richard made his presence known.

    "I know." The Void-sorceress fixed the envious length of her swan-white neck. "The show must go on."

    A barrage of lumen-cores burst into brilliant action, bombarding the students as they entered Guanghua Auditorium, a place usually reserved for esteemed lecturers from foreign universities and state dignitaries.

    When the curtains to the side-stage parted, thunderous applause filled the generous space of the vaulted hall, welcoming the heroic victors of Fudan''s first victorious assembly in more than a decade.

    First was the captain, Tei Bai, with his gaunt face and prim posture, every inch the Captain of the team, radiating an aura of reliability as he performed a militant face-forward, then bowed from the waist.

    Next came the Vice Captain, triggering a fusillade of blasting-bulbs as she placed one white stalk before the other, crow-black from her hair to the hips and again where the lens kissed her clacking heels.

    After which was the tallest of the men, cousin to the Void Sorceress, a Eurasian Water Mage confident as a prize-winning hound, grinning like a wolf.

    Then came a trio of demure girls unnerved by the attention, walking in such proximity that their Dean intervened to distance them so that the reporters could have their individual body-shots.

    Behind the stalking trio was Rene with her grey blouse and dark jacket, cutting a curt figure as she strode across the stage, commanding as she grinned for the adoring crowd.

    Anita followed, leather-jacketed, wearing a black singlet and midnight-grey combat pants, steel-toed and dressed for war as she thudded across the hardwood floor, waving happily.

    The final member was Jiro, pearly teeth flashing, gleaming and radiant, trailed by motes of fire that brightly hinted at his blazing nerves.

    Nine were the members of Fudan that stood in front of their assigned seats, leaving the final seat empty.

    "All rise!" the Dean commanded, and all who had the conscience to show respect for the dead rose from their chairs.

    "We shall begin¡­" the Dean met Gwen''s eyes with a subtle nod, surprising her with his understanding and empathy. "¡­ with a minute of silence."

    "Gunther! COME ON!" Alesia coiled her legs so that she was curled like a comfortable cat on the oversized couch. "It''s starting!"

    "Just a sec." Gunther passed his hand over the array of petite-fours and freshly-cut fruits, then dried his hand on the kitchen towel. At Alesia''s behest, he had grudgingly cleared his timetable, dislodging his endless schedule of meetings, inspections and reports.

    On the far wall, the enormous lumen-caster Alesia had installed especially for the occasion was bustling with life, rapidly scrolling through a montage of logos representing the many competing universities in the on-going International Inter-University Competition. During the preliminary rounds, the broadcasts were regional, and so it was with great effort and an exorbitant cost in HDMs that Alesia had managed to route the Chinese program through their contacts in Singapore, through to Darwin, through to Brisbane and then to Sydney.

    A feat made possible only because Gunther had hastened the construction of the supercell Divination Engine atop Sydney''s repaired Tower.

    In the seventeen months since Gwen had left for Singapore and then was shanghaied to Shanghai, Sydney had made leaps and bounds in recovering from the Mermen invasion. When the Leviathan''s senseless carcass had smashed its way into Sydney harbour and wedged itself at Darling Point, it had left a wealth of resources for the recovering city. Though Gunther''s strategic-class invocation had guillotined the creature, its body remained very much vital, sustained by a macro-system of brain-like organs and Cores that existed throughout its island-sized body, forming a living Dungeon of sorts.

    For three more months, the Brisbane Tower and the Melbourne Tower had remained at Sydney, oversupplying the city''s cache of construction Golems and utility Mages. Together, the three Towers cleared debris, exterminated surviving Mermen and enabled the city''s reconstruction.

    Two months in, Gunther, aided by Tower Master Fei Lin of Brisbane and Guldric Uther of Melbourne, managed to retrieve the head of the Leviathan from the depth of the harbour, reclaiming an enormous Creature Core fit for a Tower.

    As Sydney''s Tower Core had been left intact thanks to Gwen''s timely intervention, Gunther consequently traded the Core back to the Mageocracy for CCs. The windfall of Contribution Credits was then exchanged for strategic commodities and experienced staff, furthermore expediting the city''s recovery.

    Another month onward, loaded with loot from the Leviathan''s divided remains, Sydney''s sister Towers returned to their coastal homes, with the Tower Masters bidding their new colleague goodbye. It was at this junction that Gunther received the honorary title of Magister from the Mageocracy, who then urged him to complete the Rite, an inconvenience which Gunther had bypassed while serving his Master, Henry Kilroy.

    And so, after a grudging concession, the newly minted Magister Gunther von Shultz returned to his work with renewed zeal. All throughout the city, new high-rises roselike mushrooms after autumn showers. Outside Sydney''s metropolis, refugees awaited resettlement. Within the urbanscape, Gunther''s Arbiters were inundated with claims of lost property from ex-residents looking to not only return to their life in the city but with hopes of profiteering. Worse still, dictated by the ugliness of human nature, waves of crime, unrest, riots and even small pockets of illicit claims of sovereignty inundated Sydney''s security forces, unnecessarily complicating the restoration.

    The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

    More than once, Gunther had to deliver the verdict of his office in a personal capacity, either through himself or through Alesia.

    As for the long-term aftermath of the Mermen''s incursion, raids up and down the coast continued throughout the next twelve months, sending Alesia and her apprentice almost perpetually away from home, working Sydney''s new militia to the bone. Concurrently, hostage trading with the South Pacific factions of Mermen had been carried out by the Grey Faction, though more often than not, the mental state of men and women who returned to Humanity''s fold were beyond the help of restorative magic.

    But despite everything, real progress had been made. The coastal Shielding Station had been reconfigured and a new system of checks and balances implemented. The Tower itself saw a swift six-month renovation and restoration before spending the next six months floating between North Head and Watson Bay, cowing any and all ambitious demi-human tribes. Once the Leviathan was dismantled, the newly formed channel it had created furthermore allowed for the construction of a deepwater port, doubling the city''s capacity for cargo carriers. New train tracks and tramways were built. Parts of old Sydney, districts like Blackheath and Root Hill which had long been in decline, werere-zoned for better housing capacity and utility access. Citizenship grants were likewise sent out to attract skilled migrants, while rural regions were re-connected through an expansion of inland Shielding Forts.

    As a little side project, Gunther had allocated additional funds to Blackwattle High School, Gwen''s old haunt, making it a Selective Academy. It soon received a new campus dedicated to the teaching of Magic, doubling its training capacity. Principal Bartlett, perhaps in a twist of ill humour, had named the new oval "Gwen''s Field" in commemoration of the fact that Blackwattle had expanded in part to Gwen''s serendipitous efforts.

    In turn with the city''s restoration, Oceana''s Factional disputes had settled in Gunther''s favour. Irene Ferris, now an ally, presided over what remained of the Grey Market. The Militant Faction was likewise satisfied with harvesting the Leviathan and exterminating the surviving Mermen, leaving Gunther''s Middle Faction in control of Sydney.

    "Ooo, look at that!" Alesia puffed out her chest. "Our little girl''s gotten fatter! Ha! I knew it! The food in Shanghai must be something else."

    Gunther took up a spot just on the edge of the cashmere couch, unused to entirely relaxing his body, then reproduced the fruits and cakes he had prepared.

    "She''s looking hale," Gunther affirmed his fianc¨¦e''s observation while fondling a pear. In his memory, Gwen had been a bony lass of sorts, appearing perpetually underfed until their last encounter, where she had received a vital jolt from that ancient and unknowable existence.

    The Gwen that now appeared on the lumen screen together with Chinese characters introducing her was bright-eyed and confident, with an air of arrogance and haughtiness she previously lacked. When Gunther had first seen the girl, she had appeared a puppy ready to please. When he had rescued her at Blackheath, Gwen had been half-mad with terror. At Rosebay, she had arrived like an avenging goddess. Now, she was merely in her element.

    When the lumen-recorder trained onto Richard, Gunther recalled the duty he had left Gwen''s cousin before sending him to Shanghai. The young man possessed a particular focus which, properly directed, was enough for Gunther to promise a Tower position in the event of his return.

    "I don''t give a shit who these others are!" Alesia grumbled at the wall. "Want more Gwen! Why are they wearing all black?"

    As with most Chinese programs, the producers emphasised a by-the-numbers approach, beginning with introducing the contestants, Fudan''s history, a short interview with the Dean of Fudan, then moving onto their opponents, Seoul University, Kyoto University, and finally Jiantong University. What followed was a short special on Burma, with details of the Frontier''s geopolitics that Gunther knew, were now woefully outdated.

    "Bloody hell, it has been an hour, and we''ve seen Gwen for twenty seconds!" Alesia complained, munching on a sausage roll.

    "Patience." Gunther stole a bite, brushing Alesia''s lips free of crumbs. "I have it on good authority that we will be seeing her plenty."

    And they did, for even Chinese propaganda knew a good thing when they saw it.

    Gwen''s first moment of spotlight came in Yangon, in a building called the Secretariat, where she challenged Seoul U''s three best casters from the Lee family to a duel. What spiced up the scene was the spliced footage of a Seoul contestant abusing Fudan''s healer, a Korean girl, followed by Gwen''s verbal, then physical reprisal.

    "FUCK YEAH, GWENNIE!" Alesia hooted when Gwen slapped the young man so hard that even Gunther winced.

    "She''s absurdly strong, did you notice?" Gunther recalled the reports he''d been receiving from Fudan. "That was some force."

    "Brilliant, bloody brilliant! Good work, Gwennie!" Alesia waved at the lumen-caster as though their sister-in-craft was in direct communication. "Did you see that, Gunther?"

    Gunther humoured his lover with an affirmative.

    The next scene to involve their intrepid sister-in-craft was her halting her flight northward to save a village that had been swallowed by a landslide, followed by a close up of the emotional faces of her teammates and the grateful villagers kowtowing to the student Mages.

    They left out the critical footage! Gunther amused himself with the uproar Gwen had caused in the Grey Faction, who planned to question her regarding the method she had used to revive the dead woman. If Gunther had to guess, it probably had less to do with what she did, then what Essence she had channelled from the Rainbow Serpent.

    "FUCKING SEOUL! Blackguards! Scum of the earth!" Alesia almost threw her glass toward the caster when Gwen caught the Seoul member plotting to flood their village. When her Caliban wounded the young man, forcing him to use a short-ranged Teleportation Ring, Alesia broke into gleeful, sadistic snickers of "Gotcha, arsehole!"

    Gunther had to admit, the girl was doing very well. Sending her to Shanghai had turned out to be a far better ordeal than he''d hoped.

    "OI, YOU FUCKERS!" Alesia soon splattered the wall with a half-bitten orange when Seoul''s magma giant almost took out Gwen''s team. When a Cloud Kill choked their sister-in-craft, forcing her to remain within melee range of the conjured Elemental, Alesia had half-a-mind to pay Seoul U a visit through the Teleportation Circle they had in the apartment''s hidden room.

    "Calm down." Gunther pulled her close as to save the fruit platter. "She''s got this."

    When a Thunder Wyvern appeared from nowhere to demolish Seoul U, Alesia burst into uncontrollable glee, pinching and punching Gunther so hard that he had to push her out of arm''s reach.

    After which, more and more, their sister-in-craft shined, first with her diplomacy, then her command of accounting, then her exposure of the corruption in the mines, then her impeccable management of the NoMs, indeed, there appeared to be nothing the girl could not do.

    At Indaw, Fudan''s party was ambushed, and again Gwen showcased her Lightning and Void Magic, taking down a tier 8 Naga with the help of her friends, consuming the creature with Caliban.

    Unfortunately, that was when the footage ended. What followed was a sequence featuring the IIUC''s chief proctor, a Magister who Gunther recognised as Lutz von Schlabrendorff, appearing to explain events that lead to Yangon''s independence. He apologised for the lack of records on Gwen''s battle with an entity called the Tyrant, citing classified and privileged information, then narrated the girl''s titanic struggle with the beast, which resulted ultimately in a regime change that led to the re-entry of the Mageocracy into Burma.

    Finally, the scene changed to an auditorium, where after yet more speeches, a Chinese General thanked Fudan for their contribution.

    For this and Fudan''s other achievements, the university received a total Contribution Credit rating of 3310 CCs, a new record for the Asian competition. Due to the immeasurable nature of Fudan''s contribution to Burma''s recovery, the team had also been granted a seeded position representing Asia in the international portion of the competition.

    Fudan''s Captain, a Clanner called Tei Bai, then gave a speech, citing his love of the Party, his gratefulness to his family, and his gratitude to Fudan. When it came to Gwen''s turn, the green-eyed beauty thanked her friends, her family, her university, the Tower, the House of M, then added a little something that made Gunther smile.

    "Everyone in Australia, if you''re watching, I am only here today because of your support! I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart!"

    "Oh, Gunther, I am so happy!" Alesia was half-laughing, half weeping. "Gwen''s all grown up!"

    "Yue''s not doing half-bad herself," Gunther reminded her. "She''s going to be jealous if you keep talking about Gwen like that."

    "No way!" Alesia denied her favouritism vehemently. "Yue''s our baby!"

    Gunther almost choked on a date.

    In recent months, Yue had been busy working toward her immutable reunion with Gwen. Alesia had placed such hope in the girl that when Gunther had located an appropriate Flame Spirit through a spendthrift session of throwing CCs at the Mageocracy''s Tower network, his sometimes sister, sometimes queen gifted the Spirit to her apprentice.

    It was an astounding gesture,though certainlyYue needed a boostif she wanted to stand beside her friend in the future. His wife''s apprenticewas talented in the pursuit of the Path, but there were human limits to diligence.

    "¡­. oh yes, I am very proud of her." A familiar voice suddenly drifted through the air, followed by a zoomed close up of a weaselly face covering half the lumen-projection, a visage that Gunther had previously banished from Sydney.

    On stage, Gwen approached Fudan''s Dean, then bowed and kissed the old man on the cheek. She then turned to her instructor, a man both Gunther and Alesia knew, delivering a bow and hug to the sound of palms clamouring for more.

    When the duo finally parted and the close-up panned away, Gunther felt his entire back drenched in cold sweat.

    Feeling a catastrophic, Mythic-grade danger engender beside him, Gunther stole a glance at his fianc¨¦e.

    Alesia''s blue eyes were the size of hen''s eggs.

    Schei?e!Gunther swore internally. He had been so busy, and his time with Alesia had been so scarce that he had entirely forgotten to ease her into the knowledge of Gwen''s tutor.

    "Did I just see that?" Alesia mouthed at the lumen projector. Then suddenly, the Fire Magus exploded. "WHAT THE FUCK? WHY IS THAT FUCKER IN SHANGHAI?"

    For Gunther, the wide blue yonder outside suddenly beckoned. He needed no teleportation circles to move about the city. As Tower Master, he alone had a unilateral right of movement throughout Sydney''s domain.

    Alesia''s tightly-wound figure began to shake, her whole body shivered with rage as she stomped about the room, biting one thumb and glancing about wildly for something to kill.

    Schei?e! Schei?e! Schei?e! Gunther''s heart sank. When Alesia was like this, there was no stopping her.

    "I need to go to Shanghai," she muttered under her breath. "Gunther, get me authorisation. I am going to end that piece of shit once and for all. He''s using her! After he got Master, he''s sinking his fucking teeth into Gwen! I don''t give a shit what the Tower announced. Letting Walken live was a mistake."

    "Alesia." Gunther swallowed.

    "What?" the Fire Mage snapped, shedding embers from her hair. "Don''t tell me you had something to do with this?"

    "Ah¡­" the Tower Master of Sydney, Slayer of Leviathans, a Mage without peer in Oceania quailed under the accusatory glare of his wife-to-be. "Not exactly."

    "Whose idea was it?" Alesia demanded. "Not yours?"

    I have to tell the truth! Gunther felt his righteous mind instilling the Credo that Kilroy had drilled into him.

    "It was Gwen''s." Gunther felt physical pain as the white lie left his lips. He promised to repay Gwen tenfold when the opportunity came, though for now, he could think only of his selfish survival of Alesia''s wrath. "She needed a higher tier Lightning Creature Mage to instruct her, and Walken had volunteered. After a good talking to, she managed to convince me."

    "Oh¡­" Alesia''s eyes moistened. "She went to Walken? After what that CUNT did to our Master? After Sydney? AND YOU AGREED?"

    "Don''t put it like that¡­" Gunther spluttered. "It''s an exchange of services, no more."

    "He hugged her, you bastard!" To Gunther''s surprise, Alesia began to sob. "He was touching her. I am not blind, Gunther! I know what I saw!"

    "Gwen''s a friendly gal!" Gunther explained. "She''s handsy..."

    "HE KILLED MASTER!"

    "Actually¡­" Gunther wanted to say that, having lost his position, power, and influence and wasted half-a-century of his life, Walken had paid for his transgression. However, a single glare from Alesia was enough to snap Gunther''s lips tighter than an Ironshell Mimic''s lid.

    The two stood in silence, a rock quietly biding its time beside a raging fire tornado.

    Alesia choked back a sob.

    Sensing a lull in her violent anger, Gunther reached out with a hand to wipe a tear from Alesia''s well-loved eyes.

    "I am going to Shanghai," she said, batting away his hand. "I need to talk to Gwen, face to face. I am going to put some sense into her."

    "I don''t think that''s a good idea." Gunther returned. "She''s going to go to the international portion of the competition soon. You''ll likely miss her."

    "I don''t care, I am not letting Walken near her, not for another minute more." Alesia wiped her eyes. When she looked up, her orbs were full of fire and defiance. "Are we on the same page, Gunther?"

    Gunther gave her a wilted expression of resignation.

    "Don''t look at me like that!" Alesia growled. "I hate it when you do that! You know it!"

    Gunther studied the ceiling.

    "God damn it, Gunther! Look at me when I am talking to you!"

    Gunther''s shoulders drooped.

    "Get me authorisation to travel."

    "Yes, dear."

    "I am teleporting the whole way."

    "Yes, dear."

    "Don''t tell Gwen!"

    "Yes, dear."

    "Today! Tomorrow! As soon as possible!"

    "Absolutely." He nodded, whispering a prayer for their youngest sister-in-craft. "It''ll take a week at the earliest..."

    "Tell Yue I''ll be gone." Alesia levitated towards her wardrobe on the second level.

    "Are we going to finish watching this?" Gunther struck a thumb at the lumen-caster, realising his future labours werelikely to be worse. "I should get back to work."

    "THEN FUCK OFF!" his answer came in the form of his jacket, indicating that for the foreseeable future, he would not be hugging his hot water bottle body to sleep. "Go fuck your Tower, you traitor!"

 Chapter 268 - Sour Grapes

    Richard was of two minds.

    A few days after the press had stripped every shred of credible information from Fudan''s infamous sorceress, he received his long-awaited CCs. As an unexpected boon for acquiring Mandalay, Dean Luo generously informed the contestants that the PLA furthermore contributed an additional 169 CCs to round their total to 500.

    Which incidentally brought Richard''s contributions to 1340 CCs.

    Arguably, his Gwen-gambit had paid off more than he could have ever hoped. However, the dangers he was facing wereconcurrently above and beyond anything he could have imagined. His cousin bred trouble; he knew that, but to be trafficking with dragons, bargaining with demi-gods and slaying Nagas?

    He would like to attend their next round with no regrets.

    "Gwen, can I talk to you for a minute?" Richard felt tongue-tied as he made his case. Ever since his earliest days at Prince''s, he had cherished the sanctity of his independence, which made his outlandish request ever more uncertain.

    "Sure." His cousin yawned against the kitchen chair, so defenceless and overtrusting that Richard had to look away.

    "I need a favour," he said awkwardly. "If you''re willing to grant it."

    "Of course, Dick." Gwen curled her legs, then scrutinised his face with bemusement. "What can I do for ya?"

    Am I that unnatural? Richard stopped himself from adjusting his facial muscles less he appeared yet queerer.

    Richard cleared his throat.

    "Do you have 1000 CCs right now?"

    His cousin blinked away her sleepiness.

    "I''ve just reached 1340 CCs with our gains from the IIUC," Richard explained. "But I can only bring over one of my parents. That and we''re going to be in a lot of danger moving forward, so I would like a favour to set my mind at ease - so I can be of use without reserve."

    "Ah." A look of realisation dawned on Gwen''s face. Her eyes softened. "Shall we go check? Right now?"

    "Please." Richard put on a smile. "I want to migrate Kwan and Tali at the same time."

    "Aww." Gwen reached in and gave him a warm hug about the shoulders, filling his nostrils with the scent of shampoo. In truth, being touched was something Richard loathed, though Gwen''s tactile habits had since grown on him. "You don''t have to be so awkward. I haven''t seen you like this in so long!"

    "I know you''re not fond of them."

    "Richard." His cousin pulled herself away. "Don''t be ridiculous! Let me get changed."

    When she returned, Gwen had attired herself in a long-sleeve tee and ankle pants, hiding her face and hair with a cap. They then made for T2 at the Guanghua Towers, bypassing the paparazzi hanging about Fudan B1 by jumping over the barrier fence. At T2, however, there was no masking her identity.

    "You have 1230 CCs." An enamoured clerk exchanged his discretion for an autograph. "Would you like to see the spell-list?"

    "Thanks, not right now." Fudan''s headliner awarded the young man a winning smile before returning to a private room with Richard, who realised the broadcast showing her dogs tearing apart the Naga must have triggered an exponential demand for Morden''s Hound.

    "Who should I bring over?" she smiled at him. "Mum or dad?"

    "Aren''t there any spells you need?" Richard returned. "I seem to recall you needed Abjuration spells, not to mention Enchantment and new Evocation incantations."

    "I''ll fish them off Walken," Gwen smirked haughtily. "Come on. I thought immigration was your top priority, don''t go soft on me now, big guy."

    "You''re my number one priority." Richard brushed off the double entendre.

    "I bet you tell all the girls that." Gwen burst into laughter. His cousin then hugged him so tightly that he could hear his heart beating with honest anticipation. "Congratulations, Richard."

    Richard clasped his cousin''s shoulders.

    The acquisition of 1000 CCs had taken him the better part of a year. Additionally, he had risked life and limb and sleep to purchase a condo near the second orbital ring for his parents, as well as enough crystals to restart their lives in Shanghai. With his Kwan and Tali settled, his filial debt would be repaid, and he would be free.

    "I am happy for you." Gwen''s voice played beside his cheeks. "I mean it."

    He returned her blessing by raising and kissing her hand, something the Mageocracy taught as a part of its formalised doctrine.

    "Well¡­" Gwen picked up her Message Device. "Shall we eat something to celebrate?"

    Lulan found her cousin Jinwei standing politely by the training hall like a lost dog. After her acquisition of her Spirit, she had hardly left the Force Cage except to eat.

    "Senior Li!" the young sorceress uttered in surprise. "What are you doing here?"

    "Playing message boy." Her usually arrogant cousin''s face was full of politeness, so much so that goosebumps appeared on her thighs. "I am going to be straight with you. The Clan would like to offer Kusu and yourself support. Not as a part of the Sect, but as family. With the advice your Captain gifted us, we hope for your understanding. Besides, Uncle Li misses his children."

    "Advice?" Lulan cocked her head, ignoring the comment about her father. She knew that Gwen had told Captain Bai to speak to her Clan, but had been too preoccupied with her new Spirit.

    "She said you''re going to be our brand ambassador." Jinwei appeared equally flustered. "You''re going to represent us on the international stage."

    "Huh?" Lulan minced the word between her lips. "I am doing it for Gwen though, not for Huashan."

    "But you''ll be representing us." Jinwei baulked at Lulan''s brutal honesty. "By exhibiting Huashan''s skills."

    "I don''t care about that." Lulan shrugged.

    Jinwei fought to keep his eye from twitching.

    "Of course." He opened his palm to reveal a jade pendant. "This will allow you entry into our branch in Taicang, south of Nantong. Patriarch Dulian Li has said that if as long as you keep up the good fight, we''re happy to open the Iron Hall to you and Kusu so that you can continue your studies."

    "The Inner Hall?!" Lulan''s ears perked up. "With the Clan''s higher-tier techniques?"

    "Er... yes," Jinwei affirmed her rhetorical question. "Additionally, regarding Nantong, if you could put in a word with Miss Song, the Patriarch''s generosity would be boundless."

    "Alright." His cousin eyed him up and down. "Shixiong, Can I ask for a favour as well?"

    "Of course." Jinwei exhaled, finally relaxing. "What-"

    Suddenly, a grip of iron took Jinwei by the wrist and pulled him into the training hall.

    "If you want me to talk to Gwen, then fight me!" Lulan''s toothy grin made him suddenly nervous. "Make me spew, or I am not telling her!"

    Dai Fung had a dilemma.

    Ever since he had graduated from university, he had never thought that there would come a day whenhe''d worry about not having done his homework.

    And yet, here he was, fearful of losing the good opinion of a girl almost five years his junior.

    When he had returned to Nantong to deliver the good news of the funding he had secured, his father had patted him on the back, then additionally bestowed him the thankless task of dealing with a conspiracy of secretariat officials from Central.

    "Beijing wants to up-scale stage two; that or arranging for the schedule to be pushed up," a bespectacled official informed him. "We are looking forward to your continued expertise, Mr Fung."

    Immediately, Dai knew he was twelve miles in the Front and knee deep in Undead. Since Gwen''s departure, with a Centurion card in hand, he had wined, dined, partied, kissed ass and had his ass kissed in return by Shanghai''s high society, but he had done minimal paperwork.

    And so, upon hearing that their dragon-lady was no longer in a dour mood, he hastened back to the office with a large bouquet of rare and expensive flowers.

    "Too risky, never intervene when a project is running smoothly." Gwen listened to Ru¨¬ annotate Dai''s report, followed by the statements from central. Not far from the duo, Caliban munched on the flowers. "Tell them no."

    "I don''t think that''s an option." The young man kept a respectful distance. No matter how tantalising the sorceress''s delicious visage, what had begun as desire had transformed into admiration, then dread. "Our orders are to expand or expedite."

    "YOUR orders. If so, then expand," Dai''s boss''s answer came without hesitation. "But it takes time to survey the land, clear the monsters, relocate the NoMs- about as much time as it takes for Stage 2''s nominal time frame."

    "But the report¡­"

    "Easy, inject an estimate three-year projection in the annual report, with a provision for the delay. Prime our creditors with a twelve-month clause for their lending, if they pre-settle, offer a minimal rate of interest, for those willing to delay settlement, offer a guarantee of purchase, option the deposit with a six-month delay."

    Ru¨¬ made furious scribbles into a data slate while Dai tried his best to catch up to Gwen''s train of thought. Maybe she could be more convincing.

    The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    "Some of the committee members from Central would like to speak with you if you could make a trip to Nantong¡­"

    "Denied." Gwen shook her head, tapping her fountain pen against a balance book. "Tell them it''s a conflict of interest, tell them I am on thin ice. Tell them General Secretary Miao would like to have a word if they insist."

    "Why would Secretary Miao be interested in this?"

    "Maybe they can call and find out." He watched her lips curl. "October is upon us, and my international round starts in November, which brings me to our next point. Why are these reports coming to me? I thought you and Ken are taking over matters in Shanghai?"

    Dai appeared lost for words. It wasn''t as though he could say he still had no idea how all this worked.

    "Ru¨¬?"

    "Master Fung is trying his best, Ma''am," Ru¨¬ attempted to dispel their CFO''s mounting displeasure with diplomacy. "He''s doing very well in securing additional funding."

    "By not checking accounts and making sure no one is stealing from us." Gwen''s accusation struck Dai''s fear right in the flesh. "Ken?"

    "Yes, Ma''am?" Ken materialised beside Dai.

    "What''s the latest quarterly from Chief Ma?"

    "Two members discharged from the board and er- forty or so from middle management, ten from central division, plus the usual on-site issues with shoddy materials, boundary marking and labour abuses."

    "Losses?"

    "About 120,000 HDMs, Ma''am." Dai noticed Ken glancing at him, causing his face to flush.

    "And how much has Mr Fung brought in for us?"

    "About 400,000 HDMs in future investments are pledged. About a quarter have signed with Tonglv."

    "Now." Their boss shifted in her swivel chair. "How many of those that Dai brought in were involved in defrauding the treasury, making a quick buck on land sales and scamming our inventory?"

    Ken choked. "Ma''am?"

    "The answer is about half." The ice maiden tapped a report stubbed so excessively that it was almost twice the thickness. "Dai, what are you bringing into Tonglv? How do you even hope to double the expansion when your net gain for your father''s state-sanctioned enterprise after six-months is less than what I could make in a month?"

    Ru¨¬ almost swooned as the numbers unravelleditself.

    "How could I know?" Dai protested. Was he supposed to read the reports weekly or what? Who had time for that?

    His missus boss lifted herself from the leather chair.

    "I am not going to ask about your Centurion account''s expenditure." She leaned against the table and rested her leg in a way that left a heel tapping the wood with disapproval. "I am also not fussed whether or not you''re making money for us, but you have to realise, I won''t be here in November, in December, all the way through to February, assuming our victories continue unabated. That''s FOUR months, Dai, almost half-a-year. Is there going to be a Shanghai office left when I return?"

    Dai sulked, his usually masculine face twisting in agony. "I can fix this."

    "No. You can''t," Gwen interrupted him. "Terence. Effi."

    "Yes, Ma''am?" The two approached.

    "Count for me how many times Dai consulted the two of you."

    For Dai, the patterned herringbone carpet suddenly became very interesting.

    "Ru¨¬?"

    "Master Fung is very sociable," her secretary offered her best opinion of their walking, talking avatar of nepotism.

    "Dai, what''s the canal''s turnover for September?"

    "¡­" Dai hesitated. His tormentor may as well have asked him for the price of a banana.

    "... I see." Gwen''s voice remained collected. "Did you forget why I hired Terence and Effi?"

    "For accounting?"

    "FOR YOU!" her voice snapped at him like a whip. "You don''t have to do the accounts, damn it, but you need to know them! How in Tonglv''s name are you even pulling in investments when you don''t know the state of the canal''s balance sheets? What are you investing? Which division? How much land is left?"

    "I¡ª"

    "Did you know that the canal''s orbital ring-road is contracted to Leiwong Construction, who sub-contracted to Tai-Wei, who then subcontracted it to Jianhong, an NoM firm for a quarter of the initial price? What the hell happened to competitive tender? Why is seventy-five per cent of the cost going into a drain? Why not build a TWELVE lane highway with Jianhong for half the price? When this gets upstairs, Chairman Tu will choke you like a lame dog, assuming your father doesn''t first."

    The angel-faced harpy sighed, then patted a petrified Dai on the shoulder.

    Dai wanted to leave, but knew he was firmly entrenched in their unhappy union, riding the bucklingdragon with only the abyss below.

    "Ru¨¬, brief Mr Fung." Gwen''s disregard battered his bruised ego as she brushed past him. "I am going out for lunch."

    Half a campus away, Marie-Roslyn Wen observed a strange numbness in her fingers.

    "I am happy for you."

    "Thank you, Master." Petra remained her polite self, though Wen wondered if the girl was at all being sarcastic. "Nephrite makes a curious medium."

    They had been working on the regeneration-prevention properties of the Void Element on non-magical mammals when Wen''s eyes narrowed at the peculiar presence of a crystalline cube the colour of mutton fat.

    "Master, Gwen was kind enough to gift me with a Spirit," Petra had intoned flatly, suggesting her cousin had shouted a lobster dinner. "I managed to attune with it."

    "Oh."

    After the initial shock, Wen was glad her faculties had remained unruffled - for it was unbecoming for a British-educated, sixty-year-old woman without a Mineral Spirit worth its weight in Cores to demonstrably suffer a meltdown. "Very good, may I see what it does?"

    "Atlas is a wily one," Petra had agreed to a demonstration. "A tier 7 or 8 Naga spirit, I am told. As such, it will take some time to master its many natural abilities."

    "Ah¡ª" Wen nodded. "I see. Many abilities. Very good."

    Wen''s apprentice passed a cube over the table. "The nephrite cubes are stronger, more stable. I do believe they could hold spells of equal tier to the complexity of glyphs used to seal the manifesting effect."

    Wen palmed Petra''s fist-sized cube, inspecting the material, noting its superior hardness and composition.

    "I have not tested the full extent of Atlas'' storage capacity, but I do believe that currently, out of a total of sixty cubes, I could generate another twenty. With future mastery, I would venture to say that doubling my capacity is within the realm of possibility."

    "How wonderful," Petra''s instructor croaked. "What else?"

    "Considering the nature of Nagas, I experimented with multi-casts. Currently, I can activate one additional cube per spell-cycle." Petra threw a cube into the air, where it appeared to be caught by a semi-invisible appendage. "It''s quite interesting; please observe ¡ª Light!"

    The spell cube erupted into feeble daylight. A few seconds later, a new spell cube engendered.

    "I am trying to figure out how to manifest more arms¡ª"

    "An arm? Your arm?" Wen interrupted her student. "Gwen gave you a humanoid, sapient Spirit?"

    "A draconic one, yes," Petra demurely affirmed her master''s enquiry.

    Magister Wen inhaled.

    "Mine was a leftover," Petra assured her Master that the gift was nothing too serious. "Lulan got the Jadeite Naga Spirit; it''s stronger than mine by at least a tier."

    Wen realised she must have closed her eyes for a moment, that or she blacked out, she wasn''t sure. When she came to, Petra was shaking her and asking if she was alright.

    "I did tell you that the Dean wanted you on Gwen''s team, didn''t I?" Wen changed the subject. "I received confirmation of your eligibility yesterday."

    "No, Ma''am," the young woman replied. "Now, I know."

    "You will be my eyes. I need you to record everything Gwen does, take notes on how her Void manifests in the field, how she uses her magic, how her enemies react, how her power grows. I''ll teach you the diagnostic magic."

    "Of course," Petra agreed. "I am your co-author after all."

    "That''s true," Wen acknowledged the fact. As Walken would say, when there''s a common benefit, trust is a simple thing. From behind the sample cage, she observed her assistant''s comely face, which some would say was more striking than even that of her cousin''s. Had Petra elected to remain in her old profession, she would have been celebrated, feared, loathed, loved, possibly even worshipped, but fate was a funny thing to gift a girl like that with the Mineral trait. "Anything else Atlas can do?"

    "That''s it for now." Petra pointed to one the cages. "Master, G14 has died."

    "Drat!" Wen rubbed her eyes, suddenly exhausted, an unbecoming display from a senior researcher such as herself. "I am going to take a break. As for you, lower the dosage and up the Positive Energy for F01."

    Ding!

    "Master?" her student demanded of her. "Gwen''s requesting a luncheon..."

    Sunday week.

    The Song Estate.

    "Oh my, you shouldn''t have!" Gwen''s babulya gushed at the precious stones crowding the table.

    "Klavdiya''s right, you really shouldn''t have," Guo remarked drily.

    "Ah¡­" Only under the watchful eye of Guo did Gwen acknowledgethe hypocrisy of her gifting looted loot from Kachin to her family. "¡­ Mayuree gave these to me as a sort of get-well gift after the Naga incident."

    "Humph!" Guo grunted. "I take it these are worth many times their weight in crystals."

    "Nothing I can''t make in half-a-month," Gwen promised with a smile. "Think nothing of it. I''d much rather share it with Percy than sell it for HDMs at the House of M Auction."

    "Thanks, Sis! Can we keep these, Yeye?" Percy palmed an apple-sized block of mutton-fat nephrite. "What are these good for?"

    "The smaller pieces are for single-use protection charms like Absorb Elements," Guo explained, tapped the stones with his fingers. "The larger ones can be combined with Cores to make passive wards like Contingency Mineral Shields or Mage Armour. The Jadeite makes charms that banish extra-planar creatures, like your sister''s Familiars."

    "Ho Ho." Percy made a face at his sister.

    "Assuming you find someone to scribe it." Gwen raised her chin. "Got pocket money to spare?"

    "He''ll be working soon." Guo''s suspicion finally relented. "He''ll be apprenticing under a kill-team from the Ghosts. Percy needs to be whetted before he grows blunt."

    "You''re pushing him too soon," Klavdiya complained. "Hai hated it when you sent him to Hebei."

    "It''s my idea," Percy intervened. "I want real combat! I want to fight monsters, and I want to see the Front! Not even Gwen has been up north, have you, Sis?"

    "Nope." Gwen ruffled her brother''s hair. "The Undead, eh? Can you handle it?"

    "Salt purifies the dead!" Percy smirked arrogantly. "Yeye said so."

    "That it does," Guo said.

    "Hey, Sis," Percy snorted through haughty nostrils. "How about a duel? Want to see how much I''ve grown?"

    Gwen made an "O" with her lips. "Ho? Feeling antsy?"

    "Percy has recently attained tier 4 in Evocation." Guo''s chest visibly puffed with pride. "And tier 2 in both Transmutation and Abjuration."

    Gwen clapped. Being what Walken termed an Omni-Mage was no reason to make light of her brother''s labour. It wasn''t as though she could snort and suggest Percy spell-drain yet more vagrants.

    "Do we have a Force Barrier?"

    "In the training hall." Percy pointed a thumb toward the east wing. "After I blew out a wall, Yeye had his guys install a mid-tier training barrier."

    "You remodelled the hall?" Kalvdiya glared at her husband.

    Considering how Gwen had for months shared a single bathroom with Richard while sleeping in an unfurnished trainer''s room, Guo appeared embarrassed by his spendthrift.

    "Yeye, never mind that." She had since long gotten used to the favouritism, seeing it as immutable as Alesia''s temper. "Come on, Percy, let''s see what you''ve got!"

    Magus Alan Ma stood just outside the fortress-like Hongqiao ISTC hub, counting the seconds in his head.

    He was waiting for a beautiful sorceress, a chore that would have been the envy of his peers- until he opened the woman''s dossier.

    Alesia De Botton.

    Female.

    Age thirty-six.

    A Combat Magus possessing both Evocation and Transmutation: estimated to be between tier six and seven. A veteran of the Coral Sea conflict, unofficial apprentice to the late Henry Kilroy, active in the field since she was fourteen. In 1997, Alesia destroyed the library of a Tower Magister in Sydney over a dispute, losing her military rank. Since then, she served as an independent Tower operator under Henry Kilroy. During the battle of Sydney, she managed to activate a strategic-class Spell of Mass Destruction single-handedly. Engaged to Magister Gunther von Shultz, Tower Master of Sydney. The PLA Tower considers De Botton a Class I individual with a category IV danger rating.

    A Class I individual was on par with a state dignitary, while CategoryIV implied she was capable of wiping out a district, and that suppressing the sorceress would involve a Party lead by a Combat Magus. Neither classification made Alan''s job easier.

    Psht!

    The double doors opened.

    "Miss De Botton!" Alan intervened before the woman''s long strides took her from the entrance.

    Physically, Alesia De Botton was both stunning and commanding, though what had enthralled Alan was the sheer volume of red wrapped around the sorceress''s hourglass figure, splashing the monochrome concrete exterior of the city with a rare pigment of retina-searing scarlet.

    The Scarlet Sorceress paused.

    "And you are?"

    Alan forced himself to calm. Here was a woman who had killed more sapient beings than Alan had eaten bowls of rice.

    "Alan Ma, at your service, Ma''am." Alan bowed. "I am your contact from the PLA Tower. While you''re in Shanghai, I shall be your liaison. If there is anything you need, please do not hesitate to ask."

    "You got the car I wanted?"

    "Yes Ma''am, it''s been arranged at Pudong''s behest."

    "Good." De Botton removed her sunglasses, revealing a pair of strikingly lapis irises that seemed to dig into Alan''s soul. Startlingly, she appeared melancholic, and some of her make up was smudged. "Is there anything I should know?"

    "Please refrain from engaging in combat while in the city-"

    "Of course, I know that." His guest nodded. "Do you know the way to Fudan?"

    "Fudan University?" Alan was taken aback by her request. "I do¡ª"

    "Good, I''ll drive." The Fire Mage replaced her glasses, then wrinkled her nose as she glanced up at the enormous girth of the PLA Tower looming over the city like a monstrous spider. "Let''s hurry, tiger. I''ve got people to sear."

    "See, Ma''am?" Alan doublechecked his Ioun Stone, but his VIP was already several strides ahead, making for the wine-coloured convertible in the distance.

 Chapter 269 - Homewrecker

    "Eat up! Eat up!" Gwen peeled another Crystal-Shell Scampi for her brother, reserving the creamy prawn head for herself to suckle. After the match and feeling mightily hungry due toher workout, she had decided to shout the family a Wildland feast at Sails, a restaurant owned by the House of M. Not wanting to waste the opportunity, she also called Tao, Mina and Petra, though the latter declined, citing that she was synthesising unspeakably sophisticated magic.

    "A young boy needs more protein to grow!" She spooned a famously steaming scallop onto Percy''s plate, feeling particularly motherly after the long absence. "Percy, I give you permission to invite me to your formal."

    "Not on your life!" Percy endured his sister''s teasing. "And I can eat by myself..."

    "Hahaha." Gwen poked at her brother with the peeled prawn. "Feeling salty over getting arse kicked?"

    Percy snapped at the prawn, almost biting her fingers, eliciting much mirth from their extended family.

    "Here." Tao likewise slapped a fillet onto Mina''s plate, fulfilling his filial duty. "Eat up."

    Mina''s lips twitched. She turned to Gwen. "Your IIUC match was amazing. You should have called us over before you fought Percy. I wanted to see your magic for myself!"

    Initially inthe brother-on-sister duel, Gwen had restricted herself to tier 4 spells and below in addition to setting Ariel and Caliban to watch. Taking advantage of the fact that Percy could Blink but not Dimension Door, she played tag with her brother throughout the duelling cage, occasionally blasting Percy with jolts of lightning while he gave chase, bounding from wall to wall like a jacked-up Pika, throwing salt shards that ricochetted from her double-shields. Eventually, Gwen managed a Warding Bolt and Call Lightning, leaving Percy awkwardly stuck between defence and offence. After her brother grew frustrated, she allowed him to go all out, pelting her with Salt Bolts, blasts, sprays, cages and explosions while she leisurely summoned her hounds. What followed was Percy howling in frustration as a half-dozen horse-sized Deerhound chased him about the chamber, yelping and sparking as Percy leapt and Blinked, ultimately pinning him and giving him paralysing licks.

    Outside the barrier, Guo and Klavdiya had grown slack-jawed. It was one thing to hear about the prowess of their granddaughter, and quite another to see her in action. The effortlessness withwhich Gwen toyed with Guo''s pride and joy was painful to watch, ratifying the reality that indeed, Gwen had already fought several bouts against Titan and Mythic class beings.

    "I prefer a date over six-feet tall." Gwen continued her poking, seemingly determined to displace Mei. "Maybe a set of nice stilettos will get you up to speed."

    Percy growled. So far, he managed a meter sixty-six.

    "Yo a Transmuter, dawg, polymorph another six-inches and yo be golden." Tao wiggled his pinky, then snapped a snow crab''s leg in two. "Dang, dis some expensive shit, Gwen. You making bling?"

    "I am indeed making the bling." She made a gang-sign with a prawn-head and a crab claw. "Hows the crew?"

    "My bros be doing finer than yo ass¡ª"

    "Alright, alright" Mina intervened before their grandfather could sour all the sashimi with a scowl. "Tao, you came to ask Gwen something, just say your damn piece, and say it properly!"

    "And what would that be, Peaches?" Gwen sidled closer to her cousin, watching his eyes pivot.

    "Er¡­" Tao began to sweat. "When you heading to the states, dawg."

    "Hmmm? Why?"

    "I hear yoz going ta be going overseas soon, worldwide! I ma hit up the west coast on biz, ya know? With pops. I wanna be dere when you do. We can cruz and chill in dem hills."

    "You want to hang out in LA?" Gwen gestured in surprise with a scampi-tail.

    "Tao''s doing well with his shows," Mina explained. "Our Dad''s been to the states a few times on business, so it shouldn''t be too hard for Tao to apply for a visitation permit."

    "Why do you want to come with me?" Gwen cocked her head. "Why not get a travel agent, or go with a tour group?"

    "Whats a tour group?" Tao''s brows formed the Chinese pictogram for eight. "Naw, I was jus thinking, ya know? Your crew, mah crew, hanging out. Full Gansta! Maybe bring Petra..."

    Gwen again turned to Mina for a translation. Mina rolled her eyes.

    "I wouldn''t recommend bringing Tao," Guo intervened, his expression darkening. "The Americans aren''t a part of anything, not even the Mageocracy. They''re a big country but hardly unified like we are. In their cities, the bourgeoisie lives like kings while the proletariat lives like the meanest animal."

    "I ain''t going to find trouble," Tao protested vehemently. "I am going for music! For art! Ya dig?"

    "Erm¡­" Gwen felt torn.

    "He won''t bother your delegation," Mina passed on what Tao had failed to communicate in his gobbledygook lingo. "I think Peaches wants to time his visit with your IIUC so that he could have some backup if he gets into trouble. Where he wants to go isn''t exactly the safest parts of the city. He''ll be with his boys, and you guys could meet up if you can spare the time."

    "Yeah, we need some hunnies¡ª"

    "Peaches!"

    "Ah¡­" Gwen realised the truth. She clapped her hands. "Assuming we''re in L.A, I am happy to do that. Peaches?"

    "You da top, Gwen!"

    "I am going to speak to Bao," Guo grumbled darkly.

    "Oh, come on, dawg!"

    "Yeye," Gwen intervened. "Maybe this is good for Tao. He can see the world outside of Shanghai, open up his horizons. Maybe he can find himself over there and come home a changed man."

    "A tour at the Front would make him a changed man."

    "A changed man, Yeye, not a CHANGED one. I don''t think Aunty Nen would like that." She patted her grandfather''s hand. "At any rate, I fully support Tao wanting to better himself."

    "Erg." Mina shot her brother a look of contempt. "Gwen, you put it so eloquently."

    "Yeah, you tell em!" Tao threw Guo a "W", though Gwen halted him from digging himself deeper.

    "Work out the kinks with your father, alright, Peaches? Also, I have no idea when I am going. It could be next month. It could be as late as February."

    "Leave that to me." Tao puckered his lips. "You just do your thang."

    "Alright¡­" she tugged free a crystalline glob of flesh from the twitching lobster. "I''ll let you know."

    The coming Monday, Gwen forced herself to return to training with Walken. Making big bucks, feasting with family and chumming with her cousins was all very relaxing, but her true vocation was the tireless pursuit of magical prowess.

    "I have confirmation from the Dean that Petra will be joining the international portion of the IIUC," Walken informed her when they stopped to rest. "Are you surprised?"

    "Not really..." she confessed.

    Walken waited for Gwen to explain herself.

    "...for one, you and Marie have been raging on about this Omni-Mage business. And though Petra''s skillset isn''t optimal, her Spellcubes are extremely flexible, AND she''s the only one Wen can trust to keep an eye on me. Not to mention Wen''s probably frothing at the mouth for more data. Additionally, with Petra, we shouldn''t be suffering another Mind Magic incident, I hope."

    Walken smiled. "Well done."

    "To be straight, I think you''re hyping up the Omni-magic thing." Gwen summoned a mote of Enchantment, then allowed the golden glow to fizzle. "I don''t feel much different."

    "It''ll take time and research," her instructor assured her. "Rome was not built in a day, after all. Do keep in mind that the Imperial Metric for magic isn''t exact. Spellcraft represents our best observations of magical phenomena. With your unprecedented range of Schools, who''s to say you won''t break new ground? Hmm? Von Shultz''s Radiant magic is a good example. What Kilroy did with that boy was nothing short of a miracle."

    "So, I should continue to experiment with Signature Spells like Chakram?"

    "Naturally, though you have much more distance to cover yet. Of course, you could rely instead on the expertise of others. Not every Mage can be Archmage Bilby Bigglesworth, or his master, the Magi Morden."

    "Are you volunteering, Eric?"

    "I am humbled by your expectations." Walken bowed, tipping an invisible hat.

    This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    Gwen chuckled. After Burma, she felt that the taut tension that existed between them had slackened somewhat. She would never forgive the man for what he did in Sydney, but she was beginning to see where Gunther had been right- that it was far more useful to keep Walken within arm''s reach.

    After the pleasant prophecy of good things to come, two more hours of Conjurationfollowed through a concourse Walken had conjured. By its end, Gwen had runher mind haggard with spell-fatigue.

    In the afterglow, Walken conjured a chair and lied back against the spine. "Gods, I am no longer even a middle-aged man. I should remember that."

    "Your VMI and mental fortitude are impressive," Gwen remarked. "I am struggling to keep up."

    "I hate to imagine what you would become in a few decades." Walken materialised a wet towel to place on his forehead. "Ah, that''s better."

    "What do you think we should do next?"

    "You want to keep going?" Walken made a face. "I veto your enthusiasm."

    "For tier 6 Conjuration, I mean," she snorted. "I''d love to learn Teleportation Circle, but I lack proficiency in scripting Mandalas."

    "Well¡­" Her instructor rested his eyes. "In terms of added combat utility, I would venture to learn Bilby''s Hand, something in between Evocation and Conjuration. The Evocation variant allows for push, pull and crash, while the Conjuration variant allows for longer duration and more complex manipulations. Henry, I recall, had a variation which allowed for significant dexterity, and could even act as a shield. Lightning isn''t the best medium, but with your current VMI, raw mana or Void would make a viable option."

    Gwen''s lips puckered into an ''O''.

    "If you want raw power, there are loftier targets." Walken produced a thermos, then poured each of them a cup of Cylon. "How do you like that Titan-class magma one-eye Seoul summoned."

    "Strong as all hell." Gwen nodded eagerly. "Can you conjure one?"

    "I can." Walken nodded. "Planar Ally isn''t a rare spell, just an expensive and bothersome one. It takes weeks to set up initially, even for the best of Conjurers, then after that, at least an hour to recreate the mandala. It also requires you to be an Enchanter, or have an Enchanter on hand."

    "We got Petra and me."

    "You''re an illiterate Enchanter," Walken remarked drily. "Worse than a novice."

    "Petra, I choose you!"

    Walken snorted.

    "Even so, we''re talking about Quasi-Elemental beings here. Back before the IMS was a thing, folks worshipped them as Gods. A Planar Ally isn''t a Familiar you''re summoning, but a living, thinking, elemental being with individual agendas."

    "Such as?"

    "Depends." Walken sipped his tea. "A mundane Mage summons an Avatar of Fire, a Djinn, something like the demi-humanoid Salamander Chen Hufei has tamed, but much, much more powerful. Its first instinct is to burn everything, turn each and everything it sees into its habitat in the Elemental Plane of Fire. To the Salamander, the Prime Material is too cold, too moist, and it hates it here. Should you, the Conjurer, try to bend it to your will, you''re surely going to piss it off, so your first fight is with the very thing you conjured."

    "Erg¡­"

    "The spell has control mechanisms built into it, of course, but it varies from caster to caster, monster to monster, and Mandala to Mandala," Walken explained. "We know that there are civilisations of Elemental beings that exist in the Planes, just as they do in our world. If you take up extra-planar studies as a Post-graduate in Europe, you may know more, but for now, there are three steps: conjuration, subjugation, then contract."

    "Which consist of?"

    "Elementally aligned crystals generally work well," Walken continued. "Creature Cores make better bargaining chips, as are particular forms of flora. In the olden days, Druids and Shamans would offer willing or unwilling colleagues, kins, maidens, kids, whole villages, the enemy city. You name it."

    "And in exchange?"

    "They perform favours. Though your Kyoto allies may know more, likewise, should you encounter Spirit Casters or Blood Priests from the Inca regions, they have unique rites with far more intricate methodologies. In that regard, the Mageocracy''s knowledge is vastly inferior. The Commonwealth favours predictability over all else, after all."

    "Well, I''ve got lots of Crystals," Gwen declared confidently. "And I could also prepare Cores if need be. What are we talking about, ten-thousand HDMs?"

    "To begin, then more with each additional favour. I shall invite Wen if you''re truly interested. She''s the superior Mandala scribe." Walken then indicated to Caliban, who was playing by rolling itself like a cigar back and forth across the hall, sparking mana flares from the barriers. "That and ready a sturdy containment field. Can you imagine what would come out, if that''s the calibre of beings you''re trafficking?"

    "Righto," Gwen called Caliban and Ariel to her, then made them invisible for the outing. "I''ll let Pats know."

    Outside, Gwen felt a chilling breeze the moment she exited the training hall with Walken in tow, feeling as though someone or something had walked across her grave.

    Puzzled, she checked her attire, consisting of spats under her skirt and a conforming sports top under a jacket. Though the temperature had cooled in autumn, she felt plenty warm thanks to her draconic-constitution, so why was it that her thighs were covered in goosebumps?

    "What''s wrong?" Walken caught his student shivering.

    "I am not sure." Gwen reached behind her head and gingerly probed Ayxin''s scale, noting its dormancy and thanking the Yinglong that she wasn''t having another draconic-episode. "I think something tripped my Divination Sigil."

    "That''s not good." Walken glanced about the place. "Aella!"

    The Couatl materialised.

    "Ariel!" Gwen sent out her Familiar as well.

    Both creatures surveyed the perimeter.

    "Where you headed now?" Walken put on a newspaper cap as they entered the dying sunlight.

    "Supper with the team," Gwen indicated to the north of the campus. "There''s a new bun shop. Think Petra will mesh with the others?"

    "She has her ways." Walken grinned. "I wonder if her ice queen exterior is her true self, or if she''s deliberately trying to alienate her past. To my understanding, Moscow''s Mind Mage training for their agents involves very peculiar benchmarks for sociability."

    "I like her just the way she is," Gwen confessed. "If she''s suddenly all flirty, I don''t know¡­"

    Walken looked up, seeing that Aella had returned.

    "Safe!" Aella announced, accurately mimicking human speech.

    "Ee ee!" Ariel agreed.

    The two then proceeded across the campus, nodding at star-struck students as they passed, suffering the occasional lumen-bulb. In the distance, the sound of motor-hoons in their obnoxious vehicles filled the air. Once she and her instructor paced past Fudan''s Handan Campus, Walken paused, indicating that he would now part from her.

    "Eric, where do you live?" Gwen felt suddenly curious as to where a former Magister and one of the ten most powerful human beings in Australia would make their home. All around them were high-rises in concrete and glass, surely one of them held herinstructor''s penthouse.

    "Er¡­" Walken appeared visibly uncomfortable. "Why?"

    "I am curious." Gwen noted the man''s tenseness and grew proportionately curious. "Well?"

    "I''d rather not say."

    "Oh, come on, Eric," Gwen chortled derisively. "A Magister like you, in which one of these buildings do you make your lair?"

    Walken pointed to a flat between two gleaming, multi-storey buildings.

    "NO WAY!" Gwen gestured at a brick and mortar flat wedged between two buildings, an old 80s communist-bloc apartment straight out of Nineteen-Eight-Four. "You live in that?"

    "It''s homely enough." Walken evaded the subject. "In Oxbridge, I lived in a dorm the size of your bedroom for five years. In Sydney, I lived in the Tower. It was far easier that way. Didn''t Henry live in his Grot? It''s no different."

    "What about your family?"

    "They''re here and there, scattered across Europe and Oceania. I have daughters. You know that, right?"

    "You''re still married, aren''t you?" Gwen wanted to know why Walken had so much free time to spend in Shanghai.

    Without warning, Walken abruptly parted from her, crossing the street with such haste that a car screeched.

    "Eric..." Gwen realised she might have stepped on a landmine. She berated herself for the intrusion, realising that perhaps, even Eric had limits to his patience. "Well fuck¡ª"

    But her instructor was already gone, leaving her feeling like an ass.

    Click.

    Walken closed the door to his flat, simultaneously activating his defensive rings. He had felt watched the moment he and Gwen crossed the campus, and now he knew it wasn''t Gwen that their watcher was watching.

    The mouldy flat was crowded with old books and unpacked boxes. It wasn''t so much that Walken lacked the will to tidy the place, but that the unit was a temporary abode and he saw no need to make himself overtly comfortable in a home that arguably, he may need to abandon quickly.

    And now, it would appear he had an unwelcome guest.

    Upon the latch, he had placed a piece of semi-transparent Moonlit Moth silk. The material was hypersensitive to magical interference and readily dissolved when magic touched the locking mechanism. It was a mundane, non-magical methodof detecting magical intrusions, one he had learned from Kilroy long ago. With Mages having access to Lock and Unlock, nothing short of an offensive barrier would deter intruders, and Walken wasn''t about to invest in a site he used only to rest his eyes and stow mundane materials.

    Still, his intruder had chosen wisely. Aella was too large to fit into the old flat, meaning an unsuspecting Walken would not be able to conjure his Familiar.

    Should he attack first? He wondered, then decided against a preemptive strike on the basis that if this were some PLA Ghost or a spook from the Militant Faction, killing their agent would only invite more suspicion.

    As he placed his coat on the hanger and stowed his scarf, he readied a Dimension Door- one that would safely deposit him outside. That was another reason why he had chosen the old flat - 80s buildings lacked the complex arcanistry of materials that disrupted teleporting into and out of the structure itself. Concurrently, blowing away a decrepit old apartment was far less likely to attract the ire of powerful people, and more importantly, influential cohabiters who would demand answers.

    Inside the crowded, paper-strewn living room, he felt a presence.

    "I see I have a guest," Walken intoned as he entered the corridor, addressing the silhouette within. "Is it too late to welcome you to my humble abode?"

    A few streets away, Gwen''s mood was lightened by a satisfying feeling of schadenfreude when she spotted a haphazardly parked convertible in a loading zone being ticketed by a patrol officer.

    Loud cars belonging to well-to-do Fu-er-dai wasn''t unusual, though what caught her attention was the offensive way it had been parked, for four distinct tire marks lead from the opposite lane, suggesting that the car had slid into place with a great stink of rubber and mana exhaust.

    Curiously, the vehicle was a glaring crimson, Italian-made convertible, resembling an old-world Alfa-Romeo married with a 918.

    "Ma''am, is this your vehicle?" a youthful officer demanded of her, seeing that both the foreign car and the girl appeared prohibitively expensive.

    "Nope, I am just admiring." Gwen sidled closer, catching a crimson shawl behind the driver''s sea, the kind that a woman with a head full of autumn-coloured hair might use to prevent her flaming tresses from blowing out while driving.

    Could it be? She studied the vehicle for more clues, feeling uneasier by the minute. If her Sister-in-craft had come to Shanghai, surely she would be informed. Gunther would have called, meaning she should be at the ISTC, picking up Alesia in person, then whisking her away to the Waldorf Astoria for tapas, jazz and drinks.

    The officer cast her a curious glance before resuming his patrol, likely wondering when he''d seen her face.

    "Excuse me." A middle-aged Asian man suddenly materialised from the crowd, his expression the exact opposite of calm and collected. "Are you Gwen Song?"

    Gwen immediately placed herself behind the convertible, creating some distance between them. There were many NoMs about, and a fight would only endangerthe public. Not far, the officer was still out and about.

    "Who''s asking?" She sent Ariel overhead. There was a subtle stink of ozone as her Kirin grew in size.

    "Alan Ma, at your service." The Mage inclined his head while spreading both hands to show that he meant her no harm. Very slowly and carefully, he held out his identification. "PLA Tower. I hold the rank of Magus. My Uncle, James Ma is your instructor."

    At the mention of her colleague''s name, Gwen relaxed Ariel''s hypersensitive vigilance.

    "Miss Song." The Magus was sweating like a greased up pig. "I take it that you did not see Magus de Botton?"

    With a sudden clarity, the source of her unease became clear.

    "SHIT!" Gwen swore loud enough for the whole street to hear. "WALKEN!!"

 Chapter 270 - Fight Fire with Lightning

    In the car, Alesia de Botton informed Alan Ma that her goal at Fudan was to meet with Gwen Song. The familiar name gave Alan a start, for he had been hearing about the girl from his uncle for months now.

    "A walking lump of vanity and pride, a dragon in a woman''s body, possessing a crystal-hoard to match," James Ma had wryly intoned. "You''ll like her."

    To Alan, at least on the lumen-caster, the girl of eighteen appeared perfectly prim and proper. Other than that one scandal where her Familiars went wild, she answered questions, kissed and made up with the reporters who had hounded her, and even spent time promoting her teammates, like the rogue from Huashan and their Captain from the funeral home.

    "Is this not widely known?" de Botton remarked as she weaved through the traffic. "She''s my sister-in-craft."

    "Really?" Alan performed a double-take as the roadster accelerated.

    "We all mentored under Master Kilroy while in Sydney," his VIP explained, her tone suddenly upset. "I suppose it''ll be common knowledge once her IIUC finishes¡­"

    Alan made a mental note to inform the PLA Tower as soon as possible.

    "¡­ and to think that for someone for whom master sacrificed so much, she turned tail so readily. Gwen was such a quiet girl when I found her being auctioned in her uncle''s house. She was a nobody back then, did you know? Just tier 3, not bad for Frontier stock, but more or less just a pretty face. After I introduced her to master, she started to blossom, learning all sorts of magic¡­"

    To Alan''s alarm, Alesia''s one-sided monologue grew in intensity, pouring forth with a vehemence that made him nervous.

    "¡­ it''s ridiculous how everyone thinks that the prick has paid for his crimes. I mean our Master died because we couldn''t access the Tower and turn it against Sobel..."

    "Miss de Botton, we''ve arrived."

    "...And speaking of Master''s wife, bloody hell, when the day comes when the three of us hunt that bitch down¡­"

    VROOM!

    To the Magus'' dismay, his driver gunned the vehicle around the perimetre of Fudan''s university district, taking in the sights while continuing her tirade.

    "There are students and NoMs here!" Alan indicated to the twin towers of Fudan jutting from the sea of skyscrapers, then to the pedestrians. "Please slow down."

    SCREEEE!

    Alesia spun the wheel. Alan felt as though he''d banked mid-flight during an aerial exercise. Horns tooted, NoMs screamed, other drivers howled abuse as they skidded across the tarmac to stop in a loading zone.

    "We can''t park here¡­" Alan pointed to the sign.

    Thump! The door slammed.

    Alesia exited the clinking vehicle, catching a hundred pairs of eyes as she rose to her full height. With a careless gesture, the woman discarded the shawl hiding her hair into the backseat, then with her voluminous curls falling about her shoulders, she strode toward the Handan campus.

    "Where are you going?" Alan unbuckled.

    The Scarlet Sorceress''s figure shimmered, then she was gone.

    "CAO!" Alan swore. Invisibility! He immediately replaced his glasses with a pair enchanted with Detect Foe. "Ta-made!"

    He despaired. Whatever Alesia was using, it was higher than his tier 4 detection. The redhead was trouble; he just knew it! How the hell was he going to find her without causing a scene? Also, did the woman even know where she was going?

    Thankfully, he had marked her earlier with a Detect Ally, if he could¡ª

    His Divination came up empty.

    Alan''s forehead quickly grew icky with perspiration. A foreign agent did not just go rogue on his watch!

    Tapping his comm-device, Alan considered dialling the Tower.

    No. The Magus told himself. He had no interest in career suicide. Not even the reputation of the Ma family was enough to stave off a monumental fuck-up like losing a Cat-4 VIP in the middle of a crowded university district.

    De Botton couldn''t have gotten far. He hoped. If he walked around, maybe he would spot her again, and he could then plead with her to follow at least the basic guidelines of a visiting dignitary, such as no activation of ilicit magic within the city''s limits.

    Please, please, please! He prayed to his ancestors for guidance. Don''t start a magical battle in the middle of Shanghai!

    VOOMPH-BANG!

    Alesia answered Walken''s welcome with a Fireball.

    It was wholly unintentional, for she had planned to speak to the bastard, but when the cunt''s castor-oil voice came through the corridor, her lips and her hands moved on their own.

    Instantly, the empowered Fireball enveloped the small apartment.

    Without a Spirit, her spell''s range and damage were difficult to control, but Alesia felt confident that she had grown since Sydney''s fall. At first, when she became well again to practice the craft, she had found herself crippled by the death of her Crimson Caracal, a near-sentient partner which had accompanied her since the Coral Sea Conflict. According to Gunther, it was because she had lost a portion of her Astral Body to the Djinn.

    While she recovered, attuning herself to a life without her caracal, healing her crippled Astral Body with Elven elixirs from the Swiss Alps, she found that her connection to the Elemental Plane of Fire had expanded. Gunther suspected it had to do with the fleeing Djinn leaving a portion of its Essence in her Astral Body and suggested she should see a medical Magister, but Alesia''s preference was for privacy.

    And so, the Scarlet Sorceress marked the unexpected boon as just one of those things that happened in life, like food poisoning, or curry tacos.

    Unfortunately for Walken, her control was still in development.

    The orange fire filled the corridor, then blew out the bathroom, the kitchenette and the front door. In the next moment, a backwash of flaming paper filled the living room, indicating that Walken had activated a protective barrier.

    "Alesia!" came the man''s panicked voice. "Don''t! We''re in a tier 1 city!"

    "Ha!" Alesia laughed. She had come with a plan!

    She hadn''t just come to Shanghai as a waif with a cudgel and a grudge. Just as Walken had his Grey Faction, she knew people who loathed Walken in the Middle Faction. Even without Gunther''s explicit instruction, certain Magisters in Pudong were happy to see the recently resurgent Walken taken down a rung.

    If maiming Walken was an option, she would have welcomed it, but it wasn''t something she could realistically carry out without ramifications for Gunther''s working relationship with the Greys. Instead, her plan was for both herself and Walken to be kicked out of Shanghai, saving Gwen from future harassment. After scorching Walken a medium-rare and concluding with their arrest, she would enjoy a brief diplomatic immunity, one that was enough to pound some sense into her sister-in-craft while Walken took the next cargo freighter to the Congo.

    "Combust! Combust! Fireball!"

    She kept her assault fast, low-tier and straightforward. Too much power and she couldn''t control the damage, too low and they wouldn''t attract the necessary attention.

    Crack!

    A burst of lightning discharge indicated that Walken had teleported outside.

    "Blink!"

    Alesia followed suit. This time, she had ensured that her clothes were all element-weaved. In Shanghai, she had no desire to be arrested sans her intimates.

    Walken was making a run for it, rapidly deploying Dimension Door to move from rooftop to rooftop, making for the older sectors of the university district, where clumped clusters of concrete buildings still stood, awaiting demolition.

    "Flaming Arrows!"

    She harassed her target even as he hopped through time and space.

    Sonnova bitch! She cursed. The prick refused to join spells or trade attacks, merely fleeing for it like a grey rat down a sewer. Alesia growled. Either way, she was determined that by the day''s end, Walken would be homeless.

    The woman''s Fireball was no longer crimson, but it was all too familiar.

    Alesia de Botton! Eric Walken groaned. De Botton was a rabid honey badger when it came to her tenacity, and there was no way he could see himself prying open her jaws.

    To achieve that, he needed his student.

    In all honesty, he had not anticipated that his prot¨¦g¨¦e would so soon become his spell-shield. That Gwen may one day untangle the mess he found himself in had always been a part of his design, though having his old nemesis charging through an actual ISTC went beyond even his expectations.

    It must have been the broadcasted IIUC ceremony, he realised, though he had no idea how De Botton watched CCVC-1.

    Should he have stayed hidden? Walken wondered if once again, his student''s pride had catalysed his own. After Burma, he had wanted to stand beside her and show the Grey Faction that they were right to welcome him back into the fold.

    At the same time, he WAS proud of the girl. Why wouldn''t he? She used his magic, ignored his advice, then accidentally liberated a country. That''s an accomplishment for which he could surely take credit. Even now, he was going to gift her with his improved variant of Planar Ally.

    But how could he convince de Botton of his "best" intentions?

    KABOOM!

    A wave of scorching heat washed over his back, dispersed by his Wind Wall. In his mind, he could feel Aella demanding to be released. Were he to match de Botton seriously, Walken was confident in his victory so long as they could enter a sturdy and enclosed space, a condition easily fulfilled in a city of concrete.

    But after that?

    Did de Botton think he was an idiot to fight her in public?

    "Gwen!" Not wanting to end the encounter with de Botton in a coma and a livid Gwen voiding their partnership, he activated his Message device.

    "Eric!" came the reply. "Your apartment''s on fire!"

    "I am heading for the training hall at Yi-fu No.2!" Walken Dimensioned Doored once more. "We can''t let her damage any of the buildings."

    "Flame Torrent!"

    A whirlpool of fire engendered where Walken had just landed, sending the pedestrians fleeing unharmed in all directions. Beside him, the trees burst into flames.

    "Alesia! NO!" came Gwen''s voice behind him, made audible by Clarion Call. "Calm down! Don''t fight!"

    "I''ll meet you inside!" Walken switched channels on his comm-device. "Jiang! De Botton''s after me!"

    "Is that why my western entrance is on fire?" came the reply from Luo. "Who initiated?"

    "She did! I am now headed to Yifu No.2 with Gwen, can you tie up the media and the police until I need them? Get Pudong to send someone!"

    "Cao! I''ll call the Tower!" The Message dropped.

    Another Fireball erupted, this time taking out a bench and a trashcan, immolating the jade-green lawn as it singed his hair and beard.

    Walken Dimension Doored once more so that he was right beside the training hall, then slipped inside to await the arrival of both his executioner and his saviour.

    Watching Gwen effortlessly abuse their Master''s Signature Dimension Door made Alesia feel both proud and very much annoyed.

    "Alesia! NO!" the girl called out, then appeared a few meters away in a flash of blue-white lightning.

    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    In the distance, there was already the sound of sirens.

    "You''re looking well." Alesia rested a hand on her hips. "Chumming with Walken, eh?"

    "Oh, for God''s sake Allie, not here, and not now!" Alesia''s little sister pleaded with her, squirming with a desperation that tickled Alesia''s vengeful spirit. "You''re as rash as fire!"

    "And Walken is as false as air!" Alesia snapped. "That man killed our Master!"

    "He did not!" the girl screeched back, her face glowing scarlet. "He was tricked! Just like you and me! Did you forget? It was us who brought Debora into the Tower, remember? WE DID IT!"

    "HOW DARE YOU!" Alesia''s complexion matched the hue of raw liver. Why in God''s name was her sister-in-craft defending Walken? What the fuck did Walken feed her, or had she misjudged her little sister? Did Gwen whore herself to Walken for only a few measly high-tier spells?

    "I am going inside," came a churlish retort from her sister-in-craft as she propped an ID against the security panel. "You can stay here, or you can blow us up!"

    "You little¡­" Alesia snapped. "You think you''re all grown up, and now you¡ª"

    The girl was gone.

    "FUCK!" Alesia forced her shoulder against the glass.

    The sound of the fire brigade, and what she presumed were Tower Mages, were coming closer now. They had ten, fifteen minutes at best, and in that time, she was determined to teach the little hussy a lesson in humility.

    "YOU THERE!" She snapped at an attendant cowering behind the counter. "Open the door at once! Either way, I am coming in!"

    Gwen stomped her way down the passageway, followed by a raging female Ifrit in the form of Alesia de Botton.

    Good, she told herself. As she had guessed, resetting Alesia''s mental pace wasn''t impossible. Her once-instructor, now-sister was as straight as a Flaming Arrow as they come. What pissed her off though, now that she thought about it, was the fact that there was no fucking way Gunther did not have any idea that Alesia was about to pay her a surprise visit, and that her senior lacked the gonads to send out a warning. The way Alesia behaved, it was as though she had caught her red-handed with gore, like when Henry found his wife in that Hungarian catacomb.

    Once inside, the trio formed into an awkward triumvirate.

    "Ling. Barriers up, please." Gwen sent the command to the administration desk.

    A thrum of magic ensured the trio of their temporary privacy.

    "Sis." Gwen put on a happy face. "Welcome to Shanghai!"

    "Don''t call me that!" Alesia growled, her blue eyes sparkling motes of fire. "Not until you clear up this bullshit."

    "Too easy." Gwen played it cool. "Eric Walken is indebted to me. I blackmailed him into teaching me magic."

    "What?" Alesia looked to Walken, clearly not expecting something so sensibly plausible.

    "Ah¡ª" Walken caught on without missing a beat. "Gwen, that''s confidential!"

    "I trust Allie." Gwen moved closer to Alesia, placing herself between her instructors. "She probably thought you were manipulating me, isn''t that right, Alesia? It''s the opposite, I assure you. Walken is under my watchful eye."

    "Are you lying to me?" Alesia narrowed her eyes. "Are you patronising me?"

    "Wouldn''t dream of it." Gwen lowered her arms. "Come on, Alesia, think about it. I''ve got dirt on him, and he''s teaching me so that he''s not homeless. It''s a win-win for me."

    "I saw you hug him."

    "Ah¡ª" Gwen attempted to laugh the matter off as inconsequential. "What''s in a hug?"

    "He was all chummy!"

    "We were on vid-cast." Gwen felt dirty as the words left her lips. Was it all for the show? Her feelings were ambivalent. She''d felt genuinely happy and grateful that some credit went to Walken, who had given her just the right amount of advice to deal with the cluster-fuck in Kachin. "It''s all for show."

    "Magus de Bottom." Walken approached.

    "Fuck off!"

    "You got it." Walken backed away.

    "Alesia." Gwen came closer with her arms open, having a second go at diplomacy. "I am so happy that you''re here. You have no idea how much I''ve missed you and Gunther."

    "No! No! NO!" Alesia muttered darkly. "This won''t do."

    "Why not?" Gwen made a face. "It was a misunderstanding. Walken''s an employee whose job is to get me through the IIUC. Gunther knows this. He told me¡ª"

    "Gunther knew this?" Alesia''s temper abruptly peaked.

    FUCK! Gwen inwardly keened.

    "I called Gunther as soon as I found out the Dean dug up Walken as an instructor. You should know that I got very emotional. When he came into my class, I was this close to Consuming him."

    "This is true," Walken called out. "On my Astral Soul, your hellcat tried to scratch out my eyes."

    "SHUT UP!"

    Walken shut up.

    "So, Gunther knew?" Alesia demanded.

    "Er¡­ I asked him for permission."

    "So he told you to chum with this fucker?" Alesia''s hair was rising; she looked like she could eat liars like air.

    "Allie!" Gwen dialled up her big green puppy-eyes. "Please don''t be so mad, Allie. I am so happy you''re here. There''s so much I want to tell you and show you."

    "MAD? I AM FUCKING STOKED" Alesia exploded once again. "THAT GUY KILLED OUR MASTER!"

    "Er¡ª" Walken raised a hand. "Correction¡­"

    "ALESIA!" Gwen pulled back her sister''s attention. "I am an Omni-Mage now- all thanks to Walken. How about that, huh? Master would be super proud."

    "What the fuck is an Omni-Mage?" Alesia spat.

    "Wow," a snort escaped from Walken.

    "You''re a dead man!" Alesia began. "Gwen, I swear to Gunther, if you don''t kick his ass right this second¡ª"

    "ALLIE!" Gwen snapped back. The air froze as Dragonfear permeated the space between them, silencing Alesia.

    Her sister-in-craft glared at Gwen, then retaliated with an intensity of her own, one generated from the numberless atrocities she had committed in the name of humanity.

    "You''ve got some nerve¡ª"

    "DUEL ME!" Gwen could think of little else to relieve Alesia of her pent-up frustration. "I want to show you what I managed to fleece from Walken. Come on. Me and you, sister on sister. Let me prove to you that our Master would have been proud."

    Alesia paused.

    "Duel me?" Her lips curled cruelly. "Little Gwen, you want to duel me?"

    "YES!" Gwen motioned for Walken to fuck off. "Me and you, mano a mano, first to yield. Oxford style."

    "Oh?" Alesia seemed to have forgotten all about Walken. Her blue irises began to turn purple. "You''re serious."

    "Dead serious." Her own eyes glimmered with blue lightning. "If I win, forget about Walken. We''ll go for cocktails and lobsters afterwards."

    "And if I win?"

    "I''ll kick Walken out."

    "Can I¡ª"

    "NOT NOW, ERIC!" Gwen shouted back. "Go tell the fuzz we''re busy here."

    The two women watched as Walken exited the hall.

    "You''re going to regret helping that snake." Alesia''s expression was a tempest raining fire.

    "I''ll be the judge of that. Allie, do you have a Spirit right now?" Gwen took a step back. "Surely Gunther has got you a new one?"

    "You''ll find out." Alesia kicked away her stilettos. Pulling her hair back, she made a bun. "I am not fucking around, Gwennie. Are you?"

    "I''ll go easy on you," Gwen smirked, likewise knotting her hair. "Caliban! Ariel!"

    Caliban slithered into being, discarding its Invisibility.

    "SHAAA!" It wagged its lamprey-tentacles at Alesia.

    "EEee!" Ariel made itself known, wagging its fishtail.

    "You better beware," Gwen informed her sister-in-craft. "I going to show you how much I''ve grown."

    Alesia cracked her neck, then her fingers.

    "Ready?"

    Their eyes met.

    "Ready."

    "Cinder!"

    "Flashbang!"

    Gwen cursed as her split-second spell failed to catch the dashing Alesia, grazing her sister-in-craft but failing to stun her. Caliban simultaneously charged, transforming into its spider form while Ariel took to the air to act as her spy-station and living turret.

    "Combust!" The next spell came from Alesia, a split-second Evocation which Gwen had never seen.

    "Lighting Bo¡ª"

    Her double-bolt was caught half-way when without warning, a mote of ember from Alesia''s earlier Cinder cantrip expanded into a roaring Fireball, catching her entirely off-guard.

    "Oof!" An intense heat licked her torso and her chest, sending her flying backwards. Were it not for her sturdy constitution and overwhelming VMI, the feedback from her twin Lightning Bolt would have thrown her onto the floor.

    "SHAAA!" Caliban closed in, its claws locked for capturing one of its favourite humans. According to its master, merely pinning her would suffice.

    "Stun Blast!" Came the next spell from Alesia, invoked one-handed. When the shockwave engendered, the blast sent Caliban skittering backwards, while Alesia propelled forward toward Gwen.

    SHIT! Gwen landed on her shoulder, then rolled into a dive just like how Alesia had taught her so long ago. "Dimension Door!"

    "Blink! Flame Whip!"

    Somehow, Alesia could predict where she was going to land. Appearing simultaneously, her former instructor caught Gwen by the ankle with her whip, seriously lacerated her white running shoes, then pulled Gwen with terrific force into the air.

    Meanwhile, Gwen''s lightning washed over her sister-in-craft, setting off a wave of defiant sparks as her Transmutation-enhanced body absorbed her tier 6 Lightning.

    Passive magic? Her mind raced. Alesia could buff herself with silent incantations? As expected of the Scarlet Sorceress, she had grown far more powerful since Blackwattle.

    WHAM!

    Gwen slammed bodily into the Force Barrier, feeling her innards turn inside out. Madly circulating her Essence, she quickly spun, clearing her head with a restorative jolt, then kicked hard at the ground so that she pulled at Alesia'' whip.

    "Woa!" Alesia lost her footing. Even with her Transmutation Enhancements, Gwen''s draconic-strength was stronger.

    "Lightning Bolt!"

    "EEee!"

    "Flame Avatar!"

    Twin bolts struck where Alesia stood, warping the barrier below. Alesia appeared to be stunned, but just as Gwen used the reprieve to stand, Alesia''s red dress burst into orange flames, transforming her into a being of fire.

    Djinn-form? Gwen blinked. Alesia looked just like Jun with his Ashen Avatar activated. Either way, it meant the difficulty had escalated.

    "I thought you were going all out?" Alesia lifted into the air; her near-perfect proportions made impossibly sensual now that her eyes were burning coals and her hair was a river of firefly embers. "Nice Affinity, by the way. I took some damage. Why aren''t you using your Void Magic?"

    "Well." Gwen licked her parched lips. "You''ll have to make me! CALIBAN! ARIEL!"

    "Maelstrom!" Alesia drew a circle in the air.

    HOLY FUCK! Gwen sucked in a breath of super-heated air: at-will tier 6 Evocation?!

    "Elemental Sphere!" Gwen retaliated with an AOE of her own. Behind Alesia, she commanded Caliban to no longer hold back. With a grotesque sound of bone and meandering flesh, it transformed into the stag and activated its sixteen prehensile tentacles.

    Above, Ariel grew full-fluffed.

    FOOMP!

    A portal opened into the Elemental Plane of Fire. A sudden vortex descended, pulling Gwen and both of her Familiars into the swirling flames.

    "SHAA!" Caliban''s tentacles whipped around the stationary Alesia, capturing her flaming body. A great sizzling of grey slime polluted the air as the netherworld fiend used the Maelstrom''s owner as an anchor, sliding its appendages around her limbs and torso.

    Gwen''s Elemental Sphere erupted, though from what she could see, some of its power appeared to have been deadened by the overwhelming volume of Elemental Fire that now filled the vicinity of the training platform. Indeed, it was becoming difficult to breathe, and what air that remained had now heated up to such a degree that she could feel her clothes fraying.

    Crack! The second stage of Elemental sphere erupted, enveloping Alesia.

    "Void Skin!" Gwen cooled herself before she felt faint from heatstroke.

    "Bilby''s Hand!" came another higher-tier spell from her opponent.

    "Shield!" Gwen fell on the defensive. Instantly, the semi-dome turned opaque from the impact, though thanks to her absurd VMI, it held.

    "Use your killing spell!" a command came from Alesia. "Don''t be a sissy!"

    "Morden''s Hound!" Gwen cursed the fact that there was no fucking way she was going to use Chakram Seekers on her newly recovered sister-in-craft. Without IFF from Caliban, she wasn''t about to risk wiping out yet another portion of Alesia''s Astral Body.

    Alesia continued to pound her shield, but Gwen had plenty of mana left to not only sustain but regenerate the damaged portion.

    "GRRRR!"

    "AWWWOOOOO!"

    Her hounds emerged.

    "SHAAA!" Caliban asked for permission to gore Alesia. Gwen denied her creature''s bloodthirsty demand.

    "Cali! Keep her tied up!"

    "Flame Nova!" Alesia''s response was to unleash a ring of cutting, expanding fire from her torso, slicing apart Caliban''s restraints.

    "SHAAA!" A viscous grey ichor sprayed into the air, evaporating as it touched Alesia''s flaming form.

    "Lightning Bolt!"

    Alesia''s flaming form absorbed the blue-white lightning.

    Gwen commanded her dogs to attack. If they too failed, then she had only one recourse.

    "Blade Barrier!" Alesia completed another tier 6 AoE in less time it took Gwen to manifest a supplementary tier 5 Ball Lightning.

    A thick ring of spinning, flaming blades came into being, filling the space of the training hall. Once, twice, a hundred times, her dogs were whipped up by a massive meat-grinder of fire and steel, whimpering and howling as the merciless object bit into their lightning-charged hide.

    "Ball Light¡ª"

    "Combust!"

    The small explosion happened a few inches from Gwen''s body, pressing the air from her lungs. Though a part of her exercise gear blew off, her skin was neither scorched nor blackened.

    In a way, both casters were holding back.

    "Flashbang!"

    Her spell burst over Alesia.

    She wanted to win, and Ariel would make it so.

    "Barbanginy!"

    "Blink!" Alesia had anticipated her killing spell, appearing just above the stationary Familiar, she grabbed Ariel by the horns.

    "EEE¡ª?"

    "Disintegrate!"

    "EEEEE?!"

    Before the green energy ball could emerge, a beam from Alesia''s hand, near-invisible in its extreme heat, removed Ariel''s horns with the precision of a veterinarian surgery.

    Gwen sputtered as Barbanginy''s extreme energy clogged her conduits. To secure victory, she had fed a double-dose of Essence-infused Elemental Sphere into Ariel, and now that energy sloshed back into her Astral Body.

    She fucked up! Gwen realised. Alesia''s casting speed for tier 6 spells was faster than her tier 5 Evocations, so she should have gone with a basic Lightning Bolt. Six seconds might seem a split-second to those watching a duel, but to someone like her sister-in-craft, it was enough to kick her to the curb and gutter-stomp her face.

    "EEEE!" Ariel sprung into a blind panic, assaulting Gwen''s empathic link. Where the hell did its horns go? Not only that, it had lost most of its mane where the horns had been. It was now bald!

    As for Ariel''s master, Essence-infused mana now flooded her Astral Body.

    "Caliban!" Gwen called out desperately for Caliban to assume its Naga form, surprised by just how hard she was willing to fight for Walken. "DO IT!"

    "SHAAA!" came a cry from Caliban even as it struggled against the Maelstrom.

    At that moment, Gwen''s eyes rolled to the back of her head, and she felt for the first time in a long time, the exquisite agony of an old fashioned mana burn.

    "STOP!" Came a cry from the speaker system. "Operator! Purge the room!"

    A second thrum filled the chamber, though the magic-deadening wasn''t for Gwen nor Caliban. With her mind in chaos, Caliban de-materialised, returning to its pocket dimension, joining a traumatised, hornless, hairless Ariel.

    The fire on Alesia''s body dimmed until it was barely a whisper of orange licking the air. Simultaneously, her wide-range AoE ceased.

    "HRRUK!" Gwen expelled Walken''s scones, toast and jam all over the floor. She looked up at Alesia with runny eyes and wounded pride. "NO! I can still fight!"

    "I know you can, tiger." Alesia sighed, her fury drained by the sight of her sister''s suffering. "You win."

    "Owww!" Gwen flopped over, then writhed on the floor. "My head¡­"

    "You''ve proven your point." Alesia intoned sagely, dispelling her Flame Avatar. "You handicapped yourself while I almost gave everything I had. Still, I saw your skills on the vid-cast, you should have..."

    Gwen began to pound the floor. "GHNNNGH!"

    "Tiger?" Alesia realised Gwen wasn''t listening at all.

    "Blurrrgh!" Gwen vomited yet again, this time her ejecta was mostly tea and stomach acid. She wondered if her brain would leak out of her ears, or if her mana conduits would erupt. Heedlessly, she rolled across her own sick, splashing about the floor groaning and moaning like a dying fish. In her Pocket Dimensions, Caliban howled, while Ariel whimpered. Unbidden, she began to convulse even as her face took on the texture and hue of raw pastry.

    Beside the epileptic Gwen, her sister-in-craft grew suddenly nervous.

    Phssht!

    The doors to the chamber clanged open. In came Dean Luo, Walken, Magus Ma and a troop of Military Mages from both the PLA and the Pudong Tower.

    "Gwen!" the Dean ran to his trophy Mage with a face full of genuine worry. "Mao! What have you done to her?"

    "It''s just¡­ a duel¡­" a croaking voice came from the girl. "My sister''s teaching me¡­"

    Walken likewise knelt beside Gwen, looking as though he wanted to help the girl. However, the Magister stopped short of picking his student up from the floor. With a critical glare, he turned his disapproving eyes up toward his ward''s sister-in-craft.

    "Ma says that''s her shijie." A PLA Military Mage shivered.

    "Brutal¡­ too brutal." Another shook his head. "Gweilos are heartless, eh?"

    "They only care about winning."

    "Do you mind?" Walken indicated to the girl on the floor, his lips thin and hypercritical. "Do I have your permission to take her to the infirmary?"

    By now, Alesia''s face was flashing red and white.

    "I''ll do it!" The sorceress picked up her sister-in-craft. Gwen fell into her sister''s soft body as she grew increasingly senseless. The last thing she heard was Alesia conversing with the others.

    "Miss de Botton." Alan bowed his head, then indicated to the Military Mages. "Magister Walken and Dean Luo have chosen not to press charges, but we need you on the record¡­"

    "I understand." Alesia''s worry for her sister-in-craft overshadowed her desire to drag Walken down with her. "I''ll meet you outside the infirmary. Can someone lead me there?"

    The crowd parted.

    The Scarlet Sorceress departed with her sibling-in-craft.

    When the door clicked, the Dean turned to his Grey Faction colleague with an amused expression.

    "I got some of the paparazzi to surround the front. I think it''s going to make a nice headline," he remarked. "Why were you winking at her? The girl''s going to be bed-ridden for days."

    Walken exhaled, then appeared both embarrassed and anxious. He glanced at the expelled scones on the floor, then wrinkled his nose.

    "I thought she was faking it¡­"

 Chapter 271 - Fair Winds and Ill Tides

    The underwhelming headlined, "Hellish Training at Fudan: Gwen Song Injured!" made the fourth page of the People''s Telegraph, accompanied by an apology from Alesia de Botton, Heroine of the Coral Sea Conflict, and a hefty fine in CCs and HDMs for illicit use of magic. A day later, a second statement from Magister Gunther Shultz crawled its way through the grapevine.

    "Miss Gwen Song''s relationship with Magus de Botton and I will be clarified in time." The charismatic man smiled for the lumen-recorders. "At this point, the details are well known to those who have a right to know. Until then, I wish our sorceress fair winds in her endeavours."

    The last remark was well calculated, leading to yet more speculation. Some professional commentators stated that it made perfect sense for Gwen Song to be Henry Kilroy''s hidden disciple, for her access to not one, but two unique Familiars smacked firmly of the later Tower Master''s most lauded area of magic.

    Others critiqued that this was yet another attempt by outside forces to subvert the fairness of the IIUC, hinting that someone with as much influence as Shultz should not be publicly backing a candidate.

    Meanwhile, the victim of the fiasco herself spent two days at her grandmother''s hospital with mana sickness, falling in and out of fatigued sleep as her body recovered.

    "You can manifest TWO of those spells at once?" Alesia sat on one side of Gwen''s bed, while Walken sat on the other.

    "Ariel duplicates them through its horns..." Gwen cuddled the mewling Kirin as it sat between her legs. Below, Caliban coiled under the bedstand. Thanks to her babulya''s influence, a VIP room at the Second PLA hospital was an absolute certainty.

    "Eee! EE!" Ariel cried out.

    "It''s growing back!" Gwen kissed her Familiar''s scalp. "I can see some fuzz already."

    "Sorry..." Alesia patted Ariel''s silky fish-tail.

    Arriving at the hospital had been a harrowing experience for the Scarlet Sorceress. When Alesia had finally met Gwen''s frantic grandmother, her shame was so dire that all of her prideful arrogance dissolved at once. She apologised profusely to the grim-faced old lady whom Gwen had repeatedly labelled the kindest human being on this living earth, barring their late master.

    On the opposite side, seeing Alesia so cowed filled Walken with satisfaction, for he had finally found a hard counter to the indomitable Alesia de Botton''s fiery impulses. In his memory, Kilroy never fully reigned in Alesia. Without Kilroy, Gwen and Alesia were made of far more malleable metal.

    But that would come later. For now, Alesia''s temporary loss of temerity afforded Walken a chance to initiate a Grey Faction speciality. With great solemnity, he slid forward an elegant wooden box bound with plated mithril and etched gold.

    "Magus de Botton, for a while now, I had hoped to return this to its rightful holder. In offering this olive branch between us, I hope I can be of some help to yourself, Magister Shultz, and of course, our mutual student."

    Seeing that Alesia appeared hesitant, Gwen took the liberty of opening the brass-buckled lid. Within, twelve egg-sized Ioun Stones winked back at the pair of suddenly emotional women.

    "Master''s collection!" Alesia gasped.

    "Opa made these!" Gwen touched a hand to her lips, then corrected herself. "Well, some of these¡­"

    "Only a few are truly precious," Walken explained. "Though a prismatic set is all the rarer when gathered. Would you like an introduction? I don''t think either of you has seen Henry''s completed collection."

    "YES!" Gwen''s eyes sparkled. Ioun Stones were a girl''s best friend.

    Alesia relented.

    "Let''s begin with the brilliant-cut Garnet," Walken began, pointing to the first stone. "Henry picked this one up in Tanzania while suppressing the Popobawa, a kind of primordial vampire. It allows one to resist physical side-effects, such as being stunned."

    "Ooo..." Gwen felt her fingers twitch.

    "That one''s a trilliant-cut Amethyst. Believe it or not, Henry said he found this one inside a Bone Golem in Tajikistan, guarding the tomb of an old Necromancer. It grants protection against Necromantic magic."

    "This one is a mixed-cut Aquamarine: that''s a gem with an easy history. Kilroy received this one during the Coral Sea War. I am fairly certain you were there, Alesia. Gunther retrieved it during that clash in Hamilton, do you recall?"

    "The one with the seahorses? Their spurt-lances was a bitch to deal with."

    "Yes, the Wave Riders," Walken corrected her. "The Captain of the Coral Knights of Queen Zeim had this on his helmet."

    Alesia held the stone nostalgically.

    Gwen cooed with worship.

    "And now enchanted to allow water breathing and superior movement underwater." Walken moved across to the next gem, a fingernail-sized diamond. "This one''s a rare one. A Royal Asscher Radiant Diamond. What do you think it does?"

    "Be my best friend?" Gwen''s eyes gleamed at the ten-thousand fold facade refracting the light. It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

    Walken chuckled at the girl''s undisguised greed. "No. It enhances your Shield, making the surface more rigid, like a Mineral Mage. Perfect for elementalists. This next one is an emerald-cut Moss Stone, from the Elfhome of Mossvale in Ireland. It enhances positive energy, and so are useful for healers. I had thought of giving you this one before, but your negative energy would likely shatter or disable it. Your grandfather was the inscriber."

    "Aww¡­ what''s this one?"

    "Ah- that''s a Briolette-cut Alexandrite," Alesia interjected. "I recall Master receiving it from the Ural Mountains, from the Hill Dwarves of Yekaterinburg. It''s beyond precious."

    "Correct," Walken affirmed Alesia''s recollection. "The Alexandrite has an inscription-cut patented by the Enchanter-Meister Gabi Tolkowsky, containing a superior Comprehend Language engraving, allowing for communication in Sylvan, Elven, Dwarven, and twenty-seven Demi-human languages."

    Gwen gulped, her drake-tainted soul aching for the stone''s ownership.

    "And these are masterworks inscribed by Surya." Walken finger-walked through the next few. "The Brilliant Ruby enhances fire affinity and provides heat resistance. The Barion Sapphire does the same for Ice and Water Magic. The Pyramidal Topaz allows for supplementary affinity for Air and Lightning, and finally, the Tiger''s Eye empowers Earth."

    Two more Ioun Stones remained.

    "This one is a failure." Walken pointed to a Teardrop Pink Tourmaline. "Its suppose to enable mental restoration, but it instead grants resistance to poisons. I don''t know what Magus Huang was doing when he made this."

    Probably distracted by something erotic, Gwen hazarded a guess.

    "I suppose that means its rare in an unintended way." Walken shrugged. "Finally, we have another old-world Asscher-cut, this one''s a Blue Zircon, the pride and joy of Henry''s collection- it once belonged to your brother-in-craft."

    "Does Gunther know the Asscher family?" Gwen inquired, impressed with the brilliance of the Ioun Stone.

    "They''re acquainted." Alesia cleared her throat.

    "There''s a very awkward bit of modern history there¡­" Walken scratched his head. "Before the establishment of the Pan-European Treaty of Versaille after the Beast Tide, the city-states of Europe descended into a sort of resource-madness. They fought over history, grudges, religion, trade routes, colonies, new Frontiers; you name it. It was the Golden Age of Spellcraft warfare, and the two major contenders were the Reich and the Mageocracy."

    Gwen recollected that indeed, there had been mention of such things in her history books. As for "Modern History", her censored textbooks after the 1971 awakening of the Black Sea Dragon catalysed the rise of Magical Beasts around the world, coinciding with the rise of the Mermen Empires from the depth below. The pre-war period possessed nowhere near the same volume of information.

    "That''s right." Walken nodded. "Did you know Gunther''s family was involved right up to their necks? I bet he never talks about that particular part of his past, hmm? When Berlin briefly occupied Amsterdam, Gunther''s grandfather, Generalmajor Otto von Shultz, amassed a wealth of gems and artefacts, most of which Gunther had since returned to the surviving families. It''s one of the reasons why he enjoys such renown in Europe, and why he left his homeland."

    "An apologist," Alesia butted in. "That''s what some people called him."

    "Yes, well." Walken coughed. "It''s not like England hasn''t had its share of troubles. India, Burma, the razing of the Falkland Islands, those were exceptional times that called for extreme measures. In my estimation of Gunther, I think he chose to follow your Master, not because of criticism from the aristocracy, but because he had no wish to carry on what he saw as a tainted legacy. If I was the last von Shultz, carving out a new Frontier would also be my preferred Path."

    "Gunther told me his old haunt was in Bavaria, near Breitenegg. They''re minor nobility, aren''t they?"

    "Is that what he said?"

    "Yes." Alesia coughed.

    "Then that''s that," Walken agreed.

    Gwen chewed her lips, trembling with curiosity.

    "So, what does thisgem do?" Alesia changed the subject.

    "It diffuses Negative Energy." Walken watched his student''s face. "Kilroy requested it, but alas... "

    The rest was best left unsaid.

    If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    "And you''re returning this to us?" Alesia smacked her ruby-lips together. "Just like that."

    "Well, its a bribe¡­" Walken confessed openly, proud of the fact. "Are you not sufficiently placated by the return of these priceless mementoes?"

    "I see." Alesia pulled the box closer. "You shall live, for now. Gwen, what stones ya got?"

    Gwen touched a hand to the back of her head. Hidden inside her hair and adhered to her neck was her babulya''s Stone of Clarified Thought and a Comprehend Language stone. Revealing her pale, long neck, she showed them both to Alesia.

    "What''s that?" Walken pointed to an opalescent scale embedded at the base of her skull.

    "Ah, that''s Ayxin''s gift," she explained with nonchalance. "It helps me regulate my Essence."

    "Draconic Essence?"

    "Aye."

    Her two instructors looked one another in the eye.

    "You can attune up to four Stones, generally speaking." Alesia pulled back her hair to reveal that she too had a private collection, running from the base of her neck down between her attractive shoulders. "Mine are Ruby-Agate, Fire Opal. Pink Diamond, and a Blood Hematite."

    Walken whistled. "An Asscher-cut Argyle Diamond? A gift from Gunther?"

    Gwen wiggled her brows suggestively.

    "No wonder she beat you black and blue. Your sister-in-craft is running no less thanfourrare damage-amplification Ioun Stones." Walken inclined his chin at Gwen, as though a great puzzle had resolved itself. "Little wonder her cantrip was at Fireball strength."

    "Anyway." Alesia pulled out three stones - the Blue Zircon, the Radiant Diamond, and the Pyramidal Topaz. "These are yours. Pick one more."

    "May I¡­" Gwen swallowed. For someone like her, a superior translation stone was unimaginably helpful. "Have the Alexandrite? Also, can I swap the topaz for the garnet?"

    Alesia removed the purple gem and the garnet, then tossed it across the bed.

    Gwen palmed the stones.

    The Zircon would somehow mitigate some of her Negative Energy, hopefully in a manner akin to Percy''s amulet.

    The Alexandrite would improve her coherency and language options.

    The Radiant Diamond increased the rigidity of her twin-Shields.

    And finally, the Garnet would hopefully reduce the chance of her beingstunned by disruptions and counterspells.

    "Four for each of us." Alesia removed an inferior ruby from her neck, then attuned the one made by Gwen''s Opa. "The activation glyph is inside the lid of the box. I''ll take the rest to Gunther."

    "Gotcha." Gwen removed her mundane translation stones from her neck, then embedded her new accessories through the attunement ritual inside the box. The only one she kept unadorned was the diamond, for she preferred the mental-fatigue negation offered by her babulya''s gift.

    "Now that our Master''s legacy physically links us." Alesia pointed a finger to Walken. "It''ll be easier to hunt down our prey."

    Walken stared, as did Gwen.

    "That was a joke."

    "Hahaha¡­" Gwen laughed drily.

    "Hohoho¡­" Walken joined in.

    "One day, I am going to catch you red-handed." Alesia packed the box into her Storage Ring then glared at Walken. "Don''t you think for a moment that I am going to let my innocent sister fall into your grubby hands."

    "I wouldn''t dream of it." Walken put up both palms as if in defeat. "I am her humble instructor, nothing more."

    "As for you." Alesia turned toward her sister-in-craft.

    Gwen swallowed. Maybe she should have equipped the diamond.

    Alesia''s lips curled. "I am going to pound some spell-doctrine back into your head."

    By mid-October, the second round of the Asian Qualifiers had gone underway. With Fudan occupying one slot by default, the remaining teams competed for the remaining spot on Jeju Island. As for Gwen, Alesia made good on her promise of sparring her until she spewed, while Gwen retaliated by drinking Alesia under until she painted the sidewalks outside the Waldorf-Astoria.

    "Alesia, why are your spells so damn fast?" Gwen inquired as she panted against the cold training barrier. "How much practice will I need?"

    "A lot more, that and I am using Master''s variants," Alesia notified her sister-in-craft. "I''ve been provisioned all the way to tier 8... "

    One of the reasons why she had hasted-spells, Alesia explained, was because their Master improved them. That was also why she was teaching Gwen their master''s Bilby''s Hand.

    "It''s a spell you''ll grow into." Alesia left her with an oft-heard aphorism. "Since I am here, let''s do our best to get Maelstrom happening as well, shall we? Master''s variation is much easier to utilise. Get up!"

    Alesia''s Boot Camp, as expected, was hell. Compared to Walken''s training, her sister''s methods were militant to the extreme, consisting of a level of physical and mental exhaustion that challenged even Gwen''sEssence-infused stamina.

    A week later, Gwen threw a big bash to introduce Alesia to her friends and family, including Ayxin. When rattling off the guest list and presenting each of her Shanghai allies, Alesia grew incredulous.

    "You invited your father''s brother and a dragon-kin, but not your Mother or Father?" Alesia knew Gwen had family troubles, but the extent of her sister''s complex was only now beginning to materialise.

    "I left it to babulya to invite father," Gwen corrected her sister-in-craft. "I feel awkward with his new kid, and his wife hates me... you know?"

    As an orphan twice-over, Alesia felt she wasn''t qualified to comment. She had only Gunther and Gwen to speak of, and her fianc¨¨ loathed the topic of his family.

    A day later, the gathering took place at the Four Seasons'' panoramic-lounge overlooking the Bund. There, Gwen graciously introduced Alesia to the famous PLA Captain known as the Ash Bringer, as well as the woman-shaped dragon, Ayxin of Huangshan.

    "Nonsense, how could I compare to the Scarlet Sorceress?" Jun''s modesty was pleasing to Alesia, who loathed her fame, especially when it transformed into infamy following the incident with Walken. The number of times Alesia had to accept duels because she couldn''t withstand the goading couldn''t be counted even with her toes.

    While the two military professionals exchanged humblebrags, Gwen made small talk with Ayxin about her eldest.

    "Ruxin says he couldn''t have done it without you." Ayxin regarded Gwen with suspicion, studying the girl''s aesthetic physique. For the occasion, Gwen wore a strapless halter-dress that juxtaposed a Victorian front with an almost scandalously revealing back. "You''re not involved with my brother, are you?"

    "What? No!" Gwen spluttered. "Ruxin is like, five-hundred? I am far too young for him, and he''s far too old."

    "But you''re at the prime breeding age for humans, are you not?"

    "WOA!" Gwen waved her hands. "Word choice!"

    "What''s this, does Gwen have a beau?" Alesia butted in, having heard the B-word.

    "Both of my brothers are keen on your sister-in-craft," Ayxin taunted Jun''s niece. "Two Princes of Huangshan, one effectively a demi-god by human standards, she should be so flattered."

    "They''re both dragons¡­" Gwen added flatly.

    "Ah," Alesia teased Gwen about her fictional flings with the draconic demi-humans. "I would very much like to meet them one day. I don''t know how Gunther would feel about you dating dragons, I mean, we''re the Middle Faction, but hey, true love and all that."

    "Bloody hell, Allie¡ª" Gwen felt her back beginning to sweat. Ruxin was cool. His human form was a rung above Gunther, and the guy was diplomatic to boot, possessing just the right amount of goofiness, but Golos? Golos meeting Alesia? What would be the first thing out of his mouth? It was probably something like, "Oi, nice Fire Element, want sum fuk?" Followed by instant decapitation by Gunther. After that? The awakening of the Yinglong and the fall of Shanghai into the South China Sea.

    "I would very much like to meet this Gunther of yours as well," Ayxin politely addressed Gwen''s mentor. "The Morning Star''s prowess, if what Jun says is true, is on par with Ruxin, though I find it difficult to believe that a human could attain such destructive potential."

    "The rumours don''t do him justice." Gwen chuckled. "He once decapitated a Leviathan with one spell."

    "Then he must be a most impressive specimen!" Ayxin''s voice took on a sudden seriousness. "Miss Alesia, if you have mated with Magister Shultz, why have you not spawned offspring?"

    "What?" Alesia spluttered. "You mean babies? Well, I mean- we''re not planning, not really¡­"

    "I would like to know the details." Ayxin leaned in closer. "Are you having trouble conceiving? I require knowledge of how higher-tier Mages manage physiological..."

    "Gwen, come here." Jun pulled her away. "Go join your cousins and your friends."

    "Uncle, I am eighteen. I know how the dragons and the phoenixes work."

    "Just¡­ go. Please?"

    Gwen sighed.

    "I''ll be over there."

    Jun exhaled with relief, then guided the gossiping women toward a private corner.

    "Welcome back." Petra was having fun ingratiating herself into the team. As a trained professional, Gwen''s cousin slid into the ranks as easily as a Spellcube into her Storage Ring.

    "Thanks." Gwen took a glass of red wine from an attentive waiter. "How''s everyone going?"

    "Training day and night." Jiro was in seventh heaven when he found out that the Flower of Fudan would be a permanent addition to the team. According to his overzealous confession, he''d been crushing hard on Petra since he was a first-year. "I am at the moment mastering Bounding Flames after witnessing your Chain Lightning. Miss Petra, all my spells are at your disposal!"

    "I am flattered." Petra clinked glasses with the Fire Mage. "I shall use them well."

    Jiro''s joy grew boundless. "Ow!"

    Rene kicked him in the shins.

    "How are the Spirits coming along?" Gwen asked both Petra and Lulan.

    "A long way to go." Lulan seemed crestfallen. "I am still having a hard time against Jinwei. The Spirit is difficult to control."

    "Aww." With a warm hug, Gwen assured her friend that her setback was temporary. "Lulu. I am confident you''ll be able to master it and surprise us all."

    "Gwennie?" Mayuree materialised, looking cute as a button in a lace mini dress.

    "Mia! Where did you go?"

    "A parcel arrived for us at the concierge." Mayuree raised her Storage Ring, then retrieved a Message Stone. "It''s from Marong. He says it contains critical information for our next matches."

    The rest of the team huddled.

    "Let''s take this somewhere private," Gwen recommended theymove to a separate room. Perhaps in deference to Alesia, their instructor had not attended her party.

    Mayuree invoked the secret glyph.

    "Gwen, Marong here. I''ve got some information you might be interested in." The young man''s voice came through the stone. "This won''t hit the news for another week, but here are the latest payouts from the betting houses¡­"

    Mayuree translated Marong''s bookie lingo into a breakdown of their future opponents.

    Oxford University was the top seed, the big dog, the proverbial sky above the sky, offering a mere one-point-two in odds to win the whole damn thing.

    They were followed shortly by Europe''s winners who beat France, Spain and Italy: Germany''s Ludwig Maximilian University, and to no one''s surprise, London''s Royal Imperial Sorcerous College. Famously, the European competition was a microcosmic IIUC of its own accord, dubbed the "group of death", it was a warm-up to the Europe-only Inter-European University Cup in April.

    Then came the Americans, Stanford University and the Massachusetts Institute of Thaumaturgy in Cambridge, the east and west of a nation bisected by endless Purple and Black Zones from the deserts of Nevada to the Saurian wetlands of Mississippi.

    After the favourites, came the underdogs.

    Asia''s twin participants consisted of Fudan University and Tokyo University, surprisingly boasting even odds, despite Tokyo''s rank superiority.

    Oceania''s representative consisted of the University of Auckland and Nanyang Spellcraft University from the fortress city of Singapore. Thanks to the Mermen invasion, Australia''s top institutions had been thrown into chaos, and so rescinded their participation, paving the way for Auckland. Nanyang was itself strongly affiliated with Oxford and Cambridge, established after alumni broke from the Mageocracy to support Singapore''s independence in the 50s.

    Meso and South America''s winners were Cuzco National University and The School of the Golden Sun. Both were unorthodox colleges only recently with skin in the game, having embraced the teaching of Spellcraft a mere three decades prior and very much influential in fields yet unexplored by modern Spellcraft.

    Finally, from North Africa, Cairo University and its southern sibling, the Sorcerous Academy of Pretoria, originally an offshoot of London Imperial, marked the challenge from the continent with the largest demi-human presence.

    "Holy hell." Gwen grimaced. "What world-rank are we?"

    Petra''s lips pursed. "154th."

    "Wow!" Gwen almost swirled the wine back into her glass. "What kind of competition are we looking at?"

    "You sure you want to know?"

    "Better now than later."

    "Oxford is the undisputed No.1 Magical institution for Spellcraft, followed by Stanford, MITand London Imperial vying for No.2 to 5. Tokyo is 29th. Nanyang is 12th, I think. LMU is 24th. Auckland is in the 90s, and Pretoria in the 80s. The only universities in our range are Cairo at 224th, Cuzco at 197th and Golden Sun at 162nd."

    "Which means our next competitors should be someone close to us in our rankings." Anita had done her homework. "Next, we''ll be going against Cairo, Cuzco, or Golden Sun."

    "And assuming we win, round 2 is going to be absurdly difficult," Petra affirmed her worries. "Chances are we''ll be running into at least one university with a sub 50 rank in round 2, and if we make round 3¡­"

    The horror, the horror, Gwen shivered.

    Her teammates'' expressions suggested they could hardly believe that Fudan could face the world''s uppermost academic existences like MIT, Stanford, Oxford or London Imperial.

    She suddenly felt the feeling of being a big fish in a small pond. Compared to cities like NY, London, Paris or Berlin, the rat-race in Shanghai was not dominated by Displacer Beasts.

    With Marong''s Message played out, the team fell into poor spirits, each realising that their bright futures concurrently cast long and sinister shadows, ones that may yet swallow them all.

 Chapter 272 - How to Train your Wyvern

    Mid-October was the best time of year to visit Shanghai, for the superstructural Tower''s hazy barrier kept the city cosy as its deciduous flora turned to fire.

    At Guoding B1, above the autumn trees, Alesia and Gwen endlessly teased Gunther''s iron-willed patience. After a while, Alesia grew thirsty; when she returned, Gunther had skillfully steered the conversation toward Surya, Gwen''s grandfather.

    "Tell Opa I love him, and that I''ll be able to return in another year, two at most." Gwen said. "Thanks for looking after him, Gunther."

    After Alesia poured herself and Gwen a glass of soda, the topic shifted to closer concerns.

    "I''ve heard on the grapevine that you''re likely facing off the South or Meso American institutions first." Gunther appeared entirely relaxed. "Fudan''s low ranking may be a blessing yet. If you can defeat the rank 27th Kyoto, the less orthodox universities shouldn''t be too much trouble. There''s going to be one problem though."

    "What''s that?"

    "The lower-ranked university gets to pick the grounds, so there''s a good chance you''ll be travelling the Andes or Mexico City."

    "Wow," Gwen gushed. "I would love that."

    "Love what?" Gunther chuckled. "Do you have any idea how powerful Spirit Magic can be when used by Shamans on their home turf? The very mountain will turn against you if you''re not careful."

    "Oh¡­"

    "''Oh'' indeed," Gunther continued. "Consult Walken. He''s spent a few years here and there on the Mageocracy''s behalf. What are you hoping to accomplish in the next three weeks?"

    "Bilby''s Hand from Alesia, and Walken''s almost done with preparations for Planar Ally."

    "An Ally? It''s a risky spell- fantastic if you can manage it, but..."

    "I think I''ll manage," Gwen replied with confidence.

    "Then the best of luck to you." Gunther nodded. "Don''t force it. If the creature refuses to obey or make a deal, let it go. With your access to resources, it should be no trouble to try again when you''ve gained more mastery."

    "Thanks, Gunther."

    "No worries, and thank you for taking care of Alesia¡ª"

    "Who''s taking care of WHO?!" Alesia shouted from the couch, ready for round two.

    The LRM Device whined down.

    All that was left was to train, spar, and study.

    Nagaland.

    Jade Palace.

    Ruxin wondered what he should do next.

    He was bored, and therefore, he felt cheated.

    The reason for his ambivalence was because his treasury was empty.

    And yet, he possessed more "wealth" than in any moment of his five centuries of life. The predicament was that his "treasure" was now a string of human-numbers on a data slate.

    "My Lord, the procurement of Crystals will take close to a decade, else we shall drive up the price of your desired elemental crystals recklessly," Marong had informed him. "While I stockpile the necessary jadeite and nephrite, rest assured that your earnings have been invested. It''s split between The House of M''s jade venture, primary industries and the Centurion program. Furthermore, I have taken the liberty of inviting you to sit on the Board. The Grey Faction has consented..."

    Ruxin paced back and forth in the near-empty vault as he ruminated over Marong''s report.

    A week ago, as tit-for-tat for the Spirit Cores, the Calamity had delivered a proposal of such ruthless tyranny that even Ruxin felt bedazzled. What their young financier had proposed in a two-hundred-page document was something called commodity monopoly in conjunction with supply capture and superficial-constraint. As Kachin produced the best jadeite and nephrite bar none, she explained, they would set the classification of the precious mineral. Simultaneously, through its auction network, The House of M would hoard all higher-grade jade while weakening foreign markets with lower-tier stones sold at cost.

    Then, they would trade "Kachin Jade" as a branded commodity by propagating the idea that New Zealand greenstone and Vietnamese serpent stone were inferior facsimiles. Accordingly, when Yangon''s monopoly matured, the rarity of high and hyper-tier stones would fetch higher barter value for the crystals Ruxin desired. Furthermore, regulation capture could be enacted through feeding officials a slice of the profit- paid in jade- which would naturally ensure loyalty to the system established by the House of M.

    All of which were concepts that escaped Ruxin''s understanding of human economics.

    That, and against the girl''s knowledge, Ruxin double-dipped from her longterm investments in Tonglv, as well as the ever-swelling income from the Centurion program.

    The result was far grander than Ruxin had anticipated. Rather than razing cities and demanding ransom, these humans would race one another to pile crystals into his treasury. Where he had expected to be fighting powerful beings, he now sat on his throne, reading the paperwork and waiting for his crystals to arrive. It was a most un-dragon-like activity, one that he had engineered.

    He wondered if this was why his father slept all the time.

    "Gwen Song¡­" Ruxin felt a troubling uncertainty. "Calamity¡­"

    Once more, he ''owed'' the girl, for their exchange had grown askew. As the girl said, she liked balanced accounts, and so did Ruxin. He would have to find something else to give her. Thankfully, he had a layabout brother to spare.

    "I am bored," Ruxin confessed to the empty room. He needed what humans called a hobby. Maybe, he would tease Tika again; there''s always sport in that.

    Fifty kilometres from Shanghai, there existed a series of sandbar islands.

    An old spell-testing ground, the islands existed just outside of the PLA superstructural Tower''s coverage, forming a part of the Xima-Anshan archipelago, three hours travel by ship from Jinshan, Shanghai''s southern-most metropolitan buildup.

    The island was inhabited by friendly demi-humans who had long since adapted to living beside humanity, surviving by trading fish from the South China Sea. Though the Merman had a name for their home, human fishermen nonetheless labelled the rocky outcrop "Dawugui", meaning big turtle, while the bar of igneous rock was "Jifenjiao" or chicken-shit reef.

    Though the Mermen protested the name; it was to no avail. Shanghai''s Secretariat had no love for demi-humans from "Turd Island".

    So it was that the Jifen-folk gathered at the turtle''s most generous "turd" to witness a plot of human Mages poking at the fabric of reality with a short-stick.

    "Here-ya-go!" A skinny female gave out cans of SPAM to the small Mermen children, watching with wide-eyed wonder as they retreated with their oiled palms back to their parents.

    "You can speak our language?" Elder Lei-bup was surprised because the humans never spoke the Mermen''s accented, gibbering tongue, a language as effective in water as it was on land.

    "I suppose." The female appeared thrilled. Behind her, two senior Mages made Lei-bup nervous.

    "What are you doing here?" Lei-bup demanded, feeling more confident that this human was reasonable. The female had fur the colour of charcoal, and her complexion was like the grubs one found in rotting logs. Watching her spindly limbs, Lei-bup felt unimpressed.

    "We''re working on a summoning, and my instructors said that this was a spell-testing ground¡­" the girl grinned. "Look, I''ll minimise the damage, and compensate you for the temporary land lease, is there anything you need?"

    In his fishy guts, Lei-bup sensed that a great opportunity had arrived.

    "One hundred kilos of brown rice!" he boasted. "¡­ and ten HDMs!"

    "Done!" The gullible female struck out a hand, then passed over a currency card.

    "Gurrp!" Lei-bup shook the fleshy appendage, gifting the human a handful of his thickest secretions.

    "Gwen, whatare you doing?" Walken watched hisstudent traffic in trade with the local rabble.

    "I am trying out the Ioun Stone." The girl returned to her place beside the two Magisters. Apart from Wen and Walken, there were also observers from both the PLA and the Pudong Towers. Thankfully, de Botton was uninvited, thanks to their fiasco, she had been ordered to stay within the Tower''s range.

    Instead, he focused on the spell he had spent the last week cramming into his student''s head.

    Summon Planar Ally (Variant)

    Conjuration (6)

    Casting Time: 220 Major, 22 Minor Incantation, Tier 6 Summoning Mandala

    Range: N/A

    Components: Somatic, Verbal, Glyph, Enchanter tier 6

    Duration: N/A

    A variation modified by Magister Eric Walken of Sydney. As with Planar Ally, the spell opens a portal into an Elemental Plane activated by the caster''s Affinity via the accompanying Mandala. Upon completion, a being of a variable tier will manifest. Once conjured, negotiation with said being shall take place. The maximum time allotment is dependent on the expertise of the accompanying Enchanter inscribing the Glyph. Magister Walken''s variation allows for higher tiers of control than the original. For additional theoretical framework, please consult the documentation for Schliersberg''s Planar Ally.

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    To provide context for the spell, he had extolled the work of Magister Derik Schliersberg, a renowned summoner. Schliersberg''s family attended the region of the Schliersee Mountains, now a Green Zone of immense agricultural value. In his youth, as a passionate anthropologist, Schliersberg had travelled the known world, collating data on cultures that worshipped primal Spirits and Elemental Gods. In 1937, he finalised the first Spellcraft variation of Planar Ally, allowing Western Mages with no history of Spiritual worship to entrap and commune with Elemental beings. Since the spell''s conception, notable episodes in the Pan-European conflict, the Sino Conflict, the Sino-American War over Hawaii and the Indochina Conflict had elevated its esteem. When Magister Schliersberg reached the end of his life in 1984, a posthumous title of Meister was granted.

    Walken''s student had devoured the spell''s history with keen interest, though one caveat remained. As a part of the summoning ritual, the Conjurer was required to visualise the type of beings they desired to call. If a Conjurer served the Vatican, then something with white wings was almost assured. If one''s shamanistic faith worshipped one-eyed fire Gods, then that''s what one got.

    "Your Kurchatov''s pentagram is flawed," Wen snapped at Petra, waking Walken from his work. "Pay attention to the Glyph, not to your cousin''s dilly-dally with the local fish."

    "Yes, ma''am!"

    Walken had to admit that when Wen was at work, she was impressive. There was a commitment and dedication there that few people could attain even if they had the talent and the imagination.

    His job, conversely, was etching the Mandala with materials Gwen had acquired from Marong and the House of M. For materials, they had spared no expense. Hyper-tier materialsfrom the ichor of an Evil-Eye, mithril from Dwarven Bavaria and palladium from Ethiopia had all been paid for by his student''s seemingly endless capacity to generate wealth.Additionally, he had instructed Wen to implement a purge function.

    For both himself and Wen, as well as other invested parties, the choice of Planar Ally was two-fold. First, they were interested to know what exactly existed in the Void and what someone of her reputation could call forth. Secondly, a Planar Ally was a force-multiplier against opponents that are arguably far more skilful, proficient, powerful and learned than herself.

    "Gwen, we''re ready." Walken straightened his back with an audible groan. "There''s got to be a better way than lying on a levitation platform. I don''t remember it being this hard." `

    The finished Mandala was enormous. It was etched out on the beaten sandstone, a little larger than the size of a tennis court. For his student, Walken had spared none of her expense.

    "Petra!" Wen called out. "Inject the mana crystals!"

    From higher up on the hill, Petra materialised a crate of high-density mana crystals and placed them into a ring of glyphs leading away from the actual Glyph-structure. Walken watched as a line of raw mana turned the array a brilliant silver.

    "The re-summoning Mandala is much simpler," he assured his student. "Inscribing it will raise your proficiency with Enchantment as well."

    "Great." His student took a deep breath. "What should I expect?"

    "You''re Kilroy''s student." Walken''s eyes twinkled. "Surprise me?"

    "Alright." Gwen stepped into the portion of the circle made for her protection. "Prepare to be surprised."

    "It''s coming!" Wen called out to Walken as the Mandala lit up like a torch. "What do you think she''ll summon?"

    "Something draconic, I bet." Walken could feel his heart pounding in anticipation.

    Within the summoning chamber, a lightning-flare burst over the rune-etched landscape, materialising into a majestic shape.

    "It''s draconic!" Walken shouted over the crackling thunder.

    "Beautiful!" Wen was likewise impressed. "It looks at least tier 10, maybe higher."

    The light faded, first revealing a crowned ridge of ivory and bone, followed by a long, serpentine neck armoured with interlocking plates. At its base, a powerful chest linking two enormous bat-wings joined a robust torso held up by tree-trunk legs armoured in azure, ending with a spiked tail.

    "Eric," Wen remarked to the agape Walken. "Does that wyvern look familiar to you?"

    Gwen felt a gut-tingling sense of foreshadowing when she pumped her conduits full of Essence and Lightning. According to her instructors, the space-time magic would tear into the Quasi-Elemental Plane of Lightning to bring forth a suitably robust, and most importantly, intelligent, creature, one capable of bargaining.

    Instead, what materialised was a sight she had not expected to see for some time, one that was infeasible, considering her spell''s objective.

    With the hysterical electricity faded, Golos landed in the Summoning Mandala.

    "¡­" The Wyvern stared at the girl summoner.

    "¡­ Yo." She waved. "Fancy seeing you again. Why are you here?"

    "Hmmph!" Golos exhaled motes of lightning. "Ruxin says he is indebted to you, and therefore, I am indebted to you."

    "And what debt is that?" She cocked her head.

    "... "

    "Suit yourself." Gwen respected the Wyvern''s sulky silence, realising he may be referring to her returned ''favour''. Mayuree''s brother had been very forthcoming in stating that their new landed neighbour had tasked him to enrich the north''s resources. To ensure that the House of M did not suffer, she had thought up a ploy involving a Jade monopoly. In her old world, this was impossible due to the turmoil in Burma. In this world, with Ruxin as a backer, a few decades of De Beer style monopoly with the House of M at the helm should be manageable.

    Gwen raised a hand. "What''s your price?"

    "To repay Ruxin."

    "I don''t think that''s for me to decide," she replied. "Did Ruxin say how long your servitude should last? I mean, how the hell did you even get here?"

    "Ruxin has his ways," Golos stated contemptuously. In the next moment, his gaze wandered. "Hmm, you have readied snacks? I could eat."

    "Snacks?" Gwen turned to her right, following Golos'' gaze. There, she saw Elder Lei-bup and a dozen Mermen warriors, shitting themselves while half-paralysed by the wave of dragon-fear radiating from Golos'' body. "No. Those are not snacks. They''re people. Golos. Not snacks."

    "Hee, you cannot deny me!" Golo strode forward, then ran smack-bang into the wall of force. There was a moment of incredulous confusion before the Wyvern grew wrathful. "You dare ENSNARE me? I am no summoned wyrm!"

    "And why not? You''re literally in my summoning circle!" Gwen spat back at Golos, irked by the Wyvern''s ego. Golos was going to be one useless ally if he couldn''t even follow orders. "If Ruxin says you''ll obey me, what''s the problem?"

    "Impudent!" Golos growled, then let loose a line of lightning from its jaws to dash against the barrier.

    "You want to be in debt to Ruxin forever?!" Gwen fired back.

    "Ruxin marked me so that I would come to you," Golos growled, its beady eyes malicious and cunning. "And so I have! Each time you call, I shall come to you, and no more! Hahaha!"

    "Golos, you''re as thick as a log!" Gwen raised her voice. "Go back and tell Ruxin to send me a properly trained dog!"

    "ROAR!" Golos smashed itself against the barrier. "Enough! You are not the master of me!"

    "Oh, is that how it is?" Gwen snapped her finger, calling for Caliban.

    "SHAA!" Caliban was ready for more draconic adventures.

    "FOOL!" the Wyvern howled, smothering the interior of the barrier with blue-white lightning. Its scales fulminated with retina-searing discharge. "I have grown! Never again shall your beast best me!"

    The ground shook, but the barrier held. Dragon-fear rippled out like a concentric wave, setting Walken and Wen to activate their Shields. Above, Petra and their PLA and Pudong observers circulated magic to resist the mind-numbing, pants-soiling horror spread by a primordial predator that had hunted man since the age of sticks and stones. Elder Lei-bup frothed at the mouth.

    "I think that thing''s a tad above tier 11," Walken remarked, borrowing Draconic-Essence from his familiar. Besides him, Wen kept herself lucid through her Mineral mana, scarcely believing that Gwen was having a shouting match with a bus-sized drake.

    "How is it possible that she knows such a being by name?" Wen demanded, bewildered by the sight of their student''s passionate haggling. "And speaking in Draconic?"

    "They met in Burma," Walken replied. "And Gwen''s acquired a new Translation Stone from Alesia de Botton, one originally made for Henry Kilroy."

    "Impressive," Wen muttered. "Does this drake desire HDMs? They are hoarders, are they not?"

    "I think this one might have other things on its mind," Walken observed.

    "How is she going to tame it then?"

    "Not sure." Walken squinted against the light, his hand resting against the purging Glyph. "I am sure she''ll figure something out."

    Golos wasn''t an actual dragon, but as a scion of the Yinglong, he''d always considered himself above his kin that crawled along the ground or swam in the sea. Though he saw the female as almost his equal, he had never dreamt of serving as her subordinate.

    "Brother, I have a task for you. Go and aid my investment. Keep her safe."

    Golos dared not show displeasure to his brother, but in front of this mewling girl, he would bare his fangs to his heart''s content! How dare she! What had she done to capture Ruxin''s favour? For his brother, a scion of their great father, to possess an interest in the girl! It was unfathomable that he, Golos, a princeling of Huangshan, was less useful than some whelp barely out of her egg.

    And to trap him in a cage, no different to some common elemental! Threaten him with her black beast! Golos'' tail twitched; his shame and anger boiled over, filling the air with the stink of ozone. "I have grown! Never again shall your beast best me!"

    "Look, forget about Ruxin for a second, what do you want?" The female''s tone softened. "HDMs? I''ll give you thousands, tens of thousands. Gems? Precious metal? Do you want SPAM? I can ship it by the ton."

    Looking around, Golos noticed that many human Mages were watching. If so, then the girl must be in an exhibition of some sort. Golos knew he wasn''t smart like Ruxin, but he recognised leverage when he saw it.

    "Hehe¡­" He slithered an enormous, arm-thick tongue from his grinning maw. What did he want? His nostrils flared. The girl''s scent was delicious, possessed of something far older and purer than even his father. Unbidden, Golos felt himself drooling over the unsoiled Essence. If he could taste it, then he would grow more powerful yet. "First, I would like some seafood, then, I want¡­"

    "No, and NO," his victim rebuffed his advance, her eyes grew offended. "Now you''re dreaming, big guy."

    "You''ll have to trust that I''ll be delicate." Golos turned on what Ruxin referred to as his unique charm. "You''re strong. You''ll survive."

    "No means no." The girl flushed. Golos inhaled the pheromones falling off her like the fragrance of flowers. It was so thick and heavy that even for a being of Golos'' magnitude, it was making his head spin.

    "Last chance..." Golos leered, confident that the girl was sure to capitulate.

    "You know what?" his victim hugged herself as her expression grew icy. "I know how to deal with rude bastards like you."

    Indeed, Gwen knew how to deal with rebellious Familiars.

    She was beside two instructors, a summoning circle and a creature in the bag- how could she not feel nostalgic?

    "Eric! I am starting the second summon!" she called out to her instructor.

    "What!? That''s insane!" Walken called back. "It can''t be done!"

    "It can!" Wen''s eyes gleamed, suddenly realising the girls'' game. "Are you going to use a Void Beast to quash the Thunder Wyvern?"

    "Preposterous!" Walken interrupted his colleague. "The barrier¡­"

    "¡­Will hold." Wen''s eyes were aflame with zeal. "Walken, I need to see this."

    Walken stared into the researcher''s semi-transparent, Mineral-tainted orbs. "Give me control of the termination Glyph."

    Wen passed over her half of the Glyph.

    Walken made the gesture to proceed.

    "Petra!" Wen Messaged her apprentice.

    When another cache worth a thousand HDMs entered the Mandala''s circuits. A clamour of surprise broke out over the observers watching from a distance.

    "Golos, if you don''t want to be stuck with a building-sized Caliban, now''s your chance. Quash your pride, then fight for me."

    "Ha!" the Wyvern scoffed at her. "I shall destroy this thing you summon! You will lose everything, and then I shall return to Ruxin and inform him of your incompetence."

    "Fine, have it your way." Gwen stepped back. Caliban joined its master in the protected summoning circle.

    She began with the Major Incantations, her fingers drawing light-consuming Glyphs in the air as Void mana flooded her conduits. Thanks to her acquisition of the Blue Zircon, the initial hit of the Negative Energy felt blunted. Combined with her Essence, there was a significant increase in the efficacy of her Void-craft.

    "... Yog-Sothoth! Key to the gate where the spheres conjoin! L?! Master of the Thousand Young..."

    According to Walken, to conjure an Elemental, she had to have ample knowledge of that which resided within the primordial energies of the quasi-realms. Golos had ruined her plans for a Coatl, but what of the Void? Who knew what the Void held? Caliban Delux? Her Void-beast didn''t even have a physical form! If so, Gwen found herself with an unusual hypothesis. What if she could summon something that was fiction? What suited Caliban more than Lovecraft''s twisted horrors? She had already drawn upon the author many times, whether to frighten Jun, or to shape her Elemental Swarm, albeit in that instance, she got lamprey-leeches, not goats, but still, it had worked.

    "... L?! Shub-Niggurath! L?! Master of the woods that wend! I conjure thee! Planar Ally!"

    As for Golos, Gwen had a pretty good idea what the Wyvern wanted, and there was no way in hell she was going to give that up. Who the hell did Golos think he was? A Demi-God sovereign of three frontiers? Not even a dinner-date? The guy can''t even polymorph properly.

    She licked her drying lips.

    Soon, she would know whether her will shaped the Void, or whether it had a will of its own - either way, the stupendously arrogant Golos would bend the knee.

 Chapter 273 - Between a Void-Beast and a Hard Place

    "HOLY HELL, WHAT IN CHRIST''S NAME IS THAT?" Walken knew he was in no danger, but put up a cursory barrier anyway.

    Something was coming through the uppermost quadrant of the Summoning circle, slithering into being via a tiny corner of corroded air, growing larger by the second.

    "It''s a Void Being!" Wen commanded Petra to record the image while she furiously tallied the diagnostics. "My God! It''s eating up the barrier''s mana!"

    An obsidian tentacle oozed through, obfuscated by the vivid fluctuation of eldritch energies.

    "Petra! More Crystals!" Walken called out. "Gwen!"

    "I am in control!" Gwen shouted back. "Keep the barrier up!"

    CRACK!

    A line of fulminating lightning erupted from Golos'' jaws, obliterating the emerging mass from existence.

    "SHAAA!" Caliban burst into song. "SHAAA! SHAAA!"

    Squelch...

    A tenebrous, inky gloop drooled through the invisible ceiling, resembling a monochromatic placenta.

    "ROAR!" Another line of lightning eradicated the tear. Golos panted. He was a half-blood, and the impurity of his heritage limited his ability to use dragon-breath continuously.

    But the Wyvern''s efforts were futile. New intrusions rapidly grew until the cylindrical barrier''s uppermost layer turned midnight, dispelling all heat.

    "Ho boy." Gwen retrieved a bottle of Maotai and began to chug the contents like a mana potion. Concurrently, she dropped to the floor three Spellcubes chocked full of high-tier Restorations, prepared by Petra. Now that she had Enchantment as one of her schools, she could remotely trigger the spells.

    "Is your vitality low?" sounded a Message from Petra.

    "For contingencies," Gwen replied. "I caught a big bastard."

    "This is history, Gwen. You''re making history right now." Wen hijacked their conversation. "Focus! Don''t let it slip away."

    What her instructor meant was that she was going to make history, though Gwen took the Magister''s advice to heart. Redoubling her focus, she continued to stream her Void Mana into the Summoning Mandala.

    "GOLOS! Do you yield?!" she called out. "Or do you want to road-test The Thing?"

    If a lizard could blanch, Golos probably would have grown lighter in hue.

    "I shall crush your thing!" Golos croaked, steadfast in its arrogance, possessing more pride than sense. "Do your worst!"

    "SHAA!" Caliban chorused whole-heartedly. "SHAA! SHAA!"

    Gwen closed her eyes and did her best to will forth her best recollection. Yog-Sothoth was the gate and Shub-Niggurath, the mate; the two were well rounded as a pair, and not maliciously minded, a least toward inconsequential humans. As for what now spawned, her only wish was that it flew.

    Above the summoning circle, the darkness began to swirl, forming a portal of sorts.

    "IT''S COMING!" Wen''s voice possessed the shrillness of a strangled cat. "By God! She''s doing it!"

    A crow-black entity descended, leading the way with a rupture of innumerable feelers, each beetle-black and clad in ooze, puckering with tentacle-pink suckers resembling lampreys'' maws.

    WHAM!

    Golos slammed its spiked tail against the thing, shattering a hundred appendages and splattering the walls with tenebrous ink.

    "HA!" the Wyvern howled, crouching to ready another strike. "Weak!"

    The bulbous portion of the undulating globule now entered the material plane, swallowing all light and drawing the energies of the barrier into itself at an astounding rate. With each mote of Gwen''s vitality, it grew larger, heavier-seeming, and more grotesque as strange boils and pustules bubbled atthe surface, birthing agglutinations that hung from its bottom, resisting the call of gravity.

    A Shoggoth? Gwen wondered. Or at least, a viscous facsimile.

    The clamouring from the spectators grew to a feverish pitch.

    "Is that¡­" Walken blinked twice, then ran a passive self-diagnosis to ensure that he did not delude his own eyes. "The BLACK SUN?"

    "It has to be!" Wen looked as though she was about to dance a jig. "The great mystery! So that''s what it was! We have to test it! We have to feed it!"

    "Back! You black brute of the Unformed Land!" Golos barked, evidently growing warier. "Calamity! Why do you call this abomination?!"

    There was no response from his Summoner. The moment the dark sphere had appeared, Gwen''s mind delved into the darkness of the thing that spawned inside her barrier. Like Caliban, though the Void-being possessed no intelligible thought, she could feel its demands through the empathic link.

    What do you want? She questioned the thing, using her worm as a template. What are you?

    Hunger.

    Hunger.

    Hunger.

    Do you wish to be made flesh?

    Serve me, and I shall feed you.

    Eat.

    Eat.

    EAT.

    "GWEN!" came Walken''s appeal from the fabric of reality. When she came to, she beheld a howling Golos half covered in the black-goo. He was snapping and tearing at the tendrils, but like an Exxon Mobile oil spill, the bubbling protoplasm was vigorously mating with his proud body.

    "CALAMITY!" Golos discharged a Wyvern-wide AoE.

    A sharp, stabbing pain pierced Gwen''s swollen brain.

    "SHAAA!" Caliban writhed below her feet.

    HUNGRY!

    A call echoed in the Astral space of her Mage Soul. A weakness ran up her leg and through her vertebrae as her vitality fed into the summoning circle, fuelling the existent void-energies ravaging the barrier.

    Obey me. Gwen focused her will once more. Obey, and I shall feed you.

    The inky-mass dropped.

    "MORE CRYSTALS!" Both Wen and Walken called out to Petra as sheran to the next node.

    Gwen gnashed her pearly teeth, sending back her clearest vision of Caliban growing fat after a fresh kill. She hadample evidence that the ball was a mass of hunger, a primordial appetite. If so, there was only one way to negotiate.

    With a glance and a gesture, she activated a Spellcube.

    Expertly manipulating the oppositional energy, she sent the entirety of Petra''s Restoration into the Shoggoth.

    "Golos! How about now?" She had not forgotten about the Wyvern.

    "NEVER!" Golos howled, chomping at the dark sphere with furious futility as its tendrils once again molested its lightning-clad carapace, heedless of the suckers that burned and spluttered.

    Gwen growled. Golos was more obstinate than she thought. She didn''t want to traumatise Ruxin''s unruly brother, but the Wyvern had to be pounded into shape, and the Void-Beast was her hammer.

    Smoothing her hair, she quickly activated a second Spellcube.

    "Eat!" she commanded the maybe-Shoggoth to make her Wyvern yield.

    A flood of vitality escaped her torso, nourishing the bloating sphere of engorged flesh.

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    "The barrier''s failing!" Walken''s voice came through. "I am killing it!"

    "NO!" she shouted back. "A little more!"

    "You''re crazy!"

    "Listen to Gwen!" Wen shored up the Mandala with a series of quick incantations. "Keep the barrier going for as long as possible! We need this!"

    "The risk is too high!" Walken hissed. "God damn it, Gwen!"

    His student''s response was to pop her last Spellcube. "A minute! Half a minute!"

    Abruptly, there was a sound of soft silk ripping in twain. Her vitality tanked, warning her of the creature''s indiscriminate hunger.

    A gash appeared on the tenebrous sphere.

    A splash of grey goo fell over Golos'' chromatic scales; then an enormous eye blinked open. An eyeball the size of a small building was now staring into the material world, taking in all its glory. Its six-meter pupil was black-on-black, surrounding a centre that may very well be a portal into the infinite realm of the Void, ringed by concentric circles of bruised purple. Around the iris, the sclera was ivory and slick, milky and writhing with unnamable things just below the surface.

    The world grew suddenly silent.

    Even the lull of the ocean seemed muted.

    "Shaa-Shaa-Shaa..."

    Thankfully, the sound came from Caliban, sweating goo from its body like a self-desiccating blood worm.

    The eye turned, its aberrant form beholding all that it surveyed.

    If the hunger it had earlier demonstrated was a stream, what it now channelled into Gwen''s mind was a mighty, raging river swallowing all that it touched. She tried to move, to fight its will, but what flooded her head numbed all thought. The vitality from the third Spellcube disappeared in a wink as she fell to one knee, gasping for air.

    "You win." Golos'' voice broke the silken silence. He politely knocked on the barrier. "Get me out of here."

    The final component of Planar Ally activated.

    The Mandala burst into brilliant flames as its remaining ingredients ignited, clinching the compromise between the Summoner and her creatures.

    Within her mind, Gwen could sense the power of its contract linking her to Golos'' Astral Soul, and presumably, the one-eyed Shoggoth. At the same time, she knew that no amount of her Essence nor vitality would ever satisfy the Void-being.

    If and when she called upon it again, it would feed until she dismissed it.

    "PURGE!"

    Walken activated the contingency Glyph, setting into motion rapid injections of mana that would quickly disrupt the pocket-space within the Mandala, ensuring its collapse and the return of its summoned residents back to their native realms.

    "I''ll call you," Gwen promised Golos as the Shoggoth began to fade, feeling the eye''s tyrannical oppression disappear. Soon, nought but ankle-deep sludge and a dozen twitching tentacles remained. "Tell Ruxin to pass on an inventory of what you desire. No hard feelings, eh?"

    Golos waited for the magic-circle to burn out.

    When the last mote fizzled, he stared at her, and she stared back.

    "Wow," Gwen awkwardly remarked. "You''re still here."

    "I am no mere Elemental." Golos'' eyes grew suddenly cruel. He rose to his full height, bringing his clubbed tail to bear. "Prepare to suffer!"

    "Ahaha, oh shit¡­" Gwen gestured to Walken and Wen to back her up. Around her legs, Caliban readied itself to be its master''s shield. "We made a deal, remember? Don''t forget, you''ve got Ruxin''s orders, and I''ve got your consent. You''re my guy, right?"

    "A dragon shall not broker deals with puny mortals!" Golos'' snubbed her. "Your feeble magic cannot bind me!"

    "Do you mean to renege?" Gwen readied a shield. Now was a good time to see if that diamond-barrier worked. "If death or dishonour is preferable, then I suppose¡ª"

    CRACK!

    A line of lightning, thicker than Gwen''s entire body, fell from the sky as though a pillar of light, striking Golos across the face, punching his head so hard that his snout dug into the bubbling sandstone-turned-glass.

    Gwen looked toward Walken.

    Walken shook his head. "Not me."

    Gwen looked up at the clear blue sky.

    Golos lifted its chin, then coughed up a mouthful of sand.

    "What was that?" Gwen asked.

    "A scion of the Yinglong cannot go back on their word¡­" Golos sullenly mumbled under its breath. "Brother sends his greetings."

    The disparity between the brothers was heaven and hell! Exhaling with relief, Gwen reminded herself to send the Demi-God dragon a suitable gift in the future. "If its all the same to you, Golos, I would like us to work together. Like when we fought the Naga. That was fun, right? I didn''t leave you to die, and we both profited. Our working relationship doesn''t need to be unpleasant. Here..."

    With great effort, she exercised what remained of Almudj''s Essence onto her palm. "Shake on it?"

    Golos crouched in low.

    "You think that a tiny mote of Essence like that will..."

    An enormous pink appendage wrapped her hand.

    "Hmm..." Golos licked its chops contemplatively, its ice-blue eyes rolledto the back to the back of its skull. "It''s sweet... HMMPH!"

    With a great bell-beat of wings, the Wyvernascended.

    "YO! Are we cool?!"

    "Only if you satisfy me!" came the voice from the draconic-beastas it unfurled the impressive length of its full form, shaking off the gooey slop like a murderous, winged Clifford, splatting Gwen, Walken and Wen all over.

    Upon the hill, the gathered Mages watched as Wyvern menaced the girl before turning to the inhabitants of the island with voracious scrutiny.

    "Golos, NO. They''re wearing pants, for God''s sake." The girl stood between the Thunder Wyvern and the quivering Mermen. "Can''t you eat one of Ryxi''s goats? Huangshan''s close, right?"

    To their shock, the monster turned, growled, then lifted into the air.

    "Call me sparingly! I am busy!"

    A second later, it was a mere speck in the distance.

    "That went well." Gwen carefully lowered herself to the floor before resting on her buttocks, not even caring that she was most unladylike. She felt drained, spiritually, physically and mentally. Golos had a strong will, and it was only the suppression of her Almudj''s Essence against his imperfect draconic-soul that had sealed the deal.

    Additionally, who''d have thought she could pull a one-eyed mass of hunger from the Void? Innately she knew it was in no way comparable to Sobel''s Black Sun, though its appetite was true to the Void''s characteristics.

    "In hindsight." Walken approached, soaked from head to chest with void-goo and Wyvern-spittle. "I think that could have gone a lot worse¡­"

    "Petra! Get down here and give me a hand!"

    Not far, Wen selflessly leapt into the goo-sloshed Mandala, wading ankle-deep through gloop.

    "Stasis! Stasis! Stasis! OH! Stasis!"

    She happily packed every spare tentacle and tendril that Golos had severed from the Shoggoth.

    Walken exhaled with wonder. "¡­ see that? Now that''s the sort of mental fortitude that makes a Meister."

    Unanimously, the committee that oversaw Gwen''s Planar Allies labelled her Void "Ally" a Class VI restricted manifestation. It meant that she could not summon the creature without permission from a Tower Arbitrator, and never in a tier 1 city. Until the Void Creature was thoroughly studied, it would remain classified, conjured only to further man''s knowledge of Spellcraft.

    As for Golos, the Tower committee requested an interview before the spell could be deemed feasible for the competition, to which Gwen reassured them of the Wyvern''s grudging obedience, then redirected their doubts toward Ruxin and Ayxin. Unfortunately, considering the bureaucracy involved, the likelihood of her having her Void Ally in time for the first match was close to nil.

    "Two steps forward, and one step back," Walken remarked with a tone of apology. "I am afraid it happens."

    "It''s okay," Gwen denied her instructor''s fault. "I don''t mind."

    "These rulings are just formalities and conveniences." Walken''s next advice came in the form of an evil whisper. "If necessity calls, forget the sanction. I''ve left Petra with five sets of Mandala ingredients. If someone is after your life, let the Black Sun or the Wyvern deal with them."

    "I still don''t think that''s the Black Sun."

    "How about an Evil-Eye?" Walken remarked, referring to the one-eyed monsters that roomed subterranean caverns. "Void-Eye - that fits the bill."

    How about Shoggoth? Gwen remarked privately.

    "Speaking of regulations, is everything going to be cool with those guys?" Gwen glanced at the Magisters from the Towers as they bathed Wen with attention.

    "Well, if they want to censure your craft." Walken''s expression changed to one of schadenfreude. "Then complain to Gunther, that''s what the fastest spell-slinger in the west is for, ain''t it?"

    Night.

    Lei-bup gathered his tribe.

    He was feeling a little crazy, but that, in his humble opinion, was a good thing.

    He had been touched by divinity, and he knew it.

    When the Wyvern had wanted to eat them, it was the God summoned by the pale human sorceress who had cowed it.

    Lei-bup recalled the invocation vividly.

    Yog-Sothoth! The key to the gate where the spheres conjoin.

    And La-Shub-Niggurath! Master of the woods that wend!

    Existences that Lei-bup was sure were the salvation of his oppressed people.

    Though the humans hadleft, the evidence of their Mandala, their magic, remained on his island, along with their discarded bottles, wrappers, and bits of uneaten food. When he ordered his tribe to scour the area, they had even recovered a bit of still-writhing tentacle that had dug into the earth.

    Lei-bup incoherently gibbered as he wept salty tears of spiritual rapture.

    From this night forth, he and his fishy-kin shall worship nought but the One-Eyed God and its priestess of pale flesh!

    Four days later, Fudan received the details of their next match.

    "You''ll be going to Cuzco," the Dean announced to the group after they assembled in his office. "Magister Walken and a contingent of examiners fromBrussels will chaperone your journey. South America does not yet possess a Superstructural Inter-state Teleportation Circle, so it''s going to be a long trip."

    "So rushed!" Gwen hesitated at the untimely news. "AND our opponents have home ground?"

    "Compared to us, who will be travelling non-stop for ten days." Richard frowned. "I presume, sir, that we will be taking the PLA Tower''s S-ISTIC to Hawaii, then boarding a shipping freighter to Lima, then use their ISTC To reach Cusco?"

    "Indeed. Well done." The Dean was impressed by Prince''salumni as usual. "As it were, we shall be updating your Multi-Pass Adventuring Permits for the Americans. Remember, the American continents fall outside the control of the Mageocracy. I''ll need you all to stay out of trouble while you''re waiting on your ship."

    "Yessir!" the group answered.

    "Gwen?" The Dean singled out their sorceress. "Am I clear? No unnecessary trouble."

    Gwen blinked innocently as to suggest she would never amount to such atrocities. "None, whatsoever, sir!"

    The rest of Fudan''s team chuckled.

    "Now go and pack!"

    "Yessir!"

    Outside the office, Gwen caught Richard by the arm.

    "Dick, what''s Hawaii like?"

    "Verdant paradise, golden beaches, an active volcano, lots of Magma-aligned monsters, Mermen by the horde."

    "How about resorts? Any good beaches?" Her eyes sparkled. "God, I miss the beaches."

    "Gwen, what are you thinking? Beaches are annoying. There''s too much sand, and it gets everywhere." Lulan paused to challenge a girl who grew up close to Cronulla, and who had spent her alter-teens hawking icy-pops at Bondi.

    "Surf! Sun! Skin! Sand!" Gwen blurted out, suddenly longing to dig her toes into the surf. How long had it been since she napped under the sun? "And a good tan!"

    Barring Richard, her companions took their pale-skinned companion''s praise of the seaside with a pinch of salt. In Asia, fair and flawless skin was a highly desirable symbol of status. Who would actively venture into the sun so that they appeared like a peasant labourer?

    "And swimsuits." Gwen wrapped a hand around Petra''s waist, making her cousin blush, then winked at the trio of boys in their competitive retinue. "Imagine it, seven girls and three guys..."

    "YES!" Anita punched the air. "Oh, yes!"

    Jiro''s orbs lit up like twin stars.

    "Jiro." Bai patted the Fire Mage on the shoulder. "Your fire is sparking."

 Chapter 274 - A Brave New World

    The United States of America.

    Though the match was set in Cuzco, it was the elephant in the room that Gwen wished to address. In this world where Russia was principally Black Zones, and China trafficked in dragons, could the US remain a global hegemon?

    To find answers, she decided to trawl the bookshops, hoping to pick up a Lonely Planet or a Frommer''s. Her knowledge of the States, assuming the United States existed in the form she knew, was woefully insufficient. As a Frontier bumpkin, her education provided no information on the American continents, and Henry had never prioritised the region in his lessons.

    At Xinhua, the state-owned bookshop, she accosted a clerk about her enquiry. After becoming book-wrecked on an island of hypercritical propaganda, they arrived at the children''s section.

    "Perhaps you could try Fudan''s library?" The clerk hid a smirk. "I''ve never heard of a traveller''s guide. For a thrilling read, I do have some Dungeoneering autobiographies if you''re interested."

    In contrary to the clerk''s oblivious advice, Gwen desired a lite account of American history, its customs and its people. She didn''t need a four-hundred-page treaty on the "Post-War Impacts of US Intervention during the Sino Crisis, Volume II, The Journal of Asia-Pacific History, PRC Press, 1998" or "The Capitalist Incubi, by Lee Wang Suu."

    Instead, she picked up "The Illustrated History of America".

    "This will do, cheers." She smiled attractively. "May I have a browse?"

    "Absolutely." The clerk beamed. "Take your time."

    She took to a couch, then spread the book against her thighs. To her delight, it was relatively comprehensive. To her chagrin, the publisher was the National People''s Press.

    After the title page, she found a map of North America, just as she recollected. At its northernmost edge lay the Canadian border; opposite, at the southernmost tip was Meso-Amerca. Outside the chart, floating like two dislocated islands, were Alaska and Hawaii.

    "The United States of America consist of the East and West Coasts. It is a nation of capitalists who built their homes on the backs of the proletariat."

    Stunned, she checked the back page of the hardcover.

    "Suitable for Ages 3 - 11."

    She continued.

    "The United States brought many things to the world: The Automobile. The Lumen Caster. The Ether Engine. The Mobile Message Device. Data Slates. It remains the global seat of entrepreneurship and free-market capitalism."

    The accompanying image was low-key 90''s Reader''s Digest. It held a collage of disembodied faces such as Jonathan Gilt, Elric Edison, Henrik Kaiser, Henry Ford and George Eastman. Each of the inventors hovered next to their inventions: the Ether Engine, the mana-relay, the freight-ship, the personal automobile, and the lumen-recorder.

    She turned the page.

    "The USA began as thirteen colonies of pilgrims who escaped England''s persecution. They set up their new home in a continent called the New World, inhabited by the Native Americans."

    There was a picture of surprised Native Americans staring at a fleet of ships. Labels like the Cherokee, the Sioux, the Apache wereattached to painted faces wearing feathered headdresses.

    "Though the pilgrims escaped the greed of their King, they continued the colonial greed of the Mageocracy. They chased away the Native People with their faith-magic, and took the fertile earth as their own."

    The accompanying image showed Pilgrims with bibles held high, calling upon spells of fire and light to hammer at the defenceless natives.

    "A great plague, brought by the Pilgrims, soon ravaged the Native population."

    "Wow." The gruesome vision of carrion was impressive; it was as if the state-sanctioned artist had been there. She turned the page.

    "As the colonies grew into cities, they wanted all the wealth of the New World for themselves, so they rebelled against England with the help of France."

    The next page was a fantastic double-page of total war, titled "They fought; many died". The image had English Red-coat soldiers fleeing from spellbook-wielding Americans chasing them into the ocean. In the distance, French frigates set English ships ablaze with Fireballs.

    "No longer subject to the Mageocracy''s Laws, the Americans colonists enslaved the Native workers. Dissatisfied with one race, they enslaved the working people of Meso America. When the people perished, they travelled across the ocean to enslaved more of the proletariat."

    An image of sad-looking black and brown people crowded like sardines in ships, lead by a Caucasian captain in blue and red, spoke loudly of the plight of the Pan-African proletariat. Were the matter not so morbid, Gwen would have laughed out loud at the anachronism.

    "Then, a civil war broke out."

    There was no explanation for the war. The double-spread, however, showed religiously attired Confederate soldiers in dusters, carrying wands as tall as themselves, backed by spell-book wielding Mages. They fought against the navy Union army; only the Unionists had slaves fighting on their side, curiously without magical implements.

    "The Union united America."

    She saw a chiselled Abraham Lincoln with Renaissance proportions, raising a flag atop a hill of corpses.

    "The American President was assassinated by a prole, a non-magical dissident."

    The image, sickeningly, showed old Abe falling from the box of a theatre, while behind him, a white man held a wand in one hand. Below, women screamed, and other men pointed their wands upwards.

    There''s a lot of magical wands, Gwen gulped. She had only seen this many wands in one place while in Singapore.

    "Then a long peace."

    The next page consisted of rebuilding, containing fair-skinned blonde women holding bountiful harvests of wheat and corn, while women of colour were depicted with bent-backs in cotton fields.

    The next few pages progressed rapidly.

    "The unending wars in Europe brought millions of people to America."

    "America sold itself as the land of invention and enterprise. The American Dream was the idea that anyone, even NoMs, could find happiness in the New World."

    "Instead, workers became exploited by America''s great inventors. Oligarchs like Jonathan Gilt and Henry Ford used government regulations to build personal empires of continent-spanning wealth. A few men grew rich. A million men and women died."

    The colour palette, Gwen realised, was growing increasingly dark.

    "The proletariat wanted to unionise. The workers cried out for socialism."

    The next image had a red star in the sky, shedding light on the faces of workers whose profiles were filthy from mining mana crystals.

    "The peaceful revolution failed. The Oligarchs had become too powerful. The government represented only the interests of the wealthy, and the labourers had become too dumb and deaf to know their plight."

    Depressingly, the last page was of soaring cities in white and neon, below which were the limp bodies of workers toiling in the dark of the factories.

    "Who will speak for the silenced?"

    That was the final page, accompanied by an artistic silhouette of Mao''s side profile.

    "Holy shit." Gwen breathed out. That was a heavy as all hell picture book. Who the hell published this crap for kids?

    "I brought you some tea." The clerk returned. "Would you like to purchase the book?"

    "Yes, I think I will." She sipped the lukewarm water. "Thank you."

    At the Handan Campus, Gwen looked about her fellow students. Fudan had plenty of Korean, Japanese and European expatriates, but she had never seen anyone from the American continents.

    Near the gate, after a quick flirt with a few reporters who wanted to know about their plans for South America, she Messaged the Dean.

    "Why?" Luo demanded, suddenly suspicious. "Need I remind you that Hawaii belongs to a sovereign nation? There''ll be an uproar! A continental war!"

    After calming the Dean, she explained that she wanted the knowledge to avoid stepping on toes.

    "..." There was an uncomfortable silence. "Right. Talk to James. I''ll let him know you''re coming."

    A quarter of an hour later, she found James Ma at the Social Studies quadrangle.

    "Come in."

    The NoM professor''s private study was quaint and quiet compared to the generous laboratories of Fudan''s resident Magisters.

    "Sir." She bowed. Though she and Ma were now colleagues, she wanted to maintain a cordial student-professor relationship while at Fudan. "I would like to know about the Americas for my upcoming visit to the continent."

    "Ah yes, the Dean said as much." Ma pulled out a chair for his student. "You have my gratitude for looking after Alan. He has been very much traumatised by Magus de Botton''s visit."

    "It was the least I could do." Gwen inclined her head, tucking her hair behind one ear.

    "As it were, I possess a few books on South American History, particularly on the rise of Tawantinsuyu, the Inca Empire." Ma pulled out several volumes from his bookshelf. "Do not misplace them."

    The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

    "Thank you, sir." She stowed the texts in her ring.

    "Just as well, since you''re here, I''ll answer any questions you might have. What do you want to know?"

    "Politics and history of America; what to expect."

    "North America, I hope, I know only as much about Cuzco as those books will tell you."

    "That would be lovely. Hawaii is our first stop."

    Ma retrieved a world-map from behind him, then opened the thick, note-bound volume until it reached North America.

    "As with all history, context is everything." Ma paused to collect his thoughts. "To begin at the beginning, you must be aware that before the Beast Tide, our globe was a quieter place. The Mermen Kingdoms posed no threat to our shipping lanes. Magical beings, who had always existed, were largely dormant. Conversely, Human Spellcraft existed in its infancy. Men without magic were the standard. Mages were rare individuals, even if they occupied critical social niches, forming the upper political strata."

    "Yes, I know."

    "Good. America was, of course, a colony of the Imperial Britannic Mageocracy - not to be confused with the Commonwealth Mageocracy of today. During this colonial golden age, there was a tumultuous event that happened in Europe. Can you guess?"

    "Oui! The French Revolution?"

    "Yes. Well done." Ma seemed surprised. "Indeed, there was a revolution against the rule of Mages. Because NoMs so grossly outnumbered magic-users in Europe, the disparity culminated in the fall of the French Monarchy, ending with the execution of the French King and his family by NoM partisans. In response to dissent across the European continent, King George the Third declared the Equal Rights Concession in 1799. The law gave the right to life, liberty, property and employment to all non-Mage citizens. In 1801, the law became common."

    Gwen nodded. She knew this, though not in so much detail.

    "Myopically, the new rights did not apply to the Empire''s Frontier citizens. The thirteen colonies thus declared independence from the Mageocracy in 1813, aided by the opportunistic French. After that, many long-suffering Europeans saw America as an opportunity to begin life anew in the New World. The Mages who left travelled via French and English frigates. NoMs travelled on desperate coffin ships."

    "The next few decades saw an epoch of slavery, and after that, the Civil War. Internationally, however, until the late 1890s, the US remained dormant, quietly trading its surplus of food and magical materials. When the Spellcraft Revolution transpired between 1890 and 1910, the States tripled its production and trade capabilities. During this time, the USA exploded with entrepreneurship, lead by one Jonathan Gilt."

    "Who is Jonathan Gilt?"

    "An inventor, a philosopher, and a profiteer. Bit of an enigma, to be honest. He had no interest in government, thank Mao, though his invention, the Ether Engine, enabled a revolution in personal and public transportation, and he had many disciples. One of his prot¨¦g¨¦s, Henry Ford, became the most influential Industrialist in the world. You could say that he even had a hand in the creation of Crystal Currency. Gilt was intensely opposed to any socialist intervention in the works of his fellow Industrialists. He famously stated that each man must live according to his means and that to provide for your fellow man is dishonest. He believed that humans were made unequal; therefore, the natural state of society was inequality. Curiously, he wasn''t a warmonger. He believed that Man''s purpose is to strive for rational progress. He extolled the virtue of the greatest profit for the greatest many; that the free market was democracy distilled."

    Jonathan Gilt, Gwen whistled, committing the name to memory.

    "Don''t let the Party officials hear that." Ma laughed drily. "We''re opposed to the Gilts and the Fords, at least officially. Now, to answer your question. In the 1920s, after the Great War against the Necromancers ended, America and its industries emerged the ultimate victor. You see, during the war, all the great names in Europe sent at least one branch family to the States to preserve the bloodline. In many cases, these scions never returned, having found success abroad while their siblings bled in the trenches. Like their predecessors, these new Mages broke free from the tradition thanks to the New World."

    "Through to the 1930s, the restoration of Europe was another boon for the USA, showering its twin-coasts with skilled immigrants it unconditionally absorbed into its fold. The entrepreneurs who built its cities grew enormously wealthy during this time, riding on cheap labour and widespread exploitation of the starry-eyed proletariat."

    "There was no progressive movement? No Great Depression? No Franklin D. Roosevelt?"

    "Was he an Industrialist?" Her professor paused to collect his thoughts.

    "Ah-" Gwen knew now where history had definitively diverged. How could there be a Great Depression without a stock market to crash? How could there be an economic crisis when currency grew in caves and on the plains? "I was confused. Please continue. What happened in the 1940s?"

    "The 1940s saw the rise of two ideologies across Europe and Asia. Fascist-Imperialism and Communism. Conversely, the USA extolled the virtues of unfettered capitalism. When the USA joined the global conflict as a peace-keeper, it profited greatly on the Western Front, once again receiving an enormous wave of desperate and talented migrants."

    "But it suffered against the Japanese in the Sino War. When the generals resorted to a costly war of attrition, the States infamously utilised the world''s first Strategic-Class Spell of Mass-Destruction on Japanese soil, citing the preservation of human life and resource. After that, the USA secured its position as the world''s foremost international power, at least until the Beast Tide."

    "While reigning as a global hegemon, the US continued to garner power, drunk on the profits of human conflict." Ma scoffed. "The Pan-Pacific battle over Hawaii. The Meso-American Concession. The Massacre at Panama Canal. The Columbian Insurgency. American Banana Co. Its support of Japan and South Korea. Territorial disputes with the Mageocracy. Interventions in the Middle East on behalf of the Israelis. The persistent destabilisation of South America from the 1920s until 1971. It had a finger in every pot of rice."

    "Finally, when the Tide occurred in 71, the USA suffered its first major set back."

    Gwen accounted for the timeline in her head while Ma traced a finger around the entirety of the US continental map.

    "After the Great Restoration, only the East and West Coast endured," Ma declared. "On the Pacific Coast, Seattle, San Francisco, Los Angeles, and San Diego remained firmly entrenched under human dominion. On the Atlantic Coast, Boston, New York, Philadelphia and Washington stemmed the Tide."

    Ma drew a line across the middle with his finger.

    "After the Reclamation, the damage remains. From Kootenai to Twin Falls - Orange Zone. From Reno to Black Rock - Black Zone. The entire Mississippi Delta - Black and Purple Zones. Of course, there exist Orange Zone enclaves like Oklahoma and New Orleans that thrived despite the uptick in Demi-humans and Magical Beasts. But, as with our fight against the Undead, much of Amerca''s Frontiers remain generation-long struggles. The Mageocracy says that America may never be great again. The reasons are many. New Tenochtitlan is on the rise; the Native American Tribes are returning to their Spirit Lands; the Mageocracy is regaining its foothold. The rest of the world is no longer its Wild West."

    "Still." Ma shrugged. "The USA remains absurdly wealthy. It may lack the history of China and Europe, but its primary industries are unrivalled. Likewise, I am sorry to say that they have no equal in Magi-tech."

    "So, how wealthy are the States? Compared to say, China?"

    Ma gave her an expectant look. "If you believe the tales, they tell us that every American Mage has a block of land to call his own and that even NoMs can own a two-bedroom house and an automobile."

    "Ooo-" Gwen cooed. The American Dream, the flames may flicker, but it remains an immutable beacon. Even with dragons, the New World was a land of opportunities!

    After a four-day media blitz, the team boarded a bus from Fudan and made for the superstructure at the heart of Shanghai.

    The entrance, one of many, accessed an underground facility that processed the student''s Multi-passes, after which an encircling tunnel led downwards. When finally the darkness cleared, the students found themselves travelling through a cavernous space lit-up to resemble the world outside.

    A Geofront! Gwen plastered her face against the windowpane. A city-under-a-city!

    She finally realised why the superstructure of the PLA Tower appeared so outlandish, like a distended, long-legged spider that brooded over a section of the city. As the surreal scene had established, the majority of its functional buildings remained buried underground.

    "See that?" Petra pointed to a pool of light at the base of a pylon-like structure. From the cavern above, it stabbed into the earth like an obsidian sword. "That''s the ley-line under Shanghai."

    "Cool!" Gwen felt her understanding of Mage Towers renewed. Seeing was believing; though she had always known about ley-lines, Gwen had never expected to see one drawing mana from the earth in real-time.

    At the end of the winding road, their coach was halted by NoM soldiers carrying powered shock-wands, dressed in the olive fatigue of the PLA. A Diviner ran a diagnostic device across the students as they disembarked to proceed on foot into the Tower''s atrium.

    From the front gate, the Tower appeared as an enormous stalactite connecting the ceiling and the central platform, making one wonder as to how the PLA Tower meant to translocate itself in an emergency. At the main entrance, a set of scissored barriers ten-meters in height and adorned at the centre by a glowing red star swallowed the visitors.

    Within, the most salient sight in the enormous lobby was a benevolent statue of Mao Zedong. The Great Leader had one hand rested just behind his back, while the other waved in front of his body. His face was life-like, gazing down at the students while generously wrapped in a double-breasted commander''s duster.

    "We should bow." Walken''s voice came through the communal Message earlier enabled by Mayuree. "There''s a lot of guards watching us."

    The group collectively capitulated, though some more purposefully than others.

    Behind the statue was the service desk, a semi-circle of clerks was piled three-deep behind a marble counter hundreds of meters long.

    There, the students presented their Multi-pass, logged their biometric-mana signatures, then followed a militant looking officer toward yet another set of too-tall double doors.

    "Where are our proctors?" Gwen intoned as they passed the threshold.

    "Patience." Walken carried on ahead. "The team was originally in Abu Dhabi. They will route through New Delphi, Lhasa, Chendu, and finally through to Shanghai. Once Yangon begins operation, European access to Indochina should be easier."

    True to Walken''s words, at the end of the stark concrete corridor was a group of Europeans looking distinctly out of place.

    "Eric!" the leader called out, his voice booming across the cubist ceiling. "Thank God you''re here. I was beginning to wonder if they had detained us, hahaha¡­"

    A collective murmur of relief escaped from the examiners'' lips. They were each powerful Magisters and Mages in their own right, but now they were stuck in the belly of the red beast.

    "You''re a household name, are you?" Gwen was impressed yet again.

    "You jest," her instructor intoned modestly before leaving her side. Facing the newcomers, Walken opened his arms. "Auberon! My Baron of Shenfield! You''re a sight for sore eyes!"

    The contestants watched as the two men fiercely embraced, with "Auberon" planting a Sopranos hug-and-pat around Walken''s shoulders.

    "My God." Auberon pulled himself away. "Walken, when you disappeared, I feared for the worst. You know, I had imagined that our German friend had you gagged in a dungeon somewhere!"

    "Ha! I am afraid to disappoint you." Walken shook his head. "I am safe, thanks to her."

    "Ah." The Baron of Shenfield turned his studied gaze toward Gwen, who hastily curtsied. "The fabled liberator of Yangon? You gave von Schlabrendorff quite the scare, or so I''ve heard. Are you going to give me a run of the troubles as well, young lady? The Spaniards couldn''t hold onto Cuzco for long, but maybe you..."

    "Nothing of the sort, sir," Gwen simpered. There was nothing wrong with ingratiating oneself with the source of one''s CCs.

    Auberon laughed, then formally introduced himself as Baron Lucas of Shenfield. On the surface, their new Chief Proctor was the talkative type. With a head of pale blonde, he appeared younger than his professed age of five decades. Like a few of his peers, the Baron of Shenfield possessed the typical English ridge-line nose, paired with curly hair, fair complexion and grey-green eyes.

    Behind him, he introduced his fellow proctors, a multi-national team of examiners assigned by the various universities.

    "Magisters," the groups'' round-robin greetings were disrupted by the PLA Magus who had escorted them, keeping a low conversation with Bai. "It''s time."

    The groups'' attention turned toward the dais.

    Upon the platform, Gwen spied the most complex Mandala she had ever seen. What had been inscribed into the baseplate of the superstructural Teleportation Circle stood at the apex of practical Spellcraft. Even a tiny corner of the elaborate setup was far beyond her ken, and when it fired up, the thrum of mana within the Mandala could be felt in their bones.

    "Wow," Petra mumbled, taking notes with her eyes. "Just wow."

    The proctors lead the way, stepping onto the dais before taking their place in the outer perimeter. As for the students, Walken invited them up one by one so that they stood at the circle''s centre.

    "Less spatial turbulence in the middle," Walken explained. "None of you wants to paint the floor in Honolulu, I imagine."

    "I can''t believe this is happening!" Eunae trembled as she held Anita''s equally sweaty hand. "I am in a long-range teleportation circle. I am going to the other side of the world!"

    "I am all tingly¡­" Jiro shook with excitement. "Please be gentle, Teleportation Circle."

    "Other than Burma, I''ve never been outside of China," Rene confessed. "Can someone hold my hand..."

    Nervous chuckles answered the Magma Mage. Gwen offered to hold Rene''s hand. Mayuree and Eunae soon joined her.

    "Injecting Mana," came a voice from above.

    "Coolants at maximum."

    "Activating the superstructural Mandala."

    "Divination Locked-on."

    "Destination in conference... Confirmed."

    "Initiating Transfer..."

    Below, the PLA Magus saluted. "Fudan. Make us proud."

    Bai snapped back a crisp salute. "We shall return victorious!"

    Blazing swirls of silvery-Conjuration enveloped the stage.

    Fudan was away.

 Chapter 275 - Land of the Risen Sun

    Cuzco.

    The founders had named it Qusqu, from "quasqu wanka". In the tongue of the Amara who came before the Inca, it meant the rock of the owl.

    In Quechua, it stood for the navel of the world.

    After the Beast Tide, it stood fast as the centre of the Empire, Tawantinsuyu, made manifest on earth by the grace of Inti, the ever-burning sun, bringer of life. It was here, from the cyclopean fortress of Sacsahuam¨¢n that Inti, scion of the Yupanqui and the Capca lineage, received the benediction of his father and the paramount chieftains of each region.

    With his tight, muscular body painted a thin layer of gold, Inti looked every inch the namesake of a sun-blessed being. At only twenty, his mastery of both the Mageocracy''s magic and the craft of his people were well-lauded by his instructors at Cuzco National University.

    Prominent with his ridge-line nose, deeply set almond eyes and a sensual mouth, Inti was told by the High Priestess that he resembled Manco C¨¢pac, the splendid repeller of the Spanish and the saviour of the Empire. Inti didn''t doubt it, considering the mana that burned in his blood, though he was much taller than his ancestor, standing as tall as the mountain-maize at harvest time. It was the Cloud Puma''s milk, his mother had told him. When he was a babe, his father had received the benediction of the Sun God by wooing the legendary beast.

    "My Son, Inti." His father, Achiq, paraded him across the spacious circle of the throne once more. The throne room of Sacsahuam¨¢n wasn''t like that of western monarchs. It was a circular plateau where the Sapa Inca stood shoulder to shoulder with his companions.

    The lords of the four Suyus each stood.

    "Inti, make us proud." Caquingora, chief of the Qulla, Magister and Magistrate of the south-east, gave his blessings by anointing Inti with a spot of gold.

    "Inti, may your warmth be eternal." Huaman of the western region, placed his hand on the young prince''s chest in a similar manner.

    "Inti, show the world that we are strong once again." Suyuntu, Magistrate of the north-west Chim¨², gave his approval in gold.

    "Inti, I wish for a team of grandchildren." Manco, Magistrate of the Antis tribes of Peruvian Amazonia, made his peers burst into heartfelt laughter as he dabbed at his son-in-law''s torso.

    "Yes, not a year longer, I too wish for grandchildren." Inti''s father slapped his son''s back. "Tica has waited for you for too long! When I was your age, the Mama Cuna forbade me from leaving the temple until we had an heir!"

    "Please do not joke about that, esteemed father." Inti felt his golden skin burn with embarrassment as he slipped into his training tunic. He thought of Tica and acknowledged that there were few girls as beautiful as the daughter of Manco, nor as intelligent and magically-gifted. She would make a great Queen, easily better than him as the Sapa Inca. Still, he knew he was yet inexperienced, and the idea of being responsible for children of his own frightened Inti. What if he was to raise an ineffectual, lazy, or greedy king? What would happen to the four corners of the Empire? What of the threat from Amazonia?

    "Until Tica is with child, our daughters cannot become concubines," Huaman complained. "Inti, have some consideration for this old man. My youngest is already older than you! She will be an old maid!"

    Inti laughed drily, turning from the roaring of the older men. With great strides, he escaped from the Throne of the Sun.

    "He''s a good boy." Suyuntu of the Chim¨² nodded with approval. "We will be a proper Sapa in the future."

    Achiq sighed. "Yes, but first comes the competition. Has the Committee approved of Amaru''s proposal?"

    "They have," Manco answered. "But to send Inti and Tica into that place. You are a braver king than I, Scion of the Sun."

    "Ah, but Inti is the son of the Son of the Sun, hahaha." Achiq slapped his oiled thighs. "Like glittering gold, Inti will outshine all else!"

    Cuzco was the bellybutton of the empire, and at the heart of Cuzco was the Plaza of the Sun. The original plaza was a part of the exhaustive temple complex leading toward Coricancha, the Grand Temple of Inti, but then the Spanish had converted it into a Weapon''s Plaza where the colonists could gather in the event of an attack. For two centuries, the plaza had been full of Spanish buildings, but the Spaniards did not know that in the Andes, the great serpent yawned every other decade. When inevitably an earthquake occurred, all the Spanish buildings collapsed, while the Inca''s so-called "primitive" masonry remained.

    In the centuries since the Inca''s return to the seat of Tawantinsuyu, the invader''s buildings had been dismantled. What remained was only the square-shaped administrative district, which had been incorporated into the city''s restored architecture.

    Halfway to the plaza, Inti stopped to greet a pedlar selling achira, a roasted sweet-root. Inti refused the pedlar''s offer of a free snack and paid the man a thin stick of crystal as compensation.

    The pedlar kissed the prince''s hand, then became instantly surrounded by citizens who wanted the same roots that the prince had bought. Inti may be dressed in his training attire, but his face was well known to the citizens living between the temple and its serpentine thoroughfare connecting Sacsahuam¨¢n with the city below.

    When he passed a troupe of young girls, elaborate in their floral attire, they bowed their shoulders and giggled at the unadorned clothing of the prince. Behind the girls was a string of long-lashed llamas in ceremonial guises being taken up to the fortress. The Apu, the mountain Spirits, werekind of late, and Illapa, the god of seasons, was unusually generous with the rain.

    A few of the girls wore their hair in new styles, Inti noticed, that and they wore the rubber and leather shoes popular in the northern continent. Inti would love a dozen pairs of these Nike and Adidas attires, but he was the prince of a country, and it would not do to demean his own country''s craftsmen. All of Inti''s clothing was hand-crafted by the Virgins of the Sun- girls elevated by the state religion.

    Further down, passing a small square, he saw a group of boys in jeans and embroidered tee-shirts, listening to music from a quasi-magical device called a recorder which replayed sound. It was a European invention, though he could see that this particularly colourful model was a Japanese variation.

    "Inti!" The boys stopped at once and bowed.

    "Don''t mind me." Inti ruffled the hair of the eldest. "I am just passing through."

    "Inti, father managed to barter for books and lumen-recordings from America, through the Aztec Pocteca traders. Do you want to borrow some? I bet you haven''t seen the new ones yet."

    "I''ll drop by if I have time, Palta," Inti promised, he indicated to the recorder and the thump of jazzy bass coming from the sound-emitting glyphs. "What does your father, the Magistrate, think about the music of the rocks?"

    "Ah, he doesn''t understand." Palta slicked back his hair with both hands. "Silas is the King of Cool! Baby!"

    "Do you like our King best or the American King?"

    "Can I like both?"

    Inti burst into mirthful laughter.

    "I suppose you can." He nodded to the bombastic beats coming from the device, so different to the court musician''s lilting flutes. In the coming decades, the perils of keeping the Empire''s culture balanced wouldbe a task forhis shoulders. For how long could their isolation keep his people innocent? Though Inti knew the tireless sun shoneonthe Andeshis people, there were limits to what a nation of only twenty-million people could do against the ravenous hordes of Amazonia. Had the Spaniards not invaded and quashed their gods and temples, ravaged their population, perhaps their present condition wouldn''t be so precarious, but alas, a dashed urn lost its milk forever.

    "Inti! There you are!"

    Down the hill, between rows of white-washed, mud-brick houses, the looming shape of an enormous young man approached.

    "Tupac!"

    "Sir Tupac." The boys bowed.

    "Inti!" The man now arrived was enormously muscled, with legs like tree trunks, shoulders like that of a bear''s, and a tapered waist like a puma. "There''s trouble in the market; some foreign Magistrate is harassing Tica."

    "Ha!" Inti snorted, not in the least worried. "We''d better hurry before she loses her temper."

    "Coya Pasca will have my head if she gets into trouble again." Tupac parted the crowd like an ice-breaker. "By the Moon, these bumpkins who come into the city should be properly educated before they are set loose."

    If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

    "Ah." Inti patted his friend''s back. "The Empire has yet to elevate all of its regions; we are as much to blame as they, no? Is it not our fault that they do not know the proper etiquette?"

    In the north-western corner of the Plaza lay the Hall of the Healers. Unlike the grand wing of the same name that occupied Coricancha, the Healer''s Hall was next to the market square and was a modest structure of four storeys. The upper level was the priestess'' lodgings, while the lower level was devoted to the ailments of the ordinary citizens.

    It was here that the candidates for the Aclla Cuna, the future Priestesses of the Sun Temple, plied their mystical craft. The majority of them were young women taken from the four corners of the empire, selected for magical talent, intelligence and beauty. At any given time, tens of thousands of them laboured in the many halls dotting the Empire''s townships, providing mundane and magical care.

    "Girl, what say you?" A man sat one-legged on a llama-wooled stool, the other perpendicular displaced to show off his swagger. "A commoner''s life is too poor for a gem like you."

    "Sir, I am dedicated to Inti," the girl replied demurely. "I am not for the likes of you."

    "Then you''ll be a virgin forever." The man smacked his lips, causing his followers to laugh. "I am a District Official of Chinchasuyu, do you know what that means? It means I control a whole town! A hundred thousand labourers work under me. Come with me, and I will make you my concubine. I''ll treat you no worse than my first wife, better if you bear me a child."

    A crowd had gathered by now, forming a semi-circle just outside the plaza area of the Healer''s Hall.

    "Master Kayara." One of the man''s guards was growing more nervous by the minute. "The Temple of Inti is visible from here."

    "Ah, Antay, why do you worry so?" The man called Kayara patted his knees. "This is a healer''s hall. These girls are from common stock, don''t you know? The daughters of the named Inca are all in the temple proper."

    "Sir Kayara¡ª"

    "Antay, enough." Kayara raised a hand. "Tell me, girl, who is your father."

    "A retired soldier¡­" The girl lowered her eyes. She had a button nose which made her appearyounger than her years, and her llama''s lashes were long enough to give him heartache. Even attired in the rough smock of the virgin''s tunic, he could sense her ripening body beneath, guess at her pliant limbs, wide hips and full breasts. "He has grown too old and fat to fight."

    "Hahaha¡­" Kayara laughed. "See? Antay, you worry for nothing."

    "Still, I wish to be left to my duty, esteemed Sir."

    "Girl." Kayara changed his tone, evidently growing impatient. "Is your father discharged?"

    "Discharged, sir?"

    "From the military."

    "I don''t think so." The girl looked up, and her obsidian orbs were like two pools of darkness refracting the noon-light from the windows. "He''s been wounded, many times though."

    "I see." Kayara clapped. "I can discharge your father if you come with me. I''ll give him the title of a tiller, but he can retire in my estate, hmm? How''s that?"

    The girl looked around her. The other virgins were silent. A few of them were smiling strangely, which Kayara took to mean their jealous approval.

    "Please allow me to decline."

    "Oh, no, no, no." Kayara stood over the girl, resisting the urge to place his hands on her waist. If he left here and now, he was sure some other noblemen would take the girl by tomorrow. She was a fantastic treat, a thing of divinity, a fertility goddess. That she had remained undiscovered until he passed by was the will of Inti himself. "You see- the hand that gives also takes. If you refuse me, I will have to report your father for desertion. Your family will receive punishment for dereliction of state duty. Your father will have to make up for his time with hard labour, no? Could his old body take it?"

    A foreboding silence fell over the temple.

    Outside, the crowd collectively parted, though Kayara was well-absorbed in his theatrics.

    "Do you not know of the Sapa''s love for his people?" The girl challenged him. "Do you not know that Inti is fair?"

    "Haha." Kayara shook his head. "But the Sapa is in his fortress, and Inti hangs high and far. I am and here and now."

    "That''s funny," a voice came from behind Kayara. "I was only six blocks away."

    The District Official turned his head.

    Something blotted out the sun.

    Or rather, it was a caramel giant whose sleeveless tunic strained against his frame. He wore a breastplate of tanned llama hide, paired with gold-studded wrist-cuffs and military-style boots. Quickly, Kayara glanced at the man''s mantle, noting the checkered patterns there that informed of his Qulla origins. From the blue dye, he could see the man''s unimpressive rank.

    "Warrior." Kayara kept his cool. "Is there a problem?"

    "You need to apologise and present yourself to the temple," the giant intoned loudly. "Inti is forgiving, but not THAT forgiving. Repent while you can."

    A murmur of agreement resounded from the crowd.

    "Is wanting to give a young woman a better life a crime now? Are you a Temple Arbitrator?"

    The question seemed to confuse the warrior.

    "Tica?" The giant scratched his head, addressing the object of Kayara''s affections. "What should I do?"

    "Oh, so you know each other?" Kayara grew annoyed. "Is this what this is about? Antay! Get rid of him."

    Against Kayara''s expectations, his usually infallible guard captain had transformed into a golden statue, one that profusely perspired.

    Kayara frowned.

    "Sir." A young man not nearly as impressive as the giant dipped his head. "Can we talk outside? You''re in the Healer''s Hall; the girls need to attend to the citizens. While you debate with Tica, there''s a line waiting outside."

    "Who are you?" Kayara frowned. The young man was in a training uniform of white woven llama wool. It was good quality, but it was the sort one saw anywhere. In his eyes, this must be another young noble, at worst a high-ranking one. "No, we can talk here."

    Someone sniggered from the crowd, followed by a dozen snorts.

    Kayara felt the hair rise at the back of his head. He knew the citizens of Cuzco were haughty- but weren''t they looking down on him too much? He was an administrator!

    To his surprise, the young man stretched out a hand to the girl and pulled her away. Before he could violently object, she fell into his arms, and the two dashed for the plaza.

    "After him!" Kayara was regretful that such a bounty would escape beneath his nose. Pushing his useless captain aside, he led his entourage outside, stepping into the sun.

    "HALT!" came the sound of the giant from behind him. A terrible pressure emitted from behind Kayara, there was a growl like that of the puma. In the square, the crowd parted like mist cleaved in twain by the sun.

    Kayara halted, not because of the beast behind him, but because of what now stood in front. The polite young man now stood with the sun above him, with the wide avenue toward the temple silhouetted against his body. Where the two-storey golden disc of Sun Gate refracted the light, Kayama saw for a moment, Inti himself.

    The mana of radiance poured from the young man''s body, filling the plaza with warmth, dispelling the cold air of the mountain valley. The girl in his arms giggled mischievously, her eyes bright with worship.

    "You are¡ª!" Kayama realised too late. The cleansing light filled his heart with clarity, and in its luminance, he cursed his weak desires.

    All he could do was turn toward the temple, kneel, then place his head against the brickwork floor.

    "Official Kayara Taruca, I will recommend you for two years of labour to temper your desires and learn the heart of the people. After that, you may return to your position, pending review from the Kuraka Bureaucratic Committee. For now, please report yourself to your Suyu''s Kuraka."

    "I. Kayama Taruca. Obey the will of Inti." Kayama trembled before the sun. "I will dedicate myself to the Empire and return to the land to learn its ways. You are merciful and wise, my prince. Please forgive this fool. Antay! You will be my guard. Take me back to the province!"

    Without another word, Kayama removed the mantle from his shoulders, took the signet ring from his fingers, then unstrapped his official''s wrist-band.

    He then turned toward the palace, knelt once more, then rose to his feet. Turning about-face, Kayara then began the long trek back to the northern province. His guards followed, not knowing what else to do.

    "Inti!" a voice cried out from the crowd.

    "Good work, Inti!"

    "Inti the wise!"

    "Prince Inti!"

    A plethora of raised caps and jubilant cries answered Inti as his giant companion rejoined the duo.

    "Your father, the Magistrate Antis, is a retired soldier?" Inti asked the girl in his arms.

    "He did retire from his position as the General, and he is growing bulbous like a yam. One wonders if he might run into the Pishtaco at this rate."

    "Don''t let him hear that... why didn''t you introduce yourself properly," Inti whispered his fianc¨¦e through the Message bangle, a handy invention, one he had fashioned into the style of a traditional Quipu bracelet. "The Coya Pasca told you this would happen if you worked with the commoners. The nobles love to recruit concubines from the temple."

    "Isn''t that obvious?" Tica''s smile was as brilliant as the noon-day sun. She kissed his hand as the people''s cheers turned into sultry demands for royal grandchildren. "Everything I do, Inti. It''s all for you."

    In Hawaii, the Honolulu Tower sat beside the port authority, an extension of the Oahu naval base.

    Its original name was the Inouye Tower, after its resident Tower Master. When Magister Inouye vacated due to health complications, the Tower''s name was auctioned off to the highest bidder. Now, travellers floating past its concrete facade could not help but gaze at the enormous characters clinging to its sides in garish purple and orange, spelling out the letters "FDX".

    "Can we go outside?" Gwen caught the clerk processing their passports. Unknown to most of her peers, she was already wearing a white halter-top two-piece underneath her dress.

    "Ah¡­" The clerk began to sweat, feeling as though a man-eating Sphinx was proctoring his answer. "No¡­ Ma''am."

    "WE CAN''T go to the beach?" Gwen pointed to the floor to ceiling window panes, beyond which was the ultramarine ocean. "Its right there! How far is Waikiki from here? Ten, twenty minutes? I could fly there in five."

    "Ma''am, your multi-pass isn''t authorised to travel on U.S soil," the perspiring clerk explained. "You can''t leave the Tower''s transitory grounds."

    "Ridiculous!" Gwen protested. She could smell the brine-scented sea outside. She leaned in close so that her face was a few inches away from the man''s face. "Surely there''s somewhere close within the Tower''s domain we can dip our feet?"

    "Er¡­" the clerk relented. "We have a rooftop pool in the VIP section, but¡ª"

    "How do we get there?"

    "It''s for VIPs¡­"

    "How does one become a VIP?"

    "You have to be an FDX premium member."

    "What is that?"

    "If you carry freight with us and spent over 20,000 HDMs, you''ll receive a VIP membership for free. FDX provides the best global logistics for the transportation of maritime goods into and from America¡ª"

    "Hold the infomercial," she stopped the young man. "I thought this was the Honolulu Tower."

    "It''s the FDX Tower."

    A few of the female clerks giggled behind the man talking to Gwen. Jiro wiggled his brows at them, eliciting another bout of laughter.

    FDX? Gwen googled her memories. F for Federal¡ª? Something clicked.

    "Federal Express?"

    "Yes, Ma''am, that''s us."

    "FedEx owns a Mage Tower?"

    "We''re just the sponsor, Ma''am. The state manages the military and the administrative wing. You''re in the commercial wing. FDX is also an official sponsor of the IIUC¡­" The young man looked at the airhead sorceress with an expression of infinite kindness and patience. "Would you like to know more?"

    "No¡­" Gwen sighed. "You''re sure we can''t just fly by Waikiki for half a day?"

    "No."

    "Not even for ready crystals?" She made the universal sign for "Ka-chin!".

    "You have to apply for an upgraded transit-pass, it''ll take forty-eight hours."

    "Bah!"

    She returned to the lounge, sat toward the sun, and faced the lulling sparkles reflecting from the ocean. Her mind, however, had drifted onto other matters.

    So, a corporation may "own" a Tower?

    America. She thought to herself. You big, bloody, beautiful ripper!

 Chapter 276 - Serpents in the Midst

    The bold font of the FDX logo shrunk in size as the freight-carrier FDX Carolina churned the bean-green Pacific a milky blue.

    Not content with leaving Waikiki without so much as a dip in the water, Gwen stood by the rails in her halter top, watching the golden beach retreat into the distance.

    "K¨¡lua Pork! I''ll be back!" Her crushing cry of defeat was accompanied by a spray of brine, not unlike a certain red-headed mermaid on the rocks.

    Not far, Petra and Lulan paused to wonder what the hell K¨¡lua pork signified before continuing their practice on the rear deck. Picking from the team''s options for locomotion, Petra had settled on Gwen''s offensive Dimension Door and Lulan''s Misty Step. By alternating between the two, she possessed ample options for hopping about the battlefield.

    The students were stuck on deck because the Carolina was a freight ship with limited space for passengers. The sixteen or so Magisters and Maguses, including Walken, had taken up the lion''s share of the limited board. Fudan, therefore, had been given the rear castle and a generous cargo bay as living space for seven days, with a crew canteen and unisex bathrooms to share.

    After a day of fruitless lounging, the team decided to get creative.

    Richard and Bai took turns defending a fort of spare containers while Rene and Jiro worked on finesse.Petra meanwhile, siphoned Enuae''s healing invocationsfor her cube collection while also helping Anita refine her element.In the make-shift cabin, Mayuree performed an elaborate Augury.

    "Weal and woe in equal measure, danger, but also reward." She shuffled the bones back into her ring. "I suppose that''s fair?"

    In the morning, from the poop deck, Gwen watched from the rails, still thinking about the beach, the sand, the sun and the golden pork. Feeling cheated and yet determined to exercise her expectations, she materialised a deck chair from her ring. To Petra and Lulan''s shock, she then set up an anchored umbrella, a wicker coffee table, and a jug of coconut juice. Gwen then patiently put down a beach towel before she casually proceeded to read Ma''s volumes by the "seaside".

    The sun glare from her porcelain skin was like a Flashbang, almost running a blinded Lulan into the bull.

    Gwen grimaced. Ever since arriving in Shanghai, she had hardly had time to sun herself. Now, she had seven days to pick up some colour, and she was determined to do so.

    Positioned to attain an even tan, she opened Ma''s volume. It was entitled "The Empire Returns: A Case Study of Tawantinsuyu."

    The collected journal was a combination of three history papers, a political dissertation, and a generous appendix, edited by Magister Joan M. Milford.

    In the first entry, "An Oral History of the Spanish Usurpation", the author annotated that Spain penetrated South America around 1532. From Lima, they met great success by striking directly at Cuzco, capturing the Sapa Inca of the time, Atahualpa. In the power vacuum, the Inca''s previously conquered provinces and allies reverted to their original tribal allegiances, preventing the Empire from repelling the Spanish. The tragedy was further compounded by the mass slaughter of temple maidens and the Inca''s reliance on message-runners who became vectors for smallpox.

    In 1534, the conquistadors beheaded the Sapa to show that the Sun King was a mortal man. To make ingots, they melted down the golden wards and idols that protected the city. Consequently, through ruin and rapine, the Castillian Crown cemented their rule from Lima to Cuzco for almost two centuries.

    The second paper was centred on the emergence of an immensely powerful Radiant Mage by the name of Manco C¨¢pac, the founder of Neo Tawantinsuyu.

    In "The Return of the Sapa" the article detailed how the long-oppressed indigenous people of the Andes turned against their Spanish masters, throwing down churches and revolting in the boroughs. When the conquistadors responded with forced conscription, the natives chose to flee into the mountains rather than serve as fodder for the Spaniard''s defence.

    The "Peruvian Civil War" then quickly escalated until the Spanish conquistador-General, Sebasti¨¢n Piz?rro, confronted the self-proclaimed Sapa Inca in the ruins of the once golden temple. If Gwen were to believe in the legend, Pizarro was first crucified, then made into a human candle. In the Plaza de Armas, he blazed from sunrise to sundown, halfway dying until the sooty end.

    In the appendix, the paper noted that recent anthropology carried out on the Cult of Inti revealed traces of 17th-century spellcraft utilised by the Vatican. Indeed, it was far more reasonable that C¨¢pac had learned how to tap into faith-based magic, as opposed to inventing his own. Though the Mage remained a mystery, it was speculated that he might have been a convert selected for Inquisitorial duty before awakening to his alter-ego.

    "Aaah-" Gwen yawned, then turned her body like a side of fish, blinding Petra.

    The death of Pizarro in 1718 was the first in a series of disasters that struck the Spanish colonies. With the Cult of Inti restored, it was no longer possible to sustain minority rule. It took only a decade for the Christian missions to fall into ruin and the colonists'' government to fall into disarray. Haplessly, the Spanish were pushed back into the ocean. Archaeologically, half the fleeing fleet was set aflame, becoming the subject of many a treasure hunt off Lima''s coast.

    Of course, the Spanish did wish to return, but by then the emerging Mageocracy had exhausted the Castillian Crown''s economic and political capital.

    Conversely, in the Andes, Manco C¨¢pac set about reestablishing the old kingdom and bringing allies into the fold. He rescued slaves from surviving outposts, punished local warlords, and reconstructed Cuzco, all in five decades. Most importantly, he cemented the worship of Inti as the state religion, using the power brought by the faith of the people to keep the monsters in the Amazon at bay.

    By 1782, the new Sapa Inca had established an egalitarian dominiondivorced from the Western notion of Monarchy. European Anthropologists invited into the Empire''s domain recorded a chimeric form of theocratic-socialism. At the head of the state was the Sapa Inca, the monarch, whose family ruled by virtue. The Sapa was supplemented by four leaders holding equal political sway, each governing a corner of Tawantinsuyu, the corners of the "world". Under each leader''s Suyu was a system of administrative officials called the Kuraka, learned men selected by merit. Each tier of the Kuraka oversaw a district, diminishing in size from city to county, to community.

    Overall, the stratum of society began with the Sapa, then the royal household, the lord''s houses, the bureaucrats of the Kuraka, then equally, the commoner-classes of the labourer, farmer, craftsman and warrior. According to service and merit, each caste furthermore possessed internal ranks.

    What interested Gwen most of all was the Inca''s disinterest in economics. As a grouptraumatised by Spain''s boundless greed during their conquest, the new Empireheavily emphasised on agrarian self-sustainability. In place of currency, Coca, crystals and maize served as means of exchange for other tangible goods, supplemented by an abstract system of bartered labour. Precious metals and luxury goods held only abstract value.

    According to the third dissertation, in place of taxes, the Inca revived a system called Mita, meaning ''taking turns''. In a western calendar year, a citizen was expected to provide one hundred days of labour. For the citizens, most of whom had spent two centuries being worked to death in gold mines, they embraced the new system with grace. The Mita system thus engendered enormous civil works on a scale the conquistadors could only dream of.

    In unambitious prosperity, the Incas retreated into the mountains for another hundred years.

    When in 1888 the British arrived at Lima, the seventh Sapa Inca, Huayna C¨¢pac, whole-heartedly welcomed the Mageocracy''s scholars into his city of gold. He embraced the spellcraft revolution, going so far as to build for the scholars a university in the heart of Cuzco.

    Fortunately for the Incans, before the Mageocracy could bring its imperialist engine to bear, Necromancy erupted from Eastern Europe like a burst pustule. Cuzco lost all contact with London while the Undead hordes ravaged Europe. By the time the Commonwealth Mageocracy stumbled back into Lima in the mid-1920s, the Inca had already incorporated the Imperial Schools of Magic into their education system.

    As the 40s rolled around, Cuzco was once again ready to join the globe; only they had one problem. The Europeans disappeared again! This time, the Mageocracy became embroiled in the Pan-European conflict. The Inca wereleft shaking their heads. Just how war-like were these Europeans?

    When in the 1950s Cuzco welcomed their American neighbours into the fold, it came with a dire warning from their Aztec Theocracy neighbours. "These are wolves in sheep''s clothing," their brothers in Meso America told them. Do not trust the men whose eyes glitter at the sight of gold, and whose prophets came bearing promises of profit.

    The Sapa Inca took caution but was full of curiosity for the world beyond. The Americans were careful as well, tentatively maintaining neutrality as they warred with the Aztecan Theocracy.

    If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

    Then, a dragon happened.

    This time, the Inca did not escape unscathed.

    Like the Mermen of the sea, the denizens of Amazonia had awoken.

    Amazonia! The very name invoked a vision of bronze-skinned, supermodel women wielding bows, shields and swords, lead by "Diana".

    She turned to the accompanying volume of South American Bestiary.

    She found trolls.

    "The Amazonian Troll is a subspecies of sapient elementals. Due to Amazon''s flora, this subspecies ranges from one to three meters. An apex predator, trolls are naturally predisposed to violence. These tusked individuals possess a vaguely humanoid profile while occupying a corporeal form of fungi-flesh, capable of rapid regeneration. All trolls are known to imbibe human tissue, which in Trollic society is considered a delicacy."

    Furthermore, the Bestiary noted, certain Trolls possessed magic derived from non-human shamanism. Though their society was primitive compared to the Inca, the race as a whole was enormously overwhelming in the martial sense. An adult troll warrior could readily match a low-tier CQB Transmutater, while Troll Shamans were no worse than mid-tier Elementalists. An average human pitted against a troll was akin to a guinea pig pitted against a cat.

    "Amazonian trolls are ruled by a matriarch, with many females serving as shamans. The principle female, a brood-matron, can spawn up to a hundred individuals a year."

    Ouch, Gwen squirmed. A hundred? Viva la Regeneration.

    "Local legend has it that male Trolls when in heat will copulate with humans. Though the victim usually perishes, females who survive the term will spawn a Hag. Should the victim be magically inclined, a Black Hag is born."

    "What the fuck?" Gwen mouthed, shivering all over. Black Hags? Trollic sorcerers wielding hexes? She had read about them in the European Beastiary. According to those, Hags were intelligent-variants who had developed a knack for magic. They also cook children.

    "Researcher''s note: there is no credibility to the assertion that Hags are born from human females. It is safe to assume this is an old wive''s tale to prevent young women from entering the jungle."

    Thank god, Gwen breathed out. Half-trolls were bullshit for sure. How would the physiology work? Trolls are elementals. They''re moving rocks, or fungi, or whatever.

    Prior to the Beast Tide, Amazonia was a region so vast as to have never been mapped by human endeavours. During the Tide, Troll tribes emerged in force. After eating the Eastern garrison, they made a buffet out of the sheltered townships in the Antis region.

    In the end, it was only after Sayri Inca C¨¢pac sundered the eastern cliffs, collapsing a portion of the basin and sacrificing a dozen townships that the horde halted. Unfortunately, in the retaliation that followed, Sayri lost his life to a virulent, incurable curse.

    When finally the Tide ceased, a slow reclamation revived the tribal home of the Antis. The new Sapa, Achiq, rebuilt the lost town and highways, eventually returning the region to a semblance of its past glory.

    The last page noted the revision date as 1985.

    Gwen replaced the book in her ring, then lied back as to digest the information. By now, she could feel the tan baking nicely.

    "Cousin." Richard came upon her sunbathing on the deck. Warily, he regarded the plump spectacle with a critical eye. "You like lobsters?"

    "Why?" She perked up. "Are we having lobsters for dinner? I could eat."

    "No, but¡­" Richard pointed to her red and tingling protrusions. "You look like you''re about to Polymorph into one."

    "Restoration!" Eunae rubbed ointment onto her vice-captain while waiting for the spell to run its course. Luyi helped by spreading the salve with its tongue.

    "I don''t get it," their vice-captain groaned underneath her healer''s appendages. For someone who had spent her twenties in enviable bronze, she was no stranger to tanning. "I took every precaution."

    "What possible precaution can a half-vampire take against the sun?" Richard commented as Lea cooled his cousin''s irradiated dermis. "There''s wanting to look like hot stuff, and then there''s medium-rare."

    Gwen groaned. "Very funny. Is the ozone here depleted?"

    "The what?" Richard pulled up his sleeves, showing a healthy tan. He also pointed to Lulan, who now appeared at least a shade darker after two days on the equatorial belt. Even Petra, who was a lab room beauty, had taken on a tinge of colour that played wonderfully against her vivid eyes.

    "My beach!" Gwen bawled at the sight of her bronzing buddies. "Do I have to go in a burkini?"

    Richard snorted at her Gwenism.

    "Ooo, that smarts!" She drew in a breath of humid air as her skin began to moult. Beneath the shedding cells, the new surface emerged paled and translucent. Gwen cringed as Eunae picked at her peeling skin with sadistic pleasure.

    "So, anything we should know?" Richard changed the topic to her books.

    "We''ll talk over dinner." Gwen regarded her healer apologetically before turning to her other companions. "Maybe then, Eric can advise the bloody team he''s leading instead of dining with his fellow snobs¡­"

    According to scripture, the world had three layers.

    Amaru was the serpent, Apu of the "Ukhu Pacha", the land below the land. Puma was the Apu of the "Kay Pacha", the mountains upon which the Inca resided. Cuntur was the Apu of the "Hanan Pacha" in the sky, filled with magnificent condors.

    To attain enlightenment, the citizens of Tawantinsuyu must strive toward the seven virtues- Courage, Restraint, Charity, Joy, Truthfulness, Pride, and Justice. Likewise, they must renounce the ill-humours of Avarice, Sloth, Vengefulness, Carnality and Jealousy. Each of the virtue and vices was indoctrined from childhood, first through limericks, then fables, then finally, chronicle of the conquistadors'' boundless cruelty. According to the Mamaconas of the Temple, should a citizen exercise more virtue than vice, then all would be well. Those who were good went to Hanan Pachu when they died, while sinners fell into Ukhu Pacha to be punished by the demons, monsters kept at bay by the great serpent.

    "Amaru" was also the given name of Amaru Paullu-Yupanqui, cousin to the Sapa Inca, uncle twice-removed to the young Inti, and brother to Manco, the overseer of the Suyu of Antis.

    Amaru was aware that to outsiders, the state religion was called the Cult of Inti, and that the Cult had plagiarised Christian motifs where the original was lost. Amaru also knew that the Apu was in reality, Magical Beasts. Some were mindless predators, like the Titan Boas of the low-land, slinking up the cliffs in summer to eat the llama and the occasional misbehaving child. Others, like the Phuyupuma, the Cloud Puma, were wise and intelligent, but not a god.

    Amaru had possessed many titles of renown in his forty-five years of service.

    Priest Amaru.

    Adjudicator Amaru.

    Administrator Amaru.

    Professor Amaru.

    Chief of the Kuraka, Amaru.

    Magus, then Magister Amaru.

    Amaru, however, saw his life differently.

    He was Amaru the fool.

    Amaru the gullible.

    Amaru the miserable.

    For this, he blamed the Sapa Inca.

    In the beginning, growing up in the cloud forests of the Antis; he, Manco and Uchu were instrumental in the Sapa''s rise to power. Of Amaru''s three companions, Achiq was a friend; Manco his brother; and Uchu was his everything.

    Amaru and Uchu had been inseparable since they were apprentices. She had always favoured him more than Manco. That came as no surprise; whether in politics or magic, he had always outshone his good-natured brother.

    After the Tide, Uchu''s father chose Manco as a successor. This, Amaru did not care. But when Manco became the leader of his people, he picked Uchu for his wife. To Amaru''s chagrin, before he could protest, the newly crowned Achiq gave his blessing to Manco, carving the union in stone. Heartbroken, Amaru begged Uchu to protest. Alas, Uchu could not refute the will of a god.

    A GOD! Amaru felt sick. No, Achiq was just a man.

    In Amaru''s eyes, the Sapa was no Allah or Christ. He was an honest, kind-natured herder, the sort who could be lead by the lip like a llama.

    Jaded and full of hidden venom, Amaru asked for a leave of absence from Cuzco to travel the Andes and beyond. When he returned, Uchu was gone.

    "She died defending her child," his Sapa had said. "There was a skirmish, and they were caught by surprise." It was a story as common as maize, but Amaru felt on the verge of murderous madness.

    "Uncle Amaru." Before the darkness could descend, a little girl tugged at his tunic. "Mama said I should look to you."

    "Tica," Manco introduced his daughter. Her name meant the beautiful one.

    Caught within the twin pools of Tica''s grieving eyes, Amaru rediscovered his reason for being. He became Tica''s teacher, keeping nothing from her: spellcraft, politics, arts, literature, history, the mythologies; he gave his all. Under his care, her talent blossomed. Amaru had no doubt she would shine brighter than the sun.

    Then, on her sixteenth summer, Achiq bequeathed the girl to Inti.

    The city rejoiced. All of Antis rejoiced. Tawantinsuyu rejoiced.

    But for Amaru, when the blessing left Achiq''s lips, something revolted.

    A flower he had so tenderly raised, plucked, just like that? A sapling he had watered and weeded and kept sheltered from sleet and snow and now bearing fruit, was to be plundered by a meritless prince?

    Amaru cautioned himself.

    Did he desire Tica? He quashed the thought. What he felt for the girl wasn''t lust, but love. His rage came not from envy, but injustice. Had he not made a promise to himself that none may take the daughter of his beloved Uchu? He had groomed Tica for the role of the Coya Pasca, the High Priestess, the most powerful woman in the Empire, unbeholden even to the Sapa Inca.

    If he was to lose her now, why had Amaru remained alive? He could have joined Uchu in the underworld two decades ago.

    "Lord Amaru?" came a gruff voice beside him.

    Amaru''s pale-yellow irises re-focused. Whenever he recalled that his jewel was wandering the city with her princeling, his mind wandered.

    "Pray, continue." Amaru waved a hand to his companion. "I am listening."

    Unlike the androgynous Amaru, his conversation partner was a picture of masculinity. Square-jawed, hawk-eyed and with a nose like a condor''s beak, the man possessed three times the bulk of the light-framed Amaru.

    The two men were meeting in Cuzco''s Tower, a contrivance Amaru had necessarily introduced as a countermeasure against Amazonia. From the exterior, the Cuzco Tower was a modest administrative building crafted from reinforced glass and concrete. Conversely, its interior was deceptively large and furnished in the aesthetic of the colonists.

    "Very well. The remuneration is 24,000 HDMs, assuming our agents can recover the Sun and Moon idols."

    The man tapped on the data slate.

    "Sans the idols, the total is 57,000 HDMs."

    "Acceptable."

    "I shall collect the collateral now." The mercenary grinned like a wolf, splitting his cracked lips from ear to ear. "Rest assured, our contractors are the definition of discretion."

    "I trust you because I doubt you have the gall to double-cross me." Amaru tapped on his Message device. "Like you, I have friends in high places. Both in the Factions, and elsewhere..."

    A door opened, followed by a laden trolley pushed by a girl-servant. The attendant bowed, then un-locked a compartment to reveal two-dozen golden statues, each an amalgamation of the snake, the condor and the puma.

    "Your collector seems to know us well," Amaru remarked, running a finger over the two-dozen or so statues of the sacred trinity. "Very few of these pre-colonial icons have survived."

    "May I?" the middle-aged Magus reached for the avatars.

    Amaru watched as the man ran a score of diagnostic magics on his tablet device tied to a monocle. In regards to Magitech, he sorely envied the Americans. If Tawantinsuyu could possess the same tier of programmable spell-components, the nation''s bureaucratic affairs could reach new heights of efficiency.

    "Excellent." The Mercenary captain replaced the statue. "It''s a pleasure doing business with you, Magister Yupanqui."

    "I await your success." Amaru smiled at the grinning captain. "We will not meet again."

    "No." The wolfish man moved his hand over the statues, stowing the lot with a glance. "We won''t."

 Chapter 277 - The Sun Also Rises

    Stepping from the FDX Carolina after seven days of swaying at sea, the ground beneath the student''s feet turned as they ambled onto the freight dock.

    From the deck, they were soon joined by the proctors. Exchanging a few polite words, the group then crossed customs before travelling coach into Lima''s cultural centre.

    Unlike the Cuzco of Gwen''s academic volumes, remnants of Castillian legacy remained in the coastal city. When she audibly questioned why so much of the trade-city retained its colonial influence, it was a voice from the front who answered the inquisitive vice-captain.

    "Lima was our last domain," their driver struck up a conversation.

    "Domain?"

    "Yeah, of us Spaniards."

    She implored the driver to continue.

    "... and because we have Spanish blood, the Incas don''t think very highly of us," their chauffeur snorted. "In Cuzco; those snobs wouldn''t give us the time of day."

    Their assigned guide, visibly more Spanish than native, grumbled bitterly.

    Ah, Gwen nodded at their driver''s disdain. Trouble in paradise, that was more like it. Her anthropological records were far too kind in regards to the Inca''s pristine cultural roots. As always, academia was a far cry from the vox populi.

    "The real Inca; and I mean those born in Cuzco under the auspice of Inti¡­" their driver continued. "¡­they think that folks from Lima only go to Cuzco to steal and grovel. Sometimes I wonder if things could be better if we had remained an independent city, or if we never allowed the crown to be chased out..."

    From behind the driver''s seat, Gwen could see that much of Lima resembled Barcelona, with broad, tree-strewn avenues in stone. True to the driver''s sentiments, its boulevards retained a Catalan-Gothic flavour.

    "Thankfully, we''re mostly left alone down here at the coast." The driver said. "The sun shines from Cuzco, but Lima is in the shade, eh? All that gold they''ve got up there, and mountains of Crystals! All they do is pile it up in that Temple of theirs and praise the sun. But we''re citizens of the Empire too, aren''t we? Lima needs new roads, new ports, new schools! We''re the artery that connects Cuzco to the outside world!"

    Perhaps it was because the girl had shaken his hand and asked for his name, or maybe it was exciting to have a Mage eating his words- the man''s disclosure came on like a torrent.

    So, strife does exist in the Empire, Gwen deduced. She could see it too.

    It was only when their bus entered the central business district that the attires of the citizenry began to take on a distinct, local air. One by one, workwear turned into colourful caps; shawls stitched with chequered patters, long full body tunics, and leather sandals.

    "Why do some people have similar mantles?"

    "That''s easy." The driver said as he pulled into the hotel''s bay. "The squares on the mantle indicate their position and rank in their Suyu. Gold-Red-Blue-Green-Teal-Earth-Grey. The closer to red, the higher up they are. If you see someone with a gold mantle, they''re a part of the royals. Grey means they are criminals."

    He pointed to a square on his uniform. "Me? I am a Teal. A skilled labourer."

    "Right, gotcha." Gwen thanked their accommodating NoM driver before producing an HDM. "Enrico, Can I gift you with this?"

    "I won''t say no, Miss Gwen." The man gulped. "Inti''s blessing!"

    Behind Gwen, Auberon, the Baron of Shenfield, turned to his old classmate with an enquiry. "She does that a lot?"

    "All the time," Walken said. "Queer, hmm? Maybe it''s her Frontier upbringing. She''s got a knack for dealing with NoMs."

    "You think an NoM would resist an Omni-mage?"

    "Do you think you can get your NoMs to speak to you candidly?"

    "Hee..."

    Auberon Lucas watched Walken''s prize stretch her pliant figure in a most unladylike manner. More and more, his alumnus'' prot¨¦g¨¦ was tickling his interest.

    "Right!" in the lobby of the impressive colonial hotel, Fudan''s instructor addressed his team. "We''re up at 0400 sharp tomorrow for breakfast and final checks. At 0500, we take the ISTC to Cuzco. After that, we have been invited to attend the sunrise. There, you will meet with your opponents from Cuzco National University. Remember, Inti Yupanqui-C¨¢pac is both heir and the future head of the Cult, handle with care."

    "Yessir!" the team replied.

    "Remember that as with the PLA Tower, Cuzco is independent. Not all of your Contingency Rings may function. I will check with Tower Master Yupanqui before we proceed with the quest. When you duel, shield-break only."

    "Yessir!"

    "Petra?"

    "I am stocked up, sir."

    "Gwen?"

    "Nothing but Lightning!"

    "Good." Walken turned to face the lobby. "This may be the last two days you''ll remain in civilisation for the foreseeable future. Treasure it!"

    True to Walken''s proposed itinerary, the team arrived at the ISTC at the crack of dawn. An hour later, Fudan''s team was treading on the sacred soil of Cuzco; the navel of the world, the centre of the Incan Empire.

    As with Burma, an entourage awaited the students. This time, their hosts consisted of a dozen smiling men in conical flapper-hats, colourful tunics and scarlet shoulder-shawls, bowing their heads. After handshakes and greetings, the congregation made way for a trio of women, who introduced themselves as the Aclla Cuna.

    "Sacred women," Gwen translated for the others, marvelling at the linguistic prowess of her new Ioun Stone. "Virgins of the Sun."

    "Please follow us to the Temple," one of the girls implored amiably. Unlike the ceremoniously adorned men, the girls wore white tunics of fine linen, a sunburst-patterned shawl and llama-skin shoes.

    Gwen enviously scrutinised their perfect, caramel skin.

    "Cute¡­" Jiro followed without complaint.

    The others formed a procession line. Unlike the enthralled Jiro, his companions arranged themselves in order of height so that Eunae and Lulan wouldn''t have their first sight of Cuzco impeded.

    Outside Cuzco''s Tower, the still-dark city expanded from horizon to horizon, a tide of chalk-washed buildings with terracotta roofs. Unlike the "blocks" favoured by the developed nations, the city offered a unique take on urbanism, forming fissured avenues encircling administrative and religious centres.

    To the city''s north, the mighty fortress of Sacsahuam¨¢n cast its golden glow; its walls etched with lustrous wards and arcane symbols. From the hilly vantage, the puma-shaped city pulsed with the royal fortress at its head, and Coricancha at its heart. The team wondered at the breath-taking sight of seeing a foreign city whose ley-lines were imprinted in golden circles glowering with thrumming mana. Fed by capillaries of magic, Cuzco appeared as though it were alive.

    Their destination, Coricancha, sat atop another hill, at the end of an elongated plaza shaped like a "T".

    "And I thought our city used a lot of gold¡­" Mayuree inhaled Cuzco''s rarified air. As a precaution, the students had imbibed potions for altitude sickness. Nonetheless, lightheadedness and mild nausea assailed those whose whole lives had been spent at sea-level.

    Gwen meanwhile, struck up a conversation with the priestesses. First praising their elegance, their clothes, then steering the conversation toward the city itself, playing the ignorant yokel. In no time at all, the girls were giggling as though old friends.

    "Where are the slums?" Gwen remarked. Even in the dim light, the urban silhouette was incredibly consistent. In Shanghai, she explained, it was self-evident where the Mage''s city ceased, and the NoM''s districts began.

    "Cuzco doesn''t discriminate," the priestess candidate, Lira, proudly proclaimed. "We don''t have areas for the poor."

    "Oh? How so?"

    "All of the city''s citizens are cared for by the Sapa," the Aclla Cuna replied with reverence. "So long as they or their families contribute, they won''t starve, and they will always have a bed and a roof over their heads."

    "And if they don''t contribute?" Gwen arched a brow. Was modern-day Cuzco a socialist-theocracy like Bhutan? Or was it a cult of personality in the style of Dear Leader?

    "Why would they not?" The girl furrowed her brows. "The city belongs to all of us. Inti shines on all equally, why should they not reciprocate? Who would wish to live in the darkness?"

    Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!

    Gwen caught Richard smiling and showed her cousin the white of her eyes.

    "You''re right." She grinned back amicably. "What a wonderful city. Bless Inti!"

    "Bless Inti!" the girl chirped.

    "Do you mind if I ask some more questions?"

    "Ask me anything!" The girls'' eyes glinted. "I am the top-ranking student at the temple! What would you like to know?"

    "How about¡­" Gwen made sure her friends were listening. "How about some valorous tales of your darling prince?"

    0610.

    Sunrise.

    Hymns praising the risen sun rose to a crescendo, filling the golden air with the music of the spheres.

    "How ecclesiastical," Richard relayed through a silent Message. "I know they''re using mostly wind instruments, but there''s a choir and everything. I am getting flashbacks of Sunday assembly at Prince''s."

    "Must be a post-colonial thing," Gwen returned as she looked about the temple. Indeed, as Richard had stated, they may as well be in an Incan variation of the Barcelona Cathedral. Above, where the sun had struck the central structure''s arched dome, an incredible array of amber quartz formed an art-deco sun, bathing the faithful in awe.

    The high priest, dressed in the garb of Inti with three condor feathers in a golden headband, a metallic shawl and a waist-skirt etched with saffron threads, lead the congregation in prayer.

    When the music ebbed, an incense-smeared llama dressed in gold and scarlet threads made its way to the centre of the dais.

    Oh no, Gwen winced.

    "I had expected a nubile virgin," Richard reminded her of Cuzco''s past. That a llama was now a substitute spoke of the Cult''s modernity. "Maybe it''s a maiden llama?"

    Without complaint, the animal knelt.

    "Inti! Teach us!" The priest rose both hands toward the heavens. "Take this offering from your people!"

    The congregation began to chant.

    A disrobed young man joined the central dais. He was naked from the waist up and rouged in gold, reminding Gwen of a Grecian statue. As his footfalls filled the temple''s vacant spaces with thudding echoes, she thought of Gunther.

    So that''s "Dear Prince", Gwen studied the lone figure as he approached the llama with a gleaming, golden blade. In one stroke, the Radiant Mage sunk the dagger into the creature''s heart. The llama knelt, then the high priest collected the heart-blood in a jewelled goblet.

    Oh no. Gwen realised where this was going.

    "We invite our guests to partake in the gift of Inti," the priest declared.

    Slick with gore from his square chest to chiselled abdominals, Inti raised the cup, then approached Fudan''s assembly. From the left side of the aisle, the Cuzco team rose to their feet.

    "I, Bai Tei, accept your generosity." Bai stepped forward, bowed to Inti, then again toward the Sapa Inca seated under the glimmering mural.

    Inti took a sip.

    Gwen felt her skin crawl.

    "The flesh of my God, from me to you, brother under the sun," Inti intoned.

    Tei received the goblet, then drank.

    "Good!" Inti slapped Tei on the shoulder.

    He then passed the goblet down the line so that it was in the hand of his vice-captain, a girl with deep, obsidian eyes. She introduced herself as Tica, a noblewoman and heir to the seat of Antis.

    From the cup''s rim, Tica dyed her lips, painting both petals carmine, making even Gwen gulp. When she relayed the goblet, the Void Mage could taste the fecundity radiating from Tica''s body.

    A Plant Mage! She wrinkled her nose at the nostalgic fragrance.

    At the goblet''s base, their fingers touched.

    A mote of something passed between them. Their eyes met.

    "The flesh of Inti, from me to you, sister under the sun," Tica parroted.

    "Sister." Gwen raised the goblet, then took a mouthful.

    The briny-blood was pungent but full of life. As a scalding line of raw vitality, it travelled down her gullet, flushing her body pink.

    "Oh¡­" Gwen gasped, realising she had let loose an indiscreet moan.

    "Inti appears to agree with you." Tica''s smiling eyes formed two half-moons. "May we converse during the luncheon?"

    Gwen nodded, then passed the goblet to a caramel giant taller than Richard and twice the bulk by the name of "Tupaq".

    TUPAC?! Gwen almost regurgitated her plasma-de-llama. She regarded the rapper extraordinaire but was disappointed when the man spoke in Quechua.

    The ritual continued.

    Thanks to Mayuree running a discrete variation of Detect Magic, Fudan measured up their opponents.

    The Incan team consisted of five men and five women.

    Inti Yupanqui-C¨¢pac, princeling and Radiant Mage, was Cuzco''s captain.

    Tica Chuquipoma-Yupanqui was their vice-captain, a Plant Mage. Her School of Magic was indeterminable, though Gwen did detect the familiar scent of a fellow Conjurer, one that had mastery over a sprite that smelled like Sufina.

    Tupaq was a Mage with a hint of Abjuration. Likely a local specialist.

    The other three men were not nearly as impressive as Inti and Tupaq, carrying the aura of casters at tier 5 or below. Uturunku was an Earthen Transmuter-Abjurer. Urqu, who wore a headdress of condor feathers, had the feel of an Air Mage with a mix of Transmutation and Divination. Qari appeared a Fire Evoker, though Jiro found the man''s Affinity inferior by far.

    Behind Tica were the female members of the Incan team. Sumatika was a water Mage of an indistinct school. Misi was a CQB Mage, evidenced by her dancer''s figure and the obsidian daggers strapped to her thighs.Kusi, Misi''s sister, was again a Mage of indistinct magic. Mallquwas the last member, oneMayuree determined to be a Support caster.

    It was an imbalanced lineup, Gwen deduced. The sort Walken noted as a team held together by a few core members whose abilities were extraordinary.

    "That makes sense, really," her teacher had wisely articulated. "In a society of enforced homogeny, mediocrity is celebrated. If individuals like Inti popped up all over, how would the Empire maintain itself?"

    "One mountain does not brook two tigers." Bai nodded in agreement.

    "Two stars keep not their motion in one sphere," Gwen added her piece.

    "Not to mention we''re talking dragons, condors, couatls, pumas¡­" Walken chuckled. "Harmony-over-competition isn''t a bad thing. Until you realise there''s a shortage of talent to repel the next Tide."

    Ergo, to defeat Cuzco National, the easiest thing to do was to knock out Inti and Tica.

    "Take care," Walken warned them. "From now until the finals, all your CCs will be accumulated. Through victory for each match, your scores will flow onto the next. In the event of a tie or total failure - the team with the higher CC total will emerge the victor. In that regard, prioritise your quest. Deal with Inti only if necessary."

    "And the locals have home-ground trump cards," Richard said. "We have to tread lightly and carry a big wand."

    Gwen''s attention returned to the ceremony. The llama was now being carried out. Later it would be blessed with pepper and rock salt.

    "Blessed Inti!" the high priest declared to the amber mural. "O radiant day-star that melts the snow and makes the maize rise."

    "Inti!" The members of Cuzco National saluted the dais by crossing their wristbands across their chest. It was the customary greeting used by the Empire''s elite.

    "Inti!"

    "Inti!"

    "Inti!"

    Prayers to the Sun God filled the cathedral.

    From start to finish, the ceremony had taken two hours.

    "We now invite Lord Auberon Lucas to speak." The high priest vacated for the chief proctor and his assistant.

    The Baron of Shenfield took to the stage with effortless ease.

    "Students, advisors, and guests- welcome to the international round of the 2004 IIUC. This morn, in beautiful Cuzco, we accept this invitation issued by the Royal House of C¨¢pac."

    "To our hosts! It is with great pleasure that the committee accepts your summon. In the coming days and beyond, may our friendship flourish, and our cooperation be fruitful!"

    Applause.

    "Fudan!" Auberon turned to the contestants. "You have travelled far, and I salute your ardour. Cuzco National! We thank your generosity and grace. To all of our contestants, I hope that you shall keep your heart firm, your valour strong and your honour immutable!"

    His assistant Magister handed him a scroll.

    "Your TASK!" Auberon unfurled the parchment with a dramatic flourish. "Shall take place beyond the edge of the Eastern Suyu."

    A startled murmur spread through the Incan audience, including Cuzco''s contestants. Inti and Tica swapped a knowing glance.

    Fudan remained unmoved, vaguely aware that the Amazonian region was virginal Wildland but otherwise possessing no idea why the Inca grew agitated.

    The chief proctor waited until the congregation quietened down.

    "You have heard correctly. In preparation for this event, our joint-survey with the Cuzco Tower, under Magister Amaru Paullu-Yupanqui, has unveiled a Dungeon in the hitherto unmapped region of Divi-Loc 12.61 S: 70.40 W."

    Another murmur broke out over the assembly.

    "Of course, we use the term Dungeon empirically. As for what our students shall find, I now invite our host to explain."

    A thunderous meeting of palms rang out as Achiq, the Sapa Inca of the Four Corners of the World, took to the platform. Betraying Gwen''s expectations, the king was a homely man with a modest bearing that reminded her of a middle-aged CEO. He stood a head shorter than his son, Inti, and sunken eye-bags marred his serious face. The contrast was so stark that for a moment, Gwen found it difficult to believe that the dry-looking sovereign could have sired his golden boy. Indeed, even with his golden mantle and headdress, the king''s aura remained demure.

    "Contestants, guests and friends," the Sapa began. "During the Tide, we lost vast areas of the Antis region to the monsters of Amazonia. Though we have recovered much, many of our ancestor''s teachings and relics remain displaced. In this hour of our need, what brother Amaru has uncovered for the contest is one such piece of our past - an ancient temple dedicated to Mama Killa, the Moon Mother and her husband, Inti. Potentially, within the ruin rests many treasures- from lost scripture noted in the annuls of Quipu tapestries, to relics and wards from a time of old magic."

    "As such, upon the shoulders of these young people, I wish to place the burden of recovering these precious artefacts. With the anticipation and hope of the people of Cuzco behind them, these brave warriors will enter the shadow of Amazonia and return our idols to the light!"

    Auberon waited for the clamour to finish before taking over.

    "Thank you. Your Majesty." He bowed, then turned to face the contestants. "Students, the Dungeon shall be a trial of intelligence, wit, and mastery over magic! Heed the Sapa''s call to arms! The Quest to which you have been given will consist of two components. There shall be two parties of five members. First is the Explorer Team. Your task is to proceed into the unmapped region of Amazonia and locate said temple at the crossroads where three waterways meet. You shall follow the footsteps of great adventurers like Magister Shackleton and Meister Elijah Mallory in mapping the region for your companions."

    "Should you succeed in locating the temple. Your instructions will be given to the second group ¡ª the Dungeoneering Team. Following your companions'' footsteps, you will arrive at the ruins, ready to delve into its depth. In keeping with the dungeoneering spirit, I wish to inform you that not even your proctors know what awaits. All we possess is a record of what the Temple is said to hold. As the mission stands, CCs are awarded for artefacts, crystals, relics, and magical ingredients recovered. For additional credit, extraordinary events, combat, cooperation and preservation of the historical site may apply."

    Auberon paused to study the students.

    "Naturally, risk of life and limb is part and parcel the life of an Adventurer. I know that some of you may be wondering if Contingency will function in an isolated Black Zone. Well, I have good news for you."

    "As a precaution, a special Contingency Ring has been crafted for all contestants, courtesy of Magister Amaru. The IIUC is aware that the impenetrability of the Amazon basin''s dense vegetation will negate all effects bar the highest-tier of items. These custom rings have been modified to take you to the Cuzco Tower, as they have been manually attuned with resonating quartz-crystals unique to each ring."

    The students from Cuzco relaxed. From their expressions, Gwen noted that not many of them possessed Contingency Rings in the first place. Comparatively, Fudan''s cohort was well-provisioned, though they grew glad that in the worst-case scenario, they would be spared the cost.

    "What a generous Tower Master." Richard applaudedthe bald Magister standing behind the Sapa Inca. "Complimentary insurance. How thoughtful."

    Listening to Richard''s miserly delight, Gwen couldn''t help but think of an old saying- there''s no such thing as a free lunch. For sure, she noted, there was going to be mortal danger.

    "Students, friends, good Masters of Cuzco! Welcome to the 2004 opening match of the International Inter-University Competition!" Auberon raised his voice expansively as the guests and audience rose to their feet. "Students, in the spirit of fairness and genuine adventure, your trial begins at 0900 tomorrow morning! Good luck!"

 Chapter 278 - A Modest Proposal

    Following the ceremony and the announcement, the teams took an hour to change their attires, re-emerging at noon into a converted courtyard.

    Ever the suspicious cynic, Walken subtly patrolled the perimeter, studying the site for anything of interest that may befoul the team. By the time the party was in full swing, he couldn''t help but acknowledge a woeful absence.

    There was no duelling arena.

    Indeed, no space had been reserved for Fudan''s foremost strategy. There wasn''t even a barrier. Should a fight break out, there was a genuine possibility of damaging the ancient temple.

    Well, bollocks, Walken grumbled to himself. How could Gwen lay down the gauntlet when there''s no place to jostle?

    "What''s the meaning of this?" He quickly joined the conspiracy of proctors in the courtyard. "Auberon?"

    "You''ve got me there." The chief proctor put up both hands in a gesture of innocence. "Maybe they got wind of your Void Sorceress'' records? I heard she has never lost a duel. That and she pounded down a pseudo-mythic in Burma. Who the hell would want to duel that?"

    "..." Fudan''s instructor blinked. What Auberon said made a lot of sense.

    "If I were Cuzco, I wouldn''t want to shame my princeling in public either." Auberon shrugged. "The son of a God must remain as such- you get my meaning?"

    It was a reasonable conjecture.

    Could it be true? Walken wondered to himself. Was this that Militant Pacifism he had heard from Kilroy? Supposedly, it was Gwen who came up with the idea.

    His eyes passed the Incan nobles in their gold and jewels. It didn''t take much effort to locate his cabal of sorceresses. There was Gwen, Petra, the golden boy, and the smitten priestess.

    "Walken, you worrywart, leave them be," the Baron of Shenfield advised, "What is she, your apprentice? Didn''t you kill her beloved Master?"

    "You know that''s not true," Walken warned his friend. "I am worried she might get us kicked out. You know what she did to the heirs to the Yooksung Group?"

    "I too saw the Vid-cast."

    "If she thrashes him in his temple..."

    "Don''t be such a prude, Eric." Auberon swirled the Argentinian Malbec in his glass. "Let the kids have their fun."

    "What fun would that be?" A third voice joined their conversation. It was Cuzco''s Tower Master, now the majordomo.

    "Eric- you remember our host?" Auberon bowed, then brought the two face to face. "We met at the 97 Los Angeles PACT conference."

    Walken suppressed a shameful flush of the cheeks. When he had last met Cuzco''s Tower Master, they had been equals.

    "I doubt one of the Ten would recall a provincial like me," sounded a voice with the consistency of silk. "Nonetheless, the pleasure is all mine, Eric..."

    For an international broadcast, a smidgen of nationalism for the home front was expected. As such, cultural outfits had been the theme both Fudan and Cuzco had chosen for the mid-day llama feast.

    On Cuzco''s side, its members were ceremoniously adorned with a king''s ransom of gold. Conversely, the Asian students elected a Shanghai speciality: silk cheongsams provided gratis by a designer in Suzhou.

    For the men, their formal attires gave them a gravity which the youngsters lacked, adding significantly to Fudan''s presentation. As for the girls, the styles which Gwen had picked out wereelegant and provocative, scandalising the Incans with an attire that had bedazzled European expatriates for a century.

    In their figure-hugging outfits and colour-matched heels, the girls cast such a sight that Jiro had trouble walking.

    Playing their part as the team''s poster-girls, Gwen and Petra made the rounds, shook hands and flirted with the smitten locals before taking advantage of lumen-ops that would soon arrive back home. For Gwen, it was business as usual, while Petra''s coldness only made her more mysterious and alluring.

    Sure enough, once the party had the momentum to proceed on its own, Inti approached. In his conforming-tunic, the young man was awe-inspiring. With his natural tan and trained body, Inti wouldn''t look out of place if he were to apply zinc to his nose and emerge from the surf at Bondi.

    "What do you think?" She nudged her cousin. "Ripper of a bloke, eh? You keen?"

    Petra''s answer came in the form of a playful pinch that made Gwenyelp.

    But before Gwen could ply the old charm, a priestess intercepted the prince before he could introduce himself.

    "Miss Song, it gets cold in Cuzco." A set of dark pupils traced the arch of Gwen''s dress from hip to ankle. "I hope you won''t catch a cold before the match."

    "A chill, when the sun''s so close?" Gwen suppressed a smirk as she teased her hapless interloper.

    Behind the girl, she caught Inti trying to place his eyes somewhere innocuous. To gaze at the vice-captain''s face was too embarrassing, looking lower was lewd, and to stare at her feet was perhaps worse.

    She flashed a winning smile, urging Petra to do likewise. Before they duelled, it was good to lower her opponent''s guard.

    "So, Prince In¡ª"

    "He''s taken." Tica''s interruption snapped like a whip. "We''re engaged!"

    "..."

    "..."

    "..."

    An awkward silence reigned as Tica gloated. Gwen wondered if she could get Tica into a duel by flirting with Inti. Petra had a dozen spells she had wanted to test on the Radiant Mage.

    Cuzco''s captain soon broke the tension by changing the topic.

    "Dear ladies, may I borrow both of you to sound a proposal?" An overpowering earnestness washed over them like warm water. "Miss Gwen, as Fudan''s Ace, I understand you occupy a central position within the team. Will you lend me your ear?"

    Gwen lowered her eyes for a moment to circulate a mote of Almudj''s Essence. Whether intentional or otherwise, Inti''s unadulterated positivity was intoxicating.

    "Of course, I''m happy to listen."

    "Thank you. Then I shall make my case." Inti appeared unfazed by Gwen''s glowing irises. "As you well know, Uncle Amaru has set a quest that benefits my people. No matter which one of us is the victor, Cuzco remains a beneficiary."

    "That''s right," Gwen concurred. "And?"

    "And as such, we would be obliged if our missions could be carried out cooperatively."

    "Oh?" Gwen studied the man''s unblinking eyes. Cooperation? She was here to kick his ass, and he wanted to hold hands? In the previous match, both Jiantong and Seoul had wanted to butt heads, while Kyoto was an ally of circumstance. "From the get-go?"

    "Yes, from the beginning." Inti showed off his perfect teeth. "In Amazonia, survival will be our greatest challenge, not each other. If so, why not strike an accord? Our competition shouldn''t be won or lost because of us undermining one another. We can both benefit."

    "A win-win?" Gwen rested a hand against her hip, fascinated by the prince''s selfless generosity. The proposal was tempting. After all, wasn''t the Middle Faction''s motto mutual gain and mutual compromise? "I won''t say no, but you can''t expect me to believe you''re happy with losing? Doesn''t Cuzco have home advantage? Why should you hamstring yourselves?"

    When he next spoke, Inti''s voice took on a resonant, euphonic quality. "Miss Gwen, I am imploring you because I am a realist. I am under no delusion that Cuzco National will measure up against opponents outside our domain. I know that compared to the Europeans, our meagre mastery of Spellcraft will not win us the IIUC."

    "You say that now¡ª" she protested.

    "Miss Gwen. I know you wanted to use the luncheon to duel myself and Tica." Inti''s words exposed her naked ambition. "I''ve heard of your prowess. However, in my opinion, senseless fighting will only sour our future cooperation. That''s why I had the duelling arenas removed."

    Gwen chuckled uncomfortably. Beating seven shade of shit out of Inti had indeed graced her and Walken''s data slates.

    "Let me say this: progressing to round two isn''t our principal objective." The Incan candidness caught her flatfooted. "With the quest unveiled, we have more important objectives. Do you wish to know why Cuzco strived to enter the IIUC?"

    Gwen shrugged.

    "It''s so that we can remind the world that the Empire is a bastion of humanity" Inti intoned reverently. "For the days ahead, we will prove to the world that in Amazonia lies the greatest threat to the continuation of human dominion in the region. Should there be another beast-tide, South America may become a Demi-human continent."

    This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    Inti''s eyes burned with conviction.

    "I bring, therefore, a proposal of peace. In the days ahead, we shall not impede one another''s progress in our quests. As we are all siblings under the sun, should we not act as such? Cuzco has no conflict with Shanghai. Why not let us open a new chapter of cooperation between our two cities? I sincerely believe that in working hand-in-hand, we shall both succeed in our endeavours."

    Inti glowed, and his audience quaked. Gwen felt her heart soften. In her eyes, Inti appeared as though a radiant labrador begging with liquid eyes. To refuse would be kicking the biggest puppy under the sun.

    "I understand if you find it difficult to trust us," Inti whined. "I would be suspicious too. As a show of sincerity, my team shall swear on Inti''s name that there will be no betrayal..."

    "Hold your llamas." Gwen stopped the prince before he could continue to paw at her conscience. "Let me get Tei."

    Taking advantage of her height, she scanned the party for her teammates. There was the flirtatious Jiro, keeping a dozen dates with a dozen priestess candidates, letting the girls pet his Firebird. Behind the young man, Rene answered questions while trying to keep Jiro from the giggling virgins. In a shaded corner, Mayuree and Eunae hid behind the dessert table, two introverts perfectly happy to be left alone. Across the courtyard, Richard conversed with the proctors, gathering intel. Beside the carvery, Lulan was slowly whittling the llama down to the bone.

    Finally, she spotted Tei speaking to the Incan giant, Tupaq.

    "Cap!" Gwen''s voice summoned her captain to the corner where she and Petra stood in opposition to the golden prince and his bangled priestess. "Inti has offered us a deal."

    The two captains shook; then Inti made his case.

    Tei fell into silence.

    Gwen knew her captain''s dilemma, for their original plan centred around harassing Cuzco with her hounds and Familiars. If indeed Inti wanted a cooperative mission, was it then to Fudan''s advantage or disadvantage? If so, was this a multi-dimensional ploy, or the innocent hope of a princeling?

    "So that you know, I am fine with cooperation" Gwen delivered her verdict, drawing on her experience in Singapore. "Trust me when I say that between trolls, insects, carnivorous plants and the other demi-humans, we''ll be taxed beyond belief."

    Tei weighed her words.

    "Captain, allow me to share a token of our sincerity," Inti earnestly intoned. "According to Quipu records, the lost temple of Mama Killa isn''t a single structure. It''s a sprawling city-centre swallowed by the jungle."

    "Oh, I see!" Gwen threw away her vision of a half-sunken Indiana movie set. She had been to Angkor Wat in her past life and could imagine the majesty of a lost city consumed by the wilderness. If so, then the Explorer team would indeed struggle to locate such a site. In her old world, even with regular, non-magical trees, Machu Picchu had remained hidden for four centuries.

    Tei thanked the prince. As the heir to a family of tomb guardians, he was no stranger to lost relics. If the "temple" was instead a vine-strewn city, then the competitive prospect of recovering relics had improved immensely. During the dungeon dive, the teams could race to the middle while watching one another''s backs. With Gwen on their side, he had full confidence in a clean sweep through the complex that would leave no stone unturned.

    "Well?" Tica butted in, breaking Inti''s spell to critique Fudan''s indecision. "Are all foreigners so lacking in trust?"

    Tei looked to hisvice-captain.

    Gwen struck out a hand.

    The two captains and vice-captains exchanged handshakes. The commotion was such that both scattered teams gravitated toward their leaders.

    "ALRIGHT!" Gwen quickly freed her fingers from Inti''s hands when Tica''s lips twitched. "Let''s celebrate!"

    Inti motioned for more wine.

    "No, no." Gwen materialised a white-jade bottle of half-century-old Maotai. From the other, she placed a dozen shot-glasses on a side table. "THIS is the Chicha of the orient, made from the finest scarlet sorghum. To celebrate our cooperation, why not have a friendly competition?"

    "Ha!" Tica confronted her opponent, though her face only reached Gwen''s chin. "I shall take you up on that offer!"

    "Miss Tica, in the interest of our burgeoning friendship, I must inform you that Gwen has Russian blood," Petra forewarned their host. "When drinking, we have no equal."

    "Oh, yes, the ''Russian'' blood," Gwen smirked like a fox in a hen house.

    Without adieu, she poured.

    To the chagrin of his handlers, Inti drank without so much as a nod from the poison-taster.

    "Somaq Mihuna!" the prince exhaled fragrantly, demonstrating his trust. "Wonderful!"

    Tica followed suit, then flushed scarlet.

    Petra passed a cup to Tei before happily supping her own.

    Gwen slammed her thimble without blinking, then topped up the cups once more.

    "Kawsaypac!"

    "G¨¡nb¨¥i!"

    "Cheers!"

    They drank their drinks.

    They filled the cups.

    "Kawsaypac!"

    "G¨¡nb¨¥i!"

    "Cheers!"

    Rinse. Repeat.

    "Good man!" Gwen gave Inti a thumbs up. "To friendship!"

    Tei despaired.

    Three shots down and his vice-captain''s bottle-hand remained steadier than an Earth Elemental.

    Russian blood? More like draconic-constitution!

    What happened to honour?

    What happened to honesty?

    Was Fudan going back on their word so soon?

    At night, Fudan''s cabal of Mages gathered in Gwen''s portable habitat.

    "Are you satisfied?" Walken admonished his students.

    "I was testing his abilities." Gwen grinned.

    The rest of the team snorted.

    "Did you forget I was there?" their advisor grunted. "Inti had to be carried out! Amaru''s niece was one shawl away from wearing nothing but a tunic!"

    "So close!" Jiro sighed before being glared into submission.

    "A full-body tunic," Gwen protested. "They''re the ones who wanted to mix-alcohols! Amateurs."

    "I told you to handle them with care!"

    "That was me with kid-gloves." The Void Sorceress pouted. "If I used schooners, one of them might have died."

    "You''re an addict!"

    "Killjoy!"

    Walken clutched his chest with a pained expression, trying his best to keep his impulses in check.

    "Alright, alright." Richard came between them. To Gwen, Eric was on herlevel, but to the rest of the gawking team, Walken was a renowned Magister. "Sir, your advice?"

    "Hmmph!" Walken huffed. "Back to the business then: Contingency Rings. Team makeups. Amazonia. Collaboration and competition."

    He tapped his data slate.

    "I want to hear your proposals. Gwen, if you''re so sober, let''s start with you..."

    A strange song lifted through the golden hall of Sacsahuam¨¢n.

    "Prince Inti

    Shinny is he:

    Inti of Coricancha¡ª

    Strong as ten regular Evokers, probably!

    He faced the trollish galloping hordes¡ª

    A hundred ogres with swords¡ª

    Then threw them all in the SUN!

    Oh, Prince Inti¡ª"

    The adolescent acolytes of Inti''s temple grew hypnotised by the chant of a green-eyed Void Witch.

    "He''s got sixty priestesses to attend to,

    and he''s got virginal llamas galore¡­"

    "Gwen!" her instructor hissed at the girl''s embarrassing display. What the hell was she teaching these kids?! Why were the lyrics so lewd? "Get back here!"

    The girl returned.

    "Inti''s late¡­" she eyed Cuzco National''s team just beside them, all present except for two central figures. Yawning, she stretched her legs. Tupaq the giant caught her eye before flushing a deep scarlet, changing the colour of his face from caramel to chocolate. As for the rest, the Incan team eyed Fudan enviously, gawking at their attire in the same way Fudan had eyeballed Seoul''s thrice-enchanted uniforms.

    For their international leg, Gwen and her peers wore quasi-magical combat suits sourced from the PLA. The whole ordeal had begun when Gwen convinced Guo to send a note upward that her team was fighting in rag-tag, often un-attuned clothing. To prove her point, she showed him her shredded bodysuit and cried wolf about the possibility of indecent exposure while overseas. Her grandfather had then grunted that he would look into it. A week later, there was a surprise inventory audit at the PLA Tower.

    Serendipitously, ten suits of Shen-te¨© RECON MKII Operator''s Garb soon arrived at Fudan. The design was proudly plagiarised from the lastest American variant: the plating absorbed damage, the mesh was self-healing, the interior self-cooling, and the fit was self-adjusting.

    Haughtily, Gwen played with her straps, then once again polluted the sanctified air with her Gwenisms.

    "Prince Inti!

    Shinny is he-

    Inti of Coricancha¡­"

    0950.

    Clang!

    The double-doors opened.

    "My apologies for the delay!"

    Tica followed Inti demurely as the prince burst through the door with great dread. In front of her, the crowd grew instantly scandalised. They had never seen the prince so dishevelled.

    Tica groaned, her memory was a mess.

    When Tei Bai retired after three glasses, Cuzco National had gotten its hopes up. Then after that, Tica recollected nothing. All she possessed were vague images of Chicha, Aztech tequila, Argentinian red and Chinese Maotai; that and the wicked witch''s smiling face.

    Tica scanned the crowd, then sucked in a breath of cold air.

    Fudan''s contestants appeared as though dressed for war.

    The witch waved back.

    Seeing that the hussy was haler than a Frost-troll Howler, Tica''s stomach cramped. Yesterday, she and Inti had spent an hour hugging the golden throne, despairing when not even a Restoration could clear the effects of scarlet sorghum. Unlike Chicha, Maotai was an elixir-like suffusion.

    Amaru approached.

    Tica felt her back covered in cold sweat. When provoked, her master could be madder than a plucked condor.

    Thankfully, the chief proctor proceded her uncle. After welcoming the students, he asked them to register their inventory, declare all goods, then thumb the disclaimer for the Eye of Providence.

    At the end of the hour-long inspection, Magister Amaru Paullu-Yupanqui presented the students with their Contingency Rings.

    When her uncle placed the ring in Tica''s hands, he gave her fingers a subtle squeeze, easing her anxiety. The jungle was a dangerous place, and Tica suspected the keyrationale her master had the rings crafted was for her and Inti''s safety.

    "Students! These are the rings tied to the mother-lode inside Cuzco Tower," the kindly Tower Master explained with great patience. "As they use the same Enchantment as your Contingency Rings, both items cannot be concurrently equipped. As such, you have the option of using the given device or your own. Should you do so, Cuzco is not liable for your safety."

    Tica watched as a few of Fudan''s students incanted their secret commands, then removed their rings. Conversely, Cuzco''s team had scant members wealthy enough to own Contingency devices. The palpable difference was enough to engender a feeling of inferiority.

    If Shanghai was wealthy enough to equip their team with military Magi-tech and devices worth hundreds of thousands of HDMs, what would a top twenty team from London or Berlin or Los Angeles possess? With Cuzco''s limited trade with the nations up north, how could they compete against that?

    Her uncle Amaru had likewise said that the Inca needed desperately to catch up with the rest of the world. Now, seeing Fudan in their colour-coordinated skin-suits, she couldn''t help but acknowledge that the Empire had a ways to go.

    "... I shall await your arrival at our basecamp in Marcapata." Auberon had reached the end of his speech. "Let me remind you that beyond the Gate of the Condor, there is nought but Amazonia until you hit the South Atlantic. Try not to miss it..."

    The teams moved out.

    Once outside, a group of nobles, including the Sapa Inca, met the students for final well-wishes.

    "May your noon be bright and fair." The Sapa kissed his son on the forehead, touching his three condor feathers to Inti''s two. He then drew Tica close and kissed her forehead as well. "Be safe, daughter."

    Tica blushed.

    Her father was there as well, and he likewise kissed his daughter.

    "Tica, take care of Inti."

    "You know I will." Tica pulled herself away. "Solpayki, Father."

    "Tupananchikkama."

    In the Quechua tongue, the term favourably meant "until we meet again."

    As for Fudan, they had only their advisor to see them off, a sad contrast that improved Tica''s mood.

    "Students!" her uncle, the Tower Master of Cuzco, ordered the contestants forward. "May the blessing of Inti fall upon you even in the darkness of Amazonia!"

 Chapter 279 - Birds of a Feather

    To the sound of musical fanfare, cheering crowds, and the ear-piercing screeches of Inti''s fans, the student Mages took to the air.

    From above, the terracotta vista of Cuzco revealed itself as an earthen puma, resembling a filled-in Nazca figure.

    "Alright, partner," Gwen affected a northern accent. "Where to?"

    "To the east!" Inti spoke for his team. "Condor''s Rise isn''t far. A few hours at most."

    "Lead the way, brother."

    Cuzco''s young prince rose above his peers. As they passed Cuzco''s gates, curious farmers gazed from their fields of mountain maize, marvelling at the twin formations moving in tandem.

    Three hours later, the assembly of students arrived.

    Marcapata was a sentry town with a small population of enterprising locals living in a dozen modest mud-brick homes. It housed a hundred Incan warriors and a contingent of Mages overseeing the Teleportation Circle.

    As a fortification, the township was constructed cliff-side so that the west-facing portion of the village rested on a green plateau of short shrubs and gentle cornfields. The eastern reach was a sheer drop of over a kilometre, with its jagged cliff faces halting the emerald sea.

    When the two teams landed in the courtyard, their chief proctor narrowed his eyes, then walked a perimeter around the students.

    "You flew here from Cuzco?"

    "Yessir." Inti bowed, joined by his counterparts.

    "Without drama?"

    "None, sir." Tei saluted. "We''re ready to proceed."

    Auberon appeared at a loss for words. He spotted the Void Sorceress behind the others, chit-chattering with Cuzco''s vice-captain.

    "Right." The proctor scratched his chin. "Well then, let''s get on with it. Split into your nominated teams; then I''ll arrange your accommodations. You want to do this publically or in private?"

    "Tei? Gwen?"

    "Here''s fine."

    The teams parted.

    Auberon Lucas wondered if he had underrated the sincerity of the llama luncheon.

    In front of him, hiding nothing, the teams made their strategies self-evident.

    Unsurprisingly, Cuzco''s Explorers consisted of Tica as their squad leader. The Plant Mage was all kinds of unwilling to part from her beau, but the circumstances of the quest compelled them to take on their most suitable roles. On paper and in life, a Plant Mage with a Rainforest Sprite was a superior choice for the Explorer team, one that was wasted in the stony depth of the temple complex.

    Cuzco National''s next member was a scout by the name of Urqu, a Transmuter dabbling in Divination. From Urqu''s feather-strewn cowl, Auberon suspected there was more to the young man than his unassuming biometrics.

    Following the two core Explorers were three others. Uturunku was the Earthen Abjurer, Sumatika a Water Transmuter-Evoker, and finally, Qari was a Fire Evoker-Conjurer with an unusual Spirit.

    Across the divide, Fudan''s Explorers consisted of Richard as their leader, Anita on mobile defence, Jiro on offence, Eunae on utility, and Mayuree as Diviner. From the looks of the line-up, Fudan likely suspected that the lion''s share of troubles would occur in the temple ruin. As such, members incapable of superior defence or instant-mobility such as Eunae and Mayuree would likely serve as hindrances. Conveniently, having a full-time Diviner and a Cleric supplementing Cuzco''s Explorers was a palpable olive branch.

    A few hugs later, the line-up was completed.

    Inti''s team consisted of the prince, the gentle giant Tupaq, the two sisters Misi and Kusi, and Mallqu, a quiet girl playing the utilitarian role.

    Fudan''s Dungeoneers, meanwhile, consisted of their captain, Tei Bai, Gwen Song, the Mineral Mage Petra, Rene the Magma Mage, and Lulan Li.

    "Very good," Auberon Lucas ordered a proctor to take down their names. The Magister then materialised two data slates.

    Richard and Tica stepped up to receive their teams'' respective cartographic devices.

    "The general location of the ruins has been pre-marked. Likewise, the map will record your progress," Auberon advised both Explorer teams. "If in one week you cannot find the ruins, your mission has failed, and you may use the map to trek back to Marcapata. Should you succeed in finding the ruins, mark it on your map, and we will deliver a duplicate copy to your Dungeoneering team. Once your mission is complete, return immediately to basecamp. As with your regional competitions, you are solely responsible for your safety. Any questions?"

    The teams remained mum. There was no doubt that the road ahead was full of danger, but who would want to hear it from the horse''s mouth?

    "Well?" Auberon studied the teams, hoping for some friction.

    "Sir." Inti bowed. "Please excuse us. We''re going to have a meeting."

    The chief proctor twisted his lips.

    Was this the IIUC, or a sanctioned Field Trip?

    Once the two teams made a huddle, Inti informed them that humans travelling through Amazonia had to choose a stratum between the sky and the forest floor.

    Confused by Inti''s words, Gwen asked for elucidation.

    "I''ll explain," Tica was the one who interjected. "Inti''s not from this area, so he hasn''t seen the true extent of what we''re about to face. Coca!"

    A jade-green seed pod struck the ground, materialised from Tica''s pocket dimension. It dug into the hard stone, then sprouted into a little terrarium-like display.

    "Is that your Spirit?" Gwen inspected the near-instant miniature rainforest.

    "Not exactly." Tica smirked.

    "I''ll show you mine if you show me yours."

    The two girls exchanged cordial grins.

    "Ariel!"

    "Coca!"

    "EEEE!" Ariel struck a pose the moment it materialised, flashing its new horns and brilliant mane. "EE! EE!"

    "..."

    An alien plant silently stood beside the contestants.

    Each to each, the members of both teams surrounded their vice-captain''s Familiars. Ariel swished its tail, blew out its mane, then stalked in a circle as though best-in-show at Crufts.

    "May I touch it?" Even Inti appeared impressed. "Is it a dragon? No, it resembles a hound, not a puma, and it has no wings. A chimaera? A deer-weasel-fish?!"

    "Ariel is a Kirin." Gwen returned politely, wondering what kind of a dragon was an oversized cat with wings.

    "Ee!" Ariel huffed. It was most certainly not a weasel!

    Fudan''s attention turned to Tica''s Coca.

    "..."

    The plant quivered with embarrassment. It was the strangest, most alien thing Gwen had ever seen. The questions hammering at Fudan''s collective lips was "Wocao! What is that?" and "Seriously?" but they were too polite to say so.

    "It''s... a Sundew?" Richard suddenly spoke up. "It''s an actual plant? You have an actual nature Sprite? That''s amazing!"

    Unsure of what to make of Tica''s beast, Gwen feigned delight. The "plant" possessed hundreds of tentacles that formed a bloom some half-a-meter across. The centre had a strange pink hole, while on all the stalks a drop of sticky liquid engendered like honey. It was quite beautiful, but hardly the sort of thing a girl could hug, kiss or take to bed to cuddle.

    "It''s a plant!" Richard appeared genuinely impressed. "Gwen, recall that magical-plants don''t usually have cores. This has to be a rare hybrid, or a unique Alraune or a Spriggan! How precious!"

    Gwen clapped. She didn''t even know what a Sundew was.

    Tica, meanwhile, was all sorts of pleased by Richard''s recognition of her Familiar''s greatness, finding an unexpected ally against the absurdly dashing Ariel. When she turned to Inti to see if her beau was jealous that someone else was praising her; Tica found Inti neck-deep in the Kirin''s fur, groaning softly.

    "..." Tica despaired.

    "..." Coca wept bitter, sticky secretions.

    Sighing, Tica explained the journey ahead, using her terrarium as a diagram.

    Firstly, Amazonia was enormous.

    The region''s outer rim was an Orange Zone, extending for about a hundred kilometres inward. The trees in this region were usually mundane, ranging from ten to a hundred meters, growing on the volcanic slopes of the Andes.

    The inner segment of Amazonia, beginning where the foliage grew too dense for the sunlight to penetrate, was the domain of magical flora and fauna. From trees to fungi to predatory beasts to demi-humans like trolls, it made human exploration a farcical dream.

    "Then there''s the heart of the Amazonia," Tica explained. "The Quipu scripts tell us that the Apu live there and that there is a great tree larger than any other in the forest''s midst. BUT, no one has seen it, and no Mage has ever penetrated that far."

    For the students'' current objective, the ''lost temple'' was two hundred kilometres as the harpy flew from Condor''s Rise. It wasn''t so deep as to put them into troll territory, but neither was it close enough to be in the Orange Zone.

    "Amazonia''s Zone Rating changes depending on the layers..." Tica continued to instruct their Fudan allies with her superior knowledge.

    In total, she explained, there were four layers.

    The emergent layer of Amazonia was home to the largest collective of demi-birds in the Americas. Among the treetops of kilometre-tall mahogany and zumaumeira with the girth of skyscrapers, creatures ranging from the diminutive Yellow-breasted Thunderhawk to the man-eating Eagle-clawed Harpy ruled.

    Conversely, in the "Canopy" lurked hordes of Fang-tooth Macaques and Star-tailed Gibbons. Should the contestants be especially unlucky, there was also the world-famous Displacer Jaguar, the highest tier of Displacer Beasts.

    The "Understory" of the sea of trees, therefore, marked the safest path for human travel, as the lightless region grew into a wondrous world of luminous fungi, quasi-magical insects, reptiles and mammals. What marked this layer as different to the rest was the denseness of the foliage, making the region ill-suited for apex-fauna.

    Finally, as for the forest floor, an infinite variety of spiders, slugs, and parasites occupied the sodden darkness. In the rich loam, underground aberrations grew to enormous sizes. Here and there, thickets of decaying foliage swallowed animals wholesale. And that was discounting the trolls.

    Aghast at Tica''s info-graphic, the teams agreed on a mutual route.

    They would fly within thirty-kilometres of their target, then enter the understory to search for the three rivers that converged on the temple''s ruins.

    This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

    "Good luck!" Gwen kissed each of her Explorers on the cheeks when all was said and done. She gave Richard her Portable Habitat, instructing him to share it with Tica''s team.

    "Inti''s blessing." Cuzco''s captain placed a golden symbol around his fianc¨¨e''s neck.

    "Take care." Tica kissed Inti''s lips in full view of Gwen and the others, leaving the prince flushing a sunset scarlet. "Stay safe."

    "I shall."

    "I''ll protect him with my life," Tupaq promised. "Inti''s blessing."

    After more hugs and kisses, the Mages set off from the cliff, leaping from the edge like lemmings. For the first half-day, both teams would fly safely above the canopy, sparing the need to battle whatever creatures that took offence to their presence. Closer to their objective, they would then dip into the ocean of trees to dive for treasure.

    "Eee! Eee!" Ariel sniffed Inti''s tunic, swishing its tail.

    "I hope they can work together without trouble," Gwen said. "I guess we''ll find out in a week."

    "Tica''s a better leader than I." Inti instinctively offered an HDM to Ariel. "What are your plans for the interim?"

    "Me?" Gwen grinned as she glanced at the rainforest below. "I am going to stock up, care to watch?"

    Auberon and his team of proctors lounged in their make-shift pavilion, watching the crystal screens display the progress of the Explorers. So far, everything was proceeding smoothly.

    "How long until they hit the emergent layer?" he requested of his assistant, Lucy.

    "Six hours at their current trajectory."

    "A lull then." Auberon yawned. He turned to the other half-dozen proctors currently on duty. "Anything of interest?"

    "No, sir."

    "All''s quiet here."

    "They''re just flying for now."

    His assistant switched through the Scrys.

    "Master Lucas," one of the Senior Mages raised the alarm. "Gwen Song and Tei Bai just left Condor''s Rise."

    "It looks like Inti and Tupaq are joining them," another proctor called out from across the room.

    "Are we recording the Dungeoneers?"

    "Not until there''s magical activity."

    "Do it."

    "Yessir. I am switching to Engine Two."

    "Where are they going?" Auberon asked the general air. "Get me a direct Scry."

    The Divination-Engines thrummed as the Magi-tech device began to stream the activities of Fudan''s captain, first showing their location, which was the forest below the Marcapata plateau, then the contestants themselves.

    The proctors followed the students until they landed on the jutting stones. Once alighted, the students engaged in a brief show and tell, with Inti demonstrating the Evocation Radiant Mages were known for, and Tupaq proving his Abjuration skills by blocking Gwen''s Lightning.

    Then, the Void Sorceress tossed a few Chakrams while Tei took a dozen punishing bolts from Inti.

    All was well until Gwen summoned her Void snake. As anticipated, a great commotion broke out when Tupaq moved to protect Inti. With a great howl, the TupaqPolymorphed into a puma-like beast, eliciting yelps of admiration from Gwen.

    The proctors found great mirth in the reaction, for they had all seen the vid-cast from Burma. When Inti almost seared Caliban on reflex, the room burst into laughter.

    "Caliban needs to consume things to use its skills," the sorceress informed the prince somewhat deceptively, apparently keeping her cards close to her chest. "Please stand well out of range while I activate the feeding magic."

    Two men and one half-man-half-puma retreated a ways up the cliff.

    Gwen Song then walked into the jungle.

    "Good Lord!" a proctor spat.

    The Void Sorceress soon stood amidst a dark pool, conjuring forth a viscous liquid that writhed and churned.

    "Ah." Auberon whistled. "Nice."

    The perspective changed. Now the scene was one in which the Eye of Providence hovered directly over the girl.

    "Sir." Auberon''s assistant, a minor noble by the name of Lucy Pritchard, opened her eyes wide with alarm. "How can she activate high-consumption Void magic without Clerical support?"

    "How indeed." The chief proctor measured the girl on the screen with his eyes. "Get us closer. Run diagnostics. Get me vital readings."

    The scene zoomed in. The sorceress seemed to catch something in the air. She turned to face the screen, then flashed a winning grin.

    "I almost forgot she''s a Diviner as well." Auberon smiled back.

    On their vid-casts, the Void Swarm erupted.

    A few of the proctors let loose audible gasps as waves after wave of swarming lamprey-things sallied forth into the jungle. When one of the proctors zoomed out to the furthest limit the Eye allowed; what they saw chilled their bones.

    "The rainforest!" Lucy shivered. "It''s dying!"

    Auberon''s mind took a second to catch up. Where there had been a verdant undergrowth of trees licking at the dark granite base of Condor''s Rise, now a clearing began to rapidly develop. It was as though the forest had suddenly wilted, receding into the viridian surf like the waning tide.

    "Sir, amegafauna is incoming," a proctor directed their attention to the edge, where an enormous constrictor covered in scabby skin emerged into the new clearing. With a mighty sweep of its tail, it crushed two-dozen lampreys. Its beady eyes then locked in on the fair-skinned sorceress, tasting her vitality through the polluted air.

    "How convenient, a tier 6 titan boa." Auberon made sure the group was recording. "Let see how-"

    "Shaaa! Shaa! SCREEEE!"

    A creature charged toward the titan.

    Where it had burst through the trees confident as anything, instinct now bade the boa to flee.

    The Void Familiar, however, closed the distancein an instant, transforming into a spindly, ten-limbed spider, landing on the gigantic predator with both fore-limbs fully extended.

    "SHAA!" A scorpion''s tail stabbed into the boa''s forehead.

    "... never mind." Auberon''s query ended when the Void swarm smothered the trapped snake within a minute.

    The girl hugged herself, shivering in delight, her cheeks a rosy-pink.

    Not far, Inti and his guardian-shaman watched with complex, unreadable expressions.

    "Eric Walken, you devious prick¡­" Auberon mouthed under his breath. When his alumni had informed him that Fudan would be working with Cuzco, Auberon had scoffed.Now, Auberon''s eyes had been opened. This display had shown him what a Void Mage was capable of in a place which was choked with biomass.

    "Sir?" Lucy, his assistant, was pale as a sheet.

    "It''s fine, Lucy. All within expectations." Auberon dismissed his assistant''s unease. "Although, I dare say those codgers at Oxbridge are going to have to review their papers..."

    Five hours in, Richard''s Explorers came upon their first test of faith.

    "Do we help?" Anita questioned their squad-leader.

    Below Fudan, combat had been joined between Cuzco and a group of half-bird, half-humanoid creatures Tica had named Copper-claw Harpies. Currently, a dozen of the winged beasts were testing Cuzco''s patience, flying in and out of range, swooping back and forth to harass their shields.

    Cuzco''s Abjurer was proving his proficiency, throwing up yellow-tinged barriers to deflect their screeching assailants.

    "Don''t attack!" Tica''s voice came through Mayuree''s Message relay. "If they mark us, the whole flock will emerge. Remember, this is their home. They''ll defend it to the death."

    "Hold your positions." Richard coolly observed the action below. "Jiro, put your Firebird back in its house."

    "We''re not attacking?" Jiro furrowed his brows. "I reckon we can do it."

    Richard mentally scanned through the entries from Gwen''s bestiary. These particular creatures were unknown, but there was a general entry for Harpies of the Amazon. One annotation affirmed Tica''s statement that the death of one or more harpies was sure to bring more.

    If he were here with Gwen, Richard would not have hesitated to begin a wide-area bombardment, but alas.

    "If we attack, the whole flock will likely emerge from those trees," Richard pointed to what he suspected to be a nest. "Mia?"

    "There''s a lot," Mayuree interjected before Jiro could answer. "I am sensing a super-dense clump of magical mana. Potentially, there could be thousands."

    "All the same to me." Jiro was eager to finally show off. "My fire can''t be doused."

    "They may have shamans as well," Mayuree warned. She had likewise read the bestiary. "The more intelligent harpies are worse than trolls."

    "Mia, any orders from our friends?"

    "Nothing," Mayuree reported.

    "I think they''re testing us," Richard scoffed. "Untrusting buggers."

    "What should we do?"

    "Play along." Their squad leader licked his lip. Silently, he summoned his Familiar. "Lea, if they turn on us, I want a water prison on all of them. Jiro, you see the girl with the blue shawl? That''s their Water Mage. If Lea imprisons them, I want her disabled. I''ll take care of the rest."

    "Got it. Let''s buff up!"

    "Crystalline Armour!" Anita encased her team''s combat suits with semi-opaque plates. She then touched each of her team members with a lower-tier protection buff against unforeseen status effects. "Resistance!"

    "Bless!" Eunae bolstered the team''s physical and mental conditionsbefore turning to Mayuree and herself. "Sanctuary!"

    A faint glyph appeared and disappeared, making the two supporting mages less conspicuous.

    "Tica, its Richard." Fudan''s squad leader fired off a Message. "Six-o-clock''s the nest, where the two trees arch. We''ll follow your lead. I am coming in with a slowing AoE to discourage the birds. Get Sumatika to mist the area. I''ll need as much water as possible."

    "Got it," Tica''s voice came through. "Suma?"

    "Yes, Aclla Cuna." The Water Mage obeyed.

    Besides Richard, Lea''s long blue lashes battered as she transformed into a fine mist before coiling about his body.

    Richard took a deep breath. "Fudan! Follow my lead!"

    "Screeee!" Came the cry from a harpy-beast, extending both talons to rake the flesh from Richard''s back. As the half-woman, half-condor approached, however, its wings grew suddenly sodden, so much that its feathers began to bead.

    The bird fell.

    "EEK!"

    Where it had fallen, there was a blur.

    "CAW¡ª"

    Two simian-shaped beasts snagged the harpy before it could again take flight, dragging it into the canopy. Where they had disappeared, a great hoot of blood-curdling howls indicated an impromptu feast was taking place.

    "Mia!" Richard sent another bird to itscertain doom. "What can you see?"

    "There''s too many of everything!" Mayuree was controlling her Arcane Eye, trying to find a path down into the understory. "We''ll have to push through!"

    "Urqu!" Tica commanded their team''s scout, a local of the Antis region and a hunter who had trained in the forest since his Awakening. "Can you lead us down?"

    Even as she spoke, Tica kept the birds at bay. As soon as she had seen Richard''s tactic, she adjusted her own. Where she had harried the harpies with long, whip-like vines reminiscent of Gwen''s Dark Tentacles, she now disabled the fliers with globs of sticky residue that sent them reeling below into the awaiting simians.

    Besides her, Urqu wrapped his feathered shawl around his shoulders, transforming into the likeness of a sparrowhawk, activating a spell with an aura alien to Fudan''s Spellcraft knowledge.

    "I can," Urqu Messaged mid-descent. "It won''t be easy though; if we lose someone..."

    "Anita!" Richard gave the command.

    "Warding Bond!" Anita activated a rare, party-wide Abjuration she had learned after Burma. At her tier and Affinity, she could daisy-chain five friendlies aside from herself, displacing the damage received among her allies.

    "Faithful Guardian!" Eunae gestured quickly, equipping the agile flier with a reactive insurance barrier.

    "Any last words?" Richard joked at Cuzco''s expense.

    Ignoring his ill-humour, Tica held out an inscribed sun-burst figurine. It was Inti''s necklace.

    "No one will die this day. Inti''s relic will keep us safe." Her face glowed with confidence. "The Sun''s blessing be upon us."

    Richard blinked.

    He had initially dismissed the token as a one given out of love.

    Now she''s telling him it''s a relic?!

    The bloody Cult of Inti couldproduce relics?

    In his short stint as the Pretorian of Prince''s, he had seen relics in the chapels of the Four Houses and the Priests who put them to good use. The divine items weren''t rare, but they were exclusive in the extreme, possessed only by trusted members of an organisation''s leadership. Based on his limited contact with scriptural magic, producing a relic was complicated in the extreme. First, a unique Creature Core was required as the housing material. Then, a high-tier enchanter inscribed upon the Core consecrated runes. Finally, the sanctified items were kept in a place of worship to collect the ambient mana of the faithful. Then, and only then, servants of the faith could call forth phenomenon divorced from the Imperial System of Magic.

    Richard''s mind was quick to accept the new reality.

    Indeed, Inti WAS an object of worship. Likewise, Tica without a doubt, a priestess. It was fruitless to fuss over why a Chaplin could deliver a miracle in the heat of a despairing battle.

    "When we''re in the thicket," the priestess intoned haughtily. "I shall invoke the protection of Inti."

    "Long live Inti, eh?"

    The two leaders measured one another''s response; Tica questioned Richard''s sincerity, while Richard''s eyes were as placid as a mirrored lake.

    "I''ll tether us." Tica waved her free hand. "Coca!"

    Nine tendrils whipped out and touched each of the contestants with supremely sticky tips.

    Richard fought down an impulse to Grease himself right there and then, allowing the vine to grasp his wast. Drawn by the sudden flurry of magic, all around them were now harpies that had taken offence to their entry.

    "Ladies first," Richard silently ordered Lea to shadow Tica. In the worst-case scenario, the relic had to go.

    "Follow me!" Urqu appeared to transform his arms into wings, then dived downwards in the likeness of a great condor.

    Parting the feathery sea, the two groups began their downward descent, with Richard slowing the flocking harpies and Tica glueing their opponents to trees. The others managed with shields and barriers, leaving the butchery to the monkeys.

    From the emergent layer, they entered Amazonia.

    "SQAWWWWWRK!"

    The sudden trill was enough to shatter their eardrums and terminate all thought.

    In Australia, summer galahs made enough noise to drive green-keepers mad. Compared to that, the cacophony that now arose from atop the canopy was set to a hundred-times the decibel.

    "Mass Healing Word!" Eunae flooded the party with a feeling of warmth, dulling the pain from their bleeding ears, then furthermore invoked a heal-over-time. "Mass Rejuvenate!"

    Hundreds, perhaps thousands of birds entered the fray, crashing into the party with great bell-beats of metallic wings clanging against crackling mana barriers. The commotion was enough to send an avalanche of leaves and branches crashing below, eliciting howls of fury from the lower denizens.

    "CLOSE UP!" Mayuree channelled Richard''s command. "Lea! Water SHIELD!"

    A semi-dome of crashing water fed by Lea, Richard and Sumatika opened the path forward.

    "Lea, Jet Blast!!" Richard commanded his Familiar, releasing a great geyser of blue-green liquid to disperse the harpies, pushing away the frenzied flock.

    "We''re almost to the canopy!" Mayuree guided them with Arcane Eye while Urqu threaded the party through the crisscross of branches with his supernatural senses. "Forty meters!"

    In the open air, a Mage could cover forty meters in a matter of seconds. Now, it felt as though they were pushing through a wall of mud, only the murk was composed of beak and claw.

    "Gust!" Urqu freely poured his mana forth, aiding Richard''s efforts. "Aerial Ram!"

    Thanks to his liberal use of Jet Blast, Richard''s mana dropped to half. He summoned an injector in one hand and waited for the divine intervention from their competitor.

    "We''re through!" Mayuree warned them. "Watch out for the monkeys!"

    There was a violent tug on their waists from Tica''s vines, then both teams burst through the flock into the canopy.

    "HOLY SHIT!" Richard swore the moment his eyes adjusted.

    What awaited them was a sea of simians big and small, hooting and hollering at the top of their lungs. Where the birds had made their ears bleed, now the noise was enough to burst their hearts.

    "The Sun shines eternal!" Tica raised the symbol high with one hand. "INTI PROTECTS!"

    A brilliant light erupted above the team, bathing the dappled canopy with blinding radiance, drowning out even the hoots from the howling simians.

    "HOW FAR?" Richard shouted despite himself. The silence was deafening.

    "Another hundred meters!" Mayuree''s voice echoed in their heads. "Hold on, I am guiding Urqu through the lower levels!"

    The radiance continued to burn behind the contestants even as they travelled away from the portable plasma orb.

    When finally the air around the contestants grew soggy with the scent of fecundity and the sweet odour of decay, they knew that they had arrived at the understory. If Gwen had been present, she would have gone giddy with joy at the sight of the quasi-magical microcosm, a world within a world.

    Amazonia, alas, was no earthly rainforest. Here was a realm inhabited by mystical flora and magical fauna, where perennials ranged from hundreds to thousands of meters from root to treetop, so dense with mana that the regions between them grew distorted, dilating space and time, becoming Dungeons in themselves.

 Chapter 280 - Troll in the Trees

    "Dowsing!"

    Both parties waited while Mayuree triangulated their path through the understory. By now, the contestants were traversing through a network of intertwining branches, vines, and fungal growth so prolific as to form a subterranean likeness. Occasionally, every hundred or so meters, a clearing would appear, exacerbating an explosive growth of new life reaching for the canopy.

    "Weal is that way." Mayuree consulted a form of orienteering that required no light, no maps, and no knowledge of geography. It was one of the reasons why Gwen had lent the Diviner to Richard''s party.

    "I think she''s right." Urqu consulted their data slate.

    Tica kept her doubts private since she possessed no alternative solutions. The understory wasn''t a place anyone could enter, and as such, getting lost was expected.

    "Mia is a bloodline Diviner," Richard explained patiently. "She can Scry through the threads of fate to see what will grow: or in this case, where we''ll need to go."

    "We too have sacred women like Miss Mayuree," Urqu, who was an amateur Diviner, concurred. "I did not expect the Chinese to have seers."

    "I am Burmese." Mia collected her dragon bones. "Fudan has many students from the South Sea."

    "I am Korean." Eunae raised her hand.

    "I am Australian," Richard obliged as well.

    "I am half-Japanese." Jiro pointed at himself.

    "I am a red-blooded Chinese," Anita declared patriotically.

    "You all look the same," Qari, the Fire Mage, spoke up. "Maybe you were all a single Empire, once? Like ours?"

    Richard snorted. The rest of the Fudan foursome stiffened.

    "Qari, less talk, more action." Tica glared her teammate into submission. "Bring out Peanut."

    Sensing that he may be in trouble, the Fire Mage made the gesture for Conjuring Familiars, materialising a bulbous scarab the size of a dog.

    "Kekekeeek!"

    Peanut possessed six black-marble eyes and a face only a brood mother could love. Its mandible clicked as it warmed up to its summoner, its dull dung beetle body wiggling back and forth.

    "Ew." Lea appeared behind Richard, her exquisite face bespotted by a frown of disapproval. "Yuk!"

    Jiro stifled a smile, stroking his flame-plumed bird.

    Qari''s face flushed, feeling the weight of their reproof. Where Fudan''s Fire Mage possessed a beautiful sapient fire-condor, he had a bug. Where Richard''s Undine was so titillating as to make even Tica blush, his was a beetle.

    "Peanut, scout ahead of us," Tica directly commanded Qari''s Familiar.

    "Keekeke!" A pair of translucent wings extended from the beetle''s shell, then without a word from Qari, it flew into the distance.

    "I can use Arcane Eye." Mayuree raised her hand again.

    "Not against the flora here, you can''t." Tica waved her away. "Watch."

    The team followed the hapless Peanut.

    For the section ahead, the party had been tracing a kilometre-long path formed from the collapse of a great kapok tree. As the trunk was rotten, the party hovered just above the ankle-deep fungi, proceeding in a T-formation. Uturunku and Richard lead on either side, flanking Tica, followed by Mayuree dousing with her dragon bones, Eunae floated the middle, with Jiro, Qari, Urqu, and finally Sumatika and Anita bringing up the rear.

    Peanut fearlessly buzzed forward until¡ª

    BUNG!

    Without warning, when it crossed path with a glowing bed of fungi, the cluster exploded. The resultant blast flung Peanut sideways. On its shell, the spores rapidly began to erode its chitin, transforming the insect into a ball of furry, tiny mushrooms.

    "Immolate!" Qari shot his Familiar a jolt of fiery mana.

    BANG!

    Peanut exploded, showering the sodden earth with a splatter of liquid fire.

    "Wocao!" Jiro swore.

    "Peanut!" In the next moment, Qari conjured another.

    "Kekkekkee?" Peanut flourished its mandibles. It appeared to be the same beetle as before.

    Tica grinned.

    "Most of the dangers here are hidden," she explained. "We can use our Familiars to set off the predatory flora, but only Qari has one that can be instantly re-summoned."

    At the girl''s boast, Jiro packed away his feelings of superiority and regarded the fire beetle with respect. He possessed a Firebird, not a Phoenix. If he lost Tanyu, it would be half a day before he could bring it out again. It was true what Instructor Chen had said. Even a cockroach had its uses.

    "Oh, is that all?" Richard folded his arms, unconvinced by the exploding bug. "Lea? Help me out?"

    Lea hugged her handsome Conjurer from behind, her blue-green pupils mysterious and mischievous.

    Richard took a deep breath, then began an all too common invocation, one his Undine would make uncommon.

    "Conjure Elemental!"

    Two-dozen water Sprites emerged from the soggy atmosphere, pale blue in their nimbus, comprised of delicate faces attached to elongated necks, with fins for arms and a fishtail for lower extremities. Where usually a Mage exhausted their mana at a dozen, Lea continued to call up her brethren with impunity. Soon, a hundred Sprites filled the vacant path of the understory, saturating the air to such an extent that the contestants began to wonder if they were underwater.

    "Qari mate, appreciate the effort," Richard dismissed the Fire Mage with a friendly grin. "But look, we''re in a hurry, so we''ll have to borrow your powers elsewhere. I''ll let you know when I am running low."

    "Oh, my, they''re so cute!" Eunae touched the little fan-tailed fish Sprites as they gathered around her and began to play with her hair. Sumatika, the other Water Mage, became instantly surrounded.

    "Ooo¡­" Jiro tried to grab one, but the Water Elementals avoided him like the plague. The Fire Mage sighed, wondering when Tanyu could become a tiny hottie.

    "ATTENTION!" Richard barked.

    The dainty elementals lined up into pretty rows.

    "Move out!"

    Like a brigade of English red-coats, the Sprites drifted through the air.

    PUUF!

    In the distance, a Spotted Panther Cap exploded, filling the passage with infectious spores.

    "Eaaarrrgh!" Two Sprites died a dog''s death, their vacant spaces immediately filled in by two more.

    "How''s that?" Richard turned to their Cuzco companions while Lea conjured replacements.

    "Is that all?" Tica scoffed. "I was giving Qari a chance to be useful. If that''s how you want to compete for CCs, I''ll oblige. Conjure Elemental!"

    The ground glowed green.

    Rows upon rows of broccoli emerged from the fungi. Tica plucked one from the ground and whispered instructions to its buttoned head.

    "Amazing!" Eunae brought forth Luyi. "SO ADORABLE!"

    "Eee!" Luyi cooed happily. It licked its chops, then bit into one of Tica''s broccoli.

    "Luyi! No!"

    Pssht!

    The walking vegetable blew a load of pollen on Luyi''s face, forcing it to drop the wood-elemental with a yelp.

    The party burst into laughter.

    "Alright, I''ll cover the air, you cover the ground." Richard opened both hands. "Happy?"

    "Humph!" Tica brushed a fallen leaf from her priestess'' shawl, taking on the bearing of a queen. "Let''s move!"

    Behind the main party, Qari picked up Peanut from the floor and hugged his beetle close to his chest.

    Ahead of them, a cute deer, a cool hawk, a hundred water Sprites and fifty button-broccoli marched on into the jungle''s depth, leaping, drifting and flying from mossy branch to fallen log.

    "Kekeke?" The beetle scratched at Qari''s face in a friendly manner. Qari was glad that Peanut was not yet sapient. Sometimes, not knowing was best.

    "It''s fine." Qari patted the poor beast, fighting the inferiority gnawing at his chest. "I am fine."

    Thankfully, as a Fire Mage, any wayward moisture quickly evaporated.

    "Earthen Shell!"

    "JIRO! Alpha-strike! 7 O''clock, tree cove! Take care of the Shaman!"

    "Phoenix Pinions!"

    Just before the contestants settled in for the night, they had run headfirst into their first troll patrol.

    Having experienced the ease by which the sprigs and the Sprites had smoothed their passage, the contestants had loosened their guard until Mayuree cried out "CONTACT! Trolls in the TREES!"

    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    Their original waypoint had been a large alcove that Urqu had scouted. When he returned, the shapeshifter had reported naught but a verdant growth of exotic fungi.

    Nonetheless, when the party came within spell range of the sheltered cove, what had greeted them was a volley of mustard spores, followed by an eruption of moss-green bodies.

    Eunae had immediately set about detoxifying the party while Anita refreshed their armour. What remained of Richard''s fish-like Sprites as well as Tica''s army of broccoli then smothered the inbound demi-humans, hoping to stall their advance.

    From the darkness, a troll raised a sinewed limb.

    THUNK!

    A wooden spear the thickness of Richard''s arm pierced Uturunku''s earthen barrier, penetrating just enough so that its envenomed tip almost kissed the Abjurer''s chest.

    Richard responded by commanding Lea to forgo futile barriers; instead, she was to play the disruptor, attracting toward herself physical attacks to which she was immune. Behind him, Urqu raised a powerful Gust to deflect the accuracy of incoming projectiles, while Qari sent forth his Familiar while readying counter-attacks.

    "Dulrag gunvaderakun glogusakum ishie!" a cry came from behind the Mages'' barriers, a foul-sounding grunt of compressed rage. "Ulepearag ushhem! Uloar!"

    "Uloar!"

    "Uloar!"

    "Uloar!"

    A troll warrior cleared the wall of earth in a single leap, wielding a man-sized block of wood and a spiked, tusked club studded with crude teeth made from harpy-talons.

    For the first time, Fudan saw their text-booked enemy face-to-face.

    The Amazonian Troll, affiliated to its European cousins, was a stocky, barrel-chested monstrosity of muscle and sinew, with four elongated limbs and dark, envenomed claws. Its hideous face was a mangled mess of moss and craggy crevices, made salient by two beady eyes lit with an inner light.

    "Kuk...GUOOD!"

    The troll''s tusked lips parted to reveal soft-pink tissue within, its crimson tongue a mess of fleshy-filaments.

    BANG!

    Peanut made a bee-line right for its face. When the troll warrior battered the beetle away with its shield, Peanut exploded, covering the creature with flaming goo.

    "GAAOOO!"

    The troll burned.

    "HA!" Richard cried out. "Nice work, Peanut!"

    "ULOAR!" The troll''s skin grew suddenly scarlet. The light in its eyes changed from maddened beast to pure psychosis. Its back bulged, its muscles ballooned, it raised one whip-like limb and threw its club directly at Qari.

    Richard''s water barrier parted without resistance. Cuzco''s Earthen Mage proved a split-second too slow.

    "SHIELD OF FAITH!" Eunae intervened, erecting a barrier many times the sturdiness of an Abjurer''s shield but costing a disproportionate volume of mana. It was a spell that marked the healer''s aphorism of prevention over cure.

    CLANG!

    The barrier shattered like glass, sending both Qari and Eunae to the mossy, mushroomed floor. Qari reeled from the club''s fractured fragments piercing his skin. Eunae self-medicated, fighting the feedback from her disrupted spell.

    "SHAMAN!" Tica cried out. "Near the back! In the tree!"

    Richard immediately ordered Jiro to take the Shaman with a wide-area AoE.

    "TRUE STRIKE!" Mayuree added to Jiro''s firepower without a second thought.

    The Fire Mage''s best spell did not disappointed.

    A barrage of flaming bolts, over a hundred in number and growing fiercer with every explosion, enveloped the hollow, once an ancient acacia. The lightless space instantly filled with orange-yellow eruptions. There was an earth-shuddering sound of splitting wood; then gravity sent the building-sized log tottering into the forest floor below.

    "Good work! Entangle!" Tica wrestled with two troll warriors who''d been sent into a rage by the now fallen Shaman. Her vines, which could arguably contest a titan boa and even wrangle one to death, were hardly holding the beasts. "Coca! Dissolve!"

    Where a troll struggled against her paralysing vines, an enormous Sundew burst through the floor and caught the creature in its sticky embrace.

    "Ashavuth gloge!!" came a terrified cry when a sticky glob of digestive juices smothered its skin, dissolved its bark-armour and began to eat into its body.

    In the span of a few screaming seconds, the troll grew limp.

    Tica gasped, evidently taxed by the display. Nonetheless, she held the second troll at bay. "Jiro! Qari!"

    A flaming fusillade met her target head-on.

    Acid and Fire, Richard pulled at his lips, a troll''s only weakness. These were some unlucky indigenous folks that had happened upon them.

    "ULOAR!"

    By now, the first berserker had broken through the Uturunku''s layered barriers. Whatever spell the Shaman had used, it wasn''t just a body-buff, but transformed it into a living battering ram.

    "Water Sprout!" Sumatika''s spell sent the charging troll careening away from Eunae and Mayuree.

    Anita stepped in front of the two support casters, offering her body as a last line of defence.

    "Wait! There''s more of them!" Mayuree''s voice came through the crackling flames, her mana-infused orbs scanning through the chaos for the unique mana signature of the trolls. "Careful! Two above us!"

    "Lea!" Richard reacted in time to form a gushing film of water above the team, misdirecting a spear so that its accuracy erred, grazing past Anita''s Crystalline thigh-guard.

    "Arrgh!" Urqu, who had simultaneously flown up to pry the enemy from the branches, fell to the ground, pinned by an arm-thick spear that caught his wing. Thanks to Anita''s Mage Armour, his head and torso were safe, but the spell''s design did not provision for shapeshifting.

    "Shit!" Richard cursed his lack of hard shields. "ANITA! Keep them safe!"

    "Crystal Dome!" Anita immediately formed a protective barrier; though rather than a dome, she had shaped it into a pyramidal structure to divert the troll''s spears. "I got them!"

    "Aid!" Eunae tossed a stabilising buff to the injured Air Mage. "Luyi!"

    Her doe materialised outside the barrier as a deer. It ran forward toward the injured Air Mage, picked Urqu up by the scruff, then dragged him back toward the healer.

    "Flame Wing!" Meanwhile, Jiro''s hands met with a thunderclap. Tanyu launched from his sides like a meteor in reverse.

    "Don''t collapse the understory!" Tica warned, sending a Shape Wood through the floor to reinforce their position and check for imminent structural failure. "You''ll bury us all!"

    As the upper portion of the understory glowed a vivid orange, the remaining berserker recovered its footing. With a mighty swing of its shield, it battered away Sumatika''s water bolts, took three of Tica''s barbs in the chest, then ate a Fireball from Qari.

    Then, the enraged monster smashed into Richard.

    "No!" Anita cried out; her heart caught in her throat.

    Splosh!

    Richard''s body exploded, dissipating into motes of water.

    "Jet Blast!" A raging, hyper-pressurised torrent struck the troll, sending their red-skinned assailant flying from the understory like a cannonball.

    "GARRRGH!" came twin, concurrent howls from above. Two flaming trolls fell from the branches, smashing into wayward bits of lumber before tumbling into the deep dark.

    "Flame Arrows!" Qari let loose a wide-volley, peppering the hapless targets until they dropped out of range.

    Their vice-captain, Tica, threw the last charred corpse overboard.

    "Scrying..." Mayuree traced the whereabouts of the last troll with her fingers, finding nothing within the limits of her Detect Foe. "Okay. We''re clear¡ª for now¡­ Are they dead?"

    Tica shook her head. "A few are, hopefully. Unless burnt to cinders or dissolved in acid, they''ll regenerate and return eventually, usually with more of their kind."

    "Persistent bastards, eh?" Fudan''s squad leader frowned unpleasantly. No wonder trolls were a menace.

    "Coca, that''s enough," Tica commanded her Sundew Familiar.

    As if to demonstrate the extent to which trolls needed to be processed to prevent regeneration, it spat out what remained of its victim, which consisted of a skull, tusks, and bits and pieces of metal. Amid the remains, there was also a fist-sized, shattered Core.

    "Cao!" Anita gagged, as did Eunae and Mayuree.

    Jiro set the remains of both berserker alight, just in case.

    "We should keep moving," the priestess advised before checking on Urqu''s wounds.

    "I am hale." Urqu had returned to his human form. "Just a bit sore from the itching."

    "Nice work." Tica nodded at Eunae, who nodded back. Even in the midst of combat, Fudan''s healer had removed the spear, detoxified the wound, and mended the flyer''s mangled flesh. "We should make some distance. Coca can cover our tracks, but we won''t be able to rest until they give up the chase. Don''t expect to sleep tonight."

    "That may not be true." Richard re-materialised Lea at his side. "Don''t forget, we''ve got Gwen''s Portable Habitat. We can place the entrance anywhere, even in mid-air."

    "¡­ Alright." Tica''s sternness softened. She had indeed forgotten about the wondrous shelter. "For now, let''s move to an intact part of the understory. It''ll be much easier to hide the entrance."

    As one, the party moved on. As they flew over the newly formed abyss, they had a good gander at the infamous forest floor. Where Jiro''s flames had continued to burn, a colossal swarth of smouldering refuse had carved out an enormous opening, forming a passageway between the layers.

    "That''s going to attract attention." Jiro doused his flames.

    "Yes, because fighting off a patrol of frothing berserkers isn''t enough commotion," Richard joked as he scanned the darkness. Now that the fire was gone, it was impossible to tell where their fallen assailants may be lurking. "Mia?"

    "I''ve got nothing," Mayuree apologised. "Detect Magic and Detect Foe don''t work well here. I could send an Arcane Eye downward to confirm¡­"

    "No, we have to go." Tica began to move. "Trust me; you don''t want to be in Amazonia when it gets completely dark. There are far worse things than trolls here."

    "Hey, that''s good news." Richard rebuked her worries. "Do they eat trolls?"

    After another hour of Diviner-assisted steering in the right direction, the team carefully set up their Portable Habitat some ten-meters up between the arch of two fallen logs. As additional insurance, Cuzco''s vice-captain conjured a discrete layer of moss and a carpet of Sundews in all directions to serve as an early warning system and as camouflage.

    "Come on in." Richard issued the entry Glyph. "Welcome to Gwen''s secret abode."

    When Tica and her team entered the grey-space of the pocket-realm, they marvelled at the intricacy of the habitat and its internal power supply.

    "We should upscale trade with the northerners," Tica said. "A device like this will make expeditions so much easier."

    "There are hot showers too." Richard smiled. "And a working kitchen."

    After the tour, Richard made a sumptuous dinner of piping hot ramen rations and all-you-can-eat SPAM. Relaxing showers followed, concluding with room allocations. Anita, Eunae and Mayuree ended up taking the master bedroom, Tica and Sumatika in the guest, while the five men chose to use sleep on spare futons in the living room.

    "Good thing Tupaq isn''t here," Urqu, who had grown friendly with Fudan''s Mages, remarked thankfully. "That guy, he snores like an Amazonian hippo!"

    Their first day in the Amazon had been an eye-opener in many ways.

    Unfortunately, tomorrow and tomorrow and so on, they would have deeper depths to plumb.

    "You''re doing this now?" Auberon Lucas stood in the slight drizzle, watching Fudan''s Enchantress mark the fort''s courtyard. "Really?"

    "Sir." Auberon''s assistant, Lucy, gently coughed. "Please refrain from granting unsolicited advice."

    Inti and his crew likewise stood around the magic circle, watching the spectacle.

    "Inti, I don''t have a good feeling about this." Tupaq made sure to always position himself between Inti and whatever curio he investigated.

    "Not to fear, it''s a Planar Ally Mandala," Inti remarked. "An expensive one too."

    "Why now?" Tupaq furrowed his bushy brows distrustingly.

    "Why not? Better now than never!" Gwen explained. "We can''t be doing this if trolls are hammering at our shields."

    From the Explorer teams'' departure date, two days had since passed. Every evening, their chief proctor had informed the Dungeoneers of the Explorers'' progress. So far, their peers had encountered everything from trolls to sentient mushrooms to a plucky Displacer Jaguar but were otherwise safe and sound.

    Then, on the morning of the third day, Auberon had received a most unusual Message, one slated for a contestant.

    "Inform Gwen Song of Fudan University that the registrar now recognises the individual ''Golos''."

    When the Message had been read out, the girl''s answer was an ear-piercing "Hurrah!" followed by cries of jubilation and "Petra! It''s happening! Get your Glyph tools!"

    An hour later, half the fort had emptied out to see what the girls were doing.

    Auberon and a few proctors stood to one side; Inti and his crew stood across. The resident Incan Mages, as well as the base''s commander, occupied the final quadrant.

    "Done!" Petra stepped back from the Mandala, having shown her cousin the process. "Gwen, assuming your pet is in Burma. You''re going to need a mountain of Crystals."

    "He''ll be right." The haughty sorceress entered the summoning circle, then made a gesture akin to tossing a bocce ball. "He''s coming through the Elemental Plane of Lightning, so it shouldn'' t be too taxing."

    "Okay, but I hope you provisioned enough crystals," Petra explained, producing a data slate and a pen. "Also, don''t proceed too fast. I need numbers."

    Auberon''s brows twitched. Are the two of you at Conjure Ally 3101 and not the IIUC? He wanted to ask.

    In the next moment, a crate of processed HDMs bundled as a 1000 HDM unit appeared at the circle''s centre, making Auberon''s heart skip a beat.

    Thunk! Another crate.

    Thunk! Another.

    Even Inti tightened his fists.

    "Enough?" Gwen turned to Petra.

    Petra shrugged.

    Thunk!

    The girls'' audience stared breathlessly while four crates of HDMs thrummed with captive mana. Four thousand HDMs was no paltry sum. It was enough for a talented Magus to train for a year and a mundane Mage could retire on the same amount.

    "Alright," their summoner clapped her hands, suddenly transformed into a ringmaster. "Everyone, please step behind the outer line Petra has drawn for your safety! For the duration of our Amazonian adventure, I''d like to introduce our temporary member, Golos! He''s spiky, he''s hotheaded, he''s got a hankering for fish, and he''s a big softie."

    Petra almost choked at the last part. If anything, Golos was a murder machine on wings.

    Gwen began her chant.

    Tei, Lulan and Rene obediently stepped behind the line. Some of them had seen Golos; as for those had not, what they had heard wasn''t good news.

    Inti''s party began to self-buff.

    The circle glowed, the HDMs flared, feeding into the Mandala. The rare ingredients used to inscribe the circle burst into motes of retina-searing arcanistry, tearing apart space and time, opening a gate into the Quasi-Elemental Plane of Lightning.

    "GOLOS!" Gwen''s trilling voice filled the ozone-rich atmosphere as a brilliant bolt of lightning, thicker than an Acacia, struck the circle''s centre. "COME FORTH! PLANAR ALLY!"

 Chapter 281 - Where the Wyverns Crow on Trees

    Gwen had good reasons for conjuring Golos.

    Firstly, the Wyvern was no regular Planar Ally, but a true-to-life corporeal being with a Core, capable of sustaining himself indefinitely. Secondly, Golos was bound by his oath to Ruxin and just as beholden to Ayxin, so she had significant leverage over the unruly creature. Thirdly, since Fudan had chosen cooperative play, there was no reason why she shouldn''t abuse every resource.

    Golos, therefore, embodied great profit, moderate cost, and a median magnitude of risk.

    Then there was a fourth reason.

    Amazonia didn''tappear, at least near its edge, to possess a dragon-host. In consulting with Inti and his peers for the last three days, she had grasped that the Incan variation of a dragon was akin to something of a chimaera, with the head of a llama, the maw of a puma, condor wings, snake''s body, and a fish''s tail. In a way, it was similar to a Kirin, though unlike the meddling Chinese dragons, "Amaru the Dragon" had more in common with Almudj in that it seldom if ever manifested.

    According to Tica, the rainforest had a clear hierarchy with well-defined territories. Predatory birds and Harpy flocks occupied the emergent layer; simians, the canopy; fungi and lesser life forms in the dark zone of the understory; and finally, trolls and stranger megafauna occupied the forest floor. The apex predator that defied these boundaries was the Amazonian Jaguar; a creature sleek, midnight black and perpetually hungry, possessed of two or more puckering tentacles. Such a creature, Tica explained, was king whether across the arboreal realm, the forest floor, or the waters of the Amazon river.

    Comparatively, Dragons, as a whole, were predators above the ecological pyramid. If so, what happens when a semi-trailer sized Thunder Wyvern wasintroduced? After all, in Huangshan, she had seen Magical Beasts lying down like carps on a chopping board.

    The potential gains made her giddy.

    "PLANAR ALLY!"

    She finished her chant with a flourish, conjured a bolt from the blue, then waited for the Glyphs to cool.

    The living lightning solidified.

    Her audience marvelled, gasped, opened their mouths in abject awe. A smile touched Gwen''s lips. She felt a surge of satisfaction, mingling with the lightning massaging her conduits.

    Golos'' armoured eyelids slid open, pulling back both membranes. The brute was magnificent as always, like a maned lion overlooking a herd of gazelles.

    "What needskilling?" The Wyvern yawned, tired after the long transit. Its gaze swept the perimeter and spotted the Peruvians. "Those?"

    "Back, foul beast!" Tupaq stood in front of his future sovereign. A split-second later, he was the size of a troll and sporting the head of a magnificent golden puma.

    Golos'' nostrils flared. "Eugh, musky. I prefer those females behind you."

    The girls behind Inti readied their spells.

    "Don''t be a dick, Golos," Gwen intervened, then introduced each of their observers. "Those are our allies, that''s our proctors for the IIUC, there''s my team, and those are civilians. Okay? NO EATING FRIENDS!"

    Golos reared its serpent''s head, a few feathered plumes, inherited from his father, glistened with a rainbow hue. Without opening his mouth, the Wyvern was a majestic thing.

    "Where in Huangshan am I?"

    "Amazonia!" Gwen clapped both hands, snapping him to attention. "Isn''t it exciting, Golos? You''re in South America!"

    "Are we near Shanghai?" Golos crackled with lightning. "I sense lots of life, all strange. And those people, they smell strange."

    Gwen furrowed her brows.

    "Golos, do you know where America is?"

    Golos snorted. "It''s across the ocean."

    "And?"

    "Near Japan." Golo rolled a reptilian eye.

    "Strewth, you poor thing..."

    Gwen patted the Wyvern on the knees, watching the electricity arc from his blue-white scales to her fingers, eliciting additional gasps from her disbelieving audience.

    Golos spotted Lulan and Petra in the audience.

    "You, I know you."

    Lulan waved back uncertainly.

    "Both of you smell like Naga." The Wyvern sniffed. "From Brother?"

    "Whoa! WHOA!" Gwen raised both arms. "That''s privileged information, dummy. Tell you what, you look hungry. We''ll agree to a few ground rules, and then I''ll undo the circle so you can explore. There''s much to show you, and most importantly, tons to eat."

    "Good." Golos snapped its jaws a few times, dislodging globs of thick saliva.

    "I think you''ll like it here." Gwen grinned at the Wyvern. "Now, for the quest ahead, we''re competing¡­"

    "Eat now, talk later." Golos'' nostrils flared, forming two white-hot furnaces. "Hungry."

    "¡­ fine." Gwen struck Golos in the ribs, then turned to her teammates and her proctors. "Sir Lucas, Inti, everyone, if you would excuse me, I need to take Gogo for a walk."

    "Gogo¡ª" Golos protested.

    "Where are you going?" Auberon appeared to be wrangling a massive migraine.

    Gwen pointed to the Amazon.

    "A walk in the park?" Gwen smirked.

    "Miss Gwen?" Inti raised his voice.

    "Yes, Inti?"

    "May we observe our new ally?"

    "Golos?" Gwen wasn''t sure if her Wyvern was the sort to enjoy a meal in private or in public.

    "If they keep out of my way," Golos grumbled. "Undo the circle. Also, what is Gogo?"

    "We''ll corral the beasts for you, Sir Golos." Inti far too quickly accepted his new reality. "Tupaq here is an excellent hunter. You shall have no want of prey!"

    "Lord Inti!" the three girls behind him were aghast. "No!"

    Golos snorted lightning.

    "I like this one." He gave Gwen the evil eye. "Why can''t you behave like this?"

    "Why can''t you be like Ariel?" Gwen fired back.

    "HMMPH!" Golos nudged Gwen with its flank so that she stumbled. Gwen knew that Golos felt confused by Ariel. Strictly speaking, Kirins were many rungs above wyverns in the draconic-pecking order, not to mention Gwen''s Familiar possessed the essence of a primordial being.

    "Anyway, no funny business. Alright? I am going to let you out now. Petra?"

    "Go ahead." Petra made the sign for "okay".

    Gwen made a quick invocation, watching as the glow from the Glyphs faded. When Golos left the circle, he noticed a crate of HDMs which had yet to be drained.

    "Ooo, is this for me?" Before Gwen could protest, the crate disappeared.

    "YOU have a Storage Ring?" Gwen furrowed her brows. "Why?"

    "Ruxin wants souvenirs." Golos stretched out his wings. From tip to tip, its arms exceeded twenty-meters.

    "Is our newest member safe to be around?" Rene recalled beinginformed about Golos.

    "Let''s stay away for now," Petra offered sagely. "At least until it''s fed."

    Auberon and the other proctor exchanged looks of consternation.

    "Sir." Lucy trembled as the Wyvern''s depthless, slitted eyes registered all the food it could potentially eat. "Is this¡­ cheating?"

    "Inti, what are we going to do?"

    After watching Gwen''s "Gogo" hunt, Inti cooly meditated over the new revelations of Fudan''s potential. Unfortunately, his peers possessed nothing of his level-headedness.

    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

    "Do what, exactly?" Inti faced the three girls, each young, talented and a potential future concubine. All three were from the Shuar, an essential political and geographical ally of the Empire. Misi was a shapeshifter; Kusi was a Soul Priestess; behind the two look-alike girls, Mallqu, whose name meant little bird, was a Spirit Shaman.

    "What are you going to do about that monstrosity?" Misi snarled, attracting a discouraging look from Tupaq.

    "Peace, sister," Kusi stifled Musi''s upset. "Inti, what do you make of this Chinese Amaru?"

    "He''s a Thunder Wyvern, actually." Inti remained in his meditative pose. "Her Kirin is closer to Amaru. Nonetheless, it''s a beautiful brute, did you see how its scales caught the light? Gwen''s a gifted girl, that''s for sure."

    "Waters of Titicaca!" Misi boiled over. "Don''t you want to win?"

    "Win?" Inti sighed. Even discouraged, the prince''s aura was overwhelming. "We''re here to recover relics of our people. That''s a win."

    "Your people."

    "OUR people," Inti reiterated the collective pronoun. "The Shuar are as much a fabric of the Empire as I. How else could the Shuar''s unique craft be accepted by the powers that be? You know how the outsiders treat Necromancy. The Shuar¡ª"

    "A label with no meaning." Kusi shook her head. "Inti, you should know better."

    "Cuzco, the Inca, and the Shuar cannot survive alone." Inti''s words flowed like golden honey. "How many years have your people fought the trolls? How many settlements are do you have left in Amazonia?"

    "Are you mocking us?" Misi snarled like a jaguar. "If Tica were here, she''d give you a tongue-lashing."

    "That was not my intention, my apologies." Inti raised both hands in an offer of peace. He grinned handsomely, a harmless, affable prince of the Inca. "As I said, we''re in this together. Mallqu, do you have anything to add?"

    The quiet girl shook her head. She appeared younger than the caramel-complexioned tribeswomen, with a face far more delicate than the headstrong Misi and paler than the soft-lipped Kusi.

    "Then let''s not worry about our wyvern-shaped boon." Inti gestured to the coiled monster out in the courtyard. "Fudan will repel the trolls, as will we. With a bit of luck, I dare say we can cleanse the ruined city entirely."

    "That brute is going to destroy everything."

    "No matter." Inti shrugged. "The relics are sealed in the old vaults. The upper city is a ruin for a reason, you know. In all likelihood, it''s a troll fort by now."

    The three girls stood while Inti returned to his meditation, one frustrated, one anxious, and one possessed of no particular emotion.

    "Get some rest." Inti''s soothing voice floated through the air. "I suspect Tica will be back soon."

    Amazonia.

    The lost Antis region.

    By the account of early Incan explorers, the Amazon river was once a nameless serpent that spanned the horizons. Upon its death, its bodythen transformed into the great river, with its bones, flesh and guts becoming the river''s life forms.

    It was a good story, one that everyone in Cuzco knew.

    Tica Chuquipoma-Yupanqui, however, did not take heed of this outlandish, outdated tale. According to her Master, Amaru, much of the mythos that surrounded Incan lore had been debunked by Spellcraft and western natural philosophy. The Apu, for example, were Magical Beasts. Amaru "turning in its sleep" was merely tectonic plates shaking the Andes. "Inti''s birth and rebirth" likewise, was a solar eclipse. When she considered that the Aztecan Theocracy continued to sacrifice virgins to bring back the sun, she couldn''t help but be cynical.

    "According to the map, we can now follow the tributary upstream until we find the temple, or at least where ''three rivers meet''." Richard, her counterpart, studied the glistening river. The last few days had been a trial in itself, involving trolls, jaguars and walking mushrooms that erupted into an ocean of spores when they died. Were it not for Eunae picking up the slack; the contestants may have already sent a team member home to Cuzco.

    By day four, both groups agreed that finding the river and back-tracking was more accessible than discovering tributaries smothered by overgrown greenery. At the very least, Magical Creatures that lived in the river kept to the water, affording the flying Mages more leeway compared to an overland trek.

    SPLASH!

    An Undine emerged from the scintillating water, ensorceling a human-sized fish with a silvery body and blood-red fins.

    "This thing was lurking below us." the humanoid-elemental tossed the fish from side to side.

    "That looks good for eating." Richard studied the trashing river-monster, chomping at the air with its dagger-teeth. "What is it?"

    "A Pirarucu." Tica recognised the scarlet fins. "Red Fish."

    "Tonight, we feast on Pirarucu steaks," Richard declared.

    The others cheered half-heartedly. They were all exhausted by the humidity and the unceasing combat.

    Nodding, Tica materialised her Sundew Familiar on the palm of her hand.

    "How is it upstream?"

    "¡­" the Sundew wiggled its tentacles.

    "That many? How far''s the inlet?"

    "¡­" Coca contracted and expanded.

    "Can we go around?"

    "¡­" The tentacles performed an Aztecan Wave.

    "I see."

    "What''s the matter?" Richard washed his hands. The Pirarucu couldn''t be stowed in the Storage Ring while it was alive, so he and Anita had just performed culinary fish-surgery.

    "Troll encampment barring our way, a big one. Twenty-thirty individuals at least." Tica chewed her lower-lips. "We can''t bypass them without pushing into the canopy. If we detour, the combat will alert them anyway."

    "Any Shamans?"

    "Likely. Urqu can check from a distance."

    "I need specifics to make a judgement. Mayuree?"

    "Out of her range." Tica shook her head. "The trolls will scent you before you''re close enough."

    "Scent?" Mayuree sniffed her dirt-covered hands.

    "Body odour, shampoo, your perfume¡­" Tica''s counsel made the Diviner''s skin crawl. "Troll Hunters, the thin ones with the long limbs, they have hyper-sensitive olfactory organs."

    Richard considered their options.

    "Hmm." He materialised a still-bleeding fish head. "What if a person''s covered in this?"

    Mayuree gawked at the lifeless eyes in horror.

    "You can wear it like a helmet," Richard explained. "Wear the carcass like a coat..."

    Their Diviner began to gag.

    "Wait," Tica urged him to pack the fishhead. "We don''t need the fish. I can cover us with Coca."

    Mayuree breathed out.

    "Okay, but let''s test the theory first," Richard said. "I''ll go with them. If nothing else, I can D-D Mia in a jiffy."

    "Fine," Tica conjured a handful of Coca clones in her hand. "Put these on, and I''ll do the rest."

    An hour later, Mayuree, Richard and Urqu returned.

    "Right." Richard tapped the map of the region their Diviner had scouted, perfectly happy with the wiggling Sundew sitting atop his head. "Here''s the plan¡­"

    The village which the party''s scouts had observed was a settlement carved into the riverside, a primitive affair consisting of thick logs staked together to form a circular fence. The troll-home was a gathering outpost for fish, for they saw evidence of a drying rack, netting, as well as dozens of carcasses stacked in a pile, awaiting butchery beside a smokehouse.

    "About ten warriors, two shabby-looking shamans, and the rest look like labourers," Richard said. "At least I think they''re labourers. They have no tusks. What does that mean?"

    "Likely youngsters, that or de-fanged slaves captured from other tribes," Tica returned. "To become a warrior; an adult troll has to survive in the jungle alone, the trophies they bring back as proof of their prowess determine the pecking order."

    "Teenage trolls?" Richard scoffed, shaking his head in wonder. "Eh, they burn all the same."

    The team again looked over Richard''s plan.

    On the map, several Xs marked the spot. These, Richard had explained, offered the best vantage to enable a raging, all-consuming forest fire. Thanks to Urqu, they could control the wind, and with Jiro and Qari, they could control the blaze. Together, they would herd the trolls into a narrow channel conveniently devoid of flames.

    Then, within this short corridor of safety, Tica would entangle the lot of them, simultaneously unleashing Coca. Richard and Sumatika would play control, keeping the trolls penned. As for insurance, Tica would use faith-magic to bestow a round of raw radiance upon their hapless victims.

    "Speed is key." Richard traced the Walls of Fire with his fingers. "Don''t hold back on mana. Anyone need potions?"

    The group shook their head.

    "Good." Richard stood. "Good hunting."

    Tica wetted her lips, already imagining the Inca''s wrath falling on the savages. That, and the CCs she would gain for Cuzco.

    With the newly risen sun, Golos scampered up the cliffside, dislodging chunks of stone and vegetation that had grown out over the centuries.

    Once back at the fort, the Wyvern found a grassy knoll, then rolled over as though he owned the place.

    "... those long-nosed pigs are as good as Ryxi''s fish."

    "Oh, there''ll be plenty of fish as well." Gwen found a place to sit beside the big beast. "I heard there are catfish in there half your size."

    "Burp!" Golos belched. "The snake was much meatier than I thought. I thought of Ryxi screaming for help while I ate it, hee hee hee¡­"

    "See how good you have it, Golos?" Gwen pressed the Wyvern while he remained satiated. "In serving me, you''ll have no want for crystals, for meat, or whatever."

    "Serve you?!" Golos moved his neck so that he was snout to face with the girl.

    "ERGH, your breath!" Gwen gagged; assaulted by a redolence akin to concentrated cat-breath.

    "Hoooo!" Golos laughed childishly, then huffed in her face, glob and all.

    Gwen Dimensioned Doored away, holding back a Chakram. Her draconic-constitution had given her finely-tuned senses, ones which she now deeply loathed.

    Golos continued his deep-throated laughter.

    "Bloody hell. Stay here and don''t wander off." Gwen realised she had to change immediately or at least activate a laundry cantrip. "When you''re done digesting, come find me in your human form. I''ll introduce¡ª"

    The Wyvern snubbed her, turning away disinterestedly. It then coiled its semi-trailer body like a cat''s, facing the sun to warm its scales.

    Gwen stomped her feet in frustration.

    The bloody thing was begging for a Caliban in the arse.

    "Inti, you''re not going to believe this," Musi interrupted Inti''s morning rites. "Fudan''s sorceress has gone mad."

    Quickly, Inti exited the guard''s room.

    There, in the central courtyard, he saw her.

    The spectacle he witnessed was shocking enough to warrant a hasty sign of the sun across his chest. He then moved closer, drawn by morbid curiosity.

    "What in Titicaca''s name is she doing?" Kusi held her lips with her fingers.

    "Void madness?" Inti offered a suggestion. From Amaru, he had heard that those who dabble in the Void tended to be a little uneasy in the head. Still, he had never thought to witness such an unbalanced display in public, much less in the middle of the IIUC.

    Currently, in front of Inti, watched by the proctors and others, Gwen Song dug through a pile of offensive wyvern excrement the height of her waist.

    Not far, holding their nose and observing with expressionless faces, her teammates formed a protective perimeter, shielding Gwen from anyone who may, as it were, compete with her for the pile.

    Feeling a rare revulsion coming on, Inti scanned the fort for signs of the Wyvern.

    He soon spotted a hulk taller than even Tupaq, with a head of blue-silver and a ridged face only somewhat human. It didn''t take a Spirit Shaman to guess that this was Golos in his poorly construed human-form, a realisation that filled his heart with yet more ambivalence.

    "EUREKA!" came a triumphant cry from Fudan''s principle sorceress. "YOU BLOODY RIPPER!"

    Inti fought down a gulp of bile. Did she mean the Wyvern had blood in its stool? Was she a specialist Conjurer with a degree in veterinary care? He had heard of such Mages overseas, and the Temple too possessed virgins who could care for Magical Beasts.

    A glint caught his eyes.

    Gwen Song held a Creature Core aloft. From its appearance, Inti knew that it belonged to a Titan Boa- an elder-specimen.

    "What¡­" he mouthed, accidentally swallowing the fetid air. Besides him, Tupaq and the three girls who had joined him gagged.

    Across the pile, the proctors stared hard.

    A tier-5 or 6 Titan Boa Core wasn''t rare, but it was a good thousand or more HDMs.

    And now, Gwen Song had found one in a pile of shit.

    Was that why the girl spent HDMs like water? Inti couldn''t help but feel his economic acumen was being challenged. Where others dug crystals from the ground, she found thousands of HDMs by stomping through turds?

    "I knew it!" The girl pulled her long limbs away from the offensive material, then quickly activated a laundry spell-device, soaking her suit and dispelling the sludge. In her other hand, she held three-more smaller Cores.

    With great joy, she skipped toward the suddenly apprehensive Wyvern.

    "Gogo!" she moved to hug him. "You magnificent draconic bastard!"

 Chapter 282 - Out of the Blue

    Gwen now possessed such anticipation for the Amazon that her excitement was enough to displace the reek of excrement.

    It had all begun the morning after Golos'' foray into the jungle. Taking her morning jog, she came across what could only be the largest, foulest pile of draconic expulsion she had ever seen. The reality that dragons could "poop" was proven by Caliban, but of course, for creatures like Ruxin and the Yinglong, it was absurd to imagine them squatting over a litter box, roaring with effort.

    It was only Golos, still a few centuries from maturity, that obsessed with eating and rutting. Nonetheless, Gwen had never seen journals or articles written on draconic-expulsions. Somewhere, a post-grad Magus could pursue a Magistership if they knew what she knew.

    The whole ordeal began the night before. True to Gwen''s demands, Golos had transformed, then introduced himself as their new leader. Almost without pause, he asked Petra if she would like to rut. Petra politely declined and suggested maybe Gwen could sample the goods. Golos then thoughtfully enquired if she would like to rut, and Gwen returned that Caliban was desperate for a Wyvern form.

    Golos remained undeterred. A wyvern''s gotta eat; he explained ¡ª a wyvern''s gotta rut.

    "A Wyvern''s gotta shit?" she had replied sarcastically.

    And here was her answer.

    A turd-consuming Void Sphere was halfway vocalised when she spotted a glint.

    Her nose wrinkled. A Creature Core?

    Holding her breath, doubting her eyes, she approached the pile.

    The previous day, Golos had eaten until he was sick. There had been tapir-like boars, monkeys with three tails, boar-sized frogs with translucent bellies, and an unlucky Titan Boa.

    All of which slid down Golos'' gullet without complaint.

    Dragons, Gwen recalled the lesson from Ruxin, were beings that grew stronger by drawing nourishment from their hunt. When consuming other creatures, a dragon "fed" on their Essence as well. Concurrently, she thought of the Kirin Amulet and how it absorbed Essence from slain beasts into its Core. Perhaps, she realised, this was the real reason for the Amulet''s abilities. Mysticisms aside, it came down to unadulterated, draconic mechanics.

    As for Gogo, her test subject was a mere Wyvern, but one she was willing to risk.

    Could Golos mass-generate Cores gastronomically? Though she had no dire need for HDMs, Cores were almost always in short supply. There were many Enchanters, but never enough ingredients for experimentation.

    Full of hope, she dug into the pile, ferreting for treasure. Her Detect Magic, honed and trained after a semester of Divination Utility 101, cried out that this wasn''t what it was designed to do.

    THERE! Her heart sang as her nose died. Golos'' poo was obstinate, but she was strong! It''s a durian, she told herself. I am splitting a durian.

    "EUREKA!" She raised the scintillating orb to the light.

    I have to thank Ruxin, Gwen reminded herself, maybe shout the dragon dinner. Golos was the best summon a girl could want. A Planar Ally that paid for itself.

    Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding!

    The team''s jubilation was short-lived.

    Inbetweena dream involving Gogo-golden-durians, simultaneous activations of Fudan''s Message bangles shook Gwen and her companions from the lull of slumber.

    "Mia?" Gwen punched the Glyph, half dazed. "You''re back?"

    "WE''RE COMING IN HOT!" Richard''s voice filled the darkness, a moment before Rene lit the room with a pair of Dancing Lights. "Ten minutes! We''re ten-Ks out!"

    "Are you safe¡ª"

    DANG! DANG! DANG! DANG! The sound of alarm bells ringing through the fort brought the outpost into full-alert.

    "Get ready!" Richard''s voice came through. "We brought a shit load of Harpies! They''re all CCs!"

    "Got it." Gwen leapt from the bed. She pulled the combat suit over her intimates, then parted the privacy curtain. Unlike her previous skin-suit, Shen-tei''s transformative function saved her the trouble of wriggling into a shed skin. She activated her Message again. "Everyone, get that?"

    "Outside already," Tei''s voice returned. "I''ll go set up the defences."

    "Give me one minute." Rene''s muffled voice came from the adjacent bed. The Magma Mage was a heavy sleeper.

    "Lulan and I will go with Tei." Petra''s Message indicated she was already outside as well. "Inti and his team just arrived."

    With a sound of hissing air, the suit''s material adhered. She spent a second stretching out the kinks, then Dimension Doored outside.

    "GOLOS!" she cried out into the darkness.

    "Here." Golos yawned, leaning against the fort''s battlement.

    "There''s a buffet of CCs incoming," Gwen informed him.

    "Never ate a Harpy before." Golos affected a toothy grin.

    "Help yourself." Gwen conjured both Ariel and Caliban with a thought. "Watch out for friendlies."

    Golos grunted.

    Another Dimension Door later, Gwen arrived at the eastern battlements. In the typical Incan fashion, the observation post at Marcapata was formed of shaped stones staggered so that they slotted seamlessly. The design was highly resistant against impact and earthquakes. Here and there, Glyphs were carved in gold, bolstering the fort''s magical defences.

    "I see the flock now." Gwen''s night-vision was near-supernatural. "Bloody hell, that''s a biblical volume of Harpies."

    Ding!

    "Can you see us?" Richard''s voice came through. "Jiro''s almost out of mana, look for the Fireball!"

    In the bible-black night, a brilliant flash of orange caught the contestant''s eyes.

    "I see you." Gwen squinted, channelling Almudj''s Essence into her orbs. "The Message device registered only seven of you¡­"

    "The others are hopefully back in Cuzco." Her cousin''s voice took on a hard edge. "It wasn''t easy breaking through the canopy and outrunning the birds. Don''t worry. There wasn''t any foul play."

    Gwen glanced at Inti''s group, noting their grim expressions. From the faint glow at Inti''s ear, he was likely conversing with Tica. Before she could withdraw her gaze, Inti caught her watching.

    "Miss Song." Inti pointed to the flock in the distance, a roving mass of indistinct shadows. "I am going to open with a wide-area AoE. Unfortunately, I do not possess the ability to differentiate friend from foe, can you tell your team to retreat?"

    Gwen frowned. "Why risk striking our allies? We can do it together. All of our AoEs possess IFF."

    Inti cranked up his aura. "My spell works best if the enemy is densely clustered. The opportunity will soon be lost, so please tell your team to retreat. We shall share the CCs, I assure you."

    Before she could dissuade the prince, Inti rose into the air.

    Sensing a stubborn parallel between Inti and Golos, Gwen opened a channel to Richard. "Dick, you and the others need to get moving."

    "Wall of Water!" Richard stabbed himself with an injector, wincing as his VMI shot to a tenth of its usual maximum. "Lea! Left side!"

    "Coca!" Tica followed suit, blasting the flock with massive webs dozens of meters across. Her spell was efficient and useful, but the Harpies had since caught on. This time, the birds had their rainbow-plumed priestesses in tow, considerably boosting the flock''s overall prowess. "We need to move."

    "Pack them tighter!" Richard commanded. "Jiro!"

    "FLAMING TEMPEST!" Jiro had reached his alchemical limit fifty-kilometres ago and was now running on fumes. He covered their flanks, driving the pursuers closer, then stumbled as his movements momentarily faltered.

    "I got him." Mayuree burned another Magic Item, blasting forward with Jiro in tow. She had spared no expense since the parties had escaped the temple ruins via the Harpies'' tree-top lairs.

    "Sanctuary!" Eunae relieved the Harpies'' attention on their Fire Mage. "Watch out! Shield of¡ª"

    THUAWK!

    A blade of air, razor-sharp and ten-meters tall, split Richard''s cascading Wall of Water in twain. It continued to travel, forcing Richard to sharply bank.

    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

    "Fuck!" Richard cursed. His left leg felt suddenly hot and cold. The combat suit had helped, but the light plating wasn''t able to negate the entirety of the Wind Blade''s damage, leaving him with a gash that stretched from calf to thigh. "Eunae!"

    "Healing Word!" Eunae deftly switched from Shield of Faith to a minor invocation that could be used mid-flight. "Incoming!"

    Richard cursed. He was almost OoM. The team''s other defenders had already done their jobs. Uturunku had been the first to go, being the least capable and the slowest flier of the group. Rather than hindering the party''s escape, he had chosen instead to delay the Harpies'' advance.

    After that, it had been Anita''s turn. As a Mineral Abjurer-Transmuter, she possessed the second slowest flight-speed.

    About a hundred kilometres later, Sumatika offered herself, though the Water Mage halted the flock only momentarily before she was swamped by Harpies clawing at her flesh.

    Now, it was his turn to corral their CCs.

    "GO!" He stopped. "Lea, keep them off me. Thirty seconds!"

    "Richard!" his teammates cried out. "An AoE is coming!"

    "GO NOW!" The Water Mage''s face turned cruel. From his ring, he withdrew a rod of pyrite. Ever since Seoul, he had paid close attention to potential applications of Cloud Kill.

    The Harpies swooped, their screeching voices filled his ears.

    His spell would take six-seconds to manifest, and another ten to reach maximum range. He intended to hold them for a minute, but if the demi-human casters intervened, he had no idea if he could last that long.

    Faced with a roving, endless tide offlapping wings, Richard felt as though he was reliving the Beast Tide of 71.

    ZWING! Came the sound of a fast-moving metal object.

    "SQAR¡ª"

    A Harpy that had careless clawed at him exploded into a puff of dark feathers. The slab of shaped iron continued onward, itsmomentum unimpeded, skewering, smashing and maiming six-more creatures before it tumbled into the forest below.

    ZWING! ZWING! ZWING! ZWING!

    Four more volleys followed, clearing the space around Richard.

    Lulu! Richard applauded the girl. Gwen had picked a real gem.

    DING!

    "DICK! WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU STILL IN THE BAIT BALL?" Gwen''s voice barked beside his ear.

    Richard scoffed. How massive could this AoE be? But, his vice-captain''s orders needed following. He stowed his bar of pyrite, then shot downward toward the safety of the canopy below.

    Behind him, the night sky grew suddenly bright.

    Where Richard had been, the Quasi-Elemental Plane of Radiance gave birth to a star.

    An incandescent ball every bit as brilliant as the celestial orb that brought life to the clay of terra lit the darkness with the collated faith of the Inca.

    The Harpies closest to the orb melted like wax, their feathers suddenly alight; the fat of their goose-skin sizzling to a crisp as their eyes boiled in their sockets.

    Richard too felt a numbing sensation across his posterior and his scalp. He smelledthe sizzling of flesh and the acrid scent of hair set aflame. Lea evaporated with a wail, retreating into his pocket dimension.

    He began to fall.

    "Bugger." Richard puckered his lips thoughtfully. Assuming he didn''t die immediately, Gwen would have to buy him a new Contingency Ring.

    "Dick!"

    A burst of silvery Conjuration heralded the arrival of his timely saviour. Gwen caught him by the arm, then slung her cousin across her shoulder with ease. Where her fingers swiped his neck, a sheet of foaming material and scalded skin slid apart.

    "Three stars for elemental resistance," Richard joked.

    "I''ll let Yeye know." Gwen activated a Spell Cube with one hand while her semi-dome Shield sizzled. "Hold on."

    A series of gut-churning Dimension Doors later, they were back on Condor''s Rise.

    "Richard!"

    "Dick!"

    "Wocao! You look like a baked goose!"

    "See¡­" Richard pointed at the glowing sun in dismay, his heart throbbing with agony. Below its brilliance, Harpies were falling like flies.

    The team shielded their eyes.

    "See what, Richard?" Gwen felt for his pulse. She then uncorked a bottle of Maotai and fed her cousin a mouthful.

    "CCs!" Richard spat, his eyes watered. "Our CCs!"

    The rest of the team breathed out. If Richard was crying over Contribution Credits, then he should be fine.

    Behind them, Mayuree, Eunae, Tica and the rest were now landing. Like Fudan, Cuzco''s team immediately surrounded their Mages, with the quiet girl, Mallqu, delivering a few healing spells of her own.

    Gwen greeted her team members with open arms, heedless of their bloody attire and pungent aroma.

    "You''ve worked hard." She hugged Mayuree tightly, then held Mia''s head against her chest.

    "We did it." Mayuree was keen to report on their success. "We¡­"

    "Later." Gwen released the girl, then embraced Eunae. "Eunnie, thanks."

    Jiro waited in line.

    Gwen struck out a hand.

    Jiro''s shoulders fell.

    "Just kidding, ya goof." Gwen pulled the young man close, then gave him a big bear-hug, lifting him from the ground. "Good work! Thanks for taking care of them."

    Jiro retreated, pushing his bones back in place.

    "Poor Anita." Gwen sighed after Eunae told them about the three contestants who chose to impede the flock. "I''ll reward her later. A custom Boots of Flying that can raise her maxim speed perhaps, or a handful of Cores."

    After Gwen, Tei debriefed the Explorers to clarify the situation in case tension with Cuzco rose unnecessarily.

    "Where''s Gogo?" Gwen realised her Wyvern was gone.

    "He said something about barbecued quail," Petra informed her. "Ah, the Harpy flock is dispersing."

    "EE?" Ariel complained.

    "SHAA?!" Caliban salivated.

    "I''ll go find Golos." Gwen patted her Familiars. She was sure that they would remain dissatisfied and antsy until they spent their pent-up energy. Additionally, she was interested in what Golos could "retrieve".

    In the distance, the artificial sun had dissolved.

    Over the horizon, the real sun rose, painting the thin black silhouette a blush of orange. As for the forest below, the trees had turned to charcoal. Where stumps remained, a hellish wasteland full of smouldering Harpies quavered.

    "Go, we''ll take care of Richard." Tei patted her on the shoulder.

    "Right." Gwen spotted something ponderously sifting through the smoking trees. "I''ll D-D over."

    "Gwen, wait¡ª" Rene pointed to Cuzco''s team. "What do you make of that?"

    Curiously, Auberon and three additional proctors were now escorting Musi, Kusi and Mallqu toward the epicentre. Inti remained with the exhausted Tica, listening to her tale.

    "I''ll come with." Petra stood.

    "Alright, let go." Gwen took her cousin''s hand, then made up the distance with teleports.

    Upon arriving at ground zero, they were surprised to find that many of the Harpies were still alive.

    "SHAA SHAA!" Caliban nudged a smoking pile of feathers, dissatisfied that its prey wasn''t screaming for help.

    "EE!" Ariel wasn''t opposed to grilled wings, though it preferred victims who weren''t entirely helpless.

    How curious, Gwen made a mental note. Neither of her Familiars fancied themselves scavengers. Was it draconic-pride? She wondered, or something to do with their growing sapience.

    Downwind of the foetid air, she spotted Golos dragging still-kicking Harpies from the branches, crunching them in his jaws.

    Gwen twisted her lips in mockery.

    A few minutes later, the proctors arrived with their wards. The group alighted where the cluster of Harpies was the densest.

    "Miss Huamani-Inka, you may begin." Gwen noticed that Auberon''s stone-cold attitude was leagues from when he had dealt with her. Before she could judge the Baron of Shenfield for being biased, however, Kusi retrieved a leather orb from her storage.

    Petra audibly gasped.

    "Is that a human head?" Gwen asked her cousin very quietly.

    "Yes," Petra confirmed.

    "A baby''s?"

    "No." Petra observed the goosebumps that had risen all over her arm. "It''s a shrunken head."

    "What does that mean?" A revulsion came over Gwen which she hadn''t experienced since Mark Chandler kicked at her diaphragm.She knew about shrunken heads, but not whatever this was. "Magically speaking?"

    "I think they remove the skull, then stitch it back together." Petra kept her cool far more readily than her cousin. "You can see how well it''s embalmed."

    Across the field, heedless of the two girls from Fudan, Kusi began her ritual by raising the mummified head like a lantern. Stamping her feet, she began to speak in the tongue of the Shuar, a lingua franca beyond Gwen''s means to comprehend.

    Behind the dark-haired Shaman girl, the quiet Mallqu invoked some unknowable sorcery of her own, shuddering as a palpable source of vitality left her body.

    Gwen swallowed, at a loss for words. She and Petra stood as though petrified, gaping at the open practice of that which must not be named.

    "Help!" an enfeebled cry broke Gwen''s stupor. She searched her perimeter and discovered a Harpy covered in burns, its once colourful feathers crudely begrimed. It was a Sky Priestess, Gwen recollected. In Ma''s Bestiary, only select, sapient variants of Harpies could become noble Harpies.

    Across the ravaged field, their eyes met.

    "Kill me..." the thing pleaded.

    But before Gwen could react to the unexpected plea, Kusi''s ritual reached its climax. At the Shaur''s command, a glut of Negative Energy began to accumulate inside the shrunken head.

    "Ariel! Caliban!" She quickly retrieved her Familiars. "Golos!"

    "!"

    A soundless burst of Negative Energy washed over the wasted woods, smothering the wounded, stifling the croons and groans of the surviving demi-humans.

    A purple light burst from the desiccated face, drawing a visible torrent of Essence into the undead apparatus.

    Golos reared its plated head, its jaws suddenly grim.

    "A Desecrator," came a grumbling roar from deep within the Wyvern''s throat, wrought in ancient Draconic. Gwen could see every scale bristled with displeasure. "Gwen, that human must die!"

    "MISS SONG!" Auberon put up a hand when a wave of dragon-fear disrupted the flow of purple-Essence. "Miss Huamani-Inka''s craft is sanctioned by the Tower. It exists as a religious exceptionto the rule. I would classify it as no different from your unorthodox Planar Ally."

    Gwen carefully shifted between Golos and Cuzco''s Team.

    "Calamity." Golo''s tone grew dangerous. "If this were to occur in my father''s domain, your city is forfeit."

    "Peace," Gwen responded to both Auberon and her Wyvern, channelling her Essence to suppress Golos'' overspilling aura. "Lord Lucas, I understand your concern. Golos, this isn''t our business, and here isn''t our home. Stand down."

    "Good." The Baron of Shenfield exhaled. "I shall refrain from commenting further, but I applaud your understanding."

    "No¡­ no¡­ no¡­" cried a squark from afar. The surviving Sky Priestess was rapidly wasting away. "¡­ the daughters of the Sky Mother must return to the sky¡­"

    The creature''s hapless mewling reminded her of Chandler''s sister, whose soul had been trapped in the Death Orb. Compared to that, Gwen imagined, consignment to the Void must be merciful oblivion.

    "Void¡ª" Gwen summoned a single-stage Void Sphere to her lips, but Golos was faster. With a gulp, he scooped up the bird-woman wholesale.

    "Better this way," Golos spoke with his mouthful, a formidable feat. "It is only right that she returns to the Unformed Land."

    One by one, the banshee wails ceased.

    The dark ritual had reached its conclusion.

    "We will win," Kusi''s voice drifted across the death-soaked clearing. She then turned to the proctors. "Sir, we wish to return to Inti."

    "Of course." Auberon likewise made sure he stood between Golos and the Shamaness. "Miss Song, thank you again."

    Gwen and her cousin were soon alone with their Wyvern.

    "BLEEURGH!" Golos regurgitated a mess of charred feathers and mangled flesh, mimicking what he had witnessed in Nagaland.

    Gwen and Petra leapt back.

    "It lives." Golos gloated at his new trick.

    "Pats!" Gwen felt her heart skip a beat. Here was an excellent opportunity to exercise the middle path. "Can you heal it? I want to speak to it."

    Petra dropped two cubes at once, simultaneously activating both a Restoration and a Cure Moderate. She wasn''t about to question her cousin''s motives when the Harpy could have perished a second later.

    "Spell''s working, but its life-force is fading." Petra frowned. "Sometimes, that which is taken cannot be restored."

    "Not always." Gwen intuitively knew what to do. She hadn''t watched Sufina for a year and learnt nothing. Circulating her Essence, she fed a drop of Almudj''s panacea into the Harpy''s lips, careful not to let its razor-sharp teeth snag her fingertips.

    "More Positive Energy." Gwen held the saliva covered Harpy as it convulsed.

    Petra obliged. An over-supply of healing energies resulted in cancerous growth, but she wasn''t about to fuss over a demi-human''s longitudinal well-being.

    "Cali, Ariel, come out." Gwen materialised her Familiars.

    In the ankle-deep grit, the Harpy''s feathers rapidly moulted. The burnt plumes fell from its chest and its arms, exposing two shapely mounds for a split-second before a downy fuzz hid the creature''s shame. Gwen baulked at the sight of avian-mammaries. From her Bestiary, she had imagined Harpies were birds with human heads. Instead, the woman''s lower body was undeniably like her own but for a pair of enormous eagle-claws. Its upper torso was likewise no different until one saw its elongated fingers, reminding Gwen of an archaeopteryx. In place of hair, the Harpy sported a fringe of beautiful, blue-green feathers akin to a lorikeet''s. When finally the Sky Priestess'' facial features regenerated, Gwen marvelled its long-slitted eyes, each set with ruby-red irises.

    As a woman pulled from the underworld, the Sky Priestess inhaled sharply, its dilated pupils contracting into focus.

    Then, it remained very still while a Void Sorceress, a Mineral Scholar, a Kirin, a Death Worm and a bus-sized Wyvern loomed over its quivering body.

 Chapter 283 - The Seeds of Trust

    As a noble, Phelara was born blessed.

    By the grace of the Sky Father, she possessed the multi-coloured plumage unique to her lineage, promising beauty, magic and intelligence.

    Last night, when the Sun Father had kissed the Tree Mother, she and her sisters had awoken to a great roaring conflagration, whipping the flock into a headless frenzy.

    Phelara''s first instinct was to order the den mothers to gather the chicks and the unhatched eggs. She then commanded her brood to strike the green and sappy branches so that they fell into the flames rather than be caught alight. In the past, when the sky had punished the tribe with lightning, the strategy had worked.

    Yet, somehow, against all reason, the blaze grew fiercer. No matter how the priestesses called upon the air and wind, the burning boughs smouldered.

    "This is no natural fire! It''s magic! Find the priests of the stone cities!" The Cloud Father had called out, wise enough to recognise the fire''s supernatural origins. At their leader''s behest, the whole flock, Phelara included, had fanned out to flush the men of the mountains from their hiding spot.

    "Here!" a veteran warrior had trilled. A group of city-kin had broken through the canopy and were rapidly making for the open air. "That one! The wielder of fire!"

    Before Phelara could answer her brood-mate, a net of sticky vines had tangled the warrior''s wings. Preoccupied with saving a hen, Phelara helplessly watched as the stricken female tumbled into the flaming forest.

    "Sister!" Phelara screeched in anguish as her sibling''s confused cries echoed. Many of Phelara''s ungifted sisters lacked her aptitude. The bronze-feathers were inferior daughters of the Sky Father, but they were her sisters all the same.

    "After them!" the Cloud Father hooted, his voice ringing from treetop to treetop, reverberating through the air.

    The warriors gave chase, lead by Phelara and a few others. Along the way, they notified the surrounding Copper Claws, told their suffering through songs of agony and distress. Flock by flock; the tribes mobilised until they were innumerable!

    One after another, they peeled the mountain-priests from their pack. Unlike the feather-kin, these "humans" were inexpert fliers, obfuscating their retreat with magic, and hiding whenever they could. But the tribe was relentless, so long as Phelara''s kin persisted in the chase, it was inevitable that her flock would catch the culprits. Then, they would crush their bones, eat their flesh, and drag out their innards to feed the Tree Mother!

    Phelara''s final salient recollection was cornering another city-kin.

    Instead, the sun rose.

    For the kin of the sky, whose instincts were tied to the ebb and flow of Father Sun and Mother Moon, the phenomenon was enough to send the flock into turmoil. Phelara was no different, her dark pupils had contracted violently, owl-blind by the early sun, while her mind struggled to reconcile reality and instinct. When finally the dire radiance enveloped the flock, Phelara could do nothing.

    Haplessly, her sisters tumbled from the sky. The lucky ones were disintegrated. The unlucky ones burst into flames. Those like Phelara plunged into the forest below, made insensible by the heat.

    When she regained consciousness, she was but one of many, keening in the charcoaled ruins. Her eyes were blinded, seared by the radiance. She was bereft of her proud plumage; her skin wept, smeared with ash.

    Every measure of her being was in exquisite agony, and that was before she sensed the strange magic syphoning her soul.

    Phelara couldn''t see, but she knew it was a charm of undeath. The same rot and decay utilised by the troll-hags of the deep forest.

    Should the spell succeed, the accursed abomination would secure their souls to serve its ancestors, preventing the sky-kin from returning to the blue expanse.

    It was a final indignity, one that filled Phelara''s bosom with anguish.

    Then, the Sky Father heard her plea.

    She died.

    Still conscious in the belly of a blessed beast, she realised she had been eaten.

    Then without warning, broken, mangled and covered with mucus, she was abruptly re-birthed into the world, as helpless as a new-born chick.

    In her delirium, a panacea had suffused her body, more potent than anything she had ever consumed, exceeding even the Cloud Father''s blessing. Unbidden, her body healed and her bones mended; when finally her mind recovered, she gazed upon her saviours.

    Why had they saved her? That was the question pressing at Phelara''s scarlet-feathered throat. The Cloud Father had warned his Priestesses that the kin from the mountains sometimes took young chicks from their nests for sport. As for the fates of those poor sisters, none could know.

    Very slowly and with great care, Phelara lifted her plumed head from the soot-stained earth.

    She then spread her emerald wings, laying on the ground in a gesture of supreme supplication.

    "Hello there," a female voice articulated from above. It was a tall city-kin female who spoke. She was a stranger, and yet Phelara felt familiarly drawn, as though something indefinable connected them.

    "The Sky Father blesses," Phelara intoned carefully with clicks and squawks, keeping her pitch low and her teeth hidden. She caught the female''s scent, and Phelara knew as sure as her wishbone that here was an extraordinary being.

    The old tales had told of such creatures.

    She was in the presence of a Godling.

    "My name is Gwen." The female waited until Phelara lifted her head. "This is Petra. That''s Ariel and Cali, and the one who saved you is Golos."

    A pair of nostrils large enough for Phelara to stow a clawed foot sniffed her body. Reflexively, she quivered in Golos'' presence. Like the female, Golos was also a Godling. From their scents, Phelara discerned, they must be siblings.

    "Golos, not so close, you''re scaring her." The female called "Gwen" pushed the scale-kin away. "Change to your human form."

    Phelara gaped while Golos shrunk, not even the Cloud Father could change his shape.

    "So," Gwen commanded Phelara. "Your name?"

    "Phelara," she replied. "It means she with the illustrious feathers."

    "I can see why. They''re beautiful." The Godling shook her wing-digits.

    Confused, Phelara bowed her slender neck. A pair of ivory hands then brushed over her plumes. Phelara quivered; she couldn''t help but gaze upward at the green-eyed female with wonder.

    "This one I like," the Godling called Golos spoke. There was an unmistakable scent of musk. "She has Father''s colours."

    Phelara remained bowed.

    "EEee!" A four-legged Godling that bore the same scent as the female nudged her in the chest.

    "Shaa!" A serpent coiled around Phelara''s clawed feet. She suppressed an instinctual desire to swoop. Unlike the furry Godling, this one did not smell of anything.

    "Gwen," a second female inquired of her leader. "What do you intend to do with this... thing?"

    Unlike their alpha, the female called "Petra" smelled strongly of earth.

    "I want to hear your story, Phelara," the Godling demanded. "Tell me how you got here, and where you came from."

    The more Gwen interacted with Phelara, the more she liked the demi-human. Aesthetics aside, the bird was polite, respectful, and guileless.

    Haltingly, the Sky Priestess relayed her tale.

    When her discourse had been delivered, Gwen mulled over the occurrence. From the sounds of it, Richard was to blame, Jiro was the chief culprit, and Inti was the hand of deliverance.

    Perhaps it was because Phelara had a human face, or maybe it was because of the Necromancy, Gwen felt especially empathic and sensitive to the Harpy''s plight. It was sanctimony, of course, but her sympathy for the moment was genuine.

    Now empathetically invested, Gwen instructed Caliban and Ariel to conduct search and rescue, as they had practised in Burma. By the time Phelara provided a summation of the territories between here and the Temple of Mama Killa, a total of twenty-two mangled individuals huddled in the impromptu clearing.

    Initially, there were twenty-four survivors. Caliban, unfortunately, had gotten overexcited. As for number twenty-three; Golos had pulled the unlucky bird from beneath a fallen log, but left its legs where they lay.

    Once the moment ripened, Gwen requested Petra revive the surviving Harpies.

    Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

    "...Fine." Petra''s concern was for what the Proctor''s would think, though she did acknowledge that the same trick had worked wonders in Kachin.

    As expected, a few more ragged-looking Harpies retaliated as soon as they were hale. In response, Ariel swatted them down, confirming the pecking order.

    After a few reassuring squawks from Phelara, the flock fell into line.

    "Copper Claws! Kin of the Sky! I have something to say." Gwen found herself a stump, stared down at the surviving squadron, then began to speak.

    "QUIET!" Phelara screeched at her peers, mothering them into submission. "Listen to the Godling!"

    "TOMORROW¡­" her voice projected through the clearing. "Tomorrow we shall travel through Amazonia. Tomorrow, we shall press upon your home."

    "SCREECH!" As one, the flock burst into a clamour of croons.

    "EE!" Ariel let loose a wailing warning.

    "SHAAA!" Caliban flailed a tentacle.

    The mob quietened, though a few of the dumber specimens continued to rile themselves.

    "We come in peace!" Gwen told a white-lie, hoping that Jiro and the rest of the Explorers didn''t choose this moment to visit.

    "Lies!"

    "Deceiver!"

    "Killer!"

    The lesser Harpies wouldn''t have it. Not even Phelara could keep her rag-tag siblings in check.

    "SHUT IT!" Golos opened his mouth. A line of vivid lightning shot straight through the congregation, obliterating two Harpies in the span of a wink.

    The woods grew suddenly silent, harmonious but for the sound of cracking timber.

    Twenty survivors.

    "We mean you no¡ª"

    Gwen cleared her throat, making a mental correction to the script.

    "We INTEND no harm! Unlike the soul-stealing mountain-kin, we come from Shanghai! For our quest, the tribe of Fudan wishes to transgress through your home to reach the ruins below. By my word and the grace of the Sky Father, your nests, your trees, your brood, will remain untouched by our passing."

    Her captive audience hearkened, a flock of quails attending to a fox.

    "I ask for your trust, and to that end, you have two choices. You could fight us, and indeed, it is your freedom to do so. BUT, should that be your choice, there will be- VOID SPHERE!"

    With a whip of her fingers and a liberal dash of vitality, Gwen fired an all-consuming sphere of Void that first expanded to consume an enormous stump, then erupted as a dark nova, displacing a dozen more.

    The resultant vertigo was palpable. Several of the Harpies grew suddenly ill.

    "CONVERSELY-" Gwen allowed her dragon-fear to manifest in its entirety. "You can guide us through your domain as peaceful guests. That way, I win, you win, we all win. WIN-WIN!"

    "We shall guide you," Phelara grovelled. "Just your eminence?"

    "No. It''ll be myself, Petra here, Gogo, and a few others."

    "Not¡­" Phelara paused. "Not the¡­"

    "The Desecrator." Golos was feeling helpful.

    "Not the Desecrator." Phelara and the flock bobbed like hens. "Not the Desecrator, nor her flock. Not on our life."

    "Not a soul from the mountain-kin''s pack?"

    "None." Phelara was adamant. "Especially the Sun God."

    "I shall meditate on the matter." Gwen knew she had to consult with Tei on their latest intelligence. As for the Cuzco allies, she felt unimpressed by the challenge left by Kusi, not to mention there was the matter that Cuzco was arguably ahead on CCs. "Phelara, guard your flock. Golos, you stay and make sure they stick around. Don''t you dare think of eating our feathery friends."

    Golos eyed the females contemplatively.

    With a glance, Gwen retrieved her Familiars, then placed a hand on Petra''s shoulder.

    "Let''s see what Tei thinks of all this," Gwen informed her cousin. "After centuries spent fighting Necromancy. I am sure he''ll take to Kusi very kindly."

    "Very well." Inti inclined his perfect chin. "I understand your apprehension. Thank you for not reneging our non-aggression pact."

    "It is we who should be thankful for your understanding." Gwen extended a hand. "Regardless, I promise you that the relics of your people will receive the greatest care from us."

    "May the best team win," Inti intoned.

    Cuzco and Fudan''s leaders exchanged handshakes.

    Before the conference, Gwen had expressed her concerns for the unusual magic demonstrated by Kusi, stopping short of the N-word. After consulting with her fellow members of Fudan''s "flock", it was clear that close-cooperation was no longer possible. Openly, Tei had expressed that as one whose family spent generations putting the undead to eternal sleep, he refused to work alongside Kusi. Rene''s dislike was likewise pronounced, citing that were it not for the Northern Front, she would be richer by two cousins, an aunt, and a grand-uncle. Lulan reminded Gwen that her beloved Master had died at the Front, eliciting from her vice-captain a heartfelt apology. Finally, Petra expressed that she distrusted the three girls from Cuzco and that Inti was slicker than a snake oil peddler.

    In the end, "splitting the party" became a unanimous decision.

    Having then agreed on limiting their continued cooperation, both teams proceeded with the Dungeoneering.

    Once the Magi-tech engineers tethered the data-slates to the Divination Engine, a topographic projection of the region came into view. Tica gave her annotations, then Richard filled-in what Tica had left out.

    In the time since the teams'' recovery, Cuzco Tower had reported that the three teleported members were safe and recovering in the infirmary. This resolved the tension somewhat, enough at least for Tica and Richard to recount their adventure. According to the duo, it was during the final incursion into the temple itself that the parties had been discovered, leading to their hasty escape through the canopy, followed by many hours of hide-and-seek until they were close enough to receive Inti''s salvation.

    Richard sighed. He had envisioned that Gwen would nail the flock with an Ariel-charged Maelstrom or a Void Vortex.

    As for the temple-Dungeon, the Dungeoneers had their work cut out for them. The golden halls of Mama Killa''s abode were now a troll-fortress, its ancient walls converted into a grotesque ziggurat, at the top of which the trolls offered their live sacrifices.

    "Are trolls religious?" Gwen enquired.

    "Amazonian trolls worship the Dark God of the Forest, Kernunno," Tica demonstrated her expert knowledge. "It''s a proto-religion atypical of demi-humans. They believe that Amazonia was created for their benefit alone and that they are the offspring of Kernunno, who sowed his seed to form the trolls. For a fort of this size, anticipate two hundred warriors, ten shamans, and over a thousand slaves. In all likelihood, a Hag Coven leads the fort."

    "A coven?" Gwen inquired.

    "A trio of Hags, lead by an arch-Hag..." Tica described the rare troll variant. "...highly adept at using magic, capable of debilitating spells that cause rot, disease and ruin."

    "A trio of Hags, eh?" Gwen pursed her lips thoughtfully. "The wild and withered variety?"

    "Yes, I suppose." Tica shrugged. "They are consorts to the Chieftain, and also his advisors."

    Their attention returned to the map.

    "The fire your man had set should have cleared the vegetation somewhat," Inti explained, pointing at the eastern quadrant of the temple city. "The canopy and the emergent layer should be significantly diminished. We intend to make our entry from there."

    Looking at the Harpy''s home, Gwen felt a pang of guilt, followed by a stab of hypocrisy. Like many bleeding hearts in her old world, she was the sort who loved her wagyu so long as she didn''t pet the calf. As a fellow "deforester", she wasn''t sure if she had the credentials to critique the slash and burn of an entire eco-sphere for ease of access.

    "We''ll arrange our entrance ourselves." Gwen motioned to Inti. "For now, let''s say Fudan takes the western quadrant? Is that agreeable?"

    Topographically, the temple complex was rectangular, with the old temple in the middle. To split the task in twain, therefore, was entirely agreeable.

    "One more thing." Gwen allowed a sliver of Essence to permeate her presence. "We will be proceeding through the Harpy''s lair close to the ruins. Due to Miss Kusi''s cultural Spellcraft, we humbly request that Cuzco does not disturb the Indigenous inhabitants."

    The conference table grew silent.

    "If possible, we would like Cuzco to bypass the main nesting site of the Copper Claws," Gwen continued, her tone neither boastful nor pleading. "You may need to fly around, meaning your detour is longer. Is that agreeable?"

    "Why such love for the demi-humans?" Kusi''s voice came across with undisguised hostility. "Are you allying yourselves with man-eating Monsters?"

    "Speak for yourself, Necromancer," Rene snorted. "I''d rather party with a Harpy than a Death Mage."

    "Our ancient craft isn''t Necromancy!" Musi snarled. "You ignorant raka!"

    "Says the sha-bi!" Rene grew instantly hot. "Your kind should be locked up in Tianlanqiao."

    "Let''s hope we don''t meet in the temple."

    "You better hope."

    Tei attempted to calm the situation, but the grave keeper''s presence failed to douse the flaring temper. Tica watched by the side, seemingly amused by her teammate, while Jiro attempted to pull Rene back.

    "ALRIGHT!" Gwen spared no expense in filling the room with her presence, causing even Inti to turn a shade lighter. "SHUT UP! All of you. Cuzco, I request that you avoid the Copper Claw''s nesting site. If you wish to proceed, I can''t speak for the risks involved."

    "Is that a threat?" Musi stepped in, a finger touching her daggers.

    Gwen''s orbs glowed. Did these indigenous girls really think Fudan were ripe avocados ready for the plucking?

    "You call that a threat?" Lulan stepped up. A two-metre slab of jade-green iron materialised mid-air. "This is a threat."

    "Stop! We agree!" Inti checked the girls'' retorts, placing himself as a barrier. "Cuzco will make the detour."

    "Much obliged." Gwen inclined her chin, hiding her dislike for the Shaur siblings. "We''ll do our best to ensure you won''t be delayed. I promise."

    "The promise of an outlander?" Kusi had to have the final word.

    "Enough!" Inti snapped, then bowed his head. "I am very sorry, Miss Song. Please pay them no heed. Cuzco SHALL bypass the Harpy den, one way or another."

    The sibling''s objection was stared down by Tica, the undisputed queen of Inti''s future harem.

    "Thank you." Gwen found the prince as agreeable as the sisters were disagreeable. "Allow me to apologise for our misgivings in advance."

    Ignoring their detractors, the teams'' leaders soon agreed on their divergent routes, ultimately descending upon the fort from the east and west.

    When Gwen brought her Dungeoneering team to greet their Harpy guides, she found the colourful pheasant surrounded by more of her kin. In the intervening three hours or so, Phelara had been busy.

    "What''s happened?" she alighted onto the soot-strewn earth.

    A series of unintelligible squarks that translated into "She comes" and "It''s the sister" and "I want my turn" addressed Gwen''s arrival. When she shooed the bird-women away, trying to find Phelara, she heard a parting of ruffled feathers.

    "Phelara?" Gwen spotted her favourite bird in a wholly unexpected condition, one involving her Wyvern.

    Golos sat in his demi-human form, raw as a peeled onion, erect as a flagpole, looking happier than a bear with a stomach full of salmon. Beside her Planar Ally, Phelara appeared as though she had been put through the wringer. Here and there, she was missing tufts of feathers. As for Golos, either he had been vigorously punching a downy pillow, or he had done the Discovery Channel special.

    "Wow." Rene licked her dry lips. "A wyvern''s club has a spiked knob."

    "It''s the tail." Gwen''s face flushed a brilliant scarlet while her fingers tingled. She had told Golos to protect the Harpies, but instead, she had set loose a cock in a henhouse. Or perhaps, was it more akin to commanding a dog to guard the hens, and only to find¡ª

    She slapped her cheeks to clear her head.

    Phelara wobbled to her feet. Beside her, a few other hardy specimens helped one another to stand, strained by their weakened knees.

    Gwen pinched her brow.

    "Golos. Put on some pants."

    Golos materialised a shawl.

    "Phelara? Have you decided?"

    "Yes." The Sky Priestess nodded, arching her spine in avian supplication. "We would like to invite Lord Golos to our domain."

    "I''ll need a week," Golos intoned with great anticipation. "Maybe two."

    "YOU need to work," Gwen intervened. "No work, no play. I need those trolls gone, and relics recovered. Else, I''ll send you back to Ruxin, and you can explain your failure personally."

    Golos grunted.

    Sighing, Gwen briefly explained their plan, stating that she had secured a deal to avert further damage to Phelara''s village.

    "Yes!" Phelara declared, now more helpful than ever. "The Cloud Father will show you where the trolls are weakest! Where the Hags sleep! We often raid one another. The giant-kin foray into our domain and take our young and our eggs for nourishment. Father may even know where these relics of the mountain-kin may be hidden. He has been our leader since the fort was manned by ''humans'', many seasons ago!"

    "Excellent." Gwen patted the bird on the head. "Well done. I have rewards for you if your Cloud Father can help us. For him as well, you can tell him that."

    She then turned to her Wyvern.

    "Gogo." she slapped Golos on the back. "Cheer up! Not only do you to get to eat trolls, but you also get to tango! Just remember, dead trolls, recover relics. Work well, and I''ll keep you manifested. FOR TWO WHOLE WEEKS."

 Chapter 284 - An Unexpected Boon

    From Condor¡¯s Rise, the IIUC proctors and the local garrison watched with ambivalent expressions as Fudan''s menagerie entered the viridian expanse of Amazonia.

    Aspay back for Inti''s detour, Fudan had volunteered the thankless task of first-contact. It was arisky move, though the proctors did not doubt for a moment Gwen possessed themeans for an all-consuming alpha-strike.

    ¡°People are not going to believe this,¡± Tei shared another set of opinions. ¡°A Void beast, a Kirin, a Wyvern and now Harpies, are we a Beast Tide?¡±

    ¡°They''ll love it.¡± Gwen flew behind her Kirin''s slipstream. ¡°Golos is a Huangshan local, and we dealt with macaques before, right?¡±

    ¡°But these are HARPIES!¡± Tei baulked. "They''re not even half-breeds. They''re the real deal."

    ¡°Isn''t that amazing?¡± Gwen turned to their guide. ¡°Phelara, how long haveyour people inhabited Amazonia?"

    The Sky Priestess levelled herself, carefully adjusting her velocity.

    ¡°Mistress,¡± the Harpy said. ¡°Our progenitors came from the sky. In the beginning, there was only the Sky Mother. When she grew lonely, she birthed the egg of the Sky Father.¡±

    ¡°Ooo,¡± Gwen cooed. ¡°Immaculate Conception, very nice. Go on.¡±

    ¡°When the Sky Father grew out its feathers, it longed for the Sky Mother. Together, they made many eggs, each engendering the different tribes of the sky-kin.¡±

    ¡°How Grecian,¡± Gwen thought of Gaia and Uranus. ¡°How many tribes are there?¡±

    ¡°Over forty with which we keep in close contact,¡± Phelara supplied the intel without reserve. ¡°The Copper Claws had been one of the larger tribes.¡±

    Gwen caught the loss in Phelara¡¯s tone and felt unmistakable remorse. The birds'' flocks had been doing their thing, living day to day without care until disaster had risen from below without rhyme nor reason.

    ¡°Don¡¯t fret, little bird,¡± Golos¡¯ reassuring voice sounded beside her. ¡°There will be countless young ones in the years to come. Strong by virtue of my blessed blood!¡±

    ¡°I look forward to that day, Lord Golos.¡±

    Golos beamed.

    ¡°Exactly how many eggs is the bird lady planning to lay? ¡± Lulan asked suddenly.

    Gwen''s lips quivered, loathing the prospect of having to explain polygamy to Lulan, wondering what Kusu would say if he knew.

    "There''s a teapot full of tea," Golos snorted. "And there are many cups waiting to be filled..."

    "Gogo!" Gwen tried to preventthe corruption of Lulu.

    Golos burst into lewd laughter. Below the flock, a cloud of birds rose into the air, fleeing in all directions.

    "Phelara," Gwen changed the subject. "What lies in the deep forest? At the centre of Amazonia?"

    "I do not know," the Harpy apologised. "Some say there is a great tree that holds up the sky. Some say there are ancient beings there, Godlings in their own right, guarding the heart of the forest. Our Cloud Father says that there are worse beings than trolls. Either way, we never venture past the Wall of Woods."

    "The wall of wood?" Gwen asked. "What''s that?"

    "A great forest of trees taller than the emerald sea." Phelara''s eyes grew reverent. "Beyond which, the Cloud Father says lies the domain of the ageless ones."

    "And what is what?" Gwen felt her boundless curiosity tickled yet again,

    "I do not know." The Harpy''s voice grew remorseful. "We are told not to ask."

    "Aww..." Gwen comforted the Harpy. "Don''t fret. Tell me instead of the trolls."

    "Yes, mistress..."

    Enthralled by the cruelty of the nefarious trolls, Fudan''s journey continued as a bee-line on the mapping slate. Whenever the flock approached a new Harpy nesting site, Phelara flapped ahead to herald passing, securing an unmolested passage.

    "We''re close," Tei remarked eventually. "Gwen?"

    "Phelara?" Gwen passed on the enquiry. "Where are your kin?"

    ¡°I am not sure. There should be nest guards. SISTERS! WHERE ARE YOU?¡± Phelara''s response was to loudly screech in rapid succession. "This is most strange. My sisters should be stationed here, as is their duty."

    Gwen scanned the horizon for a miniature sun or at least signs of smoke. Though it was unlikely, Cuzco might have deceived them after all, choosing to infiltrate the ruins directly.

    ¡°Our nests may be under attack.¡± Phelara too searched the horizon for clues, though the mist-shroud limited aerial surveys. ¡°If an enemy proves too strong, our warriors will sacrifice themselves to exhaust the enemy. But, as it stands, our flight is diminished by half."

    "Do not fear." Golos offered his service first before turning to Gwen. "Calamity, I am going to help."

    ¡°Don''t bugger off just yet." Gwen held her Wyvern in check. "Tei, what''s your take on this?"

    ¡°We''ll have to deal with Phelara''s troubles when we return regardless,¡± Tei affirmed Golos'' desires. ¡°If so, let''s resolve it now.¡±

    ¡°Why not leave it for Cuzco to solve,¡± Petra advised.

    ¡°I am with Petra,¡± Rene said. "It''s not like we owe Cuzco. Circumstances change all the time."

    "I am with Tei." Lulan was eager to fight, ensuring that the ayes have it.

    ¡°Good, I prefer to keep our word.¡± Gwen turned to the Sky Priestess. ¡°Lead on, Phelara!¡±

    Ascending to a higher altitude, the group maximised their speed. Soon, they caught sight of a flame-ravaged forest smoking gently, adding to the mid-day haze.

    "There!" the Sky Priestess squawked.

    Above the treetops, a massive flight of Harpies encircled an unknown something, forming a whirlpool of coppery feathers.

    "Something stinks!" Golos barked, his voice suddenly unsure. "Father''s feathers! What is that scent?!"

    ¡°Mistress, my flock is under attack!¡± Phelara accelerated amid a chaotic bell-beat of clamorous wings. ¡°Sisters! Aid our kin!¡±

    "You''re right, what IS that?" Like Golos, she too had caught an offensive presence.

    "!"

    As Ayxin''s scale licked her spine, Gwen additionally noted that her Wyvern hadn''t bolted like a bloodhound after a hare.

    "Alright, Familiars at the front." Tei didn''t need draconic instinct to sense that trouble was brewing. "Formation C. Lulan takes the rear. Buff up!"

    Up ahead, the encircling mass of Harpies began to exercise the sort of manoeuvre more typically seen in the ocean, where swarms of silvery school-fish formed massive bait-balls to deter predators. When Phelara¡¯s flock joined the encircling Bright-Feathers, a burgeoning polyp of overlapping, coppery feathers rapidly expanded until, like a pustule, the avian mass burst into shrieking, free-wheeling birds.

    ¡°Wocao!¡± Rene, now clad in Lava Skin, let loose a sulphurous expetive. ¡°What in Mao¡¯s name is that?¡±

    The being that emerged from the floundering flock was enormous, at least half the size of Golos. From a distance, the gargantuan bird appeared to possess the misshapen head of a man attached to a condor''s body. Its nose, which Gwen had at first mistaken for a beak, was long and hooked; its lips, a thin, severe line, extended from ear to ear, revealing rows of human-like incisors.

    With a snap, it snagged a Harpy from the air, crushing the poor thing between both sets of teeth, its prehensile tongue wringing the bird of its bodily juices before spitting the carcass back at the flock with disdain. When it flew, its feathers sliced the air with the sound of metal-on-metal, affecting a noise akin to windchimes.

    ¡°A Da-Peng!¡± Golos banked to a halt, his expression gravid with dread. ¡°Impossible!¡±

    ¡°Mao! A Big Bird!¡± Tei discerned that the avian-titan possess claws that resembled six-fingered hands. ¡°Aren''t they extinct?¡±

    "Slaughtered to the last by the Mythic Dragons." Lulan too knew the popular legend.

    ¡°So, an extinct species...¡± Petra materialised a lumen-recorder. "The question is, what''s it doing here?"

    Gwen attempted to reconcile the monstrous being in front of them with the semi-baked alphabet-teaching yellow bird of her childhood. ¡°Big Bird? What''s a Big Bird?¡±

    "Dragon-eaters," Tei whispered in awe. "In ancient times, they hunted dragons for sport. When the great drakes allied with the Yellow Emperor, they drove the Da-peng to extinction. It''s all recorded in the Analects of the Mountains and the Seas. The last Da-peng perished in a stew for the Emperor..."

    ¡°I don''t understand, how can there be Da-Peng still in existence?¡± Golos appeared shaken by their present reality. "Father is never wrong!"

    Gwen was just about to retort when a puzzle piece clicked into place.

    "Gogo." She shared the Wyvern''s dismay. "I think I know why there are no dragons in Amazonia or in the Andes."

    As a scion of the Yinglong, Golos was smarter than the average drake. When it realised what Gwen had hypothesised, his gonads quailed.

    "In Amazonia," Gwen declared with a fatalistic air. "Your kind lost the war."

    "So..." Rene raised a hand. "Do we keep fighting?"

    "We must fight." Tei reminded them of their present condition. "I don''t fancy fighting the trolls with that thing looming over us."

    "We''ll feed it to Cali!" Lulan was raring to go.

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    ¡°Gwen,¡± the Russian suddenly caught Gwen''s arm. ¡°Lulan''s right on the money. Didn''t you say Caliban needed a flying form? If we use Bilby''s, I think we can do it.¡±

    The Void Sorceress'' orbs widened. All doubt evaporated. From their safe vantage, Gwen studied the Da-peng. Indeed, Big Bird was a worthy combatant. As her enemies grew in power, Caliban''s choice of polymorphic forms grew rarer and more demanding. In Shanghai, she had even considered asking Jun to take her on another tour, maybe to Kunlun to hunt the Thunder Birds.

    "Cali?" she asked her hidden Void beast.

    "Shaa!" Caliban was keener than Golos after a dry spell.

    "KAKAKA!" a great cry, half-bird and half-human, split the air. With a single thrust of its wings, the Da-peng broke through the Harpy''s encirclement, pursuing something.

    "Wocao! It''s after our bird!" Rene spluttered.

    "Well, that''s sealed the deal then," Gwen gave her commands. "Tei, Pats and I are going to immobilise it with our Bilby¡¯s Hands. Neither of us can have our concentration disrupted.¡±

    ¡°Not a problem.¡±

    ¡°Golos! What do you know about Big Birds.¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re immune to draconic magic¡­ and highly resistant in general. Also, they''re strong.¡±

    ¡°Anything else?¡±

    ¡°Nothing." Golos appeared wary. "Not even Ruxin has seen one in the flesh."

    ¡°Don''t worry, Gogo. Mama''s got the big bad bird covered." Gwen teased her Wyvern.

    A surge of lightning exploded over Golos, boiled over like an over-filled kettle.

    ¡°FIRST BLOOD IS MINE!¡± Golos blasted off into the distance, ready to deliver hispayload.

    Gwen motioned for their rear guard. ¡°Lulu, can you cover Gogo?¡±

    ¡°With pleasure.¡± Lulan had been watching the Da-Peng scythe its way through the flock, tracing its movements as it missed Phelara by a wing-length.

    A faint, jade-green emanation suffused the Earthen Mage''s Iron Skin as she tapped into her Naga Spirit, briefly materialising five subtle serpent heads across her arms and her neck.

    ¡°All at once?¡±

    ¡°Go for broke.¡± Gwen began her spell.

    ¡°True Strike!¡± Petra dropped unto Lulan a Divination buff she had saved for just the occasion.

    ¡°Rene?¡±

    Rene kept her eyes affixed on their prey; her Salamander Spirit feeding her Lava Skin.

    The Da-peng dived, closing in on Phelara, ignoring her wind blades.

    "Now!"

    ¡°Panzerschreck!¡±

    Ahead, Golos accelerated, transforming into a blur, affecting a sound like rolling thunder.

    SCHWING!

    As one, Lulan¡¯s weighted arrows accelerated from the Elemental Plane of Earth, racing past the crackling Wyvern.

    ¡°BARAKA!¡± The bird suddenly banked, spluttering Harpy blood like a mangled sprinkler. Before Golos could deliver its breath attack, the Da-peng split its maw wider than a dump truck, then let loose a shriek so cacophonous that Gwen had to hold her ears from half-a-kilometre away.

    As though beset by invisible turbulence, Golos¡¯ trajectory floundered. His aerodynamic form crumbled. Against all expectation, the Wyvern roared, writhing in agony, crashing into a tree.

    ¡°KAKAKA!¡± the Da-peng cackled.

    ¡°Gogo!¡± Gwen cried out, shocked that her Wyvern wasn''t up to snuff.

    CLANG!

    Lulan¡¯s missiles struck, unaffected by its hideous birdsong.

    CLANG!

    CLUNG!

    TANG!

    THUNK!

    ¡°KAAK!¡±

    Screeching roarsof deforming metal polluted the air.

    The first Panzerschreck had sent the man-faced condor back into the flock. The volley that followed then struck the creature unerringly, ping-ponging it into the arboreal sea.

    ¡°Lulan, another round.¡± Gwen kept herself within range of Tei¡¯s defences as she and Petra drifted closer. ¡°Phelara! Helpyour kindred! We''ll take care of it.¡±

    A great squark split the Harpy flock, dispersing the winged females while Gwen and her party moved in to inspect their prey. Parting the trees, they saw that Lulan had outdone herself, for one of her stabilised projectiles had pinned the Da-Peng¡¯s inner wing to the trunk of an enormous acacia. With its body nailed against the fibrous wood, the fiend''s fingers failed to purchase the smooth bark, leaving it momentarily helpless.

    With Ariel and Tei at the fore, the party approached.

    Upon closer inspection, the Da-Peng did indeed possess human hands for feet, with six digits on each foot, tipped with claws akin to inwardly turned scimitars.

    "HAKAKUU!"

    The Da-peng was screaming blue murder at Gwen and her party, its feather-strewn face twisted in irrational hate and agony, outdoing Gwen''s Translation Stone.

    ¡°Gogo, get over here!¡± Gwen commanded her fallen Wyvern. Knowing the lineage of Dragons and their ilk, Gwen suspected there was something very much ingrained in the blood that prevented Golos from exercising his usual enthusiasm. ¡°What¡¯s wrong with you?¡±

    Golos climbed the air.

    At the sight of Golos, the Da-peng began to howl and cackle. It salivated uncontrollably.

    ¡°It¡¯s calling for help!¡± Petra called out. ¡°Lulu!¡±

    ¡°Panzerschreck!¡±

    TANG!

    CLUNG!

    THUNK!

    Two morePanzerschrecks drew a line of sparks across the bird¡¯s chest and abdomen before ricochetting off into the canopy. The third penetrated a tender portion of its belly.

    "KAK!" the bird wailed.

    ¡°Holy hell that¡¯s some defence,¡± Gwen whistled. ¡°Anyone else wants to have a go?¡±

    ¡°Lava Spear!¡± Rene punched the man-faced bird with a lance of lava. The projectile spent its energy, then crumbled. ¡°Ergh, it''s like hitting an iron plate.¡±

    Lulan drew an emerald-green blade of iron. She gave its honed edge a swing, eager to test her mettle.

    ¡°Lulu, don''t get too close,¡± Tei stopped Lulan before she went toe to toe with the thing. ¡°Its physical abilities must be immeasurable.¡±

    "Ariel, you stay back as well," Gwen had no desire for Ariel to be put to sleep before they could nuke the troll fort from orbit, and she had no means to cast additional offensivespells while maintaining Bilby''s Hand.

    "EE!" Ariel instead made itself a barrier for its mistress.

    ¡°Then I shall kill it, and gift it''s head to Ruxin!¡± An ashamed and newly returned Golos loosenedhis jaw. ¡°ROAR!¡±

    ¡°Wait¡ª¡°

    A line of lightning obliterated the bird and the tree behind it.

    ¡°Idiot!¡± Gwen swore.

    Golos stared, dumbfounded that his dragon breath slid past the Da-peng''s exterior like water off a duck''s back.

    ¡°Bloody hell!¡± Gwen berated her thunder-headed stepchild. ¡°WATCH OUT!¡±

    The bird was free.

    The Da-Peng must have figured Gwen for the alpha of the pack. Twisting its torso to bring its grotesque head to bear, it lunged at her as though launched from a catapult.

    ¡°Tomb Stones!¡± Tei¡¯s hands were a blur. A collated barrier of raw mana and compressed Dust instantly shrouded his vice-captain, taking the momentum of the predatory pheasant in full. With a din of metal on stone, the bird''s claws crumpled the first few inches. Thankfully, its sword-like nails failed to reach Gwen''s abdomen.

    ¡°Dust Tendrils!¡± Tei appended his defence spell with an additional meta-magic component, wrapping the bird with tendrils of dust. ¡°Hit it while it''s slowed!"

    "KAA!" The bird bit Tei''s barrier, shredding a layer of its magic. The Negative Energy contained within the dust, however, was enough to subdue it for the briefest moment.

    "NOW!"

    The Da-Peng¡¯s forced error was enough for Gwen and Petra to complete their pre-planned spells.

    ¡°Bilby¡¯s Hand!¡± the girls invoked as one.

    A pair of palms crushed the Da-Peng from either side, each ethereal appendage five meters across from pinky to thumb, shimmering with raw, translucent mana. Ever since Alesia''s induction, Gwen had practised the fabled spell of the legendary Bilby ceaselessly, especially now that Petra had joined the fray.

    Forming a vessel of pure force, the pair of Bilby¡¯s Hands pressed in on the Da-Peng, creaking its bones even as dire feathers sliced into the mana-made flesh.

    ¡°KAK!¡± The bird howled in frustration, literally eating away at the girls'' spell. ¡°KAK! KAK!¡±

    ¡°Keep it pinned!¡± A surge of heady adrenaline kicked at Gwen''s vertebrae. ¡°Caliban!¡±

    Caliban slithered into being atop the thrashing bird.

    "KAKA?"

    The Da-peng''s panic was written all over its face.

    ¡°SHAAA!¡± Her Familiar decided its serpent form was appropriate for the occasion. It opened its maw, then let loose its twin tentacles.

    ¡°KAKU!¡± The bird twisted its lower limb, snatching at Caliban. It caught the serpent by the lower-mid section, then squeezed.

    Gwen gaped as a bubbling dribble of stuff oozed between its hand-claws. Since Burma, Caliban''s carapace had grown sturdier by magnitudes. Nonetheless, in-between the pink digits of the Da-peng, her Familiar may as well be a caramel-filled churro.

    Besides her vice-captain, Lulan gulped, imagining herself being squeezed out like lotus-filling mantou.

    ¡°Gods, it¡¯s strong!¡± Petra strained with visible effort. Lacking Gwen''s VMI, she was struggling to maintain the hand at full force.

    Gwen, meanwhile, wrote an empty vitality-check for Caliban to cash, confident that Big Bird should provide her with a subsequent windfall.

    "Shaa-shaa!" The faceless portion of Caliban slithered up the Da-peng¡¯s torso, shedding its lower body with less care than a Bobbit worm.

    ¡°KAA!¡± This time, it was the Da-peng''s neck that distended. Its humanoid face full of insanity. With a snap, it tore off Caliban¡¯s head, filling its mouth with ichor and gore.

    Gwen stifled a grunt as her vitalityfell.

    ¡°SHAA!¡±

    ¡°SHAA!¡±

    ¡°SHAA!¡±

    Three heads sprouted where there was one.

    One little Caliban went for the open wound.

    The second Caliban assaulted its eyes.

    And Caliban number three performed the Golos special.

    Not far, Golos howled sympathetically, reduced to a peanut gallery by the Da-peng''s unique physiology.

    ¡°CONSUME!¡±

    Caliban erupted into an indistinguishable mass of tentacles, carapace, flailing fingers and gnashing teeth. The Big Bird writhed, a web of lampreys tunnelled under its goose-skin, its milk-white eyes rolled back in deathly ecstasy, giving way to probing proboscis. At its extremity, pink, elongated digits curled as synapses fired for the last time.

    Caliban''s audience gaped with fascinated horror as the globular mess of feather and flesh reformed itself. When finally the churning gumbo of guts and giblets unwrung itself, they saw a coiled-up Death Worm, ready for its nap.

    ¡°Shaa!¡± it belched forth a furball of feathers.

    Quickly, Golos collected the evidence.

    "For Ruxin and Father," her Wyvern explained. "I need to tell them that the Da-peng still live."

    "Good idea- WHOA!" Petra too pilfered a pile for future research, surprising herself when the weight of a singular sheaf tipped her off balance.

    Yet, the same feathers drifted through the air as though weightless.

    It was an oxymoronic phenomenon, but not one for which Gwen had time.

    ¡°I need a place to ''meditate''. Golos!¡± Gwen retrieved Caliban, sensing that Big Bird¡¯s palpable vitality was aboutto ravage her innards. ¡°Guard me until I recover.¡±

    This time, Golos obeyed without question. With the thoughtfulness of a well-trained hound, it bore her downward, then alighted on a branch the width of a two-lane viaduct.

    The rest of her party followed.

    With Caliban arrested in its pocket dimension, Petra unsummoned her Bilby''s Hand.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think I¡¯ll ever get used to Cali.¡± Rene shook at the recent memory of the Da-peng''s demise.

    ¡°Good.¡± Tei patted her on the back. ¡°Sanity''s in short supply in our party.¡±

    Lulan drifted close, more contemplative than before.

    ¡°Gwen.¡± Petra took up a defensive stance. ¡°The Harpies are returning.¡±

    ¡°Tell Phelara to hold.¡± Gwen maintained her lotus pose. ¡°Pats, privacy barrier, please.¡±

    ¡°Water Sphere!¡± Petra dropped one of Richard¡¯s spells, encasing her cousin¡¯s body.

    Golos brought to bear its clubbed tail, segregating its mistress from the others. From above, the pair appeared as though a drake safeguarding its blue egg.

    In the next moment, Phelara broke from the host of Harpies, tweeting in excited tones.

    ¡°She wants to thank us for saving her tribe,¡± Golos translated in Gwen''s absence. ¡°Their leader wishes to meet with us.¡±

    By the hundreds, the great flock alighted around Fudan, threading through space until plumed bodies weighed down every branch and bough.

    Phelara returned, following a regal Harpy, the first male of its species Fudan had seen.

    Compared to the females, the male was a splendid specimen, a brilliant hued peacock with three impressive locks marking its forehead. Its pupils, each a vivid scarlet, was punctuated by pearlescent, green lashes. Beneath its delicate, effeminate features, a tapered torso covered in teal-green plumage smoothed out as it hovered, held aloft by elemental air.

    It bowed.

    ¡°Saviours,¡± the Cloud Father spoke in Quechua. ¡°We are¡ª¡°

    ¡°Silence!¡± Golos raised its head threateningly. ¡°My mistress is preoccupied. Do not approach.¡±

    "EE!" Ariel swished its tail.

    The happy atmosphere grew awkward.

    "Esteemed master," Tei intervened. "You may speak to me while our sorceress completes her meditation. We are delighted to have been of service in your hour of need. Our companion is overprotective, but Golos'' brashness infers no insult."

    The humans and the Harpies gazed at one another, ignoring the muffled groans escaping from the aquamarine water-barrier.

    "There is no offence taken," the Harpy''s leader spoke with great care. "My name is Aerivela. I am Cloud Father to these young ones."

    "Well met." Tei bowed, instructing his team to do the same. "We are aware of our trespass..."

    "It is the Sky Father''s will that has brought the Godling here," Aerivela trilled musically. "It is we who are indebted."

    "What was that creature?" Tei indicated to the dark stain where the Da-peng had been pinned.

    "An ancient one," Aerivela intoned with reverence. "They live deep in the forest, beyond the wall, beneath the great tree. Since time immemorial, the ancient ones have acted as the guardians of the forest''s centre. For one of its kind to appear here is neither expected nor a calamity we could anticipate."

    "A great tree - a World Tree?" Petra perked up. "Where dothe elves dwell? In Amazonia''s interior? What colour is their skin? Caramel? Ebony?"

    Aerivela shook his head. "I would not know, human-kin. None of our kind has ventured past the Wall of Wood. We are happy enough with the domain which the Sky Father has granted us."

    "I see," Tei cleared his throat. "Has Miss Phelara informed you of the tragedy at Condor''s Rise?"

    "I grieve for our loss..." the male Harpy exhaled. "Though¡ª"

    SPLOSH!

    Behind Fudan''s Mages, their vice-captain reemerged into the world, balancing herself against Golos''s many-spined tail.

    ¡°Their leader is here to speak to us,¡± Tei informed the disorientated sorceress while she circulated her Essence. ¡°That''s him there, the peacock.¡±

    ¡°Oh?¡± Gwen paused when Tei accused the Harpy''s leader of peacocking, but then she saw the peacock. ¡°Oh, I see! Good work, Cap."

    Golos uncoiled itself while Gwen straightened out her attire, pulled back her hair, then climbed the air.

    ¡°Greetings, Scion of the Cloud.¡± Gwen crossed her arms across her chest as Phelara had advised. "We come in peace."

    According to her endearing avian, the way to convince Phelara''s leader lied in presenting herself not as an invader, but as an emissary of sorts. The higher Harpies were a sanctimonious lot, and so the best way to ensure cooperation was through shock and awe.

    Both of which had been amply supplied by the Da-peng''s demise.

    ¡°Great emissary from beyond the treeless sea,¡± the brightly hued priest''s eyes sparkled. ¡°This one humbly welcomes the Godling to our abode.¡±

 Chapter 285 - Into the Maelstrom

    Hardin Smith had thought he would die serving the United States Marine Corps. It was only fair, for he was a post-Tide orphan, one who had reaped the benefits of a booming decade, receiving the best education a world at war could offer.

    From ward to conscript, from NCO to cadet, his early life had embodied the American Dream. Even as a foundling with no backing and no connections, his judgement, talent, and his ruthless determination had earned him a commission.

    Those had been his halcyon days, and during a restive lull in San Francisco, Hardin had met his fiance¨¨. The lovers had spent a week locked in a motel, then married. Unfortunately, for his honeymoon, Hardin was sent on a two-year tour to Patagonia.

    When he returned to the states, war-weary and feeling a decade older, what greeted him wasn''t his doe-eyed wife, but drifters puffing the Blue in his abandoned apartment.

    Hardened by his time in the tundra, Hardin knew that alarm was a useless emotion. He made the necessary enquiries with the local PD and discovered that his wife had become involved with local layabouts.

    Hardin took some time to cool his head, then made enquiries. The culprit was the leader of a local gang, the son of a multi-millionaire, heir to a string of trendy clubs in San Francisco''s bay area. His wife, a pretty, blue-eye thing from the mid-western Frontier, had been out with friends when she must have caught his eye.

    That certain people predated on the wives and children of military personnel serving abroad wasn''t an unusual tale. Hardin had heard the rumour many times in the military but had never expected himself to become a victim.

    Now that it had happened, what was he to do?

    An NoM''s life, even in the democracy of the States, wasn''t worth a high-tier Mage''s fingernail. It was a point his CO had drilled into Hardin over and over in cadet school. The equal society spiel was just that, a spiel. Egalitarianism was an ideology, one Hardin with his magical talent could arguably uphold. Conversely, for hisNoM wife, life was one big pile of increasingly sourlemons.

    If Hardin had been a hothead, a penthouse in Rincon would have perished, revealing no less than two dozen victims.

    As a rational man, Hardin took the loss of his lover as a lesson learnt of the way of the world. He left the military against the advice of his CO, citing bereavement, and walked into the front lobby of Dark Water, America''s premier PMC. There, he met with Erik Garant Price, a name he had loathed as a USMC officer, but now saw as the catalyst of his metamorphosis.

    Across the next decade, Hardin proved himself again and again to his employer. From Guam to Managua, from Bogota to Guayaquil, he had seldom disappointed. As he rose through the hierarchy, his opinion of the world equally expanded. Behind the hands of administrator Price was the Towers, and behind the Towers, were the Factions. Beyond that, there were more significant forces at play, far beyond Hardin''s pay-grade.

    Take his current quest, for example.

    His role was so embedded in the agenda of the higher powers that he had given up on elucidation. On the surface, he had been hired by the Tower Master of Cuzco, one Amaru Paullu-Yupanqui, cousin to the Incan''s Sapa. In Hardin''s estimation, the ambitious Mage with the likeness of a snake was fully invested in vaporising the Sapa''s son, likely as a bid for more power and control.

    This coincided with Dark Water''s long-term objective: the destabilisation of Amazonia. Hardin''s side-project was to document the creatures that could be found within the rainforest. In addition to politics, Dark Water also organised extradition of rare materials for the American Grey Market. These included and were not limited to Incan relics, pre-Tide artefacts and demi-humans, especially exotic female variants. As his boss once had mused: for the ultra-rich, nothing but the best - or the strangest - will satisfy.

    Armed with Cuzco''s crude maps and the Magitech provided by Dark Water, Hardin and his team navigated the forest. Though the feat seemed impossible for some, Hardin had since discovered the hidden rules of the jungle.

    Prior to his current mission, Hardin had been documenting a second ruin for Amaru. In fact, Hardin had been the one to map the Temple of Mama Killa in the first place, providing the catalyst for his current employment.

    When finally his Divi-map had received Inti''s attack route, Hardin told his team to remain stationed in the Temple of Viracocha, the forge god of the Incan pantheon. Dark Water had promised its Tower VIPs more relics than they could shake a stick at, and the company aimed to deliver.

    Alone, he then made his way to the Temple of Mama Killa to await the arrival of the sun prince. As a man without family, Hardin preferred solo work, for not all Mages possessed the means to travel undetected across so hostile a landscape.

    Now crouched against the fork of an ancient cocoa bough, Hardin plucked then masticated its tender leaves. Unlike the variety grown in the north, the Wildland specimens were potent beyond belief. A dozen blades, crushed between one''s teeth and suckled for an hour, could keep a Mage awake for days. The concoction did nothing for fatigue, of course, but Hardin wasn''t tired; he merely enjoyed the hypersensitive wakefulness.

    As for the "Amazonian Tragedy" of Prince Inti''s fall from grace, Hardin had planned two ploys and a flawless contingency.

    First, he had previously harassed the Troll fort so that not only were its denizen aware and vigilant, the beasts had pulled back their scouts and hunting parties from the jungle.

    Secondly, Hardin had composed and delivered cryptic missives in Trollic, informing the Arch-Hag and her coven that the Son of the Sun wouldsoon arrive to reclaimhis Amazonian domain.

    Of the two, his confidence lay in the Hags. In his mind, there was no doubt the witches would bury themselves deep within the temple caverns, safe from harm until Inti arrived, tired and haggard and out of mana. Then, in that dire moment, the Hag''s Brutalisers would fall upon Inti''s party, aided by hexes and curses, sending the haughty prince to an early grave.

    And if somehow Inti survived?

    In addition to Magister Amaru''s ''Contingency Rings'', Hardin could activate a string of resonating devices he had painstakingly planted so that all manners of creatures would swarm the Temple of Mama Killa, swallowing Inti in a freakish Beast Tide.

    Having processed his thoughts, Hardin waited for his prey, a smoky ghost lost in the haze of the Amazonian jungle.

    Gwen acknowledged that Aerivela was a better host than she was a guest.

    After a diplomatic exchange, Gwen and her "Flock from Fudan" toured what remained of the tribe''s home. As bumpkins visiting a city for the first time, the party then gawked at the wood-spun homes of the Harpies and cooed at the hanging cottages. On suspended balconies, they saw chicks, half-naked and barely feathered, suckled by heavy-breasted hens. Elsewhere, brightly-plumed priestesses lead less experienced pullets in flights around the trees, harassing the stranglers with squawks of frustration.

    For Gwen, it was a scene that stabbed at her chest.

    As for her host, his lack of animosity made her squirm in her Shen-tei combat suit. If anything, the peacock Cloud Father reminded her of an ascetic monk, living with one foot in the material world, and the other in the clouds. An Affinity-induced personality? Gwen wondered; though she had no idea if Demi-humans could be affected by such a thing.

    "I can''t say that we''re not responsible for your plight," she explained as they toured the Harpy''s stronghold. "I mean, our quest ruined your home, and now you''re proposing to vacate permanently."

    The Cloud Father shrugged attractively.

    "The moment the Ancient one appeared, this place wasno longer safe," Aerivela explained with great patience. Though his priestesses were wearing anxious faces, the Cloud Father himself seemed entirely at ease. "The Sky brings life, and it takes as well. Say your fellow city-kin had not burned our home. There would have been more of us, but that would mean more fodder for the Ancient. In your remorse, you come to parley. As was the Sky Father''s will, you defeated the Ancient. Now, we live to build a second home. Is not the will of the world intriguing?"

    "I don''t think that''s how it works." Gwen was beginning to wonder if the airy Aerivela gave a shit at all.

    "Do not fret." Aerivela laughed, his handsome, effeminate face radiant as he pointed downward at Golos. The Wyvern had not joined the party when they entered the trees. Instead, he lingered outside, accompanied by Phelara and a flock of warriors eager to engender powerful spawn for the next generation. "Where there is death, there is life. Your death-dealing sibling is now bringing new children to our tribe. Knowing this, what need we fear a decade of labour? The emerald sea is limitless. We shall find a home, and the Great Sky willing, we will grow stronger."

    This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    Gwen sighed; there was no reasoning with the Harpy Pope.

    She had anticipated being henpecked, or perhaps, she had expected to coerce Aerivela with her dragon-fear. Instead, the Harpy leader had laughed off her suspicions, dismissed her threats, and told her that Golos was free to plough whatever he wished.

    "Thank you, Cloud Father." She bowed her head. "I wish there was something else we could do. I could convince Cuzco to leave your new home alone, for example. I can be very persuasive. "

    "No." The Harpy smiled. "No need. Are you ready to proceed with your quest to recover the relics of the mountain-kin?"

    Gwen and team noted that they were ready to proceed.

    "Then I shall direct you to the western entrance." Aerivela lifted a wing, its plumage covering every shade of paradise. "Come, Godling. Your adventure awaits!"

    With Aerivela''s aid, the party broke through a part of the undergrowth the cock had transcribed as neutral territory.

    All through the forest, these "trails" existed. However, unless one could read the signs and smell the scents of the jungle, the network was impossible to traverse.

    From treetop to the undergrowth, the guided tour took an hour to thread through the trees, avoiding the unhappy simians left by the Explorers'' previous passage. At the understory''s end, the party emerged into an overlook hanging. Below, they saw the roving mass of a vegetation-choked stream.

    "We''re here," Tei noted on his device. "This is one of the three streams leading to the temple city."

    "Follow the water, and you shall not miss your mark," Aerivela intoned sagely. "Remain in the understory and the earth-kin shall not expect your arrival."

    "Thank you, Aerivela. We''ll take it from here."

    "Beware the coven of three," Aerivela warned her again. "Not even I dare to approach when the crones gather. Once they witness your prowess, they will surely hide and seek to ambush you at your most vulnerable. Such is their way."

    "Please take care, Mistress," Phelara urged her saviour. "Lord Golos, you as well."

    "I shall return shortly." Golos, in his human form, pinched the Priestess'' underside. "We''ll make a whole flock!"

    "I''ll have the nest ready." Phelara touched her belly with the tip of one wing.

    Feeling as though she had been force-fed dog food, Gwen wondered what Ruxin would think when he found out that she had pimped out his brother. The rest of Fudan''s flock likewise diverted their attention to the task at hand. A bird flirting with a Wyvern marked the limit of human prudence.

    "Inti''s been notified." Tei checked his Divi-marked map. "He''ll start right after we do."

    "Right." Gwen took a deep breath. "What''s the plan?"

    "We''ll begin with nav-point Alpha, then move to Epsilon pending on their resistance." Tei tapped the map. "Gwen, Barbanginy at E4 and Maelstrom at G16, can you manage without Caliban?"

    "With Pats here, I should be fine," Gwen refuted her captain''s fears. "Cali should awaken by the time we''re into the inner chambers. Don''t forget, Inti will be taking half their forces as well."

    "Lord Golos, you will be responsible for the main avenue, C12 to F29, does that satisfy?"

    "He''ll be fine." Gwen patted her Wyvern. "He''s eager to return, after all, the sooner the trolls perish, the sooner Gogo inseminates his flock of hussies."

    "Calamity," Golos corrected her. "Phelara is your aunty."

    "..." Gwen swore internally. She motioned to the map again. "We''re counting on you, Golos. The Troll chief is worth a hefty load of CCs."

    Golos snorted. The princeling of Huangshan appeared to have restored his bravado after spending some time with the flock. The Da-peng had been a punishing episode for the proud prince, one that Gwen initially feared had scarred the Wyvern''s psyche.

    "Alright!" Gwen shook out her long limbs. "Captain, will you do the honours?"

    "FUDAN!" Tei snapped, a rare hint of colour touching his grave keeper''s complexion. "BUFF UP!"

    Hardin hung from the underside of a tree overlooking the temple city, plated in MKIII optic-camouflage. To the forest''s fauna, he resembled a piece of bark, perfectly blended, appearing nothing like a six-foot soldier clad in articulated combat armour.

    Attached to his helmet were two tendrils resembling a snail''s stalks, the latest in military hardware - a pair of All-Seeing Googles modified for full 360-degree coverage.

    "There you are." Hardin spotted Inti''s mana signature through the layers of spoiled foliage. He double-checked that his Divi-linked devices remained connected to the slate in his hand, wondering why Inti''s party still remained stationary.

    BEEP-BEEP-BEEP! A warning marker appeared in his peripheral vision.

    The answer to his puzzlement came in the form of an unexpected commotion at the western end of the temple city. Hardin had neglected the quadrant because the passage there was made near-impossible by the density of demi-humans living in the deep jungle.

    The mercenary willed both google-tentacles toward the phenomenon.

    As a part-time evoker himself, he recognised the beginnings of a wide-range Maelstrom now collating above the western wall. Below, the trolls exploded into a frenzy of activity, erupting from huts and houses, tents and crude humpies, retrieving whatever weapons they could find.

    TWOOOOO! TWOOOOOOO!

    The fort''s war-horns called the tribe to action.

    Hardin cycled through the lens filters until he found one capable of long-range Detect Magic. When the diagnostics came through, his agitation was so profound that he almost broke his perfect camouflage.

    A Void-Element Maelstrom! Hardin swallowed the cocoa leaves. It was the sort of spell he had only ever read about in the archives. With a shiver, a name intruded into his mind, though Hardin immediately dismissed the possibility. There was no way the world''s most hunted Void Sorceress would be in a backwater part of the Amazon, fucking with Trolls.

    Shreeeeee¡ªWOOMP!

    A vortex opened into the Quasi-Elemental Plane. The expansion was itself soundless, but not so the gush of hysterical air in its midst.

    Hardin zoomed in further, maximising the utility of the magical lens.

    First to be drawn into the all-consuming orifice was the debris. Bits of bone, the carcasses of animals, scraps of leather, crude parchments used by the Shamans, as well as a bric-a-brac of life''s little necessities all met with oblivion. Next to rise were the tusk-less slaves, too numerous to hide inside buildings and too weak to grasp onto the smooth stones of the temple''s original buildings.

    With horrible fascination, Hardin observed the phenomenon, clicking his tongue every time a troll was launched into the air to kiss the dark dimension-sphere, its size no more than the circumference of a human head. Whenever Troll-fodders arrived kicking and screaming, they were wrung as though by some irresistible force, turning the consistency of thick soup.

    "God damn," Hardin couldn''t help but mutter. The spell was inexpertly utilised, and its stability was horrid, but even so, its power made his scalp crawl.

    Woooooo¡ªWHOOMP!

    Before Hardin could finish recording the first vortex, a second one appeared. Rapidly zooming outwards, Hardin caught the absurd sight of a flying deer imploding a lightning-fed nova.

    The second Maelstrom was huge, more extensive than anything Hardin had ever seen. Where a regular variant was already an impressive spell with an AoE of fifty meters, this one was well over two hundred and expanding with each passing second.

    Crack! Boom! Boom! Boom!

    A cascade of thunder fulminated, mixed in with the sound of war drums.

    "What. The. Fuck?" Hardin considered tearing away his goggles so that he could acquire un-assisted visual confirmation.

    The Trolls were now in a frenzy. Compared to the Void Maelstrom, this one was more akin to a natural disaster. Within its epicentre, a portal into the Quasi-Elemental Plane of Lightning tore itself open, a full ten-meters wide and then some. Unlike the previous variant, the new updraft possessed ten-times the suction, forming a crackling, cyclonic vortex that tugged at the anchored huts, straightaway ripping the wooden humpies from their foundations.

    "Initiate Scry," he commanded the suite of magical diagnostics attached to his helmet. In awe, Hardin rapidly calibrated his device, successfully triangulating his optics until he caught sight of the caster.

    It was a girl. A mewling young miss and her university-age companions. A TEEN sorceress! A lass young enough to be his daughter!

    Quickly, the mercenary recalled the data provided by Cuzco.

    Gwen Song- Fudan''s Ace.

    Hardin had been vaguely aware that Cuzco''s foreign competitors had talented casters, but he had fought both Void Mages and Lightning Casters before and knew what to expect.

    As for his present reality¡ª What in the name of the Apostles John, Paul and Luke was this Lightning Maelstrom? How was it possible that a university student could manifest a maximised, empowered, enlarged, and hybridised tier 6 Evocation?! Upon closer inspection, the damned girl wasn''t even using a relic!

    Hardin cursed. Wasn''t it only Inti who possessed such powers? How could a mortal girl match the faith of twenty-two million¡ª

    "MOTHER FUC¡ª!" Hardin tore the goggles from his face when a second sun blossomed across the eastern quadrant of the troll fort, expanding as a proliferate orb of light fifty-meters above the temple''s eastern escarpment.

    The celestial sphere lasted ten-seconds, within the expanse of which all flammable things ceased to exist. Trolls caught in the blast became instantly black and charred. Those who shielded themselves under anything but the hardened stone properly cooked, the moisture seeping from their seared bodies as vessels burst and boiled. Wooden lean-tos disintegrated, humpies burst into flames. Wildland vegetation instantly turned to ash, falling from the stone fort''s ancient facade. Lichen smouldered, mushrooms wilted, and the murals of blood painted by aeons of sacrificial rites oxidised into nothing. Sand, pebbles and other loose rubble melted into cracks and crevices, turning the surface into pockmarked glass.

    Hardin circulated what healing energies he had brought with him into his optic nerves, restoring his eyesight.

    When he regained his vision, the Troll fort, or at least the parts of it that were exposed, was consigned to history.

    A thousand Trolls, hundreds of warriors and God knows how many Shamans had perished. What remained was the temple itself, now appearing as a strange, two-sided construct.

    On the western elevation, it was as though the storms had vacuumed away all life. Only the stoutest trees remained embedded and leafless in the rock formations, while evidence of Trollic occupation had all but disappeared.

    On the eastern slope, the temple glistened, raw and a little runny like a smoked slab of brisket. From an epicentre, a dark ring of smoking stone, resembling those used in traditional cooking, blistered and boiled. No troll structures wrought of wood, mud or rock remained standing. Away from the blast, the Trolls that did survive the flashfire crawled in the ash, mangled and medium-rare, howling in unfathomable agony as their regeneration failed.

    Hardin decided he had to make a call.

    Inti''s prowess was beyond his expectation, but the problem now was that he faced not one, but two Ace-Mages. Worse still, he knew from experience that while Inti''s faith magic was quickly exhausted, the Void and Lightning sorceress had appeared unfatigued.

    "Sir." Hardin altered his voice, adding to the distortion of his long-range Message.

    "¡­ instructor," came an annoyed response. "How goes our acolytes'' lessons?"

    "Poorly," Hardin replied euphemistically. "I''ll need more resources to keep these kids in line."

    "How much?"

    "ALL of it."

    "I see," came the reply. "In that case, I have good news."

    "What is it?" Hardin furrowed his brows. He had enough surprises.

    "You should inform the children that they need to be very careful between tonight and tomorrow¡­"

    "Because?"

    "Because the Blood Moon rises," the effeminate voice replied. "Tonight, the jungle will come alive."

    Ten-thousand flower-wreathed llamas crossed Hardin''s mind as he cursed Amaru''s family to burn in the deepest pits of hottest hell.

    "So, can Dark Water handle it?"

    "Of course." Hardin spat his next words between clenched teeth. "It will be done."

 Chapter 286 - A warm up

    "Inti''s no slouch," Gwen remarked as she surveyed the aftermath of the alpha-strikes. A movie quote came to mind, but she refrained from her Gwenisms. "Look at that."

    On the western slope, Fudan had done a bang-up job of erasing Trollic occupation. As for the eastern side, Inti''s solar flare had eradicated all signs of the previous squatters. With exhibitions like that, it wasn''t difficult to imagine why NoMs worshipped Mages as ready idols.

    "There''s more hiding in the temple itself, in the underground chambers," Tei gave his evaluation. "The prince is impressive, but his Radiance possesses poor penetration. I prefer a well-trained Fire Mage. I bet if we had your VMI and Jiro''s abilities, we could bake the temple like a clay oven. Let''s see if anything survives that."

    "Low penetration, eh?" Gwen chuckled. "Someone must have forgotten to pass Gunther the memo."

    "Well- the Morning Star isn''t your average virtuoso," Tei corrected himself. "He''s one in a million, perhaps a billion?"

    "He''s a decent bloke." Gwen batted a hand, waving an invisible handkerchief. "I heard he''s a desk jockey now."

    Besides them, Petra snorted, imagining the great Gunther Shultz stuck behind a mountain of paperwork, fighting the urge not to burn it all.

    "EE! EE!" Ariel kneaded Gwen''s thigh.

    "Good work, Buddy!" she kissed him on the nose. "Well done!"

    "How was the Maelstrom?" Petra tapped a data slate. "From one to five, how exhausting?"

    "Three?" Gwen reviewed the tier 6 AoE. "I guess sucking things into the Void and not consuming them isn''t that bad. Toward the end, with those trolls, I''d say four? The effect isn''t Sobel-tier."

    "¡­And how do you feel¡­" Petra tapped her forehead.

    "EE!" Ariel nuzzled Gwen''s cheeks.

    "I am okay." Gwen buried her chin in her Kirin''s mane. "There was neither distress nor pleasure. I guess Sobel''s talent is unique, after all."

    "Just making sure." Petra saved the entry on her slate. "Right, shall we proceed with the next phase?"

    "We''ll stand guard," Lulan and Rene both offered.

    "Cheers." Gwen gestured to a vacant lot that had once been a fishing port of sort. All the flimsy structure surrounding the inlet from the river had been wiped out, leaving a patch of unearthed vegetation, mud and debris. "We''ll do it there."

    Tei was the first to alight, marking the earth with glyphs to establish a beachhead.

    Lulan hovered just above the team, her heart-seeking projectiles ready to snipe whatever dared to show itsface. Beside her, Rene likewise readied a Lava Spear. Should something like a hidden tunnel open up close to the party, she could clog the entrance with a word.

    "I am beginning!" Gwen drew the usual mandala in the air, carefully invoking her magic to maximise her output. "¡­ Morden''s Hound Pack!"

    Eight lightning-clad draconic deerhounds emerged into the Material Realm.

    "¡­BloodHound!" They were soon joined by a ninth.

    "You can summon a pack of eight now?" Lulan inspected the lively dogs as they scented Gwen and her allies, licking their hands with paralysis-inducing tongues.

    "We''ve been fighting and training non-stop," Gwen recalled her coaching under Walken and Alesia with a wince. "I think I am very close to tier 6 Conjuration."

    "You were tier four when we met one and a half years ago," Petra pointed out.

    "Hahaha¡­ yeah," Gwen passed off her cheat-like growth awkwardly. "Tier happens, you know?"

    While her hounds stood guard, she initiated a second variant.

    "¡­ Morden''s Hound Pack!"

    This time, her party gave her ample distance.

    Inch by crude-oil inch, eight slick Void Hounds emerged, each faceless beast possessing jaw-slits that encompassed more than half of their body length, propped up by skeletal legs, with segmented whippet-tails waving like rapiers.

    "Give me a second." Gwen steadied herself while her Essence circulated. Her tank wasn''t running low, but eight pony-sized Void Hounds wereenough to make any girl woozy. "¡­ Blood Hound!"

    The alpha of the pack was a head taller than therest, a magnificent obsidian fiend, smouldering motes of dissipating Void.

    "Ergh, so handsome." Gwen patted her big boy.

    The hound''s head-carapace split, revealing four tongues amid rows of chainsaw teeth. Slobbering with glee, it gave her fingers a tongue bath.

    Petra measured a dog with her eyes, then prodded it so that it could open its mouth to be inspected.

    "Hmm¡­ very nice," the Russian murmured contemplatively. "A five per cent increase... extra tongue..."

    "Hee-hee, that tickles." Lulan was a fan favourite, attracting the draconic dogs with her newly acquired Naga-scent. When she petted them, the hounds drooled, soaking her greaves.

    Rene suppressed a gag, waving the dogs away.

    Tei nodded appreciatively, glad he wasn''t the only one. Their Void sorceress tended to warp the outlook of those caught in her orbit.

    "Buck, you take the left flank." Gwen motioned to the Void leader.

    "Gawrrr..." Buck mimed an alien bark, then commanded its pack to scour the ruins.

    "Astro! Right flank!"

    "WOOF!" The Lightning alpha led the way.

    "Are they sapient?" Tei raised a brow. "I thought they were shaped Elementals."

    "Naw, it''s a dog thing," Gwen refuted the claim. "It''s built into the spell. A smart dog has half the intelligence of a Gogo."

    "Yip! ARRROOOO!"

    "WOOF! WOOF-WOOF!"

    A hundred meters out, a mound of heavy stone erupted, revealing a Troll warrior who''d been doing its best to regenerate. Unlike Inti''s victims, Gwen''s survivors were at worst bruised and disorientated by being tossed about like rag-dolls.

    "ULOAR!" The warrior brandished a teeth-studded club.

    Unmoved by its frothing spittle, the party watched from a distance as Morden''s Hounds performed their original duty.

    With a distended limb, the Troll swung at an agile hound, missing when the beast feinted, dodging the blow and forcing it off-balance. Instantly, the blue-white blurs assaulted its rear, tearing at its calves, acting as living tasers as they struck.

    "GARRK!" The Troll stumbled to its knees.

    "It''s over." Lulan whistled as the foremost dog tore out the Troll''s throat with a snarl, painting its electric muzzle with oxidising bronze. The party doubted the original spell had Gwen''s efficacy. After all, it wasn''t as though Morden possessed draconic Essence.

    "Is it going to regenerate?" Rene readied a fistful of cleansing fire.

    "Let the Void feast." Gwen motioned her second pack to move in. "Save your mana."

    True to her intent, the Void alpha reached the Troll''s side. An unnatural sound of shifting bone resounded as its jaws distended, dislodging itself so that in one bite, the upper half of the Troll''s twitching body joined the Void.

    "Mao!" The corner of Tei''s eyes twitched when the rest of the Void pack shredded the remains.

    "Alright," Fudan''s captain conceded to Gwen''s show of force. "Let''s clean up."

    With Gwen''s dogs ferreting out the occasional Troll too foolish to retreat into the temple''s interior, the party patrolled the western slope, hell-bent on picking up every spare CC, as well as purifying their future escape route.

    "Golos still up there?"

    "Yep." Gwen nodded. "Ariel''s Maelstrom''s better than I thought. Maybe we should have left some fun for Gogo, eh?"

    Before long, the team arrived at the foot of a gentle rise.

    From the western wall, the Temple City of Mama Killa began in earnest. Where Inti''s eastern entrance held the Sun Gate, Fudan''s side marked the Moon Gate. Between the walls and the tiered temple, there was a distance of over two kilometres, all of which held hidden perils.

    With half the structures burned and the other half vacuumed, some of its ancient glory was now visible to the visitors. Their immediate objective was a mid-tier entrance into the temple''s underground catacombs, sealed with forgotten magic. Fudan''s passage through the central boulevard, unfortunately, took them through dozens of underground granaries, each a shattered ziggurat converted into interconnected Trollic warrens.

    A direct flight was possible and at worst, Lulan and Rene would transmute their way into the vaults, but that would leave them vulnerable to becoming surrounded.

    On the other side, they were sure Inti likewise worked his way forward, purging the Trolls as a secondary objective.

    "Let''s hope one of these things holds a Hag or the Chieftain," Gwen remarked as her dogs dragged yet another victim from under a cascade of rubble. This one was a tuskless labourer, lucky enough to survive the vortex, but not so her hounds. "We wouldn''t want to fight either without room to manoeuvre."

    TOOM¡ªTOOM¡ªTOOM¡ª

    The sound of tolling war drums interrupted the butchery. Fudan quickly formed up as the stones throbbed and the ground shook.

    "Gogo, get ready," Gwen mentally commanded her drake. "If it''s the chieftain, act as we''ve planned. Link Sight!"

    "EEe! EE!" Ariel, now aloft and acting the invisible spy satellite, reported commotion from beyond the crested hill.

    "It''s coming from one of the smaller pyramids- ten O''clock." Gwen switched between her real eyes and drone-vision.

    "Cao, you''re a one-woman army," Rene blustered. The Magma Mage had armed herself with no less than four self-buffs, but had yet to set fire to a single Troll. "Should I come back later?"

    "Ha, you wish." Gwen slapped her teammate''s back. "Your real worth is when we''re indoors. Chin up!"

    "AROOOOO!"

    "WoooOOO!"

    Her dogs scented the incoming enemies.

    "Ariel, stay." Gwen held her Familiar in check, taking in the battlefield from above. "Lulu, care for some exercise?"

    "Any time." Lulan''s adorable smile betrayed her innate battle lust. "Iron Skin!"

    Though the Transmutation remained the same one the Sword Mage had always utilised, a layer of green-bronze now covered her skin, assuming a pattern of serpent scales. Lulan''s pupils as well took on a jade-green sheen as five airborne blades, each enormous, hilt-less slabs of iron, materialised on either side.

    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

    "Lucky Lulu." Tei smacked his lips. "To think a single Spirit could do so much."

    "A high-tier draconic Naga Spirit," Petra reminded their captain. "One extracted from a flawless Core."

    "Glad you like it. INCOMING!" Gwen opened her eyes. "Tei, any time now!"

    "SIX PILLARS!" Tei wasted no time in erecting an all-consuming pillar-barrier that impeded all formsof harmful sorcery. The defence was well-timed, for a mere two seconds later, a stench of rot and decay rolled over the party.

    "Cao! What is that?" Rene swatted at a glob of falling flesh, watching it sizzle as a Lava Blast sent the accused offal flying.

    Against Tei''s dust-strewn barrier, blackened-blood splattered, hissing offensively.

    "Jackpot." Petra checked her data slate. "We''ve got a Hag! That was one of its signature spells. Bestiary says sacrificial blood is infused with Negative Energy to create flesh-eating necrosis."

    The team gave pause at Petra''s tone; the Mineral Mage had spoken as if she had found a rare butterfly.

    "Tei, can we move the Pillars up?"

    "Slow and steadily." Tei shifted the foremost pillars up the avenue so that his coverage leap-frogged. "If we''re not physically bested, it is doable."

    Outside the protective barrier, Gwen''s dogs engaged the Troll-fodder released by the unseen Hag. A roving throng of tuskless slaves accosted her whelps, enraged and foaming at the lips, wielding make-shift armaments of teeth and stone.

    Gwen sent a mental message to Golos to stay put, then focused on relaying the conditions of the emerging battlefield.

    "I am going." Lulan turned to Tei.

    "Tomb Ward!" Fudan''s captain bestowed a single-use charm onto his melee Mage. "Stay safe."

    Lulan nodded. "I''ll draw them out of the underground."

    "I am going as well." Rene had been itching to work her magic.

    Tei planted another ward on their Magma Mage. "Then the three of us shall remain here. Don''t forget to return if you''re in danger."

    "Yes, Captain!" the girls affirmed Tei''s advice.

    "Misty Step!"

    "Blink!"

    For Gwen, the bird''s eye view made the bloody battle surreal- like she was playing a 90s real-time strategy game.

    With Tei''s considerable turtling skills, she and Petra remained snug as a bug, nestled inside the Tomb Mage''s shell. For now, at least, they were at a curious stalemate. The Hag could not reach them with long-range AoEs, while they had no desire to rush headlong into a trap.

    Though the tuskless Troll slaves were no match for her dogs, they still possessed significant threat as an enraged berserker-mob. With Ariel as her telepathic drone, she tactically applied her hounds, slicing into the slobbering mass surgically. With each Troll obliterated, her obsidian critters grew more substantial.

    In a moment, Lulan arrived, an impromptu whirlwind of green death, her chain-linked blades slicing a path into the Troll horde. Whenever an iron slab lodged inside the body of a frothing Troll, she discarded the spent razor, then summoning another to continue the slaughter.

    Behind Lulan, Rene cleaned up, paving the path below and around them with molten magma. Though the Mage lacked Seoul''s bloodline talent, she was nonetheless an especially selected Transmuter for an international tournament, proving her prowess through fireand brimstone. With each swing of her arm, a glob of liquid fire engulfed a straggler or deflected an assailant from Lulan, showing herself equally adept at offence and defence.

    "Lulu, incoming." Gwen spotted the beginning of yet another volley from the hidden Hag. "It''s an AoE, looks nasty as anything. Get out now!"

    The girls obliged, through Gwen''s Void Hounds remained.

    When the spell struck, the acid cloud melted what remained of a dozen Trolls that had been disabled by iron and magma.

    Her Void Hounds smoked as they skittered through the devouring corrosion, ignoring the dosage.

    TOOM¡ªTOOM¡ªTOOM¡ª

    WHAM!

    A stone slab slid from the entrance of a hidden warren. With an earth-shaking crash, it crumbled, spilling from the darkness a dozen warriors armed with darkly-gleaming obsidian, armoured with enchanted bark.

    Behind them, through Ariel''s trained eyes, Gwen could spot a vaguely female figure giving out frenzied commands.

    From its gestures, the Hag had not enjoyed the slaughter of its slaves.

    A dim, red glow suffused the Troll warriors. Their collective mass appeared to double, then the troop broke into a run, making for Tei''s pillars. With their long limbs, the berserkers closed the distance.

    "CONTACT!" Gwen called out. "HOUNDS! SIC ''EM!"

    Lulan Misty Stepped into the air, then let loose all five of her blades, launching the volley with a thrilling shriek of "Panzerschreck!"

    "Magma Wall!" Rene back peddled, shrinking from the charging horde, erecting no less than three offensive barriers.

    "ULOAR!" The Trolls arched their spring-like arms. Veins bulged, musculature ballooned, then they tossed their weapons.

    "TOMB SHIELD!" Tei gestured without delay.

    Shreeee¡ªTHUNK!

    Lulan had made a mistake in lifting into the air, for she became a willing target. In the next moment, a near-supersonic spear shattered Tei''s shield, exploding into fossilised fragments of hardened obsidian.

    CLANG! BAAM!

    A second spear and then a club struck Lulan successively, the first clanging off her Parry, and the next striking her thighs, drawing a line of sparks before shattering against her Iron Skin.

    The weighty projectile exploded like a grenade, shredding the armour, exposing one thigh and deforming the scaled-flesh beneath.

    "Holy shit," Gwen spat. That was a close call. Had Lulan not attuned with a flawlessly extracted Earthen Sprite of hardened jadeite, her right leg would have painted Tei''s dust wall.

    Lulan wiped a smidgen of blood from her lips. In her mind, the sword versus Troll exchange had gone swimmingly, for she had disabled no less than three warriors, pinning their howling bodies to the ground.

    "Don''t do a Lulan," Tei cursed. "Rene! Get back here!"

    "Coming!" Rene reappeared an instant later. Unlike the battle-crazy Sword Mage, if she took a stone hammer to the gut, there may not be a body left to teleport back to Cuzco.

    As if flaunting her resilience, Lulan manifested new blades, then danced across to the Trolls'' flank, dicing at limbs and throwing the occasional Heart-seeker into the group''s midst.

    "Come on!" Gwen kept an eye on the Hag while adding some love of her own. "Lightning Storm!"

    A crash of thunder rolled over the mass of charging Trolls as her lightning Ice Storm manifested, pelting the warriors with arcing electricity. The berserkers, however, remained defiant to her elemental assault. Where her spell struck, their bark-armour sizzled in place of their bodies.

    "ULOAR!"

    "ULOAR!"

    "ULOAR!"

    Gwen swore. "HERE THEY COME!"

    The warriors had reached their prey; with a crash that near-dislodged one of Tei''s pillars, a mass of flailing bodies compressed against Fudan''s barrier. Swirling dust smouldered and dissolved as a band of frustrated, frenzied Trolls beat down the Six Pillars of Taishan, said to possess the power to hold back ten thousand Jiangshi.

    "Dust Tendrils!" Tei wasted no time in supplementing his wall with the vitality of his enemies.

    The Trolls meanwhile, moved out to surround the hexagon formed by the six-pillars, bashing at the anchors and the invisible dust-wall.

    "EEEEYAAAH!" Lulan''s assault exploded as though an iron lotus, Misty Stepping above, below and beside her prey. Following her passage, tens of severed appendages twitched. Conversely. whenever Lulan suffered a blow to her iron-wrought body, there was the sound of clanging metal as the Troll''s obsidian weapons shattered.

    Rene meanwhile, took advantage of their temporary invulnerability to gift the Trollic conga line with a river of churning, smouldering stones spilling from the ground, half-cooking the hapless Trolls while they exhausted Tei''s barrier.

    "ULOAR!" The Trolls were no less frantic than Fudan''s Mages in churning out as much damage as possible. Within seconds, a pillar crumbled, reducing Fudan''s shelter. A triumphant roar echoed from Troll to Troll, then a viridescent flow of healing energies enveloped the hooting mob, renewing their vigour. A few of the trolls who Lulan had made bereft of limbs even sprouted new ones.

    "B''lyad''! Regeneration and restoration!" Petra cursed. "AND they''re resisting Lightning and Magma! Should we use Cloud Kill?"

    "Not until the old witch takes the bait." Gwen sent a mental command to her dogs. "Buck! Astro! Bring me the Hag''s head!"

    A dozen of her dogs broke from the pack of warriors, forming two streams ¡ª her alphas, one blue-white, the other crow-black, sped toward the temple entrance.

    "Incoming DECAY!" Tei steeled his pillars with yellow Fudas as a second round of the Hag''s demi-human magic landed. "Lulu, get back!"

    "Arrrgh!" A squall of black blood slipped past Lulan''s Parry. Her one-time Fuda dissolved at once. Her Shen-tei armour sizzled, exposing her Iron Skin to the corrosive hunks of dark flesh. A chunk struck her exposed thighs, corroding her flesh almost to the bone. "M-Misty Step!"

    She reappeared inside the barrier, a detox injector in hand. Willing away her Iron Skin for the briefest second, she stabbed herself, then grunted as the influx fought off the Negative Energy.

    Rene let loose the two-meter ball of Magma she had been constructing above the Trolls, then turned to her companion. "Lulu, are you alright?"

    "Hold on." Petra materialised a nephrite Spell Cube. "Knit Flesh!"

    "TAMAAADE!" Lulan howled, forcing herself upright. On one shoulder, a piece of her armour had been corroded down to the Saurian leather straps. As for her ruined thigh, all she could manage was a moan as her muscles rejuvenated.

    "I knew that would come in handy." Petra inspected her work. "Gwen?"

    "Almost!" came the response from their vice-captain. "Fucking bitch! I''ll get this old Hag yet."

    Up ahead, her dogs surged into the temple proper.

    "WOOF! WOOF!"

    "GRRRR!"

    "YIP!"

    One of her dogs, a lightning deerhound, perished without so much as a chance to dodge, catching Gwen by surprise. The rest of her dogs bolted from the interior, informing Ariel that the inner chamber was a narrow tunnel that made pack-tactics impossible. That and there was a huge stinking heap of befouled flesh blocking their way.

    "ULOAR! Ashmasarg!"

    From the darkness emerged an ungainly giant, thrice the size of an already enormous troll.

    "What the fuck?! They have the HULK?!" Gwen spluttered when the green-skinned colossus emerged into the light. In one hand, it carried a dark iron club larger than Gwen from toe to torso. In its off-hand, it equipped a shield studded with dagger-like spikes. Its entire body sported thick plates of aged leather, painted with strange sigils in Trollic. "Pats, there''s a copy-right violation!"

    "A Brutaliser." Petra ignored Gwen''s insensible splutterings. "Harass it with your dogs. Maybe Golos can take care of it?"

    Gwen hesitated, tempted by the suggestion.

    CRACK!

    Another one of Tei''s pillars collapsed, turning their safe-space into an irregular rectangle.

    "Tei?"

    "Let''s move with Formation D," her captain gave the command. "Gwen, you''re with me. We''ll regroup on the hill and get LOS on the Hag. Leave these Trolls a souvenir."

    "Right! Cloud Kill time," Gwen agreed, passing command of her dogs to Ariel. She then disabled her Link Sight, then placed a hand on her captain''s shoulder. "Petra, Rene, Lulu, ready?"

    "Ready!" Petra withdrew two cubes at once.

    "Dimension Door!"

    "Dimension Door!"

    "Blink!"

    "Misty Step!"

    As one, the party reappeared fifty meters away, now nestled atop an abandoned ziggurat.

    Tei''s pillars collapsed at once.

    Where the Trolls had been beating on Fudan''s defences from all sides, they now fell into the centre. Dozens of obsidian armaments swung at empty air, crushing the weather-worn cobblestone. Troll warriors stumbled, falling over one another, too enraged to relocate their prey, so incensed by the Hag''s frenzy magic that Gwen was sure that the red-eyed fiends would momentarily fall upon one another.

    "CLOUD KILL!" echoed cries issued from the girls'' lips.

    "LAVA WALL!" Rene followed up as practised, encircling the pack in a circle of smouldering lava taller than Gwen.

    Twin-eruptions of noxious smog, flare-filled and flaming with ionised pyrite, exploded across heaving green bodies, igniting as the vapour kissed the sulphurous air.

    "GARRRK!"

    "Glogzag hakungs!"

    "Athrietess, ashavuth lugs!"

    Incoherent howls burst from the flaming mound as the Trolls failed to flee, filling their lungs with inextinguishable fire. Though their armour and their scabby dermis provided ample protection against the elements, rarely did Abjuration shield the organs of a living being. It was one of the chief reasons why Cloud Kill remained restricted magic, for whether Mages or monsters, neither proved immune to the loss of one''s respiratory system. Caught under a flame-wreathed sea, the Trolls floundered as though in quicklime, choking and guttering and coughing fire.

    "Gudiots!" Came a cry from the inside the abandoned side-temple. In the next moment, the Hag emerged, wielding spells of healing in one hand and invocations of decay in the other. Beside the spindly female figure, the Brutaliser stood as her stalwart defender.

    "There she is!" Petra maintained her borrowed magic.

    Gwen recoiled at the sight of the fabled Hag. From a distance, the monster''s gnarly feminine physique sported dreadlocked hair that ran the length of its bowed spine. Horrifically, its nude body was caked in a layer of dried blood in the texture of festering bruises. Immodestly, its lower body was a mess of twigs, cloth, leather and utensils wrought from severed limbs and pilfered digits. When the Hag opened its mouth to speak, a slithering tongue distended, milky with pus.

    "Golos!" Gwen commanded her Planar Ally.

    Her Wyvern confirmed its trajectory.

    "Duccusemar gunvaders!" The monster shrieked as its followers burned. Then to Gwen''s surprise, it screamed at her party in ancient Quechua. "By the Heart of the Wood, your intestines will wreath the trees! Gulorrifzag!"

    A burst of Negative Energy erupted from the Hag. From what Gwen could see, the creature was drawing vitality from her guardian, the monster known as the Brutaliser.

    "PILLAR WARD!" Tei recognised the incoming debuff. Whatever happened now, they would have to weather the assault, hoping the barrier held for the duration of the incoming incantation. "It''s a Curse! Stay CALM and DON''T MOVE! WATCH FOR FRIENDLY FIRE!"

    Gwen countered by filling her conduits with Essence. Her lips worked her next spell furiously, as did her hands, simultaneously informing Golos that the time had ripened for its grand entry.

    The Curse struck.

    Fudan''s Mages simultaneously lost all vision.

    Curses, also known as Hexes, were different from Spellcraft in that while traditional magic invoked phenomena to assault the mind or the body; Curses besieged one''s spirit. It was a class of Magic unique to demi-humans and utilised only by Mages born from select bloodlines. Though counterspells to Hex Magic existed, the official solution involved preventative Faith Magic, or Positive Mind Mages specialised in dispelling, a rare bird in any wood.

    Either way, anti-Hex Spellcraft wasn''t something a godless communist country could provide. According to Petra, Fudan''s only solution was to rely on first-strike doctrines and third-party defenders like Familiars, Summons or Allies.

    In the bewitching darkness, a stark fear consumed Fudan''s frail, human hearts. Each caster felt a quickening horror that, if left unchecked, would turn to madness.

    "Shit!" Gwen fought back with a feeling of complete futility. "GOLOS! DO IT NOW!"

    Within the interiority of her mind, she saw her family in Shanghai suddenly perishing by unknown powers. She saw her uncle Jun, his face a mask of anguish, mouthing strange, incomprehensible accusations. She saw Percy, his eyes bulging and his face bloated, floating across fetid water, she saw Babulya¡ª

    "CALAMITY!"

    A fulminating roll of thunder woke her from the cascading horror.

    Gwen opened her eyes, as did her team.

    Their vision had suddenly returned, the Curse lifted.

    A line of charred stone, cracked from both the roaring lightning and the violent passage of her Wyvern, marked the boulevard from one end to the other, interceding with a Brutaliser spluttering ichor, its shield and chest concaved by a terrific blow from a Wyvern tail.

    As for the Hag, it now decorated the path leading up the temple steppes. For all the monstrous female''s unholy command of life and decay, it was no match for the force of a Thunder Wyvern''s full-forced strike. Against the relentless physics of a multi-ton draconic-brute obliterating its body, dragging it face-first some hundred meters over coarse, jagged rubble: the Hag was little more than a greasy meat-crayon.

    "Nice work, Gogo!" Gwen cried out. "VOID SPHERE!"

    She muted the surviving Bruitaliser. Before it recovered, ink-blots exploded across its battered body, consigning its indestructible flesh to the Void.

 Chapter 287 - A Tale of two Horrors

    Gwen told Golos to remain in a holding pattern until he was needed once more. A brute without magical finesse, her Wyvern was little more than a resistant meat shield when indoors, one with at most three shots of Lightning Breath.

    "I''ll be around," Golos grunted, flashing a Storage Ring where the head of the ''Desecrator Hag'' now rested as a souvenir, then took to the sky.

    "The dogs don''t give near as much as Caliban," Gwen observed the colour of her hands, watching the pallid flesh turn pink as her vitality returned. The Brutaliser was an enormous store of life, likely force-fed by the Hag to serve as a sort of Necromancy-battery.

    "Take more time if you need it." Tei performed a quick Taoist rite so that the bodies of the two-dozen odd Troll warriors could no longer be raised from the dead. With a Necromancer only a kilometre away, Fudan''s captain left no uncertainties uncovered.

    "Nah, I am good, let''s head up." Gwen warmed her fingers. "Lulu, how about you? You''re looking worse for wear."

    Lulan''s injury was healed, but she had no patience for the slow restoration of her tattered suit. With a conjured blade, she had cut away the ungainly, damaged portions of her armour, ensuring that somewhere, an Enchanter wept. The result was that the Sword Mage appeared eclectic, covered from ankle to chin, but also exposed where her left shoulder, right thigh, and abdomen was concerned.

    "Kusu is going to freak." Gwen tidied up Lulan''s ponytail, then asked Petra to take a picture. "Lulu, you''re going to be an idol."

    "Why?" Lulan paid no heed to her exposure.

    "More is less; less is more." Gwen studied her companion''s innocent face.

    "I''m keen for more! It feels so good to use my new skills." Lulan slapped her thigh, affecting an affectionate Clang!

    "Don''t forget your promise to your folks back home." Gwen pointed upward, reminding Lulan of the ever-present Eye of Providence. "Know what. Now''s a good time. Want to do it here?"

    "Ah." Lulan flushed. The Sword Mage then rigidly turned to face an imaginary lumen-recorder. "Comrades! I AM LULAN LI! I hail from the Sect of Huashan! If you wish to learn our skills, please put in an application for our Outer Sect! We welcome all magically-inclined citizens! Bring your Hukou when applying!"

    Lulan Li, now "Outer Sect" elder, made a ninety-degree bow.

    "Tei?"

    "I''ll pass." Her captain sweated just watching Lulan pitch her sale. Her lines were cringe-worthy that death might be preferable for the proud Tomb Guardian of Clan Tei.

    "Suit yourself." Gwen likewise faced Lulan''s invisible camera. In the background, she made sure that the pile of Trolls, her hounds, and Ariel all remained in view.

    "Dear viewers, if you like to take advantage of this wonderful opportunity to sponsor one of our team members, you may contact the House of M, or our representative, Ru¨¬ Lee, at our Fudan office. Limited ad-spots for product placements will be auctioned after the first round in early October. Have confidence that we will bring your company or your Clan to the world stage..."

    "EE EE!" Ariel struck a pose, capturing a picture-perfect Kodak moment.

    Tei thanked the Great Leader when the team finally moved on.

    From the sounds and the flashes of light still raging on the western slope, they guessed that Inti''s party was fighting an uphill battle.

    As for Gwen''s party, all that was left was to find the entrance into the catacombs, then find out if South American Fongshui favoured pupils from Fudan.

    Hardin Smith never realised that he could sweat so much while wearing climate-cooled Magitech armour.

    In the past two hours, his tentacle goggles ran diagnostics across the proceedings, recording all objects of interest for Dark Water''s clients. His left eye was set to Scry over the Shanghai party, while his right eye was set for Cuzco.

    In the last few hours, he had witnessed Chinese Clanner Magic, mysterious spell cubes, eighteen Morden''s hounds and two Cloud Kills decimating close to a hundred Trolls. When confronted by a Hag, a fucking Wyvern showed up out of the blue and transformed the Troll-witch into roadkill.

    Then, as Cuzco''s diagnostic data displayed on his Divi-device, Hardin once more denounced the duplicitous Amaru.

    The female Shaman known as Kusi had been noted on his data set as an "Indigenous User of Necromancy," a term usually denoting those whose religious rites involved draining mana and life from the dying. What Amaru had not relayed was that the girl raised the fucking dead.

    "KREEEEEEE!" On the eastern slope, a banshee''s wail resounded, creeping under Hardin''s multi-layered armour to cover his arm with goosebumps.

    In Hardin''s mechanised eyes, the competition had become a who''s who of horrors. His right lens triple-zoomed, focusing on the walking aberration now laying waste to the Trolls.

    The undead fiend had doubtlessly once been a Harpy and a rare variant at that. The most salient aspect of the corpse was its wings, two enormous fans in vivid scarlet, attached to elongated arms. Where the Harpies usual sported feminine, female bodies, this thing was a husk of its former self, with sunken eyes and a smashed nose. Where it once must have been luxuriously dressed in multi-coloured feathers, it was now near-naked, its pallid goose skin turning Hardin''s stomach.

    Already, a dozen Trolls, warriors and labourers alike, had fallen prey to its aural assault. As for those who managed to close the distance, the skinny, feathery corpse proved immensely powerful, capable of cutting a warrior in twain with a single swing of its scything feathers.

    "ULOAR!" A Troll grew in stature, receiving the benediction of a nearby shaman. Its javelins struck the Undead Harpy, though the effect was negligible.

    "RADIANT STRIKE!" Inti finished his tier 5 Evocation staple within a second.

    Where the Shaman took shelter, the fort''s interior glowed like a furnace, spewing forth a vivid, orange light.

    The Troll Warrior charged, knowing its buff wouldn''t last.

    "KREEE!"

    The undead bird-woman met the warrior halfway, launching itself so that even as the Troll struck its sides in an attempt to crush its spine, the Harpy latched onto its body.

    "Guluo!" the Troll panicked, pulling at the fiend attached to its arm. Opening its jaws, it bit the Harpy, gnawing at the creature''s neck with jagged, ivory tusks. "GARRRK!"

    Hardin watched as the thing''s vitality readings tanked. As with its forerunners, the Troll grew suddenly feeble as its eyes turned glassy.

    Beep! Beep! A warning flashed on Hardin''s spectrometer.

    "Jesus Christ, what kind of freaks are they letting in these days," Hardin swore. "A fucking Soul Eater?!"

    A Soul Eater was a tier 6 undead which, when fed the Essence of the living, could rapidly grow in power, well-exceeding the higher tiers. In nations where the Undead Fronts plagued human cities; Blood Lords, Soul Eaters, Corpse Collectors and Death Knights made the "most loathed" monster list. Unlike regular Undead, these creatures possessed unpredictable powers and voracious temperaments. An unlucky party hunting a Soul Eater, for example, could find themselves potentially overwhelmed, becoming its nourishment and adding to the danger tier.

    A novice Necromancer controlling a Soul Eater was walking a fine line between power and self-destruction.

    Not far from the dying Troll, a half-cooked Shaman crawled from an abandoned granary; its skin burned clean off.

    The Necromancer known as Kusi raised a shrunken head, this one made from a Troll''s corpse, and drained the charred corpse of its remaining life.

    "KiiiYEEE!" the Soul Eater wailed at its caster, trapped in a permanent state of unceasing agony.

    Another one of Cuzco''s Mages, a lycanthropic Transmuter with the Spirit of an Andes Puma, blocked the Eater''s trajectory to its master. This one Hardin recognised as Musi, sister to the Necromancer.

    Behind her kin, Kusi raised a second shrunken relic, a human head glowing with a sickly, purple radiance. With incantations Hardin couldn''t lip-read, she compelled obedience from her monster.

    The Harpy corpse shuddered, tearing at the feathers on its body even though there was none left to pluck. Its red wings bled, wet with a sheen of weeping gore as it faced the temple. With its back hunched, the once majestic mistress of the air trudged forward, an earth-bound raptor.

    Hardin chewed his lips in contemplation, scanning the temple for dangers that could waylay the prince. So far, after the Hag Fudan had bested, he had seen no sight nor hide of the Chieftain, nor the Arch Hag.

    Hardin considered his options.

    His HUD showedthat it was 1635. A counter he had set for the Blood Moon noted that the phenomenon wouldn''t reach its zenith until midnight. From the looks of the parties'' progress, neither would enter the inner sanctum before tomorrow morning.

    Until then, perhaps he could add a little trouble to the mix for Cuzco to enjoy.

    Kusi''s Soul Magic, from what he could see, was a bastardised Necromantic manifestation. In Eastern Europe, The Black Priests could raise vast armies in a matter of hours. Had Kusi possessed an ounce of a true Corpse Mage''s skills, she would now be neck-deep in Giant Skeletons or at least protected by a troop of Troll-Ghasts. Unlike traditional Mages, Necromancers thrived on death and destruction, growing stronger as the corpses piled up. It was one of the main reasons cities taken by the Undead rarely held survivors. Necromancers were without peer in protracted siege-scrums.

    Hardin likewise knew that Undead creations were bound to a Necromancer''s Astral Soul. There was no need for things like relics to command one''s pawns, for Undead servants were loyal to a fault. From what he could see, Kusi''s magic was entirely based on indigenous lore. If he could destroy her implements, then, what would happen to the necromantic energies therein? More importantly, what would happen to her well-fed Soul Eater?

    Hardin couldn''t help but let a smile touch his lips.

    If Inti could perish by Kusi''s fuck up, thereby engendering a civil war between Amazonia and Cuzco, he would surely become Operator of the Year.

    "Gwen, we''re here." Petra checked their map. "This is it."

    Behind the two girls, a semi-circle of hounds stood guard, wary of Trolls emerging from secret alcoves or hidden entrances. According to the map, the party had arrived at the main temple. Unfortunately, its once splendid facade had been torn down, repurposed by the Trolls or destroyed by the team''s earlier AoE.

    "Pats, any ideas?" Gwen patted the stone door, its murals long erased by wind, sun, Trolls and creeper plants.

    Her cousin checked the wards. "Hmm... I think the source is dead."

    "Dead?" Gwen cocked her head.

    "The power''s gone, scrapped off, dispelled. The door''s just a slab of stone now."

    "Shit," Gwen grumbled.

    A closed door with ruined magic meant that whatever was hidden behind it was likely looted.

    "Allow me." Lulan cracked her knuckles. "SHAPE STONE!"

    The massive slab warped, the stone shifted, forming a strange, vertical gash the likeness of parting curtains.

    "Someone''s used this entrance already," Tei observed. "Not surprising. I guess. The wards used by the Incan people are neither Dwarven or Elven. Human Enchantment rarely outlasts two decades. It has to do with our relatively short lives. Since there''s a coven here, they likely corroded the foundations. I think we were too optimistic with the whole untouched treasure concept."

    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

    Within, the room consisted of a pitch dark interior, unmoved even by the light from the unconventional entrance.

    Tei motioned for Gwen''s hounds.

    Gwen nodded. "Buck! You''re up!"

    Her Void Hounds slinked in.

    "Gawrrr!" Buck made a sound akin to a throaty cough.

    "The coast is clear." Gwen received the paw-up from Ariel.

    "Alright." Tei turned to his team members. "Buff up! Marching Order: Void Alpha, Lulu, me, Gwen, Petra, Rene, Lightning Alpha."

    "You boys stay here and guard the entrance," Gwen informed her hound pack. "It''s too tight for pack tactics. They can join us later, or I can D-D them in."

    The inside proved tighter than her dogs could arguably discern, for when Gwen and company did finally enter, the passageway was barely five foot tall.

    "Interesting." Petra pointed to the stacked and slotted stonework. "I think I know how this works. The stones perfectly fit but aren''t mortared, meaning manipulation will collapse the structure. Meanwhile, its too short and narrow for Trolls to fight properly, while still large enough to invite them inside so that the small stature of the Inca can utilise spears or long-range spells. For Trolls at least, the entry can serve as a death trap."

    The party sent down a flood of Dancing Lights. The entrance''s interior was spartan and utilitarian, forming a passage that led forward and downward, coiling to the right.

    "Buck" led the way, prowling effortlessly, sniffing for signs of life. Gwen and Petra became hypothetical Trolls, having to bend their bodies until they were shuffling like apes.

    PUTHOK!

    A stone spear emerged from the wall, piercing Buck.

    "Aroooough?" Buck snorted, then continued.

    "An articulated mechanism?" Gwen inspected the passage wall.

    "Careful," Tei stopped their amateur Enchanter from putting her face to the Glyph.

    "A Conjuration glyph set to proximity." Petra erased the magic with a glowing hand. "It''s crude and common in ruins like this."

    "Next thing you know, there''ll be a giant boulder, and we''ll all run for it!" Gwen joked.

    "I will cut this boulder in half," Lulan asserted confidently. "Unless it is a boulder of darkened steel or Adamantium, in which case, we can sell it for money."

    "You can probably fit the rock into your Storage Ring," Rene joked. "Boulder traps are so primitive."

    "Lulu," Petra derailed the train of thoughts. "Adamantium isn''t naturally occurring. It''s an alloy made by the Dwarves. Unless there''s a Dwarven city down here, it''s going to worthless boulders."

    "Okay, forget I said anything," Gwen sulked. Indiana Jones in this world would have to contend with the Mines of Moria.

    The party continued. A dozen traps put Buck through every form of torture; wall spikes, crushing mallets, a pitfall, and a pile of dead vermin that, when alive, would have made Gwen void the Dungeon. After what must have been several hundred metres, the party sensed a slight breeze that stirred the stale air.

    "Gawrrr!" Buck interrupted their conversation.

    "Contact!" Gwen translated in place of Ariel. Her Familiar lacked punch as a dog-sized ferret, while its Kirin form was too big for teamwork in the tunnel.

    "Link Sight," Gwen whispered. "Buck, go!"

    The hound flattened its body, then sped forward as a black blur with stiletto legs skittering against the smooth stone. With eyes attuned to Caliban-vision, Gwen immersed herself, hoping the exit wasn''t too far. Different to her Familiars, Link Sight had limited range when used on creatures she conjured temporarily.

    The tunnel ended abruptly, opening into the catacombs.

    The ceiling was now a cavern of at least three or more storeys, roofed with conic stalactites. The hound''s immediate surroundings were equally spacious, enough to fit a dozen Trolls from shoulder to shoulder.

    And speaking of Trolls, her Vitality-VR quickly spotted the hunting party hiding in the shallow pools of dark water. In her Void fiend''s life-sensing vision, the Trolls appeared as incandescent figures of light.

    "ULOAR!"

    Buck was a terrible actor. When it began to salivate uncontrollably, the Trolls knew their stone-form disguises had failed.

    As one, the warriors leapt from cover to abuse Gwen''s dog.

    Up in the tunnel, Gwen grew instantly upset.

    "If Buck dies, the new deerhound won''t have the same memories," she explained. "I am going to help, but we shouldn''t put all our eggs in one basket, volunteers?"

    "I''ll go." Lulan raised her hand.

    "Be careful not to destroy the cavern," Tei reminded her. "No environmental AoEs. No sonic spells. Rene, get ready to reinforce the cavern if it starts to collapse. Petra, you help as well."

    "Got it," the girls replied.

    "Join me in five seconds!" Gwen commanded Ariel to get ready. "Dimension Door!"

    When Gwen materialised with the newly released Ariel, Buck had already been beaten out of shape. As a Void beast, it had no sensation for pain, and unlike her lightning hounds, its usual tactic involved consuming enemies so that its foes died while it regenerated.

    This time, the six or so Troll warriors and their Shaman had the dog well-pinned. After a well-aimed blow disabled its legs, the rest of the warriors pummeled Buck like a side of black mochi.

    "Ushhuth glogagioz lugser!" The Shaman was the first to notice the dog''s owner.

    The warning came too late, for Gwen had finished her invocation. "Chain Lightning!"

    "EEE!" Ariel acted as the power recycler.

    The dark cavern grew momentarily brighter than mid-day. From Troll to Troll, an arm-thick cord of raw plasma traversed, overpowering the creatures'' resistance to fry their nerves, causing an eruption of flesh where latent energies escaped from yielding bodies.

    Gwen was once again impressed. Walken''s signature spell was made for occasions such as this. Her only regret was that after a mere two revolutions, the spell grounded itself.

    "Elemental Sphere!" But Gwen''s incantations were quick. A second blast rang out, enveloping the paralysed Trolls, then striking them again with a nova flash.

    "HEEEEYAH!" Lulan Misty Stepped in, a green blaze of swirling blades, slicing and dicing as she charged the Shaman.

    "Ashtazag duway!" the Troll caster cried out in panic, throwing up a fistful of bones to erect a barrier.

    Lulan crashed through the bone wall and pinned the Troll so that it appeared as though a giant bug specimen. With two broad strokes of "Sweep!", she severed its limbs, then its head, leaving a twitching torso to remain impaled on her hilt-less slab.

    "Eat up." Gwen channelled a bit of her vitality so that her Void hound recovered. All of the Trolls were alive. Usually, it meant trouble. For Fudan, it implied Buck could restore what the bastards had taken.

    Buck''s body unmangled itself, then went about the business of replenishing it and Gwen''s vitality.

    "Good work." Tei descended with Rene and Petra.

    Rene reinforced the cavern regardless, using her Magma to form hardened pillars, conjoining the roof and the floor.

    "Where do you think this place leads?"

    "Hopefully, the storage area." Tei likewise had no idea. "I was wondering how the Inca could build such enormous underground structures. Having tunnels that lead to a natural cavern makes far more sense."

    "I read that the Incan gods dwell in Hanan Pacha, a small pocket dimension adjacent to the Material Realm," Gwen annotated from her guide, ignoring her tingling innards as Buck feasted. "According to lore, the inter-dimensional gate between Hanan Pacha and our world can be found in lakes and caverns."

    "You think this is one of them?" Tei remarked as more Dancing Lights dispelled the dark. "Look, I see a Quipu, it''s rotted, but you can make out the remains. Can anyone read it?"

    Unfortunately, not even Gwen''s Translation Stone could translate the strange knot-language called Quipu.

    "Still, seems like we''re in the right place." Petra made notes. "Shall we?"

    "Gwwwargh!" Buck barked, finishing off a Troll.

    "Woof!" Astro agreed.

    "EE ee!" Ariel joined in.

    "Gulelus¡ª" a Troll''s last words were cut off.

    "Alright," Tei again commanded the party. "Marching orders."

    "How are you feeling?" Petra noted flushing cheeks.

    "Like Lulu said..." Gwen brimmed with excessive, bright-eyed energy. "I can do this all day!"

    "Let us rest and recuperate." Inti wrung a fistful of sweat from his brow.

    Unlike Fudan, what had awaited the Cuzco party after Kusi''s Soul Slave opened the Gate of the Sun was an ambush involving a Hag and at least a dozen Troll Warriors, backed by two Shamans and a Brutaliser.

    Inti immediately exhausted the collated faith his relic stowed, stunning the war band with an all-enveloping blast of Radiance. While the Trolls writhed and howled, Kusi and Musi set to work on the Hag, attempting to destroy the Trolls'' support caster before it could turn the tide of battle.

    The Hag, unexpectedly, had provisioned for Inti''s magic. Its Brutaliser guard acted as a meat-shield, preventing it from being blinded. With one hand, it instantly raised a shower of black blood to fall on Inti''s party, while the other wrung vitality from her guardian to restore her warriors. Against the decay, Mallqu intervened, performing a cleansing rite to abjure the black blood melting Tupaq''s earthen shield.

    A chaotic melee ensued. Musi transformed into a wildcat, slashing up Trolls as she harassed the Hag, darting in and out of range of the Brutaliser''s teeth-studded club. Kusi, meanwhile, commanded both her Blood Harpy slave and a newly risen Troll warrior to keep the rioting horde at bay.

    From the temple''s interior, the combat spilt into the open, then back into the chamber, then out again when the Hag opened up with the magic of decay.

    When finally the Hag unleashed its Curse, Inti made his move, filling the air with such an aura of radiant awe that all who bore witness to his glamour paid no heed to the black magic of the Trollic witch.

    With Tupaq defending and the undead pets whittling down the warriors, Musi eventually took down the Hag, severing her head to prevent spell-casting, rending its body with her flesh-eating daggers.

    The battle felt forever, though Inti knew their labour couldn''t have lasted more than half-an-hour.

    When Kusi siphoned the last Troll, the prince had exhausted his magic, the same with his party. It was only the Soul Slaves that became stronger, feasting on the Essences of the fallen.

    "This will do nicely." Musi toyed with the head of the Hag, passing the trophy to Kusi. "A magic-user slave could be very helpful. With enough Essence, I can activate the Curse of Ch''aska."

    Inti gave his consent, too tired to argue. "Don''t get carried away. In two hours, I need to perform the dusk ritual, and come the next morning; I''ll need an hour for the Rite of the Sun."

    Musi mocked her future consort with a demeaning smirk, attracting unpleasant glares from Tupaq.

    "Enough of your cheek. Set your slaves to guard us," Tupaq commanded the girls. "Do not forget that without Cuzco, your tribe would have perished; if not to the Trolls, then the Spaniards."

    "You''re noisier than a llama''s ass," Musi snarled, hissing like a cat.

    "Sister, peace," Kusi checked her sibling. "Sir Tupaq is correct."

    "Nevermind that," Inti interrupted his crew. "Fudan must be laughing at us right now. Remember, the proctors are watching all of our actions. Do not embarrass us. Cuzco, the Shuar, all who hail from the four Suyus are our family."

    Inti watched Kusi''s face as the girl turned away. In the event of their union, the Soul Priest would be his officious concubine, but it was Musi who would have to carry his child. Despite the ancient wisdom of the Shuar''s craft, the side-effects of Negative Energy remained immutable. To that end, he understood the girls'' antagonism. As a man, he had no desire to win the girls, but as a King, it was his duty.

    Without interest, Mallqu found an empty spot, then laid herself down to sleep.

    "If only all of the Antis could be as wise and cultured as the Jivaroan," Tupaq mumbled.

    The girls said nothing. Manipulating her shrunken relics, Kusi set the guards, then retreated to a corner to meditate on the day ahead.

    Condor''s Rise.

    A swimming sun slowly plunged into the jagged horizon.

    Inside the stone fort, the Proctors had been arguing unceasingly about the match.

    From Fudan''s Wyvern one-hitting the Hag to Inti''s all-searing AoE, the proctors fell into a buzz of passions. Cuzco''s match was one that took place between two low-ranked universities, but the destructive power demonstrated by both teams had reached at least the semi-finals. It was a great boon, for grand spectacles made for good lumen-casts, which translated into additional influence for the IIUC.

    "Don''t you think our Void Sorceress and our Indigenous Necromancer are similar?" a Proctor was proposing a hypothesis.

    "Nothing of the sort." Auberon snorted. "For one, Gwen is far easier on the eyes¡ª"

    "Sir!" Lucy intervened. "Magister Sakmann warned you about this¡­"

    "You''re mistaken." Auberon sipped his Earl Grey. An Englishman might be up to his neck in competitive sorceresses wielding sinister magic, but tea time was sacred. "Take a biscuit, Miss Pritchard. I am speaking in relative terms, but it is undeniable that our colonial sorceress makes for a good show, hmm?"

    "I''ll drink to that," another proctor agreed. "Her... display is sure to please."

    A few of the women rolled their eyes.

    "It''s true, Lucy."

    "Sir..."

    "I am serious. Gwen''s Void Beasts, Wyvern, Kirin, and that phallus she calls Caliban, they''re impressive. And most importantly, they''re exotic, or alien, or downright terrifying. Compared to a bleeding Soul Eater, which one would you rather see on vid-cast?"

    "Miss Song, I suppose."

    "That''s right, Lucy." Auberon was in a lecturing mood. "Do you know why she enjoys such popularity despite her creature''s aberrant exterior?"

    "Is it because of Miss Song''s beauty?"

    "That too, but not my point, Miss Pritchard. Shame on you! It''s because the Void critters are utterly foreign, you see? Out of this world. Completely obscene. We don''t mind them after an initial fright, because they''re exotic tools."

    "Sir?"

    "BUT the Undead, Good Lord!" Auberon replaced his cup with a clink. "You ever killed a man, Miss Pritchard."

    "I can''t say I haven''t. I was in the service when the Suez incident happened."

    "Yes, very good." Auberon smiled sympathetically. "Terrible affair, that one. My condolences. You recall how when someone''s newly dead and the bundles of stuff come out, where even though you''re behind the Abjurers, there''s still a desire to be sick?"

    Lucy paled.

    "It''s the same reason we are naturally averse to Necromancy," Auberon said. "It is human empathy that makes us sick- you see? We don''t like to look death in the face. Why in God''s name would we want to look at Undeath in the face? All are equal when the reaper comes calling. That''s why Miss Kusi makes for terrible Vid-casts, you see. People don''t want to acknowledge the possibility that death isn''t the final frontier, that their spirit may never rest. Do you see?"

    "I see, Sir."

    "Kenneth, you were saying the girls were similar?"

    "I was, Lord Lucas," the proctor called Kenneth replied. "Both are trying to prove that their magic is beneficial rather than something that should be caged. Now I see that they are different."

    "Indeed." Auberon slathered a scone for the shivering Lucy. "Keeping malignant forces under control is never as easy as it looks. Either of our sorceresses¡ª"

    "SIR!" A proctor pulled a vid-cast across to the central display. "Something''s happened to Inti''s party! I think their Soul Eater has been untethered from the Necromancer''s relic!"

    "Speak of the devil¡­" Auberon commanded another proctor to keep an eye on the diagnostics. "Who is it? Fudan? Are they responsible?"

    "No sir, Fudan is still fighting." A proctor pointed to yet another monitor. "I think we may have an intruder."

    "Oh, truly?" Auberon reviewed the footage. On the real-time projection, Cuzco''s party was beating a swift retreat from their undead pets. The Troll straight away fled into the temple''s depth, while the Harpy appeared dead-set on murdering its master. "Politics?"

    "Looks like it, sir." Another proctor brought up the mana-spirometer, while a second machine furiously spat out a script that recorded Divination readings surrounding the contestants. "There! A spike! Looks like Illusion and Transmutation, my Lord."

    "Record everything." Auberon turned his attention back to the screen. "You know, when this happens in England, at least Brussels gets passed a note. How droll."

    "SIR!" another proctor spoke up. "There''s something else."

    "What is it now?"

    "I am recording massive energy readings in the Questing region. They read like shielding signals."

    Auberon fell silent.

    "Lord Lucas?"

    "Yes, Miss Ashley?" Auberon peeled the crispy bits from his scone.

    "Just received word from Cuzco Tower - there''s going to be a Blood Moon tonight."

    The proctors collectively inhaled a breath of humid, Amazonian air.

    "Politics it is then." Auberon exhaled, smiling to assure his team. "Carry on."

    "We''re doing nothing, Sir?"

    "We''ll teleport out when we need to," Auberon considered the man''s inquiry. "Beast Tides are no joke, you know."

    "The contestants¡­"

    "One side''s on the receiving end, and the other can fly out on a Wyvern. I wouldn''t worry." The Chief proctor was the very model of professionalism. "Keep calm and carry on, lads and lasses. My order stands, oh, and Miss Lucy?"

    "Sir?"

    "A fresh brew, if you please. The good tea. We''ll be in for a long night."

 Character Summary 5

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

 Chapter 288 - Takanakuy

    By sundown, Fudan''s party had penetrated from the catacombs into the central cathedral. Their progress had been quick but not reckless, for they had paced themselves between each section, ambushing bands of patrolling Trolls while digging for treasure. In between the battles, the party recuperated just long enough to keep up the momentum.

    Through each engagement, Petra took notes on how her cousin''s unique physiology excelled against numerous foes rich in vitality. With her Chakram, Void Bolts, Seekers and the occasional Dark Tentacle, the Troll''s regenerative qualities had been rendered null even as they fed Gwen''s vital stores.

    "This should impress the proctors and deter detractors," Petra observed. "Well done, cousin."

    "We''re not out of the Troll lair yet." Gwen replied with undisguised smugness. "Say that after we defeat the Arch-Hag and the chieftain."

    Near the catacomb''s centre, where the ''Hanan Pacha'' awaited the party''s plundering, the team''s progress grounded to a halt.

    "Hold up! My Gwen-senses are tingling," Fudan''s vice-captain relayed an insensible Gwenism. "If we punch through this door right now, I am going to be in a world of hurt."

    It was a curious prediction.

    Gwen''s bargain Divination lacked the capacity for foresight. Instead, her Gwen-tingles had been interpreted by Mayuree into five tiers. ONE implied, "this might hurt real bad," while FIVE represented, "I may die if I stand still and do nothing." Usually, Gwen''s portents were ineffectual, as they only activated seconds prior to becoming mangled in exotic and exciting ways. As for their present predicament, the sorceress had made the call a second before Lulu Stone Shaped through a dormant gate.

    "My apologies. I should have been using Scry and Arcane Eye." Petra produced a spell cube. "The fault is mine. Our risk level has been too low, and I''ve let my guard down."

    Petra''s remorse was well-founded, for the party had so far garnered considerable success, recovering no less than three golden idols placed in inert wards where the tunnels met. Two of the relics had been defaced, with the ''head'' of Amaru removed. The third, uncovered when Lulan Shaped into a gateway, was a crude carving involving Inti riding a Cloud Puma. What was disconcerting, however, was that someone had indeed looted the place long before Fudan and Cuzco had arrived. At a prior shrine they had uncovered, the golden murals had been scraped clean. When Petra performed forensics on the damage, she noted that magic-tools such as the Stone Cutter''s Cunning Blade had been used to remove the Glyphs wholesale.

    "No, the responsibility lies with me." Tei shook his head. "The constant battle has dulled my senses too. As Captain, I should have been the one to intervene, not Gwen."

    "How about we see if there''s anything in there first?" Rene felt for Tei, who had been dragged along by Gwen''s infectious enthusiasm.

    "Arooo?" Astro looked at Buck.

    "Woaroough?" Buck wagged its tail.

    Ariel whined from its pocket dimension, comforting the alphas.

    Presently, the party had reached the end of a section marked by tight tunnels opening into a larger chamber. At the end of the room, hewn from bedrock, laid the door Fudan had almost tunnelled through.

    "Arcane Eye!" Petra crushed her nephrite cube, freeing Mayuree''s favourite spell. "Give me a second to get adjusted. Double-vision is disorientating when you''re not a Diviner."

    After a minute fiddling with the spell''s mechanics, Petra sent the eye through the wall. "HOLY¡ª"

    The Russian held her lips.

    "What is it?"

    "St Peter¡­" Petra murmured. "We found the temple''s centre."

    Silently, the rest of the team waited while Petra''s invisible eye made the rounds. When she finished, the spell fizzled.

    "Thank ''Inti'' that the door is immobile," Petra said as she conjured a rough map using her crystals. "I wonder how the Trolls got in? Here''s what we''re up against¡­"

    The final cavern was enormous, easily the size of an international duelling field and just as high. The cavern was roughly oval, with a sharp decline in where Fudan''s party now situated, rising to almost fifty meters near its zenith. What was strange was that there was natural light refracting from above. Furthermore, there was a tiered mechanism akin to a reverse pyramid, in the midst of which a triangular crystal-cap dispensed a moon-like radiance. In a way, it reminded Fudan of the Geofront under Shanghai.

    For Fudan''s amateur historians, it made sense that the home of Mama Killa, the Moon-mother, should possess a "moon" lit sanctum.

    "I don''t think its moonlight," Petra corrected the party''s hypotheses. "The illumination was reddish."

    "What else could it be?" Gwen asked. "Something wrong with the light Glyphs? Fungi on the lens? Rusty scum water?"

    Petra shrugged as she added more details to her model. "Don''t know, but the Trolls are transfixed by this thing. There''s something to the colour, I think. Also, they''re brewing something foul."

    "Dinner? Even Trolls gotta eat."

    "The centre of the chamber holds a six-tier ziggurat." Petra pointed to the cavern''s centre, where she constructed a pyramidal hill. There are Troll structures all over the place. Atop here is where I saw the Chieftain and the Arch-Hag. There''s a bubbling cauldron, though for now, they''re much more interested in the pink light."

    Tei counted Petra''s crude figurines.

    "Thirty Warriors..." He grimaced. "And a Hag, an Arch Hag, the Chieftain, and four Shamans. TWO Brutalisers- plus a hot pot full of Mao knows what."

    "I''ll re-conjure the pack." Gwen immediately set about her work. "I feel Cali is about ready as well. Can we wait?"

    "We''ll wait as long as you need," Tei stated affirmatively. "There''s no rush. Is Inti out of contact?"

    Gwen checked her Message bangle. "I sense no signals other than our own."

    "How about we collapse the cavern?" Rene butted in. "Why fight the Trolls when we can pick up the loot later?"

    "I don''t think Cuzco would like their religious site destroyed," Gwen intruded. "We''d be worse than the Trolls¡ª hell, we''d be worse than the Spaniards. Also, what if the relics inside are delicate? I mean, a crystal skull isn''t out of the question."

    "Why a Crystal Skull?"

    Gwen stopped herself from saying "Aliens" because not even Harrison Ford could save the fourth instalment from the critics.

    "How about Cloud Kill? We have plenty of pyrite bars." Petra flashed her ring.

    "The cloud shifts and may be moved, making it unpredictable," Tei shook his head. "The cavern is also too spacious for Rene to use Magma Wall, AND there''s Shamans as well as Warriors, not to mention their leader. If just one of them knows how to manipulate the Cloud Kill with wind spells, we''ll be caught up in it."

    "How about the alternative? My Void dogs are immune to the effects of my Void cloud," Gwen offered another possibility. "And to my knowledge, the Void mass remains stationary. I can make a ''ring'' around us if we want to keep the melee away."

    Tei gave the strategy some thought. "How about Void Swarm? Or Conjure Elemental?"

    "If I can sustain my magic, it could work." Gwen crossed her arms and hugged her chest. "Do Hags know how to Banish?"

    "They shouldn''t." Petra shook her head. "However, you''ll be stationary while maintaining the swarm. If the Trolls start hammering you with projectiles, not even Tei can shield you. Moreover, what happens if we''re cursed?"

    Their vice-captain pursed her lips. The "Curse" had been terrifying. If only she possessed Sobel''s all-consuming egg, Gwen lamented her lack of dedicated Void Spells. Sobel''s magic possessed both an ironclad defence and a self-sustaining offence.

    "Maelstrom?" Rene recalled their opening act. "The big one. Can''t Gwen do two at once with Ariel?"

    "Doubt the cavern can take it," Tei refuted the possibility. "How about this? Rene and I control the Warriors, Lulu goes after the Shamans. Gwen, you and Petra attempt to silence the Hags. One of you can open with a disabling spell, say an Ariel-fed Flash Bang..."

    "Brutaliser first or Hag first?"

    "Hags. I''ll stun them with Hold Monster," Petra suggested. "Once we liquidate the curses, our chances improve. Most of us can fight the brutes head-on, but if we''re blinded, we''re sitting ducks. Get Cali to Consume them while they''re held¡ª its Naga form has multiple heads, right?"

    "What abilities does the Arch-Hag possess?"

    "More Curses?" Rene shivered.

    "And other new tricks." Petra wasn''t one to take their enemies lightly.

    Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

    "Then I''ll keep it quick," Gwen replied. Closing her eyes, she focused on her Conjuration Sigil. "Gogo, are you there?"

    Crickets.

    "Where''s he gone?" shefumed. "He must be out of range. Maybe I can D-D out and get him real quick."

    "Never mind Golos. It''s too cramped to fly in there," Petra advised. Turning her intelligent eyes, she then affected a strange smile. "How about your one-eyed Shoggoth? It''s now or never. If you''re keen, I can draw the Mandala."

    "There''s no Divination signal for us to beg for permission," Gwen suppressed a smirk.

    "So, we wait for Cali?" Lulan wetted her lips as she gazed at the mass of crystalline figures milling about in Petra''s diorama, already planning the best routes.

    "That or wait for Inti to pop in and start the fight," Rene snorted. "What the hell happened to those guys, anyway? We haven''t seen or heard from them since early afternoon. Maybe they all died?"

    "Woa!" Gwen shirked back from their crow-mouthed Magma Mage. "Knock on wood!"

    Unfortunately, the temple was wholly wrought in stone.

    "INTI! Cover me, Tupaq needs help!"

    "CLOAK OF RADIANCE!" Inti set the Soul Eater aflame even as its wings grazed his forearm, threatening to turn the wound necrotic before the prince''s Faith expelled the Negative Energy.

    "Inti above!" Cuzco''s captain grunted, suppressing the livid agony tearing at his flesh. Divergent from the searing pain of steel or fire, a Necrotic strike froze the blood and jarred the liver, engendering a simultaneous fever of the nervous system.

    The Blood Harpy retreated.

    "Mark of the Sun!" Inti''s hands were a blur, firing a second spell even as he fought down both nausea and fatigue.

    "KREEEAAAGH!" A brand appeared on the Soul Eater''s torso. Before it could take a step further, the Glyph erupted, gouging a deep gash into the creature''s abdomen, exposing its innards.

    Splotch!

    Bundles of intestines and festering organs, freed from the constraint of the Harpy''s profaned form, polluted the sacred stones of Mama Killa''s abode.

    Inti was dismayed.

    The Troll Slave had perished in two blows.

    Comparatively, the well-fed Harpy made for a hardy combatant.

    Glaring at Kusi with hatred filled eyes, the unbound slave chose to retreat.

    "After it!" Musi twirled her daggers, then launched herself, transformed into a humanoid puma. "Sister, I''ll recover its head for you! Your match hasn''t ended! Fudan hasn''t bested us yet!"

    "Musi! Careful!" Kusi called out, though she knew there was no holding back her sister. When her precious relics flamed amazement with consumptive smoke and cinder, Kusi''s heart had suddenly seized. After that, her Undead dolls had turned. That was when Tupaq took a blow meant for herself.

    "Is Tupaq going to be alright?" The corner of Inti''s eyes twitched. "Mallqu?"

    "I¡­ I am alright," a bloodless Tupaq gurgled from the floor, coughing blood from his corrupted lungs. "G-give me time to rest¡­ More healing!"

    "Remain silent and keep your Bear-form active." the unfazed Mallqu activated a flesh-stitching incantation. "Sir Tupaq, my recommendation is that you return to Cuzco."

    "No! I FIGHT¡­ cough!" Tupaq''s eyes rolled toward the ceiling.

    "Tupaq, calm yourself. You''re not going to die yet," Inti placed a hand on Tupaq''s head so that he could circulate a gentle stream of Faith energy from his depleted relics. "By the sun, we shall persevere, brother."

    At his lord''s assurance, the giant''s breath finally returned to a gentle cadence.

    "I''ll need some time to fix Sir Tupaq." Mallqu looked to where the Harpy had fled. "But first, I need Musi. She needs to cut away the necrotic tissue with her Flesh Borers so that I can regrow¡­"

    "Searing Ray!"

    Tupaq''s wound cauterised at once, cleansed of the embedded necrotic energy.

    "Musi!" Inti''s voice grew hoarse. Left alive, the Soul Eater would continue to be a menace, but his Faith Magic countered the servants of the Shaur. For now, it was the health of his best friend that concerned him.

    CRASH!

    Instead, what answered him was a clattering din, followed by an explosion of animal noises.

    "Huacas'' bloo¡ª" Inti held back a curse. Losing his cool wouldn''t help.

    Different to Fudan''s Gate of the Moon, the Gate of the Sun lead to the upper sanctum of Mama Killa''s abode. When they had passed the Chamber of Radiance earlier, Inti saw that the abandoned sanctum had been left unmolested. Though the place was ankle-deep in moss and fungi, Cuzco''s prince knew that there should exist a network of crystals marked with ancient Glyphs below the vegetation. There, the moonlight collected by the temple''s exterior could be refracted into the ''underworld'', illuminating the inverse sanctum.

    "Kusi, you stay here with Tupaq and Mallqu." Inti materialised a mana injector. "I''ll retrieve her."

    Pshht!

    His reserves reached just half.

    Unfazed, Inti injected another, then drunk a potion of Heroism to dispel his mental and physical fatigue. In the alchemical aftermath, the prince of Cuzco now brimmed with power, though his future injections now suffered from radically reduced efficacy.

    Kusi nodded, then produced her last totem, this one possessing the face of an old Shaman of her tribe. With it, she could conjure souls friendly to her bloodline to defend the wounded.

    "Lord Inti, I know you''re upset, but please understand what has happened isn''t my fault." Kusi gazed up at the glowing form of her future husband. "As Musi said, there was an intruder, more than likely¡ª it was Fudan..."

    Before she could finish, Inti Blinked.

    When Inti opened his eyes once more, he wished he hadn''t.

    In the Sanctum of the Sun, the cold air of the exterior had mingled with the odour of panicking, frothing, maddened Magical Beasts rioting against the walls in general mayhem. From what he could see, the fauna of the forest had broken through the central structure''s crystalline pinnacle, a magically warded segment at the ziggurat''s apex.

    "Inti! Help me!"

    In one corner, Musi was fighting for her life, buried under tooth and nail.

    In another corner, the Soul Eater scythed through the tide of screeching minions, turning itself crimson from head to toe. From what Inti could see, the Essence provided by the dying beasts had elevated its power to the next tier.

    "KREEEE!" The Blood Slave howled at Inti. The creature''s face had also regenerated, once again assuming the striking visage it once possessed in life. However, despite its restored beauty, the avian''s glare remained full of madness, its eyes twin pools of depthless darkness.

    Crimson swirls of stolen Essence suffused the Soul Eater as it deeply drank the draught of life.

    Above the combatants, a blood-red moon glowered, turning Amazonia''s emerald sea incarnadine.

    The prince''s heart seized.

    A Blood Moon?

    If so, then understandably, that was why the monsters were crazed.

    But a Blood Moon was something his father, not to mention Uncle Amaru, should have predicted if not outright prophesied.

    A dozen hypothesises raced through Inti''s becalmed mind. The prince lacked the acumen of the Inca Sapa and the wisdom of the Tower Master, but even he knew that higher forces were now in play.

    If so¡ª particularly so¡ª the proctors would not intervene.

    A slow calm circulated through Inti''s mana conduits.

    He had to survive.

    If he could drag his team back to Cuzco, things couldbe salvaged.

    The weight of his kingdom, the crushing responsibility of Tawantinsuyu, now threatened to overthrow Inti, son of the Sun. His father was right, he should have left Tica with a child before he ventured into Amazonia.

    Bathed in the Blood Moon, Inti wondered if the IIUC even mattered.

    Dead heroes led no nations just as barren thrones engendered no dynasties.

    "Inti!" Musi''s cries grew desperate.

    Inti began to chant; there was no rush.

    The agony would teach Musi the importance of following orders.

    "RADIANT BLESSING!" Inti invoked his unique magic. Instantly, the chamber flooded with his latent energies, searing the rampaging tide of flailing fauna, charring the Soul Eater''s feathers and Musi''s fur. Around and above them, the moss, the vegetation and the smothering mould burned away at once, utterly incinerated by the spell''s orange light.

    "ARRRRGH!" Musi howled.

    "KREEAAA!" The Harpy withered.

    CRUNNG!

    CLANG! CLANG!

    PING! P-PING! PI-P-PING! The floor began to turn.

    To Inti''s complete surprise, the Sanctum of the Sun came to life as its murals were bathed in a blood-pink effulgence.

    Ancient Glyphs long starved of moonlight, thirsty for the magical power of radiance, fired up one by one, fuelled by ancient mandalas no longer dormant.

    Inti''s eyes widened when the floor began to shake. Slotted stone long at rest suddenly split and cracked, bringing the temple''s ancient designs to life.

    "By Viracocha!" The prince was in awe as long-forgotten puzzle-pieces clicked into place; both physically and in the recess of his mind. "This... this is the Rite of Dusk and Dawn!"

    The proctors stared slack-jawed at the glowing projection.

    "So that''s how the damned things work¡­" Auberon felt suddenly enlightened.

    On one screen, from a bird''s eye view, the examiners observed the protruding temple''s slow and ponderous movements as the pyramidal cap lowered itself.

    "What of our Void sorceress?"

    Their eyes shifted to Fudan''s vid-cast.

    The students from Shanghai were being tossed about like peanuts in a can, bouncing against the jittering walls of their tunnel. Dogs and Mages flew and flung as "Amaru turned in his sleep".

    Abruptly and without warning, the stone door which they had failed to breach activated, exposing the team to an equally shocked brigade of Trolls.

    Before either party could act, from the cavern''s zenith, a platform descended. The ponderous mass moved with an agonising shudder before it dislodged entirely, crashing into the Trolls below.

    Before the tribe could react, a flood of Magical Beasts in the form of hooting simians, screeching harpies, venomous lizards, mucus coated frogs, anacondas and quill-studded hogs fell into the cavern. Some went splat, falling instantly to their deaths, others more resistant to rapid descents survived to fight like drunks on Takanakuy.

    With a shudder, the ziggurat the Trolls had been using as their base likewise elevated, erecting itself so rapidly that the toppled cauldron sent a great splash of sacrificial gumbo cascading down the sides. On the lower slopes, rolling boulders the size of cars mowed through demi-humans and animals without mercy.

    Cuzco''s Melee Mage, Musi, fell with the Beast Tide, though expectantly, she landed on all fours, just like a cat.

    "THERE!" a proctor denounced the vision now coming into view.

    The Soul Slave, now fully regenerated, took to flight, harvesting Essence from the falling and the dying.

    "There''s Inti!" another proctor marvelled. "Wow."

    A line of radiance obliterated a hundred lesser creatures, carving a path of molten stone through the monsters, clearing a space around Musi.

    Auberon gently set down his tea.

    If Inti could open these temples up, then Inti needed to live for all their sakes.

    "An unexpected escalation," the Baron of Shenfield drily observed. Ignoring his earlier treaty for inaction, he gave the order. "Call Cuzco and ask if they forfeit. Tell the Inca Sapa we have a situation, and that he''ll need to commit his best Mage Flights if he wants his temples back."

    Hardin Smith swallowed a mouthful of cocoa leaves when the temple began to shift.

    Safely hidden against the underside of a great tree, he had been calmly observing the decline of Inti''s party when the prince accidentally unravelleda persistent mystery of the relic-temples.

    Hardin was impressed by the prince''s luck. So much lore had been squandered by the Spanish Inquisition. Losses like the reading of Quipu, the code language of the Empire''s administrators, had left the temples'' puzzles indecipherable. At least until now.

    That Mama Killa''s sanctum possessed magical mechanisms was a fact Hardin knew - for how else could the vaults be sealed or opened? But what Hardin had not anticipated was the serendipitous convergence of the Blood Moon, Inti''s bloodline element and the Rite of Dusk and Dawn.

    If indeed Inti was key to the lost temples, then the prince was worth his weight in mithril. If Inti''s blood, his element, his faith or whatever mix of physiologies Inti possessed were capable of opening the old vaults, then Dark Water would have infinite uses for the young man, Amaru be damned.

    BUT¡ª Hardin sighed wistfully. That was wishful thinking.

    It wasn''t as though any one Mage currently present could pull the prince from danger. By what means could anyone concurrently battle the Trolls, the Beasts and the Undead now thrown into this churning soup of carnage?

    "Here lies Inti, Prince of Cuzco," Hardin lamented the loss. "Sweet dreams, scion of the Sun."

 Chapter 289 - The Call of the Void

    Gwen was mid-meditation when the tunnel began to shake like the interior of a maraca.

    "Rene!" Tei instantly erected his Dust Tendrils "Lulan!"

    "No, wait!" Petra hindered the Magma Mage''s Stone Shape. Rene''s pause was enough to prove her earlier theory, for though the stones shifted, the tunnel did not collapse.

    Still holding her breath, Gwen marvelled at her cousin. "Bloody good call, Pats."

    "Earthquake?" Tei furrowed his brows. "Amaru must be ''turning'' on the regular if their temples are built to withstand it."

    "How long do you think this¡ª"

    The ground jolted.

    KE-KE-KE-KAKAKA¡ª!

    The door to the cathedral-cavern slid opened, drowning out all conversation, making a din akin to jousting angle-grinders.

    A multitude of gaping mouths, human and demi-human, huffed at one another from across the open space.

    "Duleakum ushhuth guntrudeum!" a booming voice erupted where the Chieftain held court. A cauldron of Almudj knewwhat bubbled atop the raised dais, filling the cavern with a putrid stink.

    "Formation C!" Tei bellowed from behind.

    But before either side could move, the cavern shifted yet again. The ceiling structure, which had been glowing intensely with crimson moonlight, began to lower, dropping as an inverted pyramid.

    Ka-Kak-Kakaka¡ªKAK!

    A cacophonic crunch of overstressed stone heralded the catastrophic failure of the capstone portion, crashing directly atop the Troll Chieftain and the Arch-Hag''s brew. With a great "Clang!" the cauldron tumbled from the Incan pulpit, forming a foul tide.

    Hopping mad, the Arch-Hag and her sister dodged the falling debris, rolling and tumbling down the platform''s incline. Besides the Trollic witches, it was every Troll for itself. The Chieftain, a tremendously armoured brute with a hawk''s nose and forelimbs long enough to drag the floor, fled for cover. His stunnedminionswere then caught between debris and a hard place, cold-pressedintoTroll mince.

    "What the hell is going on?!" Gwen commanded her dogs to form a perimeter just outside the gate. "Tei¡ª"

    "SKRII! KEKEKEE¡ª!"

    "Hiss¡ªSA!"

    "KAAAK! KYAA"

    "JIIII! Ook! Ook!"

    A menagerie of Magical Beasts poured through the ceiling into the sanctum''s interior, hanging, tumbling, flying and falling over the sides of the half-broken inverse-pyramid. Those lacking flight or too enraged to realise their predicament fell onto the Troll structures below. The lucky ones landed on the incline, slowing their fall. The unlucky few impaled themselves or were suddenly face-to-face with angryTrolls.

    "Look there¡ª!"

    Gwen caught sight of Cuzco''s Undead Harpy descending with the waterfall of roving, snarling, clawing shapes.

    "AEEEEeeee¡ª"

    She then saw Musi, covered from chin to shin in wounds, dropping with the Beast Tide. Above the twin spectacles, she caught sight of a glowing Inti, holding back the waterfall.

    "I-It''s a Beast Tide!" Rene burst out. "It has to be! There''s no other explanation for the red moonlight and this many creatures converging on us!"

    "Rene, calm yourself." Petra''s eyes narrowed. "If this is a Tide, why weren''t we told? There''s no way the Tower knew nothing."

    "Maybe its a part of the test?" Tei attempted a hypothesis.

    "Or politics." Petra had seen how the game was played.

    "Either way, it''s going to take until morning to kill all of this." Lulan wetted her lips. "These are all CCs, right?"

    "We should retreat."

    "No, we fight."

    "It may not be our fight." Petra frowned.

    "Tei, what do you think?"

    "Hold up," Gwen checked her teammate''s enthusiasm for the time being. Now was not the time for in-fighting. Now was time to squeeze out a win. Tapping into her Conjuration Sigil, she called for her Planar Ally. "GOLOS! What the hell is going on out there?!"

    "..."

    Crickets.

    "Idiot!" Gwen ground her teeth. Once they got back, she would have to rip her Wyvern a new one.

    "Can''t we go back through the tunnel?" Rene''s voice grew uncertain, more so when the stream of incoming creatures included among their number everything from poisonous vermin to giant snakes. There was even a Displacer Jaguar.

    "Mass Aid!" Petra buffed the party. If they didn''t make it through their present crisis, there would be no use for the cubes anyway. "Resist Elements!"

    "No. We''ll be trapped both ways," Tei refuted Rene''s caution. "We need to push our way out."

    Lulan materialised her blades, then measured the distance with her eyes. "I can take the Hags if I can get some height."

    "!" Gwen sensed a familiar tingle of danger. "Tei! INCOMING!"

    "TOMB SHIELD!"

    Buck dived in front of Gwen just in time, catching a spear in the chest. The missile travelled clean through the Void hound''s body, splintering as it struck Tei''s barrier a split-second later.

    The sneak attack had come from the anarchic melee. With Fudan''s limited field of view, it was impossible to make out what was going on. Even so, at least one troop of Trolls had chosen Fudan for its enemies. The Blood Harpy, conversely and to their surprise, wailed upon the lycanthropic Musi. Up above, Inti spluttering like a flickering bulb, sending a blast below to clear the lesser beasts crowding Musi.

    "!"

    Gwen''s Divination Sigil had been pinging non-stop, but this one struck a four on the Mayuree meter.

    "Tei, with me! Everyone else, SCATTER!" Gwen made the call. "Dimension Door!"

    A split-second later, necrotic energies engulfed the space where the team had stood, sizzling the granite with foetid black bile.

    "The Hags are going to be trouble," Gwen remarked after teleporting herself and their captain to higher ground. When she reappeared, a burst of tenebrous ink from her offensive Dimension Door cleared their landing area of all hostiles. As for survivors, they fell instantly to her faithful hounds. "Tei, can you set up a safe zone?"

    "It won''t be safe until the casters are silenced." Tei surveyed the battlefield. "We need the Hags removed. Shall we ask Inti to join us?"

    Gwen nodded, affirming her captain''s command.

    "Ariel! Clear a space!" She materialised then transformed her Kirin. With a "EE EE!" a resplendent Ariel unleashed its latent Dragon-fear, abjuring all lesser creatures within a radius of a dozen meters. Those caught within the sorceress and Ariel''s consolidated aura either fled, froze, or fainted.

    "Gwen!" Petra appeared a second later, utilising one of Gwen''s Dimension Doors. With a touch, she buffed both Tei and Gwen with Mage Armour harvested from Anita. "Where''s the other two?"

    "There!" Gwen''s eyes were sharper than most. "I see them!"

    Lulan''s armour was already in tatters after deflecting half-a-dozen javelins. However, the Troll''s interceptions proved no deterrent to the iron-clad battle-maiden as she Misty Stepped into the air to launch her blades against the hated Hags.

    THUNK!

    THUNK!

    THUNK

    P-PANG!

    Across the cavern, a Brutaliser ate her Panzerschrecks, taking two in the chest and one in an outstretched hand, deflectingthe final two withits shield, making a mess of beasts caught in the projectiles'' path.

    Rene meanwhile, had transformed herself into a living battering ram, charging forward like a horizontal meteor, smashing through beasts and Trolls alike, hissing jets of sulphur as she carved out a trail of magma and lava.

    "Musi! Retreat!" Inti''s voice boomed across the cavern''s interior.

    A flash of radiance briefly turned the chamber bright as noonday. Inti rained down a volley of radiance, pummelling the Harpy to keep her from Musi.

    "Inti! Where''s the rest of your team?" Gwen''s Message questioned why Cuzcowas sansits other members."Also, why''s the damn Harpy attacking your teammate?"

    "Someone interfered with Kusi''s magic," Inti''s voice came across colder than Elemental Ice. "As for the others¡­ They''ve returned to Cuzco."

    "Strewth." Gwen''s shock was genuine. "Sorry mate, I hope they''re safe."

    "I hope they''re safe as well," Inti Messaged back, not at all the voice of a man surrounded by raging fauna. "What are your plans?"

    "Help us with the Hags. We''ll get out together."

    "Agreed," Inti replied. "In return, please help Musi. She cannot defeat the Blood Slave."

    "Yeah, no kidding." Gwen watched her opponent fighting in her Puma form, bounding from wall to wall to dodge the Blood Harpy''s wing scythes. Whenever Musi passed the Harpy''s side, a flurry of feathers filled the air, followed by an arc of dark blood. The Harpy, however, paid its injury no mind. Swinging its wings, it appeared fully committed to slicing Musi in half so that it could feast on the Transmuter''s entrails. Thus far, a dozen exchanges had transpired, matting her fur with corrupted blood. Were it not for her transformation, Gwen would''ve guessed that the girl''s current complexion was paler than printing paper. "Will do. Tell her not to resist my Dimension Door."

    To make good on his promise, Inti marked the two Hags with beams of light. When the Hags responded, one with a curse and the other with the black blood of ruin, Inti erected a unique variant of Shield of Faith, negating both effects.

    "Gwen," Tei''s voice came from behind, "Wards are done. Waiting on you."

    "I need to bring their cat back before she runs out of lives. Pats?"

    "No problem. I got restorations and heals by the dozen."

    "Alright!" Gwen turned to her dogs. "Everyone, on me!"

    "AROOOOO!"

    "GUUUARRGH!"

    Wolf howls filled the cavern, momentarily drowning out the mayhem.

    From the ceiling, new monsters cascaded inward ceaselessly, threatening to drown the chamber if the flow couldn''t be checked. Even now, the Trolls fought the Mages; the simians fought the avians; the avians strafed the beasts; while lesser fauna fought each other and everything else, including the undead Harpy in their midst. Meanwhile, the Harpy hunted Musi, harvesting Essence and vitality from creatures dying by the score. Behind the crumbled ziggurat, the Hags fought Inti, and finally, Inti fought the Hags, simultaneously keeping the Soul Slave pinned and the Tide at bay.

    Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    Gwen felt her fingers tingle.

    In a moment, sans Cuzco, she would fight them all.

    A year ago, such a prospect would have seemed absurd, but now, not only did she feel confident, she knew exactly how she could do it. Even in the worst-case scenario, she had contingencies in place to ensure she emerged as the king of the hill.

    "Shaa!" Caliban stirred in her Pocket Dimension, prodding its owner, demanding to be born.

    Gwen took a deep breath, fighting both vertigo and nausea. If tonight she succeeded, Fudan was off to round two. If she failed, then she would be finding out exactly how much she owed Gunther.

    "Astro! Buck! Ariel!" she commanded her minions, concurrently imparting a silent command to Caliban. "Chow time!"

    "Track the three from Cuzco," Auberon commanded. "And find the Wyvern."

    Auberon had lived through two Beast Tides. His first baptism, like many Magisters his age, was the awakening of the Black Dragon. He had been a young man then, fresh out of Eton and a year into his studies at Oxford. As an inheriting Lord, hehad joined the front even before the Queen dipped her quill and called for conscription. In those days, Mages and NoMs fought without the support of Towers and Shielding Stations, leaving few veterans to tell the tale.

    The second instance had been in Tripoli. Auberon had served a stint as the city''sPaladin, defending the colonyagainst the Mermen of the Mediterranean Sea. The defence he mounted had been successful, and for his efforts, Auberon received a medal and an Order commendation from her Majesty.

    Half an hour into the "Beast Tide", Auberon relaxed. From the way the beasts were reacting, he recognised that it wasn''t a true Tide. If Magical Beasts attacked one another in a Beast Tide, they wouldn''t be half as troublesome.

    Considering the circumstances then, the chief proctor congratulated himself on making the right call even with incomplete information. Just now, his suspicion of politicians playing silly buggers was further affirmed by Lucy, whose region-wide Divination pointed to the presence of man-portable Resonators.

    What mattered then, was the recovery of Inti, Cuzco''s key to future archaeological endeavours¡ª that and the completion of the IIUC match.

    "Sir," a proctor interrupted. "I believe subject Golos is using obfuscation magic. I am reading enormous Illusion spikes on the spectrometer."

    "Impossible," Auberon snorted. "The brute can''t even use Lightning Evocations."

    "I believe subject Golos may be using expendable items, Sir."

    Auberon knitted his brows. Why didGwen Song make everything so complicated? "What''s the rule for conjured Allies using unregistered items?"

    The proctors looked at one another, searching for answers.

    "Do Planar Allies come equipped?" another raised a curious point.

    The others shrugged.

    "Find out what Golos used and log it for CC deductions." Auberon''s brows twitched. "What''s it doing now?"

    "Er...he has wandered out of range just now," the first proctor apologised. "Sorry, sir."

    The Baron of Shenfield groaned.

    "Sir¡ª Cuzco reports they have received the contestant Kusi, Tupaq and Mallqu. The Sapa has also ordered a mobilisation of his eastern garrison. The Master of the Tower has committed two rapid-response flights. They should be here within half-an-hour. The king''s forces will take longer."

    "Half-an-hour?!" Auberon snorted. "Bleeding colonials¡­ alright. That''s fine. Thank them for their promptresponse."

    The proctors'' minds returned to the grand melee.

    Fudan''s grave keeper had by now set up a sizeable force barrier, reinforcing his wards with Fudas and additional layers of Abjuration. Rene, who had made a one-woman charge into the Beast Tide now aided the Abjurer by creating a two-metre moat of flowing lava. As for Petra, the Russian Enchantress, she delighted the proctors by simultaneously maintaining a Wall of Water, Crystal and Lightning, forming a concentric ring of death around the Pillars.

    "Turtling up during a Beast Tide?" one proctor observed. "Are they fools? How long do they think their mana will last? Retaining one''s mobility is the first lesson taught in tactics."

    "A curious tactic indeed. Miss Pritchard, are our contestants aware that Inti''s father has summoned his Mage Flights?"

    "No, sir."

    "And yet they''re preparing a final defence?" Auberon cocked his chin. "Where''s our Void Sorceress?"

    "She''s fighting the Soul Slave, sir." A proctor manipulated the central vid-caster.

    "My word, that''s Kilroy''s Dimension Door, isn''t it?" A British Magister adjusted his spectrometric lens. "AND her creatures trigger the secondary effect? What''s the girl''s VMI?"

    "Just over three hundred." One of the proctors cited from memory.

    "That''s more than mine," a Magus-proctor sulked.

    "Lord Shultz did vouch for the girl," Auberon reminded them before exploding with a "Golly¡ª Well done!"

    On the screen, Gwen Song materialised with her dogs, instantly paralysing the Soul Slave with ten consecutive blasts from her Dimension Door. The joint lightning strike wasn''t fatal, but it was enough to clear the space between Musi and the Harpy.

    "Lightning Bolt!"

    Impressively, between the sorceress and the Kirin above, three bolts crisscrossed with the Blood Harpy as the locus. Where the spells conjoined, the scarlet-winged cadaver transformed into a being of pure plasma.

    "KREEE!" the Soul Eater keened, pulling at the Mages'' Astral Souls, hoping to stun the sorceresses.

    Its targets, however, werelong gone. What was left was only a pack of Void Hounds, hungrily eyeing the half-cooked hen in their midst. Beings without souls and possessed only of insatiable appetites, "Buck" and his pack boxed in the wary Soul Eater, leering at its Essence-rich flesh.

    "KREEEEAAA!"

    With a grand sweep of its wings, the Soul Eater drove the deerhounds back, taking to the air.

    TISSS!

    A timely divine punishment from Inti sent the Harpy reeling back to earth. Snarling with sadistic delight, the Void dogs closed in, tearing at the Harpy''s throat, its limbs, its arms and wings.

    "KREEEEAAA!" the creature keened. Though each bite could only damage a portion of the Blood Slave''s reinforced flesh, what was taken no longer regenerated. In seconds, the seemingly unstoppable Soul Eater became buried under a roving mass of undulating dogs.

    "Horrible¡­" A female proctor wrung her hands. "My God! She''s going for the Hags!"

    After depositing the half-drained Musi within the safe zone set up by her team, Fudan''s sorceress reappeared amidst the Troll camp, right behind the Arch-Hag and her minions.

    Auberon found it impressive that the teleport had been timed with Inti''s Radiant Blast.

    With the lightning sorceress'' arrival, the area instantly electrified, stunning all but the gigantic Brutalisers. A second invocation issued from the girl''s petal-lips, enveloping her foes with twin sets of Chain Lightning.

    Auberon''s mood rose and fell.

    The assault should have been enough, but the Hags were cunning beings who had survived for centuries in a region where might makes right. Even as the livid plasma seared their infected skin, the curse of Kernunno, the dark God of the Deep Woods, left the Hags'' pestilent tongues to bewitch Fudan''s sorceress. Against all their expectations, the Hags had been neither stunned nor beaten. They had instead been waiting for an opportunity.

    The Brutalisers moved in.

    THUNK!

    THUNK! CLANG!

    THUNK! CLANG!

    Missiles from across the room sank into the Troll bodyguards'' bodies.

    TSSS!

    TSSSTH!

    Beams of sunlight struck the apathetic hulks, failing to overcome their resistance.

    "Arrrgh!"

    Fudan''s sorceress fell onto one knee, guarded by an agitated Kirin. Her complexion grew instantly pale, indicating that at least one curse had caught the sorceress unaware. In one exchange, from an avatar of lightning and destruction, Gwen Song had transformed into a mewling, defenceless young woman.

    "Poor lass." A proctor winced when the sorceress'' eyes rolled back. "Too hasty, that''s inexperience for you¡ª"

    A semi-dome Void Shield sprang into place. The girl wasn''t out of commission yet.

    "What? How is she¡ª"

    "SHUT UP!" Auberon snapped. "Keep the instruments attuned! What''s she saying?"

    The Eye of Providence attempted and failed to penetrate the Void barrier, though it was capable of picking up the subtle vibrations on its surface.

    "Turn up the volume." Auberon furrowed his brows.

    "¡­vee¡­ ve¡­"

    "What is that?" A Proctor found the glyph to clarify sonic projections. "I think it''s a ritual of sorts."

    The chant grew clearer.

    "Evee¡­Evee Evee Evee EVEE¡­"

    The proctors fell silent, not only because of the nonsensical mantra but also because of the planar tear that had just appeared atop Gwen Song''s Void Shield. Soundlessly, the slit opened; an all-consuming eye staring into the Material Realm.

    "SHAA! SHAA!" came a horrid screech that rocked the barracks, splitting their ears, announcing the arrival of imminent oblivion.

    Inti wished Tica was here with him.

    Whenever he felt down or that the burden of the kingdom was too much, her soft voice and wise advice comforted him. Now that she was away, he began to realise just how much he missed and needed his better half.

    "RADIANT STRIKE!" Inti gestured with his right while his left hand dextrously completed the necessary incantations.

    When the Rite of Dusk and Dawn activated, the prince of Cuzco had received the collated Faith the temple had gathered within its mystical circuits. His only regret was that after so long, the Rite''s energies were long exhausted.

    The disaster thus far had been one serendipitous event after another. If Cuzco hadn''t been ambushed; if Kusi hadn''t lost control of her Undead; if it weren''t the full moon; then he would have never activated the Temple of Mama Killa.

    Just as well, when his companions had been overwhelmed, what Inti felt wasn''t regret, but relief.

    Relief that he was alone.

    Relief that he was no longer responsible for their safety.

    Relief that his decisions were finally his own.

    "Solar Blast!" Inti carefully portioned his mana, using just enough to keep the Hags stunned and on the defensive. When Gwen made good on her word to rescue Musi, Inti extended his artillery support, hammering down the Undead slave so that her aberrant dogs succeeded in their monstrous labour.

    Soon, the Soul Eater perished.

    Inti felt a moment of exhilaration.

    Was it strange that he preferred working with Fudan? There was great satisfaction when objective, action, and skill fitted like a well-cut puzzle. From his vantage, Gwen''s Dimension Doors were easy to follow, for her lightning novas made her whereabouts self-evident. When furthermore the sorceress unleashed a torrent of lightning to encircle the Hags, Inti matched her spell for spell.

    "ARRRGH!" the girl unexpectedly reeled, falling to the floor.

    A curse! Inti swore. Lacking the ability to read magic, he could only predict the Hags'' actions based on their body language. In that regard, the creatures'' low cunning had deceived them all.

    He must save her! An urgentdesireflashed throughInti''s mind, though before he could move,a cynical voiceinterceded. Guiltily, Inti wondered if the Void Sorceress''s loss meant that his team could still win in the competition. After all, between Kusi and himself, they had subjugated almost a thousand Harpies.

    Below, a Void Shield sprang up where the girl had stood.

    She didn''t need his help.

    Paying no heed to Inti''s dilemma, a slit opened mid-air, filling the cavern with an aura of vertigo.

    Soundlessly, the Void vomited forth a fiend more terrible than Amaru itself.

    Inti shuddered, realising that he would never want to be the girl''s enemy, not now, not ever, not so long as her sweet body drew breath.

    The proctors fell into a dumb silence.

    A faceless head emerged, bullet-shaped and armoured in transparent obsidian, beneath which a writhing mass of tentacles was just visible.

    Soon, a second phallic appendage emerged.

    Then a third.

    And a fourth.

    A fifth.

    The violence in the cavern slowed as all eyes fell upon the emerging beast. Even partially emerged, the fiend''s aura was enough to drain the choler from the frenzied combatants.

    "SHAA!"

    The final head emerged, totalling six as it made a sound like the tearing silk.

    A bulbous, elongated body followed; legless so that the faceless Naga resembled a fat slug, its semi-transparent torso filled with alien, irrelevant organs. It''s rear followed after what seemed an eternity, stretching the creature twenty meters from tip to tail.

    "SHAA! SHAA!" The leadinghead split open, revealing a dozen lamprey-lipped tentacles, tasting the air for prey.

    "SHAA! SHAA! SHAA! SHAA!" The others quickly followed, their faces splitting from bullet-head to neck-shaft so that when it once again began to slither, the Void Naga resembled a roving, ravenous mass of malicious mouths.

    The first Troll to make a move was a Brutaliser. Hoisting its shield and club, it charged the mass of tentacles, diving into a sea of lamprey-lips.

    SQUELCH!

    The massive Troll succeeded in penetrating the Naga-slug''s armour, crushing the smooth obsidian as it barrelled into Caliban''s side.

    Two hundred kilometres from the site of the fiend''s manifestation, Auberon felt a chill.

    "Gulelush! Gulelush gloguth! Glogother!" the seemingly indestructible Troll howled, its body language suddenly terrified.

    Where the Troll had made a man-sized wound in Caliban''s flank, two dozen thigh-thick intestines came to life. With a sick sibilance of squirming and slithering, the tentacles enveloped the howling brute, resembling a mass of pallid worms.

    Back in the proctor''s barracks, the reticence was punctuated only by the whining emitted by Divi-engines. The Brutaliser''s skin was dense, its armour formed of hardened hide, but even so, the Troll possessed many orifices that did not enjoy the protection of its ritually enhanced body.

    Behind the first, the second Brutaliser dropped its shield. From its expression, the proctors witnessed that a hysterical madness had snapped its sanity.

    "Ulubag!" the giant turned from the writhing mass of hunger, then fled toward some distant corner, crushing fellow Trolls and Wildland fauna alike.

    TSSS!

    The prince of Cuzco took the opportunity to strike the Hags again, stunning them even as Caliban approached.

    By now, Gwen''s dogs appeared to have recovered as well. The Lightning hounds guarded their mistress while the Void hounds, having finished the Soul Eater, closed in from all sides.

    Auberon checked the secondary projection centred on Fudan''s Ace. Despite the spectacle, her biometrics indicated a semi-conscious delirium. He frowned. If the girl was senseless, how was she controlling her Familiars?

    Meanwhile, the bare-breasted Hags shrugged off the spells wearing away at their blood-caked hides, even now smoking with Inti''s holy fire and Gwen''s punishing lightning.

    The Arch-Hag muttered, then raised both hands in the air. A visible source of vitality suffused the Hag''s body as she drained the life from her fleeing bodyguard. Her wounds instantly healed, as did that of her companion. Like an epidemic, the vital energy spread from Troll to Troll, dispensing her blessing to her followers, restoring and reinvigorating her kin.

    Not far, the Troll Chieftain tore away a massive green-iron blade embedded in its navel. Now invigorated, it caught its Sword Mage assailant by surprise, walloping her across the torso. Though the Chieftain broke its club in the process, the riposte was enough to send Lulan across the room to crater the granite.

    "ULOAR!" The Chieftain''s bulk doubled. The bark armour it wore seemed to grow as well, enveloping the Troll leader''s body.

    "Glogzag dol-in, dol-ilrag ushhesuth guntruders! Guoum Kernunno!"

    "ULOAR!" The surviving Warriors, their bodies wet with gore, raised their weapons. "Kernunno! Kernunno! Kernunno!"

    The Warband had been riled up.

    "Sir¡­" a young Magus chose this moment to carefully raise an arm, unsure if this was the best time to speak.

    "What is it?" Auberon spoke without moving his eyes.

    "Lord Lucas¡­" the Magus gulped. "Her Wyvern''s back, but it''s not alone."

 Chapter 290 - Battle Royale

    The curse was proving to be most potent.

    Caught in its power, she was sans sight, sans taste, sans smell and sans touch. She couldn''t even orientate herself, tell which way was up.

    "Evee Evee Evee EVEE!"

    But¡ª she could hear herself think, and that was the important thing.

    Compared to her previous affliction, the Arch-Hag''s spell was perfect, for it made Gwen face a prospect she loathed more than any other, her overactive imagination.

    "Just know that curses, illusions and Enchantments aren''t all-powerful," she recalled Petra''s advice. "You can skirt around them through discipline and distraction. The first thing they teach in mental domination is how to resist total incapacitation."

    Discipline wasn''t her forte, but presently, she had distractions plenty.

    Evee... she calmed herself. El-Vee-Ya.

    With a silent word, she activated a Void variant of Gunther''s Shield. Then, calmly absorbing the dogged vitality of the Soul Eater, she let loose Caliban.

    Her feverish mind cooled.

    Her mana conduits grew hot and cold. Despite the induced sensory oblivion of the curse, her empathic links activated.

    "Evee..."

    After that, she connected Link Sight via Ariel.

    A wide-angle vista of her present surroundings came into focus.

    She couldn''t see, but she was no longer senseless. Ariel provided sight through its sky-blue orbs, while Caliban''s mass of feelers gave her more tactile sense than was proper for a mortal woman.

    A few seconds later, the hallucination ramped up its intensity. As anticipated, Elvia''s angelic face appeared, begging for release from torturous agony. Taking Petra''s advice, she instead channelled her misery into happy thoughts.

    Evee awaits in London! Gwen told herself. All I have to do is WIN.

    Her sanity thus preserved, she set to work. First, the guards had to go. The elemental resistance of the Hags was outrageous, while their guards deterred physical attacks.

    "Cali! Get rid of the Brutalisers!"

    As if on command, one of her targets chose suicide by Caliban.

    "Consume!"

    The Brutalisers screamed for sweet death. Caliban burped. The other brute, smarter than the average Troll, turned and fled.

    Ariel took to the air, broadening her view of the battle.

    Seeing herself shielded in a vitality-fed Void egg, Gwen wondered whether she resembled a budget-Sobel. From the sky, she could also see the Hags empowering the horde of Trolls, riling up the crowd to rail against Caliban.

    THUNK!

    WHAM!

    PLAT!

    Thrown weapons crunched against Caliban''s body, making holes the size of sewer covers. A few may have struck her egg, for she felt her vitality fluctuate. Anticipating the payoff from the Brutaliser, however, Gwen welcomed the abuse, hoping that she could dispense enough to keep herself on her feet.

    "SHAA!" Caliban slithered toward the topless Hags.

    The Hag hollered, quickly retreating. The rest of the Trolls converged on her lumbering fiend.

    Thwack!

    THUNK!

    Her semi-dome rippled like an obsidian pudding, consuming both metal and wood, dropping her vitality just a smidgen.

    "Caliban!"

    "SHAAA!"

    A buffet! Her fiend seemed to be saying.

    Still, she should first stun the Hags.

    "Ariel! Barbanginy!"

    Sparks flew, her Kirin lit up the room. An incandescent Lighting Sphere blossomed where the two Hags retreated toward the Chieftain, catching all three within the plasma ball''s expanding circumference.

    With Ariel-VR as her point of view, Gwen marvelled at the sight of her lightning-nova rolling over the Beast Tide in a text-book display of wide-area bombardment.

    "ASTRO! BUCK!"

    Her packs spread out, keeping the Trolls penned as Caliban shot forward like a fat pilum, propelled by its Golos-sized body. Rearing, her Naga''s necks distended, suddenly doubling or tripling in length so that its tentacle shower descended from above.

    TSSSTH!

    A beam of radiance made the Hag stumble.

    The Troll witch screamed just once before it was consumed, despairing as her black blood harmlessly slid from Caliban''s carapace. The second faired a little longer, for the Troll Chieftain had reached its side.

    PANG!

    PANG!

    PUNG!

    TSSS!

    Three heart-seekers from Lulan, now freed from her melee against the trolls, knocked the Chieftain aside, the first catching the giant in the thigh, then the second in its shield and the third against the side of its armoured head. As a follow-up, a Radiant Glyph turned the Chieftain''s bark-helmet red-hot, filling the air with the stink of sizzling flesh.

    Caught off-balance, the Chieftain stumbled just enough so that Caliban''s trajectory remained true. Its lamprey-tongues descended from above, swallowing the Arch-Hag in a shower of pink-tentacles, drowning the maleficient caster in a torrent of corrosive, void-tinged goo.

    Caliban''s remaining heads turned to face the Chieftain.

    The Troll leader visibly gulped. Gwen wondered if Trolls could sweat, for the Chieftain was drenched enough to slip from its armour and make a run for it.

    "SHAA! SHAA! SHAA!" Caliban''s happy heads hissed in tandem as two gravid bulbs, kicking amidst futile bouts of necrotic energy, travelled down its serpentine necks toward its torso.

    Even armoured, Gwen could see that the Chieftain fought an intense inner-battle.

    Ah, the problem with sapience, Gwen empathised with the beast. Cognisance brought all kinds of troubles, like hopeless despair.

    If the Chieftain had been a mindless beast; if it could rage against Caliban until its blood ran dry, then she may very well suffer a pyrrhic victory. But now, the Troll''s leader feared its indomitable foe, not only impacting the morale of its clanmates but dooming them to become Void fodder.

    Caliban swallowed its prey.

    Evee''s crying face faded.

    Gwen''s soul returned to her body.

    Within the recess of her Void Shield, there was no exterior source of light. What little illumination she possessed came from the Ioun Stones and the concentric rings of electricity shed by her cobalt irises.

    "Shaa!" Caliban''s belly rumbled.

    "EE!"

    "Grruuugn!"

    "Woof, Woof!"

    Her menagerie welcomed the return of their mistress. A Wyvern was missing, but that was an absence she would address in time.

    Gingerly, aided by her barrier, Gwen rose from the cold granite floor.

    "Cali, everyone, good work," she commended her minions. "Let''s finish up."

    She had at best a few minutes before the combined assault from a Brutaliser and two Essence-infused Hags saturated her physical and Astral Body. One was a substitute for Nephres, three would surely blow her top.

    "Tei. Keep everyone behind the barrier. When my Swarm starts, you''re going to be swarmed."

    "Will do," Tei''s voice returned from her Message bangle. "Welcome back, Vice-Captain."

    "Thanks, Cap. Pats, I may need a modesty barrier if my shield fails."

    "Got it covered," Petra replied.

    "Lulu, are you alright?" Gwen had seen Lulan''s incapacitation through her Ariel Vision.

    "Nothing''s broken." Lulan''s raspy voice was like sandpaper. "Leave the Chieftain to me. I want its head."

    "Alright, take care," Gwen relayed Lulu''s desire to Caliban.

    "Inti." She then switched channels. "I am going to use Void Swarm to finish things, how''s it looking on your end?"

    "The Hags are dealt with?" Inti''s tone quickly regained its usual calm. "Thank the sun for that. The Beast Tide is stemming, as far as I can see. I''ll be able to manage my end from here."

    "Good work and great news." Gwen thanked her lucky stars. "Looks like we''re almost home free."

    "Indeed." The prince wasn''t very good at hiding his emotions. "Thank you for staying with us. Miss Song, had you not been here, we would have been wiped out and disgraced, in our own country, no less."

    "No worries, bud," Gwen chuckled. "It was the right thing to do."

    "Gwen," Inti''s reply was rich with gratitude. "You are a better person than I."

    "Aww, chin up." Gwen hung the call, then prepared herself. As of now, she could sense the latent vitality in Caliban''s engorged body. In the next minute, when the South China sea flooded her Tonglv, she wouldn''t want to be without a proverbial release valve. "Okay, I am starting."

    Her hands made the necessary somatic gestures taught to her by Henry and improved by Petra''s Master. Her lips dextrously formulated the incantations, biting each arcane syllable with precision. Opening her conduits and allowing the flood of Void-tinged mana to course through her body, she willed into place the tiny portals that connected the Quasi-Elemental Plane of the Void and the material world.

    "Shaa¡ªShaa¡ªaa¡ªShaa¡­"

    "SHAA! SHAA!" Caliban exalted as its brethren joined the fray.

    Through Ariel, Gwen watched her performance.

    Below, in an enclosed cavern boiling over with beasts and demi-humans, a dark egg of Void gave birth to an endless multitude of slithering lampreys, migrating from the spherical locus in an all-consuming, ever-hungry tide.

    As though shifting schools of baitfish, the Magical Creatures trapped within the cavern fled the advancing swarm of slithering mouths. Trolls scrambled past anacondas and hogs to climb at the walls. Lesser creatures sought out higher ground, seeking to escape the glistening, slimy, insatiable shoal.

    Fudan''s Mages kept at their posts, drinking mana potions, burning Fudas and spell cubes as wave upon waves of desperate things crashed against their barrier. Monsters and animals numberless and many-limbed, snarling with fury or mad with terror, fell into the lava moat, got caught between the Walls of Fire and Water, or tangled themselves in Dust Tendrils.

    While Caliban stood guard, understanding that further action on its part would only complicate its mistress'' plans, Gwen''s hounds pursued the Chieftain, directing its escape so that it fled toward the tunnel from which Fudan had arrived.

    And at its destination, an iron-clad maiden awaited with her dancing swords, bruised and battered but undefeated, thirsty for its green blood.

    Gwen rejoiced, expending her influx of vitality. It was a moment worthy of exaltation, for she did not doubt that after a public display such as this, she would have proven to the world her control over the Void.

    "!"

    Her Divination tinged, registering a five on the Mayuree meter.

    A bone-chilling cold held her hostage. Gwen wanted to act but was held in place by her channelling of the Void Swarm.

    "CALAMITY!"

    Gwen''s Conjuration Sigil pulsed.

    "CALAMITY!" Golos'' bark was worse than an air siren. "HELP!"

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    Outside the shadowy silhouette of the temple, Hardin Smith dumbly recorded the proceeding, numbed by the events.

    With a record of Inti''s survival in hand, he was safe from demotion.

    Any superior who wasn''t an idiot could see that the Void Sorceress and her six-prong slug was a solid alibi. Potentially, the unedited, uncut, first-hand account may even earn Hardin a reward, assuming the data reached the right hands.

    Hardin wasn''t a vain man, nor was he one to be hung on failure.

    Shit happened, and it should come as no surprise when it hit the fan in a place like Amazonia; especially when a bona fide Void sorceress was involved.

    After all, it wasn''t as though Hardin hadn''t performed to his usual standard. He had scouted the region for Amaru, recovered relics for his clients and even secured a second temple. Then, he had planted Resonators, disabled the Necromancer''s monsters, and triggered a faux Beast Tide - all the while remaining undetected.

    If there was another operator in Dark Water who could perform better, Hardin was happy to apprentice under the man or woman for a year.

    Hardin sighed; either way, with the Troll-eater rampaging below, he was done.

    It was time to leave.

    "KAAK! KA-KAAA!"

    "KAA!"

    "KAA-KAAK!"

    "CALAMITY! LETOCOLO!!"

    A trio of crow-cries, interceded by what sounded like Draconic, drew his goggles toward the sky.

    Hardin''s jaws dropped as the spectacle above unfolded.

    A Thunder Wyvern¡ª Fudan''s Wyvern, was rapidly descending from the moonlit sky in the manner of a silvery-dark comet.

    The silvery "tail" of the comet consisted of the Wyvern itself, its wings folded and its clubbed tail whipping the wind. The black "head" portion of the comet was, to Hardin''s renewed capacity for surprise, one of those human-faced birds from the Wall of Wood the locals called "the Ancients". While falling with style, the Guardian''s distended jaws latched around the Wyvern''s breast, a terrible choice for the fact that the armour there was the thickest. Despite a lame wing flapping at the joint, the bird''s hand-claws scraped at the Wyvern''s belly, making a mess of the lizard''s undersides.

    Hardin counted the seconds it took for the duo to strike the top of the temple, where a hole had prior been made by the Beast Tide.

    CRASH!

    The top-most portion collapsed from the collision, falling through the Sanctum of the Sun into the Moon Sanctum''s midst.

    "KAAK!"

    "KAA-KAA!!"

    Turning in a gyre, the second Ancient swooped in, sleek as a bolt.

    The third was intercepted by a blast of sunlight, sending it crashing into the interior.

    Hardin''s heart fluttered with hope. Was this Inti''s Blessing or what?

    Adjusting his Scrying device, Hardin charged up his optic camouflage, then detached from the tree, transforming into a wisp of wind as he made for the entrance. Right now, Cuzco''s idiot prince was helping Fudan fight the big birds!

    Glyphs glowed, then faded from view.

    Hardin''s suit whirled into action, activating a suite of enchantments designed for obfuscation. He had one chance, one strike¡ª then no matter the result, he was home free.

    Inti counted the monsters by his side, most of which, by his standards, where harmless critters forming the bottom half of Amazonia''s food chain. Having promised Gwen that he would stem the tide, he had kept up Radiant Blast until the stench of smoking flesh smothered the sanctum.

    "KAAK!"

    "KAA! KAA!"

    Came the sound of strange cries from above.

    Harpies? Inti wondered, or overlarge crows or condors, both of which were common in the Andes.

    "CALAMITY! LETOCOLO!!"

    The voice that boomed against the temple was familiar to Inti. He could make out the first nonsensical word, but what was the other? "Let go?"

    His confusion lasted a second, for the mounting repression from Golo''s Dragon-fear told Inti the drake was rapidly descending toward the temple.

    Inti readied a Blink.

    CRASH!

    The ancient, inter-slotted stonework that held the temple''s uppermost tier exploded, showering the combatants below with yet more crushing debris. Among the chaos was Golos, a blaze of lightning, while held in its claws was the strangest bird Inti had ever seen.

    "Kaak!" The avian coughed up lungfuls of blood, painting Golos half-way crimson. From what Inti could make out, the aberrant bird had a human face on a condor''s body. Grotesquely, its feet were human hands tipped with scimitar-like claws.

    A thunderous fulmination engendered, then the two struck the chaotic pool of combat below, landing not far from where Gwen had constructed a dark egg of sorts, splashing into a river of obsidian lampreys.

    "LOREAT!" Golos barked, blasting the thing in the face with a breath of pure plasma, causing one of its eyes to boil in its socket. Exultant, Golos caught the creature in its jaws, then with a great tug, ripped out its oesophagus¡ª tubes, vessels, ligaments and all.

    "OPSOLA! Si tepoha authot coi!" Golos howled, blasting stabs of lighting all over. "ROAR!"

    Below its claws, a river of eels washed over Golos'' still-quivering prey.

    "KAA¡ªKAAK!"

    A dark shadow descended, reminding Inti of his promise to Gwen¡ª that he would hinder the tide of creatures coming in so that she could finish up below. Two birds were excessive, but one wasn''t an impossible task.

    "Sol Strike!" Inti waited for the last beast to dive before he directed a spell to turn its trajectory. Unlike the first two, this one was smaller and possessed a feminine profile, appearing as the weakest of the three.

    "KAAA!"

    Inti''s aim stayed true, for his Radiant magic had little if no travel time, always landing precisely where its caster aimed.

    "Come! Foul beast!" Inti rose into the air, engaging his faith-empowered flight. "By the Sun, let me be your opponent."

    "Kaak!" His challenger emerged from the rubble, its face a mask of unadulterated fury. Like its larger counterpart, the gentler specimen was an ugly thing, possessed of sharp and angular features that resembled a Hag''s. From the side, the fiend''s hooked nose appeared cruel like that of a beak, while its snarling lips revealed rows of dagger-teeth yellow with tartar.

    "Radiant Bolt!" Inti opened with his quickest skill to gauge the bird''s resistance. As a general rule, higher-tier creatures possessed various forms of quasi-immunity, some more explicit than others. Radiance, for instance, worked well against Negative beings like the Undead, as well as Water and Ice Elementals. Against variations of Earth, however, as well as things wrought of fire, his firepower waned.

    The bird retaliated, but not before its face broke out in boils.

    ¡°KEEEEEAAAAAAAAK¡ª!!!¡±

    Inti hadn''t anticipated a sonic-attack.

    As the sound struck, the interior of the sanctum resonated with the creature''s wails, catching him unaware and off-balance.

    "Shield of Faith!" Inti instantly erected a semi-rigid barrier imbued with golden strands of faith-infused mana. He quickly recovered even as visible cracks spread from the base of his wall.

    Like a stalking raptor, the bird lowered its head and began to charge.

    Inti fortified his conduits with a surge of mana, taking advantage of the hyper-clarity conveyed by the Potion of Heroism. While the potion was active, he wouldn''t panic, and all feelings of fear and danger dulled.

    The prince of Cuzco waited until he could smell the bird''s foulness before Blinking behind his assailant.

    "Radiant Strike!"

    A sizzling array of dancing lights toasted its crow-black feathers. When the spell ceased, the prince was dismayed to find that the beast remained unscathed.

    "Just the face, huh?" Inti muttered to himself, readying a follow-up.

    Sure enough, the creature turned, leading another attack with its head. Unfazed, Inti kited the thing around the spacious room, watching it kick and trip over the corpses filling the sanctum, wondering how Fudan was fairing with their alpha-specimen.

    "That Wyvern is the most counter-productive Ally I have ever seen," Auberon critiqued sullenly. "It''s inefficiency is such that I want to deduct CCs from Fudan for the simple fact of possessing such a useless thing."

    "It just slew one of the dragon-eating birds, Auberon," a Magister pointed out. "That''s plenty impressive to me."

    "It LED the Dragon-eaters to Fudan''s party!" Auberon ground his teeth. "It brought THREE enemies that are at least its match, into an IIUC match, while its owner was incapacitated and may very well still be incapacitated! The match was almost over! Finished!"

    "Inti appears to be doing well." A Magus'' fingers danced across the instruments. "Maybe the birds are not that strong?"

    "Lord knows how strong they are." Auberon watched the screen with a complicated expression. "They haven''t existed in Europe since forever."

    "The Chinese say that the last one perished in a stew."

    "A what?" Auberon turned to the cheeky Magus.

    "A stew, sir." The Magus sweated. "In popular legend, the Yellow Emperor cooked the last Big Bird in a big pot, then he and his dragon-allies ate it. That would have been at least two-and-a-half thousand years ago. Maybe when this is all over, we can cook one ourselves."

    "And follow the footsteps of Meister Darwin," another Magister joked. "Sir Darwin never catalogued a single Magical Creature without tasting it first."

    A few of the proctors laughed to break the tension. Initially, with the Beast Tide receding, the atmosphere had relaxed¡ª but then Golos had arrived, bringing its crow-black omen.

    Auberon grunted.

    "Lucy, what''s the ETA on Cuzco''s Mages?"

    "Ten minutes, sir. They passed Amazonia''s teleportation circle a few minutes ago."

    "How many?"

    "Two Flights, Ten military Mages, one Magister."

    "Which one?"

    "Magister Orccosupa, he is the Security Chief overseeing Lima."

    Auberon nodded. It wasn''t anyone he knew personally.

    "The Sapa''s forces are another thirty-minutes out. There''s four flights, Twenty Mages, one Magister. Magistrate Huaman Yupanqui leads them."

    "Tica''s father?" Inti raised a brow.

    "Yessir."

    "And what of Amaru Paullu-Yupanqui?" Auberon asked after the Tower Master.

    "He says he is tending to the wounded students."

    "SIR!" The Magus overseeing Inti projected his screen without permission. "It''s happening again! The intruder is here!"

    Overhead, the vid-cast showed Inti tussling with a female bird-thing. Having sustained significant injuries to its face, it was hopping mad as it fought the prince of Cuzco.

    "There!" the Magus pointed to the screen where the spectrometry for Illusion shot to tier 6.

    In the next moment, Inti fired off a spell that connected with the wall, fumbling the spell entirely. Not one to miss an opportunity, the dragon-eater caught the prince by the right arm, grabbing Inti by the shoulder.

    Inti blinked, looking surprised, then screamed blue murder as blunt, yellow incisors cut into his flesh.

    "BLOODY HELL!" Auberon swore. Inti was done. The boy''s ring would soon activate. "FIND THAT SIGNAL!"

    The chief proctor looked to the diagnostic screen, then paused when the familiar burst of quicksilver failed to materialise.

    "Why isn''t his Contingency activating?" Auberon knitted his brows as Inti howled, fastened between the monster''s sadistic lips as it tossed him like a lettuce leaf. With evident cunning, the bird rotated its head like that of an owl, severing Inti''s arm. "Jesus! What the hell is happening?"

    Inti slammed against the wall, sending a cascade of tiles to descend upon his mangled body.

    In the bird''s mouth, the Contingency Ring activated.

    "It sent back the arm?" Auberon spluttered. "THE FUCKING ARM?!"

    A Magister winced. "Poor bugger. I rather liked the boy."

    "His vitals are falling fast!" The Magus in charge of Inti hammered on the reading. "Sir! Can we help¡ª"

    Auberon shut the Magus with a gesture, his mind furiously filtering the potential outcomes. There was a play here, one only the chief proctor could make. Follow the competition''s rules? Or to act in the Mageocracy''s best interest? A wrong move meant Auberon would lose his accreditation, but with the right outcome, even an out-and-out violation was lauded as wisdom. Auberon glanced at the other screens, watching Fudan''s Mages. Golos had brought the birds, meaning its owner was to blame. "Magus Evans, patch me to Fudan''s sorceress."

    "Done."

    Though it would count against neutrality, Auberon persisted in hijacking the Panopticon Glyph inscribed upon the contestant''s Astral Souls.

    "Gwen Song," the chief proctor spoke quickly and calmly, leaving the choice to the girl. "Inti is on the upper level and near death. You''ve got ten seconds until he''s bird feed."

    "Wha¡ª" came the confused reply.

    Auberon closed the circuit. Any more interference would bring the competition''s vigour into question.

    "Sir." The Magus staring at Inti''s fading vitals retrieved a Long-Range Message device from beside the Divi-Engine. "Cuzco''s Tower Master wants to know why Inti''s arm just teleported into his medical bay."

    Golos landed with his prey in a pool of Gwen''s lampreys, sending two dozen of her fattest specimens back into the Void.

    Gwen winced, but that was fine. She had resources to burn and countless worms to spawn. When the vitality had knotted her innards, filling her with nauseating pleasure, she had instantly popped out some five-hundred eels. The Hags weren''t anything to scoff at either, generating at least a thousand between the two. Now, she waited for the lampreys to feast, self-multiplying as the temple cleared.

    Her mind, in spite of eye-rolling waves of orgiastic pleasure, had retained control¡ª until the moment she recognised what Golos had caught.

    A Da-Peng?! Within the recess of her Void egg, Gwen rioted.

    Ten thousand llamas danced across the foothills of her dopamine-mad brain, blowing on Peruvian pan-flutes.

    "GOLOS! YOU DRACONIC-TARD!" she sprayed her Ally from crown to tail. "For fuck''s sake, why are you doing this?! We''re almost done! Some of us are fucking OoM! And you bring us a bloody Da-Peng?"

    The Wyvern responded by maiming the screeching Da-Peng in a fantastic display of ultraviolence, making such a show of the kill that she wondered if an announcement-banner with "When Dragons Ruled the Earth!" was about to flutter from the ceiling amidst a sudden fanfare of trumpets.

    Gurgling blood, the Da-Peng expired.

    Gwen felt an unmentionable part of her anatomy unclench.

    Refocusing her mind, she willed the black river toward the fallen Da-peng, ensuring that its vitality didn''t go to waste. Grudgingly she acknowledged that at least the Wyvern wiped its arse.

    "KAAK!"

    As if in mockery, the silhouetted shape of a condor blotted out the scarlet moonlight.

    Still borrowing Ariel''s eyes, she saw a second Da-Peng enter the fray, bigger and meaner than the first, its expression leaving no doubt as to its inclination for violence. Surveying the interior, the bird turned its attention toward the hissing Caliban.

    "Golos, you piece of shit!" Gwen''s ire re-ignited, she was so upset that her breathing grew ragged. "You flying turd!"

    "Kaa! KA¡ª!"

    A third Da-Peng attempted entry, only to be intercepted by a blast of radiance to the face.

    "Inti, you beauty!" Gwen exalted, wishing she could summon Inti as a Planar Ally for five grand a pop. "Be careful!"

    "Gwen, leave the Swarm and get back here!" Tei grew paranoid. They had all seen what the Da-Peng could do from their last bout. No matter the rigidity of her Void Shield, a good squeeze may very well turn her into Gwen-pat¨¦.

    "We''ll use the same tactic!" Petra''s voice followed. "Get it within twenty meters of us, and we''ll disable it with Bilby. Lulu should be done with the Chieftain soon!"

    "WOOF! WOOF!" Her hounds bayed at the flying beast, knowing they were out-matched.

    "KAAA¡ªAAAK!" Perhaps it was the vitality Caliban possessed, or its draconic-essence, or its serpentine form, or the fact that six heads were screaming "Shaa-Shaa!" the Da-Peng descended on her Familiar.

    "Cali! Consume!" Gwen concurrently willed the swarm to move toward the Da-Peng. If they could keep it pinned and immobile, her lampreys may also suffice.

    About ten meters from Caliban''s coiled body, the Da-Peng suddenly changed trajectories. Instead of diving into Caliban, it swooped upwards.

    Caliban followed, its serpentine necks swimming upwards to catch its ascending prey.

    "KAK!"

    A burst of mana blew from the Da-Peng''s wings. Within the space of a few meters, the buffeting gale turned into a mass of scything feathers.

    "SHAA!" Caliban reeled, torn open by a thousand cuts. In the blink of an eye, the bird''s assault de-gloved Caliban''s exterior armour.

    "CALI!?" Gwen was in shock, both from the vitality her pet demanded to repair itself and the fact that her Familiar had been pushed back by a single ability. "Shit! Dodge!"

    Caliban turned its bleeding body even as the Da-Peng wheeled around to strike at its side. In its Naga form, Caliban''s agility couldn''t hope to match an Elemental beast of Air.

    "KAAA!" The Big Bird made its first pass, its fingered claws grasping at Caliban''s pliant, sluggish body.

    "SHAA!" Caliban didn''t feel pain, but it''s master did, vividly so when linked through their empathic bond. In one strike, the Da-Peng had snatched up a portion of Caliban''s flesh, crushing two fistfuls of writhing flesh. After it passed, Caliban''s sleek form became unmistakably mangled, bleeding grey goo and vomiting the odd tentacle, appearing as though an obscene fountain.

    "EE! EE!" Ariel demanded to be let loose, but Gwen held her Kirin back.

    "We''re going to Tei''s!" she recalled Petra''s advise. "Cali! Use your¡ª"

    DING!

    A Message spell of the highest tier played itself against her ears.

    "Auberon?"

    "Gwen Song." The chief proctor''s voice came across without emotion. "Inti is on the upper level and near death. You''ve got ten seconds until he''s bird feed."

    Gwen spluttered. "Wha¡ª"

    The Message died.

    The Da-Peng circled, returning to ''finish'' Caliban.

    "Gwen! Get back in here!" Her teammates'' voices hollered in her ear. "It''s coming!"

    Gwen dispelled her Void Shield.

    Her Essence-infused eyes searched the sanctum above.

    A Da-peng stalked within, cackling cruelly at an unseen victim.

    Now, she had a choice to make, and a split-second with which to make it.

 Chapter 291 - The Hands of Victory

    "Dimension Door!"

    Gwen made the call.

    Under less urgent circumstances, she would have given the matter some pause, consulted her teammates, reached a consensus, but now she could only go with her gut feelings. Auberon''s invitation was akin to putting Inti in front of a freight train, and either she pulled him out of the way, or she could wait to wipe his blood from her face. Though Golos brought the Da-Peng, she was the one arrogant enough to utilise Golos in the match, even knowing the Wyvern was slow in the head. Likewise, whatever Auberon''s intentions, she sensed no reason for malice, least of all under the Eye of Providence.

    "HOLY SHIT!" Her eyes widened when she materialised to find the prince looking like a torn-up ragdoll. An inch away from Inti, a female-faced Da-Peng prodded at his lolling head with a blistered tongue, lapping up the prince''s royal blood.

    Her hands blurred.

    BUNG!

    BUNG!

    BUNG!

    A series of Flashbangs went off an inch from the Da-Peng''s head, reinforced by a screeching Ariel, jarring its brain with shockwaves of light and sound.

    "Dimension Door!"

    The Da-Peng reeled; while the bird shook its head confusedly, Gwen picked up Inti''s still-warm body, an arm under his limp legs and another around his mangled shoulder.

    "KAAA!" Sensing Gwen''s presence through the vibrations in the air, her foe lashed out in all directions with both wings. Before she could duck, the equivalent of a steel bar took her across the posterior.

    Agony ripped through Gwen''s lumbar as her ribs squeaked. To her miscalculation, the Da-Peng wasn''t stunned, but now the same couldn''t be said of herself.

    Inti shuddered as they struck the muralson the wall. From the prince''s mangled stump, fresh gouts of arterial blood poured over her hands.

    "Shield!" Gwen erected her barrier a split-second before a massive hand-foot performed a follow-up strike.

    Even with the reinforcement from her new Ioun Stone, her double-glazed barrier proved insufficient, turning instantly opaque. Sensingthe force push against her body, she knelt over Inti to avoid crushing his limp body.

    "!" Her Divination Sigil fired needlessly asGunther''s lauded signature-shield shattered.

    The Da-Peng continued its offensive, aiming for a length of her leg. Foul phlegm splattered across herShen-tei armour as itsfemale-face darted forward with aprehensile tongue poised like a putrid spear.

    Dizzy from the blow, Gwen could rely only on her reflex. Fuelled by bothEssence and adrenaline, she dodged the bite, lifting her leg so that she appeared to perform a ballet-split¡ª then dropped her heel with an axe-kick.

    This time, it was the Da-Peng who miscalculated. Her boot heel connected with the avian''s nose, deforming the soft-cartilage and smashing the appendage back into its skull. With a violent snap, the creature locked its jaws.

    "KA¡ª!"

    A fountain of foul iron expelled from the bird''s battered face, painting Gwen from head to crotch. A split-second later, a severed tongue slapped her across the thighs.

    "EE!" Ariel swiped at the howling bird-beast.

    "Tei, Pats! Get ready!" Gwen pushed past therevulsion, then with Inti gore-clad and cradled in her arms, she activated her Dimension Door, taking the prince and her Familiar below.

    Hardin slinked from the sanctum, his passage subtler than a water ghost pissing in the murk.

    A consummate professional, he had stayed until the moment the Prince lost his arm, waiting until the Da-Peng was toying with its prey to make his escape.

    In his opinion, it was a shame that Inti had to die, especially considering that the Radiant bloodline could potentially access un-looted temples. But, as Mister Price might say, "Better no one wins than the company not receiving its due."

    Unconsciously, he tapped his Storage Ring.

    This time, his task had been a long and arduous one. Thankfully, when Hardin returned to civilisation, it would be in the company of fine wine and finer women.

    Hastening his descent, the former marine dove freely into the forest''s depth, fading into the emerald sea.

    "Cyka Blyat!"

    Petra almost dropped her spell cube when Gwen re-materialised a second later, bloodier than the Countess of Bathory.

    "Not mine." Their sorceress promptly deposited Inti so that he laid flat on the floor against the barrier''s interior. "Pats, he needs help."

    "Wocao!" Rene erupted with sympathy. "Poor bastard!"

    "Gwen, I can''t heal him like this. We need to take care of the¡ª"

    "CALAMITY! HELP ME!" interrupted the familiar cry of her Wyvern.

    Gwen''s Planar Troublemaker was now duelling the biggest Da-Peng of the lot, and from the looks of their aerial joust, he was losing badly.

    "HOLD ON!" Gwen hollered back without sympathy. "I am saving a life here!"

    "IT''S TEARING ME APART!"

    "TOO BAD! WIPE YOUR ARSE!"

    "¡­ we need a clean wound, else the flesh-stitch isn''t going to take." Petra coldly ignored the shouting match between master and monster. "The highest heal I''ve got cubed is Mend Flesh at tier 5 and Greater Restoration. That''s Eunae''s limit."

    "Where''s Lulu?" Gwen looked for their Sword Mage.

    "Still fighting the Chieftain in the tunnel." Rene pointed to their prior entrance. "I don''t think we should distract her."

    "I need a clean-cut." Petra drew a line over where Inti''s shoulder began. Presently, the ligaments were a mess, for the girls could see Inti''s scapula buried in the mutilated flesh, while the knobbly end of the humerus hung by a tendon. As for Inti himself, the man was knocking on Ukhu Pacha''s door.

    "I''ll do it." Gwen raised her hand, created the thinnest Chakram she could muster, then severed the mangled portion of Inti''s right shoulder. Now, they must rely on the prowess of Petra''s spell cubes.

    "Mend Flesh!"

    "Restoration!"

    "Cure Wounds"

    "Aid!"

    Not missing a beat, Petra activated four restoratives in the blink of an eye. It was brute-triage; for usually, a specialist utilised the spells through targeted applications.

    CRASH!

    The second Da-Peng burst through the ceiling, angry as anything.

    "EE! EE!" her Kirin yelped, demanding to go toe to toe with the bird. When its master had been assaulted, it couldn''t do anything at all.

    "Ariel, settle down!" Gwen reigned in her creature. Though Ariel could arguably do some damage, she had no desire to see her Familiar crushed and broken then sent back into its pocket dimension for twenty-four hours.

    "Caliban!" Gwen called out to her sturdier Familiar. "Keep it busy¡ª WOA!"

    Golos slid into the barrier wall, cascading fire, water and razor-sharp crystals from his resistant body. The Da-Peng was likewise resistant to Petra''s wards, for the Mineral Mage lacked the affinity of the spells'' original casters.

    "Help me! Leave the mortal!" her Ally barked, reeling from the Da-Peng''s assault. As a whirling tornado of teeth, nail and feathers, the duo crashed against Tei''s wall, taking out a pillar before Golos managed to wrestle the bird away. Hearing Golos'' laments, Gwen''s anger abated. Her last command was telling Golos to wipe his arse, an order he took to heart.

    But the fight wasn''t equally matched. Already, splotches of upturned flesh on Golos'' silvery body indicated places where the Big Bird had "plucked" some scales. Conversely, Golos was having a great deal of trouble penetrating the Da-Peng''s armour-like feathers.

    Nonetheless, Gwen remained preoccupied with her human company.

    "Is he breathing?" Petra stood unsteadily, fighting the spell fatigue.

    Gwen placed a hand against Inti''s nostrils, then rested her head against his heart. Now stripped of his body armour and ceremonial costume, the prince was bare-chest and crudely Prestidigitated. After the healing spells ran their course, his shoulder had knitted into a smooth, fleshy stump.

    Beside Inti lay Musi, unconscious for an entirely different reason. Once restored and out of danger, Petra felt no obligation to cure the girl of her Negative Drain.

    "No." Gwen breathed out, her breathing growing ragged as dread set in.

    "I don''t think more healing is going to help." Petra pointed to the scabs and the polyps forming on Inti''s flesh-stump. "Any more and he is going to need a whole other type of healing."

    "Rene, help me with the barrier," Tei commanded. "Petra, Gwen. We''ve done all we can. Focus on the bird."

    Caliban taunted the second Da-Peng with cries of "Shaa!" and "Shaa!" insulting its whore mother.

    "Gwen?" Petra paused when she realised Gwen wasn''t moving.

    "Pats, I have to perform CPR." Gwen placed a hand on Inti''s chest. "I can revive him."

    "You mean¡­" Petra knew her cousin well enough not to argue. "What you performed back in Burma?"

    Gwen nodded, her lips forming into that familiar, stubborn pout.

    "Then do it!" Tei''s tone strained. "There''s no time to waste."

    CRASH! CRACK!

    Their captain''s conjecture was correct.

    Golos and the Da-Peng were bouncing from wall to wall, shaking room-sized sheets of shale and granite from the cavern and making a general mess of the Moon Sanctum. Caliban enticed the female Da-Peng by menacing it with its six serpent heads, pilfering vitality from the Void Swarm even as the Wildland tide thinned.

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    Gwen wasted no time.

    She divested herself of the cumbersome Mage Armour, likewise stripping off the gloves of her armoured suit. Kneeling beside the unconscious prince, she pinched Inti''s nose, pulled back his head, then delivered two lungfuls of air. Concurrently, she conjured Almudj''s Essence on her tongue, then ran a current of electricity through her hands.

    "Wake up, you Son of a Sun!" She pounded on his chest with her draconic-enhanced strength. "Your country needs you! Tica needs you!"

    Her next breath brimmed with emerald-green Essence. As Inti''s chest inflated, she could feel the renewal filling his bruised organs, sense the nodes of electricity firing away in Inti''s bosom as his body jump-started.

    "Okay!" Gwen brimmed with confidence. It was working.

    Again, their faces met, her pink-petals enveloping Inti''s pasty lips, injecting a concoction of oxygen and Essence. Against her cheek, his mouth twitched; underneath her palm, his diaphragm rose and fell.

    "COUGH!"

    Gwen withdrew as Inti violently expelled blocks of congealed blood all over his chest. Jelled, yellow bile followed, indicating that without her assistance, the prince would have died all over again.

    "Wha¡ª where¡ª Gwen?" The resuscitated prince looked about him, confused by the sudden change of scenery. "The monstrous bird, is it dead?"

    As if heeding Inti''s call, the bird proved itself very much alive.

    "KAAK! KAA! KAA!!!"

    Petra''s crystalline wall shattered.

    Tei''s lost the pillar he had just replaced.

    Inti''s awakening had attracted its undivided attention.

    CRASH!

    "KAAK!"

    Her Wyvern fell from the ceiling, falling into a bed of squirming lampreys.

    "CALAMITY!" Golos'' cry now lacked its prior vigour. Visibly, the princeling of Huangshan was injured from neck to its shin, even the membranes of his webbed wings were wet with gore.

    Above the Wyvern, the Da-Peng lorded over its battered prey with an expression of pure sadism, toying with its defeated foe.

    "BUCK! ASTRO!"

    There was no helping it now; sacrificing her dogs was a strategic necessity. Currently, her lampreys had the critters and the surviving Trolls well under control, meaning the deerhounds'' utility was diminished. As such, rather than waiting for the Void Hound''s slow rate of return or having her mana trickled away by Astro''s pack, it was better to put them to use.

    Gritting her teeth, Gwen ordered her dogs to menace the Big Birds. With one pack defending Golos and the other Tei''s pillars, they could hopefully buy her the time needed for what came next.

    "Aroooo!"

    "Gurrgn!"

    Her hounds were happy to obey.

    "EE EE!" Ariel promised to conserve her faithful canine companions.

    "SHAA!" Caliban had waited patiently for its mistress to finish her task. It had sensed her turmoil, and now it demanded from her more life than she currently possessed.

    "Pats, how many heals do you have left?"

    "Not enough. We''ll have to use supplements."

    It was an assessment to which Gwen concurred.

    In the next moment, she materialised a red wooden box inscribed with ancient Chinese glyphs. Exuding Dragon-fear, she slid back the lid to reveal a quivering root-vegetable. According to Ayxin, five-hundred years of Huangshan''s earthly Essence was stowed in the thing. If taken in excess, she could very well explode from the eruption of vitality.

    "Kii? Kii-kii?" The Spiritual Ginseng, awakened from its long slumber, gazed up at Gwen with its faceless mien. It attempted to move, but her dragon-fear held it in place. "Kii?"

    "Sorry," Gwen apologised. Then, with a mote of Void wrapped around her finger, she removed its right-most root.

    "KII?! KIIIII?!" The ginseng bellowed, betrayed by its owner.

    The box slid shut with a "Click!" activating the sealing Glyph. With a deft hand, Gwen then popped the still-wiggling leg into a porcelain jug housing her favourite rice wine. This way, Ayxin had explained, the mellowed vitality could be absorbed without mangling her mewling mortal organs.

    "I am going to transform Cali, when I do, feed me the heals." Gwen turned to face the birds outside the barrier. Golos was just about done to death. Tei could hold out for a few minutes more. Rene wasn''t OoM but lacked the means to fight high-tier monsters. Petra was also at her limit. Apart from herself, their second-best damage dealer was Lulan. "Lulu? Are you done? We could use some support here."

    "Almost!" Lulan''s laboured voice came across in huffs. "One minute¡ª No, half a minute!"

    "C¡ª GWEN!" Golos howled, ripping enthused lampreys from his armour. "It''s coming back!"

    "SHAA! SHAA!" Caliban urged its mistress to hurry.

    "Allow me to help." Inti attempted to stand. "Sun''s Blessing!"

    A woeful spurt of Positive Energy suffused Gwen''s back.

    "Should have saved it for yourself." Gwen maternally patted the young man''s head before facing the two Da-Pengs, one menacing her Wyvern and the other Fudan''s pillar-barrier.

    "Cali..." Gwen swirled the vitality-infused alcohol, then drank from the draught until the bottle was dry, transforming her pale complexion a vivid scarlet. Thus infused, her eyes grew misty and alluring even as she exhaled the command for their foes'' oblivion. "...BIG BIRD FORM!"

    In her mind, she fought down the vision of an eight-foot-two canary with the ability to skate, dance, swim, sing, write poetry and ride unicycles. Instead, she called upon her Lovecraftian lore.

    Caliban''s Naga-slug body began to bulge.

    "Cure Wounds!" Petra burned her remaining restoratives.

    "SHAAA!" Caliban pulled into the air, tearing through its membranes in the shape of a fist punching through darkly-dyed silk. Rapidly, Caliban''s avian form took shape, expanding to encompass a pair of wings a dozen-meters across.

    Finally, a flying form! Gwen exalted as fire and ice seized her body, with Petra''s warmth roasting her insides even as Negative Energy ravaged her conduits. Fighting the sensation, she broke out in a terrific sweat, realising that Caliban''s new form took a toll far exceeding her one-woman body.

    The male Da-Peng reacted instantly, increasing its velocity as it swooped at Golos. The grounded Wyvern responded by whipping its tail around to meet his descending assailant.

    CRANG!

    Golos possessed the advantage of reach; at the cost of a dozen tail spines, the Da-Peng was forced to land.

    "WOOF! GRRRRR!"

    Gwen''s hounds closed in, latching onto the Da-Peng for dear life. Their fangs, however, proved insufficient in penetrating the bird''s defences.

    "KAAA!"

    The bird lifted into the air. The dogs were flung aside easily, one crashing into the wall, while two were caught as they fell. The lightning hound perished instantly, while the void hound clung on for dear life, biting and snarling while the Da-Peng wrung out its vitality like water from a rag.

    Cackling with glee, the Big Bird righted itself, opening its mouth to mount a sonic-attack.

    "KREEAAAAAA!" The air in front of its human face distorted as though asphalt on a summer''s day.

    "ROAR!" Golos'' dragon-breath proved futile, his line of lightning may as well be lukewarm water from a garden hose.

    "Caliban, hurry!" Gwen willed more of her life into her Familiar, turning her complexion ashen.

    PING!

    KRUNG!

    CLANG!

    PTHUK!

    Four Panzerschreck struck the Da-Peng alpha, three deflected by its hyper-dense feathers, while the last lodged in an old wound. Howling, the Da-Peng hopped through the air, attempting to shake loose the missile.

    "Lulu! Get in here, quick!" Tei called out. Their Abjurer''s stamina was waning. Since the battle''s unexpected beginning, he had successfully defended their position against Trolls, the Tide, and now the Da-Peng, all without ley-lines or mandalas.

    The newly emergent Lulan was covered in welts, cuts and bruises, her tattered armour hanging only by virtue of its limited self-mending property. Gwen winced. Though Lulu suppressed the Iron Heart, the drawbacks of a female using pure ''Yang'' energy remained.

    "DANCE OF IRON!" Lulan shouted, conjuring five slabs of green-iron to her side, her eyes brimming with battle lust. "Monster! I''ll be your opponent!"

    "KAAK!" The male Da-Peng shrieked.

    "KEEE!" The female Da-Peng ignored the dog pack harassing its passage. Instead, it spiralled upwards amidsta bell-beat of wings, crushing a dog in one claw.

    Lulan launched her swords to no avail, for the Da-Peng knew her blades were dangerous. With subtle shifts of its trajectory, it deflected Lulan''s missiles, all the while accelerating with supernatural haste.

    "Caliban!" Gwen huffed, her vibrant voice rising to a crescendo. "Start with the fat one!"

    Auberon and the proctors lurched from one miracle to another.

    Thanks to Burma, they had been inoculated against the possibility that Gwen could bring the newly dead back to life through assisted breathing and chest compressions.

    In truth, Magus Evan had recorded Inti''s vitals as hopeless even before Gwen''s arrival. Already, a few proctors sighed sympathetically at the loss of so great a future Mage, lamenting the loss of human potential.

    A few minutes later, Inti returned, ushering both jubilations from Auberon''s peers as well as sullen silence from those who whispered accusations. Of course, CPR wasn''t Necromancy, Auberon was sure of that, as sure as the silent spectrometer. Seeing it performed, however, was no less unsettling.

    With Inti saved, only two monsters remained. Golos, the incompetent Planar Ally, proved no match for the largest of what Fudan called the Da-Peng, a term another proctor translated as Big Bird. Moments later, the female Da-Peng joined the fray, pushing Fudan against the wall, forcing Gwen to sacrifice her dogs.

    In all honesty, the team had performed well and truly beyond their expected capacity. Now, it was a matter of endurance. If Fudan could hold out for just five more minutes, then two Mage flights would soon be bearing down on the Da-Peng.

    But expecting Gwen Song to stay put was an impossible thing, for the girl then produced a Sapient Plant Spirit.

    "The reading on that thing is off the charts!" the Magister in charge of Gwen Song''s biometrics hammered at her Glyphs, bewildered by the numbers.

    A few of the proctors stood from their seats. Flora Sprites weren''t common cabbage. They only occurred in Black and Purple Zones where the ley-lines were thick, and in most cases, they wereeither eaten by the local monsters or reared by supreme creatures capable of levelling cities.

    "KII!" the Sprite screamed blue murder.

    "What the bollocks?" another proctor paled. "Is she¡­ eating it?"

    "Barbarian!" a second wailed indignantly.

    "If the Elves find out¡­" a particularly well-connected Magister scoffed. "My word, she''s mixing a cocktail!"

    "Did she register the Sprite?" Auberon turned to Lucy.

    "Yessir, its logged as ''five-hundred-year-old Chinese herb for restoring vitality''¡­"

    "¡­" the proctors had no words; since Gwen wasn''t using the Sprite as a Spirit, the girl was in the right.

    "Sir." Gwen Song''s presiding proctor frowned at the spectrometric disco playing across his projection. "Her biometrics are a mess."

    "To be expected, I suppose." Auberon focused on the screen. "Looks like our Naga slug is about to become a butterfly."

    "SHAA! SHAA!"

    Gwen''s Familiar did not disappoint.

    When its tenebrous body finally broke free of the Naga-shell, it measured just under ten meters from faceless tip to tentacled tail. At first glance, the creature appeared as the Void facsimile of a Wyvern, for its faceless head conjoined a distended neck and powerful shoulders with arms forming into a pair of wings. From the waist, however, the similarities ended. Where Golos sported powerful hind-legs, Caliban''s avian form took on the lower half of the Da-Peng. Sensuously, the fiendish avian''s underside sported a pair of six-fingered female hands, pink and flawless with nails of ivory, reminding the proctor of Caliban''s owner. Finally, from behind the Void Fiend''s rear, plumage consisting of a dozen tendrils tasted the air, forming the "tail" of Caliban''s new anatomy.

    "SHAA!"

    The male Da-Peng met its bizarre doppelg?nger in combat. Wings clashed, raining grey goo and fluttering feathers below, indicating that Caliban had replicated a portion of the Da-Peng''s unique physique.

    "What an abomination!" A proctor gagged when Caliban''s hand-limbs flexed.

    It was the strangest sight, for the Da-Peng possessed the hands of a man, while Gwen''s creature was visually a female one. With the two jostling for dominance, their hands met, forming a disembodied spectacle of two lovers with their fingers entwined. This way joined and dancing through the air; the Da-Peng gnawed at Caliban''s neck, leaving dark welts of upturned tissue.

    "Consume!" came a command from its mistress below.

    Caliban''s faceless head, similar to its obsidian serpent form, peeled back to reveal an interior full of tongues, beside which rows of lamprey teeth formed an unending spiral leading into the Void fiend''s maw.

    "SHAA!" Obeying its mistress'' command, her creature tongue-kissed the Da-Peng opposite so that its peel-back face enveloped its opponent''s head.

    The proctors shuddered.

    On another vid-caster, concurrent to Caliban, Fudan''s Sword Mage engaged in close combat. With Sweeps and Strikes, Lulan Li kept the creature at bay even as it snatched at her swords, bending, breaking and crushing her green-iron implements.

    As they fought, the proctor noted that Lulan Li wasn''t just fighting blindly, but slowly leading the creature toward Fudan''s wall.

    Launching and throwing enough blades to equip an army, the battered Sword Mage from Huashan grew slick with sweat until finally, the duo was close enough for the trap to be sprung.

    "Bilby''s Hands!" both Petra and Gwen activated the last big spell they could muster.

    Sensing imminent danger, the Da-Peng attempted to retreat, only to cop a sword to the face, parting its cheeks and missing its remaining eye by an inch. The bird kicked, taking the Sword Mage in the abdomen with a claw-tipped finger, shattering Lulan''s Crystalline Mage Armour.

    Lulan Li faltered, flying back, vomiting blood as she skittered toward the pillar barrier. Thankfully, before she connected with the many-layered walls, a selfless Rene Blinked into place to catch the Sword Mage before she fell into the channel of lava.

    The distraction was enough for the Hands to manifest. With a great clap, Bilby''s supercharged Mage Hands slammed the Da-Peng against the granite floor, with both hands pressing it against the ancient stonework so that it couldn''t gain purchase to free itself.

    "Shaa¡­ shaa¡­ shaa¡­"

    The lamprey swarm approached, having near-eradicated all creatures from the faux Beast Tide.

    Up above, the leading Da-Peng panicked, beating its wings even as Caliban''s deep-throated kiss turned to slow digestion. The struggle continued for a dozen more seconds, their hands below clasped in anguished passion as Caliban''s tentacled tails sought out other weaknesses.

    Finally, the Da-Peng''s wings fell limp. With its meal still attached, Caliban circled the chamber as though parading its kill, then spiralled downwards to land with a thump, displacing a dozen lampreys.

    Not far, Golos groaned, too exhausted to move.

    "My God, it''s over!" A proctor sat back in his chair. "By George! They did it! Incredible!"

    Auberon exhaled, hoping that there would be no more complications.

    "CALI, WAIT! SPIT IT OUT!" came a resounding cry from Gwen Song, filling the proctors'' barracks with her husky voice. "Gogo! If you want to avert my wrath, eat those Big Birds! I want Cores! I want ALL of their Cores!"

 Chapter 292 - The Setting Sun

    "Inti''s bowels!" Magister Sulca Palla-Orccosupa of Lima surveyed the blasted landscape. "By the sun, has Amazonia fallen into Uku Pacha?"

    The emerald sea that had smothered the Inca''s old city now appeared uprooted, exposing the Temple of Mama Killa in the manner of a burst military ration.

    As for the temple structure itself, one side appeared as though buffeted by tornadoes, while Inti''s sun fire baked the other side glass-smooth. On the central ziggurat itself, the capstone had collapsed into the interior, leaving behind what appeared to be an abstract, geometric volcano.

    Sulca calmed himself.

    "Squad One, Squad Two. Assume breach formation. Shaya and Parwa will take point. Alca, what do you see?"

    "¡­" The Diviner took a moment to finish his inspection of the sanctum''s interior. His eyes widened several times; then the man appeared as though he forgot to breathe. "Sir¡­ I think we''re too late."

    "TOO LATE?!" Sulca snapped. "What of Lord Inti?"

    "I mean, we missed the battle," the Diviner apologised.

    The Chief Magistrate of Lima furrowed his brows. Unconsciously, his hand moved for the Message device at his collar.

    DING!

    As if in ambush, a Message bloomed beside the Magister''s ear.

    "¡­ I see. Very well, Lord Magister." Sulca confirmed the new situation twice before turning to his men. "It would appear the team from Fudan has kept the situation under control. Prince Inti has lost an arm, but his life is in no danger. During the match, his Contingency Ring had a malfunction. We are to secure the prince and establish a Teleportation Circle."

    "Inti, injured?!" The team was aghast at the news.

    "Lord Inti''s crippled!"

    "Blasphemy!"

    "Was it Fudan? Did they bring this upon Lord Inti?"

    "Shut it!" Sulca''s tone suppressed the sudden antagonism. "Cuzco''s team entered the Winged Puma''s cave, but couldn''t quell the mother''s anger. You will all show the utmost respect when we get down there. The Void Sorceress saved Master Inti''s life."

    The Mages fell into a self-conscious silence.

    "Team 1 leads, Team 2 follows, keep your eyes peeled."

    In formation, the Mages of Lima entered the sanctum.

    "Apas below!" Sulca was the first to swear. Even with Alca''s warning, he wondered if their present location was indeed Uku Pacha, the underworld, and that they had all flown into Amaru''s belly.

    Behind Sulca, his team likewise let loose with cries of horror and disbelief. Sumi, their healer, threw up in her mouth.

    Sulca fought back the sudden sensation of vertigo. He wasn''t a bumpkin by any means. Heir to a noble family, he had studied abroad in England and North America and gained his accreditation through UC Berkeley. Of all the Magisters in Lima, he was the most experienced and well-travelled.

    Not that it helped him now.

    As the Mage Flight cleared the broken levels leading from one sanctum to the next, bypassing the unveiled structure of the Inca''s glorious past, the reality of the combat that had transpired came into view.

    First, there was the "Swarm".

    Pooled below was a small lake of writhing eels, or what looked like eels, squirming about the floors of the temple, looking for prey that no longer existed. Singularly, the creatures would not have frightened Sulca nor his men, but there appeared to be countless multitudes of them, each with whiskers about their eyeless heads tasting the air even as their glistening bodies squirmed.

    Notably, there was a Kirin, one Sulca had anticipated from the report. Then, there was a Wyvern, also expected, though now the Wyvern was covered from horn to tail in wounds. Presently, the magnificentbrute appeared to be ferreting the carcass of an Ancient Bird from the Wall of the Woods. When the creature''s draconian head emerged to regard the newly arrived Mages, its snout steamed with coagulated bits of entrails.

    "Got the Core yet?" a girl beside the Wyvern peevishly demanded of the creature.

    To Sulca''s surprise, the Wyvern politely nodded.

    Usually, the Magister would have noted the infamous Void sorceress right away, but now his eyes were drawn to the strangest creature he had ever seen seated beside her.

    It was the "Caliban".

    At first, the creature appeared entirely lacklustre. It sat on its hands, demure as anything, jet black and silent like a dark blob. But when Sulca''s eyes focused on the thing once more; he began to notice its uncanny physique, such as the fact that it sat on a pair of hands.

    Human hands.

    Sulca blinked, wondering if his sanity was suffering from the excessive stimuli. When he circulated mana through his eyes, he further noticed that not only were the creature''s feet human hands; they were female. That, and they were six-fingered.

    The Mage flight stopped just above the competitors.

    "Greetings, contestants. I am Sulca Palla-Orccosupa, Overseer and Magistrate of Lima," Sulca introduced himself. "I come on behalf of Magister Amaru Paullu-Yupanqui, Master of the Cuzco Tower."

    Presently, the Void Sorceress and a young man with a dour look approached.

    "Greetings, Magister. I am Tei Bai, Captain of Fudan''s IIUC team. Here is Gwen Song, my Vice-Captain, and these are our teammates. We thank you for your timely assistance, may I ask why you are here?"

    Sulca blinked. Why was he here?

    "I am here to relieve Master Inti¡­" he replied uncertainly. "Cuzco National offered for forfeited when the danger had escalated beyond what the Sapa was willing to accept."

    The girl and her captain regarded one another.

    "I wasn''t just in danger, Magister," came the voice of Inti from behind Fudan''s contestants as he pulled back his head shawl. "I was dead."

    "Master Inti!" the Mage flight rapidly alighted, making sure they were well away from the slithering pool of obsidian bodies below.

    "And Miss Song here brought me back to life."

    "Resuscitated, actually," the sorceress called Gwen quickly interjected. "It was nothing. Just a heart massage and a chest defib."

    "I owe her a great debt," Inti stated without an ounce of doubt. From the prince''s expression, Sulca understood his future Sapa''s inference that the Tawantinsuyu owed the girl a debt of gratitude.

    Sulca''s eyes then noticed that under the shawl covering Inti''s right shoulder, the sleeve was empty. Like the missing arm, the Military Mage''s mind went AWOL for a split-second before his brain caught up to Inti''s claim.

    "By his grace, we salute our Lord''s protector!" Sulca crossed both hands against his chest to make the sign of the condor, a gesture of admiration and respect. "Hail! Saviour of our Sun!"

    "Whoa¡­ no no no, it was nothing!" the girl grew flustered. "Inti was of great help to us, and we were fighting as a team when it happened. It was something I would have done for anyone of us."

    "That''s of no import." Inti slid a hand over to his empty sleeve. "Where''s Uncle Amaru? I would very much like to know why my Ring alone failed when all of my peers could return to Cuzco without incident. That and why we knew nothing about the Blood Moon."

    Sulca''s face grew flushed; he could almost taste the bitterness in Inti''s words.

    Falling to one knee, he placed once hand upon his heart, and the other toward his future Sapa in a gesture of supplication. Behind him, the two Mage Flights likewise offered their loyalties without reserve.

    "I shall investigate the matter personally, my prince." Sulca dipped his head against the cold granite. "I shall find the culprit so that they may suffer your judgement."

    DING!

    Another Message blossomed beside Sulca.

    "¡­ I understand." The Magister looked up his future sovereign. "My Prince, Master Yupanqui requests that we establish a Teleportation Circle for himself and the proctors. You and Miss Musi should proceed to the infirmary immediately. Your father will await you there."

    As Inti''s gaze rolled over his body, Sulca began to sweat. Even wounded, the aura exuding from a man at the apex of millions of faithful followers was palpable.

    "... I shall await the answer to all this." Inti turned, returning to where he had been meditating beside the still-senseless body of Musi.

    Sulca relaxed.

    "Pukyu, help Sayaya with the Teleportation Circle," Sulca commanded his team. "Killara, Nina, set up a perimeter."

    As one, his Mage Flights moved to execute their duties.

    "Magister, do we wait here?" The Void sorceress raised a hand impertinently, interrupting Sulca''s troubled thoughts. "Is this it?"

    "Why do you ask?" Sulca challenged the girl, only to realise that up close, he had to look up toward her chin.

    "Well." The girl smiled attractively, pointing to the ziggurat. "I don''t think we''ve lo¡ª searched that place for treasure yet¡­"

    Perhaps it was a coincidence, or mayhap that was the plan, but the curious fact was that Tica''s father, Magistrate Huaman Yupanqui, flew in precisely when the Teleportation Circle was connected. After that, the proctors sent a delegation including Auberon, his assistant and a few presiding Magisters through the newly established teleporter.

    Within the span of a few minutes, a total number of forty-odd Mages gathered in the underground ruins of the Sanctum of the Moon, making the once open space incredibly crowded.

    If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    "My boy!" Tica''s father hugged Inti without regard for ceremony, squeezing the young man until his face turned the hue of ripe papaya. "Tica is going to be mad at all of us. I can tell you that! Those birds, where in Uku Pacha did they even come from?"

    Cuzco''s Tower Master, whose appearance Gwen recognised from their first day in Cuzco, patiently awaited his turn. When finally Huaman allowed the boy to go, his uncle swooped in like a condor to curry the prince''s favour.

    "Inti, your arm!" Amaru placed one hand on Inti''s shoulder and the other on his stump. "A shame, such a shame! Don''t you worry, nephew, Uncle Amaru will remedy your arm. As for the moon and the ring¡ª I will have an answer for you, and the Sapa. If there are culprits, we''ll find them, I promise."

    "Thank you, uncles." Inti bowed. "Presently, I am beyond fatigued. May we soon be on our way? I wish to see Tica."

    Amaru expression grew rigid while Huaman, his brother, broke into an obscene laugh. "That''s the spirit! Are we to expect a grandchild soon? Another title to my name, eh? Royal in-law? Hahaha..."

    "I will do my best." Inti''s eyes lingered on his uncles as he spoke. "I promised her that we would, after the competition. Thanks to this incident, I am starting to see the need to ensure that our royal line is well provisioned."

    "Absolutely." Huaman turned to Amaru, then slapped his younger sibling across the back. "Get Inti healed up, brother! That boy is going to need all his vigour. Maybe get them to add in a little more Positive Energy, eh?"

    Amaru''s facial muscles twitched as he grinned. His attempt to smile was equivalent to squeezing blood from a rock.

    Inti turned to Gwen and her captain. "Thank you again, Gwen. Mr Bai, Miss Li, Miss Mui, Miss Kutsenova, Cuzco is in your debt. You are forever friends of our nation, so long as I live."

    Gwen and the other members of Fudan bowed. The implication there was busier than a Quipu knot, but it wasn''t their business. Walken had been very explicit about that. Do not get involved in the political transactions of the locals.

    "Have a safe trip home, Inti." Gwen raised her head. The dynamic between the suspicious royal nephew, the uncle named after a snake, and the seemingly uncaring, grandchild-crazy father-in-law was awkwardness personified. "Don''t run into any Da-Peng on the way."

    By the dozen, the Incans filed into the Teleportation Circle, leaving one Flight and another from the local garrison. When finally their hosts had all but gone, the proctors approached Fudan.

    "Congratulations on winning." Auberon nodded approvingly. "Also congratulations on showing the world why we should fear Void Magic."

    "Wait¡ª What?" Gwen spluttered. She had been practising spell safety the wholecompetition! Her Void-related performance was entirely OSHA compliant. "No one was hurt!"

    Beside the girl, Tei and Rene exchanged a look.

    "It was a jest," Auberon tsked, much to his assistant''s disapproval. "Give me a second to formalise the match''s result. Miss Pritchard, are you ready to transcribe?"

    "Yessir."

    Auberon cleared his throat.

    "On this day, September the 30th of 2004, in the vicinity of Amazonia, province of Cuzco¡ª I, Auberon Lucas, Chief Proctor, by the authority invested in my judgement, declare Fudan University, Shanghai as the WINNER of the September round!"

    "Congratulations!"

    "Well done!

    "Good work, Fudan."

    "Thank you for saving our Prince!"

    The remaining proctors applauded, as did many of the locals from Cuzco.

    Fudan returned the well-wishes with bows. Tei in particular not only bowed toward the proctors but respectfully fell to one knee to thank his ancestors. Realising their future broadcast, Rene followed. Lulan looked as though she wanted to do the same, but refrained when her knees refused to yield. As for Gwen and Petra, the two stood awkwardly, watching the Void Swarm below.

    "How long is ''that'' going to last?" Petra asked.

    "That''s right!" Gwen suddenly slapped her forehead. Causing the rest of them to jump. "Sir, we haven''t gotten a chance to loot the place."

    The proctors performed a double-take.

    "I mean, there''s likely relics buried somewhere." She pointed to the remaining ziggurat.

    "You repelled a Beast Tide," Auberon huffed, his brows knitting and his hypertension rising. "And exterminated four creatures that are each a match for your Wyvern. You saved Inti, the prince of this nation, and earned the gratitude of the land''s people. You recovered the temple, in a manner of speaking, by wiping out the Arch-Hag, and all of its minions. There''s not a single troll left in this complex. You realise that, right?"

    "Sir¡­" Lucy coughed. "We detected at least a dozen on the way. They''re in the catacombs still."

    "Those are CCs!" Gwen pointed out. "Also, there''s no ''I'' in "Team". Look, that''s not the point. Our POINTS are the point. If we ''win'', does that mean the match is over? If so, isn''t that unfair for us?"

    "You¡ª!" Auberon pinched his brows. "There is a maximum allotment of points you can carry over to the next round. It was a rule put in place to prevent contestants from abusing certain mechanics of the competition to garner CCs, such as purging a Hive-type Dungeon but keeping the Queen alive as a CC-generator. With your achievements, I dare say that Fudan will have struck that limit."

    "How much?" Gwen battered her long lashes, her glimmering hazel orbs inferring that if the amount wasn''tsufficient, she would command Lulu to dig up the lower sanctum immediately.

    Auberon held up five fingers.

    "5000 CCs," the proctor declared. "Fudan will be judged on its merits and demerits, with a secret tally as back up, but 5000 is the upper limit for round one. Note that last year, the average for the first round was in the mid-2000s, with the top scorer, Stanford, earning 4640 CCs."

    "That''s five hundred for each of us." Gwen gulped. If she took Richard''s part-timing into account, 500 CCs equated two to three high-risk requests or up to ten mundane errands. In ten days, they made enough to purchase five mid-tier Signature Spells from the Tower. "We can be satisfied with that."

    "I would say so, yes." Auberon breathed out. "Well done with the Void Magic, lass. A true eye-opener. The Mageocracy will have your back when you need us; I can promise you that."

    "As will Berlin," another proctor added quickly.

    "That''s good to know, Sirs." Gwen bowed her head.

    "Kilroy sure dug up a little monster," the chief proctor chuckled. "So, when do these things disappear?"

    "Soon, I hope." Gwen squirmed underneath the proctor''s eyes. "They took in a lot of vitality."

    "You can''t banish them? Do they have IFF?"

    "Ah haha..." All Gwen could do was simper.

    It took the party another three hours to finally step into the Teleportation Circle.

    While they waited, Fudan''s vice-captain made sure Lulan was well covered, her dogs unsummoned, and her Familiars packed away. After helping Petra with her biometric-recordings, it was time to rake her Wyvern over the coals.

    "... then the Da-Peng approached," Golos indignantly explained when she accused him of gross incompetence leading to the grievous injury of a prince and the near-wipe of their party. "I used Ryxi''s Fuda and snuck upon them. Three birds they were, two males and a female. I managed to ambush one and drag it down into the temple. Did you see me? It was GLORIOUS, I tell you, killing a Da-Peng in direct combat, like in the ancient days! Wait till father hears about my deeds, ha!"

    "Just how close were these birds?"

    Golos snorted. "Close enough to strike."

    "And just because they''re within fifty kilometres of us, you think they''re going to dive into a fucking Troll temple for no reason and attack us? Where the hell did you go before that?"

    Golos grew irritable.

    "Well?"

    "When the moon turned, I thought it would affect Phelara and her tribe."

    "And?"

    "I went patrolling."

    "To Phelara, of course."

    "Then I ran into the Da-Peng."

    "Gogo. After you killed the first Hag," Gwen protested. "We were down there for almost twelve hours. You were gone for more than TWELVE hours! I know how fast you can fly. What were you doing?"

    Golos looked at her dumbly, in his human form, his thick wyvern skull made him all the more vexatious in her eyes.

    "My absence wasn''t for long," the Wyvern countered. "A nap, at most."

    "HOLD UP. Holy shit." Gwen pulled out her Message Device. "Gogo, what is this."

    "A Human Magical Device."

    "No, this¡ª" Gwen pointed to the twenty-four-hour clock.

    "Time Device."

    "What time does it say?"

    Golos obliged by reading the time.

    "Do you have a watch?"

    Golos blinked at her.

    "How do you tell the time?"

    The Wyvern snorted. "The likes of us need so such thing to keep track of the lives of mortals. We Dragons live forever."

    Gwen slapped her forehead. Was this her fault? Was this a work-place cultural dispute? She could no longer tell.

    She now knew that Golos told the time by using his gut feelings, meaning he had no idea that time dilated when one was bored or having fun. While he was doing circles in the air, the passing of the first hour must have felt like days for the easily bored Wyvern. Meanwhile, when he found Phelara again and pounded her tribe into the local lumber, time must have passed so quickly that he hardly noticed. Assuming less than an hour for travel, Golos must have run into the Da-Peng on the way back from the westerly direction. More than likely, the Da-Peng were seeking out Phelara and her tribe¡ª that or they were following Golos'' stench, looking for a meal. Either way, she partly held the blame.

    "Are you going back to them now?" Gwen changed the topic.

    "Yes, will Mistress be joining me?" Golos grinned wolfishly, his nostrils scenting her essence infused torso.

    "Sure, and Cali can give you a massage with its new hands," she returned the taunt with a retaliatory smirk.

    Golos averted hiseyes, submitting to her tyranny.

    "You may go to your birds, but not before I get my Cores." She pointed to Golos'' stomach. "Metabolise now if you''re in a rush. Dig the Cores out and clean them. I''m sick of taking care of your shit, Gogo. I am going to train you when we get back. Else, I am going straight to Ruxin and getting a refund."

    Golos'' scales bristled, ever the combative mass of congealed pride and arrogance.

    With her Wyvern puffed up, Gwen couldn''t help noticing that her hound-brained mutt had grown visibly larger after taking on four Da-Peng and eating at least two-dozen Trolls plus a Hag. It was a testament to the potency of his Draconian blood, for what other beings on earth could grow stronger by merely sleeping, eating, and fornicating? If Dragons were as numerous as humans, they would have ruled the multi-verse by now.

    In the days to follow, while Fudan arranged their return so that they could finally enjoy a long-desired period of rest and relaxation, Cuzco was in an uproar.

    With the injured prince recovered and the news of Cuzco National''s forfeiture came many muddling conspiracies. Be it the sabotage of Inti''s Contingency Ring, rumours of factional politics were at play, or that foreign interference was involved, gossip lit up the Suyus.

    Amidst the turmoil, the Inca Sapa presided over a three-day-long Rite of the Ever Burning Sun, purging Inti''s body of impurities and calling upon the faith of the people to restore his son, their Sun and the nation''s future Sapa.

    As for Fudan, a full review presided over by Eric Walken followed with equal parts praise and scaldings, with each of the contestants writing up reflection and reviews of their performance highlighting their lacks and their plans to address those shortcomings.

    When Fudan''s IIUC contestants and the trope of proctors finally graced the decks of a Moller¨CMaersk ocean freighter in Lima, they received a send-off attended to by a full-bodied Inti, his appearance whole and restored. Dressed in ceremonial shawls and painted from neck to chiselled abdomen in gold, the prince made the young women blush and the men awkward as he blessed the ship, its crew and its passengers with good health.

    Once the festive matters concluded and the media was ushered from the dock, Inti approached with Tica in-arm, followed by Tupaq.

    Collectively, Fudan bowed before the prince. To their surprise, Inti returned the bow, eliciting some discomfort from the watching multitude of Lima and Cuzco''s nobility.

    "First things first." Inti stepped back. "I tried to dissuade them, but they insisted."

    The gentle giant Tupaq stepped toward were Gwen now stood in her shoulderless sundress, falling to one knee. Even kneeling, the giant''s head reached her chest, a testament to the Inca''s abnormal size.

    "Thank you, Miss Gwen, for returning Inti to us. Had our prince perished, my only recourse is to continue to guard him in the underworld." Tupaq crossed both arms over his heart. "The House of Huamancuri is forever in your debt."

    "Thank you, Tupaq." Gwen forced the giant to stand before giving the man a big hug about the shoulder. "You did well in protecting your prince. As I said, I didn''t do this for a reward. Inti deserved to live. Your country will do well with such a kind and generous future Sapa."

    The next to approach was Tica.

    She bowed.

    "Oh, come on, don''t stand on so much ceremony."

    "Humph, you overthink." Tica came close enough for the two to embrace, then began to undo her shawl. "This is for you."

    The atmosphere grew suddenly heavy, there was an audible sound of heavy breathing from the crowd, though Gwen had no idea why.

    The priestess''s shawl was a beautiful thing with geometric lines that mimicked the colours of the Amazonian macaw. More impressively, one side was sunburst yellow with bold red patterns and elaborate rainbow Inti-motifs in gold thread. The flip-side, impossibly, was mid-night blue, with motifs of the moon and Mama Killa.

    Demurely, Gwen lowered her head so that the diminutive Tica could wrap the gift around her shoulders.

    "With this, we''re equals," Tica declared, holding Gwen''s hand.

    "Sisters it is." Gwen felt a great sense of accomplishment. When she looked up to see Inti, however, the prince was wide-eyed and sweating profusely.

    "Is Inti alright?" Gwen pointed a thumb at the prince. "He looks about ready to crap a ton of gold."

    "As he should be." Tica laughed. "You''ve received my approbation to become a wife-sister. I''ll be Queen, of course, but you''ll enjoy a position second only to me."

    To their audience''s delight, the Void sorceress'' pale complexion grew instantly dawn-tinted, drawing both mirth and adoration. "I am afraid I must¡­"

    "Take some time to dwell on it." Tica kissed her on the forehead, leaving a lip-print to mark the sorceress. "Thank you, Gwen. I owe you a great deal. I wish to say my offer is a joke, but you may take up the mantle anytime you feel a desire to return to Cuzco. One point you must take heed is that you wouldn''t want to wait too long. I prefer our children to be of a similar age."

    "C-Children!" To the observers, it would appear that the Void Sorceress had fallen under the effect of a mortifying Enchantment spell. Like a woman swivelling the wheel to avoid an on-coming semi, she changed the subject. "So er¡­ any idea why Inti''s Contingency Ring failed?"

    The priestess leaned in for a whisper,her plump petal-lips almost nibbling her "sister-wife''s" ear.

    "...Jesus, how are you going to..." Gwen gulped.

    Tica tittered.

    "Worry not, dear ?a?a. Inti and I have come to an understanding. I only hope that one day, Tawantinsuyu may call upon you for your continued friendship¡ª and your aid."

 Chapter 293 - Gears and Levers

    Though the contestant''s return journey to Hawaii would take many days, no such delay plagued the delivery of data crystals.

    From Cuzco, caches soon graced the desks of New York, San Francisco, Los Angeles and Washington. Before Fudan had even crossed the South Pacific, Magisters in London, in Berlin, in Paris and Rome lit up their lumen-casters to peruse the reports of Kilroy''s hidden apprentice.

    For some time now, news of the girl had rippled the surface. This time, the results were potent enough to break the meniscus. Unlike in Burma, the Baron of Shenfield himself sat as umpire, officiating the data as reliable and unaltered.

    Chief to the crystal of the girl''s struggle in Peru was her ability to channel the Void without seemingly degrading her psyche. Her command over the Void creature known as Caliban likewise tickled the fancy of many a Tower Magister. When the sorceress transformed her serpent into a many-headed Naga, the optics were magnificent! When she conjured a Void Swarm of impossible proportions to consume the Beast Tide, the scene was spectacular! As for the Terror Bird polymorphy that consumed the Dragon-Eater, those in the know possessed no adequate words to describe their feelings.

    Calls for her biometrics flooded into Pudong.

    Seven Schools and a VMI over 300.

    And the girl was just eighteen.

    And the girl was from a Frontier.

    And the girl had Awakened in the wild, a creature of chance and chaos.

    And also, the memo returned: the girl was sister-in-craft to Gunther Shultz, Master of Sydney.

    Cambridge.

    Trinity Ln.

    The Old Schools.

    Unknown to most, a dubious event engendered the founding of Cambridge University¡ª the murder of Mages by NoMs.

    It all began when two Oxford Scholars caused the death of a young NoM Woman in the township of Oxford. As the tale tells it, the scholars deemed themselves beyond reproach, refusing to explain their circumstances to the townsfolk. Tensions then escalated, and when the mob attempted to arrest them, they defended themselves with sorcery, or what passed for Spellcraft in the 12th century. They failed. And before the ecclesiastical authorities could intervene, the townsfolk mutilated the scholars, looted their robes, then hung the naked Mages from Oxford''s gates.

    In the ensuing chaos, over a thousand sorcerers, wizards and warlocks chose exodus, ultimately forming the beginnings of the University of Cambridge. To further fortify their preservation, the scholars eventually succeeded in requesting a Bull from the Pope stating that no Mage may be judged solely in the court of mortal men.

    Such was the origin of Oxbridge, a conjunction whose combined authority held the reigns of Spellcraft as taught in the post-industrial world. Between Oxford and Cambridge, the two institutions had begotten the Tower System, disseminated the Imperial Spell-Metric and indoctrinated the Mage world with Sigils.

    Of the two, Cambridge consisted of thirty-one constituent colleges pertaining to seven Schools of Magic: Evocation, Transmutation, Conjuration, Abjuration, Divination, Enchantment and Illusion. The university''s Arcanum Press likewise remained the world''s principal source of new spells, responsible for the official organisation of the sanctioned Spell List.

    At the zenith of Cambridge''s administrators sat the vice-chancellor, second only to the ceremonial chancellory held by the Duke of Edinburgh.

    And yet, here in the ancient and vaulted office of the vice-chancellory, Alfred Tomberry Crawford Butterfield was mopping buckets from his brow.

    "Get the girl here, Butters. I am serious. When have I ever asked you for anything?" The sombre voice of Justine Maxwell Loftus, Marchioness of Ely, echoed from the vaulted ceiling, un-dampened by the row upon rows of ledges lining the walls.

    "You realise, Maxi, there''s a bollock load of politics involved? You''re not requesting for the relocation of a prized cabbage. She''s a Void sorceress, stuck in China, and she''s a sister to von Shultz! Why I could¡ª"

    Alfred paused. He could see that the Lady of Ely did not like his tone at all. As his senior and a mentor-cum-colleague, a displeased Lady Loftus was a force akin to the deep currents found in the Plane of Water. Prim and precise to a fault, her presence quailed school boys and nobility alike.

    "Excuses, Butters? Find some of those strings you''re so unwittingly boasting about all the time. Isn''t that why you hoard them? For pulling?"

    Alfred realised he had to pick his words carefully. The unofficial title of the Marchioness was "Lady Grey", not for the unfortunate cousin to Elizabeth, first of her name, but for her ability to cut a man down to size with nothing but her steel-grey eyes.

    "Maxi, you''re making this hard for me," the vice-chancellor pleaded. "We can appeal through the official channels, but it will take time."

    "Alfred Butterfield." The Marchioness turned upon Aldred those dreaded orbs and her pencil-thin lips. Suddenly, Alfred felt as though he was six and the governess had just found him conjuring a fistful of squirming slugs. "I want her for Peterhouse, and that''s final. I never did say goodbye to Henry, and I want to do this for old times sake. I have zero sympathies for your methods, nor your cost. If you refuse on such flimsy grounds such as ''impossibility'', I can find another Vice-Chancellor to do my bidding, do you understand?"

    Alfred groaned.

    "Maxi..."

    "On that front, it is Lady Loftus to you, Butters. Don''t mistake yourself for your brother."

    "Six-months?" Alfred tested the cracking ice.

    "You have three."

    "At least until the end of the IIUC, surely?"

    "You think your task will be easier once the world witnesses the next round?" Lady Loftus scoffed. "Make the call, Butters."

    "I''ll¡­ work on it." Alfred loathed making the promise because he dared not fail. His word may not be worth much in the eyes of the old families, but he couldn''t shame the prestige of the vice-chancellory.

    He too had watched the lumen-cast, and he agreed with Lady Loftus that the girl''s elemental aptitude put London Imperial''s Void candidate to shame. But to drag such a sorceress from Fudan, he would have to offer the Chinese something equal in return.

    Fudan! Alfred''s pride revolted. A low-tier university in a self-secluded nation knee-deep in the Undead! For Cambridge to offer a third-string University a Meisterhood, even one offering the "Applied Theory of Void Magic", was a wildly unbalanced exchange. Their reputation would dive, and with it, his career as vice-chancellor. If anything, Alfred had no desire to be known as the first officeholder not to complete his tenure since Magister Hartfield insulted the High Elves.

    But then again, this was Lady Grey breathing down his neck. If the request had merely originated from a Marchioness, Alfred could have parried the demand, but who was Lady Grey? A shadow member of the House of Lords! The Marchioness of not just anywhere, but Ely! The progenitor of Cambridge''s Peterhouse! The owner of the lands stretching from Milton to Littleport! How was Cambridge to expand its facilities if the Marchioness were to refuse her leaseholds? What if he received an official censure from Peterhouse itself? Cambridge had no official centre of power. It was a place ruled by prestige, and few Houses held the history and influence of Peterhouse.

    Already, Alfred could imagine what his successor would say¡ª "Butters did a good job as an administrator, but he was too green behind the ears. What''s in a Meistership? Who would say no to a request from Lady Grey? That''s the new blood for you; always slow on the uptake."

    Alfred Butterfield forced himself to meet the Lady''s eyes.

    "You have three months." The Lady''s tone softened, granting him a reprieve. "But if someone else nabs my sorceress..."

    Alfred had to stop himself nodding by reflex.

    The door shut. The lights dimmed.

    Air once again began to flow.

    The vice-chancellor sat in the gloom, stewing in the scent of old ledgers.

    Ding!

    A Message globe bloomed over the archaic device on his table. The crimson hue indicated it was a call he could not refuse to take.

    "Yes?" Alfred answered. "Milly, who is it?"

    "Sir, I have Lord Ravenport on the line."

    "Patch him through."

    "Doing that now, sir."

    "BUTTERS!" erupted a jovial voice that made his skin crawl. "How are you, old chap? We''ve missed your presence of late. A busy month?"

    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

    "Haha, you know how it is, milord."

    "Oh, I do." A polite chuckle followed the curt courtesy. For some reason, Alfred felt as though something licked his cheek. "Now, we''re both busy men, so let''s not waste each other''s time. Have you seen the IIUC crystals from Cuzco?"

    Alfred Butterfield, Vice-Chancellor of Cambridge, watched the goosebumps form on the back his hand, then felt them as they crawled up his arm. Beside his ear, Lord Ravenport''s cheerful voice continued to toll.

    "... you have? Good. Now. Butters. You of all people should be aware of our Faction''s patronage of Oxbridge, yes? As a new boy to the old boy''s club, I have a small task for you..."

    Early October.

    Eric Walken was a happy man.

    It had been a fortnight of victories.

    Fudan had not only returned from their overseas foray unscathed; they had returned with the maximum allotment of CCs possible for an early round. Of course, he couldn''t reveal his delight in front of the contestants. In his unremitting evaluation, he had rebuked Gwen for her thoughtless escalation while keeping his hypertension plainly visible to discourage the girl''s risk-taking. Even with Auberon playing the diplomat, he spittle-sprayed her with criticism, especially when she almost lost a leg while saving Inti.

    Still, to repel a Beast Tide! Even a manufactured one was a glorious feat! On vid-cast especially, the scene was a sight to behold. When the girl withdrew into her Void Egg and released the lampreys en-mass, Walken could only shudder as he relived Sobel''s assault on the Tower. Was that a strategy inherent to Void Mages? He wondered, but soon realised he was her source of inspiration. In their conversations, he had spoken endlessly of Sobel, and it was from his anecdote that the girl drew her mimicry.

    If so, should he invest in Signature Void spells for the girl? If an opportunity arose, they could pioneer some relatively singular magics that may increase her efficacy by leaps and bounds. Fudan lacked the talent, but his old alumni in London would surely be interested in a sorceress of such talent and limitless potential. The only problem Walken could see was that the girl came with significant baggage.

    But that could wait until the IIUC passed.

    Meanwhile, the rest of Fudan''s contestants received their dues, especially following the national broadcast.

    Of her teammates, it was the Sword Mage who was a clear standout. Thanks to the Naga Core, Lulan Li had become a broadcast darling. During the vid-cast, a full five-minute emphasis had been placed on the girl''s single-duel with the Troll Chieftain, completely uncensored as she shaved the creature down to the stumps. As an ex-Clanner and an ethnic Han, she struck all the right notes. In Central''s view, the girl was living proof that China''s ancient martial-magic had its place on the modern battlefield. According to the news, Lulan was now "Elder Li of the Outer Sect", having been awarded a non-sensical title by Huashang to keep face without reneging on her "ex-communication". As for the elder who had stricken Lulan from the roster; Gwen said the man was now fencing bokchoi in the countryside.

    New offers of support followed. Notably, a missive arrived from Moscow Tower, transferred from Yekaterinburg, the contents to which Walken wasn''t privy. Bai received a commendation, hand-delivered by the Secretariat of Shandong province. Richard''s parents were given the fast-track treatment to immigrate from Sydney to Shanghai, and Eunae came home to strongly-worded praises from the Seoul urging her continued performance.

    Other fortunes flooded in. For the House of M, who Gwen had put in place as the team''s financial sponsor. Messages and requests from corporations flooded in, the most poignant of which was an official apology from the makers of the Shen-tei armour, CCL Heavy Industries, promising better models for the next round.

    As for Walken himself, he had received countless congratulations from his old contacts. Though the gestures appeared mundane, they were supremely important to a disgraced Magister like himself. For Walken, having old "friends" contact him of their own volition signalled his rebounding influence. He wouldn''t be gaining a position anytime soon, Walken wasn''t delusional, but at least he would no longer be left out in the cold.

    Until the Dean''s worrisome Message arrived, therefore, Walken had felt on top of the world. When it did, a bucket of cold water poured over the Magister''s back, dousing the ember of ambition.

    Like his rebellious daughters, trouble seldom travelled alone, and in the case of belligerent news, it arrived as a party.

    Incredibly, Auckland University had defeated Tokyo in an enormous upset, repeating what Fudan had done to Kyoto and knocking Japan out of the IIUC entirely. According to the Dean''s report, the match had taken place in Waitomo, in a hive-type Dungeon two hours flight from Auckland. In a straight-laced race of damage and pacing, Auckland had outperformed Tokyo University by closing the Dungeon on the fifth day, denying their opponents a come-back.

    The next piece of news was that the Sorcerous Academy of Pretoria, or "Tuks" for those in the know, had defeated Nanyang Spellcraft in a competition which had been neck-and-neck from the get-go. Theirs had been the hunting-gathering of rare specimens and minerals in the archipelago of Indo-China, a contest from which Tuks emerged the victor.

    Concurrently, the Dean''s message also noted that in North America, the Massachusetts Institute of Thaumaturgy had defeated London Imperial. Likewise, Cairo had defeated Golden Sun in Meso-America despite their home ground in New Tenochtitlan. Finally, Ludwig Maximilian emerged the victor in Eastern Europe against Stanford.

    The emerging groups for round two, therefore, were Auckland, Fudan and Pretoria in group 2, while group 1 involved MIT, Cairo and Ludwig Maximilian.

    Of Fudan''s two opponents, Walken preferred NSU, whose history dated only four decades. Comparatively, Tuks, named after the original Afrikaans acronym¡ª Transvaalse Universiteitskollege, was a far older institution with ties to London''s Imperial College.

    In regards to the results, his paranoia lay in that with London Imperial''s militants removed from the competition; an enormous pressure now fell on Tuks to best the "rabble".

    Though Pretoria was rank 80 right now, its highest position two decades ago had been in the 40s. Comparatively for Auckland, 90 was the highest it had ever been, while Fudan had been unranked until the mid-80s. Likewise, of the three universities, only Pretoria possessed Meister-tier instructors.

    For pride, prestige, and innumerable reasons, therefore¡ª Pretoria would be giving it their all.

    And then there was China''s ploy to give Fudan a "leg up".

    The location of the next match was the coastal peninsula of Dalian, a tiny corner of the Northern Front.

    To Walken''s limited knowledge, Dalian was a headland girt by the Yellow Sea on three sides. Infamously, its north-eastern border was crammed to the brim with Undead spilling from the fallen city of Shenyang.

    Considering the catastrophe that was the previous IIUC foray into the Undead Front, the Central Bureau must have positioned the competition so that Pretoria and Auckland would be reluctant to send their precious students. That way, if Fudan''s competitors refused to commit their forces fully, the host team could arguably emerge an easy victor.

    As for the Front itself¡ª Walken had no idea what was in store for the contestants. If anything, Gwen should be consulting her war hero uncle.

    Conversely, now that his student had made her global debut, was the additional danger worthwhile?

    Though Mages possessed Contingency Rings, casualties at the Front had never been low. When struck by a Soul Drain, afflicted by Umbral Shadows, Enervated by Ghoul-Rot, there was little a triage without Faith Magic could do. Circumstantially, the Chinese Front''s voracious appetite for replacements, in Walken''s opinion, was traceable to the state''s steadfast refusal to utilise religion.

    Could Gwen quit while she''s ahead? Walken wondered, but soon realised the futility of such a thing. Even if Gwen were made to resign, her team would venture forth regardless. And in that regard, convincing her to abandon her teammates would be a task far more complicated than besting an Undead horde.

    Ayxin sat with both hands placed atop her thighs while she studied the fist-sized orb, round on top and jagged below where it broke off from the Da-Peng''s heart.

    Even as a half-dragon-half-daughter-of-heaven, she felt impressed. For a being like Ayxin, the Dragons'' rivalry with the Da-Peng was etched in her marrows. It was a conflict that gave rise to her existence as a being begotten by the alliance between the Yellow Emperor and the Five mythical Dragons of yore, among them her father, the Yinglong.

    For Gwen to produce three Da-Peng Cores was, therefore, a great shock. Even now, she could feel within her body the welling of violent impulses. Together with awe, she also felt a deep-seated desire to crush the Core here and now.

    "Wow, so this is a Da-Peng Core." Jun, her mate, picked up the misshaped sphere with one hand. "Heavy! It must have been a very formidable creature. Well done, Gwen."

    With a greedy ear, Jun had requested the girl''s latest adventure, who in turn had questioned Jun about his knowledge of the Front, citing Dalian as their next objective. Discerningly, though Ayxin had made it clear that she was ambivalent to the girl''s cause, her husband nonetheless thoughtlessly promised his support.

    "Jun." Axyin raised a dainty finger. "Put that back."

    "It''s not dangerous, is it?" Jun tossed the thing from hand to hand. "I heard the Da-Peng used to hunt Dragons, is that true?"

    "It''s true." Ayxin''s exquisite brows furrowed. "Gwen, tell your uncle to drop it."

    "Why?" The impertinent girl grinned at her, apparently reading her thoughts. "What''s wrong."

    "Jun, return the orb," Ayxin pleaded. "Please¡­ just do it."

    Though puzzled by his wife''s distress over a dead bird, her human obliged.

    "Sorry." Jun''s face grew sympathetic. "Does the Core make you uncomfortable?"

    "It does." Ayxin wished that Jun wouldn''t be so questioning. He was a good lover and an attentive partner, but he could be woefully obtuse.

    Jun replaced the orb, then reached over and patted her thigh. It was a habitual act, for having since discovered human "fashion", Ayxin had taken on his niece''s preference for dresses above the knee. When Jun''s fingers caressed her skin, however, Axyin had reached her limit.

    Leaping from her chair and too overwhelmed to explain herself, Ayxin proceeded straight to the bathroom to vigorously rub-down the part of her where Jun had caressed.

    Back in the private dining room, her lover spoke to his niece.

    "Sorry, I don''t know what''s wrong with Ayxin, she''s usually very accommodating," came the usual deference from her partner.

    "Uncle," the little hussy''s voice came across mirthfully. "You really should wash your hands. That Core was dug out by her brother from a waist-high pile of his own shit."

    Shanghai.

    ISTC Station.

    A troop of giants crowded the spacious international terminal.

    "Rongo, what do you make of this?" one hulk said to the next.

    "It''s choice, bro. No wonder Shanghai''s a tier-one city," remarked another giant waiting to process his Multi-pass. Like the first, this one sported terrifying tattoos from the neck to shin. "I heear there''s good eat''n in the sety. The beggar''s make chuken h¨¡ngi-style."

    The PLA guards gawked. They had heard that foreigners were big fellers, but these fellers were BIG in a demi-human sense. When one of the guests grinned at a guard, he almost struck the panic button; a device only activated when terrible things with many limbs crawled through a Teleportation Circle.

    "Whetu, this where your old mate''s set up?" the giant called Rango turned to the one called Whetu, the largest of the lot by half-a-head.

    "Sure is!" came a female voice at once shrill and sweet. "You lot, don''t wait for me. Head right for the shuttle bay and don''t forget your Translation Stones. I''ve got a Gwennie to cuddle."

    "Oi, medgeet." A bear-mitt sized hand gripped the head of the female speaker. "Don''t run off just yet; wait for the captain."

    To the guard''s surprise, the "Medgeet" fearlessly battered away the giant, allowing them a good gander at the lone female amidst the mountainous bodies.

    Where the guards had expected a Gweilo girl, they instead beheld a local girl with a heart-shaped chin, baby-fat still fluffing her cheeks. Attired in a singlet and military cargos, everything about the girl was small and compact but for a pair of protrusions that were scandalously out of proportion.

    "No need, the captain knows," the girl informed her cadre of giants. "Whetu can come if he wants to watch, but either way, I''ll be rocking my Gwennie all-night-long!"

 Chapter 294 - Nightmares

    Fengbo Village used to be famous for its Beggar Pheasant, but now it was just as renowned as the local haunt of the Fudan IIUC team. Gwen''s patronage, however, was well deserved. There was something to be said when a hole in the wall that barely fitted forty people could capture a sorceress with the fragrance of lotus-wrapped chooks.

    "Tsingtao for the table as well, Mama," Gwen shouted across to the tiny kitchen. "The big bottles."

    "You got it, beauty!" the chef''s wife, an NoM woman, possessed a voice like a loud hailer. "On the house, okay?"

    "Thanks, Mama." Gwen wasn''t fussed. The tips she usually left wereenough to pay for a crate of fifty and then some.

    Though Gwen was shouting the team dinner, most of the members couldn''t make it. Presently, the table was graced by Jiro, Petra, Eunae, Mia and Ru¨¬, with their NoM companion coming off a week spent tallying the paperwork for Gwen''s perusal.

    "Your skin looks terrible," Gwen reprimanded her secretary''s unhealthy zeal for after hour labour. "Are you getting enough sleep?"

    "A few hours, here and there." Ru¨¬''s bloodshot eyes blinked. "Tonglv has reached the busiest portion of Stage Two. There''s a lot of paperwork."

    "Is Dai giving you grief? I know Ken''s doing alright, he submitted his report two days ago."

    "Master Fung is doing his best to keep our work on schedule," Ru¨¬ explained diplomatically. "He says he misses you."

    "I am sure he does," Gwen muttered, her chopstick working on a chicken thigh. Still, Ru¨¬''s frailness made her wary. How could she allow her right-hand woman to collapse when there was so much work to be done? "Mia, what''s a good supplement NoMs can use to maintain their vitality?"

    "Oh, there''s plenty." Mayuree stabbed at the fish head, scooping out the eyes. "I''ll have someone send over a box of Vitae-Extra tomorrow."

    "Thanks." Gwen grinned at the blushing Ru¨¬. "Share it with the others, will you? I''ll have to talk to Dai later. If you get sick, what''s his contingency plan? Manage the accounts? Pigs might fly!"

    "Hahaha¡­" Ru¨¬ giggled, hoping that her impertinence wouldn''t reach the young master''s ears. "It''s nothing, Miss. I mean, you guys fought off a Beast Tide! I saw it on the vid-cast!"

    Indeed, even now, the vid-cast of Fudan''s match played in the corner of the eatery. It was a cheap ploy dreamed up by the restaurant''s Mama, but Gwen didn''t mind. What made her cringe though was seeing close-ups of her face as she incanted spells, especially when she received vitality hits.

    Her only solace was that Lulan had it worse. Kusu''s hair lossaside, the exposure had given Lulu plenty of exposure. Lulu wasn''t a bad-looking gal, and her Sword Magic, for all its melee limitations, was remarkably aesthetic. For an audience weaned on Fire Balls and Magic Missiles, watching a petite lass carve a nine-foot Troll like a side of prosciutto was the definition of titillating battle-porn. The trade-off, conversely, came in the form of rabid fanboys around the university district. Gwen''s advice for her friend''s newfound popularity was that if she had to break bones, Dai would be avilable for clean up.

    Across the table, Petra downed half a bottle of beer, then frowned at the meagre alcohol content.

    Eunae sat in a floating world of her own, dreaming of all the rewards her Chaebol relatives had promised, so long as Fudan continued its advance.

    Their sole male member, Jiro, munched on a chicken leg, very much enjoying the sensation of being surrounded by beauties while dozens of men stared with impotent envy. It was in moments like this that Jiro felt genuinely alive.

    "Pats, don''t worry about Moscow." Gwen replaced her chopsticks. "Hell, look at my parents. I am doing just fine, right?"

    Petra knocked back the rest of the glass. Even on a good day, she wasn''t one for smiling. Now that she was troubled over her parents'' renewed affection, the permanent frown she wore made her cousin''s heart sore.

    "Tell you what, we''ll go to the House of M after, or the Continental, or the Astoria. With Mayuree''s Centurion Card, its Happy Hour every hour!"

    "Why, that could cheer me up." Petra''s indifference cracked.

    "I am coming too!" Jiro raised his hand. "I''ll be your chaperone!"

    "Shaa!"

    "We''ll be your chaperone."

    "Shall we dress up?" Gwen made eyes at her cousin. "We could do some late-night shopping as well. The malls are open till late."

    Jiro''s fingers began to shake. He wanted to help the girls shop. He had all kinds of outfits in mind.

    "Too much effort." Petra dashed Jiro''s dream-come-true with only three words. "Can''t I go as is?"

    Gwen regarded Petra''s getup. There was a special kind of charm inherent to a beautiful woman wearing a lab coat, but she was sure laboratory couture did not grace the steps of five-star hotels. What if the tabloids were there? In the first few days of their return, the paparazzi had hounded her ceaselessly.

    "Eunnie, you coming?" Gwen turned to Eunae, then paused when a commotion broke out outside the restaurant.

    "Wah! Giant Gweilo!" someone was saying.

    "His face has tattoos!"

    "Is he a half-orc?" Another voice rudely remarked. "Orcs have tattoos, right?"

    To Gwen''s astonishment, a barrel-chested body barred the doorway, its arch just reaching the giant''s chin.

    "That''s one jacked dude," Jiro remarked, dropping his pork hock. "A gweilo from America, maybe?"

    Gwen flashed the young man an admonishing look with her hazel orbs, then returned her attention to the figure now ducking under the door.

    To the team''s surprise, Gwen suddenly stood from her seat, her mouth half-open.

    "HOLY SHIT, WHETU?!" her voice rang out. The familiar face was older now, manlier and more heavily tattooed with T¨¡ moko, the telling of a Maori caster''s whakapapa, his origin.

    "Kia ora." The big man waved back, hitting the ceiling with one hand.

    "OH MY GOD!" Gwen spat, then pushed forward so that she ran face-first against the big man''s chest. "WHETU! How the hell? How is this possible¡ª Auckland! You''re with Auckland, right?"

    "That''s right." Whetu enveloped the girl in his arms, his muscular frame so impressive as to swallow Gwen''s lithe body. "How you been?"

    "Let''s talk somewhere less cramped." Gwen realised Whetu had been stooping the whole while. She apologised to her teammates, promising to return, then led the Punamu Abjurer outside while ignoring the stares from the customers.

    Gradually, the conversation died down. Back at the table, Petra explained who Whetu was to the rest of her party.

    "So that''s who he is," Jiro intoned sulkily, scratching his head. "Mao! He was taller and wider than Tupaq!"

    Outside, Gwen found a quiet spot not far from Fengbo village to digest Whetu''s mind-blowing visitation.

    "So, you''re here with the team?"

    Whetu nodded. "Oi sew your match at the ISTC station. They were playing it in the lounge."

    "God, how embarrassing." Gwen grew crimson. "But never mind that, how are you? It feels like a lifetime since we parted from Singapore. I wasn''t expecting to see you at least for a few more years. Like, after I escapeto Sydney, you know? Damn. I have to Message Yue and Elvia when I get home. How did you even find me?"

    "About that." Whetu rubbed his tattooed face with a guilty look. "Don''t be surprised now."

    "About what?" Gwen grinned like a fool. She still couldn''t believe she was seeing Whetu Tikitiki O Taranga in the flesh. Unbidden, a swell of joyous feelings gushed forth, she felt giddier than a newborn fawn.

    "!"

    It wasn''t her Sigil that tinged, but her sides. Before Gwen could profess her delight at Whetu''s arrival, a small pair of hands cupped her modest bosoms.

    Were it not for Whetu looking away and the buxom clues pressing against the small of her back, she would have dented her assailant''s face with an elbow strike. Instead, Gwen froze like a Hob in the path of a well-aimed Void Bolt.

    Whetu turned away, leaving the girls some privacy.

    "You know..." came a cherished utterance from her waist. "... For the record, I wanted to cover your eyes, but really, high-heels at your height? Fuck me for being a short-ass, eh?"

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    Gwen arrested the wandering hands, feeling both their fingers tremble with anticipation.

    "Whetu, is this an Illusion? I am wearing Mind Shield earrings."

    "Turn around and find out," the voice commanded.

    Gwen did as told.

    "Yue Bai." Gwen inspected her closest and oldest friend.

    "Gwen Song." Her oldest companion gave her a once-over.

    "I am going to hug you very tightly," Gwen forewarned her bestie, her eyes growing misty as her lips trembled. "I am very strong and very emotional right now. I don''t know if I can control my strength."

    "I got Healing Injectors." Yue opened her arms. "Come here, woman!"

    "YUEEEEEEE!" Gwen picked up the girl and squeezed her like a reluctant cat against her chest. "YUE! YUE! YUE! My darling, Miss Bai! Gods, how I''ve missed you!"

    "JESUS-H-CHRIST!" Yue felt her joints crackle. "Fuck me; you''re stronger than a Hive Queen. What the fuck do you eat? Never mind, its Caliban, isn''t it. Shit, you''re a walking suit of Golem Armour."

    Gwen ignored the F-bombs. Instead, she rubbed her cheeks against her friend''s, then kissed Yue violently across the forehead, the cheeks and finally pecked her lips. "How! How!? HOW are you here?"

    "How am I here? The ISTC, of course." Yue pulled herself away to catch her breath. "Bloody hell, don''t do this to Elvia. You''ll kill her outright."

    "HOW!" Gwen gushed, unable to control the moisture seeping from her eyes.

    "Whoa, okay? Tears of joy? I am flattered. Haha, I''ll tell you, Jeez." Yue teased her endlessly while holding Gwen''s hands. "It''s not a long story, but it''s a good one, you wanna get a drink? Long trip, you know? I could do with a schooner of horse piss, how about you?"

    "Of course, what am I thinking!" Gwen apologised as she wiped her eyes, smearing her eye-liner. "Let''s go to my usual haunt. I know the owners."

    Midnight.

    The Waldorf Astoria.

    Beside what was once the longest bar in the world, Yue and Jiro arm-wrestled.

    "YAH!" Yue slammed the Fire Evoker''s arm against the wood. "Gotcha, ya soft cock!"

    Jiro deflated, suddenly doubting his masculinity. Here was a girl that was the spitting image of the Sprite he wished to possess in the future, and yet, she was mangling his ego. In his eyes, Yue should have been perfection - fiery hot but pocket-sized. But the moment she opened her mouth, Jiro felt deeply disturbed by the girl''s ability to weave F-bombs into everyday conversation. It was like a foul-mouthed soldier had been crammed into a bite-sized body, then given high-Affinity Fire and a pair of tits.

    Haughtily, Yue buttoned her blouse. "That''s what you get for being distracted."

    Around the bar, the girls jeered and hooted. Petra was on her fourth cocktail, while Eunae and Mayuree were still finishing their first. Whetu sipped a jug of iced banana milk by the side, citing that he made an immovable drunk. Below the girls'' dangling white legs, Caliban kept away the thirsty men while Ariel drew adoring eyes from envious onlookers.

    "Yue, you''re a treasure!" Mayuree giggled. "Steward, another Sunrise!"

    "So," Yue continued her teasing of Jiro, which Gwen suspected could likely be a fatal, fiery attraction. "I heard you got a nice bird."

    "A Fire Bird, yes." Jiro nodded. Usually, he would have released the bird to impress the ladies, but Yue made him want to keep the old pecker penned up.

    "Want to see what I''ve got?" Yue indicated to her heart.

    Jiro wondered if the other girls would slap him if he said yes.

    "Ooo!" Gwen leaned in with a strawberry daiquiri in one hand. "Can we see it?"

    "Sure." Yue smirked haughtily. "Gonna need some room though."

    Mayuree signalled the troop of handsome waiters, who immediately cleared a small room''s worth of space by relocating the tables. To the participating establishments, the word of the Centurion customer was the word of God.

    Yue whistled at the demure looking Diviner. "Mia, you own this place or something?"

    "She''s a shareholder," Gwen answered for Mayuree. "You know, Yunnie, I''ve got a modest income these days. Once this is all over, we can travel the world, you and me and Evee. Where ever we go, crystals will be no object."

    "Sure, sounds like a plan." Yue grinned as her eyes grew bright with firelight, her pupils lighting like lanterns as Elemental Fire flooded her conduits. "Alright, step back¡ª Tan-Cysgodol!"

    The group''s captive audience shirked back as invisible heat filled the room. The rise in temperature was imaginary, but they could all feel the fire scorching their Astral Souls.

    In a flash, Yue''s contracted Spirit manifested, dwarfing even a high heeled Gwen.

    What appeared was a coal-skinned horse, its mane brilliant with blue fire while its iridescent cobalt hooves struck sparks against the air. When it swished its tail, a swarm of lesser Elementals spawned in its wake.

    "Harrumph!" The creature neighed.

    "Wow." Gwen had expected to be impressed, but this was something else. "A Fire Horse!"

    "A Nightmare!" Petra corrected her cousin before turning to Yue. "May I ask what tier it is? The blue fire is uncommon even for Nightmares."

    "High tier. First of all, credit where credit is due." Yue made a face. "I didn''t acquire it. It was a gift from my Master, Alesia de Botton."

    "Is this the one Gunther bought?" Gwen felt green with envy. "My God, Yue! Gunther paid how much for this?"

    "I am too scared to find out." Yue scratched her brow guiltily. "It was originally meant for Master, so¡­"

    Jiro forced his mouth shut. Within his chest, his Firebird cowered like a quail. It wasn''t so much that the Nightmare was a more senior tier of Elemental, but that his Spirit was a fledgeling, while Yue''s Spirit was a mature being.

    "Tan-Cysgodol¡­" Gwen mulled over the name. "Is it Scottish?"

    "Welsh." Yue stroked the creature''s mane as it nuzzled her chest, huffing hot air. "Master says it means flame and shadow."

    "Can I touch it?" Gwen came closer.

    "Sure. Be careful; it bites."

    Gwen sauntered closer, cooing as she raised a hand. "Hello there, Shadow."

    The horse sniffed her fingers, measuring her with its intelligent eyes.

    "Ee!" Ariel raised a snout to sniff the horse, receiving a sniff in return.

    "Shaa!" Caliban raised itself so that it stood at Gwen''s shoulder like a cobra. Extending a tentacle from its carapace, it gave the Nightmare a quick flicker with its tongue.

    Not to be beaten, the Nightmare dipped its head and gave Caliban a lick over its shiny head.

    "Man, Ariel''s looking pretty funky, huh?"

    "Ariel''s been busy! So, is your fire blue now?" Gwen recalled that Alesia was called the Scarlet Sorceress or the Crimson Witch precisely because of the unique hue of her magic.

    "Only when Tandy is helping out."

    "Tandy?"

    "Yeah." Yue snickered. "Tan-Cysgodol is too much of a mouthful, you know?"

    Yue''s horse regarded its owner with depthless eyes, clearly critical of her naming sense.

    After each of Gwen''s team took turns touching the horse, Tan-Cysgodol faded from sight.

    "How''re your studies coming along?" Gwen inquired once the thrill of seeing a flaming mare diminished.

    "I am learning Conjuration, actually," Yue declared wistfully. "Bloody time consuming, but that''s the plan. Major Evocation and minors in Transmutation and Conjuration. Allie''s got no talent in Conjuration, apparently, but says I could manage the lower tiers no problem."

    Gwen imagined a scene where a flame-clad Yue rode through the air on a flying, fire-clad horse, dropping Fire Balls and Scorching Rays.

    "How''s your mum and dad?" Gwen asked. "Still living in Forestville?"

    "Naw, we''re out of that dump." Yue snorted. "I work now, got a salary and everything, and bonuses from Militia requests. Been working like a sheepdog since you left. The amount of shit left to do in Sydney even with Gunther dispensing crystals and CCs like confetti is pretty much what the fuck."

    "Yeah, I can imagine that." Gwen tried to imagine Gunther the Tower Master sitting at his desk, doughing out quests. "But how did you end up in Auckland?"

    "Academic Enrichment program. Alesia told me you''re going to be in the IIUC and I missed you, so I thought, hey, why not bum a spot from another Uni? I figured if not you, maybe Auck could do well enough to see Elvia!"

    "Aww, that''s sweet." Gwen squeezed Yue''s fingers. "And they obliged?"

    "I was over there working with Whetu''s people anyway. Spoke to their captain, their captain spoke to the admin, then Whetu''s Master hooked us up. It''s all very proper."

    "Aww, thanks for taking care of her, Whetu."

    "Sweet-as, bro, no dramas." Whetu gave her a thumbs up. "She''s kucking arse for us."

    "Are you going the Tower route, Yue?"

    "Naw, I am a grunt, through and through." Yue materialised a military ID from her ring. "Read that? Specialist First-Class. Mage Flight 302. You''re looking at a woman with a rank, civilian."

    "Thank you for your service, Ma''am!" Gwen saluted.

    "At ease, citizen." Yue saluted back.

    The rest of the table toasted with a cheer.

    "So, where are you staying tonight?" Gwen downed the daiquiri in one gulp. "Where''s your hotel?"

    "Where am I staying?" Yue snorted as though Gwen had said a ridiculous thing. "Why, in your bed, my dear."

    "COUGH-COUGH!" Jiro choked and spluttered, spraying beer all over the bar.

    When Gwen had just arrived in her strange world of monsters and magic, having Yue in the dorm gently snoring a few meters away was endearing. In those dark days, she was lonely, mortified by her useless magic, and clueless as to what her future might hold. One bed over, Yue''s presence had been her rock, anchoring Gwen''s frayed psyche to the plane of reality and preventing her from sinking into nightmares of her own making.

    Now, almost threeyears and a month to the day, they once again shared a bed.

    "Yue¡­" Gwen listened for Yue''s breathing in the dark. "What are you doing?"

    "I am cuddling."

    "You''re spooning me."

    "I know."

    "Right."

    "Yeah."

    "¡­"

    "Go back to sleep."

    "I can''t."

    "Fine. Want to talk?"

    "Sure."

    "What''s the deal with Walken?"

    "Walken? Alesia didn''t tell you?"

    "She went back to Sydney right away. I was in Auckland to train."

    "Righto, Walken, huh. Well, how much do you know?"

    "Start from the beginning."

    "Alright¡­"

    Holding Yue''s hands at bay, Gwen told the tale in the dark.

    "Hmm, Master told me to Fireball his ass if he keeps getting handsy with you."

    "He''s not a bad bloke. Misguided, but an ally, at least for now."

    "Pfft¡ª" Yue breathed on Gwen''s neck. "You believe that?"

    "He taught me his signature magic."

    "Just the one? I got whole Spellbooks full of Signature Spells."

    "That''s nice."

    "Shit, sorry¡­"

    "Don''t mind it."

    "¡­ are you still a virgin?" Yue quickly changed the subject.

    "What...?"

    "Well?"

    "I don''t want to answer that question."

    "Jesus, how are you still a virgin?"

    "Well, are you?"

    "Of course, I am saving myself for Elvia."

    "¡­ seriously?"

    "No, silly goose. I am saving myself for twin-dicked saurians."

    "What? Like the knob you sent me?"

    "Mate, you seen the size of that thing?"

    "I am seriously confused right now."

    "I am in the military, dumbass, unsanctioned fornication is a big no-no."

    "Why are we talking about this again?"

    "Tell ya what. I am going to marry an NoM, like my Dad."

    "Yeah?"

    "Yep, fuck those purists. We get them by the bucketload in the Frontier Air Division. Pencil wand fuckwits are what they are. Sometimes I feel like making out with the janitor just to piss em off. Like, I''ll ride in on Tandy with my NoM stud in tow, flashing my tits at them and shit. Maybe if I dilute my ''lineage'' in public, they''ll leave me alone, you know?"

    "Oh my god, Yue, I-I can''t breath." Gwen huffed. The imagery was too much. "You''re killing me."

    "You like that, ya hussy? Want me to keep going?"

    "Jesus, I am cramping up. What do they teach you in the Militia?"

    "Plenty. You ever go on patrol, and there''s just you and four dudes and a thousand lizards for like five weeks in the woods? Lonely folks get thirsty as all fuck. I''ll tell you that. Tandy gets a pretty good workout practising identify friend-foe."

    In the dark, Gwen tried to stop herself from waking Petra with her suppressed shrieking. Yue was the best; the damage she dealt was too great.

    "So, what about you?" Yue refused to relent. "How do you, you know?"

    "Caliban¡­" Gwen began.

    "What. The. Fuck." Yue squeezed Gwen''s waist. "Cali''s just a child!"

    Again, Gwen fought down her cramping abdominals.

    "No, I mean, when I use Consume, there''s this big hit of vitality, and I gotta say, it''s better¡­? Less fuss."

    "Better than¡­"

    "Yeah. No mess either."

    In the gloomy murk, Gwen noted that her friend had withdrawn her wandering hands.

    "Yue?"

    "Yeah-Nah," her friend''s voice drifted across the dark. "So you''re telling me¡­ that you''re getting off from eating people?"

 Chapter 295 - Lessons from the Underground

    Morning.

    Gwen left Yue to sleep off their conversation while she jogged out with her creatures to purchase fried dough and fresh-milled soy. In the living room, she apologised to Petra, who had been kept awake by the thinness of their walls, then began her round-the-block regime.

    Along the way, hawkers waved as they stacked fried tofu or piled buns in bamboo steamers, filling the avenue with the smell of dim-sims.

    With her ponytail swishing like a metronome, Gwen thought about Yue. Despite Gwen''s "confessions of a man-eater", her oldest friend assured her that she didn''t mind. If indeed Gwen found men uninspiring because of a phallic Familiar, who was she to judge?

    "Beauty! The usual?" The old vendor, Mr Yang, towed the dough through the bubbling lard. "Fresh oil today."

    "I''ll take twelve." Gwen smoothed out her ponytail, still thinking of Yue''s endless teasing.

    "Hey, line up like the rest of us!" a customer entirely immune to Caliban complained. "Boss, why''s she cutting in line? Don''t tell me that''s your daughter."

    "My shout, everyone in line." Gwen placed a stick of HDM crystal in the change box. "Keep the change."

    "Thank you, beauty."

    "That''s our Miss Song!"

    "You show the Japs, Miss Worm Handler!"

    "That''s Gwen Song?" The young man who had called her out blanched.

    Not wanting to cause a scene, the boss hastily wrapped Gwen''s dough, tossing in two radish cakes.

    "Thanks, Mr Yang. You let us know if the Chengguan bother you again, alright?"

    "No bother! No bother at all." The vendor shook his head as he handed over the soy milk. "They very good now. Thank you."

    Gwen waved the man goodbye. A week ago, she had happened to be out buying breakfast with Ru¨¬ when they saw a Chengguan officer harassing her breakfast joint. When Ru¨¬ confronted the man, the city guard made a show of taking both Ru¨¬ and Yang in for ''obstruction'' of public duty. Much displeased, Gwen straight away called Dai and told him to make himself useful.

    When the municipal police showed up, they issued Mr Yang an apology and a vendor licence, then took the surprised Chengguan away. As for what awaited the guard, Gwen believed that if you can''t hustle when the chips are down, maybe its best not to hustle at all.

    When she returned to the apartment, Yue was up, and Whetu had come to pick his teammate up.

    "Youtiao and soy milk?" Gwen materialised breakfast from her ring. "There''s enough for you too, Whetu."

    "Yes, please." The giant''s presence made her apartment seem the size of a Kobold cave.

    "You ready for Dalian?" Gwen dabbed her lips with a serviette after inhaling a few sticks of dough. "I''ve got an Undead demo with Walken and Wen later today. You interested?"

    "Nah, don''t much feel like seeing his ugly mug." Yue waved a hand. "The comp goes from mid-October through to the end of the month. Pretoria is going to take another week to arrive at least. We got plenty of time to chill. Our Instructor will arrange some Undead encounters for us, I am sure."

    Gwen checked the clock.

    "Looks like I gotta go. Tonight, I''ll take you to that Beggar Chicken place. Bring the team!"

    "I''ll see who''skeen. Meanwhile, have fun with the Undead." Yue blew her a kiss. "And tell Walken that Master says ''fuck you''."

    "So, Alesia''s walking Fireball is here." Walken rolled his eyes. "I should be happy that her master is preoccupied. Can you imagine the two of them together?"

    "They do get along like a house on fire," Gwen agreed.

    Standing side-by-side, instructor and student both conversed under Fudan''s Handan campus Stadium. The last time Gwen was here, it had been to receive Hufei Chen''s guidance. This time, the war veteran came out of curiosity.

    "You sure about this, lassie?" The gruff Conjurer watched as box after box of warded freight containers backed up against the rectangular array. Also present wereWen and her assistant, Gwen''s cousin, both holding biometric slates in their off-white lab coats.

    Presently, Gwen wore her Mary Janes with a loosely fitted boho-floral one-piece. The getup wasn''t exactly professional, but it did leave enough exposed for Petra to inscribe diagnostic glyphs on Gwen''s legs, arms, back and collarbones.

    "Better now than later," Gwen thanked her teacher. Reaching down, she picked up Caliban by the waist and hugged her serpent against her chest. "Cali''s a big boy now. You''ve taught me a lot."

    "Just doing my job." Hufei kept his usual laconicism. "But I am glad you wrangled your snake. And your mongoose, I''ve rarely seen a smarter and more obedient Spirit."

    Gwen smiled politely, allowing Caliban to coil about her narrow waist.

    "Gwen, please begin." Wen indicated to the testing arena. "As we''re still in the fact-finding phase, I could only commission samples up to tier 6."

    It was a tier which would give an average Combat Mage a headache, though Gwen''s observers were painfully aware that their sorceress ate mid-tier Magic Creatures for breakfast.

    "That''s plenty. Dimension Door!" Gwen reappeared in the enclosed room.

    "Why is she in there?" Hufei raised a brow. "You just need her snake and the Undead, right?"

    Walken pinched his brows. "Overzealous perhaps. But maybe this is a good thing. She has no experience against the Undead, except for soloing a Soul Eater."

    Hufei recalled the vid-cast.

    "Ready the tier 2 samples!" Wen wasn''t overly concerned that her samples and her test sample were now rooming together. "Start with one!"

    An assistant, one of Wen''s many post-graduate acolytes, performed an unlocking incantation on the creature-crates connected to the force-fenced arena.

    "Murrrrgh¡­ MURRRRGH!"

    Ominous moans hinted at the container''s cargo. Once the sealing ward ceased its glow, a shipment of Undead delivered fresh from the Front filed into the demonstration arena.

    Presently, the Force Barrier admitted a single Zombie.

    "Ew." Gwen ground her molars as the scent of rotting flesh assailed her nostrils. George A. Romero may not exist in this world, but the man was a bloody prophet when it came to predicting the likeness of the Undead. With her enhanced eyes, she remarked that the "man" was in the latter stages of decomposition, with "his" remaining flesh kept in repose by some unspeakable sorcery.

    Gwen gulped.

    Necromancy.

    To think she was going toe to toe with actual creatures from the horror films of her alternative earth.

    Presently, two forms of Necromancy existed: Sanctioned and Unsanctioned.

    According to her declassified textbooks, Death Magic was the earliest form of human-made magic. Since antiquity, the worship of Death, Death Gods, and Negative Energy began long before Mages manipulated the Elements.

    For Sanctioned Necromancy, one need not look further than the High Priests of Egypt. Drawing on a legacy of preserving the dead for mummification, the Hem-netjer-tep, first servant of Ra the Falcon-headed, could call upon shroud-wrapped ancestors to defend the Kingdom against intruders. Concurrently, the Sau, or Acolyte-Priests of the Kingdom, manipulated lesser corpses as mindless labour to fuel the Nile''s resurgent primary industries. As for other surviving proto-cultures from Africa to China to the Israelites, death worship was embedded into their civilisations. Unlike Elementalist Spellcraft, magic users always knew there was power in death, and it should come as no surprise that the Path of Undeath begot many disciples.

    Conversely, China''s Northern Front was a product of the second type of Necromancy. According to her conversation with Jun, it all began in the 1950s.

    After 1949, the newly emergent People''s Republic of China, with the aid of Russia, sought to establish a Pan-Asia Communist-bloc. To prevent the formation of a hostile superpower, the USA, supported by the newly subdued Japan, joined the fray. The result was a proxy war fought by the two fledgeling nations across the 38th parallel.

    Initially, the near Mage-less South Korean army withdrew to Pusan, but in 1954, the Commonwealth Mageocracy formally joined the conflict. Together, the two Western power blocs provided South Koreans with rapid education reforms, resulting in a slew of newly-Awakened Spell-fodder using the Imperial Metric System.

    Two years later, in the Spring Offensive of 1956, the North Korean army, despite its Russian field advisors and quasi-magical battalions from China, lost Incheon. China responded by sending more men. As a result, the two sides seesawed back and forth from Seoul to Yalu. In just two years, the South Koran capital exchanged ownership five times, with the war falling into a state of attrition.

    Still, the fighting continued. For the Mageocracy and the USA, the Korean conflict was a testing ground for new tactics and spells. Famously, the Korean Conflict was the first to see full-fledged Mage Flights. Infamously, Jun explained with ambivalence; Yalu was also the place where the PLA discovered that a quasi-magical NoM battalion was fodder when fielded against a mid-tier Mage Flight.

    By the height of the conflict in 1957, the USA and its allies had committed 1.5 Million men to the cause, including 23,000 active Battle Mages. On the North Korean Front, 2.7 Million men were committed to pushing back the Western invasion. In the region between the Yalu Crossing and Kaes?ng, some 3 Million bodies mapped the earth, with an additional 1.55 Million cited as missing.

    By mid 57, the USA, the Mageocracy, Russia and China grew war-weary. After back-channel discussions addressed each nation''s concerns, all support to North Korea ceased.

    As a result, in the winter of 1957, North Korea called for an Armistice Agreement with Six-Party talks between China, Russia, North Korea and South Korea, USA and Britain. However, when the signatories teleported into Pyongyang, what they found was instead the first days of the Undead Front. In response to calls for his removal as Chairman, the megalomaniac Kim Il Sung had turned to Necromancy in the maddening hour of his demise. With the Teleportation Circle now disabled, none survived the Pyongyang Incident.

    This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

    South Korea was the first to enact countermeasures. Aided by the USA and its European allies, the military fell back to Panmunjom, creating a combat zone of salted earth filled with obstacles to deter the Undead. As historyproved, the abandonment of a stretch of land ten kilometres wide and two-hundred-and-fifty kilometres from ocean to ocean wasthe right choice.

    Comparatively, the Chinese Front had met with anarchy. Woefully underprepared for the Undead spilling from Pyongyang, the PLA''s Central Bureau was caught with its pants down when five million creatures crossed the Yalu River. For the next decade, the Chinese Communists only managed to contain the Undead threat.

    In 1971, the Beast Tide resulted in simultaneous incursions from Inner Mongolia, Qinghai, and the South China Sea. Within weeks, the Northern Front collapsed in its entirety. Liaoning Prefecture was all but overrun in six-months, followed by the loss of three million souls in Shenyang. Sweeping through Jinzhou, a swarm numbering six million made it as far as Tangshan, two hours Mage flight from Beijing before Central committed all of its resources to stem the tide.

    Today, the Northern Front extends from Jinzhou to Xilin Gol, stretching the length of Manchuria from mountain to coast.

    "MARRRRGH!" The lone Zombie must have sensed her overlarge brain, for it suddenly broke into a half-crawl, half-sprint canter.

    "Do I consume it now?" Gwen asked her instructors.

    "Why not play with it a bit?" Walken recommended. "Since you''re here, may as well get some experience. Zombies are the most numerous of all Undead, and in enough numbers, they''re virtually unstoppable."

    "What if I get bitten?"

    "Then we get more data," Wen scoffed. "Do as you will, we don''t have all day."

    By now, the Zombie wasalmost upon her.

    Caliban looked toward its mistress, waiting for further instructions.

    Having watched all seven Resident Evil films, Gwen struck out a heeled foot, then stomped at the creature''s chest. In her mind, she pictured the Zombie splattering spectacularly against the wall.

    Crunch!

    "ARRRGH!"

    "MARRRRGH!"

    Gwen suddenly found herself compromised by unwanted matrimony when her foot punched through the torso of the Zombie to exit the other side. Gore-soaked and covered in rotten flesh, she shrieked in place of her ruined Mary Janes, which possessed no mouth for screaming.

    Leaning against her arm, the Zombie then bit her shoulder.

    "G-Gross! Oh, Gods!" Gwen threw her hands wildly, striking the Zombie so that its head went flying. Shuddering in horror, she then peeled the briefly animate corpse from her quaking body.

    Where it had bitten her, she could feel a slight soreness.

    "HOLY SHIT!" She exposed her shoulder to Walken by pulling down the fabric. "I GOT BIT!"

    "Betrayed by your strength!" Walken nodded appreciatively. "Ready for the next one?"

    "What?" Gwen protested. "I got bit, Eric!"

    Walken raised a brow.

    "I am going to turn into a Zombie!" Gwen wailed. "How would you like that? Zombie Gwen! How would you explain that to Gunther?!"

    Walken glanced at Wen. "What''s she on about."

    "How would I know?" The Magister shrugged.

    "Gwen," Petra intervened. "Are you confusing Zombies with Vampires?"

    Gwen pointed to her neck. "If you get bitten by a Zombie¡­"

    "¡­ then you need a healing spell?" Petra''s gaze grew sympathetic.

    "I don''t understand?" Gwen felt her eyes moisten. She had seen her share of the Walking Dead. No matter the character''s popularity on the show, one scratch and it''s roll credits.

    "Shaa! Shaa!" Caliban was confused as well; it had sensed no drop in Gwen''s vitality, nor the slightest hint of malaise.

    "Gwen." Walken pointed to the still groaning head. "You need to crush the head to release the Negative Energy."

    "BUT!" his student protested, exposing her shoulder some more to show off her non-existent wound.

    "Zombies are the lowest form of Undead!" Walken averted his eyes. "They manifest when minute Spirits from the Plane of Negative Energy infuse a corpse! When infused, they raise the freshly fallen as Zombies and are known to grow exponentially resilient when swarming. ZOMBIES DO NOT SPREAD BY CONTAGION. You''re thinking of Vampires or Plague Priests. Did you study the bestiary?"

    Gwen did study the bestiary, though it was very thick. Unfortunately, she had glossed over "Zombies" as she had seen Dawn, Night, Resident Evil AND had read World War Z.

    But her Instructor''s spittle seemed to indicate that she was safe.

    "Void Bolt!" she silenced the chattering skull while nursing her shoulder. If she were to return as a Zombie, Walken would be her first victim.

    "Feel anything?"

    "Nope, no different to a Gob."

    "Good." Wen motioned to the operators. "Release the rest."

    "MARRRRGH!" Six Zombies limped into the arena.

    "That stench is enough to kill." Gwen''s hyperactive senses were driving her crazy. "Eric, how bad does it get atthe Front?"

    "There''s a spell you can get for the smell," Walken assured his student. "These are just regular zombies, mind you. You may very well run into exotic specimens called Putrid Ones."

    She breathed through her mouth. "Wen. Mind if I test some spells?"

    "... Fine."

    Gwen gathered her wits, then marked the shortest spell she could manage under the odious circumstances.

    "Lightning Bolt!"

    The room grew suddenly bright. A sizzling line of electricity pierced the Zombies. Where her positively charged mana struck, the foul creatures disintegrated, collapsing onto the floor as a smoking heap.

    "Well done!" Hufei nodded in approval. "Lightning is the bane of the Undead."

    "As you can see." Walken pointed to a husk decorating the floor. "Lightning disperses the Negative Energy held within the Undead''s Core, destroying the ''will'' that gives life to the pale flesh."

    "Void Bolt!" This time, Gwen made sure to aim for the torso.

    Where her mass of Void-matter struck, the Zombie''s body folded in half, sans spine and left lumbar. But even collapsed on the floor, it continued to wail.

    "Conversely, Void is only worthwhile against Undead that usurps vitality to regenerate," Walken advised. "The Soul Eater was an excellent specimen, for example."

    The remaining zombies began to gain momentum.

    "Likewise, low-tier Undead are quite fearless. Only higher-tier Undead are capable of thought and speech. The rest will swarm until everything edible is consumed, or they''re destroyed."

    Gwen listened as she activated her next spell. Each lesson she learned here would be one less surprise in Dalian.

    "Elemental Sphere!" The ball lightning and its subsequent nova consumed her remaining enemies in a flash.

    Hufei approvingly inclined his head.

    "Please Consume the next few enemies," Wen interjected. "Mid-tier samples don''t come easily."

    Gwen signalled her compliance.

    Caliban wiggled its tail.

    "Release the Jiangshi!"

    The second gate slid open, revealing a corpse in a lesser state of decay. The former resident of the body appeared to be Asian, and an old-fashioned one at that. As the Jiangshi left the receptacle, it began to hop in an ungraceful manner that was semi-comical and just terrifying enough to give Gwen the creeps. Unlike Zombies, which occurred naturally in places inundated by death, Jiangshis were created to act as guardians in ancient tombs. Once released, a Jiangshi possessed capabilities to transform the living into its likeness. A nightmarish stratagem found in Ming and Qing era tombs was the "live burial" of attendants. Once the tomb was sealed, the Jiangshi warriors transformed soldiers, minions and labourers alike into guardians.

    "Don''t let this one bite," Wen advised. "If it drains all your Positive ''Yang'' Energy, you''re going to turn into a Jiangshi."

    "Caliban!" Gwen needed no coaxing to offer the creature a seat in Cali''s all-consuming gullet. "Do it!"

    The rigour-bound corpse managed about ten meters before her Void fiend coiled about its body and took the creature head-first into its enveloping maw. When the thing slid into Caliban''s innards, Gwen sensed a metallic tang on her tongue. As Caliban translated its senses synaesthetically across their Empathic Link, what she tasted was akin to licking the gutter of an abattoir.

    "Petra, biometrics." Wen reviewed her slate.

    "I am on it." Gwen''s cousin ran not one, but two diagnostic spells simultaneously. When she saw Gwen''s expression, she couldn''t help but wince with sympathy.

    One minute.

    Two minutes.

    Three.

    "Okay, I am feeling it," Gwen announced to the Instructors.

    With a "Shaa!" Caliban delivered its payload.

    "Gods!" Gwen groaned, her teeth suddenly chattering. Where the feast of life usually began as a gentle warmth near her diaphragm, growing more intense with each tier absorbed, she now observed an internally induced hypothermia. From the region of her liver, a sliver of Negative Energy flooded into her conduits, atrophying everything it touched. In the span of a second, Gwen transformed into a ghost, her eyes engorged by black-veins before her face flushed red-hot.

    Gwen knelt, hugging her abdomen, dry-heaving as the world spun. An alarmed Caliban reached her side as she coughed and gagged against the barrier, trying to keep herself in one piece. When finally her Essence kicked in, revitalising her diminished vitals, she became drenched from brow to ankle in a sticky sheen of cold sweat.

    "Gwen!" Petra''s eyes went wide at the biometric transcripts. "Master, she can''t Consume the Undead. It''s too much."

    "That Jiangshi was barely tier 4." Wen frowned. "Gwen, can you continue?"

    "Bloody hell, Wen! A little humanity isn''t going to kill you." Walken Dimension Doored into the sealed room and passed Gwen a towel from his ring. "Girl, take it easy. We can do this another day."

    Thankful for the aid, Gwen took the towel from her instructor and wiped her mouth.

    "Let''s not do that again," she huffed. "I could feel the necrotic energy ravaging my insides."

    "I know- I saw." Walken held her shoulder. "You''re going to have to be very cautious at the Front. One wrong ''Consume'', and you could be down and out."

    "Sounds about right." Gwen inhaled and exhaled as her face regained its usual haleness.

    "Shaa! Shaa!" Caliban inferred it would protect its mistress.

    "Caliban can sense vitality though," she reminded Walken. "It knows what to Consume and what to avoid."

    "That would be for the best." Walken studied his trembling pupil. In moments like these, Gwen reminded him of his daughters. Gone was the Omni-Mage capable of stopping a Swarm almost single-handedly, replaced instead by a young woman. "Shall we call it?"

    "No, let''s finish up." Gwen picked herself from the floor. "I''ll be leaving Consume up to Caliban''s discretion."

    "Do as you will, but take care." Walken hesitated before teleporting back out.

    "Are you fit to continue?" Wen''s glacial voice boomed beside Gwen''s ear.

    "Don''t push yourself." Hufei''s concern followed.

    "Magister Wen." Gwen shot herself a dose of Essence. "Please continue. I could use more experience fighting the Undead."

    "Very well." Wen nodded. "Petra, focus. You there, release the next creature!"

    Wen''s subsequent trials consisted of a Ghoul followed by a Ghast. The Ghoul was a strange humanoid undead with both natural and Mage-made places of origins. Pale skinned and emanciated, the creature was hairless all over, hunching like a toad as it dribbled paralytic secretion from its maw. When it finally escaped from the stasis magic holding it in place, it launched into a quadrupedal gallop toward the awaiting Sorceress, howling and drooling as its purple tongue tasted her sweet body.

    "Void Bolt!" Gwen snapped a bolt at the charging fiend, removing one of its limbs. As a mid-tier monster, the creature was more resilient than a Zombie.

    Undeterred, the Ghoul landed on its shoulder, rolled, then continued its assault unimpeded by the loss of a limb. Caliban intervened, taking off an arm as it slammed into the grey-skinned humanoid. The Ghoul responded by clawing an arm-long welt on Caliban''s upper carapace while simultaneously biting Cali''s torso.

    "Void Bolt!" Gwen aimed for the head but struck its chest when the Ghoul dodged. Unlike the clumsy Zombies, the higher tiers of Undead possessed agilities far surpassing their bumbling cousins.

    A moment later. Caliban expelled the mess of flesh that once constituted a Ghoul.

    The final "sample" was one of the more common "Commander" variants found in the Front. Compared to the Ghoul, the Ghast didn''t so much resemble an Undead, but rather a creature akin to a Hob or an Orc. Smooth and sleek, the Ghast possessed a lean, muscular body, not unlike a human gymnast. When hunting, its jaws could distend and unhinge as wide as Gwen''s head. Impressively, its flesh-coloured maw possessed a prehensile-tentacled tongue half-a-metre in length. When the grate opened, it bolted for Gwen not in a bee-line, but by bouncing from the Wall of Force.

    "It knows PARKOUR?!" Gwen spluttered.

    "Focus!" Walken spat back.

    "Caliban!" She erected her Shield for the first time. In the next second, the Ghast slammed against her diamond-faceted barrier with a resounding thwack. Compared to the Da-Peng, however, the Ghast''s assault was a mere toddler beating on tempered glass with balled fists.

    What truly astounded her was that when Caliban gave chase, the Ghast fled. Gwen was aghast at the comical sight of her snake slithering behind a skittering, bouncing Undead. Frustrated, Caliban switched to its spider form.

    "Wocao!" the Ghast swore as it fled.

    "The fuck? IT TALKS?" Gwen followed up with an F-bomb.

    "Beauty, how about we both calm down," the Ghast dodged a pair of scything forelimbs. "This doesn''t have to end with one of us vanishing, whatever you need, brother will provide..."

    "Umm¡­ "

    "DON''T TALK TO IT!" Walken and Wen both shouted.

    "Cali!" Gwen required no encouragement to silence a creature whose only diet consisted of human and demi-human flesh. "Onslaught!"

    The Ghast groaned when Caliban finally caught up. It parried the first few blows, but Cali''s spider form had more forelimbs than the Ghast possessed total appendages. A flurry followed, then the howling Undead fell to pieces.

    Thunk!

    "I curse your family!" came its last words.

    "Shaa! Shaa!" Caliban stuck its tail spike into the severed head, singing in tune as a burst of Negative Energy released into the atmosphere, spelling the creature''s release from un-life.

    "Is it dead?" Gwen inspected the head.

    "It has passed on." Wen read the biometric reading on her slate. "Looks like Caliban is immune to the Negative Discharge. That''s useful."

    "Okay, we''re done." Petra signalled for the walls to come down. When she approached, the odour radiating from her cousin was enough to make her eyes water. "Gwen..."

    "I need a shower," Gwen declared, then her eyes grew suddenly dead-serious. "Are there hot showers at the Front?"

 Chapter 296 - Prelude to Premonition

    Magister Roslyn-Marie Wen meandered about her laboratory in a daze.

    Only an hour ago, she had been studying the data from the Void Sorceress¡¯ engagement with the Undead. Midway, the Dean had invited himself in, and now she felt paralysed by an uncharacteristic surge of jubilation hammering against her chest.

    ¡°I have informed Eric.¡± Dean Luo watched his prized researcher pace like a clockwork construct. ¡°He should be joining us very soon.¡±

    Wen paused, frowned, then returned to the Diagnostics Engine to print the biometric script. The cognitive labour, she hoped, would calm her nerves, not to mention clarify her hypothesis.

    The knock sounded just once before Walken entered in a huff.

    ¡°What¡¯s wrong? Is she in trouble again?¡± The British Magister opened with a rhetorical question.

    ¡°Good, we¡¯re all here. Ellen, do we have unwanted company?¡± Luo asked of his Familiar. In her incorporeal form, Ellen responded by whispering into his ear.

    ¡°We can use my lab¡¯s Pocket Dimension,¡± Wen pointed to the inscribed portal.

    A pocket-space was a standard attachment to most experimental laboratories. Such a workspace was excellent for volatile experiments. When a spell goes awry, the researcher couldinstantly expel themselves back into the Material while shunting the melting mess into the Astral Plane.

    "It¡¯s a little disordered inside," Wen warned as she entered.

    ¡°Mao!¡± Luo baulked when he had to sidestep a Spellcube. ¡°You¡¯ve got quite the collection, Magister.¡±

    ¡°It''s a hobby.¡± Wen shrugged. ¡°The rarer spells are so hard to come by.¡±

    Inside was a chamber the size of a tennis court, beyond which Astral grey-space met an infinite horizon. Here and there, stack upon stacks of stowed magic formed waist-high walls.

    ¡°A veritable treasure trove!¡± the Dean remarked, carefully picking up a cube to examine its content. "You''ve managed to stabilise the formula?"

    "The bonding wards rapidly decay outside the Astral Plane," Wen replied, her thin lips curling to form a smile. "I am leaving the project to Petra for now. As you know, there are more pressing discoveries."

    Walken¡¯s attention fell upon a particular corner. ¡°This is¡­¡±

    ¡°My contingency collection.¡± Wen pointed to the thirty-thick stack of crystalline cubes. ¡°The glowing ones are her viridian Essence; the dark ones are her Void Mana.¡±

    ¡°What for?¡± Walken guessed the answer as soon as the words left his mouth.

    ¡°Why, for when she dies.¡± Wen raised hers in response. ¡°I am not the one pushing her into danger, you know. Prodigies perish every day, but the search for knowledge must go on.¡±

    The Dean coughed.

    ¡°Jiang, show him the letter.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s this?¡± Walken recognised the broken seal even with its top half missing. ¡°From Oxbridge?¡±

    ¡°Cambridge, to be exact.¡± The Dean smacked his lips. ¡°What do you make of this, Eric?¡±

    Walken retrieved the sheet, then activated the embedded glyph, embossed by an ermine fur "cross" linking four golden lions, the university''s coat of arms.

    ¡°Dean Jiang,¡± the Message began to read itself in the voice of the Vice-Chancellor, a bureaucrat above Walken''s paygrade. ¡°It is my supreme pleasure to have the opportunity to speak to you regarding one of your most accomplished acolytes - Miss Gwen Song. Since witnessing her performance at the last IIUC, many of our senior House Masters and Matrons have expressed interest in the girl as an exchange candidate¡­¡±

    Walken paused the Message. As an old boy, he knew exactly how difficult it was to be admitted to Oxbridge, much less receive an invitation. To his knowledge, a demand such as this was enough to make waves in the intra-politics of the colleges. ¡°And it bears a seal from his Grace, the Duke of Edinburgh...¡±

    "Oh, it''s real." Dean Luo''s expression was unreadable. ¡°I spoke to Magister Butterfield via simulcast this morning. He has assured me that their commitment should be considered immovable."

    ¡°Immovable!¡± Walken swallowed. ¡°For Gwen?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s right.¡±

    Walken returned to the Message, as he read the lines, the Vice-Chancellor¡¯s imposing voice continued to play.

    ¡°...I understand that Miss Song may be considered an important asset for your university, and mayhap your nation possesses designs upon her many-talented person. Rest assured that we fully respect your ambitions and that Cambridge will offer the candidate''s weight in mithril in reparation. For our ¡®exchange¡¯, I am willing to gift Magister Marie-Roslyn Wen a placement as a King¡¯s Scholar. Post-peer-review, all Void-related research she thereby publishes shall bear the seal of the Arcanum Press. Furthermore, should she successfully defend her thesis against the academic board, Cambridge shall itself vouch for her Meisterhood. At any period during her stay, she is free to return to Shanghai¡­¡±

    Walken stared at Wen. Incredibly, the mineral-woman reddened.

    ¡°¡­ On a more personal note, I would like to communicate a few points of interest to yourself and our old alumni¡ªMagister Walken, who I understand is the girl''s caretaker. Our oldest and most prestigious houses had initiated the sponsorship for Miss Song''s invitation, including Peterhouse. The personages involved hold significant weight in the academic and the public sphere. Please understand that I am neither making a threat nor being obtuse when I say that even as the Vice-Chancellor of Cambridge, denying these august individuals would lead to no end of trouble¡­¡±

    ¡°Who made the offer?¡± Walken regarded the Dean.

    ¡°He didn¡¯t say. I guess some big-wigs, wouldn¡¯t you know?¡±

    Walken chewed his lips as his eyes returned to the letter. If the request came from Peterhouse, could it be her ladyship? As for the others, were they academics curious to dissect Gwen''s unique physiology, or did they simply want to keep an eye on the second Sobel? If anything, Gwen''s mimicry of the Void egg came vividly to mind.

    ¡°¡­ Finally,¡± the Message continued to play as Walken finished off the last few paragraphs. ¡°¡­ I am in contact with Miss Song¡¯s guardian, Lord von Shultz. The young Master of Sydney is pleased that we can offer Miss Song a position in our ancient establishment. Such was the university''s generosity that two of our finest Magisters should soon be taking residence in Sydney Tower as thanks to Magister von Shultz¡¯s boundless wisdom. Presently, the same offer has been extended to the PLA''s Secretary-General, who may soon be in contact, pending your decision... I look forward to your reply. Yours with the utmost sincerity, Butterfield V-C.¡±

    "Well?" Luo regarded Walken.

    ¡°Is¡­¡± Walken¡¯s brows stitched. ¡°No one going to ask for Gwen¡¯s opinion? Does she even know about this?¡±

    Wen and the Dean appeared taken aback by the comment.

    ¡°Why would anyone turn down Cambridge?¡± Wen spluttered in disbelief. ¡°She wanted a Tower, did she not? How else is she hoping to get one? Attaining the title of an Oxbridge Magister halves her labour.¡±

    ¡°That''s true. Gwen could graduate right into middle-management, perhaps oversee a fief on the Mageocracy''s behalf,¡± the Dean appended his Mineral Magister. ¡°Eric, do you mean Gwen would say no?¡±

    ¡°The girl''s a sentimentalist,¡± Walken stated the obvious. ¡°Her family is here in Shanghai.¡±

    ¡°Then I shall take Petra with me,¡± Wen retorted with arrogance. ¡°I have an allowance for an assistant.¡±

    ¡°What about¡ª¡° Walken jogged his bloated brain for names. ¡°Richard? Lulan? Her grandmother and that Uncle of hers?¡±

    ¡°The Ashbringer?¡±

    ¡°Yes!¡± Walken was incredulous at the cluelessness of his colleagues. Surely it wasn¡¯t just him who understood the girl? He never professed to be an authority in Gwenology, but his colleagues appeared novitiates. ¡°She possesses an unhealthy attachment to the man. Even if he''s free to travel, there is no bleeding way the PLA is letting him and his Dragon Princess out of the country.¡±

    Wen and the Dean regarded one another.

    ¡°Eric, whose side are you on?¡± Wen''s eyes narrowed. Her stone-cold expression was declaring that she wasn''t about to let anything come between her and the Meisterhood.

    ¡°Eric,¡± the Dean growled. ¡°Do you have any idea what Wen''s Meisterhood can do for us? She would be the first Chinese Meister since Yu-Lin Chan! Furthermore, she wouldn''t be a Meister bought with favours from the Americans, but one recognised by Cambridge! Fudan would exceed Jiantong and reach the status of Peking University overnight!¡±

    Walken ground his teeth.

    ¡°I haven¡¯t informed the Secretary-General Miao yet, but I know this¡ª one complaint from this Butterfield that we¡¯ve turned down free advisors from Cambridge, and we¡¯ll all be rotting inside Tianlanqiao within the week,¡± The Dean explained with great wariness. ¡°I think you''re pessimistic. Who says she doesn''t want to go? Gunther should contact her soon. I mean, how about yourself? Don¡¯t you want to return to Cambridge, to London?¡±

    Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!

    The Lightning Magister held his tongue, his awareness of his Affinity''s mental corruption far too acute for an obtuse response.

    If Gwen were to go to Cambridge, where would that leave him? Compared to those monsters at the peak of Spellcraft, Magister Eric Walken was just an understudy. Once he lost Gwen, what would he do? There was no homecoming in Sydney, and Walken could hardly return to his wife or his family in London either. He would once again become an aimless vagabond.

    ¡°Earlier, I processed her biometrics,¡± Wen changed the subject when Walken chose the right to remain silent. ¡°I think she''ll do just fine in Oxbridge.¡±

    Having seen the script, Jiang Luo patted his old friend on the shoulder. ¡°Woe betide the man who hopes to corral the girl, Eric. Don''t be a fool. You''re a Lightning Mage, not a lightning rod.¡±

    His mind in turmoil, Walken read the lines one by one.

    ¡°Evocation 5.31 ¡ª 5.51.¡±

    ¡°Conjuration 5.80 ¡ª 6.01¡±

    ¡°Transmutation 3.75 ¡ª 3.85.¡±

    ¡°Abjuration 2.54 ¡ª 2.67.¡±

    ¡°Divination 1.67 ¡ª 1.72.¡±

    ¡°Illusion 2.45 ¡ª 2.48.¡±

    ¡°Enchantment 1.30 ¡ª 1.46.¡±

    The incremental increases in Gwen''s Schools of Magic had been somewhat expected, considering that the girl had been training and fighting ceaselessly. Seeing her Conjuration reach the sixth tier especially filled his heart with jubilation, for the girl had accomplished in one of her seven Schools what others took decades to attain. That she leapt into the next tier also suggested a rarer talent - the lack of a bottleneck. For the next tier, however, the girl would be kneecapped by her inadequate knowledge. Still, the milestone was cause for celebration.

    He turned to the next scroll.

    ¡°VMI 302 ¡ª 330.¡±

    Walken blinked, then reread the numbers.

    ¡°That¡¯s right.¡± Wen smirked. ¡°She can increase her VMI from consuming Demi-human casters. It¡¯s not as pronounced as Human Mages, mind you, but it¡¯s there.¡±

    ¡°Trolls can hardly be considered Demi-human magic-users,¡± the Dean proposed dreamily. ¡°Imagine if she could get her hands on a High Elf Elementalist. Their mana reserves are legendary.¡±

    ¡°You''re getting rather ahead of yourself,¡± Walken warned the Dean. ¡°Pudong will have your head, even as a joke.¡±

    ¡°You jump at shadows,¡± Wen snorted. ¡°Keep reading.¡±

    Walken ignored the Mineral Mage, then read on.

    ¡°Lightning 6.67(6.89) ¡ª 7.01 (7.44), the latter is if we include her Kirin.¡±

    ¡°Void 4.51 ¡ª 4.72.¡±

    ¡°She can absorb the Undead to increase her Void Affinity?¡±

    ¡°Not from our samples,¡± Wen shook her head. ¡°Maybe it was the Soul Eater? Or something in that Beast Tide? Or perhaps the Hags. We¡¯ll need formalised testing under controlled conditions. I anticipate better opportunities in England. Someone in Eastern Europe could probably conjure a Soul Eater for the girl to try her luck. Did you notice her Lightning has pushed past 7?¡±

    ¡°She was already a handful,¡± Walken grimaced. ¡°A teenager and a dragon... a rebellious teenage dragon, my God.¡±

    ¡°Her pride shall work in our favour,¡± Wen remarked with cold logic. ¡°Pardon me, Dean, but who would grace Fudan when one can be a graduate from Oxbridge? The same goes for you, Magister. Why would anyone care for Eric Walken when one could apprentice under Meister Darwin or Sanger or Beckett? Imagine being an alumna to Meister Oppenheimer of King''s College! She¡¯s already an Omni-Mage, Eric. Give it five, six decades, and she may very well attain the title of Sorceress Supreme! The ¨¹bermensch the Grey and Militant Factions dreamt of creating!¡±

    The researcher¡¯s pale crystal eyes glowed with sickly fervour, as though she¡¯d just found the God of a new Cult she¡¯d been following.

    Walken felt a queasy unease. Wen¡¯s unfeeling mockery hurt because she was right. What was Walken to Gwen? If he hadn¡¯t intervened, she would be interning under Kilroy, a man who could exchange favours from London¡¯s Meisters at a moment¡¯s notice.

    ¡°Well, Eric.¡± The Dean¡¯s gaze bore into his soul. ¡°Are you with us?¡±

    ¡°... What do you think, Sis?¡± Gwen sat beside Yue and Petra. When Gunther rang, the girls had offered to leave the apartment, but seeing as her brother-in-craft didn''t object, Gwen had begged them to stay.

    ¡°Never been to England except with Master.¡± Alesia scowled, her exquisite face scrunched with annoyance. ¡°It''s filled with lecherous old bastards.¡±

    ¡°She means lecturous,¡± Gunther intervened before his sister-in-craft could get the wrong impression. ¡°Alesia gutted the King''s Arms. Master had to bail her out.¡±

    ¡°Those House pricks duelled ME!¡± Alesia huffed. ¡°If you can¡¯t wrestle the Ogre, don¡¯t grope its testes.¡±

    ¡°Well said!¡± Yue slapped her thighs.

    Gwen almost spat out the juice she was nursing.

    ¡°OKAY, OKAY,¡± Gunther prevented his prudish sister-in-craft from further mental degradation. ¡°Presently, nothing¡¯s confirmed as of yet. I''m just letting you know that an offer has been made. For sure you''re bound to get other proposals soon, but this is your best bet. To my knowledge, Vice-Chancellor Butterfield is acting on behalf of Lady Grey. To you, that''s the Marchioness of Ely, Justine Maxwell Loftus. She and Master go way back, and I can personally vouch for her ability to keep you from... undesiredattention. If you do decide to go, you¡¯ll be in reliable hands. Most importantly, so long as the Marchioness requests it, every summer and winter break, you¡¯ll be free to go where ever you please. That includes Shanghai and Sydney.¡±

    ¡°Pats, what do you think?¡±

    ¡°If what Gunther says is correct,¡± Petra¡¯s face positively glowed. ¡°I may be able to leave with Master and study under her in Oxbridge. I could even find a sponsor to further Spellcube research and author my own paper if and when she chooses to return to China.¡±

    ¡°Yue?¡± Gwen turned to her oldest friend.

    ¡°Why are you asking a spell-fodder what she thinks of Cambridge?¡± Yue laughed. ¡°I am a high school graduate and a grunt. What the hell do I know about prestigious universities?¡±

    ¡°What about Richard?¡± Gwen grasped at straws. Her chest felt full of water. The notion of prematurely leaving Shanghai was a shocking proposition. There was no reason to reject Gunther¡¯s good news, but it was all so sudden, all too soon. The direction she had finally garnered was once again spinning like a broken compass.

    ¡°I can petition Marchioness Loftus on Richard''s behalf,¡± Gunther intoned gravely. ¡°But then, you would owe her a great deal. When you get to her tier of power and influence, favours and promises may as well be Geas.¡±

    ¡°Richard is legitimately talented,¡± Gwen defended her cousin. ¡°He could have gone to England himself, don''t you know?¡±

    ¡°As a Praetor¡ª not a student,¡± Gunther reminded her. ¡°Not to mention he¡¯d be under London Imperials, serving the Four Houses as a faithful guard dog.¡±

    Gwen scowled, feeling that her pride for Richard''s accomplishments had been trampled.

    ¡°Why not speak with Richard, tell him there¡¯s an opportunity for both of you to attend Cambridge? Remember, you mustn''t mention Lady Grey,¡± Gunther advised. ¡°The poor boy''s deeply indebted to you as it is. Have his parents arrived in Shanghai?¡±

    ¡°Not yet.¡±

    ¡°In case he asks, they won¡¯t be going to London,¡± Gunther spoke with brevity. ¡°Not even with CCs.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not like that, Dick¡¯s just repaying them,¡± Gwen explained that Richard felt he owed his parents. ¡°He¡¯ll be happy in Oxbridge, I¡¯d imagine.¡±

    ¡°No doubt, studying in London was his dream, after all.¡±

    Gwen sighed, leaning against Yue so that the petite soldier became a comfortable human pillow.

    There was her family in Shanghai, as well as the friends she had made.

    But she also wanted to see Elvia, who she could now cuddle a year and a half in advance. Academically, her study of Spellcraft would see a significant boost if she could receive tutelage from the progenitors of the knowledge she was studying. The author of her first-ever Spellcraft primer, Deekin A. Allenberg, was a Cambridge graduate himself and currently lectured there.

    But then there were her investments here in Shanghai. Would Nantong allow her to leave the country? Certainly not with a one per cent stake in Tonglv. She would have to be bought out at a loss¡ª her loss. As for the House of M, Mayuree and Marong could keep her interests satisfied, but the loss of Tonglv would mark a notable setback.

    On the other hand, assuming Gunther''s Lady Grey was a reliable sheila, Gwen''d be a free bird. As a globetrotter, far more business interests would open to her. With her stock of HDMs, using ISTC stations across the continents was no object. In her old world, the early 00s was a period of rapid innovation that had set the technological trends for the next decade. Knowing this, she would be remiss to not take full advantage of the fact.

    But her heart remained sore.

    Babulya.

    Percy.

    Tao and Mina.

    Tonglv.

    Ru¨¬ and Professor Ma.

    Lulu and Kusu.

    How would their lives be altered if she were to bugger off to London?

    What would happen to her family''s current prosperity? Would the PLA let her leave? How would she know they''d be safe? What if she were to act against the PLA''s interests in the future? Indeed, a significant conflict of interest was inescapable.

    ¡°How long do I have to decide?¡±

    ¡°Take your time,¡± Gunther implored. ¡°A month would be my guess.¡±

    ¡°Until the IIUC ends? Or when we lose.¡±

    "At most, until London''s winter solstice," Gunther explained. "You would require remedial studies before commencing any courses at Cambridge. Even if you arrive in February, you will miss Lent. Assuming six months of catch up, Easter is out as well. At best, you¡¯re looking at Michaelmas.¡±

    ¡°I know some of those words.¡± Gwen¡¯s head throbbed.

    ¡°October. You won¡¯t be able to start second-year until October. But¡­¡±

    ¡°But?¡±

    ¡°You can see Elvia anytime,¡± Gunther roared with laughter. ¡°No, that''s a cheap shot. The choice is yours, little sister. You have to understand that it was YOUR performance in Burma and then in Amazonia that has brought this opportunity. I don¡¯t know if you could have done better under Master if he were still here, but I do know you¡¯ve worked hard. This outcome is what we desired from the very beginning.¡±

    ¡°Well said,¡± Alesia joined in. ¡°Good work, Gwennie. Master would have been proud.¡±

    Gwen perked up, the clot in her chest unclogging as she imagined a happy Henry giving his well-wishes. ¡°Thanks, guys. How could I have achieved this without the two of you, my siblings?¡±

    ¡°Bah, modesty isn¡¯t you,¡± Alesia snorted. ¡°Sorceresses like you and I, we have reason to be proud. Right, Yue?¡±

    ¡°Fuck yeah!¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t listen to them,¡± Gunther forced Alesia out of view. ¡°Take your time. If you must accept an offer, accept this one.¡±

    "BYE, GWEN! Yue, show em hell!"

    The Message ended.

    Gwen repositioned herself beside Yue, then studied her cousin. Petra¡¯s Husky-blue orbs glowed. If eyes could speak, they''d be screaming, ¡°Screw going home to Moscow, we''re going to Oxbridge!¡±

    She puckered her lips.

    She would have to consult Richard, and Babulya, Tao and Mina and her Uncle Jun. Ayxin would probably call her unfilial, mocking her for leaving her family to fend for themselves. Unlike the dragon-princess, they were just mortals; her family and allies didn''t have a pact where they banded together to shit on anyone who dared provoke them¡ª

    She blinked.

    ¡°Holy shit,¡± Gwen punched the air with a snap. ¡°RUXIN!¡±

    Yue jumped, wondering if a Dragon had just gotten into her friend.

    ¡°What about Ruxin?¡± Petra wondered why Gwen was suddenly screaming the Thunder Dragon¡¯s name.

    ¡°Ruxin is the elder Prince of Huangshan, and Tonglv is only two-hundred kilo-meters away from its border,¡± Gwen tittered like a greedy Goblin, her cunning eyes sending shivers up Petra''s spine. "Pats, you know what. I am about to have my cake, and eat it.¡±

    ¡°Marong, did you feel that?¡± Ruxin laid down the reports Marong had brought tothe Jade Palace. The numbers at the bottom had grown since his favourite servant had begun manipulating the Jade Market. Under the throne room, Ruxin''s cache of element-specific crystals was also piling up rapidly.

    ¡°I felt nothing, my lord,¡± Marong gulped.

    ¡°It felt as though¡­¡± Ruxin tasted the air. ¡°That¡¯s strange. The weather''s changing. How could it, when I gave no such command? Perhaps it''s Golos? What¡¯s he doing?¡±

    ¡°Sporting with his new mate, the bird-woman.¡± Marong touched his forehead to the cold ground, afraid that his lord was displeased. ¡°I fear they made quite the mess in the eastern hall. The female, Phelara, she¡¯s roosting.¡±

    ¡°Oh, do get up,¡± Ruxin commanded. ¡°As my niece would say, don¡¯t be so formal. Good service seldom comes from fear, and formality gets tiresome.¡±

    ¡°Of course, my lord,¡± Marong stood to one side, where Tika, who he now recognised as the old Naga of the mount, stood to attention.

    ¡°So, not Golos then. How strange.¡± Ruxin watched the hair rise on his humanoid arm. ¡°Marong, look at this. Do your human follicles sometimes have a mind of their own?¡±

    ¡°Ah.¡± Marong stopped himself from bowing. ¡°That, my lord, is what we call premonition.¡±

 Chapter 297 - The Pale Prince of Pretoria

    Before Jean-Paul became the prot¨¨g¨¨ of Meister Bekker, he was a foundling with no name. According to his file, his mother was a prostitute, an unenviable position in the days of South Africa''s regime change. A six-word abbreviation indicated she had died giving birth to her life-leeching son in an alleyway in Sunnyside. As for his father, any number of hundreds of Johns could have contributed to Jean-Paul''s miraculous genetic makeup.

    As an infant, Jean-Paul bid his time at the Sacred Heart Kinderhuis, an orphanage located in Pretorian platteland, a place that used to be a pumpkin farm. The modest acreage was composed of a vaulted chapel attached to a schoolhouse with a semi-detached dwelling. Together with the occasional neighbour, the orphanage was presided over by one sister Annett de Mulder, a flaxen-haired cleric-cum-caretaker.

    For Jean-Paul, Sister de Mulder''s Positive Affinity was a blessing, for the pallid child with the horrid constitution couldn''t have survived anywhere else. Yet, here with the generous-souled sister, his health held on with the tenacity of a spider thread.

    Compared to the other children, who prospered or starved pending the season, Jean-Paul''s body possessed an incredible ability to subsist on anything given to him, no matter how unnutritious or unsavoury. When strife broke out in Pretoria and sister de Mulder''s brood of some two dozen were reduced to soupy rice and pumpkins, Jean-Paul stubbornly thrived like a vermin, subsisting on the thinnest milk and the soupiest porridge for months.

    Diseases also seemed to take to Jean-Paul like flies to a carcass, for though he had contracted everything from cholera, dysentery, smallpox and a strange rash on his pale, colourless flesh, he rejected all calls to a higher purpose. As a result, his arms and legs grew covered with scars and scabs from his ceaseless picking, and as his height sprouted, ringlet stretch-marks scored his encrusted skin.

    "Jean-Paul, you''re as tough as a warthog!" de Mulder had teased him once.

    "Nee nee nee," the other children revolted. For some reason, they never liked Jean-Paul, whose bulbous eyes made them afraid. "Jean-Paul is an Umzokwe!"

    Jean-Paul did not know what the word meant. He was neither the youngest nor the eldest orphan, but he was the least popular by far. Perhaps it was because of his upturned nose, which was so different from the straight-ridged or flat-button organs the other children possessed. Or maybe it was his grotesque pallidness, which juxtaposed the pale-pink or the creamy nutmeg of his fellows; either way, Jean-Paul was born alone and preferred to be alone.

    Just once, Jean-Paul had asked her what the nickname meant.

    "Ah¡­" The sister''s well-loved eyes grew awkward. "You are named after ''John'' the Baptist, who christened Christ. It''s conjoined with ''Paul'', the teacher of Tarsus, he who spread the words of the saviour. As for your surname, we''ll see when your adoption arrives, hmm?"

    "No, I meant ''umzokwe''," the boy inquired, his blue orbs sucking the sister''s soul.

    "It means the blessed one."

    Later in life, Jean-Paul said a prayer for the sister to atone for her little white lie. "Umzokwe" was a Zulu word for leech. According to Meister Bekker, who applauded the children''s wisdom, the word referenced not the common leech, but the deathless blood-suckers that inhabited the Vaal River. In popular myth, if one were to chop an umzokwe in half, two would emerge a week later. Older, Jean-Paul would learn that "umzokwe" had another meaning. It was one derived from an ancient Zulu custom¡ª the slaying of sinners by bleeding them in a river full of umzokwe. For the Boers who bore witness to the trials carried out by the Sangoma, "umzokwe" was a word they took to mean ''cruelty''.

    Every so often, the orphanage was visited by men and women looking to adopt the children. Prior to their new homes, the children studied Spellcraft, awaiting the day when they would be selected. For an orphan, the age of thirteen was the longest they could stay under the care of sister de Mulder, after which those who failed an early Awakening would attend a state-sanctioned school.

    Once, when Jean-Paul snuck into the chapel to watch the process, he saw the sister bring out what he would later recognise as the Awakening Stone from the storage room.

    "Lightning, tier 1." One of the men grinned at Johan, a haughty thirteen-year-old who often picked on Jean-Paul. "Geluksvogel, you''re getting adopted."

    "Well done, Sister." the bearded leader left a bagful of crystal credits on the altar, what Jean-Paul now identified as HDMs. "See you in six months."

    Sister de Mulder bowed from the waist. "Please take care of Johan, Lord Magus. He is a good boy with a good heart."

    That was the last Jean-Paul saw of Johan, and he was happier for it.

    When Jean-Paul turned ten, news came from the Boers up the road that the British abolished the old laws, and a new coalition was in power. The celebration was so drawn and so vast that even in the platteland of Pretoria, they could hear the sound of fireworks and spells firing off from Johannesburg. Mister Nieuwoudt, their neighbour who was in Pretoria when it happened, said that the party had lasted three days and three nights; that the NoMs hung wands across the Johan Rissik Bridge so that sparks showered on the trains and trams, heralding the end of a misguided era. Cries of "Long live Johannesburg!" resounded through the city, reaching even Jean-Paul''s ears when a group of NoM labourers drove by the farm, screeching wildly.

    For a while, things in the city had remained hopeful. But when time passed, and nothing changed, the jubilation fermented faster than sauerkraut.

    One night, only six-months after the political sea change in the city, Jean-Paul was awoken by the sound of shouting in the chapel. A fidgety sleeper mocked for his permanent eye-bags, Umzokwe snuck into the chapel by wiggling into the storeroom''s underfloor crawl space.

    To his chagrin, it wasn''t the lord Magus who had come to visit, but a group of strange men armed with clubs and what appeared to be shock wands, like the one sister de Mulder kept locked in her office. The weapon was a necessity, for occasionally if a group of Gobs appeared and the neighbours were busy, the sister would have to shoo the monsters herself.

    "Bitch, where did you send my sister?" A man pushed sister de Mulder against the dais from which she usually conducted her lessons.

    Sister de Mulder kept her eyes downcast. "I do not know, Mattys. I am just a caretaker."

    Slap! The man struck her with a blow so savage that Jean-Paul almost leapt from his hiding spot. In his mind, the strike may as well have been a thunderclap.

    "Hoer Heks! Where is my sister? What have you done with her?

    The man turned. Now that Jean-Paul could get a better look, he could see that his face was familiar. It really was Mattys, a boy that had left the orphanage some four years ago. His sister was two years his junior, a fair and auburn-headed lass with long limbs. Jean-Paul recalled that she had happily Awakened as a Fire Mage and had been adopted by a Magus.

    "WHERE IS SHE?" Mattys struck the sister again, an act that made Jean-Paul flinch. He wanted above all else to bite the man in the neck, to tear his throat; but, somewhere in his head, wedged between the floorboard and the foundation, he understood his helplessness. As a child yet to be tested for Affinity, Jean-Paul was wand-fodder. Could he charge out and headbutt the man? Could he stand and defend sister de Moulder even if he possessed the will?

    In the room, the sister remained defiant. "You cannot cow me, Squib. You''re a disgrace to our kind. How dare you join the NoMs to conspire against your superiors? They''ll murder your future children, I guarantee it."

    Mattys paused. Jean-Paul held his breath. He was ignorant then, and the sister''s vitriolic voice shook him to his core. Never before had he seen the sister so bitter and so angry. Even with her body pressed against the dais and her arms pinned by the men, her pride astonished him.

    "Brett." Mattys'' response was to place a hand upon sister de Mulder''s motherly bosoms. "Can you guess the sister''s age?"

    "Twenty? Thirty?" The older man''s expression darkened. "Why?"

    "She''s forty at the very least!" Mattys tugged at the fabric so that the sister''s collar came loose, revealing the white flesh beneath. "She''s a Cleric, you know. When I studied under her, the textbooks say that healers have the sweetest bodies, full of youth, that they''ll survive even the harshest abuse."

    The other men laughed. As a child, Jean-Paul understood but did not understand why their laughter stunned his ears and made his chest feel like exploding.

    Thankfully, the group''s leader, the bearded Brett, told Mattys to leavethe sister. Mattys insisted that the sister paid for her crimes as a sorceress, and it wasn''t until Brett intimidated the men with a Lightning Wand that they backed away, muttering something about "Just having fun".

    "Sister." Brett turned to sister de Mulder. "We''ll be taking some supplies; then we''ll be on our way. Is that agreeable?"

    Sister de Mulder nodded, hugging her habit against her torso. Jean-Paul could see that she had turned as white as a freshly laundered sheet. When the men left, sister de Mulder knelt before the cross and prayed. Jean-Paul wanted to return to bed, but the sister''s suppressed sobs had by now paralysed every nerve and sinew.

    As a teenager, Jean-Paul asked the all-knowing Meister Bekker about who the men were. The Meister explained that encounters like the one Jean-Paul had experienced happened all over the country. The policy changes forced upon the Boers by the British were an experiment designed to encourage exodus.

    "There''s bad blood from the war, the memory of what the Mageocracy did to our women and children..." the Meister''s lips pursed. "Don''t mind it, Jean-Paul, that was another time and another place."

    Thanks to Mattys'' overzealous looting, when winter arrived, the orphanage had neither food nor mana crystals to survive the cold. Even with aid from their neighbours and Sister de Mulder''s magic, several of the younger children perished.

    The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    When the promised time of the adoption came, the men and women who arrived weren''t nearly so kind as they had been before. As usual, Jean-Paul snuck under the floor.

    "What did you tell the Coalition?" This time, the Magus had not come to exchange the cheer.

    "Nothing, sir," the sister spoke true.

    "We lost two farms, totalling twenty acolytes. Magus Rylond paid with his life. You were on the list of people they spared. Do you mean to tell me those NoMs left you alone out of kindness?"

    "I¡­" Sister de Mulder paled. "I bribed them with food."

    "Then you have aided and abetted the enemy. Corli, you''re clear to proceed."

    That was the first time Jean-Paul saw Mind Magic. He would see it in employment many times as yet, but this was the moment he would always recollect. Pressed against his juvenile brain, the sight of sister de Mulder''s screaming as her eyes rolled into her head branded him forever. While he crawled in the earth, not unlike that of a white, pallid leech biding its time in winter; sister de Mulder drooled over her habit, her eyes dilating as though possessed by a demon.

    "Did you tell the rebels were the other farms are?"

    "N-no¡­"

    "But you did give them food?"

    "Y-yes..."

    "Where did they go?"

    "Westward."

    "How many men?"

    "A dozen... more..."

    "Weapons?"

    "Wands..."

    "Did they do anything to the children?"

    "No."

    "What did they want?"

    "Mattys'' sister."

    "Where is the sister now?"

    "Magus Kruger''s office."

    "Did you tell them any of this?"

    "N-Nothing..."

    "They left you alone?"

    "They struck me¡­" The sister''s eyes were wide and vacant. "Mattys tried to rape me. I was going to kill myself."

    The Mages fell silent.

    "This country has gone to the fucking ogres. Corli, heal her."

    "She needs a Lesser Restoration. Sir, we''re tight on potions."

    "Do it. Gather the Flight. We''ll hunt these dogs down and give them a taste of their own medicine."

    The wooden planks creaked. Jean-Paul felt the Magus come close to where he hid under the floor. There was the sound of a Flare spell striking, then the acrid smell of tobacco. When the men left, Jean-Paul dragged the sister through the corridors and to her bed. There, he covered her with a blanket, then fed her the potion on the altar. The last thing he recalled was that he fell asleep beside her, but awoke in his bed.

    When winter ended, Mattys and his gang returned.

    "YOU HOER! You sold us out!" The man''s voice burst through the splintered door before the smoke could clear. "They killed Brett, you bitch! They necklaced him!"

    That was the first time Jean-Paul heard of the torturous form of execution known as "Necklacing" derived by NoMs and carried out on Mages. When a Mage became sufficiently subjugated, his or her assailants would tie a rubber tire around their neck, then set the thing alight with a Scorcher. As the victim attempted to douse the flames with complete futility, there would be clapping, often to the tune of his or her spluttering Mana Shield. In response, disgruntled Mages sometimes returned the favour, often as a warning, occasionally for sport.

    For now, the children sat stunned at Sunday service, staring at the silhouette of the madman stepping through the door with a dozen others, each dressed in outlandish bric-a-brac of salvaged uniforms.

    "Children, leave now! Go!" Sister de Mulder gave the command.

    Together with the other foundlings, Jean-Paul streamed past the crowd of NoMs. While the other children fled for the schoolhouse basement, however, Jean-Paul made directly for the sister''s office. There, he found the key for the storeroom, entered through a hole in the roof, then unlocked the chest containing the Awakening Stone.

    Across the thin walls, Jean-Paul could hear the horse-laughs, the groans and grunts, the choked screams and the tearful pleading. Thump! SLAP! Thump! Came the thunderous sound of flesh hitting flesh, followed shortly by the din of sister de Mulder rolling painfully across the floor. For a little while, the commotion almost took on a rhythm, but then the sister began to howl like a gutted Hob, all dignity forsaken.

    When the spark from the Awakening Stone jump-started his Astral Form, Jean-Paul felt consumed by an alien ecstasy. Never before had he felt something so intense, so full of malice that he struggled to breathe. His throat burned, and Jean-Paul tasted such hatred for these NoMs that the desire for their extinction consumed his mind. When her scream intensified, Jean-Paul wondered if he had gone insane, for even behind a door and a corridor, he could smell the frothing blood, the heady musk and the mutton-stink radiating from the sweltering men.

    Without warning, his chest grew hollow, expelling Jean-Paul''s frustrated feelings. It was as though a balloon had burst inside him, or that a stiletto had punctured his bloated torso. Something inside him cut loose, and Jean-Paul possessed neither the will nor desire to suppress the unnamable thing scratching at the edge of his consciousness.

    He screamed into the Void, and something shrieked in reply.

    As volatile mana filled his conduits, Jean-Paul knew only one thing. That unless he acted, he would be consumed by regret. For his tireless caretaker, Jean-Paul would open the lid, unwind the seam, untether the leash, unbind every delicate tendril if it meant that her suffering would cease by a single second. If he were to do nothing again, if he were to hide and hold his breath, hibernate like a leech, he would prefer oblivion.

    Like a fetid stream overflowing, Jean-Paul''s Astral Body tapped into the Sigils, Glyphs and Gates he''d been learning for the better part of his adolescent life. Magical formulas flashed through his mind, leaping from textbooks and the inscriptions to clash and collide in his feverish cerebellum.

    "Umzokwe!" Jean-Paul invoked the vision he had dreaded since childhood, calling into being the very thing that had haunted his dreams. The men were monsters, Jean-Paul argued. To defeat them, he had to be the bigger beast.

    In the chapel, the vaulted roof grew suddenly clamorous with howls and screams, minging with the sound of sister de Mulder''s insane howling.

    Pallid and segmented, sinuous, slimy and ever-hungry, Jean-Paul''s beast visited its wrath upon the source of his anguish. It had manifested on Mattys, swallowing the man wholesale into its tripartite lips with nary a slurp. Then, well-fed on the Squib, it warded off the blows from the low-tier wands to consume the others one by one, using its viscous saliva to glue them to the chapel''s floor. When the last assailant disappeared screaming and kicking into its slurping gullet, Umzokwe turned to the quivering sister, even now bleeding out on the crumpled rug. His fiend possessed no eyes, but even so, Jean-Paul saw.

    "Jean-Paul¡­" the sister''s voice was barely a whisper. She knew it was her pale-skinned ward, but she couldn''t see. Earlier, the NoMs had taken her eyes in their cruel antics. "Con...gra...tulations..."

    When Jean-Paul unlocked the door, there was only his monster left.

    In greeting, Umzokwe clicked its teeth, its semi-translucent flesh undulating with pleasure. It was hungry still, and so was he.

    Jean-Paul couldn''t recollect much after that, but Meister Bekker told him that when the Enforcers from Pretoria arrived, they found a pallid, skeletal child sitting alone in the ruined chapel. There were wands stolen from the security forces scattered here and there, but no other survivors.

    When he had regained his senses, Jean-Paul had arrived in the city on the hill, the place he knew was the administrative centre of his country, Pretoria. There, among the falling flowers of ten-thousand jacarandas, he met a woman with the scent of mouldy scrolls and yellowing paper.

    When his escorts bowed from the waist, Jean-Paul understood that he was before a rare presence. As he had performed before the age-worn statue of Christ in the chapel, the newly awakened Void Mage knelt.

    "Jean-Paul." The woman whose eyes were the colour of a cloudless sky spoke his name. "Welcome to Pretoria. From this day on, I christen you¡ª Jean-Paul Bekker."

    "Meister¡ª"

    "Nee, nee, Jean-Paul. You shall refer to me as Mevrou."

    His new sponsor was Meister Engela Bekker, one of three Meisters to grace the Cape of Good Hope. Under her tutelage, innumerable tests were carried out on Jean-Paul, who understood that his life was worth precisely as much as the utility Mevrou Bekker could derive from his plaint body. Without complaint, Jean-Paul came to heel, never once complaining of pain, not even when the diagnostic machine made him violently ill. Day after day, he practised the knowledge his new master gave him. Though his constitution continued to wane, Jean-Paul remained tough, wiry and stoic, a paragon apprentice, docile and diligent in equal measure. No matter Mevrou Bekker''s pleasure, he left no curiosity unsatisfied, no single flap of skin unpeeled. In the beginning, he was made to call on Umzokwe until he grew emaciated. By twelve, Umzokwe could be manifested for six, eight, ten hours before he lost consciousness. When it came to feeding time, Jean-Paul-cum-Umzokwe ate whatever the Meister willed, be it animals, Magical Creatures, Demi-humans, NoMs or the occasional Mage. When he wasn''t baiting Umzokwe with live prey, he studied, working toward his fifteenth spring.

    When he finally came of age, Jean-Paul took to the dais to receive his biometrics. As a confidential project reared hand to mouth like a pet by a Meister of the Republic, Jean-Paul proved the rarest of specimens.

    Conjuration¡ª 3.22.

    Transmutation¡ª 2.55.

    Void¡ª 2.30.

    It was a memorable day for Jean-Paul, for Mevrou Bekker hugged him, embracing him against her chest. She had always loathed his touch, though that was something Jean-Paul had come to anticipate from others, and so this was a special moment.

    "Jean-Paul, come. It''s time you met my colleagues."

    Forty-eight hours later, Jean-Paul had travelled across the world. Standing in a stranger''s land, he looked up at the grandest sandstone building he had ever seen, wrought with the most intricate murals imaginable. At the relief''s centre was a shield adorned by seven golden lions and an open spell scroll. Scripts in a language he had never seen spelt out the words "Spellcraftia imperii decus et tutamen".

    "Mevrou," Jean-Paul recalled asking his master. "What does that mean?"

    "Spellcraft knowledge is the crowning glory and the safeguard of the Empire," the Meister intoned, her face unreadable.

    In London, Meister Bekker''s tests continued, as did Jean-Paul''s growth. More and more, he came to understand his place in the world¡ª that he was a unique existence. In the half-decade he had spent in Mevrou Bekker''s laboratory, Jean-Paul met other Void Mages, though they seldom lived long after their Awakening. The volatility of their element, the Negative Drain associated with its utility, was biologically insurmountable for all but the rarest candidates.

    In that regard, Jean-Paul''s Umzokwe was capable of storing the life-force of the beings he consumed. As per Meister Bekker''s findings, Demi-humans and humans were the most nourishing, followed by higher-tier Magical Beasts. Thankfully, the Mageocracy''s endless conflicts of interest meant there was seldom a shortage of Demi-humans.

    In the intervening years which followed, Jean-Paul often heard a name¡ª Elizabeth Sobel. A woman whom the Meister said was the best of his kind, the Mageocracy''s magnum opus, its chef-d'' ?uvre. If Jean-Paul could prove himself half as talented as Sobel, the Meister promised, he would find both purpose and pleasure in life.

    When his craft matured, Jean-Paul prepared himself in the Purple and Black Zones all over the world. In most instances, his Mevrou stood a safe distance away with a data slate, directing him to complete one feat or another. "You''ve done well," Mevrou Bekker had kindly informed him when he was eighteen, though sadly, he wouldn''t be a second Sobel. Jean-Paul undertook the criticism without complaint; he was merely a canvas on which Mevrou Bekker painted her colours, and so continued his questionless compliance. Though the pair seldom stayed at London Imperial, the Mevrou had a tradition of returning to her homeland each spring to flee the British winter. A sentimentalist, the Meister longed for the lilac and purple Jacarandas that turned the boulevards of Pretoria indigo.

    "Jean-Paul, return home," the Mevrou called him one October morning, pulling him from the depth of Swaziland. "I need you to see this."

    Two days later, Jean-Paul sat beside the Meister as she played a broadcast from the latest IIUC, a competition the Meister often mocked as student politics.

    The vid-cast showed a girl.

    A girl who was like Jean-Paul, and was yet dissimilar.

    A sorceress who tapped into the Quasi-elemental Plane of Lightning and Void.

    A smiling lassie with pale skin that didn''t resemble the leeches living in the Vaal, but whose dermis glowed with smooth and supple vitality.

    A young miss surrounded by companions and friends; men and women who trusted her enough to put their lives on the line.

    A Void Mage who transformed into a dark egg, swallowing a Beast Tide.

    "A second Sobel," Mevrou Bekker informed the pale-miened Jean-Paul, then sighed deeply. "She''s Kilroy''s hidden apprentice, as you are mine. One wonders how one man, not to mention a dead one, could find two diamonds in the rough."

    When next the Meister placed a hand on Jean-Paul''s shoulder, the warmth he longed for sent shivers down his spine. He had been in Swaziland for monthsand it had been a long time since a fellow human had touched him.Yet, he couldn''t help but feel ill.

    "Jean-Paul," the Mevrou''svoice filled the recesses of his mind. "Ever thought about acquiring a lady-friend?"

 Chapter 298 - What Tomorrow Brings

    Gwen regarded her armoured profile in the mirror.

    "It has heels?" she asked, dubious that such a decision had made it into the custom suit''s design.

    "A melee AND an aesthetic feature. It collapses at-will." Magus Lin Tsai, the representative from Sinomach Heavy Industries, mopped the sweat from his brow. The stiletto had been incorporated by their chief designer, who had projections of Fudan''s vice-captain pinned to his workbench. Ever since Sinomach''s RECON Operator''s Garb appeared unannounced in Cuzco, requests and complaints had driven the clerks in the public-relations section mad. In response, Commissioner Tsai made explicit demands that their state-sponsored corporation wouldn''tmade a laughing stock in future broadcasts. The result was a maintenance team that arrived at Fudan with a fully-equipped service truck.

    In the training hall, Fudan''s eye-catching Void Sorceress cat-walked up and down an invisible rail, observing her reflections in the conjured mirrors. The re-tooled MKIII CUSTOM promised to hold together much better than the stock MKII, with elevated thresholds for dampening physical and elemental damage. Likewise, for Fudan''s members who necessitated external means of Flight, an internal module enabled tier 3 locomotion, specced to the competition''s item-assistance limitations.

    Furthermore, the once unisex Shen-te¨© was gender-split. Gwen''s suit had conduit-lines inscribed around her lumbar to cup her under-breast, while at the rear, a half-armoured skirt protected her bottom, extending like a dovetail. Comparatively, the girls'' collision-pauldrons draped around their shoulders, capable of transforming into all-weather capes. An automatic potion-injector was initially included, though Gwen forsook the unaesthetic waist-bulge for reasons that a crushed potion-pouch was no use to anyone. The result was a sleek and modern design akin to Magi-tech racing suits.

    For the palette, Fudan''s iconograph came in three hues¡ª red or blue with a white backdrop. The original designer favoured Revolution Red with white highlights and a blue under-layer, but all Gwen could see was a Pepsi Company IP violation.

    "I want Gunmetal, here, here, and there¡­" Gwen ran a finger down her body line from chin to her inner thighs, then from knees to boots. "The team members who are willing to keep the red motif are welcome to, but I need the thighs in white. The butt-skirt''s a nice touch, by the way, more space."

    "Space for what?" Magus Tsai furrowed his brows. "There are no modules for that¡­ region."

    "Nothing to worry." Gwen grinned at her re-colourised reflection. "The armour should work out beautifully."

    "So you keep saying..." The Magus Glyphed new hues onto the skin-hugging malleable-metal. Of Fudan''s crew, he far preferred working with Miss Li, who was petite, red-faced and obedient. Even Miss Wong, who asked for the men''s variant, had been perfectly happy with the original design. As for the Void sorceress, she had an opinion for every nook and contour. "Miss Song, as an Illusionist and an Enchanter, it''s easier if you manipulate the pattern and colour yourself. I''ll relinquish the formulae."

    "Even better." Gwen checked herself in the mirror again, inspecting the angles. Feeling sentimental, she wondered when she''d be able to sell the world''s first selfie App. But for that to happen, she needed a whole tree of technologies to be unlocked. Maybe when she arrived in North American or London, places where entrepreneurs had guaranteed rights backed by the Tower and the government, she could test the possibility of bringing more of her old world inventions to bear. In her old world, she struggled to gain a position higher than a Senior Consultant. Even when self-employed, her company was limited by size and affordable talent. Perhaps in her second life, it was possible to build something that spanned the continents.

    "Miss." The Magus felt a feeling of revulsion as the girl chuckled narcissistically, wholly engrossed in her reflection. "Please take care of our product."

    "It''ll stay in one piece." Gwen cowed her technician by testing the armour''s inbuilt heels, instantly raising her stature. Placing one foot ahead of the other, she tapped across the training hall. "Four inches? That''s ambitious."

    "Miss Song, if you''re done, I shall go and aid Miss Li. Her CQB variant needs adjustments."

    "Make sure her shoulders, breasts and thighs are matt-white," Gwen instructed the retreating technician.

    With the flustered Enchanter retreating across the room, Gwen was quickly approached by Anita, looking very handsome indeed with her half-cropped hair and arrogant lips. The men''s variant was bulkier, though Anita carried the look with dignity and pomp.

    "Just to confirm." Anita pointed to her chest. "We''re adhering sponsorship logos?"

    "Indeed." Gwen inspected Anita''s suit, pointing to either side of her chest. "We will affix our biggest sponsors at the front and back. Fudan''s seal hangs over your heart; adjacent is Sinomach. Our major sponsor is Wang Enterprises and Centurion-M. Down here we have the lesser sponsors, Tonglv, SinoTrans, SAIC Motors, and finally Mao-tai Co."

    Anita nodded like a chick bobbing to a mother hen.

    "All in all, 11,000 HDM for each of us. Plus a bonus if we win," Gwen assured her companion. In truth, she and Lulan commanded four times the price but chose to subsidise the others. "Not bad, eh? Don''t you love it when crystals fall from the sky?"

    "No kidding." Anita counted her post-match income both hands. "If we win, the sponsorship fee will exceed three years of my allowance!"

    "Afterward, don''t forget to ride out your fame. Use it to build your brand." Gwen slapped the Mineral Mage on the shoulder. "Who wouldn''t know Anita Wong after we scour Dalian of the Undead?"

    "Ha!" Anita snickered. "You''re thinking of Lulu. She''s CCVC-1''s darling at the moment."

    "Do you desire greater exposure?" Gwen asked seriously. "We could probably manage it."

    "Oh, Mao, absolutely not." Anita sighed. "I am no martyr. Famous and alive¡ª that''s my motto."

    "Knock on wood." Gwen rapped on Anita''s armour with her knuckles.

    Anita made a Taoist sign to ward away evil. "So, what now?"

    Sch-Chik! Gwen un-deployed her stilettos, acclimatising herself to the balance shift. According to the spec sheet, the Keen Enchantment could punch through steel plates. "Let''s check with the others. I want to see Richard and the boys. After our promo-shoot, we need to get dressed to receive our oversea guests."

    At Gwen''s behest, the reception was to happen on their home turf, the Waldorf Astoria on the Bund, where the House of M''s Shadowmen could keep a pair of eyes on things.

    This time around, major dignitaries included big-wigs like the Mayor of Shanghai, Magister Rong Yin; a sorcerer-bureaucrat whose many tasks included balancing Pudong against the PLA. Likewise, newly arrived was the American proctorship delegation with representatives from Stanford and the American Towers. Concurrently, as Shanghai''s first international match in recent memory, the paparazzi were legion, enough to make the dog-packs ambushing Gwen and Lulan at Fudan seem like tame poodles.

    "Gwen, may I have a word?" Walken''s Message blossomed against Gwen''s ear. "We haven''t had any good opportunity to talk of late. I would very much like to hear your mind before your decisions go public."

    "One second, I''ll meet you downstairs." The sound of blow-dryers accompanied Gwen''s answer.

    When the girl arrived in the lobby of Gouding B1, Walken''s breath seized. Since her return from Amazonia, the aura of personality his student possessed now encroached on oppressiveness. Perhaps it was the Lightning affinity, or maybe the girl had reached another essence-milestone; her presence captured the attention of onlookers, willingly or otherwise.

    How exactly like a Dragon, Walken reflected as he circulated a mote of mana. Already, the residents and the concierge had ceased their activities to stand and stare.

    "Do you like it?" His prot¨¦g¨¦ spun her body mid-stride, expertly turning on one foot as the fishtail dress fanned out. When she crossed the floor, the girl blossomed like an Amaryllis, her hair falling about her shoulders. Unusual for an exhibitionist who shamelessly showed off her vain stalks, Gwen''s present hem was modestly pinned, though the shoulderless upper portion appeared to overcompensate for her knee-length demurity. "It''s an Alex Mu original. He''s an up and coming designer the House of M is sponsoring."

    "You''re certainly becoming acquainted with the locals." Walken looked up at the ceiling, conjuring visions of his daughters to ward against Gwen''s ostentatious fashion. "Are you sure you can bear to leave Shanghai?"

    "And there it is." Gwen curled the corner of her lips. "I wondered when we''d have this talk."

    "Call it curiosity, that and self-preservation," Walken confessed, switching to Silent Message. "You can''t blame an old cynic, can you?"

    "Let''s sit and talk." Gwen pointed to the garden. The cafe next to B1''s lobby wasn''t very good, but it was convenient. "I am not going to ditch you in Shanghai if that''s what you mean."

    "You''re not?" Walken followed. To the observers, the Magister appeared like an abandoned mutt who had just heard a whistle in the distance.

    The two sat.

    Outside, the paparazzi were ready with their optically-enhanced lumen-recorders. Walken sat with his back to the lenses, while Gwen flashed her teeth for her cyclopean admirers.

    "Beware," Walken intoned gravely. "You''re tier 7 now."

    "I know." Gwen rested her face against the palm of her hand. "So, what would you like to know."

    "Are you going to London?"

    "Do I have a choice?"

    "There''s always a choice," Walken scoffed. "Now or in the future, no one will want to fight Gunther von Shultz."

    "And in the not so distant future, no one will want to fight Gwen Song."

    Walken''s countenance twitched. So much for stemming her pride. The girl wasn''t wrong, but her boisterous swagger was a magnet for future troubles.

    "Sorry¡­" the girl stuck out her tongue playfully when she saw the vein bulging against his temple. "But yes, I WANT to goto London."

    "Because?" Walken demanded. "Do you not have enough family here? Not enough crystals? Not enough influence? Do you have any idea what the PLA will give if you''re willing to forsake the Mageocracy?"

    "Who paid you off?" Gwen cocked her head, a lock of hair falling across her eyes like a dash of dark paint. "What''s the going rate for Magister Walken these days?"

    The Magister scowled. "I am serious."

    "Alright." Gwen suddenly sat upright so that Walken had to avert his gaze. The dress, though elegant, wasn''t at all lady-like.

    "I spoke with Babulya, and she''s in agreement that I shouldn''t be caught up in the CCP''s internal affairs. Yeye isn''t going to stay a Secretary forever, and once he''s out, either I fall in line, or they''ll screw me out of everything. As for Gramps, I''d say he''s ambivalent. For now, I am a boon, but knowing his inheritance plans for Percy¡ª who knows? To the Party''s upper echelon, too much wealth is a taboo. The Communists loathe the notion that power and wealth should be concentrated."

    "Career-wise, I am well aware of my shortcomings. Fudan''s a good university, but it''s all second-hand knowledge. I''ve got Magisters who studied in England teaching me a facsimile of what authors in Oxford and Cambridge composed. With my limited time and intelligence, I am not sure if I''ll ever reach my full potential. Magister Wen said that with my access to all schools, I should be making stride into Signature spells, like Henry, like Gunther and Alesia. Did you know that my late Master designed Gunther''s ''hybrid School'' of spells with the help of mates from Oxbridge? That''s what I want..."

    The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

    Walken felt like slapping some sense into the girl¡ª designing new hybrid Schools! The waif was barely a noviciate theorist¡ª and she wants to make new spells! Did she think spell-craftingfor a rare Element-Affinity wasakin to growing tomatoes? That one rubbed a few flowers together to engender hybrids? What half-truths had Wen been feeding the girl?

    "You''re not wrong." Walken thumbed his cup. "But in England, you won''t have the support network you''ve built up."

    "I''ll have Gunther''s buddies, and Lady Grey, and Elvia, my little Evee!"

    Is Elvia is all you care about!? Walken suppressed the complaint spewing from his chest. "Did Gunther mention Mycroft Ravenport?"

    "He told me not to worry." Gwen toyed with a tuft of loose hair. "Lord Ravenport''s Faction has their eyes on the Prime Ministership. If they make Gunther and the Middle Faction their enemy, it would make their objective near impossible. If need be, he''ll mediatefor me."

    "And when Ravenport attains the Ministership? Where will you go then?"

    "Gunther says the Tories still need the Middle Faction''s support to retain a majority against the progressives. Think about it, Eric. Ravenport''s left me well alone for almost two years now. He''s never expressed interest in my existence. We don''t even know if he''s received the intelligence from Nephres. If I go, there''s the questionable threat of a Purist avenger; conversely, the longer I stay here, the more I am painted in the CCP''s colours."

    "A man like Ravenport has patience you cannot imagine."

    "All the merrier. In time, I''ll eat the bastard head first if he dares to take revenge for what his son did to me. Hell''s bells, maybe I''ll pay him a visit. Maybe he should be worried."

    "You''re letting your Lightning do the talking." Walken furrowed his brows. "Your victories are getting to your head, Gwen."

    "Why are you so against me going to London anyway?"

    "I want what''s best for you."

    "You mean, what''s best for you."

    "I''ll not deny it."

    "I already told you, I am not going to leave you homeless."

    "And what''s that supposedtomean?" Walken scoffed. "What do you owe me?"

    "Well, things have changed. You stood up to Alesia, and she has left without turning you medium-rare," Gwen retorted. "Even Gunther said that you''ve paid for your crime in Sydney. For your involvement in Master''s demise, we''ll never see you as one of our own, but you know what? I prefer that we work as mutual beneficiaries. Our short time together has made me fond. I don''t mind having you around."

    Walken gulped, sensing a slight crinkle in his chest. "You don''t?"

    "I don''t."

    "Well..." the Magister realised too late that he was smiling. Gwen''s Cheshire smile possessed a sickening infectiousness. "I¡ª I am flattered."

    "As you should be." Gwen sipped from her pearl tea. "Eric. I am not the idiot girl who was abducted from Singapore anymore. I entrapped the leadership of Tonglv into giving me one per cent of their gross. I started a credit company without spending a cent. I tripled the price of Jade without lifting a finger. According to my bio, I liberated a country..."

    "Allied yourself with Dragon princes¡­"

    "Ate a Beast Tide¡­"

    "Saved a royal¡­"

    "Got offered a place in his harem¡­"

    "What?" Walken almost spat his latte in her face.

    The girl''s facade fractured as she grew suddenly scarlet. "Okay¡ª please disregard that¡ª I thought you knew?"

    Walken dabbed his mouth with a handkerchief, then took a moment to regulate his breathing.

    "But Gwen, what can I do for you in London? I am afraid I''m not very popular with the Grey Faction, at least at the moment. Without a position, there are scant favours I may call on. As for academia, compared to the Meisters and Magisters at Cambridge, I shan''t offer much in the Path of the Omni-Mage."

    "Are you trying to leave?" Gwen''s voice grew surly. "Have you tired of my company?"

    "Just... pointing out the obvious." Walken despaired at his opponent''s endless teasing.

    "I want your counsel and your experience." The girl leaned in just enough so that her finger touched his hand. "I need someone to watch my back, who knows what tricks Ravenport may be up to, or Wen, or even Lady Grey?"

    Eric Walken felt a tightening in his chest. Was the girl serious?

    "Don''t you know its unwise to trust me?" he confessed. "De Botton would skin you alive."

    "No, she won''t." The girl chuckled. "She''ll flay you first, then baste you over a slow fire. Then Gunther will pick up the slack."

    "I fear your trust." Walken felt a queer twinkle of delight constricting his heart, making his head buzz. Was this what the girl had done to her orphaned followers? He wondered. Wasthis what it felt like to be Lulan or Richard, utterly caught in the orbit of the girl''s gravitational pull? "You''re asking too much of a retired old man."

    "Don''t kid yourself. Your ambition''s written all over your face," the girl mocked his attempt at humility. "Come on, Eric, you want the job or not?"

    "The¡­" Walken snorted indignantly. "T-The JOB?"

    "I need a majordomo." Gwen''s presence seemed to magnify as Walken fought off her Draconic-aura. "You''re my guy, right?"

    "I most certainly am not your ''guy''." Walken forcibly reminded himself that he still had an estranged wife and two daughters, one of whom was ill. "And stop pouting like that, and sit properly. Your un-lady-like etiquette will most certainly cause tongues to wag. Lady Grey will have a fit."

    "See? Helpful already." Gwen laughed. "So, will you think about it."

    "You want¡­ one of the Ten¡­" Walken huffed. He wasn''t one of the Ten anymore, but still, he had his dignity and his pride. "To be your butler?!"

    "Would it sound better if I gave you a title? When my¡ª Ruxin''s crystal mountain is deployed in London or the Americas, I shall be the CEO of a new multinational company. As my second and my ancient, you shall be my Inside Director, my whip. Our board will consist of major stakeholders, people like Gunther, obviously Ruxin, maybe another dragon or two to balance thebooks, and stockholders from major industrial sectors will serve as Outside Directors. Your job will consist of wrangling their support so that our interests can be prioritised."

    Walken stared so hard that his eyes began to water.

    "I am very interested in the communications sector," Gwen continued. "China isn''t a good place for the development of long-distance communication technologies, but I have a very good idea involving the Divination Towers. That and I have a few notioninvolving wires and lighting-charged cores. From this baseline¡ª"

    The girl paused. Her conversation partner appeared Petrified. "Eric?"

    Eric Walken breathed out; his warm coffee was now stone cold. As for his mind, a riot of possibilities played across his frontal lobe. He didnot believe the girl had a means of cheap communication for the masses, and yet, Gwen had never disappointed when it came to generating obscene volumes ofcurrency.

    "You''ve got a few months to decide," the girl promised as she slid from her chair. Over the hedge, a dozen bulbs flashed, painting her complexion vivid ivory. "No rush, we''ve got an IIUC to win!"

    The old "Shanghai Club", now known as the Astoria at the Bund, possessed an unrivalled chronicle. Constructed in 1910 to cater to wealthy Westerners, it subsequently survived the Qing Dynasty, the Sino Occupation, The Great Revolution, a failed coup, and then a Beast Tide.

    Both inside and out, the Astoria was an art-deco, ultra-luxury colonial marvel whose price-point mocked the communist banners celebrating the workers'' victory only four blocks away. One step past the footmen, anyone unwilling to burn at least a hundred HDMs at the bar should think twice before gracing its four-storey foyer.

    For Fudan and the young Mages from Auckland and Pretoria, it was with great fortune that the House of M covered all expenses. Had Dean Luo beenmade to foot the bill, the poor man would have lost all his hair by morning.

    Tink! Tink! Tink!

    The shrill twinkle of English silver on elven-glass silenced the room.

    "Students, advisors, and esteemed guests- we welcome you to this gathering for the International Inter-University Competition. TONIGHT¡ª We kick off the second round of the IIUC. Before I reveal the Quest portion of our competition, let us celebrate our future Magus and Magisters, our talented young people whose very presence represents humanity''s hope and dreams..."

    The woman with a sonorous timbre was Magister Maryam Clark Jamison, a Stanford alumna of great renown. With her curly bob, creme-coffee complexion and almond eyes, the Magister''s presence was awe-inspiring, as befitting a Mage of high station. For Gwen, this was the first African-American Magister she had seen, much less heard of, and so her first instinct was to silently Message Walken.

    "Don''t act the bumpkin," Walken''s voice returned. "According to her file, Jamison heads medical Magi-tech research at Stanford, served as the Chief Medical Officer in Chicago, and now works as an external consultant for Pfizer-Klein. In terms of Factions, she''s a neutral outsider..."

    Gwen couldn''t help but note that Walken was more enthused than usual. Upon thestage, the chief proctor continued.

    "¡­ You all know the Magister beside me¡ª Mayor Rong Yin. Sir Yin, the pleasure is all mine," the healer finally finished after a five-minute pontification on the spirit of competition.

    "Your modesty is very un-American." The Mayor of Shanghai, physically an unassuming man, chuckled, eliciting a round of laughter from the room. Once the noise died down, he pointed to the reporters surrounding the hall. "Alas, I am not the main attraction, not today. Stop pointing those devices at me¡ª the stars tonight are these young men and women who will soon venture into the hell known as the Northern Front."

    As if on cue, bulbs glowed white-hot.

    "Well said, Sir Yin." The chief proctor flashed her pearly teeth. "Let me not steal the Dancing Light either. Without adieu, let''s invite to the stage¡ª Your Captains and Vice-Captains!"

    The reception broke into wild applause. Of the hundred-meter long length of tables that had been set up, three pairs stood from their seats.

    From Fudan''s side, all eyes were focused on their resplendent vice-captain, whose daring, figure-hugging dress and four-inch stilettos elevated her head and shoulders above her captain. Arm-in-arm, the two proceeded down the extended entry onto the dais, half-blinded by the lumen-blasts firing from the recorders.

    Pretoria''s leading couple was equally eye-catching. Their captain was a flaxen-haired young man with a prominent jaw and clear, crystal-like eyes in a navy herringbone tuxedo. Everything about the man was tailored; even his measured walk suggested that his existence was brevity in itself. Attached to his arm was an olive-skinned beauty with auburn hair. In contrast to the tapered young man, the lady was outrageously voluptuous. Though she moved languishingly, it was as though every ounce of her sensuous flesh smouldered.

    Finally, Auckland''s duo turned head by virtue of their difference in height and girth. From what the audience could see, Auckland''s captain had the body of a child and the face of a gruff soldier. Measuring just under four-foot-four, the captain from the Land of the Long White Cloud reached only the bosom of his partner. Compared to her captain, Auckland''s vice-captain was a giantess with a sculptedbodymatching her Earth-Affinity.

    Together as a trio, the group made quite the headlining spectacle.

    "Let us begin with our far-far-away-team¡­" chief proctor Jamison intoned. "Captain Hertzog, please say a few words for the audience, the people of China, and your fellow contestants."

    "Ek groed u, my liewe vriende." The young man''s accent was apparent even through the translation stone. "We are delighted to be here and be given the opportunity to represent my country and my university. Though much has changed in my country since the days of my great-grandfather, I hope to prove to the world that despite the blessing the Britannic Mageocracy has bestowed upon us, the blood of our forefathers flows undiminished. Today, I am here with my vice-captain, Alizea Kock, my teammates Lencho, Mariete, Ella, Altus, Pieter, Izette, and Heila. Together, I hope that we shall provide the people of this land some solace from its invaders. From the depth of our hearts, we truly thank you for hosting us."

    The Captain of Pretoria bowed.

    "Wooo, snarky." Gwen had learned of the beef between the Boers and the British who came into South Africa salivating after its abundance of precious minerals and HDM mines. According to Walken, the result was that South Africa''s Purists were dragged kicking and screaming onto the Middle Path. One by one, Gwen''s gaze matched the names to the nodding faces and the waving arms.

    "Six¡­ seven¡ª there''s nine of them? Eric, did someone die?"

    "No, there''s ten of them. Hertzog missed the last one."

    Gwen''s gaze fell upon an individual she had disregarded. It wasn''t surprising, considering his lack of presence. Now that her Essence-infused eyes focused, she saw a young man who could only be described as unfortunate. Where the rest of Pretoria had the chiselled look of young nobles with their Duchess noses, deeply sunken eyes and fair to olive skin; the oddball appeared as if a goblin shark and Voldemort had a lovechild. Gangly and yet somehow shrunken, the man looked completely uncomfortable in his designer suit, giving the impression that the wardrobe designer had stuffed a sphinx cat into a child''s tux. As if sensing her gaze, the man raised his head. His eyes were a beautiful blue, but against his face and his pallid dermis, all Gwen could think of was Gollum.

    "Wow." Gwen repressed her ingrained prejudice, then silently Messaged her instructor. "What is that dude? Is he demi-human?"

    "I''ll find out from Magister Jamison," her instructor replied. "Stop staring, it''s rude. You''ll see worse in England, I promise you. The upper nobility throws up some horrors now and then. I''ll tell you that."

    Unable to control her mirth, Gwen burst into a dazzling grin before removing her eyes from the unfortunate tenth member of Pretoria.

    Next to take the spotlight was Auckland''s mismatched combination from the buddy comedy "Twins".

    "Kia Ora!" came a booming voice from a tiny body. "Rona Manaia from Turangi, Captain of Orkland, at your service. Oi am here with me mates and missus from Oceania and the Land of the Long White Cloud. With me here is our missus boss, Ruihi Keeti. As for the other fellers: from the left, that''s Yue Bai from Sydney, the Wikiriwhi brothers from Whitianga, Maka and Timoti. Over there''s Rongo and Otikoro, the big boi there is Whetu of Rotorua, next to him in the shade is Tua from Te Urewera. Finally, that choice young lady there''s Opi from my hometown. It''s good to be here with the bros, and we look forward to a good competition."

    Yue waved at her captain, or perhaps she was waving at Gwen¡ª Gwen couldn''t tell. The little-red dress that Yue wore, however, was sure to raise eyebrows once the cocktails started flowing.

    "The captain''s a ''quarterling''." Walken''s voice drifted across the room via the Silent Message. "It wasn''t mentioned in his file. How quaint."

    "What the hell is a quarterling?"

    "Half of a Halfling." Walken''s dad-joke flew over her head. "You''re aware of what happens when a Demi-human and a human love each other very much, yes?"

    "AH." Gwen nodded imperceptibly. The young man was barely up to her chest, but his hand and feet were enormous.

    "And finally, a word from our residents!" Magister Jamison stalked around Gwen and Tei, cooler than a cucumber. When she passed Gwen, the chief proctor lowered her voice. "Miss Song, I''ve seen your uncut vid-casts, and I must say that what you refer to as CPR has turned heads and peaked interests in my field of expertise."

    "I am happy to hear it." Gwen smiled at the decorated Magister, carefully observing the youthful, forty-something woman. "We''ve yet to find an avenue to publish our findings, you should know. Perhaps in the future, when I am abroad¡­"

    "Of course." The Magister pursed her thick-lips. "Which one of you will speak?"

    "Tei, work your magic." Gwen nudged Tei so that he began the usual cookie-cutter speech deemed acceptable at all official CCP events. Without blinking, he began to extol their un-repayable gratitude for the nation, his Clan, his parents, to Fudan. "¡­ He''s our official CCP spokesperson."

    "You''re not going to speak yourself?" The chief proctor measured the girl from head to toe with her amber orbs. "You''ve got a gift for oratory. Some would say that''s a rarer talent than Magic."

    "And a good speech must be delivered at the right time and in the right place. For now, I am happy to play the vase." Gwen held her gaze steady as the two women measured one another. "¡­Magister, I think you''re up."

    "We''ll talk later." The caramel-complexioned Magister turned her face slightly from Gwen to face the crowd. As her voice rose to a crescendo, the multitudes stood to raise their glasses. "LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, allow me to declare the opening of the 2004 second round of the INTERNATIONAL INTER-UNIVERSITY COMPETITION! FUDAN! PRETORIA! AUCKLAND! YOUR MISSION, should you choose to accept: is to assist in the RECLAMATION OF SHENYANG!"

 Chapter 299 - Shattering Expectations

    With the formalities petering out, the contestants moved to a courtyard lit with Dancing Lights, forming a dazzling display where illusory lanterns suffused the garden with gentle ambience.

    Unlike Cuzco, the PLA proved keen on inter-team duels. However, to limit injury before the contestants ventured into an Undead Black Zone, the duels had been restricted to individual bouts.

    After a speech about professional conduct, sportsmanship and safety, Magister Jamison invited the teams to offer volunteers. Likewise, to prevent damage escalation, the style was setto Oxford, meaning that contestants entered the bout without pre-buffs.

    Gwen was halfway to the dais when Walken commanded her to stand down. As their ace in the hole, she was far better suited to countering enemy Mages.

    "Lulan," Tei implored their sword-wielding starlet. "Do you mind starting for us?"

    "Not at all." Lulan Misty-Stepped onto the announcement platform. For the evening event, the students had changed out of their formal wear into university-themed training outfits. In her tights and halterneck body-suit, Lulan positively glowed. To her unsuspecting admirers, the girl possessed a striking aura. To Gwen, she knew that Lulan''s battle-heavy training regime fed the Naga Spirit like no other and that its Draconic-essence was likely nourishing Lulu.

    Arriving, Lulan bowed toward the chief proctor, the overseer of the duels before facing the crowd.

    "Lulan Li, Sword Mage of Fudan! I seek instruction from my seniors!"

    Yue met Gwen''s eyes across the room. To her disappointment, her aunt-in-craft shook her head.

    "Allow me, sister," came a reply from Pretoria. "I am also a Spirit-bonded Earthen Mage. I''ll show you a few tricks¡ª if you''re willing to learn."

    Gwen recognised the young Mage as Ella Goosen, a flaxen-haired beauty with a bronze complexion. Side-by-side, though both were Earth Mages, Lulan''s figure was compact and petite; Ella''s was tall, dignified, and glowing.

    "I look forward to our exchange¡ª" Lulan bowed. A second later, she Misty Stepped into the duelling cage.

    Unlike her opponent, Pretoria''s Abjurer did not possess instant-movement spells.

    "Let''s play a game." Ella raised a hand, making a gesture for Lulan to initiate the first strike. "Attack all you like. I shall forfeit if you breach my defences before you are OoM."

    "Deal." The crowd roared as Lulan slowly materialised all five blades, causing a cascade of lumen-bulb flashes to fill the arena.

    "HaiiiiYA!" Lulan leapt into the air, twisting and turning her body to gain the momentum necessary to begin her blade dance. "Panzerschreck!"

    She fired off a single blade to test Pretoria''s defences.

    "Man van Goud!" Ella''s pupils transformed into pin-points of golden brilliance. "Golem, kom!"

    CLANG!

    A clay-statue rose from the ground where Lulan had expected a shield to manifest. To her complete amazement, the vague figure moved, catching her blade with mitt-sized hands, eliciting a clank of fiery sparks. Not relenting on the momentum of her strike, Lulan fell into her usual rhythm.

    "Sweep!"

    "Strike!"

    "Pierce!"

    "Golems! Defend me!"

    Four human-sized gingerbread men had now manifested, and each of them clutched Lulan''s blade. In the eyes of Fudan''s observers, Pretoria''s Abjurer must have anticipateda comfortable victory if she disabled Lulan''s melee spells.

    "Heart-Seeker!" Lulan waited for the moment the fourth nugget-man caught her blade before firing her final weapon through the gap.

    "Shield!" Ella hurriedly manifested a shimmerin, golden shield with a malleable surface that snagged the blade''s cutting edge.

    "BRAVO!" came the sound of Gwen''s breathless voice after seeing so much gold in one place. "Good work, Lulu! Great defence!"

    "Not using Blink?" Ella ignored the hooting Void Sorceress, then snorted at the petite Sword Mage. "You do yourself a disservice."

    "It''s not a fight to the death." Lulan allowed her blades to crumble. "If you insist, I''ll Shield Break you in the next minute."

    "Do your worst, meisiekind."

    "This will hurt. SWEEP!"

    Lulan stomped the underfoot Force Barrier, using the rebounding energy to somersault above the haughty Mage and her gold-laced Earth Elementals. Though Lulan herself had no name for the flurry of strikes she now committed, the watching journalists dubbed the chained combination, "The Green-Iron Blossom".

    CLANG!

    CLANG! CLANG!

    CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!

    An unceasing cascade of blows pushed Ella into a corner, her golden golem-men absorbing into her shield one by one as the pressure mounted. Lulan''s blows felt like a blacksmith''s hammer, pounding her shield into a distorted mess.

    P¡ªAAANG!

    Lulan changed the angle of her strike. To the audience''s delight, a slice of golden metal flew from Ella''s control and smashed against the vibrating wall. In desperation, Pretoria''s defender let loose a shout of dismay before muttering an inaudible spell under the din of Lulan''s discordant strikes.

    When the Sword Mage again closed in to shave away more of her manipulated alloy, an impaling spike erupted the moment Lulu connected her blow, returning the favour.

    "Lulu! Dodge it!" came the sound of her teammate''s cries.

    Lulan took the erupting lance without so much as a grimace, allowing it to graze her abdomen. Sparks flew as the fabric ripped, exposing her tempered abdominals. With a grunt of effort, her riposte landed, penetrating Ella''s shield with an ear-grating sound of metal on metal.

    "Shield Break!" The chief proctor declared with a clap of her hands. "Both of you. Well done!"

    The contestants bowed, shook hands, then left the stage to the sound of thunderous applause.

    "Lulu, did you see her element?!" Gwen was shaking. "Is it gold¡ª like real gold?"

    "It''s a gold-alloy." Walken''s Message interrupted her glee. "Did you read my notes? The regions around Johannesburg and Pretoria are inundated with rare earth minerals, precious metals and gemstones. She must have picked up a rare Earth Elemental."

    "Damn it, so it''s not gold?" Gwen materialised a towel for the victorious Lulan. "Here, put this on. Kusu''s going to complain."

    Lulan wrapped the beach towel around her shoulders.Against her tiny frame, the bath-sized fabric was just enough to cover her bruised midsection.

    Next to takethe stage was another member of Pretoria, the sultry vice-captain with an outrageous figure matched only by Yue. Yawning, she pointed a disinterested finger at Team Auckland.

    "Alizea Kock, I''ll fight two rounds. One from each of your teams. Who''s first?" The sorceress'' husky voice befitted her smouldering silhouette, leaving no doubt that compared to Fudan''s fresh-faced lasses, she was a full-fledged woman.

    Gwen focused just enough to activate her Detect Magic. Here was a Mage whose element sent her heart into bouts of palpitation. Though she had seen Wonsoo in action in Guangzhou, no further opportunities had since arisen where she could tangle with the versatility of one of the rarer quasi-elements - Ooze.

    "Maka Wikiriwhi of Whitianga, here to answer your challenge!" A giant appeared on stage, emerging from a hiss of sulphur.

    "Magtig, you''re groot one." Alizea smirked, her clear-cobalt eyes appearing to swallow the man whole. "We''re badly matched, Maka. I''d recommend someone else. Like your captain, or that fiery little bakvissie who''s giving me the evil eye."

    "You''ll have to defeat me first." Maka stretched his arms and legs, his admirablemuscles rippling across his magnificent bulk. On his face, the vivid ta moko¡ª the tribal tattoos of the Maori people, writhed as though alive. "Come at me, bro."

    "I''ll be nice." Alizea Dimensioned Doored into the arena, crossing her arms under her chest. "Coming?"

    Maka followed with a Blink. From the difference in their mana trails, Gwen could see that Pretoria''s craft was superior.

    "First Strike is all yours." Alizea stepped back. "I don''t much like opening a fight, though I tend to end them."

    Maka took a deep breath, then without warning, his facial expression changed. With a tremendous shout, his body expanded, his muscles tensed, his bull-neck strained, and his eyes bulged from their sockets. "Ka mate, ka mate! Ka ora! Ka ora!¡­" Barking war cries erupted from the Kiwi''s lips, blowing away not only the audience but Alizea.

    "Jislaaik!" the sorceress shirked back, half-stunned by the sudden display. "What ancient witchcraft is this?! BOB!"

    Of all the audience present, it was likely that only Gwen and Auckland''s team knew the meaning behind the one-warrior Haka that Maka now performed. In the Land of the Long Cloud, the Haka and the ta moko greatly enhanced a Mage''s physical and mental abilities, granting the invoker resistance and courage in equal measure.

    Unfortunately for Maka, "Bob", a gelatinous ooze shaped like a cube and half the size of the arena swallowed the still-shouting Kiwi. Not expecting to be outright overwhelmed, Maka was mid-stride and half-finished when he became suddenly encased in slime.

    "YOU¡ª!" Yue shouted from below the dais. "He was getting to the good part!"

    Gwen wasn''t sure whether to laugh, cry, or cringe.

    She knew what a Haka was and still, Maka managed to make her flinch with that first "Ka ora!" For someone like Alizea, it must have felt like a sonic assault.

    In the cube, Maka tried to move, to invoke a spell, to bring forth his magma. Unfortunately, all was in vain.

    "Maka! Get back here!" Yue fumed, scalding the air around her body. "I''llboil this bitch''s blood!"

    No response came. Makacouldn''t breathe, much less banter. The advantage often used by Water Mages to prevent their opponents from casting was now manifested in its unadulterated glory by Alizea the Ooze Mage.

    "What a wonderful Familiar," Richard muttered under his breath, his eyes gleaming. "Beautiful."

    Alizea waited for half-a-minute before releasing the coughing Maka from her jello prison. Red-faced and vomiting undigested dinner, the Kiwi rolled to one side to prevent himself from been choked to death by his ejecta. With Yue foaming at the mouth, Gwen grew terrified that the competition may see its first fatality before the matches had even begun. Pulling her friend into her arms, she held the Fire Sorceress against her chest, forcing her to calm down.

    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    "Miss Alizea, I challenge you!" a voice rang out from behind Gwen. She turned to see a red-faced Jiro ready to rock. "Miss Bai, I dedicate this match to you!"

    Gwen made a face. Elementally, Jiro wasn''t a good match, though his ever-burning Firebird may yet secure a victory.

    "Whatever." Alizea furrowed her brows, realising that Auckland and Fudan not only knew one another but were acquainted. If so, she would teach them a lesson. "A friendly warning though. I have the advantage. You should quit before you hurt yourself."

    Jiro didn''t hear a word, for the young man Blinked into the area without so much as waiting for Walken''s advice.

    "Idiot." Petra rolled her eyes. "Eunae?"

    "Yes, Petra?" Eunae''s expression grew worried.

    "Get Eunae ready," Walken likewise lamented in his Message to Gwen. "Fighting an Ooze Mage in a cage? That boy''s thinking with his wand."

    "Contestants, BEGIN!" Chief proctor Jamison was happy so long as bodies filled the arena. "First to shield-break!"

    True to their prediction, Jiro opened strong with an all-consuming barrage. To the layman observer, the Fire Mage appeared to dominate as Alizea dodged and rolled, protecting herself with blob after quivering blob of conjured Ooze-flesh. Yet, when Jiro filled the arena with fire, his expression grew increasingly disorientated until, too incoherent to control his body, he fell face-first into a pile of still-smouldering Slime. For all of Jiro''s talk of overcoming hardship with guts, physiology remained an immutable barrier.

    Outside, Gwen was ready with Eunae beside the stage as Alizea delivered the unconscious Fire Mage. When Jiro flopped onto Yue like a dead fish, Gwen growled dangerously, making even Yue flinch.

    "May I have a match?" Her hazel eyes were almost amber with anger as she regarded the Ooze Mage. The air sparked, or at least the onlookers felt that it had.

    "We may not." Alizea unsummoned her globular multitudes. "I''ve seen your prowess. We''re not a good match up."

    "Do you only fight when the Affinities align?"

    "No." Alizea stood so close that the two could have touched. Refusing to give an inch, she fired back at the boisterous young sorceress of Fudan with a snark of her own. "I don''t waste my energy unless I can win."

    "Well said!" Magister Jamison golf-clapped. "Some would call it cowardice, but knowing your strength and weaknesses marks the true form of the expert Mage."

    "Fine. Which one of you is GAME enough for a challenge?" In her wounded pride, Gwen''s aura verged on oppression.

    "I''m going with Eunae," Yue grumbled. Jiro had wanted to fight in her stead, meaning his humiliation belonged to her as well. Without a deathmatch, there was no way for their fire to offset Alizea''s Ooze before they succumbed to her toxins. Mayhap Jiro had not possessed the purest of intentions, but he did take a bolt to the brain for her sake. "Kick their ass for me."

    "May I have a match?" the voice of Pretoria''s Captain filled the vox-casters. "I have heard endless praise for your prowess. Our advisor said to avoid duelling you at all costs."

    Gwen stepped away from Pretoria''s vice-captain, allowing the woman to pass.

    "Wel gedaan," the young man intoned when his twice-victorious teammate returned, greeting her with an affirming pat. "Let''s see if I measure up against the fabled Void Sorceress of Fudan. If I lose, tell the leech to step up and make himself useful."

    "Good." Gwen stepped into the duelling box, materialising Ariel and Caliban as she did so, eliciting gasps from both Auckland and Pretoria. At the barrier, recalling the information Walken had provided, she paused. "Schalk, aren''t you an Abjurer? I am not going to go easy, just so you know."

    "Beware his Banish," Walken''s voice drifted in.

    "He''s got a Banish loaded up," Petra warned her.

    "Gwen, he''s going after your pets." The third voice belonged to Whetu.

    Gwen remained unfazed. Rather than wariness, she looked forward to it.

    "I am what they call an all-rounder," the young man with the surname of Hertzog spoke with care. "Before we begin, hear me out. I know you''re upset¡ª you look upset. BUT¡ª we''re competitors, not enemies. Once the IIUC is over, I want us to meet as friends."

    "How humble." Gwen stood with a hand against her hip. The captain''s diplomacy surprised her, especially considering what Walken had said about the Purists.

    "You mistake my humility." Pretoria''s captain regarded Gwen with irises that were carbon copies of Petra''s. Schalk was a good-looking bloke; his intense eyes reminded her of a majestic male Husky. With his straight nose, square jaws and tapered chin, he appeared to Gwen a twenty-something Alec Baldwin. Of all the teams they fought so far, Pretoria''s Mages ranked highasdecent-looking lads and lasses, sansGollum von Voldemort.

    "I will do my best." The captain bowed. "Shall we?"

    The two moved to opposite ends of the arena.

    "Mages¡ª keep it cool, keep it clean, and keep the lethality low. You''ll be touring the Front in two days." Chief proctor Jamison waited for the reporters and journalists to settle before announcing the match. "BEGIN!"

    At the drop of the Magister''s hand, Gwen conjured two spells in quick succession "Chakram! Ariel¡ª Lightning Bolt!"

    The crowd burst into amazement at the live demonstration of oppositional elements. As an arc, a dark disc of Void sliced toward Schalk while instantaneously, two bolts of high-tier Lightning arced toward Pretoria''s captain.

    "Dimension Door!" Schalk appeared and reappeared, catching Gwen on the back foot even as she commanded Caliban to ambush the man when he re-materialised from behind.

    Unexpectedly, her prediction fell short. The distance Pretoria''s captain had displaced was just enough to render her spells null.

    "Miss Song, be careful now¡ª Scatter Shot!"

    The space in front of Gwen appeared to compress. In response, she raised her double-glazed shield. A split-second later, a hundred thudding impacts clattered against her diamond-faceted barrier, pinging off the surface.

    "EE EE!" Ariel warned her that Schalk had disappeared into another Dimension Door.

    "Cali, spider form as soon as he reappears!" Gwen swore as she followed suit, likewise teleporting across the duelling floor. A Banish was coming sooner or later; she had to be ready.

    When her world reorientated, she painted her surroundings with a Lightning Nova, hoping to catch an unsuspecting Schalk setting up his attack.

    "EE EE!" Ariel screeched.

    She looked up.

    Schalk was standing upside down and directly overhead through Spider Climb. The man had not teleported beside her but had readied an ambush instead. Her Divination Sigil tingled as Gwen grimaced. Compared to Tei, she wasn''t an expert duellist, but wereher tactics that easy to read?

    "Scatter Shot! Earthen Spikes!" Pretoria''s captain let loose two near-simultaneous low-tier spells at once. The execution was academic and concise, precisely as Magister Jamison had requested¡ª crisp, clean and the lethality low.

    Before she could Dimension Door again, Gwen had to open another shield. Around her came the pop and crackle of rapidly expanding crystals, followed by the sound of fracturing glass as her double-glazed barrier took damage from above and below. Had she been a sorceress lacking the VMI necessary to compress and sustain her defence, the match would have been over. For Gwen, however, she was merely inconvenienced while her shield-bubble turned opaque.

    "SHAAA!" A cry from Caliban indicated that Schalk''s troubles were about to begin. In its spider form, Caliban Hasted itself with Gwen''s vitality, then rapidly clambered toward Pretoria''s Captain on spindly legs.

    With complete calm, Schalk extended both hands, then swiftly drew a series of Mandalas through the air. Less than a meter away, Caliban raised both forelegs. If the multi-talented Mage refused to raise his shield, it would skewer the man like a boerewors.

    The entire exchange lasted barely five or six seconds, but it was enough.

    "Banish!" Schalk completed the spell with nary a second to spare. A lesser Mage would have experienced a multi-tongued kiss to the face.

    "SHAAA!" Caliban fell from the ceiling, landing as though suddenly drunk, then collapsed into its original serpent form. For Gwen, the Banish came as a blow directed against her Astral Soul, though she successfully kept her Familiar intact. Though Caliban''s morphic presence grew uncertain, her beast remained fully manifested in the material realm.

    "It''s not banished?" cries from Pretoria''s side rang out. "How can this be?"

    "Extraordinary!" Magister Jamison clapped. Impressed by Schalk''s ability to juggle Abjuration, Enchantment and Conjuration simultaneously, as well as by Gwen''s Astral fortitude. "You too, Miss Song, that was tier 5!"

    Inside the arena, Schalk Hertzog felt his back suddenly drenched in cold sweat when Gwen''s barrier shield dropped. Banish took a great deal of concentration, and he was counting on Gwen''s disorientation to offset his spell-fatigue.

    "You almost had me there," came the girl''s icy voice from below. "Flash Bang!"

    BUNG!

    A star was born, manifesting so rapidly that his shield barely had time to solidify before his senses were momentarily overwhelmed. Reflexively, Schalk Dimension Doored to safety.

    BUNG! Came a second flash of light and sound, jarring his innards. Schalk wanted to spew; if he had possessed a softer element like Alizea''s Ooze, he could have repressed the spell''s potency. As a Mineral Mage, however, the vibrations shook his brain even as the refracting light made his diamond-shield iridescent.

    A role-reversal, Schalk noted. The girl was as spiteful as a manticore.

    "EE EE!"

    "Barbanginy!"

    Gwen had yet to use Walken''s Thundering Shatter on anyone other than Petra during practice, but the close call with Caliban had exacerbated her foul mood. As Ariel manifested the spell at a distance, a rolling, tile-displacing, glass-vibrating clamour rumbled through the shaking duelling box.

    "REMOVE THE TOP BARRIER¡ª" Magister Jamison warned the technical team. "NOW!"

    Outside, the guests'' jubilant expressions paled as some realised the Wall of Force might not hold against a spell especially designed to disrupt single-pane barriers. Inside, Gwen came to realise she had miscalculated Ariel''s firepower, particularly that there was no IFF for sonic damage.

    "Idiot girl!" Outside, an ashen Walken despaired. Anything from Lightning Bolt to Ball Lightning could have cracked the boy''s shield¡ª why Thundering Shatter? The spell was infamously destructive without her Essence, and now with the girl''s tier 7 Affinity combined with her Kirin, the spell''s magnitude had grown beyond compare.

    CRACK! A fulmination so turbulent as to mirror the heavens splitting in twain filled the interior of the duelling area. Where Schalk had cloistered himself in a diamond-like shield, the sound of sheet-glass shattering punctuated the din. For an elongated second, the shrill whine of portable force-generators screamed like strangled cats. A spluttering fart followed, after which the devices burst into bright plumes of fizzling mana.

    Walken despaired. Like all good spells, there remained a second-stage manifestation.

    Just when the guests thought the worst was over, the low rumble built into a shrill-shriek akin to ceramic scratched over a chalkboard, amplified to liquefy one''s soul.

    Crystalware sourced from Elven artisans, having been in the Astoria''s collections for decades, exploded into fine powder as goblets and pitches cracked and crumbled. Not far from where the courtyard housed the duel, multi-storey sheet-glass split into splendiferous hues, catching the shocked faces of the journalists, the proctors, and the contestants.

    Stunned by the power of her magic, Gwen felt her soul grow sore, thinking of the crystal compensation soon to follow. Even now, the liqueur covered guests and the proud staff of the historic Astoria painted her lonesome figure with death glares.

    "M-My recorder!" ajournalist wailed when his vision turned kaleidoscopic.

    "Shaa Shaa!" Caliban menaced the unmoving captain, ready for round two, heedless of the crowd.

    "EE! EEE!" Ariel looked to Gwen, expecting praise for its brilliant assault.

    Pretoria''s captain laid very still on the floor, blinded and deafened and knowing that it was far better to remain prone than to expel his dinner.

    Upon the dais, Magister Jamison took a deep breath. Had she not disabled the top-most portion of the force field, she wondered if Schalk Hertzog would have turned to jelly.

    A slow clamour began to grow from the thong of guests below. Some were understandably upset. Others were applauding, while here and there, people took the unfortunate event to be a tale told and retold weeks and years from now. "I was there!" they would say. "When the Astoria had to be restored! Again!"

    "LOSS, Gwen Song!" Magister Jamison growled. "For excessive force and excessive injury and collateral damage. You''re worse than an acolyte, girl! Learn some control! Come here."

    While Pretoria''s team attended to their victorious captain, Gwen sheepishly walked toward the Magister with her Familiars in tow.

    "Give the crowd a few minutes to settle, then issue an apology." The chief proctor''s eyes searched Gwen''s face for the slightest hint of insubordination.

    "Yes, ma''am."

    "Girl. Do you have enough crystals to pay for the damage?"

    Gwen appeared on the verge of agony.

    The Magister snorted. Silly girl, stupid is as stupid does, she critiquedsympathetically. At this rate, the girl may be paying off the debt even after her graduation.

    "That''s it for the duels then." The chief proctor scanned the ruined party, her ageless face wrinkled by the stress brought on by the unruly sorceress. "A friendly bit of advice. Kiss and make up with Pretoria if you can. Urban warfare isn''t going to be a Quest Fudan wants to do alone."

    "Ha! Suffer in ya jocks!" Yue slammed the beer before crushing the can. "NEXT!"

    "I yield," slurred the Lightning Mage from Pretoria, a teal-eyed youth who had challenged her to a beer-drinking contest. "For such a tiny meisie, where do you pack all that booze?"

    All eyes fell toward Yue''s low-cut top; many inquisitive minds reached the same conclusion.

    After the duels were suspended, Fudan''s vice-captain invited both teams to a hole-in-the-wall restaurant to experience "xiao ye" or midnight-supper.

    For Auckland''s Mages, the famous Beggar Chicken reminded them of "H¨¡ngi" feasts. Meanwhile, Pretoria''s members blew Gwen''s mind when they took to eating liver, fatty intestine, and even chicken feet without batting an eye.

    After two-dozen dishes populated the table, the Tsingtao began to flow in earnest.

    "Oi! What are you staring at, you wanna go?" Yue barked at the shadow lurking not far from Gwen. For a while now, the last member of Pretoria had grated her nerves. Gwen begged a good oogling, but that was no reason to undress her with his eyes.

    "Don''t mind him." Schalk opened a can and passed the ice-cold beverage down the table. "Jean-Paul isn''t used to public spaces or people. Isn''t that right, Jean-Paul?"

    Hearing his name, the creature known as Jean-Paul appeared to shrink into his chair.

    "Say something, Jean-Paul," Alizea demanded from across the table. "Don''t play the mute. We know you can talk."

    The rest of Pretoria laughed, a few from Aucklandand Fudan joined the mirth.

    Jean-Paul opened his mouth to speak, though no sound emerged. His pallid face was already a deep scarlet, and now he looked on the verge of asphyxiation.

    Across the long table, Gwen sat transfixed, likewise glancing at Jean-Paul. More so than the others, it was Gwen''s undivided attention that made the man with a face no mother could love squirm.

    Yue scoffed. So what if the cockroachwas a Void Mage? Who could match her friend''s prodigious talent? Certainly not ahairless Water Ghost.

    "No matter, three CHEERs to our success on the Front! May our adventure be sweet-as!" Rona, Auckland''s captain, stood on his seat to raise a toast. Like Yue, the man could drink like a fish. "Just as the headiest foam rises to the top, may the best team emerge the victor!"

    "Cheers!"

    "G¨¡nb¨¥i!"

    "Gesondheid!"

    Foaming cans and bottles clinked across the air. Until the beer ran dry, no contestant wanted to recall that in less than forty-eight hours, they would no longer be in a city of twenty-million living souls, but knee-deep in the Undead.

 Chapter 300 - Caliban, Interrupted

    By the time the beer dried up, the three teams had become well acquainted. At Gwen''s behest, each member of their Dalian foray was to deliver a show and tell, like on day one of a tutorial class.

    The first to volunteer were the boisterous New Zealanders. Their captain, Rona Manaia, a stock-standard Water Mage, announced that he would spend the match in the backlines. His speciality, Illusion and Conjuration, may work wonders on intelligent enemies but was hapless against the Undead. When asked if he was a ''quaterling'', Rona raised a toast.

    "Yeah bro, me old woman''s a halfie." The captain''s endearing vernacular had Gwen in fits. "Don''t knock me mum for her size though. She''s sweet as they come."

    "It''s true," Yue cut in. "Mrs Manaia''s pavlova? Ernnnngh!"

    As Yue grunted in a most unladylike manner, Gwen peeked at the Purists from Pretoria. Surprisingly, Schalk and mates appeared entirely chill with the idea. If so, it was true what Richard had once said, that among the Purists, there were factions. For pursuers of unadulterated magical might, unions with higher-order demi-humans were encouraged. What united the Purists, therefore, was mutual loathing for NoMs.

    "Whetu Tikitiki O Taranga." The biggest of the gathered students half-stood so that he wouldn''t head-bump the greasy ceiling. "I employ Punamu. I am our team''s Abjurer-Defender. I can use a little Transmutation."

    In addition to Gwen''s friends, the other members of Auckland were the Wikiriwhi brothers, Maka and Timoti, both Spirit-bound Magma Mages and Evokers. Maka minored in Transmutation, while Timoti was skilled in Conjuration. Their other relative, Rongo Winiata, was a rare Water Evoker.

    "Too bad you and I couldn''t duel." Rongo grinned at Richard. "Oi''ve heard of ya, Mr Undine."

    "I am happy to oblige whenever." Richard looked the big man up and down. "Your spirit, its a whale, isn''t it?"

    Rongo abruptly lifted his shirt, revealing chiselled abdominals like those found on a polished statue, from his chest to his left lumbar, an enormous ta moko depicting a flat-headed fish impressed Gwen to no end. "Not whale, but He-Mango-Tohor¨¡! Whale Shark!"

    Richard whistled. Lulu covered her face.

    Soundlessly, Lea manifesting beside him, dazzling Richard''s audience with a beauty only a fay could possess. Chuckling, she handed him a cold beer. "Thanks, love."

    The two men watched one another. The whale shark evidently could not manifest Rongo a cold one.

    With a laugh, the next candidate, Otikoro Aperahama, announced himself as Auckland''s Water Abjurer-Transmuter.

    The man beside him, a giant heavily tattoed with dog-skin ta moko, introduced himself as Tua Kahurangi. He was a Sand Mage, a talent that knitted Gwen''s brow and brought on unpleasant memories.

    "Ruihi Keeti, Enchanter, Earth." A robust woman with dazzling ember eyes and big bushy hair stood to reveal twin arms tattooed from fingertips to her undershirt. Most jarring was the ta moko that gilded her neck to her chin, giving the impression of a beard. "My speciality is defensive buffs through the sacred art."

    "And I am Opi Raharuhil, Diviner-Enchanter, Air." A slim woman as tall as Gwen stood, she sported more ta mojo than her already impressive sister-in-craft. "I specialise in the ta moko of attack."

    The last of the Kiwi crew wasn''t a New Zealander at all but a Sydney-sider on loan, one that grinned mischievously at Gwen before telling her story.

    "My mother''s an NoM," Yue declared when it came to her turn, wiggling her brows at Pretoria. As expected, a few of the members sobered up with conflicted expressions, dimming the mirth.

    A dozen pairs of eyes drifted back and forth as Yue shit stirred. Fengbo Village was no place to duel.

    "Good for you," Schalk broke the ice. "Are you expecting one of us to smash the table and call you a squib? I could oblige if it makes you happier."

    "Schalks, you don''t mind someone like Yue?" Gwen cut straight to the chase. She''d been worried about how the two would interact.

    "Why would I mind?" Pretoria''s captain snorted. With his pale eyes gleaming, he stood to face the half-blood sorceress. "Miss Bai, are you willing to bear me a child?"

    "FUCK NO!" Yue''s spray of Tsingtao missed Gwen by an inch. "Gwen, tell him he''s dreaming!"

    "Schalks, I am afraid Yue''s not a good fit..."

    "Of course she''s not." Schalk grinned, the young man''s charisma was palpable. "Now then, shall I rage and fume at a half-breed with no interest in partnership? We''re allies of circumstance. She may do as she pleases, as will I. We Boers are objectivists, Miss Song¡ª we''re nothing like those British or the American hypocrites. Please don''t lump us together."

    "You surprise me more and more." Gwen raised a glass. "To your health."

    "Gesondheid!" Schalk raised his bottle of half-finished beer. "Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Schalk Hertzog. I am a Mineral Mage, I major in Abjuration, and minors in Conjuration and Enchantment. Just so, I possess lesser talents across the spectrum. My great-grandfather is the great J.L. Barry Hertzog, a hero of the Boer Union of the old Cape. Though my ancestor''s statue has been removed from the Union''s lawn, he is immortalised by the Hertzoggie, a delicious jam-tart, my favourite dessert. As of today, I am the first Mage in my family to be beaten unconscious by a beautiful young woman, live, and on international vid-cast."

    Gwen nursed her glass, half full of guilt and the other half sloshing with wounded pride. She wondered if Schalk was willing to accept compensation, but what could a Mage of his stature possibly lack?

    "Gwen." Richard nudged her. "Announce your list of Schools, then give him the bird."

    "Richard!" Gwen hissed at her cousin like a cat, causing the table to burst into laughter.

    Next to introduce herself was Alizea Kock.

    "Alizea, Ooze. Transmutation Conjuration. Controller." The woman flopped in her chair. "Please get on with it."

    The rest of South Africa''s team followed their captain and vice-captain. Ella Goosen was the Earthen Abjurer-Conjurer who commanded gold-laced minerals. Lencho Afrika and Mariete Afrika were cousins who both Awakened in Lightning Evocation and had reached tier 6. Pieter Zietsman was an Ice Mage Transmuter-Abjurer, and Pretoria''s second defender. Their controller, Altus De Waal, an Air Illusionist, confessed to joining Auckland''s captain on the backbench. Lastly, Pretoria''s two utilitarian casters were Izette Rautenbach, a Cleric hailing from the Convent of the Reformed, and Heila Anderson, a Diviner.

    "And you, sir?" Gwen finally turned to the young man half-sunken in his chair. It was the moment she had anticipated since finding out from Schalk that Jean-Paul was a Void Mage. The news had come so unexpectedly that even now, Gwen doubted Schalk''s words. If Jean-Paul was a Void Mage, why couldn''t she sense anything? Not even her Detect Magic saw anything but raw and mundane sorcery from the unassuming man.

    "My name is Jean-Paul Bekker," came a tiny whisper.

    "And are you a Void Mage?" Gwen studied the bloke whose face had been left half-finished by a cruel creator. When the man opened his mouth to speak, her heart leapt.

    "Yes. I am a Void Mage," Jean-Paul''s reply was a mosquito''s hum. "I major in Conjuration¡­ and Evocation."

    "See? I told you. Jean-Paul is a bonafide Void Mage, with a Void Spirit to boot. Though he was thrust upon us, I can vouch for his skill," Schalk spoke in his dumb companion''s stead. "Maybe the two of you could get acquainted? If you''re willing to take him off my hands, that would be a blessing."

    The teams looked to Gwen, then to Jean-Paul and back again. Surely, Elves weren''t interested in malnourished Hobs?

    Jean-Paul had never felt so much self-loathing as he had in the last few hours.

    He knew he had a face even his whore of a mother would struggle to love, that his appearance was so lame and unfashionable that dogs barked when he neared. Still, until he had to sit in public with Pretoria''s fair-faced contestants, he had never realised just how different he was to others. For most of his life, under Mevrou Bekker, the shape of his face and the contour of his gaunt silhouette mattered less than the Demi-humans Umzokwe took for sport.

    Before he left, the Mevrou had said that beauty was in the eye of the beholder. Yet, here in a stranger''s city, on a strange continent, sitting beside his object, a fellow Void sorceress, her perfect visage caused him physical pain.

    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

    How could he execute Mevrou Bekker''s desire when his face frightened the girl? He wasn''t Schalk, who could charm the undergarment from a woman without spending a single HDM. In all his life, Jean-Paul never even had a lady-friend, much less a girlfriend. Other than Mevrou Bekker, the number of times he sat alone with a woman could be counted on both hands. For now, all he could do was watch his breath steam the air.

    Goulding B1''s sky garden measured only a few dozen meters across, and now that winter approached, all the plants and flowers were withered.

    "Are you not cold?" Jean-Paul eyed his female companion, who wore nothing but a silk shawl over her otherwise naked shoulders. As for himself, he wore a jacket and an overcoat.

    "Not at all." The girl shrugged. After the duel, she had switched to casuals. "I find the weather''s refreshing."

    "I hate London''s weather." Jean-Paul fought to find a common subject. "I miss Pretoria''s Jacarandas every year."

    "I miss home too. We have Jacarandas in Sydney as well, only they''re red, and we call them flame trees." The girl smiled. When she glanced at him, Jean-Paul felt a strange heat in his abdomen. "So¡­ Jean-Paul, shall we get to know each other a bit better?"

    Jean-Paul''s complexion turned the colour of plums. Get to know him? Already? He wasn''t at all prepared! Things were progressing somewhat faster than he had anticipated.

    "I mean, you''ve seen mine, it''s only fair you show me yours," the sorceress reiterated, sensing his hesitation. With a finger, she stirred the fabric of space and time, tearing a rip into the ever-familiar nothingness of the Void.

    "Shaa!" Her Familiar, Caliban, slithered into being.

    Even as a fellow Void Mage, Jean-Paul sensed the hunger radiating from the creature. Different from Umzokwe, he could sense that the beast was younger, less experienced. He could also sense that though Caliban had fed of many a lifeform, very few of its victims were intelligent. Was Caliban a Spirit like Umzokwe then? Or was it a dumb beast? Jean-Paul couldn''t tell, not without inspecting Caliban thoroughly.

    The serpent approached. Jean-Paul remained very still while it sniffed his hands.

    "Shaa!" The creature nuzzled his hand. Jean-Paul''s brows stitched. Why does the thing remind him of a cat?

    "I shall show you." Jean-Paul likewise stirred the air. "Umzokwe!"

    Mirroring the sorceress''s Familiar on the adjacent bench, Umzokwe slithered into being. The only difference was that his leech made nary a sound. Unlike the boisterous Caliban, Umzokwe was an ambush predator.

    Soundlessly, his great white leech sniffed the air, its segmented body engorged with stowed vitality. In the dim light of the sky garden, his creature was pallid, as pale as Jean-Paul himself. When hungry, Umzokwe resembled a flatworm. Now that it had fed, it was a bloated, car-sized maggot.

    "Shaa!" The creature known as Caliban slithered closer, sleek and hungry, reminding Jean-Paul of its slim-limbed mistress. "Shaa?"

    Umzokwe sniffed its brethren from the Void.

    A vibrant feeling of near-hysterical hunger travelled across his Familiar''s empathic link. Not daring to meet her eyes, Jean-Paul studied the girl''s heeled-wearing feet. The girl''s aura was palpable now that both their Familiars grew excited. How did she control the Void''s call? By what means did she stave off its incessant appetite?

    Below, Umzokwe opened its maw, within which pink tentacles akin to parasitic worms peeped forth.

    "Shaa!" Caliban''s carapace split, revealing two appendages, one pink and the other blue, reminiscent of an anatomy model''s painted arteries.

    Gingerly, their Familiar''s touched tips.

    Jean-Paul blanched; his mind once again engulfed with the insatiable hunger transmuted from between their Familiars. He grunted, or perhaps he groaned, he wasn''t sure. All he knew was that the girl''s creature was hungry and that it could eat every living being in B1 and still have space left over for B2.

    Slurp! Lick! Squelch!

    Umzokwe reared, its many-segment body undulating as though mimicking the noontide.

    "Shaa!" The obsidian serpent retreated.

    "HUUURRRRK!" Umzokwe opened its maw. From within the darkness, half-a-torso emerged. The head, mostly annihilated by Jean-Paul''s Void spell, remained tethered to the neck by a loose ligament.

    Jean-Paul blinked, his arm-hair erecting like bristles. It took him a second to realise that this was the Hartebeest Centaur he had stowed in Swaziland. The fiend had been raiding the local villages for food and women; only this time, it had found Umzokwe where it had expected a virgin.

    How sweet! Jean-Paul''s face formed a rare smile. His Familiar was sharing its bounty!

    "Shaa!" A happy Caliban dove onto the slime-slathered, half-mangled cadaver.

    "Miss Song¡ª it seems that Umzokwe has found a friend." Jean-Paul looked up, finally full of confidence. For the first time since they conversed, he met her wondrously hypnotic eyes, noting that her pupils shrivelled to pin-points. He took a deep breath. "May we be¡ª"

    "NOOOOO! NO GOD NO!" the girl''s blood-curling scream was enough to wake the neighbourhood and blast Jean-Paul off his seat. "CALI! NOOOOOOO!"

    Gwen figured it must be karma.

    How often had she frightened the bejeezus out of her friend and foes with Caliban? Most of the time, it was unintentional, but after a while, she felt a sadistic rush whenever her enemies reacted to seeing her fiend for the first time.

    Despite her initial loathing, she had grown uncommonly fond of Cali''s slick carapace and its cute, bobbing, bulbous idiosyncrasies. Even its tentacles, conditioned in her head to resemble sloppy dog-tongues, were adorable in a lamprey-tipped, soul-sucking way. Even Cali''s spider-form had grown on her, and now she enjoyed riding her Familiar like a great Strandbeest.

    But this THING.

    This leech-maggot.

    It was too much.

    An aura of vertigo aside, the thing was semi-opaque like mutton fat and slick with ooze from tip to tail. As its segments undulated, she could see bits of its organs shifting back and forth, haunting its interior.

    Void beasts were scentless, but even so, Gwen''s brain assaulted her with recollected synaesthesia. When she was a child, her mother had asked her to bring up the groceries. Not wanting to carry such a heavy load, she made several trips, only to forget a frozen chicken, wedged in the garage. When a week later her mother returned, she dragged Gwen by the scruff of the neck down to the garage on a thirty-degree day. There, Gwen was given explicit orders not to return home until the place smelled fresh as new. When she finally gathered the courage to open the bag of swarming flesh, she near lost her mind.

    So it was that despite the freezing air, Gwen began to sweat. In a second, her shoulders glistened with the effort of appearing in control. Within the recess of her mind, a voice wanted to vacuum the leech-beast wholesale. Even with her legs exposed, her knees perspired while one heel tapped ceaselessly, transmuting her agitation against the sandstone tile like a staccato drum.

    When furthermore Jean-Paul''s maggot opened its maw, Gwen felt a new wave of revulsion overwhelm her better judgement. She wanted to excuse herself and take an hour-long shower.

    Conjuring an excuse, she looked at Jean-Paul; the Mage was gazing at their pets with a look of benevolence. Following his eyes, her attention turned to their Familiars¡ª then she regretted possessing eyes.

    Caliban and Umzokwe were shaking hands.

    But worms do not possess hands. Gwen baulked as the horrid spectacle assaulted her sanity, taking no prisoners.

    Slurp! Lick! Squelch!

    As though mocking her distress, their creatures became tongue-tied, giving Gwen the impression of a deep-throated kiss.

    Her eyes watered. She felt a hysterical madness coming on and wondered if this was how Void Mages grew infamously psychotic.

    "HUUURRRRK!" Umzokwe projectile vomited, covering Caliban with a milky goo.

    Splat!

    Something landed, splattering her Mary Janes. It was a face¡ª no, half a face, near-consumed by something akin to Void Bolt. Gwen''s eyes followed the flap of skin. There was a hairy torso there, and an arm, all very much human.

    "Shaa!" Caliban''s delight fed into their Empathic Link.

    The sensation was such that Gwen grew momentarily confused, too late to stop Caliban from sweeping up the carcass.

    "NOOOOO! NO GOD NO!" she cried out, her voice suddenly hoarse as her belated dinner rose from the deepest part of her Astral Soul. "CALI! NOOOOO!"

    "Is it safe to leave them like that?" Richard stood beside Yue, observing the twin silhouettes below in B1''s sky garden.

    "Think she''s going to eat him?" Yue stood so close to the glass that she frosted the panes. "Could give her a boost, you know."

    "I know."

    The two gave one another an expectant look. Was this another stray cat Gwen would soon add to her collection?

    "I can set up a Scry¡­" Mayuree gently coughed. "To maintain... subtlety, it''ll just be audio. Gwen''s very sensitive to targeted Divination."

    "We shouldn''t¡ª" Lulan protested.

    "It''s for Jean-Paul''s safety," Petra, who had been observing the interaction, butted in. "I don''t trust Gwen to leave the man alone."

    "Let''s take this up in my penthouse." Mayuree pointed upstairs. "We can¡­ protect Jean-Paul from there. If need be,"

    "She''s a thirsty one," Yue agreed. "You know her love of masochism. And that dude is a walking shit-show. His mates just left him like a bad smell. What the fuck?"

    "But¡ª" Lulan felt torn. There was something indescribably wrong about Scrying on her friend and saviour. Was this why Kusu was concerned? That all of these people surrounding Gwen had one chopstick longer than the other?

    "No time to waste, let''s go." Richard opened the lift. "Come on!"

    Upstairs, Lei provided tea and snacks so that the voyeurs could spy in comfort.

    "¡­Jean-Paul, shall we get to know each other a bit better¡­"

    "I mean, you''ve seen mine, it''s only fair if you show me yours¡­"

    "I shall show you¡­"

    "Shaa!"

    "Ergn..." Jean-Paul groaned.

    Gwen''s closest companions regarded one another.

    Then came the sound of what sounded like a jousting pair of tongues. Before anyone could comment, the spacious living room resounded with the sweet music of copulating tendrils.

    Lulan sat hugging her knees, her face redder than a beetroot, her innocence wild with feverish imagination. Petra gazed into her cocktail, wondering how to face her cousin after all this. Richard sat grinning without a word. Mayuree covered her ears.

    "Wow." Yue paced back and forth. "I didn''t think Gwen had it in her. Jean-Paul? FUCK! What about Evee?"

    "¡­ Mind Magic?" Richard raised a finger.

    "Impossible." Petra shook her head. "She''s resistant to glamours, and she''s wearing a Mind Shield."

    "Maybe a Visual Scry could help clear this up." Mayuree raised a hand. "Give me a few seconds."

    "Do I need to see this?" Lulan groaned. "I don''t want to see this. Kusu is going to be so mad."

    "What if." Yue paused. "She''s eating¡ª"

    "NOOOOO! NO GOD NO!" came a hysterical outburst.

    In an instant, Yue Blinked from the penthouse to the balcony, ten storeys above the sky garden. With her enhanced spells, she could blast the prick to cinders while sparing every hair on Gwen''s pretty head. Channelling mana to her eyes, she saw the two figures below, one female and one male, and their Familiars.

    Yue paused.

    Her best friend was performing an obscene manoeuvre on Caliban. From her vantage, she saw that Gwen had Cali caught and cupped between her chest and her torso. With a violent, thrusting motion, Gwen dry-humped Caliban, choking her snake. Not far, the Void Mage with a face like taut foreskin kept apologising profusely. Adjacent to the heaving girl and the bowing guy, a disgusting maggot-thing swayed back and forth as though enjoying the sound of Gwen''s high-pitched shrieking and Caliban''s gagged singing.

    "Is she alright?" Richard''s voice drifted across, not at all worried. "Did Caliban eat the guy?"

    "I don''t know." Yue stepped back onto the balcony, her understanding no longer within the realm of reason. "Bloody hell, I am so fucking confused right now."

 Chapter 301 - Prelude to the Long Night

    Once Gwen''s scream-queen antics died down, she asked for Jean-Paul''s forgiveness. The maggot was a leech, the Void Mage explained, and though Gwen felt no better about the pallid white slug, she conceded her mistake.

    "Who is your teacher, Jean-Paul?" Gwen asked, hugging Caliban''s bruised body to her chest. Earlier, she had applied enough force to feel its carapace crack, though returning its meal was no longer a possibility. Thankfully, the cadaver belonged to a monster Jean-Paul had exterminated, one that possessed the guise of a man but was very much a menace.

    Once her nerves settled, she returned to the topic of their mutual magic. "You know, I''ve been picking at this Void thing largely on my own thus far. Can we exchange some notes?"

    "I''d be delighted to. My Master is Meister Bekker of London Imperial," Jean-Paul name-dropped without batting an eye.

    Opposite, Gwen''s eyes had gone glassy. London Imperial was on par with Cambridge, sans the spotless reputation. And a Meister as a master was an incredible boon.

    "Jean-Paul, When did you Awaken?"

    "Twelve or so?"

    "And you''ve followed a Meister for how long?"

    "Almost a decade¡­" Jean-Paul confessed with great solemnity. "I''ve still got lots to learn, Mevrou Bekker has very high expectations."

    Gwen''s chest ached. She felt as though a scab had been rent from an old wound. To think that were it not for Sobel, she could now announce to Jean-Paul that her instructor was the great Henry Kilroy, co-founder of the Towers, Master of the Ten.

    "Are you alright?" Jean-Paul leaned back when her complexion blanched.

    "I am fine¡­"

    Desiring a distraction, she re-steered the topic onto Spellcraft.

    According to what Jean-Paul was willing to let on, each Void Mage of note¡ª meaning the ones that survived, invariably possessed the means to restore their vitality. The few that Jean-Paul had met in London who lacked this critical talent and had no other option but tosubsist on potion infusions and Positive Energy. As a result, their bodies invariably developed immunities or reached alchemical limits, after which they either lived as a squib or perished.

    "Our creatures manifest their absorption in different ways," Jean-Paul proceeded with great patience. "For example, Magister Wen''s papers stated that you can absorb traits from Caliban''s Consume, correct?"

    "There''s a limit." Gwen felt her face growing hot when she realised that soon, her talent would become public knowledge. But then again, all she had to hawk in her early days was herself. "And¡­ debilitating side effects."

    "Well, for Umzokwe," her fellow announced. "My Spirit picks up bits and pieces belonging to creatures it consumes. Sometimes, I can recall old memories or strong emotions or particular knowledge. When I was a child, the empathy was enough to drive me half-mad, but I''ve since trained to resist its effects."

    "Wow." Gwen''s lips parted. "That is an amazing talent."

    "So, what does Caliban do?"

    Gwen felt guilty that she couldn''t tell her new friend the truth. What was she to say? That she grew drunk on the ecstasy of Caliban ingesting her foes? That sans her humanity, she could be the second coming of the Sorceror Supreme? What would Jean-Paul think?

    "He eats stuff and sends me the life-force," Gwen said. "Sometimes, I receive too much vitality, and I can''t move."

    "Ah, bio-feedback. Yes, it happens to me as well." Jean-Paul replied. "I have an Augmentation to manage that."

    "You do?"

    "Ja." Jean-Paul''s expression grew hesitant and indecisive. "And Transmutations to use Umzokwe as a storage unit."

    "That''s WONDERFUL!" her pitch rose an octave. Storage? Caliban storage? How many goods couldCaliban stow if a Caliban did stow goods? "Look, I''ve got CCs¡­"

    "I am afraid we don''t publish our spells to the Tower''s Grimoire," Jean-Paul apologised. "Master''s work is far from finished."

    "Oh." Gwen lowered her hands.

    "The Mevrou and I devised several tiers of Void-specific spells in the past decade. You''ll see them in action during the competition." Jean-Paul''s words scratched at her chest like a cat. "Familiar invocations as well, BUT to learn them¡ª well¡ª she gave instructions, that is¡­"

    "That is¡­?"

    "Er, the Mevrou¡ª" Jean-Paul momentarily transformed into a human beetroot. He couldn''t look her in the eyes. "That is¡ªyou and I could¡ªdo...?"

    This time, it was Gwen who grew concerned. Still clutching Caliban, she leaned in so that her face was a few inches from Jean-Paul''s sweat-soaked brow. "Are you alright?"

    "Shaa!" Caliban nudged Gwen''s chin with its forehead. Umzokwe replied in kind, sending her leaning back the other way.

    Jean-Paul stammered painfully. "I¡ªI am hot."

    "Hot?" Gwen felt perfectly comfy in the cold. "It''s single digits out there. Surely we''re both immune to mundane illnesses?"

    "I should go." Jean-Paul suddenly stood, sweating buckets. "See you at the Front, Miss Song."

    "Wait¡­" Gwen reached out and took the Void Mage''s arm. She wanted to hear more about these spells, at least what they did, how they functioned, what Schools they drew upon.

    Jean-Paul retracted his wrist, wincing as his slimy skin slipped through her hand.

    "Shit¡ª sorry." Her face flashing white and red, she had applied a little too much strength. "I didn''t mean that."

    Jean-Paul paused, nursing his fingers. His lips looked as though he wanted to say something, but his grimace suggested that an Umzokwe was stuck in his throat. "W¡ªWe''ll talk after the match in Dalian. Please bear witness to my master''s spells."

    "Shaa, shaa!" Caliban waved goodbye as Umzokwe dematerialised.

    Gwen felt a wave of disappointment as Jean-Paul''s gangly silhouette beat a hasty retreat. She wondered what it was that Umzokwe''s master was loathed to say. Maybe, Gwen realised with a snap of her forefingers, cursing her stupidity, the Apprentice was under a Geas!

    Dalian¡­

    Dairen in Russian.

    Ryo-jun in Japanese.

    Port Arthur as mapped by the Mageocracy.

    Some called it the Pearl of Liaoning, others the City of Traitors. To traders, it was the Treasure Port. Now, for all intents and purposes, it was a fortress city holding the Undead Front.

    Before the Undead threat altered the metropolis, Dalian was a cosmopolitan city. The earliest buildings in its settlement were built by the Russians. In the sixth century, the late Tang Dynasty developed the region into a township. Fourteen centuries later, following the Sino occupation, the British transformed Dalian into an international port servicing trade between Korea, China, Russia and Japan.

    Today, Dalian remains the most important logistical centre on the North Front. The city itself lay fifty kilometres from Manchuria proper. The peninsulas are joined by a stretch of granite no more than four kilometres in width, forming a natural chokepoint. To further offset the threat of the Undead, its natural landbridge had been transmuted by a strategic-class Mandala, capable of severing Dalian from the mainland.

    Presently, the population of Dalian ebbed and flowed between a resident population of four million, discounting its occupational force. Of the Divisions stationed in its many ports and military encampments, the bulk of the NoM Troops belonged to the 70th to 98th Quasi-Magical Infantry Division. Additionally, rotations of specialised Divisions augmented the standing troops, such as the 206th Long-Range Sorcery Regiment, the 207th and 209th Magi-tech Armoured Regiment and finally the 4th, 7th, and 19th Aerial Recon.

    Of particular note was the poster child of the Front, the 1st Force-Recon Aerial Division, the very same that in the mid-90s, gifted the nation with the Hero of the Northern Font, Captain Jun Song.

    Dalian Tower.

    Lieutenant General Liang Chu-Rong surveyed the young Mages arriving below as they lined up in the courtyard. Visually, the young men and women from tier 1 capitals were unimpressive. Undisciplined and full of curiosity, some meandered, others chit-chatted, while scores of them left the confinement yard to spy on the city from the Tower''s lower battlements.

    Yet, despite his disgruntlement, the General stood ramrod straight. For the first time in as long as he could recall, China had the home ground in an international Spellcraft competition. Win or lose, the mere fact that red-blooded sons and daughters of Mao made the team from Fudan was enough to madehis soldiers hold their heads higher.

    "How long until they get here?" Liang turned to the chief proctor standing beside him. He wasn''t used to dealing with women of rank, much less an American Magister with a complexion the colour of caramel. In his opinion, the sooner these Gweilos left his Tower, the sooner he could get on with the operation to reclaim Shenyang. When no reply came, he added a grudging "Magister Jamison."

    For the students'' reception and briefing, he had chosen the operations auditorium. In the middle of the spacious, oval chamber was an American-made terrain-visualiser, a transmutation-based device capable of rendering landscape by tapping into buried Divi-probes. In times of war, it provided real-time battlefield information. In quieter times, it served to instruct strategy and tactics.

    "Give them a moment, General," Jamison said. "They''re young. Translocation disorientation isn''t so readily shrugged off."

    Liang nodded. Given Jamison''s deceptive youth, he got the impression that anytime, an older Magister might find his way to the auditorium to berate his Apprentice.

    A quarter of an hour later, the contestants arrived. In the front row was Fudan, their eager faces captured by the CCVC-1 crew and their cameras. Behind the home team, flanking left and right, sat Pretoria and Auckland.

    "Students, welcome to Dalian. I assume you are acquainted with Magister Jamison. As you are here, I shall now proceed with your Quest. For the second IIUC round, you have been invited to participate in the Great Purge of Shanyang. This operation will involve twenty Quasi-magical NoM Divisions, ten Mage Flights, including yourself, as well as artillery and Golem support from the 206th and 209th. Your Quest, taking into account your inexperience in large-scale military operations, will be as auxiliary units. Magister?"

    As Liang spoke, the sand map on the central dais changed until it transformed into a diorama of the local terrain from Dalian to Shenyang.

    "Your teams will split into two Flights. For CCs, you will be assigned field objective as the reclamation progresses. Roles are split into offence and defence. The offensive team will accompany the PLA Mage Flights clearing a beachhead outside Shenyang, establishing Forward Operation Bases in Dengta, Shili, and Shahe. The second party will defend these FOBs, among other tasks."

    "From Dalian to Shenyang is five hundred kilometres, which we hope to clear in one week. The FOBs will be established by Combat Engineers. Until the NoM Divisions arrive, your teams'' first task is to hold the ground. Once our FOBs are up and running, each of the defensive teams will activate the Shielding Beacon and count down to the Tower''s arrival. Before this occurs, expect an endless swarm of Undead. Once the Dalian Tower arrives, defenders will help with the establishment of safe zones, triage centres, field Teleportation Circles and supply depots. During this process, the attacking party will push into Shengyang as hunter-killer units. Your task is to root out Necromancers and obliterate Undead nerve centres. Your Chief Proctor will explain."

    Magister Jamison thanked the General.

    "To surmise, there are two stages to the operation of interest to you." Jamison surveyed the students'' youthful faces, though some of the Maori Mages had beards that would have made her father proud. "For the attacking party, Stage ONE involves clearing Undead units and establishing an operations area. Stage TWO, post the Tower''s arrival, involves street fighting, as the PLA will be bombarding Shenyang beforehand to soften your targets. For the defending party, Stage ONE involves supporting our NoM Divisions as they make their way to each of the objectives. Stage TWO will involve repelling what is effectively an Undead Beast Tide with the support of Dalian Tower."

    "Operation timeframes are listed in your briefings. Remember that you are an auxiliary unit. You are not formally a part of the PLA''s military estimates. If you strike too deep or get yourself into trouble, there will not be an Armoured Division risking their equipment and lives to pull you out. Just as well, you are welcome to forfeit your match anytime. The operation will continue, with, or without your contribution, though you have General Liang''s word that the PLA shall generously reward battlefield valour."

    Her eyes inspected the students.

    "If you lack cold-weather equipment." Jamison glanced at Gwen, who wore one of her figure-hugging dresses, and toward the tattooed Maoris. "General Liang''s quartermaster has opened his stalls. Additionally, detoxification potions and Restoration potions have been made available to you. Let me warn you that the Front''s frost is no common cold. The Negative Energy inundating the region has warped the weather, not to mention flora and fauna, all of which will sap your life force."

    If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    "Expect about -10¡ãC at night," the General added helpfully. "Read your debriefing carefully and learn from your assigned advisors. Remember, any source of heat naturally draws wandering Undead."

    "ANY QUESTIONS?"

    The contestants had many, but none the Lieutenant General likely had the patience to answer.

    "Good, I look forward to debriefing all of you again in Shenyang. Dismissed!"

    With the General and his staff gone, the students crowded around the diorama display.

    "Yue, what do you think?" Rona, the captain of Auckland, peeked just over the table. "Whetu, if you will?"

    Whetu made a stool for his captain.

    Yue eyed the map of the Dalian peninsula, then zoomed the transforming landscape in and out to get a better gander at the terrain.

    "Yunnie, you know how to use this thing?" Gwen marvelled that Yue was punching the Glyphs without a glance.

    "Worked with a few before," Yue hinted at her training under Alesia. "To be honest, I think the defending teams have the hardest job. Between Jinzhou and Bayuquan are tablelands, so we can see the Undead coming. But from Guizhou to Anshan, it''s a hundred kilometres through hilly and mountainous terrain¡ª also known as Ambush Central. After that, its open tundra for another hundred-and-fifty until we hit Shenyang. If it gets THAT cold, the ground''s either ice, snow, or hard soil."

    "Ma''am." Schalk turned to Magister Jamison contemplatively. "Can members of offence and defence switch sides during the mission''s phases?"

    "You may not." Jamison shook her head. "However, inter-party exchange for members lost in combat is acceptable. Note that until the FOB''s Teleportation Circle is established¡ª or until the Tower arrives, staff swapping would be impossible. Until logistics catch up, the attacking teams will be at the mercy of the Undead."

    The contestant''s gazes returned to the table.

    "The proctors and I will be performing final equipment checks before you leave," Magister Jamison informed them. "For this mission, I would like to offer a spot of advice¡­"

    The contestants listened.

    "Considering the nature of your battles ahead, I''ll allow you to keep illicit items in your rings. If you use one, there will be stiff CC penalties, possibly even disqualification. However, you may save a life, whether yours or another''s or scores of others. Remember that the IIUC, auspicious as it may be, is only a competition. You have to live to be a hero. Don''t let your ''pride'' or your ''nationalism'' get in the way of growing up to be Maguses and Magisters that can contribute to our future prosperity."

    "Yes, Ma''am!" The students bowed their heads.

    "I''ll be downstairs with the other proctors, we''re lending the PLA use of our Divi-Engines as a part of our agreement. If you have concerns, feel free to Message my device or one of my peers."

    The Magister and her assistants filed out.

    "Where''s Walken?" Gwen looked around. "I don''t see Petra either."

    "Getting permission for deploying your Planar Ally." Richard joined her side. "Time''s tight, and we had to split the party. So, are you going to see Percy?"

    "I really should, I haven''t seen him in months." A nostalgic smile touched Gwen''s lips. "I wonder how he''s getting along as a cadet."

    "Let''s get on with it then." Richard returned to the map. "Captain?"

    Gwen''s eyes swept over the diorama. Though her soul ached for Percy''s boyish countenance, tactical decisions had to be finalised.

    As expected, Pretoria was the first to sort itself. With an all-star cast, their splitting the party was of little concern.

    On the offensive were Jean-Paul, Captain Schalk, Lencho, one of the Lightning Mages; Izetta the Heale, and their Diviner, an ash-blonde girl called Helia. Pretoria''s defensive team was lead by their vice-captain, Alizea, their other Lightning Mage, Mariete; Ella the gold Mage, and finally Pieter the Ice Transmuter and Aldus the Illusionist.

    Comparatively, Auckland''s assignment was less balanced. Their offensive team included Yue, Whetu as defence, then Rongo the Water Evoker. They were joined by Timoti the Magma Mage and Opi, the ta moko Enchanter. The Kiwi''s defending team included the other Magma brother, Maka, their captain, their mobile Abjurer Otikoro, the sand Mage Tua, and Ruihi, the second inscriber. Comparatively, Auckland''s defence was low on damage dealers compared to Pretoria.

    As for Gwen''s team, she allowed the assignment to fall to Tei, who possessed experience fighting the Undead. He assigned her and Richard to the offensive team together with Lulan, Mayuree and Eunae as support. He was confident that Gwen''s VMI, combined with Golos, could clear the field, and that with Eunae, Caliban may also employ its BigBird form. For defence, Tei assigned himself, Jiro for his Fire Walls, Petra for her versatility, and Rene and Anita to protect the soldiers under their charge. When Gwen asked if the defenders needed healers, Magister Jamison advised that NoM regiments already hadassigned Clerics.

    All that was left then was inventory, then getting to know the PLA unit to whom they would be assigned.

    Once Gwen and the others returned to the courtyard, they were greeted by Petra and Walken. In front of the gathered crowd who had come out to gawk at her cousin, Gwen dropped a small fortune onto the magic circle, eliciting gasps from the soldiers and contestants alike.

    "Planar Ally!" The HDMs blazed as her invocation flared, burning the equivalent of many a Magus'' salaries in the span of a dozen seconds. Despite the recent hit to her capital, conjuring Golos across time and space from his rented bachelor pad in Burma to Dalian costed far less his previous, continent-spanning journey.

    Moments later, the clear sky fulminated. A retina-searing rod of lightning engendered, birthing the Thunder Wyvern. When Gwen and her Ally had last parted, Golos was injured and bloody. Now, it appeared larger, spikier, and meaner than its pre-Da-peng self.

    "Calamity." Golos snorted, stretching its neck with a crack.

    "Gogo. How is Phelara?"

    "Heavy with eggs." Golos grinned before surveying their surroundings, its nostrils flaring. "I smell death."

    "We''re going to be fighting the Undead in the north." She pointed to the south with a vast and expansive sweep of her arms. "Princeling, Welcome to the Northern Front."

    Richard redirected his cousin''s finger until it pointed the right way. On this trip, Mayuree would be doing the orienteering. If they were to follow Gwen''s sense of direction, Beijing''s defence barrier might activate.

    "Any word from Ruxin?"

    "He said to speak to him after your match. Negotiations with the humans in their Towers are ongoing¡­ also, what''s with all these bodies? I prefer Mermen, fat ones, not primates."

    "They''re our comrades, Gogo, have some respect." Gwen turned to her audience. "Everyone, this is Golos, my Planar Ally, he''s a Thunder Wyvern and a patriot from Huangshan. He''ll be helping us out with the Undead... You may applaud now."

    The stunned troops began to clap. First a few, then a dozen, then a thunderous clamour as what was likely a thousand or more people banged their perspiring palms together. Having never experienced applause, Golos appeared almost coy.

    "Not much to eat if we''re fighting desecrators," Golos grumbled even as he kept his neck elegantly elevated, bathing in the praise. "What''s good around here?"

    "Ha! I knew you''d say that. I''ve prepared all kinds of interesting dishes," Gwen promised. "You might want to eat in your human form, though. You hungry?"

    "Now?" Golos licked its chops, its evil eyes browsing the two-legged meals standing from horizon to horizon. "Sure. Long distances make me hungry."

    Gwen looked toward Tei, who inclined his head. To secure a supply of vitality for herself and to ensure an undistracted Golos, the House of M had given her containers of Wildland food-stuffs. If Golos had to eat meal-rations, he''d be a Draconic-menace.

    "Alright." Gwen eyed Golos'' flail-tail as it wagged. The spikes had since regrown thicker and larger. "Did you bring pants?"

    "I did." Ever since Gwen introduced her Wyvern to underwear, Golos'' jeans no longer chafed.

    "Good." She patted the Wyvern on the knees. Since the Da-peng affair, Golos had calmed somewhat. If she had to guess, likely Ruxin had a stern word, and Phelara had sponged his bottled energies somewhat. "Let me introduce you to the other folks before we eat¡ª also, have you met my brother?"

    Percy Song had kept himself busy.

    Thanks to Guo''s connections, Percy had entered military service as an officer cadet. According to his grandfather, the Front was a rite of passage for the power-progeny of the PLA. There, the PLA''s future officers taste the dangers of the Front while sheltering behind their seniors. After a three-month stint, the cadets would receive certificates and medals, all of which would legitimise their bid for Peking or Jiantong University.

    The ordeal was supposed to be a cakewalk. BUT¡ª with his sister''s fame breathing down his neck, Percy was intent on proving his mettle. Much to the surprise of his instructors, he succeeded, demonstrating a battle-sense that delighted his babysitter, Major Chang.

    After four weeks of light skirmishes with low-tier Undead including Zombies and Ghouls, Percy quickly acquired a taste for laying waste to waves of shambling corpses. Armed with light recon-armour and boots of flying, he and his friends devastated the shamblers below. In contrastto Chou, his party''s Air Evoker, or even Lu or Mei''s Lightning, his Salt proved leagues more effective in halting the walking dead.

    According to their instructor, Salt was a natural ward as proven by the fact that the hordes avoided the sea. When Percy grew sceptical, his mirthful instructor revealed that it was because Salt, a Negative sub-type, disabled the Negative life-force of undead automatons.

    "Beware higher-tier undead," Major Chang warned in turn. "Creatures powerful enough to generate Cores¡ª or are risen using the Core of a higher-tier being, aren''t easily rebuffed."

    But Percy knew there was another reason why the swarms they faced proved such easy prey.

    It was the Kirin Amulet.

    No wonder his uncle was the Hero of the Front.

    Though dormant, he could feel the stone feeding off the creatures he destroyed, especially the Undead. Limbs crushed by his Salt ceased their provocations, heads snapped off no longer chattered. With enough Undead by his side, his vitality hardly fell. Even when they had encountered a Revenant¡ª a risen Mage turned by the Necromancers in Shenyang, Percy still slew the horror. His feat had been celebrated, for he had accomplished a task marked for Senior Mages.

    "So, where''s sister Gwen?" Mei paced back and forth in the barracks, looking as though a Corpse Worm was digging through her guts. As students, there were limits to their freedom on a military base. "She said she would visit, right?"

    "She''ll be here soon," Percy assured his companion. "Didn''t you hear the thunder? That''s her, I bet. Summoning her Wyvern."

    "A Thunder Wyvern!" Mei gushed. "I want to touch it!"

    "Sure," Percy promised, though he was a little unsure if his sister had a tight leash on the monster.

    Ding!

    "This is Cadet Percy Song," he answered his Message device. "Your orders, Sir?"

    "Percy, you''re requested at the Tower''s mess. You''ve been given permission to dine there. Your sister has arranged a buffet."

    "She has?" Percy raised a brow, confused by the news.

    "You and Cadet Yang are relieved until curfew." Major Chang''s voice had a touch of saltiness to it. "Tell Miss Song I wish her fair fortunes... and remember¡ª Miss Li''s autograph."

    "Right." Percy looked to Mei. "Looks like Sis'' shouting us food."

    When Percy and Mei walked into the officer''s mess, they were astounded by the volume the cooks had prepared. Not only were the portions gigantic, but fabled dishes like whole-coasted Wildland Goat, Thistle-boar Ham, plates of steamed Dagger-fin Arrowfish, Rock Clams, and Crystal Prawns spilt across the stainless steel tables.

    Percy saw his sister standing among the crowd, a head taller as usual and as eye-catching as ever. "Gwen¡ª!"

    "SIS!" Mei bolted from Percy''s side. "I''ve missed you so much!"

    The girls awkwardly embraced, with Mei charging into Gwen''s arms, eyes full of stars. "I saw all your matches! It was wonderful! I re-watched them a dozen times! Where''s Ariel? Where''s your Wyvern?!"

    Wordlessly, his sister indicated to the right, where a topless white giant with silver hair and horns was eating with both hands. Presently, Golos was crunching through an Iron Shell Crayfish as though it were crispy rice crackers.

    "That''s the Wyvern?!"

    "Yes," Gwen said. "That''s Golos. Princeling of Huangshan."

    Having deflected his girlfriend''s enthusiasm, his sister beckoned for Percy.

    When he approached, Gwen enveloped him like an octopus.

    "Please don''t¡­" Percy squirmed in her vice-like arms, one cheek pressed against her shoulder as she picked him off his feet. "People are staring."

    Indeed, people were watching¡ª all twenty-nine contestants, a few proctors, a dozen officers and the staff had all switched from ogling at Golos to gawking at the sibling''s public display of affection.

    "This is my brother, Percy." Gwen held on for what seemed like an eternity, then turned to the crowd. "Percy, say hi to everyone."

    "Greetings, I am Percy Song." Percy bowed from the waist, feeling the weight of their judging eyes. With unmoving and involuntary expressions, the contestants nodded back, a few others said, "Hello".

    "You''ve grown, squirt," A girl Percy recognised anywhere walked around him, scowling now that he was the taller of the two "Not bad. Still got a bit to go before you catch up to Gwen though."

    "I am trying," Percy returned Yue''s jab. "Miss Bai, I see you''ve remained largely the same size."

    "I''ve grown in other ways."

    Percy''s already flushed cheeks took on an additional layer of colour. He looked away as Yue jiggled her brows, cackling like a witch.

    Next, his sister brought him vis-a-vis with Golos. Percy had seen the Wyvern on the vid-casts, though now that the beast was a biting distance away, his skin crawled.

    "Gogo, this is my kin." Gwen presented him as though her favourite puppy. "Say hello."

    A crab claw paused mid-delivery. Golos glared at Percy with an icy look, then grunted, emitting a sound like low thunder.

    "Calamity, he''s no kin of mine." Golos crushed the claw with one hand to extract the meat. "Your brother''s scent is all wrong. I don''t like him."

    Well, fuck you too, lizard. Percy said silently. On the surface, he kept up his awkward smile.

    "Too bad," his sister fired back. "Just showing you who he is so you don''t EVER harm him by accident."

    "Boy, you stink to high heaven." Golos'' voice reverberated in his head. "Calamity, what is he supposed to be? He''s spoiling my appetite."

    "He''s a Salt Mage."

    "Wer isthasy di vi Calamity ui stil vi Calamitas." When Golos replied in Draconic, Dragon-fear assailed Percy''s trembling chest.

    "Just eat your food." Gwen dismissed the Wyvern, then pulled Percy away. "Remember, no harming my brother. Now or in the future. I''ll hold you to that."

    "A fool''s sentiment¡ª" came a reply from Golos that made Percy''s skin crawl. "Why¡ª"

    "HELLO!" Their banter was interrupted by the sprightly sound of Mei greeting Golos with a bow. "Sir Golos, is it true that you are descended from a mythical dragon?"

    Golos burped. Percy could see its reptilian eyes measuring Mei from the tip of her hair to her toes. Surely the Wyvern wastn''tinterested in Mei? He grew uncertain. His sister was right beside him. If anything, in terms of looks, power and charisma, wasn''t his sister the superior partner by far?

    "Begone, skinny peasant," the Wyvern''s steely voice berated the starry-eyed Mei. "Unless you''re a fat, juicy eel-kin, I don''t have the appetite to spare."

    Percy relaxed.

    Under his military-issue singlet, the Kirin Pendant hummed.

    Lieutenant General Liang watched from the Tower''s vid-casters the final muster of the recon force.

    Together with the students, each Aerial Mage Flight consisted of three Wings of five Mages each, forming independent battlegroups. Behind the Recon-Flights were five Units comprised of Engineers, the Artillery unit, and the FOB Intelligence Unit. Row by row, they each appeared ready to give their all for the CCP.

    Of the three rows of students, it was Fudan that stood out the most. Where every other university stood to attention, Fudan''s line was disrupted by a meandering Wyvern sniffing the place and scaling the walls, harassing the troops. Above, a Kirin loitered, distracting his men. Compared to their host, the platoon of stoic giants beside them, as well as the primly uniformed Gweilos on the left, were far more disciplined.

    What additionally made the General''s complexion burn was Fudan''s armour, which he recognised as the Shen-Te¨© garb from Sinomach. The design, however, was nothing like the variant his troops employed. For the men at least, he saw a resemblance, but for the women, the stylised bodysuits were unnecessarily distracting.

    Comparatively, Pretoria''s team wore equipment specialised to their individual roles. The defenders, including their captain, wore booster-plates made by Armscor, a South African arms consortium. The other members likewise sported protection closer to their given roles, with Enchanted monster-leathers for the controllers and damage dealers, and reinforced fabric for the Diviner, the Illusionist and the Cleric. Moreover, despite the different designs, Pretoria''s equipment uniformly comprised of shades of green and blue, crisscrossed with red, white and black highlights.

    As for Auckland, the giants wore singlets even in the blistering cold of winter. More than likely, Liang guessed, the Maori''s resistances were tied to their vivid tattoos. To credit his hypothesis, even the expatriate member of Auckland''s team, Yue Bai, had been inscribed from chin to ankle.

    The General frowned.

    "What designation are those?" Liang pointed to the prints on Fudan''s armour.

    "The Lieutenant must inform the general that those are not Division inscriptions, Sir!" a lieutenant hollered. "They appear to be Fudan''s sponsors, Sir!"

    "Sponsors?"

    "Yessir!"

    The Scryed vid-cast moved closer.

    Sinomach.

    Fudan University.

    Such inscriptions were expected, but on the armoured plating riveted to the students'' thighs, he saw an embossed golden "W" and a stylised "Centurion" in matt-black. There was also the Tonglv project''s letterhead, as well as SinoTrans, SAIC Motors and finally, a very familiar logo.

    "Mao-tai?" the general spluttered, feeling faint.

    "Yessir." the lieutenant knew the General was fond of the nation''s most expensive liqueur. What he didn''t realise was that presently, ten thousand Mud-grass Horses trampled his CO''s chest.

    "Let''s hope¡ª" the General remarked as the advanced party took to the air. Below, the NoM Division filed into their mix-terrain carriers, each man nursing their weapon, wrapped up to the neck in quasi-magical cloth armour. If the battle went well, more than three-quarters of his troops should return. Should the operation be a failure, then all Liang could do was offer up his lapels, and hope Central wouldn''task for his head as well.

 Chapter 302 - The Living and the Dead

    From the air, it was self-evident where Dalian''s domain ended, and the Black Zone began. Past the landbridge, past the precipitous rise of the Heishan, the late autumn forest turned to sickly stumps, then into blasted soil devoid of life.

    "That''s actually from spellfire inundating the landscape," Lieutenant Jinwei H¨¡n, 1st Force-Recon, Fudan''s Advisor, replied with a glance. "We run periodic training exercises as well as Purges in the region. When an overflow disrupts the ley-lines, the land becomes inconducive to life."

    Gwen floated beside the Lieutenant, her porcelain-white armour gleaming in the morning sun. Behind her, the team fanned out, with Lulan and Richard on either side, and Eunae and Mayuree sheltered in-between.

    Their liaison was a PLA officer in his early thirties, though thanks to a cracked and weathered mien, the man appeared older. Measuring just five-foot-five, the Air Transmuter-Evoker had the typical stone-face syndrome which afflicted northern military men.

    "Do you know my Uncle?" Gwen''s eyes brushed over the man''s unit insignia, possessing the Chinese pictogram for "One".

    "Never had the luck." H¨¡n shook his head. "As his junior, I must say, I am glad I''m not from his generation. The unit replenishment rate during Captain Song''s moment of glory was almost ninety per cent. Who could envy that?"

    "Jesus." Gwen grimaced, as did her team. "Is it that bad now?"

    "Not nearly. The Undead are losing their momentum. Running out of living bodies. That''s why we''re pushing back." The Lieutenant grinned at Fudan''s vice-captain. "We''ve fought them to a standstill for almost two decades now. Even Necromancers need supplies¡ª"

    "Contact, North-North-West, two klicks. Zombies." Mayuree''s voice blossomed just below the assault team''s ears. From up on high, it was easy to spot the Undead by sight, though all humanoid specimens appeared identical when viewed from afar.

    H¨¡n listened to the orders transmitted into his ear, confirming Mayuree''s intelligence.

    "Vice-captain, this will be your first sortie." The officer''s voice filled their Message Devices. "Standing Orders are to neutralise hostiles in quadrant 44-D2. Will you accept?"

    "Understood!" Gwen saluted inexpertly.

    The whole setup of the Chinese IIUC round was suspect, Gwen felt. The idea was that the student teams were auxiliaries who receive real-time objectives assigned by the frontline troops. That way, they "participated" in the war, and were at the same time safe where the fighting couldn''t accidentally swallow them wholesale. It was very much a curated experience, one that Gwen felt was ripe for underhanded advantages.

    The boon, of course, was that Fudan stood to benefit, as per the point and purpose of choosing home ground. Winning with an extra ace from the dealer was no skin off her nose. She was no child, and possessed no idealistic delusions that the world was fair. Whatever advantage they received, she would take. Whatever disadvantage they faced, she would overcome. As a future Frontiers woman in London, having more matches under her belt would ease the favour Lady Grey had to afford with Richard and anyone else she desired to bring with her.

    Beside her, her cousin and Lulan closed ranks, while Mayuree and Eunae took up defensive positions in the rear. Somewhere above, where the Elemental Air was thickest, Golos coasted on unseen currents.

    "Our first swarm!" Gwen''s clarion voice echoed as Richard and Lulan activated their buffs even as Eunae Aided and Blessed the team. "Let''s do this!"

    A Zombie Horde!

    Gwen had seen her share of World War Z, but that didn''t'' stop her eyes from watering when they arrived downwind of the ambling mass. From a bird''s eye view, the ghastly sight appeared a knot of pixilated tendrils, fragmenting and budding, moving forward not as individual bodies but as a living, breathing Undead thing.

    "Dull Sense!" Gwen activated Walken''s long-promised Transmutation. Below, the Undead walkers made steady pace southward. The sight was almost reposed, now that she could no longer smell anything. Where she had anticipated a rush of rotting fresh barrelling toward distant Dalian, the reality was that the swarm sent out "feelers" of meandering runners before absorbing them back into the throng. Without a foe, the Zombies were entirely placid.

    "What''s the count?" Richard scanned the roving mass below them.

    "Between three and four hundred." Mayuree performed a quick calculation.

    "Lieutenant, may I request advice?" Gwen wasn''t shy with potential short cuts.

    "You may. I would suggest bundling these CCs tighter," H¨¡n replied. "Do use bait."

    "Live bait?"

    "A good Cleric ought to do it. Zombies mindlessly seek out life and positive energy."

    The party turned to regard Eunae, who grew instantly white. Not me, her lips appeared to say. Please, for the love of Korean Jesus, not me.

    "Eunnie, its time for you to make Seoul proud!" Gwen grinned at the Cleric. "Have no fear, Dick is here!"

    Eunae wanted to hold Luyi tight to her chest, but her doe wasn''t capable of flight.

    "Lea!" Gwen''s cousin entreated his smiling she-devil. "Make sure not a single hair on Eunae''s head is molested by the dead!"

    Zombies.

    In their past life, when they were still men and women, the ambling corpses had been fathers, mothers, brothers and sisters. Now, they were driven by insatiable hunger and an implanted drive to move south, caring only to increase the swarm''s number.

    Though sans mind, sans eyes and sans taste, each Zombie was acutely attuned to the presence of vitality. For months since emerging from Shenyang, the horde had shuffled across the tablelands, fording the Beida River by stepping on the floundering bodies of their fellows, splintering and reforming as the swarm ebbed and flowed.

    Abruptly, the Zombie Horde turned.

    Now that they scented the presence of life, a strange focus overcame the meandering figures of blackened blood and rigid flesh.

    "MUURRRRRGN!"

    Sensing the sweet presence of a life-bringing Cleric, the swarm began to boil like fingerling fishes at feeding time.

    Nailless digits dug into cold flesh preserved by the Negative energies empowering their disfigured muscles. Limbs distended, tongues outstretched and yellow teeth gnashed. By the dozens, the Zombies piled toward their new messiah, climbing atop each other to reach her trembling, tender flesh.

    Above the mindless swarm, the students watched, waiting for the Zombie pile to reach critical mass.

    "MAELSTROM!" came the sound of a rumbling female voice.

    Emerald lightning crackled across a cloudless blue sky. With a shuddering roar of thunder, a portal opened into the Quasi-Elemental Plane of Lightning. An enormous vortex of air began to form, quickly descending in the guise of a cyclonic eye, vacuuming the flailing limbs, ascending their ghoulish flesh into gentle oblivion.

    "Eunnie! Hold on for five more minutes!"

    "She''ll be right, mate." Richard kept up his spherical water shield even as a trail of white water fed into the vortex. "I''ve got a good RPM going, Eunae''s untouchable."

    "ARRRRRRRGH!" Eunae shrieked, caught between a Zombie Horde and a portal choked with living lightning.

    While the healer''s howls reverberated across the horizon, the horde depleted. When finally their numbers dwindled under a hundred, Gwen ceased channelling the spell and allowed the duration to play out on its own.

    "Ariel! Caliban!" She allowed her Familiars to descend and stretch their limbs. Ariel sent forth bursts of intermittent lightning drawn from Gwen''s Bolts, obliterating the stragglers. Caliban''s spider form skittered across the battlefield, ignored by the Zombies, harvesting heads.

    Not far, Lulan pounded the survivors into mince with iron girders.

    Doubling her duty, Gwen fulminated as she swept the battlefield, picking off cadavers that her Maelstrom failed to absorb.

    Mayuree kept up her Detect Foe until the final feeling of danger faded. "Three... two... Alright! Mission accomplished!"

    "Very good, I shall verify your results." Lieutenant H¨¡n descended. "I was hoping to see Lord Golos in action."

    "He gets hungry if he exercises too much," Gwen explained. "I''ll save him for bigger foes."

    In her opinion, they had done a decent job. The worst aspect of fighting Zombies is when chopped up creatures continued to function. These crawling swarms, known as "Biters" or "Creepers" were a nightmare for the PLA''s NoM troops.

    Closer to the ground, Gwen noted that the shamblers wore the garb of military men as well as clothes worn by peasants. The gender divide, in so far as such a thing was plausible to consider, was also male-centric. As the stories of the Front had foretold, the roving hordes consisted of fallen PLA troops mixed in with missing peasants from the Manchurian Frontier.

    "Well done!" came the approval from Lieutenant H¨¡n. "Twenty-six minutes, a lesser party would have taken a least three hours. I''ll Message over the debriefing while we continue our flight."

    Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

    Gwen''s eyes swept over the fallow earth.

    Her chest constricted.

    To think that these were once men and women, full of hope and desire.

    "Lead on, Lieutenant." She pointed to the west. "Lead on!"

    The party headed north.

    After their first taste of roasted flesh, the party gained a better understanding of the PLA''s ploy. Across a widening Front a hundred kilometres wide, the 1st Force-Recon, joined by the 4th and 7th Divisions formed a sweeping scythe clearing the way for the NoM Divisions to follow. Quests were generated spontaneously by the officers as the advanced force trailblazed, filtered by the IIUC''s chief proctor.

    For phase one, the more quests a university was able to complete, the more CCs they were liable to gain. According to H¨¡n, haste and efficiency was the key to acquiring CCs, as the operation could generate an endless volume of requests if need be.

    On the first day, the projected purpose was to clear the first hundred-and-fifty kilometres from the Dalian peninsula to Shimenzi, an abandoned water treatment plant and reservoir. Before the Undead threat forced the PLA to pull back into the port city, Shimenzi was a sight-seeing region famous for its waterways. Now, in the slates provided to the students, an illusory projection displayed a bleak and abandoned quarry-cut lake grey with weathered granite.

    "Looks like your contemporaries are doing well," H¨¡n remarked on the military''s internal chatter. "No problems so far. Pretoria is clearing a thousand-strong swarm as we speak. Auckland earlier destroyed a Grey Ghoul blood pack in just under forty-five minutes. Their Fire Mage must be very skilled to hunt such swift creatures so steadily."

    "What''s next?" Gwen was keen to get on with it. Lulan returned to the fold, using the armour''s self-cleaning function to wipe away the juice-splatters staining her petite profile. Eunae had lost her voice somewhat, but as a healer, her sanity should return within the hour.

    "I was so scared!" the Cleric moped, glaring at Richard. "That was worse than those bug swarms in Amazonia!"

    "There, there." Richard patted her hair. "You did well. That wasn''t so hard, was it?"

    "There''ll be riskier Quests at Shimenzi without a doubt," H¨¡n replied. "Hold on¡ª"

    Ding!

    H¨¡n''s brows relaxed. "There we go. Fudan, Purge request at Zhongchang, Corpse Hulk, maybe a controller nearby. The 4th Recon made the discovery¡ª and you have first dibs. Shall we?"

    First "dibs". Gwen chewed the words.

    Hazzah for the home front.

    It stood to reason that the PLA would give the quests with the most CCs to Fudan, but a caveat made the seemingly unfair system balanced¡ª the danger of dying. If the CCP was less brazen, they could have asked two or three university teams to work together. To give the request to Fudan alone meant that one team would hog the gains¡ª and that Fudan had to stomach the risk. Should Gwen''s party fail to subjugate the beast and its numberless minions, they would waste CCs, lose the match, or in the worst-case scenario, squander their lives.

    According to Walken, the committee turned a blind eye toward politically driven favouritism. It all balanced out in the end, he had informed her, for the same practice occurred every time in every match, everywhere. The lesser ranked universities had been given priority to choose for good reason. Having exhausted their pick, the future Fudan will have to fight a superior team on foreign soil.

    "Understood." Gwen passed the thought onto Golos. She welcomed taking on the PLA''s ambitious requests. It wasn''t as though a regular team had a sixth-member in the form of a Mythically descended Thunder Wyvern.

    As for their Corpse Hulk, Gwen conjured the vision of a monstrous creation composed of collated dead flesh, a colossal Frankenstein''s Monster. Different to a self-perpetuating Zombie Horde, the Hulk had to be engineered through secret rituals to be controlled by a living Necromancer. According to the Bestiary, the Hulk could be anywhere between four to ten meters in height, pending the caster''s skill; though its threat rarely exceeded the tenth tier.

    "Is this your first Necromancer?" H¨¡n pointed the students in the right direction even as he passed the coordinates onto Fudan''s Diviner.

    "Our very first." Gwen avoided the Lieutenant''s gaze as the party''s trajectory corrected, thinking of her uncle Jun. "Some advice?"

    "Of course." The Lieutenant banked upward so that the team rapidly gained altitude. "What do you know about our resident Necros?"

    "The bestiary says there are four common archetypes of Necromancers when discounting religion," Gwen recited from memory, having studied the book and consulted her uncle. "Ritualists are those who seek eternal life in Undeath or are trying to stay alive after Awakening with a talent for Negative Energy. Summoners are classic Necromancers who specialise in the raising of bodies, imbuing cadavers to empower Familiars. Corpse Grafters are construct-makers who experiment with the remains of humans and demi-humans, and finally, Soul Flayers are Necromancers who harken after Essence and Spirits, specialising in Ghosts, Wraiths and Spectres."

    "And the Hulk?"

    "¡­ is typically accompanied by a Grafter," Gwen answered. "In addition to their minions, Conjuration-Grafters control a construct crafted from their bone, a monster that grows malignant with each additional graft."

    "Well done." Lieutenant H¨¡n appeared pleased. "How will you approach? Do you have a plan?"

    "I do." Gwen''s lips curled. "But first, let''s see what our foes have in store."

    * * *

    Zhongchang.

    From five klicks away, Gwen caught sight of the Zombie Horde.

    Or so it seemed¡ª until her essence-infused pupils re-focused.

    What caught her off guard was the eerie appearance of a spartan but otherwise undisturbed township. With her eagle-eyes, she could see what appeared to be innumerable Zombies, some thousand or more, milling about a cabbage field three times the size of the town itself, ploughing the earth and turning the soil.

    Not only that, she could see that the vegetation was neither withered or dying like the plants they had seen on their previous encounter. Instead, the plants appeared to be green and robust and thriving under the cloudless, midday sun.

    "Halt," Gwen gave the command, then turned to H¨¡n. "What the hell is this?"

    "An outpost," the officer said. "Housing a Necromancer and his or her host of Undeath."

    "Are you inferring that the Undead eat cabbage?" Richard, who had likewise read up on the PLA''s state-issued bestiary, furrowed his brows.

    "Gwen, I''ve heard rumours like this," Eunae, whose home city was a strategic spell distance away from the DNZ, butted in before her teammates'' tone grew harsh. She hadn''t been to the Black Zone in her youth, but the stories were well-circulated. "The areas occupied by the Undead can have regions where human or demi-humans live. The lower tier monsters mindlessly seek out living flesh, but the Necromancers and their minions who flock to the Black Zones still need to eat. So, they have outposts like this that provide fresh food for the still-living casters. I''ve heard that there are even reports of cows and sheep near Pyongyang."

    Gwen''s eyes swept past Eunae''s entirely wholesome and completely innocent face.

    "Eunnie¡ª there are enough cabbages there to fill five semi-trailers," Gwen explained the reason for her dismay. Certainly a few fields of rapunzel weren''t going to ruffle her tail feathers. "What kind of Mage subsists on cabbages? I don''t even like it as a filling for my dumplings. They add nothing."

    "I concur." Richard floated beside Lieutenant H¨¡n. "Those are grown to feed NoMs."

    "Your QUEST is to Purge sector G2-55." H¨¡n''s expression grew amused, his eyes forming two slits. "150 CCs, with a bonus for Necromancers. A gift from the 4th Recon."

    "Mia," Gwen requested of her Diviner, ignoring their PLA liaison. "What''s the maximum range on your Scry?"

    "In the open? Just over two klicks," Mayuree replied. "I''ll check as soon as we get closer."

    "Your uncle Jun ever mention anything?" Richard asked Gwen in a silent Message as the team picked up the pace. "If there are NoMs here, surely he would know."

    "Uncle Jun hasn''t been at the Frontsince the late nineties," Gwen recollected. "He was also stationed where the fighting was heaviest. The Tangshan Line north-west of Beijing."

    "Lulu, you ever heard anything about NoMs on the Front?"

    Lulan shook her head. "Why does it matter?"

    Mayuree''s voice quivered. "Are the NoMs¡­ food?"

    "The Necromancers are growing food for their food?" Gwen questioned her friend''s horrific hypothesis.

    "Our serpent tamers breed Hornshell Rats to feed the Horntail Vipers," Mayuree reminded Gwen of the ingenuity of Mages when it came to harnessing power by any means. "Also, in Yunan, the Miao Clan keeps NoM slaves to temper the poisons of their Familiars."

    "Let''s hope you''re wrong." Gwen increased her velocity, leaving a dirty trail of blue-white mana. Her agitation seemed to have infected her Wyvern, who telepathically requested the cause of her concern. "Yes, Gogo?"

    "Calamity, I grow bored," Golos bemoaned. "Let me fight the Hulk."

    "I''ll be the judge of that." Her answer was for her Ally to hold his position. "Don''t forget, you''re my ace-in-the-hole, don''t show yourself so easily."

    "HA!" came a prideful huff from Golos. Her Wyvern had no idea what the idiomatic reference to poker implied, but felt instinctively pleased by her words.

    A few minutes later, the village fell within the range of Mayuree''s Scry. She could see now that the town below them consisted of only a dozen inhabited buildings, while the hundred or so dynasty-spanning mud-brick homes were left abandoned. Where the modernised houses began, a bone-white fence ran a ring around the structures, outside of which meandered the milling Zombie farmers.

    "Found it!" Mayuree directed their eyes toward a large warehouse structure. "The Hulk is in there. It''s not moving right now¡ª there are glass baubles and jars everywhere. And bits of people."

    "Is the Necro alone?" Gwen called Ariel to her side, informing Golos to remain ready.

    "I sense¡­ ten mana signatures in the houses. Nine low-tier readings and one at the tier of a Magus, almost a Magister," Mayuree noted. "There are other people here as well, without Mana signatures. Servants, I think, about twenty or so..."

    "Lieutenant." Gwen halted. This high up, they were specks barely worth noting. "Why hasn''t the main recon force annihilated this place?

    "Well." H¨¡n pointed to the houses below. "They''re YOUR CCs."

    "I see..." Gwen observed the village below. Now she knew the CCP fully intended to pad Fudan''s score. To that end, she could open up with an Essence-enhanced Maelstrom while obliterating the Hulk with a Void Sphere, but what of the humans in the houses? There were thirty more lives below¡ª assuming one Necromancer who had to die. "Those people¡ª"

    "Renegades and Rogue Mages," their advisor stipulated, biting each word. "Vice-captain Song, these are CCs which the 4th Recon has left for your team. I assure you that the IIUC will recognise these contributions, the same as the Wildland Mercenaries you neutralised in Kachin."

    Gwen''s expression grew hesitant.

    "I can move in with Mia and Lulu," Richard advised in her stead. "You take care of the Hulk and the Zombies¡ª and Golo can snag the Grafter."

    "BUT¡ª I suggest you alpha strike as soon as we close in." Richard''s logic pounded her ears. "Those Rogue Mages are bunched up right now. Chasing them would be a chore."

    "Why haven''t they noticed us?" Gwen felt her conscience throb against her temple. She would have preferred if the acolytes fled, but these were Necromancers. For some reason, Michio Lee''s words came to the fore of her mind, explaining that Necromancy was no different to Biomancy and that the mere practice of it shouldn''t sign a death warrant.

    "There are no Message Towers here in the Black Zone," Mayuree explained. "Our enemy''s outposts likely keep in touch through physical means."

    "Corpse Ravens. Ones which the 4th Recon has neutralised for you," H¨¡n added helpfully. "Miss Song, will you proceed? Forfeiting the quest at this stage will result in a penalty. And of course, we shall then offer the same quest to your competitors."

    Gwen''s well-loved eyes swept over her teammates.

    Richard had no qualms about doing what was necessary, that was a fact she could clutch with absolute confidence. Lulan had already proven that she thought little about carving through a wall of NoMs; even after her District 109 rampage, her remorse had been demure. For Mayuree, Gwen was sure the coup against Maymyint involved removing at least a three-digit number of ex-allies that opposed Marong''s plans. And Eunae¡ª sweet Eunae could be discounted, for she couldn''t battle her way through a dozen NoMs, much less mass murder them.

    As their vice-captain, it was her responsibility to make a choice.

    For some time since Maymyint, she had understood that in the distant future, there would come a time for stone-cold slaughter. That future, however, had arrived a little sooner than she had anticipated.

    As Gunther had said so long ago, it was a Mage-eat-Mage world out there, and even if Gwen had no desire to take the lives of others¡ª others had great desire to make her life as humanely miserable as conceivably possible. Even now, she wasn''t yet at a tier of power where mercy was something she could afford.

    Didn''t Mia say the workshop was a full-blown charnel house? That these Necromancers thrived on the lives of innocents wasn''t an ambiguous reality. It was only her silly conscience that prolonged the inevitability of their execution.

    When she opened her eyes again, her emerald-amber orbs were as unyielding as gemstones.

    Necromancers were living, breathing, thinking human beings. But they were also aberrant psychopaths who pried open the body of the weak to practice their profane arts. If so, what mercy did they deserve? Didn''t she boast to her Master that she had to be cruel to be kind? To be kind to a Necro was to be cruel to the living.

    "Lieutenant H¨¡n." Her husky voice took on the hardness of granite. "The quest was for the destruction of the Hulk, yes?"

    "Indeed."

    "Then we destroy the Hulk as our topmost priority," Gwen said. "Richard, Lulu, please take care of the Rogue Mages. If you can, show some pity for the NoMs."

    "Yes, Vice-captain!" her teammates replied.

    "Golos?"

    "Calamity?" Her Wyvern demanded to know her mind.

    "The Desecrator is yours. I''ll let you know as soon as I can locate the caster."

    "With pleasure."

    "Ariel. We''re opening with a big one."

    "EE! EE!"

    Gwen took a deep breath.

    "FUDAN! ROLL OUT!"

 Chapter 303 - Peace for the Dead, Life for the Living

    "True Strike!" Mayuree''s damage-divining augury flooded Lulan''s mind with sudden clarity.

    Below, above the workshop, her vice-captain had opened up with a triple-eruption of Element Sphere, staggered so that the first would blow away the tin roof, and the second and third, issued from Ariel, would vaporise the Corpse Hulk within.

    CRUNK!

    The roof deformed as displaced lines of current cascaded down its sides, neutralised by an unseen ward. Across the team''s Mind Linked stream of consciousness, she heard her vice-captain let fly an expletive as the nova rang out harmlessly. A half-dozen heartbeats later, Ariel''s cloned Spheres struck, turning the flaring Glyphs white-hot before the mandala failed, this time ripping apart the topmost portion of the laboratory.

    With the sheeting structure peeled like an orange blossom, a cloud of foul and poisonous gases, superheated by the electrical discharge, polluted the air. Within, the team saw what Mayuree had seen, a stitched horror, an abomination some six-meters tall, held together from bulbous face to multi-limbed bottom in gory stitches. Lulan recoiled. Against her anticipation of a giant Jiangshi, the craft used to create the now-stirring creature was western Necromancy, for she had never heard of such monsters in the annals of Huashan''s index.

    DING! DING! DING!

    An alarm rang out, alerting the compound. Lulan rotated her hovering blades, shaping the iron so that the weighted tip formed an acute cone, while its latter half tapered into a four-finned, narrow-waisted fletch.

    "Chakram!" Gwen let loose two of her discs to dice at the creature below.

    Lulan grunted as she reshaped her conjured iron. A surge of agitating bloodlust from her enchanted heart threatened to revolt against her better judgement. Her Naga Spirit as well, raged within her Astral Soul, howling for violence. Through sheer force of will, she fought down her impulses, patiently awaiting the moment her assigned targets revealed themselves.

    And they did. A flood of bodies¡ª not the ambling Undead, but living figures, fled for their lives, pouring from the homes in the middle of the township. One by one, Lulan head-counted the escapees.

    "NoM, NoM¡­ NoM¡ª MAGE!"

    The Necromancer''s Acolytes were easy to spot. Where the NoM servants wore the juniper-coloured hemp common to North Korean peasants, the Mages wore silken garbs of black edgedwith silver. In more fortunate times, the uniform denoted their superior existences; now, it made them targets.

    "Panzerschreck!" Her borrowed premonition foretold that now was the time to let loose a modified Heart-Seeking Sword.

    Schwing!

    The largest of her projectiles, the "central" head of her Naga Spirit, punched the whistling air.

    CLANG!

    First rang the sound of shattering glass, then a thunk as her projectile ricochetted into the fortified abode.

    "Wha¡ª"

    "Urk!"

    The result was music to her ears.

    Not only had her projectile punctured the first Acolyte through the chest, crushing his shield and penetrating the man''s heart, it had also caught the second Mage unaware, mangling his unprotected legs before his barrier could manifest.

    "GROOOOAR!"

    Lulan''s attention momentarily shifted, distracted by the earth-shattering howl of the Corpse Hulk. For whatever profane reason, her vice-captain''s spells had failed to sever its bodily appendages.

    "Lightning Tentacles!"

    In response, Gwen switched to Lightning, entrapping the flailing beast as bolt after bolt of cobalt electricity penetrated its barrel-waisted body, igniting the alchemical compounds oozing from the ravaged lab.

    "Mia¡ª targets!" Lulan requested of their Diviner.

    "Upper left, second storey! Ground level, forth window, just above the basement!"

    "Got it! Panzerschreck!" Lulan sent four more projectiles toward Mayuree''s nominated destinations, piercing through the feeble ward and striking at the unseen interior. By design, magical wards prevented magicfrom damaging or altering the shielded region of effect. Her solid-steel projectiles, however, were a matter of brute physics.

    A short scream from the ground floor indicated that she was now three for five.

    Lulan proceeded to "reload".

    Without conscious thought, she ran her Clan''s secret invocations through her Astral Body. As they passed through her Heart of Iron, a mystical transfiguration transmuted Huashan''s Blade Summoning into gleaming slabs of polished steel.

    "Spine Spear!" came the sound of retaliatory invocations from below, unveiled by Mayuree''s sharing of Detect Foe.

    The bloody bone-projectile lost its momentum at about eighty-odd meters, then fell toward the earth. As for Lulan, her Panzerschreck rounds were optimised for assault between two to five hundred meters, weather permitting. Gwen had even said that with practice, power and better ''designs'' on the missile itself, distances exceeding a kilometre were entirely possible.

    "Panzerschreck!" Without needing to look, she returned the favour. In times like these, having Mind Link with Mayuree was a Mao-blessed wonder.

    Two solid girders of racing iron crushed the brick-facade, collapsing a portion of the outer wall. The other three, formed as twisted metal, rebounded through another window. A crash engendered, then a wailing cry began to haunt the lightless room, reminiscent of a blood-letted pig.

    "That''s four," Mayuree''s voice came across the channel. "Be careful. They''re desperate now."

    From the dashed windows, what must be the oldest of the Necromancer''s Acolytes emerged. To Lulan''s surprise, they were almost all foreigners; one even had the blonde hair of a European.

    "Panzerschreck!" Lulanunleashedanother volley.

    This time, the Mages had prepared defences. The leader was an Abjurer, for a wall of bone deflected Lulan''s leading projectile. The second, however, crushed the skeletal barrier, while her third penetrated the resulting debris and the forth speared the woman, clearing her abdomen, withdrawing a trail of intestines.

    The remaining five fanned out.

    "Run¡ªHURRK!"

    "MMMMGN!"

    Richard was waiting below, hidden behind his invisible Undine.

    Soundlessly, Lea enveloped an Evoker before the sorceress could utter a single spell. Another, one that Mayuree detected as a Transmuter, clutched at his face as a globule of water forced its way into his mouth and nose, manifesting as a Water Tomb.

    "JET BLAST!"

    Simultaneously, a torrent of hyper-pressurised water sent a man shield-first against the house, obliterating first his bubble, then breaking every bone in his body before he rag-dolled against the brickwork, coughing up blood.

    The remaining two fled.

    Lulan''s lips twisted in mockery. If she missed from this distance, she wouldn''t know where to hide her face.

    With the NoMs fleeing for safety, Gwen focused on the monster.

    In the corner of her eye, she caught sight of the blood splatters painting the shattered panes as Lulan''s invocations fired with its characteristic shriek of wailing metal.

    Her alpha strike had been too conservative. She hadn''t expected that such a shabby looking laboratory would possess Abjuration wards. Likewise, when the thing awoke, and she attempted a decapitation, the resistance of its un-living body far exceeded her anticipation.

    Cursing, she switched from Evocation to Conjuration, Void to Lightning.

    With her present expertise, her Lightning Tentacleswere as thick as her thighs, withsix meters of reach. Before the giant could bring to bear the momentum of its bloated body, she had it tethered by the neck and shoulders.

    "MUUOOAR!" the Hulk possessed vocal cords like a harpooned whale. With a heave, it tugged at the tendrils, displacing the elemental link momentarily before Gwen re-connected the ethereal chains, tethering it like a mongrel against the workshop''s concrete floor.

    "Lightning Bolt!" Gwen called upon Ariel to bring the creature to its knees. Bright arcs of electricity travelled from sorceress to Kirin to the Hulk, cooking its flesh as the Positive Energy of her Lightning neutralised the Negative motes of mana empowering the monster''s profaned flesh.

    "Gwen!" Mayuree''s voiced pinned her ears. "The Zombie Horde''s closing in! Finish up with the Hulk!"

    Gwen immediately upped her ante, invoking a torrent of rapid-firing bolts.

    "MUAAOAR!" The Hulk pulled away from her tentacles. By now, its skin was almost crispy with char, and its eyes had exploded from its sunken sockets. Yet, unperturbed by its injury, the thing rampaged toward her with the tenacity of a runaway semi.

    Given time, she could toy with it, but now, she had to deal with an emerging Necromancer and his Zombie Horde. There was also the matter of the Grafter''s Familiar, a threat that would surely be more powerful than this dumb brute.

    A few seconds was all it took for the Hulk to close the distance. As it swung its meaty arm, a length of bone, shaped like a scythe, swung through the air.

    "Shield!"

    Her diamond-facetted barrier turned opaque. Gwen smirked. Whatever the power of this thing, it wasn''t even half of Golos. As for her Wyvern, it was now circling just out of sight, awaiting the Necromancer''s emergence.

    "Mia, buff me up!"

    "True Strike!" Mayuree invoked the blessing from a distance. Thanks to Mind Link, the range of her buffs waswell-extended.

    Almudj''s Essence boiled over, Gwen called a Lightning Bolt to her lips.

    Her complexion turned pink as pippins as the vitality inside her body mingled with the mana she was sending Ariel. When the word came to her lips, it was with great relish, as though the first downpour after a muggy, humid day. "Barbanginy!"

    "EEEE!"

    A bean-green bolt of living lightning pierced the Hulk. Where it struck, the vibrant green energy spread through the brute''s body, peeling its charred skin like an overripe avocado. A violent viridescence lit up the Hulk''s interior, escaping from its eyes and its all-devouring maw.

    The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    The mountain of flesh stumbled forward, toppling like a fallen titan.

    "MURRRRGGN!" a great cry of confusion and dismay uttered from the lips of some dozen stitched cadavers.

    A wave of spell fatigue washed over Gwen''s Astral Body.

    Before she could catch her breath, the Zombie swarm grew wild. Where the Horde had earlier possessed a singular focus, its members now began to meander. Two dozen came toward Gwen, a handful gathered under her team members, and a clump of close to a hundred roved toward a shivering Eunae.

    "Shit!" She connected the dots. "Mia! Where is the Grafter?"

    "I sense¡­" Mayuree swept the compound. "His signature is gone! The Necromancer must have used a Teleportation Scroll!"

    "Damn it!" Gwen cursed. "Richard, can you help gather up the NoMs?"

    "Sure, I''ll do it while I entertain our new friends." Richard pointed to the two Acolytes suspended in mid-air, kept barely conscious by not nearly enough air. "If you can deal with the Horde. I''ll find out where our Necromancer has gone."

    "HIEEYA!" Lulan was already knee-deep in the dead, pulverising Zombies by the score. Her lack of wide-area AoE, however, limited her effectiveness.

    "Eunae, you''re with me." Gwen Dimension Doored beside their Cleric. "Don''t worry. I''ll protect you."

    Eunae keened, wearing an expression that suggested she wanted to remain well out of reach of the Zombies'' grubby hands. With her vice-captain breathing down her neck, though, she had little choice but to offer up her sweet body to the masses.

    Alighting atop a farmhouse, the South Korean Healer conjured Luyi.

    "Yi¡ª" Luyi trembled. The smell of death made it drunk with fear.

    Embracing her Familiar, Eunae pumped her mana into her Sprite. Luyi glowed, its stag horns extending until they formed a dozen points. At once, the Zombie Horde lost all interest in the NoMs and the Mages.

    "Wall of Lightning!" Gwen''s newly learned Evocation extended almost forty-meters in circumference, with a height of three meters. With her Transmutation, she had the option of flexibly manipulating the spell''s manifestation, to which she chose a circular barrier with herself as the loci. It was the sort of versatile spell-casting that Alesia once showed Yue, utilising the combination of two or more Schools of Magic.

    ZAP! SPAK! PSZZZT!

    All around her, Zombies sizzled like minute-steaks, filling the air with the rotten scent of flesh gone awry. Momentarily safe, Gwen began a second invocation.

    In her hand, she materialised a rod of True Silver, one of a dozen she had specially prepared for this occasion. Weaving the somatic material into her tier 5 Conjuration, she was glad that for once, the spell which Richard had advised her to learn was used for its explicit purpose. Wincing as she overcharged her sorcery, Gwen exhaled as the final invocation left her lips.

    "Cloud Kill!"

    The infamous ultra-AoE offensive spell was designed from the Glyph up to possess superior range and coverage. Now combined with Gwen''s VMI, her seven tiers of Affinity, her hyper-tier control of Conjuration and the True Silver in her hand, the spell erupted.

    VOOMF!

    A rapidly expanding fog of scintillating silver fled from her general vicinity, rolling over the fields of cabbage, covering no less than a radius of a hundred meters.

    Tsssz¡ª!

    This time, the sizzling was no longer the sound of summer insects dashing into a blue-lit mesh, but the sound of Negative Energy becoming neutralised by the invasive, lightning-charged motes of blessed silver. Whatever the Horde''s resistances, the comprehensive coverage of Cloud Kill offered no solace against its corrosive sparks.

    The first Zombie fell, then another, a dozen, and a hundred or more. Organs long preserved by necromantic energies erupted. Muscles slid from bone as the gentle repose preventing the flesh from deteriorating disappeared. More and more of the Zombies charged in, while the ring of carcasses around Gwen and Eunae grew by the minute, doubling then tripling in size.

    "How many of them are left?" Gwen Messaged her Diviner.

    "About a two-thirds," the Diviner returned with the intelligence. "Can your mana pool hold up?"

    "I''ll micromanage," Gwen said. "Eunae?"

    "I am fine." the Healer had by now grown indifferent, her mind numbed by the horrid odour of human fat ignited by Gwen''s lightning. "Let''s continue."

    "Take my hand." Gwen grasped her Healer''s frigid little fingers. "Dimension Door!"

    "I am impressed." Lieutenant H¨¡n gave Richard a thumbs up. "And no, rest assured none of this will be broadcasted. The PLA will make sure of that."

    "Thanks, mate." Richard tapped his data slate. "How about that, eh? AND Shimeizi''s our last stop for the night. I guess we''ll find the old fox yet."

    The PLA officer was inclined to agree.

    For a while now, he had watched the half-Asian Conjurer perform his inexpert labour. For a Frontiersman who couldn''t be further from a Military Mage, Richard demonstrated the sort of talent that the Ghosts would unquestioningly welcome. Different to the indecisive womanliness of his vice-captain, Fudan''s mobile defender was a model Mage in the matter of operational efficacy.

    When the young man had entered the commandeered abode, he had allowed his Undine to take one of the prisoners, the man, into the basement. Richard meanwhile took the other, the woman, into a separate room. At first, H¨¡n had imagined something not meant for CCVC-1, but very quickly, Richard demonstrated his "technique".

    After the first Acolyte begged for sweet release, Richard questioned his second prisoner. Then, with slate in hand, he cross-examined the survivors'' details, meting outpunishment where specifics did not match, allowing for air when confirmations could be ascertained.

    "Gwen, are you done with the Zombies?" Richard paused to ask after his vice-captain outside.

    "Down to the last batch," came the reply. "Should be done before I am OoM."

    H¨¡n resisted an urge to exhale deeply. Gwen Song had proven herself to be a one-woman platoon. Her capacity for destruction exceeded any single member of the standard Recon Divisions, and that was excluding her Wyvern.

    "Take your time, then some rest," Richard advised as he turned to the woman in the water bubble. The Necromancer''s Acolyte was paler than a blanched egg and turning a shade of purple. At Richard''s slightest behest, a torrent of information would pour from her tortured lips. "Lea, we''re done with this one. Bring Lieutenant H¨¡n the CC surprise."

    The Undine''s exquisite face peeped out from behind the door. Behind her semi-transparent body, suspended on coils of water, floated a middle-aged man wearing a pair of charcoal pants and a woollen vest. The man was an NoM, and from the looks of his portly belly, he held a position of some merit.

    "Found this one in the basement." The Undine giggled, her mischievous eyes sparkled with glee. "He had a wand and a Storage Ring. Also, I found these."

    In one hair tendril, the Undine held aloft a Lightning Wand made for NoM usage. In her other water appendages, she held a ledger of sorts and a box of HDMs.

    "Good work, Lea," Richard praised his Familiar. Walking a circle around the portly NoM, the Conjurer grinned from ear to ear. "Mr Chen, how are you this fine day?"

    The NoM''s eyes grew wide.

    Lieutenant H¨¡n raised a brow, wondering how Richard knew the NoM''s name. It took him a second to realise that the Acolytes had mentioned there was a ''trader'' of sorts.

    Richard flipped through the ledger, then passed thebook to H¨¡n. "Gwen''s probably better at this than I am. As such, I am going to keep this short¡ª"

    "I''ll talk!" the man squealed. "Mercy, Masters! I was captured¡ª forced to work for these monsters! It''s true. It''s all true!"

    "My heart bleeds with sympathy. But first, who is your employer?"

    "I¡ª" The man blanched. "I am just a bookkeeper¡ª I was taken here against my will."

    "It''s not that I don''t believe you." Richard smirked. "All things considered, you''re rather calm for an NoM. You''re not from around here, Mr Chen-Du-Li from Tianjin, are you?"

    The "trader" began to shudder violently.

    H¨¡n recalled that Richard had demanded a list of names for the NoMs. Unsurprisingly, even under the water rack, the Necromancy students couldn''t remember the names of their servants. The female prisoner had said something about a Du-Li, while the male Acolyte had referred to the trader as Chen.

    "Candidate Huang." Lieutenant H¨¡n wasn''t an intelligence officer, but it didn''t take a Ghost to join the dots. "Do you mean to say¡­"

    "I do." Richard snorted. "You''ve got folks from the living side supplying the Undead, Lieutenant. That''s fucked up."

    "What for?" the military man''s eyes instantly turned to obsidian. His colleagues, his comrades, had all suffered through the Front. A multitude of many millions had lost their lives pushing back the Undead, and now, a student was telling him that living men were trading with the Rogue Necromancers? "Food? What do the Necros have to trade?"

    Richard placed Chen''s hand against the briefcase.

    "Open Sesame," he invoked an old fable.

    The lock unlatched. Within its velvet folds were shimmering crystals of soul-sucking darkness.

    "... Alright." Richard whistled. "Not what I expected, but just as well..."

    "Negative Aligned High-Density Crystals!" Lieutenant H¨¡n spat. "Mao''s Crystal Tomb!"

    Negative Energy existed in places where death and decay ruled. In a Plane full of life such as the Prime Material, it was rare indeed that such a sphere could grow a crystal counter-conducive to the germination of life.

    As for the unusual HDM''s uses, there were many. Weaponisation, research, and most importantly¡ª Necromancy. The creation of higher tiers of Undead was near-impossible without Creature Cores, Crystals, and a host of grotesque materials. For the everyman of the Communist Party, the most they knew about the Negative Aligned HDM was that it empowered Mao''s Crystal Sarcophagi with a perpetual Gentle Repose. Outside China itself, religions tied to pseudo-resurrection, from the Catholic Theocracy to the Jackal Priests of Anubis, ensured there was forever a bull market for such unusual commodities.

    "Mr Chen" was by now sweating enough to fill an asphyxiation bubble all by himself.

    "Good value there," Richard hypothesised. "Gwen once said that for a tidy profit, men are willing to flout the law. For doubling the profit, traders will disregard all ethics. Beyond that? Human greed grows to the size of Leviathans."

    "Accursed NoMs!" Lieutenant H¨¡n growled.

    "Not NoMs." Richard studied his indignant advisor. "Just me¡ª even you and I have a price."

    H¨¡n did not approve of Richard''s aphorism. Mao, in his "Red Book", had warned of this exact thing, though the enemies were the capitalists and the foreign imperialists, not the people of the republic.

    "How shall we proceed?" Richard jabbed a thumb at Chen. "I could interrogate him, but I am certain you''d prefer a Mind Mage to rake over his brain. There are the other NoMs as well, hiding here and there, assuming the Zombies didn''t eat em."

    H¨¡n inclined his chin. "I''ll request transportation."

    "Good." Richard looked away for a second, then returned with a grin. "Miss Lei and Mister Nowak are officially deceased, please don''t forget our CCs. Is there a bonus for the NoMs?"

    "I''ll put in a recommendation," the Lieutenant promised.

    "Gwen should be about done." Richard checked his Message Device. "Shimeizi''s how far from here?"

    "Two hours as the crow flies."

    "I look forward to it." Richard caught a strand of his materialising Undine''s hair. "Gwen is very good with confined spaces, did you know?"

    Besides Richard, his Undine giggled. Though her mien was beautiful beyond measure, H¨¡n felt an undulating sense of unease in the Spirit''s presence. In their natural habitat, Undines lured children into their lakes and waterways to drown them; ofttimes, it was for nourishment, mostly, it was for sport.

    "Release."

    PSSSHHT¡ª

    The Shen-Te¨© armour loosened, allowing Gwen to peel the plated-fabric from her torso.

    "Cleanse!"

    The magic from her laundry Device began to remove the embedded odours from her hair, her thermo-layered skinsuit, and the armour itself. In her opinion, she had discovered a significant design-flaw¡ª for though the exterior was self-cleansing, the interior had an inadequate deodorising function, meaning all she could smell after the battle was the scent of barbecued human flesh.

    Beside her, Eunae dry heaved, likewise victim to the deluge of assailing scents baked into her armour. Human bodies, so packed full of bone, ligaments and most importantly, fat; possessed a uniquely offensive fetor. If Gwen had to find words, she would depict the smell as acidic, with a twangy pungency that made one''s eyes water.

    While she recovered, Richard emerged from within the house with Lieutenant H¨¡n.

    "The Necromancer''s fled to Shimeizi." Her cousin wasted no time. "That''s our next stop. The main force should be arriving three hours ahead of us. I suggest we go straight there ¡ª far better CCs than grinding Zombies in remote villages. From the sound of it, there''s a whole nest of the bastards holed up under the reservoir. Also, how long do your dogs last when out of range?"

    "A few hours," she replied. "Why?"

    "Need one to keep an eye on the NoMs until the PLA picks them up."

    "The NoMs survived? That''s great!" Gwen mopped her face with a towel. Even with the enchanted skinsuit, she was sticky with sweat from the expenditure of almost 300 VMIs.

    Even in the Amazon, she hadn''t OoMed so quickly. The eradication of a thousand Zombies was equivalent to a high-intensity workout of not only her body but her mind as well. Even now, her frontal lobe throbbed.

    Across the field, three rings of Zombies littered a demolished acreage of cabbages the size of human heads. The first pile was nearly three meters high, forming a gently smoking circle of flayed corpses. The second and third were more modest, while here and there littered dozen upon dozens of stragglers slain by Lulan, Ariel and Caliban.

    "Sir, we''re clear," Mayuree indicated to their advisor. "I don''t sense any hostiles."

    "Good." Gwen repositioned herself so that her face caught the mid-afternoon light. "Give me some space. There''s one more thing I have to do."

    The team moved to one side. It was happening. Gwen had discussed it prior, but to see it happening for real made the team''s kidneys ache.

    "Lulu, I am going to do it once, and then it''s your turn, alright? Don''t forget, our sponsors paid good Crystals for optics."

    "¡­ Okay."

    "What''s this?" Lieutenant H¨¡n turned to Richard.

    "Extra-curriculum revenue." Richard scratched his nose. He had heard Gwen boast but didn''t think to see it live. How wasit possible that his cousin was capable of doing something as embarrassing as selling herself, but be incapable of imploding a building and every NoM, Acolyte and Necromancer within it? Granted, the building had been warded, but he would have liked to see Ariel sneaking through a window or a chimney, and then open up with an Essence enhanced Thundering Shatter. If that didn''t blow out the structure and turn the inhabitans into jelly, she could follow up with triple-set of Elemental Spheres. Better yet, a pyrite Cloud Kill would have completed the Quest like a house on fire.

    Even as his imagination exercised Gwen''s lost opportunities, the fresh-faced sorceress turned toward an invisible lumen-recorder. With one hand, she dramatically wiped sweat from her brow, then surveyed a vista of smouldering Undead. Suddenly, with one hand on her hip, she materialised a bottle of Maotai from her Storage Ring. Unstopping the cap with her teeth, Gwen then turned the ceramic jug so that a good handful of the precious liquid sprinkled across the fallow earth.

    "For the fallen," she said to no one in particular.

    An arc of cobalt electricity blazed across her pupils. She raised the same bottle so that it rested beside her exquisite face.

    "Maotai¡ª Peace for the dead, life for the living..."

    She drank, allowing a few drips to slip past her lips and fall onto her bare collar bones.

    Her team watched; their mouths pursed and mute.

    "Okay, Lulu." Gwen gestured to the red-faced Lulan, looking as though already drunk. "Your turn, Miss superstar."

 Chapter 304 - The Three Little Necromancers

    "Anything of interest?" Schalk Hertzog, Captain of Pretoria, stood over the meditating Jean-Paul as the Void Mage assimilated his latest meal.

    Jean-Paul slowly opened his eyes, his face contorted with bulging veins and dripping sweat. "I do have something. A senior apprentice, I think, one who''d been commanded to gather the materials in the laboratory, then use the attuned Teleportation Circle to escape. I would imagine our junior Necromancer could have made it bar the time it took to stow the ingredients and the spell scrolls. But¡ª then again, returning without them may be yet another death sentence."

    "Too bad the circle''s locked and warded." Schalk studied the crude Glyphs. "Damaged as well. I can repair it, but not without the Glyph-key."

    "You mean this?" Jean-Paul incanted a few invocations under his breath. The Teleportation Circle flickered, blazed for a bright second, then died.

    Schalk raised a bushy brow. The Void Mage was turning out more useful by the minute.

    "Gelukkige baster..." Lencho, ever the prideful Lightning Evoker, observed sourly. He couldn''t fathom why his captain so readily accepted such a disgusting being. If it was Fudan''s sorceress, he could understand, but this thing?

    "Well done, Jean-Paul." Pretoria''s captain glared his damage-dealer into submission. "I wasn''t thrilled when you replaced Lukas, but I don''t begrudge your usefulness."

    "I fear Lencho''s right," Jean-Paul replied meekly. "The memories Umzokwe collects are entirely random."

    "Is it though? I was informed your Familiar targets powerful thoughts and emotions."

    "Ja, but in the moment of oblivion, a lot of things cross people''s minds." Jean-Paul stared at his pallid fingers. "Moments of filial beauty, a triumphant Awakening, a lover''s hands, a Master''s rebuke¡­ or a set of Glyph keys they''re told to keep secret unto death."

    Though he still found the aberrant Mage off-putting, Schalk patted his teammate on the shoulder. It was the sort of thing a good Captain should do.

    "Helia, what say we leave our PLA Advisor and enter the portal ourselves?"

    The Diviner took a minute of meditation to reveal her depthless ultramarine orbs. "I sense woe. Great woe."

    Schalk regarded the Necromancer''s Portal. It was a great opportunity, but as Helia said, it could also be suicide. Hours ago, when Pretoria had been given the task of clearing out an outpost, he hadn''t expected that there would be Rogue Necromancers excercisingtheir craft so close to the Dalian border. The fact that these worshippers of death operated so brazenly outside of Shenyang bespoke of a well-entrenched enemy.

    Then again, what if he sent in Jean-Paul first? The Void Mage had said that he possessed animpressive AoE and that his abilities were triply as effective against lesser Mages. If so, assuming Jean-Paul could secure the Teleportation room, wouldn''t Pretoria hog the CCs at Shimenzi?

    Schalk took a deep breath.

    It took two seconds for the impulse to pass. How would he answer Meister Bekker in the aftermath? The IIUC wasn''t worth bringing trouble to his family.

    "Helia, contact Lieutenant Peng," Schalk dismissed the unappetising gamble. "Tell him that we''re done. Withhold the key for now, and inform him we''re ready to take on other quests."

    "Fireball! Fireball! Fireball!"

    A triple set of explosions rocked the fortification at Shimenzi.

    "FUCK!" Yue cursed out loud. "Fucking gopher bastards!"

    "Bro, that ward''s choice as," Rongo snorted, grumbling at the soot-laden lake. "Too bad the water''s contaminated, could have done something otherwise."

    Unlike Pretoria and Fudan, Auckland fully embraced the dozens of micro-Purge missions leading up to the first stronghold of the Black Zone''s Necromancers. As a result, they quickly advanced through the Front, destroying hordes of Zombies, packs of ghouls, and even a village haunted by Jiangshi, demonstrating an impressive rapport that surprised even their PLA advisor. To counter each mob, Timoti utilised Quake and Magma Wall to corral the roving bodies while Rongo''s Maelstroms, empowered by his He-Mango-Tohor¨¡, swept his victims into a churning pile. Then, with enough victims gathered in one place, Yue would finish with a ten-second Flame Strike in brilliant blue, transforming the salt-water into superheated steam. It was a tactic that worked wonders against the Mermen, and though they were now far from the Tasman Sea, it proved no less effective against the Undead.

    By the late afternoon, Auckland had caught up with the main troop of Force-Recon Mages scouring the landscape for signs of Necromancy. At their final Nav-point, the standing orders for the students was to patrol the waterworks'' exterior. Bored, Yue wanted to try her luck at puncturing the fort''s defences.

    "Mao, don''t you foreigners ever tire?" Lieutenant Xiao, their exhausted adviser, had grown breathless from watching Auckland quest for almost eight hours straight. Were it not for Yue; she would have suspected the giants from the Island of the Long Cloud were demi-humans.

    "I could inscribe a Ta Moko for you," Opi offered, pointing at the cussing Yue. "It''ll be the non-permanent inscriptions Yue is using."

    Compared to Fudan''s flamboyance, Auckland''s team wore very little armour. In place of Magi-tech bodysuits or purpose-built garbs like Pretoria, they employed tattooed body-buffs. From what Auckland''s Enchanter was willing to reveal, Yue''s arms held the Mark of the Mangopare, the Giant Hammerhead Shark, gifting her with endurance and durability. On her left thigh and right calve, wrapped like a wedding garter, was the Mark of the Silver Fern, a Ta Moko that regulated mana and stifled the effects of spell fatigue. On her left lumbar was inscribed the Pakati, Mark of the Dog Skin, offering protection akin to a Maki''s hide.

    "Check these bad boys out." Yue caught the woman staring and pulled down the neck of her top, causing the Lieutenant to flush and blanch simultaneously. Across the Fire Mage''s ample cleavage were concentric, circular rows of Unaunahi, Mark of the Fish Scale, warding her against the elements.

    "Unaunahi weaved into Moana," Opi offered. "Like the sea, you won''t tire, or need to sleep, so long as your mana keeps up."

    "Shall we head back?" Whetu stated nervously. He was reasonably sure their orders were to waste time and not start the assault. "We''re supposed to wait for the others."

    "Hold up, let me give Tandy a swirl¡ª" Yue began a long invocation. Her Nightmare manifested with a neigh, stamping the air with fiery hoof prints. "Tan-Cysgodol, lend me your strength! INVESTITURE OF FLAME!"

    A blue cloak of fire wrapped around Yue''s body, lighting up half the mountainside. It was an impressive scene, one that would have wowed audiences around the world¡ª until her tank top incinerated.

    "Fu¡ª!" Whetu spluttered. One of the many horrible habits Yue had inherited from Alesia was the preference for non-magical clothing made from conventional material. "Mage Armour!"

    "Aiiiya!" Lieutenant Xiao waved her arms, at once wanting to cover her contestant while concurrently fearing she might turn to cinders. Whatever the case, the two-second "slip" was NOT suitable for national broadcasting.

    "Sweet-ass." Rongo beamed. In response, their Ta Moko Enchanter knocked the Water Evoker over the head with her knuckles.

    Caught in a state of elemental clarity, Yue gave no shits about her momentary indecency. Instead, she raised a flaming hand, gathered the force into a pin-point, then evoked a hyper-tier invocation. "SHADOW FLARE!"

    A globe of near-invisible, superheated Elemental Fire struck the warded surface of the defunct waterworks. A cascade of brilliant-blue sparks erupted where the sphere connected, filling the fetid pools below with hissing steam. A second-later, gouts of molten silica poured from the granite surface, sizzling with spell-fire as the embedded wards fought back the flames.

    Auckland, as well as their advisor, shielded their eyes from the miniature sun. In the eyes of the onlookers, the assault appeared as though an unstoppable force meeting an immovable object.

    "Bloody oath!" Yue''s flame-cloak sizzled, then spluttered, leaving her encased in plated Punamu. Though she could arguably employ spells up to the sixth tier, her lack of experience prevented her from accessing ambitious sorcery like Fire Storm and Disintegrate without first deploying a lesser variation of her Master''s Flame Avatar. It was a make-shift method devised by Alesia so that Yue could access higher-tier spells by drawing on her Familiar''s talents. "How deep did I get?"

    "¡­ about sex meters," Rongo observed. "The ward''s closing over as we speak. How bleeding strong are these Neecromancers?"

    "I don''t think its the Necros," Lieutenant Xiao intervened. "I believe the waterwork''s wards tie into ley-lines beneath the reservoir. Shimenzi isn''t just a filtration facility either. You''ll find out in the debriefing."

    "Can''t the PLA turn the Enchantment off?"

    "No, not without accessing the Mandala''s nuclei." Xiao shook her head. "Unfortunately, that''s also the most secure section of the waterworks. It''s right below the exchange-filters and the pumps, built into reinforced bedrock."

    Yue growled. "What if our CCs escape?"

    Lieutenant Xiao pointed at the Mages in the main camp, patrolling the perimetre in pairs of twos and threes.

    "Without access to a Divination Tower, Teleportation Circles have no more than fifty kilometres of range. Even assuming the Necromancers have Teleportation Scrolls, a stockpile is nigh impossible. Each scroll, depending on inscriber, fetches well over a thousand HDMs, more on the black market." Xiao took a deep breath. "Rest assured. The PLA will crack the gate and pry open the bunker. You''re all-star students, Miss Bai, leave the dirty work to the grunts."

    Impatiently, Yue turned her eyes below, where two Golems idled beside their pilots; Chinese soldiers from the 209th Armoured Regiment. As for the Iron Golems¡ª they were American made General-Dynamics MK266 Dust Pounders, lovingly known as "the Dusty 266". The variants below were crewed, as automation remained the exclusive privilege of the USA and its Israeli allies. At close to three-tons each, the Golems had a maximum payload of over four tons, capable of carrying everything from artillery-tier wands to crystal-caches that extended its run-time to a week. Presently, the crew had outfitted the machines with sonic excavators used to breach the warded concrete. Once the Golems opened a path into the water work''s interior chambers, CQB Mages may then ferret out its inhabitants.

    Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    Ding! Yue''s Message Device chimed.

    "Gwen''s here," Yue informed her companions. "Be back later, fellers. Gonna get changed and see howthe girlfriend''s doing."

    A round of cheers broke out when Fudan alighted near the main camp. The military Mages in the 4th, 7th, and 19th Aerial Recon were mostly men in their late twenties, meaning a bevy of young and beautiful idols brought much mirth to an otherwise grim tour.

    "Ma''am!" A grizzled veteran with a beard like a bristling porcupine approached Lulan. Behind him, a dozen more waited to see if the scarlet-complexioned sarge would succeed¡ª or eat an Iron Sword to the face. "M-May I have an autograph?"

    Lulan stared, her eyes entering fight or flight.

    "Of course you can." Gwen shook her Sword Mage by the shoulders. "Come on, Lulu. It''s all a part of the hustle."

    "The¡­" Lulan''s orbs glazed over. "¡­ the what?"

    "Here." Gwen guided the man''s photo of Lulan''s promotional material toward her, pushing a mana-pen into her fingers. "Sign your last name."

    Lulan scratched in her mana signature, punching through the photo-paper.

    Gwen grimaced at her friend''s uninspiring handwriting. "Ouch. We''ll work on it. You better keep that close to your chest, Sargeant. That''s Lulu''s virgin signature. You''re her first."

    "I-I''ll keep this as an heirloom!" The man visibly trembled. "Mao! Thank you, Miss Li! Please win the competition!"

    Hearing Gwen''s titillating proclamation, the other soldiers rioted, clamouring for Lulan to sign their things. One soldiereven unbuttoned his shirt and asked her to carve her initials on his collarbone so that he would never forget this day.

    "SHUT UP!" Lieutenant H¨¡n barked. As an officer of the First-Recon, his reputation precededhim. "Form a line! Proceed in order of Rank! Cue jumpers will be sent into the Necro-den first, without Golem support!"

    The men quickly fell into step.

    "GWENNIE!" Yue landed a dozen steps from the ogling men, ignoring their licentious attention. "What took you so long? Our advisor said you guys left your last objective four hours ago."

    "The locals waylaid us," Gwen explained with a sigh and a roll of her eyes. "When did you get here?"

    "An hour ago, we''re waiting on the Golems."

    Gwen''s eyes flashed. "Those? They''re huge!"

    "Nah, those are chicken-hawks. The 266s are medium-weight models," Yue casually informed her. "Tell ya what though. The bloody walls on that place are warded to hell. Hopefully, the Dusties will dig in through the exterior without drama, maybe soften up the inside a bit.

    While Yue spoke, Gwen inspected the two humanoid Magi-tech machines. To her eyes, they resembled squat gorillas in plated mail. As tall as they were broad, most of its two-storey bulk consisted of a central torso, a massive set of shielded shoulders, and robust arms twice as thick as its hind legs. From the way the vehicles'' statue hunched, Gwen guessed these were likely quadrupedal machines capable of significant velocity.

    Presently, a pair of gloves that resembled a mole''s forearms had been affixed to the forelimbs. The pilots, one woman and the other a man, wore high-vis jumpsuits. To Gwen, it was all very Top Gun feeling.

    The male pilot caught her looking and waved.

    She waved back, pausing when a growl of displeasure derailed her train of thought.

    "Alright, come down," Gwen said to no one in particular, drawing a curious glance from Yue.

    Much to the delight of the Combat Mages, the giant Wyvern they''d seen back at Dalian descended from the dusky sky, circling over the Shimenzi until it skidded to a halt not too far from where the girls stood.

    "Calamity!" the Wyvern called out. "HUNGRY, NOW! Those horses were inedible!"

    "Alright, alright. Hold your Harpies."

    Yue, together with dozens of soldiers, watched with fascination as her friend approached the monstrous brute to deposit an enormous crate of stacked SPAM almost as tall as herself.

    "What in Father''s name is this?" Golos stretched his wings, tucked them against his sides, then sniffed the small mountain of cans.

    "Its SPAM, Gogo. Nothing but the best for my drake." Gwen touched the Wyvern''s snout, feeling her fingers grow numb from the static. "There''s regular SPAM, Turkey SPAM, Teriyaki SPAM, Smoked SPAM, Bacon SPAM, Cheesy SPAM; I had them shipped from Hawaii."

    Grunting, Golos transformed into his human form. Unlike Polymorph, the Wyvern''s Draconic-racial didn''t involve twisting bones and moulting skin, but rather a blast of retina-searing lightning. A second later, a nine-foot giant with horns pulled up a pair of jeans, slipped on a tight t-shirt, then adjusted his mace so that it slid down a trouser leg.

    Gwen felt a nudge in her ribs. Beside her, Yue''s brows came alive as though two jostling caterpillars.

    Taking a can in each hand, Golos began.

    "Mmmm¡­" the humanoid Wyvern masticated the punctured aluminium. "Not bad. The metal skin of this meat fruit adds a particular crunch."

    Gwen raised a finger, opened her mouth, then allowed her hand to fall.

    "It''s great with rice," she said finally before returning to Yue.

    By now, Whetu, Richard and a few others had joined them.

    "So, what delayed you?"

    "Ah." Gwen tugged at the collar of her Shen-te¨© armour, loosening the neckband. She was beginning to envy the comfort of Yue''s fitted tank top. "We ran into Centaurs."

    "No shit?" Yue swore, the warmth of her breath steaming the air. As advertised, Liaoning''s temperate rapidly fell as the sun dipped into darkness. "The half-horse, half-human ones?"

    "Undead ones," Richard cut in, having supervised Lulan''s meet-and-greet with fans. "Great galloping bastards. They were shooting arrows and throwing spears too. Almost got us a few times. Who would have thought? Bloody Undead Centaurs, you live and learn."

    "Yeah, those Centaurs were no cake-walk," Gwen continued. "We were ignoring them until they started galloping below us. When we crested a hill, they got close enough to start throwing spears."

    "Zombies can use weapons?" Whetu inquired contemplatively.

    Gwen shook her head. "They looked like Ghasts to me. Lean and gaunt with lots of ribs showing. Long, skinny legs, big long manes. Strong as anything."

    "They followed us for almost twenty-minutes at close to eighty kilometres an hour," Richard expressed his admiration of the Centaurs'' prowess. "And they didn''t tire either."

    "How''d you fight them? With Cali?"

    "Golos took em down." Gwen gestured to her Wyvern. "We took to a higher altitude while Golos strafed them with Lightning. He picked off most of them, but a dozen or so ran. Our advisor wasn''t too happy with that. He said that the NoM battalions had a hell of a time weathering centaurs, so we had to chase the rest down. That took AGES."

    "Lulu''s not a good flyer," Richard explained. "Neither am I. Gwen had to do most of the work herself."

    "Sounds like a hassle." The diminutive Evoker inclined her chin. "Your advisor''s right, though. While WE''re hurling Fireballs from the air, the grounded Mages and the armed NoMs are ducking arrows and trying not to be trodden. Even armoured convoy trucks are no match if they run into something higher than tier 6. You remember that Land Shark back in the Hunters?"

    "Don''t remind me." Gwen grimaced.

    "One of those can demolish a fleet of vehicles," Yue said. "They eat metal as well as flesh, and they''re built heavy enough to erupt from the ground and knock a transport truck over. Whetu and I saw it happen in Tauranga. Local militia got bogged down, lost half their men before we arrived from Auckland."

    "Yikes."

    "Mobility is life. When¡ª" her friend pronounced sagely before suddenly pausing. "Finally, they''re here! Let''s get this show on the road!"

    Six dots appeared on the purple horizon.

    Gwen''s eyes searched for Jean-Paul. "I wonder what took them so long?"

    "I would have kept patrolling if I knew we had to wait this long," Yue grumbled. "I take it there''s a good reason those Golem units are still idling."

    Two dozen Daylight Flares hovered around the Shimenzi''s general vicinity, turning night into midday. As super-charged Dancing Lights, the Military staple covered a range of almost half a kilometre each, underneath which a shadowless, all-enveloping light ensured Shimenzi was laid bare.

    In better times, the winding canyon would have arguably made an impressive panorama. Under the guardianship of the Undead, however, cold granite met with shattered shale, giving the river''s vista the likeness of an upturned graveyard half-caught in a rock-slide.

    "Students!" A uniformed Magister in pressed olive presented himself as Colonel Qin Q¨ªao of 1st Force-Recon and the Field Officer in charge of the Reclamation of Shenyang. "Many of you may be wondering why we are so invested in Shimenzi. Now, I shall elucidate you."

    The commander cleared his throat.

    "While our troops clear the way to Shenyang, you have been offered the chance to PURGE Shimenzi. Lieutenant Xiao, the map."

    A projection of the waterworks and its internal chambers materialised into view, vivid and brilliant under the unnatural daylight. The students'' stunned faces stared at the architectural layout, knitting their brows at the sight of the extensive underground bunker.

    "Shimenzi¡­ is not just a water filtration plant for the local farms," the Colonel explained. "In the late sixties, we commissioned Russian engineers to build it as a military base during the defence of Liaoning. Apart from the Undead, the base was also built to repel Americans..."

    "Strewth." Yue rolled her eyes. "No wonder I couldn''t punch past the first layer. It''s a legit habitat bunker. Fuck."

    "You tried breaking in?" Gwen whispered.

    "Destroyed the wall and everything," Yue remarked. "But¡ª no luck."

    "Firepower, firepower, firepower?" Gwen grinned.

    "Not enough firepower. Master might be able to do it. Gunther could probably blast straight to the core."

    Whetu coughed.

    The girls zipped their lips.

    "¡­ Presently, we anticipate that Shimenzi is home to at least forty individuals engaged in the practice of Necromancy. Of these criminals, at least THREE haveattained the level of Magus. Here are their profiles¡ª"

    A three score of headshots materialised mid-air.

    The Colonel stood below the first floating face, a Mage with ash-blonde hair and sunken blue-green eyes reminiscent of arctic ice.

    "Anton Yermolov, Russian. Sixty-Seven years of age. He served as a Biomancer in Moscow before turning to study Necromancy. He''s a freelance Ritualist researching Undeath and immortality. Wanted in Russia, Ukraine, Poland and of course, China, Mister Yermolov is worth 400CCs dead or alive. Should you encounter him, expect dangerous Familiars and spells affecting the mind, as well as your Astral Body."

    A second image appeared. This time, it showed a pale-skinned man in the garb of a priest. The most notable aspect of the Necromancer was his hawk-beak nose.

    "Diego Valentino, Italian. An ex-communicated priest from the Ordo Praedicatorum. Fifty-seven years of age. Spent the first thirty years of his life hunting down Necromancers. Now, he''s one of them. His spells principally focus on Essence and Spirits. We have it on good authority that he controls incorporeal monsters. His Tower Bounty currently sits at 550 CCs, with an additional 250 CCs if his Storage Ring and certain contents can be returned to the Ordo. If you do find it, I suggest handing it to the PLA for processing."

    A third face materialised. This time, there was very little bio-metric data. To Gwen, the last Necromancer was a slim-faced North Korean woman in her forties.

    "Finally, Sung Min-Seo. A local. Information regarding Sung''s whereabouts was recently gathered thanks to Fudan. From what we can deduce, she is a Magus-tier Grafter, so expect monstrous creations such as Hulks, Abominations and at worst, Demi-human Bone Golems. Currently, the PLA will offer 300 CCs for her and 50 CCs for each of her upper-tier creations."

    The Colonel paused, then raised his head to survey the students.

    "All three have been pushed from their laboratories and hiding places. All three should now be in Shimenzi. These are your principal Quest targets, in addition to the complete Purge of the fortification."

    The Colonel pointed to the Golems.

    "When the operation begins, the PLA will breach Shimenzi from the Front with our mechanised units, distracting the innumerable Undead defenders who will meet us. As for your teams¡­"

    The Colonel pointed to three separate sections on the map.

    "You may choose an entry point cleared for your convenience or breach the fort by individual means. If you are unsure, I want to remind our guests that this mission is not compulsory and that you may continue collating CCs tomorrow and in the next six days until we reach Shenyang. Note that requests we are offering you are neither easy nor safe. It will test every spell you have at your disposal, as well as stretch your resources to the breaking point. Do you understand?"

    "Yessir!" the students answered as one.

    "Good!" The Colonel cleared his throat. "Fudan, will you proceed?"

    "We accept!" Gwen''s husky voice reverberated through the day-lit night.

    "Pretoria?"

    "None shall survive, Colonel!" Schalk crisply answered, standing to attention. His movements were curt and flawless, despite his cumbersome seeming Armscor booster-plate.

    "Auckland?"

    "We''ll kill em all!" Yue snapped a salute, her heels clicked. "Nothing will survive, not even a Zombie rat, sir!"

    "That''s what I like to hear!" The Colonel returned to the cross-section diagram. "Now, pick your entry points."

    "Sir!" Schalk raised a hand.

    "Yes, Mister Hertzog?"

    "We would like to offer an alternative entry, Sir! We have obtained the Glyph for Shimenzi''s mid-level Teleportation Circle, Sir!"

    The Colonel paused.

    "Well, well..." The man''s countenance then contorted in the manner of a smiling wolf. "What wonderful news!"

 Chapter 305 - Wyverns First

    The leaders of the triumvirate huddled.

    "I volunteer for the breach." Schalk raised his hand. "With my booster armour and my talents, I should be able to hold the Teleportation room until the rest of you can safely arrive."

    "Schalk, you''re too reckless," Izette, Pretoria''s Diviner, dissuaded her captain. "Neither mine nor Mayuree''s Divinations showed weal."

    All three teams were keen on the idea of teleporting into the enemy base while their main force was distracted by the Golems kicking through the front door, but then the question arose of who would breach the great unknown. If Ghouls and acolytes held the entryway, then all would be well. If Ghasts and Bone Monarchs, supported by Senior Necromancers, held the portal, then doom awaited the intruder. Yet, no matter the difficulty, someone had to be first, for the PLA would not wait to make their assault.

    Of the three Abjurers, Schalk suggested that he could withstand whatever spells, curses, and afflictions the Necromancers threw at him.

    Richard conveyed that he could instantly flood the vicinity to extinguish any opportunity for retaliation.

    Whetu assured the teams that nought would bypass his Pounamu barrier.

    "How about we send in our Familiars?" Jean-Paul meekly susurrated, shirking the artificial daylight, his complexion so pale as to glow. "Umzokwe can independently manifest. As can Caliban."

    "But then we''d lose control of them. Besides, how''re your vital stores?" Gwen countered her companion. "I''ve got supplements... and Eunae if need be, but if our connection is cut by the ward..."

    "Umzokwe''s stores will suffice." Jean-Paul wheezed. "If not, I can replenish once we''re inside."

    "¡­" Gwen felt as though she should issue a rebuke. But since none of her fourteen compatriots batted an eye, she realised that perhaps, she was the weirdo and not Jean-Paul. Wistfully, Gwen felt once again struck by the banality of her old world sentimentality. Even now, she felt no desire to murder NoMs, nor become a cannibal; no matter if her victims were Necromancers.

    Watching the others luridly vociferate the methods of accredited murder, she felt dirty. In her mind, death should be clean, not obscene.

    Sighing, her eyes wandered toward Golos.

    A thought took root.

    "WAIT¡ª!" she slapped the table, causing the others to stare. "I have a better idea!"

    "... Let''s hear it." Schalk folded his arms with mild annoyance.

    "Gogo can breach for us." Gwen jabbed a thumb at the diminishing mountain of SPAM. "As a Thunder Wyvern, he''s highly resistant to all kinds of magic, even Void. His element is also directly opposed to Negative Energy users and Necromancy. He''s stronger than a bone golem, AND he''s also immune to status attacks due to his mythical bloodline. If need be, I''ll front up the extra HDMs for his weight-class."

    The students'' eyes wandered to the burping Wyvern, then back to the Teleportation Circle. Somehow, the prospect of dropping an eleventh tier Thunder Wyvern into the midst of a Necromancer''s lair seemed¡ª utterly amazing?

    Indeed, after Golos cleared the Teleportation Circle, they could leisurely teleport in, leading with their Abjurers, then branch off in their irrespective group to hunt the named Necromancers.

    "What a wonderful idea," Yue cooed in gleeful agreement, her eyes full of anticipated mayhem. "Gogo go-go!"

    Golos lifted its head, wondering why a stumpy peasant was hollering his name.

    "I¡­" Schalk struggled to think of a disadvantage. "Well... Let''s do it."

    "Great!" Gwen exhaled with some relief. She turned toward her SPAM-eating Wyvern. "GOGO! Finish up! It''s time to earn your keep!"

    From the blueprint of the old PLA fortification, the hidden megastructure comprised of eight tiers.

    The ground floor consisted of a fortifiable lobby connected to a guards'' barracks, an administrative sub-floor, and levitation lifts proceeding up and down the stratum. The upper floors, involving Levels I, II and III, werethe heart of the bunker, with shared rooms for Mages, a command theatre, a mess, and storage rooms for HDMs and equipment. A different set of lifts, however, descended past the Lower Ground floor, accessing Basement levels I to III.

    Thankfully, the Teleportation Circle Pretoria had obtained was the magical personnel entry built into the Lower Ground, an elaborate chamber about sixty or so square meters, depressed so that it could be accessed from several adjacent sections simultaneously.

    Of the lower floors, B-I consisted of a substantial troop barrack meant to house up to a thousand NoMs, a kitchen and mess, segregated showers and bathrooms as well as food stores and an armoury. B-II housed the water filters together with the now-defunct pumps feeding the reservoir sitting adjacent to an engineers'' section. Finally, B-III represented a principal objective, covering the control Mandala, the Crystal Core tapping into the ley-line, and the loci for the superstructure''s wards.

    Each of the levels furthermore possessed sub-stratum and off-shots in the form of chambers, hidden or otherwise, connected by a mole''s lair of transmuted tunnels.

    "Hello, claustrophobia," Gwen remarked for herself and the others. The corridors'' width stood two Mages abreast at best. The cramped space was great for her line-based Lightning Bolts, but the same confinement meant there was no evading her enemies'' AoEs either. If she teleported away, she would leave Mayuree or Eunae open to assault.

    "Time is of the essence," Schalk said. "One team should circle back and attack the enemy from the back. Another team should push upward into the headquarters, while the last team should aim for the control Mandala. You know your abilities best, so let''s hear it."

    Yue was the first to speak.

    "Alright, maties. I''ve got firepower bleeding out my nose, Timoti''s got both damage and control, and Rongo''s got snares well-suited to confined spaces," the Fire Mage transcribed, pointing to each of her team. "We got Whetu as well, and Opi doubles as a CQB Transmuter Mage. Ergo, we''ll Fire Lance the Necros right in the starfish."

    "Do you need a healer?" Gwen frowned at her friend''s bluster. "What if one of you gotdrained or injured?"

    "We''ll toast any and everything before they get close," Yue replied with confidence.

    "You can take our Eunae with you." Gwen looked toward her healer. In turn, Eunae shook her head vigorously. "¡­ or not."

    "I''ll be fine." Yue shrugged. "Got pots, got tats, we''re sweet as, bruh."

    "Right." Gwen looked to Whetu. The big man nodded, affirming Yue''s boisterous confidence. "How about you guys?"

    The others gave their two-cents.

    In the interim, Gwen regarded her Void counter-part. For the whole while, Jean-Paul had remained silently receptive to whatever demand Schalk placed upon him. Was he being bullied? She wondered, but couldn''t tell from Jean-Paul''s expressionless mien. In the end, she chewed her lower lip, remembering that there were plenty of talented but introverted folks who preferred extra work to contentious confrontations.

    ".... and I am well versed in Spellcraft theory, particularly the construction of wards and Mandalas relating to Abjuration wards," Schalk stated nonchalantly. "Who here can say the same?"

    Whetu remained silent, as did Richard. As for Gwen, she could at best inscribe a cooking fire.

    "Then Pretoria shall take the lead down to B-III," Schalk declared. "Miss Song, I guess that leaves the upper levels for you."

    "I am fine with that. Richard? Everyone?"

    "No complaints here." Lulan was her usual, accommodating self.

    "I am game," Richard replied.

    "I''ll follow you," Mayuree stated.

    "So long as we''re not reckless." Eunae eyed Yue, hoping there wasn''t going to be another offer of rent-a-Cleric.

    "Alright." Gwen pointed to L-II and level L-III. These were chambers where enemy Mages resided, a prospect that suited her just fine. "Assuming the PLA is going to be holding the lobby, we''ll head for these levels."

    "Wonderlik!" Schalk clapped once. "Don''t forget, the levitationplatforms will be disabled, so you''ll be flying up the shaft. Meanwhile, we shall be relying on your Wyvern."

    "What sort of resistance is the PLA anticipating?" Gwen asked for a reminder.

    "Lower-tier Undead in the thousands. Up to a century of mid-tier Necromantic beings. A few mid to higher-tier constructs. And acolytes in addition to our Magus-tier targets." Mayuree recollected from the briefing. "The lesser Undead will be bolstered and buffed by the apprentices, that''s why the PLA will handle the frontal assault."

    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    "That''s a tough slog, bro," Rongo remarked. "Poor bastards."

    "That''s why we''re here." Lencho, Pretoria''s Lightning Mage, looked from Gwen to Golos, appearing apprehensive.

    Agreeing with the Evoker''s assessment, Gwen offered a prayer for the soldiers below. Having sent a thousand Zombies into oblivion, she knew first hand just how troublesome a swarm could be. It wasn''t so much that each Zombie was cumbersome to kill, but that the possibility of a group of Mages growing OoM before the majority of Zombies perished was relatively high. Add in ambusher-types like Ghouls with low-cunning or the swift-limbed Ghasts, it was relatively easy for a Mage to be snatched while taking a breather from spell fatigue.

    Ding! Ding!

    The teams'' Message Devices chimed, accompanied by the revving of the Dusty-266''s roaring mana-engines.

    The time for action was nigh.

    Shimenzi.

    Lower Ground Teleportation Circle.

    Iosif Mazylak was the senior apprentice to Anton Yermolov, a Ritualist Magus in all but Tower accreditation. Iosif

    Like many in his Romanian village, Iosif believed in the existence of the immortal Koschei, a myth whose stories and legends had permeated the collective memory of his people. As the tale tells it, the 12th century Immortal King, without formalised knowledge of sorcery, lived until the twenty-fourth generation of his kin¡ª an impressive feat for a Mage of antiquity.

    Thus raised on outlandish tales, Iosif had forgotten all about Tower''s propaganda when Anton arrived looking for potential apprentices. A dream-prone adolescent, Iosif was full of delusion and grandeur. It wasn''t an unusual trait¡ª for life on the Frontier was boring but hard; it was a place where sudden, violent deaths daily occurred.

    While the Tower Masters of the Black Sea ate caviar in Istanbul, the meagre fortune of not starving to death in Poiana Bra?ov was a luxury few could afford. That and the villagers were predated upon by the Night Hags, Dhampirs, and the Nachtkrapps that roamed the mountains.

    "O God so merciful in heaven," the old men in his village would pray when the Dhampirs came for their milk-skinned daughters. "O Lord, Father of all, deliver us from harm."

    But it wasn''t God who came to save the village.

    It was Anton Yermolov.

    At once, Iosif knew he had found his calling.

    Before he had learned the Craft from his Master, Iosif''s greatest ambition was to take Elena, the Mayor''s daughter, on her wedding bed. A year on, Iosif had forgotten all about that banal fantasy. He came to realise the vastness of the world, how high the mountains of knowledge, and how fathomless the Spellcraft seas. Very quickly, Iosif exposed the lies besmirching Necromancy and the scourge of the Undead plague. Now, as a senior acolyte, he recognised Necromancy in its true form¡ª art.

    For what else could he label magic that could arguably be utilised by anyone with a hint of talent? Like death, Necromancy was an equaliser. All one needed to ply the Craft was knowledge, mana, and the capacity to suspend worldly ethics.

    "Mages were born free," his Master had quoted a famous philosopher. "Yet, thanks to the accursed Imperial Magic System, he is everywhere in chains."

    Iosif agreed. Compared to the Seven Schools of Magic, Necromancy was freeform and primal, drawing on the raw Essence possessed by all beings.

    Where there was life, there was death.

    Where there was decay, there was regeneration.

    How can one outlaw the foil to life itself? It was absurd.

    When he had finished his first half-decade under the Master, raised his first Zombie and watched his minions perpetuate, Iosif felt elucidated. When a decade later, the first of his slaves rose not as a mindless being, but a thinking, feeling Ghast, Iosif attained an epiphany.

    "Life is death!" his Master had hollered to his students. "Don''t you see? It is reversible! Life is death as death is life! Undeath is sovereignty over the tyranny of nature! It is an escape from the karmic forces of the material world! Undeath is the bottling of God''s domain! It''s true freedom!"

    But the journey to transcendence was long and arduous.

    Master Yermolov''s Path, as the Tower Mages would say, was one of Ritualism, the prolonging of life through the exploitation of death. It was an easily misunderstood goal, for the actual purpose wasn''t life, but the attainment of Undeath¡ª the transformation into an immortal legend known as a Lich.

    At first, Iosif had disputed if such a tier of mastery existed.

    But after a visit with his Master to Pyongyang, all doubts had ceased.

    After an august audience with what must be a Magi, Iosif knew that God, or Gods, or at least a facsimile of divinity, did exist on the Material Plane.

    "Master Iosif¡­" a voice more juggling stones than vocal cords addressed the day-dreaming apprentice. "When may we¡­ feed?"

    Iosif frowned. He disliked being interrupted, especially by a slave.

    The Ghast that spoke was Paul, a dear friend and Elena''s fianc¨¦. In his youth, Iosif had been greedy and had practised his Craft on Elena before his skills had matured. Luckily, his friend promptly arrived at the end of a two-year sojourn searching for his fianc¨¦e. Full of remorse, Iosif had welcomed his friend into his Master''s abode, after which, the rest was history.

    "You may feed when the PLA has had their fun, or when reinforcements arrive from Shanyang," Iosif stated. Disgracefully, the PLA''s assault had caught them all by surprise. Their contacts in Dalian had been told that it was a routine military drill¡ª until reality had caught up, too fast for many of the Masters to preserve their experiments. From what he had heard from upstairs, Master Valentino had lost a senior apprentice in his haste to retreat to Shimenzi. Having then lost his precious materials, the Mage had flown into a rage and Soul Flayed a lesser apprentice when the girl was clumsy enough to bump into him.

    Now, caught in the cramped confines of Shimenzi, the brooding Masters bid their time.

    In the gloom, Iosif''s Ghast nodded, then returned to staring blankly at the Teleportation Circle.

    Together with Paul were a half-dozen of his Master''s lesser creations, as well as a few of his experiments. Though Iosif felt he could be arguably be made useful elsewhere, someone had to guard the portal in case allies arrived.

    Suddenly, the ground swayed.

    "Whoa¡ª" Iosif muttered when the ground shook. The PLA''s assault on the front gate had begun. "Death preserve us."

    Paul said nothing. Other than the occasional complaint about his eternal hunger, the Ghast voiced little of anything.

    The floorshook again.

    Iosif''s greatest worry was the stock of fresh flesh in the larder. Economical Undead like Skeletons and Zombies could be starved for years and indeed, possessed higher functions when frenzied, but not so intelligent variants.

    Unlike their bio-mechanical cousins, conscious Undead required maintenance and sustenance. One of Iosif''s tasks for the first decade of his apprenticeship had been precisely that, a Ghoul farmer whose job was to throw meat to the howling horrors while avoiding being eaten himself. Indeed, of the ten gathered from his village for the test, only Iosif survived.

    BOOM¡ª Rumble¡ª

    Dust fell from the ceiling. The PLA were really giving it their all, but Shimenzi wasn''t an easy fortress to penetrate.

    Iosif yawned. The Undead made good guards but made terrible conversationalists. If he was bored, maybe he should take the time to pick apart one of his Master''s Clawed Ghouls? Or perhaps one of the Mutated Zombies to see how their imbued enchantments caused Negative Energy to warp their flesh?

    THRUMMMMMM¡ª

    Iosif blinked.

    The Teleportation Circle churned, filling with mana.

    Another ally, arriving from an outed outpost? Iosif frowned. With the PLA assaulting the upper levels, wasn''t it a bit convenient for someone to be visiting?

    But then again, only senior apprentices knew the key to the teleportation array. Even ifan acolyte encountered a Mind Mage, the Death Geas would ensure they drained themselves to death before a single Glyph could be uttered.

    ¡ªNMMMMM¡ª the thrum of silvery Conjuration filled the air with static. The amount of mana being channelled through the portal was terrific.

    It must be an ally. Iosif relaxed. The size of the thing coming through was at least the volume of an Abomination or a Hulk.

    "I hope the chamber''s big enough," Iosif muttered warily. The individual rooms were generous, but the corridors were barely two and a half meters high.

    ZAAAP!

    The circle deposited its cargo.

    "Welcome!" Iosif hailed the new arrivals in guttural Korean. "You''ve come at a¡­"

    His lips grew transfixed.

    A man appeared amidst the firefly motes of Conjuration, a nine-foot giant.

    "What the¡ª?" Iosif muttered in his native tongue.

    The man''s stature was enormous, akin to an Armoured Revenant, possessing arms like trunks and a body sculpted of Grecian marble. Atop the man''s brows grew two horned ridges that ran the length of his skull, half-hidden within a mess of platinum-white hair.

    The man looked around, his silvery orbs refracting the lumen-globes like the eyes of a cat.

    Iosif swallowed, fighting the panic in his heart.

    "ATTACK! All attack!" He wasted no time summoning a staple invocation to his lips. "Agonising Enervation!"

    A stream of Negative Energy, conjured by the inscribed artificial Sigil drawn into his Astral Soul, flooded through Iosif''s warded mana conduits. Of his collection of spells, the fourth-circle debilitator was his favourite, for it afflicted the target with spine-wrecking agony while transferring their vitality back toward the caster.

    "Sisargh hofiba!" the demi-human uttered in a bone-chilling, alien tongue.

    Iosif''s charm struck.

    A split-second later, nothing happened.

    The Senior Apprentice grew confused. There was no fizzle¡ª his spell had been successful. He had seen its dark miasma connect with the demi-human. If so, why didn''t it work?

    "GAWWWRRR!"

    Paul had by now reached its enemy. From all ten digits, it distended blade-like claws pumped full of ghastly venom, fully capable of disabling the stoutest of Mages.

    The demi-human looked up, frowned, then moved like a blur.

    Snap!

    The Ghast halted mid-stride, suddenly caught in an iron vice.

    Iosif''s eyes grew impossibly wide, then fuller again, pressing against his sockets.

    While the Mutated Zombies gnawed on the Demi-human with their distended jaws to no avail, the man effortlessly reached out, catching Paul''s head like a ball. Then, with a single, fluid motion, the giant tore the Ghast''s skull, spine and all, from his torso.

    "GRAAA¡ª" Paul made just one sound before his Necromantic energies expired, washing over the man''s well-muscled body like water off a duck''s back.

    Iosif shook, his fingers trembled, spells long recollected failed to pronounce themselves.

    His assailant began swatting at the lesser Undead.

    Whack! With a bone-shattering blow, a Zombie''s head exploded like an overripe melon.

    THWAK! A quick stomp sent the lower half of another Ghoul flying into the distance to splatter against the wall.

    CRUNCH! A simple sweep cut six Ghouls in half, mutilating both flesh and bone.

    "HA!" The demi-human giant swung Paul''s head like a mace, smashing apart Iosif''s and his Master''s beloved creations with Paul''s profaned remains.

    Across the chamber, the Necromancer acolyte felt as though his brain was spinning like a top. What the hell was this? His soul rioted. Who was this monster, and why was it here in Shimenzi? For Iosif, there was only a single recourse. He had to inform Master and bring reinforcements! Surely a Bone Golem could best this creature!

    "Shield!" Iosif preemptively erected a barrier. He wasn''t an Abjurer, not to mention his minions usually blocked his foes. Unfortunately for Iosif, his present defences rapidly deteriorated as the humanoid dreadnaught pounded his pets into mincemeat.

    "Blood Walk¡ª" In desperation, he opened a vein.

    "LOREAT!" came a cry more bark than speech.

    Iosif was a few incantations from completing his limited-range teleport when his long-neglected testicles suddenly shrivelled up into his torso. A spine-wrangling, strength-sapping wave of fear overwhelmed his faculties, turning his frontal lobes into quivering soup. Something indescribable relaxed in his gut, his innards revolted, and the room grew suddenly heavy with the scent of excreta.

    His mouth filled with bile, Iosif looked down in disbelief.

    Was he the first Necromancer in history to suffer Mana Burn because he shat himself? What would his Master say?

    But he needn''t worry about that. Not when the collated strength of a dozen Ogre Ghasts punched through his feeble grey shield to take him by the neck.

    Moments later, against the concrete fortification, Wyvern andformer Necromancer painted an impromptu Pollock.

    "¡­ Gogo''s done." Gwen licked her drying lips. It was unexpected, but Link Sight somehow worked on Golos, bypassing the ward. "We''re clear, for the moment."

    Schalk, Whetu and Richard stepped into the circle.

    "Miss Song." The captain of Pretoria inclined his butt-chin. "See you on the other side."

 Chapter 306 - Party Crasher

    Gwen could smell the ultraviolence the moment she teleported into the chamber. Foremost was the stink of Undeath, after which proceeded the unmistakable stench of ruptured bowels spilling from a torn black robe.

    "Gogo?¡± She looked around for her Wyvern.

    ¡°He¡¯s gone on ahead.¡± Schalk had taken up a position next to one of the entrances, overlooking the results of his Diviner''s Scrying. ¡°Lord Golos was muttering something about desecrators.¡±

    Feeling her scalp crawl, Gwen reactivated her Gogo-VR. Presently, her twin vision showed the Wyvern walking over a mangled mess of coarsely ground meat. All about the princeling extended a Brutalist, Soviet-era habitat-block the size of a tennis court, in the midst of which she could see the levitation lifts.

    ¡°Did you run into any trouble?¡± she asked suspiciously.

    The Wyvern grunted, wiping his feet on an unsoiled robe.

    Gwen felt her throat constrict. There was something abstract ingazing at Golos'' victims through borrowed eyes. The carnage was so distant¡ª like she was the operator of some first-person murder game.

    "Stay there, I''ll be with you soon." Gwen cut the link.

    A few more flashes of Conjuration later, the rest of the contestants filled the Teleportation Chamber.

    "Good work." Schalk stood beside the portal¡¯s mechanisms with an impressive-looking inscription-tool. ¡°I will now disable the Circle. No one will be able to use it until they unravel the Arcane Lock. A feat which, though I don¡¯t profess to be the premier Enchanter in Pretoria, should be time-consuming, to say the least.¡±

    "And after that?" Yue glanced at the crumpled heaps by the wall, disappointed that Golos had hogged the action.

    ¡°To CCs and glory.¡± Lencho¡¯s fingers sparked with electricity. Ever since Gwen had "lost" to his captain, the prideful Evoker had felt as though he was an oft-forgotten sidekick.

    ¡°Fret not, Lencho. I¡¯ve got a good feeling about this,¡± Izette, Pretoria¡¯s Diviner, painted a rosy picture for her teammate.

    Gwen''s eyes fell to Pretoria''s Void Mage. Presently, Jean-Paul was whispering to his Familiar.

    ¡°Cali! Ariel!¡± she called her own to join the fray. She entertained summoning her Morden''s Hounds but concluded that vertical levitation shafts made poor battlegrounds for magical dogs.

    ¡°EE EE!¡±

    ¡°Shaa shaa!¡±

    The great white leech slithered from Jean-Paul to rub up against Caliban. Whatever the relationship their owners might have, the two Void Beasts had taken to one another like flesh-eating peas in an eldritch pod.

    "Shaa!" Carapaces popped, tentacles writhed; unwitting observers stepped away. Ariel wanted to join, but Gwen held her Kirin back, producing a fistful of HDMs to placate its excitement.

    Forming into their respective lines, the squads marched outside the teleportation chamber with their Abjurers leading the way. Discerningly, in place of guards and patrols, they discovered lightning-scorched walls and half-cooked bodies, all of which had met with sudden and fatal violence.

    ¡°How did you manage to tame a Thunder Wyvern?¡± Schalk enquired of Gwen, his expression almost worshipful. ¡°What a magnificent Ally.¡±

    ¡°Lucky, I guess,¡± Gwen answered evasively. ¡°I ran into Gogo on a mountain. We argued, my Uncle ploughed his sister, and then we made up.¡±

    "... I would love to meet this Uncle." Schalk glanced at the armoured sorceress. "Truly, you''re the most interesting person I''ve ever met."

    "You''re a pretty decent bloke yourself." Gwen gave the man her best smile, catching Jean-Paul looking meekly downwards.

    "You two should get a room up in L-III, ¡± Yue interjected between them. ¡°Schalk, what''s the fastest way up to the foyer? I bet the PLA¡¯s up to their necks about now.¡±

    Turning a corner, the parties arrived at the Lower Ground''s access chamber. In its present state, the severe room appeared as though a meteor had crash-landed in its midst, leaving no survivors.

    Gwen nodded at her Wyvern as he scratched a crotch itch, stannding beside the lifts.

    Golos nodded back.

    Schalk inspected the Glyph inscriptions on the platforms'' control plate.

    Whomp!

    Rongo thumped the Glyph. To no one''s surprise, nothing triggered. "Bloody hell, it''s shut."

    ¡°Anyone good with metal?¡± Schalk looked around.

    "Lulu?" Gwen nominated her Sword Mage.

    Lulan stepped up. The Sword Mage''s fingers blurred, silently performing an invocation for Shape Metal. On cue, the stainless steel began to warp. A few inches later, her spell fizzled.

    Lulan''s face turned a deep scarlet.

    ¡°I meant cutting through it...¡± Schalk glanced at the Sword Mage, amused by her dismay. ¡°Can for another try?¡±

    ¡°Sorry, Lulu, my mistake,¡± Gwen patted Lulan on the head. ¡°Gogo, think you can best this feeble, human-made door?¡±

    Golos snorted, positioning himself in front of the double-panel. With a sound of metal-on-metal, he dug his fingers into the pane, levering the portion where Lulan¡¯s magic had warped the seamless metal.

    ¡°GRRAARRRRGH!¡± Golos howled, his body crackling with power. Visibly, a mountain of muscles bunched across his back, coming alive with Draconic essence.

    CRUNK¡ªPANG!

    Something inside the panels snapped. Inch by inch, the door parted, pulling apart as the structural integrity of the gears and pistons failed.

    ¡°HA!¡± Golos kicked, sending the left-most panel flying off its sliding rail. With a dissonant clang, the pane launched into the interior of the levitation shaft. The resulting noise was no less than a gong announcing the Mages'' arrival.

    "No matter," Schalk stated with a straight face. "I am sure they''re expecting us. Master Golos, may I humbly request that you also open ours?"

    ¡°Here''s is where we part,¡± Gwen struck out a hand. ¡°Schalk, Jean-Paul, everyone, good luck.¡±

    The others joined in, exchanging handshakes.

    ¡°Come back alive.¡± Jean-Paul¡¯s palm grew slimy the moment Gwen clasped his fingers. ¡°Totsiens¡­¡±

    ¡°Take care, JP."

    ¡°Shaa! Shaa!¡± Caliban nudged Umzokwe.

    The leech wiggled its segmented tail.

    With final formalities performed, Pretoria formed into their marching order, with Schalk and Umzokwe leading, followed by Jean-Paul, Izette, Helia, and finally Lencho. With great solemnity, Fudan and Auckland watched as the basement shaft swallowed the Afrikaners.

    ¡°Shall we?¡± Yue stepped into the shaft, seamlessly transitioning from land to air. One by one, her teammates joined her.

    ¡°Take care and don¡¯t be rash,¡± Gwen warned her friend. ¡°It¡¯s just a competition.¡±

    ¡°No worries, I¡¯ll protect her.¡± Whetu''s eyes encompassed the petite Fire Mage protectively, reminding Gwen of Jonas, Alesia''s Cleric.

    ¡°Ha!¡± Yue grinned, her affable enthusiasm melting Gwen¡¯s heart. ¡°Tell ya what, let me give you a bit of advice in turn.¡±

    Gwen perked up. It wasn¡¯t every day that the mighty Yue dispensed wisdom.

    ¡°DO NOT pussy-foot around.¡± Yue''s amber eyes grew severe, wiping the smirk from Gwen''s sultry lips. ¡°Fuck everything up. NoMs, Monsters, Necromancers, EVERYTHING¡ª if not, you¡¯ll be the one getting rat-fucked.¡±

    ¡°Bless!¡±

    ¡°Aid!¡±

    ¡°Mage Armour!¡±

    ¡°Protection from Elements!¡±

    ¡°True Strike!¡±

    ¡°Mind Link¡±

    ¡°Guardian of Faith!¡±

    The Fudan five hovered in the dimly lit vertical tunnel. After Yue''s team chose the middle route, they had opted for the rightmost shaft. Thankfully, unlike the claustrophobic corridors, the transmuted concrete was widened to accommodate cargo, measuring some six meters in diameter.

    "Still warded." Lulan retracted a hand.

    "Of course it is." Richard brushed a finger across the seamless surface. "Levitation shafts are central components of any base. In a Tower, there''d be mana dampeners lining the walls as well."

    ¡°How¡¯s it looking up there?¡± Gwen inquired of her Diviner.

    ¡°Your friend has just broken into the ground floor,¡± Mayuree sucked in a breath of stale air. ¡°There are A LOT of enemies.¡±

    "And above us?"

    ¡°I am not sure,¡± Mayuree knitted her brows. ¡°There are mana signatures all over, but I can''t use Clairvoyance through warded concrete. I am not seeing much with Arcane Eye either.¡±

    ¡°Don''t worry about it then,¡± Gwen acknowledged the limitations of mid-tier Divination. ¡°Stick to our plan. We should proceed to L-III, then Purge downward from there. Is the tunnel clear?¡±

    "I think so."

    Richard gazed into the uncertain darkness. ¡°Stay away from the walls. You never know.¡±

    ¡°Shaa!¡± Caliban concurred. Its spider legs skittering about the shaft¡¯s surface, somehow managing to stick to the smooth concrete. Beside it, an invisible Ariel flittered through the air in its Kirin form.

    ¡°Good idea,¡± Fudan¡¯s Captain took her Abjurer¡¯s advice. ¡°We¡¯ll lead with Familiars. I¡¯ll bring up the rear. Gogo, can you take the lead?¡±

    Golos yawned. As a creature of Air and Lightning, levitation proved no obstacle.

    "I am glad we see eye-to-eye. Alright, everyone, let''s ascend."

    With concurrent thrums, Fudan switched their Shen-te¨© armour to combat mode, offering their mana pool to the armour''s batteries. This way, the suit not only provided better protection but took on the peculiar Elemental affinities of their wearers.

    A dozen meters from their entryway, Fudan passed the ground floor. From behind the double doors, the rollicking sound of chaotic combat reverberated, shaking the tunnel and displacing the dust.

    "I hope Yue and Whetu are doing alright," Gwen remarked as they passed the sealed doors. Compared to the rumbling entrance, L-I proved the quieter counterpart, followed by a silent L-II. If anything, seven-foot cement slabs were very good at sealing sound.

    Near L-III, some fifty meters from the lower ground, Ariel reported that it had run up against the base of the levitation platform.

    ¡°Gogo,¡± Gwen called upon to her Wyvern again, appreciative of the way her brute served as a humanoid bulldozer. ¡°Can you move the platform, please?¡±

    Golos sighed, perhaps thinking that the sooner the Quest was done, the sooner he got back to his lair.

    Ten meters from their target, the Wyvern paused.

    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± Gwen¡¯s eyes scanned the sterile vicinity of their concrete tube. ¡°Gogo?¡±

    Her Wyvern dipped in the air, his mane suddenly bristling like the back of an agitated hog. Above it, the base of the levitation platform came alive with living shadows.

    ¡°Calamity!" Golos growled, his voice filling the levitation tube like a thunderclap. ¡°It''s an ambush!¡±

    "That''s an imperial fuck-load of Undead."

    Yue pronounced her unadulterated opinion of the churning battle cascading from the alcove from which they had emerged. On every surface, Skeletons, Ghouls, Zombies and Ghasts of all sorts hung from wall to wall, floor to ceiling. There was Undead everywhere she looked: the service counters, the waiting rooms, the armoury, the barracks¡ª no space was left unsullied.

    The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

    In front of the PLA''s Golem-lead beachhead, the Undead formed an undulating tide of glistening, roving, jostling bodies moving as one, surging so that they boiled and tumbled. And the smell! The Mages gagged. The foetid air was solid with the scent of reposed flesh.

    Opposite the Mages, leading the invasion werethe two Dusty-266s, already up to their waists in Zombies. With wide swings, they swatted away the cadavers with their buzzing sonic claws, their roaring, red-hot mana engines shaking the dust from the walls. Behind and beside the War Golems were the PLA Mage Flights, slinging spells and pushing forward with every element they could muster, cleaving the flanks with quicksilver flashes.

    A Blade Barrier! Yue cooed with admiration.

    Colonel Qin Q¨ªao of 1st Force-Recon led the charge, maintaining the spell-made industrial harvester so that it reduced anything within range into mince-meat.

    "Manaaki!" Opi activated her team''s suite of Ta Moko enhancements, warding her companions against the dead. The group-wide buff was necessitated by the Negatively-aligned miasma, for the bone-chilling aura sapped the vigour from the living, polluting their minds with despair.

    "Let''s clear the casters first..." Yue gave her command. Bolstered by the Maori''s craft, she suppressed her battle lust, using her fingers to mark the team''s victims, one by one. "... before they realise we''re the real threat."

    Behind the solid wall of grasping corpses pushing back the PLA, a dozen human acolytes commanded the Undead. In waves, the Necromancers wove spells of empowerment, throwing up profane sorceries to wear down the PLA''s spell-bound barriers. Such was the ebb and flow of all battles against the Undead, for the Mages would grow exhausted eventually, culminating in a retreat. After that, the Necromancers could choose pursuit, or if the victory was pyrrhic, they could re-raise their minions.

    ¡°I¡¯ll keep the horde pinned with Rongo,¡± Timoti''s conduits bloated with magma. ¡°Whetu, stay with Yue and hunt the Necromancers.¡±

    ¡°Sweet-ass, bro,¡± Whetu was confident in his Pounamu Mage Armour. ¡°Ready when you are, Cuz.¡±

    Rongo needed no advice to begin his most powerful Evocation. As a Water Mage, his spells lacked in damage, but more than made up in flexibility. With one hand, the Evoker inscribed a Ta Moko-like mandala in the air, concurrently lighting up the tattoos enveloping his body. On his torso, the Whale Shark came alive as conduits overflowed with supercharged mana. With a mighty cry, the Water Mage called upon his Spirit. ¡°He-Mango-Tohor¨¡, come forth!¡±

    Abruptly, the Mandala expanded to ten times its size, covering the space of a dozen meters. Behind Rongo, a brief impression of a Whale Shark manifested, filling up half the chamber.

    ¡°Parawhenua!¡± The beloved son of the sea unleashed the fury of his patron.

    Before the Undead onslaught could build enough momentum, a streaming jet of whitewater erupted, tossing the Skeletons and Ghouls like children''s toys. An unstoppable torrent, the jet blast travelled forward unimpeded for a dozen meters before petering out, transforming the region around Auckland''s team into a miniature lake, dashing apart the Undead formation.

    ¡°Behind us! Infiltrators!¡± The Acolytes realised too late a new threat had struck. The howling sorcerer, Yue concluded, must be her first target, for he looked the oldest, and his robes were richly embroidered.

    ¡°Mi-Jeong! Stop them!¡± her future victim commanded a junior.

    From the rotting throng, a Giant Skeleton and a three-meter Abomination broke free, wading through the water toward Auckland.

    ¡°Tuatara!¡± Timoti sensed that the time was ripe to summon this three-headed Lava Lizard, a spirit unique to his home region. ¡°Magma Burst!¡±

    From the shallows came exploding spikes of magma-drenched stone, instantly solidifying as they passed through the seawater. Two magma-spikes caught the skeleton, entangling its bones in hardening obsidian. Against the Abomination, the super-heated volcanic ejecta straight-away exploded, flaying the flesh from its stitched frame and spilling its worm-like innards.

    But a Giant Skeleton wasn''t so easily checked. With one hand, the monstrous Undead sling-shotted a club comprised of sharpened bone at Rongo.

    Crash!

    A timely shield from Whetu deflected the crushing blow.

    Yue meanwhile, took advantage of the distraction to fly past Timoti and Rongo, stopping just within spell-range of the Necromancers pointing at her and shouting.

    ¡°Pounamu Protects!¡± Whetu preemptively materialised a honey-comb latticed barrier capable of withstanding all forms of exotic punishment. ¡°DAMPENING FIELD!¡±

    With Auckland¡¯s level of Spellcraft, practical counter-spells were nigh-impossible. As such, Whetu opted for a double-edged solution¡ª reducing their and their enemy¡¯s elemental efficacy so that he could tank what remained. Of course, outside the spell''s range, Yue''s power remained unabated.

    ¡°Incoming!¡± Whetu felt his Astral Soul quake from the avalanche of Negatively-aligned assault consuming the abjuring vigour stowed in his Pounamu. Like spoiled oil, a fusillade of necrotic energies slid from Yue, cascading in sheets as Whetu renewed the serpent stone.

    The Abjurer grunted, gleaming sweat flinging from his steaming back to enliven the throbbing Ta Moko. Warding against Necromancy was a hard slog. Without Faith Magic, there was no way to entirely prevent the sorcery from eating away at Yue¡¯s life force.

    Thankfully, the serpent stone fort needn''t be held for long. A dozen rapid incantations later, it was Yue''s turn.

    ¡°INVOCATION OF FIRE!¡± The pint-size Evoker burst into cobalt flames, lighting half the lobby as she assumed the likeness of a regal Ifrit. Tan-Cysgodol, her Nightmare, could just be seen flittering in and out of her ever-expanding cloak of fire.

    ¡°Tandy!" Yue''s voice rang as a thunderclap. "Fuck¡¯em up! CHAINED CONFLAGRATION!¡±

    A brilliant blossom of near-invisible fire combusted near the senior acolyte, melting through the feeble shield put up by the self-taught Mage. As the air ignited, transforming into white-hot plasma, it was accompanied by more spontaneous fireballs, engulfing the Acolytes wholesale.

    All around Auckland, the world burned.

    One after another, chained explosions engendered. Though Alesia''s apprentice left much to be desired in the realm of control, the power of Yue¡¯s blast accommodated any and all enemies within its range of effect.

    ¡ªBANG!

    ¡ªBANG!

    ¡ªBANG!

    A third and fourth explosion rocked the ground floor, concordant shock-waves caught one another as bodies turned to sizzling mince.

    After a fifth and final discharge, Yue stabbed herself with a mana-injector, grunting as the infused plasma reinvigorated her mana pool. Tan-Cysgodol faded from sight. Her cloak of flames, so blinding only a moment ago, slid from her shoulders, revealing a huffing sorceress wreathed with writhing Ta Moko.

    Yue surveyed the scope of her work.

    A dozen craters studded the foyer where the acolytes had stood their ground. The junior Necromancers were utterly stunned by the attack from behind. As per tradition, senior casters always stood near the back, meaning the best of them were now painting the walls, their blasted brains mingling with their beloved Ghouls.

    The battle tide was turning. The Acolytes faltered.

    ¡°Good work!¡± Whetu shouted. ¡°Let¡¯s regroup!¡±

    Without the Necromancers'' battlefield control, Rongo¡¯s one-man tsunami came rushing in, hissing as the seawater cooled the scorched stone.

    ¡°Fuck, I blew my load too soon.¡° Yue eyed the remaining Necromancers and the other nine-tenths allotment of Undead still swarming over every surface. Taking down five acolytes was good, but she could have done better. ¡°Should have waited for the cunts to clump¡ª WHOA!¡°

    ¡°SHIELD!¡± Whetu raised a honey-comb barrier just in time to catch a Bone Lance, stopping the projectile a few inches from Yue¡¯s bosoms. The Evoker shirked back, taking a few splinters across her warded dermis, leaving white scars where the necrotic energy caressed her skin.

    The party looked to the ceiling.

    A congealing pool of blood had silently engendered on the roof, beneath which now suspended an upside-down Necromancer.

    The cruel face that regarded Auckland was graced by a head of ash-blonde hair, looking far younger than its proclaimed sixty-seven years. Standing just over six-feet, the man wore a stark white, skeletal armour resembling an exoskeleton.

    Anton Yermolov! A name came to Auckland''s collective mind.

    "FOUR-HUNDRED-CCs!" Yue shouted. "Come here, ya bastard!"

    ¡°MAELSTROM!¡± Rongo howled, persisting in his finisher despite the immediate dangers facing Yue and Whetu. Together with the swirling sea draining into the Elemental Plane of Water, he could dispose of several hundred lesser Undead. Once ejected into the Plane itself, the corpses would become fish-feed for the numberless denizens of the Fathomless Sea.

    ¡°Quake!¡± Timoti simultaneously directed his seismic assault at the walls and the ceiling, peeling the Undead hanging there from every surface to aid in Rongo''s efforts. Though the wards prevented the manifestation of his unique Para-Element, the jolting harvest of tumbling Undead was well worth the mana.

    ¡°TANDY! INVESTITURE OF FLAME¡± Yue burned the mana that had only a second ago entered her conduits. Excessive use of Investiture caused self-harm¡ª but the Necromancer left her little choice.

    ¡°Arrogant Tower brats!¡± came a mocking snarl from their enemy. ¡°Five little mice sneaking into our base? You¡¯ll make excellent materials! Foetid Deluge!¡±

    Acidic droplets of dark and eldritch blood began to fall from the ceiling. Where it landed on the Undead, it empowered them. Against the living, it sapped them of life.

    At once, Auckland¡¯s Abjurer conjured semi-transparent Pounamum shields for his companions.

    ¡°Yue!¡± Whetu sensed a yet more powerful surge of Negative Mana welling up inside the Necromancer¡¯s body. With a word, he buttressed her wards. ¡°Don¡¯t fight him head-on, bro!¡±

    ¡°Protection from Evil!¡± Opi reached the Abjurer''s side, simultaneously reinforcing a sacred Ta Moko to bolster Whetu''s fortitude. ¡°Go! Take a drain for her if you have to, we need her awake and alive!¡±

    Whetu needed no coaxing. Like a human battering ram, he pushed through the pelting rain of corrosive serum, positioning himself above the Evoker.

    ¡°I''ll fuck him up proper, don''t you worry.¡± Yue winced when an earlier splatter bypassed her fire to corrode her skin, forming an instant, necrotic lesion. The agony was exquisite, but the pain helped to focus her mind as she called upon the ill-tempered Tandy. ¡°Give me a minute!¡±

    But a minute was an eternity when squaring off against a Magus, and a Necromancer at that.

    ¡°Fools!¡± Anton rebuked the young Mages and their arrogance. ¡°Sanguine Mantle! Mass Terror!¡±

    A wave of nausea washed over the Kiwis, reaching even the PLA Mages below. As much as the Chinese soldiers wanted to reach the Necromancer raining blood from a safe distance above, splitting from their well-practised battle-bulwark would make them fodder for the wave of Undead breaking upon their formation. Even Colonel Q¨ªao, who had been splitting the Undead sea, knew the young Mages had to face the profane caster alone.

    As a ruby-red bird of prey, the Necromancer approached.

    ¡°You¡¯ll make an excellent Revenant, my girl.¡± The man¡¯s face was barely visible behind his mask of bone. ¡°And your Nightmare will nourish my Bone Spirit!¡±

    For once, Yue had no retorts. Other than tracking her target¡¯s trajectory, the Fire Mage paid the man no heed. With a singular focus, she exercised her Signature invocation, citing every Glyph and guiding every mote of mana into their proper place. Alesia''s gift of Shadow Flare was her favourite spell outside Fireball. It was an incantation exchanged from the Deep Dwarves, whose control of Elemental Fire far exceeded mortal ken. The only drawback was that without Tan-Cysgodol, the unique flame could not be manifested.

    Above her tiny body, Whetu¡¯s expanding barrier of Pounamu grew threadbare. Behind that, a furious Anton approached, wreathed in blood and bone.

    Gwen had never seen a Wraith before, but she knew a bloody Dementor when she saw one. And just like in the movies, the Wraiths'' appearance was as Rowling had advertised.

    "Holy shit..." she announced her dismay.

    In a flash, a dozen or so cosplaying Nazg?ls had them instantly surrounded. Unbidden, the temperature in the levitation tube fell by a dozen degrees, turning the Mages'' breaths to mist.

    ¡°WEEEEEAAARRRGH¡ª¡°

    ¡°WEEEEARRRGH¡ª¡°

    Goosebumps coveredlength of Gwen''s limbs.

    The keening of a Wraith was said to stifle a victim¡¯s soul, paralysing even the stoutest and most fortified Mage. The bestiary proved accurate, for even with Eunae¡¯s Bless and Aid, Fudan¡¯s Mages seized, held prisoner by a primal terror.

    ¡°Gogo!¡± Gwen shook off the wailing, shocked but not stunned. ¡°Defend us!¡±

    ¡°ROOAAARRRR!¡± Golos¡¯s answer emerged in the form of white-hot lightning. As his Dragon breath flashed the tunnel, it caught not only the Wraiths but struck the bottom of the Levitation platform.

    CRACK¡ªBANG! Came the sound of fulminating thunder, amplified by the enclosed space. Living lightning crawled along the walls, climbing down the exploding granite as bits and pieces flaked from around the team¡¯s surroundings.

    ¡°Ariel!¡± Gwen added her firepower to the display. Even with Eunae as support, she had no desire to play victim to a Wraith¡¯s soul-draining touch. ¡°Elemental Sphere!¡±

    Compounding bolts of hysterical electricity filled the tunnel, forcing Mayuree and the rest to activate their shields and Richard to retrieve Lea. Even Lulan, who had taken a hack at a Wraith to see what would happen, was forced to withdraw behind Richard¡¯s water sphere.

    ¡°Ha!¡± Golos¡¯ laughter cut through the cacophony. ¡°They¡¯ve perished!¡±

    ¡°They¡¯ve hidden themselves in the walls!¡± Came Mayuree¡¯s Mind Linked interjection, clear as crystal despite the non-OSHA compliant decibels assailing their ears.

    ¡°You''re shitting me,¡± Gwen cursed. The fucking walls were warded against spells, but not against ghosts?

    CRUNK! A sizeable chunk of metal fell from the ¡°ceiling¡±. As always, Golos'' full-strength breath knew not the meaning of subtlety.

    The levitation disk groaned as though an enormous Zombie.

    All around the contestants, shattered concrete and loose steel broke free from the ozone-filled gloom directly above the contestants. When their vision returned, what they saw was a tittering Levitation platform on the verge of imminent structural failure.

    ¡°Shit!¡± Gwen banished the Wraiths from her mind for the moment. ¡°Gogo, don¡¯t let that thing fall on us!¡±

    Golos disliked being commanded over being coaxed, but the circumstances hardly allowed for negotiations. With a fulminating growl, the Thunder Wyvern grew into its magnificent self, anchoring its claws on the tunnel¡¯s walls. Then, with a mighty flap that drove the students back, the Planar Ally heaved with its muscular neck, tilting the platform so that it grew inverted.

    The levitation Mandala held on for a moment more¡ª then failed.

    As one, the contestants retreated.

    The disk was only a dozen meters above them. Nonetheless, with its weight, the momentum was enough to rake arm-deep gouges into the cement walls.

    ¡°Lea! Jet Blast!¡± Richard corrected the chaotic tumble of the wobbling levitation platform as it fell, ensuring a perpendicular descended past Fudan¡¯s Mages. When the tiled surface came within half a meter of them, Gwen felt a thrill like no other.

    ¡°!¡±

    Her spine tingled. She activated a shield but suddenly realised it wasn¡¯t danger from the falling disc that had triggered her Divination senses. ¡°Shit! Get¡ª¡±

    ¡°¡ª Eunae! AWAY FROM THE WALLS!¡± Mayuree¡¯s warning came earlier, but still, it was too late.

    ¡°AEEEEEE!¡± Eunae screamed. She had been so fearful of being crushed that she was almost melding into the tunnel''s sides. It had been a reflexive but poorly thought-out strategy, for consequently, she had no time to manifest her Shield of Faith against the Wraiths still hiding in the walls.

    Instantly, the Cleric¡¯s face grew deathly pale. The vital forces within her body gave way as Negative Energy hungrily consumed her life-force.

    Beside her, the Mind Linked Mayuree groaned.

    ¡°Eunnie!¡± Gwen cursed. ¡°FUCK! Lightning Bolt!¡±

    Ariel¡¯s bolt warped until it wrapped around Eunae, severing the Wraith¡¯s limb and driving its presence from her body. Had Fudan lacked Gwen as a Lightning sorceress, that would have been it for Eunae.

    ¡°Shaa!¡± Caliban caught the falling healer with a pair of tentacles, reading Gwen''s desperation, likewise frustrated that it couldn¡¯t consume incorporeal foes.

    A Dimension Door later, Gwen stood atop Caliban, holding Eunae in her arms. The girl wasn¡¯t wounded, at least not anywhere she could see. The infamous Draining Touch, however, had no doubt afflicted Eunae in unimaginable ways, shutting down the girl¡¯s physiological functions. Had she been even a little slower, Gwen shivered. Eunae would have teleported back to Dalian.

    ¡°Here.¡± Richard materialised a Restoration injector.

    ¡°Ariel! Keep watch!¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll help.¡± Mayuree materialised a Wand of Lightning. The item was illicit, but the CC loss was minimal compared to being bogged down by spirits playing hide and seek through the bloody walls.

    With a hiss, the injector''s precious cargo left the tube, filling the Cleric¡¯s body with a new lease on life.

    Eunae gasped, her fingers clutching Gwen¡¯s shoulders, her armoured gloves scratching the ceramic plates.

    ¡°Eunnie, are you alright?¡± Gwen¡¯s voice grew soft. She felt a pang of remorse.

    ¡°I¡ªI thought I was going to die.¡± Eunae¡¯s doe-like eyes were wide and misty with moisture. ¡°Gwen, it was horrible! It grasped my heart! I could feel¡ª¡±

    ¡°Shhh¡ª you''re safe now. It''s gone.¡± Gwen hugged the girl back when Eunae crushed herself against her chest, refusing to part from her lightning-clad vice-captain. Empathising with the Cleric''s unease, she wondered if she should have learned Calm Mind from Petra. ¡°Maybe you should heal yourself a bit.¡±

    ¡°I-I want to go¡ª¡° The Korean expatriate suddenly bit her tongue. The girl¡¯s pained expression made Gwen wince. Eunae had finally regained enough awareness to realise that this was the IIUC and that folks back home would be watching her performance. Had those words left her mouth, her main family would be very displeased indeed.

    ¡°Eunnie, I need you to stay strong for us,¡± Gwen whispered beside the healer''s ear. ¡°You''ll be safe. Maybe not unscathed, but all of us are going to come out of this just fine.¡±

    Eunae¡¯s expression softened. In her arms, the healer¡¯s limbs relaxed. ¡°I hope so. Thank you, Sunbae-nim.¡±

    The honorific made Gwen''s lips curl.

    ¡°Eunnie¡­ you¡¯re olderthan me.¡± She snickered, bringing a moment of mirth to calm the shivering Cleric''s uncertain mind. ¡°But sure¡ª Sunbae-nim is here for you."

    Eunae¡¯s complexion turned the colour of pickled beetroot.

    "That¡¯s all well and good." Richard pointed at the mechanism holding the double doors accessing L-III. ¡°But how about we get out of the tunnels and find the Necrocontrolling these Wraiths?"

 Chapter 307 - War Games

    "GOGO!"

    Golos smashed the stainless steel doors with a resounding CLANG. In his Wyvern-form, it was far easier to brute-force the mechanism until the whole structure failed.

    The aftermath, as the party had well-anticipated from the groaning, was a room full of Zombies. As the heaving mass pressed in toward the hovering Mages, what should have been a fatal crash of frenzied teeth instead free-fell into the four-storey shaft.

    "What a devious ambush," Gwen drily observed as the creatures continued to cascade, enacting the 1991 PC classic, Lemmings. "They look strong, some of these even have grafts."

    "Those Wraiths are still around¡­" Eunae shivered as the thumps echoed from below. At some point, enough bodies would collate to cushion the rest¡ª after which the accumulated Negative Energy wouldlikely re-raise the inanimate corpses.

    While the Zombies euthanised themselves, Mayuree sent forth her Arcane Eye. The chamber directly connected to the Levitation lifts was a central block that led off in three directions, likely to different suites servicing the upper echelon of the base. Within its chambers, Fudan''s CCs reclused himself behind his minions, lamenting the cheating presence of a Thunder Wyvern.

    "I see a heavily glyphed door," Mayuree soon relayed the Eye''s vision through their Mind Link. "The ward barricading the war theatre is at least tier 6. It doesn''t look like Imperial Magic either. If this isn''t Anton Yermolov, then it has to be Diego Valentino."

    "Finally." Lulan exhaled, incanting a self-buff that turned her skin a shade darker. "Vice-Captain, please forgive my incompetence."

    "Lulu, don''t worry about the Wraiths," Richard discounted the Sword Mage''s self-loathing. "I am sure this Necromancer will take a sword to the gut as well as any regular Joe."

    "Let''s hope so." Lulan glanced at her hovering iron sword. "I''ll train harder."

    "Why don''t you imbue the swords with ego?" To their surprise, it was Golos who interjected. "You Taoists hunt Spirits for a living, don''t you?"

    Lulan looked to Golos, then to Gwen, embarrassed by her ignorance.

    "Gogo, what''s an Ego Sword?" Gwen asked in her Sword Mage''s stead.

    "When I was young drake." The Wyvern''s rough-hewn face recounted. "We had visitors from the Sects. Their Masters could imbue their swords with their will¡ª meaning they could strike down incorporeal creatures. In my memory, hunting ghosts and demons was the whole purpose of the Sects, is it not?"

    "I''ve never heard of such a spell, Master Golos," Lulan apologised. "I don''t think our Clan possesses the skill anymore."

    "Father''s feathers, you Humans are so fragile..." Compassion from a Wyvern wasn''t something that Gwen had thought the creature capable of possessing. "You should visit my sister, she knows the old Sword Arts. That''s why father invited those old scrawny mortals¡ª to tutor Ayxin. I am fairly sure Ryxi has a few scrolls in his library as well."

    "I shall endeavour to." Lulan bowed toward the Wyvern. "Thank you, wise one."

    "Hee hee¡ª" Golos''s horns weaved through the air, apparently pleased with Lulan''s patronage.

    Gwen meanwhile, was seeing a whole new side of Golos.

    Her rooster-brained Wyvern, dispensing wisdom?

    Why... pigs might fly¡ª

    "GRRRAAAR!" A Zombie, one of the final few, suddenly made a leap, clearing the space between the room and the Mages hovering in the chute.

    Her invocation was near-complete when a maced tail swatted her assailant mid-leap. A blink later, it erupted like a pustule, painting Gwen from head to shoulder.

    "Whoa¡ª I was wondering if the Zombies had a herder." Richard winced at his vice-captain''s dripping face. "And there he goes."

    Gwen wiped bits of Ghast from her lips and her hair. "Thanks, Gogo."

    "Don''t mention it."

    "S-sorry." Lulan looked as if she wanted to crawl into a hole. "I was distracted."

    "Don''t tax yourselves, females, not in my presence," Golos'' bone-throbbing voice hummed. A flash followed, engendering a nude giant struggling into a pair of jeans.

    "You should have ordered self-fitting slacks," Gwen drily observed as Golos wrestled with his mace. The other girls stood as stoic as statues, wondering how much of the Lumen-cast had to be edited.

    Now that they were alone, the party could deduce that the mindless Wraiths had been set as guards. Indeed, in hindsight, had the students arrived on the Levitation platform, they would have been incapacitated or panicked by the ghostly sentries¡ª and then eaten alive by the swarm. Even should they survive the Wraith ambush, the possibility of fighting both an incorporeal and a physical horde was slim, more so when sans Golos.

    Away from the levitation lifts, the corridor was as Mayuree had advertised: cramped, claustrophobic and beyond perfect for incorporeal ambushes.

    Despite being the top floor, the Russian architects who had conceived of Shimenzi were entirely enthralled by concrete. Out of both form and function, or possibly because of the ease of running mana conduits, Fudan''s Mages were effectively encased in a visually sterile tomb.

    As far as their eyes could see, the brutalist facade of the base''s interior was uniform. Each corridor''s interconnected pathways shared a similar starkness, homogenous but for the embedded "III".

    "Lea, stay with Eunae," Richard assured their healer. Eunae nodded obediently, still traumatised by Caliban''s writhing, dual-tone tentacles.

    "Shaa! Shaa¡ª Shaa!" Caliban hummed a dirge of oblivion as it shimmied down the concrete path.

    Plink! As expected, it triggered an unseen Glyph.

    A blast of jagged bone peppered Gwen''s fiendish spider.

    "Shaa?" Caliban cared not. It regenerated its limbs and continued.

    A dozen meters down, Caliban stepping into yet another exotic trigger.

    An inundation of Negative Energy flooded over Caliban''s spidery body.

    "Shaa!" The cold shower was pleasing to Gwen''s Void beast.

    As before, Caliban had no shit to give.

    "I could do that," Golos grunted.

    "Save your strength." Gwen chuckled. "There''s a lot of traps. I want our MVPwell rested for the Necromancer."

    Plink! Caliban triggered another Glyph.

    Above the team, the lumen globes flickered. A split-second later, the light died.

    "Wall of Water!" Richard wasted no time in creating a barrier around the party.

    "ROOAAAR!" Golos delivered a Lightning-breath against the floor, arcing electricity all over, jolting Richard so that he half-leapt into the air.

    "Bloody hell!" Gwen''s pupils were the first to adjust to the abrupt incandescence. Quickly, she filled the darkness with a pair of Dancing Lights. "Dick, are you alright?"

    "I am shocked!" Richard wheezed, slapping his chest plate. "Shocked at how well my Shen-te¨© MK-Custom from Sinomach held up against Dragon-breath!"

    "..." The rest of the party groaned with second-hand embarrassment.

    "Jesus, Dick..." Gwen felt an ache in her chest. Just how desperate was Richard for crystals? As for Golos, she couldn''tbelieve the bloody Wyvern had wasted a breath within ten-seconds of her sagely advice.

    "There! Got one." Golos pointed to a wisp of dark smog hanging about the floor. "Desecrator coward! He should be fighting us head-on!"

    "Ariel could have taken care of that." Gwen sighed.

    "And what, risk your females?" Golos grunted, grinning at Lulan and the girls. "Have you no shame, Calamity? What if Lulu gets hurt?"

    Lulu? A shiver prickled the nape of Gwen''s neck, awkwardly, she looked to Lulan, then to Eunae and Mayuree. As one, the girls returned her inspecting gaze with awkward and ambivalent expressions.

    "Just..." Gwen paused her party. Whatever Golos'' intention, the Wyvern had hit the Glyph on the head. "You know what. Gogo is right. I''ve been lax. Let me fix this¡ª"

    Her finger wove through the air.

    "Morden''s Hound Pack!"

    "Morden''s Blood Hound!"

    EightDraconic-deerhounds plus one Alpha materialised beside the team. To summon all her dogs took a toll, but their circumstances called for nothing less.

    "Ariel, stay above us and set a defensive perimeter, I want a dog protecting each of us. Astro, stay just ahead of the party. Cali, keep going."

    "Shaa!"

    "EE EE!"

    "Woof! Woof!"

    "Arrrroooooo!"

    Soon, the newly reformed and starkly lit party began the arduous process of clearing the passage to the central auditorium.

    "Wonderful!" Gwen surveyed her team of lightning-charged glow-lamps. Together, the pack was enough to banish all shadow from the team''s vicinity. "Let''s huff and puff and blow down that door!"

    "INVESTITURE OF FLAME!" Yue fought back the taste of iron on her tongue, swallowing the exquisite agony rending her conduits. Although her flame-clad cloak flared out like the feathers of a blue-black peacock, it was clear that the continuous combat had taken its toll.

    "Come on, fucker! I can do this all day!" Her vim, however, remained inextinguishable.

    All around Auckland''s Mages, a stink of scorched flesh immersed the expanse of Shimenzi''s foyer, with liquified fat dripping fire and suffocating the air with Elemental Ash.

    Not far, holding a smoking stump half-cauterised with boiled blood, knelt Anton Yermolov, a master of Necromancy, a Magus-tier Ritualist.

    "Undeath to Living!" the man howled, and not for the first time either. As before, the stump on his arm and his half-melted face remained insensible to his profane efforts.

    "HOW?!" the man keened, near-insensible from the anguish. "You''re just a Fire Mage!"

    "The fuck would I tell you?" the cobalt-clad Evoker mocked the man''s despair. In actuality, she WAS the source of the Necromancer''s dismay. Tandy wasn''t just a regular old Nightmare, it was a mutated Sprite whose flames wove Elemental Ash into its heat. Why else had Gunther paid a city''s ransom for the privilege of acquiring it for his wife?

    Below the exhausted duo, Rongo and Timoti were near-OoM and at their alchemical limits. Yet, the Undead swarm persisted¡ª Even now, at least half remained to besiege both the IIUC Mages and the PLA''s battleline.

    "Ready to die?" Yue''s taunts appeared to enliven her flames.

    "Brat, I don''t fear death," Yermolov retorted, his lips black with bloody spittle, curtesy of the failed regeneration. "I welcome it."

    Yue snorted.

    "Tandy!" she called for her Nightmare. "We''re finishing this!"

    The Necromancer growled, his mutilated face twisting with misery. "Diego will reave your souls and turn you all into Wraiths! See you in the unlife, Tower Bas¡ª"

    "SHADOW FLARE!" Auckland''s Evoker completed her invocation before Yermolov could finish his rebuke. Instantly, a near-invisible fire swallowed her victim, incinerating all resistance, eating through the man''s buffs.

    "Another one bites the dust," Yue recalled a jingle Gwen had once invoked. Within her conduits, the euphoric expenditure of power dimmed. In its fiery aftermath, a bone-throbbing agony enveloped her tiny body. At once, the veins on her extremities grew grotesquely engorged, erupting into bruised flesh. When she opened her mouth to swear, a blood-strew mist splattered her chest. Were it not for Yue''s Dogskin Ta Moko, her Contingency Ring would have pinged.

    "Yue!" Whetu double-checked his Pounamu shield, thinking that she had suffered an attack. He wanted to scoop the girl up in his arms, but he too was exhausted, not to mention Timoti and Rongo were still fighting. "Opi! Yue needs help!"

    "Whakaoranga Ngawari!" their Ta Moko inscriber caught the girl in their Abjurer''s stead. With worshipful words, she activated the latent healing powers stowed in the Ta Moko she had inscribed on Yue'' chest, stifling the internal bleeding.

    As for Yermolov, all that remained were Ash-strewn flames¡ª that and a Storage Ring Opi caught in one hand.

    "Are the Undead stopping?" Yue groaned in her Enchanter''s arms. "Are we winning?"

    Unfortunately, even Auckland could see that the Undead weren''tperturbed by the heat-death of Anton. If anything, their frenzy had gained a supernatural focus.

    "We''ll win, eventually." Amidst her platitude, Opi stabbed the Evoker with a Healing Potion. Yue moaned in turn, but for one at their alchemical limits, there wasn''t much the panacea could do.

    "But I think someone else is controlling them." Opi frowned at the unending battle. Even now, Whetu was warding them against bone-shrapnel and femur-arrows. "Whetu, let''s close ranks!"

    Thanks to Anton, the big man looked as though he''d lost about twenty kilos. Where he had been a veritable giant before entering Shimenzi, deflated muscles and slackened skin now hung from his massive frame. As he had promised, not a single one of the Ritualist''s killing spells had gotten past Auckland''s Abjurer, one way or another.

    "He-Mango-Tohor¨¡! Return them to Tangaroa''s embrace!" Below the clustered trio, Auckland''s Water Evoker weaved the raging torrents. This time, the magically-induced tsunami finally crashed over the remaining Acolytes. With the mass of water finally in place, Rongo called for a great cleansing. "Maelstrom!"

    With gradual urgency, a magically induced bathtub vortex engendered, sucking the Undead into the Elemental Plane of Water.

    "Lava Spike!" Though exhausted, Timoti continued to deliver his molten payloads. Whenever a larger than life Undead construct managed to stem the tide and hold their ground, he would dislodge them with a burst of magma.

    When the waters finally ebbed, all that remained was the throaty roaring of the Dusty-266s crashing amidst a sea of skittering, chattering, Undead bodies.

    "Fall back!" Opi commanded. Of the party, she alone retained her health and her mana. "Gather up! We''re going to join up with the PLA!"

    With a resounding crash, the party¡ª or more correctly Gwen''s menagerie¡ª poured into the auditorium.

    The endless array of traps leading from the lifts to the theatre had been exhausting. Were it not for their born masochist, Caliban, the party would have had to contend with Necrotic toxins, exploding bone-splinters, howling Wraiths and even a host of flesh-eating beetles.

    There had even been a close call¡ª a Spine Spear that manifested from behind the party. Had Mayuree not pushed Eunae down, and had Lulan not parried the three-meter lance with her Iron Sword, somebody would have reawakened in a triage bed.

    But at long last, they had arrived.

    BUNG! BUNG! BUNG!

    A triple-set of Essence-infused Flashbangs rocked the theatre''s interior.

    "Woof! WOOF!"

    "Woof! Woof! GRRRR!"

    The tunnel swelled with hoots and howls as Gwen''s creatures streamed through the door, accompanied by Ariel and Caliban, re-clad in refreshed Invisibility.

    Beyond the double-door was the war theatre, the nerve centre of Shimenzi.

    Within, a hundred screens had displayed a panopticon array of images from inside the base, illuminating the otherwise ambient chamber with flickering projections. Now, they fell about in pieces, shattered by Gwen''s Signature stun spell.

    Quickly, her party spread through the dark chamber.

    Thus far, everything had gone according to plan. First, Fudan swept the theatre with disabling-spells, then, they had entered hounds and Familiars-first to avoid additional arcane pitfalls. After that, the Mages flew in, ready to counter whatever foes the hidden Necromancer would throw at them.

    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    "I see him!" Mayuree marked the clump of Negative Energy through their shared Mind Link.

    In front of the wall of fissured screens, appearing as though a spider perched on a web, stood a man in the simple black garb of a priest. His attire was clean, humble, and unadorned, as one would expect to see on a pastor. On the first impression, the Necromancer known as Diego Valentino appeared amiable and ancient, a sad man whose body had been eaten alive by his craft.

    A spot of movement attracted Gwen''s eyes. On a surviving Lumen-screen, she caught sight of Pretoria fighting what appeared to be an enormous Bone Golem.

    "Welcome, students of the IIUC." The man''s voice wasbarely a croak, spoken as though by an invalid on his hospice bed. "My name is Father Diego Valentino, formerly of the Ordo Praedicatorum."

    With a thought, Gwen''s lightning dogs surrounded the man from every angle.

    In the illumination cast by her hounds, the man in the priestly garb grew somehow sanctified.

    "Gwen Song," Gwen announced herself. She stepped toward the central dais, her courage bolstered by the man and women beside her. Silently, she ordered her Familiar to take to the ceiling. "By order of the People''s Liberation Army, we are to take you, dead or alive."

    "Alive would be preferable." Diego Valentino choked out a broken smile. "Undeath is better, but I''ll not rebuff your offer."

    Gwen felt the man''s milky eyes crawl across her armour. She wasn''t sure if the man could see, but to say he made her skin crawl would be a gross understatement.

    As insurance, she raised a hand in warning. In anticipation, her team half-held spells upon their lips, each ready to play their part.

    In the half-lit gloom of the broken lumen-screens, the venerable Necromancer audibly exhaled, then tittered from the dais. "My child, what do you suppose will happen to me?"

    "That''s not for me to say." Gwen tried her best to keep her voice calm. For reasons unknown, her pitch had risen an octave. "Keep your hands up. And also, I am not your child."

    "Ah¡ª but we''re all God''s children..." The Necromancer obediently raised both hands, then stepped off the dais with a painful grunt. In the light of Gwen''s dogs and the lumen screens, his ancient hump was well hunched. Even his scarred and wrinkled face was entirely pale and bloodless, with sallow cheeks that draped across what once had been youthful cheekbones.

    Step by step, the man shuffled closer.

    "STOP!" Gwen''s shrill voice pierced the gloom. She willed her dogs forward. "Don''t come any closer!"

    "Why?" The man''s measured pace continued with the tick-tock of a metronome. "Can I not take a good gander at my capturers? My eyes... they''re not what they used to be."

    "HALT! Astro!"

    Her leading deerhound leapt. It landed a few meters from the Necromancer, then let loose a growl that was enough to send a mortal man to his knees.

    "Draconic... dogs?" Diego''s milky orbs were two pools of cloudy azure, piercing into her soul. "And a Wyvern too."

    Unbidden, the Necromancer continued his approach. When the man passed the growling Astro, Gwen came to the realisation that she may be leagues out of her depth.

    When was the last time a college course taught how to negotiate with a terrorist? Despite having lived two lifetimes, she had never learned how to apprehend a monster with the blood of a thousand men on his hands.

    "Richard," she thought aloud through the party''s Mind Link. "What do I do?"

    "Cut off his arms legs?" Richard answered with his usual pragmatism.

    "Good idea. I''ll do it," Lulan concurred.

    "He''s an old man!" Eunae verbalised her horror.

    "Don''t be fooled, Eunnie," Richard advised. "He''s an old Necromancer."

    "Well?" The FatherlyNecromaner kept his hands well-exposed. "What''s the matter? Is my surrender insufficiently compelling?"

    Gwen wanted to return a quip but found herself lost for words. Between an opponent whose motives she couldn''t untangle and one who would fight her to the death, she preferred the latter.

    Why would the Necromancer give himself up?

    Didn''t he know what awaited him in Tianlanqiao?

    How could she accept his surrender but then demand his arms and legs?

    Would it gain or lose CCs for her team?

    To play it safe, her mind turned to Mayuree.

    "Mia, what say you?"

    "I can''t tell," their Diviner proffered the limitations of her diluted bloodline. "The threads of fate are too tangled. Anything could happen."

    Gwen shifted her thoughts to Golos.

    If the Necromancer reneged on his offer, Gogo could break an arm or two... or a spine... or a neck.

    "Gogo," she intoned, feeling guilty that her princeling was made to fetch. "Can you¡ª"

    She needn''t have imposed, for as the old man walked within strike-range of Golos, her Wyvern''s nostrils flared. Before she could react, a fulminating surge of outrage swelled within her creature.

    "CALAMITY!" Golos'' voice filled the auditorium. "STEP AWAY! That''s no MABLIK! His stench exceeds even those desecrated souls!"

    Gwen took a double-take. In Draconic, Mablik meant mortal.

    In the next moment, her incensed Wyvern transformed. His twenty-meter body blocked the entrance to the chamber, his expansive girth battering away Fudan''s Mages, sending them skittering into upturned chairs and tables.

    "KAEGRO! Return to dust!" Golos''s jaws cracked with fulminating electricity. "ROARRRRR!"

    It was her Wyvern''s final breath, and he gave it his all. A line of vivid lightning struck the priest where he stood, swallowing the man wholesale.

    "Gwen!" Richard''s voice came through the Mind Link.

    On reflex, Gwen triggered the latent energies empowering Ariel.

    "Ball Lightning!"

    "EE EE!"

    A dozen spheres pursued the priest.

    "Panzerschreck!" Lulan launched all five blades at once, taking full advantage of Mayuree''s pre-buffed True Strike. Even among the hysterical electricity, they saw the blades connect.

    The spells converged. Fulminating lightning, iron blades and a thrashing Wyvern annihilated the dais, cracking the concrete and vaporising the screens. In the aftermath of their assault, the auditorium shook, its base quaking like mad. A cloud of dust billowed out from the epicentre, obscuring all vision, swallowing the constants whole.

    Surely, Gwen narrowed her eyes to ward against the dust and the heat. Nothing could have survived that.

    "Is he dead?" Gwen turned to Mayuree.

    "I don''t sense¡ª" Mayuree focused her Detect Magic. "His body''s gone! I think¡ª"

    DONG!

    Came a resounding peal.

    A spine-chilling wave of enervating energy soundlessly permeated the walls, pervading the auditorium in the form of an invisible shockwave. Glyphs long inscribed, marked by blood and bone, ignited with ghostly fire, vivifying a buried Mandala a decade in the making.

    "NO¡ª" A violent dizziness silenced Gwen''s better faculties. From her mouth came a half-strangled utterance, after which all sound ceased.

    Without warning, her Astral Body dimmed. Deep within the recess of her subconscious, the metaphysical manifestation she had internalised in the Cognisance Chamber winked out.

    DONG!

    Again, Fudan''s Mages heard the peal of a grand church bell.

    Her deerhounds flickered, then died¡ª un-summoning themselves as the connection between Master and monster untethered. Ariel, as well, unable to anchor itself via her Astral Body, forcibly returned to its pocket dimension.

    DONG!

    Gwen attempted to call Golos, but her lips had grown insensible.

    "WEAAAAAARRRRAH¡ª!"

    A deluge of ghostly keening abruptly filled the theatre, setting her teeth to chatter like mad. Like an inverted bog, two dozen Wraiths mounted her Wyvern, grasping at Golos'' thrashing body, launching themselves so that they ignited against the Wyvern''s lightning-wreathed scales.

    "CALAMITY!" Her drake squirmed, thrashing wildly. The Wyvern weaved its head back and forth in a desperate attempt to crush the unseen Necromancer yet again. "FLEE!"

    WHOMP! Golos'' anarchic defence against the incorporeal beings sent her tumbling into a set of anchored chairs. With a clattering thunk, her armour compressed, absorbing all impact.

    From the floor, she watched with fascinated horror as Golos'' tail rammed into her likewise insensible party. Her friends tumbled through the air. Were it not for their Shen-Te¨© armour, the consequence would have been unimaginable.

    GO HOME! Her mind positively shrieked. GOGO! CANCEL THE ALLY SUMMON!

    Desperately, she tried to reach out, to utter an invocation, to channel her mana.

    "WEAAAAAARRRRAH¡ª" More Wraiths appeared, swarming her Wyvern, polluting his demi-divine body. In the flickering light, Golos looked as though he was being smothered by a single sheet of midnight chiffon.

    CRACK-WHOOMP!

    A bolt of lightning vivified her Wyvern''s trashing bulk, blinding them all. When finally Gwen''s eyes re-focused, her Ally had returned to its natural home.

    FUCK! Gwen screamed internally. What the fuck just happened? Why isn''t the Necromancer dead? What was that spell? Could she have prevented it? Why couldn''tshe use spells? Was this the anti-magic they used in Tiaolanqiao? IF the Necromancer had an invocation to incapacitate them all, why all the effort? Why was the man surrendering if he could¡ª

    A shadow caught her eye.

    Her stomach revolted.

    A surviving Wraith was fast approaching Eunae.

    Across from Gwen, her healer''s eyes were wild with terror, staring at Gwen but also straight through her.

    "SHAA!" A remaining Empathic Link tingled.

    CALIBAN! Gwen exalted. Caliban had survived the tolling of the bell! She didn''t know why nor how, but her heart filled with sudden gladness.

    Her immediate command was to send Caliban down to rescue Eunae.

    Caliban''s reply was to remain still and stoic.

    Gwen baulked; at once confused and horrified. By the time her rioting thoughts caught up, her healer''s youthful mien had deflated, her chubby cheeks fading to grey.

    NO! NO! NO! Gwen felt as though a flensing knife was being twisted through her diaphragm. BASTARD! BASTARD! She called out over and over in her mind. CALI! CALI CALI! She wanted to send out Caliban, to transform him just so that she could say that something was done, that she tried. EUNNIE! HOLD ON!

    In the Wraith''s embrace, Euane''s eyes grew dull with resignation.

    A familiar burst of silvery Conjuration engendered.

    Then Fudan''s Cleric was gone.

    Suddenly, terror turned to relief, then with equal abruptness, relief turned to frustration.

    Why hadn''t Caliban obeyed her command?

    Her answer came in the form of a collating, ghostly body standing where their Cleric had been. As it formed, the horrified members of Fudan''s crew saw that the Eunae-fed Wraith now regenerated into the guise of a man.

    Diego Valentino.

    Her frustration now turned to cold rationality.

    A trap.

    It had all beena trap.

    The ambush at the lifts was a trap.

    The traps along the way were a part of it too.

    Even the old man''s act¡ª all of it was a trap.

    It was all a manoeuvre by DiegoValentino to make them think that their target was weak, that he needed underhanded methods to survive. It had all being a ploy to draw them¡ª

    Into range?

    No, Gwen discerned.

    Into the room.

    There was something in the chamber.

    How could she havebeen so stupid and blind? Look at those lumen-screens! The man had been watching them since their ascent! Since their first spell! The whole time, they were dancing in the palm of his hand! They should have nuked the fucker from orbit! Or at least from the fucking tunnels!

    And Eunae!

    Her soul ached.

    She felt like such a hypocrite, boasting that she would protect Eunae to her face, playing the Sunbaenim.

    And as for the competition itself.

    Their mindset had been wrong from the beginning.

    The whole while she had thought the IIUC a competition, that she was here to vanquish Necromancers. They had joked about CCs!

    This wasn''t a competition. This was real life.

    She was here to take the lives of living, breathing, free-thinking beings. They accrued CCs, but the actuality was that their foes were fighting for their lives. And when a man is in defence of their continued existence, what means were taboo?

    With a heart in revolt, Gwen watched as Diego Valentino''s re-constructed body descended. The Soul Flayer was as white as a newborn babe, yet fully grown and in the prime of life.

    "I should thank you all," the newly risen Necromancer declared, filling the theatre with his vibrant voice. "Without your intervention, I would have never had the courage to complete the rite."

    Diego Valentino wondered if he should thank the Maker of Man for his good fortune.

    Unlike the fool Ritualist, he knew well that there would be no reinforcements from Shenyang. If anything, Diegoscoffed, Shenyang may already be knee-deep in the living.

    He knew this because he was the Master of Shimenzi, a region he had been given to tinker at his leisure and thereby his to defend. Such was the stratagem the deathless ones in Pyongyang deployed, for the same buffer-tactic had precedence in history¡ª be it the Ming''s use of Khitanic Demi-humans. Or the Russian Empire''s alliance with the Cossak Centaurs.

    Shimenzi was but one of the many cushions between China and the well-cemented Necropolis of Pyongyang. For researchers like Diego, it was a region of great autonomy.

    And now came the cost of that autonomy.

    As his Astral Soul collated, mote by mote, he was beset by unfathomable anguish. SOUL KNELL was a rite unique to the Cabal of Kane, first of his name. In Diego''s misguided youth, he had hunted his colleagues, until one day, through its Master, he came to know love for the Craft.

    In Undeath, all sins were reposed.

    In Undeath, all beings were equal.

    Be it Man, Elf, Dwarf, Orc, Centaur or Faye¡ª all who practised the Craft escaped the tyranny of karma.

    Became free agents of their individual wills.

    And so it was that in his hour of despair, Diego Valentino exercised an apex invocation unique to his Craft. In offering his Astral Soul, in shedding his physical body, he would be born again, just as the holy Tomes had toldof the Nazarene.

    For Diego, his crisis was also his baptism.

    Though the holy rites of the Cabal taught the ritual to each of its high-ranking elders, few were the ones who succeeded in regaining their body. More often than not, their Soul was blown to pieces by the Astral winds before their flesh reconstructed itself, ending decades of dedication to the Craft.

    And yet, here and against all the odds; set against a hundred Mage-souls collected over two decades, bolstered by the heart-blood from a thousand sycophants, he had succeeded.

    All that was left was to survive Shimenzi, a comparatively trivial task.

    Luckily, the very same adversaries who had him cornered would now provide him with additional leverage.

    Such hap, Diego grinned, feeling his lips move.

    With a flutter of his long lashes, Diego opened his eyes.

    Slowly, with articulated care, he stretched his reformed fingers.

    He felt magnificent.

    His vision was no longer clouded.

    His back no longer ached.

    His limbs, long and lithe, sang with grace.

    "I should thank you all," Diego announced, delighted by his sonorous voice. "Without your intervention, I would have never had the courage to complete the rite."

    One by one, he regarded the remaining members of the team that had breached his sanctum.

    First, he was glad the Wyvern was gone. That one, he dared not slay. To kill a creature so choked full of Draconic Essence was trouble personified, and Diego was far too knowledgable to attract the ire of a High Dragon Patriarch.

    Then there was the stone-faced Water Mage, a Conjurer with a most curious Undine as his spirit. The young man had not panicked, even when his Astral Soul was banished from his body, a quality that Diego admired.

    The Sword Mage, conversely, was clearly a mad dog. Even with her limbs made insensible, the lass looked as though she wanted to tear his throat out with her teeth.

    The Diviner was a disappointment. Compared to the Abjurer and the Sword Mage, she appeared nothing special, barely a nourishing meal.

    And finally, there was his grand prize. A living, breathing Void Sorceress! One who could also utilise Lightning. He had never heard of such a thing. What a bargaining chip she would make!

    Gingerly, delighted by the suppleness of his new feet, he approached the worthless Diviner.

    "I must borrow some of your health, my child," he intoned, studying the others. "Worry not, you shall soon return to safety."

    Without the need for somatics, Diego activated Drain Life, an ability now innate to his blessed new form.

    Spontaneously, the Diviner''s brow turned the hue of lilies.

    He gave her a flick across the forehead.

    A burst of silvery Conjuration enveloped the unconscious seeress.

    "There... aren''t I generous?" Diego was in a good mood. "Now there are only three of you. A far more manageable larder, don''t you think?"

    With great amusement, he noted that Gwen Song¡ª the girl who had called herself their leader, appeared as though she could gnaw through a mithril collar. Her beautiful eyes were orbs of glowering rage. Such was the fury in her trembling body that her face turned scarlet, fuelled by an undercurrent of resentment mighty enough to ignite mountains.

    "Child, just what are you?"

    The girl''s murderous glares were delightful. From the aura of her nascent soul, Diego, an expert in the reading of souls, knew her to be different from the rest.

    Indeed, the girl was unique, and not just for her talent.

    First, the lass'' Astral presence was enormous, warping more space than even Diego himself. Just the same, her aura radiated the same scintillating rainbow as the Wyvern, only purer, more vibrant and with such saturation that Diego had initially doubted her mortality.

    Was she a scion then of a Draconic-Clan? He hypothesised. If so, there was no transmuting her into a minion. As per the Wyvern, Diego desired no trouble from lizards whose grudges outlasted the longest-living Lich.

    "Can you speak?" Diegowondered out loud. "Well, not yet, I guess. You can''t even move a finger until the resonance passes."

    He continued to inspect his prized hostage, noting the uniqueness of her armour.

    "So, Gwen Song of the IIUC. Who are your parents? What is your Master''s name? Tell me, and I shall leave you unscathed. Your voice should have returned. Don''t hide from me, child. I know you better than you think."

    Diego Valentino approached for a closer look, flanked by Wraiths on either side.

    Finally, the girl opened her lips to speak.

    He liked the way she squeezed the sound through gritted teeth.

    It was pride, Diego recognised the look.

    Pride was good.

    Pride was the hallmark of the Dragon-kind.

    "C¡ª "

    "Yes?"

    "Ca¡ª"

    "What is it, child?" Diego came closer. Up close, he noted that the girl''s comeliness was exquisite. Someone somewhere, he felt more confident than ever, would pay a king''s ransom to get her back in one piece.

    Considering her age, the payee would likely be a spouse, or even better, an influential set of in-laws.

    "There''s no need to look at me like that. I didn''t kill your Wyvern, or your Healer, or your Diviner. You are all my prisoners until the term of my freedom is negotiated. Worry not, the other survivors will join you soon. Even now, my Dread Wraiths descend below to subdue your companions."

    "Ca¡ª"

    The girl''s lips moved.

    "CALIBAN!"

    With a sigh, Diego raised a wall of bone with the flick of a finger, so confident in his new form that incantations needn''t even part his lips. From behind, the girl''s Void fiend, the very one that was missing in action and which Diego had first assumed banished with the Kirin, ran tentacle-first into a jagged bone-barrier.

    "SHAA!" The creature frenzied, skittering against the concrete. The fiend''s insane limbs cut and jabbed at his barrier with such barbarity that Diego had to concentrate his mana where the assault was the fiercest.

    "NETHER SCYTHE!"

    Diego called upon yet another of his many spells. This one conjured a rip through space and time, jarring the fragile folds of the Material Plane.

    "SHAA!" The girl''s creature raged for a moment more before it fell limp, all life siphoned from its spell-hewn corpse. The beast shuddered when its carapace split in twain, spilling forth an inordinate volume of goo-smothered stuff.

    "A curious thing," Diego exalted in his mastery. "I would have loved to study it. For now, as you have tested my patience¡ª URK¡ª!"

    A pair of slenderhands,theirglovedplating ripped and torn, assaulted the bone-barrier protecting Diego''s upper torso. As they smashed through the closely criss-crossing thorns, the lacerating bone-splinters flensed the girl''s extremities, stripping away the fabric, mangling her wrists and forearms.

    To Diego''s utter astonishment, the girl''s fingersdid not shrink in agony, but instead wrappedaround his neck.

    "Futile¡ª" he choked out a feeble cry, feeling such disappointment that he couldn''t enslave the girl''s soul as punishment for her impertinence. The girl''s grip was firm; possessed of more strength than any mortal girl should possess, but Diego wasn''t fazed.

    Without words nor gestures, he activated a healthy dose of Drain Life, one that would keep the girl pliant for the duration of his negotiation with the PLA.

    Viridescent vitality spontaneously flooded his conduits.

    "JESUS!" Diego''s eyes rolled to the back of his skull. What came through the girl''s hands wasn''t vitality, but rapture. It had been only a trickle, a taste, but already he had ascended into Seventh Heaven. Every pore on his body opened as though panting for air, every sinew felt renewed, every muscle was crammed full of vim and vigour. Even the apparatus between his legs, a thing he had long since forsaken for its senselessness, grew suddenly engorged. "C-CHRIST ALMIGHTY!"

    Diego Valentino shuddered, his digits curled. Here in Shimenzi, in the most unlikely of places and most unusual company, he was emptying of one life and filling with something greater, grander and older than any Essence he had ever tasted.

    "W¡ªGHrrrk¡ª" Diego tried to speak, though the girl''s fingers remained an iron vice crushing his windpipes.

    Through the misty vision of his dilating eyes, he caught sight of her emerald-amber orbs and her pinpoint pupils, depthless like the Void.

    Thralls! He commanded his spectral minions. STOP HER!

    "CALIBAN!" The girl''s voice was a roaring gale filling every recess of his ecstasy addled mind. "CONSUME!"

    Caliban rose from the dead, as girthy as the grandest Naga it had fought in Burma.

    At Gwen''s behest, its rejuvenated carapace split, enveloping the Essence-gorged Necromancer, Bone Barrier and all. A split second later, Caliban''s lips closed with a sickening crunch, pushing away Gwen''s mangled hands before sliding its prey deep into its gullet.

    "SHAA! SHAA!" Caliban sang, its innards boiling with turbulence.

    "Caliban! Return!" Gwen commanded her Familiar, paranoid that her beast might regurgitate its once-risen victim. Only in her banished Pocket Dimension was she confident that there existed no possibility of the Necromancer resurrecting again.

    Across the aisle, Richard nodded imperceptibly. A few chairs away, Lulan''s eyes spoke of triumph.

    And all around them, the Wraiths recoiled. At first, the soul-bound creatures appeared confused by the disappearance of their Master. Then, whatever the Undead equivalent of cathartic release from existential slavery dawned, gently fading as the Negative Energy decayed.

    Very quietly, the trio sat in the now-empty auditorium.

    "I couldn''t save Eunae," Gwen''s voice drifted across like that of a spectre. "Mia. as well."

    If her companions could speak, they would.

    But they knew that for now at least, there would be no solace for their vice-captain''s pyrrhic victory.

    "..." Richard made a move to speak.

    "What is it, Dick?" Gwen wanted to stand, but she was too drained to even crawl over to her cousin.

    Richard''s blinking grew desperate.

    "I know, I am sorry," she apologised. "I''ll beg on my knees for their forgiveness. I was a terrible leader. I overestimated myself and underestimated our foe. I walked us into a trap."

    Richard''s agony only grew in intensity.

    "I know. Golos as well." Gwen choked, her voice full of sorrow.

    Richard was blinking so hard his eyes watered.

    "I know you blame me, but¡ª"

    "Y-yOU A-ATE Him!" Richard finally squeezed out his warning.

    Gwen paused. Her eyes widened. She had finally unravelledRichard''s charade.

    As if oncue, her breath quickened.

    With every passing second, the sensation in her abdomen grew in intensity.

    Together with her abducted Almudj''s Essence, there was also an unfathomable volume of undigested vitality spilling over from Caliban. What she had anticipated as a smidgen of a man inundated by Negative corrosion was now proving himself the better part of a dozen Nephres.

    "Oh¡ª NO NO NO¡ª" her eyes grew misty. Already, her cheeks were vermilion. She had to fire off a Void Bolt, or TWO, or A DOZEN. She had to do something.

    But how could she?

    Right now, she couldn''t even access her Astral Body.

    Right now¡ª all she could do was curl into a ball, hug her knees, cover her face, and hope to God the IIUC could edit out the next fifteen minutes.

 Chapter 308 - Et Victoria ad Defectum

    ¡°Izette, left tunnel!¡±

    ¡°CLEAR!¡±

    As one, Pretoria reversed course.

    With Izette¡¯s Mind Link active, the party''s flight resembled that of Dusk-wing Cormorants flocking as one, keeping the distance between each team member uniform and one another¡¯s field of vision uninterrupted.

    CRASH!

    Ahead, rampaging through the intermittent darkness cast by the flickering lights, was the infamous Bone Golem, a monstrous being crafted by the Grafter Sung Min-Seo. Constructed like a centaur, its upper body was multi-limbed, each possessing articulated digits wielding necrotic magic.

    Bouncing from wall to wall, the creature came, throwing motes of consumptive fire at the contestants while simultaneously flinging globs of necrotic contagion.

    ¡°Diamond Barrier!¡± Schalk intoned, his semi-transparent eyes darting from one surface to the next, mentally mapping out anchor points for his partition-making Conjuration.

    Abruptly, where the Bone Golem placed the weight of its many-legs, a diamond barrier burst from the concrete. The monster countered with supernatural agility, evading the scintillating shards, rebounding from the floor to the rightmost wall.

    A second barrier erupted, snagging a front hoof. A third quickly followed, knee-capping its forelimbs, sending the six-meter bone-train to derail against Shimenzi''s immovable interior.

    ¡°Conjoin Crystal!¡± Schalk invoked one of a dozen secondary effects attending to his base invocation.

    Instantly, the crystalline partitions proliferated. Schalk''s first creation caught the Golem¡¯s hindquarter, the second its thorax, and the third encased its upright torso. With a bone-aching creak, the Golem stopped in its tracks, stunned by the sudden loss of momentum. When it recovered a second later, its dozen limbs raking the smooth concrete, it became wholly immobilised.

    "Uiteindelik!" Lencho spat. "I can''t believe we kited that thing for two levels!"

    Besides the Lightning Evoker-Transmuter, Jean-Paul''s fingers mapped out arcane gestures.

    ¡°Umzokwe,¡± the Conjurer called upon his hidden Familiar to furnish him with the vitality necessary for his magic. ¡°Consumptive Orb!¡±

    In between the trapped Bone Golem¡¯s ribcage, a pinpoint of Void manifested, growing to the size of a grapefruit. Where it touched the monster¡¯s sculpted innards, a fissure of rapidly reproducing cracks engendered, its stowed mana consumed by the swirling micro-nebula. Fed on the magical energies contained within the Negatively-aligned construct, the sphere grew to the size of a melon before its unstable core went catastrophic.

    The claustrophobic passageway suddenly filled with the thrilling shriek of sucking air. The contestant''s ears popped, parallelled with a soundless burst of Void matter, peppering the Golem''s insides.

    ¡°That resistance is something else.¡± Schalk knitted his brow when the hole-riddled Bone Golem reared its horse-skull once more, its undying essence appearing as twin points of purple fire lighting up its sockets. ¡°Lencho, Heila, your turn.¡±

    ¡°With pleasure.¡± Lencho rose a little into the air. ¡°Ball Lightning!¡±

    Heila, meanwhile, held her blessed rosaries and prayed. Weaving strands of Faith into her benevolent healing magic, she directed her targeted restoration toward the Bone Golem¡¯s chest and shoulders, where the damage was most significant.

    ¡°O Lord, Great Redeemer,

    crownest us with kindness and tender mercies.

    We petition Thee,

    that Thou hast heard our prayer,

    ¡ª HEAL!¡±

    A burst of gentle light accompanied Lencho¡¯s hysterical electric discharge. The lightningdevastated whatever elemental resistances had been built into the Golem, after which Heila''s magic permeated its profane body, unravelling the repose brought by Necromancy.

    ¡°That''s enough!¡± Schalk stopped Jean-Paul before he could utter another spell. ¡°Save your strength, Mister Bekker, this one has fought its last.¡±

    On cue, the Bone Golem crumbled.

    SNAP!

    The bottom half of the Golem broke from the rest. Like a prehensile lizard¡¯s tail possessed of a mind of its own, it fled into the distance, skittering on half-a-dozen limbs.

    ¡°Pufft! Hahaha¡­¡± Lencho snorted. ¡°Lekker werk, Kaptein.¡±

    Schalk made a face.

    What more could he say? He wasn¡¯t used to fighting the Undead. South African had problems with NoMs in the cities, Grootslang in the mountains, Inkanyamba in the rivers, Kongamato in the skies, but it didn¡¯t¡ª Goddank¡ª have an overt infestation of Undead.

    ¡°Group up.¡±

    Pretoria''s captain re-organised the team''s marching order.

    ¡°Izetta, offer our Grafter parley. If she returns your Message, try to pinpoint where she¡¯s hiding.¡±

    ¡°Goed.¡± Their Diviner concentrated, a soft halo of Divination soon suffused the blonde caster, evidence of her high-tier proficiency.

    Meanwhile, the rest of the party meditated.

    ¡°¡­ The Necromancer says we¡¯ll pay for her Golem and that your bones will be the centrepiece of her new work.¡±

    Schalk''s lips grew cruel. ¡°Damned fanatics.¡±

    ¡°No prisoners then?¡± Lencho shrugged. ¡°Jean-Paul, got the room for dessert?¡±

    ¡°Umzokwe is quite bottomless.¡± Jean-Paul smiled sheepishly. Before the mission, Lencho had been all spikes and bristles, making Jean-Paul uncomfortable. Now that he had proven himself, the quick-loving Lightning Mage professed himself his ¡°broer¡±, making the Void Mage doubly embarrassed.

    ¡°Ag! Let¡¯s go!¡± Lencho slapped Jean-Paul on the back. ¡°I want to see your wurm werk! It¡¯s still keen, ja?¡±

    "Ja." What more could he say? Jean-Paul sighed.

    The party retraced its footsteps, returning to the shaft that led down to B-III. Earlier, they had kited not one, but TWO Bone Golems. One was the specimen they had just annihilated, and the other was a humanoid variant akin to a Skeleton Knight, a creature specialising in CQB.

    Schalk¡¯s Party did not possess a CQB Mage like Fudan, but they did have Umzokwe. When the bone-blade wielding necrotic maniac had filleted the great leech, Jean-Paul¡¯s creature retaliated by smothering the Golem with corrosive, Void-tinged blood. Thusimmobilised, the party wore out its resistance with consecutive blasts of lightning and Positive Energy.

    ¡°Where is the Grafter now?¡±

    ¡°Close to the Mandala Core.¡± Izette manipulated the Arcane Eye she had conveniently left behind.

    ¡°Minions?¡±

    ¡°Zombies and Ghouls, a few hundred at most. Two Abominations. One hulk. One Golem tail.¡±

    ¡°Good. Status report?¡±

    ¡°Half-full,¡± Lencho declared.

    ¡°I am good,¡± Jean-Paul returned sheepishly.

    ¡°We¡¯re both fine,¡± Izette spoke for her utilitarian partner.

    ¡°Alchemical limits?¡±

    ¡°Two potions under.¡±

    "We''re at one each," the girls replied.

    ¡°I am¡­ fine,¡± Jean-Paul muttered in a low voice. ¡°But Umzokwe could use a refill.¡±

    ¡°That''s easy, I see at least four targets in B-III,¡± Izette confirmed, her blue eyes looking straight through her team members at some distant vision. ¡°We''ll be neutralising them as a top priority. The herd loses focus once the casters perish.¡±

    ¡°Good.¡± Schalk digested the information filtering through Izette¡¯s Mind Link. ¡°We¡¯ll take Formation B. Lencho, you take the General-tier constructs, I¡¯ll push us through with Breaching Wall. Jean-Paul, you¡¯re on Acolytes. Heila, can we count on youfor a wide-area Psalm to fatigue the minions?¡±

    The healer made the sign of the Lord.

    ¡°Very good.¡± Schalk stepped into the shaft. ¡°Izette, take us in!"

    ¡°Fill us with your cleansing love, O Lord¡ª

    berate your wayward flock.

    Do not cast away these lost lambs,

    let not the gaze of your Holy Spirit stray¡­¡±

    Heila''s soul-soothing voice pealed across the tunnels of Shimenzi''s basement, permeating the enclosed chambers before the party even emerged.

    ¡°GLORIA Patri, et Filio, et Spiritui Sancto¡­¡± Her sweet benediction grew in fervour and intensity as the party neared their destination, filling every syllable with divine power. ¡°¡­Sicut erat in principio, et nunc, et semper, et in saecula saeculorum¡­ Amen!¡±

    The polluted air visibly hummed, thrumming with radiance.

    At the shaft¡¯s base, the frenzied Zombies ceased their groans, their movement growing languished as the psalter''s verses soothed their soulless, animated anguish.

    ¡°Impundulu!¡± Lencho¡¯s youthful howl broke the serenity of the moment. Before the spell had even engendered, a rip-roaring fulmination shook the interior of the Mandala Core''s chamber. ¡°TEMPEST RUSH!¡±

    At once, the immediate entry to B-III lit with circlets of hysterical electricity. As Lencho passed, the rings scatter-shotted into the Zombie Horde, intermittently conjoining lines of arching lightning, sending vivid lashes of pure plasma into Pretoria¡¯s foes.

    ¡°ERAARRRRGH!¡± Expelled a room-shaking roar from a four-meter Stitched Horror, a bloated Abomination sutured from the remains of a hundred corpses. With ground-shaking stomps, the monster battered away the allies in its path, charging toward Pretoria.

    ¡°Breaching Wall!¡± Schalk scattered their closest foes with an explosive Shatter from his Diamond Barrier, launching half-a-dozen groaning bodies flying into the air. As the Abomination picked up speed, he gestured at the Abomination.

    KRINK!

    A sound of shattering glass accompanied the proliferation of Chalk¡¯s diamond-tough manifestations. A lance-like wedge emerged, thrusting forward so that it caught the horror in the gut, directly impaling the beast before breaking off in its brittle midst.

    ¡°Wooaaarrrgh¡ª¡° The creature stumbled. With a three-meter menhir caught in its innards, its cumbersome form struggled to maintain the momentum without toppling over.

    ¡°Chain Lightning!¡± Lencho utilised the gargantuan creature as an anchor point so that his thunderbolts could tether the twin hulks approaching from behind.

    Seeing their creature taking a beating, the Acolytes desperately wove their magic.

    ¡°Empower Undead!¡±

    ¡°Frenzy!¡±

    From a safe distance, the Acolytes threw down their creature buffs, knowing full well that if Sung''s monsters perished, so would they.

    ¡°Heads DOWN!¡± Schalk communed through their Link Mind. ¡°Take cover!"

    Pretoria''s captain gathered the latent mana embedded in all of his crystalline constructs. It was a valuable second-stage effect made possible by his mid-tier Enchantment. The process involved injecting his crystal with double-charged mana, then releasing the stowed pressure in one go, overloading the instability with a jolt from his Astral Body.

    ¡°Woerrrgh?¡± As the crystal in its gut rapidly expanded, the Abomination staggered from the spikes erupting from his skull,

    Krink¡ªBAM!

    Schalk warded his team against the shower of skin, blood and bone. As with most monsters, the insides of creatures lacked the same toughness as their exteriors, more so for constructed monstrosities like the Stitched Horror.

    If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    The resultant discharge of diamond fragments covered almost a quarter of the room, opening an eye in the roving storm of swarming Undead.

    ¡°Ar-Aaarrrgh! Help¡ª!¡± followed the cry of a distracted Acolyte. In the earth-splitting aftermath of the crystalline detonation, no one saw the invisible leech slithering unseen among the Undead. With a slurp, Jean-Paul''s Familiar had distended its three-pronged lip, then swallowed its victim¡ª wand, robe, boots and all.

    ¡°Black Arrow!¡± the closest two Necromancers responded with spells capable of withering the stoutest foe.

    Thunk¡ªThunk!

    The great white leech burped.

    It now wore a peevish expression of pure hunger.

    With the Black Arrows still humming half-stuck inside its body, Umzokwe returned the favour with a SPLURK, flinging two globs of Void-tinged saliva straight back at its assailants.

    Reflexively, the Acolytes erected their barriers of bone. Unfortunately for the pair, someone had been lying in wait.

    ¡°Usurp!¡± came a foretelling invocation from Pretoria''s Void Mage.

    A ball of swirling darkness about the size of a tennis ball, materialised between the two Acolytes, crackling with unstable energy.

    The closest rib-shield abruptly crumpled.

    ¡°No¡ª!¡± The first Acolyte took a glob of spit to the teeth, instantly melting half his face. The second held onto his diminishing barrier by immediately pumping his vitality into the bone structure.

    ¡°Consumptive Orb!¡± Jean-Paul released the stolen mana from the Acolytes. Usually, Usurp wasn¡¯t particularly effective against the standard array of Primary Elementalists common to Spellcraft. Luckily, in a place where every foe freely wielded Negative Energy, Mevrou Bekker¡¯s theoretical magic worked wonders.

    Soundlessly, the collated sphere of purloined power erupted, a vivid contrast to the raw force of Schalk¡¯s mineral blast. The radius of the lightless, combusting ball was barely two meters, but it was enough to splatter Jean-Paul¡¯s unsuspecting foe.

    The Acolyte fell, alive but incapacitated by the two dozen trypophobic orifices now oozing on his back, his limbs and a part of his skull. Umzokwe slithered close, not one to waste food.

    Pretoria¡¯s staggered assault continued unabated, each wave of Lightning, Void, Mineral or Positive Energy bisected the next, leaving neither the Zombies Horde nor the surviving Acolytes room for breath.

    ¡°Deus det nobis suam pacem¡ª¡°

    When finally the spell-rotation again reached Heila, she wove the Faith from her relic into the True Silver she now held in one hand. It would be her last spell, beyond that, she was obliged to retain her reserves for contingency healing.

    ¡°¡ª Cloud Kill!¡±

    The rod glowed golden, as did Pretoria¡¯s surroundings.

    ¡°Garrroaw!¡±

    ¡°Murrrragh!¡±

    ¡°Kaaarrrgh!¡±

    The Undead melted away as though fresh-fallen snow under the noontime sun. The combination of transmuted True Silver with the distinct metaphysical attributes of reality-warping Faith was palpable. Like a cleansing wave, the tidal flood of Positive Energy unanchored the Undead from the material world, dissipating the compelled obedience possessing their shambling forms.

    ¡°TEMPEST RUSH!¡±

    ¡°Breaching Shield!¡±

    ¡°Void Burst!¡±

    Not even the Hulks were immune when submerged in the warm glow of Heila¡¯s blessing.

    Inch by Inch, grid by grid, over charred bodies and crystalised corpses, Pretoria approached the Mandala Core. It was a contest, one to see if their mana held out, orif enough Undead remained to overwhelm them.

    ¡°Grrrngh?¡±

    "Murrrgh...?"

    Unseen but palpable, the atmosphere shifted.

    The Zombies who had been so focused on their unceasing advancement grew suddenly lax and disorientated, as though the will driving their actions had been sapped.

    ¡°Something¡¯s happened upstairs,¡± Izette remarked, scanning their surroundings with Detect Magic. ¡°Remember I said there was an oppressive eye watching us? It¡¯s gone!¡±

    ¡°Perhaps our competitors are successful in their suite,¡± Schalk said, eyeing their objective. He didn''t mind his competitor''s success. A confused Horde was a boon. What it also meant was that at the base of the cubic Mandala Core, the haggard Korean woman cloaked in olive-green was now without protection.

    ¡°Should we question her?¡± Lencho asked of his Captain, flexing his fingers.

    ¡°No need.¡± Schalk¡¯s expression was unreadable. ¡°Jean-Paul?¡±

    The Void Mage¡¯s answer arrived in the form of Umzokwe, now twice the girth as it slithered toward the Grafter.

    ¡°Tower Bastards!¡± the woman known as Sung Min-Seo screeched, her voice piercing their ears. Around her waist was wrapped her Bone Golem, now acting as her armour. ¡°I won¡¯t be meeting the eminent one alone! Dimension Door¡ª¡±

    ¡°Dispel¡ª¡°

    ¡°USURP!¡± Jean-Paul proved the faster caster. Unlike the studied nuance of Dispel Magic, Usurp was a brutal tug-of-war of wills.

    A mote of spell-siphoning Void engendered beside the suicidal Grafter, stealing just enough of her vitality and mana to disrupt her spell¡¯s successful formation.

    In awe, disdain and indignity, Sung Min-Seo glared at her assailants. As the feedback of Negative Energy exceeded her conduit''s warded state, her eyes bled, her skin ruptured, and her bones rapidly grew into splintered spikes. It was too late to recant her final spell¡ª her Bone Golem trembled.

    BA-BAM!

    The Golem exploded, showeringthe entrance to the Mandala Core with blood and bone.

    Schalk winced as his barrier grew polluted with a stirfry of entrails.

    What was left of Umzokwe was barely a stump. More aptly, what remained was a quarter of a quivering creature, happily wiggling beside blasted, pockmarked concrete.

    ¡°Corpse Explosion...¡± Jean-Paul winced as the feedback from Umzokwe rolled over his pallid body, setting his teeth to chatter. ¡°It''s true what they say. To be a Necromancer, one needs first to be cruel to oneself.¡±

    ¡°Wel gedaan!" Schalk walked over the Necromancer¡¯s blasted corpse, plodding over shredded flesh as he materialised his Evard¡¯s Many Layered Toolbox. Finally, the Mandala Core was open to Pretoria''s unique expertise. ¡°Lencho, Jean-Paul, set up a perimeter. I am not sure what Auckland or Fudan has done, but we¡¯re going to be the ones to finish the first leg of the competition.¡±

    Colonel Qin Q¨ªao oversaw the cleanup.

    By mid-morning, the battle was over.

    The living had triumphed over the dead.

    Anton Yermolov had been reduced to cinders by Auckland.

    Sung Min-Seo painted the ceiling.

    And presumably, Diego Valentino had been existentially erased from the world¡ª or so the shaken sorceress from Fudan had declared.

    Q¨ªao tapped his data slate.

    That their home team had run into the most powerful of the three Necromancers trapped in Shimenzi, and that the Soul Flayer was at the tier of a high-tier Maguswasn¡¯t something Q¨ªao would have like to see.

    But¡ª a pyrrhic triumph, especially one without death, was laudable.

    ¡°How¡¯s our sorceress doing now?¡±

    ¡°Resting in her Portable Habitat.¡± The commander''s aid gulped. "She said... Miss Song said she needed a hot shower."

    Colonel Qin Q¨ªao frowned. With such attachments to creature comforts, it was little wonder the team suffered against such a foe. The exact details of the girl¡¯s encounter had yet to be made clear, but Q¨ªao suspected inexperience, a lack of conviction, and egocentric grandstanding had all played a part. He had seen it happen too often to these next-generation Mages reared on Western Spellcraft and fed on bottomless pits of crystals. The perfumed youth of today, in the Colonel''s humble opinion, was nothing like the young men and women who survived Mao¡¯s Purge, then the Beast Tide, then the Undead Front.

    ¡°Send over some supplies.¡± Q¨ªao withheld the desire for discipline. These weren¡¯t his students, and whatever their fault, they DID swallow the bitter pill in the PLA''s stead. ¡°How are our men?¡±

    ¡°Six-dead, ten maimed, Sir! One Golem needs extensive repairs.¡± The Lieutenant snapped to attention now that the conversation had steered back to military business. ¡°Sir... We lost Major Hong, Sir.¡±

    Q¨ªao''s fingers flexed and unflexed. ¡°Cao¡­ his son just turned six. This is why you never boast about your kids before a mission.¡±

    ¡°Sir?¡±

    ¡°Recover their bodies and raise a flag in their honour.¡±

    ¡°Yessir.¡±

    Colonel Q¨ªao swept his eyes over the control room at B-III.

    ¡°¡­And get our Enchanters to go over the Mandala again. Change the Key Glyph. Pretoria might resent London, but they''re still a part of the Mageocracy.¡±

    By mid-morning, a portable Divination Tower had been set up.

    Now that the lesser Undead were cleansed from the interior by rotating Purge teams, the Enchanters could redirect the Mandala¡¯s energies into the filter systems, re-igniting decade-old mana engines that worked to exchange the foetid liquid below with that of freshwater from the Elemental Plane.

    It was over the churning whitewater that Gwen sat alone atop the steep rise overlooking the brown gorge. Thanks to their efforts, the renewed earth would once again grow hospitable to life.

    Her mind was gravid with words, ones she¡¯d mulled over for hours, first in the shower, then on the couch, then again when she woke, sick with unease. She had prepared them for Eunae and Mayuree, though more so for Eunae¡ª the girl she had promised, then failed, to protect.

    Ding!

    As assured, the portable Divination Tower had been made available for her convenience.

    ¡°Gwen,¡± Walken¡¯s voice came through like a thorn of ice.

    ¡°Eric...¡± The pit of her stomach dropped. She hadn''t expected Walken to call in the girls'' stead.

    ¡°First things first.¡± Ger Instructor¡¯s voice was ice. ¡°Mayuree is safe and sound. She says she¡¯ll be back to normal in a week or so. She''s looking forward to reuniting with you in Dalian.¡±

    ¡°Oh, thank God¡ª¡°

    ¡°Eunae Lee, not so much.¡±

    Gwen''s relief evaporated. ¡°Is she¡­?¡±

    ¡°Oh, she¡¯s alive,¡± Walken intoned emotionlessly. ¡°But she won¡¯t be of use¡ª no, it''s not her health.¡±

    ¡°Then what¡¯s the problem?¡±

    ¡°She says she can¡¯t cast spells. Can¡¯t contact her Deer Spirit.¡±

    ¡°What? How?¡± An ailment came to her mind. PTSD.

    ¡°It¡¯s not entirely your fault.¡± Walken¡¯s voice took on a hint of sympathy. ¡°A Proctor had been paid off by the Lee family to keep an eye on Eunae. When she returned to Dalian jittering with madness, the man must have blabbed. Not long after the healers transferred your Cleric from Triage to the Ward, she received a Long-Range Message from her extended family¡­¡±

    ¡°Oh¡­¡±

    ¡°I think we can both imagine the conversation¡­¡±

    ¡°They told her to quit? Shit.¡±

    ¡°Just the opposite.¡± Walken¡¯s annoyance was palpable. ¡°The attending physician informed me that the Lees told Eunae to push on and that her life, for what it is worth, isn¡¯t nearly as important as the family¡¯s reputation. They would rather have Eunae die as a martyr than ''quit'' as a shameful failure.¡±

    ¡°Bastards!¡±

    ¡°To be expected, I suppose. The Chaebol are a prideful lot. You can talk to Eunae later. For now, she¡¯s saying that she¡¯s been wounded by the Soul Flayer and that she can¡¯t conjure her Spirit. Personally, I think its an illness of the mind, her Astral Body is likely refusing to manifest due to her subconscious reluctance.¡± As her instructor continued to speak, his tone took on a steely edge. ¡°Whatever, what''s done is done¡ª NOW, let¡¯s talk about your performance.¡±

    Gwen fought the urge to hang up. Shame, pride, and regret made a curious cocktail in her aching abdomen.

    ¡°Alright.¡± She hugged her knees against her bosoms. ¡°Eric, I know I screwed up.¡±

    ¡°I am not faulting anything you did under duress.¡± Walken''s objection surprised her. ¡°I saw the raw footage. Under the circumstances, you performed under par but fair. My real concern is that you¡¯ve got a PROBLEM ignoring my advice. Recall what we discussed! ALWAYS put yourself first, then others! Let me ask you something¡ª why didn¡¯t you choose the Ground Floor?¡±

    "The Ground Floor?" Gwen grew confused. "Yue said¡ª¡°

    ¡°THERE! Who cares what ''YUE'' has to say?!¡± Walken¡¯s retort cracked like a whip. ¡°During the planning stage, after your forced entry, FUDAN should have picked the GROUND FLOOR! YOU had the closest connection to the PLA! Colonel Q¨ªao served with your Uncle! YOU possess an overlarge mana pool and ultra-wide AoEs! Maelstrom! Cloud Kill! Ariel and Barbanginy! YOU have Caliban for the Acolytes! Do you realise how easily YOU could have minimised risk and maximised Fudan''s CC output?¡±

    ¡°Eric¡ª¡° Gwen felt as though caught in a storm.

    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you act to maximise outcome?! Why did you not act in your team¡¯s BEST interests? You gave away a clear advantage! YOU risked Mayuree AND Eunae! For what? What did you gain? This is a God-damned contest on the international stage! Auckland and Pretoria are NOT your chums! That you¡¯re not blasting each other in the back is already the greatest courtesy!¡±

    Gwen bit her lip so hard she could taste iron. Walken was wrong. If she didn¡¯t take the upper level, then Yue would have fought the Soul Flayer. Could Auckland have survived like she did? Could Pretoria? How dare Walken demand that she should live while Yue could die for all he cared! The bastard hadn¡¯t changed at all! It was the case with her Master all over again!

    ¡°Gwen, listen well. I don¡¯t fault what''s happened in the war theatre. There was little anyone could have done there,¡± Walken''s critique continued. ¡°But by GOD, Gwen, ofttimes, you¡¯re so devious that I am in awe. Then again, sometimes I wonder if you¡¯re spell-touched in the head! What the hell were you thinking, girl? We¡¯ve gone over this in the Bestiary¡ª Don¡¯t fight enemies you can¡¯t defeat without Faith Magic! You¡¯re an Omni-Mage, a fledging at that, you are not all-powerful! That Richard as well, always enabling your appetites, I''d like to have a word with him!¡±

    ¡°I had Gogo with me, so I¡¯d thought¡­¡±

    ¡°A lot of good that did, eh? Where''s Golos now?¡±

    ¡°Home? I hope¡ª¡±

    ¡°Fudan will likely lose this round.¡±

    A Wyvern caught Gwen''s tongue.

    Walken¡¯s analysis struck her pride like a physical blow. ¡°That''s right. Your deference to your friend, your meekness when desiring approval from others, has lost Fudan the chance to advance.¡±

    ¡°But Tei and the others¡ª¡°

    ¡°¡ªwould have barely made it past Burma without you.¡±

    ¡°Oh, come off it, Eric, that¡¯s not true.¡±

    Walken scoffed. ¡°Replace you with Auckland¡¯s Captain, or Pretoria¡¯s Captain, or even the Captains from Tokyo or Jiaotong, and your team would have perished in Amazonia. If everyone but Richard and Tei became Tide fodder, I would not be surprised.¡±

    Gwen nibbled her lips again. Walken''s pontification was backed by cold rationality.

    ¡°Now that you''ve taken us here... let me be perfectly frank. In the B-Teams, neither Fudan nor Auckland can come close to Pretoria. Even if Tei is equivalent to Alizea, their Ooze Mage, Pretoria also possesses Ella, a defender many times Anita''s superior. As for Rene or Jiro¡ª Mariete Zietsman, Pretoria''s tier 6 Lightning Mage with a Behir Sprite is incomparably their better. Even with Petra helping Tei, the overall gap in Spellcraft knowledge remains astounding.¡±

    Her chest grew sore.

    What her instructor had counted on was for Fudan''s A-Team to work another "Gwen" miracle.

    Of course, that dream now flew out the window.

    So they would lose because she wasn¡¯t selfish enough? Because she wasn¡¯t willing to stomp on her fellow contestants¡¯ faces?

    ¡°I sense your elucidation. Let me impart another lesson. When you acquire a Flight of your own, or a township, or dare I say it, a Tower, will you still put your feelings first? Or will you think of what is best for your men, your people, your Faction?"

    "Your problem, Gwen, is prioritisation.¡±

    Walken allowed the moment to sink in.

    ¡°And now you face a dilemma.¡± Her instructor''s tone softened. ¡°I want you to think very carefully. Will you risk Richard and Lulan on blind forays into Shenyang¡¯s dungeon-like alleyways, its skyscrapers and its sewers, WITHOUT a Diviner? Without means to ward away disease, debilitation and life-drain? Are you ruthless enough, wanton enough, to do that?"

    "No," Gwen confessed.

    ¡°And THAT is why Fudan will lose this round.¡± Walken¡¯s prediction repressed her bleeding heart. ¡°Because you wanted to play nice. Because you listened to a friend, rather than rebuking a competitor. Because in the aftermath, you¡¯re incapable of risking your friends'' lives to gamble for victory. Because of that, your team¡¯s career, their individual ambitions¡ª ends here..."

    "... And so... are you sorry now? Do you understand?"

    Braced against her knees, Gwen realised her legs were covered with goosebumps. Was she sorry? She was. Walken''s advice was pure platinum. Fudan''s path away from victory had already been set the moment she ignorantly failed to pursue the natural advantages they possessed. In hindsight, hadn''t Yue laid out why she chose the Ground Floor? Hadn''t Schalk explained why he was suited to the Basement? It had felt so natural to heed their opinions that she had neglected her own team.

    Likewise, now that her head had cooled; even if Auckland had taken the upper floors, would Yue have failed? If Pretoria was coerced to fight Diego, would they be helplessly encircled by Wraiths?

    ¡°I am sorry, Eric,¡± her prideful retort emerged as a morose apology. Her voice choked, finding no excuses to hide behind. ¡°I disappointed you.¡±

    ¡°For what it''s worth, I accept your apology.¡± Her Instructor likewise grew reserved. ¡°But I don¡¯t think Eunae will. And it¡¯s not to me that you should be apologising, but your teammates who you let down.¡±

    ¡°Alright, Eric. I get it.¡±

    Walken cleared his throat. There was a pause, as though her instructor had been waiting for this moment all along.

    ¡°But all''s not lost."

    "Eric?"

    "Gwen... For the IIUC. Shall we go out with a bang?¡±

 Chapter 309 - Humbled Hearts

    Lieutenant General Liang Chu-Rong very carefully read the recommendation placed in front of him by the IIUC Sino-Committee.

    He looked up.

    "You had this ready, when?"

    "That''s a need to know... Look, I wouldn''t worry, what''s the worst-case scenario? One sorceress?" Magister Eric Walken, Fudan''s advisor, carefully explained. "If the Planar Ally works¡ª all''s well, ends well. If not, you are neither liable nor is your task any more difficult."

    "And this¡­ Shoe Goliath," the Lieutenant-General pronounced the unfamiliar word.

    "Shoggoth," Walken intonated helpfully.

    "What is it?"

    "Nobody rightly knows." Walken''s eyes were sparkling. "Why do you think there''s so much interest? Our lack of knowledge is precisely why we want it manifested away from human cities and in a place full of potential targets."

    "And¡­ what is Yog-Sothoth?" Liang felt his skin crawl.

    "We believe it''s an intelligent entity that resides in the Quasi-Elemental Plane of Void. The girl once said that ''Yog'' is the gate and the way, the origin of the Void things that lurk in the dark of space and time. Yes, she''s got a talent for the theatrical."

    The commander of Dalian''s Tower grunted, clearly disliking this talk of theatre.

    "And this Shub-Niggurath?"

    "The mother, I suppose, of all Void beings. The lass says she''s a planar goat of sorts. I''d put it as the overimaginative mind of a girl-child."

    "¡­ and you expect me to believe this?"

    "Do you expect ME to believe this in your stead?" Walken shrugged. "General, we know intelligent Spirits exist in every Elemental Plane. If so, why not the Quasi-Elemental Plane of Void? I don''t know if the girl dreamed up these names orif they really exist, but we all know that what the will makes, the magic manifests. We''re not High Elves, you know, we''re still knocking on the front door of Spellcraft and asking to be let in. For now, what really matters is the practicality of this thing she''s dreamed up. Gwen has never touched Faith Magic. I believe it is safe to assume this is a ''being'' inside the Void, no different to Salamanders or Undines or Sylphs."

    "And Shenyang shall prove if this Shoggothis benevolent or malevolent?"

    "Where better?" Walken pointed to a scaled model of the city and its surrounding troop movements.

    In the decades since its fall, much of Shenyang''s exterior settlements had decayed to nothing. What remained were ruins of the old CBD marked by a harrowing expanse of concrete four kilometres in diameter, encircled by a crumbling orbital highway.

    As the oldest of China''s satellite Frontiers, Shenyang had been the antiquity provincial capital of Liaoning before being subsumed into China''s Dynastic expansions. It was initially founded by the neolithic Xinle, a group of nomadic Demi-humans who took advantage of the Hunhe River''s spring passage through the valley. During the Han Dynasty, the middle-folk took, then rebuilt Shenyang into a northern wonder of commerce, only for to it be razed by the Demi-human Empire of Liao. During the Ming Dynasty, the Chinese retook Shenyang and rebuilt it again as a fortress city. A mere century later, the Centaurs returned, transforming Shenyang into the "Rising Sun on the Hill"¡ª the new capital of a Demi-human Empire.

    Shenyang''s ownership was thus a revolving game of hopscotch, each time devastating the city in unimaginable ways. From Centaurs to the Qing, then a short stint under Russia, then to the Japanese, then to the Communists and finally to the Undead, the city''s strategic significance was the only reason it continued to exist.

    As a result, beneath the city''s ancient city wall and its Soviet-era bunkers were endless warrens and tunnels connecting an ant-hill dozens of kilometres in every direction.

    That was why, although barely a structure stood in between the city''s war-ravaged edge and the central administrative blocks, the PLA''s forces were encamped twenty kilometres away.

    "And this creature¡­ this ''Shoggoth'', it is capable of slipping into the tunnels?"

    "We shall see. By all accounts, I would imagine that it possesses excellent permeability in invading narrow and cramped spaces."

    "And it''s banishable?"

    "Indeed, given enough mana," Fudan''s advisor assured the General. "At worst, we can restrain Gwen if she loses control. It''s bound to exhaust its internal supply once the link is severed, and there isn''t life here for it to feed. Besides, the Tower will keep it well away from your troops and our allies."

    "I won''t alter our existing mission projections." The man tapped his table.

    "No need." Walken indicated first to the map, then to the request form. "The contestant will set up a separate incursion point from Grid G44-P39. I will personally oversee the test AND take responsibility for its success or failure. As you know, Miss Song is a subject of great interest to Central. Have you been informed of the exchange taking place?"

    "I''ve been briefed."

    "And you have reviewed what happened in Shimenzi?"

    "I''ve seen enough."

    "Good." Walken leaned back in hischair, looking smug. "Then let the girl have her moment. For the present, her glory belongs to Fudan, and thereby to your nation. After that, whether she succeeds or fails, she''ll be out of the PLA''s hair."

    "And out of our reach?"

    "Hardly, she has family in Shanghai, doesn''t she? Her Uncle is an enlisted member of your organisation and a war hero."

    The General remained mum.

    "This order from Secretary-General Miao¡­" Lieutenant General Liang Chu-Rong very carefully intoned. "Says to give her free reign to succeed or perish."

    "It''s a part of a larger deal. Remember that in exchange, you would receive Magisters from Cambridge, as well as the Meistership for your pet researcher. An unequivocal exchange, to be sure, but that''s politics for you. You wouldn''t want to compromise the Secretary''s plans, do you?"

    Again, the General remained contemplative.

    "Do you fear the girl will gain too much influence?" Walken cocked his head. "The recordings for the present IIUC should make an interesting broadcast, don''t you think. In a prudish country like yours, the Party can easily displace whatever sympathy she had gained. For a Mage, and for a girl¡ª it won''t be easy to gain back¡­ what is it that you call it here? Mien?"

    "Mian-Zi. It means esteem."

    "Yes." The Englishman grinned. "Our little ''Devourer'' made quite the obscene spectacle, didn''t she?"

    General Liang nursed his now warm cup of water, trying to read fallen Magister known as Eric Walken. It was rare to see a certified Oxbridge Magister so committed to a cause.

    As for the girl''s Mian-Zi, even without the audio recording, the visuals had been shameless enough to make her inclusion in the PLA''s designs undesirable to the core. The displacement of such an uncontrollable, anarchic element, one with such pull in the military, was in Liang''s opinion, good riddance.

    From her dossier, he understood that the girl''s rapid rise equated that of a firecracker wrapped in festive red-paper. One day, sooner or later, she would explode, showering them all with debris.

    As for the standing order from Secretary-General¡ª Liang felt doubt. The Secretary-General was discretion personified. Still, he knew Central well enough to understand that the Inner Party operated at a level he shouldn''t be questioning, not if he wanted to retire as a General.

    What troubled him was who in the Mageocracy possessed the clout to move the Secretary-General to issue such a permit? If what Eric Walken said was to come to pass, the IIUC shall soon witness the power of one-woman strategic-class invocation.

    A patient man, Liang studied the smug Magister.

    The IIUC.

    The recording.

    The Planar Ally.

    The Songs.

    The Hero of the North.

    Tonglv Canal.

    Magister Wen from Fudan.

    The Cambridge offer.

    The dossier had been quite thorough.

    One by one, Liang rearranged the pieces until they made sense.

    "I am starting to see your stake in this," Liang answered after a minute of carefully scanning the memo from Secretary-General Miao. "You''re trying to salvage the girl''s reputation. For when she leaves China for the West. Am I correct? You think those greedy Clanners in Tonglv aregoing to make a move on her stake by using her departure and her Shimenzi incident!"

    Walken''s flawless teeth gleamed like polished ivory.

    "Well...You know what they say. One man''s trash." He chuckled, golf-clapping at the Lieutenant-General''s sudden clarity. "¡­ is another man''s treasure."

    Four hardwon days and almost a week into the competition, Fudan''s B-Team arrived at Shimenzi. In its battle-worn halls, haggard and OoM, they met with the account of A-Team''s pyrrhic victory.

    One received with ambivalence.

    Of the three teams that participated in the Purge of the waterworks, Fudan was the "victor", after defeating the most potent foe and having worked diligently during the approach. Unfortunately, in the struggle for dominion, Gwen had lost Eunae and Mayuree, and she could not summon Golos again until she and Petra reconvened at Shenyang''s outskirts.

    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

    As a result, even taking into account their vice-captain''s capacity for damage output; the three remaining members were crippled. Without healing, buffs, or Divination, their efficacy was no match for the synergy-heavy Auckland or the all-star Pretoria in the subsequent lead up to Shenyang.

    Even if Gwen and her companions took willing risks to hunt the ever-larger Zombie Hordes, spell fatigue would wear them down. Even with the PLA''s hand-picking targets for the trio, there was only so much an Abjurer, a Sword Mage, and a jack-of-all-Schools could arguably achieve.

    "Poor Gwen." Anita glanced at Rene, seeing her disappointment mirrored on her friend. "I guess we can''t complain, not with what we''ve seen on the way."

    "Gwen had done her best," Petra returned, her tone tart and defensive. "The intelligence was improperly scouted."

    "I hope she''s not beating herself up." Jiro was more sympathetic.

    "Don''t be discouraged. We''ll continue to do our very best," Fudan''s Captain agreed with his Fire Mage. "If Gwen had trouble with this Diego, then there''s nothing the rest of us could have done. Since Eunae and Mayuree are both safe, we should focus on the task ahead."

    "Right." Rene nodded, though it was clear her heart wasn''t in it.

    Together with Fudan and the other defensive teams were the 78th, 82nd and 88th Quasi-Magical Infantry Division, supported by four Golems from the 209th Magi-Tech Armour and one Flight from the 4th Aerial Recon.

    Tei wanted to say something to up the cheer but lacked the charisma of his vice-captain. At any rate, it wasn''t the unexpected upset that had sapped the party''s spirits, but rather the rigour of their four-day sojourn from Dalian to Shimenzi.

    It was the fatigue of seeing death on an industrial scale.

    For the young Mages, the inclusion of NoMs in overland battles had always been an abstract reality. Of Fudan, it was only Tei who had some experience of the Front''s horrors. Nonetheless, over the last four days, each member of Fudan, arguably one of the top universities in a country of almost half-a-billion people, witnessed the stark fate of being a citizen-soldier.

    Theirs was an unavoidable fate. The Purge of Liaoning was a national effort, one that called upon the nation''s able-bodied citizenry to add their blood and tears to the future of China''s prosperity. To wit, Tei was very proud of China''s NoM Military. Distinct from the Westerners, Mao''s rise to power wasn''t built on the back of Noble Mages or Magical Entrepreneurs, but NoMs. During the People''s Revolution, it was the NoMs, aided by sympathetic Mages, who overthrew the Scholar Bureaucrats of old. Against the Japanese, it was the scorched flesh of citizens that exhausted the wands of Emperor Hirohito''s soldiers. In the Great Purge, it was NoMs who dragged the land-owning Mages and their industrial ambitions from their saffron-roofed manors.

    And with no less fervour, buttressed against the Beast Tide and then the Undead Front, the People''s Liberation Army paid in blood and bone.

    As elites, Tei''s teammates were a prideful lot. But their brittle pride wasn''t equipped to deal with frustration on such a scale. That a single mishap translated into a dozen casualties, hour after hour, was enough to mangle the mind of any Mage not sufficiently fortified for the fact.

    For the PLA, casualties were a necessary reality and progress often paralleled body count.

    In China, the PLA''s soldiers were numberless and renewable¡ª through devotion and numbers, they made up for the nation''s gap in Spellcraft, Golems and Magitech.

    As solace, Fudan''s liaison from the PLA had explained that compared to the dark days post-Beast Tide, the army had come a long way. Now a "Modernised Quasi-Magical Soldier", the everyman troop of the PLA, was reasonably equipped. Compared to the peasant soldiers fighting with pitchforks and pikes, the soldiers now wore enchanted combat boots, damage-resistant pants and vest, a steel helmet, and a well-supplied canvas pack. Most importantly, each man carried a Type 95 Element-LANCE made for NoMs by SinOrdin, with time-decayed crystal cartridges each capable of thirty shots.

    "And of course, our soldiers are armed with nationalism," the liaison had boasted. "They don''t fear death because the families of the deceased are treated well."

    Fighting in formation, the troops had been trained to never break rank on pain of execution by the embedded Commissars wielding Type 44 anti-personnel wands. It was an anti-Undead tactic that the PLA had taken years to perfect. In Central''s opinion, so long as unmolested divisions could rid the battlefield of Undead while they busily fed on another division without breaking, then the battle as all but won.

    It was a bitter tactic, but it worked. Though each individual soldier was weaker than a Ghoul, when rows of a thousand NoM soldiers five-deep opened fire, a living sheet of raw lightning washed over the landscape, piercing the Horde. Once their spear-points grew white-hot, the first row retreated. The second row took aim, waited for their targets to clear the smoke, then fired. After that came the third, and them the fourth and the fifth in an endless rotation.

    And it was under these conditions that Fudan, Pretoria and Auckland fought beside their NoM comrades.

    Straight away, Pretoria expressed complete disdain for the NoM soldiers, choosing instead to neutralise threats on their own.

    Auckland attempted to hold the line with Fudan. With a sub-par team-make up, however, all they could manage was a battalion-wide Hakka buff, followed by intermittent interventions where possible. Against swarms of corpses numbering in the thousands, a thirty-meter Wall of Water or a twenty-meter Sand Well was little more than a blip on the kilometre-long Front.

    At first, the unaccompanied Hordes weren''t impressive enough to tax the soldiers'' wills. That changed when the main force made contact with a swarm lead by a Grafter and his Acolytes.

    Once engaged, Pretoria left to hunt the enemy Necromancers while Auckland and Fudan supported the soldiers against the four-thousand deep throng of teeth and nails.

    For two hours, Tei managed to keep the Undead at bay, but as one man, even supported by Petra''s Spell Cubes, the incoming tide proved too much.

    When finally he was near OoM, the levy broke. As a mass of roaring brown water, the leaping, crawling, skittering shoal of bodies broke over his Dust Wall, swallowing the still-firing platoons.

    Without hesitation, Tei had ordered his party to withdraw and regroup into the air. Anita, Rene, Jiro and Petra obeyed, but their expressions spoke wildly of disbelief, anguish, frustration and bewildered helplessness.

    Jiro especially had reached his alchemical limits in the first hour, having laid waste to some two-three hundred Ghouls and Zombies. Rene as well, fighting beside the idealistic Fire Mage, had depleted herself trying to prevent the approach of two Abominations. The exertion proved to be her undoing, for the creatures'' monstrous resistances exhausted the sorceress even as the fat sizzled from their lava-locked bodies.

    Then there was Anita, whose confidence was undermined most profoundly by the mass casualties among the NoM soldiers. Her style of magic was ideal for small groups but was woefully underprepared for engagements of mass melee. All Anita could do was aid Tei with barriers that slowed and funnelled the zombies into kill zones, that and ward two dozen Commissars with Crystalline Mage Armour.

    Of the group, it was only Petra who truly shone. A versatile Enchantress, she dispensed healing, defence, damage and control where ever she landed. Spell cube after spell cube, the Flower of Fudan proved herself an angel of the battlefield.

    And after that, the party watched the mutual carnage as their countrymen advanced, never faltering, never breaking, never retreating. Like an Iron Golem, only wrought of human flesh, the PLA''s battalions marched toward Shimenzi, clearing a swarth four kilometres wide and eighty kilometres deep from Dalian.

    From start to finish, Tei recalled seven engagements.

    On the first day, they had keenly asked to review casualty reports.

    On the second day, they chose silence.

    On the third day, they grew numb to the slates handed down to them by their liaison officer.

    On the fourth day, they fought without words, each performing their duties, then meditated behind the reserve troops so that they may sooner rejoin the fray.

    And on the fifth morning, they arrived at Shimenzi to receive news.

    "Tei, let''s eat." Rene could smell the thousand-year-old egg porridge bubbling in the Officer''s Mess. Far from her peppy self in Shanghai, her eyes were now bloodshot and lacking in lustre. Her bright face, as well, was so weighted with fatigue that she was starting to resemble the fabled Panda people of Sichuan.

    "Right." Tei felt glad that in moments like this, Dust dulled not only his capacity for wonder, joy and pleasure but also the impact of undesired emotions. "Eat up, we rest for a day, and then we leave for Shen Yang."

    "I am as dry as a billabong in Broken Hill." Gwen rested her spell-numb fingers. "And fresh out of True Silver as well."

    "Here, take mine." Heila materialised four rods as repayment. "Your VMI¡­ Praise the Lord, you are truly blessed, Miss Song."

    "Nothing to it!" Gwen shook her head, receiving the reagents without complaint. "Izette, are we good here?"

    "Yes, Miss Song," Pretoria''s Diviner returned her Message from afar. "Jean-Paul is finishing up as we speak."

    "Now that''s a blessed boy." Gwen sighed at the thought of Jean-Paul''s Signature Spells.

    A few of Pretoria''s constants returned with strange looks.

    "Something the matter?" Gwen smiled back, wondering if praising Jean-Paul was something that the Void Mage''s companions found strange. If anything, she suspected it may be because Jean-Paul had replaced one of their original core members.

    "You should ask Jean-Paul about his childhood sometimes." Schalk''s smile was very polite and not at all sarcastic. "If he''s willing to share, you''ll hear quite the tale of how our country faired under the Mageocracy."

    "And the Nun who raised him." Lencho wormed his way in between Gwen''s conversation with the others. Ever since Gwen offered to alternate between helping out Auckland and Pretoria, Schalk''sLightning Mage had felt like a cat on a hot tin roof. Though Lencho''s mastery and teamwork were leagues above Fudan''s Lightning Sorceress, the girl possessed superior firepower, not to mention an inexplicable ability to multiply her output.

    "Lencho, hou jou bek," Schalk snapped, silencing the Lighting Mage at once. "Miss Song is our guest."

    "Ja, ja¡­" the prideful Mage mumbled. "Meisie, you should know that Jean-Paul and I, we''re piele vleg."

    "Did he just say¡­" Gwen almost bit her tongue. She had no idea Lencho was so openly liberal. "Well, good on ya, mate."

    Lencho squinted suspiciously. "I am not your mate."

    Gwen gave up. She could empathise, though. Jean-Paul wasn''t a looker, but he oozed talent.

    Thus far, she rather enjoyed her role as a supporting caster. Whether backing Pretoria or Auckland, Fudan''s inclusion in the margins of any quest expanded operational capacity by leaps and bounds. The solution had been Walken''s idea. As CCs were awarded for teamwork and support, Walken had said. They may as well attain a score proportional to their competitors'' gains.

    That way, her instructor hypothesised, assuming their final hand was a royal flush, they would indeed end the competition with a "Bang".

    Presently, Lulan and Richard aided Auckland, while she supplemented Pretoria. Thus embedded, Gwen took the humbling opportunity to watch and learn.

    So far, she had observed the nuances of formation fighting and spell staggering, concepts her team had exercised through incidence rather than emphasis. Likewise, courtesy of Izette''s Link Mind, she was opening up to profound and subtle ways in which Divination could be used to coordinate team movement. As for the others, even the abrasive Lencho had shown her new ways to combine Evocation and Transmutation. His Signature Spell, Tempest Rush, was especially impressive as it created movable anchor points from which the caster could rebound Lightning Bolts.

    But of Pretoria''s august members, it was only Jean-Paul for whom Gwen had to repress her growing envy. From what she could discern with her limited knowledge, Jean-Paul''s repertoire was almost all Signature Spells she had never before seen in the Tower''s Tomes. Each invocation was a painstaking creation from the august Mevrou Bekker, who had taken a novel approach to the pitfalls of Void Magic. Consumptive Orb, for example, stole residual mana from the target. On a Magical Creature, it commandeered passive mana inherent to upper-tier creatures. Against a Mage, the spell was most effective against Negative-alignments but fizzled against Positive Energy spectrums. As for the theoretical framework of Jean-Paul''s magic, "Usurp" was the base upon which the Mevrou''s Signature Magic was founded.

    "The difficulty must be astounding," Gwen cooed.

    "You patronise us, Miss Song. Once you reach a sufficient tier of knowledge," Schalk professed. "You should stop thinking about Spells as from Scrolls, but collated effects made harmonious through custom-formulae. Range, Area of Effect, Shape, Size, Element, Seeking, Channelling, Scale, Pre-Manifestation, Post-Manifestation, Meta-Magic, Spell Triggers, the variations are almost infinite¡­ assuming you have the time and the resource."

    "Then, I could also¡­" Gwen licked her chops.

    "I don''t entirely agree with Schalk. The Mevrousays that Spells should never be made for the sake of making spells, that there have to be explicit rationales," Jean-Paul quickly added, watching Gwen''s eyes glaze with anticipation. "There''s a reason Fireball remains the greatest Evocation Spell of all time. It''s simple to cast, difficult to disrupt, easy to learn, fast to manifest, stable, low-cost and mana-efficient."

    "That''s incredibly astute! Ahh¡ª" Gwen sighed. "I wish I could have an instructor like yours in London."

    "You probably will," Schalk''s interjecting voice resounded assuringly. He glanced at Jean-Paul, then back toward theguileless sorceress. "But remain vigilant. In London and everywhere¡ª there is no such thing as a free lunch."

 Chapter 310 - Call of the Deep

    The Northern Black Zone.

    Dengta Forward Operating Base.

    On the seventh day of the invasion, the imminent arrival of the Dalian Tower was preceded by the deployment of twenty divisions in the central staging area. Altogether, Dengta alone had amassed some twenty-thousand standing troops, eleven-thousand-two-hundred support personnel, five-thousand reserve infantry, and four-hundred odd Mages of varying talents.

    In the distance, Shenyang''s wilted silhouette perched in the gloom like the carcass of a dead Leviathan, awaiting its next victim, inviting the invaders into its many-layered tunnels and bunkers.

    In silence, the 70th, 72nd, 79th, and 91st Quasi-Magical Divisions settled into the dugouts excavated by the Combat Engineers. As one, the grim-faced NoMs lined the criss-crossing bastion of transmuted fortifications, their positions layered and staggered to form kill zones. On either side of the earthen fort, construction continued, polluting the air with the roaring of Golems, the invocations of Transmuters, and the crunch of ferroconcrete crashing into place. Behind the main battle line, a network of portable Divination Towers hummed, tethered to dozens of trucks each laden with crates of High-Density Mana Crystals. Together, the network fed a beacon Mandala half-a-kilometre wide, carved out overnight by the logistic Mages.

    In addition to the entrenched troops, towering Golems from the ubiquitous Dusty 266s to the monolithic Atlas 388s lined the perimeter, their blast wands attuned for artillery. Below their great stature, umbilical cables snapped into mana packs, snaking through stockpiles of enclosed HDMs.

    And upon the battlement, Colonel Q¨ªao stood, a technical aide by each side, reviewing the mana scripts.

    Thus far, Shenyang had yet to react, though Q¨ªan was sure an all-out counteroffensive was coming. Logistically, if the Necromancers lost Shenyang, Beijing would reduce the buffer between Pyongyang and the new Front to a mere one hundred and fifty kilometres of Black Zone. The strategic advantage was the reason why the PLA had decided to go all-in. As the new millennia dawned, China could no longer afford to bleed out its resources on the Undead Front.

    "Good." Q¨ªao exhaled mist. The frigid atmosphere of Shenyang''s winter was warmth sapping, a necromantic chill that drained the vitality from their bones. Even now, where the city''s edge began, a visible ring of rime smothered the crumbling orbital highway, encasing the central business district in decade-old, accumulated ice.

    And at the centre of that dark and dilapidated urban preserve sat the seat of a Necromancer who had transformed a living city into an Undead Necropolis.

    Q¨ªao wondered if a single Tower was enough to make the difference in numbers. Three decades ago, they had contended with both a Beast Tide and an Undead Incursion simultaneously. The worst of it was that in the aftermath, many of the slain beasts had simply been re-risen in their Undead forms. What he feared now was how many monsters had been dissected, sutured and remade into new abominations. If he was a Necromancer elite, what manner of ritual could he engender if given two decades? Could the PLA, now equipped with the best Magi-tech armaments China could import or manufacture, finally turn the tide?

    "Sir." Q¨ªao''s aides connected a Message from Lieutenant-General Liang Chu-Rong. "Dalian is ready to proceed with the Teleportation."

    "Very well." Q¨ªao turned to face the Mandala. "All troops to their posts. BEGIN the Signal."

    Lieutenant-General Liang Chu-Rong stood on the bridge of Dalian''s Tower, one of eight mobile platforms China had built for itself since the 1980s. Unlike the PLA''s super-structural Tower in Shanghai, Dalian was a modest design bought from the Mageocracy. It was originally a research Tower with a Dwarven-made Levi-plate just under a kilometre in length, the smallest in the Party''s national armoury¡ª and the most cost-effective.

    Inevitably, battles were fought with currency.

    To translocate a Tower from Dalian to Shenyang costs just over a million HDMs. To further activate the Tower''s Shielding Crystal without the help of ley-lines, ten thousand HDM crystals had to be consumed each day. Factor in the additional cost of defensive Mandalas, spell amplifiers, embedded blast-wands and troops teleporting into and out of the Tower, another million HDMs may yet be exhausted.

    The Party, therefore, could not afford catastrophic failure, not when the annual production of a medium-sized city had gone into the reclamation. Already, the sheer volume of collated HDMs stockpiled for the operation had impacted the exchange rate for Chinese-Minted currency.

    "Sir, we will shortly re-enter the Prime Material." His junior officer informed the Lieutenant-General. "Materialising in THREE¡­ TWO¡­ ONE¡­"

    Liang''s innards lurched. There goes the first million.

    The Tower was protected by a Bothe-Geiger Negation Field. Even so, the once in forever translocation had filled its crew with unspeakable dread. In the most unlikely of circumstances, a misalignment meant that the Tower could end up in the Primary Plane of Fire, or if they were very, very unlucky, in the Quasi-Plane of Ash.

    "We''re materialising!" The Major''s voice rose a whole octave.

    The floor thrummed. The lumen-screen projecting the grey expanse outside burst into activity. A second later, a three-hundred and sixty-degree projection of Dengta''s desolated plains came into view.

    "Absolute altitude, thirty-three meters¡ª holding steady!"

    "Stabilising horizontal drift. Dropping Dimensional Anchor!"

    "The Ley-line is right below us! Beginning disruption. Switching to internal supplies."

    "Weapons are live. Fire crew reports that they are at the ready, sir! Auxillary systems are charged, sir!"

    "Shields are at five per cent and regenerating."

    "Engine Room reports all systems normal. Capacity at seventy-five per cent!"

    "Teleportation Circles are HOT! Maximum range is set at twenty kilometres."

    A slew of tactical information washed over the Lieutenant-General, as did a surge of adrenaline tingling his spine. They were back! The PLA was back with a vengeance!

    Below his dais, both in the control room and across the plain, a cheer broke out, first in waves, then as an undulant tide of shouts and hoots. A few of the older Mages who had gained their lapels fighting on the Front visibly wept.

    But their commanding officer remained stoic.

    Poor bastards, Liang forced his fervour to cool. Retaking Shenyang was well and all, but what of the cost? With the Tower now committed, the privilege of a retreat no longer existed. Be it the Mages or the NoM soldiers, their only recourse was to retake Shenyang or die trying. In the worst-case scenario, Dalian would reduce itself and its target to a twenty-kilometre crater.

    "Give me a region-wide scan of the city," the Lieutenant-General ordered. "I want the place mapped twenty-meters deep from the Governor''s Building to the bunker-shelters."

    An enormous illusory projection appeared over the control theatre, courtesy of the Tower''s embedded Diviners and Illusionists, some of the best in the nation.

    Outside the Tower, a visible ripple of Divination rang out.

    The Clairvoyance echo took several seconds to cycle. Once the intelligence theatre parallel-processed the data, the results were then transmitted to the command room.

    Within the projected three-dimensional diorama of the landscape, friendly units were outlined as green blips, while the Golems and the machinery were triangular blocks. As Undead units appeared, unmasked by their unique Negative Energy signatures, they manifested as pulsing red dots.

    Presently, a sea of green blinked below the Tower''s massive silhouette.

    Not far, pulsing faintly to indicate their place underground, was an ocean of all-enveloping red. At best, their foe was two kilometres away and slowly moving toward the viridescent markers.

    "¡­ Cao¡­" The Lieutenant-General swore before he could catch himself. "Colonel Q¨¬ao! Get your men ready! The Undead are coming! Dalian Tower! All teams to battle stations!"

    ArroooooooOOOOooo¡ª

    A blaring proximity alarm indicated that the enemy was close enough to be soon within the range of the Type 95 LANCE-wands.

    "There goes tea time." Gwen dematerialised the team''s SPAM sandwiches. "Pats, let''s get going."

    "Will do." Petra cleaned her hands with water from Lea. "Tei, guys, are you going to be alright?"

    "Don''t mind us," their captain returned. "We''ve been defending the soldiers for a week. We know how they fight, what they need, and what type of enemies need to be neutralised first. Go help Gwen, we''ll wait for the good news."

    "Thanks, everyone." Gwen dispensed a round of hugs among her companions, noting their bruised eyebags. "I won''t let you down."

    "Let''s buff up before you go. Mage Armour!" Anita was beyond glad that she was once again reinforcing her own team and not a non-commissioned officer incapable of withstanding a single swipe from a Ghast. That a low-tier Mage could be so fragile wasn''t an occurrence the Abjurer had at all anticipated. In her experience, even the petite Mayuree, a Diviner, possessed the VMI and expertise to defend a least a few blows. "Resist Elements! Enhanced Ability! Be safe, Vice-Captain!"

    "I will." Gwen gave Anita a pat on the shoulder, touched Rene on the arm, brushed the dust from Jiro''s chest plate, then held Tei''s mailed hand. "Thanks for understanding."

    After the B-Team''s arrival, the contestants had shared a few hours of respite, enough to catch up on the events of the last seven days. As Walken had anticipated, the performance of Fudan''s B-Team was adequate but unimpressive. Comparatively, Auckland had most definitely fallen behind, while Pretoria''s B-Team performance was more pronounced.

    Now, the conquest of Shenyang had entered its second stage. From their briefings, the students knew that the rulers of the Necropolis would scramble all available resources under their command to topple the Tower. It was an obvious conjecture, for as long as China was willing to feed crystals into Dalian''s mana furnace, Shenyang would remain under siege.

    What remained now was a time-sensitive occupation.

    But any response from Pyongyang would be intercepted by troops from the 1st Force-Recon, joined by elites recruited from other single-digit Mage Flights. For the occupation force, it meant that within the week, Shenyang had to be cleared and its ley-line activated and fortified.

    Dalian Tower would, in effect, transform into Shenyang Tower.

    And in the middle of the madcap scramble was Pretoria, Fudan and Auckland''s students, hoping to carve out CCs and glory for their institutions.

    Which was why for the final leg of the match, Petra rejoined Gwen''s A-Team at the expense of a CC penalty so Gwen could bring forth her Allies, Golos and the Shoggoth¡ª Fudan''s aces in the hole.

    "Which way to G44-P39?" Petra took to the air.

    "Er¡­" Gwen''s orbs glazed over. She looked at Richard for help, finding her cousin unhelpfully marking "North" with his eyes.

    "This way." Lieutenant Jinwei H¨¡n, their liaison, steered Gwen in the opposite direction she was facing. "The Lieutenant-General has teleported a recon force to the location in order to clear the area so you and your Enchanter may construct the Summoning Circle unmolested."

    "Thanks," Gwen said. "How far¡ª"

    ¡ªB-BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

    In the distance, where the Tower faced the Front, the battle was joined. From the Dalian''s central column, a line of Disintegration thicker than two Whetus sliced across the landscape like a scalpel, vaporising the topsoil to reveal the tunnels being dug below. An eerie silence passed, then like a poked ant-hill, a horizon of Undead appeared from the frigid earth, clambering onto the cold soil. Suddenly, innumerable bodies formed into numberless throngs, stamping the virgin frost underfoot as they charged.

    In retort, the Tower shimmered, dialling its Shielding Core to the maximum allotment. Against low-tier Undead, Shield Barriers served as mediocre deterrents. But, its ability to impair powerful constructs like Golems and Abominations mixed into the Horde was a necessity to ensure victory in a mass-melee.

    "Wow." Gwen gasped as a bone-throbbing thrum of mana rippled from the Tower''s mid-section.

    "The artillery is about to begin¡ª" Lieutenant Jinwei H¨¡n advised. "Hold your ears."

    B-BOOM¡ªBOOM! BOOM!

    Gwen had never felt so abused by anything so noisy and so intense in all her years. The sounds from the shockwaves were like a construction zone going off inside her skull. Unlike the sharp "CRACK!" and "BANG!" of her Flashbangs, what she now witnessed was a real-time earthquake erupting with spellfire.

    "OTHER THAN THE UNDEAD, THE SHOTS ARE BREAKING UP THE GROUND SO THE HORDE CAN''T MOVE FREELY!" Jinwei hollered, shouting despite the Message device on his wrist, deafened even to the howl of his own voice.

    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    "CAN''T THEY USE THE DISINTEGRATE AGAIN?"

    "NO! TOWER ARTILLERY CONSUMES TOO MUCH MANA, IT''S ONLY USED FOR SIEGES AND AGAINST MYTHICS!"

    Gwen shivered, thinking of what might have befallen Almudj if Melbourne and Brisbane Tower had been keen in their pursuit of the Mythic. If a Disintegration Ray had struck her rainbow-hued companion, could her "Kin" have kept its cool? Morbidly, she could imagine the mountainous corpse in the harbour, along with at least one destroyed Tower, besides which was what remained of Sydney.

    VOOOSH! VO¡ªVOO¡ªVOOOOSH!

    ¡ª BOOM BA-BOOM! CRACK! BOOM!¡ª

    Next to unload were the Golems. With their portable artillery wands raised high, an unending fusillade of citrine, cobalt and sunburst filled the sky and the distance between the Horde and the Tower. As the spells connected, Fireballs, Lightning Bolts, Bounding Flames, Elemental Arrows raked the line of Undead from east to west with splendiferous spellfire.

    "Gwen," Petra urged her cousin, her face warmed by the heat from the arcanistry. "We need to get to our fight."

    "Right." Gwen turned to face the east, her vivid irises illuminated by the refracted spells. "Let''s fly."

    Shenyang.

    West of its business district, a flight of Mages from the PLA had secured grid G44-P39.

    It was a tedious but humble task, for the battle some six-kilometres to the east had the Necromancers well-preoccupied. As a result, the soldier-tier Undead they had encountered were all dusty old ghouls and ancient zombies, all of which were quietly dispatched by the elite taskforce.

    "Magister, they''ve arrived," a PLA Seargent informed their VIP.

    "I see them." Eric Walken, the advisor to Fudan, waved at the incoming foursome and their PLA liaison. "Gentlemen, lets us welcome our star sorceress."

    "Bloody oath, Eric!" Gwen could hardly believe that one of the cloaked figures as her instructor. "You''re here, personally? Is that even allowed?"

    "Where else would I be?" Walken replied, his old face bemused by her excitement. "I promised I''d see you through, didn''t I? And yes, my presence is authorised."

    "I was expecting you to watch from the Tower''s top floor," Gwen marvelled, landing heavily. With a hiss, the Shen-Te¨© suit cushioned her forceful descent. "It''s dangerous here, what if we get attacked."

    "I might be rusty, but I should be able to obliterate a small Horde without too much trouble." Walken gave her a puzzling look. "But that''s not why I am here. Petra, are all of Gwen''s preparation''s ready?"

    "Yessir." Petra''s response was terse. Gwen suspected her Russian cousin didn''t have the best opinion of Eric. Both thanks to Wen and her misadventures at the hands of Moscow Magisters, Petra possessed little reason to love someone like Walken. "We may proceed."

    "Good¡ª Richard, Lulan, it''s good to see you''re both safe."

    "Allow me to apologise for what happened at Shimenzi, Teacher." Lulan bowed deeply.

    "No need." Walken waved a hand. "It was bad luck, coupled with Gwen''s inexperience. As for yourself, it was a poor match up. You''ve done excellent work otherwise."

    "I would say Gwen performed excellently, all things considered," Richard retorted in their quiet vice-captain''s stead. "She choked that Necro without using magic, through a Bone Shield no less."

    "Of course she did. A lesser Mage would have... not done it. But¡ª let us waste no time." Their instructor guided them toward a half-collapsed, abandoned brutalist office building. "Gwen, what do you make of this?"

    "A parking multi-storey?" Gwen said, studying the ugly structure.

    "Ha!" Walken chortled. "No, there weren''t that many cars back in the 70s. THIS is the old MSS headquarters, sans windows and walls. Its northern branch building. Sergeant? If you would? I believe the Lieutenant-General has given you the authorisation?"

    "Please follow me, Magister."

    One of the soldiers led the party around the destroyed building. Near its rear, they found an intact wall. Urging the others to step back, the Seargent then activated a concealed Glyph console. A slow rumble shortly followed, depressing the base until it revealed a set of stairs spiralling into the depth.

    "We''ll lead," the Sergeant offered. "Meng, Jei, take point¡ª"

    "Hold¡ª allow me to excuse you." Walken waved a hand. "Gwen? Richard? Let''s not risk the lives of our helpers, shall we?"

    "Ariel! Caliban!"

    "Lea!"

    "Shaa shaa!"

    "Ee ee!"

    The students conjured their Familiars.

    It was a curious juxtaposition. Caliban slithering into being was enough to drive the soldiers back; Ariel and Lea''s resplendent forms were oppositionally enticing enough to leave them in awe.

    "Cali, you take the lead," Gwen commanded her Void serpent. "Ariel, stay behind us."

    "Lea, scout ahead." Richard turned his Undine transparent and misty. "Report back any enemies you encounter, do not engage."

    As the Familiars took to the basement, Walken explained their present course of action.

    "Originally, I was expecting to take us to a rooftop to conjure the Shoggoth. BUT, the Lieutenant-General was thankful enough for your selfless contribution to Shimenzi that he proffered the MSS''s drafts for the installations under Shenyang. From the civil blueprint, we can discern that there''s a long-sealed escape tunnel that connects into the main bunker at the heart of the city, under the People''s Hall."

    "Incredible, and the shelter had remained undiscovered?" Lulan enquired with disbelief.

    "The MSS''s transit tunnel was naturally a well-kept secret," Walken explained. "As for its present state of occupancy, we shall shortly find out. Richard? What does your Undine see?"

    "Magister Walken is right." Richard kept one eye open while he focused on Lea''s Empathic Link. "It''s safe down there, but¡­"

    "But?"

    Richard''s mien was expressionless. "Gwen, take a gander through Link Sight and tell me what you think. I''ll get Lea to guide Cali down to the central chamber."

    His cousin obliged. A minute later, she let loose a yelp.

    "Oh, Eric, it''s horrible¡­"

    "Are you being vague on purpose?" Walken loathed having partial knowledge. "Out with it, girl, what is it?"

    "I think it''s the MSS agents." Gwen felt the blood drain from her face. "They''re¡­ they were trapped inside when Shenyang fell!"

    "We''ll arrange for them to be buried and their families contacted." The Sergeant saluted at the two-dozen bodies sitting by the wall of the spacious chamber. Once, the vast vault may have served as an emergency bunker of sorts, now, it was just an elaborate coffin. "As true sons of the motherland. They died with dignity."

    When the team had earlier arrived in the building''s belly, they were met with a dozen carcasses hunkered in a row. Each by each, the slumped cadavers had assumed a kneeling position, their skulls blasted apart by a wand. In a far corner, the agents'' executioner sat with his Type-22 stuck in between his clenched teeth, bits of brain decorating the concrete behind him.

    "How morbid," Gwen muttered. What was worse was that she could empathise. Weighed against a slow death brought on by thirst, starvation or asphyxiation, or being raised as a Revenant, wasn''t sudden death preferable?

    "Detect Magic." Walken ran a scan through the bodies regardless of the delicate sentiment of their observers, briefly illuminating the cadavers with motes of Lightning. "Good, they''ve passed on."

    The Sergeant glared, dismayed by the Magister''s paranoia.

    Walken ignored the soldier, in Shenyang, he was taking no chances.

    "I''ll watch you set up the Mandala here," the instructor''s voice echoed through the high ceiling. From the looks of the different furnishings and the incomplete construction, the bunker was initially intended to be an underground archive. Now, it served only as an enormous concrete coffin. "Richard, Lulu, our PLA colleagues, can you check the lower ground access, maybe unlock the transit tunnel. Let''s give the girls some room."

    "Yessir." The others moved for the sealed exit opposite the entrance.

    "Right." Gwen gulped as Petra produced her inscription kit and its many-layered toolbox. Though an inexpert Enchanter, she aided her cousin by setting up the Mana Cache, bundled in crates Marong and Mayuree had helped prepare. According to the House of M''s general manager, some of the HDMs were sourced from the Tyrant''s despoiled lair, meaning they were very dense indeed.

    Thunk! Thunk! Thunk!

    Crate after crate landed. Despite the seals designed to retain the mana contained in its precious cargo, the room felt instantly more alive.

    The PLA soldiers sucked in breaths of frigid, mana-rich air. For the Mages whose mana pool had been taxed by their earlier Purge of the grid, the natural recovery of their internal mana doubled.

    Without warning, here were more HDMs than any of them had ever seen at any point in their lives.

    "Gwen, take the Mithril Thread," Petra requested of her vice-captain. "Once the cache is done, start by marking out the Summoning Mandala. First, we''ll bring back Lord Golos."

    The drawing of Glyphs wasn''t an impossible endeavour once an Enchanter learned the patterns. In training, the chief preoccupation of junior Enchanters consisted of line tracing while attuning their mana to match the ebb and flow necessary to imbue arcane symbols with mystical power.

    Naturally, the concentration required was no mean feat. Thankfully, Gwen, with her phantom age, was no stranger to tedious chores that called for meticulous attention to detail. In a way, the stressful concentration was therapeutic, for even now, the suspense of days past threw up unnecessary remembrances, writhing like mired worms in the murk of her memory.

    The misery was almost burlesque. Even during Gwen''s peppy forays with Yue and Jean-Paul, no matter how she distracted herself, the pallid face of the Necromancer molested her mind.

    But why worry? She wanted to say¡ª Another day, another victim, wasn''t that the rational way of things? Logically, it was easy to placate the ambivalent loathing bluntly hammering at her conscience. One would think she was used to it by now. Didn''t Babulya warn her that the Path of Violent Conflict was full of thorns? If so, why worry over a little bloodletting? With her friends'' lives threatened, what better excuse was there to exercise her wrath? Without her spells, how else was she going to nail a reborn Necromancer?

    Was it the pleasure then that was eating her from inside out? Seeing the Necromancer''s despair before Caliban''s maw closed over him? Or the infusion of Essence that had mangled up her guts and made her eyes roll up inside her skull? That for almost fifteen minutes, she had felt the closest she had ever been to the time Almudj possessed her mortal body?

    "Gwen, you''ve messed up the Piguet-Cox parallel, your Marden Glyph is missing a syntax." Her instructor complained, standing on the sideline. "Focus."

    "Sorry, I''ll fix it right away."

    Or, Gwen wondered. Was it that she wanted to avoid the hard road of raiding Shenyang with Richard and Lulan?

    The rationale behind borrowing the Void''s malevolence was inevitably tied to her close call in Shimenzi. No matter the pretty words Walken used to dress her fears, the reality was that she neither wanted to lose the IIUC outright¡ª nor did she want to risk Lulu and Richard¡ª nor subject herself to another Soul Flayer.

    Like the old saying goes, once bitten, twice shy.

    That feeling of helplessness...

    It was almost like she was back in the cave with Edgar.

    Almost.

    "But what of the living beings still residing inside the city?" She had confronted Walken with her hypocrisy. The Necromancers still ate mortal food, meaning the number of NoMs living in Shenyang should be in the thousands.

    "Collateral damage," Walken answered without pause. It was the same horrible phrase she had heard so many times in her old world.

    "Don''t turn the nincompoop now, Gwen. Did you really think the PLA will let anyone live? Let these NoMs roam its cities? Whether those people were livestock, servants, aides or otherwise, nothing dead or living will be leaving Shenyang¡ª Even in England, we''re not so kind as to be THAT stupid. Make a call, ''vice-captain''. This time¡ª make the right one. If not, it would be better if you head home and start preparing for London."

    Gwen recalled feeling hurt. Yet again, her mawkish predilections had been checked. But injury aside, she was astute enough to see that Walken was offering to bear her burden. Her instructor was offering her a way out, an excuse to clear her conscience by saying, "He made me do it, I didn''t want to. I was goaded."

    Like the gutted wife of the Thane of Fife had once said, in an earthly world, to do harm is often lauded, while careless altruism was dangerous and foolish. As a learned sorceress equipped with the means, why shouldn''t she be bloody, bold, and resolute? Why shouldn''t she laugh to scorn those who wished her harm? Even assuming there was a place for the milk of human kindness, and it sure as hell wasn''t in Shenyang, not when her team had near lost their lives.

    When almost a million people in Shenyang had already lost their lives.

    "Gwen, are you alright?" Walken''s voice drifted across the room.

    "I am fine... and Eric?"

    "Yes?"

    "Thanks."

    Gwen took a deep breath.

    First, she would bring back Golos.

    Then, her all-consuming Shoggoth would follow.

    Gwen stood in the Summoning Circle, gently inbreathing.

    Re-summoning Golos was easy.

    She knew the Thunder Wyvern by name and scent, sight, sound and Essence.

    She also knew him by blood, first as foe, then as a comrade against her enemies.

    When the princeling re-appeared, angrier than a trodden cane toad, she had hugged her Wyvern''s snout to placate his frustration. Gogo''s response was to scrape her suit, growl against her body until his upset was spent. After that, she asked her friends and her instructor to wait in the relative safety of the outside world, where they could reliably flee from kilometre-long, rampaging tentacles.

    Then came the witching hour.

    "Yog-Sothoth!" she recalled what she could of the books she had obsessed over as a sullen adolescent. With a mother like Helena, the idea of calling upon an Elder being to destroy a shit-stained world was a fantasy she had entertained daily. As for the visualisation portion of the invocation, she hoped a pastiche of Shakespeare and Lovecraft would suffice; at worst, she''ll toss an added verse of Poe.

    "L?, Shub-Niggurath! Bring forth the creators of the dark cities! Birth unto this world ye servants! O ye Manglers from the Mount! Hunt mine enemies! L?¡ª YE MOUTHS OF MADNESS! CONSUME MY FOES!"

    "SHAAA! SHAAA! SHAAA!" Caliban sang.

    "EE! EE!" Ariel cowered.

    "Calamity!" Golos swore. "The Dragon father preserve us!"

    With complete liberty, the Fudan''s Worm Handler offered up the collated vitality from the Soul Flayer.

    Instantly, her glowing face turned anaemic.

    Unlike Golos, summoning the Shoggoth was an exhausting endeavour.

    It was coming.

    "Yog-Sothoth!" Lei-bup wept salty tears as bubbles blew from his greasy lips. Finally, the Great Being had responded to his call.

    "L?! Great Elder One! O key to the Gates where the Spheres Conjoin!" The chieftain of Turd Island howled in his fishy way, his tooth maw gnashing with spittle. "Come! Come to us! Saviour of the Deep!"

    With one claw, Lei-bup crushed a fistful of roe, splattering the unhallowed earth with lives of a hundred young.

    "Help us, Shub-Niggurath! Master of the woods that wend! Birth your children!"

    All around Lei-bup, the stones grew suddenly slick.

    Unbeknownst to the Merman performing his daily ritual, sympathetic magic channelled across space and time conjoined, harkening to the desperate desire of the Jifen-folk of the Dawugui archipelago.

    A dark ooze wept from the Summoning Circle left behind by the negligent human Mages. Unbeknownst to them, Lei-bup possessed enough knowledge of his kindred to scrap together the most rudimentary of Conjuration. The circle won''t be enough to manifest even a ten-thousandth of the great Shoggoth''s form¡ª but for the Mermen, any evidence of the Elder One''s meagre mysticism would suffice.

    Weee¡ªWeeee¡ªWeeee¡ª

    The air sang.

    Lei-bup freely wept.

    Ever since the Pale Priestess had gifted the Mermen a hundred kilos of brown rice and a whole container of mysterious meat in cans, his tribe had thrived.

    It was for this reason that ever since the departure of the Pale One, Lei-bup had anointed the sea in her master''s name, blessing the circle with unseeded eggs.

    And what BOON the rite had brought!

    Under the guardianship of the Pale Priestess and the Elder One, the thriving Jifen Folk had subjugated all the surrounding tribes, adding new females and slaves to their domain! And when the newborns grew up healthy and well-fed, they had ventured further, foraged deeper, and dominated the whole island chain!

    And with every new victory, Lei-bup believed more and more that his conjecture had been correct. With every tribe flocking under the Jifen''s banner, the number of faithful grew. Their prior meekness now seemed ridiculous.

    Before the tribe had received nourishment from the Pale Priestess, they were a plate of loose sand snails, subject to the undulating tides of fate.

    Now, they were united by the strength of something larger than themselves! Already, the other elders had started to call Lei-bup the Priest, for it was Lei-bup who had won the rice, and it was Lei-bup who had given them mysterious meat for the winter!

    "Praise be to the Pale Priestess!"

    "Praise!" a thousand voices answered.

    "Praise be to the Shoggoth! It of many eyes!"

    "Praise!" a thousand voices echoed.

    "Praise be to the Elder ones, who art Mother and Father!"

    "Praise!" a thousand voices cried out.

    The Summoning Circle sizzled.

    "PRAISE!"

    "PRAISE!"

    "PRAISE!"

    And so it was that on Turd Island, a thing of the Void, a formless protoplasm of primordial ages past, sullen, intelligent, all-enveloping, half-mad with teeth and all-seeing with its wealth of eyes...

    Descended.

 Chapter 311 - The Living Dark

    Oi Kuk-ryol began life in ''21 as a war orphan under the care of the Great Leader''s first spouse, the illustrious but short-lived Kim Kyi-Sui.

    After Oi''s induction, he quickly rose to power as the Vice Secretary of the National Defence Commission with his fellow orphans, each Awakening serendipitously to talents of their own. In ''45, during the Japanese Occupation, he single-handedly defeated three Imperial Chrysanthemum Mages while retaking Incheon, earning a new lapel as the Secretary-General of the National Operations Department.

    In ''50, when the Great Leader demanded the reunification of both Koreas, Oi was at the forefront, wielding his spells of destruction, cutting down the American invaders.

    Then, in the spring of ''57, when the Americans pushed the People''s Army back toward Pyongyang, Oi was the last of the twelve Generals to return to the great leader''s hall.

    And finally in the same winter, when the Great Leader gathered his Officers to discuss the Path called "Juche", the art of "Man mastering his destiny through autonomy, self-reliance, and independence" Oi was the first to take a spell to blasphemers who refused the Gift.

    After that, Oi remained dormant until the spring offensive of ''82. In Liaoning, Oi spearheaded the invasion of Northern Manchuria, leading the People''s Army into northern China, crushing all resistance, succeeding in surrounding Shenyang.

    Naturally, the living refused to surrender.

    Oi didn''t mind.

    Once the walls fell, Oi entered with the will of the Worker''s Party behind him, committing the city''s one million exploited labourers to the ideology of Juche, freeing them from the cycle of brutal karma.

    And when Oi''s natural lifespan expired, he gifted his heart to the Great Leader as a keepsake, re-awakening as the Secretary-General of Shenyang, having attained the apex of Juche.

    "Secretary-General, the PLA has decimated the Zom¡ª the workers! AND their Tower has intercepted the ley-line powering our wards. The city¡ª cannot hold."

    Presently, Oi oversaw the assembly of the Disciples of Juche at Shenyang, sending only the most talented to receive higher education in Pyongyang.

    "And what of it?"

    "We should contact Pyongyang by any means possible! We need to relocate the Disciples of Juche! We need¡ª"

    The speaker was a Flayer of no small talent.

    Oi extended a finger.

    It''s skeletal tip glowed pale green.

    "¡ª time to move our ingredients, we¡ª NO!¡ª Secretary! Mercy¡ª I just¡ª!" The Mage in the black robe wilted like a desiccated flower. Visibly, the pale shadow of his escaping soul fled from his body to twirl around Oi''s withered digit.

    "Who else would speak of weakness?" Oi asked his audience of a hundred Necromancers. As much as he needed the living to tend to the workers in his domain, their propensity for self-preservation was something Oi often found disappointing.

    "None, Secretary!" the chorus chanted as one.

    "Then move to your sectors and defend the city with your creations and your still-living carcasses..." Oi needn''t move his jaws to speak, though old habits died hard, far harder than the frail flesh of the aspirants. "We shall hold Shenyang until the Great Leader sends the united will of the workers to chase these foes from our domain..."

    "But for how long¡­" a Necromancer, this one a dark-skinned practitioner from the high plains, gingerly requested of Oi. "I DO intend to defend our home, Master. You know as well as we do that we have nowhere else to go. I merely wish more knowledge to ration our resources more effectively."

    "¡­ until I perish," Oi''s cold voice rang out, resonating against their quivering souls. Within the hollow sockets of his gaunt skull, two pinpoints of illumination flashed, irradiating Oi''s olive dress uniform. On his right breast, rows and rows of medals appeared almost like antiquated scale mail. "¡­ and Shenyang falls."

    The cavern shook, displacing enough dust to rattle Gulnaz al-Bashkir.

    "Inkar, Inzhu, keep vigilant," the bearded Mage commanded his apprentices. "How''s our flock?"

    "Agitated, my liege." Inkar, with her eyes like dark pears and lips like red wine, replied in that husky manner familiar to Gulnaz. "Why wouldn''t they be? There are more materials out there now than the last two decades combined."

    "Don''t underestimate our enemies." Gulnaz flattened his beard, surprised himself that he of all people felt so uneasy. "They have a Tower, meaning the city''s defences are down. Our job is to hold this quadrant until ''help'' arrives."

    "Will reinforcements from Pyongyang be enough?" Inzhu, the younger sister, demanded of no one in particular. Compared to her senior sister, Inzhu had honey-coloured eyes and a smile to match. "Aren''t we all spell-fodder for that corpse in the People''s Hall?"

    "Inzhu!" Inkar looked around them. "The walls have eyes."

    "Indeed, Inzhu," Gulnaz berated his Apprentice. "¡ª but Master Oi is what we all aspire to be one day, the Great One permitting. Whatever he thinks of us, the path of Juche speaks for itself."

    "Then, do you think we''ll hold the city?"

    "That''s our business," Gulnaz al-Bashkir, the Summoner of Shelek, intoned with a hint of bitterness. "Know that Shenyang is our home now, and with it gone, we will perish."

    Inkar shivered.

    Her Master was, of course, correct. Until the trio''s decade spent studying in Shenyang, they had fled from city to city, pursued by Human Mages and Wildland Demi-humans. Without the protection of a Theocracy or the blessings of an ancient religion, the free-practitioners of Necromancy were no more than rats bolting across a busy market choked full of terriers.

    The two women remained mum.

    Gulnaz sighed. He wondered if they''d been spoiled by the glut of necromantic energies welling from the city''s mass graves. In Shenyang, there was an inexhaustible supply of corpses, both from its internal stock and raids conducted in Chinese-controlled Manchuria.

    But now came the settling of accounts.

    He should hardly be surprised, Gulnaz supposed. China''s power had been on the rise; its population of NoMs has always been the densest in the world. How could a rising power stomach the presence of a Necropolis so close to its capital?

    But it wasn''t all bad news. IF Gulnaz and his fellow Necromancers held the bunkers, then the new materials left behind by the retreating Chinese would bolster their expansion into Jinzhou. If they could capture the Tower, then the rewards from Pyongyang would be unimaginable.

    And if they failed?

    As a whole, Necromancers didn''t fear death. What they feared instead was a supreme sense of regret, that in having their lives cut short, they would return to the karmic circle, wasting a lifetime.

    "Guurrrrgh¡ª" the foremost rank of Zombies groaned.

    Within the bunker''s claustrophobic tunnels, the air turned oppressive; the walls grew slick with moisture.

    Something was coming.

    The area which Gulnaz guarded was the western quadrant of the bunker network under the People''s Hall. Together, there were at minimum a hundred practitioners like him forming blockages in every segment of the subterranean bastion. Their goal, as the apex-embodiment of Juche in the People''s Hall had commanded, was one of delay. For each hour they managed to hold off total annihilation, the likelihood of survival increased.

    "Let''s get to work."

    "Resist Elements! Ghoul Skin! Ivory Armour!" Inchu was originally an Abjurer. With a few well-practised invocations, the trio grew clad in ivory plates of clattering bone.

    "Link Sight! Death Tap!" And uniquely, Inkar was a rare Diviner capable of utilising the Craft with Divination. A novice Flayer, she could insert her mind momentarily into a semi-intelligent vessel.

    "Great protector." Gulnaz walked forward as he began his chant, drawing a crimson Mandala in the air with a withered hand. "Protect your flock in this hour of need. ERASYL! Come to your brother in this hour of need!¡ª"

    Gulnaz winced as his life-blood anointed the magic circle.

    "¡ªSummon Dread Knight!"

    The two women behind Gulnaz squirmed as their collectivelife-force fled from their bodies, blanching their vibrant, still-youthful complexions. Gulnaz himself shivered, his teeth chattering as the Negative Energy necessary for such a high-tier creature caressed his conduits, freezing his lifeblood.

    A few body-lengths away, a dark mist, tinged with the scent of rot and decay, swiftly materialised the form of a man once known as Erasyl, the Hero of Almaty, a peerless Swords Dancer and a renowned Monster Slayer. In another life, he had been Gulnaz''s half-brother. When the man had been alive, they weren''t close. Now, the two were inseparable.

    "BROTHER." The Dread Knight''s voice scraped like rusty swords. "DIRECT ME TO YOUR FOE."

    "I shall. But for now, protect us," Gulnaz commanded.

    "AS YOU WISH." Erasyl turned to face the dark tunnel. In his hand, the infamous Black Blade, the life-sapping weapon formed from a Dread Knight''s tormented soul, glimmered darkly. It was the creature''s signature attribute¡ª possessing the ability to cut through most Mage Shields like butter.

    "GUARRRRLL¡ª!" the Zombie vanguards at the fore of the arched tunnel met with their opponent.

    "It''s not a party of Mages," Inkar reported, her mind linked with the few intelligible Ghouls under her command. "Our enemy is¡ªwhat is that? Ectoplasm?"

    "An Ooze Mage, perhaps." The Summoner furrowed his brows.

    "I think so." Inkar''s voice grew shrill. "I think I see something. I''ll possess one of the Ghasts to check..."

    "It looks big; whatever this is, it''s taking up the whole corridor."

    "I see pale yellow light... looks almost like a willow-o-wisps..."

    "Its eating our troops..."

    "Ooo! The main body was hidden! I see it moving!"

    "Let me get closer... I''ll try to locate the caster for Erasyl."

    "There''s... no Conjurer? It''s just¡ª a thing by itself..."

    "OH, GODS! It''s looking at me! Heavens¡ªEYES! So many eyes!"

    "A quasi-ooze? What element is it?" Gulnaz cursed that of all the enemies; he had to run into such a troublesome foe. "Ink¡ª"

    "AEEEEEE! AARRRRRGH! IT HAS ME!" Inkar fell back, suddenly clawing at her face, her long nails digging into her scalp. With a scream, she tore out fistfuls of auburn hair. "INCHU! IT''S EATING ME! I CAN F-FEEL EVERYTHING! ITS¡­ SUCKING ME UP!"

    "Sis! Cut the LINK!" Inzhu caught her thrashing sister and channelled a smidgen of vitality to stabilise her anarchic conduits. "Master!"

    "I-I CAN''T¡ª BLUURRGH!" Inkar regurgitated a gutful of bile ontothe floor.

    Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    "Erasyl!" Gulnaz commanded his Dread Knight. "Incapacitate her!"

    The Dread Knight touched a blade to Inkar''s thigh.

    The woman''s torso jerked just once as the vitality left her body, cancelling her Divination spell.

    "Death Domain!"

    "AT ONCE!" The Dread Knight lamented.

    A dark haze exploded from below the upper-tier Revenant, filling the tunnel with motes of Negative Energy. Where it touched the Zombies and Ghouls, the creatures grew suddenly energised, falling into rank and file.

    Inkar panted on the floor, her chest rising and falling arrhythmically, her skirt covered in sick.

    "Sis, are you alright?" Inchu could see her sister was not alright.

    "Hunger..." The girl convulsed, her pupils dilating, her eyes seeing nothing. "Emptiness, only hunger..."

    "Sik!" Gulnaz swore. "Once the danger''s gone, feed her a potion."

    SPLAT!

    An ectoplasmic blob about two-meters across flattened itself against the polished concrete. At first glance, the globular entity was grey and colourless, inanimate in its passivity. Upon closer inspection, Gulnaz could see that there was a half-dissolved Zombie trapped within the blob.

    "GUAARRGGL!" In the distance, the Horde continued their fearless charge. Usually, against a Creature Mage with an exotic Familiar, there was no better fodder than low-tier Undead.

    "Go forth!" Gulnaz lacked access to Banish, so his only recourse was the empowered minions. Under the Dread Knight''s leadership, the "workers" possessed heightened physical abilities and higher resistance to the Imperial Magic System''s invocations. "Tear that thing to pieces! Wear it down!"

    Gluurg¡ªBloop¡ªGloop¡ªglug¡ª

    The rest of the gargantuan thing came into view.

    "Sik¡­" Gulnaz felt his soul shrivelasan enormous eyeball pressed itself through the goo. "What is THAT?!"

    "HUNGER¡ª" Inkar writhed on the floor, clawing the concrete. "IT''S HUNGER ITSELF!"

    Gulnaz quaked; neither the Summoner nor his Apprentice had the means to describe the creature they now faced. In and amongst the flood of grey-goo oozing through the tunnel, he saw an eyeball a full two-meters across.

    And what an orb!

    Its cyclopean sphere housed an octopus'' W-shaped pupil, ringed in vivid emerald with a dark circumference and an amber core. As the creature slid forward, its depthless gaze seemed to swallow the world, refracting everything within its optic prison!

    Their gazes met.

    Gulnaz understood instantly the infinite malevolence transmitted by that slitted eye. Uncharacteristically, his body broke out with a terrific heat, making sodden the back of his silver-threaded robe.

    He had to kill this thing!

    His Astral Soul cried out.

    Whatever the cost, he mustn''t let it near him!

    "Spine Splitter!" Gulnaz''s conviction was immediate. Materialising a wealth of inscribed and harvested Demi-human spines, he let loose a whole year''s cache of painstakingly crafted ammunition. "Creature! Perish!"

    PH¡ªULRK!

    The first lance struck, exploding into ten-thousand fragments of swiftly expanding bone, ripping apart the all-seeing eye, rupturing the meniscus and shredding its membranes.

    PHULRK!

    A second spine followed the first seamlessly, driving the creature back, allowing it no opportunity for regeneration.

    PH¡ªPHLURK! SPLURK!

    The third and fourth Splitters erupted, covering the concrete walls with ten-inch fragments of razor-sharp ivory. Concurrently, bursts of Negative Energy, enough to sap the life from anything capable of holding even the tiniest mote of vitality, saturated the tunnel, furthermore empowering Gulnaz''s minions.

    "Well done, Master!" Inzhu had Shielded them from their Master''s spell. Panting from the exertion, she cradled her still-gibbering sister.

    "That should keep its Summoner honest." Gulnaz grinned. "Flock, tear it apart! Finish it off!"

    "GURRRRL!" In lock-step, the Zombies rushed forward, flailing their engorged limbs, gnashing their jagged jaws, a symphony of teeth conducted by the Dread Knight.

    SPLAT! The response from their unidentifiable foe was instant.

    Without warning, the grey goo multiplied, expelling a new wave of scentless ectoplasm. Where it touched the Undead, the Horde grew helplessly paralysed. When it landed on the bone shards, the ivory-like surface turned black with decay.

    "I-Impossible!" Gulnaz felt the Negative Energy in the area fall away as though syphoned into an enormous vortex. "What manner of creature is this? Do they have a sanctioned Necromancer on their side¡ª? Bone PRISON!"

    A pair of bony claws enclosed around the incoming tendrils. Gulnaz knew it wasn''t enough to subdue a being such as this, but there wasn''t much a Summoner could do other than feeding it Zombies until its caster ran out of mana. "Erasyl! Stop that thing!"

    "I OBEY!" The Death Knight made the gesture of drawing a bow, materialising a shadowy bow easily the height of one of the Necromancer''s Apprentices. "CREATURE! PERISH!"

    Soundless, the arrow left the bow. In life, Erasyl had been a peerless spell-fighter, and in death, his body performed with equal aptitude as a Dread Knight.

    Th-THUNK!

    The Blight Arrow, a quivering construct of corrosive Negative Energy mixed with the unerring Magic Missile, struck the incoming creature between the fingers of the Bone Prison. It was one of the reasons why Gulnaz favoured the defensive spell, for trapped targets were easy prey for his all-powerful Dread Knight.

    But this time, the damage served only to grow the blob haughtier, angrier, more lively. The compressed Negative Energy within the blight-afflicted projectile seemed only to feed into the creature''s hunger. Within the span of a few stunning seconds, the ectoplasm squeezed past the wall and flooded into the corridor, rolling over the Undead as though an enormous eruption of dark gelatine.

    "A Colossal Ooze?" Inzhu pulled her gibbering sister onto her feet. "But that''s a tier-fourteen creature! Who can control such a thing! Oozes are mindless¡ª"

    In her arms, Inkar wept hysterically. "FLEE! We must flee! Go to the Master! There''s no limit to the fiend''s hunger! It''ll consume everything! Our minions, our mana, our everything!"

    "Shut her up!" Gulnaz had no time to deal with insane Apprentices. "Erasyl! Attack it directly!"

    The Dread Knight became a black blur. As its mummified legs kicked off the ground, the warrior''s shroud-wrapped lips let loose a wailing Banshee''s moan, flooding the tunnel with soul-rending echoes.

    "DIE!" The Dread Knight drew its blade and swung.

    SPLURK! The blade plunged into the midst of the enormous grey blob, cleaving through the ectoplasm and striking the concrete floor with a Clang!

    Erasyl''s eyes, long since reduced to twin points of unhallowed light, gazed into the gloom.

    Inkar hugged herself against her knees; her expression transformed into one of jibbering despair. "T-That''s not even its body! That''s just its voracious excretions! I saw¡ª I SAW the creature! It has eyes¡ªso many eyes¡ª and mouths, SO MANY MOUTHS!"

    "Where is she getting the energy?" Gulnaz felt his scalp crawl, his patience at wit''s end.

    Inzhu jammed her fingers into her sister''s mouth. Of the two, Inkar was usually the one who was calm and collected, and that made their difficult circumstance all the more precarious.

    "MNNGH¡ª IT SEES US¡ª MNNGH!"

    Inchu looked up, then immediately wished she hadn''t.

    "My God¡­" Her Master was staring at the newly descended horror.

    First came the gibbering mouths, each screaming incoherent nothings in a low, raspy whisper that stunned the ears and filled their minds with spleen rupturing terror. As Inkar had foretold, there were far too many mouths than was possible on any being that could exist in the Material Plane. At a glance, Gulnaz counted three dozen or more, some with human incisors, others with the canines of carnivores or the molars common to grazers.

    Embedded between the multitude of mouths were the eyes, each an emerald orb, wetly nestled within slimy pockets, all of which stared without blinking. As the creature slid forward, the eyeballs spun, searching for something the Necromancers could not see. When finally the eyes settled on the Mages, each of the creature''s observers felt as though they held its undivided attention.

    "PERISH!" Erasyl swung his sword again.

    This time, the black blade plunged into one of the creature''s endless maws.

    The mouths opened.

    Erasyl''s hands slid in down to the elbows.

    And when the Dread Knight retrieved his extremities, his limbs were gone, appearing as though his hands had never existed.

    The Dread Knight looked down.

    Lacking pain, it grew confused.

    But on the opposite end of its Empathic Link, its controller wasn''t so apathetic.

    "ARRRRGH! YE GODS!" Gulnaz felt such sympathetic agony that his hands might as well have been wrenched from their sockets by a great and powerful vice.

    "Master!" Inchu acted on reflex. "Bone Barrier! Bone Splinter!"

    A wall of bone skittered into place, simultaneously launching blasts of ivory shards. To Inchu''s dismay, she couldn''t even penetrate the ichorous slime.

    "It''s too late¡ª!" her sister, now freed, began to howl. "¡ªIT HUNGERS! IT ¡ªCOMES¡ªIT¡ªCOMES¡ª FOR US ALL!"

    "Huk!" Gulnaz circulated just enough stolen vitality to regain his clarity. His return, however, came too late. The pocket dimension he had dedicated to nurturing his Dread Knight faded, appearing as though he had never had a Familiar at all. "What is this?! How can¡ª Arrrrrgh!"

    Up ahead, the Dread Knight was halfway inside the gullet of an invading army of mouths, the upper portion of his Undead body reduced to a half-eaten carcass.

    The sight was as unsettling as it was beautiful; for all the lives he had drained, Gulnaz had never before seen such a display of abominable, unadulterated horror. Each maw, restricted by the Dread Knight''s natural resistance, could only take off a mouthful and no more. Yet, with so many mouths baying for the Dread Knight''s mana-infused body, Erasyl''s shrouded form lasted no more than a few frenzied seconds.

    "To think you have found rest before me..."

    Gulnaz of Shelek allowed his hands to fall. He readied himself. A Necromancer shouldn''t fear oblivion. A Necromancer''s death should be dignified.

    "IT COMES IT COMES IT COMES¡ª" Inkar howled, welcoming the end in her own way. "I am here! Monster! I AM HERE!"

    "Master, I can''t hold it!" Inchu vomited blood when her Bone Barrier broke.

    The ectoplasm pushed forward.

    Minion after minion advanced into the mincing mouths of madness, not slowing the Shoggoth''s march by a single second.

    Gwen was used to being stared at.

    As a "beautiful" child, she had been paraded incessantly by her attention-seeking mother. And when her mother was absent, which was often, it wasn''t queer for strangers to follow her with their eyes whenever she trained back to Forrestville. At Bondi, she sold as many Cornettos as the number of times she was hit upon. In university, she embraced the fact, wallowing in admirers and concurrently gaining an unpleasant reputation. Finally, as a junior at McKinsey, she learned to bathe in the gaze, convincing herself that from Sydney to New York, women everywhere all did the same to get ahead of the curve.

    But this was a whole other kind of attention.

    "So..." Gwen smacked her lips. "With all those mouths and all, do you speak?"

    Four hours after the summoning, she sat cross-legged with Ariel in her lap, Caliban propped as a backrest, and Golos beside her, close enough to sniff her hair.

    All around them, covering the former MSS basement from wall to wall, mating with the concrete, was the ectoplasmic manifestation of the "Shoggoth". All in all, about four hundredeyes looked uponGwen and her familiars, while on the ceiling, an enormous, central eyeball stared directly downwards.

    Do you speak? Gwen again attempted to communicate through their Empathic Link last time, she swore the Shoggoth was somewhat intelligent. Dear Shoggoth, please blink if you can understand me, any odd eye will do.

    Her answer returned in the form of unpleasant vertigo.

    Were it not for the suppression applied by her Essence, Gwen was sure she would be lying in a pool of her own sick.

    "Oi, YOU! Cease that insolence!" Golos growled, crackling electricity. In his human form, the re-summoned princeling was sweating profusely. Gwen could tell that her Wyvern was too proud to be terrified, but his body-odour made for a terrible liar.

    "Gogo, move aside a little." Her nose twitched. "You''re too close."

    "Calamity! I am trying to protect you here." Golos'' rotten-meat breath washed over her delicate face.

    "Right." Gwen grimaced. She would soon have to introduce Golos to another human invention¡ª mouth wash.

    Ding!

    "Gwen, how are you holding up?" Walken''s breathless voice came through her Divination Device. "Your Ally is doing very well, its breached nine sectors in the western quadrant in the last three hours!"

    "Eric! Where are the others?"

    "They''re with me. I am tracking your Shoggoth through the Eye of Providence. It''s amazing! Girl! AMAZING!"

    "You can track the Shoggoth?"

    "It''s still your creature." Walken sounded like he had gone for a run. "It''s got your mana signature."

    "And you''re recording its... actions?"

    "All of it," Walken replied. "Hold the fort, my girl, and we''ll have this in the bag. The Proctors and the Generals, they''re all astounded! Everything you''re doing, EVERYTHING! It''s all unprecedented!"

    "How deep has Shoggy gone?"

    "Wouldn''t you know?"

    "I possess no desire to Sight Link something with THIS MANY eyes, Eric. I want to keep my sanity. Thank you very much."

    And it wasn''t just the eyes. There were tentacles as well, with sucker-mouths. Like Caliban''s innards, the Shoggoth''s limbs were akin to slithering lamprey things unique to the Void. Whatever the "Shoggoth" might be in actuality, it remained a product of her imagination in unholy matrimony with the essential elements of the Void.

    "How''s your health?" Walken calmed himself somewhat.

    "I took precautions." Gwen eyed the eyeballs. "The beginning was a bit dodgy. I drank some of that infused Maotai just in case. I think the Shoggoth can perpetuate itself now. Maybe its attained equilibrium? Found a cache of vitality? There''s still a kick from the residual Negative Energy flooding the base, but the feedback has since ceased."

    "Can you control it?"

    Gwen shook her head.

    "Once it stopped... nursing from me¡ª it stopped responding."

    "Can you banish it?"

    "I hope so. The Mandala''s still active..."

    "Does er... ''Shoggy'' respond to friendlies?"

    "It''s non-reactive toward Cali, Ariel, Gogo and I."

    "... Shall I see if the PLA can find out? In the name of Spellcraft?"

    "Eric! I don''t think that''s a good idea¡ª"

    GU¡ªBLURP!

    The walls shuddered. At once, a hundred eyes began to spin in orgiastic agony. Gwen let loose a low-moan. The sensation bleeding through her Emphatic Link was indescribable. It was as though a frigid icicle had just passed through her amygdala.

    "Shaa! Shaa! SHAA¡ªAA!" Caliban began to wail, growing suddenly larger.

    "Ee Ee?!" Ariel''s fur bristled with sparkling motes of electricity.

    "Calamity!" Golos growled, his ridged horns crackling with power. "Something dreadful is coming this way! Look at my feathers!"

    Golos'' plume, a signature genetic trait of its mythic father, was bristling like a quill boar''s bone spines.

    Gwen activated detect magic, though the Shoggoth covering the walls made her effectively blind.

    "!"

    Her Divination Sigil screeched, striking her spine with such poignancy that she grew momentarily breathless.

    What was it?

    Her senses searched the room of eyes.

    It wasn''t the Shoggoth straining against its cage, of that she was sure.

    If so, it could only mean the danger came from an outside source.

    "Eric!" she Messaged her instructor for advice. It was a CC penalty to do so in the middle of a quest, but the last time she had felt so in danger was when Sobel showed up in Sydney. "What the hell is happening! Shoggy''s going nuts!"

    "A LICH!" Walken''s voice fired back, filled with excitement and horror. "ALMIGHTY CHRIST IN HEAVEN, GWEN! GET OUT NOW! DIMENSION DOOR AS FAR AS YOU CAN! BACK TO THE TOWER! THEY''VE GOT A FUCKING LICH DOWN THERE, AND IT''S COMING FOR YOU!"

 Chapter 312 - How to lasso a Lich

    "THEY''VE GOT A FUCKING LICH DOWN THERE, AND ITS COMING FOR YOU!"

    "A lich? Like, with a phylactery?"

    "YES! YOU DAFT FOOL! GO!"

    Gwen glanced at the Summoning Circle. If she went, how the hell was she going to wrangle her Shoggoth? There was no way she could just leave an intact Mandala here; God knew who might use an abandoned Circle to access her unique magic to pilfer Shoggy.

    "Quickly! Else I am going to SLAP you once you get back!" Walken sounded on the verge of a heart attack. "Use my Device as the Divi-Loc, I''ve set it just outside the western quadrant, GO!"

    "One sec... got it!" Gwen turned to her Familiars. "Cali, Ariel, I want you to destroy the Mandala as soon as I am clear."

    "SHAA!"

    "Ee! EE!"

    "Golos, can you follow?"

    Her Wyvern nodded. Golos maybe inept inSpellcraft, but he could piggyback on her Conjuration, using his innate mana to enable translocation.

    "Shoggy... you stay here and clean up."

    Gwen addressed the room full of ogling, oozing eyeballs and drooling lamprey mouths. Whatever this "Lich" was doing to her Shoggy, it wasn''t pleasant, not even for a kilometre long stomach spawned from the Void.

    "Dimension Door!" She opened her conduits. Immediately following her final syllable, electricity cascaded around her body, enveloping her armour. When she reappeared, she should at least be two hundred meters away, ready to recycle her magic. Assuming she took a short break, she should be within range of Dalian Tower within twenty hops.

    "!"

    A jolt of disruptive mana kicked her in the diaphragm, pressing the air from her lungs. The destination beacon Walken had offered abruptly winked out of existence.

    The mana that had been manifesting into Dimension Door shunted back into her body, bloating her conduits and seizing her limbs. She couldn''t be sure of just how far she moved, but she materialised as though launched from a wand.

    "Whoa¡ª" Limbs akimbo, she bounced off the far wall.

    Above her, four hundred eyes spun in their slimy sockets. Disgustingly, or perhaps fortuitously, a particularly googly orb cushioned her forward momentum.

    Gwen blinked. She righted herself, cheek-first against her Shoggoth, her arms and legs covered in its silky slime.

    What the hell happened to the beacon? She tried to clear her head. Did Walken shut his device?

    "CALAMITY! We must retreat!" Golos, having escaped her spell-induced disorientation, was beside her in an instant. Unhinging his jaw in the manner of serpents, the Wyvern''s chest rapidly expanded, then let loose a mighty Dragon Breath. "ROOOO¡ª"

    A line of living lightning erupted against the far wall, passing through a vaguely humanoid something that had made its presence felt.

    "¡ªAAAAR!" Gwen shielded her eyes as Golos poured out his soul. Still pressed against the Wyvern''s bony back, she felt the heat of the princeling''s smouldering skin scald the delicate surface of her face.

    She pushed herself away from the Wyvern.

    "Dimension Door!" This time, she directed herself upwards. With a clearance of over two hundred meters, Gwen was positive that she could clear the bunker''s depth in one leap. If not, then she was also prepared for a world of non-lethal pain, nothing her Essence couldn''t absolve.

    Her mana fled.

    Another wave of dizzying nausea engendered.

    She reappeared a dozen meters away, reeling with disorientation.

    "Ariel! Cali!" she shrieked like a banshee, landing on her shoulder to soften her roll. Lich or no Lich, she would show Voldermort no quarter.

    "EE!"

    "Shaa! Shaa!"

    Her Familiars assumed their battle forms, Caliban transforming into its swiftest variant, the spider Wanka, and Ariel into its Kirin guise. With a word and a surge of will, she convoked as much Essence as she could muster under the circumstances, leaving half for future contingencies. With a layer of Detect Magic illuminating her pupils, she pinpointed the distorted Astral Space in the room''s centre.

    "Ariel¡ª"

    Emerald Lightning fulminated across the length of her armour, sending her hair and her skirt into a wild flutter. Her fingers finished the somatic components in a flash.

    "¡ªBARBANGINY!"

    Fearing that there might be a counter to Lightning Bolt, she chose the rarer two-stage Lightning Sphere. A split-second later, her AoE connected, enveloping a quarter of the room in viridescent electricity.

    Bathed in emerald, Gwen adjusted her eyes.

    Fizzak!¡ªBAM! The second stage nova rang out, so powerful that even under Ariel''s control, her wall-hugging Shoggoth lost the portion of its body closest to the ground level. As the electricity drained away, she caught sight of a region where her sorcery was displaced by a subtle shadow.

    "Gogo!" Gwen directed Golos to their target.

    "ROAARRRRRR!" Golos let loose another breath, fulminating his guts out, howling so hard he simultaneously farted, irradiating the basement with his retina-searing discharge.

    "Ariel! Ball Lightning!" Gwen''s intent was to leave no quarter. Learning from her last mistake, she flooded the target space with such an excess of plasma that the concrete cracked and split, spraying shards of white-hot silica.

    "Shoggy!" she commanded her Planar Ally. "If you can do something, now''s the time!"

    Glug-Gloop¡ª Glop...

    All around their fiercely gesticulating mistress, the eyes rotated wetly in their sockets.

    "Fine, I guess you''re preoccupied¡ª Wall of Lightning!"

    Gwen wondered if she fought a vital target, the Shoggoth would react with great urgency. Nonetheless, at her behest, the atmosphere of the bunker grew thick with motes of cascading electricity, arcing from corner to corner. Unlike her Evocation spells, the conjured barrier would continue to strike her target so long as her mana pool held out.

    "Ariel! Again!" She added three more Lightning Spheres to the fray. If there was an Undead that could survive such an inundation of offensive magic, then her goose was cooked. Certainly, Gwen couldn''t imagine Tei or even Gunther just standing there, soaking her magic like a lightning rod.

    Plink! Plink! Plink! CRACK!

    The splintering of cooling stones echoed throughout the secret basement. Gwen''s pinpoint pupil dilated, adjusting to the low-light. Hanging a few feet above, Ariel sniffed the air, reporting nought but the stink of ozone. From the far wall, Caliban scanned the room with its vitality-vision, finding nothing. Finally, Golos, now polymorphed into his true form, coiled around her protectively so that she was nestled between a white wing and his plated torso.

    "Is it dead?" Gwen wondered if the proctors would find her confidence impressive or foolish. "Caliban, get ready."

    "Shaa!"

    "Shoggy, wanna make yourself useful?" Gwen asked the room again.

    The rolling eyes slowly ceased their erratic movements. By the dozen, their orbs focusing on a particular spot not far from where she had been raining down AoEs.

    "Arcane Sight!" Gwen attempted a Divination Magic she rarely had the opportunity to deploy. Unlike Detect Magic, the second-tier Divination allowed her to see both invisible creatures and those hidden in the Astral Plane.

    Instantly, she caught sight of a smouldering, shady figure hovering in the shadows cast by her and Golos'' illuminating presence.

    "CALI! CONSUME!"

    Caliban transformed into a black blur. Before Gwen could blink twice, her fiend had positioned itself above its target, its gullet fully extended.

    "SHAA!" The Void spider''s abdomen expanded into an overlarge, misshapen pustule. Distending its underside jaws, her Familiar swallowed the shadow by scooping up a whole semi-sphere of concrete.

    "Did we get em?" Gwen loaded up a Dimension Door even as she searched her Empathic Link for evidence of Caliban''s meal. If the answer was "Yes, there''s a Lich in Cali", she may have to drown her liver in Maotai¡ª as well as murder Ayxin''s Ginseng supplement.

    Caliban shook its bulbous, arachnid arse, expelling a slab of innutritious concrete. Fighting the premonition crawling under her skin, Gwen scanned the room once more.

    "!"

    Her spine shivered.

    "Isn''t life a tiresome thing?" a male voice whispered beside her ear, causing both Gwen and Golos to whip around, she with her hair and Golos with his serpentine neck.

    "Show yourself!" Gwen snapped at the empty space, as did Golos in less endearing terms.

    "Is it hiding in the walls like a Wraith?" Her Wyvern demanded, frustrated by the lack of tangible prey.

    "What a curious specimen you make." The hoarseness of her croaking observer called from beyond the grave. "A bloodline sorceress possessing dual-elements, and a foreigner at that. I think the Great Leader would enjoy a component such as yourself."

    Gwen eyed the exit. She ha no idea if that was the Lich or not, but she had no desire to tarry and find out. In near-silence, she activated the Dimension Door she''d been nursing for the better part of a minute.

    "We''re not finished!" the horrible voice gurgled.

    A rush of abjuring energy washed over her manifesting magic, suppressing the mana within her conduits.

    Just before she lost Arcane Sight, Gwen saw the air near the entrance distort, indicating the subtlest ripple of Abjuration mana.

    "THERE!" She exalted. "Gogo! CALI! ARIEL!"

    "ROAARRRRRR!" Golos filled the tunnel with plasma, taking full advantage of the claustrophobic battlespace.

    "ARIEL! Lightning Bolt! Barbanginy!" Gwen mustered up another jolt of Almudj''s Essence so that an Emerald line of lightning as thick as her body bounced from wall to wall, leaving Lichtenberg fissures. Together with Gogo and Ariel''s duplicated offensive, no shadow was left un-obliterated by their threesome vomit of awesome power.

    Now! Gwen attempted yet another Dimension Door, feeding off the steely adrenaline in her Essence-thickened blood.

    "CIRCLE OF DEATH!"

    Her throat choked.

    The bunker''s already dim interior grew sullen.

    The space surrounding herself, Golos and Ariel turned frightfully frigid. Before her teleport could activate, an enormous clump of vitality fled from her torso. She felt suddenly violated, her lifeforce unwillingly extracted by profane arcana. Before the last syllable even left her lips, her body all but seized up, held hostage by paralysis.

    Gwen panted, suddenly short of breath, overwhelmed by vertigo and nausea. Within her arrested bosom, her heart palpitated so powerfully that her ribcage felt bruised. Unbidden, she wanted to vomit, when she reflexively clutched her chest, her left lumbar turned numb.

    Terror stirred in the murk of her mana-addled brain. Was the Lich compelling her heart to explode? If so, what about Gunther''s Ring? Would she teleport to Dalian or Shanghai, but dead on arrival?

    NO! She told herself. Not like this! Not by a soul-stealing monster!

    Through sheer force of will, she bunched her right fist, then pounded the left-most chest plate of her Shen-te¨© armour. Simultaneously, she forced her Essence to circulate, bathing in the warmth of Almudj''s blessing as it revivified her extremities, dispelling the tingling magic teasing her Contingency Ring.

    Splink!

    A sharp snap in the back of her neck sent a screaming roar of white-hot agony into her body. Gwen shuddered, the pain was exquisite, but it brokethe spell.

    The chilling gloom ebbed. The world of the living returned.

    Gwen reached behind her head, wincing as her hand came away covered in blood. More alarmingly, within her palm, she found a freshly dislodged dragon-scale. Likewise mixed into the gore werethe shattered halves of a Zircon Stone, the one that had been mitigating the Negative Energies inundating her conduits. It was the eruption of this crystal that had slivedher neck and mattendher hair with gore.

    At the sight of her injury, herchest grew tight, though thankfully not from a repeat of whatever the Lich had earlier afflicted.

    Besides her, via her Empathic Link, she sensed that Golos had endured the same experience of faux-death. Though subdued, her Wyvern was magnitudes more robust than herself, withstanding the Necromantic AoE with gusto.

    Ariel, comparatively, fell victim. As a young Spirit with a manifested body, its vitality was woeful compared to Golos, forcing it to return to Gwen''s pocket dimension. Thankfully, unlike Gwen''s Void spells, the Necromancy used by the Lich was biological and therefore, spared her Kirin''s Spirit.

    "You cling to life with such tenacity¡ª how disappointing."

    The owner of the ghostly voice stood at the entrance to the bunker, blocking the single physical exit. From the looks of his lightning-licked uniform, her target had not survived her bombardment unscathed.

    Slowly, the Lich materialised.

    Firstappeared an overlarge military cap.

    Then a salientgold-red star.

    Then a deluge of medals that covered the olive garb from neck to crotch.

    A General? Gwen felt her mind riot.

    The LICH was a FUCKING NORTH KOREAN GENERAL?

    And Ariel¡ª

    But her Familiar didn''t matter right now. What mattered was how the fuck she was going to get the hell out of here. Can Liches smell fear? She wondered. Golos was bristling like a hog. As for herself, were it not for the Lich''s absurd appearance, she would have made use of her magical underpants.

    "You''re in BIG TROUBLE, dead man," Gwen replied reproachfully, her brain furiously cycling through her options. If anything, only bullshit can save her now. Her only recourse was to bide for time and find an opening. "Circle of DEATH?! How dare you! Do you know who I am?"

    The Lich''s poker face was as masterful as its obscene command of Necromancy.

    Gwen stared the Lich down, her eyes wide and arrogant.

    Without replying, the North Korean General extended a pale green digit. "FINGER OF¡ª"

    "OUR PATRIARCH! THE YINGLONG¡ª" Gwen slapped Golos on the torso with a metallic Clang! Then thrust out her modest bosom with so much pride that her indignant neck grew stiff from the effort. "THAT''S WHO KIM IL SUNG IS FUCKING WITH."

    The Lich paused, the spell stifled itself.

    You would lie about Father? Golos lodged an internal complaint.

    PLAY ALONG! Gwen pleaded. OR WE''RE BOTH MEAT.

    With a silent grunt, she flooded their surrounding space with all the Dragon Fear she could manage. Clearly, like Diego, the Lich was wary of the Yinglong. If so, maybe she could negotiate a ceasefire treaty, such as that she would call back the Shoggoth if it allowed her and Golos to go their way unmolested.

    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    "You¡ª" The Lich spoke, Gwen noted that its lips moved out of sync with its voice.

    "YOU''ve heard correctly." She squared her shoulder. "Gogo here is a Princeling of Huangshan, and I am personally related to the foremost Princess of the Mount. Me and Granddad, we''re peas in a pod, see? How else do you think a magnificent Uncle like Gogo is acting my bodyguard? Not only that, Ruxin¡ª that''s the crown prince¡ª he and I? We''re tight!"

    She made a gesture with her thumb and her forefinger.

    "...like this. Tell you what, dead guy, THIS ONE TIME¡ª I might just forgive you for your trespass¡ª but if you dare attempt my life again¡­"

    Gwen narrowed her eyes, circling lightning through her emerald orbs so that her irises burned cobalt. Caught in her delusional deception, Golos growled in tandem, crackling with power.

    "¡­ Aunty Ayxin is going to shunt your withered ass into a Prison Dimension. Uncle Ruxin will rain down a TEMPEST on Pyongyang for Seven-Seven Forty-Nine days until nought but dust remains. And when our Patriarch gets wind of your actions¡ª and trust me, he''s the God of Wind... He''ll separate North Korea from the Asian Continental Shelf and send it into the bloody South China Sea! How would Dear Leader like that? EH¡ª? WHAT SAY YOU?"

    The Lich was visibly shaking. "You..."

    Gwen faced the creature with defiance, urging the still-confused Golos to do the same. As one, woman and Wyvern stood side by side, facing off against the General.

    The Lich''s LED-eyes dimmed, then burst into sickly green fire.

    "YOU¡­ DARE MOCK THE GREAT LEADER? SPEAK OUR FATHER''S NAME IN VAIN?"

    Lich-fear or whatever Liches used to emulate Dragon Fear, exploded across the room, suppressing her and Golos'' aura. Then, for the first time since their encounter, the Lich raised both hands.

    FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! Gwen raised her hands as well.

    "VOID SHIELD!" She called first for protection, then started on her next invocation. "DIMENSION DOOR!"

    "FOOL!" A burst of abjuring spellfire washed over woman and Wyvern. As before, she choked on the feedback. This time, the delay in her recovery was enough for the Lich to complete its malicious magic.

    "SHAAA!" Caliban closed in, too late to help its mistress but close enough to disrupt the Lich''s future casting.

    "CALAMITY!" Golos concurrently enveloped her armoured profile with twin layers of leathery wings. With a sizzle, the death-spell struck her Wyvern''s wingtip. "GAARRRRGHH!"

    "Gogo!" Gwen''s vision struggled to adjust to the anarchy. There was a horrid stench of decaying flesh, then she caught the hideous sight of Golos'' afflicted wing, decayed to a stump. Suddenly, her chest burst with indignant fury. If Lightning didn''t work, how about Void? Could the Lich spell-drain a Void Seeker?

    "RUN!" Golos nudged her with his body, sending her reeling backwards. The Wyvern then teetered, too proud to lie down, too afflicted with death magic to fight the Lich in melee.

    "There''s NOWHERE to run!" Gwen kicked her Wyvern back. "We have to fight! CALIBAN! SHOGGY!"

    The Lich had kept itself out of reach with micro-teleports, but now Caliban grew to four times its usual size. With a sickening crunch, its carapace erupted, birthing two additional heads. While five was her limit, the Lich''s Circle of Death had usurped enough vitality from Gwen that she no longer had enough to max out her Familiar.

    Up above, plastered across every wall and ceiling, the Shoggoth watched impassively. Gwen fumed, but her frustration was impotent. In all likelihood, the Void being was far more invested in penetrating deeper into the bunker network, where its foes possessed life and vitality.

    "INSOLENCE!" The Lich dodged a corrosive glob from the three-headed Naga. Its fingers were a flurry of arcane gestures as it activated its suite of Necromantic sorcery. "If you''re so proud of your bloodline, then I will present your corpse as a gift! If the Yinglong dares come to Pyongyang, we shall gladly receive it as our eternal servant!"

    "FATHER WILL HEAR OF THIS!" Howling even as he limped, Golos covered Gwen with his remaining wing, knowing that the Lich could dispell her shield.

    As Golos'' warning echoed, Caliban reached its foe. Without hesitation, it attempted another Consume, aiming to end the threat to its mistress once and for all.

    "USURP EGO!" The Lich''s spell casting continued without interruption. Without warning, a beam of viridescent Transmutation struck Gwen''s Familiar.

    SNAP! Caliban''s central maw closed around the Lich''s uniformed body.

    PUFFT!

    The Void Naga''s head, together with a portion of its torso, burst into a shower of Astral dust.

    "SHAA!" the larger of the remaining heads screeched.

    "Shaa!" the smaller appendage writhed.

    Caliban struck the floor, squirming like a cut-up worm. It was one thing to be hacked, lobbed, pierced and crushed, and a whole other to be reduced to powder.

    Gwen meanwhile, heard the splintering shatter of the mind warding earrings she wore on her lobes. It was the left-most Creature Core, the larger of the two inscribed for fettering Mind Magic that now broke, painting her left cheek with blood.

    This limp-prick bastard! Gwen flinched as the residual Mind Magic caressed her psyche. Was this it? Was this where Gunther''s heirloom met its end?

    She staggered against Golos. With the Lich''s unparalleled command of soundless casting, she understood that turtling was no option at all. To protect herself, she would need nothing less than a Force Cube, but that was a 7th tier restricted spell, one she had no hope of accessing for some time.

    If so, what the fuck was she going to do? All she had in her arsenal of spells were single target invocations and AoEs. Golos was already getting his ass kicked, and Caliban was getting pummelled to dust in the literal sense. Worst of all, after taking her vitality, her Shoggoth gave not a shit about her well-being, and Ariel was effectively banished. Cloud Kill? Could she flood the place with True Silver? She could use more Void Spells, but the feedback might just kill her.

    "You are well provisioned." The Lich rose into the air. "You Tower Mages have Continency Rings, do you not? Is that the source of your courage? I tell you now, wyrmling, nothing will save you from the Great Leader''s Wrath. GRASP HEART."

    "Void Seeker!" Gwen panicked. In her haste, she had forgotten about her Conjuration-Evocation''s significant travel-time; that and the Lich chose not to use a spell that Golos could block with its body.

    "URGK!" the high-tier Necromancy struck before her Seekers completed their journey. Conjoined with the feedback, Gwen grew insensible as an otherworldly force took hold of a sorceress'' second-most important mana-organ.

    "G-Gogo¡ª I¡ª I can''t breath¡ª!"

    Within her chest, the last of her Almudj''s Essence battled the heart-stopping Negative Energy atrophying her cardiac tissues. Beside her torso, her arms fell limp as the precious lifeblood that sustained her body slowed to a trickle. Her brain, abruptly starved of oxygen, robbed the lustre from her eyes.

    Her world grew cold¡ª so cold.

    Upon her finger, Gunther''s Ring twinkled.

    An explosion of silvery Conjuration suffused her whereabouts, followed by a burst of viridescent vitality.

    "GREATER RESTORATION!"

    Gwen gasped.

    Suddenly, air suffused her lungs.

    Unbidden, the frigid cold invading her body evaporated; instead, her tortured body filled with Evee-blessed motes of unadulterated life.

    "Aella! Spirit Guardian!" came the howl of a fatherly, endearing voice. Above herself and Golos'' prone and groaning form, a great feathered serpent, twenty-meters from head to tail, engulfed the space around them with vibrant strands of golden lightning. As for the Mage now beside them, he brushed the ash of the spent scroll from his fingers, then flashed toward her a winsome smile.

    Shenyang.

    Old town.

    Eric Walken observed the Flight-forms of Petra, Richard, Lulan and Fudan''s rented PLA guards. It had taken some coaxing for the children to accept that they were liabilities in the event of Gwen''s retreat. Lulan, in particular, was fiercely combative until he had explained that if she was taken hostage, their fool friend would fight to the death.

    But now Walken felt torn.

    Despitehis promise to the girl''s companions, his prized student had not materialised after banishing the Shoggoth.

    In fact, he hadn''t heard a peep. Worse still, no amount of Divination had penetrated into the bunker since he received word that a signature synonymous with a Lich was headed her way.

    A Lich!

    Walken hadn''t heard of such a name since forever. For all he knew, the damned things were an academic curio. Mythologised to be the ultimate form of arcanistry made to simulate immortality.

    On record, the most famous of the monsters was arguably the mad monk, Grigori Rasputin. Though accounts wildly vary, it was said that the equivalent of no less than six high-tier casters, including three Paladins sent by the Moscow Patriarchate, wereinvolved in the Lich''s subjugation. Even so, the vacuum of power left by the Necromancer then all but condemned the fate of the Tsarists.

    But North Korea? Walken was utterly sceptical that North Koreans could produce a Lich of the same calibre.

    Still, the acidic anxiety of Gwen''s continued absence was burning a hole in his abdomen. For a horrible second, he even considered venturing into that Shoggoth-infested warren to search for his student.

    Ding!

    "Magister Walken." A Message blossomed beside his ear. "We can''t Scry what''s happening inside the bunker presently, but your contestant''s biometrics just fluctuated wildly enough to encompass half-a-dozen lives..."

    Walken''s hands felt suddenly slimy with sweat. "Did her Contingency Ring trigger?"

    "Surprisingly, no." Magister Jamison''s tonewas grim. "I hope she''s got a good one, though. I don''t think Dalian is furnished with whatever help she is going to need... unless she can ''CPR'' herself."

    "She''s equipped with the best Contingency Ring. It''ll take her to Beijing." Walken quickly cut the Chief Proctor off. "It''s a peerless item, as you should know. You did the equipment check."

    "Yes." Jamison''s tone withdrew some of its steel. "But she''s facing off a Lich, not a hog. Liches embody the worst of us. They know how our Rings work..."

    And there it was. Walken groaned inwardly. Only this time, Gwen''s conundrum wasn''t just the girl''s fault. It was also his miscalculation. With the Tower cutting the ley-line, the Wards under Shenyang would have lost their spell-jamming capabilities. That was why, smelling an opportunity, he had proposed for Gwen to field-test the questionable applicability of her Void Ally. Whether they succeeded or failed, a question of academic value would have been answered. And should they succeed, Fudan may yet salvage the competition.

    And what else? A guilty bit of cognisancedemanded.

    Walken''s clenched fingers unfurled.

    There had also been naked ambition.

    Of course, he and the girl had both consented and considered the consequences. He had even asked her to re-consider, though she had adamantly expressed her desire to repair her misstep. But the dilemma now was that he, Eric Walken, was safely outside, barely a few kilometres from the Tower''s strategic Ray of Disintegration, while Gwen was duelling a godless, communist, necromantic demi-god.

    "Magister Jamison," Eric was surprised to hear his own voice speak without an explicit command from his brain. "May I ask you to relocate to the Tower''s triage chamber? I don''t trust the communists'' healers."

    "¡­ good. I shall await your return." Jamison''s voice drifted across the Divination channel. "Good speed, Magister Walken. Should you return, I will personally make an appeal for Fudan."

    The glowing Message blinked out.

    Walken double-checked the contents of his Storage Ring.

    "The girl''s stupidity must be infectious," he muttered to himself, wondering if he should see a Mind Mage to get his sanity evaluated. "Goaded by a Yank, what would my friends think? Henry must be laughing at me from beyond the grave."

    He looked down. Dimension Dooring into a room with so much concrete, Shoggoth, and potentially a Lich was suicide. He would have to employ more subtle means.

    "Aella." Walken materialised his Couatl Spirit. From his Storage Ring, he produced a golden idol in the shape of a feathered serpent, the type worshipped by the Aztecian Theocracy. "If anything should happen to me¡­ go to Gwen, or go home."

    "Eric! Eric!" the feathered serpent bopped him on the nose. Serpents, as a whole, were woeful at miming mammalian expressions. "Protect!"

    Walken nodded.

    There was no more time for sentimentality.

    With both hands, he invoked the first phase of a tier 7 teleportation alternative known as Ethereal Jaunt. The spell was an old one, favoured by Mages who preferred delicacy, for it allowed one''s physical body to temporarily cross the liminal space of the Astral Plane. Once a Mage was shifted in-between the material and immaterial, he was then free to spontaneously traverse short distances.

    "¡­ Ethereal Jaunt!" Walken finished the Mandala with a final flourish.

    The world turned colourless and transparent.

    Below his feet, he saw the dimension-warping body of the Shoggoth, so enormous as to bend the Astral current, displacing the edgeless grey gloom. Within that colossal, oesophagus-like body of the Void creature was the tunnel that had descended into the MSS''s old secret base, inside which sat a clump of hyper-dense Negative Energy. And not far from that solidified malevolence was the vibrant silhouette of his prot¨¦g¨¦, flickering like a candle caught by the Astral wind.

    Gwen gasped.

    "E-Eric?" she spluttered, scarcely believing her eyes. "Why are you here?"

    "SHUT UP and listen." Her instructor''s berating tone cooled her feverish head. "The barrier''s not going to hold. I am not a Faith Caster, and that''s a stolen Relic. We''ve got a minute..."

    PZZZCK!

    A green ray of Disintegration, perfect for destroying barriers, struck the golden halo. Aella screeched defiantly, flapping its wings.

    "... a dozen seconds at best!"

    "Eric, I¡ª"

    "We will Dimension Door in tandem." Walken pulled her up by the wrist. "The Lich can''t dispel both teleports. We''ll piggyback each other."

    "That''s¡ª brilliant!" Gwen''s eyes, so dull a moment ago, lit up with hope. "If that''s the case, I''ll dismiss my Planar Allies! Cali! Keep the Lich busy!"

    "Shaa! Shaa!" Her now twin-headed Naga persisted in its harassment. Outside the barrier, the Lich flittered to and fro, effortlessly teleporting around the chamber, evading Caliban''s projectile spittle while testing the halo for weakness.

    PZZZCK!

    A second splash of emerald energy sizzled the Guardian Shield.

    "Protect!" Aella hissed, still holding the barrier. "Gwen! Gwen!"

    Her instructor took her hand.

    His grip was hard and warm and firm.

    "No matter what happens next," her steely-eyed mentor informed her. "Don''t leave the Tower again. Your friends are waiting for you. Richard and Petra, and Elvia in London¡ª they''re ALL waiting for you."

    "Okay!" Gwen conjured the courage that the Lich had previously beaten out of her inch by inch. "Gogo! Thanks for everything, I''ll make it up to you! Shoggy! GO HOME! BANISH!"

    The Summoning Mandala burst into brilliant silver as it sizzled out. Golos could return home or stay at its leisure, though for now, a retreat was obviously the preferable course. As for the Shoggoth, it shouldn''t be able to maintain itself for long once she cut it off at the source. As for its continued duration¡ª that was also a subject of the field test.

    Gwen clutched her instructor''s bony digits, feeling such gladness that her heart verged on bursting.

    "See you on the other side." Walken squeezed her trembling fingers.

    "Dimension Door!"

    "Dimension Door!"

    Walken brushed the scroll-dust from his fingers.

    He breathed out, suddenly relieved.

    The girl was safe.

    His conscience was at ease.

    With this, he had paid back some of his debt.

    "You Teleported the blasphemer?" The Lich''s consternation was as stark as blighted ice. "That wasn''t a Dimension Door."

    "Didn''t expect that, did you?" Walken grinned at the Lich. It was impossible not to smile. When the Lich''s Greater Dispel had washed over them both, it was hard not to burst out in laughter. "Wasn''t that great? Scrolls can''t be countered¡ª and I know you Undead lads have no talent for Divination. You could Teleport after her if you like. For all I know, you just might pop into the Tower''s range."

    If stares could kill, Walken was sure the Lich would raise him just to kill him again.

    "I know. I know. You feel cheated." Walken opened both hands to show he meant no harm. "Could you blame me? You were killing her outright, after all. What''s the use in delivering a corpse to Beijing? In lieu of her absurdly expensive Contingency Ring, I opted for a reasonably costly scroll inscribed by none other than Magister Moseley. Do you know who that is? I don''t suppose you receive the Oxbridge Almanac in Pyongyang, do you? How do you bumpkins keep up with the times?"

    PZZZCK!

    Yet another beam struck the barrier maintained by Aella. While the shield held, the strands of gold woven into the spell visibly decreased. The Relic Walken had hidden in his possession since acquiring the Couatl from its homeland would last a few more gloats at best.

    "Relax, old chap. Don''t be so hasty." Walken forced down the reflux simmering at his throat. "Let me introduce myself. My name is Eric Walken, a Grey Faction Magister. I''d like you to know that in our Faction, we are not completely averse to your kind..."

    PZZZCK!

    Aella shrieked, shedding feathers like softly falling snow. Its power infusion was at an end.

    Walken''s sped up his pitch.

    "YOUR FREEDOM IN EXCHANGE FOR MY LIFE¡ª" the Magister materialised a Divination Beacon in one hand. It was his Message Device, designed to resemble a pocket watch. "Having anticipated our encounter, this device is glyphed with a Divi-loc that will take you at least ten kilometres in the direction of Pyongyang. The city might fall, but you don''t have to. My little girl''s experiment might have taken down your goons, but I am sure the Great Leader would be amiss if one of his Generals were to perish."

    The Lich paused.

    "As a token of my sincerity..." Walken gestured to Aella.

    With a wail, his feathered serpent returned to its pocket dimension.

    As a spell, Spirit Guardian directly taxed the Essence of the tapped Spirit. With both Aella and its birth-relic burned out, Walken was at the Lich''s Mercy, as exposed as a new-born babe.

    "You would play traitor to your people?" The Lich''s disgust was palpable. "And you call yourself a Tower Magister?"

    "Better than DEAD to my people." Walken waved the device. "Not to mention, the Chinese are hardly my people. I''ve got a wife and two daughters waiting for me in London, you know. Now that I''ve sent the girl back safe and sound, I''ve got all the more reason to live¡­"

    "Why should I trust a traitor¡ª"

    Glurp-GLOOP!

    The eyes on the walls shifted, oozing its distinctive grey goo.

    One by one, the orbs shifted in their sockets until altogether, they stared down at the duo still in the belly of the beast.

    As one, a dozen mouths opened to speak.

    "Please don''t die."

    "Bloody hell!"

    "Eric!"

    "IDIOT!"

    "Come back!"

    "You tricked me!"

    "Not like this!"

    "Bastard!"

    "If you die¡­ I''ll kill you!"

    Walken wasn''t sure if a Lich could shiver, but he sure as hell did.

    In all honesty, though Gwen''s sweet moans echoed from the mincing, drooling mouths mated to the wall, the spectacle was horrific beyond belief. He wasn''t sure how the phenomenon worked in theory, but he wasn''t averse to taking advantage of the unexpected.

    "The perils of teaching." Walken fought down his unease with a smile. It was delightful listening to the girl''s woes, but he would have preferred that it came from her petals and not a chorus of lamprey-lips lined with razor-sharp teeth.

    With a straight face, he turned to the Lich.

    "Looks like her ASTRAL DEVOURER is finally coming home to roost. It takes effort to wrangle a beast that consumes REALITY ITSELF, you understand. But I digress. Your men are scattered, your troops annihilated. Your city is ripe for the taking." Walken dangled the pocket-watch so that it swung like a metronome. "So, General, what will it be? Is the life of a single Magister worth losing an eternity of blessed Undeath?"

    The North Korean General''s gaunt face remained unreadable.

    Walken held up the Divination Beacon in one hand.

    A bluff could only go so far without committing himself.

    "Suit yourself. Telepor¡ª"

    "GRASP HEART!"

    "¡ªArrrghk!" Walken staggered, allowing the Message Device to fall from his hand.

    A little too late, a Lightning wreathed Mage Shield then sprung into place.

    "HA! Worm of the Tower!" Twiddling a finger, the Lich summoned the device into its hand. "You foreigners and your weak-willed conviction will never overcome the Path of Juche!"

    "You scoundrel!" Walken coughed as the magically-induced cardiac arrest seized his heart. A split-second later, a near-instantaneous and uncounterable Contingency Teleport enveloped his convulsing figure.

    "I wish you repose in the afterlife," the Lich intoned, swinging Walken''s Message Device gloatingly. "Until the day I call upon your service."

    "ERIC! Thank God! You''re alive!"

    Eric Walken, Instructor-Advisor to Fudan, slowly sat, aided by none other than the premier healer-researcher of Stanford, Chief Proctor Maryam Clark Jamison.

    Unexpectedly, there was a tear-stained young woman in his arms and pressed against his chest, a sensation he had not felt since leaving London.

    Reflexively, he cupped the girl''s face. But rather than familiar azure of Audrey or Beatrix or Angie''s eyes, he met with a pair of moist green irises speckled with amber.

    "Thanks for the demonstration, Eric." Magister Jamison removed her hand from his back. In her off-hand, she held a recording slate, while behind the Chief Proctor stood two medical officers with Lumen-recorders. "I wasn''t expecting a live demonstration¡ª and yet, here we are."

    "A what? Of¡­ what?" Walken''s lucidity trickled back. He touched a finger to his lips and felt the warmth there. There was a sweet floral taste in his mouth. When he looked down, the girl was red-faced and buried in his dishevelled robes.

    His chest ached like nothing else.

    "The CPR, of course." Jamison looked a though she''d just finished an intense session at the spell range. "The girl broke a few of your ribs, but I''ve since restored them. I have to say, I am impressed."

    Walken patted the girl in his arms. "Happy now? You gave me a heart attack."

    In response, the girl hugged him so tightly that his spine groaned.

    "NEVER MIND THAT!" Walken suddenly lifted his body from the gurney. This seemed to surprise the girl, who slid off with a yelp, falling onto the floor.

    "Sorry, now''s not a good time to play house."

    "Wha¡ª?" Gwen''s adorable blush turned to one of indignation.

    "G44.22.1-Q22-41-98!" Walken almost howled out the coordinates. "Quickly! Someone lend me a Message Device! I need to let the Lieutenant-General know! We may yet catch ourselves a Lich!"

 Chapter 313 - All Good Things

    "So¡ª what happens now?" Alizea Kock, the vice-captain ofPretoria, tugged her ponytail loose, drawing eyes from across the room. "What? Don''t look at me. I can''t do what she just did. That ''Devourer'' thing isn''t an Ooze."

    Her captain, the lauded star of House Hertzog, was affixed to the lumen crystals he had acquired from a sympathetic proctor on a hand-held device.

    "So, did we win or lose?" Alizea''s voice oozed. "Against... that."

    "The part where she choked a reborn Soul Flayer, moaned for a quarter of an hour, or the part where she consumed half the underground bunker?"

    "All of it?"

    Jean-Paul raised a pale hand. "May I speak, Miss Kock?"

    "Speak freely, leech." The Ooze Mage jiggled as she leaned back, languished by the surreal sight to which they had just bore witness.

    Alizea''s frustration wasn''t hers alone. For the better part of two days, Pretoria had exhausted themselves defending the PLA''s troops, simultaneously breaching the eastern quadrant of the city. Even at the risk of injury, Schalk and the others had punched through no less than twelve checkpoints, killing six named Necromancers and countless acolytes.

    However, a kilometre away from the central chamber where the highest concentration of CCs awaited, they and the PLA Mages aiding Pretoria were ordered to retreat.

    The rationale? All troops had to make way for the all-consuming Void Beast that was making its way through the city centre.

    The delay had persisted for a day, after which the now fabled "Devourer" revealed itself, spilling over onto the city''s surface until grey ectoplasm inundated every conceivable cranny, leaving nothing organic in its wake.

    Furthermore, to add insult to injury, the notice came two days later that the Purge was at an end and that the Tower would now move to occupy Shenyang''s ley-line.

    That was when Schalk lodged a complaint, after which their advisor returned with copies of Fudan''s crystals to placate the team. Uponreview, all protest evaporated as they watched Fudan''s Gwen Song run face-first into a Lich, after which she had to be rescued by her instructor.

    Once Magister Walken sent Gwen back to base, the vid-cast ended. When Schalk asked the others how they would have dealt with the Lich, the whole team engaged in a prolonged debate, but agreed on one thing¡ª none of them could have held the Lich as Gwen had.

    It didn''t help that the PLA had then effectively ''exorcised'' that very same Lich. According to the rumours, Fudan''s instructor had predicted where the Lich would choose to teleport above ground. When finally the People''s Hall fell, and the Lich materialised, it appeared well within the range of Dalian''s adjusted artillery.

    The resulting spell-cluster was a strategic bombardment involving a Mandala of Disintegration, a six-some battery of Atlas 388s, two Spell Jammers, and a projected, maximised and empowered Sun Beam from the Lieutenant-General himself. So little of the Lich''s mana signature was left afterwards that at least a decade would pass before it could be reborn from its phylactery.

    "Unless they''re disqualified, Fudan is going to out-CC us," Jean-Paul intoned demurely, not wanting to meet Azalea''s smokey eyes. "But we should advance nonetheless. I am looking forward to our home match¡ª I am missing Pretoria already."

    "Regtig? And why would you think that?"

    "Gwen is strong," their Void Mage continued, more confident now that he wasn''t rebuked. "But she''s a Spellcraft amateur in reality. The chances of her squaring off an offensive duelist from Oxford or the Massachusetts Institute of Thaumaturgy is virtually nil. Strategically, she could utilise this Devourer of hers, but from the fact that we all had to retreat, its ability to differentiate friend and foe must be minimal. If anything, the IIUC will not allow a sorceress with such an unpredictable skillset into a higher-tier competition where the stakes can be incredibly high."

    "I agree with Jean-Paul," Schalk concurred. "Especially when the final two bouts traditionally take place in the Wildlands, usually conducted with, or against Demi-humans. She''s simply too unpredictable, not to mention she''s a magnet fortrouble. As for her Void Beast, one only needs to look toward Elizabeth Sobel."

    The team nodded, they had all studied up on the modern history of Void Magic thanks to Jean-Paul and Gwen Song.

    "And so far, in all of her matches, she had pulled through mostly by the skin of her teeth. And during our current quest, she had TWICE almost met a grisly end¡­" Schalk reminded his teammates. "Comparatively, we''re relatively unscathed, that has to be taken into account."

    "And her teammates¡­" Jean-Paul''s voice trailed off.

    "Are hondekak." Lencho wagged a finger rudely.

    "Lencho!" Schalk snorted at their Lightning Mage. "Gwen is twice the Evoker you profess to be."

    "Ja¡ªja¡ª" Lencho growled. "Actingnice doesn''t mean we deny the truth. Richard and Lulan are passable, but not on our level. Their Captain barely reaches your ankles. The rest of her team¡­"

    The Evoker wiggled a pinky.

    "Bly stil." Schalk waved him away. "Our conversation isn''t private."

    Around the officer''s lounge, the Chinese Mages kept a respectful distance from the Afrikaners. Hopefully, Schalk glanced around the place; these junior officers didn''t have Translation stones capable of filtering Afrikaans.

    "We''ll wait for the outcome." Schalk reset the Lumen-recording. "For now, let''s review the scenes again¡ª ours, Fudan''s and Auckland''s. I want each of your thoughts and countermeasures."

    Magister Jamison laid down the facts with a flourish.

    She had gotten her heart''s desire, and now it was time to pay the piper.

    "At this point, I don''t think there''s much point bean-counting." She pointed to the lumen screens behind her. On each was a lumen-crystal playing Fudan''s highlights, which was to say, a certain Void sorceress'' most valorous and lascivious moments. Though some of the recording had been blocked by the Lich''s Necromancy, subjectsundertheEye of Providence provided individiualDivi-Scrys viainscribed Eye-beacons. "Need I remind the Proctors that extreme circumstances call for unusual measures¡ª and that Fudan has shown itself to be a true anomaly?"

    A dozen hands raised from the long table.

    "Jacqueline, speak your mind."

    "Paris'' opinion," the blonde Magister spoke with a haughtiness distinct to the French. "Is that Fudan should not advance."

    "And the reason?"

    "We are bending too many rules for them already." The Magister tapped the table with a fountain pen. "First, we turned a blind eye to the Chinese when they fed Fudan the most viable quests. Then, we capitulated to their instructor''s request to use the Shoggoth in what was essentially a clear violation of the limitation of spell tiers. THEN, their instructor broke protocol and rescued contestant Gwen Song."

    "Noted. Though I must remind you that as Chief Proctor, I did consult with the PLA, our host, it was they who made the request." Jamison stood her ground. "And besides, what would you do, have the girl die?"

    "Absurd! She possessed a one-of-a-kind Contingency Ring!"

    "She was holding off a Lich!"

    "From which she was rescued, when she should have dealt with the escape on her own."

    "Let''s agree to disagree on that point," Jamison scoffed. "The circumstances for the violation weresound. We don''t send students to duel Liches, Magister Brodeur; we don''t send Magisters to duel them either."

    The Parisian proctor snorted. "You may see a wonderful specimen, but I see a danger. Chief Proctor, Magister Jamison, let me be plain. I know that you got research out of Gwen Song. Thereby, I openly question your impartiality."

    "No doubt." Jamison''s eyes grew hard. "And it is your privilege to do so. That said, feel free to lodge your complaint. For reasons I can''t possibly discern, I think Brussels will take Oxbridge and Stanford''s revision over yours."

    The room grew frigid.

    "Now, now." Another proctor stood between them. "Let''s not get so cavalier about our differences. We''re all on the same side. Chief Proctor Jamison, what will it take for you to concede Fudan''s advancement? I will not fault your admiration of the girl''s talents, but her team won''t cut the mustard, as you Americans say. The final rounds are simply too much. Consider the mediocrity of their support and the limitations of China''s indigenous Spellcraft, and in particular, their rented Healer from Seoul. Haven''t you heard that their Cleric now refuses to participate? At best, Fudan has a passable team of five, with the rest being spell fodder. Why send them into the next round just to be humiliated? Fudan won''t even have home ground. They''ll be fighting in Cambridge, Massachusetts. I am sure you know the area, yes? What possibility is there for another ''Shoggoth'' to be deployed in the American heartland?"

    Jamison''s chocolate orbs scanned the table of proctors. Of the dozen present, most of the contingent hailed from American Universities and therefore would follow her lead. The few that remained opposed, however, weren''t easy to sway nor quick to be cowed. The rules of the IIUC were ironclad, and obedience to the regulations are absolute. As their leader in Brussels once said, rules are broken only once¡ª after that, they''re just a technicality.

    "That may be, but the girl''s singular contributions cannot be ignored," Jamison intoned, staring down the European Magisters. "That said, if Pretoria must advance, then I shall nominate Miss Song for the title of Most Valuable Participant."

    "Preposterous!" The proctor from Paris slammed the table. "There are two more matches to be concluded! AND the girl''s from a no-name, third-string Chinese institution!"

    "And should any of the competition''s future participants fend off a Lich, consume six-dozen Necromancers, six-and-a-half thousand Undead, not to mention thousands in collateral fodder... They can then convince the PLA, an important regional ally, to offer up Contribution Credits in their name. Find me a Mage willing to do HALF of that, and I''ll concede."

    "Jacqueline." Another proctor placed a hand on the fuming woman''s shoulder. "Leave it to Magister Jamison. We have an acceptable resolution, and she''s still the Chief Proctor."

    Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

    "Very well." Jamison motioned. "All in favour of Pretoria to advance, Fudan and Auckland to concede, and Gwen Song as the nominee for MVP, say ''aye''."

    "Aye."

    "Aye."

    "Aye."

    "Aye."

    "Aye."

    "Aye."

    "Aye."

    "Aye."

    "Then I won''t ask for ''nay''." Magister Jamison slid a dozen slates across the table. "Sign, please. After that, we''ll tally the CCs. They should be nothing but damning, in MY opinion."

    Percy endured the constant line of congratulations with the patience of an Earthen Abjurer.

    It was a chore he bore with dignity. How else was he going to stomach the nauseating reality that his seniors were vicariously addressing his sister by greeting her facsimile?

    "Gwen eradicated the Lich?" Mei gushed, her eyes sparkling, her grin so extensive as to appear comical.

    "She was involved in the process. I''d imagine." Percy forced himself to desist in tapping his left foot, dispelling some of his aggravation. Naturally, he refused to believe the gossip. If Gwen did solo a Lich at eighteen, he may as well give up now and spend the rest of his life living in the limelight of the future General-Secretary Song.

    "They say her Devourer consumed all the Necromancers! She''s a hero, just like Uncle Jun!"

    "But she was injured." Percy made a face, wondering when he would be allowed to visit the upper portion of the Tower, if at all. "As usual, Sis was over-ambitious and bit off more than she could chew. I imagine Babulya is going to be upset."

    "And Uncle Hai as well." Mei hypothesised un-ironically, having met the charming Hai just once, Percy''s father had left a wonderful impression.

    "I wouldn''t channel mana into that idea." Percy''s tone softened. "Dad¡­ let''s not talk about Dad. If anything I think Uncle Jun would be more upset."

    "When do you think we can see Gwen?"

    "Not anytime soon. Our party is going back to Shanghai as soon as Shenyang re-opens the routes. But maybe we can bum a Teleport from my sister. She''s loaded, after all."

    "Aiyaaa! Rich, pretty, and she eats Necromancers by the dozen! Percy, you''re the luckiest little brother I know!"

    Percy smiled politely, then sighing, he fell into deep thought while one thumb caressed his Kirin pendant.

    As usual, Gwen returned from an adventure laden with accomplishments and prospects. That his sister''s Necromantic ability to stack corpses to pad her talent wasn''t yet an open secret was astounding to Percy. Comparatively, he had been risk-aversive since realising the pendant''s utility.

    Nevertheless, though incomparable to his sister''s nonchalance in swallowing her enemies on national Vid-cast, he had not wasted his time at the Front. Thanks to the invasion, he had gotten permission from his instructor to follow the 7th Recon in repelling multiple waves of the Undead Tide. As a result, by merely fighting beside the PLA soldiers, he was able to pick up not only the ethereal Essence from the perishing Undead but also the occasional jolt from a dying Mage.

    For someone at his tier, his progress had been nothing short of incredible. The prolonged engagement had ensured a wealth of opportunities. Where previously he had hunted the blighted dead for days just to feed smidgens of Essence into the Kirin Core, his ancestral spirit now gorged on a feast of dissipating energies so thick as to form a miasma over the battlefield. Where the NoMs and the Undead had been locked in ultra-violence, he had felt tirelessly energised. As a result, his pendant was now glossy and nourished, its veins pulsing with an inner radiance. That and his instructor and the Captain from the 7th had put in a commendation for his excellent display of valour.

    "You''re right, Mei¡ª I AM lucky." Percy slipped the pendant back into place, just above his heart. "Either way, this training trip has taught me a lot. My bottleneck on Evocation and Transmutation are both loosening."

    "So soon?!" Mei squealed. "And your Abjuration is almost at tier three!"

    "I AM the brother of the famous Devourer of Shenyang, after all." Percy mulled over the nickname fast spreading through the ranks. When one desired a fashionable alias, the acquisition was harder than grappling a greased orc. When it came to stupidly suggestive ones, they spread like a swarm of pissed-off fire ants.

    "Are you disappointed?" Whetu and the other Maori''s protruding bodies ensured that Yue hid behind a mountain of caramel flesh.

    "Over what? Gwen being choice?" Yue stabbed at the grape in her bowl.

    "Over Auckland being bested." Whetu glanced at their advisor, saw the woman contentedly chatting with the others, then turned back toward Yue.

    "I should be." Yue scratched her chin, then pointed at the rest of her team. "But does that mob look they''re moping over their loss?"

    "... Oi suppose you''re right."

    Two tables across and crowding the soldier''s mess, the Wikiriwhi brothers were slamming down free beers with the NCOs. After the declaration of the operation''s decisive success, those not on duty had all assembled in the lower mess to celebrate, with the Non-Coms bringing in crates of bubbling horse piss.

    Not far, Rongo, the Water Evoker, sprayed spittle all over, narrating his conquest of the Necromancers at Shimenzi. Rona, Auckland''s quaterling captain, stood on a table, entertaining a group of whistling soldiers with illusions of Gwen overpowering the enemy. As for the rest, Auckland''s happy-go-lucky participants wandered here and there, receiving hugs, clinking glasses, and exchanging boasts of their contributions in the war.

    "Not joining them?" Yue grinned. "They told me I shouldn''t drink while the healing spells are still in effect, so I''ve been stuck with this ginseng root brew."

    "Oi''ll stay ear with you." The big man blushed.

    "Aw, that''s sweet, Whetu." Yue giggled, then sighed. "There is something though¡ª since you''re asking. Ya know¡ª I thought I''d caught up to Gwen by now, but so much for that, eh? Did you know that when we first started, she had no idea how an Awakening worked and spent almost three months trying to cast Magic Missile without using a Sigil? She was such a clueless hussy back then. It was cute."

    "Oi am sure et was." Whetu grinned.

    "And there''s this time she got dragged by her uncle into a marriage arrangement thing, offered to the highest bidder, you know? And at his mansion, she got hog-tied and put up for auction, and then in the nick of time, my Master crashed through the ceiling and burned the dickhead''s house down. It was in the news for days."

    "That oi don''t remember," Whetu chortled. "You know, are you sure that''s root beer? It smells strong as anything..."

    "Eh, close enough." Yue took another long swig. "So that''s it, eh? Back to Sydney for me. Back to my hovel! I guess I''ve accomplished my objective. Got to meet Gwen, see the world, crisped up a dozen Necromancers, almost burned out my conduits. All-in-all, a good road trip before I start my new job in the Greater Sydney Militia."

    "Blessed moana, Oi hope we''re not taking the sheep back." Whetu paled. As a Pounamu Mage strongly attuned to Elemental Earth, the big man languished when left at sea for extended periods.

    "I''ll send word to our rich bitch," Yue snickered, before suddenly slapping Whetu on the thighs. "Oi oi oi¡ª Wait-a-second¡ª"

    "What is it?" Whetu winced, startled by the unanticipated assault.

    "If Gwen is free to leave Shanghai after this, and she''s got crystals for days¡­" Yue clapped her hand. "Why the fuck shouldn''t she take a detour back to Sydney? Holy shit! I havetolet her know before she plans her trip!"

    Gwen took a deep breath, circulating Essence to displace her nerves.

    Though she had lost Ayxin''s scale,the flow and control she maintained remained no worse than before. It meant that "Essentially", her training wheel stage of Essence-control was over.

    As for her health, she felt fine, though according to Magister Jamison, she shouldn''t be out and about just yet¡ª not after copping a Circle of Death and a Grasp Heart, both spells from which Mages seldom walked away.

    Still, her present errand had to be done. Else, she would never taste the sweet balm of guiltless sleep again.

    "Ee ee!" Gwen''s unseen helper offered a yip of encouragement. In turn, she patted her invisible pseudo-Kirin, then gathered up her strength for the cringeworthiness to come.

    "It''s me, Gwen." She knocked on the ward door. "Can I come in?"

    "Gwen? Bless the Goddess! Come on in!" Mayuree''s peppy voice chimed an invitation.

    Gwen opened the door.

    Recuperation suites in the Tower were neither spacious nor many, so the two girls who had been "Contingencied" back had been shoved into one room, their beds split by a pale blue privacy curtain.

    "Gwen, they told me you were injured as well!"

    "Ha¡ª I survived, what doesn''t kill you makes you stronger, eh?"

    "If you say so. We''ve won, right? The healers aren''t keen on details."

    "That... isn''t for me to say."

    Gwen regarded the two girls in their sanatorium gowns. Mayuree had lost the lustre with which she was usually suffused. Heartachingly, her chubby cheeks had since grown sallow, and she looked to have lost her usual weight.

    One bed space across, Eunae was no less adorable than her usual self, though the healer''s expression when she walked through the door wasn''t at all welcoming.

    "Yi¡­ yi¡­" Something quailed under the bed. It was Luyi, Eunae''s doe sprite, covering its eyes with its hooves.

    "Mia, Eunnie," Gwen swallowed. Just in case, she toned down the Essence circulation. What she needed now was a softer, sisterly touch. "Are the both of you alright? We won the battle. Shenyang is ours once more. The Undead are gone!"

    "I knew it!" Mayuree punched the air, a gesture she''d inherited from Gwen. "Great work, Gwennie, I was confident you could do it! What does that mean? Are we going to advance? Are we going to America or London? Marong''s currently trading with the Rare Stone and Creature Core markets over there. I am sure we''ll be looked after if he makes a request, we''re talking hundreds of thousands of HDMs here..."

    "No..." Eunae moaned, her brow breaking out in a terrific cold sweat.

    On cue, Gwen repositioned herself sympathetically, then reached out with a hand of compassion and mercy.

    "Eunnie, are you feeling okay? Do I need to call the physician?"

    Her healer began to cry.

    Great glops of liquid leaked from Eunae''s big brown eyes, painting a very picture of pity.

    "Aww, don''t cry." Gwen patted the girl softly, feeling every bit the remorseless villain. "Eunnie, whatever''s the matter, you can tell your vice-captain, okay?"

    Eunae''s sobs stifled. When she looked up, her expression was both defiant and melancholic.

    Okay¡ª Post Wraith-Stress Disorder? Gwen bit her lip. Despite being a post-Lich survivor, she wasn''t at all familiar in dealing with real-life PTSD. What she remembered of the subject was pure conjecture gained from reading the ABC and BBC. As for her moment of terror, it was easy to banish the spring-wrangling horror when a threat could be externally rationalised. That or she was growing a little too numb to hair-breathe escapes for her own comfort. Thrill-seeking, as her old psychologist would say, was no less self-destructive.

    "Talk to me, Eunnie." Gwen put aside her problems for the moment. She wasn''t a stranger to comforting young interns. As a manager, she understood the carrot and the stick, and though she had never fancied herself Merril Streep from the "Devil Wears Prada", she could be very commanding when the occasion arouse. "If it''s a problem that we can solve, then we will solve it together."

    "Ee ee!" Ariel comforted Luyi by stroking the doe with its furry tail. Unfortunately, Eunae''s Familiar appeared dead-set on mirroring its owner''s anxiety.

    Assuming an expression of great patience, Gwen waited.

    And waited.

    Then waited some more.

    And then she realised, with a little internal surprise, that there was a limit to her patience and sympathy. As Gwen had always suspected, Dr Monroe charged an arm and a leg for good reasons; that woman possessed the patience of Mother Theresa.

    "Gwen," Mayuree interjected when Eunae continued to play the ostrich. "Listen, but keep comforting Eunnie."

    Gwen remained still, persisting in her patience act. Mayuree was using a silent Message.

    "Eunae''s spooked," Gwen''s Burmese companion explained. "I don''t think you should be speaking to Eunae about victories. She''s deathly scared of progress at the moment. I guess she blames you¡ª wrongly¡ª for what happened to her. That and she''s frightened. You have to remember, Eunnie''s just an exchange student, she got talked into the competition by the Dean just to be your support. She''s not¡ª equipped for some of the things we''ve seen and done."

    Like usurping a country, murdering a sibling, quelling a rebellion and selling the dynast to a Dragon, Gwen thought even as she inclined her chin. That and eat people and monsters to steal their talent and Essence.

    "We''ve been here almost ten days now, and we''ve talked a lot," Mayureecontinued. "Eunnie''s wish was to be a top physician in Tokyo or Shanghai or anywhere¡­ away from the Front. She thought taking a turn in the IIUC would look good on her resume, but then, of course, we won in Peru. She had thought about quitting then, but her family told her to stay. When it was announced that we were going to the Front, she almost ran, but again, the Lees kept up the pressure."

    "Her dad?"

    "OVER her Dad, and her brother, too. Their careers had been held hostage. That''s what Eunae said. The main family''s influence in Seoul is unparalleled."

    "Well, shit." Gwen moved to hug Eunae, but the girl drew back.

    Gwen bit her lower lip.

    "It''s alright, Eunnie." She patted the girl on the knees. "I won''t make you do anything you don''t want to, alright? I''ll talk to your family."

    "It''s no use. Gwen, we''ll have to replace her." Mayuree''s tone was unexpectedly stark, likely as a result of failing to persuade Eunae for several days. Still, for Gwen, the Diviner''s proposal came as a surprise. After Kitty''s passing and Marong''s take over of the family business, her Diviner had most certainly changed, though Gwen wasn''t sure if it was for the better. "Didn''t Golos say Lulu could go to the Mount for lessons? Maybe you could learn that healing Lightning you told me about, we''ll find someone else to replace Eunae, ideally a buffer like those Auckland girls. Then, we advertise for a Faith Healer."

    "I don''t know for sure if we''re going to advance," Gwen whispered back. "The Shoggoth did a lot, but Walken had to save me in the end¡ª"

    "That traitor Magister saved you?" Mayuree gasped. "So the rumours are true?"

    Gwen cleared her throat, blushed a little, then spoke out audibly.

    "Why don''t we take a walk, get some fresh air? Eunnie, you can tell me all about what you wish to do next, and I''ll relay what happened after our series of unfortunate events."

 Chapter 314 - Tis better to have Loved

    On day fourteen, the marshalling rostrum on the second tier of the renamed Shenyang Tower played host to the summing-up of the International Inter-University Competition.

    With all three teams standing shoulder to shoulder in the quadrangle, the Lieutenant-General of Shenyang, now the Provincial-Secretary of New Liaoning, gifted each contestant with a pin-stripe palladium medal for "Service to the Republic of China and its People".

    As the lumen-recorders hovered over the gathered crowd, the students turned to salute the surviving soldiers. In response, all bowed deeply, thanking one another for risking their all to return Shenyang to the world of the living.

    Atop the pulpit, Provincial-Secretary Q¨ªao delivered an hour-long speech detailing the valour of the troops and their sacrifices. He began with thanking Mao for garnering the will of the people and ended with a special mention for Committee Chair Song, whose granddaughter had contributed significantly to the victory at Shenyang. Finally, Magister Eric Walken, formerly of Oceania, stepped forward to receive an individual medal of recognition for catalysing the banishment of the Lich Oi Kuk-ryol.

    After the speech, Magister Jamison, Chief Proctor, declared that though Fudan was the overall winner of the Chinese round, they had chosen to bow out. In total, Fudan had finished the competition with a tally of 7,450 CCs to Pretoria''s 4745 and Auckland''s 3270. However, due to extenuating circumstances such as Magister Walken''s intervention, the contestants had chosen to end their bid on a high note.

    Finally, the night concluded with an officer''s soiree wherein Fudan, Pretoria and Auckland traded contact details. For high-tier competitions, networking was a principle purpose; for there was nothing quite like mutual survival to bond young mages into a web way of ''guan-xi''. In the decades to follow, assuming the students survived to become Magisters, Secretaries, Ministers and Tower Masters, their youthful memories would grow into bonds of trust. Two decades on, if Minister Hertzog had a problem in South Africa, he could look to an old friend like Secretary Bai, or Magister Song of Sydney for advice or support. A few years on, they would then return the favour under no uncertain circumstances.

    And so it was that after a healthy infusion of alcohol, Gwen found herself facing a deeply embarrassed and completely scarlet Jean-Paul asking for her Message Glyph.

    "Shall we take a stroll?" Gwen extended an elbow. "You did say you wanted to talk in private."

    "Y-yes." In his double-breasted jacket, the pale Jean-Paul was positively oozing, not unlike a lightly-salted slug.

    For the farewell party, the students had changed into their best for the mass media. As before, Gwen had dressed her team in oriental-themed garbs, rehashing the same outfits from Cuzco with different accessories. For herself, she had chosen a midnight blue floral cheongsam with a classic thigh-split, paired with a pair of platform pumps in pearl. It wasn''t anything outlandish, but the lumen-recorders burned bright nonetheless.

    Comparatively, Auckland was decisively uncomfortable wearing three-piece suits, meaning the moment the media relented, the men were reduced to tie-less dress shirts. As for the three female members, it was Yue who naturally stood out¡ª both for being the only Asian in a throng of caramel giants and her halter-maxi, on loan from Alesia.

    And for Pretoria, the Afrikaners reminded Gwen of a wedding party, with the men stiff in charcoal herringbone, adorned with ties in sunburst and emerald, accessorised with union-jack pocket squares. In such a garb, even the boisterous Lencho was pleasing to the eye, proving that even lipstick did work on hogs. Comparatively, the women were more florid in their attire, with Alizea, Ella, Izette and Mariette igniting many an imagination.

    As for her present company, Gwen wondered if Jean-Paul had intentionally morphed his self-fitting suit two sizes too large, appearing so hollow that, for a moment, she wondered if Umzokwe would crawl out to say hello.

    "We''re alone now." Gwen found a place by the outer wall. Gingerly, she tucked her dress against her buttocks with both hands, then sat between the jutting battlement. "So, what''s Mevrou Bekker''s proposal?"

    Jean-Paul''s face was by now the colour of boiled beetroot. The Void Mage had been shadowing her all night, leading Richard to joke that she had gained a new Familiar.

    "Before I explain¡ª how do you like my spells?" Jean-Paul began with an unusual ice-breaker. "Like¡­ Usurp and Consumptive Orb, did you watch the lumen-crystals I sent over?"

    "I watched them twice!" Gwen sighed wistfully, turning her face to enjoy the wind. With the Undead gone and the ley-line thrumming below, the night had lost its malicious chill. "Simply masterful, Jean-Paul. Compared to you, I feel like a bruiser. There''s going to be so much I have to learn and relearn in London. But of course, you said they''re not for trading."

    "Well, they could be¡­"

    "THEY CAN?" Gwen perked up. Flashing Jean-Paul a simpering smile, she arched her spine to present her best profile, her heels swinging like puppy tails. "Go on, I am listening. I''ve got CCs to burn, babe."

    "Babe? YES! NO! I mean..." Jean-Paul stared at her shoes. "Oh, you meant me, right, right¡­ er¡­"

    Gwen awaited the Void Mage''s offer, weighing the young man with considerable attention.

    "Umm¡ª look, I am going to just come out and say this. The Mevrou gave me a ''Quest'', if you will, for my benefit, that is..."

    "I am listening."

    Jean-Paul looked her in the eyes.

    She smiled back.

    The Void Mage grinned, looking very thirsty indeed.

    Fighting back a snort, Gwen redirected her mirth toward more constructive feelings. While Jean-Paul remained the most malformed creature she had ever seen, his unique visage now appeared to her a sort of cuteness associated with Sphinx Cats.

    "Goed, I am going to say it¡ª okay?"

    "Ja."

    "The Mevrou will teach you all the spells she has made if you can lend me... your egg."

    Gwen blinked. "My what?"

    "Egg?" Jean-Paul appeared to look for a crack to crawl into.

    "Like¡­" Gwen made a somewhat obscene gesture with her fingers that resembled an okay sign, then poked a finger into it. For some reason, all she could think of was Ayxin and Jun.

    "No! Your o..." Jean-Paul''s eyes fell lower to where her waist tapered, and her hips flared out.

    "You mean¡ª" Gwen felt suddenly dizzy. "My OVARIES?"

    "I think? I am not sure why I said egg... eggs."

    "I think the Mevrou inferred my womb."

    "Ah?" Jean-Paul looked hopeful.

    But Gwen''s expression was no longer kind nor friendly.

    "I take it she wants to see what happens when two Void Mages conceive a child," she intoned, gritting her teeth. The vision of Axyin in her mind was quickly replaced by the face of Elizabeth Sobel. "I understand her concern, but I am really questioning her intent. Let''s say I am missing a few brain cells and consent¡ª"

    "Er¡­" Jean-Paul looked as though he was emerging from a sauna. "I¡­ I don''t know? I mean, I would imagine marriage first¡­ I am supposed to be Catholic."

    "¡ªWhatever. Sure. BUT then what? What happens if there IS a child? Is she going to take my BABY? Is she expecting a mother to give up her babe? For what? Her experiments? That''s monstrous!"

    Even as Gwen spluttered, she glared at Jean-Paul, her eyes sharp with displeasure. Together with her rising ire, a wave of Dragon-fear rippled out, prickling the shivering Jean-Paul with icy jabs of primordial terror.

    "I think I misunderstood¡ª"

    "I don''t fucking think so." Gwen''s voice grew infinitely stiff, turning almost into a rumble. "No. No. No. Jean-Paul, you''re barking up the wrong tree, mate."

    "I meant no offence." Jean-Paul raised both hands. His pupils turned midnight as he circulated notes of Void to fight off the gut-clenching fear. "I think I misinterpreted my Quest."

    "Whatever." Gwen stood. In her heels, her Amazonian stature towered over the little man. "A little tact could have helped to lubricate your proposal."

    "I am not good with love, or romance, or dates." Jean-Paul''s eyes floated like a pair of runny eggs. "I''ve never touched a woman either¡ª"

    "Okay, a little too much info there," Gwen groaned, realising Jean-Paul really was serious. Scattering her bubbling Essence, she withdrew the Dragon-fear. "Tell ya what, bud, I''ll give you the benefit of the doubt. What are the Mevrou''s exact words?"

    "My Master wanted to know if it was possible for two Void Mages¡­"

    "To conceive?"

    "¡­ to find attraction in one another, and to start a family. She often spoke of children. She also said you might be interested in learning real Void Magic."

    "That''s fucked up, JP." Gwen decided she should be honest as well. "First of all, I am absolutely not whoring myself out for Signature Spells, no matter how bloody good they may be. Second of all, this hypothetical kid is your son or daughter, JP, and MY flesh and blood. How the hell am I supposed to give him or her up to your Master? What kind of monstrous mother would do that? Fucken oath, I don''t know about you, but my child would mean the world to me. I would never abandon them! Your Mevrou would have to pry the baby from my cold dead hands!"

    Without warning, Jean-Paul misted over.

    "JP! Do you understand¡ª Whoa!" Gwen paused when Jean-Paul oozed in earnest, leaking fluids from every facial orifice.

    "You''re a good person, Gwen." Jean-Paul fought back his choking voice.

    Gwen scratched her head, then recalled what Schalk had revealed about their Void companion. "Oh¡ª Oooo¡ª bugger. I am sorry if I made you remember something unpleasant."

    Jean-Paul reached out with his hands.

    She allowed the young man to cup her fingers.

    Gingerly, the Afrikaner kissed the tip of her digits, then clasped them with his own.

    "You''re so beautiful and strong ¡ª"

    Gwen felt goosebumps crawl up her thighs, but before she could withdraw her hand out of disgust, Jean-Paul continued.

    "Gwen, I am a bastard born from a whore and a no-name Mage." Jean-Paul stared into her palm as though reading his fortune from the creases on her skin. "The farm I grew up on, it was for talented children who tested positive for rare magic. We were orphans, and we were raised by a Sister. I was there out of luck and pity, but the others¡ª the Mevrou told me they were part of a breeding program by the country''s elites. Effectively, we were livestock¡­"

    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    "Jesus, that''s terrible." Gwen resisted hugging the poor sod. Instead, she optioned to sit beside him. At any rate, her womb wasn''t for sale, though she was keenly interested in Jean-Paul''s origin story. If anything, Schalk said there was quite the saga. "If you''re keen to talk, JP, you might as well recount from the beginning. I think I know what the Mevrou wants, and I am not upset, really. We Void Mages are a rare breed, bud, and we should stick together¡­ platonically."

    And so, Jean-Paul began.

    Gwen listened, commenting every now and then, gasping when the NoMs raided the orphanage for the first time, then fought down her anger when they returned. After Jean-Paul''s beloved Mevrou finally entered the scene, she understood why the young man thought the world of his Master.

    "The Mevrou told me that we were spare bodies bred to fuel the exhaustion of talent brought by the civil war. She''s a little strange, but she''s a sincere individual and the closest thing I have ever had to a parent," Jean-Paul explained, exhausted by the emotional outpouring. "Therefore, I sincerely believe in her vision, that together, as a pair, our lives will be better than if we went our separate ways."

    Oh boy, Gwen sighed as she traced Jean-Paul''s train of thought.

    The idea that two Void Mages are better than one was difficult to refute.

    After all, who could a Void Mage speak to about their fears?

    Who would understand their unyielding hunger?

    Who else could empathise with their guilt?

    How could a Void Mage open themselves up to anyone but another of their kind? Even herself who had friends and family aplenty had never told anyone the explicit extent of her talent. Since her Master died, not a single other, not Gunther, not Alesia, not Walken or even Petra or her Babulya, fully understood the potential of her talent should she unshackle morality from power, damn the Noblesse Oblige.

    Gingerly, she cupped her companion''s head and guided Jean-Paul so that the back of his high-rising skull rested against her thigh.

    "Don''t move," she told the blushing young man. "Let me talk."

    "Alright."

    "I understand your desire, JP," she said softly. "A family, a home; the power to ward away the wolves and live a life of your own choosing. A lover who understands your fears, your pain, your suffering and your triumphs. That''s nice. Those are all admirable goals. I get it."

    "Then..."

    Gwen interrupted her fellow Void Mage. "Shush¡ª"

    "..."

    "JP, do you know what love is?"

    "I think so."

    "Shouldn''t you marry the person you love?"

    "That only happens in stories," Jean-Paul replied.

    "Don''t move." Gwen pushed him back against her leg.

    "..."

    "Good. Let''s talk love and Spellcraft¡ª since your Master is offering a two-in-one package."

    Jean-Paul looked up at her.

    Gwen puckered her lips thoughtfully.

    "To me, having power means having the privilege of falling in love with who I want. If I was to marry you and conceive a child so that I could learn the Mervrou''s invocations; I would do so tofund my personal power. And once I have what I want, I would leave, because I don''t desire power for power''s sake. In fact, for making me auction the most sacred part of myself, I would hate myself, and then you, and then your Mevrou. I would loathe such a thing with every fibre of my being. Even if you had made a better case, and I was to fall in love with you, I would doubt myself¡ª do I really care for you? Or are my feelings tainted by ulterior motives? It''s a no-win situation, JP, do you see?"

    Jean-Paul nodded.

    "I am not a romantic, Jean-Paul. I''ve been through enough to know that the love they show in Vid-cast dramas doesn''t exist. I also know that for folks like us who can depopulate a town if left unchecked, marriage is a BIG deal. Nonetheless, I am refusing your offer. One, I barely know you and that my feelings for you are purely platonic. Two, I am rejecting you because you can do better, because one day, someone will appear who genuinely loves you, and then you''ll regret everything."

    "But..."

    "No." Gwen shook her head. "You don''t know me, Jean-Paul. You see a polished stone, but underneath, I am a mess of fractures. I am selfish, egotistical, arrogant. I am greedy, and a born hypocrite. I like to talk a good game, but I don''t want to sully my hands. I honestly don''t think I''ll make a right partner for anyone. God knows I am a terrible friend, did you see what happened to Eunae? Did you know we had a teammate, Kitty Liang, that I abandoned to a Naga on a mountaintop, and I felt fucking great doing it?! I was singing myself praises! Viva la vengeance! Of course, eventually, I realised too late Kitty was innocent after all... after I voided her corpse... okay, now I am crying, you asshole."

    "..."

    The two Void Mage sat side by side, drying their eyes.

    "... I ate Sister de Mulder." Jean-Paul suddenly confessed. "And the other children too."

    "... fuck me dead..."

    "Ja."

    "Bloody oath... what a pair we make." Gwen began to laugh, thinking of Caliban''s first foray. "For the record, I did that too. A whole den of NoMs and captive Mages."

    Jean-Paul snorted, then paused, then joined her bitter laughter.

    From atop Shenyang Tower came the roaring of two Void Mages, laughing at the world, laughing at themselves because sometimes, anything was better than silence.

    "Gwen?"

    "Yeah?"

    "Later, do you mind if I come and find you?"

    "Sure, but why not make a Tower of your own? You''re Meister Bekker''s Apprentice. I am a nobody."

    "Hey?"

    "Ah¡ª you''re too modest by half."

    "So... I can visit?"

    "Sure¡ª you''re welcome, bud. I don''t know what the Mevrou''s expecting from me, but I''ll reserve a spot for you, I promise."

    "Thanks."

    Gwen leaned back, throwing her weight on the palm of her hands.

    "Good luck with the competition, JP. Show the world what we Void Mages can do."

    "I will. And..."

    "And?"

    "When I said I''d come to see you, I meant in a few months... I''ll see you in London. Our universities are less than an hour''s flight apart..."

    "... Bloody hell!" Gwen slapped Jean-Paul on the forehead, causing the young man to yelp. "Get off my leg, you cad! You got me all sentimental for no reason!"

    Shanghai.

    For a week, the politburo debated whether a national holiday should be declared for the reclamation of Shenyang. The victory was a piece of welcoming news¡ª but the CCDI under Secretary-General Miao advised against celebrations. Do not grow lax, Miao intoned; not when the likelihood existed that the city may be retaken.

    Nonetheless, a celebration WAS in order. Thus, the largest festival since the fiftieth anniversary of the People''s Liberation poured across China''s cities, setting alight the night sky with fireworks and illusions.

    And in and amongst the dazzling, effect-added propaganda projected from lumen-casters in every square, the citizens of the Middle Country raised cups to the team Fudan.

    Of the group, Lulan emerged as the crowd favourite. From the very first broadcast, the vid-projections had emphasised her hot-blooded, iron-wrought "Patriotism".

    A notch down the totem pole sat the flame-trailing Jiro, immortalised by a scene of the Fire Mage laying down Phoenix Pinions to defend the PLA soldiers. Lower still, Rene and Anita emerged as regional favourites, each upheld by their respective Frontier regions as paragons of modern Magehood.

    When the news broke that Fudan had chosen not to go on ahead with the IIUC''s semi-finals, the response had been devastating. But, the concession was soon buried under the reconstruction of Shenyang. While some questioned why so little vid-cast of the pretty vice-captain was shown, or why the principal CC champion fled the IIUC, their suspicions were quickly glossed over by the mass of troops, labourers and Mages marching into Liaoning. "Soon", declared Central from the People''s Assembly, a thirteen-hundred kilometre long, ten-kilometre wide strip of "salted earth" would be dug out beside the Yalu River to segregate the North Korean peninsula forever.

    And as each Frontier province conscripted its able-bodied men, the cries of separated families soon snuffed all interest in the IIUC.

    As for the contestants, they first returned to Fudan from the Front to receive a thank you speech from the Dean in the assembly hall, then went about taking advantage of their ephemeral spotlight.

    "Gwen, Richard, come see me once you''re finished." Dean Lou was the very definition of courtesy. "We need to finalise your documents."

    "Will do." The duo waved at the Dean.

    Upon Gwen''s and her cousin''s return, Dean Luo had informed them that he had worked tirelesslyto ensure Richard also had a placement in Cambridge. It was a kindness performed by vice-chancellor Butterfield to facilitate Gwen''s uncomplaining transfer. The caveat though was that an ancient college like Peterhouse was too good for Richard. Instead, the Abjurer could enter Wolfson, one of the modern collegiates with a less severe transfer policy. Naturally, the Dean assured them, the students'' performances in Shenyang had helped grease the wheels of cumbersome bureaucracy, so some credit should go to themselves.

    Outside, the paparazzi awaited. Though Fudan''s fame had fallen in the week since; there was more than enough mana left for the gossip magazines and the local press to make mountains out of molehills. And so, in front of the thundering globes, under Guanghua Hall, the students stood with Gwen and Tei, having their lumen-pics taken.

    Now that the proverbial banquet was at an end, Gwen felt strangely melancholic. In her mind, the team was going to stay together for at least two more matches. Nonetheless, the fact that a group she had spent almost three months with was now going their separate ways was a reality she found difficult to accept.

    Her captain, Tei Bai, had offered his wholehearted congratulations. After woodenly receiving a kiss on the cheek, he thanked her for catalysing his dream of taking Fudan beyond China. When Gwen asked of his future, Tei startled her by saying there wasn''t much he looked forward to. To inherit the position of Clan Head was his duty, and that was that. The fact that he got to see so much of the world before he assumed his life-long vigil was enough.

    The same sentiment was echoed by the other third-years, who would now be entering society. Rene looked forward to returning to the Thundering Peninsula south of Guangdong to assume future duties as de-facto head of her House. Anita chose to remain in Shanghai, though she now dithered between joining the PLA or the Pudong Tower, knowing that one offered present advantages, while the other allowed her to maintain future relationships with Gwen and company.

    As for Jiro, he no longer lusted after a position of influence and power in Asia. Instead, he said that he wanted to travel the world, selling his skills and polishing his spells. In a heartfelt confession, Jiro intimated that having seen beautiful sorceresses with hair the colour of sun-silk and eyes the blue of the sea, there was no possibility of him been bogged down by an arranged spouse. If anything, he wouldn''t rest until he had visited all corners of the world.

    After which Rene slapped Jiro, inferring that either he was coming to the Thundering Peninsula with her, or she would have him castrated here and now. Sulkily, Jiro conceded, promising Gwen that he may very well visit when she acquired her very own Tower.

    Of the remaining two, Mayuree would graduate the next year after earning her degree in Divination, though her life, much like Tei''s, was set in stone. As the mistress of the House of M, she would spend her time between Shanghai and My?ma. Of her separation from Gwen, she felt unintimidated. The unspoken truth was that someone with Mayuree''s wealth and influence could really travel anywhere in the world if she wished. Even if Gwen and the others were going to be in London, LR Message conferences or a monthly ISTC jolt to London, Paris, Frankfurt, or any of the larger cities proved relatively painless.

    Conversely, Lulan''s future was in flux. Now a celebrity, the PLA promised complete support, conceiving of Lulu as a wedge to dislodge the influence of the Clans. Nevermind that the girl herself was only interested in swinging her sword, the PLA desired a new Ashbringer. And so long as she sword-danced to the Party''s tune, she would feature prominently in the future of many young Mages'' minds. As for Kusu, the young man was simply overwhelmed by it all, asking if it was at all possible for them to leave China as well. Gwen''s response was that she wouldn''t dare deprive the PLA of Lulan, at least not yet. But, they should be well looked after once she brought Ruxin onboard.

    And finally, Eunae attained her heart''s desire. One of the first things Gwen enacted upon returning to Shanghai was relaying her concerns for the half-Korean member of her team. Between Secretary Song, her Babulya, Dean Luo, and the power of HDMs dispensed by the House of M, Eunae would have a position waiting for her in the first PLA Army hospital should she wished, or in Pudong Tower. However¡ª where the "Lees" were concerned, Eunae was on her own. No one had the clout to force the Chaebol to heel, not when ten families owned more than a quarter of a nation''s GDP. With so much authority, it was little wonder Eunae''s uncles believed themselves Demi-gods.

    And so, all good things now came to an end.

    And standing on the steps of the towers, Gwen felt she had aged a decade. Gone was the last vestige of her teenagehood, for once she left Fudan''s gates, a new chapter of her life would begin.

    "Once more!" A reporter hailed the group. "Big grins for the Shanghai Extra!"

    Gwen put on her most dazzling smile.

    Suddenly, Richard wrapped a hand around her shoulder, then squeezed her tightly.

    "What''s sup, Dick?" Gwen whispered by his ear.

    Her cousin waited for the camera to flash, then leaned across and kissed her on the side of her head, eliciting a few squeals from the watching crowd. Richard hadn''t been promoted much on the national vid-casts, but he had a fan-following of girls from around the university, especially the local senior high school.

    "What was that for?" Gwen touched the side of her head.

    "An apology in advance."

    "For what?"

    "For that... " Richard pointed at the wall of bodies.

    "GWEEEEEEEN! MY BEAUTIFUL NIECE!" an ear-splitting shout pierced the crowd.

    Gwen shrivelled; all sentimentality, all goodwill, all feelings of effervescence evaporated.

    Her Uncle Kwan, only a head shorter than Whetu and wearing a scurfy suit, stepped from the circle of reporters. "AND MY SON! THANK MAO, THAT''S MY SON AND NIECE!"

    Gwen''s reflexive desire was to call a Vold Bolt to rid the world of this travesty. When she finally focused her eyes, however, her heart softened.

    The boisterous Kwan had clearly lost weight since the events of Sydney. Whatever his old wealth and power had been, living the better part of one and a half years as a refugee, forced to work for Surya in exchange for board and food had milled her prideful uncle down to the stumps. For Gwen, who had once been so intimidated by Kwan''s mere presence, the sallow-cheeked, grey-haired Indonesian now appeared Negatively Drained. Behind Kwan, another well-known face, that of Aunt Tali, loitered in the crowd, too embarrassed to make herself known.

    "Sorry¡­" Richard half-sighed, half-grinned. "Thank fuck we''re both going to London, eh?"

 Chapter 315 - Legion

    Dai sunk into the office chair his missus-boss had ordered from Denmark, gliding a hand over the supple Salamander-skin.

    With goods now re-routed from Tonglv to Dalian, the former high society playboy now sat on no less than three advisory councils. More and more often these days, Dai dearly desired a return to the careless past of nightclubs and fight-clubs.

    But Dai knew that no matter how much praise his father may have heaped upon him, Tonglv''s success couldn''t be attributed to the triumvirate. Instead, it was the girl from the House of Song who had conceived of the stock-credit system. Without doubt, his missus-boss'' unseen hand guided the canal into its present form, both through her sorcerous accounting and in establishing James Ma''s audit team. Indeed, Gwen and Gwen alone was the reason Central showered accolades on the Fungs like confetti.

    And at first, when the credit system all had been a pipe dream. Dai''s father, Chairman Tu and Magister Quin had thought the single per cent of the canal''s revenue a fruitless request born from naive confidence.

    Now, six months since the canal''s operation, Tonglv''s turnover had already reached ten million TEUs thanks to its "free" passage for law-abiding parties. Following Stage Two, the third and fourth South Sea canals may very well push the Tonglv'' capacity northward of fifteen million TEUs, rivalling Shanghai. Likewise, at the girl''s behest, the establishment of micro industries servicing the port had blossomed, transforming rural Nantong into a burgeoning trading hub with the potential to rival Shenzhen. When Ru¨¬ submitted the financial year''s income report, the canal''s Withholding Fund had accrued twenty-three million HDMs. Presently, through accrued interest, investments, and real estate, Gwen received 124,000 HDMs annually gross, totally 71,522 after sundries, expenses, and taxes. As for Stage Two, considering that ninety-eight thousand acres had passed through the State Surveyor''s office, something close to fifty million HDMs in land alone was incoming over the next two financial years¡ª and all of this was just the beginning of the fund''s true potential.

    What the triumvirate now thought of the girl was a blood-gorged Stirge, well-wedged in their profits, siphoning their serum. Worse still, with each IIUC match, her fame, not to mention her grandfather''s position in the CCP, grew more difficult to dismiss out of hand.

    To Dai, Shen had lamented Gwen refusing to become the Fung family''s daughter. If so, he would have given her everything the Clan possessed, Dai included. But, once news arrived of the girl''s inevitable departure, both members of the CCDI and Tonglv''s partners argued against the presence of a foreign Magus or Magister embedded in China''s infrastructure.

    Removing the girl from their contracted obligations, therefore, had been a foregone conclusion. Gwen''s stake in the Tonglv Fund would be purchased at cost, and she could either take the severance or face scrutiny and censure. If need be, her reputation and alas, her position, may need to be severely weakened.

    For Dai, once outside his father''s penthouse office, the Fung''s heir felt assaulted by a disturbing sense of oppression and injustice. Such a fit of indignation rose within him that he had almost stormed back inside to shout at the codgers.

    Then, he took a deep breath. The Fung''s heir knew that while a warrior followed his heart, a leader must think with his head.

    Intellectually, he understood that what he should be doing was luring Gwen into a false sense of security, or perhaps, convince her to cut her losses and be satisfied with a Ring full of HDMs.

    But the heart wants what the heart wants.

    That was what it meant to be young.

    Click!

    The frosted glass door opened, revealing the lithe form of his unrequited object of affection.

    "Young Master Dai." Gwen smiled as she passed, leaving a trail of perfume. "What''s the news?"

    Dai was up in a split-second. "Gwen¡ª tell me the truth. Are you going away? Are you leaving us?"

    With infinite patience, the object of his protest pulled out her seat, patted down her skirt, sat, crossed her legs, then faced him with a picture-perfect smile.

    "Yes," she replied finally. "I''ll be moving to London for some time. Cambridge has given me an offer."

    Dai deflated. Returning to his visitor''s chair, he sat, then sighed again. "So it''s all true."

    "It is." Gwen nodded. "But worry not, I am a free woman. I''ll be back every other year to see my Babulya and grandfather. I still have to check up on Percy and Mina and Tai and everyone, and you, of course, AND to groom my interests here in Shanghai. I am leaving, but in a way, I won''t be, not completely. This place will be my home away from home."

    Dai looked up.

    It was hard to believe that almost two years had passed since he had caught Gwen duelling in the House of M for change. To think that in so short a time, the girl was now an internationally famous Void Mage who ate a Beast Tide and then Shenyang. His father had even said that, in lieu of the IIUC broadcast, Gwen had faced a Lich and lived to tell the tale. Studying her mien, he could see that her youthful face was now more mature. The girl had lost some puppy fat, and what remained was sharper, more defined, like an enchanted blade half-showing its vorpal edge.

    A pang of desire arched across Dai''s heart. Even before he had arrived at her office, he had dithered on the choice before him. Now, seeing her face to face, his heart filled with a strange gladness.

    Without obstruction, the warning slid from his lips.

    "I think my father and the others are trying to usurp your shares in Tonglv," Dai suddenly intoned, finding the words liberating. "They''re arguing that there''s no way someone who is not a part of the Party can have so much influence over so critical a piece of infrastructure. I don''t know what they have on you, but they should be enacting their plans after you leave China. If they scandalise your reputation, the triumvirate will vote you out. And if you''re away, you would have to return to defend yourself in a public hearing."

    "Oh?" Opposite, the recently minted Devourer raised a brow. "What about our Tower contract?"

    "For the volume of Crystals you shall be receiving in the future, the PLA Tower is more than willing to go against Pudong..."

    "To be expected." Gwen rolled her eyes. Even in her old world, the Party seldom honoured intellectual boundaries with foreign corporations. One such example would be Kawasaki''s design of China''s high-speed rail, where after the fact, Kawasaki was removed from China''s patent filing as a contributor.

    "I shouldn''t be telling you this." Dai shuddered. He withdrew a clip of Halfling tobacco from his jacket and offered Gwen a hand-rolled stick from a Mithril fag case. "I really shouldn''t..."

    "And I appreciate it." She smiled at him with such warmth that his heart fluttered. "I won''t forget your aid, Dai Fung."

    Dai lit up.

    "Dai." She watched him puff as the delicate smoke filled his lungs. The rare tobacco was a treat, even for him. A dozen sticks alone cost twenty HDMs. "Aren''t you happy that I am out of your hair? You could finally be the son your father wanted, the big man of the Tonglv project. You did very well with selling Stage Two, you should know. The number of investors willing to part with their deposits has already generated enough HDMs to enable Stage Three."

    "Miss you?" Dai swallowed, feeling a buzz from the heady smoke. "I would miss you very much, Gwen. You know that."

    "A leopard can''t change its spots, I see. Dai the flatterer." She chuckled, then leaned forward. Her breath was sweet, her eyes vivid and green and sparkling, refracting the Daylight Globes overhead.

    Dai exhaled, blowing the acridness downward so that he wouldn''t pollute the space between them. If she was going to kiss him, he felt a pang of regret, then he shouldn''t have smoked. Still, nerves were nerves, and there was nothing like a stout lungful to unknot his inner torment.

    Her face came so close as to be an inch from his face, but then vertigo struck.

    Employing a mote of Void between her fingers, Gwen snuffed out Dai''s cigarette, displacing the tip so that he was left holding a stump.

    "Dai, go back to Nantong and carry on as though this meeting never happened." Her lips grazed his cheeks, her soul-searing gaze burning holes at the back of his brain. "I''ve got my side of things handled¡ª and I promise I won''t forget the choice you made today."

    "Babulya, Yeye, I am home!" Gwen''s husky voice hailed the central courtyard of the Song''s family compound.

    At the head of the banquet table, the Chair of the Confidential Communication Committee, soon to be promoted to a vice-Secretary of the Central Bureau, surveyed his family. Beside him stood his wife, Klavdiya, welcoming his tardy granddaughter, and over to her left was Gwen''s seat, after which sat Percy then Jun. Across the table sat Nen with her son and daughter. Finally, the empty space beside Nen had been reserved for the absent Hai, his wife Q¨©n, as well as the kids'' step-sibling, Sui.

    "Dearest, come and sit next to Babulya." Klavdiya motioned for theirgranddaughter to take her seat beside Percy. The girl obliged, ruffling Percy''s hair as she passed, eliciting a cry of protest from her brother.

    "You''re late," Guo complained, eyeing his granddaughter. The girl''s attire, as usual, was far too westernised for his liking. A girl of her age should be well covered, especially in winter. That his granddaughter should be seen in form-fitting clothing would only invite undesired attention. Already, his colleagues had spotted Gwen''s Lumen-pics on the back pages of the People''s Daily no less than a dozen times, each time engendering a cascade of proposals.

    "Sorry." The girl struck out her tongue childishly. "I had some Tonglv matters to absolve. My secretary was understandably upset, but everything is alright now."

    Guo''s lips twisted. The disparity between the girl''s feigned child-like visage and the subject matter of a national infrastructural project was unsettling, to say the least. Already, news up the grapevine had warned that the masters of Nantong were hoping to squeeze Gwen out of Tonglv.

    Of that, Guo was of two minds. As a long-serving Secretary of the Party, then Departmental Chair, and soon to be Inner Party Cadre, he knew the dangers of wealth. In a position of sufficient height within the Communist Party, personal wealth was a liability, for an abundance of assets inevitably resulted in conflicts of interest.

    For many of his colleagues, the excuse, "My wife is good at business" only flew under the Scry when they remained in power. Once their inevitable retirement came, many were investigated by the CCDI, stripped of their estates, then sent to the Front.

    If Gwen could receive a fair buyout for her share, therefore, he had no complaints. No girl needed millions to live comfortably in London, and he would prefer to enter the Party''s leadership without the shadow of a millionaire granddaughter.

    "Uncle Jun!" The girl positively squealed when she embraced Guo''s second son from behind, cuddling Jun''s face with her own.

    After her dear babulya, the girl remained closest with Jun. As for her strange fascination, Guo had initially found their intimacy disconcerting, though now with the Dragon Princess in the picture, he could breathe easier. Still, Gwen''s disregard for respectful distance was displeasing all the same.

    "Tao! Mina!"

    More hugs were exchanged. Guo kept his face stoic as he awaited his turn. He wasn''t a tactile person, not even with his wife, so the kisses and the hugs seemed to him unnecessary gestures.

    "I saw the vid-casts!" Mina gushed, cradling Gwen''s hands. "You were brilliant, cousin! Brilliant! Everyone at my school is talking about you. They wouldn''t stop asking me questions!"

    "Haha, I hope I wasn''t a bother."

    "No, no, none at all!"

    "Yoyoyo Wassap Gwenabitch? Looking fly!"

    "I''ve missed you, Peaches. What have you been up to?"

    "Crushing it, ya know? Cruising with mah crew, Big-Dog and Mack-Daddy, they enquired after yo ass."

    Guo shuddered. Wang''s son was an aberrant existence, a blight upon the Song family. A goblin who talked in tongues while making obscene hand gestures. More than once, Gwen had attempted to convince Guo that the boy had a prodigious talent for "music". It was an absurd proposal, for Guo had yet to see the man-child touch a single instrument. Instead, the infernal fruit persisted in making percussion sounds with his lips, an act that appeared as though Tao was perpetually fellating the air. "You looking sweeter than ever, hoe. Got yourself a sugar daddy yet? Or dare I say, yo a sugar mama yet?"

    "Working on it." Gwen laughed, apparently unperturbed by the strange words emitted from Tao''s filthy lips. "I am sorry we''re not going to America, Peaches, but the opportunity will arise. The States aredefinitely on my shortlist."

    "It''s cool, yo! We jam later!" Tao crossed his arms, his fingers forming a fork, making Guo''s blood boil. "Peaches in the House!"

    Finally, having finished greeting Nen, his granddaughter arrived, having come full circle.

    "Yeye¡ª" Gwen curtsied, lowering her hips and raising her head so that for a moment, rather than a sorceress who could level Shenyang, she appeared a docile grandchild. "How is your back?"

    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

    "It''s better," Guo replied formally, all of his ire melting away as though snow in spring. He wanted to reach out and touch her hair, or give her a pat on the shoulder, but with Klavidya watching, his hand refused to move. A Patriarch should be stoic. "Sit, the food is getting cold."

    Gwen gave him a hug anyway, one Guo enjoyed with relish until Klavdiya caught him smiling.

    The family sat.

    "Thank you all for coming." Guo wasn''t one for big speeches or to mince words. "Jun especially, I know your duty with the Princess is taxing."

    "It''s a burden of love, Father," Jun confessed readily. "Ayxin sends her regards. Have you been taking the ginseng?"

    "Sparingly." Guo inclined his head. "Thank her for me. And no more gifts we can''t repay."

    "Alright, father."

    "If you tell your brother..." Guo paused, then sighed. "Tell him Percy is doing well. Better than he was at the same age."

    Percy beamed.

    Gwen made a face at her brother.

    Guo then turned to Gwen.

    "Has Jiang Luo finalised your transfer papers? What of the others?"

    "The Dean''s been very good to me." Gwen tapped her Storage Ring to indicate that her papers were done. "Richard and Petra will leave separately. There''s a matter I wish to inform the family, actually."

    "Inform", Guo noted, not "inquire". As much as he had grown fond of Gwen, the girl''s propensity for independent action was an unsettling and unwelcome characteristic.

    Swiftly, the servants plated the banquet. One by one, Guo "opened" the dishes by taking a small portion for himself and Klavdiya.

    "Tell us later." Guo snatched the head of a Sea Bass, depositing the gaping upper torso in Gwen''s bowl. "Eat up. I know how much you Void Mages need to replenish your vitality."

    The girl grinned back. Without a smidgen of lady-like behaviour, she delivered the creamy eyeball to her lips.

    "Eat up¡­ eat up¡­" Guo relaxed, wondering why the only Chinese part of his granddaughter was her ability to pack away any and all cuisine. "Jun tells me you''ll be meeting with Ayxin''s brother?"

    "Yes!" Gwen replied between mouthfuls. "It''s to do with Tonglv. Which, by the way, is the matter at hand."

    "Gwen, what are you planning to do with Tonglv," Jun interjected, apparently more in the know than Guo himself. "Ayxin says you''re going to see her brother in Yangoon?"

    "Nothing too serious, really." Gwen picked at the fish head until she extracted the cheek meat. With an expression of happiness, she popped the flesh between her lips. "But let''s just say any would-be schemers may be stealing from the mouth of a not so proverbial dragon."

    My?ma.

    Yangon.

    Marong, viceroy of the House of M, presided over the meeting between his two benefactors. One of whom was the woman responsible for his emancipation; the other, his liege.

    Arriving with Gwen was his sister, who had returned to take custody of the family business. There was little need, however, for once Ruxin reigned over the family, no noble dare raised their eyes at Mayuree''s stewardship. Just the opposite, the historically Naga worshipping people of his nation fell into line now that a real Dragon had become their lord and patron. The old nobles had been so supportive that the Shadowmen of Manipur complained of having nothing to root out other than bland corruption and the occasional assassination.

    Presently, a foursome of Dragons gathered under the perfectly conditioned temperature of Karaweik Palace''s vaulted throne room. To Marong''s knowledge, his benefactor was still in the dark regarding the plea-bargain he had made with Ruxin¡ª though now the truth hardly mattered. That the House of M deferred to their Demi-God neighbour was a fitting gesture even if they were in the heart of Pudong.

    Upon the former golden throne, Ruxin lounged on a divan. In his human form, the first prince of Huangshan was a flawless, pearl-skinned gent with platinum hair and irises of gold. Loosely attired, Ruxin appeared a regal wonder in his gold-threaded robes; his hair, ears and fingers all adorned with priceless gems and jadeite.

    Ayxin meanwhile, was as delicate as she was striking, a blooming metallic flower in robes of ivory and rose gold. With her racially ambiguous mien and metallic-coloured eyes, she was the picture of majesty, despite borrowing the mortal fashion of the human cities.

    And to the side, looking very much like a mutt, sat Golos, squatting on the steps. Despite becoming larger and meaner than before his participation in the IIUC, the Wyvern''s innate morphic-magic remained amateurish. It was a sore point that both elder drakes complained of their thin-blooded little brother. Whatever Golos'' development appeared to be, it seemed only to aid the Wyvern''s brutishness.

    "I fear you shall have to explain again," Ruxin commanded from up on high.

    "That''s alright." Gwen''s heels clicked on the jadeite tiles. "As I said¡ª I have transferred to you all of my Chinese investments. Marong here has lodged the transfer with Pudong. Take a gander, I''ve included a five-year forecast as well."

    Marong, who had stood behind his Master, knelt first, then presented the data slate Gwen had prepared.

    "Your lordship¡ª Miss Song''s one per cent stake presently generates as much as seventy-thousand HDMs per annum. In Tonglv''s Phase Two, she may receive several hundred thousand in dividends. In the future, her share may generate far more... for as long as Tonglv stands."

    Ruxin tapped the slate, then frowned. For some infernal reason, Human Magitech disagreed with the prince.

    "Allow me, Lord." Marong obliged. Once they reached the bottom of the slate, Marong sensed that his lord''s mood vastly improved.

    "And in turn?" The Thunder Dragon raised a silvery brow. "You want me to preside over the fate of your mortal kin?"

    "And a few friends." Gwen rested a hand on her arched hips. "And of course, collateral borrowing from your treasury for ''OUR'' future ventures."

    Marong''s master tilted his head, his golden irises capturing the girl in their reflection.

    "Your grandparents. Your cousins. A Dai, and a Ru¨¬? And this Lulan and Kusu Li. Shall I bring them to my lair? That is the safest place."

    "Oh, no, NO." Gwen shook her head. "Just name drop a few times. Arguably, you don''t have to do anything, Marong will keep an eye on your investments. But if something goes south, if ''The Great Dragon of Kachin" could pass a note to the CCDI''s Secretary Miao, that would be great."

    "There''s no need for Ruxin to intervene. I''ll take care of Jun''s progenitors," Ayxin cut in, her golden irises flashing. "I alone am enough to keep the humans cowed."

    "I don''t doubt it." Gwen smiled with teeth. "But you said yourself that your Draconic-powers and Spatial Magic are limited while inside the Shield. You couldn''t even sense the scale you used to spy on me."

    "It kept you safe." Ayxin raised her chin. "As was my promise to Jun."

    "Yes, thank you, ''Aunty''," Gwen replied churlishly. "For my Uncle, I''ll give you the benefit of the doubt."

    "Ungrateful brat." The Dragon-princess hissed.

    "That''s me." Gwen turned away from her uncle''s spouse. With a teasing smile, she continued her banter. "That said, I do appreciate your aid. Although, if you want me to feel grateful, then tell me that you did it for my sake, out of the goodness of your own kind heart."

    "You think far too highly of yourself." Ayxin glared. "Your grandfather''s right. You''re an impertinent whelp."

    "HA. You females should fight it out." Golos looked up. "The winner can take the Ash Mage."

    "SHUT UP, GOLOS!"

    "GOGO, that''s disgusting!"

    Golos rolled his eyes.

    Marong looked from Gwen to Ayxin, then to the smiling Ruxin and back. He could scarcely believe his eyes and ears. That Gwen acted the equal of these beings who were centuries old and descended from an ancient Mythic was incredible.

    "Tell me again of the venture you''re planning." Though his Master found the females'' rivalry amusing, a Dragon''s crystal hoardwas paramount. Despite Gwen''s well-catered promises, the idea of allowing his "Financial Advisor" intimate access to the currency financing his future ascension made the Thunder Dragon uneasy. "Speak less in tongues."

    Below, Gwen motioned for Marong to return to her the data slates she had prepared. With her other hand, she extended her arm, exposing a slender wrist.

    "Let''s start from the beginning. This is a Message Device. It has an inscribed Core that emulates a Diviner''s Message Spell. These are made by various manufactoriums around the world, and they require a Divination Tower to function outside of direct Line of Sight."

    "Yes. I know of these Magic Items." Ruxin nodded. "Humans are incapable of communicating with their kind over long distances and so must rely on their craft, correct?"

    "That''s correct." Gwen detached the bracelet with a silent command, then left the bangle hanging from Marong''s fingers. "Let me show you."

    Their presenter incanted something under her breath. In the next moment, a series of geometric shapes appeared in thin air. It took him a moment, but Marong recognised the spell as Minor Image.

    "As someone who has been paying through the nose for LR Messages to London, I am simply aghast at the business models employed by the Towers for regulating their Message network. Did you know that the Towers erect Divination Stations entirely out of their own pocket? Imagine that! Telecommunication is one the most important aspects of human civilisation, and they''re just letting any Mage with access to a Message Device use it willy-nilly! The Divination Stations and its maintenance are paid for by the Towers! Out of pocket!"

    The images materialised until a mono-coloured, bright green map the shape of Shanghai and its surrounding provinces solidified.

    "Up on this coverage map. I have colourised the sections of Suzhou, Hangzhou, and Nantong Frontiers currently possessing Divination Stations and or Towers. You will note that much of the surrounding regions, despite housing millions of customers¡ª remain unserviced."

    "I don''t quite follow." Marong''s Master frowned, as did Marong. That Frontiers lacked Divination Towers and that Mages had to use Diviners or portable Divination Engines was no surprise to anyone.

    "This is where a prospective entrepreneur should come in." Gwen pointed to her bosom, then to Ruxin. "Do you know why the coverage for Message is so horrible, and why humans have so much trouble every time we leave the tier 1 cities? It''s because the Message Towers have limited range and scope. Once in a Green Zone, our Devices become virtually useless without a line of sight to our party member. We''re blind and deaf out there! Disconnected! While working on Tonglv, I looked into the rationale behind the lack of Divination coverage, and I''ve found the reason; very stupid reasons¡ª funding and upkeep."

    Gwen closed the first polygon image, then raised another in the form of a Tower that resembled the Queen from a western chess set.

    "But that''s where we come in. As far as I am concerned, there is an easy way to resolve this issue of coverage. By establishing a new Divination-based business I shall dub ''Network-Carriers'', we shall front up the HDMs necessary to expand Divination Towers into the Green Zones."

    "Have you not said that such an investment is futile?"

    "But NOT for us¡ª" Gwen raised a finger. With another gesture, she conjured up several bar-graphs showing the cost of constructing the Towers. "The Divination Stations, Towers, whatever¡ª are a mature form of Magitech, so mature that minimal improvement has been made since the seventies. Our only concern is if IT IS POSSIBLE to generate more revenue than we spend. This is why I am interested in an experiment."

    In front of Marong, Gwen made a bright orange map of greater Sydney. The city itself was covered by a large yellow dome, followed by intermittent spots here and there, appearing like the pox.

    "Consider Sydney. Outside of the city, there are countless Green Zones where the land is tilled for agricultural output. Yet, most of the folks living in this region have no way of communicating with the Magisters in the city. They would need to write letters, or physically relocate a town with a Divination Tower, a prospect that remainfew and far in-between. In times of emergency, timely aid is nigh impossible."

    Gwen wagged a digit, and a ring of blue enveloped Sydney''s central districts. As far as Marong was concerned, it was the most peculiar use of Illusion he had ever seen.

    "This is where we come in. We will raise Carrier-Towers to provide the coverage. Then, we will introduce Glyph algorithms that tie individual devices to ''accounts''. I know the Towers have Magitech Enchanters capable of this capacity because they charge me for my calls with Evee. Anyway, when a customer uses our network for Messages, their mana signature generates a monthly invoice¡ª charging say, a quarter of an LDM per Message, per thirty-second block. Of course, we tithe Messages both coming in and going out."

    "In this way, we attain economy of scale. For greater Sydney, for example, about two million individuals reside across the Frontier, and three million in the tablelands. Assuming a brisk business¡ª say, 200,000 Messages across the entirety of a city of ten million souls a day, that''s 350 odd HDMs per twenty-four hours in gross revenue. And that''s just the beginning."

    Another line-chart illusion demonstrated growth potentials. The number of digits indicated on the charts was enough to raise even Ayxin''s brows.

    "The Divination Beacons themselves last several decades, despite using present Enchantment algorithms and medium-tier Creature Cores. For this reason, with sufficient warding, we really don''t have to worry about wear and tear. By that virtue, so long as our Carrier-Towers remain standing, they will continue to generate a small but steady stream of disproportionate revenue."

    "Why hasn''t anyone else done this?" Ayxin''s question cut to the bone.

    "Good question!" Gwen spun toward the princess. "The answer is simple. This is a project that requires a confluence of favour, land, materials, HDMs, Magitech¡ª and me."

    Gwen conjured the shapes of a dozen different Towers she had seen being used across Shanghai''s Frontiers.

    "A problem with the existing system is that each of the Towers builds its own Divination Stations with varying degrees of quality, range, and compatibility. Some cheaper Message Devices, such as those for NoMs, may fail to work entirely. Likewise, the Cores used by the Divination Towers are wildly inconsistent, meaning their processing capacity remains inconsistent. During peaks like natural disasters or monstrous incursions, it''s not at all strange for Divination-communication to fail."

    "And this is where we shall create a bull''s market." The girl exalted, opening both arms. "Through mass production, we can lower costs by venturing into standardisation utilising production lines. After that, we plant the Towers, starting with low-risk Green Zones with high economic yields like Sydney and the future Yangon Tower. By working with the resident Mage Towers¡ª such as those my brother-in-craft and Marong control. This will give us a working model to sell to local governments. Of course, once our Carrier is up and running, we shall invest in proper R&D of patented Divination Mandalas."

    "And if someone else does mimic this proposal of yours?" Ruxin rested his chin on his knuckles. "Surely, there are better-positioned brokers in Shanghai?"

    "GOOD POINT!" Gwen thrust out her chest. "BUT Ruxin, don''t you wonder WHY Marong there is doing so well hawking your jadeite? Don''t you find it strange how the Tonglv folks owe me their success? Do you know that without me, the Centurion Card and the House of M''s credit lending would never exist?"

    "Arrogance!" Ayxin hissed, her eyes flashing.

    "Let her speak." Ruxin handwaved his sister. "She has cause to be arrogant."

    "Thanks, Uncle," Gwen cooed, beaming broadly. "You see, what you uniquely possess isn''t Spellcraft, but rather an syergisticsystem of accounting and billing. What you have... is ME! What I offer you is unadulratedefficacyin managing the Network-Carrier business. What will cost others many times their material investment, we shall attain with impunity. In this, you are a world leader. Trust me."

    "Trust you?" Golos snorted. "I''ve still got missing scales¡ª"

    "SILENCE!"

    "Gogo! The adults are talking!" Gwen snapped at her Wyvern.

    Marong stifled a grin when Golos cowered.

    "Marong, can you show Ruxin my bangle?"

    Marong raised the Message Device.

    "THAT is a Hitachi MSB-211. A horribly marketed Device but one of the best for its size and function. A lower-working tier Mage cannot afford a Device such as this¡ª BUT, together with Marong''s Centurion credit program, THEY CAN! What we can do is offer a twenty-four months contract which offsets payment for the Hitachi, including a monthly Message stipend. For example, let''s say one such device is usually 130 HDMs, our customer will now pay, over the course of twenty-four months, 245 HDMs. However, the boon is that he or she gets to utilise a high-tier Divination Device without an upfront payment..."

    Marong shivered when Gwen''s maniac grin split from cheekto cheek.

    "AND they''re locked into our Carrier-Service, AND they''re automatically a gold-member of the Centurion program."

    Ruxin rose from his chair.

    "¡­ but we''re getting too far ahead¡ª" Gwen giggled gleefully with the sincerity of a pyromaniac, setting Marong''s nerves on edge. With a hand, she retrieved the Message Device from Marong''s fingers. "AND in the future. There will be no need for voice Messages. We will create a series of devices for TEXT! TEN TEXTS per LDM! And TEXT AND VOICE PACKAGES! For corporate, private, and individual users. We can tailor all to suit¡ª"

    Once the arithmetics caught up, Ruxin''s expression grew troubled. "And your share¡­"

    "For now, I''ll take one per cent as before. If I fail, you still have my Centurion income and my Tonglv credit as collateral. In the future, though, our Carrier-Corp may grow so large that not even a princeling of Huangshan can hold down the greed it will engender from others. With enough authority, we may yet become the most loathed corporation in the world! BUT, if and when that happens, I would suggest we issue shares to placate said parties. We shall retain control, of course, but the point stands. We can absorb more allies into our fold. Our network will swallow every place. What we will create, dear Uncle, is a Leviathan!"

    "The girl''s gone wild!" Ayxin leapt to her feet. "She''s drunk on crystals!"

    Marong''s master stood, half-fulminating with barely suppressed lustiness. "And what will you call this¡ª"

    Golos also stood for appearance''s sake, feeling awkward that everyone else was standing.

    "¡ªNetwork-Carrier..." Marong articulated helpfully, his hair standing on end, his scalp positively crawling.

    "I have the perfect name." Gwen''s eyes sparked as she approached the dais. "As our Towers shall be many, I shall dub our new venture¡ª PROJECT LEGION."

 Chapter 316 - After the Banquet Ends

    "Trust me, Marong and Mia will take care of everything."

    Of all the employees at her office, Gwen considered Ru¨¬ her head girl. Having invested so much of herself in Tonglv, Ru¨¬ was also the most distraught when the office received notice that their boss was leaving for London and that the Shanghai office would be shut down.

    "It''s been a pleasure, Ma''am." Ru¨¬ fought back the choking sobs even as she packed.

    "Ru¨¬, don''t be so dramatic." Gwen wrapped an arm around the NoM girl''s shoulders. "Look at how happy everyone else is!"

    Effi and Terence returned awkward grins.

    Gwen smiled back.

    After she had returned from Yangon, Gwen had set into motion a domino of events that would culminate in Dai''s prediction of her ousting. Of course, when the hammer drops, she shouldbe in London, and her greedy business partners would find themselves staring down the dagger-toothed maw of a Demi-God.

    "I don''t want the severance." Ru¨¬''s courage was commendable. "Miss, can''t I keep working for you in another capacity?"

    "YOU ARE!" Gwen squeezed her assistant''s arms. In a way, she understood why her PA was so upset. From Ru¨¬''s humble origins as an NoM Economics graduate, she had tasted the sweet nectar of authority. It meant that now, the prospect of a regular desk job could no longer satisfy. Borrowing Gwen''s terror, Ru¨¬ commanded Ken without reserve, and Dai had listened to her requests without complaint. For her to return to a workplace where she dared not stare a Mage in the eye would be the equivalent of caging an Elven Druid in a concrete cell.

    "Worry not! You''ll be working for Marong, and Marong''s a business partner of sorts! The House of M''s balance sheets might be short a zero or two compared to Tonglv, but it''s getting there. Rest assured, I shall need your capabilities in a few years, not to mention you have to pass on your experience to others."

    "¡­ I obey." Her assistant relented, though Ru¨¬''s agony remained barely disguised.

    Gwen exhaled, feeling a little vexed, but mostly delighted by Ru¨¬''s tears. Competence was an endangered bird, but when combined with loyalty, it was rarer than a Colossal Dodo.

    In the event of the Shanghai office''s dismissal, she had arranged new positions for each of her workers. Effi and Terence were given middle management positions in Professor Ma''s audit team as well as a generous severance package. Ken, whose resume included corporate espionage, received a cheap thank you card. Dai was accounted for by Ruxin and Marong, meaning his privileges should remain unassailed in the event his attack of conscience exposed itself.

    And for Ru¨¬, Marong had arranged for the girl a managerial position overseeing the Centurion accounts, working on accruing HDMs for Project Legion. If anything she looked forward to the day Ru¨¬ talked shop with a five-hundred-year-old Thunder Dragon. If her NoM secretary knew the truth, Gwen chuckled. How would she react?

    "Ru¨¬¡ª Ru¨¬?"

    The girl looked up from studying the carpet.

    Gwen gave the girl a final hug. Once the doors of the office were shut, they would no longer be employer and employee, but friends, at least for the foreseeable future. "Chin up! The best is yet to come!"

    "Please come back soon!" Ru¨¬ stiffened in her arms. "Until then, I''ll work hard!"

    Marie Roslyn Wen, future Meister and current Magister¡ª scrutinised the butt-ends of her research papers, each taking up a sizable chunk of her desk space.

    Her first paper, "Investigation of Void to Vitality Conversion", had been abandoned due to the inherently unstable nature of Gwen''s fluctuating health. She had initially paired the study with research into Druidic Essence, but outside forces had put a halt to that entirely.

    Her next proposal, "Affinity Scales for Void Magic: A Systematic Comparison", had mustered enough data saturation for a modest publication like the Asian Pacific Journal of Spell Craft, but was far from the longitudinal data pool required for recognition from Harvard or Cambridge.

    Conversely, "Void versus Matter Interactions, a Material Data Compilation", was far more comprehensive. Thanks to a wealth of citations and support from the PLA, her third endeavour had been published in the "Sino Journal of Spellcraft", seeing wide circulation both in Asia and overseas.

    Her cr¨¨me de la cr¨¨me, the article with the most extensive interest from overseas Towers and Universities, was "Void and the impact of Consumption on the Caster: A Case Study". It was an ambitious paper that linked Sobel to Gwen, using Gwen''s abilities as a yardstick to define the "morphic impact" of Essence Consumption, culminating in Gwen''s attainment of Omni-magic.

    The article was followed by a sixteen-month investigation entitled, "A Longitudinal Study of the Extended Use of Void Magic". Unfortunately, Wen had only one test subject. Fortunately, most Void related studies only had two or three samples anyway, not to mention their samples rarely survived the "longitudinal" aspect of the study.

    Now gazing at the work she had produced over the past year and a half, even Wen had to admit she felt proud. Carrying out groundbreaking studies was an opportunity that came once in a lifetime, and in Gwen, she had unearthed a treasure trove.

    And in a few months, assuming she successfully defended her research and provided citations to satisfy Cambridge''s review board, she would ascend. For this, she had Klavdiya to thank, and Wen promised herself that both her friend and her granddaughter would be mentioned in her acceptance speech.

    Meister Roslyn Marie Wen!

    China''s first Meister in a decade!

    Wen shuddered at the audacity of such a thought.

    To join that august group of researchers at the forefront of Spellcraft!

    Ding! Her Message Device chimed.

    "Master," Petra''s voice jolted Wen from her lucid daydream. "Gwen''s scripts are ready."

    "I''ll be out in a moment," Wen answered, sweeping a hand over her notes so that they deposited neatly in her Storage Ring.

    Outside, seated in her laboratory at Henglong, was the freshly attired subject of her studies. Beside Gwen stood Petra, her Apprentice, as well as the unwelcome vision of Magister Eric Walken.

    "Let''s take a look." Wen took possession of the data slate from Petra''s hands. Quickly, she scanned the numbers. As before, the statistics filled her with apprehension. A year ago, she would have screamed. Now, she just felt numb. "How very impressive."

    "I should think Vice-Chancellor Butterfield would be plenty satisfied," Walken agreed. "Whether it''s Gwen''s thick skull, skin or her talents, the girl is without equal."

    "Oi!" the girl slapped her mentor on the back, sending the Magister stumbling, disregarding the disguised compliment. "Excuse you, Eric."

    "Gwen¡ª if your Spellcraft knowledge wasas absurd as your Omni-talent, you''d be receiving a Meisterhood," Eric Walken replied jovially, not missing the chance to flash a mocking glance toward Wen herself.

    "Hmmph!" Wen snorted, dismissing Walken''s snark as common jealousy. "Let''s see¡­"

    ¡°Evocation 5.51 to5.62¡±

    ¡°Conjuration 6.01 to6.23¡±

    ¡°Transmutation 3.85 to4.07¡±

    ¡°Abjuration 2.67 to3.01¡±

    ¡°Divination 1.72 to1.78¡±

    ¡°Illusion 2.48 to2.56¡±

    ¡°Enchantment 1.46 to2.11¡±

    ¡°7.01 (7.44) to7.12 (7.57) for Lightning.¡±

    ¡°4.72 to5.23 (5.33) for Void.¡±

    "Great progress indeed," Wen read out the Affinity readings even as her eyes scanned the biometrics. "And a VMI of 345. It does look like your Conjuration has struck diminishing returns. The principle craft of a Soul Mage is Conjuration, you should know. Still, there are increases across the board. Did you have your fill of Mages in Shenyang?"

    "If you mean Necromancers, then yes," the Englishman interjected before the girl could answer. "No different to an Orc Shaman or Troll Priest. In fact, I would venture to say that thanks to Gwen, a greater good has been attained. Won''t you agree?"

    "Sure." Wen chose not to pursue the matter. Once she left Shanghai, Gwen would no longer be her subject, and as such, her relationship with the girl was soon at an end. Through one another, they had each gotten what they wanted. The girl received her recognition and her placement in Cambridge, and she, her title. In so far as mutual benefits go, the exchange had been holistic and satisfactory.

    "¡­ Anyway, it would appear your Shoggoth Planar Ally provides very little vitality, feedback, or Essence," Wen translated the biometric data. "If I were you, I would focus more on Caliban''s Consume. That is a talent which I am increasingly lead to believe is unique, existing so far only through yourself and Sobel."

    "I see." The girl''s knitted brows frowned unhappily.

    "If you could somehow uncover more of your Master''s research, it may help your cause." Wen helpfully dispensed a spot of advice. "I do recall he had a Dryad, yes? And something of a laboratory called the ''Grot''. Surely the man kept notes, journals, Spell Tomes. It''s a pocket dimension, after all. Mages, on the whole, enjoy squirrelling away the things precious to them."

    "Wen has a point," the weasel-faced Walken agreed. "Gwen, when you were in Sufina''s Grot, did she mention anything about Henry''s library? I''ve seen thousands of Tomes in his possession. In my memory, Kilroy was quite the collector. I borrowed from him on more than one occasion, and he never seemed to lack a publication, no matter how rare or obscure."

    "I¡ª I don''t know." The girl shook her head. "When Master died, we were in and out in a hurry. Even when I studied with him, I never saw such tomes. Master always had the right book on hand every time we conducted lessons."

    A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

    "Can you return to this ''Grot''?"

    "Not easily." The girl bit her lower lip. "I also don''t know if Sufina still remembers us. You know what happens when a Familiar is freed for too long."

    "They go feral," Petra joined the conversation. Wen could see that her apprentice had been edging to beg a question of her own. "Speaking of which, is that a Spirit reading on Caliban?"

    "A smidgen." Wen checked the in-depth diagnostic data. "Gwen, were you able to spell-shape your Void Element?"

    Gwen shook her head again. "I am afraid not."

    "Still a ways to go then." Petra gave her two cents. "That or the nature of Elemental Void makes IFF infeasible."

    "I hope not." The girl raised a brow, glad for the change in topic.

    "Petra has a point," Walken joined in. "I don''t ever recall Sobel possessing IFF either. In the Tower, some of her creatures ate one another."

    "But Caliban can identify friends," Gwen raised a point. "It knows when NOT to eat."

    "A cause for investigation then." Wen tapped the slate impatiently. "Do you know if it can transform into its last victim? By all accounts, you almost died, and the Necromancer was formidable indeed. Going by our previous experience¡­"

    The girl closed her eyes, then opened them again.

    "No," she returned. "The best Cali can manage is Big Bird."

    "The Da-peng?"

    "Yes."

    "A shame." Petra sighed. "Cali could really use a humanoid form."

    "Gods, that''s a terrifying thought." Gwen grimaced.

    "I don''t even know where to begin." Petra laughed.

    Wen handed her slate back to her Apprentice, Klavidya''s grand-niece. In their five years together, Petra had gained much from her tutelage. It was a shame that once the girl''s research was completed, she too would leave.

    But such was the way.

    In Wen''s world, some were there to be used, and some made use of others. In this way, things finished cleanly. Why should there be sentimentalities and complications of the heart when the academic mind could be well provisioned?

    An excess of emotion was precisely the reason Klavdiya''s granddaughter would not graduate a perfect Omni-Mage.

    Thinking of the mewling girl, Wen could only snort at the girl''s bleeding heart, her initial reluctance to Consume Choi. Deep down, she wanted to query the girl regarding her shifting moral goal post. What was it like? She wanted to say, how will you justify consuming a quarter of Shenyang, including its thousands of NoM serfs? That the girl continued to maintain her mask of Magely virtue was both ridiculous and grotesque. And that Eric Walken continued to groom the girl''s facade only added to the absurdity. Hypocrites! She wanted to point her finger at their righteous noses. How dare you judge my research, you walking, talking contradictions!

    But as always, her mineral-minded patience prevailed.

    "Gwen." Wen made her case as clear as crystal. "As we shall no longer be seeing one another again in the capacity of mentor and instructor¡ª nor subject and researcher, I hope our relationship will remain amicable."

    Their eyes met. Hers were glassy, the girl''s glimmering with a power that was difficult to discern.

    "Of course, Magister Wen." The girl extended a hand. The vulnerability she had shown prior instantly evaporated. "Good luck with your Meistership. Please continue to look after Petra. She is very important to me, and I would be distraught if her studies were neglected."

    The two shook. The girl''s grasp was firm and wholly immovable.

    "Till we meet again." Wen quickly withdrew her hand.

    "See you in London..." The girl''s reply was curt and professional. "... and good luck."

    Without warning, Wen felt as though a Wraith had stalked across her grave.

    "It''s settled then? I shall be going first?"

    Walken squirmed, decisively uncomfortable beneath a wall of magically induced, unnaturally blooming roses.

    The source of his embarrassment was many: the girl opposite, the pollen, the gawkers inside the shop, and the paparazzo camping outside. When he and Gwen had entered, Walken had hoped that their observers were merely drawn by the sight of a beautiful young woman in a tapered pea-jacket. But then someone recognised Gwen from the Vid-casts, and now they were Magical Creatures caught in an exhibition.

    "... Unless you want to come with me to Sydney?" the girl teased, stabbing at a strawberry cheesecake with a wooden fork.

    "I shan''t try my luck." Walken straightened his spine. Failing to find comfort, he focused on sipping his Earl Grey. "Your sister-in-craft may have gotten over her immediate contempt, but who knows? It''s one thing to part ways without her itching for a Fireball, and quite another to invite me to dinner at her home."

    "I suppose you''re right." Gwen sipped her latte, crossed her long legs, then smacked her lips. "But didn''t you say there was ''domestic strife'' in London? Where are you going to stay?"

    "I''ll rent a room in Cambridgeshire. Vice-Chancellor Butterfield has requested for a meeting." Walken held his porcelain one-handed, appearing natural and poised, befitting of an Englishmen whose youth was shaped by Eton''s wand-wielding parsons. "I''ll request a meeting with Lady Grey as well, see what we can do to ready your induction by Michaelmas. There''s the matter of your stay as well. Cambridge does have dorms for students, but I doubt you would wish to share a room with a stranger."

    "I wouldn''t mind if its Evee." Gwen raised her latte in a mock-toast. "Sweet, innocent Evee, at long last."

    "The Nightingale College is in London proper, south of Wandsworth Commons, and all of its healers are well sheltered from the likes of you." Walken let rip a snort. "No, you cannot stay at their dorms. Cambridgeshire is an hour as the crow flies and just over two hours by public transit. You can visit on the weekends¡ª assuming you can fish up a Flight licence."

    "Nooo! I refuse to be away from Elvia when she''s so close!" the girl whined, crushing her shortcake. "Eric, I command you to make it so!"

    "And anger the Nightingale School?" Walken drew back. "I mean, I won''t stop you, but you''re on your own."

    "Fine." The girl leaned back in her seat. "And back on topic. What are you planning to do about your family? Audrey and Beatrix and Angie?"

    "They''ll find out about my return sooner or later." Walken cringed. He had not hidden from Gwen the fact that he hadn''t parted from his family in gentle terms. "I''ll have to break the news tenderly."

    "With gifts, of course." Gwen''s eyes sparkled. "I can''t materialise Spirits, but in terms of gemstones and jadeite, I could source something convincingly sincere. You can''t just work some fresh scones, marmalade, that sort of thing? It worked wonders on me."

    "That''s because you are both a Void-fiend and a piglet."

    "Humour, Eric? That''s unbecoming of you."

    "Well, maybe with the girls." Walken inhaled, then exhaled slowly. "Audrey isn''t an easy woman to please. There''s also the fact that her family''s peerage is higher than mine, so things have gotten complicated."

    "It''s not like you cheated on her." Gwen snorted. "Career man goes off and does career things. You can always write it off as doing it for the girls'' futures. People have been forgiven on shittier excuses. Trust me, just look at my daddy dearest. The prick''s a flaming bastard living a perfectly happy life, consequence-free."

    "Please don''t compare me to your father." The Magister made a face. "Look, I''ll do my best."

    "You usually do." Gwen motioned for the bill. "Is that it? Fair travels then?"

    "Let''s hope so." Walken stood, happy to be out of sight of the ogling pedestrians. He collected his coat from the chair, then slipped into the cashmere jacket. "Until London."

    "Until London." Gwen slipped on her jacket as well, though her attire was evidently not designed for warmth. "And Eric?"

    "Yes, dear?"

    "Good luck with the girls."

    "Thanks." Walken readied himself for the Shanghai winter, soon to be London snow. An old man, he lacked Gwen''s enviable constitution to withstand the cold. "I don''t envy the weather in London, not at all."

    "TO US!" Gwen raised her tankard.

    "To Gwen!"

    "G¨¡nb¨¥i!"

    "Cheers!"

    "To London!"

    "To richbitch Gwen!" Peaches prematurely slammed a round of Maotai, warping his already misaligned vernacular coherency.

    Glasses clinked for the dozenth time.

    Around the hotpot sat Yue, Whetu, Richard, Petra, Mina, Mayuree, Marong, Tao, Kusu and Lulan, each pouring one out for their Gwen-touched futures. Initially, Gwen had invited her IIUC teammates as well, but each of them had left Shanghai or were occupied with their respective Clans and families. Filling in for their vacancy werePercy and Mei. A request that her brother had declined at first until his "Mei mei-mei" insisted.

    And among the round table of Mages, each capable of levelling hamlets of varying sizes, sat the harmless Ru¨¬, wholly lost and too terrified to speak. After only a single thimble of mana-rich Maotai, she laid against Richard, warm and satisfied.

    "I can''t believe it''s been a month!" Lulan sat cosily beside Gwen. "I knew you were leaving, but this is too soon."

    "Lulu, I am not leaving for good." Gwen allowed the girl to mimic Ru¨¬. The magically fermented red sorghum was a potent concoction indeed, not to mention she had enhanced the bottle with a tendril from the Ginseng Spirit. The precious elixir had been a farewell gift of sorts, ensuring that all of her close friends and cousins would remain hale and vital. "I''ll be back now and then. Once you''ve made a name for yourself, you can visit London as well."

    "I don''t know if I can meet everyone''s expectations," Lulan whispered by her ear. "Gwennie, I am just a swordswoman, I fight monsters and people. That''s all I know."

    "You''re more than that, Lulu." She refilled Lulan''s glass. "Besides, Kusu will look after you. Won''t you, Kusu? Failing that, Marong and Ruxin will back you up. There''s Ryxi as well, he''s the one who is going to be teaching you."

    "I don''t understand why the Lord of Nagaland would want to help me." Lulan''s eyes had gone misty, though Gwen suspected it was from the alcohol. Of the girls, Petra was a silent drunk, Yue was the loudmouth, Mayuree was the sleeper, and Lulan was the apologetic worrier. "Me? A mortal? Going to Huangshan? Am I living a fairy tale? Would a hundred years pass before I descend the mount? They say a year on the mount is a decade in the mortal world! What if I miss you?"

    "Ryxi better not take a bloody century to train you." Gwen caressed the girl''s hair. "Else you''re going to be our older sister, hahaha¡­"

    "I too would prefer if she remained my younger sister." Kusu coughed. Unlike Lulan, he was taking his time with the Maotai.

    "OUR little sister." Gwen held Lulan against her bosom, staring down the sweltering Kusu. With her other hand, she picked a generous portion of sliced Auroch and deposited the lot into the bubbling chilli soup. "You''ll like working for Marong, Kusu. In the future, Lulan is going to need you."

    "That''s all the more reason for me to be cautious." Kusu''s words were wiser than his twenty-odd years. "What could someone like you need from someone like me?"

    Gwen snorted. "For one, I need Lulu, and you guys come as a package, am I right?"

    "I wouldn''t presume to dictate Lulan''s life." Kusu eyed his sister''s clingy form. "I just want what is best for her."

    "Good. Because what''s good for Lulu, will be good for you." Gwen smirked. "And while I don''t presume to know what is best for her, what I can do is provide her with a rare opportunity to unlock her potential. If Ruxin can send her to Huangshan to learn the old arts, then she''ll be all the more valuable to the PLA¡ª and me. With my Uncle Jun and Ayxin looking after her as well, what more is there to fear? As long as Lulan doesn''t get drunk on arrogance and start bitch-slapping the Secretaries'' scions, she''ll be right as rain. You hear that, Lulu?"

    Lulan straightened herself. With her delicate profile still brimming with emotion, the Sword Mage retrieved the cooked meat from the boiling oil, mixed in the spices, then deposited the savoury, chilli-covered treat in Gwen''s bowl.

    "I don''t know if we''re ever going to repay you." Kusu regarded the girls.

    "Lulu can repay me with her, you know..." A smile touched Gwen''s lips. With one hand, she gripped Lulan''s waist possessively.

    Kusu paled, suddenly perspiring.

    "...Friendship." Gwen finished with a chortling snort. "Kusu, you have to let her go eventually. She''s her own woman. If she does get involved with a nice young man and wants to settle down in China, that''s fine with me. As far as I am concerned, Lulu''s a mate, and she owes me nothing."

    "A mate? She''s too young." Kusu chewed his lip. "Please don''t joke about that."

    "I want to adventure and quest with Gwen!" Lulan shouted a little too loudly. "And Richard and Mia as well! We''ll hunt the Demi-humans and the Undead, forever!"

    Gwen broke into a hearty laugh, savouring the compliment. "How good it is to be young!"

    The table joined in the laughter.

    "Spoken like an old aunty!" Yue''s acute observation jolted Gwen from her revelry. "You know you''re the second youngest, right? You sound like a crone."

    "It''s true, I was born with an old soul," Gwen confessed.

    "Well, Aunt Song, have you packed yet?" Her oldest friend retrieved a few pieces of daikon from the boiling broth, popping the steaming vegetable into her mouth. "Our ISTC is booked for Tuesday afternoon. Master is making Gunther cook."

    "There''s not much to pack." Gwen flashed her Storage Ring. "Can you believe that I''ve been here for almost two years, and the only things I''ve acquired are for my wardrobe?"

    "That and a reputation." Yue raised her glass. "And crystals. Mountains of crystals. FRIENDS! TO THE DEVOURER OF SHENYANG!"

    "To the DEVOURER!"

    "G¨¡nb¨¥i!"

    "Cheers!"

    "To Sydney!"

    "To she who swallows!" Tao wiggled his brows as Gwen drank, his face red with excitement. In phonetic Chinese, the wordplay was far less explicit, though the impact on the table was no less impressive. "The SWALLOWER of Cities!"

    "¡ªC¡ªCough!"

    "O Gods, I can''t breathe."

    "The chilli''s in my nose!"

    "Percy! You''re turning purple!"

    "ERRGH¡ª" Gwen hacked and coughed, her face turning unwholesomely red as the Maotai shot up her nose. "Bloody hell¡ª PEACHES¡ª If that goddamned moniker spreads, I am going to feed you to Caliban!"

 Chapter 317 - Where the Kookaburra Laughs

    Of all the goodbyes, it was the inevitable handwringing at Shanghai Hongqiao''s ISTC terminal that Gwen dreaded the most.

    As anticipated, there were high sentiments from all her relatives, though none was more so heartbroken than her dear old babulya.

    "I''ll come back and visit as soon as I can," Gwen promised, cradling the old woman in her arms while the others watched. "Give me a year or two, and I''ll teleport back. A few thousand HDMs and a hundred-odd CCs are no obstacle for your granddaughter."

    "You have to take care of yourself in London!" Her babulya had held together reasonably well the previous week, though not so now. "And this Lady Grey, how do we know she''s trustworthy?"

    "She''s an old friend of Gwen''s Master," her grandfather intoned with annoyance, embarrassed by Klavdiya''s public display of devotion. "And the Morning Star himself promised the Marchioness would look after Gwen. Stop worrying, dear. She is in good hands."

    "It''s true!" Gwen kissed her babulya on the forehead, cradling the small babushka in her arms. "I''ll be well sheltered. Besides, who can take me on? I''ve got Cali and Ariel! At worst, I''ll throw in Golos. They''ll have to bring an army."

    "That may be¡ª but a girl should only be so arrogant," Guo criticised her overconfidence. "You''ll be meeting some of the finest Mages in the Mageocracy. I would venture to say that there are at least a dozen competent casters among them."

    "Pufft!" Tao snorted. "That''s why the Party''s lily ass exchanged Gwen for English Magisters, true dat?"

    "That''s classified information," Guo growled, his eyes narrowing dangerously. "Who told you this?"

    "Cao¡­" Tao paled.

    "He heard it from me," Gwen apologised. "Yeye, Babulya, I know the two of you have done so much for me since my untimely arrival¡ª"

    "I don''t know about that, Yeye didn''t do shit!" Tao objected. "He wanted to cage you like a bitch!"

    "I''ll put YOU in Tianlanqiao in a moment!" Guo''s face turned scarlet.

    "Peaches, shush!" Mina pulled her brother back. "What''s wrong with you?"

    "Tao''s just agitated," Gwen intervened. Moving between the human fruit and their grandfather. "Peaches, you''ll miss me, right?"

    "You know it!" Tao made a gang-sign. Then, the black sheep of the Wang and Song deflated. "It was fun having you, Gwen. Thanks for coming to mah shows and helping with my lyrics. And for Petra not kicking my ass. And for talking to the old man about music."

    "The pleasure''s all mine." Gwen pulled both cousins in for a big hug. "Okay, gotta go. Give Uncle Jun my love."

    "I will, dear." Her grandmother embraced her again. "Come home soon."

    "I''ll call as soon as I find a place." Gwen squeezed her grandmother, absorbing her babulya''s boundless affection by hugging her tightly against her torso.

    Finally, Gwen turned to her conflicted brother.

    "Keep up the good work, bro." She grabbed both his hands and squeezed. "I''ll wait for you."

    "No need." Percy leaned in for a hug, finding his sister meeting him halfway. After rocking the young man back and forth so that the pair appeared floating at sea, Percy pulled himself away. "I am going to catch up to you, Sis. While you train, watch me make our family proud and powerful."

    "Good!" Gwen patted his head. "Kick some ass out there, bud. But always remember¡ª stay safe. And don''t make Mei cry, else I''ll come back here and beat you raw."

    "That was the sappiest farewell I have ever seen," Yue greeted Gwen on the opposite side of the barrier. "And I''ve seen plenty of Frontier send-offs."

    "Sorry," Gwen apologised. "I am not used to having a family."

    "Nah, it was cute." Yue shrugged. "It makes me happy, you know? Back when we were kids, you were all kind of gloomy and depressing. Your mum was a psycho bitch, and Morye was a right cunt, shit was the pits."

    "Yeah." Gwen glanced at her still-waving family outside the Force Barrier. To her amusement, even Guo was waving, albeit discreetly. "Those days are behind me."

    "Thank fuck."

    "You sure you''re okay not going for the parade with Whetu? Team spirit and all that? Promos and stuff."

    "Nah, I am a merc," Yue said. "Whetu and the boys, they''re the heroes."

    "I suppose. It''s a shame I couldn''t hang out with the Kiwis some more."

    "I am more so surprised Dick''s not coming with us."

    "He''s going to settle his family down, then meet us in London. We''re on entirely different enrolment schedules. I''ve also got a lot on my plate before I can attend classes."

    "Yeah, like running a bloody empire of greed. Are you as rich as Lulan''s yapping? Or is she mostly hot air?"

    "Ha!" Gwen grinned. "I''ve got enough to get by in London. I can borrow crystals to invest as well."

    "How much have you got on you?"

    "What, right now?"

    "Yeah."

    "In HDMs?"

    "Sure."

    Gwen held up six fingers.

    "Six hundred HDMs?" Yue snorted. "Very impressive."

    Gwen gave her friend the stink eye, demanding to know if she was as thick as her bosom was mighty.

    "Six THOUSAND?"

    Gwen snorted through both nostrils.

    "SIXTY THOU¡ª"

    "One-zero-zero-zero-zero-zero¡ª" she whispered the numbers across a silent Message. "And then some. Marong had it prepared for London. I am going to need an office, among other things."

    "Christ of Naz¡ª"

    "Shhh!" She pulled the Evoker closer. "¡ª and I''ve banked up just over 3000 CCs¡­"

    Yue slapped away her friend''s wayward hand. "Oi, now you''re just showing off. Peaches'' ain''t kidding, Dragon-girl."

    Gwen giggled, grinning like a shot Wyvern. "What can I say? You''re talking to a bona fide rich-bitch."

    When Gwen had come through her first ISTC Station, she had been so sick that she could hardly breathe. Now, with her Conjuration hitting the upper-middle tiers and her conduits brimming with VMI, she could barely feel a tickle as she translocated across thousands of kilometres.

    Their first stop was Singapore''s ISTC, one of the most extensive networks in the southern hemisphere. At the island nation''s vast sorcery-inclined shopping mall, Gwen purchased some new clothes, a dozen pairs of shoes¡ª all magical, and some local specialities for Gunther and Alesia. Yue followed her clicking heels, disturbed by the ease of Gwen''s capitalist-spendthrift, lacking the words to voice her working-class agitation.

    Two hours and a sumptuous meal later, the duo entered another ISTC platform and made for Sydney. This time, there were no complications or abductions, only a flash of Conjuration and a horrid feeling that a part of them remained thousands of kilometres away.

    "Welcome to Darwin," a troop of Tower Mages greeted the new arrivals. "Please register your multi-passes at the Administration Block."

    After receiving their stamps and Glyphs, the girls made a snack out of fish and chips, then awaited their turn. Forty minutes later, they embarked on yet another ISTC array, hopping from Townsville to Brisbane, then to New Castle, and finally Sydney.

    "Huzzah! HOME AT LAST!" a cry of jubilation interrupted the hurried transit of travellers in Sydney''s newly built ISTC terminal.

    From the exit gate, the staff and the guests were enchanted by the visage of a svelte young sorceress floating across the marble floor, making for the exit.

    Once outside, the girl spread her arms wide as though praising the sun, then twirled, tantalising the onlookers with her pale limbs and long hair.

    "Arrrgh!"

    To their surprise, the sorceress retreated no more than a few seconds later, escaping back into the shade to join her companion, a flustered Asian sorceress in military cargos and a tank top.

    "Affinity predicaments?" Yue stepped into the sun beside her friend. "We''re just into December, but the avo''s always a right broil. Is the Aussie summer proving too much for you?"

    "I could feel myself cooking." Gwen scrutinised the snail sheen of sweat covering her arms and legs. Gingerly, she examined herself for sunburn. "The Radiance index here is insane! And there''s no mana miasma to diffuse the sunlight either."

    "Ha! Would you like me to get you a parasol and a cup of tea, my lady?" came Yue''s mocking laughter. "You''re not even in London yet, and you''re already acting like a shrinking violet. Ah, well¡ª I suppose the London fog should agree with you."

    "Ah, well indeed¡ª" Gwen circulated Almudj''s Essence, not wanting to show up to Alesia and Gunther''s supper partially Polymorphed into a lobster.

    "Whoa¡ª"

    "What now?"

    Unlike in Shanghai or elsewhere, her body was brimming with vigour, as though empowered by something far more substantial than herself. If she were a religious person, she would almost believe herself at the mercy of a higher power. But, the feeling lasted only a second. In its aftermath, everything, even the air and the asphalt beneath her Mary Janes felt intimate and connected.

    Gwen inhaled deeply, held the air in her lungs, then exhaled.

    "What freshness!"

    Yue glanced at the shuttle busses, each vomiting lungfuls of unspent mana.

    This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

    "Good for you," she said finally. "So, should we take the T-Circle, the shuttle bus or a taxi? The city''s completely changed since you left. Knowing your sense of direction, you might end up back in China."

    "Let''s share a cab." Gwen beamed, once again stepping into the sun; this time, she felt as though bathed in warm water. In the distance, she could hear the laughing of kookaburras. "Along the way, you can tell me all about it!"

    "So, where you lovelies from?"

    To demonstrate that some aspects of Sydney remained immutable, the taxi driver kept glancing at his rearview mirror at the two girls seated behind. Compared to the vigilant Yue, Gwen didn''t mind the occasional gawker. Her dress wasn''t exactly Victoriana, and her contoured calves were arguably a tantalising distraction.

    "First time in Sydney? Where to? I could show your ladies the best view of the CBD if you''re keen. We''re on the up and up. Sydney''s an up-and-coming tier 1 city!"

    "Mate¡ª keep your eyes on the road," Yue warned their driver. To show that she meant business, the sorceress materialised an ID, one that displayed her Military Rank and her Public Practice of Magic number. Thanks to a ruby-red "5" beside her Schools of Magic, the driver grew instantly attentive.

    "Yes, Ma''am!"

    "We got business at the new Tower. Head north after Kinsington, then swing through Paddington until you hit Town Hall."

    "Right away, Ma''am!" The driver half-saluted. "No problem."

    The midday traffic through Kingsford proved light as the girls made for the heart of the city. Along the way, Yue ran a running commentary on Sydney''s altered landscape.

    "You''ll see it once you get to Master''s place..." Yue spoke at length about the carcass of the Leviathan still parked in the harbour. Thanks to the tsunami that engulfed the coastal suburbs, everything eastward of the Royal Botanic Garden had to be rebuilt from scratch. Once the Mermen inhabiting the organic treasure trove were purged, the Leviathan had then been worked to the marrow, transforming Elizabeth Bay into a maritime strip mine.

    Together with the east, most of Sydney CBD''s quadrants had been demolished by the invasion as well. Thus far, only the central segment from Macquarie Street to Barangaroo had been reconstructed. Likewise, the crumbling, historical architecture of the city had been all but cleared, leaving wide avenues ripe for modern urban planning.

    As their taxi passed worksite after worksite, Gwen saw that Gunther had tirelessly transformed his home, ensuring Sydney could no longer be easily invaded. In between the gleaming concrete and glass, the Tower Master had installed watchtowers, Divination Beacons, Shielding Stations and Barrier Checkpoints, forming an intra-city defensive grid.

    "Wow¡ª look at that! Amazing."

    The biggest difference, in so far as Gwen was concerned, was the appearance of Sydney Tower. In the past, her Master''s residence had been primarily a concrete fort. Built in the early 80s under Henry Kilroy''s guidance, it''s sole purpose was as a military installation. Now, taking a leaf from Singapore and Hong Kong, Gunther had revamped the Tower by building an extension beside its original self, marrying curved glass and transmuted steel with the sandstone facade of the brutalist original. Side-by-side, the two buildings possessed an asymmetric appeal, symbolising not only the power and wealth of Sydney''s Tower Master; but both the city''s past and its bright future.

    "The new roads are so wide!" Gwen cooed, very much a bumpkin entering the big city for the first time. "Whoa, Martin''s Square is now a pedestrian zone? And there are so many shops! I haven''t seen half of these brands! Where are they all from?"

    "Mostly Europe," Yue answered, trying her best not to imagine Gwen buying up the inventory. "Gunther gathered A LOT of Mages in Sydney. Thanks to the reconstruction, our employment market is incredibly lucrative right now. Master says Sydney has the highest concentration of low to mid-tier Mages in Oceania."

    "What about the NoMs?" Gwen scanned the streets. In so far as she could tell, an equal volume of NoMs and Mages jostled through the crowded avenues.

    "They''re mostly relocated to satellite hubs outside the CBD like Parramatta, Castle Hill, Lakemba, Blackheath and so on. Now that the old NoM districts are gone, they won''t be able to afford the city''s centre. All the buildings here are brand new."

    "That''s terrible." Gwen frowned. "How about public transport? Did Gunther provide new lines to those areas?"

    "The city council''s working on building tramlines into the suburbs where NoMs refugees have rebuilt. They started when I left a few months ago, but I don''t think there''s been much progress."

    "What are the refugees doing for crystals?"

    "Menial jobs, I''d imagine." Yue pointed to a crew of hard-hatted workmen digging out a pit on the road, supervised by a Transmuter in a hi-visibility jacket. "Most of the folks our family used to know from Forrestville are labourers now. You know; installing drywalls, running mana conduits, tiling, flooring, carpentry, that sort of thing. Gunther says that the NOMs are getting by just fine. I am just happy that mum''s doing alright, I got her a position in the Tower''s refugee relief unit. She''s working the soup kitchens."

    "That''s kind of her..." Gwen checked her reflection against the blurring city. Indeed, some things remained immutable, even under a benign dictator like Gunther.

    In the rearview mirror, she noticed that their driver was once again glancing at them. This time, it was their topic of conversation that made the man beyond curious. That they kept name dropping "Gunther" now and then was also highly suspect¡ª for what business could two young women have with the highest office of Sydney? The most perplexing thing, Gwen mused, was probably why two chicks on a first-name basis with the premier Mage of Sydney had to take an NoM''s taxi.

    "Yunnie, does Aunty like working for the Tower?"

    "I made sure the staff knew she was the mother of Yue Bai, Apprentice to the Scarlet Sorceress." Yue scoffed. "Anyone trying to bully mum will be served to the homeless, medium-rare."

    "Jesus." Gwen snorted. "And you didn''t get a visit from HR?"

    "H-what?"

    "Never mind," Gwen withdrew her Gwenism. "How''s Uncle Bai?"

    "Dad''s alright. He got a cushy managerial position thanks to Gunther. We''re no longer living in Forrestville, by the way. The Bais are moving up in the world! We bought a new place in Vaucluse, not far from the ferries. We got those now too, by the way."

    "Nice." Gwen recollected scenic Vaucluse from her old world. "That''s right next to the water. Not worried about another Mermen invasion?"

    "Not with Gunther in charge. That Leviathan''s provided plenty of materials to upgrade all of our Shielding Stations. Its skull now serves as a permanent military installation. We''ve got it towed to the Watson Bay inlet, right at the entrance into Sydney¡ª they''re calling the new island Mermaid''s Head."

    "Classy. I suppose there''s always a boon after the bust."

    "There''s only a boon if your city happens to have an arse-kicker capable of decapitating a Leviathan five kilometres out, with minimal preparation and no Tower backup."

    "True." Gwen wondered if Gunther had gotten even stronger since his world-famous battle. "Gunther was Master''s Ace."

    "Pufft, then what does that make you? The cat¡ª"

    "Ma''am," their driver interrupted. "This is as far as I can go."

    The taxi pulled to a stop.

    Gwen materialised four LDM sticks. "Keep the change."

    "Cheers," the driver intoned reverently, happy for the sorceresses to depart his coarse and common vehicle.

    Outside, two guards in Fascist-white quickly accosted the girls. Different from the uniforms in Gwen''s memory, the Tower''s imposing attires had taken on a para-military aesthetic. The men''s Merskin belt, Gwen noted, sported both a wand and a Sonic Suppressor.

    "Girls. You''re in a restricted area. Please leave." The first guard placed a hand on the knob of his weapon. When Gwen responded to the man''s menace with a wholly unconcerned smile, his tone softened. "Sorceresses, why are you here?"

    "Mate, we''re here to see the Tower Master." Yue drew a Glyph in the air, which Gwen assumed to be some sort of passcode. "Take Gwen here to the Teleportation Platforms and inform Master Shultz that his little sister has arrived."

    The guards regarded one another.

    The one that had addressed them suddenly slapped his thigh.

    "You''re Gwen Song!" The young man opened his mouth wide enough to swallow an egg. "I''ve seen you on the Vid-casts¡ª!"

    The second guard slapped the first on the back.

    "That''s Miss Gwen Song you''re speaking to, Private Jones." The senior of the two saluted. "Corporal Gris, at your service, Ma''am."

    "Hello." Gwen inclined her chin politely. "Sorry for the hassle."

    "No trouble, Ma''am." The Corporal bowed. "Please, this way. Jones is just a little star-struck."

    With the guards leading the way, the two waltzed into the Tower''s interior. Along the way, Gwen made pleasant small talk as she had always done, leaving the men well impressed.

    "How come they didn''t recognise you?" Gwen leaned in beside Yue. Now below the Tower, she was delighted to see that the exterior cladding refracted the sunlight like the scales of a certain Rainbow Serpent. Inside, the multi-storey foyer was breath-taking, more akin to an ultra-luxury hotel rather than a central government office.

    "I don''t much like coming here." Yue shrugged. "Master doesn''t either. She says there''s too much hot air. We generally spend our time in the Frontier zones."

    "But the IIUC Vid-cast..."

    "Gwen, you underestimate how memorable you can be." Yue smacked her on the bottom. "Now get! I''ve got places to be."

    "You''re not coming with me?"

    Yue pointed a thumb to a sign that had the words "Teleportation Circle Access", followed by an arrow.

    "Nah, all that classified stuff you and Gunther are going to sprout is going to give me a headache. Besides, you''re going to chill with your family..." Gwen''s friend parted from her without so much as an adieu. "... and I am going to see mine."

    "Come in," Gunther''s baritone voice resounded.

    Gunther''s secretary, a middle-aged Diviner, opened the double-doors for Gwen. Located at the top floor of the new Tower, the oval office offered a horizon to horizon vista of Sydney''s harbour and its south-western suburbs.

    "Brother!" Gwen made a bee-line for her sibling-in-craft.

    In the two years since Henry''s passing, Gunther had been her rock, fluidly assuming the stewardship of their Master''s orphaned Apprentice.

    "Sister." Gunther stood, as imposing as always in his surreal handsomeness. With outstretched arms, he caught the girl running toward him. "You look good. You''re a young woman now."

    "Gods, I missed you." Gwen buried her face into her brother-in-craft''s chest. "You have no idea how happy I am to be back here. I swear to God, a bloody lifetime has elapsed since we last spoke in person."

    "The feeling''s mutual." Gunther awkwardly patted his "Sister" across the back. "Also, that''s some strength you''ve got in your arms. Please try to refrain from squeezing out my insides. I am not a tube of toothpaste."

    Gwen laughed, releasing Gunther just enough for him to feel his spine realign. With great relief, he directed her to the visitor''s chair.

    "First things first," she declared, flashing Gunther''s Contingency Ring before chanting the secret Glyph to deactivate its magic. With a deft pull, she removed the ring from her ring finger, then placed the thumb-sized, un-glamoured diamond in front of her brother-in-craft. "Here you are¡ª Thanks for the loan, Gunther, but your live-saver is killing me."

    "You should keep it." Gunther appeared puzzled by her rejection. "It makes me happier knowing that you''re safe."

    "No thanks, Gunther. You forgot to mention that your heirloom is a unique artefact the likes of which the world will never see again." Gwen lamented. "You told me this was a ''decent'' Contingency Ring. You DID NOT say that it was an irreplaceable, last of its kind Magic Item crafted by the House of Asscher, whose chief inscriber passed away a decade ago."

    "Regardless, the utility is what makes it precious." Gunther shrugged. "What use is it otherwise?"

    "How about you save it for Alesia." Gwen pushed the ring forward. "Or Gunther Junior. He or she would need it, knowing Alesia."

    Gunther smiled secretively. "Are you sure?"

    "I am sure. Besides, I''ve acquired one of my own." Gwen flashed the Continency Ring on her ring finger. "It''s a Gavin Company ''Brilliant Round'' from South Africa. Like yours, it''s also an Eye Tyrant''s Core. A friend of mine put in a good word with the company."

    "A friend?"

    "A Mineral Mage from Pretoria."

    "The young Hertzog?" Gunther nodded. "He''s from good stock."

    Gwen cocked her head; her thick lashes fluttered uncertainly. "Gunther, have you been spying on me?"

    Her brother-in-craft leaned back in his executive''s chair. Despite the inhuman hours spent at the desk, Gunther did not morph into a "Dad" as she had hoped. Conversely, where Magus von Shultz the Combat Mage had reminded her of a warring Apollo, Tower Master von Shultz took on a gentler, bookish air.

    "I kept tabs," Gunther replied, studying her face. "The Master of your other companion, Meister Bekker, doesn''t have the best reputation. And Jean-Paul Bekker isn''t exactly known for acts of chivalry."

    "He was a cool guy."

    "Cool¡ª and cold, and ruthless, and just weird enough to be dangerous." Gunther picked up his ring, then slipped it onto his left index finger. "I''ve gotten wind of the deal he offered you, and no, Meister Bekker does NOT have my blessing."

    "O, Gods..." Gwen''s face turned instantly scarlet.

    Gunther raised both hands. "I won''t interfere with your life, Gwen, but I won''t be kept in the dark. Is that agreeable."

    "I should say no." Gwen half-leaned against the table, nibbling her bottom lip. "But such is life, I suppose. I mean, are you going to give me privacy if I chucked a tantrum?"

    "No," Gunther candidly replied. "You''re our little sister. You haven''t even come out to society yet. You''re also a Class VI War Mage."

    "A what?"

    "After Shenyang, you''ve been compartmentalised as a strategic asset." Gunther''s smile betrayed the seriousness of his words. "There won''t be limitations to your freedom as such, I''ve seen to that¡ª but your general whereabouts and those with whom you associate will be made known to us. In Sydney, I can keep you out of the Tower''s eyes and ears, but once you''re in London¡­"

    "I understand." Gwen nodded. "The perils of power, huh?"

    "Especially when combined with youth," Gunther returned. "Once we''re done here, I am going to send Emily to help you with getting your ID updated. For now, I''ll grant you an Unlimited Class V Public Practice of Magic Licence. You should be able to use spells up to tier 5¡ª but as always, there will be penalties if you abuse your privileges. Even as your brother-in-craft, I won''t show favouritism in enforcing the rules of my city."

    "Thanks, but I won''t be in Sydney for long."

    "How long?"

    "Two weeks? I am going to visit Opa and spend some time down at the Hunters. Hang out with Yue and Alesia, probably. Other than you guys, I am all alone."

    "That''s all?"

    "That and I brought you this¡ª" Gwen passed a hand over Gunther''s table, materialising five tomes, each as thick as her wrist.

    Gunther picked up a leather-bound volume and flipped through the covers. The content was, demonstrably, both familiar and arcane.

    "Accounting? Auditing? What is this?"

    "A gift of knowledge for all the help you''ve given me. These are Professor James Ma''s internal memos, collated into a manual for NoM trainees. I would venture to say that this is the sole reason Tonglv kept within budget AND managed to generate profit without wankers skimming the proceeds." Gwen''s explained. "For a Tower Master up to his neck with delegated infrastructural projects, I''d imagine they''re going to be quite invaluable."

    "Really? That''s quite the gift." Gunther opened the first volume on corporate governance. After scanning the first few pages, he nodded. "But why NoMs?"

    "Ah, now that''s a million HDM question." Gwen''s eyes grew mischievous. "But I know how busy you are, so let''s save the details for dinner. I wonder, what fine cuisine will the most bad-ass Mage in all of Oceania prepare for his prodigal sister?"

 Chapter 318 - Loves Labour

    "Oh, wow." Gwen choked up, conquered by a torrent of welling emotions. Before her very eyes, engraved onto the Tower''s dark, marble floor, was a glowing Teleportation Circle. "I can''t believe it''s still here."

    "I couldn''t bring myself to disenchant it." Gunther''s tone grew paternal as he patted Gwen''s shoulders. "I had the Mandala preserved after we relocated. It''s only one-way now, but very much still functional."

    "That''s fine." Gwen stepped around the old Teleportation Circle. Her grandfather had inscribed the one in Pokolbin, but her Master had engraved its twin in the Tower. "I''ll go and visit Opa tomorrow. I don''t think I can fly back in time for dinner if I go now."

    "Maybe you should inform him of your arrival."

    "Naw." Gwen shook her head. "I want it to be a surprise. Is he hale?"

    "Your grandfather lives an interesting lifestyle," Gunther said, keeping a straight face. "If he''s sick, I would have known."

    "Even if Opa''s not," Gwen joked, admonishing Gunther''s stoicism. "I can bring him back from the dead."

    Gunther coughed. "Let''s not get carried away."

    "How do I access the circle? Tomorrow, I mean."

    "I''ll arrange clearance for you." Gunther tapped his Message Device. "Look, I''ve got to get back to work. Alesia should return in an hour. Yue won''t be joining us?"

    "She''s got the family to attend to," Gwen said. "It''s been almost three months since she last saw her mother."

    "How admirable," Gunther approved. "See you at dinner, Gwen."

    "Will do." Gwen gave her brother-in-craft another hug. "Thanks for preserving the Mandala."

    "No need." Gunther grinned. Before Gwen could speak, he patted her head. "To Alesia and I, you''re the only family we''ve got left, so don''t rush, you''re still young. When you return from London and Sydney has settled, we''ll go visit Master and Sufina together. Then, we''ll find Sobel."

    As the fiancee of Sydney''s Tower Master, there was no particular reason for the Scarlet Sorceress to stay in her old apartment. Nonetheless, out of sentimentality and or stubbornness, that''s what she did.

    Located north of Lavender Bay and overlooking Wyatt Park, the former "Bay Lodge" of Nelson''s Point had survived the Leviathan with no more than shattered shopfronts and flooded basements. The aftermath, however, saw Alesia''s building playing home to the abruptly displaced refugees of the eastern suburbs. At her behest, the lower floors and the old commercial centre had turned into soup kitchens and its multi-story parking lot into temporary shelters.

    But once the crisis passed, the once august locale had lost all of its well-to-do owners and tenants. Furthermore, its new inhabitants were no longer named Mages that graced Sydney''s social circles. Instead, newly wealthy migrants filled the skyscraper''s middle floors, while the lower levels were converted into restaurants and cafes catering to the new flux of foreign workers.

    Alesia de Botton''s residence in the penthouse suite, therefore, had become a fable of sorts. For a building located not so conveniently across the bay from Sydney''s new Tower, it was difficult for the inhabitants to conceive that the premier Mage in Oceania and his wife lived a few floors up.

    Presently, within the lodge, in a closeted chamber shielded from Divination, Gwen materialised.

    With an irrepressible sense of nostalgia, she brushed the motes of sizzling Conjuration from her dress. Three years ago, she had teleported with Alesia into this very spot, knowing almost nothing about the world within which she had found herself. Then, after changing into a borrowed dress, they had gone to see her Master, Henry Kilroy.

    THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!

    "Gwen¡ª is that you?" Alesia''s voice rang out before Gwen could even walk through the door.

    "Alesia, it''s me!" She called back. "Er¡­ I can''t open the secret door. Did you change the Glyph?"

    "Ah¡ª Gunther had new wards installed. One sec!"

    There was a din of stomping feet, then the wooden panel slid into its hidden recess, revealing a familiar face. Compared to when Gwen had first met her sister-in-craft, the Alesia de Botton of today appeared older, more worn and threadbare compared to the vivacious woman Gwen had met almost three years ago.

    "Allie!"

    "Gwen!"

    The pair embraced. Alesia delivered a mighty hug that wholly enveloped her sibling-in-craft. She kissed her twice, once on each cheek.

    "You''ve scared us almost to death!" The sorceress pulled herself away. "A Lich! Who the hell fights a Lich?!"

    "It had me pinned!" Gwen protested. "Did you watch the whole thing? I did my best to try and bluff it, but the damned thing wasn''t afraid of Dragons. It was either fight or flight. I mean, it was tossing Disintegrates like confetti!"

    "I saw¡ª at any rate, no more Liches for our Gwen-Gwen." Alesia kissed her again on the head. "Gods, that was too close. Fucking Chinese organisers, I just knew they would be full of shit."

    "No one anticipated a literal Lich."

    "Well, I think you should have burned Gunther''s Ring as soon as you saw the limp-dick bastard. Fuck the competition. There''s no merit in celebrating dead champions."

    Assaulted by Alesia''s foul-mouthed kindness, Gwen melted in her sister''s arms. Finally, here was someone whose reaction was entirely within the range of rational and reasonable expectations.

    "Still, I survived!" Gwen intoned sincerely. Thinking of her future majordomo, she decided to test the tension between them. "Walken saved my life, you should know. I survived thanks to him."

    "No¡ª" Alesia wagged a finger rudely in her face. "Walken saved his arse. If you had died, Gunther would have reduced him to cinders. Hell, I would have scorched the bastard from inside out, starting with his marrows."

    "He almost died saving me. I had to CPR him back to life."

    "It was an act of desperation," Alesia insisted. "But enough about that snake. So, London, eh? Looking forward to it?"

    "Oh, absolutely." Gwen grinned from ear to ear. "Cambridge and Elvia, what''s not to like?"

    Alesia laughed, inviting Gwen upstairs to the penthouse. As before, Alesia proceeded to her fridge, inside, as per Gwen''s initial visit, were rows upon rows of beer.

    "Jesus, Allie, that''s no way for the First Lady of Sydney to live."

    "Ha! Did Gunther tell you?" Alesia raised an elegant brow.

    "Tell me what?"

    "I am Missus Shultz now."

    "WHAT!" Gwen almost crushed her can of stout. "WHEN?"

    "When I got back from Shanghai." Alesia giggled. "After speaking to Ayxin, I decided it was time. Gunther and I, we''re not going to find some else like ourselves. If a Dragon could find the courage to straddle the human she loves, why not me? It was a civil ceremony. We''re both far too busy to organise a wedding and there are far too many young hussies in the Tower aiming to be Missus Shultz I didn''t want to invite. That and I have only Yue and you, and Gunther his thousands of contacts..."

    Gwen appeared devastated.

    "Allie! WOE IS ME. The matrimony of de Botton and Shultz was supposed to be THE event of the decade! We''re talking LORD GUNTHER von SHULTZ here! The King of Australia! You could have had an Opera House wedding dressed in white, with a train that stretches from Circular Quay to the Bennelong''s lawn! The hair! The jewellery! The Vid-casts! The¡ª THE CATERING! ARRRGH¡ª!"

    "Hahaha..." Alesia''s laughter shook the window panes. "You''re so funny."

    "No, seriously!" Gwen almost tore out a clump of her precious hair. "I wanted to be your bridesmaid! O my God! How can this be? One of my most fervent dreams, shattered by inconvenient scheduling! How is Gunther okay with this?"

    "Gunther preferred it. He was oh-so-relieved when I told him we should just get the Governor-General to come and officiate at the Tower. Fifteen minutes was all it took. Gunther zipped the old feller up to his office; then it was all over. I''ve got the certificate witnessed and sealed and everything. You want to see?"

    "I do, but still¡ª" Gwen felt physical pain. A civil ceremony? She could imagine the riot if William and Kate decided that a Westminster wedding was too much of a hassle, and so got notarised at the motor registry. "You have to give me time to digest this thing. I can''t believe it. Gunther and Alesia, hitched! In an office! By the GG!"

    "It''s not so bad." Alesia drummed her tummy absentmindedly.

    "Holy COWS¡ª" Gwen''s lips trembled, as did her fingers. "Are you¡­"

    "No, not yet." Alesia smiled. "You know how it is. The more talented a Mage, the harder it is for us to conceive. That''s why sorceresses marry young¡ª and why you''re so damn popular. As for us, we''re trying, but nature is going to take a long while to get here."

    "Well, you can give it a push! Are you menstruating on the regular? Have you counted your ovulation days?"

    "What kind of question is that?" Now, it was Alesia''s turn to splutter. With her expression suddenly reserved, she regarded Gwen with suspicion. "And what would you know about pregnancy?! Have you got a boyfriend yet?"

    "What? No way."

    "Then¡ª HAVE YOU BEEN WITH A BOY?!" Alesia pointed a trembling finger toward Gwen''s face.

    "Allie, the only dudes I chill with are family, workers, and Dragons¡ª"

    "HOLY SHIT, GWEN!" Alesia quivered with disbelief. "IS IT A DRAGON?! GUNTHER is going to be PISSED. Are we talking about the Wyvern or the Thunder Dragon? OR BOTH? Two at once? Jesus¡ª Look, it doesn''t matter, they fry all the same¡ª"

    "No! No! No!" Gwen crossed her fingers to form an X, warding away Alesia'' sudden hysteria. "Absolutely no boys! AND NO DRAGONS."

    "You better not be lying to me¡ª"

    "Look, if you recall, my Babulya is the director of the Second PLA Army Hospital," Gwen declared with a straight face. "I am a girl, and she''s an experienced medical practitioner. Naturally, in the course of our filial conversations, we''ve discussed such matters that pertain to female anatomy and fertility."

    Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

    "Really¡­"

    "YES!"

    Alesia''s shoulders fell.

    "Then why aren''t you dating?"

    Gwen rolled her eyes. "So, are you and Gunther having problems conceiving?"

    "Not as such." Alesia squirmed. "It''s just how it is. All older sorceress will run into the same problem. The more magic one possesses, the more problems a womanencounters. Some folks say since our lifespan increases, it''s only natural for our fertility to decrease. For me, since I am a combat sorceress, I''ve sustained quite a bit of damage in my youth. If you recall, during that time we ran into your snake, Edgar and his goon took out a chunk of my gut. Then, during Sobel''s invasion, I burned up half my conduits. All that healing takes a toll. Upper-tier mystic ingredients don''t just fall from the tree, you know."

    "Bloody hell, Allie." Gwen held her sibling''s hand, feeling her cold fingers tense. "Don''t you worry, you''re still young¡­"

    "Young?" Alesia snorted. "Now you''re making fun of me. My body''s probably all kinds of beaten by now."

    "Nah, you don''t have to worry about that." Gwen grinned mysteriously. "Injuries? Accumulated body fatigue? Pufft! That''s nothing. Let''s wait for Gunther. For you guys? I''ve got the good shit..."

    "Gunther, you''ve CHANGED." Gwen stabbed her fork into the oily breast of a roasted Teak-beak Goose. "TAKE AWAY, really?"

    "You have only yourself to blame." Gunther massaged his eyes. "I spent the whole afternoon reading those manuscripts you left me and lost track of time. It''s going to take a few months to gather the personnel, but I expect we should be able to get a division of scribes up and running before the next financial year."

    "You''ll need to establish an Enforcer team as well, filled with Mages you trust. Folks will do anything to dodge their taxes and cheat the government of its rightful dues. Killing, I''d imagine, would be the least of your problems."

    "I know."

    "Still, that''s no excuse for sub-par food!" Gwen hissed. "Look at this greasy skin! It''s burnt! And this meat, it''s dry! You think Allie will get hale enough to bear a baby if she''s eating takeaway from Phat''s on George St?"

    "Can we not talk about babies?" Gunther grimaced, looking toward Alesia for help. When Alesia grinned, he disapprovingly raised both brows. "What do you know? You''re a kid. Do you even have a boyfriend?"

    "My Babulya''s a doctor!" Gwen rudely waved her fork.

    "So you keep saying." Gunther rolled his eyes.

    "Bah!" Gwen turned aside with a huff. "Men! You can lead a Sleipnir to water, but you can''t make it drink!"

    "Gwen¡ª leave the baby-making to Gunther and me." Alesia attempted to calm their youngest, who was both excited about the future and upset over the food. "So what''s this big gift you keep hinting at?"

    "I had other gifts prepared, but now that I know what you need..." Gwen walked to the end of the table, where the tabletop wasn''tinundated by a dozen takeaway containers. "... BEHOLD!"

    With a wave of her Storage Ring, she materialised a white-jade bottle of Maotai with a scarlet label.

    "This is half-century-old Maotai, brewed by the masters of Guizhou from the rare Wildland Red Sorghum and kept sealed under the ley-line beneath the brewery for five decades. It was bottled before the Communists took China."

    With another gesture, she materialised a sealed box radiating Enchantment.

    "And is ahalf-millenium-old ginseng raised by Dragons." She opened the box. "Ta-da!"

    "Kii¡ªKII?" The Ginseng Sprite, again disturbed from its slumber, gazed up at Gwen with its faceless mien. As before, her Dragon-fear held it in place. Already, the Ginseng was missing most of its right limb, some of its left leg, and most of the tendrils. "Kii?"

    "Don''t worry bud." Gwen held the Ginseng down with one hand. With her other hand, she summoned a thin disk of Void, not dissimilar to the cutting edge of her Chakram. "You won''t feel a thing."

    "KII?!" The Sprite let loose a piercing shout. Its protest was fruitless, for Gwen soon snapped-shut the box and held within her hand a segment of its right-most extremity.

    "Noisy little bugger."

    "Jesus, Gwen." Alesia held a hand to her lips.

    "I don''t think you should be doing that." Gunther was equally aghast. "To my knowledge, certain groups of powerful Demi-humans may not find your usage... kosher."

    "Not to worry," Gwen assured her siblings-in-craft. "It exists to be eaten, after all. The dude who grows these does it out of boredom. It walks and talks, but really, it''s just a herbal supplement."

    "That looks like a low-tier Spirit to me," Alesia pointed out. "A Draconic one at that."

    "¡ª and now!" Gwen ignored her siblings. "We apply some Essence to the herb in question."

    Gunther and Alesia sat transfixed as a pool of viridescent Essence, unadulterated in its purity, collected on their sister-in-craft''s palm.

    "That''s pure Druidic Essence." Alesia had seen Gwen feed her Familiars motes of the stuff, but had no idea Gwen could pump Essence outside her body like a liqueur from a bottle.

    In her hand, the root from the Spirit Ginseng began to sprout little tendrils. Gwen exalted in the act, for here in Australia, Almudj''s gift flowed far more accessibly than when she was elsewhere.

    After absorbing the viridescent fluid in her palm, Gwen expertly unstoppered the bottle of half-century Maotai, then cupped the opening, forcing the struggling "herbal supplement" into the alcohol.

    Instantly, a fragrant scent of alcohol combined with the bitter redolence unique to ginseng permeated the air.

    At the final step, she re-stoppered the Maotai, gave the elixir a good shake, then presented the precious liquid with a winning smile.

    "And there we have it. The panacea to all your ailments. Whatever injuries you have sustained in the past. Gone! Back pain? GONE. Work stress? NO MORE! Age lines. A thing of the past! Ailing libido¡ª"

    "Okay¡ª okay." Gunther put up both hands in surrender. "Gwen, I know what I am looking at. Dare I ask how you got your hands on this, and how much it costs?"

    "About four hundred HDMs for the bottle, which isn''t terrible, considering a limited stock exists. The ginseng, comparatively, is priceless. I doubt there''s more than a hundred of its ilk still cultivating in Huangshan. The gardener''s a prude, or so I''ve heard. As for the Essence, that''s all me¡ª and Almudj."

    "I see." Gunther eyed the bottle. "It certainly looks and smells potent. I can feel the vitality from here. Is it safe to imbibe?"

    "I wouldn''t drink more than a thimble a day," Gwen warned her siblings. "About a quarter of the bottle is enough for me to summon Caliban''s Bird or Hydra form without needing to replenish. As for safety, my family in China can vouch for its potency. We''ve had it twice so far, everyone''s doing well as a result."

    "That''s good to know." Alesia licked her lips.

    "But that''s not all!" Gwen made a second pass at the table. A whole stack of assorted goods materialised, some boxed, others bundles, yet more items were crystalised in Petra''s cubes.

    "This is from Fur-Peak, a tea that has absorbed the Essence of a Mythic-class Dragon. It likewise restores vitality and boosts vigour, but should be drunk slowly over a year."

    "Here''s some Dragon-carp meat from Gogo. He''s been a good boy. Considering how virile he is, I suspect there''s something in his favourite food. Did you know he knocked up a pheasant? They''re not even the same species!"

    "These are lamb-fat jadeite talismans. I''ve requested one for the each of you. It will ward away Negative Drain, protect you from evil, and bring good luck¡ª or at least that''s what my mate Ruxin says. As a five-century-year-old Thunder Dragon and the lord of Kachin, Nagaland and Manipur, I reckon he knows his jade."

    "You still traffic with this Ruxin?"

    "Of course, I am his financial advisor. Alesia''s informed you I hope. Allie''s mates with Ayxin, Ruxin''s sister."

    "Hold on." The Tower Master of Sydney wondered when his sister-in-craft would stop dropping one Fireball after another. "I know that you''re involved with the Draconic Clans in China. I also know that your Uncle is ''involved'' with one. Can you repeat the last part?"

    "Sure. Alesia knows Ayxin. Ain''t that why you guys got hitched?"

    "No," Gunther said. "The one before that."

    "My role as a financial advisor?"

    "Yes, please explain?"

    "What''s there to explain? Dragon has crystals, and by supplying me with a commission-based salary, he now has more. It''s win-win."

    "And this Ruxin has invited you into his vault, has he?"

    "Think of his treasure hoard as a bank." Gwen made a box with her hands. "I am working on multiplying the hoard rather than let it grow mould. In turn, I take a small cut for myself and use an otherwise static resource to benefit mankind. Currency is so named because it must flow, Gunther, you should know that. At any rate, this way, the more prosperous our cities become, the more crystal Ruxin accumulates both in his lair and on paper. Ergo, the humans leave the Dragon alone, and the Dragon sees the humans as beneficial."

    "But a Dragon is a Dragon," Gunther pointed out. "To it, we''re chattel."

    "If Ruxin is any indication, Dragons are a decent sort, certainly no worse than the monsters in our midst. In my experience, they''re creatures characterised by a love of land, crystals, and laziness. Satisfy all three, and a Draconic ally becomes a great boon."

    Gunther and Alesia exchanged disbelieving glances.

    "It''s true." Gwen smiled. "For example, you know I''ve got some stake in Tonglv, correct? Soon, the old codgers are going to make a move on my cut of the action. Additionally, I won''t be able to defend myself in their kangaroo court."

    "I could pay them a visit," Alesia offered. "That''ll sort them out."

    "No need." Gwen smirked impishly. "I''ve arranged it so that Ruxin is now the principal benefactor of my portion of the Tonglv Fund. I''ve given him all my assets in China as collateral for his future financial support."

    "So you''re the advisor to Ruxin¡ª and Ruxin is the custodian of your investments?"

    "Bingo! Imagine what will happen when the Fund stops paying out to my accounts¡ª which are now Ruxin''s accounts. When the Thunder Dragon sees the pricks stealing from him, what will he do to those poor sods in their ivory tower? Ruxin''s father is a Mythic Dragon, and Huangshan is only a hundred kilometres from Nantong. For a being that literally controls the weather over China''s rice bowl, what would be the implications?"

    "Strewth, Gwen." Alesia watched the goosebumps run up and down her arm.

    "HA! What will the mighty Central Commission for Discipline Inspection think when news reaches them that a bunch of greedy bastards are taking China''s largest city to the brink of starvation over a mere matter of a few hundred-thousand HDMs? Suffer in your jocks!"

    Alesia turned her chin slowly to gaze at Gunther.

    Gunther met his wife''s eyes with a cocked brow.

    "Are you really the Gwen we know?" Alesia placed a hand on her sister''s forehead.

    "I don''t know whether Master would be terrified, pleased or both." Gunther exhaled. "Gods, Gwen, what a horrible scheme you''ve hatched. It''s like a page out of the Grey Faction''s manifesto."

    Gwen allowed Alesia to squeeze her cheeks. Whether her sister was being proud or admonishing, she couldn''t tell.

    "Gunther, those crystals are rightfully mine," Gwen declared, her face pink thanks to Alesia. "I designed the Tonglv Fund from the ground up. I gave them the means! I trained those auditors and brought Professor Ma on board as well. The hours I poured into making the system work could have gone to my Spellcraft! If they wish to usurp my share, then they should be ready to pay the price. You said it yourself, didn''t you? We have to be cruel to be kind."

    "I think that was you..."

    "Gwen." Alesia drew Gwen closer. "I think you''re growing up a little too quick for my comfort."

    Gunther, comparatively, appeared less worried and more so wary. "Gwen, tell me truthfully. Did Eric Walken instruct you to engage this ploy?"

    "Sorry to disappoint, but the credit is all mine." Gwen met her brother-in-craft head-on. "I believe that this result is the culmination of opportunities I have cultivated in China¡ª My father''s family, the Dragons of Huangshan, Tonglv Canal, Professor Ma, the auditors, the Centurion Credit Program¡ª and now, Legion Corp."

    "Legion Corp?" Gunther and Alesia both raised their heads.

    "YES! I was hoping you could give me a hand so that I can help Sydney help itself." Gwen''s voice took on a peculiar and hypnotic cadence.

    With a word, Gwen activated the Illusions she had practised for Ruxin. In front of her sister and brother-in-craft, a map of greater Sydney and its Green and Orange Zones materialised.

    "What is that?" Alesia asked.

    "THIS is the end goal of Legion Corp! Make no mistake, our motto is simple: We''re with you, and we''re Legion."

    The next morning, Gwen awoke while her siblings slept next door.

    For the first time in a long time, Gunther called in late for work. It couldn''t be helped, for an all-night discussion of Sydney''s future had taxed the man to exhaustion.

    That and Gwen suspected from the Sound Ward on the second floor that the two may have too eagerly partaken her alchemical aids. As a long term imbiber of vitality-rich elixirs, she could only imagine what effects so much vigour could have had on two individuals in the prime of their lives. For sure, if Ayxin was confident in offsetting decades of Ash-usage, Gunther and Alesia should have no problems.

    Gwen ate a can of heated SPAM with a spoon while her siblings napped, then wrote the two a note to say that she would Message from Surya''s. With her Flight Licence and Gunther''s gift of Glyphs, it wasn''t difficult to cross the bay then take a taxi from the Ferry Terminal.

    Once inside the Tower, two cadets respectably chauffeured her into the depth of the old Tower.

    "Miss Song, please call us if you need anything." The guards bowed deeply.

    Gwen returned their offer with a nod, after which the duo disappeared down the familiar levitation platform.

    The room she once used still appeared as it always had been. In the past, she had come and gone from the Tower via this very Mandala, splitting her time between her Master''s domain, Blackwattle High, and Surya''s Estate. For a long while, she had thought that her quiet, routined life would continue until the end of high school, perhaps even the end of university.

    But that part of her life was long gone.

    Expertly, Gwen materialised an inscriptor in her dominant hand, carefully, she traced the outline of the Mandala. Now possessing the talent for Enchantment, the magical formulae no longer appeared mystical and unknowable. Within the circle, Gwen observed both the works of her Master and her Opa, each distinct in their execution of Weinberg''s Parallel Conduit and Higgs'' Parabolic Equaliser.

    With her other hand, she materialised a dozen HDMs and slotted them into the dimples carved onto the floor. Power nodes, these were dubbed in the parlance of the Enchanters; designed to channel and consume the latent energies held within the mana crystals. For her present transit, however, the Tower''s internal conduits would provide the necessary mana.

    "Teleport!" Gwen spoke the final invocation.

    With a stirring of dust, the Mandala activated, flaming with silvery Conjuration. In the middle, the Divination portion of the Mandala returned pure-white and vivified, verifyingits linked-twin hundreds of kilometres away.

    The room flashed.

    Time and space lost all meaning.

    Quicksilver Conjuration fell all about Gwen''s body, swirling and swirling until the mana was spent.

    Gwen opened her eyes.

    She had arrived at her destination, and all around her was darkness.

 Chapter 319 - The Old Man and the Gwen

    For added insurance, Gwen conjured Caliban.

    "Shaa?" Caliban scented the pitch-darkness, reporting nothing ''living'' within her vicinity.

    "Arcane Sight!" With her Familiar''s assurance, she took a few precious seconds to activate her Divination.

    Gwen''s emerald irises glowed viridescent, dispelling the darkness. Not surprisingly, she was in a warehouse¡ª one packed to the rafters with boxed and warded ingredients. Gwen recalled that the Mandala used to be in her Opa''s workshop, though now it seemed that her grandfather''s sanctum had been abandoned for some time.

    With her enhanced vision turning the stacked boxes of materials phosphorescent, she stepped around the wards, then located the door. There, she found her exit locked with Transmutation and warded with offensive Abjuration. With her limited knowledge of Enchantment, dispelling the protection was impossible.

    "OPA?" she called out. "HELLO?"

    "Shaa¡ªShaa?"

    "OPA? It''s me, Gwen!"

    Gwen checked her Message Device. Surya''s Glyph was inoperative.

    "OPA!!!"

    Gwen hammered the ceiling after sensing no retaliatory Enchantments.

    THUMP!

    She recalled Gunther had said that there were NoMs living on her grandfather''s property. Surely, someone would hear her and find her Opa.

    "HELLO?" This time, she added Clarion Call.

    "SHAA! SHAA!" Caliban aided its mistress as best as it could, rising on its tail to drum the roof with its tentacled tongue. ¡°SHAAAAA!"

    Surya Huang laid in his bed, watching a fly entrapped within the gossamer half-covering his bed.

    Usually, the Enchanter possessed a carefree disposition. More and more frequently, however, Surya had found himself in what Tess dubbed "one of those geezer moods".

    It wasn''t that Surya wanted to be depressed. Sometimes, the deviation of his present circumstances from his hopes and dreams simply caught the veteran unaware. For a self-professed family man, few things were more demoralising than not having a family nearby.

    After the Coral Sea War and after Agnes'' rejection, Surya had settled down to build his Australian Dream. He had found himself a devoted young wife, engendered two lovely children, and thanks to his mate Henry, enjoyed both fame and fortune. The future of House Huang had looked bright, and the aspirations he nurtured for a grand estate crawling with dozens of grand and great-grandchildren seemed at hand.

    Now, he slept alone in his enormous bedroom, thinking of two-dozen ways to fry a panicking blue-bottle while his once-manicured estate crawled with despondent NoMs.

    Surya tried his best not to think of his children, but the memory of their sweet, smiling faces vying for their father''s attention made him both nostalgic and upset. Kwan had always been ambitious, and Surya couldn''t fault his son''s appetite for wealth¡ª for that had been the pie in the sky he had painted the boy in his youth. As for Helena, her marriage to Morye was the final straw that broke the camel''s back.

    And as for his grandchildren; he had seen Richard only a dozen times in his life. Percy, likewise, had always thought of Surya as senile codger. As for the one that was abducted, Surya sighed. When would he see his cute cucu perempuan again?

    "Mel?" Surya croaked.

    No response came.

    "Tess?"

    His other Apprentice was away as well, likely working out yet another gripe for the NoMs.

    "Hehe." Surya reached under the bed and produced a bottle of Bundaberg''s finest overproof. Tess and Mel forbade him from drinking the strong stuff, but the girls were far too used to their Storage Rings to notice that the folds between the bed base and the mattress served as mundane storage.

    Shimming up his fort of goose-down pillows, Surya groped for a glass in the gloom.

    "Here''s to you, my cucu perempuan¡ª stay safe."

    In one swig, Surya knocked back the amber liquid, allowing the alcohol to suffuse his mind so that the bubbling bile of unhappiness could once again settle in its well. Soon, the sweet and sticky sugarcane rum suffused Surya''s insides, warming up his stick-thin body.

    "Opa?" echoed a muffled cry from below.

    Surya squinted in the curtained light. Just in case, he turned the bottle over, making sure Tess hadn''t replaced the damn thing with Cane Toad extract to teach him a lesson.

    "Helloooooo?"

    There it was again!

    Surya broke out in a cold sweat.

    How could Gwen be HERE of all places? Thousands of kilometres from China? If anything, shouldn''t she be headed for London? And even if she was, why would she be in the walls? And if she was in the walls, why was she haunting him?

    Gingerly, he sniffed the bottle, then swilled the liquid to check for impurities. Maybe Tess mixed in the toad-juice with the rum? That sneaky little witch needed to be spanked!

    "SHAA!" came a spine-chilling shriek, this one straight out of Surya''s fevered nightmares.

    THUMP! Something was striking the walls below.

    THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!

    Goddess! Surya felt his heart leap to his throat. Was this an indigenous spirit, come to punish him for building a house¡ª

    "Anyone home? I am going to Dimension Door out!"

    Surya again tried to discern if the voice he was hearing was real or hallucinatory. He recalled something about the workshop beneath his bed, but the overproof rum was remarkably potent.

    VOOOMPH!

    A concentric ring of raw electricity ignited the air, materialising a feminine figure in a mini-dress. The room illuminatedfor a second, then without warning, his cucu perempuan, the cutest, most beautiful granddaughter in human history, stood staring at him, her face a mask of horror.

    "G-Gwen?!" Surya spluttered.

    "SHAAA!" Besides the girl, her serpent, as black and phallic as the day it was born, screeched with delight, slithering onto the bed.

    Gwen''s eyes glowed with supernatural sight, her pupils capturing every detail in crystal clarity.

    "Y-you''re REALLY here?!" Surya spluttered.

    A torrent of repressive, gut-churning, spine-wrenching terror radiated from the girl. Under that gaze, Surya felt his body transform into a boneless anemone.

    "O-OPA! W-WHY-WHY are you NAKED?!"

    "A man''s home is his castle," Surya explained, nursing his old bones. Thanks to Gwen''s Dragon Fear, he hadfled hisbed and dressed so fast he had sprained his back and shoulders. "I sleep naked because it''s hot. It''s a sauna this summer."

    "You''re an Enchanter!" Gwen glowered, rubbing her eyes. "There are cooling Glyphs in your room! On your bed! And also leather cuffs¡ª why are cuffs¡ª"

    "A man''s got needs¡ª"

    "You''re SIXTY¡­"

    "I am a servant of Eros," her Opa explained, pointing a thumb at one of his many erotic statues. This one appeared to be a poor woman kneeling over, submitting to two Calibans.

    "Shaa?" Caliban appeared confused.

    "Is that the only thing on your mind?" Gwen quickly retrieved her innocent serpent before it could be corrupted.

    "Its art, and yes, I am very creative."

    Gwen reformatted her long-term memory to hard-wipe the mental image of her grandfather reenacting "The Nude Maja", consigning her recall to Caliban''s gullet.

    "Okay, let''s leave it at that." Slowly, her expression softened. Hesitantly, after checking her Opa''s robes for stains, she opened her arms. "Now that you''re decent. Come here, Opa."

    "My cucu perempuan!"

    The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    Gwen cradled the frail old man in her arms.

    Two years ago, when she had last done the same, her Enchanter grandfather had felt larger than life. Now, her Opa appeared drained of all his vivacity. Even held against her bosom, the grinning old man barely reached her chin. Even his hands, one pressing the small of her back and the other gripping her arm, felt like bird claws.

    "How''s your health?" Gwen asked her grandfather. "Gunther tells me a lot has happened."

    "Yes, indeed." Surya exhaled. "Too much¡­"

    "Well." Gwen pulled up a chair. Outside and below the estate''s elevated veranda, makeshift shelters stretched from east to west, falling away where Surya''s boundary fence met the neighbours. "For once, I''ve got all the time in the world."

    From Gwen''s Singapore misadventure to her family in China, Burma, and elsewhere, Opa and cucu perempuan exchanged stories of the past two years. When finally, the conversation fell to her deceased Master, her Opa fell silent.

    For Surya, the fall of Sydney and the death of Henry Kilroy had come as a profound shock. Now, out of his original party, only he, Mark, Agnes and Elizabeth remained.

    "To think Deathless Henry would leave this world before I took the long walk." Surya shook his head.

    "Hold up." Gwen''s brows knitted. "Chandler''s not dead?"

    "He escaped the Tower in the ensuing confusion." Surya breathed out. "Or so I''ve heard from Gunther. Your Brother-in-craft suspects that someone had to have aided Marc. It''s a moot point, though. He''s a Necromancer now, with a bounty on his head across all of the Mageocracy. What kind of life is that?"

    "Did he escape into the Wildlands? Become a Rogue Necromancer?"

    "It''s possible. You didn''t run into Marc in Shenyang, did you?"

    "No." Gwen hesitated at the possibility that Chandler HAD escaped to Shenyang, and that one of the many faceless victims of her Shoggoth was a man responsible for her pain, shame and misery. "Not that I would know."

    "A shame." Surya shook his head. "Although he was a companion, I would have preferred him deceased. With Henry gone, we need closure."

    "Me too," Gwen concurred. Having experienced Necromantic magic firsthand, her desire to see their mass-murdering "Craft" scoured from the earth was no less constant than Gunther''s or Alesia''s. "How''s Agnes and the ladies?"

    "They''re doing well." Surya grinned. "Agnes had the girls hide in the Black Cat when the city flooded. Thankfully, Surry Hills wasn''t completely inundated by the Mermen tsunami. It''s a hilly place, as the name suggests. She and the local militia managed to fight off the vanguards and establish a defensive cordon. For now, business is booming. She''s expanded the business and the shelter. Some of the girls visit monthly to model for me."

    "I didn''t need to know that."

    "It''s nothing inappropriate. What''s wrong with young ladies helping an old man find joy¡ª"

    "Please." Gwen handwaved her Opa into silence. "So, what do you think about Dad? Now that you know everything, I mean. The Song family, why he''s in Australia, the works."

    "I dearly wish my counterpart could beat the bastard black and blue every Tuesday," Surya growled. "Hiding his talent! Seducing my daughter and abandoning my cucu perempuan! Leaving you to be abused by his new in-laws, then ploughing some hussy half his age and even having a son with her? There''s no justice in the world, I tell you. If there is a God like the Christians say, that salty bastard would have eaten dirt during Sydney''s siege."

    "The communists are godless," Gwen reminded her Opa. "But I concur, Morye or Hai¡ª he''s a failure, much less a father."

    "But his family seems a decent lot," Surya agreed whole-heartedly with Gwen''s vitriol. "That Grandmother of yours seems like a decent sheila. And sweet Petra¡­"

    "Won''t be coming to Australia." Gwen almost regretted pointing out that the leggy Russian brunette in the IIUC footage was her cousin. "To change the subject, you haven''t heard from my mother at all?"

    "I''d imagine you would have heard from her," Surya returned guiltily. "I mean, she''s in China and all, and so were you."

    "We had a clean break." Gwen put together her hands; when she opened them again, a Vitae Fruit was resting on her palm. "I gave her back her youth. We''re done."

    "Ho!" Surya''s brows arched with surprise. "Where did you find this?"

    "I''ve collected this and more." Gwen smiled at her Opa. In her eyes, her grandfather looked far too old for a Magus of his station and skill. Considering individuals like Walken appeared perfectly youthful, no more than a dandy gentleman in his forties¡ª why should her Opa look like something the cat dragged in? "Some wine, some tea, some herbal supplements, all of which will make you haler and younger."

    "There''s no need." Surya flexed his wiry-thin arms. "I''ve been like this for decades."

    "The supplements I''ve brought are so potent that an Ash Mage with an affinity higher than tier 7 may be conceiving a half-dragon child as we speak," Gwen spoke as she laid out her gifts one by one. "I wonder what an artist such as yourself can do with such an infusion of life?"

    "You desire another Uncle or Aunty?" Surya was incredulous. He took her fingers with an earnest look of disapproval. "I know Hai has neglected you, but I didn''t think your problems were so serious¡ª"

    "Let me stop you right there," Gwen spluttered, slapping her Opa''s wayward hand. "I mean your health! Don''t be insulted Opa, but you look like hell. You look like a desiccated coconut!"

    "I live in on a farm, looking after thousands of refugees! With no son, no daughter and no grandchildren!" Surya chuckled. "Why do I care about my looks?"

    "You should because you''re going to live a LONG TIME." Gwen pinched Surya on the thighs, making the old man yelp. "Ten, twenty, FIFTY years from now, you''ll still be by my side, right? I need an Enchanter for my Tower."

    "Your what?"

    "My Tower."

    "You''re going to be a Tower Master?"

    Gwen nodded. "I want to make life better for the people whohelped me come all this way. If possible, I want to carve out a place for the NoMs as well, so they aren''t just livestock for the Mageocracy."

    Surya gawked at his little girl, now suddenly a giantess.

    "Was this Henry''s idea? The Noble Obligation thing?"

    "It''s Noblesse Oblige, and the idea was mine," Gwen said. "Master felt responsible for the NoMs¡ª but to him, they''re still just second class beings. I want to make their place in society worthwhile, at least economically."

    "Really? And what are NoMs to you? From the position of the Mageocracy''s future Omni-Mage, I mean."

    Gwen pointed a finger toward the folk milling about below. There was now a makeshift community living on her Opa''s estate. Considering the difficulty of relocation, Gunther had offered to gift Surya with a similar piece of land elsewhere.

    "Opa, I am going to tell you something that I haven''t told anyone yet. Not seriously, at least. Can I trust you to keep a secret?"

    "Of course, if you can''t trust Opa, who can you trust?"

    Gwen smirked. "Okay, here I go¡ª"

    She took a deep breath.

    "Opa, I feel that NoMs, our fellow human beings, possess within their multitudes a great and untapped potential. I am not speaking of NoMs who may one day Awaken as Mages, but NoMs with skills, talents, and gifts in their own right. Some may become great theorists of mathematics and physics. Others become traders, entrepreneurs, artists, poets, and writers. Within the untapped multitudes, we may very well uncover ideas and merits that will change humanity far more fundamentally. In my opinion, a million NoMs given proper training and education far exceed an Omni-Mage''s greatest potential."

    "Bloody oath." Surya sipped his rum, feeling flushed with warmth and vitality. "You''re going to pull some whiskers. I''ll tell you that. People will die."

    "People die every day and everywhere as we speak. Nonetheless, that''s what I believe in," Gwen continued. "Right now, we dig and dig and dig away at our Frontiers. Killing demi-humans, harvesting Wildland ingredients, mining for crystals. BUT what the humans don''t realise is that the biggest bounty lies in themselves."

    "The humans?" Surya snorted.

    "Us, I mean."

    "But resources are finite."

    "And our planet is plenty." Gwen shrugged. "Opa, I believe without a shadow of a doubtthat even if there are seven billion of us in this world, we would still be perfectly able to supply an excess of food, water and shelter to our species, dickheads notwithstanding. What''s limiting us isn''t Monsters or demi-humans¡ª it''s our irrational ''apartheid'' for those who lost the genetic lottery."

    "I don''t know what to say," Surya confessed. "I am just an Enchanter. All I know is how to make Magical Items and sculptures. You must have met some great teachers in Fudan. Is this a part of their Communist Manifesto or something."

    "Not really, but there are parallels." Gwen allowed the matter to drop. If her Opa believed that this was what she learned in China of all places, then so be it. "Now, on the matter of Enchantment¡ª what do you think of my new talent? Can I carry on the House of Huang as you had envisioned?"

    "Ah, yes." Surya rubbed his hands together, his face brightening at once. "NOW THAT''S WONDERFUL NEWS!"

    Gwen remained at Surya''s for three days, catching up with Mel and Tess, teaching them how to consume the Draconic-tea from Fur Peak and making sure that her grandfather wouldn''t overindulge, causing his lower body to explode.

    Concurrently, she spoke at length with Surya about her plans for the future. More explicitly, she had relayed the requirements she and Marong had discussed for Project Legion''s fleet of Divination Stations.

    To Surya, who had long lost the passion for the crafting of magical items and mandalas, the Legion Project appeared to ignite an old fire. That or Gwen suspected, her supplements had regenerated the gnarled synapses of her Opa''s eros-addled brain.

    According to the old Enchanter, Gwen and her partners would have to supply five critical components for her "Carrier Network" to manifest in reality.

    First, they needed a steady supply of high-quality Creature Cores, ideally harvested from a plentiful, renewable source to ensure consistency. When Surya noted the impossibility of such a thing, Gwen immediately thought of Golos. If Ruxin or Gogo could arguably put some effort into subsuming Magical Creatures, then it was entirely possible to generate caches of middle to high-tier Cores consistently.

    Secondly, "Legion Corp" needed to recruit a group of specialised Enchanters. These new-fangled Magitech-crafters must possess the capacity to engrave reactive Mandalas that interacted with the "datum" Gwen wished to traffic. Of greater difficulty was an even rarer breed of Enchanters who specialised in information algorithms and Crystal Cores. These individuals, Surya explained, originate from Palo Alto, a place dubbed the Crystal Valley¡ª the birthplace of the Crystal Core commonly found in Data Slates and Lumen-Recorders. Upon hearing the name, Gwen blinked, thinking to herself that, OF COURSE, such a place existed.

    Thirdly, Gwen needed to make contact with the manufacturing giants that made the Message Devices. Only by convincing the creators of these devices to use her private network could she arguably enact her plan. A caveat that would doubtless burden her goals was the fact that she was attempting to give NoMs the means to widely adopt Message Devices¡ª a fact that may not sit well with manufacturers in Central Europe, Japan, and Korea. Gwen replied that those who do not innovate, stagnate; and that in time, the market wouldensure her detractors fall in line. Her Opa shrugged. He wasn''t an economist and could not comment.

    Fourthly, as she intended to work with the Towers, a working relationship would have to be established with the Master of each region where her "Carrier Network" hoped to exist unmolested. There, she would have to deal with the unfortunate reality that Tower Masters followed Factions¡ª and her benefiting the Grey Faction, for instance, may spoil her chances of planting Towers in another Faction''s domain.

    Fifth and lastly, the Legion Corporation needed to lease land. To start, Gunther and Marong had no complaints in supporting her hobby. Likewise, from Lima to Cuzco, Gwen was sure to receive a fair shake of the sauce bottle. In other locations and in dealing with less favourable individuals, however, the tithing and service paid to spiteful stakeholders may sink her profits entirely. Gwen''s response to Surya''s paranoia was that as with all business dealings, localities had to be dealt with on a geographic basis. She was well aware of the risks and would handle the rollout with the utmost care.

    Of all of her Opa''s advice, the ones she truly heeded were the ones on Enchantment. It would seem that her plans for the next five years now involved a trip down to "Crystal Valley". The reality of how specialised modern Magitech had become was no less arcane than the Renaissance of home computing in the early 2000s. For Gwen, to number herself among the likes of those groundbreaking, world-changing entrepreneurs was a daunting endeavour, offset only by her promise to Tao. Were the Jobs and Gates of this world Enchanters, or were they neglected NoMs awaiting discovery? Gwen shivered just thinking about the potential innovations she may yet make in Palo Alto.

    And so it was, three days after her arrival at the tablelands, the Devourer of Shenyang kissed her well-rested Opa on the forehead, then once again said her farewells.

    As for her next destination, it wasn''t toward Sydney, but an encampment inthe interior, a place where she had last met her kin.

 Chapter 320 - The Snake Giveth

    More so than in her old world, the wide brown land was sparsely populated. It was a fact made apparent ten minutes Mage Flight from Pokolbin, for once the last vineyard ended, continuous leagues of stunted bush stretched monotonously from horizon to horizon.

    "Ee!" Ariel performed a mid-air summersault. Against a limitless sky, her Kirin''s appearance was so beautiful as to make Gwen''s heart soar.

    "Race me!" Gwen pointed in the general direction of Barrington Tops.

    "Ee! EE!" Ariel performed and upside-down loop. "Eeeee!"

    Leaving behind two rings of sizzling static, the two set off, twin meteors fulminating across a cloudless, cobalt sky.

    As she edged toward top-speed, Gwen conjured a conical Shield to reduce the drag coefficient created by her blouse and jeans. The buffeting wind ceased at once, though she had a nasty vision that should she impact something; there was going to be a rather spectacular splatter.

    "EE!" Ariel zoomed on ahead; its quasi-magical body unbound by laws of physics as its mortal Conjurer.

    "Woohoo!" Gwen hooted, performing a corkscrew, paralleling a distant memory of Disney''s Peter Pan. Ariel followed, slipping through the air like mercury.

    "Ee! EE!" Her familiar warned her of impending danger.

    In the distance, a few dots approached on a perpendicular course.

    Gwen accelerated.

    "SQWARK!" came the warning from afar. "SKARK!"

    From where she hovered, Gwen could see that the intercepting creatures were sleek, missile-like birds with serpentine necks. With her Essence-focused eyes, she remarked that the avians possessed two pairs of wings. As the flock banked toward her and her Familiar, she spotted a distinct dash of black feathers running the length of the birds'' forehead down to its spine, ending with long and elegant plumes the colour of obsidian.

    "Bustards!" Gwen marvelled at her encounter. These were rare and precious birds, a real delicacy if Alesia were to be believed. In her old world, the Bustards were large and impressive avians. In this world of monsters, the aerial predator was the size of a Cessna.

    "SQWARK!"

    "Ee! EE!"

    "SQWARK!"

    "EE!"

    Kirin and the bird engaged in a shouting match; from her Empathic Link, she recognised that they were in the bird''s territory. It was one of the many reasons why air travel never took off¡ª for Magical Monsters constantly waylaid the travellers.

    "Tell it we''re leaving." Gwen pointed their trajectory westward. "We''ll take a detour."

    "EE! EE-ee!"

    "SQWARK!" the leading bird approached, rapidly increasing its velocity. At the very tip of its albatross-like frame, a keratin-sheathed beak protruded like a spear. Though the Bustard was only a tier 6 threat¡ª for a Mage in-flight, Gwen imagined, its powers were well magnified.

    "HMMPH!" With a grunt, she let loose a tendril of Dragon Fear.

    "SQWARK!" Like Golos reacting to the Da-peng, the leading Bustard fell away, momentarily paralysed. The other two, shocked by their alpha''s sudden retreat, followed their leader.

    "EE!" Ariel mocked their challenger, swishing its tail to and fro.

    Gwen chuckled, pleased by the peaceful resolution, wondering if Dragon Fear could be bottled.

    Dusk.

    Barrington Tops.

    Gwen could not believe that despite following every direction and matching every landmark, she still got lost. Thankfully, at Mangrove Mountain, she ran across a party of very surprised Mages questing for ingredients, and it was they who walked her the two-hour-long trek to Lake Glenbawn.

    "What business do you have with the savages, Miss?" The leader, a battler bloke, was a gruff Abjurer very keen on offering a hand to a perplexed sorceress descending from the blue.

    "My business is my own," Gwen declined to comment, seeing that the party did not possess Storage Rings, she tossed the adventurers a crystalline credit stick for fifty HDMs. "This area isn''t safe. I would leave as soon as you can."

    "Yes, Ma''am!" The Abjurer checked the credit stick twice before pocketing the glowing crystal. He wasn''t sure who the svelte sorceress could be, though the pressure she exerted indicated they should probably obey her command. "We''ll head back. Your reward is already more than what we had expected to make on the trip, haha¡­"

    "Goodman!" Gwen slapped the Abjurer on the back, sending the good-natured bigot sprawling against a tree. "Goodbye."

    She blasted off, leaving the confounded Mages well-impressed.

    Below, with the landmark in sight, she discovered Tommy''s tribe''s encampment at the lake''s edge. With the setting sun painting the surface a dusky salmon, she skimmed across the mirror-like water until she caught sight of a familiar figure standing by the shore.

    "Goolagong?!" Gwen landed with an unexpected splat, flinching as the muddy silt rode up her ankles to splatter her pants. There had been a drought, and from the looks of it, the once-enormous lake had receded significantly.

    "Migloo girl!" the indigenous witch-woman, looking every inch an earthen fertility goddess, waved back with complete familiarity. In the dying light, Gwen could see that the wide-hipped matron was naked to the waist, her skin alive with mystic markings. "You''re late!"

    "I got lost." Gwen''s cheeks took on a smidgen of heat. "How did you know I was coming?"

    "This Spirit Walker may be old, but she still Dreams!" the old woman cackled, revealing rows of teeth the colour of corn. "Come! Have you eaten?"

    At the invitation, Gwen''s stomach growled. "I could eat."

    "Then eat." Goolagong motioned for her to follow. "You are much changed, child. What happened to the clueless Migloo who came to visit Almudj many moons ago? You smell different, mixed."

    "It''s a long story." Gwen scanned the bank for signs of Goolagong''s people. Against all expectation, there were no more than a dozen of the indigenous folk where there had been hundreds. "Where are the rest of the tribe?"

    "Here and there." Old Goolagong cackled. "They''ve gone to Uluru to ask for the rain. The earth is red and dry! The lake, do you not see? It clings to you!"

    Gwen looked down at the mud slathered over her ankle-jeans.

    "You didn''t go with them?"

    "O¡ª you give me eye?" Goolagong puckered her lips. "Maybe through the Migloo girl, old Goolagong save herself the Long Walk! Yes? It''s not easy, the pilgrimage to Sing the Snake. I am no longer a young koman. No, Goolagong cannot walk the desert anymore. Here I will stay, maybe the rain comes, or maybe I go find the aak oncham."

    The duo arrived at Goolagong''s humpy, a sorry-looking thatched hut about half of Gwen''s height.

    "Rest! I bring you tucker."

    "If you''re short on food and water¡ª"

    "Nonsense! You are Almudj''s kin! Sit and wait, girl. I will return."

    With old Goolagong sauntering away, Gwen sat cross-legged on the thatched floor, looking at the dried-up lake. Her mind wandered as she folded her legs into the lotus pose. Reflexively, she circulated her mana, allowing the flow of Essence to seep into her conduits, inviting the mana of the world to suffuse her Astral body.

    First came the scent of fecund clay, rich with decomposition and full of worms squirming through its depth. Then came the sound of eucalyptus swaying with the wind, its dry bark falling in sheets. On the wind was the smell of distant fire, and on the gothic trees, Scarlet Galahs burst into torch-song.

    Within her mind''s eye, her Astral Body glowed viridescent. It had been some time since she had so easily accessed such a clarified vision. As before, her dancer''s figure held within its form both Lightning and Void, igniting and extinguishing, eternally in flux. Also mingled were scintillating motes of emerald, which she recognised as Almudj''s gift, and the cobalt of the Yinglong''s Draconic-Essence, half-married to her Lightning.

    Compared to the extraordinary purity of Alesia''s soul fire, her Astral Form was a chaos of colour.

    CLAP!

    Gwen opened her eyes.

    "Migloo girl!" old Goolagong was holding a big basket of bush tucker. "Don''t go off just yet! To Sing the Snake, not showing the proper respect is ngench-thayan! You may never return from the tjukurpa katutja ngarantja!"

    "Sorry." Gwen cleared her mind. Last time, she had to dance to circulate her Essence into her Astral Body. Now, with so much practice, it was as easy as a catnap. "What''s this tjukurp¡ª rantja?"

    "Difficult to say." Old Goolagong squinted. "In Migloo words, impossible to know. Tjukurpa katutja ngarantja is a place, but not a place. It is free from time, free from land! An unformed country where the old ones sleep!"

    "The Unformed¡ª" Gwen blinked. She could swear that someone somewhere had mentioned the word before. "The Unformed Land. What is it exactly?"

    "Where the Dreaming happens, naturally." Goolagong''s grin was expansive. "It is the season before there are seasons, the rain before water!"

    "Is it a Plane of Existence? Like the Prime Material?"

    "Old Goolagong does not know your Migloo Magic words." The indigenous woman shrugged. "Tjukurpa katutja ngarantja is where Almudj sings the world into being, its mountains and streams, its wet and dry places. It is where the cheeky one dreams of rain."

    Seeing that a non-cryptic response wasn''t likely forthcoming, Gwen allowed the matter to drop.

    "You have too many questions, Migloo girl," old Goolagong chortled. "Now, eat this, and take off your clothes."

    "Again?" Gwen was just about to reach into the basket when she paused. "But I almost succeeded just then."

    "Girl." Goolagong retrieved a blood-red quandong, crushing it between her palms. "We need to anoint you with the proper scent so that you can greet the cheeky one proper! Else Almudj may think you a usurper and gobble you up!"

    Gwen wanted to contest Goolagong''s claim that Almudj would respond to her poorly but knew next to nothing about the rites of her people. If the old witchdoctor said that she needed to be in the nuddy, who was Gwen to say no? Besides, other than a woven skirt, Goolagong herself was very much leading by example.

    "Fine, fine." Gwen stood. She took a deep breath, then pulled her shirt over her head. A few pairs of eyes drifted her way; one of the men turned away, heaving heavily.

    "Ah, Migloo girl, you are paler than a Witchetty grub!"

    Ignoring the running commentary, Gwen kicked off her jeans, then stepped out of her socks and runners.

    "Enough?" she asked.

    Goolagong rolled her eyes.

    "Alright, alright." Gwen unbuckled her bra, leaving her wearing nothing but a pair of cotton knickers. "We good?"

    "Get down, Migloo girl. Are you putting on a show?" Goolagong realigned several baskets of berries and fruits, most of which she did not recognise. Gwen recognised the ochre paste used for painting, as well as the crushed white powder which was ground bone. "Sit and eat. Goolagong will get you prettied up to meet Almudj."

    Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    "You don''t need to beg favours this time?" Gwen asked just in case. "To be fair, I can probably take five Wankas at once."

    "No need." Goolagong handed her a bushel of riberries. From the bush, she picked a few, mashed the aromatic, scarlet flesh with the quandong skin, then began to paint Gwen''s back. "You come to see Almudj, and Almudj comes to see you. Don''t move too much. Sit up straight. Almudj does not like this strange stench you have on you."

    Discretely, Gwen sniffed her armpit, smelling nothing.

    "What''s this?" Gwen held up something that looked like a dark orb.

    "Bush Bread," Goolagong said, now working on her shoulders. "Eat it with the berries."

    The slow meal of mysterious ingredients took the better part of an hour, a period through which Gwen sat red-faced, watching the indigenous sorceress dab every inch of her lithe body.

    Old Goolagong removed the band holding together Gwen''s ponytail, then ran her voluminous tresses through the oil from the lemon myrtle.

    "Better." The woman sniffed her neck. "But it is still there."

    "Migloo girl?" Goolagong paused, her tone troubled.

    "What''s wrong?" Gwen felt a shiver.

    "Where is Almudj''s gift? You used to wear it on your neck."

    Gwen blinked. She had not seen Almudj''s scale since the incident at Rosebay. After gifting it to Henry and Sufina, it had disappeared.

    Had it been spent and destroyed?

    Was it lost in the fabric of space and time?

    Did Sobel take it?

    Her memory in the chaos was hardly reliable. Being half-eaten by Faceless, then becoming a vessel for Almudj was rather more poignant.

    If the scale had remained active or connected to her in any way, Gwen was sure that she should have felt its presence. That she had not sensed the slightest smidgen of its existence, spoke sternly of her loss.

    "I-I lost it."

    "Oh, dear." Old Goolagong wagged a finger. "Migloo girl, Almudj is not so forgiving. It does not gift easily."

    "Regardless, I don''t know where it is." Gwen''s voice took on a defensive tone. "I am not joking when I say there''s an apocalyptic rationale behind its misplacement."

    Goolagong finished by slapping a palm print onto Gwen''s modest breast. "Other side!"

    Gwen turned her body.

    "I cannot help." Goolagong puffed, fatigued by her work. "You can beg Almudj for another, perhaps. While you''re at it, you should ask Almudj for a bigger bum! Good for babies!"

    Gwen winced each time Goolagong struck her buttocks and thighs, hoping the woman wasn''t using the anointment as an excuse to spank her for losing Almudj''s scale.

    As a final touch, Goolagong adorned Gwen''s cheeks with parallel white lines.

    "Good!" Old Goolagong inspected her work. "I''ve done my part. When you are ready, come with me into the Spirit Circle. I feel that Almudj is keen to meet its kin."

    The "Spirit Circle" was only a small distance away. This time, instead of a dance circle, Gwen sat in a ring of stones. Curiously, she noted that each pebble was a different hue that together, formed a rainbow circumference.

    Swinging her arms, she danced an awkward jig, feeling her blood burn with embarrassment.

    Goolagong snorted.

    "No dancing today, not enough singers." The woman intimated for her to sit however she liked. From the basket, the woman produced a pair of clapping sticks, then cleared her throat.

    "Meditate while I Sing, Migloo girl. Don''t forget to ask for rain, and your scale!"

    Without waiting for an answer, old Goolagong began her chant.

    To interpret the Spirit Walker''s "singing" was impossible, for the hums and whistles of the prehistoric dialect was beyond Gwen and her Ioun Stone. The melody itself was bone-deep, punctuated by the clarion clacks of the ironwood sticks. As the song droned on, thanks to a tummy full of fermenting native berries, Gwen grew sleepy as the staccato intervals drew longer and longer. Her lids grew heavy, and her consciousness gradually evaporated with the sweat streaming from her painted body.

    Gwen opened her eyes, wondering if she was in another flashback. Last time, she had dreamt of old Tjupurrula and Kalinda, Almudj''s "Kin" from another time. Would their story continue? Did Kalinda survive, or more particularly, did the colonists defeat or were annihilated by Almudj?

    "Hello?" she implored a limitless horizon.

    This time, she was standing in a dreamscape, ankle-deep in a vast stretch of water refracting a lilac-pink sky. Shockingly, she realised she recognised the place. In her old world, she had paid good money to visit its shores in the wet season. She was in Kati Thanda¡ª Lake Eyre. A place that alternatively represented the single largest concentration of life in Australia''s vast interior, and during the dry season, a vast plain of salt and death.

    "Almudj?"

    She was alone, that much was obvious. When Gwen looked down, she saw her topless reflection, still vivid with ochre and bone, staring back at her surprised face. This time, she wasn''t borrowing the memory of Kalinda. This time, she was herself.

    Kin! A burst of rainbow erupted across the surface of her thoughts, reminding Gwen of the Skittles jingle.

    The surface of the lake stirred, a meniscus of water expanded to accommodate an enormous head the size of a small island. Concentric ripples rang out, distorting the mirror-like lake as streaming white waterfalls cascaded from serpent''s brows.

    "Almudj!" Gwen squealed with childish glee, though she wasn''t sure how one might hug a full-blown geographic feature. "How have you been? Have you recovered from your injuries?"

    Almudj was at once distant and yet close. If she reached out, Gwen felt, she might just bop its snout.

    "I''ve missed you." Gwen presented her Essence, allowing the emerald elixir to pool between her outstretched hands.

    Gingerly, a rope-like tongue flickered from the snake''s smiling snout. It tasted the air, then just as quickly as it had emerged, retreated into the mountainous maw. When Gwen looked down, the Essence-dew was gone.

    "Kin?" Gwen opened her arms, anticipating recognition.

    The serpent did not answer. Instead, it continued to rise until it filled the horizon.

    "Almudj?" Gwen gulped. "It''s me¡ª"

    Invader! Came another unbidden thought, this one bitter with the eye-watering smoke of bushfires. As a psychic rebuke, the serpent''s will lashed at Gwen, sending her tumbling into the water.

    Kalinda''s words from long ago echoed within the recess of her mind.

    Almudj did not like strangers.

    Almudj will attack strangers!

    "NO!" Gwen cried out, pointing to the earthen powder and berry juices covering her body. From her hair, she rung fistfuls of oily lemon myrtle. "It''s me! I am Kin!"

    But Almudj would not listen.

    When it opened its mouth again, Gwen stared upward at a solar eclipse. Then, without heeding her shrieking voice, it descended.

    "STOP!" Gwen frantically called upon her magic. She screamed out her best Evocation, howled her Abjuration, begged the world for her Conjuration to activate¡ª but here in the Unformed Land, no mortal invocation could help a tainted Migloo girl. "ALMUDJ! NO!"

    "Almudj alive!" Gwen bolted upright, a female Frankenstein''s monster, gasping for air.

    "Migloo girl, are you alright?" Besides her, Old Goolagong''s soothing voice never sounded so sweet.

    Very carefully, Gwen propped herself onto her elbows.

    "Ergh¡ª" She winced. Every part of her body throbbed. She felt as though she had run an eight-hour marathon without rest, and now it was the morning after she had forgotten to stretch. "My bones are swollen."

    "Here, some water." Goolagong placed a cup of water beside her lips.

    Gwen drained the contents in one gulp. "Holy hell, Goolagong, I think Almudj''s upset at me!"

    "Ah¡ª cheeky Migloo girl! I saw you in the dream! Our Almudj says you have been unfaithful!" Goolagong tsk-tsked. "I could smell it on your blood, in your bones. Who have you been sleeping with?"

    "No one?" Gwen replied, earnestly. She wasn''t about to proclaim her virginity. "I am serious."

    "Are you sure?" Goolagong poked Gwen''s belly, or more precisely, the whereabouts of her womb.

    "Yes!" Gwen blushed, acutely aware of her present state of undress.

    "Almudj does not like it when others spoil its seed." Goolagong chuckled. "How do you feel now? Has Almudj claimed you again?"

    "What do you mean?" Gwen checked to ensure all her limbs were still in place. Her bodily markings had by now half dissolved from the sweat pouring from every pore, mixing into a kind of abstract art. She felt icky beyond belief. "I¡ª allow me to check."

    Warily, she circulated her Essence.

    Thankfully, Almudj had not withdrawn its blessing.

    Acutely, she smelled the sweet rot of the sunken mud, felt every pin-prick of the mat under her buttocks and saw every speck of milled pigment on Goolagong''s painted face. When she kindled the Essence in her torso, all fatigue fell away. Where she could barely move a moment ago, now her bruised flesh sang songs of joy.

    Her Almudj''s blessing¡ª or what Magister Wen mistook as Druidic Essence, had multiplied by magnitudes.

    But nothing was ever that simple.

    "Oh, no. Almudj, you didn''t!" Gwen''s blood grew suddenly cold.

    Drawing on the reflexive breathing techniques Ayxin had taught her, she focused her mind, called upon the underlying currents of power in her Astral Body, then released a torrent of Dragon Fear.

    Nothing.

    Not even a fart.

    "HRRRGGHN!"

    Not a mote of the Yinglong''s Essence remained.

    Almudj giveth, and Almudj taketh.

    Feeling a blind panic coming on, Gwen forced herself to stand.

    "Don''t rush, Migloo girl!"

    "Shit¡ªSHIT! ARIEL!" Gwen tapped into her Conjuration Sigil, flooding her body with motes of Lightning.

    "EE!" Her pseudo-Kirin materialised in a flash, regarded its panicked master quizzically, then muzzled her thighs.

    "Wa-hoo! This is one cheeky dingo!" Goolagong marvelled.

    "Stag horns¡­ scales, claws, hoof, mane¡ª thank fuck¡­" Gwen hurriedly recounted Ariel''s features, relaxing when her Familiar remained untouched by her patron''s confiscation.

    "Caliban!"

    "Shaa!" Caliban coiled about her legs.

    "Koonhang AKAN!" old Goolagong jumped back, almost matching Wanka in its hasted form. "Back! Bad Spirit! Ooo this one proper cheeky! Very dangerous!"

    As expected, Caliban remained altered.

    "Shaa?" Caliban cocked its head.

    "Cali, return! Ariel! Combat Form!" Gwen pushed her new-found Essence into her Kirin.

    Spontaneously, Ariel grew iridescent, crackling with multi-coloured lightning. Its stag horns distended, branching until it formed a dozen points, while its body assumed the height of a horse. Where the Ariel from before was magnificent, it now radiated the ambience of something ancient and otherworldly. Each of its draconic features appeared subdued, and yet magnified, while distinctly, its scale-patterned fur now possessed a splendiferous, rainbow hue.

    "EE?!" Ariel as well was surprised at its new chromatic characteristics. "EE?"

    "What are you doing? Migloo girl?" Impressed as she was by Ariel, old Goolagong was keeping well away.

    Gwen looked toward the lake.

    "Migloo girl?"

    "Ariel! Barbanginy!"

    Her Kirin''s horns glowed incandescent.

    "EE¡ªEE!" A line of lighting shot from between Ariel''s horns, cracking across the half-dried lake until her Elemental Sphere manifested. Where her previous Barbanginy had doubled or tripled the maximised power of her magic, what it now achieved was nothing short of mass destruction.

    The horizon lit up with a second sun, igniting the lake with an incredible display of azure, emerald and lilac.

    KA¡ªCRACK!

    A crash of fulminating thunder raced the all-enveloping light. An explosion followed, rapidly displaced the lake''s interior. Against the sloshing undulation, the Elemental Sphere''s second-stage nova erupted, ranging some hundred meters from the epicentre.

    And after the thunder, came the downpour.

    Gwen suspected that had midnight been swapped for noon, a rainbow would have appeared.

    The deluge lasted only a few seconds, but it was enough to drench Gwen, Goolagong, her people, and a yipping Ariel.

    "You are loved by many old ones." Goolagong wiped the water from her face. "But you are too cheeky by far."

    "But¡­" Gwen wanted to protest that she had quintessential uses for her Draconic-Essences. Since consuming those creatures in Huangshan, she had fostered her control over her Dragon-juice, making it a crucial part of her growth in Spellcraft. Now, without Dragon-fear, without her Draconic-centric physical abilities, she felt weak.

    A part of her fumed. Even if Almudj was the jealous type, did it have to take away something she had spent so long nurturing? Couldn''t she just pledge her fidelity? The serpent never said their kinship was monogamous, did it?

    But then again, Gwen recalled that the Yinglong did take a crack at her soul and that Almudj had sent it packing. Perhaps, unbeknownst to her, the powers she so dearly desired was merely the root of a bigger problem. After all, Almudj''s Essence, not the Yinglong''s, was the reason her body survived first the Soul Flayer, and then the Lich. She had to be thankful for that.

    Gwen forced her balled fists to relax.

    Spilt-milk, she told herself. Don''t cry. It''s stupid to wish to have your cake and eat it.

    Like a greedy-gut spoilt brat, she had come seeking Almudj¡ª partly to thank it for its unconditional aid, and partially also in the secret hope that her serpentine kin had more to give. As for the outcome, it may be a bitter pill for now, but who knew what new boons Almudj''s blessing held? She would have to plumb its depth once she got to London. If Wen''s research was any indication, she should find herself a handsome Elrond and beg for tuition.

    "Can I talk to Almudj again?"

    Old Goolagong shook her head.

    "Did you ask Almudj about the scale?"

    "Bugger¡ª" Gwen slapped her forehead. "It all happened so quick. I didn''t even ask about the rain!"

    "No matter." Goolagong patted Gwen''s muddy shoulders. "One day, when you recover the scale. Come and see old Goolagong. You and I, we go see Almudj in the flesh! You know where Almudj rests?"

    "Yes," Gwen recalled the lake.

    "Good. Do not worry about your lost endowment, girl. When the rain again comes to the great lake, we shall go and petition the old snake. This time, you bring the cheeky one''s memento! Remember, Almudj will attack intruders!"

    "I know. But what will you do now? The dry season has just started¡ª"

    "We survive, as always. Wet, dry, hot, cold, we have ways you Migloos cannot know."

    "Sorry¡­"

    "Not to worry." Goolagong sat back on the mat. It squelched unpleasantly.

    "Sorry again." Gwen winced, her buttocks cold against the mud. "Its the Lightning. I get impulsive, especially when something unexpected happens. If I had lost both Almudj'' blessing and my Draconic Essence..."

    "Where will you go now?" Old Goolagong cocked her head. "To find scale?"

    "I''d love to, but haven''t the faintest idea where to begin." Gwen sighed. "I need to get to London to perfect my Migloo Magic."

    "Can you return?"

    "I will, in a year, two at most. I''ve got other continents to go as well."

    "Ah, beware when you once again meet others like our cheeky one." Old Goolagong slapped Gwen''s knees. "There is no cheating Almudj! The bearded snake is proper wise! Just look at me! An old wanchinth kath should have known better than to cheat the Long Walk, eh? The snake is cleverer than you or I!"

    "I may need to work with the... others," Gwen confessed. "What if I take in more of their Essence?"

    "Then recover Almudj''s gift!" Old Goolagong huffed, growing upset. She waved her slapping hand dangerously, hovering over Gwen''s buttocks. "Are you so eager to swallow the seed of other serpents? You''re too indulgent, girl! How greedy must a Migloo be?"

    Goolagong''s unfortunate phrasing took the words right out of Gwen''s petulant mouth. Abstractly, however, Gwen understood that trafficking in rival Essences was, as Goolagong''s analogical cuckoldry inferred, in bad faith. "Look¡ª fine, I get it."

    To distract herself, she fossicked through her inventory for something to reward old Goolagong. All of her "supplements" where ill-gotten gains from Huangshan, which she was sure would just piss off Almudj more. Likewise, gifting bottles of high-proof alcohol to the indigenous wasn''t something she dared contemplate.

    "Would you like a Storage Device?" Gwen materialised a deactivated, medium-tier Storage Ring, one of the few she had purchased via Marong. "Trust me. It''ll make keeping food much easier."

    Goolagong shook her head. "No, no, no. That is an expensive thing! Old Goolagong knows. Sure, it brings convenience for now, but what if we run into your folk? Trouble is what it brings. Greed! Jealousy! Death!"

    "How about Spam?" Unconvinced, Gwen materialised a few cans. "I''ve got¡­ a lot. In different flavours too. You can eat it out of the can, mash it, pop it in a stew¡ª"

    "No need!" Goolagong pointed to the shore, where the members of her tribe that had remained now milled about, knee-deep in mud. Every few steps, they would drag out a large fish, whether stunned or electrocuted by Gwen panicked Barbanginy. "See? Almudj¡ª the bearded one has not forsaken old Goolagong! Go to this London, Migloo girl¡ª but return with Almudj''s scale!"

 Chapter 321 - All Stations to London

    "You want to go and see Sufina?" Gunther''s knitted brows implied to Gwen that her request may not go over as well as she had hoped. "The island''s a Black Zone, and its under Singapore''s jurisdiction, not ours. Besides, who are you going to take with you?"

    "Er¡­" Gwen stopped herself before blurting out that she would be visiting with Ariel and Caliban, maybe Golos. Instead, she weaponised her long lashes and vivid eyes. "I don''t suppose either of you has the time to spare?"

    Gunther sighed, not exactly exasperated, but assuredly not a happy-chappie.

    "Alesia?" The Tower Master turned to his wife. "What''s your take?"

    Alesia sat on the sofa. Often, when the conversation steered to the deceased Henry, the sorceress grew absent-minded. "To Master''s sanctuary?"

    "Now Sufina''s lair," Gunther corrected his wife. "For all intentions, it''s a Dungeon. Escaping from the maze without killing its owner is improbable."

    "I suppose it has been almost two years," Alesia agreed. "I wonder. Does Sufi retain her humanity still? She''ll remember us, I am sure, but I don''t think she''ll be amicable. She''ll be a living tomb-guardian by now."

    Gunther drummed his fingers against the table, then turned to Gwen. "I can''t let you go ¡ª not this time. We can''t contact Sufina, and we can''t accompany you. I could arguably call on Jonas and the boys, but they''ve got important missions elsewhere, supporting your friend Yue. We''re short-handed as it is."

    "Gunther, you''re the Tower Master, surely¡­"

    "I can put out a Quest, and we can pay with CCs, but who can we trust to enter Master''s home? We can''t Geas mercenaries, at least not legally. Besides, I refuse to allow a stranger to enter a place so intimate to our past. Not to mention you''re there to dig for secrets. What if Sufina isn''t friendly? What if she refuses to let you enter? Are you going to Consume the island? Consume Sufina or her Kin?"

    "I don''t think it''ll come to that."

    "There''s no reason why it won''t." Alesia played tag-team with Gunther. "It''s a BLACK ZONE, Gwen. The creatures there are completely hostile, especially to women, for which they have no use. I mean, for a man, things could be worse, you get the idea. Either way, there will be no mercy. Dryads will fight to the death to defend their Grove, and you''re more or less unstoppable in a jungle setting. Will you nibble away until they cough up the island''s secrets? Threaten Sufi by eating her sisters one by one?"

    "Bloody oath, Alesia," Gwen retorted, her tone growing tense. "Alright¡ª what would you do?"

    "Gunther?"

    "If we were to force a meeting with Sufina in the future, it should involve a surgical intrusion into the island''s centre. Pending on Sufina''s response, we''ll decide, as siblings, what to do." Gunther declared. "I should also mention that at some point in the next few years, I would like to recover our Master''s remains. His mausoleum is still empty as we speak. I would prefer his remains safely interred and warded."

    "You don''t mind hurting Sufi?" Gwen''s lips grew stiff.

    "Now you''re acting churlish. Don''t put words in my mouth." Gunther''s measured tone matched his command for Gwen to calm her farm. "I said we''ll decide as siblings. TOGETHER. If leaving Master''s body with Sufina is the final recourse, then that''s what we''ll do. If Sufina has gone completely off her rocks, then she''s a danger and a monster. And we''ll do what needs to be done."

    "But Master''s books¡ª"

    "May, or may not be in the Grot," Gunther reiterated. "Where did you get the idea that our Master would stow his tomes with Sufina? Master understood more than anyone that once his mutilated body waned, Sufina would be too powerful for other Mages to inherit. Keeping decades of research embedded within Sufi''s abode is rather short-sighted, don''t you think? How is any of us going to access them?"

    "But¡ª" Gwen''s face grew scarlet.

    Gunther cooly refilled his glass of water to the exact millimetre.

    "And this ''Almudj''s Scale''." Gunther sipped the ice-cold water. "Why did you visit a Mythic without informing Alesia or myself?"

    "Does she need to?" Alesia called out from the couch. "Gwen''s an adult."

    "Her attraction to trouble notwithstanding, there are three million souls in Sydney and its regions." Gunther remained unfazed by Alesia''s protest. "Allie, I am speaking in my capacity as Sydney''s caretaker. Not as Gwen''s brother. I am berating a Class VI War Mage; now more than ever, as AN ADULT, she is liable for her selfish decisions. Master would agree. Do you?"

    "Fine, but get off your high horse," Alesia pushed back. "Gwen knows what''s up."

    "Does she?" Gunther''s scorching gaze descended on Gwen''s skin like the scorching sun. "Gwen¡ª where is your Draconic-strength? Your Dragon-fear? Your Draconic-resistances?"

    "Brother''s right." Gwen deflated, wilting in her seat. Self-consciously, she gripped the hem of her dress. "I should have consulted with you both. I was following a gut feeling. I didn''t know Almudj was the jealous type."

    "Creatures that exist outside of mortality and time do not suffer human emotions," Gunther refuted her oversimplification. "But be your patron a Snake, Dragon or Land God, they''re unequivocally possessive. Alesia''s Elemental, if you recall, had refused to relent her body. As far as the Efretti was concerned, a Plane-touched body, once touched, was effectively a part of its being. Imagine being asked to¡ª"

    "It''s not that complicated," Alesia interjected. "Gwen, imagine if a London Magister demanded you hand over Ariel."

    "Stealing a Spirit? Is that possible?" Her complexion paled.

    "Only if you are near-death or recently dead, and the Spirit is willing, AND there''s a compatible Mage immediately available," Alesia explained. "But that''s not the point, what would you do if someone tried to usurp Ariel. Try to imagine it, Gwen, put some gut feeling into it, be honest."

    Sometimes, Gwen hated her overactive imagination.

    "I''d Consume the fucker, wipe the bastard from the Material Plane," she confessed. "Is that bad?"

    Alesia grinned. "I''d do worse, but that''s the feeling. That''s what Almudj should be feeling, assuming it has feelings."

    "I am Almudj''s Familiar?"

    "An interesting analogy." Gunther appeared contemplative.

    "Look, I get it." Gwen shivered, her arms and thighs covered in goosebumps. "I can see why Almudj was pissed."

    "And thankfully, not interested enough to visit Sydney." Gunther pointed to the Illusion-empowered map of Sydney hovering in his office. "All things considered, the serpent is a well-mannered Mythic. I plan to leave it alone, where did you say it made its abode for now?"

    "Lake Eyre."

    "Good, I''ll inform Adelaide to keep a wide berth. Are you able to communicate with it?"

    "Not until I get my scale back." Gwen returned to her original request. "I last left with Master, if you recall."

    "I wasn''t there," Gunther replied glumly.

    "I remember," Alesia said. "But then what happened?"

    "I don''t know." Gwen tugged at her skirt, crumpling the fabric. "I didn''t see it after the battle. When I visited Sufina two years ago, I couldn''t sense it either."

    "Then where else could it be?"

    "It has to be in the Grot," Gwen replied. "Unless Sobel took it."

    "Hell''s bells, I hope not." Gunther grimaced.

    "I''ll second that." Alesia raised a glass of Fur-Peak green tea. Since Gwen''s return as a self-professed authority on pregnancies, she had been taking daily supplements.

    The three sat in silence, each aghast at the worst-case scenario.

    Ding!

    "Lord Shultz," the broadcaster on Gunther''s desk chimed. "Your next-next appointment is also here and waiting."

    "Tell em to fuck off," Alesia shouted at the crystal on the table.

    "Sir?"

    "Tell them to wait," Gunther interceded. Turning to the women, the Tower Master of Sydney stretched his broad shoulders. "We''re out of time, but here''s my proposal. For now, go to London, and start your studies. I''ll arrange for a recess before Michaelmas next year. If you remain convinced the scale is in the Grot and that Master hid his tomes with Sufina¡ª then we''ll visit her together. As your seniors, it is our pleasure and duty to accommodate your needs. Is that agreeable? Before you reply, I hope you understand that me being away from Sydney for a week is no mean feat. The city''s ongoing restoration¡ª including your proposals for both the new Port Authority as well as Legion, cannot be left to their own devices."

    "I understand." Gwen bowed her head. "Thank you, Gunther. Sorry I was rude."

    "Not at all, I do like it that you spoke your mind, Gwen. Your brother is not so thin-skinned as to be offended by a little sister."

    Gwen grinned. "Thanks, Gunther."

    "Good." Gunther stood to show them the door. "Now, both of you need to be on your way."

    If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

    "When are you leaving?" Alesia gave Gwen a much-needed embrace outside Gunther''s door. "Yue''s going to miss you. Again."

    "I know." Gwen sighed. "But we can visit one another now. It won''t be like before."

    "True." Alesia separated from her not so little sister. "For you, at least. I don''t think Yue has a few thousand HDMs to spare. So?"

    "After that meeting? Day after tomorrow," Gwen declared. "I hope to be in London before Christmas."

    "Oh-ho!" Alesia appeared to have read her mind. "A white Christmas with Elvia?"

    "That goes without saying." Gwen''s smirk was positively predatory. "I''ll be her present, and she''ll be mine."

    "Not to disperse your Cloud Kill, but it''s only verified that Elvia''s cohort will be in London," Alesia warned her sister. "As for Evee herself, she could be on a mission or working overtime in an away hospital. If she''s religious, maybe secluded meditation? Nightingale Acolytes are a busy lot."

    "That would be terrible." Gwen controlled herself, taking deep, lungful breaths. "But I''ll track her down. First thing I am applying for in London is an Unlimited Flight licence."

    "And how are you going to achieve that?" Alesia cocked her head.

    "CCs make the world go round. I checked. It''s seven hundred fifty for Limited and fifteen hundred for Unlimited." Gwen laughed haughtily. "I''ve got my references all lined up as well. One from Walken, one from Gunther, and one from Lady Grey, I hope."

    "Gunther agreed?"

    Gwen chuckled. "Would Gunther rather deal with Scotland Yard when they arrest an unlicenced Omni-Mage blasting across London''s airspace?"

    London.

    Cambridge.

    Peter''s House.

    Old Court.

    Justine Maxwell Loftus, The Marchioness of Ely, "THE Lady Grey" to her enemies and "Lady Grey" to her friends, studied an iconograph of Peterhouse''s crest.

    Compared to the younger houses, the oldest constituent college of Cambridge University lacked a florid Coat. The simplicity couldn''t be helped, for the arse end of the Dark Ages wasn''t an epoch known for radical iconographers. Stoic in its plainness, the Arms consisted of four pale gules within a border of gules charged with eight golden crowns. For seven centuries, the Coat stood, unyielding to change, attested by the sad fact that Lady Loftus remained the sole female Master of Peterhouse since its inception, heedless of its astounding roster of women Magisters.

    Nonetheless, Peterhouse remained a bastion of brilliance.

    Among its exalted alumni was the Mage responsible for decoding multi-tier Dwarven Runecraft¡ª the posthumously titled Meister Charlie Babbage. Likewise peering down on the Marchioness was the hung portrait of the honourable Meister Jamie Clarks Maxwell, grandfather to Justine''s late husband, famous for his study of energy conduits. Beside Jamie hung the picture of Meister Thomson, more popularly known as Baron Kelvin, first of his name¡ª for pioneering magical manipulation of climate events.

    "All is well..."

    Under the austere gazes of these world-changing men, Justine listened to the droning voice of Vice-Chancellor Butterfield.

    "... the girl will be leaving tomorrow, hopping through Sydney, Brisbane, Townsville, Darwin, Singapore, and stopping at Yangon. On the 17th, the girl is scheduled to set foot in Istanbul via Mumbai''s Inter-Continential Circle. Assuming she''s in one piece after that jaunt, her next stations are Rome, Paris, then London. The Customs Office has sent out the paper works. The girl''s Classification has caused a few headaches, but we''ll manage."

    "Will she be arriving at Cambridge directly?"

    "Actually." Vice-Chancellor Butterfield''s voice grew concerned. "She is going to stay in London until after Christmas. The missive from Lord Shultz said that we should expect her just before or after New Years."

    "She''ll be staying in London? Alone?" Justine Maxwell furrowed her brows. "We''ll be on Michaelmas break, just what is the girl planning to do? Has she booked a hostel?"

    "The girl is said to be unreasonably attached to an old friend," Alfred Butterfield replied. "An undergraduate at Nightingales by the name of Elvia Lindholm, formerly of Sydney. They survived the fall of the city together."

    The Lady''s expression relaxed. "Permissible, though I WILL see the girl as soon as she arrives. She must be inducted without mishap. Ensure she makes the trip down to Cambridgeshire. I''ll take care of matters at Peterhouse."

    "Certainly."

    "And Lindholm¡ª where have I heard that name? It sounds northern."

    "The girl is Lady Astor''s ward."

    "Ah¡ª" Lady Grey clapped. "I remember now. Lucy did mention she had a new pet project. Is the girl unique in any way?"

    "She''s a Spirit Healer with a juvenile Alraune. She''s also unaffiliated. A complete independent."

    "Really? How quaint."

    "And another thing, Maxi¡ª"

    Lady Grey''s eyes narrowed.

    "¡ª Justine. Lord Gunther has signed off on the girl applying for an Unlimited Flight licence. He has asked for your understanding."

    "Are you our number three?"

    "No, Magister Walken has that honour."

    "Eric Walken? The idiot of Sydney? Why are they acquainted?"

    "He did save her life in Shenyang," Butterfield expressed a grudging measure of respect. "Tied down and entrapped a North Korean Lich, he did¡ª made us Oxbridge boys proud. What''s more impressive, of course, was that by all accounts, he had effectively died, only to be brought back by the new technique Magister Jamison is pushing in Stanford. A shame. We could have used the technique for our Clerical faculty."

    "I don''t see why we can''t." The Lady Grey glanced at the portraits hanging above the mantle. "It''s a race to publish, after all. She who is cited most, is cited best, is it not? There''s going to be so much work to be done. I am certain Miss Song will prove a potent dose of vitality for our ghoulish faculty. Under my watch, she shall bear the torch Henry had so abruptly left behind."

    "I hope she won''t disappoint." Butterfield adjusted his mantle. Of all the classical buildings in Cambridge, he disliked the Old Court the most. The decor used far too much heartwood, and the portraits tended to follow you with their eyes. "She is after all, firstly from a penal Frontier, and secondly from the Orient. I would not be surprised if she is uncouth, lacking in discipline, and possessed no idea of her place. I would remain cautiously optimistic, Justine."

    "I think she''ll make quite the splash." Lady Grey motioned for Vice-Chancellor Butterfield to leave her to her thoughts. "Go. Tell Gwen she must visit. And that when she does, Peterhouse shall hold Hall in her honour."

    "Very well." Alfred Butterfield turned to leave.

    "Wait¡ª"

    "Yes, Justine?"

    "Have¡ª her robe prepared. If she comes in wearing a gauche outfit..."

    "Or brandishing adverts..." The vice-chancellor left the horror unsaid.

    "Let''s hope not." Lady Grey shivered. "Henry''s ghost, I hope old Deathless isn''t turning in his mausoleum. No one likes being accused of Necromancy."

    Gwen''s parting at Sydney Tower consisted of Gunther, who dropped by for thirty-seconds; Alesia, who kissed her on both cheeks; Yue, who held her like an abandoned joey; and her Opa, who wept like a woman.

    "Come home soon!" Surya bawled. "Don''t forget, your love child is safe in our hands! We''ll nurture it with all my heart!"

    "What?" Yue was just about to let go.

    "Legion!" Gwen hissed under her breath. "He means the Divi-Tower project! Stupid Opa."

    "It better be." Yue relaxed. "When you see Elvia, give her my love."

    "I''ll hug her until she passes out, then say ''From Yue with love''," Gwen promised.

    "Okay, deal." The girls parted. "See you in a while, crocodile?"

    "Yep. I''ll be in contact! If you want to visit, just holler. I''ll cover the ISTC tickets."

    "Nah, I''ll pay my way. Quit showing off, ya rich bitch." Yue chortled. "Seriously though, stay safe out there, watch out for those Ravenport bastards."

    "I''ll keep my eyes wide-open."

    After another hug and a wet, slopping kiss from Surya, Gwen retreated behind the barrier.

    "I''ll call when I can!" Gwen waved a final time when the white-uniformed guards politely steered her toward the stage. "Stay safe, everyone!"

    A blast of retina-searing Conjuration later, Gwen was gone.

    "And just like that, she''s on another adventure," Surya lamented.

    "Like the wind." Alesia dabbed at her eyes. "She''s a busy girl."

    "I am hungry," Yue complained. "Hungry and sad."

    "Alright!" Surya slapped his knees. Ever since taking Gwen''s supplements, all of his old war wounds had ceased to ache. He felt like a younger man, one with a weekly appointment at the Black Cat. "Let''s eat! Whatever you want, anything in the city. My shout!"

    The thing with ISTC stations, Gwen realised, was that they were so uniform in their aesthetic that rapid transits felt like glitches in reality.

    Her final stop on the first leg of her journey was Yangon, where she held a meeting with Marong to deliver the trade agreements Gunther had set up between the two nations. To Gwen''s delight, Mayuree, who she had thought returned to Shanghai, had delayed her trip just so that they could catch up. Arm-in-arm, Diviner and Omni-Mage embraced for a long while, reminiscing the deaths, dangers and dares the duo had shared.

    "Your body, its changed," Marong, professed expert in Gwen''s physiology, spoke over iced cakes and sweet tea. "What happened?"

    "Stuff." Gwen''s eyes informed her ally that as much as she wanted to share, the information wasn''t hers to tell. "What do you see that''s different?"

    "It''s your smell¡ª Sorry, I don''t mean to be crude," Marong apologised. "It''s no longer similar to Lord Ruxin''s, at least not anymore. I am smelling something, older, or younger. It''s strange, intoxicating even, but I don''t know¡ª"

    "It''s a blessing akin to the Yinglong''s, but not like the Yinglong." Gwen gave all the hints to which she was privy. "I was hoping Ruxin would be here. I''ve got questions only he can answer."

    "I can Message Lord Ruxin. If you like," Marong offered. "Believe it or not, the Master of Manipur, Nagaland and Kachin has taken to our Magi-tech like a Dragon to the heavens."

    "Hmm..." Gwen pondered the prospect of litmus testing her Essence but ultimately declined. For now, keeping the status quo was preferable, especially as she was mid-transit. "Nah, let''s not tempt fate."

    "I tried divining your future, Gwennie, and as usual, its weal and woe in equal measure." Mayuree rested her head against Gwen''s shoulder. "That said, Marong''s right, you smell great."

    "Ha." Gwen laughed awkwardly.

    "Shall we head to the banquet?" Mayuree pulled at her hand. "Brother''s prepared a feast fit for a royal."

    Gwen sensed her tummy growling happily. If anything, her increased Void Affinity, the digestive prowess of Almudj''s Essence and her lighting-charged metabolism, made her "Temple" the equivalent of a food furnace.

    "Let''s go." Gwen allowed herself to be tugged along. "Marong, you can brief me over dessert."

    Past Yangon, Gwen''s ISTC hopscotch felt like flipping through a Contiki brochure.

    On her second leg, the first city on her itinerary was Mumbai, said to possess one of the largest ISTC station in the East Indies, second only to Singapore. In Gwen''s earthly memory, she recalled a colonial city resplendent with old architecture but dense with smog, skirted by a brown-grey Arabian sea that alternatively smelled of brine and raw sewerage. In her contemporary setting, all she caught was a glimpse of the mana miasma; then she was whisked away by guards wearing red berets and crisp uniforms. When she grew paranoid as to why she alone out of the travellers had an armed escort,she was reminded of her Multi-Pass''s new markings by a Custom''s Officer.

    Class VI War Mage

    Feeling obtuse, Gwen apologised to the junior officer. If she was the Mayor of Mumbai, and a cruise missile wearing heels wandered through her airport, she would have taken the same precaution.

    And so, without so much as a vindaloo, Gwen arrived at Istanbul, where an armed escort awaited her eminence. Not exchanging a single word, she was marched, with excessive politeness, to her next stop.

    The denial of Turkish Delight was a glimpse of the life Gunther had foretold. For a girl of her age, lacking titles, backers, Faction and a TOWER to belong to, she was the dictionary definition of a loose cannon bouncing through someone''s else''s city.

    At Rome, her "guide" was a Magister all too happy to talk. Their fifteen minutes together were enough to yield an invitation to Castel Sant''Angelo on a future date of her choosing, as well as her first European contact card¡ª that of Magister Isabella Conigliaro.

    "We owe him so much," the Magister had professed while holding Gwen''s hand. "If you are in Rome, I''ll be at your service."

    In Paris-Charles De Gaulle, a stop that would have been wondrous had the ISTC Station not been built within what looked like a converted catacomb, more friendly faces graced her arrival. Her trio of hosts hailed from the infamous Tour Montparnasse¡ª said to enjoy the most beautiful view in all of Paris because it offers the only vista without the Tour Montparnasse.

    "I imagine you''ll find generosity wherever the Towers are old." The lead Magister provided Gwen with a glimmer of optimism. "Lord Kilroy may no longer grace our presence in the light, but his achievements have cast a long shadow."

    "Much like the one cast by the plus laide Tower in all of L''Europe," a younger Magister added sarcastically. "Nonetheless, you are more than welcome to visit our hideous abode."

    "Leon is joking. Renovations are being negotiated with the Dwarves of Mont Blanc." The leader of Montparnasse''s trio flashed his junior a dirty in a way only the French could manage. "For now, please enjoy yourself in London. We await your coming."

    "Oh, I''ll be back." Gwen''s credit-counting fingers itched just thinking of the fashion houses she had skipped for no reason other than sovereign borders and passports.

    Waving goodbye to her "new friends", she once again stepped into the Teleportation Circle.

    This time, finally, after an eternity of warping space and time and trading HDMs for distance, she had arrived at her port of call.

    Elvia.

 Chapter 322 - The Monkeys Paw

    ¡°Evee! Evee!¡±

    Elvia Lindholm, the infamous ¡°Trouble Maker¡±, the great disruptor of the Chain of Being at the Great Ormond Street Hospital, sat dazed in bed, one hand holding her work roster.

    When her roommate and now co-worker, Sylvie Stratford, called out her name, Elvia turned as though a journeyman''s golem still booting up its Glyph-scripts.

    ¡°Yes, Sylvie?¡±

    ¡°So, how is it? Can you come with me to Northumberland?¡±

    ¡°Take a gander.¡± Elvia handed over her roster slip.

    Sylvie scanned the printed strip. ¡°What bollocks is this?! You¡¯re on outbound from tomorrow through to NEW YEAR EVE?¡±

    Elvia lay back on her commandeered gurney. GOS had just beaten back two crises, back to back, and it was only now that the emergency patients could be shipped out to convalescence homes. Each Winter Solstice, the exponential propagation of magical resources meant a proliferation of hostile Demi-human activity. Even so, Elvia hadn''t expected to be on deployment.

    ¡°Ystradfellte?! That''s north of Merthyr Tydfil! Who''s responsible for this?¡±

    ¡°Rosy and her fan-club, but you didn¡¯t hear me say that.¡± Elvia rubbed her swollen eyes. ¡°Maybe they¡¯ve got a good reason? It¡¯s not like I¡¯ve got folks waiting for me. Also, I volunteered last year.¡±

    ¡°Those boots from Royal Alfred!¡± Sylvia blurted out. "What''s Matron Maxwell thinking? Sending our Evee out in the dead of winter. Lord knows what''s on those moors."

    "Redcaps, usually. Gobs, Snots, the occasional Ice Hob, Trolls. Lots of Trolls." Elvia shrugged. "It doesn''t matter. The Purge happens every year, and so do casualties. Every hospital has to cough up ''volunteers''."

    ¡°Kiki¡­¡± A bipedal sprout emerged from Elvia''s coat. It had previously been sleeping in her breast pocket, but the conversation had stirred the Plant Sprite from its meditation. Raising its chubby little arms, the Alraune kissed Elvia on the cheek. ¡°Kiki?¡±

    ¡°Thanks, sweetie,¡± Elvia hugged the plant between her arms. ¡°We¡¯ll get through this. Another two and a half years is all. Then we can see mum and dad, and Gwen, and Yue¡­¡±

    ¡°You still haven¡¯t heard from her?¡± Sylvie appeared stricken by Elvia¡¯s unhappiness. ¡°Surely, in between kicking zombie arse and punching Flayers in the face, she¡¯s got time to Message her bestie? Besides, didn''t she finish a month ago?¡±

    ¡°Gwen¡¯s real busy, I bet.¡± Elvia allowed Kiki to massage her cheeks, working away some of the accumulated fatigue. ¡°If I fought off a LICH, I would be swamped by interviews, offers and engagements as well.¡±

    "Surviving a Lich you mean?"

    "And saving the Prince of the Inca!"

    "And Eating her way into Shenyang," Sylvie remarked dryly. "You know, I am not so sure about meeting ''The Devourer'' after all."

    "She''s a doll!" Elvia had picked up some old vernacular from the canteen ladies. "After the IIUC, I think everyone will want to be acquainted with Gwen."

    ¡°Speaking of connections.¡± Sylvia sidled closer. ¡°Maybe you should ask Mathias? He can petition Lady Astor in your stead. You¡¯re in her choir, right? If the Lady wants you at her Christmas Mass, how can GOS send you to Ystradfellte? You know how these assignments are. They say ten days, but who knows what¡¯ll happen? If the Purge goes well, you''re bored witless for a week¡ª but if bodies start arriving by the truckload, it¡¯s not like you can pack and leave. Nightingale is very particular about its reputation.¡±

    ¡°Lady Astor is fair,¡± Elvia intervened before Sylvie could work herself into a frenzy. ¡°She doesn¡¯t interfere with GOS¡¯s rosters. If I am not here, then some other poor sod would have to fill the vacancy. I don¡¯t want that, Sylvie. It''s Christmas and people ought to be with their families. It''s okay for me to work harder. There''ll be dozens of physicians from other Hospitals and Colleges there as well. We''ll keep each other company. Maybe the field cooks will have pudding?"

    ¡°ARRRRGH!¡± Sylvie pulled at her hair. ¡°You¡¯re such a pushover! Lady Astor adores you¡ª like a pet, I¡¯ll admit¡ª but she likes you better than any other Cleric at GOS! Rosy''s perfectly composed abusing her aunty''s position, why don''t you make use of yours!¡±

    ¡°Sylvie! That¡¯s a conflict of interest!¡± Elvia pouted, somehow more adorable when upset. ¡°We learned that in orientation¡ª¡°

    ¡°Fur-fooks-sake, Evee!¡± Sylvia slipped into her northern dialect. ¡°Yer¡ª You¡¯re so nice. You are infuriating!¡±

    Elvia laughed, dispelling Sylvia¡¯s ire with her unadulterated sticky-sweet goodness.

    There was, of course, another reason Elvia did not want to disturb her honourable benefactor. Having grown intimate with the powerful widow, Elvia knew better than anyone that Lady Lucy Waldorf Astor had her hands full. As it stood, the General Election was only five months away, and the Lady had been pre-selected for the District of Sutton. To disturb Lady Astor with juvenile, mewling requests for rest, or to open Lady Astor¡¯s mithril reputation to nepotism, was unacceptable to Elvia. That and the more she relied on Lady Astor, the more problems she would encounter when the Lady leaves her post at GOS for parliament.

    And as for Mathias, Elvia felt a mild migraine coming on. The intense young man was a catalyst for her woes. The job of a Knight is to protect their ward, and in Mathias'' case, Nightingale''s Spirit Healer.

    Unfortunately, Elvia suspected the young man was unconsciously using her to live out a fantasy. Emily and her father meant well, but Elvia understood that she was, in reality, a nobody. The grand-nephew of a Duke, attending to a peasant? If the fingers and tongues wagging behind her back got any more intense, she''d have to treat them for cramps.

    WHAM!

    On cue, the door slid apart, drawing sparks with the speed in which the metal rail received the slide-catch.

    ¡°Matty!¡± Elvia hissed, her cheeks puffed. ¡°Shush! We''re in a hospital!¡±

    "Kiki!" Kiki likewise berated the careless young man.

    ¡°Evee¡ª¡± Mathias, her assigned Knight, was a propaganda poster come to life. ¡°We¡¯re going to a war zone! Again! Huzzah!¡±

    "SHUSH!" Elvia imagined Kiki suffocating the absurdly handsome face.

    From behind the impassioned young Knight came the sound of gratuitous giggling. GOS, like the five other major hospitals in London¡¯s Metropolitan area, was a training ground for junior Nurses. As expected, these young women hailed from good families with top-notch education, talent, and connections. As such, within GOS'' student hierarchy were pupils from each of London''s three major medical colleges¡ª Nightingale''s, Royal Alfred''s and Black''s.

    Sir Mathias Rothwell, with his ash-blonde hair and chiselled jawline, broke hearts with a glance. To say the young man was merely good looking would be an insult, for Mathias was Radiant.

    When Elvia first saw the young knight-errant standing behind Emily, her friend and Nightingale''s Student Council President, she had been shocked into silence by the grandeur of his presence. It wasn''t so much that Mathias was a rare Radiant Mage¡ª after all, Elvia had dined with Gunther Shultz, arguably the most famous Radiant Mage in the world. It was that Mathias¡¯ radiance was untempered, unchecked¡ª raw, oozing out from every pore.

    "Do you like him?" Emily cooed as though she had presented Elvia with a puppy Golden Retriever.

    "He''s amazing." Elvia regretted gushing in turn. She was no more immune to the young man''s Radiant Aura than any other, but more than anything, she didn''t want to disappoint Emily.

    "Mathias is a distant grand-nephew of my father," the future Duchess of Somerset introduced the young man, running her hand from his hair to his hips in the vein of one addressing her favourite stallion. "He''s three years older than you, and by all accounts from his tutors, extraordinary."

    ¡°Lady Lindholm.¡± The young man had held Elvia¡¯s hand. To her chagrin, he knelt. ¡°Allow me to profess my loyalty, my fealty, and my love.¡±

    Elvia recalled freezing like a Draconic Deer in the path of Gwen''s Void Swarm.

    In the aftermath, Emily had told Elvia that their meeting had gone swimmingly. In her eyes, Mathias was a proud young stag with the heritage, talent and education to back up his dreams, and she was afraid he would reject Elvia.

    Personally, Elvia would have preferred the rejection.

    The worst of it, Elvia had learned months later, was that only the nobility had explicitly assigned guardians. For pissants like herself, the Tower appointed interim Knights for individual assignments. A permanent Knight¡ª such as Mathias, could only be assigned by nobility to their family members. Emily had treated Elvia like a sister¡ª but the fact remained that a Rothwell had bent the knee to a Frontier refugee. Naturally, malicious rumours followed¡ª Mathias was the ideal protector for many a well-bred sorceress. When Elvia finally realised the trouble she was in, her reputation as a bite-sized Whore of Babylon was well-cemented.

    ¡°Thanks, Mathias.¡± Elvia wondered if Gwen had ever felt so overwhelmed. For herself, just dealing with Mathias, Lady Astor, Sylvie and Emily was already making her head twice its size. Additionally, she had work, her patients, the unfriendly seniors, the jealous juniors, the snotty Matrons, and more piling on her plate.

    It was enough to drive a girl mad.

    ¡°Evee.¡± Mathias parked his tightly-toned figure in the ward. As usual, he was utterly oblivious to the fact that Elvia had been stealing precious shut-eye on her pilfered gurney. ¡°Shall I go and commandeer supplies for our deployment? I am confident the quartermaster would not dare to deny or shortchange you if I am there. If your equipment is short again, I shall beat him!¡±

    ¡°Kiki!¡± The Plant Sprite waved a leaf. Unlike Elvia, her Alarune had taken to Mathias like a plant to the sun. ¡°Kikiki!¡±

    ¡°Hey there, Kiki.¡± Mathias withdrew an HDM crystal and awarded the treat without so much as a blink.

    ¡°I know, Matty.¡± Elvia just felt so tired. ¡°Thank you for always watching out for me. Please do that.¡±

    Her lip service was enough to satisfy the bright-eyed Knight.

    ¡°Then I shall be on my way. Lady.¡± Mathias snapped a salute. ¡°Please rest well.¡±

    BAM! The door slid shut. Outside, there was the sound of Mathias being swamped by the angels in white.

    With her Knight gone, Elvia wondered if it was at all possible to go back to sleep. Unfortunately, the lingering impact of the Radiant Knight¡¯s Aura had her body operating on full throttle.

    ¡°Aah..." Sylvie pined, her eyes full of stars, half-drunk on the man¡¯s Radiance. ¡°Evee, you¡¯re so lucky. If I were Emily, I would have kept that hunk for myself, so what if he''s my nephew? Anyway, my shift is up! See you later.¡±

    With Sylvie gone, Elvia stared at the back of the abused door. On its rear, there was a picture of a Manx Cat, hanging from a clothesline. Matron Maxwell was an enormous feline aficionado and had framed the doors with hundreds of the damned things.

    ¡°Hang in there,¡± Elvia read the words to herself in silence, wondering how her friends were doing half a world away.

    London.

    Heathrow ISTC Station.

    Like most capital transit stations, London¡¯s ISTC sat in a quieter part of the city. A key rationale was for the processing of the thousands of Mages passing through its Teleportation Circles on an hourly basis, and another was for the propensity of said Mages to traffick in illicit materials.

    Gwen stood pretty as a statue at the base of the ISTC Mandala, scanning for her handlers. When her eyes floated over a pair of Mages in tightly fitted militant uniforms, the duo moved to accost the new arrival.

    ¡°Miss Gwen Song of Sydney?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s me.¡± Gwen raised a hand.

    ¡°ID?¡±

    ¡°Here.¡± Gwen produced her Multi-Pass.

    The two independently verified her credentials.

    "You''re a Class VI War Mage?" The older of the guards, a stocky man with a bull''s neck, eyed her from crown to toe. "Really now?"

    "Yep, that''s me." Gwen gave what she hoped was a disarming smile.

    ¡°Welcome to Heathrow, Miss Song.¡± The second speaker, a young woman with fair blonde hair, bowed her head.

    ¡°Mmm. I am Sergeant Waterford, and this is Cadet Mills. If you could follow us, please? As you are immigrating from a Frontier, we need to clear you for customs."

    "Of course," Gwen returned politely. When she caught her reflection of a mirrored pillar, she performed a double-take. In Yangon, she had worn mini-dress and wedge sandals suitable for sticky summers. After crossing the equator, she had put on a parka to cover her arms and shoulders.

    Presently, however, the European Mages around her, the guards included, were each bundled up in multiple layers of clothing. From the ISTC''s four-storey windows, she could even see snow blanketing the countryside. Next to an iron gate, mist-huffing guards stood with fur hats and trench coats. Inside, the male travellers wore vests and jumpers, the women, full-length coats and scarves.

    Presently, Gwen realised. She must look like a crazy person¡ª that or an exhibitionist.

    "Sergeant." She stopped. "Could you excuse me for a second? I''d like to change into something warmer."

    "No." The sergeant''s curt rebuff was puzzling. "Please follow us to the interview room. Also, please refrain from accessing your Message Device as well as your Storage Ring. Penalties will apply."

    Gwen glanced at the female cadet, who nodded meekly.

    "Alright." After a quick gander around the spacious interior of Heathrow, she chose compliance. She had no idea what ''Airport'' security was like in arguably the busiest hub in Europe and didn''t want any trouble, at least not before Evee was in her arms.

    "Cadet Mills will confirm your visitation endorsements. I will inspect what you are bringing into London. Once satisfied, you will be released into the city."

    ¡°Released?¡± Gwen realised the man never did return her Multi-Pass, wondering if this had to do with her classification. ¡°What am I, a Dragon?¡±

    Sergeant Waterford remained stoic. The corner of Mills¡¯ lips twitched.

    Behind a glass barrier with the words, "Border Control - HEATHROW", was a row of offices built without windows. Sterile and intimidating, the interior of the room was furnished with a bare steel table bolted to the floor, and two chairs.

    Gwen sat, as did Sergeant Waterford. Cadet Mills was left standing with a data slate.

    ¡°Miss, may I have your name?¡± Cadet Mills was at least polite.

    ¡°Gwen Song.¡±

    ¡°Place of Birth?¡±

    ¡°Sydney.¡±

    ¡°Date of Birth?¡±

    ¡°25th of May, 1986.¡±

    ¡°Highest Level of Education Attained?¡±

    ¡°Second-year¡ª Senior?¡°

    "Ma¡¯am?"

    ¡°Of Blackwattle High School.¡±

    ¡°Senior Diploma, Ma''am?¡±

    ¡°Er¡­¡± Gwen realised something terrible. ¡°Junior? But I have a senior''s certificate. Also, I attended Fudan-Shanghai for three Semesters. So I am technically not a Frontier''s woman anymore.¡±

    The two officers looked at one another. Sergeant Waterford snorted.

    ¡°Your reason for moving to London?¡±

    ¡°Higher Education.¡±

    ¡°Institution?¡±

    Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

    ¡°Cambridge¡ª Peterhouse.¡±

    Again, the confirmation engendered a longer than usual silence.

    "Right."

    ¡°Highest School of Magic Attained?¡±

    ¡°Conjuration, Tier 6.¡±

    ¡°Secondary Schools?¡±

    ¡°What, all of them?"

    ¡°Yes?¡±

    ¡°Okay. All of them. Excuse me¡ª¡±

    Gwen interrupted herself when Sergeant Waterford rolled his eyes.

    "Yes?"

    "Not to be rude and interfere with your job." Gwen raised a hand. "But do you not know who I am? Have you picked up the wrong person, perhaps? I am sure there''s someone who is supposed to meet me here."

    ¡°Employment status?¡± It was Sergeant Waterford who spoke.

    "What?"

    "Just answer the question."

    ¡°Self-Employed.¡±

    ¡°Occupation?¡±

    ¡°Import-Export. CEO.¡±

    ¡°Where will you be staying in London?¡±

    ¡°A hotel, I¡¯d imagine, near Marylebone, where Evee¡ª Where the Nightingale College is located."

    "You DO NOT have a place of residence?"

    "Should I? I''ve only just arrived."

    "Name your sponsors, their name, contact and address."

    "What?" Now Gwen knew something was wrong. "Listen, Sergeant. I know you have mistaken me for someone else. My name is Gwen Song, and I am here on invitation by the Marchioness of Ely. I am the sister of Master Gunther Shultz of Sydney. You should have seen me on the Vid-Casts. I was in the team going against Pretoria. Now, I understand I may have gotten off the wrong stop. Maybe I was expected in Cambridgeshire. If you could let me out, I am happy to take the next ISTC over and have them deal with me."

    ¡°How will you be paying for your stay?¡±

    "Are you even listening?"

    "HOW will you be paying for your stay?"

    ¡°Sponsorship from Peterhouse.¡± Gwen''s tone grew cold. "Can I speak to your manager?"

    ¡°If you¡¯ve brought more than 1000 HDMs into the country, you need to declare the amount.¡±

    ¡°¡­ Oh?¡± Gwen blinked. Was this what it''s about? Could it be a tax thing? "Is there a tax on personal wealth now?"

    "I don''t make the rules¡ª"

    ¡°¡ª You just follow them. FINE." Gwen returned curtly. "I have 112,420 HDMs in credit sticks and minted currency on my person right now. Is that a problem?¡±

    Sergeant Waterford''s eyes widened, then he smirked. Gwen recognised the look but did not understand why Waterford looked like a hound jaunting back with a hare in its teeth. Gwen bit her lips in frustration. Something was wrong. The question was whether she had made a mistake in getting off at London, OR if she was caught up in someone else''s ploy, OR if said scheme targeted her directly.

    Cadet Mills slid a second data slate across the table.

    ¡°What is the total value of Magical Items you are bringing to London? Please read sections 1-4 and 2-1, respectively,¡± Waterford demanded.

    Gwen read the slate.

    It made no sense.

    Dean Luo had said that all she had to do was show up.

    Gunther likewise confirmed that someone from London Tower would be awaiting her. No one ever said she had to deal with bean-counting bureaucracy.

    Should she play along? Gwen took a moment to consider her options.

    Grudgingly, she tallied her Ioun Stones, her Ring of Evasion, her Contingency Ring, Storage Ring, and her yet to be restored Ghosting Amulet, reminding herself that she had an outstanding IOU from Kyoto. Other items such as her babulya''s stone of clarity and items of convenience like the Portable Habitat she had forgotten to return, she made a rough estimate.

    ¡°Here.¡± Gwen handed back the slate.

    Mills counted the zeros.

    ¡°Is this correct? Ma''am?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡± Gwen was glad that she gave back Gunther¡¯s Ring. She wasn''t an Auctioneer at Sotheby''s and would have put down five zeros on reflex.

    ¡°You''re carrying 26,000 HDMs worth of items on your person...¡±

    ¡°Some of the items are unique.¡± Gwen''s brows furrowed. ¡°Are we done? Can I go now? Important people are waiting for me."

    Sergeant Waterford scrolled through the list.

    ¡°You have a Spirit on you?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a supplement,¡± Gwen explained. ¡°Think of it as homoeopathic medicine.¡±

    ¡°Can we see it?¡±

    Gwen materialised her jadeite storage box.

    ¡°Is that storage device on the list?¡±

    ¡°The box is a Magic Item?¡± Gwen stared at the box, then realised her stupidity. Hers was a container made from ageless, near-perfect jadeite, hand-carved by Ryxi. In the current jadeite market, the box may be quite priceless. ¡°I suppose it is.¡±

    Before the officers could answer, she opened the box.

    ¡°Kii¡ªKii?¡± The ginseng stirred. When it caught sight of Gwen, its remaining limbs grew limp. ¡°Kii!¡±

    Gwen patted the root vegetable on the chest, then closed the lid.

    The two officers must have stopped breathing at some point because Gwen could hear both of them taking deep breaths.

    "Anything else?"

    ¡°We''ll need to confiscate that,¡± Sergeant Waterford stated blankly. ¡°The plant is an illicit Class-III Magical Creature. You¡¯re not allowed to bring un-attuned Magical Creatures into London without an Import Licence, a signed 11-B and a Request for Quarantine 12-C. The penalty for non-compliance is a fine of 10,000 HDMs and prison time up to one year.¡±

    Gwen de-materialised the box.

    ¡°I wasn¡¯t informed.¡± She had it up to her neck with these goons. ¡°Cambridge should have taken care of all my papers.¡±

    ¡°Cambridge does not command Border Control.¡± Sergeant Waterford''s eyes grew hard. ¡°Miss, I am afraid we will need you to empty your Storage Ring.¡±

    ¡°No." Gwen felt her patience wane. "Contact London Tower. Tell them to send someone."

    ¡°Are you refusing a lawful request?" The Sergeant''s tone was arrogant and rude. Gwen checked with a subtle manifestation of Detect Magic that the room wasn''t equipped with anti-magic wards. Thus far, no other ISTC station had shown the slightest interest in her inventory. At any rate, the Sergeant''s smug mug made her wish she still had her Dragon-fear.

    ¡°Sergeant, I may look like this, but I am not stupid,¡± Gwen complained. ¡°I know my rights. And I will not empty my ring nor relinquish my inventory. Now be a good Sergeant and go and call your superiors. There has been a terrible mistake. Fix this, and I won''t pursue the misunderstanding."

    ¡°If you are dissatisfied, you may lodge a formal complaint ONCE we stow the contents of your Ring.¡± Sergeant Waterford stood, his face growing redder with her every word. ¡°Again, I ask that you remove from your body all magical items, and detail the source of the currency, items and materials you are bringing into London.¡±

    Gwen''s complexion grew pink. Her irises took on a vivid hue. Even when some NoM groped her tooshie on the train, she had not felt so annoyed. What the fuck was this motiveless malignancy?

    ¡°I am a Class VI War Mage." Gwen wasn''t sure if what she said held any weight, but it was worth a try. "Return my Multi-pass to me. Now. Then CALL your superiors."

    ¡°Sir.¡± The cadet leaned toward to her superior, her face ashen. ¡°Maybe we made a mistake?¡±

    Sergeant Waterford turned.

    ¡°Cadet! NEVER undermine a superior officer.¡± Waterford¡¯s snap was so vicious that Mills visibly flinched. ¡°Miss Song! I am warning you¡ª¡±

    There was a sound of steel on concrete. Gwen stood from her chair.

    ¡°I stand warned. Are we done?"

    Waterford''s complexion darkened.

    ¡°Give me back my Multi-Pass if I am not welcome in London. Send me back to the ISTC station. You can be sure that I¡¯ll inform Tower Master Gunther Shultz and Lady Grey of Ely that some brainless twat stopped me from entering the city because of bureaucratic inflexibility and an ego-driven power trip.¡±

    Sergeant Waterford closed the distance between them in an instant. Gwen sensed a flood of Transmutation cascading from the man¡¯s body. In Sydney, the officer would have been someone special, but here in London, the man was just a grunt with a badge.

    ¡°Gwen Song, you are under arrest for refusing to comply with an officer of Border Control,¡± Waterford announced. ¡°Your belongings will be confiscated and kept in storage until further notice.¡±

    The cramped room, combined with Sergent Waterford''s body odour, was making her claustrophobic. In Singapore, she at least knew her father had fucked up. In Shanghai, it was her grandfather who had her incarcerated for observation. Here in London, she was truly alone. If she allowed this man to take her items, who knew what would happen to them? If she allowed this man to arrest her, who knew where she would end up? Gwen studied the man''s bloodshot eyes. Was Ravenport behind this? Her Master''s Factional enemies? Perhaps, someone looking to embarrass Lady Grey?

    ¡°I am leaving,¡± Gwen stated coldly, raising her Message Device.

    ¡°You¡¯re a smuggler!¡± Waterford barred her way. ¡°And Devices don¡¯t work here, pissant.¡±

    ¡°Move.¡± Essence flooded Gwen¡¯s conduits. She no longer had her Dragon-fear, but the methods by which Draconic-Essence was deployed remained ingrained within her body. When she once again gazed into her opponent¡¯s eyes, her irises were twin lanterns vivid with scintillating rainbows. She couldn''t turn spines into noodles anymore, but her presence was nothing to scoff at.

    Unconsciously, the officer took a step back. Mills whimpered against the wall.

    Gwen passed the man now sweating profusely, then approached the door.

    Click.

    It was locked.

    Feeding Essence into her arms, she tried the handle again.

    It wouldn¡¯t budge. She was hale but no longer a She-Hulk, and her obstacle was designed to withstand Transmuters.

    ¡°Go on, leave." Waterford had recovered enough to speak. "What are you going to go? Flee into the city?"

    Gwen forced herself to calm. Different from her Draconic days, her fog of indignant rage cleared far quicker than when she was under the influence of Dragon-juice. With an icy clarity, Gwen measured the outcomes of her demolishing the door. Whatever Sergeant shit-for-brains presumed, she was confident that so long as she did not kill anyone, injury and mayhem was perfectly acceptable for someone with her backing. No one wants an angry Alesia in their office, and few bureaucrats in the Tower desired a justified censure from Gunther. If anything, Lady Grey would likely have a stern word with the Border Force''s replacement Director.

    Satisfied, Gwen placed her hand against the door. Though the mechanism was well-made and enchanted, it was not warded. They were in an office, not an MSS secret prison under the Ministry of Social Welfare.

    ¡°Chakram.¡± She invoked her Signature Spell. Carefully channelling the Void Mana through her Essence-shielded conduits, she neatly sliced at the locking mechanism as though slipping through a credit card.

    Click!

    The mechanism disengaged, the door opened.

    "Sir, she IS a Void Mage!" Cadet Mills whispered harshly. "We''ve¡ª"

    ¡°Guards!¡± her captor was screaming into a communication device. ¡°Code THREE. Female Escapee, on suspicion of currency laundering and smuggling of Magical Creatures. Dark-haired, eighteen years of age, green eyes. She¡¯s leaving the holding section right now¡ª¡°

    Gwen turned, the final syllable for Flashbang on the tip of her tongue, only to be met with Cadet Mills¡¯ pleading eyes.

    The spell faded from her lips.

    ¡°Caliban! Ariel!¡±

    ¡°Shaa Shaa!¡±

    ¡°Ee EE!¡±

    ¡°Keep me covered. Don¡¯t attack even if provoked.¡±

    Her Familiars complied, each assuming their combat forms.

    If her Familiars, so instantly recognisable from the IIUC¡¯s international broadcasts didn¡¯t earn her a visit from the higher-ups, then she was indeed caught in the grip of a wide-ranging conspiracy. In that eventuality, she would make as much commotion as possible, ensure that as many pairs of eyes saw that Gwen Song, Class VI War Mage, was causing mayhem.

    Only in the dark were these corrupt, arrogant, bureaucratic bastards powerful. In the light of scrutiny, their schemes melted away like morning snow.

    Heathrow ISTC Station.

    Exterior.

    To the complete awe of sticky-beaked valets, a Rolls Royce idled in the Station''s reserved parking bay. In all of the United Kingdoms, only fifteen vehicles of the same make and model existed, making the onlookers guess as to which noble was gracing the station for a business trip.

    ¡°Milord, I think now might be a good time to intervene,¡± sounded an imploring voice from the driver¡¯s side seat. ¡°Director Reeves is en route as we speak."

    "Very well, Elliot. You know best."

    ¡°Aye, milord.¡± The driver exited the vehicle, then tapped on the passenger-side door. ¡°Acolyte, ready to leave?"

    ¡°Yes, Sir Savile," the young man answered, his voice brimming with barely-constrained agitation. "We''d best hurry¡ª before she eats anyone in public.¡±

    A severe sense of d¨¦j¨¤ vu assaulted Gwen when two dozen guards surrounded her with sonic suppressors. The last time she had been in this exact precarious situation, it had been Alesia refusing to stand down to Walken¡¯s goons.

    If so, who was the mastermind this time? What would happen to her if she Chain Lightninged the lot of them?

    If anything, Gwen lamented losing her Dragon-Fear yet again. A good AoE jolt of the Dragon-juice was effortlessly capable of disabling the guards via explosive bowels.

    ¡°UNSUMMON YOUR FAMILIARS!¡± the Guard Captain shouted. ¡°NOW!¡±

    The area outside Border Control had been cleared of civilians, though not before Gwen caught the flash of a few lumen-recorders. Where she loathed exposure in Shanghai, she welcomed it in London. With her beautiful Ariel and her big-black Caliban out in public, how could anyone NOT take a lumen-recording?

    ¡°BRING ME YOUR MANAGER!¡± Gwen wasn¡¯t sure what title the highest officer of Border Force held, and so could only act like an ignorant mall-mom. ¡°NOW!¡±

    "Shaa¡ª"

    SCREEEEEEEE¡ª

    A sonic suppressor misfired. Perhaps out of nervousness, maybe to test Gwen''s resolve. With her Essence encircling her conduits, however, the otherwise agony-inducing device was a minor annoyance.

    ¡°Shaa! Shaa!¡± Caliban sang¡ª its carapace split, driving the men back. Her familiar rather enjoyed the din. ¡°Shaa! SHAA!¡±

    Gwen felt like a fool, but that was the role she now played. Idiots weren''t dangerous. Idiots could be pacified. Surely, an idiot who merely stood her ground didn''t warrant lethal retaliation. There was no War on Terror in this world, after all, no Fox-News mass hysteria.

    ¡°YOUR SUPERIOR, NOW!¡± Gwen howled, using her Clarion Call. This time, the windows visibly vibrated.

    ¡°Maximise output! On my mark!¡± The Guard Captain, standing in front of a smug Sergeant Waterford, ordered his men for the inevitable. ¡°Miss Song, you have FIVE SECONDS TO COMPLY.¡±

    Groaning internally, Gwen readied her Void Skin and a Lightning Shield. Void Shield had the unfortunate habit of cutting line of sight, and that was something she couldn¡¯t afford right now. With her Essence, Void Skin, and her VMI, she should be able to hold out until someone without shit-for-grey-matter arrived.

    ¡°Five¡ª¡±

    ¡°Four¡ª¡±

    ¡°Three¡ª¡±

    ¡°HALT!¡± A burst of silvery Conjuration gave the Guard Captain pause. A split-second later, the space in between Gwen and the leader of her assailants filled with two figures, one youthful and tall, and the other old and gnarly.

    Gwen gasped as recognition dawned, the well-loved contour of the young man''s face may as well be an angel sent from heaven.

    ¡°R-RICHARD?¡± she spluttered, her eyes widening. ¡°Oh, thank fuck.''¡±

    ¡°Gwen!¡± Richard threw both hands up in the air to show that he wasn''t dangerous. He then spoke through a silent Message. ¡°Let Lord Savile do the work. ¡°

    ¡°Who?¡±

    Richard made the gesture for her to zip it.

    ¡°Shaa! SHAA!¡±

    ¡°EE! EE!¡±

    Gwen willed her Familiars to calm. The old Magister-looking bloke must be the man initially assigned to pick her up from the ISTC station. If so, then her pointless ordeal was at an end.

    The gent behind Richard produced a crest, lighting up the space in front of him with a Coat of Arms so absurd Gwen almost snorted. The projection was a stylised Glyph, one consisting of a single stripe of gules across a white shield with a trio of emerald parakeets.

    ¡°Elliot Savile, acting on the order of the Duke of Norfolk. Guard-Captain, you WILL submit your authority to me. Remove your arms, then remove yourselves from my presence.¡± The hunched Magister''s declaration fulminated across Heathrow''s grand hall, driving the guards back.

    D¨¦j¨¤ vu once again suffused Gwen''s senses. Wasn¡¯t this what happened last time too? The old guy wasn¡¯t Gunther "Apollo" Shultz, but he was plenty burly in so far as his presence was concerned.

    ¡°She¡¯s a smuggler and a trespasser!¡± Sergeant Waterford¡¯s face was pale with panic. ¡°Do not be fooled, Secretary Savile. She¡¯s carrying hundreds of thousands in illicit funds, including a Spriggan Sprite stolen from lord knows where! Just check her ring!¡±

    "Sergeant." The man called Secretary Savile appeared unfazed. "Where is your superior?"

    VOOMMPH!

    Another Dimension Door opened, vomiting forth a bespectacled man in a three-piece suit. Others followed, depositing other half-dozen officers. These ones, Gwen could see, were all Combat Mages.

    ¡°Sir!¡± The guards saluted, instantly relieved.

    ¡°What¡¯s happened?¡± The new arrival glanced at Gwen and Richard, then at the wizened Lord in their midst. ¡°Lord Secretary! Why are you here? Have my men offended you?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡± The man known as Elliot Saville gestured for Gwen and Richard to gather around.

    ¡°Sir!¡± Sergeant Waterford was bowing and scraping before anyone else could get a word in edgewise. With astounding acuity, he painted Gwen in the colour of his accusation. Gwen seethed, though again Richard held her hand and told her to leave the work to their escort.

    Once Waterford finished, the bespectacled Mage turned to Gwen and the Lord Secretary now acting as their shield. ¡°Miss Song, I am Magister George Reeves, Director of Operations here at Heathrow. Is what my Sergeant said true? Are you in possession of the objects and creatures he has identified, and do you lack the necessary paperwork? These are serious crimes..."

    Gwen¡¯s stomach sunk. Fucking useless self-serving bureaucrats. ¡°Yes, but¡ª¡°

    ¡°There is NO need to explain yourself, Miss Song.¡± Richard¡¯s companion interjected, raising a finger to hush her lips. Turning toward the guards and their Director, he thumped the floor. ¡°You have grown too complacent, Director Reeves. She isn''t someone you can detain.¡±

    ¡°Check her ring¡ª¡± Sergeant Waterford was cut off by his Director.

    ¡°Lord Savile." The Director adjusted his spectacles. "I would advise against the Grey Faction interfering with border operations¡ª¡±

    ¡°Silence¡ª!¡° Savile stopped the man before he could continue. ¡°Is THIS the hill you have chosen to die on, Reeves? Waste my time again, and you''ll regret it.¡±

    The Director snorted. ¡°If you think Norfolk can prod and bully¡ª¡°

    To Gwen''s amazement, Reeve''s voice dimmed. It was as though someone had suppressed the ambient volume around them. In so far as a chantless Silence was concerned, its size and fineness were astounding.

    ¡°Miss Song, Mister Huang.¡± Elliot Savile turned to Gwen and Richard again. The Mage then gestured to the far exit. ¡°Shall we? I am sorry your arrival in London has become so unpleasant. Not to worry, heads will roll."

    ¡°We''re just going to leave?¡± Gwen was incredulous. There''s still a dozen guards, more on the way, a Director and his cock-brained sergeant hurling abuses! How the hell is anything resolved? Was Savile senile? They''ve still got her Multi-Pass!

    ¡°Gwen, we better listen to what he says.¡± Richard had been holding Gwen''s hand the whole while. ¡°Send away Ariel and Caliban. You''re already late for your appointment in Cambridge, or so I am told.¡±

    ¡°I have an appointment?¡±

    ¡°You do.¡±

    ¡°I was going to see Elvia.¡±

    ¡°You will.¡± Richard squeezed her hand. ¡°Gwen, have patience. Right now, we¡¯re out of our depth. WAY out of our depth.¡±

    Their eyes met.

    Richard''s eyes were unblinking and full of gravity.

    ¡°Fine,¡± Gwen ordered her Familiars to disperse.

    The trio advanced, Savile parted the guards like Moses parting the Red Sea.

    ¡°You won¡¯t hear the last of this!¡± Director Reeves'' voice was barely a whisper. ¡°I''ll have you censured, Savile! What you''re doing is a blatant abuse of power!¡±

    Once outside, Gwen breathed in the air of frigid freedom with gulping breaths. There was already a ring of bright-eyed reporters taking pictures of the Lord, the nobody and the girl wearing not very much.

    "Thank God you arrived with Lord Savile, Richard," Gwen said to her cousin, then bowed towards their rescuer. "My most sincere thanks, Lord Savile. Your aid is most timely."

    "No need to thank me." Savile gestured to the shadows, his voice deep and raspy. "Your benefactor is over yonder. We should hurry if you do not wish to be tardy. Lady Grey is holding Hall in your honour."

    "O?" Gwen followed. "We''d best hurry, then."

    "Indeed."

    The man quickened his pace, behind them, the stickybeaks dispersed, though the paparazzi followed. Ahead, Gwen caught sight of the most expensive personal possessions she had ever seen, barring Gunther''s ring.

    ¡°Wow, a Rolls Royce,¡± Gwen gushed, slapping Richard''s rigid body. ¡°Moving up in the world, Dick!¡±

    Still holding her slender fingers, Richard¡¯s hands grew clammy.

    All around them, the December snow fell like cotton, the crystallised motes of water clinging to anything remotely warm.

    Ten meters away, the door of the Rolls Royce swung open with a will of its own. Gwen whistled. From what she could see, the spacious interior was impossibly large. From the unique mana signature, she recognised the same Spatial Magic used for the Towers interior. If so, how bloody expensive was this car?

    "Wait!" Richard pulled her back. "You''re just going to get in?"

    Gwen staggered, her legs akimbo, slipping on sleet. With both hands, she gripped Richard''s coat. "Jesus, Dick, what the hell?"

    "W-why are you so weak?" Richard groped her arms, confused as to the unexpectedly soft body clinging onto his neck. To make sure, he gave her shoulders a shake. "What''s wrong? What''s happened? Did they do something to you in there?"

    "No, this is my fault." Gwen righted herself. Peeling away Richard''s hands, she punched him in the chest. "Be careful, will you? I am an old lady."

    Richard waited for her to adjust her sandals. Struck by a sudden thought, her cousin unzipped her blazer, saw what the parka hid, then re-fastened the zipper. "Why are you wearing a summer dress? It¡¯s two degrees out! My balls are up in my pelvis.¡±

    ¡°Four hours ago, I was in Burma!¡± Gwen adjusted her jacket. ¡°It was thirty-four in Singapore and thirty-two in Yangon, with a humidity of ninety! That¡¯s when I last stepped out of an ISTC station. Besides, I feel fine. Nothing wrong with a refreshing breeze on the old stalks."

    She unzipped her parka. "At least I am immune to cold still."

    Richard zipped shut her parka again. Her cousin looked as though he was enduring great mental and physical anguish. "Forget about the dress. Gwen. Didn''t your mother teach you never to get into a stranger''s car?"

    "That''s a Rolls Royce, you know. Not a candy van. And those are reporters." She pointed to the men with their Lumen-recorders. "Why?"

    "Do you even know who''s in there?"

    "Our contact from Cambridge? It''s not like I can go back to the ISTC station. I don''t have my Flight Licence either."

    Richard''s jaws clenched. "Look, just listen to what I have to say, and stay calm."

    ¡°Fine.¡± Gwen glanced at the leather interior of the Rolls Royce. There was someone in there, but the air was all fuzzy. Considering her near-perfect vision, she figured it was a part of the Spatial Magic.

    Richard shook her shoulders. "Gwen, focus, look at me."

    "Okay." Gwen obediently gazed into her cousin''s eyes.

    "The Duke of Norfolk is in that car, and he''s offered to chaperon your passage to Cambridge."

    "A Duke! How fancy!"

    "The Duke of Norfolk¡ª is Mycroft Ravenport."

    It took several seconds for the words to filter through her head. Ten-thousand mud-grass horses imported from the steppes of northern China stampeded through her mind in the time a dozen snowflakes kissed Richard''s cheeks.

    "As to why I am here as a willing captive." Her cousin''s Adam''s apple bobbed. "Did you know that he''s also an ex-Provost of King''s College, Cambridge?"

    "But you''re in Wolfson."

    "Not anymore." Richard''s complexion alternated between passion and ashen. "I''ve been inducted into King''s College, Gwen. My childhood dream, the impossible goal I set for myself when I enrolled in Prince''s¡ª it''s come true."

    Gwen considered the implication of Richard''s words.

    The warm interior of the Rolls awaited.

    The cold whipped at her bare legs.

    "Fuck."

 Chapter 323 - Naked Villainy

    Richard materialised an elaborate, oaken box. On its matt-black surface, the Coat of Arms of Cambridge glimmered in silver.

    "Your robe, for Hall."

    Gwen opened the container. Inside was a long black gown with bell-sleeves and open forearm seams. At its rear sat a large black hood, bound and lined in ermine. Also included was a perfumed card from Lady Grey, welcoming her to the college, as well as a note with curt instructions on etiquette and attire.

    "I was with the Vice-Chancellor originally. He was your chaperone," Richard explained, biting each syllable. "Until the Duke intervened."

    "Does the Lady know?"

    "The Vice-Chancellor gave me the gown, then returned straightaway to the Old Court. Assuming he''s looking to save his skin..."

    Richard grew silent.

    Gwen studied her cousin''s face. The young man wasn''t his usual, candid self. Was it safe to speculate that the Lady knew? While she did not possess the Lady''s Message Glyph, she knew the Vice-Chancellor''s¡ª though Messaging the man was as useful now as blaming Richard.

    She placed a white hand against the roof of the Rolls Royce, feeling the mana thrumming through its interior. By the wayside, her cousin stood guilty as charged, watching Gwen ponder her entrance into the lion''s den.

    Outside, the paparazzi''s lumen-flares blanketed the car''s boxy, antique exterior. She smiled at the reporters, wondering if she should say something. Maybe a cry for help? "If you find me in a ditch later, blame the Duke of Norfolk?"

    "Dick, what happens to you if I leave?"

    "I don''t know," Richard confessed. "Don''t mind me¡ª"

    A test? Gwen wondered. And if so, was all that Customs business a part of it? Was Richard a hostage? Or did he find himself a better patron? In his usual candour, Dick did say he was a willing participant. Whatever the case, her answers sat in the car. The question was if she was woman enough to find out.

    "Richard," Gwen said. "Hold onto the box. We''ll talk later."

    Her cousin nodded.

    Turning on her heels, Gwen then stepped into the cabin, one white leg after the other.

    The lumen-recorders flashed.

    Like a perfect egg, the vehicle''s doors sealed shut.

    Inside, the air was warm and temperate, smelling faintly of leather.

    She did not immediately turn to regard her "benefactor" but took a moment to compose herself.

    "That''s going to hit the back pages for sure," an impeccably pronounced, accented voice drifted across the impossibly spacious interior of the Phantom. "My faultless reputation, ruined by an outlandish lassie. What would the Sun say? Or the Telegraph? Tabloids, they''re worse than Transylvanian bloodsuckers."

    Conjuring courage from Almudj''s encircling Essence, Gwen craned her neck so that the slow focus of her demanding gaze would deliver its full effect.

    Charcoal dress pants. Silk shirt. No tie. A fitted jacket. A trimmed beard. Eyes the colour of ice. Black hair with bands of silver.

    Mycroft Ravenport. The Big Bad Wolf of London.

    The Duke of Norfolk appeared nothing like his son. He did not look malicious; assuming malignancy had a look. Indeed, one glance at Edgar was enough to reveal the insanity simmering behind the man''s eyes. Conversely, Mycroft Ravenport looked an actor, a dappled gent who frequented chamber orchestras and attended contemporary art openings. Apart from his high forehead, the most notable feature of the patriarch was his gaunt, skull-like face, particularly the man''s aristocratic cheekbones and his lips, pursing to form a thin, red line.

    "You''re very calm." Mycroft appeared amused. "I like that."

    "This isn''t my first abduction." Gwen forced the corner of her lips to curl. "The excitement wears off."

    "Abduction?" Mycroft appeared genuinely puzzled. "I just liberated you from those egg-headed Militants, and now I offer you unmolested passage to Cambridge, where Justine breathlessly awaits her new ward."

    "Am I to understand that I am free to leave?"

    "Anytime." Mycroft raised both hands to show that he meant to harm. "Though I am sure Director Reeves is salivating at a chance to get at your ring, and yourself. Besides, I haven''t given you any of your documents. I am Mycroft, by the way."

    Gwen extended a hand.

    "You''re not going to Shocking Grasp me, are you?" Ravenport''s mouth twisted into a grin. "I''ve been told you do that. Shock people."

    Her scalp crawled. Where did the man get that little detail?

    "I prefer civil discourse."

    "Is this palatial vehicle, reserved for state officials, not civil enough to bolster your confidence? Nevermind¡ª here, your papers. Please be at ease."

    A thick manila envelope materialised in Gwen''s extended hand.

    Gwen opened the envelope. Inside was a calf-skin leather booklet with the crest of the British Mageocracy imprinted in gold, consisting of the Royal Coat of Arms resting upon a spell tome. The paper itself consisted of the same material as Spell Scrolls. On the first page was a portrait, underneath which sat her biometrics.

    When she channelled her mana into her new Multi-Pass, the illusory portrait came alive. It was a lumen-recording she had taken back at Fudan when Dean Luo processed her papers.

    "That''s an Empire-wide Multi-Pass, good for all Commonwealth Frontiers, as well as tier 1 European cities. We have a treaty with the central powers. It''s very convenient."

    Gwen sorted through her next piece of "paper". There was a card in plated silver. It was her new Public Practice of Magic Licence, currently authorising self-defence magic up to tier 5.

    There were other bundles of paper in the envelope as well, such as certificates for her items, a tax-form for crystals and other materials. Her ginseng had been approved as well. There was even a health certificate for the truck-load of Spam she had in her possession.

    "The idiot at the Customs," Gwen said. Stowing her papers. "That was you¡ª"

    "The etiquette is to prefix or append requests with ''Milord'', or ''Your Grace''." Ravenport returned her glare with a casual glance. "Welcome to high society, Gwen. You can stab me, shock me, throw me to the Void, but you can''t be RUDE. It''s unladylike."

    Gwen swallowed the "Fuck you, Milord" simmering at her throat. There was a time for anger. Now was not a good time.

    There was one final item in her envelope: a pair of silver wings. The weight of the metal in her hand, however, felt wrong.

    "Mithril Wings¡ª near impossible to replicate," Ravenport said. "Justine said you wanted a pair, and so I sponsored you in place of the others. A word of advice, though. I would refrain from flying at all above the city''s capital buildings regardless. The Paladins take their job very seriously."

    Gwen glanced at her the Unlimited Flight badge, then at the landscape outside their window. From her memory, Heathrow was already outside of the central business district. It meant that from here to Cambridge, it was mostly countryside. Assuming these documents were real, she could just fly away.

    "Satisfied? Did that pacify your upset?"

    Gwen studied the Ravenport patriarch, looking for clues, tics, something to indicate his exterior had a crack she could pry to get at the real man inside.

    Naturally, the Duke''s facade was flawless.

    "Good. Savile, we''re going."

    Soundlessly, the car began to move.

    "Your Grace." Gwen reiterated. "Was Officer Waterford your doing?"

    "Yes."

    "Why?" Gwen asked the obvious.

    "None of your business. Though it was good to see Justine''s new pet ruffled."

    "Did I perform to your expectation?"

    "Adequate. Not nearly vicious enough." Ravenport inclined his chin. "Although I would like to apologise for not expecting your¡­ provincial choice of attire."

    "What''s wrong with this?" Gwen crossed her legs.

    "Once you join our ranks, you will learn that a personage in our positions has very little to fear," Mycroft spoke with an air of instruction. "But the masses do have a way of getting under one''s skin. For a young lady entering Justine''s service, many unpleasant things await. A sorceress with your infamy is a bone the tabloids could chew for years. Just between you and me, if you could send a Shoggoth into the Sun''s editorial office, I''ll ask the Queen to issue a pardon."

    "I am surprised Your Grace is candid about mass-murder."

    "Don''t be morose."

    The Duke of Norfolk casually gestured. Between them, the middle console transformed into a bar table. From a hidden nook, Ravenport produced two glasses.

    "Red or White?"

    "Red."

    "Good choice." Mycroft picked a bottle. "Cabernet Sauvignon from the banks of la Gironde, ''87, I believe. A good year. I am fond of a thick, dry, red. It looses up the palate."

    While Mycroft ensorceled the cork with a Mage Hand, Gwen scrutinised the father of the psychopath who had violated her. So far, they had remained civil. Gunther had foretold that Ravenport would not make a move on her. Though Gwen held Gunther in the highest esteem, what if he was wrong? What if they''re headed for Dover, and Ravenport''s looking to dump her chopped up body over a cliff? Assuming a fisherman finds her carcass, would Gunther laser down the Ravenport''s Estate? If so, what would happen to Sydney?

    Mycroft poured the wine into a pair of enormous Bordeaux glass to air, instantly filling the car''s interior with an oaky redolence.

    "I don''t understand the purpose of our unscheduled meeting." Gwen attempted a direct approach. There were too many possibilities, and her paranoia didn''t help. "Surely Your Grace is a man of such importance that his time has to be portioned out by the quarter-hour?"

    Mycroft swirled his Bordeaux glass, breathing in the heady scent. Raising the liquid to the light, he gazed at her through the enormous glass. "See the thickness? Beautiful¡ª and bold, like blood."

    Gwen felt her fingers perspire. "I am barely old enough to drink."

    The Duke of Norfolk handed over her glass. "I like to let the reds sit. Patience is a great virtue when it comes to wine. The older the casket, the richer the relish, the more satisfying the delay."

    Gwen didn''t have to be a genius to read between the lines.

    Ravenport knew.

    And from the sounds of it, he knew a lot.

    The duo sat in silence while the wine aerated.

    "But enough about you." Ravenport read her mind. "Have your associates ever spoken of me?"

    "You''re the Duke of Norfolk," Gwen now recollected from memory, her adrenaline clarifying a distant conversation she had held with Walken. "You hold the dual-office of Earl Marshall and the Lord of the College of Arms. You sit opposite the Lord Great Chamberlain during the opening of parliament¡ª"

    Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    Parliament! Gwen recalled that Ravenport had his eye on the Prime Ministership in May. To make a viable coalition, Gunther had apprised, Ravenport would not dare make an enemy out of the Middle Path''s independents, as the Tories lacked the support to maintain a legislative majority. Steering the Mageocracy was a balancing act, and Ravenport was no more immune to the shackles of power than Gunther.

    "I understand if my titles are confusing." Mycroft laughed. "Bonk''s Genealogical studies will be in your lessons, I am sure. In addition to being the 18th Duke, I am also the Earl of Arundel and Surrey¡ª those are my land-holds. My Baronetage also includes Beaumont, Maltravers, Fitz, Alan, Clun, Oswaldestre and Glossop, though most remain in the grip of the Wildlands. My official title, as you have guessed, is Lord Earl Marshall, or Lord Marshall."

    "I see. Now that we''re acquainted." Gwen dried her fingers on her dress, making sure she had a firm grip on the glass. "Care to throw a Frontier lass a bone? What do you want from me?"

    "How now." Ravenport looked at her disapprovingly. "Where''s the sport?"

    "Sorry to disappoint," Gwen replied. "I was raised by Drop Bears."

    "Yes, the most deadly fauna in your penal colony, or so they tell me. You know, your stoicism reminds me of old Deathless, your Master. He was never one for tea nor titles. The Crown gifted him a Baronetage for his service. Instead, he asked for a piece of land in Hungary. That did not turn out well, or so I''ve heard. Quite the stain that made on Kilroy''s reputation."

    Gwen sifted through the crumbs, pecking at the words. Mycroft''s ability to meander was astounding.

    "Milord, I am still awaiting an answer to my initial question."

    Ravenport raised his glass half-way, Gwen mimicked her opponent.

    "For maiming my boy¡ª"

    Tink!

    He struck her glass with his own.

    "¡ªI am going to make materials out of your Dragon-blooded body. Then murder everyone you love¡ª"

    "!"

    Before Ravenport even finished, Gwen felt the invasion of Elemental Dust filling the cabin. With every cell shrieking for immediate action, she called upon her Familiar to defend her. If Ravenport wanted to start, then she would finish. "Caliban!"

    "SHAA!"

    To her complete surprise, her Void fiend manifested without interruption, filling her side of the back lounge with a two-metre Void python hankering for inbred flesh. Caliban''s segments split at once, sending out its twin tendrils to envelope her foe.

    THUNK!

    Half-a-metre from Ravenport, her creature struck a barrier.

    Her wine glass, still humming, spilt its contents over her dress, painting Caliban partially crimson.

    The Duke''s laughter filled the cabin. "Too green by far, Kilroy''s Apprentice. But then again, he that made this world made us all differently. You''re smart but shallow, and all too honest¡ª a terrible combination for a politician. Lord Shultz has his work cut out for him, I see."

    "Cali, calm." Protectively, Caliban coiled about Gwen''s person, wrapping around her waist, resting across her lap. Did that barrier work both ways? Gwen wondered. They usually do.

    Caliban persisted in its menacing hisses.

    "Ha!¡ª straight for the jugular? So you CAN be vicious," Mycroft praised the girl and her snake. "I was expecting something grandiose. You could have been the first Mage in the history of the Empire to let loose a Thundering Shatter in a Phantom IV. Who knows if the Spatial Mandala will hold? What an obituary both of us would make. It''ll be a fun piece of trivia for future generations."

    Gwen glared, her cheeks glowing pink as her Essence tamed the rising bile. The man was teasing her, confusing her. Was he joking or serious about murdering her loved ones? She was inclined to believe the latter.

    "It must be oh-so-pleasant to bait me, Your Grace. A big and burly, Duke of the state, bullying a Frontier innocent."

    "Innocent?" Ravenport picked up his glass, then took a sip. " Speaking of innocence, Elvia Lindholm¡ª"

    "SHAA!" Caliban hissed, growing engorged. Gwen''s eyes turned prismatic.

    "¡ª will be in Ystradfellte," Ravenport continued. "Don''t stare. It''s rude. I merely asked the Tower to keep an eye on her whereabouts. Can you imagine if some tragedy were to strike the poor lass? I have it on good authority that you or that sister-in-craft of yours will find it in your hearts to blame me, somehow."

    "Your menace is leaking." Gwen fought back her agitation. The bastard! She wanted Caliban to bite the man so badly! The rotten bastard! "If you want a piece of me, just take a bite. Leave Elvia out of this."

    Ravenport snorted, his tone grew admonishing. "How vain, Dragon-girl! Such conceit! Do you think yourself the protagonist of an Epic? Must every ploy point to you? Must every scheme undermine YOUR position, YOUR power, YOUR future?"

    "SHAA!" Caliban retorted in Gwen''s stead.

    Ignoring her Familiar, the Duke swilled the wine, then stowed the glass in some unseen storage. "I''ll have you know that the ''innocent'' Miss Lindholm is caught up in a vortex of her ineptitude and idiocy. As for why I am telling you this¡ª consider my gift of erudition payment for your contribution at the Teleportation Circle."

    Ystradfellte. Gwen repeated silently to herself, committing the tongue-twister to memory. Glancing at the Message Device by her wrist, Gwen calculated that she was trapped for at least another forty minutes.

    Ravenport adjusted his sitting posture. For a Dust Mage, the old Duke''s haleness was comparable to a younger man. As a comparison, Guo, her Salt-talented grandfather, looked like he had yet to recover from Mao''s Long March.

    "Are all you provincials so fond of staring?" Ravenport observed her unflinching eyes. "Fine, gawk if you like. What do those Dragon-eyes see?"

    Gwen scoffed.

    "I see sin puckering on sin. I see a Duke who has clothed his naked villainy with odd and ends stolen out of holy writ. I see a Minister of larceny branding himself as a saint while peddling deceit." She lowered her voice. "You worked with Sobel. You destroyed Sydney."

    "Shaa!" Caliban added with brevity.

    Ravenport''s eyes bore into her own, no longer caring that it was "rude".

    Gwen gulped. She did not expect that paraphrasing Shakespeare would have the Lord Marshall stare as though she was the eighth fucking wonder of the natural world.

    Ravenport''s mouth twitched.

    "I destroyed Sydney?" Ravenport''s control returned. "Do you have proof?"

    "We know Edgar is your son. And we know Sobel worked with him."

    "And what does that mean? Did you speak with Henry''s wife? Share a cup of tea? Did she boast that a friend in parliament was giving her a helping hand with destroying one of the Mageocracy''s dearest resource-Frontiers? Because, as LORD MARSHALL of the United Kingdoms, how I shall benefit?"

    "The apple doesn''t fall far from the tree now, does it?"

    "You better have crumpets with Sobel''s teeth marks stowed in that ring of yours." The Duke''s voice rose an octave. "For a decade, the thrice-accursed NoM-loving socialists couldn''t irk me in the slightest, but you''ve managed to give me a migraine in twenty minutes. Well done, talk about biting the hand that feeds!"

    "What, you''re giving me a hand?" Gwen snorted.

    Ravenport took an exasperated breath.

    "Are you not our Class VI teenage War Mage? Am I not the Lord Earl Marshall, an imperial agent of Her Majesty''s finest forces? Were we to engage in total war, I would be your highest administrative officer. Cometh a second Beast Tide. Even Gunther would fall under my command."

    "Your son¡ª"

    "¡ªWas a bastard, a fool and a tool."

    "¡ªdied¡ª"

    "Ingrates die every day, what''s one more? Did you kill him?"

    "No."

    "Care to trade his murderer for a reward?"

    Gwen bit her tongue.

    "Sin puckering on sin? Now that''s rich." The grey-haired Lord faced her with a derisive snort. "Do you have any idea how the Empire stands at the apex of this infested, Demi-human world? Have you ever seen a Mermen port razed by our Royal Marines? Arboreal Villages, burnt to the last elf? What do you think keeps an empire oiled and moving? It''s endless rapine! The things we did in Indochina and Africa! The obstacles your DEAR Master Kilroy had parted to plant those Towers. The horrors he made Sobel commit! Oh¡ª you sweet summer child. Holy writ? Our cities are built on bones. And most of it isn''t from monsters."

    Crumbs and more crumbs, Gwen pecked at the facts. "I know¡ª"

    "No, you don''t." Ravenport wavered her retort. "You know so little, but that doesn''t stop you from lecturing your betters, now, does it? Allow me to elucidate your narcissistic little mind. You are an asset to the Mageocracy. Lady Grey wants you for the Middle Faction¡ª I want you for the Grey Faction. The Militants would love to have you but lack the means. But that''s fine. We can learn to share; there''s plenty of Gwen Song to go around¡ª"

    "And as for what you know¡ª the answer is ''very'' little. Edmund has paid the ultimate price, and Her Majesty''s government is well-informed of the blemish on my family name of eight centuries. Edmund''s resources were mine, but his actions were not. In the wake of Sobel''s fiasco, the Mageocracy almost lost a city and did lose one of its architects. But turn, we gained two boons¡ª Gunther Shultz embracing his destined office, and the unveiling of Deathless Henry''s legacy."

    "What legacy?" The words were barely out when she realised what Mycroft implied.

    "What else?" the Lord of the College of Arms replied. "A stable Void Sorceress with the ability to Consume the talent of your enemies. Friend or foe, Human or Dragon."

    "Shaa!" Caliban hissed, writhing in her arms as her agitation mounted. "SHAA¡ª Shaa!"

    Gwen''s blood ran instantly cold. Was the Duke implying that she was going to be force-fed, this time by the Mageocracy? Not even China dared to push her that far.

    "You see, even though Sobel was a godsend against the ongoing Beast Wave, we all knew she was an unstable Warding Glyph," the Duke continued. "To no one''s surprise, we couldn''t control her, and in the end, neither could Henry. But that''s alright, because YOU, my dear, in your tiny dress and your self-righteousness, self-dealing hypocrisy, will be everything Kilroy ever wanted. You''re his redemption. Justine is convinced you''ll inherit Sobel''s mantle and do RIGHT by dear Henry!"

    "Your Grace, I know you''re trying to muddy the water," Gwen fired back. "Stow it. If you think a little panache can drive a wedge between me, my family or my Master¡ª"

    Mycroft dismissed her words with a wave. "No, Gwen. We''re long past deception. I am here on a mission of mercy."

    Lord Ravenport''s voice took on a stern and unyielding tone.

    "As far as I am concerned, there is NOTHING more important than the supremacy of our species and the perpetuation of the Empire! How many people have lost loved ones? What''s a ''son'' in the grand scheme of things? I would trade TEN Edmunds for HALF a Sorceress as talented as you!"

    "You think that I am here to constrain you? Limit your potential? No, you pig-headed provincial! I want you to live your life and PROSPER! Do your business. Dance with your Dragons. Infest the countryside with this LEGION. Mould the land as you see fit."

    The Duke''s presence filled the cabin.

    "Then, when others say NO! And when others undermine your work, steal your labour, destroy your citadels, maim your friends¡ª you will think of our conversation today. Then you will come to me, just as your Master came to my father¡ª then you and I, we shall talk of Empire."

    Gwen gulped.

    Ravenport had revealed so much that the buffet of information was impossible to digest at once.

    "My Master came to¡ª?"

    "To my father¡ª But that information will cost you."

    Gwen ground her teeth.

    "Fine. How about Richard," she said at last. "What have you done to Richard."

    "Processed his immigration form, then inducted him into King''s College," Ravenport answered drily. "Who do you think Lady Grey had to ask for such a favour? Who else can elevate an insignificant, unbacked-nobody to the highest institute of learning in the land? Richard wanted to enrol in Wolfson? That boy will be eaten alive. Only in King''s will he find sympathy. Oh, you can doubt¡ª but I consider my boon an investment. He''s a wise young man to keep on hand, not like some fool hussy hailing from a penal port."

    Ravenport''s facade was once-again flawless. Gwen prided herself on her ability to read others, but the Duke of Norfolk was written in a whole other language. Outside, against the corner of her eyes, an endless English countryside flittered from meadow to meadow, beautiful beyond words, but also daunting.

    Gwen sat in silence, slowly digesting the Duke''s words.

    Henry Kilroy.

    Elizabeth Sobel.

    The Middle Path, the Greys, the Militants.

    Mycroft Ravenport was right in that were many things she did not know and may never know. Her Master''s past loomed like a depthless pool of bottomless brine. What did Henry seek from the Senior Ravenport? What exactly did the Mageocracy do to Sobel? What does it mean to retread Lizzy''s Path?

    The woods are lovely, dark and deep.

    "Why the fiasco in the terminal?" Gwen reverted to her original topic. She disliked the silence.

    "The intricacies may just be too much for your pretty little head," Ravenport answered. "If you wish to know¡ª keep an eye on the headlines. As always, you overestimate your importance."

    The silhouette of Cambridgeshire came into view.

    The horizon was now taking on a lovely shade of rye, painting the linen land a dusky gold. Cambridge was close.

    "Let''s draw a line in the sand." Gwen mentally tallied her meandering conversation with Edmund''s father. "All of your cock and bull¡ª it''s a warning, isn''t it? Step on your toes and the Station Incident will happen again and again, and my enterprises will go exactly nowhere. Meanwhile, Richard languishes at King''s, pressed under your thumb. Likewise, Elvia''s life is but a whim away. You don''t want to deal with Gunther directly. You don''t dare to cross Lady Grey. You want your precious majority in parliament, so you slip these needles under my sole and teach me to step lightly. Have I read you correctly, milord? Do I sound elucidated, Your Grace?"

    "You''ve arrived." The Duke indicated to the appearance of suburban buildings outside. "Since you''re such a wunderkind, let me leave you with a last bit of advice so that you don''t embarrass yourself. We''re not enemies. Not yet. Your brother-in-craft brought to us what Edmund''s done. The Crown knows. So does the assembly. So does the House of Lords."

    "Sydney''s reconstruction has gone rather swimmingly, don''t you think? All those resources, just pouring into a penal colony. All those work permits signed and delivered! Did you think that was because of Master Shultz''s boundless charisma? Which Faction do you think purchased his Leviathan Core? Who do you think donated the Nightmare from their private collection?"

    "And Lady Grey, The honourable Justine Maxwell Loftus," the Duke of Norfolk gave her a look of utter contempt. "We''re cousins, no different to you and you Richard. The same blue blood flows in our veins, just as it flows lacklustre in yours. We nobles may eat our own, but in the end, it''s all in the family. It doesn''t matter which of us you choose as your patron. The rules are the same. You give¡ª and we take. If you demand too much¡ª"

    The Duke appeared as though he wanted to pat her head or pinch her cheek, but was deterred enough by Caliban to think better of it.

    "Listen to Mr Huang, Gwen." The car stopped. "He''s a smart boy."

    Pop!

    The doors opened. Outside, the vaulted pillars of the Old Court, ochre and crimson and enveloped with snow, awaited. Richard stood by the door, pale with white mist streaming from his mouth and nostrils.

    "The woods have wolves." The Duke waved her goodbye. "And you''re just a little girl in a tiny dress. Don''t mistake your friends and enemies."

    Gwen placed a hand against the overhead rails. She retrieved her Void Familiar, then with one leg out in the cold, she turned to regard Mycroft.

    "Cheers for the heads up, Your Grace." Gwen''s mind felt as cold as the frigid frost kissing her unprotected feet. "In the future, I''ll be sure to live up to your expectations."

    The two jousted with their eyes.

    Gwen''s were vivid and striking, Ravenport''s hard and unyielding.

    "Savile." Mycroft Ravenport was the first to break eye contact. "We''re returning to the Estate."

    The Rolls Royce silently rolled from the forecourt. From the Old Court''s interior, two beadles in their black coats rushed out with umbrellas to greet their guests.

    Richard held the box containing Gwen''s robes, standing beside his cousin.

    "I''ll be waiting¡­ for Hall to finish," he managed to eke out. "I am sorry this happened. It wasn''t my intention to be a burden."

    Gwen reached for the box in Richard''s rigid fingers.

    A tug-of-war ensured, perhaps it was best she no longer had her Draconic-strength.

    Their eyes met.

    In the near-three years that she had known Richard, Gwen had never seen her cousin beg. But now, she saw the desperate plea in his eyes. There were no words, for words would have sullied the purity of Richard''s appeal.

    On her cousin''s dark brown hair, a snow crystal melted, as fragile as hope, as delicate as trust.

    Gwen made up her mind. She would not let Mycroft worm into her heart.

    The Duke professed to know everything about her, but really, the arrogant bastard knew nothing at all. Could the Lord Marshall imagine a world inter-connected as a worldwide web? A system of government where every citizen voted? That without a single mote of mana, humans had split the atom, harvested the power of a star?

    From her connection to Amuldj to her otherworldly knowledge, Mycroft was the one in the dark. He may profess to know the past, but she had seen the future!

    "Come on, ya goose." She punched Richard on the arm. "Your balls must be in your intestines by now. Let''s head somewhere warm, and you can show me how to wear this damn gown."

 Chapter 324 - House Rules

    Cambridge.

    Old Court.

    The exterior of ¡°Hall¡±, the building in which Formal Hall was held, overlooked the frosted lawns of the Old Court facing the east and Deer Park facing north-west.

    As an ancient institution, Peterhouse¡¯s Courtyard projected the stoicism of its Laudian Gothic origins. Its interior, comparatively, preserved an older history, favouring the contoured geometry beloved by the Renaissance architects. Within the hall, against a foundation of dark, lacquered wood, vibrant compositions of priceless stained glass, centuries-old and Pre-Raphaelite, depicted the Acts of St Peter, from his adoration of Christ to his crucifixion by Nero.

    In the lesser-parlour, a few doors from the Hall, Gwen made use of a converted prayer chamber to change into subfusc attire. From her ring, she picked a long-sleeved ivory blouse, a bell-skirt in black, and a pair of matching heels. Once she was ready, Richard aided her by slipping the Acolyte¡¯s gown over her shoulders, aligning her sleeves and fluffing out her ermine-lined hood.

    In a further room, the sound of stirring voices thrummed against the acoustically sensitive ironwood wall.

    Thunk! Thunk!

    ¡°Miss Song, it¡¯s time,¡± came the warning from the beadle. ¡°Her Marchioness awaits your arrival.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s time for me to go.¡± Gwen brought Richard¡¯s face closer, then kissed him on the cheek. ¡°Thanks, Dick. You can go back to King¡¯s now if you like. I don¡¯t know how long Hall is going to take.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll wait.¡± Richard indicated to the lounge. ¡°I am an undergraduate, not underage. My curfew is quite lax.¡±

    ¡°There are teenagers my age attending College?¡±

    ¡°Sure, the older bloodlines tend to kick-in early.¡± Richard snorted. ¡°For someone who doesn¡¯t look a day over sixteen, you''re such an old soul.¡±

    ¡°Aww, thanks, Richard.¡± Gwen laughed. ¡°It warms my ancient bones to hear you say that.¡±

    She reached for the door.

    ¡°A word of advice?¡± Richard politely discouraged his cousin. ¡°Don''t duel in a seven-century old building.¡±

    The Marchioness of Ely stood under the portraits of her predecessors, proctoring two long tables of Peterhouse¡¯s elites, each in their colour-coded regalia. As per tradition, each member of Peterhouse present on campus did their best to attend Formal Hall when called by its Master.

    Justine Loftus observed the swaying gowns with satisfaction; as usual, Formal Hall filled her with a sense of accomplishment.

    For Acolytes, the all-black gown ceased at three-quarter length, reaching just above the knees. For the graduate Magus, their vestment sported an ivory moth-silk inlay, with hems reaching the ankle. Comparatively, the lauded Magister¡¯s gown was scarlet, with a black silk inlay and a hooded cloak lined with the finest fur from the endangered Snowdonian Stoat.

    For all three variations, a silk-trimmed sash with coloured "bands" indicated their principle Schools of Magic.

    Sunburst for Evocation.

    Pale nimbus for Abjuration.

    Silver for Conjuration.

    Ivory for Divination.

    Gold for Enchantment.

    Lapis for Illusion.

    And Tyrian purple for Transmutation.

    Had one of Peterhouse''s Meisters attended, their gowns would consist of gold-weaved, bible-black moth-silk, with a double-folded sash and sleeves in retina-searing scarlet.

    The more carmine that graced a Houses¡¯ Hall, therefore, the more lauded its reputation.

    ¡°Students, Maguses, Magisters.¡± Justine Maxwell Loftus, Mistress of Peterhouse, raised a glass to toast the double doors prefacing the entrance. ¡°I give you our newest inductee, Apprentice to our beloved Master Kilroy and sister to Lord Gunther Shultz and the esteemed Lady De Botton¡ª Miss Gwen Song of Sydney!¡±

    The beadles at the door pulled back the oaken panels, revealing a girl with a beaming face, her complexion as white as lilies, her eyes so bright as to almost appear prismatic.

    A murmur broke out among the Magisters. The students themselves remained silent, studying their newest competitor.

    The youthful sorceress curtsied expertly, then threaded her way between the two tables, her slender white legs appearing and disappearing between the gown¡¯s folds. Against the fossilised oaken floor, her heels clicked, tip-tapping in dual-toned staccato. The older alumni nodded with approval. The younger Acolytes turned to one another with wiggling brows before returning their attention to the scented body drifting through their midst.

    No one spoke a word, though a Diviner would have rolled their eyes at the sheer volume of invisible, Silent Messages bouncing off the vaulted ceiling.

    Lady Loftus smiled, happiness blossoming across her still-youthful face.

    A few meters from the Lady, Gwen curtsied again. Of all the Mages present, she alone did not possess a single colour¡ª her attire was stark and without adornments.

    ¡°Turn around, Gwen,¡± the Lady commanded. "Do try to impress."

    Gwen did as told.

    Their new arrival faced the crowd. At once, an indescribable presence radiated from her svelte silhouette. It was an aura of life, of fresh dew on the first day of spring, of thawing brooks frigid with ice melt. Looking at her hopeful, luminous face, her onlookers forgot for a moment that outside, Cambridgeshire was still in the grip of winter.

    With relish, Master Justine Loftus produced the multi-coloured stole she had commissioned for the occasion. Working the cloth under Gwen''s collar, a tapestry denoting every School of Magic marked the scarf hanging from her shoulders.

    The ones closest to the head of the table were the first to inhale sharply. Each by each, the Silent Messages ceased until all present¡ª forty-two sorcerers and sorceresses, stared at the girl. From her contoured heels, their eyes travelled up Gwen''s scandalous interpretation of subfusc to arrive at the rainbow-hued sash now completing her gown.

    Amused by the cohort''s reaction and with Gwen standing by her side, the unwavering Mistress of Peterhouse offered the traditional benediction of the Nazarene.

    ¡°Benedic nos Domine, et dona Tua, quae de Tua largitate sumus sumpturi, et concede, ut illis salubriter nutriti, Tibi debitum obsequium praestare valeamus, per Christum Dominum nostrum, Amen.¡±

    ¡°Amen,¡± the gathered returned.

    ¡°Deus est caritas, et qui manet in caritate in Deo manet, et Deus in eo: sit Deus in nobis, et nos maneamus in ipso. Amen.¡±

    ¡°Amen,¡± their newest compatriot repeated after the others ¡ª when in Rome and all that.

    When the Lady spoke again, her magnificent voice filled the cathedral- vaults of the dining hall.

    ¡°PETERHOUSE!¡± Lady Grey toasted the crowd. ¡°Let us welcome our youngest sister! Let us toast the induction of the Mageocracy''s first OMNI-MAGE into our abode!¡±

    Hall itself proved to be a simple three-course affair, featuring an entr¨¦e of seafood, followed by a main of Australian Auroch cheeks paired with an exotic salad of Wildland origin. Dessert was poached pear in Manuka honey, followed by tea and biscuits.

    For Gwen, the hour-long affair was an endless stream of expectant faces.

    The Senior Bursar, the Steward, The Dean, the Chaplain, the Archivist, the Senior Tutor, the Tutor for Discipline and Etiquette, the Matron of Accommodations, the College Secretary, and finally Lady Loftus¡¯ assistant-secretary, all made their presence known.

    Of the long list of names bobbing through the sea of faces, some were warm, others cold, and many disbelieving. Chief among the sceptics stood the Praelector, an individual whose role was similar to Richard¡¯s Praetorian status at Prince¡¯s.

    ¡°Ollie Edwards.¡± The post-graduate Magus introduced himself. Beneath a head of light brown hair, Ollie possessed elfin features and tapered ears that hinted at an unusual bloodline. From the looks of his colours, the man was a Conjurer-Illusionist-Enchanter. ¡°I¡¯ll be responsible for your discipline, Miss Song.¡±

    ¡°Oh?¡± Gwen allowed the man to take her hand. ¡°What will you be teaching me?¡±

    ¡°Self-discipline and camaraderie,¡± Lady Loftus appended. ¡°Unlike London Imperial, Oxbridge utilises a system of peers. We are all obligated to one another to uphold the reputation of Cambridge and Peterhouse. If you blunder, your tutors and especially Ollie, as your Praelector, will be punished accordingly for failing to guide you. Myself, as well, pending the scale of your disturbance.¡±

    ¡°That hardly seems fair.¡± Gwen looked from the aquiline-nosed young man to her patron. ¡°Collective punishment?¡±

    The Lady nodded. ¡°Once you graduate, your fellows will be your siblings-in-study. As alumni, we walk shoulder to shoulder. To put matters in an oriental fashion, you could think of the constituent colleges as Sects. Whatever you choose to do, Gwen, think of your peers. What you can do for them, and what they may do for you as well. The practice may seem abstract, but it has served Oxbridge well.¡±

    So Oxbridge functions as a result of Nash¡¯s Equilibrium? Gwen digested Lady Loftus'' words. Do that which is best for oneself and all parties, assuming that all parties pursued what is best for others and themselves. If indeed all parties, including King¡¯s, lauded the same philosophical tenant, then it would serve to explain Ravenport¡¯s rationale. Everything was on a balanced scale. To harm her or her loved ones would disturb the universe. For her to act without thought would likewise cause an imbalance. For both herself and Ravenport, doing what was best for themselves, and also the Mageocracy, was "win-win"¡ª personal feelings notwithstanding.

    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

    The same, Gwen realised, must apply to her tight-lipped brother-in-craft. In silence, Gunther had taken the best course of action to ensure that Sydney benefited and she benefited. In exchange, Ravenport mitigated his son¡¯s scandal and profited in the process. That was why Gunther was confident she would be left untouched in London.

    What the Duke of Norfolk must have feared was that in her passion and inexperience, she would pull the wrong brick from underneath a leaning tower.

    Realising the depth of Ravenport''s plot, Gwen felt goosebumps crawling up her thighs.

    ¡°Don''t worry. You''ll get to know your peers later." Lady Loftus rose to deliver a short, final speech, signalling the approach to the end of Hall. ¡°Take a rest¡ª then we¡¯ll talk in private.¡±

    Peterhouse.

    Master¡¯s Suite.

    Gwen sipped on sweet cherry brandy, allowing the sticky liqueur to cling to her tongue.

    Opposite, attired in a cotton blouse and a long skirt that trailed the floor, the Lady retained her stately aura. In Gwen''s eyes, Lady Loftus¡¯ handsomeness indicated both excellent breeding and good education. Without ceremony, she exuded an impeccable aura of gentility. For the Marchioness, there was no need to ¡°make up¡± for what nature had not bestowed.

    The interior of the Master¡¯s suite was modest by the standards of the colleges. Considering that Peterhouse was one of the wealthiest in London, the furnishings were frugal. When the Lady saw Gwen¡¯s eyes darting from divan to fireplace to old drapes, she smiled and explained that the scholarly Monks of Ely, the College¡¯s founders, did not wish the estate burdened by material comforts. She then took a stab at King¡¯s, as well as Trinity, a seminary whose wealth equated the bottom twenty colleges combined. Then, after some intimate small talk of family, Gwen "dobbed in" her encounter with Ravenport.

    ¡°Dickie can be such a boar.¡± Lady Loftus twisted her lips, savouring the pun.

    ¡°Dickie?¡±

    ¡°That''s what we call Mycroft. It was originally Mickie, coined when we were children, around the time of the Pan-Europe Conflict. We were all children back then. At the war''s height, us ''heirs'' were moved to the Duke of Edinburgh''s rural estate to avoid accidental, violent deaths.¡±

    ¡°How did Mickie become Dickie?¡±

    ¡°Oh, the name was a gift from Aunt Angie, that¡¯s the queen¡¯s mother, who got confused with the nick-names. I mean, there were thirty of us.¡± Lady Loftus laughed. ¡°For some reason, she kept calling him Dickie, so the kids did as well. It drove Mycroft up the wall. Of course, the more he protested, the more it struck. Children can be so cruel.¡±

    Gwen chuckled.

    Mycroft Ravenport, the unseen hand of London and the big Don of the Grey Faction, and now also ¡°Dickie". In her mind, she imagined Ravenport''s laughing face when he threatened to cut her up for parts, then juxtaposed that image with a peevish red-faced boy screaming, "Not Dickie! NOT DICKIE! STOP CALLING ME DICKIE!"

    Also, did Lady Loftus just casually name drop that she chummed with the Queen as a child? The Queen of England, her Majesty, the ageless Elizabeth the Second? Her Majesty was older than the Marchioness, was she maybe like an older sister?

    ¡°If that rooting hog tyrannises you again." Lady Loftus'' smile was gentle as felt genuine. "Remind him that even if ''Dickie'' becomes Prime Minister, it doesn''t make him any less of a ''Dickie''. Step out of line, and Lilibet will put him in his rightful place."

    Gwen wasn¡¯t sure how that helped or who Lilibet could be¡ª but assured the Lady that "Dickie" would get an earful.

    ¡°And rest assured, Dickie won¡¯t touch your friends or family.¡± Lady Loftus patted Gwen¡¯s hand. ¡°It''s not how we do things here. If the War of the Roses has taught us anything, it is that ruling a barren throne is about as worthwhile as lording over a Necropolis. Dickie excelled in history. No, he won''t dare.¡±

    Gwen was amazed. In Asia, threatening to maim friends and family was the number one solution to all conflicts. Even stepping on toes engendered a "Do you know who my father is?" or "I''ll fuck your eighteenth generation ancestors!" She had seen it play out in real life. Maymyint threatened Mayuree, Huashan threatened Lulan, the Communists took heirs as hostages, and Eunae had fallen victim to her father''s potential dismissal.

    ¡°He fears your retaliation as much as you fear his," the Marchioness continued. "Dickie has other children too, you know.¡±

    ¡°He does?¡±

    ¡°Three¡ª well, TWO sons. And a daughter. Edmund and Charlene are from his second wife. Charlene attends Cavendish. Assuming she knows of the feud, I would keep a wide berth. If not, she''s a pleasant enough lass.¡±

    ¡°Four children! Isn¡¯t Dickie a Dust Mage?¡± Gwen marvelled.

    ¡°Three now. Is that so strange?¡±

    ¡°But, Negative Energy, magical power and fertility...¡±

    ¡°Dickie hasn¡¯t used his talent since attaining admiralty.¡± Lady Loftus met Gwen¡¯s eyes. ¡°Or so the tabloids report. Now, if you don¡¯t mind, can we not debate the viability of Mycroft¡¯s loins?¡±

    ¡°Sorry.¡± Gwen bit her tongue, realising that she had struck the English variation of "Don''t ask, Don''t tell". It was the same as how the "incorruptible" Communists in China turned a blind eye to political horse-trading.

    ¡°Has Henry ever spoken of me?¡± Lady Loftus took a sip of her cherry brandy.

    ¡°I am afraid Master wasn¡¯t very forthcoming.¡± Gwen touched the subject with a gentle prod. If the Lady¡¯s relationship and Henry was one of friendship, then she should feel disappointed. Had they been more than friends; Gwen sensed she might be in danger.

    ¡°Oh¡­¡±

    ¡°He was very tight-lipped,¡± Gwen added. ¡°Mark Chandler had me hog-tied and put up for auction before Master bothered explaining Sobel¡¯s connection to his stake in Void Magic.

    ¡°The Chandler incident¡ª that was you?¡± Lady Grey raised her brows, then sighed. ¡°Gunther kept a tight lid on the events in Sydney. I wished that Henry could have trusted us more. We may have prevented Sobel¡¯s infiltration.¡±

    ¡°Is... Dickie, in actuality, unassociated with Sobel?¡± Gwen followed up with a question that desperately needed answers.

    Lady Grey studied her face.

    Gwen made herself as earnest as possible.

    ¡°A dangerous topic for an unaffiliated Acolyte,¡± Justine Loftus sighed. ¡°All I will say is that Henry was a great deal-maker with ties to many power brokers. After the Great Restoration, those factions formed into loose coalitions, eventuating into the Greys, the Militants and those who remained unaffiliated. I can''t offer you a ''Yes'' or ''No'' to your question because you lack the context and the position to grasp its ambiguity."

    ¡°I wonder if I''ll ever know my Master¡¯s past," Gwen lamented, a hint of exasperation creeping into her voice.

    ¡°Get yourself a Magister¡¯s robe first and foremost,¡± Lady Loftus chortled. ¡°As always, if you listen to the stories from each side, you¡¯ll get a different truth. Those are the arrangements Henry had put in place when instituting the Tower system.¡±

    Gwen nodded.

    ¡°I¡¯ve heard so much about the Factions.¡± Gwen changed the topic, meandering away from her Master. ¡°So, am I a part of the Middle Faction?¡±

    ¡°Doubtlessly.¡± Lady Loftus raised a critical brow.

    ¡°It¡¯s just that.¡± Gwen looked guilty. ¡°Sometimes, I am fairly sure Alesia is on an unerring militant warpath. Between the three of us, only Gunther truly embodies Master''s philosophy."

    ¡°A curious observation. And how do you see yourself positioned?¡±

    "I do believe in Noblesse Oblige, but I want to carry on Master''s Legacy my way."

    "Do go on."

    ¡°While I was in Shanghai¡ª¡± Gwen explained. ¡°¡ª and throughout the IIUC, I was consumed by this thought. Lady Loftus, to be entirely forthright with you, what do you know of my extracurricular endeavours? You know that I''ve brought in a great deal of currency and that I have made connections with otherworldly beings, yes?"

    ¡°Likely not to the degree that Dickie professes to know.¡± Loftus replaced her wine.

    ¡°You''re too kind.¡± Gwen took a deep breath, knowing that now was the time to make a good impression, not to mention secure her foothold in London. In Shanghai, when the possibility of her migration materialised, she thought immediately of expanding her operations. Now, Gwen desired to reopen her shop in London. Considering Ravenport''s threats, she had to get Justine on her side as soon as possible. ¡°Lady Loftus, there are a few notable capital ventures which I wish to present for your benefit. If you have some time, I would like to give you a quick introduction¡­¡±

    Gwen stood, her pearly whites flashing brightly.

    ¡°No need for formality.¡± Lady Loftus motioned for her to sit. ¡°I would like to think of you as a niece of sorts¡ª perhaps a grand-niece, considering your age.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re far too youthful to be a grand-aunt.¡± Gwen took a few steps back to give herself some room. ¡°Do you mind if I use illusions?¡±

    ¡°How ostentatious¡ª¡± Lady Loftus appeared impressed by her confidence. ¡°Very well, if you believe me so easily persuaded¡­¡±

    ¡°Holy shit, Dick, I am so sorry!¡± Gwen burst into the common-lounge, finding Richard encircled by her new peers from Peterhouse. There was a lad with light-grey hair and dark eyes, and two girls looking very English indeed in their empire-waisted night-dresses. ¡°Oh¡­ am I disturbing anything?¡±

    ¡°Thanks for the head¡¯s up, Richard.¡± The young man inclined his aristocratic chin. He turned to Gwen, then bowed. ¡°It was a pleasure to meet you at Hall today, Miss Song. I look forward to your contribution to Peterhouse.¡±

    ¡°Thank you.¡± Gwen waited for the man to introduce himself. Instead, the Acolyte politely made his exit.

    ¡°Rachel Clarke, Magus.¡± The older-looking of the two girls, a blonde, approached to shake her hand. ¡°Welcome to Peterhouse, Gwen.¡±

    ¡°Harriet Cornwall, I am an Acolyte like you.¡± The second, a brunette, nervously shook Gwen¡¯s fingers. ¡°Richard¡¯s been telling us about your exploits. I¡¯ve seen you on the broadcast, but to think so many details were left out.¡±

    ¡°When are you going to bring out Golos?¡± The first girl¡¯s eye gleamed. ¡°I am a Conjurer-Diviner, and I don¡¯t have a Spirit yet. BUT, you''ve got TWO and a Planar Ally. To say I am envious would be an understatement.¡±

    ¡°Stuff the Wyvern.¡± Harriet¡¯s eyes sparkled. ¡°Where¡¯s Ariel?¡±

    Ah, Gwen glanced at Richard, realising her cousin has been laying down the groundworks.

    ¡°I¡¯ll be more than happy to bring them out.¡± Gwen indicated for the girls to sit. ¡°But it¡¯s midnight, so we''ll have to be very discrete.¡±

    ¡°Okay.¡±

    ¡°Agreed.¡±

    The girl sat demurely on the ancient, mustard-coloured lounges.

    ¡°Ariel!¡±

    ¡°EEEE!¡± Ariel materialised with a somersault, eyes gleaming, rainbow coat shimmering and waving its stubby stag horns to and fro. Attached to its perky bottom, a furry fantail, shrouded in nimbus, waved back and forth. ¡°EE?¡±

    ¡°OH MY GOD!¡± Rachel¡¯s voice was loud enough to summon the dead. ¡°ARIEL YOU ADORABLE BABY!¡±

    ¡°AEEEEEEE!¡± Harriet squealed, her dignity dissipating before Ariel¡¯s charmed assault. ¡°SO SOFT! ARRRRRRRGH! IT¡¯S LICKING ME!¡±

    ¡°Gwen, you¡¯re officially my chum! Ariel, want an HDM? Yes, you do!¡±

    The Magus dropped a fist full of precious crystals on the couch. When Ariel landed in her lap, the girl appeared as though she was about to lose her mind.

    WHAM! A door opened.

    The familiar face of Ollie Edwards burst into the lesser-lounge. ¡°What''s happened? The Acolytes are trying to sleep, for Peter''s sake! You lot better not be engaged in salacious¡ª¡±

    The Praelector¡¯s furious eyes fell to Gwen, who stared back wide-eyed and innocent. Across from her, one of the girls rubbed Ariel¡¯s tail all over her face, while the other made sweet moans as the Kirin licked her fingers.

    Ollie Edwards, the man responsible for Gwen''s proper behaviour, craned his neck; on his jugular, a vein throbbed.

    The girls looked ashamed. Richard gave her dorm officer a nod.

    ¡°Mr Huang, please return to King¡¯s. Our visiting hours are between eight AM to six PM.¡±

    ¡°Of course, Praelector Edwards,¡± Richard bowed his head. ¡°I shall leave at once.¡±

    ¡°Miss Song,¡± Edwards gulped. ¡°If you could refrain from¡ª¡°

    Other students, having heard the commotion, were now emerging into the lounge. When the young men saw their Omni-Mage ¡°little sister¡± sitting with her immodest skirt, stretching across the old divan, their hearts sang. When more of the women caught sight of Ariel, all thoughts of the Praelector¡¯s authority flew out Peterhouse¡¯ gothic windows.

    ¡°A Kirin!¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve seen it on the broadcast!¡±

    "If that dress is subfusc, I am a Bridge Troll..."

    ¡°STUDENTS¡ª¡° Ollie cried out, only to be interrupted by yet more Acolytes emerging from the lower court.

    ¡°Caliban! Where¡¯s Caliban!¡±

    ¡°I want to see the Wyvern!¡±

    "Blood of Christ! It''s Ariel in the flesh!"

    ¡°RETURN TO YOUR DORM!¡± The Praelector began to realise what the presence of Gwen Song in Peterhouse¡¯s midst might signify for its resident disciplinarian. ¡°GO! NOW!¡±

    Against his orders and encouraged by their numbers, the students Messaged their peers in Gisborne, informing them that a bona fide Draconic-Spirit was freely floating around the lesser-lounge, free to molest for anyone adventurous enough to try.

    ¡°Feel this. It¡¯s SO SOFT.¡±

    ¡°TOUCH THE BELLY!¡±

    ¡°EE! EE!¡±

    ¡°It sings!¡±

    ¡°Someone get my Lumen-Recorder!¡±

    "HDMs for Ariel!"

    ¡°Everyone¡­¡± Ollie Edwards felt a tightness in this chest. Inexplicable helplessness gripped his torso, sapping all strength from his body even as his temple throbbed. Glaring at the Void Sorceress, he wondered if this was the infamous Void Aura that sapped one¡¯s life-force. The Lady did say to be careful around Gwen, and always to regulate his mana.

    ¡°It¡¯s alright, mate.¡± Richard, who was now leaving, patted the young man on the shoulder. ¡°You¡¯ll get used to it. Just do your best to stay afloat for the next year, then pass her on to the next Praelector."

 Chapter 325 - Knight Errant

    The next day, Gwen made preparations for her quest to find Elvia.

    Her morning began with Lady Loftus at high tea, demonstrating the full extent of her appetite, and a woeful understanding of etiquette. The Marchioness, however, assured Gwen that her undisguised manners had a purity to them which she had not seen for years. After so much pretension, the Marchioness mused, she had lost the ability to tell whether anyone genuinely enjoyed eating.

    Through three tiers of cakes and ices, the Head Mistress and Matron of Peterhouse prescribed Gwen''s developments for the months ahead.

    First and foremost, upon her return to Cambridge, she would commence her studies under Peterhouse''s Senior Tutors, one for each of her Schools of Magic. Unlike Spell-orientated lectures at other universities, institutions with the clout of Oxbridge emphasised individual ability. An Acolyte, therefore, attended lectures given by instructors based on their goals and interests. Concurrently, the college organised seminaries for students with similar expertise to share and engage in research. Then, once an Acolyte settled on a particular course of knowledge, they underwent individual research.

    And this was where Cambridge shone. For Gwen, "Supervision" provided the opportunity to explore her Schools of Magic in a theoretical sense, allowing her to examine each strength and weakness freely. In her case, personal tuition allowed the delivery of specialist knowledge at the instance in which she required it. For the semester of Lent, the Lady of Ely prescribed ten hours of supervision and twelve hours of seminars, in addition to any lectures she wished to attend. During the Easter Term, her training would favour practicals over theory. Then, finally, she would sit for a Magus-tier examination, and pending results, Michaelmas term would commence.

    On a side note, Lady Loftus had responded with good grace to her capitalist ventures, particularly her explanation of the "Centurion" and "Legion" projects. What she desired in London, Gwen explained, was a base of operations where she could lay down roots, eventually importing a completed system from either Sydney or Yangon. Though sceptical, Lady Loftus professed that she would not oppose Gwen''s nouveau rich crassness. High society was full of snobs, the Lady explained, but few could resist the crystal''s call.

    To show her support, and out of "grotesque" curiosity, the Lady Loftus offered Gwen a leasehold near the heart of London for her "Office". If Gwen could demonstrate a result that paralleled the "pie in the sky" she professed, then the Lady would consider backing her "Centurion" project.

    The last of their conversation pertained to less pleasant prospects. As a part of tuition, Gwen had to participate in experiments and research which will contribute to Cambridge''s understanding of Void Magic. The study would be carried out by the university''s Magisters, drawing on the works of Magister Wen, slated to arrive with Petra post-Lent.

    Concurrently, should Gwen allow the relevant researchers access to her Essence, the university would repay her by obtaining demi-human instructors. When Gwen mentioned that Ayxin had warned against investigating "Draconic-Essence," the Lady asked if her mysterious rainbow "patron" had forbidden the genuine employment of its blessing.

    "No," Gwen had confessed¡ª but wasn''t sure if her answer could pass the pub test. Almudj, after all, did not care in the slightest. But to allow others to study Almudj? Was this a form of betrayal? What would the serpent think, if it did indeed have an opinion?

    When she compared notes with Richard, Dick''s schedule at King''s was less about filling deficits in Spellcraft theory and more about revising missed coursework. Already, two upper-tier Magisters had expressed interest in helping him synergise new spells with Lea and in pushing his Conjuration to new heights.

    Walken as well had left a note saying he had arrived¡ª but was now missing in action. If anything, she hoped her mentor survived his wife''s wrath. A woman''s scorn was a terrible thing, indeed.

    Finally, there was her fourth and most immediate concern, one that made Lady Loftus raise a critical brow¡ª Evee. When Gwen again relayed her worries regarding Ystradfellte to her Head Mistress, the wisened Lady appeared exasperated. When Gwen insisted, the Lady relented, not wanting to end the year on bad terms.

    "If you must know... Ystradfellte refers to the Demi-human lands south of the Red Mount¡ª ''Rjoth zana indu'', the Dwarves call it, ''The Peak of Red Stone''. Every winter solstice, the Crimson Peak fights its twin, the Crimson Peak, for dominance of the valley."

    "I am so sorry," Gwen had to apologise for her confusion. "Could you clarify? I don''t know anything about the area, other than that I should be there for my friend. The mountain is fighting itself?"

    "It''s alright." Lady Loftus was as kind as she was compassionate.

    Her new mentor then explained that the region was richly blessed by the Elemental Plane of Earth, abundant in rare deposits. Every solar year, when the stars aligned, crystals as well as magical flora and fauna sprouted from the valley, inciting prospectors to try their luck.

    As for the Crimson Peak "s", the name was a trick of history. On the west end of The Peak of Red Stone laid the Dwarven Fortress City of "Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth", or the Iron Citadel. When the early Saxons first encountered, then befriended the Dwarves, the Demi-humans claimed the land around a summit they called "Crimson Peak".

    Opposite the Iron Citadel was a challenger to the claim, a depthless warren of Redcaps, Gobs, and Goblins ruled by Trolls. When inevitably, conflict broke out, the Trolls claimed that the Dwarves and their Human compatriots encroached on their homeland¡ª also called "Crimson Peak".

    Confused, the old cartographers, lacking the means to fly over the region, assumed that both the Dwarves and the Trolls lived on the same peak.

    Instead, the two "Races" lived on opposing summits, separated by a good fifty kilometres. During the Beast Tide of ''71, the Dwarves sealed their city, leaving their human "allies" to fend off the discharge of some hundred-thousand salivating, frenzied green-skins charging down the mount.

    As a result, tensions with the Dwarves remain high to this day, especially as the Grey Faction had set up an industrial township at Merthyr Tydfil. As far as both sides where concerned, the town encroached on both Troll and Dwarven land, but remained discrete enough to be ignored by the warring demi-human factions.

    "Why haven''t we wiped out the er¡­ Demi-humans?" Gwen asked. If this were China, the PLA would have planted a flag over their corpses.

    "Vargan Giantbreaker is the third cousin to the wife of Deep King Madgrat Dragonhammer of Bavaria." Lady Loftus shrugged. "If they¡ª why are you laughing?"

    Gwen collapsed. The names were too funny. Was this a high fantasy novel? Thankfully, as it turns out, the names weren''t literal. It just that Dwarven runes were bloody hard to translate and highly dependent on history and context which Humans lacked. To draw a comparison, biblical allusions like "Mathew" "Jean" "Adam" sounded like animal noises to a Dwarf.

    "And what''s this talk of regicide? I can see that the orient is NOT a good influence, Gwen. What the communists did to their poor Emperor¡­"

    "My grandfather said it was the Japanese who¡ª"

    "I did say Orientals, dear." Lady Loftus patted Gwen''s hand. "Don''t you worry. There are no communists in London. Maggie uprooted the last of the socialists in her final term of government."

    And that was when Gwen recalled that out of credits, currencies, Dragons and telecommunication, it was only toward Gwen''s desire to employ NoMs as counter-balance against Mages that Lady Loftus had found wanting. Simply put, the very idea that an assembly of NoMs could hold a team of Mages responsible for flouting the law was, in her words, "morbid."

    For Gwen, the integration of a tertiary NoM workforce with complete loyalty to the company that uplifted them from poverty was essential. To trust Mages, especially London''s Mages, to not skim from the company''s coffers, or to sell the company''s secrets, was nigh-impossible. As Gunther had said, writing a Geas into an employment contract with an NoM manager was unethical, but not uncommon. So long as both parties consented, the Tower wasn''t going to interfere, and even if they did, they wouldn''t raise a ruckus over an NoM. To force Geas upon employees who were Mages, comparatively, was sure to turn heads.

    When in turn, Gwen had asked what if they paid the NoMs well enough to engender loyalty, Gunther told her not to be so naive, and that only a Geas would thwart the bulk of magical-espionage.

    Thus, with the blessing of her House Matron, a head full of warnings, and an unyielding spirit of adventure, Gwen hovered over Cambridge, taking in the vista. In her old world, a brochure once said that it was only from the sky that a traveller truly appreciated the scale of the university, and Gwen wholeheartedly agreed.

    Cambridge was, simply put, expansive. From the enormously generous central courtyard of King''s College, the university spiralled outwards, with St Catherines, Corpus Cristi, Queens and the massive estate of Pembroke to the south. To the east sat Sidney Sussex, Christ''s and Emmanuel''s, famous for its pond and its highly articulate ducks. To the north, Trinity and Magdalene marked the map. To the east of the River Cam, open fields dotted the landscape, enveloping the much younger Newnham, Wolfson, and Robinson campuses, the newest addition to Cambridge.

    What Gwen also struggled to believe was that almost all leaseholds, discounting King''s and Trinity, belonged to their benefactor, the Marchioness of Ely. From Cambridgeshire to Ely to Peterborough, Gwen could fly wherever she wished. No Provost or Mayor, Gwen imagined, fancied having their landlord breathing down their neck.

    And that was the reason why the nobility, in her opinion, was stagnant. In Gwen''s eyes, their wealth was built on land leases. Every generation, a lord added to their holdings. Twenty generations on, they owned the works. As gentry, they prided themselves not on productivity but passive income. Gwen snorted. How could that compare to human industry?

    But now was not the time pull teeth from the gentry''s mouths.

    First, came Elvia.

    For her quest, Gwen had initially been given a piece of unwelcome baggage. Since Richard was tied up with King''s and wasn''t a local in any case, she had been assigned a grudging Ollie as a guide to Ystradfellte.

    By mid-morning, Ollie was shocked to discover that Gwen intended to fly the whole way, for he lacked an Unlimited Flight Licence.

    Unfortunately for the Praelector, Gwen was in no mind to delay her meeting, and so left the poor man pinning her Message Device while she¡ª privileged by House Shultz, Loftus and Ravenport, blasted off into the blue yonder.

    "See you in Merthyr Tydfil! Just take the bus!"

    "COME BACK!" Ollie''s voice echoed through the courtyard. "THERE ARE NO BUSSES TO SOUTHERN WALES!"

    Mathias Christopher Rothwell belonged to the Honourable and Ancient Order of St Michael, the Knight Protectors of Britannia.

    All members of St Michaels hailed from one blue-blooded family or another. These rare youths, lauded for their ability but lacking in inheritance, were given a second chance in the Order, prestigious enough to be of use, but far divorced from ascension to be ambitious.

    They were taught from induction that chivalry, honour and faith made them different and unique. And they believed it. Thanks to mass-entertainment, the visage of a Knight in shining Mage Armour coming to the rescue of a dame were etched into the psyche of the public. Over the decades, new Knight Aspirants began to believe in their hype, coming to internalise the mythos, personify their servitude with holistic devotion.

    During martial demonstrations, it was these orders, from the magnificent Most Noble Order of the Garter, the Most Ancient and Most Noble Order of the Thistle, of the Bath, of St Michael, of St George, and the more recent Order of the Commonwealth, that captured the popular imagination.

    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    A Mage-Knight was, therefore, an extraordinary existence.

    Though an upper-tier War Mage was arguably far more critical than a Knight, there were significant distinctions, made more so specialised by the function of each Ordo.

    The Knights of the Garter, the most prestigious of the six Ordo Britannia, were directly tied to the Crown, counting only twenty-four individuals among their number. Their principal role was to act swiftly and decisively against all threats to the royal family. In times of crisis, each member was a Knight-Commander capable of leading the Empire''s forces.

    Comparatively, Mathias'' Ordo Sancti Michael was an active troop consisting of an indefinite number of individuals serving as protectors and guardians. In particular, the Order''s members serviced London''s Great Hospitals and Colleges, providing a much-needed militant arm to the scholastic endeavours of London''s elites.

    Mathias had initially wanted to join the Order of St George, famous for their Dragon-slaying. His talents, unfortunately, had Awoken with a principle emphasis on Abjuration. When by the age of fourteen, he showed ability in Transmutation, his future as a Knight Protector became immutable.

    Mathias was disappointed but not deterred. He knew from an early age that Knighthood was his only path to glory. As the fourth son of a branch-House, he was so far from the Rothwell line of inheritance that should he become the legal successor; there may not be a House Rothwell left for him to rule.

    But Mathias remained driven.

    "Don''t believe in the Chain of Being." His landless mother had cradled her golden boy against her bosoms. "Believe in yourself."

    And so, with the Rothwell blood and all its potential brimming in his veins, Mathias excelled. He sparred daily against his seniors; he trained until he coughed blood. He volunteered for thankless, dangerous missions without batting an eye. When finally the time came for his induction, he was given the rank of Knight at the tender age of nineteen, one of the youngest in the Order''s history.

    Then on the Michaelmas of his twenty-second summer, his most beloved cousin, the heir to House Rothwell, brought Mathias to her home. There, she introduced him to Elvia Lindholm, a Frontier refugee.

    At first, Mathias had mistaken the flaxen-haired angel for a high-noble. Having escorted dozens of healers, he exactly knew what talent the girl possessed from the intensity of her Positive Energy. When the girl with the big blue eyes curtsied, Mathias could hardly believe that here, he was in the presence of a Spirit Healer. That was why once Emily explained what she wanted of him, Mathias had knelt to pledge his undying support without batting an eye.

    To be Emily''s Knight had been Mathias'' dream, though that dream was a will-o''-the-wisp. But a foreign noble? An orphaned Baroness? That, Mathias was confident¡ª he could bring under his wing.

    In truth, Lindholm made an excellent Cleric. She wasn''t the best chant in the Tome, but she was dedicated to her craft. The girl cared for patients, no matter how lowly, and she did not shy away from the blood and guts of the battlefield. She was selflessly loving and effortlessly garnered Faith from her patients. Her Spirit, Kiki, was also a prized Alraune, and a juvenile Spirit at that. With her Healer''s aura, baby-face and curly blonde hair, Mathias could understand why Emily felt smitten by the Australian import.

    Still, a commoner was a commoner.

    But commoners had their uses.

    For instance, if Elvia died under his watch, there were no penalties beyond a strike against his rank. Emily would be upset, but even she couldn''t influence the Order of St Michael to act against him. Of course, Mathias would do his utmost to protect Elvia. He had, after all, sworn an Oath, and in agreement with his credo, his pledge was soul-binding. Until he was near-death, Elvia would remain safe.

    But what Mathias could do was to take full advantage of the girl''s expendability.

    When serving with the masses, a healer was a member of an adventuring company. The dangers they faced were real, and death and injury happened as a matter of fact. Should Mathias be in the service of a genuine Viscountess from Royal Alfred''s, he would not dream of putting his ward in danger. Everyone knew that a competent team of Knight Protector and Spirit Healer fought in the heat of battle. But the reality was that "noble" healers spent their time at the triage tent and damned those who couldn''t survive the transit delay.

    The hypocrisy of such an act was something Mathias always hated.

    And in conversing with Elvia, the malleable little girl also expressed her desire to save as many lives as possible.

    For this, Mathias was thankful.

    Saving lives and fighting monsters. What was not to like?

    "Cure Moderate Wounds!" Not far from Mathias, Elvia''s flaxen hair, even bundled up tightly in a bun, was speckled with blood. "Kiki! Help me with the arrow!"

    Not far from Mathias, Elvia commanded Kiki to worm her way into the gut of a Transmuter who had taken a barbed and poisoned arrow to the intestines, sucking up the shit and blood. Had Mathias and Elvia not been present, the chances of the poor sod arriving then surviving triage, even with a Healing Potion, were slim.

    Ping!

    Mathias'' reflexive mana shield deflected a sniper''s arrow aimed at Elvia''s neck.

    "Eagle''s Vision!" The Knight frowned, searching for the source of the sneak attack.

    All around the duo, chaos reigned. Across a snow-blanked valley, snail trails of human and Demi-human activity had speckled the linen landscape crimson with ultra-violence. Here and there, parties of questing Mages flung spells against the bands of Redcaps dashing across the snow. Nearer to the valley''s entrance, Gobs erupted from the tunnels and dragged prospectors down into the dark.

    Unlike the pitched battles taking place across the saddle of the Crimson Peaks, the skirmish in Ystradfellte was a mess of NoMs, Mage prospectors, and adventurers.

    On the side of the humans, thousands of hard-hatted crystal miners drawn to the region''s yearly bloom of "Red Ore" fled from the mineral fields. Mathias did not fault the men nor their greed, for he too was engaged in a desperate bid for a better future. For a prospector, surviving meant that, potentially, they walked away with hundreds of HDMs, enough to buy land and retire to the country.

    For the Mages, the swarming miners drew the Redcaps, Gobs, and the occasional Mountain or Frost Troll from the peak. Instead of venturing into no man''s land, it was safer to defend the fleeing miners, get paid for protection, then harvest the Demi-humans for ingredients. The trouble then, was that as more Mages and miners showed up in Ystradfellte, more monsters poured from the mount.

    As the Winter Solstice approached, the numbers snowballed. An avalanche of entrepreneurs rolled into Merthyr Tydfil, inundating the taverns, erecting whorehouses, opening butcheries and magical workshops. The locals, seedy, uncouth, and charging high-prices and dicing on who would return and who would not¡ª demanded government regulation. The Tower obliged. Without it, the town would transform into a hive of low-born villainy.

    Mathias'' quest, therefore, was truly a thankless task, one that only individuals as poverty-stricken as Elvia could stomach.

    In the distance, some two hundred meters away, Mathias saw their attacker. It was a Redcap Hob. A rare evolved Goblin of sorts, as tall as a man but three times as strong and ten times as hale. In his hand, the beast held a blacken yew-bow. On its back, a half-quiver of barbed arrows remained.

    Mathias drew his wand.

    The official moniker of a Knight''s patented wand was "Spellblade", a part of a Knight''s official arsenal of magical items. As warriors trained in close-quarter-combat, their wand was a device forged from Dwarven Runesteel and made to magnify Affinity. Rare and exclusive, Spellblades were forged for their owners by Dwarven craftsmen on a commission basis, then awarded to the individual Knight during their induction ceremony. Each had a name, and Mathias'' was "Dawnstar", after his hero, the "Morning Star" Gunther Shultz, the saviour of Sydney and now its Master.

    "O Christ, our Saviour, I am thy mace, thy implement of Chastisement." While Mathias gathered his will, motes of Radiance, intermingled with Faith, sheathed his blade in retina-searing brightness. With his Eagle-Eye, he marked the Hob.

    "Irradiance!"

    The Hob turned, suddenly aware that the snow all around him began to glow. When he turned to flee, the halo followed, centred on the creature''s back.

    "HILF!" the Hob cried.

    Its skin, scaly and warty and rusty like old blood, began to smoke.

    "GARRRGH!" The creature ran into a mob of Redcaps. Its kin howled in amazement, hooting and kicking the rolling Hob, trying to put out the fire¡ª then, without warning, the green-skinned assembly burst into incandescent flames.

    "ARRRRRRGH¡ª" Two dozen flaming torches spread through the surroundings, crashing through the polluted, mud-churned snow, setting others alight.

    Tzzzz¡ª

    Mathias pressed the tip of his blade into the snow, allowing the metal to cool. As a Radiant Mage, his rare element fortified many of the Order''s Faith-fuelled Magic, and his Spellblade multiplied the effect.

    "Sir Mathias!"

    "Thank you, Sir Mathias!"

    "Praise St Michael!"

    With the backline of the Redcaps disrupted, the Mages and the Miners burst into a clamouring cheer.

    "SIR MATHIAS!" the cry that now addressed him was the recovered Transmuter. The sod had been the parties'' scout before he took an arrow to the gut. "There''s a troop of Trolls coming this way! Led by a Rock Troll, big, burly bastard, built like a hill. It''s tier 6¡ª no, tier 7 at least!"

    "I see." Mathias sheathed his wand. "Trolls regenerate. Is there not a Fire or Magma Mage among you?"

    "Sorry." A young woman raised her hand. "I am only tier 4, Sir. Its resistance is much too high."

    "Do what you must. Either way, I must stand by my oath to protect my Healer." Mathias flashed the blushing woman a winsome grin. "That said, I''ll not let such a foul creature roam uncontested, you can be sure of it!"

    "Alright lads, back to the fray!" an Abjurer yelled, gesturing toward the new wave of Redcaps trudging through the snow. "Sir Mathias is behind us!"

    "Thank you, Sir Mathias, Lady Elvia." The Transmuter grovelled, snow and mud dripping from his cloak.

    "Thank you for saving Thomas." His companion, the woman, bowed to Elvia. "We will make donations to your order and spread the word of your generosity."

    Elvia waved the duo away with a smile. Mathias watched as the Healer''s petite chest rose and fell, her cheeks ruddy with exertion. He could tell that she was suffering from spell fatigue. Mana-wise, Elvia should be fine. Wales, with its criss-crossing ley-lines, demi-human races and places of power, was immersed with power. If Elvia had time to meditate, her meagre VMI should replenish within the hour.

    "HEALER! WE NEED A HEALER!" A group of miners emerged from the crest of a hill. Even in the snow, during the day, Mathias glowed like a beacon.

    Mathias directed the wounded miner toward Elvia. Something had chewed off the man''s right foot, likely a Gob digger. With every meter made by the Levitating Disk, a pint of crimson painted the crunching snow.

    Elvia fell to her knees immediately.

    "Kiki, tranq him, I need a tourniquet on that leg."

    "Kiki! Ki!"

    Kiki had been trained well. With one tendril, the Alraune injected a dose of dew into the man''s stomach, instantly sending the prospector into a stupor. With another tendril, the Alraune lifted the man''s leg, then stopped his bleeding by wrapping around his calves, cutting the blood flow.

    "That has to go." Elvia performed a quick head to toe, then looked toward Mathias. NoMs cannot afford Regeneration or Regrowth spells. "Mattie, lend me a hand."

    "At once, milady." Mathias raised his Spellsword. "Radiant Blade!"

    A line of Radiance sliced the miner below the knee without so much as a hiss. The crushed leg came off, the wound fully cauterised.

    "Heal Minor Wounds!" Elvia tended to the man''s leg. "Faithful Restoration!"

    The man''s breathing slowed, his hands still tightly clutching a sack of crystals close to his chest. Mathias'' lips twitched.

    "Take him back to town and tell Matron Nadia I sent you," Elvia huffed, wiping sweat from her brow. She desperately needed to meditate.

    "Thank you!"

    "Thank you so much!"

    "Don''t thank me." Elvia pointed to the crest of her school: a stylised golden nightingale on a white shield adorned with three blue stripes. With a word, she conjured water to wash her hands. Her Healers'' robes were immune to dust and grime, but even so, it looked bedraggled after dealing with so many victims.

    Mathias likewise Prestidigitated the grime from his coat. On his shoulder, set against a spell-warded pauldron, gleamed an engraving of the Archangel Michael, sword raised, defending the unseen Mary from Lucifer. Below the enamelled image, the words "Auspicum Melioris Aevi" was etched in untarnished mithril. Against the snow, he looked resplendent in his Saxon-blue mantle in satin, handsome in crimson taffeta.

    In the distance, a Troll bellowed.

    "HEALER! IS MISS ELVIA STILL HERE?" a scream came over the hill.

    Mathias huffed, watching his breath turn to mist.

    Today was a good day.

    Like a wandering comet, Gwen blasted past the rolling hills of southern Wales, her Shen-te¨© suit slicing the air. Where "New South Wales" was bushland from horizon to horizon, the English countryside had left no turf un-farmed. As far as two hours from Cambridgeshire, a stream of hamlets, villages and farmhouses ran the length of well-paved roads.

    Flying in the country had its boon as well. Far from industry, Gwen did not have to worry about Knights encircling the capital challenging lone fliers with no business taking to the air. Flying alone, however, was an exceedingly dull affair. As with flights on planes, once the vista grew repetitive, one''s thoughts wandered, then filled with ebullient Evees.

    Two hundred meters from the ground and scattering the creatures below, she began to sing.

    "I got some Crystals in my pocket (Dudoodududoooo¡ª)

    I got my licence in my hand (Dudoodududoooo¡ª)

    Getting down to Merthyr Tydfil (Dudoodududoooo¡ª)

    to see my cleric in a band (Dudoodududoooo¡ª)

    Evee, Evee¡ª Evee put your wand down

    Evee, Evee, Evee¡ª put your wand down!

    She''s got the talent of a healer (Dudoodududoooo¡ª)

    She''s working for the queen (Dudoodududoooo¡ª)

    She cures Moderate Wounds (Dudoodududoooo¡ª)

    to think she''s only nineteen (Dudoodududoooo¡ª)

    Oh, little Healer, you''re so scared¡ª

    you hardly make a sound¡ª

    Just listen to Cali''s singing, Shaa! Shaa! Shaa¡ª

    Evee, Evee, Evee put your wand down

    Evee, Evee¡ª let your wand hang down

    Feeling inspired, Gwen began another verse.

    I''ll meet you at the Mountain (Dudoodududoooo¡ª)

    and there I''ll take you by your hand (Dudoodududoooo¡ª)

    I crossed an ocean just to see you (Dudoodududoooo¡ª)

    Time to make amends (Dudoodududoooo¡ª)

    Evee, Evee, Evee put your wand down

    Evee, Evee¡ª let your wand hang down

    I left behind Ollie, (Dudoodududoooo¡ª)

    I hope he doesn''t mind (Dudoodududoooo¡ª)

    I''ll meet him in the valley (Dudoodududoooo¡ª)

    First I''ll make sure you''re alright (Dudoodududoooo¡ª)

    Oh, little Healer, you''re so scared¡ª

    you hardly make a sound¡ª

    Just listen to Cali''s singing, Shaa! Shaa! Shaa¡ª

    Evee, Evee, Evee put your wand down

    Evee, Evee, Evee put your wand down

    Evee, Evee¡ª let your wand hang dooooooooown¡ª"

    She couldn''t remember the exact lyrics, but that was alright.

    Given another two hours, and Evee would be in her sights.

    Giddy with anticipation, Gwen stopped to check the map.

    Admittedly, it can''t be too hard to find a big red hill, can it?

    If so, why did the landscape look different?

 Chapter 326 - The Enemy of my Enemy

    Gwen smacked her lips, realising that this time, it wasn''t her cartographic skills that failed her, but the difference between British and Australia seasons. In Australia, where the coldest temperature was five degrees Celcius, the seasons were recurrent. In England, every three months meant a whole new landscape.

    From the looks of it, she was near Cotswold, meaning the tiny township she could see in the distance must be Gloucester, and the river running out of the city must be the Severn. Past Gloucester, all the fairness of the gentle country disappeared. Instead, woods both tall and depthless, combined with rolling hills and jutting mounds, stretched from horizon to the sea. It was little wonder the air was so dense with mana.

    "Alright, so if I fly straight..."

    She checked the compass built into her armour, then mapped her trajectory against the silhouette of a mountain in the distance. At worst, she would hit the ocean, if so, there was only one mountain to the north-east.

    "Alright! Let''s roll!"

    Thunder rumbled across the cloudless sky, its passage marked by a streak of vibrant cobalt.

    Two hours later, Gwen rechecked the map.

    She finally understood why the English like to say "to make a mountain out of a molehill". Thankfully, she was in the right place, or at least, the right molehill¡ª except the Red Peak wasn''t a peak, and it wasn''t red either.

    First of all, seeing as it was winter, the whole bloody thing was white, and where the rocks were without snow, the stones were igneous and dark.

    Secondly, she was now an uninvited spectator to the jolly grand melee carrying on below, full of howls, explosions, shouts and shrieking spells.

    On one side were the green-skins¡ª a whole lot of them. More Gobs than she had ever seen, all of which were wearing these adorable little red hats, but carrying giant bows, axes, and other medieval armaments. In and among the multitude, she could see Rock Trolls built like brick shit-houses, also wearing Santa hats.

    From the east, or west, or whatever, she had no idea, stood lines of Dwarves in stocky Golem Armour, backed by a pair of towering, insectile Iron Golems.

    The Dwarven infantry stood about the height of a man and just as wide. Squarish and stout, their armour consisted of sloped and geometric plates that interlocked, giving an art-deco aesthetic. Each battlesuit had a "hump" where a miniature mana-engine roared, articulating the whirling mechanism hidden within. For armaments, the Golem-plated soldiers sported a Spellhammer of runic crystal on one arm, while in the other, Gwen swore she saw a chainsaw.

    The full-sized Golem units were smaller than the "Dusties" used by the PLA, about two storeys tall. These looked like sloped boxes mounted on four legs, with two protruding artillery hammer-wands mounted up top, two to the side, and two more limbs donning melee implements. Etched from the cockpit to its digger-clawed toes in runic scripts, white-hot jets of unburnt mana spewed from the rear exhaust channels, polluting the snow.

    Presently, pressured by the swarm, the Dwarves were performing an orderly retreat.

    "Fuck me, Peter Jackson, eat your heart out," Gwen muttered to herself. The beast tide of green-skinned creatures outnumbered the Dwarves by a degree of ten to one, but the Dwarves held their line steady with sweeping gouts of fire and lightning from their heavy infantry, aided by artillery from the crawling Golems.

    Ding! An uninvited Message blossomed beside her ear. When flying, it was always wise to keep one''s channels open.

    "Oi, Lass! what unit yer from?" a gruff voice called out. "Yer support from London? The Forge Master said yer wouldn''t kom."

    The speaker was speaking in Dwarven, meaning Gwen had only her Master''s Ioun Stone to translate a language that may as well be two drunk Scotts throat-singing.

    "L-London Tower? Belay that," Gwen replied, thinking of a viable reason she should wander into a mass melee other than she got lost. "I am a¡­ tourist."

    "A WOT?"

    "I am sight-seeing," Gwen said politely. "My apologies, I am looking for Merthyr Tydfil."

    "Well, if ya looking for the home of boot-licking, crystal-steal knaves, then ya came to the wrong spot, lass. Ya know were ter go?¡ª ONE MOMENT¡ª"

    The sound of explosions in the Message was concurrently met with the leading Golem letting rip its side-mounted Spellhammers, setting off what appeared to be two jets of thigh-thick Scorching Ray.

    "I wish I did." Gwen silently whistled when at least one Rock Troll knelt over. "So, can you point me in the right direction?"

    "Look fer the lake two klicks south-south-east, ya should find a Troll mound, then go five klicks south til ya hit the Taf Fawr, the town''s at the widest part," the operator replied. "Go on, get. This place ain''t safe for a lone lass."

    "I have no idea what you just¡ª"

    A splatter of corrosive meat smashed up against the speaker''s Golem unit. Not far, with an earth-shattering howl, a once-dormant Rock Troll, its form bulging with infused power, covered the distance in a dozen strides, batting away the infantry like a man swatting gnats.

    "¡ª WOT in the Deep King''s name?! ARRRGHK¡ª!"

    With a clang, the veritable engine of meat and muscle ran head-first into the towering Golem, tearing at the plates that protected the cockpit. Caught by surprise, the quickly-recovering Dwarves around the Golem stabbed lances of enchanted fire into the Troll, though the war-mad creature took no heed of its dire injuries.

    A second Golem turned its turret toward the first and doused its companion in arcane-fire. The Rock Troll howled, sheets of skin melting off its back. Its limbs, however, persisted in tearing her guide''s Golem apart.

    "Jesus." Gwen winced. "Are you alright? Need a hand?"

    "DOES IT LUK LIKE AIM ALRIGHT? YA COG WITH A TOOTH LOOSE?! FURK! The bugger''s breeched me cabin! Rockhammer! Get this green arse off me Golem! "

    Gwen''s fingers itched.

    Are Dwarves our allies? She tried her best to recollected Lady Grey''s words. The answer was, "The best allies¡ª until the mines run dry."

    Not wanting to see the friendly Dwarves turned into a feast for Trolls, Gwen frantically dialled her new boss. Until she could dangle a foot into the local geopolitical pond, she had to be careful. Knowing the precarious balance of power, who knew what could happen if she tipped it the wrong way?

    Ding! Ding!

    "Gwen!" The Marchioness of Ely was surprised to hear back from her prot¨¦g¨¦ so soon. "What''s the matter? Did you find the girl?"

    "Ma''am!" Gwen wasted no time in explaining the situation below. "I am somewhere near Merthyr Tydfil. There''s a battle near Red Peak, and the Trolls and Goblins are pushing the Dwarves back. The Trolls have a Hag, meaning the Dwarves are in deep shit. Permission to help?"

    "I see. And why would you want to help Dwarves?"

    Gwen blinked. What sort of question was that? "The enemy of my enemy is my friend?"

    "Good. You may do what you think is right," her Mistress advised. "In the future, there''s no need to verify such trivial decisions. What matters is the consequence, not the intent. You had argued that we shouldn''t restrict your freedom. Now''s your chance to make a mark, make good use of that liberty you so desired."

    Gwen circulated her Essence. "I understand. Thank you, Ma''am."

    "Take your time, dear." The Marchioness sounded amused. "Fair warning though, if you accidentally Consume an important Dwarf, Dickie''s office will hear no end of it."

    Right, Gwen ended the call. To help, or not to help; that was the question.

    By now, the second Golem had successfully eviscerated the Rock Troll using a mechanised drill. Even lacking its innards, the Troll''s body continued its assault, persisting until it lost strength. Gwen''s eyes followed the line of green blood trailing across the snow. With her Essence-infused pupils scanning the battlelines, she just managed to spot the bone-clad headdress of a Troll Hag.

    "Shrakloomar ulaguth!" The Hag bellowed, shrouding the surviving horde with red mist. The dead and dying Redcaps exhausted their struggling at once, while the still-living creatures erupted into jubilant shouts. Where the temporary death of the Rock Troll had doused their fervour, now the swarm appeared doubly motivated, crashing across the linen snow like a green tide.

    Tink! Tink! Tink!

    Gwen''s mana barrier deflected half-a-dozen arrows.

    More so than alarmed, Gwen felt impressed. She was almost two hundred meters in the air, meaning these Red-hatted archers were as good as stumpy-legged centaurs. If she were lower-tier Mage, she would probably take an arrow to the gut.

    Opposite, the Dwarven battle line shrunk, concentrating their firepower. Slowly but surely, they backed away toward a series of steam-billowing structures. The entrance to their city? Gwen wondered, or perhaps, something like heat-vents?

    "Ariel!" Gwen summoned her Kirin, concurrently applying an Invisible Familiar.

    In a manner of seconds, her mind browsed through a dozen scenarios.

    After exchanging her Draconic Essence for Almudj juice, lesser Void Magic barely scratched her conduits. That said, the more Void Mana she processed, the more Essence was consumed. It meant that, if she wanted to burn the proverbial candle from both ends; she had to balance Void and Barbanginy.

    Tink! Tink!

    More arrows clattered against her shield, turning a few pin-points opaque.

    Mentally, Gwen weighed the boons and banes, then made a decision. With this many mobs, vitality shouldn''t be a problem. If she wanted to help the Dwarves, she might as well do a good job. The Trollic horde, in her humble opinion, wasn''t too generous a meal. If they had been in the Amazon, facing warrens of the big, burly bastards in an enclosed forest full of monsters, it was a different story. Here, with two kilometres of open-air Dimension Door and no Lich to counter her spell, she felt no pressure at all.

    Her mind now made up. Gwen tapped her Message Device, pinning the Dwarf that had called her earlier.

    "Lass!" There was a sound of pressurised steam hissing in the background, likely a whistling canister of coolant. "Wot are yer still doing here? Get!"

    "Let me re-introduce myself," Gwen said calmly. "My name is Gwen Song, Class VI War Mage. I would like to offer my aid via an AoE as well as my Familiars. Is that acceptable."

    "Yer a Conjurer?"

    "I am an Omni-Mage." Gwen decided she may as well start building her brand. "They call me the Swa¡ª"

    FUCK, Gwen swore. That was close. Such was the danger of alliteration.

    "¡ª the DEVOURER of Shenyang."

    "Don''t nu about that," the gruff voice said. "But if yer wanting to do something, I''ll not stop yer. Just save yer hide when the time comes. We can''t spare the carcasses to go saving yer hinny."

    "Good." Gwen drew a deep breath. "Trust me. I''ll be done before you can finish a casket of ale."

    This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    Hanmoul Bronzeborn, son of Dwomrul, son of Handrek Bronzeborn, was a warrior caste Hammer Guard of the Iron Legion. His father, and his father''s fathers, had all died glorious deaths¡ª one fighting the Murk-dwellers of the Deep Dark, and the other defending the Red Citadel from the Scarred King of Red Peak. The first of four brothers and two sisters, he was the head of his House and a renowned member of the Rotory Guild.

    His present mission was a Purge of the lands surrounding the Red Citadel to prevent the build-up of green-skins that would seek to infiltrate the workshop district from above. The task was thankless, as Dwarves fought poorly in the open, but someone had to lead the young ones. For this, Hanmoul begrudged the Deepdowners, the Clan''s keepers of artifice. How could their elders be so greedy for the wealth of the lidless world, while concurrently loathing everything above the earth''s crust? To Hanmoul, the hypocrisy was astounding.

    Nonetheless, his routine patrol had begun without incident, with a troop of twelve Ironclads and two Rockcrushers MK VIs, they went about their business blasting Gobs and nailing Redcaps.

    When they reached Greyrock Bluff, however, the green buggers poured out of the warrens like the stench from a ruptured septic tank.

    Without delay, Hanmoul''s hands danced across the runic keys, setting the Rockcrusher to maximum output. The quad-turbo mana-engine roared, its vibrations sending shockwaves through his seat. Kicking with both legs, he pivoted the converted mining engine at the waist; above the Spellhammers grew hot.

    BLAM!

    BLAM!

    The control cabin shook. Two gouts of superheated plasma, sticky and unstable, arced through the air and into the crowd of Redcaps. Hanmoul''s first victims were incinerated at once, then¡ª

    BO-BOOM!

    The globules erupted, splattering the surrounding space with conjured phosphor, igniting a dozen Redcaps, including a Long Tooth Hob.

    Besides Hanmoul, his partner likewise lit up the enemy''s backline.

    "Contact in THREE¡­ TWO¡­ ONE¡­ Dragon Breath!"

    From all twelve Ironclads, torrents of fire transformed their perimeter into a landscape of hell.

    "Hold the line! The Redcaps can''t get through your armour. Leave the Trolls to us, and keep the Long Toothes pinned!" Hanmoul commanded his troops. "Rockhammer, up the pace! Look for a caster!"

    "Commandrumm, I see their priest! He''s out of range!"

    "Furk!" Hanmoul swore. A Priest meant that what they encountered wasn''t a patrol, but a war party. What it also meant was that anytime now, the Priest would conjure its Brutaliser guard.

    On cue, the snow exploded, revealing a Rock Troll. This one wasn''t a Brutaliser, though it was stout enough to wear the moniker.

    "Covering fire!" Hanmoul pulled at his beard. "Pull Back! Rockhammer, keep it from closing on us!"

    "Hanmoul!" Broroth''s Message bloomed beside his ear. "There''s a human Mage watching us from six o''clock. I can''t tell if she''s friendly or hostile. What if she''s one of those Rogue Mages?"

    "Dirrk! Just our luck. Must have kicked the wrong pickaxe in the morning," Hanmoul growled. Tapping into the war engine''s diagnostics, he zoomed into the image of the human Mage. To his surprise, it was a Human female adolescent. She did, however, wear combat armour, and from the looks of the materials, it looked expensive. "Let me check¡­ she''s on an open channel..."

    Ding!

    "Oi there, Lass, what unit yer from?" he called out, doing his best to control his temper. "Yer support from London Tower? The Forge Master said yer wouldn''t come¡­"

    "I will now begin." The sorceress was now out of his optical range.

    "Begin wot?" Hanmoul checked his diagnostics, wondering if the Human was also a Diviner.

    His runic readings flashed green, then orange, then red, then purple.

    The Hammer Guard tapped the screen, checked that his instruments still functioned, then drew in a breath of coolant-choked air. The lass, her energy reading was off the charts! A War Mage? A pure platinum, Human War Mage? What are the likes of her doing here, floating over the Red Citadel? Shouldn''t she be at a Front somewhere, fighting to claim resources?

    BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

    A warning icon flashed overhead. Hanmoul re-calibrated his instruments, then marvelled at the volumetric scale of the sorceress'' manifestation.

    Crack!

    Fulminating thunder rolled across the clear sky. As advertised by Hanmoul''s instruments, a portal into the Quasi-Elemental Plane of Lightning opened directly over the head of the green-skinned swarm. Beside his head-up display, the diagnostic engine identified the spell as "Maelstrom¡ª Lightning".

    As the numbers compiled, Hanmoul''s eyeballs almost punched his visors. The bleeding thing was two kilometres wide! A strategic spell? Where was the Mandala or the setup? Where was¡ª

    CRACK! BOOM¡ªBOOM¡ªBOOM¡ª

    A line of living lightning cut the Gob swarm in half. When his spectacles adjusted to the retina-searing assault, Hanmoul performed a double-take. The electricity was viridescent! Never in all his years of trading with the humans at Merthyr Tydfil had he seen such a meta-magic. Just what in the Sju Forfran''s name did the Humans steal from the blasted long-ears this time?

    Before Hanmoul could wrap his head around the blazing phenomenon, an array of warning Glyphs exploded across his HUD.

    "SHAA¡ªSHAA! SHAA!"

    "Hanmoul! There''s a monster descending from the sky! It''s bloody huge, and it isn''t in our bestiary!"

    "Wot de FURK is that? A Drake?" Hanmoul zoomed in on the outline of an enormous bird-slug, a full twenty meters from wing-tip to wing-tip.

    "Why does it have hands? Why does it have HANDS FOR FEET?!" Understandably, Rockhammer was screaming.

    "Hold yer FIRE!" Hanmoul recalled the girl''s warning that she would bring forth a Familiar.

    Meanwhile, the Maelstrom descended. Near its epicentre, a stream of swirling, screeching, howling Gobs and Redcaps soared from the Prime Elemental directly into the Eye of Lightning at the centre of the storm.

    After a concurrent series of hoots, the Troll horde retracted their battleline, the surviving Hobs, too strong to be caught in the static-charged tornado, formed a perimetre around the Hag. Dishearteningly, Hanmoul saw the Brutaliser still standing beside the caster. Until it fell, there was no touching the Troll''s priest, but without the Hag''s death, there was no stopping its minions.

    Not far from Hanmoul, the pseudo-Brutaliser he had torn apart was rapidly regenerating, ignoring his troop''s generous application of Fire and Magma. Given time, the Trollic Flesh Golem would be as good as new.

    The Hag raised both hands, then pointed at the approaching bird, laying down a black-blooded curse. The Hobs raised their bows, their accuracy now guided by a supernatural charm.

    Hanmoul recognised the affliction as The Curse of Arrow Attraction. He sighed. The girl was overconfident. The black arrows of the Long Tooth Hobs were deadly to all unarmoured creatures.

    "SHAA! SHAA!"

    Hanmoul shuddered. The bird was the most horrific thing he had ever seen. It had a long neck, but no face. Its feathers were so dark as to consume the light of day. The worst of it was that beneath its feathered body, distended a pair of white hands with six long and slender, feminine-looking fingers.

    "Master Hanmoul¡ª"

    "HOLD FIRE!" Hanmoul gave the command. Hammer Guards weren''t berserkers. They did not risk their lives for atonement. He would not send in his men without knowing that the bird was friendly.

    "¡ª There are more monsters incoming."

    Hanmoul checked his map. His partner was right. According to the diagnostic engine, there were at least eight creatures rapidly approaching from the east. From the signature though, these were not Trolls. If so, from where did they come? Thin air?

    A few seconds later, the blimps on his map came into view.

    War dogs? Hanmoul thought. No, the creatures were too large to be dogs. They were more like horses. Yet, the "Dogs" did not appear terrestrial, for they possessed a faceless, eyeless, bullet-shaped head that took up half of their bulk. The rest of the sleek-bodied creatures were all muscle and sinew, sporting long, spindly legs encased in a slick, oily exoskeleton.

    Morden''s Hound Pack¡ª his engine submitted its diagnostic results. "Element: Void".

    Mole Shit of the Deep! Hanmoul staggered. He had never seen a Hound Pack like that!

    From behind the Troll band, the pack dashed toward their targets, moving without sound. From above, the big bird circled, screeching and howling and giving the Trolls the finger with its many... fingers.

    BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

    Another spell signature.

    "Wot the bollocks?!" Hanmoul tapped his screen. Was there a whole platoon of Mages hiding somewhere? Was the girl a scout? The reading was off the charts! Did the Human possess the mana pool of a Golem with a Core in her gut?

    CRACK¡ª

    "Chain Lightning"¡ª the diagnostic engine returned, registering an energy signature well above the spells'' recorded threshold. Among the crowd of huddled green-skins, an arc of electricity struck the Brutaliser.

    ¡ªZAP! SPAK! CRACK!

    After the brute, the bolt struck the Hag, then five other minions before arcing back toward the Brutaliser. Not far from the circle of lightning, a creature shimmered in and out of optical range.

    Simultaneously, the big bird, now riddled with arrows but not giving two shits, descended with an earth-splitting "Shaa!".

    While the Trolls remained paralysed, the bird-slug opened its maw, its neck peeling back like the exotic human fruit known as banana, then enveloped the Brutaliser head-first. Simultaneously, one of its hands seized the Troll Priest, each delicate digit folding against the Hag''s body, then squeezed.

    "MAY THE DEEP ANCESTORS PROTECT US!" His partner, Rockhammer, was howling into his Divi-link. If his infantrymen had an open channel, they would also be screaming. "What tier is that thing? At what pressure index are its fingers running?"

    Between the big bird''s fingers, the Hag oozed. Though Hanmoul was too far to hear the cracking of bone and the rending of flesh, his optics showed the Shaman''s eyes shooting of her sockets, while between the big bird''s fingers, bits of stuff dribbled over the snow. Hanmoul gagged. The bird-slug with hand-feet was wringing the Hag like a piece of cloth to prevent it from regeneration. No matter how tenacious the Hag''s life force may be, to recover from that state¡ª Hanmoul winced. Sometimes, death was infinitely preferable.

    Beside the Hag, the Brutaliser stumbled away, headless and for some reason, no longer regenerating. It walked a dozen steps before its pulsing stump erupted into a dark-green fountain, then laid still.

    And now, the dog-horse things closed in, ripping through the still-paralysed Hobs, taking the creatures in their human-sized jaws, swallowing some whole, tearing others apart.

    "By the Sju Dorfran¡­" Rockhammer''s voice quivered, calling on the Seven Ancestors. "Hanmoul, what have we summoned? What calamity could do a thing such as this? Maybe she''s a Dragon pretending to be human?"

    Every Dwarf knew that humans were as greedy as Dragons.

    Every aid required payment in gold, in minerals, or gems.

    Now that Hanmoul had inadvertently enlisted the aid of so mighty a Mage, what would happen to the Council''s coffers?

    If the girl came calling, what would the Deepdowners think?

    When the last Hob died, Gwen licked her lips and realised she might have overperformed her initial objectives.

    It had been months since she had felt the thrill of combat, and in her haste to test the extent of Amuldj''s Blessing, she had gotten a little overexcited. For now, since the Dwarves were safe and they had her moniker, it was best to be on her way.

    Finishing up, she called Ariel and Caliban to her side, applying another layer of Invisible Familiar. Caliban was beyond happy to be out and about, and she was delighted to see it fly with Ariel as a companion.

    Though she now slinked away from the field of battle like a thieving cat, she felt giddy with satisfaction. Losing her Draconic-Essence had undermined her confidence, but now, her Void abilities had grown to replace what was taken.

    She was, after all, a Void Mage and not a Dragon-Mage like Ayxin. Without a willing Dragon to impart its racial knowledge, she had limited utility for Draconic-Essence beyond punching Necromancers in the face, kicking Da-Pengs in the face, and belting young masters in the face. That and make NoMs shit their pants.

    "In hindsight, it is for the best..." Gwen muttered to herself as she headed for the human township. Sometime later, Caliban''s vitality trickled back into her body, forcing her to land so as to walk off her shivers and to orientate her bearing. She was happy to find that the pleasure was no longer so intense. After the Soul Flayer, her tolerance had grown.

    "Evee¡ª" She punched the air as her body grew warm. "I am coming! No more delay!"

    Elvia moaned, her face flushed, sweating through her bedsheets.

    Outside, a thunderstorm rocked the valley basin. Such was the nature of weather in Southern Wales, as unpredictable as a drunk Troll. Beside the healer''s gurney, her Knight and the Magister responsible for the security of Merthyr Tydfil argued.

    "Mathias, you are a Knight¡ª and as such, I won''t judge." Beside Mathias, the Tower''s ombudsman, Major Hanford, sucked on a pipe. "But as the officer overseeing the defensive operations in Merthyr Tydfil, I cannot commend your recklessness."

    "That''s because you fail to understand Elvia''s selflessness." Mathias stroked his healer''s long, blonde hair. "We saved, what? A hundred men today? I alone took down two Rock Trolls, mind you, and a few hundred Redcaps. Who can say the same?"

    "That may well be." Hanford''s tone remained cold and unconvinced. "We needed her here with the others, working triage. Also, if you lose Miss Lindholm, I''ll have to answer to Lady Astor. Then what would happen to the town''s Contribution Credits?"

    "Many of those men and women, Mages and NoMs, would not have made it to triage, Magister." Mathias'' voice rose an octave. "Dare you demand that I abandon my duty?"

    "YOUR¡ª" Hanford controlled his temper. "Duty? To tax your healer so much she concurrently suffers both spell AND mana exhaustion? Are you daft?"

    "I merely did as she wished."

    "She''s a Frontier Refugee! You''re an overtrained Knight! Show some wisdom, man! Guide her if she''s an idiot!"

    "I cannot refuse her selflessness, not in the slightest." Mathias shook his head. "Now, if you''re done, let us discuss tomorrow''s operations. With Elvia recuperating, I can¡ª"

    Ding!

    "Yes, Lauren?" Hanford''s Message blossomed beside his ear. "What? A War Mage? Here? Did London send her?"

    The Magister''s eyes moved from Elvia to Mathias, to the door. "For Miss Lindholm?"

    "What''s this?" Mathias cocked his head. "Why would someone from the Tower come for Elvia? Is it a friend of Emily''s? Tell her Elvia is doing fine, and that we''ll be back¡ª"

    The Magister motioned for Mathias to shut it.

    "Tell her to wait¡ª What do you mean she''s coming in? She flew here¡ª she has a Mithril-Class Licence? Which Unit is she from?"

    The Tower''s base of operations at Merthyr Tydfil was, in fact, a commandeered inn. As the operation in the Dwarven Frontier rarely lasted over a month, investment of additional resources had been deemed unnecessary.

    "You can''t go in there¡ª" Hanford''s aid stopped at the threshold. A flash of lightning lit the room quicksilver before its delayed fulmination rattled the windows.

    The hinges creaked. The double doors to the inn''s common room, now the command room and the officer''s quarters, swung open, siphoning the warm air.

    Into the room, the sorceress'' aura poured over the men like treacle. The girl was dangerous; the Mages implicitly understood that as fact. At the same time, they felt confused by the paradoxical sensation of both elation and vertigo emitted by the girl.

    A Druid? Mathias glanced at Hanford. The Magister had no idea, particularly in light of the girl''s battledress.

    "My secretary is right. You can''t be here. Miss¡ª?"

    The self-deploying rain cloak retracted.

    Click. Click. Click. The girl approached¡ª her enchanted attire drying at once.

    The sorceress'' heels, Mathias noted, were stiletto daggers. Her irises were multi-coloured and brimming with depthless desire. From her shapely calves to her elegant shoulders, she was clad in cloth plating, a style of armour favoured in the east. Draped on her back, was a handsome blue mantle.

    Suddenly, Mathias'' lips felt dry.

    He recognised her peerless face.

    More importantly, there was no mistaking the "Maotai" printed across the sorceress''s thighs.

    "Song." The girl arrived at Elvia'' bedside. "Gwen Song."

    "From the IIUC?" Hanford discerned the competition logo plastered on her chest plate. His daughter religiously followed the competitions. Fudan was her favourite until they dropped out. "Miss, why are you here?"

    Mathias'' gut tingled. He wasn''t a Diviner, but the Knight sensed an awful thing was about to happen. The girl stood beside the gurney, seemingly transfixed by the vision of Elvia''s semi-conscious body on the levitating stretcher.

    "I was sight-seeing." The tone of the Devourer of Shenyang''s voice sucked the life from the room. "What''s wrong with Evee? Why is she like this?"

    "Trolls," Mathias blurted.

    Hanford gave him a strange look.

    The Knight could not believe the words were coming out of his mouth. He couldn''t recall the last time he had almost lied. Such cowardice was dangerous for a Knight, anathema to the Faith magic they practised. Nonetheless, something told him he had better pay Gwen the lip service, or forever hold his peace.

    "Yes." Mathias forced his mouth to move. "Those blasted Trolls did this."

 Chapter 327 - The Root of Elvia

    "Did she get cursed by a Hag?" The sorceress'' gaze, burning with an inner light, scanned Mathias like a cheap piece of meat. "As her Knight, is there a reason why Evee''s horizontal, and you''re still upright?"

    Mathias met the girl''s burning eyes and felt his Radiance quake. Gwen Song! From the International Inter-University Competition; Elvia''s "Mate" and her long-distance Message-pal. Here was a woman-shaped Thunder Tyrant Rex. The controller of Caliban! Mistress of Ariel! Tamer of Golos!

    The Devourer of Shenyang!

    And now, she was accusing him of dereliction of duty!

    A burst of bile threatened to spill from Mathias'' throat. Misunderstandings were dangerous, especially when one side held a Mithril Badge. Sponsorship from three Magisters was the bare minimum required for such freedom. But as a Class VI asset, who had the clout to stomach the uproar when the girl misstepped? The only Mage Mathias knew to possess the clout was Grand Master Errol and Emily''s father, the reputable Duke Rothwell.

    "Yes, I am her Knight." Mathias kept his face stoic. "And NO, Miss Elvia is not injured. She overtaxed herself from saving those who had been caught up by the Beast Tide. I assure you, not a hair has been harmed on her head."

    "A Beast Tide? Of course." The girl''s reply was churlish and provincial, indicating a lower-class upbringing. "Evee¡ª can you hear me?"

    Elvia moaned, deaf to the world.

    Something wiggled under the healer''s shirt. A little bulbous head peeked out, its short limbs waddling as it emerged. "Kiki?"

    "Kiki!" the girl squealed. "Long time no see, buddy. How''s Evee?"

    "Kiki! Kiki!! Ki!"

    "I don''t speak Kikish." The girl waved her hand. "One second, Ariel!"

    Clonk! Clonk!

    A shimmering pony knocked on the door, then entered the inn, sending the dozen or so Mages in the dining section scrambling.

    Both Mathias and Hanford fought to keep their cool. A Kirin! Their minds reeled. A real-life Kirin! Look at its horns! Its hooves! Its rainbow-hued coat! The blasted thing glowed! As with many Magical Beasts of the upper-tier, it was the unique presence that made them larger than life.

    "EE! EE!"

    "Kikiki!"

    "EE?"

    "Kikiki-ki!"

    "EE-EE!"

    "EE-EE-ee-EE!" Gwen''s Kirin gestured with its horns toward Mathias.

    Mathias put a stout oak table between himself and those horns.

    "I see." The girl shot Mathias a glare that made him place a hand on the pommel of his Spellsword. "We''ll see what happens when Evee wakes. For now... hop on."

    Mathias moved to intervene. He knew next to nothing about the Void Sorceress'' abilities other than the fact that she could clear a District without breaking a sweat.

    "Ki-ki!"

    When the Alraune leapt into Gwen''s hands, Mathias slowed. He couldn''t swat the willing creature out of the sorceress'' palms. Her Kirin looked mighty dangerous, not to mention she still had "Caliban" hidden in a pocket dimension.

    Beside him, Hanford leaned over Mathias'' shoulder with a face full of wonder. "My word, that IS Druidic Essence!"

    "Drink up." The sorceress glowed.

    In the dim light of the room, a viridescent puddle of sloshing, viscous liquid, brimming with life, pooled in between the palms of Gwen''s hands.

    "Kiki!" The Alraune danced in the manna and began to absorb the elixir at an alarming rate, growing glossier and more globular by the second. Atop Kiki''s head, a tropical lily bloomed out of season.

    Hanford''s eyes wandered toward the girl''s ears. Thankfully, her well-rounded lobes were entirely human.

    A minute later, Kiki had soaked up every drop. Now appearing the size of an infant, it leapt onto Elvia''s chest, then slipped a hollow, tentacle-like tendril in between the healer''s lip. Through his well-trained senses, Mathias felt his Cleric''s hollowed-out conduits infuse with raw, unadulterated vitality. As Kiki transferred the viridescent energy, Ariel stood guard, licking the flower Sprite''s bulbous body.

    "What now?" Mathias stood sideways from the Kirin; its hind-legs looked like they packed a wallop.

    "Well." Magister Hanford''s eyes darted between the smartly attired War Mage and the sweating Knight Protector from St Michael''s. "While we wait for Miss Lindholm, would Miss Song care to answer a few questions?"

    "Sure." The girl appeared to relax, or so Mathias hoped. "Besides, I want answers too."

    Before the fall of Sydney and its horrific revelations, Debora was the companion that Elvia admired the most. Out of all their friends, it was her vivacious confidence that made Elvia feel the rare bite of jealousy. At first, she had felt astounded by the audacity exhibited by "Debbie". Though all of them were equal friends, that Debora would so brazenly declare her worst intentions had made Elvia feel ill. Not only was the bronze-skinned Transmuter unafraid of ostracisation or rejection; she revelled in Gwen''s distress.

    Inevitably, the corresponding recall would remind Elvia that their friend had long been an inhuman Void spawn. What Faceless had wanted was for Gwen to join its crusade against the world¡ª and failing that, it would assimilate Gwen into itself.

    And if Faceless had succeeded?

    Elvia shuddered every time the possibility of losing her friend crossed her mind. Seeing Gwen''s exquisite face morph from adoration to sadism, love to hunger was a sure recipe for insomnia.

    Presently, however, the healer''s consciousness was consigned to the void. Such deep, self-induced meditation was a known phenomenon. During periods of extended duress, a Mage may continue to tax their mental and physical reserves, using their body as fuel. For a Void Mage, the process was par for the course, but for a healer, the occurrence was rare indeed.

    And so, caught in the undertow of self-restorative slumber, Elvia dreamt the strangest dream.

    "Evee!" someone shouted.

    Elvia''s eyes shunted open.

    She wasn''t on her gurney; instead, she sat on loose straw over powdery clay. The air was impossibly dry, her tongue felt like sand, and dust invaded every fissure. Squinting, she saw that over the ochre landscape, a sinking sun warped the horizon with heat.

    Beside Elvia sat Gwen, grinning with her teeth showing, puckering her lips. When Elvia''s eyes wandered across her friend''s figure, her complexion turned scarlet.

    "Why¡ª why are you in the nuddy?!" Elvia blurted out. "F-for shame!"

    Gwen laughed; her skin glistened, reflecting the slick patterns of ochre, obsidian and sunburst adorning her torso. Likewise, ghostly handprints covered the canvas of her body. Elvia recognised the five-fingered contours. Some of them belonged to Yue, and more than a few belonged to herself.

    Her friend pointed to Elvia''s right. "Evee, Look!"

    Elvia followed Gwen''s finger.

    They were languishing in the shadow of a colossal landmark, too famous not to be recognised.

    Ulu¡ªULURU?! Elvia''s heart seized. Why were they in Uluru? Wasn''t she in England?

    A dream, Elvia pinched herself.

    Gwen stood.

    OH MY GOD, Elvia''s mind rioted. She was in a VERY realistic dream.

    "Kapi!" Gwen clapped, extending a hand in invitation.

    Not knowing what else to do, Elvia took it.

    With a strength that betrayed her litheness, her friend lifted Elvia to her feet so that she fell against her bosoms.

    OHMYGODOHMYGODFORGIVEMEFORMYSINS¡ª Elvia felt Gwen''s heart pounding against her cheek. An inch from her nose was Gwennie''s¡ª

    Thump! Thump! Thump! Gwen''s heart thundered. On cue, there came a crash of thunder; then the sky began to pour. A cloudburst fell in pailfuls, a near-solid wall of water bucketing from the blue.

    Arm in arm, their skin as slick as eels, the girls looked up at the red stone of Uluru, where snail-trails of white water turned into wine.

    "The Rainbow - the rainbow comes from the earth and returns here," Gwen spoke beside Elvia''s ear.

    The temperature fell, but she didn''t feel cold at all. Gwen''s body was a furnace, and presently, their shared warmth permeated everything, the muddy earth, the cloudless sky, the plunging deluge.

    "Haha, Almudj is proper cheeky." Gwen''s arms crossed over Elvia''s shoulders. With one hand, she pointed to the sacred stone.

    "My kin lives here¡ª she has a long beard and sharp teeth. She does not need men or women. She dreams, requiring no ceremonies. Very rarely does she wake¡ª but when she does, Almudj is proper cranky."

    Elvia opened her mouth, her thirst quenched by the downpour.

    In gulps, she swallowed, her body filling with the waters of life.

    Gwen regarded her with a broad grin, her pink lips curling at either edge.

    "Remember, Evee, the Snake. She will attack invaders. If someone bullies you, it will return their body to their ancestors. No matter how many of them. No matter where¡ª"

    CRACK¡ªBOOM!

    An ear-splitting cry of thunder shook Elvia''s world.

    The sky! It was opening up! She could see a fracture across the infinite space of the horizon. All around her, the ground shifted and moved and shook. Atop the stump that was Uluru, an immense shape began to slither and meander, emerging from the interior of the stone.

    "We''re kin, Evee. Mayhap more, but never less. I''ve always wanted to share with you Almudj''s Song. The Song of the Pintupi, the Singing from a time when the world was young."

    A flash of quicksilver ignited the sky.

    The dream world crumbled. Elvia fought against her friend''s embrace, but Gwen held her fast. In tune with the supernatural fulmination, their hearts beat in twain.

    Gwen began to clap.

    "Kapi! Kapi! Kapi!" Came another earth-shattering reverberation from the apex of Uluru, the serpent that birthed the world swam for the sky. Water, the colour and texture of blood, flooded the desert, restoring the soil''s fecundity, bringing to bloom a million wildflowers. "Come on, Evee!"

    If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    Elvia joined her friend, her hands slapping the water.

    A rainbow appeared, linking the horizon from ocean to ocean.

    Unbidden, Elvia wept, for here was where every river in the world begun.

    Soft as feathers, Elvia''s long blonde lashes fluttered open.

    "Too dangerous, the Trolls have warrens here¡ª here¡ª and here¡ª" Half a room away, the harsh tone of Magister Hanford quarrelling with Mathias was as familiar to Elvia as a lullaby. "You can''t be thinking of taking them alone? That''s stupidity!"

    "Kiki!" Her Alraune Sprite prodded her cheeks, its adorable bulb wadding left and right. "Ki-ki!"

    "A friend?" Elvia''s gaze lingered on the blooming Alraune with confusion, finding herself exhausted beyond belief. "Who is it?"

    "EE! EE!" answered a triumphant thrill, followed by a cold nose touching her neck. A wet tongue, sticky and smelling faintly of rain, licked her lips.

    Instantly, her brain fired up to wakefulness. "A-ARIEL?"

    The argument from the map-table ceased at once.

    "EVEE!" an all too familiar voice rocked the inn, displacing the dust from the ceiling. "Thank God, you''re awake!"

    A pair of arms soon enveloped her torso. A familiar silhouette kissed her left cheek, once more on the other, then again on her forehead.

    "Gwen?" Elvia fought her irresponsive extremities, her mind struggling to connect the dots. "What''s happened? Why are you here?"

    Her assailant pulled back.

    Her friend looked older. That was Elvia''s first impression. Gone was the puppy fat once adorning her friend''s cheeks, giving her an elfin visage. Gwen''s eyes as well, once so glistening with insecurity, were sharp and focused, almost frightfully so. She appeared taller too, the confidence she now exuded was practically tangible.

    "O, you heart-breaker, you!"

    Another round of uninvited kisses showered Elvia.

    But why was Gwen in Merthyr Tydfil? Her mind was only now registering the reality in front of her. All those months without contact; week after weeks of watching Gwen slog through the IIUC, fighting rogues, Trolls and then Undead, and now her friend was here?

    "Ah¡ª" Elvia tried to speak, but what emerged instead was a choking cry of insurgent emotions. Her eyes misted over, growing damp with feelings impossible to keep in check. There was so much she wanted to say, so much pent up stress that needed to be released. "G-Gwennie¡­ I missed you so much."

    "I know¡­ I know¡­" Gwen held her tight. "It''s okay, Evee. I am here."

    Behind her friend, Mathias wore an unreadable expression. But that was no different from how Mathias usually acted. Elvia felt she could barely read Mathias anyway and had long since given up trying.

    But, none of that mattered now.

    "Ow¡ª"

    When Gwen attempted to lift her from the gurney, her muscles throbbed with protest.

    "What''s wrong?" Gwen''s face twisted with concern.

    "I am aching all over." Elvia wondered if it was because of the dream she had endured. Did Gwen have anything to do with it? She would have to ask her about that. Almudj felt far too real to be a hallucination. "Can you put me into a chair? I don''t think I can stand right now, not until I get some more mana in me."

    "Aww, you poor thing," Gwen cooed. In the next instant, her eyes lit up. "You know what? I''ve got just the thing. Stay here; I''ll make you a nice tonic that''ll fix you right up."

    Under the watch of both her Knight and Major Hanford, Gwen Mage Handed a table close to the gurney. Then, she produced a nephrite bottle of what looked like rice wine as well as a vibrant jadeite container.

    That looks expensive, Elvia innately appraised the object. Not even in the home of Lady Astor had she seen such exotic Magic Items.

    "For this, I am going to need Cali''s help," Gwen said to Elvia, then addressed the two men. "Magister, Mattie, please step back. Caliban isn''t nearly so friendly as Ariel."

    Obediently, the Mages heeded the Void Sorceress'' advice.

    "Caliban, come forth!" Gwen twirled her fingers, coaxing her monster to existence.

    A pinpoint opening tore the fabric of space and time. Elvia had seen it a hundred times before, but for the others, they had only seen it once or twice and then only via vid-casts. An illusory Caliban was terrifying enough. Now, in real-time and vis-a-vis, they felt the bone-chilling, gut-churning vertigo characteristic of Void Magic.

    "Shaa! Shaa!"

    "Cali!" Elvia squealed.

    "SHAA?! SHAA!" The endearing Void fiend stood two meters tall when fully erect. With a tentacled tongue, it rubbed Elvia''s head.

    "Wow, you''re so big!" Elvia did her best to pet the faceless boa. "It''s been a while. Thanks for looking out for Gwen, Cali."

    "Shaa!" Caliban nuzzled the healer with its carapaced head, much like a cat reclaiming an old acquittance.

    A table away, Mathias'' eyes strained, his fingers flexing and unflexing.

    "Cali, keep an eye on our root vegetable." Gwen tapped the box, unsealing its wards. "If it runs, drag it back."

    "Shaa!"

    Gwen opened the box.

    Her audiences'' eyes went wide.

    "KIKI?" Her Alraune looked inside with a bulb full of curiosity.

    "Kii?" a soft groan emanated from the jadeite preserver. A Ginseng! Elvia cooed. And a Spirit at a that. Unfortunately, it looked as though the Spirit was injured. From its humanoid likeness, the Spirit was missing both its lower limbs, most of its tendrils, and a portion of an arm. Instantly, her heart filled with sorrow and empathy for the poor thing. What horrid suffering had the poor plant endured? How lonely must it be to slumber in the darkness alone?

    Groggily, the Ginseng turned to look at Gwen.

    "KIIIIIII¡ª!" it began to keen. Elvia felt her chest constrict. The poor baby!

    "SHAA!" Caliban yelled it into silence.

    "This won''t hurt a bit." Gwen reached for the Ginseng.

    "KIKI?" Her Spirit leapt in front of her friend. Elvia winced; a string of gut-churning emotions translated by her Alraune flooded her constricting bosoms.

    GWEN WAS GOING TO EAT IT? Elvia comprehended Kiki''s warning at once. "Gwen, NO! No eating! That''s a Spirit!"

    Gwen paused, a sliver of Void circulating about her fingertips. "Don''t worry, Evee¡ª this thing is cultivated. It''s domesticated and reared explicitly for this purpose, no different to a delicious lamb chop."

    "NO, NO, NO!"

    "KII! KII! KII!"

    "KIIIIIII¡ª"

    "SHAA! SHAA!" Caliban howled, spraying Elvia, Kiki and the Ginseng with grey goo.

    Elvia clammed up, as did the root, a pulsating, purple-fleshed Caliban was pretty much the stuff of nightmares.

    "KI¡ªKI!" Her Alraune was the hero Elvia often aspired to be. "KII!"

    "But we need it to heal Evee." Gwen''s brows furrowed. "I suppose your master could stuff the whole thing down her gullet, but then she''ll erupt with vitality."

    Someone coughed.

    "If I may, Miss Song¡ª I don''t think you should be eating that." Magister Hanford''s voice drifted across from the other side of the room. "Not in public, I mean."

    "We diced one up for Chinese New Years¡­" Gwen recollected Ayxin''s gift to Jun''s parents, which they shared with friends and family. "It was older than this one."

    "May Christ have mercy for us all," Mathias swore, marking a cross across his forehead and his chest. "You Orientals will eat anything¡­"

    "Gwennie, please?"

    "Fine." Gwen withdrew her Void scalpel.

    Elvia exhaled.

    "KII¡ªKII!" Kiki slapped Gwen''s hand with a tendril. Like Sufina, its island sister, the Alraune was fearless.

    "Shaa!" Caliban licked its chops, issuing a warning.

    Disregarding the serpent, Kiki reached into the box, then helped the Ginseng to its feet¡ª or more correctly, its stumps.

    "Gwen, how could you," Elvia chided her heartless friend, staring at the stumbling Ginseng with moist eyes. "Was Sen-sen who you were eating in the competition?"

    "Sen-sen? Eating that root vegetable pulled me through quite the pickle, possibly gave Allie a baby, and added twenty years to Gramp''s life!" Gwen cocked her head. "But, what''s done is done. Now, do you want it?"

    Elvia''s reply caught in her throat. A Spirit? One that knew pain and could beg to be spared? How many CCs could it be worth? "I¡­ can''t. It''s far too expensive."

    "Kii!" Kiki glared at Gwen, stomped the table angrily, then passed a tendril toward the Ginseng. A dribble of Gwen''s viridescent Essence infused the root vegetable.

    "Sen?" The Ginseng shuddered, then gestured wildly to itself. "Sen-Sen! Sen-sen!"

    "Look at it," Elvia begged, feeling another stab of empathy striking her heart. "Can you heal it? With your Druidic Essence?"

    "Heal it?" Gwen looked from her friend to the Ginseng. "It''s supposed to be providing nourishment for us, not the other way around. I mean, if you want it, that''s another thing. If not, I''ll box it for another day¡ª"

    "I''ll keep Sen-sen!" Elvia announced. Kiki''s emphatically-linked demands were tearing her heart out. "Don''t worry, Kiki, we''ll save him yet."

    "Fine. Kiki, move aside," Gwen commanded the Alraune.

    Warily, the flower Sprite shifted to one side.

    Elvia watched as her friend uprooted the feeble Ginseng by its leafless head, then laid it flat on the palm of one hand. Again, Gwen''s audience bore witness to the spectacle of Druidic Essence oozing from a human sorceress.

    Bathed in the elixir of life, the Gingseng Spirit sprouted hundredsof tiny tendrils that, once interwoven, began to resemble a pair of stubby legs. Its missing arm as well grew hundreds of whiskery beards that soon resembled a limb. Atop its head, leaves began to sprout, first a few petals, then a whole bushel of "hair" emerged, transforming the deformed Ginseng into a textbook Mandrake.

    By the time the Spirit could move on its own, Gwen was breathing heavily.

    "Sorry," Elvia apologised. "I didn''t know it was that hard."

    "Anything for you, Evee." Gwen gave the Ginseng a flick on the knob. "Here, your new pet, ''Sen-Sen'' sans three limbs but otherwise as good as new."

    "Kiki!" The Alraune hugged the Ginseng.

    "Sen!" The Ginseng, having escaped the chopping block, embraced the Alraune.

    "Aww," the girls cooed.

    "Shaa!" Caliban salivated.

    "Kiki!" Kiki directed the Ginseng toward Elvia.

    "Sen!" The Ginseng ran toward Elvia on its new legs, then performed a kowtow by throwing itself on all fours.

    Kiki''s pantomimed Sen''s intent.

    "It wants me¡­ as its Master?" Elvia didn''t understand Fae, but Kiki was a champion at charades. "But I''ve got you already, Kiki."

    "Miss Elvia¡ª" It was Mathias who interjected. "Perhaps it is best to donate the Mandrake to the Tower? A friendly, sapient Spirit is worth a great deal of CCs. Think about the other Healers who could use it to bolster their craft. The favours you could curry..."

    "NO." Gwen wagged a finger. "That root vegetable is Mine. I gave it to Evee, and I reserve the right to prevent it from falling into anyone else''s hands. Either she keeps it on her person, or I mash it for Maotai. There is no recourse."

    "Miss Song." Mathias grew radiant. "Please be reasonable. You''ll be entering society soon, I wager."

    "I am reasonable, ''Mattie''." Gwen''s acerbic defiance gave Elvia an indescribable thrill. "You want a Ginseng, ride your ass up to Huangshan and rip it out of the Yinglong''s garden. Otherwise, keep your advice to yourself."

    Mathias'' jaws clenched. Elvia gulped.

    "Why are YOU upset?" Gwen snorted. "Look at the state I found Elvia in, ''Knight Protector''. Got a complaint? Go fish. I welcome any grievances, large or small, lodged against my person. If anything, you should ask the Duke of Norfolk''s office to process the claim. Old Dickie''s out on a limb to see me fail."

    "This incivility isn''t becoming of you, Miss Song," Mathias replied with a measured tone, though Elvia could sense her Knight''s heart rate elevating to new heights. "I would have imagined Elvia''s companion possessing more class."

    "I hail from the industrial district of Forrestville, from Frontier Sydney." Elvia noticed that Gwen''s lips sneered whenever she enabled her first-class bitchface. "This is how us plebs speak."

    "Mattie, Gwen doesn''t mean to be rude." Elvia felt her heart simmering at her throat. She did not desire conflict between her Knight and her best friend. Besides, Mathias was strong, but Gwen was lethal. "Please, we''ll discuss this later, okay?"

    "You! Ginseng!" Gwen snapped at her dietary supplement.

    "Sen!" The Ginseng snapped to attention.

    "Leave Elvia, and you''re soup." Gwen patted Caliban on the head.

    "SHAA!"

    "EE!" Ariel added its two cents.

    With an air of fatalism, the Ginseng approached its new Master.

    "Kiki!" With a shuddering wince, Sen-sen tore out one of its leaves and placed it against Elvia''s hand.

    "For me?"

    "Sen!"

    Elvia placed the green growth under her nose. The magical salad smelled strongly of soil, and also something far older.

    Gwen nodded. "Eat it, Evee. I should tell you that this is a five-hundred-year-old Ginseng cultivated by Golos'' brother, Ryxi the White Serpent, in the secret valley of the Yinglong''s Mythic-class abode. I''d wager its got quite the kick."

    The two men opened their mouths. Mathias maintained a stiff upper lip.

    A little nervously, Elvia chewed the leaf.

    "MMPH!" Her eyes sparkled. The taste was bitter beyond belief. The energy, the vitality, the mana contained therein, however, was unlike anything she had ever imbibed, not that a pleb like herself had access to ultra-rare Wildland ingredients in the first place.

    "Take it slow¡­" Gwen advised. "Circulate your mana, allow the Essence to infuse your body."

    "Essence?" Elvia blinked.

    "Draconic-Essence." Gwen grinned. "Yinglong''s dragon juice tends to infuse everything. Don''t worry, Sen''s safe to eat. No one at the banquet exploded. I think."

    Elvia closed her eyes, allowing the vitality to infuse her body.

    The fatigue in her limbs melted away.

    Her mind, so murky a moment ago, felt crystalline with cloudless clarity. Gradually, the earthen taste in her mouth turned to mint, reinvigorating every cell in her exhausted body.

    Elvia burped.

    "Evee." Gwen studied Elvia''s new Ginseng friend. "I gotta ask, as my memory isn''t great. Is Kiki a Familiar?"

    "Nup." Elvia shook her head. "She''s a freely contracted Spirit. I''ve never performed the Familiar ritual."

    "That''s, unfortunately, fortunate¡ª" Gwen cocked a brow. "Good news. Now you have room for a bonded Familiar."

    "Miss Song, I cannot advise¡­" Mathias interjected. "Such a waste..."

    Elvia too felt overwhelmed by the excess. A Spirit replaced one''s Familiar. She had never heard of someone with a Spirit contracting a whole other Spirit through Summon Familiar. Theoretically, both could co-exist, but Mathias was right. What a waste! No matter how good she became, she couldn''t perform the job of TWO Spirit Healers.

    "So? Its HER Spirit to waste." Gwen shrugged. "What''s so unique about a Spirit Ginseng? I wager there''s two-dozen more on Huangshan. It''s no biggie, Evee. If this limp-limbed bugger doesn''t yield..."

    Gwen shook the bottle of Maotai, looking every inch the tyrant.

    "KIII!" The Ginseng kowtowed wholeheartedly, looking like it was doing push-ups. "Sen-sen! Sen!"

    "Smart plant." Gwen packed away the booze. "How are you feeling now, Evee? Come off the bed, let''s see how you are."

    Elvia nodded. Slipping from the thick, goose-down sheets, she landed on her dainty little feet.

    Her friend, however, felt her hands, paused, then glared at her fingers.

    "What''s wrong?" Elvia asked, puzzled by Gwen''s steely expression.

    "A small Storage Ring?" Gwen blurted in disbelief. "Evee, where''s your Contingency Ring?"

    Elvia cocked her head. Was it so strange that she didn''t have a Contingency Ring? Those cost at a minimum, thousands of HDMs. A good one that came with guarantees for sanctuary, healing, and safe delivery ran into tens of thousands. Even after all her sanitarium work, once her tuition and lodging was paid, she had a few hundred HDMs to her name. Most of her quests that Mathias took were voluntary work. "Erm... I don''t have one. It''s too expensive..."

    "I see." Her protector''s eyes trained onto Mathias.

    The glowering storm outside continued its pitter-patter, growing louder until a stone-splitting roar rattled the windows.

    "''Mattie''." Gwen''s accusation sizzled like a branding iron. "Why are you so useless?"

 Chapter 328 - The Gift of Simplicity

    It took Mathias a full second to digest the Void sorceress'' earth-shattering accusation. Besides the Knight, Magister Hanford''s open mouth could have swallowed a duck egg.

    "I beg your pardon?" His jaw clenched, turning Mathias'' neck a bright pink. That thrice-damned Alraune! To think the blasted bulb was a flower on top, but a serpent beneath! "What are you on about, young lady?"

    The sorceress stood between himself and his ward. "Do you deny your dereliction of duty?"

    "Absolutely!" Mathias allowed his Radiant mana to circulate. "I warn you, Miss Song. The honour of a Knight isn''t so cheap that a nobody from a Frontier could waltz in and point fingers. I swore an Oath to protect Miss Lindholm!"

    The Knight''s sword-hand burned with a phosphorescent brilliance.

    "That my Faith remains is a testament to my service!"

    Mathias allowed both Faith and Radiance to inter-mingle. His face glowed; his blonde hair engendered a halo. "Miss Song, you test me again and again, for no reason other than petty jealousy over my guardianship of Miss Lindholm. I implore you, with complete sincerity and politeness, to cease your belligerence! We both want what''s best for Elvia."

    But the girl did not back down. Instead, she raised Elvia''s hands. "Then how do you explain Evee''s poverty of items? She''s been questing with you for how long?"

    "Six months."

    "SIX MONTHS!" The girl continued without missing a beat. "If there is such a demand for Evee¡ª and yet she''s penniless¡ª then as her manager, you''re bloody hopeless! If she isn''t profiting, then who is profiting OFF her?"

    Mathias had never felt so insulted in his life. He never knew anger could influence the flow of mana. Now he did.

    "Did I hit a nerve?" His accuser stood with one hand pointing and her other against her hip, not unlike a pissing tea kettle. "Where were you when Evee got bullied? When they overworked her, why didn''t you campaign to give Evee a fair go? Look around you¡ª where are the OTHER healers with burned-out brains? Is that a testament to their apathy, or your ineptitude? Or Both?"

    "Milady''s compassion¡ª" Mathias was finding it hard to speak.

    "¡ªIs not your social capital!" The girl''s voice was like a gale. "Kiki tells me Evee gets attacked by monsters, every day, every fucking time!"

    "The Spirit lies!" Mathias growled. "Evee''s never lost a hair. Elvia, tell her how I''ve shielded you!"

    "Sophistry!" The girl''s rudeness grated like a rusty saw. "Your bull doesn''t pass the China-test, Mattie. Let''s cut to the chase. Show me your hands."

    "What?"

    The girl extended her hand. "Here, let me help: Ring of Evasion¡ª Ring of Storage¡ª Ring of Contingency¡ª"

    Mathias''s complexion shifted from scarlet to white. His Radiant mana hammered at his skull, tolling like church bells. The Contingency Ring on his left index finger was burning his skin as silver burns a Lycanthrope. The ring was from his Order. It wasn''t his to give¡ª or was it? Mathias no longer knew the answer.

    The girl pulled his healer''s hand forward. "Here. I know it''s hard, but let me show you the rare bird called ''giving a fuck''."

    With a zap of electricity, the girl pulled two bands from her fingers, materialising a third in her offhand.

    "Gwennie," Elvia protested in alarm, her whole body pulling helplessly against the taller sorceress. "You can''t! That''s Gunther''s Ring! Alesia''s going to be pissed! I am not worthy!"

    "I can, and you are," the girl retorted, then slipped the Contingency Ring onto the Elvia''s trembling fingers.

    Mathias'' eyes grew round when he caught the Beholder''s Core mounted in the Contingency Ring. When furthermore his ears registered Elvia''s protest, the implication slammed into his skull like an empowered Missile Swarm.

    Gunther? Which Gunther could afford a Contingency Ring made from a Beholder''s Eye Core? Alesia? He knew of only one sorceress called Alesia.

    "Evee, relax. I returned brother''s heirloom in Sydney," the Void sorceress explained. "This one''s a discounted facsimile from Pretoria."

    "It''s too expensive!"

    "More valuable than my peace of mind? Hardly¡ª" The Void sorceress slipped on the other two rings as well: her Ring of Evasion, and what looked like a Medium Storage Ring. "There! You see, Mathias? Evee''s now snug as a bug. Now that''s Evee husbandry, 101."

    "M-Miss Song," Mathias murmured, his mind still reeling from the revelation. In his chest, the anger and the resentment drained away into the Ethereal Plane. "By Gunther, do you mean Lord Shultz, of Sydney Tower?"

    "Who else?" The girl assumed her tea kettle pose once again, fully intent on filling him up to the ears. "He was Evee''s immigration sponsor. Do you take offence to that?"

    Mathias felt as though struck by a bolt of livid lightning. Every hair on his body stood on end. His spleen ached. Why hadn''t Emily told him? Why hadn''t Elvia mentioned a word of her connection to the Tower Master of Sydney? Why, if she had so much as dropped a hint, he would have duelled Royal Alfred''s Knight to secure every holiday from here to next year.

    Master Shultz! Mathias'' mind felt as slow as a snail''s crawl. Against his right thigh, Dawnstar hung like a lead weight.

    "Well, Mattie?" The girl''s supply of spittle was endless. Her eyes flashed like that of a fixated hawk on a fleeing prey. "Now do you see¡ª"

    CLANG!

    Mathias'' body was in motion before his mind conceded. In one, swift action, the Knight dropped to an armoured knee.

    "MY HEART WAS IMPURE!" In one smooth draw, Mathias presented his Spellsword, then offered it to his accuser in a gesture of supplication. "Lady Lindholm, I beg for your clemency!"

    Gwen braked so hard she stuttered, biting her tongue. Behind the Void sorceress, Elvia cringed and whimpered, the cost of the rings flaying the flesh from her fingers. Across the counter, Magister Hanford choked on the mead, then began to cough uncontrollably as the rogue booze shot up his sinus tract.

    Ascending toward the second floor, the Void sorceress and the Spirit Healer ventured upstairs, joined by a Kirin, a Void serpent, a Ginseng and an Alraune.

    Below, the two men prepared to call it a night.

    "That young lady''s quite the orator." Hanford rummaged below the counter, then pulled out a bottle of ancient-looking rum, poured himself a glass, then filled a second goblet. "Now that''s over, care for a pint to calm the nerves?"

    "I don''t¡ª sure." The Knight hesitated but did not decline the Magister''s sympathy. By the creed of temperance, a Knight was only allowed to imbibe alcohol as a part of the Sacrament. Luckily for Mathias, a Knight of St Michael was also an anointed Cleric by trade, fully equipped to deliver Mass or authorise a marriage.

    "Bless, O Lord, this drink which Thou hast created. Here, by Thy holy name, I receive the blood of thy body and soul. Amen."

    As per the ritual, Mathias drained the chalice in one gulp.

    "Hmm..." Hanford double-checked the bottle''s back label. "... shit."

    Mathias wiped his booze-stained mouth, breathing slowly to fight down the alcohol. In an instant, the Knight grew pale. "By St John, I feel as though afflicted with Negative Drain. In St George''s name, what is this thing? My gut''s fallen into the seventh circle of hell..."

    Hanford winced. He should have known from the bottle that the rum was Dwarven. That and virgin Knights were famous teetotalers.

    Carefully, Magister Hanford poured himself a half-shot. "Will you be joining us tomorrow?"

    "Wherever Miss Lindhold goes, so shall... so shall I..."

    "I see." Hanford raised a foaming toast for the boy-Knight who survived the Devourer of Shenyang with four limbs intact.

    "Here''s my belated Amen¡ª and here''s to keeping your job. Sir Rothwell. Good night."

    "That''s right. I am a good Knight." The Radiant Mage slumped into a tub chair. His belly growled. Dwarven rum wasn''t for the faint of anything. "O Christ, shield me from this unholy fire."

    When Elvia''s companion saw the modesty of the inn''s bedroom, she straight away offered the Portable Habitat she had "neglected" to return to Melbourne Tower.

    If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

    An HDM and a few minutes later, the girls and their menagerie of flora and fauna relaxed in the interior of the Habitat, sprawled out across the spacious living room. Kiki and Sen-sen wandered all over, investigating every nook and cranny. Caliban took up residence on the carpet, coiled and comfortable, while Ariel, now lap-sized and docile, rested against Elvia''s legs.

    There, in the privacy of each other''s company, Elvia related the dream she had appropriated from Gwen''s Outback adventure.

    "...Kapi-Kapi?"

    "Yeah! It was like you were there!" Elvia painted for her friend the strangest dream she ever dreamt. "There was Uluru and the Rainbow Serpent, and we were Singing the Snake..."

    Gwen smacked her lips. "Did rain come from a cloudless sky?"

    "Yes! Then Almudj came out of the rock! And there was red water everywhere."

    Her friend''s expression grew contemplative. "So, you were Kalinda, and I was the Tjupurrula... how curious..."

    Once the dream-talk ceased, the atmosphere grew contemplative.

    On her fingers, Gwen''s rings weighed heavily on Elvia''s heart, stifling her breath.

    In the ensuing silence, Elvia drew on some of that courage she had so admired in Faux-Debora, slipping across the couch so that she sat on Gwen''s lap. Sensing a lack of protest, she then laid her back against her friend''s supple torso. From Gwen''s hair, she could smell the faintest hint of eucalyptus.

    "What''s wrong, Evee?" Gwen read her mood like a book.

    "Gwennie," Elvia heard herself lament, her voice almost a whisper. "Why me?"

    The paranoia that twisted Elvia''s gut wasn''t uninvited, but something she had known since Sydney. As a mere healer, one without charisma, character, or backing, what could she possibly gift to Gwen? What aid, no matter how trivial, could she deliver to the devourer of a city?

    "Don''t say that," Gwen scolded her with a snort. "You''re more important than you think."

    "But I am not." Elvia felt her friend shifting beneath her. After repositioning her legs, Elvia now used her friend''s thigh as a pillow. "I am not strong, and I know I am not smart. Mathias isn''t wrong, you know. I am a liability."

    "Nope, stop right there." Gwen''s fingers prodded Elvia''s button nose as though a stop-start button on a Golem. "You''re a special person. You just don''t know it."

    "I watched you and Yue in the IIUC." Elvia rested her cheek against the palm of her friend''s outstretched hand. "I kept trying to imagine how I could have helped, but I don''t think I can. Be it Sylvie, or Emily, or even Lady Astor, everyone thinks of me as a tag-along. Nothing more."

    "That''s quite the imagination you got there." A finger wiped away the string of wetness flowing down Elvia''s pippin-pink cheeks. "Christ, Evee. Relax. Man, I should install a vid-caster in here."

    Elvia sighed, feeling all the more guilty for her friend''s sympathy. Doing her best, she choked back a sob.

    "Alright, now I feel like an unsympathetic bitch." Gwen patted her head. "How about you put a stopper on the tap and let me explain."

    Elvia did her best. The mind was willing, but the flesh was tender.

    "In life, Evee..." Gwen began, dabbing her face with a tissue. "...there are folk who pop in and out of our orbit."

    "With some, we grow intimate¡ª Petra, who you know; or Tao my fruity cousin; or the iron-hearted Lulan. These are honest folk with dreams and aspirations. Their goals, I respect, and when our paths bisect, I want to help them."

    "Then, there are selfless souls like my Babulya; or Uncle Jun. Like Opa, they want to see me prosper and do well. But with these folks, their love comes with anticipations and expectations, and of course, should I misstep¡ª disappointment."

    "Then, there are the folk who walk a parallel path. Ruxin and Gogo the Dragon siblings of Nagaland; Marong, my business partner; Magister Walken, who sees in me a kindred spirit on the path to relevance. Guo, my legacy obsessed grandfather¡ª these folks I work with because our goals align and our interests are complimentary¡ª"

    Elvia listened, bathed in the warmth of her friend''s enveloping embrace.

    "And finally, there are those who are closest to our hearts. Yue takes a spot. Alesia and Gunther are my unconditional allies. Percy of course, he''s my little brother after all. Richard as well has sacrificed much¡ª though thankfully, I''ve managed to even the odds of late¡­"

    Gwen''s irises burned with a gentle light.

    From within her friend''s arched body, Elvia felt a curious resonance. In her chest, below her throat, the thrumming Essence felt like heartburn.

    "...And there''s you, Evee."

    Elvia''s complexion grew hot-pink, whether due to nervousness or embarrassment, she didn''t know.

    "Some might say that being normal and nice implies a lack of character, that a lack of ambition makes you a lesser person. But to me, that''s what makes my Evee endearing. What I admire in you, Evee¡ª is your simplicity."

    "My¡­ simplicity?"

    "That''s right." Gwen parted her flaxen hair, knotting the strands around her fingers. "You know, Evee, I''ve been fighting non-stop for four years now. Sometimes, I think about the places I''ve seen, the monster''s I''ve eaten, and wonder how far I''ve drifted from a bedroom with an ocean-view."

    Elvia recalled that indeed, an ocean-view bedroom had been her friend''s dream.

    "Can you imagine that, Evee? Before meeting Master Henry, all I wanted was a three-bedder at Potts Point. Now, I harp on about being the Master of a Tower. Christ! A cloud-clapped Tower, Evee! Tall as anything¡ªstaffed by thousands! But then, after Caliban burps and Ariel''s gone to bed I think to myself¡ª what the fuck am I doing? Right now, I can buy TEN houses by the sea. Why aren''t I retired by the ocean, fighting Mermen from my porch?"

    "But¡­" Elvia felt her friend''s frustration through the emphatic link of their mingling essence. "You can''t retire. You''re the Devourer of Shenyang."

    "Aye, that''s the rub¡ª the calamity of so elevated a life."

    Her friend breathed out for what felt like an eternity.

    "I miss the old days." Her friend''s face was an inch from Elvia''s head. "You and me and Yue, going to Blackwattle, eating at Market City, Yue fellating paddle pops and making us laugh, all in that cramped sauna we called home. I miss my Master, as well. Henry and I only shared a year, but he was so kind to me, more than anyone I knew in all my... years. I miss Sufi too, and not just because of her Golden Mead. Her emotions were always so pure."

    "Kiki!" Elvia''s Alraune, having returned to check on its mistress, patted Gwen on the shins. A few inches away, Caliban sniffed the Flower Sprite''s bulb disinterestedly.

    "Sometimes, I can''t help but imagine what would have happened if Sobel never happened to us, or if I had been stern enough to listen to Yue and kicked Debora out. Imagine that¡ª You and I, and Yue, in Sydney for the next three years. We could have made a party of our own with Whetu and Richard. The SIMPLICITY of it, Evee. That''s what I miss more than anything."

    All Elvia could do was nod.

    "If you''re afraid you''ve got nothing to contribute, Evee." Gwen''s lips hovered over her own. "Then I''ll give you a job."

    "A job?"

    "Yes, Evee. One only you can do. You see, after the Trolls, the Undead, the Dragons, and the people; I need something to anchor myself. What I mean, Evee¡ª is that I need an anchor that isn''t mountains of Crystals and cloud-clapped Towers. What I need, Evee¡ª is something more concrete than the pageant of popularity and the phantasms power, do you understand?"

    Elvia shivered. "What can I do?"

    "Be Elvia Lindholm." Gwen''s voice grew low and husky. "That, to me, is more precious than anything."

    "But I am not special. Not like you."

    "Then I''ll make you special." The conviction in Gwen''s voice made Elvia''s spine suddenly rigid. Her friend''s next words were barely a whisper, but it fulminated within the recesses of Elvia''s mind.

    "Evee¡ª I don''t want to be another Sobel."

    Against her cheek, Gwen''s thighs were clammy.

    A part of Elvia wanted to get away, to slip from her friend''s lap and flee the Habitat. What Gwen had just told her, the "Job" Gwen had offered¡ª could anyone bear such a burden? Could she? Could a weak-willed waif serve as the foundation of a sorceress who may one day change the Mageocracy?

    Was Gwen being selfish?

    "Kiki?" Her Alraune stroked her arm with an elongated tendril. "Ki?"

    "Sen!" Sen-sen as well, perhaps reading Kiki''s distress, touched Elvia''s toes and prodded her pink digits.

    Her friend grew silent, awaiting a response.

    Elvia felt queasy.

    Was she up to the task?

    In truth, she had no idea.

    In truth, she missed Mathias already.

    Her glory-seeking Knight was a knee-deep pond; Gwen was the abyssal ocean.

    "Kiki!" Her Alruaune thumped its chest as a sign of solidarity.

    Courage, or was it Essence, flowed into Elvia''s chest. Kiki was right! So what if she dived head-first into the Void? Gwen would do just as much for her, so why couldn''t she do the same? Whether she could hold Gwen back was one question. Whether she was willing was another. One needn''t inform the other.

    "Gwennie?" The brimming Essence in her conduits overflowed.

    "Yes, Evee?"

    "I''ll... BLUERRRRRGH¡ª"

    Unfortunately, having acquired Almudj''s blessing only an hour ago, the rising ardour Elvia had felt wasn''t Essence. Instead, it was reflux from her oesophagus, caused by her threadbare nerves.

    And so, to conclude their first conference in two years, against the softness of her best friend''s awaiting body, Elvia Lindholm poured out her soul.

    "Evee! Evee! Evee, let your wand hang down..."

    Gwen hummed as she changed, readying herself for the day trip. In the master bedroom, Elvia slept like a lamb, exhausted after a lengthy apology and an even longer shower.

    Still, even a rancid Elvia sparked joy. Gwen could hardly complain when her little healer grew so happy that she vomited on the couch. That had been her fault, she later realised. Evee had languished for the better part of a day without taking a meal, and though Almudj''s Essence provided many gifts, a full stomach wasn''t one of them.

    PSSSHT¡ª

    Her Shen-te¨© armour tightened, enclosing her athletic figure with a hiss, kissing every inch of her dermis.

    On a nearby pedestal, Gwen aligned more gifts readied for Elvia. The first was a spare suit of Shen-Te¨© in white. To their premier model, Sinomach Heavy Industries had been very generous with their samples, especially after the IIUC''s unprecedented viewership. Also on the pedestal was her Radiant Diamond Ioun Stone.

    Last night, Mathias had folded like cheap origami, but she couldn''t trust the Knight, at least not yet.

    As for her losses, Gwen did not consider the items critical to her ventures in London. Seeing as she was a Class VI asset, surely the Mageocracy would give her a sizeable discount on a Tower-issued Conti-Ring. As for the Ring of Evasion, now that her split-second Dimension Door well-exceeded the range of most AOEs, Magister Ferris''s handcrafted item now felt meagre. And as for the Ioun Stone, Elvia would better benefit from its shell-hardening than herself, who could pump the equivalent of a dozen Mages'' mana into her Gunther Shield.

    Already, for their first outing visiting the Troll warrens around the Gulch, she had a plan.

    The dastardly Duke of Norfolk had name-dropped Elvia to serve as a warning, but now, Gwen considered the advice with kindness. That those with fingers in her future would see Elvia as Gwen''s weakness was a certainty. If so, why should she step lightly and keep her best friend from the limelight?

    Through her Master, Gwen had learned that recognition could be utilised like a Force Wall. From Gunther, she had learned that though one spoke softly, it didn''t hurt to tap the table with a big stick. And if there was anything Alesia taught her, it was that infamy could be just as useful as fame.

    Ding! Ding!

    Her out-bond Message chimed.

    "Miss Song?" an accented tongue echoed by her ear. "This is Dominic Lorenzo. Alesia said you''d call. How do you like London? And how can I help?"

    "Hi, Dom." Gwen''s voice was sugary sweet. "Thanks for answering. I am so sorry to impose on you so soon, and without a luncheon first to get acquainted."

    "Ha, don''t mind it, anything for Alesia''s sister," the man replied with enthusiasm. "Not to mention you''re the talk of the town. Have you read the Telegraph? You''re all over page three! I wouldn''t dream of dining with a tabloid girl in public."

    "Er¡­" Gwen paused. "What''s this about?"

    "You know, Lord Ravenport. Hahaha, you young sorceresses sure move fast these days."

    Gwen blinked, wondering if the tavern received daily papers. "I am at Merthyr Tydfil right now."

    "Near Red Peak? What''s a lass like you doing on Dwarf land?"

    "Long story," she said. "Look, we''ll meet up and talk later, Alesia said to ask you if I needed help. She said you''re the man with the connections."

    "And so I am. Go on."

    "Lovely." Gwen cleared her throat, putting aside the tabloid business for now. "So¡ª I am about to clear a Troll warren near Merthyr Tydfil, something called the Scarlet Gulch¡ª"

    "Ah, the place where Earthen Crystals sprout about now¡ª" the voice paused. "Hold up¡ª doth my ears deceive me? Did you say you want to PURGE the area?"

    "You could say that. I''ve got some stake in elevating one of my friends to the public eye, a healer. As such, I was wondering if the media was keen to see a Void Sorceress single-handedly clear a valley of green-skins in defence of a fellow sister dual-wielding sapient Spirits¡­"

 Chapter 329 - The Perils of Infamy

    Dominic Lorenzo went by several names, some of which were public, and most of which were selectively known to friends in unusual places.

    To the Mageocracy, Dominic was a murky ghost, one of the hundreds that made up London''s grapevines. Together, he and his ilk sent bite-sized observations up the trellis so that problems could be propagated or pruned.

    To Dominic''s unknowing co-workers, he was a dapper, good-natured journo who was serious about his work but would never get promoted because of a meddlesome, naive sense of justice.

    To Alesia De Botton, he was a compatriot, co-tethered by a debt owed to the late Master of Sydney.

    Presently, Dominic engaged in a masochistic ritual known as, "reading the Sun Herald". Within London''s battlefield of public opinion, he worked for the Guardian, winner of the BBC''s Mithril Shield, comparatively, the paper in his hand was the editorial equivalent of coal dust.

    Nonetheless, knowing one''s foes was an essential part of Dominic''s job.

    He turned the page.

    A headline in large, red writing seared his retina.

    Norfolk''s Secret: How a Customs Agent Uncovered Ravenport''s Hidden Daughter.

    THE DUKE OF NORFOLK, one of the most powerful men in London, was seen rushing back to his manor when a customs agent uncovered the Duke''s ploy to mule illicit goods through a young Australian-Chinese sorceress by the name of Gwen Song.

    In a Fireball revelation, Miss Song was revealed to be the youngest Apprentice of Henry Kilroy, the now-deceased Master of Sydney, a long-time associate of Mycroft Ravenport. A further inquiry carried out by the Herald Sun revealed Miss Song was the same Void sorceress who wowed audiences in September''s International Inter-University Competition. According to internal memos, Miss Song was on route to receive a scholarship from Cambridge University when Heathrow intercepted the sorceress, revealing a cache of illicit goods. However, Lord Ravenport''s court ally, Lord Seville, intervened to remove Miss Song from Border Force''s custody. The young sorceress was then photographed entering Lord Ravenport''s private vehicle, an exclusive Phantom IV gifted to the Duke by the Royal Family. Miss Song has not been seen in public since.

    Lord Mycroft has been embroiled in scandals prior, such as the rumoured involvement of his son in the Fall of Sydney. Exclusive to the Sun, sources have acknowledged that the Void sorceress may be a secret daughter, engendered by an unintended tryst...

    Dominic suppressed a smirk.

    Secret daughter, sure.

    The picture they had of Gwen was of her getting into the Duke''s car, her lower body in crystal-sharp focus, while everything else faded into the backdrop. In a stark and titillating vision, one saw a single, contoured leg hanging outside the bible-black, beetle-shell carriage. As it was winter, the implications were self-evident.

    But just in case the Sun''s readers were too obtuse, the paper teased the imagination by pairing the article with a page three girl¡ª a hopelessly underdressed Eurasian sorceress with dark hair and green eyes, eye-fucking the camera.

    In a ham-fisted way, the unspoken inference fully demonstrated the near-supernatural magnetism a million tabloids a week held over the lives of the Lords and Ladies of London. For the apathetic public, there was nothing more satisfying than scandals that exhibited the snobbish gentry''s basest desires.

    In response, Norfolk''s office had -issued two denials over the claims saying that "any blood relations between the sorceress and Lord Ravenport" was "categorically -untrue". A second line included the usual response from Windsor castle, "We deny that the Duke of Norfolk had any form of relationship with the young woman. The allegations are false and without -foundation."

    Dominic quickly checked through the rest of the paper to ensure that nothing else would catch Gwen by surprise.

    It was on page seven that Dominic spotted the second mention of Gwen. This time in an article written by an actual journalist, detailing the replacement of George Reeves, Director of Operations at Heathrow. The article cited that not only had Director Reeves not questioned the illicit conduct of staff under his watch, but had stubbornly refused to cross the ''blue-line'', being an ex-Major and all that. This time, however, the victim to be "shaken down" happened to be Gwen Song, Class VI War Mage of IIUC fame, and sister-in-craft to Lord Shultz, Tower Master of Sydney. The incident, the Sun reported, has caused significant grief within the foreign office.

    Reeve''s replacement, Deputy Director Rachel Swann, then offered a platitude: "We expect our leaders to conduct themselves professionally at all times and treat our nation''s best and brightest with respect. Director Reeves has failed to meet these expectations and has been dismissed after a misconduct panel, presided by factional representatives from London Tower, the Public Safety Committee, and the Border Force Military Tribunary. Lord Ravenport, the speaker for the committee, instrumental in negotiating Miss Song''s lawful release, has stated, ''The public has a right to expect absolute integrity.''"

    "You''ve got to be shitting me." Dominic felt a vein throb. Gwen was in London for ten minutes, and she had already made it onto the most notorious paper in the city¡ª twice. If the edition sold well, and House Ravenport suffering from a rash of ill repute almost certainly will¡ª Gwen could kiss her privacy goodbye.

    Ding! Ding!

    Dominic''s device chimed.

    The caller ID indicated that it was Ravenport''s leggy daughter.

    Speak of the hellcat, Dominic whistled. He dispelled the visage of the bare bosomed beauty on page three; once his mind was purged of impure thoughts, he tapped the Glyph for receive.

    "Thank you, Mister Whitely," Ollie Edwards, Post Graduate Conjurer-Illusionist, thanked the miner who had been kind enough to give him a ride to Merthyr Tydfil. With great politeness, he laid down an HDM on to the seat. "Please take this."

    Ollie had left London at five AM. After delivering a note to the Head Mistress of Peterhouse, he caught the ISTC to Oxford, a bus down to Gloucester, then waited for a cargo lorry to take him to Merthyr Tydfil. As much as a Flight Licence was useful, Ollie could not justify spending a year''s worth of CCs on convenience.

    An hour into the bumpy ride, when his buttocks complained of the spring digging into his thighs, he wondered if it was faster to teleport to London, then pay for a General Area Teleport above the resource outpost.

    But, as always, Ollie considered the request from Lady Loftus a test.

    With the Matron of Peterhouse, quests were rarely straightforward, and Ollie suspected that looking after Gwen Song was demonstrative of the Lady''s faith in her Praelector.

    When they arrived at Merthyr Tydfil, the town was as he had imagined. It was dirty, dingy, and looking like a mining town straight out of an ''80s vid-cast before Maggie Thatcher put an end to all that.

    "Keep the crystal," the squat NoM shooed the Magus away, tossing him back the credit-stick. "Careful, Magus. Them Dwarves are devious buggers, and them Trolls will make soup from your bones!"

    "I shall. Thank you again!"

    "Good luck finding your girl." The old feller winked.

    "Right." Ollie then turned his attention toward the inn. Here was where the local militia had set up their headquarters. With a deep breath, he pushed through the oak double doors.

    "Hello! My name is Ollie Edwards. I am Miss Song''s Praelector from Cambridge¡ª"

    Ollie paused.

    The place was empty.

    There was plenty of evidence that the inn had been lived in, there was no doubt about that; the place was a damned Goblin warren, but there wasn''t a single soul to answer his enquiry.

    "Mister Publican?"

    His answer bounced back from the vaulted, Tudor-era ceiling. Feeling his fingers grow clammy, Ollie exited the inn. Outside, the town went about its business.

    "Good sir!" He flagged down a sauntering prospector. "What''s the news? Where are Magister Hanford and his men? Also, have you seen a tall, Eurasian sorceress with green eyes? She has hair up to about here¡ª and she''s quite¡ª pretty."

    "Aye, you missed them an hour ago." The prospector''s teeth had more yellow than white. "They''ve gone down to the gulch. A group of journos teleported in just after morning tea¡ª said that the Devourer of Shenyang is going to clear the Red Gulch for Miss Elvia. Most of the folk are gone to take a gander."

    Ollie''s overlarge ears grew red. "You''re joking. Who''s Elvia?"

    "No joke. The lass will take on the Trollies by herself. They said¡ª oh, Miss Elvia''s our healer. But..." The man shook his head. "Bollocks, I say. Even if she''s Ravenport''s daughter..."

    The man patted his newspaper.

    "She''s WHAT now¡­" Ollie''s eyes rifted to a familiar face on the front page. "Sorry, could I see that?"

    "Sure." The man handed the paper over. "Help yourself. Mind page three, it''s a little damp."

    Frantically, Ollie read the front page, turning the slightly moist paper until he reached the prized double-spread. His heart froze for a moment when a modest Eurasian face stared back at him, wearing tiny garments, but relaxed when it wasn''t Gwen. When his eyes rolled over the article, however, his breath grew difficult.

    "S-secret daughter?!" Ollie''s molars ached.

    His mind raced. Daughter or no daughter, scandal or otherwise, he had to find the girl as soon as possible. What had the miner said? Red Gulch?

    But where in Dwarf Land was "Red Gulch"? Was it where the miners went to smuggle the seasonal ore?

    "How can I get there?"

    "In there." The prospector pointed to one of those "ye old'' shoppes".

    Giving his thanks, Ollie pushed into the general store. Inside, a man dozed against the counter, awaking when the door-bell trilled. "Good sir! I am a Magus from Cambridge. I need to get to Red Gulch as soon as possible."

    It took the fellow a few seconds to fire up his synapses.

    "You and half the village," the shopkeeper snorted. "Don''t worry, lad. I''ve got all the maps you can buy, all certified lodes with Troll Warrens marked and ready for prospecting."

    "Which one''s for Red Gulch?"

    "This one." The man''s swimming eyes reminded Ollie of a pair of poached eggs. "Now, that''ll be five quid, young prospector! Best of luck!"

    The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    Ollie handed over 5 LDMs.

    The shopkeeper produced a map from under the counter. "Here you go. RG-23, updated last week."

    "What about those?" Ollie pointed to the hand-thick stack of maps.

    "Oh dear!" the shopkeeper chuckled, one gold tooth glimmering sickly in the lumen-light. "Must have misplaced the Purge maps."

    Hanmoul Bronzeborn didn''t mind the surface.

    The lidless world, with its green vegetables and elongated humanoids, was so much more interesting than the Deep Kingdom''s endless crusade against the monsters of the Murk.

    But for all its grandeur, the above-ground world possessed foes the Dwarves were ill-equipped to fight. That was why, when after the last Gob died, jade-flesh writhing under the Rockcrushers'' grinders, the dazed Dwarves could hardly believe their eyes. It was as though a Dragon had come through the peak, swept through the green-skin horde, then left without demanding tribute.

    And that was what worried Bronzeborn more than the horse-dogs that had eaten the Hobs head-first. Among the Iron Born, all acts of valour garnered recognition, translating directly to material rewards. The killing of a Hag, in particular, warranted a mention in the Ancestor Hall''s record tablets. It was a rare honour, for scant were Hags that ventured out from the warrens, and rarer was the Dwarf who survived one.

    With a heavy heart, Hanmoul saw the battlefield looted and cleared, then ordered his patrol to head for home.

    At the council chambers, Hanmoul Bronzeborn made his report to a stunned Iron Command, then steered his shattered engine toward the workshop to be stripped and re-fitted. From the sound of the coolant leak in his cabin, the instrument panel''s conduits must be a melted-mess, and the umbilical tether was shot. As for the actuator and the heat exchangers¡ª Bronzeborn could only hope it held on for a few more meters.

    "Deep Ancestors!" His foreman and mentor, the honourable Signerlig Bronzeborn, almost dropped his auto-wrench when Bronzeborn''s Rock Smasher lumbered came into view. "Wot happened? Did a Black Dragon take a liking to yer Smasha?"

    PSSSHT¡ª Clang!

    Hanmoul dropped the hatch. The pane caught halfway down on a broken sprocket.

    "I am lucky to be alive, Siggy. Thank the Deep." The Commandrumm of the Hammer Guard kicked the joint until the metal gave way. "Yer would nae believe what we ran inter¡­"

    After the tall tale was delivered, Signerlig poured the son of Dwomrul a stiff pint of rum brewed from the arse-end of Golden Sugar Ants.

    "Go take a rest, Hanmoul." The Senior Engineer shook himself out. "Yer gonna get trouble when that lass comes calling, son. A Debt of Haj-Z¨¹l isn''t so easily repaid."

    "I know, Siggy," Hanmoul growled. "Gwen Song, that''s her name. I''ll take a strider inter Merthyr Tydfil tomorrow and speak with the Human Magister there, find out ter which Faction the lass belongs."

    "Pray its the Greys." Signerlig walked a circle around the Rocksmasher. "Yer don wanna be trafficking with the War Mages. They''d just ask for another schematic, yer ken? Or more Runeswords."

    The Commandrumm nodded solemnly. "See yer in a few hours, Siggy, take care of me girl."

    "Don''t yer worry yer hairy arse, I''ll ave ''er fixed reit up."

    Hanmoul made a detour on his way to the habitat to make sure there was at least one "Strider Beast" left in the garage. In the glowlight, the silhouette of the vehicle resembled a stumpy pill-bug, resembling the Black Scarabs so commonly found in the Dim.

    With a tug, Hanmoul removed the oiled cloth.

    He had to admit; the Strider was a beautiful thing. When dormant, the quasi-Golems appeared as though a geometrically shaped boulder. When active, however, the machine possessed a rare grace.

    Hanmoul sighed. It was a shame then that the Deepdowners had proclaimed such machines Vadam, "Forbidden". According to the Deepdowners, the surface world held many allures to waylay young Dwarves, and no Engineer, not even a Hammer Guard, was immune to the corrupting seduction of the lidless world.

    Naturally, Hanmoul took the warning to mean that the pale-skinned old codgers were neck-deep in mole-droppings. Ever since the Sundering Tide shattered the Underway, the surface had been the only reliable way of communication for the Deep Kingdoms. That was the sole reason, Hanmoul concluded, that the Dimland Dwarves now received recognition at all. To denigrate their cousins bestriding the surface, while also pushing them to interact with the knife-ears and the Humans, was hypocrisy.

    Hanmoul lovingly patted the shell of the Strider.

    For some reason, his mind lingered on the malignant form of the white-fingered bird wielded by the girl-sorceress.

    What a magnificent creature!

    Hanmoul felt an unexpected tingle.

    What manner of a creature could it be?

    The Dim was free of avians.

    How was it possible that a flying monstrosity could concurrently exert such mechanical pressure with its digits? Was it a type of Dragon? The Dwarves knew Dragons better than anyone, but Hanmoul had never seen a beast like that. If possible, he would trade a vault''s worth of gold to receive a pair of the bird''s tendons as test-material.

    "By the Deep Ancestors." Hanmoul tapped the Strider''s segmented canopy. "I''ll ask the lass tomorrow."

    CLUNK!

    The final crate of HDMs fell into place.

    "And this, Gentlemen, is the Mandala for calling on Golos, Princeling of Huangshan." Gwen ran her hand over the three-thousand HDMs she had conjured into place. A safe distance around the Mandala, spread out in a semi-circle, were her observers. Presently, the crowd included Magister Hanford and his team of Tower Mages; Mathias and Elvia, who stood the closest; and gawkers from the town, who came to see if the sorceress really could obliterate the warrens.

    Already, the paparazzi were in a frenzy, their lumen-bulbs firing every few seconds. Gwen wasn''t sure what Lorenzo said convinced the press to attend, but they did, en masse.

    "Evee," Gwen extended a hand to her healer. "Hold my hand. Step into the circle to gain its protection. Gogo can get a little excited, and you''re looking a treat."

    Having seen the Wyvern on the broadcast, Elvia complied. Besides the Cleric, Mathias stood like an attentive clerk, ready to help.

    Gwen then began the complex process of invoking the necessary mystic energies for materialising Golos. She had earlier requested a second audience with Lady Loftus, assuring the Lady that Golos would return after forty-eight hours. The Lady''s advice was to leave Gwen to her devices, redressing her new-found freedom with the simple truth that censures resulted from failure.

    "Meritocracy" was the watchword of the Mageocracy, the Lady sagely reminded Gwen, assuming peers of comparable standing.

    For her show and tell, constructing her Mandala without aid for the first time had been harrowing, especially with a peanut gallery. Thankfully, she had repeated the procedure enough times with Petra and Walken to re-create the summoning circle.

    Mid-invocation, the Glyphs sizzled as the Mandala''s circuits flared into life. A little prematurely, a blinding bolt of lightning shot from the Mandala in reverse, stabbing into the landscape as though a sabre of light, birthing Golos into the world.

    The crowd clapped and wowed.

    Lumen-bulbs erupted.

    It wasn''t every day that low-tier Mages bore witness to a Planar Ally and a Draconic-one at that.

    Golos, his sleek body well-defined with sinews, spread his wings and uncoiled his neck. The Wyvern appeared larger than Gwen recalled, indicating that it lived a good life smooching off Ruxin''s good fortune.

    "SUCH ABUNDANT MANA!" the Wyvern barked, both nostrils flaring. On its crested skull, colourful feathers scintillated with a metallic sheen. "Calamity, what is this place?"

    "England," Gwen answered from below. "Gogo, meet my friend Evee."

    Golos'' prideful visage surveyed the press corps, the prospectors, the low English horizon, then turned his attention downward. "You smell different."

    Gwen allowed her Essence to circulate. "How so?"

    The Wyvern lowered his head. "You feel¡­ older¡ª"

    "¡ª And no longer like your brother?"

    Golos turned his head this way and that. The Wyvern drooled. "You smell delicious."

    "Hello¡­" Elvia''s voice piped up besides Golos.

    "Kiki!"

    "Sen!"

    "No need to worry your pretty head, Gogo." Striking a pose, Gwen felt relieved that Golos'' reaction was puzzlement and not hostility. Part of it may be their Planar Ally contract, but there was also wariness, history and respect. "Essence or no, Ruxin and I are business partners. Our interests run parallel."

    The Wyvern sniffed her again. With a tongue as thick as her thigh, he gave her cheek a quick-tongued tap. "Calamity. I can''t sense Father on you at all. Did you eat him?"

    "There are older beings in this world than Daddy dear." Gwen pooled a bit of Almudj''s Essence in her palm. "Care to take a hit?"

    "Hello." Elvia raised a hand again. "Lord Golos. I am Elvia Lindholm. Here is Kiki, and this is Sen-sen."

    Golos sniffed Gwen''s hand, but to her surprise, the Wyvern turned away.

    "Tempting, but no. The Essence from another shall not pollute my father''s blood. Besides, we are not mates, and if we were, I should be the one to enter¡ª"

    "WHOA!" Gwen covered Elvia''s ears. "Keep it to yourself, big guy. God knows who speaks Draconic here."

    Finally, Golos took notice of the girl in Gwen''s arms.

    "I thought there was something familiar here." The Wyvern shifted its massive bulk, bringing its clubbed tail to bear. "I know you."

    "Evee," Gwen translated. "He says he knows you. Gogo, how come you know Evee?"

    Elvia froze. Despite Gwen''s assurances, Gogo was one big Thunder Wyvern.

    A few meters away, Mathias drew his Spellblade.

    "You''re the one Ayxin took for the Calamity." Golos chuckled.

    "Sen-sen!" The Ginseng on Elvia''s shoulders stood, waving its tendrils, it bowed. "Sen!"

    "Hoho, a new Master," Golos rumbled, its reptilian slits finally focusing on Elvia. "This tiny mortal, mind giving her to me as an offering?"

    "Gogo, don''t even joke about that." Gwen slapped the Wyvern on the snout. "Say hi to Evee, she''s important."

    "She''s skinny and unsavoury," Golos grunted. "Why, I could flatten her with one blow, swallow her with half a bite. If she were fatter..."

    "I could have Caliban burst out of your gut."

    "Insolence!" Golos barked, but it was their usual ego-joust. A moment later, the wyrm sniffed her partner, who stood as stoic as a statue while his muzzle prodded her bosom. "I see. You have claimed this female?"

    Gwen paused, then began to smile. "That''s right, Golos. Protect her well, and you''ll be rewarded."

    "Another one?" Golos rocked his giant head. "What happened to the Sword Mage? I like that one better. More bloodlust."

    "Lulu''s special," Gwen said sweetly. "Why? Did something happen?"

    "Ryxi says she''s arrived at Huangshan." Golos casually dropped a bomb on Gwen''s lap. "He has taken a liking to your female."

    "Oh?" Gwen raised both brows. "Ryxi isn''t thinking of¡ª you know? Is he? If so, give him a stern warning."

    "HA!" Golos snorted. "That pallid, cock-less slug? He couldn''t breed with a carp on a chopping board."

    "Thank you, Golos, for that fine imagery," Gwen returned drily. "Well, give Lulu my love. I hope she does well in learning the old arts. Flying around on a sword! What will they think of next?"

    "Enough talk, I grow bored and hungry." Golos reared to its full height. "What are we killing, THOSE?"

    A lumen-blast went off just as Golos craned his neck toward the press gallery.

    Surprised by the light, the Wyvern menaced the reporters, sending the townsfolk scattering. Magister Hanford and the other Mages from the Tower erected their shields just in case. Mathias, meanwhile, popped a Radiant barrier, first around Elvia, then himself.

    Good, Gwen nodded. Good dog. "Friend, not food, Gogo. Today, we''re going after Hags, Trolls and Hobs. You''re going to be in the thick of it. I want you to eat as many as you can, really fill up that poop rope of yours. It''ll be a bounty for us both, buddy."

    "A battle! This pleases me." The Wyvern stretched its wings. "I shall be where the air is thickest."

    "Go scout, and watch out for other Dragons," Gwen warned. "There''s bound to be a few in England! If one challenges you, come right back."

    Grunting, Golos took to the blue.

    A few scattered claps escaped the observing crowd.

    Gwen stood with both hands on her hips. "Sorry Evee, he''s not fully trained yet."

    "That''s okay." Elvia was sweating enough for the two of them, considering the linen snow that stretched from gulch to hill and that the Shen-te¨©''s regulated temperature, it was an impressive feat.

    Gwen waited for the right moment, then returned her attention to the press gallery. Weathering a dozen blasts, she addressed the reporters.

    "And that''s Golos, perfectly competent and diplomatic to boot," she assured them. "Now, once Gogo checks the gulch. It will be time to make time for my friend Elvia Lindholm."

    After five kilometres of Dimension Door paired with Wind Walk, Ollie Edwards had to stop.

    Firstly, he was exhausted with spell-fatigue.

    Secondly, a Dwarf was asking him for directions.

    "Young Human..."

    The Dwarf''s armour bore the iconography of the Hammer Guard. From his relaxed demeanour, Ollie Edwards could guess that this was one of the Dim Dwarves, accustomed to living in-between "worlds". Presently, his conversation partner sat two meters in the air, held aloft by a many-limbed mechanical vehicle with dozens of skittering, sword-like legs.

    "...Am looking fer a sorceress from yer town. A ladette¡ª tall like a knife-ear, dark hair, bald-faced, blue plating, goes by the callsign ''Voracious Eater''. Could yer point a Dwarf in the right direction?"

    A Voracious Eater? It took Ollie a moment to catch on that the Dwarf must be running a sub-par Translation Stone. The descriptions weren''t exact, but Ollie figured that the Hammer Guard was looking for a beardless "Devourer".

    "Are you after Gwen, by any chance?"

    "Yer noe the lass?" The Dwarf appeared relieved. "Perfect. I got solemn business with her."

    "Troublesome business?"

    "Aye, right troublesome."

    "Oh¡­" Ollie''s blood ran cold. Was he too late?

    "Aye." The Dwarf sighed. "So, yer headed for the sorceress?"

    "I am." Ollie nodded. "Are you¡ª"

    BEEP! BEEP!¡ªBEEP!

    A series of whirls and beeps interrupted Ollie''s reply.

    A billowing gust, punctuated by the great bell-beat of leathery wings, smothered the pair with powdery snow.

    "WOT IN THE DEEP KING''S NAME IS THAT?" The Dwarf pointed at a passing silhouette. "A Thunder Dragon?"

    Ollie shielded his eyes.

    An inconceivably large Wyvern sailed through the sky, casting a magnified shadow over the ivory hills leading down to the Red Gulch. As it passed, the whipping wind in its wake sent up a storm of spiralling sleet. For some reason, Ollie was reminded of the snobs from Trinity who liked to show off in their expensive automobiles.

    GOLOS! The name came to Ollie at once. What had Gwen done now? Why was an upper-tier monstrosity hooning about within three hours flight of London?

    Ollie''s blood turned to ice. Did his junior ask for permission? What if the Wyvern ate someone? What if it ate an NoM¡ª OR¡ª Ollie looked at the Dwarf. What if it ate a Dwarf?

    Please, God, O Mighty and the Merciful, Ollie Edwards begged the ancient Nazarene. Let him make it to Gwen Song before something terrible happened.

 Chapter 330 - Three Ring Circus

    "It''s a Wyvern," Ollie explained. "It belongs to Gwen."

    "So, trouble on wings." The Dwarf appeared to check his instruments. "That''s one clunking big signature."

    "Spawn of a Mythic," the Mage replied drily. "Or so I''ve heard."

    The two stood in silence, each caught in a world of their own, pondering the reality that there existed a young woman who threw Thunder Wyverns at her problems.

    "Yer looks like you could use a ride, laddie." The Dwarf brushed the melting snow off his goggles and his beard. With a CLANK, a section of the tessellated plating slid apart, revealing what Ollie could only describe as a passenger seat tall enough for a child, but wide enough for two men. "I''ll save yer some mana. Let''s see wot yer wee sorceress is up ter."

    Feeling fatalistic, Ollie helped himself into the lowered seat.

    His only hope was that whatever Gwen was doing, it wouldn''t gouge a pound of flesh from Peterhouse. His position as Praelector guaranteed a particular tuition discount, and he had plenty of Elven Glyph-sorcery left to transcribe.

    "Thank you." Ollie hugged his knees as the canopy closed, sealing the two as though a twin-yoked egg. "Ollie Edwards, Magus, Peterhouse. I don''t have a Tower position yet."

    "Hanmoul Bronzeborn, Hammer Guard, Commandrumm." The Dwarf inclined his chin then licked his lips. "Strap in, lad. Gotta mek sure the lass dornt dae us any more un-negotiated favours. Dae ya mind if we gone a wee-bit fast?"

    "Faster," Ollie agreed. "Fastest would be better."

    The Devouring of Red Gulch began with a bang.

    In places where the fabric of the Material Plane and the Elemental Plane of Earth rubbed thin, Elementals like Redcap Snots and Goblins spawned en masse, becoming as common as crystals. When periods of peace breaks out, these dumb and servile fodder-creatures fed the Trolls and the other, older monsters of the under-hill who have long since marked the land as their own.

    Comparatively, above the warren, where the snow fell, there was no feature which made the Gulch discernible from the air. Were it not for the miners tearing apart the countryside looking for the raw, iron-bound crystals emerging from the valley, the hollow in the linen landscape would have been impossible to locate.

    To navigate the interior of the warrens, Gwen volunteered a hapless, knock-kneed prospector to guide her Invisible Familiar deep into the hollows. Down and down her Kirin went, past the narrow passageways, the byways, the dagger-like stalactites, the milling Gobs and hibernating Trolls, plumbing the deep-dark.

    Upon reaching the warren''s heart, the girl was delighted to find that the central cathedral served as the artery connecting the den with a more significant system of caves leading back to the peak. Striking while the iron was hot, her eyes came alive with rainbow hues.

    "Barbanginy!"

    The snow jumped, then seconds later, tendrils of dust billowed from the exits.

    Cool as a cucumber, the sorceress resummoned her Kirin before prescribing a dozen more Thundering Shatters, shaking the landscape and collapsing the alternate entries. A minute later, of the twelve entrances, only one remained, the largest and the straightest, perfect for line-based Lightning.

    Then began the second act.

    With relish, the Void Sorceress called on her twin-Spirited companion from Nightingales. She took pains to point out the girl''s Alarune, then introduced the press to "Elvia''s" exclusive Draconic Ginseng Spirit "Sen-sen", certified by Golos, the Princeling of Huangshan.

    Then, at the epicentre of all attention, the Void sorceress stood with her legs slightly apart, conjuring a great, big swarm of vertigo-inducing lampreys. The observers reeled back, some immediately set to hurling as dizziness swallowed the crowd like a Stinking Cloud. Not far from a nauseated Dominic, a bubbling, boiling, writhing mass spilt from the sorceress''s half-formed shield, appearing as though ink oozing from a dark egg.

    "Cali! Swarmlings to the walls! Gogo, prioritise eating high-value targets. Ariel, you''re on overwatch! Buck! Take care of the Hobs and Trolls when they emerge. Astro, take your boys and hunt down stragglers. Evee, Sen-sen, MORE JUICE!"

    "Yes, Gwennie!"

    "Kiki!"

    "Sen!"

    "Shaa shaa!"

    "Ee! Ee!"

    "Woof! Aroo!"

    "These Trolls better taste good..." the Wyvern looked hungry.

    The Kirin was resplendent. The Wyvern majestic.

    The Void Creature took on the guise of a grotesque albatross with human fingers, while the dogs split between sleek lightning and slick obsidian.

    As for herself, in her white-blue cloth-armour, the girl was a general with a self-summoned army. As a student of the arcane histories and a wordsmith, Dominic Lorenzo recalled an old limerick about a Conjurer who went from town to town, first bringing plagues of vermin, then solving said plague:

    Into the street, the Enchanter stepped,

    While down below the rats had slept

    To trill the pipe his lips did wrinkle,

    And green and amber his eyes did twinkle,

    Three thrilling notes the Piper then uttered,

    And from the depth a hundred Dwarves muttered;

    First, the muttering turned to a grumbling;

    Then out from below, the rats came tumbling.

    Gob rats, fat rats, grand old codgers,

    Elf rats, orc rats, slim young dodgers

    Dad rats, Mum rats, gay young friskers,

    Bouncing pups with pricking whiskers,

    From alley to alley the Enchanter did blow

    And mischief to mischief the swarm did flow!

    Or so the children''s tune went. The difference between Gwen and the Piper in the famous fable, Dominic supposed, was that the Piper didn''t also possess a Kirin, a Void Beast, and a Wyvern. Gwen''s dogs, as well, were extraordinary. The Lightning Hounds had a sleek, reptilian look about them, but were at least dog-like enough to pass off as multi-hued greyhounds. Conversely, the Void dogs were living horrors, possessing more mouth than their torso. The worst was their faceless mien, which split when they panted, revealing rows of glimmering white teeth on purple gums.

    Just what was the girl''s VMI? Dominic had lost count. Even a Magus had to take a breather after so many manifestations.

    "Hey, Dom." One of the lumen-recorder wielding reporters gave him the upward nod. "Thanks for the scoop, I owe you one."

    The carnage hadn''t even started, and his colleagues were already scribbling away at the weekend edition''s future front page. At first, they had been amazed that Dominic knew where "Mycroft''s secret daughter" had recused herself. Now, they cared only for the mass-scale Void demonstration. It was terrific that, unlike any other Void Mage under the Tower''s roster, Gwen openly displayed her craft without reserve, performing her feats with wholehearted enthusiasm, a far cry from the secretive colleges.

    "Gogo, ready?"

    Besides the girl, her Wyvern snorted.

    "Alright, here it goes¡ª Cloud Kill!"

    At the remaining entrance to the cavern, a green, noxious cloud began to develop. Dominic recognised the variant as catalysed by Halite, more commonly known as earth salt, a substance found all over the peak. When mixed into the infamous AoE, the result was an acid cloud that burned the eyes and attacked the respiratory systems of living creatures. Against Rock Trolls, who possessed enormous regeneration and external resistance, there was no better strategy.

    In a second, the noxious miasma flooded the cavern''s entrance¡ª pushed forward by an unseen current.

    "Gogo! Do it!" the girl commanded her Ally.

    A whirlwind of air began to flow around the Wyvern, visualised by the swirl of snow now dancing around the creature''s head. Dominic raised both brows, at first unsure of what he saw, then realising that the Wyvern was the scion of a Winged Dragon commanding the weather system over China''s southern rice bowl.

    Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    Steadily, as a stream, the acid cloud flowed into the cavern''s hidden passageways. Quickly, Dominic asked a fellow reporter for a map of the Warrens. Tracing the entrance and its tunnels with his fingers, he soon perceived the full extent of Gwen''s ploy.

    "Outrageous!" Dominic audibly mouthed. "She''s planning to smoke them out?"

    The reporter double-checked the crude print. Topographically, the Red Gulch consisted of a narrow valley with granite cliffs on either side, wind-worn by time, forming a passageway as twisted as a tedious argument. The map itself was born from Prospectors daring death and danger, selling what knowledge they uncovered as consolation for their failures. From the looks of the annotation, the Troll''s warrens extended about a hundred meters deep, branching into lairs and vaulted cathedrals. Assuming Gwen could put enough volume into her Cloud Kill, she could blanket the first few hundred meters, more than enough to flush out the Trolls, Hobs and Gobs resting in the dark.

    The gathered crowd waited with bated breath, wary of the noxious gases now seeping from the crushed passageways. Then without warning, from the depth, came a crash of indistinct scrambling. Over what seemed like an eternity, the scrambling grew to a grumbling, then to a shuddering rumble. Standing amidst the ice and snow, the Void sorceress began to shake and shiver, her face turning pink with undisguised passion. Having seen her work in Cuzco, Dominic could only assume that her lampreys were at work.

    Lumen-recorders flashed; a few emphasising the sorceress, others waiting to see if the girl''s ambush would bear fruit. With her striking face and shapely silhouette, the girl''s optics reminded Dominic of Alesia.

    Their answer arrived a few breaths later.

    "GARRRARK!" a bestial wail rocked the gulch. From the cave''s depthless maw, a long-limbed Troll, a dozen lampreys hanging off its legs and torso, stumbled into the open, peeved as a pissed badger.

    "Chakram!" Dominic noted the girl was neither quick nor particularly apt in her use of Void-based Evocation.

    "GARK¡ª" Nonetheless, the dark disc struck true, taking the creature''s lower limbs. With a choked cry, it fell into the pool of squirming, all-consuming grease.

    The crowd sucked in cold breaths of frigid air. A few of the reporters sent their hovering lumen-recorder forward, risking their precious instruments for the best action shot.

    Next, the throat of the cave regurgitated a troop of Redcap Hobs, armoured in bits of scavenged Dwarven gear, smashing at the silken eels crawling between their armour. Behind them, a dozen lumbering outlines could be seen, guarding what could only be the quintessential member of the Troll''s matriarchal hierarchy.

    By the dozen, the sorcerer''s prey lined up, fleeing from the acid cloud, wedged by the encroaching swarm.

    "ROAARRR!" Golos introduced the indigenous residents of South Wales to the fury of Huangshan.

    "Lightning Bolt!" Gwen and her re-conjured Kirin joined her Wyvern, sending a threesome of sizzling beams into the cave, banishing all shadow as the air turned to plasma. The Hobs melted at once, disappearing like dew in the afternoon sun. The Trolls faired better, their Earthen Cores resisting the livid lightning as the hysterical electricity grounded itself, likely re-directed by the Hag.

    "Dol-ilrag ushhuth thuritcarg!" Came a guttural, scarcely female cry from the dark. "Isharuku shrakloomar!"

    "Guardian of Faith!" From behind the fulminating sorceress in blue, a golden nimbus rang out from Nightingale''s Cleric. A vibrant manifestation of Faith grew to encompass the duo, forming a bell-shaped halo.

    The barrier materialised in time to intercept a rain of dark blood stinking of spoiled meat. The Void sorceress reeled, her mind invaded by the Curse, though thankfully, the Faith-charged Guardian was enough to de-curse the malignant energies of the hidden Hag.

    "ROAARRR!"

    "GARRARK!"

    "Duvenguth guallen!"

    Out came the Troll guards, each one larger than the next, their skin crawling with electrical burns.

    But the battle''s momentum had only ever belonged to the Void sorceress. All around the cavern''s entrance, a dark tide swept up the emerging Trolls, splashing against their stone-caked bodies. Lampreys as thick as Gwen''s thighs, engorged from the abundant vitality borrowed from their mistress, sought entry into the Troll''s bodies.

    Undeterred, the Trolls came on, heedless of the creatures devouring their flesh, hell-bent on breaking the invader of their home in half.

    "SHAA!" Caliban seethed at the incoming combatants, opening its wings to intimidate and intercept.

    As one, the Hound Pack made their move.

    Dominic and the men felt such a thrill as they had only seen in times of total war. As Gwen''s creatures closed in, bylines and headlines filling all the tabloids from Liverpool to Brighton blossomed.

    Ten minutes from the heart of the action, shielded by a cresting hill, Ollie and Hanmoul disembarked from the Strider. They had decided to move toward the gathered crowd of cheering, shouting, complaining Mages on foot, because one was a wise man and the other was a wise Dwarf, and over yonder was a rather special sorceress.

    When the duo crested the saddle, they came face to face with the unbelievable sight of a one-woman mass melee.

    Three rings of mortal combat spilled from the entrance to the Red Gulch and its infamous warrens. The outermost ring consisted of stickybeaks, protected by what looked like uniformed Tower Mages keeping the public safe from the ensuing spectacle in the second ring. Now and then, they pushed the wayward Troll back into the fray.

    The second ring consisted only of ranged combatants¡ª that of Gwen, protected by a semi-dome shield of midnight-black, flinging Volt Bolts and Lighting Bots like a vengeful goddess, her hair flying this way and that as she commanded the battle below. Not far, a hovering Cleric in plated white, ringed with a golden halo, dispelled each Curse thrown at her companion sorceress, concurrently supplying a viridescent stream of vitality. Behind the eye-catching duo, knee-deep in the dirty, trodden snow, a Knight of St Michael threw up shields and buffs, aiding the two girls as best as he could.

    And finally, where the action was thickest, a Wyvern, clad in blue-white lightning, duked it out with an enormous Brutaliser easily the size of a house, beating the creature senseless with its tail while keeping it off-balance with the immense reach of its neck.

    Here and there, a scattered troop of armoured Trolls, each carrying clubs, battled a swarm of oily serpents while simultaneously assaulted by a dozen dogs, some Void, and some Lightning, nipping, tearing, and harassing their limbs.

    "Deep Ancestor''s Cog!" Hanmoul felt his mouth turn dry. "She''s Purging a Troll Home? All by her lonesome self? Does the lass have magma fer blood?"

    "N-not exactly alone." To Ollie, semantics were important. "There''s a Knight of St Michael. Maybe he''s in command? Maybe they''re doing this to defend the prospecting folk? I am sure there''s a perfectly plausible rationale for Gwen to go this far."

    "Shaa!" A commotion engendered near the main entrance of the warrens.

    A great big bird emerged, its body half wrecked and covered in rot and filth, exposing pulsing organs, missing one wing. With its "head" still fizzling with acidic burns, the bird''s faceless neck-stump opened up to reveal a tooth-lined maw, then coughed forth a half-eaten Hag.

    To no one''s surprise, the Hag instantly usurped its Brutaliser''s stowed vitality, turning upright on its decimated body so that it could scramble away on one leg and half an arm. Where it ventured, rot and decay followed, displacing even the lampreys. Amidst shouts from the crowd, it rolled itself into the mass melee, making halfway before the Wyvern, batting aside the Brutaliser, bashed the Hag with one sweep of its mace-tail, sending it face-first into the earth.

    "GAAROORL!" The Brutaliser''s scarred skin darkened as it frenzied, as conditioned by its flesh-warped existence. In the guise of a certain lumbering green giant with anger-management issues, the creature charged.

    "SHAA!" Blocking its path was Gwen''s regenerated bird-beast, perched on its elegant finger-claws, equally impressive in power. Answering the challenge, the Brutaliser balled its fist, then tore into the sorceress'' avian Familiar, striking it on the head so hard and so fast that a splatter of dark, semi-opaque goo sprayed across the unsullied snow.

    However, the grotesque albatross remained wholly undeterred. Even as the Troll''s momentum was spent, six elegant fingers wrapped around the giant''s arm, then squeezed.

    "AWWWRRGH¡ª" The crowed collectively winced.

    Had Ollie or Hanmoul ever seen zucchini fettuccini being squeezed through a press, they would have felt better for the analogy. As they had not, the duo now developed a phobia of green pasta.

    Once the Brutaliser lost all but one of its limbs, it fell into the ankle-deep pool of writhing, lively eels hankering for its vitality. The blackbird then turned in the manner of a gangly raptor and stalked its way besides the still-living Hag to pin it under one claw.

    "Chain Lightning!" The bombardment never stopped.

    A dozen exchanges later, the final act played out. A few of the Lightning hounds dissipated in their selfless combat with the Trollish warriors, as did two unlucky Void dogs. Gwen''s Wyvern stalked from Troll to Troll, finishing their foe while the Void sorceress starved the swarm, allowing the mass to crawl into the depth to seek out survivors.

    "Sini!!" the Wyvern barked at the bird in Draconic. "Batobot jahus sia svent!"

    "Shaa!" The bird hissed back. "Shaa! Shaa!"

    A standoff ensued until the sorceress intervened, throwing the bird a dozen HDMs. Begrudgingly, the albatross retreated, allowing the Wyvern to disembowel, then swallow the Hag. The Brutaliser soon followed, finding a new home in the lightning-charged furnace of a Thunder Wyvern''s belly. It was a fate that drew much solace for Ollie and Hanmoul, for the heat-death of a Thunder Wyvern''s digestive systems was preferable to eternal oblivion.

    Then, almost as if there had been no battle at all, it was over.

    From their overhead vantage, Ollie and Hanmoul felt that the most disturbing aspect of the engagement was that in its conclusion, there were no bodies remaining. It was as though Elves had whisked away all the combatants into the world of the fay, leaving nary a trace to be seen.

    "Arrghk, I could use a stiff drink," Hanmnoul confessed.

    Ollie Edwards, Praelector, nodded.

    Gingerly and with great solemnity, the duo approached the crowd of silent Mages and prospectors listening to Gwen''s closing speech.

    "Give it six hours to play it safe, and the lampreys should dissipate," the girl explained. "Other than that, I think we''re good. I can''t say much for new Trolls or Hobs tunnelling in, but for the next few days, there shouldn''t even be fungus alive in those warrens. For this boon, you should all thank Elvia here¡ª"

    With one hand wrapped around the blonde healer''s shoulders, the Void sorceress began a great speech about her friend¡ª a bonafide survivor from Sydney, and how she was the best healer in her class, bar none.

    "Why have you taken it onto yourself to perform this dangerous task?" a reporter asked. "You are not claiming the HDMs in the warrens?"

    "Not at all," Gwen answered with complete earnestness. "Unless Elvia wants her cut..."

    "I can''t," the Cleric pipped up. "I can''t take the miner''s lifeblood."

    "Then good for YOU!" Gwen addressed the crowd. "Enjoy the crystals, lads! Merry Christmas, and a Happy New Year! What do we say to the Miss?"

    Ollie''s mind performed a summersault. Did Gwen just say the Cleric was the source of all this commotion? Did Gwen just say she Purged a thousand CCs worth of Trolls for her friend, gratis?

    "Hazzah!"

    "Hazzah for Miss Lindholm!"

    A great tolling of cheers filled the valley, ringing from peak to peak, quaking Ollie''s heart and greatly disturbing the troubled mind of Hanmoul Bronzeborn, Commandrumm.

 Chapter 331 - Gold Digging

    Mathias stared at the chest-high pile of Wyvern dung.

    "One-tenth of the final sale if I sift through this for treasure?"

    "Yep." Gwen stood a little distance back, one hand holding back Elvia. The stench of digested Troll was a horror unto itself, more to those with fine-tuned senses.

    "You expect me, a Knight of St Michael, to dig through¡ª"

    "I don''t expect anything." Gwen hand-waved the Knight''s protest. "But I am offering the opportunity to learn a valuable lesson."

    Mathias took a deep breath, then immediately regretted taking said breath.

    "No," the Knight declined. "I''ll not be made a fool, Miss Song, even if you are Lord Shultz''s sister-in-craft. You may humiliate me, but you cannot humiliate my Ordo."

    "Suit yourself." Gwen turned to their other two companions, equally transfixed by the sight they had to endure. Elsewhere, Golos rested after surviving the bowel movement, surrounded by the press, who were taking notes and asking the Thunder Wyvern questions about Huangshan. "So, who else is game for the Golos Lottery? You have my personal guarantee that you won''t regret it."

    "Gwen, this is hardly proper," Ollie Edwards, Praelector, advised his college sister. "You''re going to tarnish our reputation."

    "In contrary, you''ll be pleasantly surprised, I think." Gwen smiled sweetly. "Trust me."

    "Ah-ha." Ollie raised a finger. "I would like to contest that point. You did leave me in Cambridge and fly off by yourself."

    "Only to save our Dwarven friend here through serendipity and goodwill." Gwen winked at Hanmoul, who waved back sheepishly. "Did you enjoy the show, Mister Bronzebeard? I''ve a deft hand when it comes to Trolls."

    "Bronzeborn." Hanmoul fought back a cough. The girl was very tall, and her bearing was sufficiently intimidating to make him want to step into his Golem plates.

    "Apologies, Commandrumm Bronzeborn."

    "Please, I am but a humble Engineer," the Dwarf replied nervously. "And aye, that was a terrific show of force, lass, I''ll not deny yer that. Ya can call me Hanmoul, by the by. It''s not like ye surface-Humans ken the ancestor''s histories."

    "Right," Gwen agreed. "Nonetheless, I am happy to see our ally unmolested by the uncivilised denizens of the region."

    "Yer came at the right time, that''s fer sure."

    "So, any takers on the pile?"

    "Nay lass, I am not for gold diving."

    The trio fell silent. Earlier, when Golos evacuated his bowels, Gwen had charged toward the steaming mountain as though the Wyvern had shat HDMs. Now, the outrageous offer she made was turning heads and stiffing lips all around.

    "Do you mind if I try?" A hand raised from the crowd of stickybeaks. "I am a Water Mage, so¡­"

    The speaker was a dapper gent in olive trousers, a striped-vest and a salmon shirt. From the recorder hanging from his hip, they could guess that he was a journalist. "Dominic Lorenzo, at your service."

    "Oh!" Gwen clapped, her eyes lit up. "You''re Dominic! I am so sorry, I had no idea¡ª"

    "Quite alright." Dominic joined the circle, taking a picture of the pile. "Dung Diving, eh? It''s an old, Welsh custom. I am surprised you know of it. Our Dwarven friend here certainly does."

    "Of course, an OLD custom." The sorceress'' complexion flushed a little. "Thanks for calling out your colleagues, Dom. I know it cost them a pretty penny to Teleport out here."

    "Bah, they''re laughing from here to Monday. A fantastic hand you played, by the way. Your performance really is one for the front pages, provided nothing cataclysmic happens between now and final print."

    "Thanks." The girl''s eyes took in Lorenzo''s well-trained figure. "So, you said you wanted to have a go?"

    "I did." Lorenzo took another picture. "In exchange, will you give me an exclusive?"

    "Are you a reporter yourself, Mister Lorenzo?"

    "I am with the Guardian." The man nodded. " Could I get the lot of you standing beside the dung?"

    "I don''t know about that." Mathias raised both hands.

    Bung!

    "Perfect." Lorenzo de-materialised the lumen-recorder. "Now, let''s see if my history lessons have paid off, or if my anthropology professor was full of Dragon dung."

    The others, including Gwen, took a long step back from the body of water conjured by the journalist.

    "Prestidigitation!" Alesia''s ally inexpertly managed his Conjuration-cum-Transmutation. Carefully, the man separated the solids, sending the sludge far away while extracting what could be worthwhile. When he was done, seven cores remained.

    Five of the Cores looked like sickly-green ambergris, verified by a helpful Hanmoul as belonging to veteran Troll Warriors. The remaining two were a little more particular. One was shaped like a misshapen mace the size of an infant''s head, while the final article was a smooth, kidney-shaped block of blood amber.

    "Golos had better not passed a kidney stone," Gwen muttered, studying the larger of the two "Cores".

    "Seven Cores!" Ollie was beside himself with shock. "There are SEVEN cores in that pile of¡ª"

    Besides the Praelector, Mathias'' face grew redder than Lady Rothwell''s heirloom beet. What had Gunther''s sister said? She would give one-tenth the value of the proceeds to the man who scoops the poop?

    "Holy shit! Boy, am I glad old Ducksworth was right on the HDM." Dominic made sure to dispose of the excess excrement discretely. "For the uninitiated, Dung Diving was what the pre-industrial folk used to do. Too weak to hunt or tame Magical Monsters, they followed in the wake of upper-tier creatures. Sometimes, the bottom of a cliff where Dragons lived could turn out to be a mecca of Creature Cores. You''ve heard of fishermen snagging giant clumps of poo of the shallows, haven''t you? Those are the compressed evacuations of Sea Dragons. Break open a good one, and you could change your fortune in a heart-beat."

    "I''ve never heard of such a thing." Ollie was very much impressed. "I shall look into it."

    Hanmoul''s beard twitched, as did Mathias, who did his best to mask his raging dismay.

    "Yes, that''s what I was going for." Gwen nodded sagely. "Now, let''s check. Dominic, can you do the honours?"

    A few of the other reporters approached, drawn by the commotion caused by the chattering group.

    "Identify!" Dominic began with the Troll Cores, expertly demonstrating his principle School of Magic. "¡ª and here''s where the real lottery begins."

    "Mundane."

    "Mundane¡­"

    "Mundane¡ª"

    "Oh¡­ Oh my, this is in no way mundane."

    "A Spirit?" Gwen''s eyes lit up with invisible currency signs. "Is it a Spirit? Or a mutated Core? Or¡ª"

    "A Spirit!" Dominic tossed the kidney-shaped Core from hand to hand like a hot potato. "Christ! A Blood Core! Who would have thought! You know, Dragons usually drain all Essence from the Cores. Either this was one wilful Hag, or your Wyvern''s had a little too much to eat."

    "Amazing!" Ollie leaned in closer. "I''ve never seen such a high-tier Core, not fresh from the beast, anyhow. Dung Diving is amazing!"

    The Dwarf appeared contemplative. Hag Cores were definitely Vadam.

    Mathias let loose an audible groan. Feeling his Faith tremble, the Knight opted to go for a walk to cool his head.

    "Lucky you," Gwen congratulated the jubilant reporter. "What''s it look like?"

    "Tier 7 or 8, but this is a Demi-human caster''s Core! Its Spirit could provide multiple boons, assuming the right Master could be found."

    Gwen instantly looked to Elvia, who furiously shook her head. Obviously, the girl wasn''t looking to gain a THIRD Spirit, certainly not one as filled with malevolence as a Hag.

    The other reporters closed in, snapping lumen-pics.

    "What''s it worth?" Gwen appraised the unexpected treasure.

    "Oh, I wouldn''t sell it for HDMs." The reporter turned the stone over and over in his head. "But I do know who might be very interested. There are favours that money can''t buy. Do you trust me to act as your broker, Gwen?"

    "Of course¡ª I''ll tell you what. Whatever it''s worth, I''ll peg you a monetary reward to the nearest evaluation. Not an HDM less. Now, let''s get a pic to commemorate your windfall!" The sorceress motioned for her present company to gather. Retrieving the Spirit-imbued Core from Dominic, she made them all pose beside Elvia, who was made to hug the huge haul against her chest with a pained expression. Dominic may have washed the Cores, but the steaming stench of Golos'' remains lay only a metre away, tenderly reminding the Cleric she wasn''t out of the poop just yet.

    "Where''s Mathias?" Elvia looked around for her Knight.

    "He''s figuring out how to kick his own arse, I bet. I''ve never seen someone refusing free HDMs before." Gwen positioned herself between Dominic, Ollie and Hanmoul, with Elvia standing in front of them all. "Everyone¡ª Thanks for coming to the Dung Diving session! Say¡ª EE!"

    The lumen-globe flashed.

    In Elvia''s arms, the Hag-Core scintillated.

    Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

    Merthyr Tydfil.

    The Waterhouse Tavern.

    If someone had told Gwen that she would one day sit in front of a bona fide Dwarf in a fantasy inn with actual oaken caskets behind the bar, drinking Dwarf-Rum, she would have asked how many Mojitos they''ve had.

    "I don''t much care about yer intent or if ye mean it or nay." Hanmoul eyed the tankard in front of Gwen suspiciously, wondering how the girl was holding her liquor. "But a Bronzeborn will nay renege on a debt, not on yer life."

    Gwen drew another cup from the keg.

    "Alright, alright, no need to get bristly. I''ll take credit for bailing you out of that fiasco on the mount, but not the Gulch¡ª That was done for Evee."

    "No matter, yer on land belonging to the Citadel," Hanmoul insisted. "Where the line is drawn, we nae tolerate Trollies, be it the Dim or the lidless plains. Besides, our Kings nae have a defence treaty."

    "We don''t?" Gwen looked to Ollie, who sat sipping peppermint tea, thankful for the roaring, crackling hearth.

    "London has enjoyed a tentative relationship with the gentlefolk of the Red Citadel," Ollie explained for his younger House-sister. "The bitterness from the Beast Tide has yet to recede."

    "Well, Humans didn''t come ter our aid either." Hanmoul shrugged. "I wouldnae worry, though. Yer surface lubbers hold grudges for a few decades before yer old ones die out. Now a Dwarf, we can hold a grudge fer centuries, sometimes millennia. Me Nan still recalls the time Erik Founderson stole ''er sweet roll oan ''er fiftieth birthday, and that dink''s a Forge Chief now."

    "I still don''t get why you''re putting yourself in debt?" Gwen cocked her head. "I would have Purged the Trolls regardless."

    "Because those Trollies would have made it into the Dim sooner or later. They were harvesting crystals, same as ye, to power their rituals, fatten up their war reserves. If that Hag and her retinue passed the Dim into the Deep, our Kin would have warred. Who kens how many lives would be lost?"

    "That''s stretching it a bit far."

    "I''ll take prevention over than a messy scrum lass, just accept it. Now, what do yer fancy as a reward? Crystals? Precious minerals? A diamond or a dozen? I heard from Ollie that Human ladettes love shiny rocks."

    "I said no such thing," Ollie objected. "Sir Hanmoul, I do protest¡ª"

    "But I do like shiny rocks." Gwen mulled over the offer. She understood where the Dwarf was coming from, but really, she had no real interest in a monetary reward. With the Hag Core and the other loot, Gwen could arguably add another five to ten thousand HDMs to her war chest. Compared to when she could get ventures running in London, however, these one-time windfalls felt unsatisfying.

    "Don''t be shy, lass." Hanmoul drained his cup. "The Bronzeborn isn''t so poor as to turn down a wee request from a lass."

    "Ollie, what do you think?" Gwen thought maybe her Praelector had a better idea.

    "Is there something wrong with asking for currency?" Ollie raised a brow. "Gwen, you''re going to need crystals for research materials, lab hire, room and board, extra tuition, training arenas, and supplementary quasi-magical foodstuffs. The expenses could be as high as two or three thousand per annum!"

    If Elvia was here, the Cleric would have spat out her drink.

    Fortunately, the healer was out of action after just two sips of Dwarven rum. Presently, she was resting in Gwen''s habitat, guarded by a melancholic, rum-loathing Mathias.

    "Naw. I don''t have a¡ª" Gwen''s tongue searched the cavern of her mouth for a word. "¡ª Let''s just say I got enough HDMs."

    "A Magic Item then?" Hanmoul offered. "We have some of the best Rune Crafters this side of the Dim."

    Gwen shook her head. She wasn''t desperate for items either¡ª unless the Dwarves wanted to offer her a Gunther Ring. But a race of Earthen folk without a mutual defence pact with London Tower weren''t likely going to have a contract servicing a Contingency Ring. Even if they did, would she want to Contingency into a Dwarf-home?

    "Actually." A thought flashed upon her inward-eye. Her mind was full of the scenes from the Mines of Moria. One of her greatest peeves was that none of the films showed a thriving Dwarven city. "Hanmoul, could you take me on a tour of your home town? I''ve never been to a Demi-human city before, much less a Dwarven one."

    Which wasn''t true, Elvia later pointed out. What Gwen meant was that she had never been to one that she hadn''t razed. Earlier in the Void Sorceress'' occupation, she had visited a Water Monkey Den¡ª which she Purged. She had also attended a Merman village¡ª which Caliban ate wholesale. There was also the Troll Temple in Amazonia¡ª yet another city she razed to the last block of lichen-covered stones. And of course, there was Shenyang.

    Hanmoul appeared hesitant.

    "Gwen, you can''t just demand to waltz into a sovereign territory!" Ollie hissed beside her. "You''re going to cause a diplomatic incident!"

    "I see. I am sorry I asked," Gwen retracted her offer.

    "Nae." Hanmoul scratched his bushy beard. "Too late now, lass¡ª Yer asked, and it shall be done. Give me a few days, mebbe a week to clear the request with the council. Them Deepdowners are gonnae to be right pissed."

    "It''s fine, really." Gwen shook her head vigorously. "It was a stupid whim."

    This time, it was Hanmoul who raised his hand. "Its fine, lass. I don''t know if ye''d be seeing the Forge, but ye can visit me Clan''s compound, at least. Are yer sure that''s all ya want, lass? Yer Human leaders are bound to ask for Dwarven Tech. They usually do."

    "Ollie?"

    Ollie Edwards looked from Gwen to the Dwarven friend he''d made on the way. How was he supposed to know the answer? Was he a Tower Magister? He was responsible for Gwen not making a laughingstock of herself, not for Spellcraft espionage in a Dwarven under-city. "I don''t know. Mayhap we should consult the House Matron."

    "Then it''s settled. Don''t worry, lass. You''ll not leave uncompensated! I''ll have the Quarter Master dredge up some pressies." Hanmoul raised his stein.

    "Cheers to you, Master Bronzeborn." The two clashed tankards. "When next we drink in a Dwarven tavern, I''ll be sure to supply some of the best rice wine in the Human world. May the best drinker remain upright!"

    "Ha!" Hanmoul laughed. "That''s a boast I like!"

    Gwen felt aflutter with excitement. A Dwarven city! What would it be like? A giant forge? An enormous tunnel-based city-state? Or perhaps, a cavernous cathedral as far as the eye could see, glowing with magma.

    "Say." Gwen glanced at the tavern''s low ceiling, thinking of her dearest, sweetest companion. "Do you think I could bring a plus-one?"

    Across from her, Ollie appeared taken back. His face flushed from his pointed nose to his tapered years. "I¡ª I don''t know what to say, Gwen. It''s an honour¡­"

    The next morning, Gwen, Ollie, Elvia, and Mathias packed for London.

    Last night, Commandrum Hanmoul¡ª satisfied that a resolution had been reached, had retreated back to the Red Citadel in a blur, crashing through the snow in his pill-bug Strider.

    Likewise, Dominic Lorenzo had left with the rest of the reporters, saying he would be in touch and that he would contact Gwen when he received news from a potential buyer. The reward, Dominic reiterated, wasn''t necessary, and that she should keep the money for her tuition.

    When the time came to leave, another complication ensued. Of the foursome, Gwen rocked an unlimited flight licence; Mathias possessed a conditional one, and their two non-combatant companions were land-bound. Though Gwen flexibly believed that flying in the wilderness was a case of "What does it matter if you shit in the woods if there''s no one to see it..." Mathias and Ollie were sticklers when it came to rules.

    Thankfully, as the heroine of Merthyr Tydfil, Gwen had no trouble commissioning a team of prospectors to conjure up an eight AM ride out of town down to Newport, connected by barge to Bristol. There, they could ride the local ISTC to Cambridge, then back to London and Nightingale''s.

    Once the truck arrived, Magister Hanford offered a warm farewell to the Void Sorceress, as well as his contact Glyph. "I''d like to say call me if there''s anything you need, but it''s truer to say I would be calling on you."

    "Anytime, Magister." Gwen received the contact Glyph with her Device. "I welcome your guidance."

    "I''ll let the boys know what I''ve seen here." Hanford put forth the most sincere face he could manage. "The Militant Faction could use someone headstrong and qualm-free: a Combat Mage on the warpath! I''ve no doubt someone may be in contact very soon."

    "Ha!" Gwen hid her awkwardness. She hadn''t known the Magister belonged to the one Faction with whom she had not brokered a formal relationship. "Thank you, Magister, I look forward to it."

    Later, her buttocks bouncing on the back of the cargo lorry, Gwen asked Elvia what they could do in London, as a pair.

    "Perhaps Miss Lindholm could attend milady Astor''s Christmas Mass?" Mathias reminded his charge. "I am sure Miss Emily is attending, as well."

    "Oh, yes!" Elvia lit up. "Gwen, we can go together! Cliveden is absolutely astounding! It''s the biggest house I have ever seen! Bigger than a town!"

    "I do love a good Estate," Gwen cooed. "What else is good? In London proper, I mean."

    "I recommend Hyde Park." Ollie piped up. "There are several places where our nation''s leaders gave speeches to the public. Including the Speaker''s Corner, where NoMs can debate Mages and vice-versa without fear. It''s one of the specialities of London''s intellectual circle. After a pleasant chat, you could take a picnic, or row a boat across the lake."

    "Oh, that sounds wonderful," Gwen gushed.

    "Then there''s Westminster. If you''re interested, winter break is as a good time as any to see the Lords and Ladies of the Mageocracy attending ceremonies and Masses. Likewise, the Cathedral still holds mass every weekend, and the Queen''s Mass will be taking place there on the twenty-fourth."

    "Excellent idea! May I ask where the shopping''s at?" Gwen inquired of the two boys. "You know, for shoes and dresses of the magical variety?"

    "I wouldn''t know." Ollie inadvertently looked his House-sister up and down. Presently, the sorceress wore a skirt, stockings and a sheer blouse. Comparatively, Ollie was bundled up to the neck, Mathias wore his winter uniform, and Elvia had on a coat and scarf. "Do you not have sufficient attire? The university offers an assortment of humble, semi-formal wear, hand-made by the NoMs who live in the nearby villages. You can get them glamoured in town."

    "I think Gwen means a place like Shoreditch¡ª or Harrolds," Elvia interceded. "Emily frequents the shops there. There, you can find luxury goods, trinket crafters, Enchanter-weavers, and so on."

    "That''s the ticket." Gwen gave her friend a thumbs up. "We''ll go and drop some crystals."

    "You could visit a museum¡­" Mathias advised with a measured tone. "Something sufficiently patriotic, of course. There''s the National Gallery at Trafalgar Square for the arts, the Royal Natural History Museum with its collection of preserved Magical Beasts, or the Britannic Spellcraft Museum for a history of the arts. My favourite is the War Memorial at Lamberth detailing the exploits of the Mageocracy''s greatest Magisters since colonisation began. There''s an entry on Lord Gunther..."

    "Is there a Globe Theatre?" Gwen asked suddenly, interrupting the droning Mathias. "Shakespeare, you know? William Shakespeare? To be, or not to be?"

    "Who?" Mathias cocked his head, being new to Gwenisms. "Is he an Illusionist?"

    "Romeo and Juliet?"

    The trio looked from each other to one another.

    Gwen''s lips turned in disappointment.

    "Are there stage shows in London? Like, you know¡ª theatre. Guys and Dolls acting out plays, singing and dancing?"

    Mathias laughed. "Why? Do you not have them in Sydney? Or Shanghai?"

    "Well." Gwen felt her heart sink. Where the hell did Baron Andrew Lloyd Webber go? The genius showman had better not died on the front lines. "Are there theatres or not?"

    "Sure." Mathias nodded. "The larger ones are located here and there around Trafalgar Square, mostly playing musicals, operas, Epics and so on. The Perils of Odysseus has been playing for years now, without waning in popularity."

    "Oh, thank God." Gwen breathed out. "And do any of these shows involve a pair of star-crossed lovers whose misadventure doth overthrow their parent''s strife through a passage of fatal love?"

    "That sounds amazing." Elvia''s eyes blinked with anticipation. "Which story is this?"

    "Don''t worry. It''s a fancy, nothing more¡­" Gwen puckered her lips, her mind a tapestry of possibilities, stitched with guilt and dread. "What do folk do for fun around here?"

    "I train, mostly," Mathias confessed. "I''ll admit¡ª once, I saw a picture show for NoMs. It was about the Falklands Expedition. One of my Seniors saw it while stationed in Gibraltar and wouldn''t stop talking about it. The plot involved a medical officer who, tired of the endless conflict, treated both Human and Elvish combatants, eventually bringing about a ceasefire and a treaty."

    "I saw that one too," Ollie replied excitedly. "Magus Caine was excellent as Cleric Commander Simon Lambert. Miss Collins made an excellent Matron Roseville as well."

    "She was much more beautiful than the real Magus Roseville¡­"

    "Mattie, don''t let the Magus hear that," Elvia chided Mathias. "I see the Matron around at GOS sometimes."

    "Hahaha¡­"

    "Have you seen ''The Risen Sun'' Mathias?"

    "I am not a fan of the pictures, just the fighting ones. ''The Last Knight'', for example..."

    Gwen turned away from the others to regard the disappearing path behind the lorry. In this parallel, magical world, some things survived, others were extinguished. There was a Ray Bradbury time-travelling spiel somewhere, but even so, the loss of the arts to such a degree made her heart sore. In her old world, the politicians often said that there''s no "harm" done in not wanting to fund the liberal arts. The artists, of course, protested that defunding the arts deprived the people of vicarious compassion¡ª an act that included all conceivable "harm".

    Was the casual cruelty of the Mage world the result of a constant, existential threat of extinction? Or was it class apathy and the lack of progressive education? In a world where all human potential steered toward survival, then expansion, what energy remained to plumb the depth of the human soul? Was the lack of literature why in the Mages'' society, there existed so little empathy for the NoMs?

    If so, what was there to be done?

    And how did she stand to profit?

 Chapter 332 - Modern Mythology

    Sunday.

    All across England, from John O'' Groats to Land''s End, the clinking of silverware on porcelain aligned like a synchronised ceremony. Butlers, the stoic sentinels of propriety, awoke their masters and mistresses for church and or business. Downstairs in every manor; scones, cream, and jam were warmed and plated, ready to be served with a strong Assam from India''s Orange Zones, alongside the day''s paper.

    At seven-thirty, having relieved the First Footmen, or Head Maid, pending the proprietor of the estate; both lords and ladies perused the latest national gossip.

    The weekend marked the week-in-summary edition of the Herald Sun and the Telegraph, meaning extra-thick papers weighted with classifieds.

    The Sun''s double-page jacket, with its eye-catching red letters, featured a picture of Gwen Song, her eyes all aurora, her figure sleek and svelte in her Shen-te¨© battleplate. In Brittanic Bold, the plosive "EATEN ALIVE" was what the editors had chosen to ensnare eyeballs, followed by the non-sensical standfirst, "Devourer engulfs Ystradfellte".

    In a smaller, blue-tinted teaser for page 3, the words "Nothing to Hide" prefaced a picture of the Void sorceress'' flushing face. Should the discerning buyer turn immediately to said page, what they would then find was more gainful employment for Miss¡ª a buxomly gifted sorceress of petite talent. Assuming the reader could tear their eyes away from the compelling article on Miss Caterina''s favourite food¡ª "Fish and Chips", they would then find a small expose on Void Magic. That, and an image of Gwen standing beside a timid Mage in Cambridge robes, alongside a gruff Dwarf. Should a customer inquire whether the sorceress was Ravenport''s daughter, the paper did offer an apology¡ª on page 9, in a tiny grey amendment box.

    Next to the Sun, the Telegraph, its editors possessing a keener sense of authenticity¡ª chose to go with an image of Gwen standing amidst a dark swarm of lampreys. The headline, "One Woman Purge" was front and centre. What its teaser showed was a fair-haired Cleric with a flower Spirit on one shoulder, and a Mandrake on her palm. "Strength of Spirit" was the name of the page 5 article, composed so that the judicious reader was awarded a close up of Sen-sen, a cross-continental Ginseng from Huangshan. In a smaller teaser, advocating for page 8, one could read an interview with Gwen Song''s feathered white Wyvern.

    Turning the pages, a few browsers sipped their tea a few seconds too long and scalded their tongues. Other raised brows and requested that their majordomos filled in the details.

    Who could have imagined that; uninvited, a single sorceress would gnaw her way through the Red Gulch, erasing all green-skin presence for the next quarter, freeing mines for deep-ranging excavation? Who could guess that the same sorceress had then befriended the Commandrumm of the Hammer Guard, requesting a city-wide tour of the Red Citadel? Who should have expected that said sorceress now held within her palm, a twin-Spirited Cleric, and a freshly-harvested Hag-Core from her Wyvern''s arse?

    Lord Mycroft Ravenport wordlessly nibbled on a brittle scone as he scanned the tabloid, first quickly, then again in detail. After the last tidbit of misinformation was digested, he willed his Message Device into life.

    Ding! The spell connected.

    "You''ve reached Dominic Lorenzo," a tired, just awoken voice replied. "May I ask who this is?"

    "The cockatrice croaked thrice."

    "Three times I denied the Nazarene." The Diviner was now wide awake.

    "God save the wicked."

    The resultant pause was held a little too long for comfort.

    "Milord."

    "Agent."

    "How may I be of service."

    "I am told you know Gwen Song in a personal capacity?"

    "Knew her since Friday, Milord. I am well acquainted with her sister-in-craft, however."

    "Who is your handler?"

    "Magister Milliford. Your Grace."

    "Joan? I see. I''ll have Saville debrief your Master. My apologies for the¡­ unsanctioned contact."

    "Quite alright, Sir. We are the Mageocracies'' eyes and ears. We live to serve."

    "Yes." Ravenport sipped his tea. "Now, I wish to know every detail. Leave no act untapped."

    "I... was on the front page once." Lady Loftus sipped her tea, seated across the table from a fresh-faced Gwen and an eye-bagged Ollie. "I was sixteen and coming out. Lord Wembley''s boy, Jeremiah, invited me to first-dance. Acting on a dare from his Eton mates, he kissed me without permission, in public. I struck the boy twice¡ª like this¡­"

    The Lady Grey mimed a Mage Hand. "¡ª The cad lost two of his front teeth. Father was furious, of course. Lord Wembley came to apologise personally, and poor Jem went about without his incisors for the better part of a year while father''s upset simmered."

    Lady Loftus allowed the cup to rest; her expression remained contemplative.

    "Jem died after the Beast Tide. Near Merthyr Tydfil, in fact, to Trolls. We found his body eventually, though not all of it."

    The matron sighed. "How curious¡ª I haven''t thought about Jeremiah in two decades."

    "I am sorry to hear that," Gwen apologised. From the looks of Ollie''s apprehension, Lady Loftus wasn''t the type to outwardly show upset.

    "Don''t mind me. Just an old woman''s musing." Lady Loftus reheated her Assam with a glance. "You''ll be going to London then?"

    "Yes, Ma''am." Gwen nodded. "Elvia and I will be visiting the galleries and the museums, maybe watch a show or two."

    "No word from our Dwarven compatriots?"

    "Not yet, Milady."

    "I see. You must remember, London has the highest concentration of Mages anywhere on earth, not to mention Demi-human dignitaries. Any Mage worth her salt in sorcery must tread as if on air. Ollie?"

    "I''ll take care of Gwen, Mistress."

    "You just do your best. Gwen, will you be visiting the Isle? I''ve told Wally you''ll be gracing his presence and needing his full cooperation."

    "I shall." Gwen bowed her head.

    The Isle of Dogs was the leasehold Lady Loftus had lent to Gwen as a base of operations. Located some ten kilometres from London Bridge, the underdeveloped peninsular skirted the River Thames on all sides sans north. Presently, the Marchioness'' men operated a farm for unique breeds of quasi-magical domesticated animals, including kennels with breeding prize-winning hunting hounds. Boundary wise, Gwen''s jurisdiction began and ended with the farm and its surrounding hamlets¡ª Cubitt and Millwall.

    Gwen herself had been stunned by the Machioniness'' generosity.

    In the forgotten dimension of her mundane world, the Isle of Dogs was prime real estate. In the late 80s, the revitalisation of Canary Wharf Station had completely revitalised its dilapidated, outdated, decaying infrastructure. In the 90s, following an uptick in land speculation, the Isle rapidly consolidated into an office and retail mecca, kicking out the very dockworkers that the redevelopment initially sought to aid.

    In Gwen''s present London, no such developments had yet taken place, and the Isle continued to remain a bastion of close-knit communities tethered like beasts of burden to the yoke of Canary Wharf and Millwall''s shipyard. The port authority of the Isle currently suffered from poor management and a lack of understanding of the location''s importance, primarily as a result of prejudice toward the NoM ghetto-townhouses.

    The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

    Wally Samson was the custodian of the Isle, overseeing Lady Grey''s puppy mill. A Mage of small talent, Wally was the son of the Marchioness'' ageing ground keeper, having returned from Military Service to receive a coveted position as a custodian for Ely''s many properties.

    "Well, then." The Lady indicated for the tabloids to be moved downstairs to be savoured by the servants. "Shall we expect you before or after New Years?"

    "After." Gwen bowed again. "Thank you for your understanding, ma''am."

    The Lady appeared to rest her case but then decided against reticence.

    "The ''rags'' are a double-edged blade, Gwen. I hope you know what you''re doing. They''re like Gnolls¡ª not impossible to tame, but completely comfortable with biting the hand that feeds."

    Gwen assured the Lady that she knew her goals.

    "Good, then I shall leave you with an axiom from my mother," Lady Loftus intoned carefully. "Maxie¡ª make some trouble out there, but if an angry mob stampedes my garden, God help you..."

    Nightingale''s College, London.

    As one of the big three Medical Colleges responsible for churning out the Mageocracy''s frontline healers, the college took great pride in the location of its leasehold, being situated directly adjacent to Westminster Bridge, opposite the palace of the same name, overlooking the Thames.

    The brutalist building itself, however, did not echo the grandeur of its surroundings. As celebrated as Florence Nightingale was during her tenure, there was significant opposition to her philosophy that magical healing was for both NoMs and Mages. There was also her unorthodox view that vast numbers of low-tier quasi-magical nurses utilising magical instruments trumped the training of Faith-fuelled Clerics.

    As a keen student of biographies, Ollie informed Gwen that Florence was first a graduate and then an instructor at King''s College. Under Queen Victoria, the founder of Elvia''s college came into prominence for her actions during the Crimean Conflict against the Demi-humans of Central Asia. The present-day college itself was converted from St Thomas'' Hospital, underwritten by King''s into a secular medical school in recognition of Nightingale''s achievements during the war.

    Also according to her Praelector, Nightingale''s represented a curious bridging of the Mage-NoM divide. The Crimean Conflict, alas, was the first publicised instance in which a prominent, frontline individual at the highest tier of Victorian Spellcraft demanded practical healthcare for NoMs. Namely, the radical Miss Nightingale fought for the sanitation of NoM infantry hostels, triage stations, healing tents, and the placement of one lower-tier healer for every fifty or so NoM infantrymen. Incredibly, where more than a hundred thousand soldiers died of preventable illnesses and injuries in the three-month campaign in Scutari, her compassionate, cost-saving measures reduced subsequent casualties to two-thirds.

    And though recognition had initially escaped the Lady of Modern Medicine, no petty politics could impact the unambiguous matter of Faith. All across the front, the worship of "Our Lady of the Lamp"¡ª said to be the lone figure of Florence wandering the camps at midnight, bestowing Healing Word and Remove Disease upon sleeping soldiers, widely circulated. For the establishment in the Church of England at the time, Nightingale proved an awkward "Saint" to place. The reason being that the middle-aged woman widely spoke out against the use of Faith Magic in the conquest of colonial heartlands. Instead, she considered Faith to be a manifestation of compassion, love, and care for the suffering of Mages, NoMs, and Demi-humans.

    In the aftermath of Florence''s academic teaching, the untitled Magister wrote simple and concise medical annotations in prose, making many of the epoch''s kept knowledge open to all. Thanks to her and her advocates, a sharp decrease in infectious diseases, preventable ailments, and infant mortality spread across the Mageocracy like a reverse-contagion. Her generosity was such that even Demi-human races long plagued by chronic maladies came to benefit, ushering in a new era of diplomacy across much of Queen Victoria''s domain.

    When Florence finally passed at the age of ninety, the church breathed a sigh of relief and christened her "Our Saintess of the Lamp". All across London, medical institutions erected statues and stained-glass portraits in her honour. Most curiously, in the Purple Zones skirting the Black Sea, there exist shrines to Florence Nightingale, worshipped by the local Demi-humans as a Goddess of restoration and regeneration, a fact that, to this day, vexed heads at the Westminster Congress of Cardinals.

    And it was in front of one such statue that Gwen, disembarking from Waterloo''s endless array of levitation platforms, arrived.

    "Palace to the right, palace to the left, palace opposite¡ª" Gwen felt dubious that, for occupying such a location and as a place of such fame, Elvia''s home looked underfunded by two decades.

    "The college portion is located in the newer wings," Ollie explained. "The hospital wing needed to be shut to be renovated¡ª I guess the authorities never had the opportunity."

    "The woes of public health." Gwen approached the gate. Where a guard had been staring for some time. Others gawked as well: one reason was that her face looked familiar. Another could be that the sorceress stood pretty in a knee-length skirt and kitten heels, oblivious to the cold.

    "Hi. I am Gwen Song. Here is Magus Ollie Edwards. We''re here to visit Elvia Lindholm," Gwen relished her next words. "We hail from Cambridge."

    The guard stood aside before he even finished Messaging the ward Matron.

    Inside, the college wing of the teaching hospital was a mishmash of modernisation and dilapidation. The antiquity of the lesser rooms had overseen the crossing of four monarchs. Others portions were renovated with glass and steel, filtering sunlight from outside through Daylight Orbs.

    "Miss Lindholm''s shift hasn''t ended." The Matron standing guard behind the counter at Elvia''s station eyed Gwen questioningly. Speculating that this must be one of the crones giving Elvia grief, Gwen stood her ground and stared back until the Matron looked away.

    "No visitors for staff," the woman insisted.

    "We''ll wait." Gwen directed Ollie to a side bench. The Matron looked like she wanted to say something, but thought better of addressing someone rumoured to have wiped out a mountain.

    While her Praelector fiddled with a data slate, Gwen observed the coming and goings of the hospital, diving deep into thoughts of her own.

    Now that she had settled into London, how should she proceed with the enterprises she had laid out in China and Sydney? It wasn''t as though, without a base of operations, without a crew of tertiary-educated workers; and without a central office, she could reproduce her success. Without the right support, she wouldn''t trust herself to operate a fleet of hotdog stands.

    What she needed then, was something lucrative and agile enough to give credibility, but transparent and straightforward enough to skill up a group of locals. As with China, she would prefer NoMs uplifted by gainful employment, for these individuals engendered the highest loyalty and enthusiasm.

    Now, seeing that the Lady Loftus was willing to lease her the lesser portion of the Isle, there was no reason she could not strike another deal with the port authority there. With the Marchioness backing her interests, it would take a brave and greedy entrepreneur to short change a noblewoman with a direct line to Buckingham Palace. If so, drawing from the House of M, she may be able to "import" skilled individuals from Shanghai, elevating NoM professionals into the realm of highly paid expatriate professionals. After that, she could use these little seeds to propagate a core group of accountants and managers.

    The time frame, assuming she could kick-start the mana-engines at the decrepit docks, would take a year or more. In the meanwhile, she needed to gain a local presence.

    What she needed, Gwen considered her options, was a tremendously daring book¡ª an intellectual enterprise that would shake the foundations of Mage society, while maintaining a facade of progressive, moral superiority. When earlier, she had gazed upon a handsome statue of Florence Nightingale in the lobby, she couldn''t help but feel that there was a book that could be engendered¡ª one that was the crying need of the hour, showing the terrible cancer of apartheid with all its boils and bleeding scabs. If composed correctly, here was a book that should serve as a clarion call to the bruised and beaten NoM masses.

    And Elvia¡ª Eureka! EVEE would be the key!

    The healers needed Faith, if so, why not make Evee the subject of an appropriated book? Sure, it was fiction, but when did "Faith" ever need something concrete and tangible? In this book, she could create a diptych of humanity¡ª she¡ª or the ghostwriter she paid, would expose Mage society and its disgusting depravity. Then, she would present a young healer, one of original innocence and natural virtue, blonde, of course, with the bluest eyes. This healer would have a mentor, a father figure of sorts, who existed as an unyielding defender of the rights of NoMs as enshrined by the law, a man would not break under the yoke of the Mage''s repression! What a book it would be! Presented in the timelessness of its literary milieu, it would vicariously draw the audience into a bitter conflict of grace and disgrace, discrimination and altruism! The readers could not help but be moved¡ª touched¡ª enraged!

    And Evee, hailing from Nightingale''s was a perfect model for mythology! She was a scion of the very "Saintess" who treated NoM soldiers during the war. Who was to say that Evee, with her Kiki and Sen-sen, would not rise to become the poster child of the college? All Elvia lacked was a generous crystal-account for acts of philanthropy, a good consultant who understood the vertical integration of charity-branding, and good "Faith" would come rolling in.

    A philanthropic Demi-Saintess with two Spirits and a multi-national charity under her wing? Sweet dreams are made of Evees!

    Gwen felt her hands clench and unclench. It was achievable; she could feel it in her bones; she could put it in the bank! Money and momentum! Once the Evee Express left the station, fundraisers, sponsors, government grants, maybe even cross-continental recognition and support¡ª the world was Evee''s oyster!

    "Hehehe... Hahaha¡­" Gwen chuckled to herself, grinning like a mad priestess. "Excellent¡ª how excellent!"

    Beside her, Ollie Edwards felt goosebumps rise all over his skin. Haunted by Gwen''s cackling, he couldn''t help but wonder if somewhere, a Shoggoth was descending into the Material Plane.

    "Gwennie!" Elvia''s voice greeted the duo from the corridor, wholly oblivious of the "Special" role she would play in her friend''s otherworldly ambitions. "Ah, Ollie¡ª thanks for coming."

    "Evee!" Gwen stood, opened her arms, then swallowed the girl wholesale with her long limbs. "Did you get your vacation approved? If not, I''ll have a stern word with your boss, or we''ll go Purge another mountain."

    "No, no, I am free!" Elvia replied quickly, aware that her friend wasn''t joking. "I''ve sent Mathias back to the barrack as well..."

    "¡ª she''s joking," Ollie declared to the doctors and nurses, now watching the trio with unfriendly expressions. "Let''s go, let''s go. Trafalgar Square awaits!"

 Chapter 333 - Ivory Tower

    Evee and Ollie''s guided tour of London central began a hundred meters from Nightingale''s, where the Southbank Lion stood, a silent sentinel guarding the south end of Westminster Bridge.

    As it was winter, the River Thames ran blue and aloof, its lapping edge white with rime as the body meandered past County Hall. Different to Gwen''s memory of London, there was no "London Eye" jarring the cityscape. Instead, a towering lattice-structure held a shielding transponder amidst a dizzying array of Divination nodes, winking against the cold light.

    "All of this feels so surreal," Gwen remarked as they crossed on foot, their noses wrinkling at the mana miasma spewing from endless trains of lorries and busses.

    "What, being in London?" Elvia giggled. For Gwen''s big day out, the healer was bundled up in a lime-green cashmere jumper adorned with a raspberry beret. The colour-combination was borderline Kiki¡ª though as far as Gwen was concerned, Elvia could do no wrong.

    "Sen!" Sen-sen peeked out from a pocket, joined by Kiki, both drinking in the winter sun.

    "Yes." Gwen''s eyes followed the unfamiliar, and yet all-too-similar skyline. Everything "old" was there: The Palace of Westminster, the Metropolitan Guard Quarters, the Big Ben, behind which one would find No. 10 Downing, the state-sanctioned residence of Lord Magister Blair.

    "Did you know." Ollie''s eyes twinkled as they approached the pier-side of Westminster. A lightbulb hailing from Mayfair, the Praelector had advertised himself as their guide. "That Big Ben does not actually refer to the clock itself?"

    "Sure, it refers to the principal bell inside the Tower," Gwen answered casually, still deep in thought. "And the building is called Elizabeth Tower. After her Majesty''s Diamond Jubilee."

    "Your patriotism is admirable¡ª" Ollie regarded his companion strangely. "I believe you meant her Golden Jubilee? Her Majesty enjoyed a Commonwealth-wide celebration only two years ago."

    "Ah¡ª" Gwen realised she may have let slip a bit of the future. "Of course, what I meant was that her Majesty''s rose will never fade."

    "Wrong Elizabeth," Ollie chuckled. "But¡­ Elizabeth Tower, eh? I like that."

    "Ahaha¡­" Gwen squeezed Elvia, simultaneously teasing Sen-sen. Seeing that Ollie did not pursue the matter, she changed the subject. "When can we hear it chime?"

    "Unfortunately, not until Christmas Eve," Ollie lamented. "It''s more so a symbol now. After the Germans damaged the mechanism during the great Blitz of ''41, killing the Dwarven artificer responsible for the original design, we''ve had no end of trouble. It''s still accurate, mind you, but the city-wide sonic-spell generated by the bell takes a toll on the delicate instruments. Also, since we all use Divi-Devices now, having the glass thrum and threaten to break is becoming a bother. Of course, for special occasions, Big Ben will toll without delay."

    Past the clock tower, the self-guided tourists kept a brusque pace as the trio advanced into the city, sauntering into parliament square. A few passersby stared; mostly gawking at Gwen, others at the two Sprites jostling for space in Elvia''s pockets.

    At the garden, Gwen met a familiar face.

    "Lord Magister Churchill," she declared happily. Keeping an eye on Ollie, she then tested the waters to see if her memory could fill some gaps in London''s parallel history. "His speeches are so inspiring¡ª ''We shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills; we shall never surrender.''"

    "You forgot ''We shall fight in the air''¡ª you''re a fan of Minister Churchill?" Ollie appeared pleasantly surprised. "Impressive, for a Frontier girl. Do you recognise any of the other statues here?"

    "Gwen, how do you know of Lord Churchill''s speech?" Elvia cocked her head adorably. "Did they teach this stuff in China?"

    "I read it back in Sydney." Gwen resisted the urge to mount a lumen-recorder onto a pole to snap a picture of Evee and herself. But then again, who would she send it to? Yue?

    "But¡ª I''ve never seen you read while we''re in Sydney," Elvia demanded suspiciously. "You''re always training or eating or sleeping."

    "I was wrapt in secret studies." Gwen hand-waved her friend''s suspicion. "With Master, you know."

    Here and there in the square were other statues, most of which Gwen did not recognise. Names like Lloyd George, Jan Smuts, George Canning, escaped her entirely. Others, like the immediately recognisable statue of Honest Abe, was obvious at a glance.

    "Who''s the woman?" Gwen asked when they reached a humble bust less grandiose than the others. "Millicent Faulkner?"

    "Miss Faulkner fought for the right of women to own property and participate in the Spellcraft revolution," Ollie stated proudly. "She''s one of ours."

    "Ours?"

    "The founder of Newnham College, of Clough Hall fame." Ollie''s voice rose an octave. "Quite a few of our alumni have statues in the city. I can point them out if you like."

    "That would be helpful but unnecessary." Gwen curbed her guide''s enthusiasm. "Let''s keep going, I want to see the rest of the landmarks, hit the museums."

    "Well, ONE Museum," Ollie snickered. "Besides, the Commonwealth''s collection isn''t so easily accessed. We''ll need permission to see the rarer displays."

    "All the Museums, we would take until New Years," Elvia chimed in. "Also, we need to break for lunch."

    "What''s good for eating?" Gwen asked. In China, there had been so much food that she was spoilt for choice. In London, she had thus far kept to a strict diet of meat and vegetables; interestingly, the pastry and cakes had been excellent.

    "Fish and Chips?" Elvia suggested. "We''ll go by Buckingham, then circle back to Trafalgar. There''s a delightful pub called ''The Lord Moon'' which serves wonderful whiting. I''ve been there with Sylvie."

    "Sure." The corner of Gwen''s lips twitched. Fish and Chips? Surely there''s better food? "But since this is London, how about authentic British Curry?"

    "You''d have to go to Soho for that." Ollie made a face. "I am surprised you know, much less fancy, Demi-human food. Spice, from the Indian subcontinent? I don''t know. A lot of our expatriate Mages are addicted to the stuff¡ª says its flavour from the Gods. I tried it once. Far too pungent for me, and the heat¡ª good lord, its like eating fire. Goes down like magma, comes out like¡ª"

    "You folk seriously don''t eat curry?" Gwen felt as though slapped in the face. No curry Tuesday? Did people here survive on steak and vegetables?

    "Did you eat curry in China?" Elvia was keen as well. "If you recall, we had it once in Sydney. It gave me a tummy ache."

    "They don''t make it the same in Shanghai." Gwen realised she had not seen the controversial Gandhi statue while in Parliament Square. If there was no readily available curry, what did that imply for the Mageocracy''s history with the Indian subcontinent? Moreover, what did it mean for this world''s East Indies as a whole? "So the NoMs don''t eat it?"

    "Spice is far too expensive for NoMs." Her Praelector shook his head. "What supply that reaches London isn''t lucrative enough for high profit, nor is it abundant or cheap enough for the masses."

    "I see." Gwen licked her lips. Butter Chicken, Tikka Masala, Beef Korma, Rogan Josh. Gods above, her mouth watered uncontrollably just thinking about the food. Perhaps at the Museum of London, she could gain some insight as to what had changed across the Mageocracy''s five-centuries of colonisation to deny Britain its most quintessential cuisine.

    The tourist trio had next planned to skirt Buckingham Palace via the avenue called the Mall. Unfortunately, they only made it as far as Marlborough House before they were halted in their tracks.

    "G-Griffins!" Gwen gripped Elvia so hard the girl yelped. "Bloody oath! Evee¡ª"

    Overhead, the sight of Royal Griffins made her heart flutter. Standing in the shade of a mulberry tree, Gwen fought to encompass the majesty of an eagle-lion with wings of copper-gold and white feathers hinting at silver. Even the half-mythical Golos, who was ''ruggedly'' handsome¡ª lacked the regality of Britain''s iconic heraldric beast.

    Was it the mounted Knights that plucked at the heartstrings? Gwen wondered, feeling her face flush. The red-jacketed Mage mounted atop the marvellous bird-beast sported three plumes on his helmeted headdress. Below the chin, the Griffin Guards wore polished cuirasses, inscribed with Glyphs and runes too complex to decipher. On the Griffins'' heads, shoulders and fore-claws, they were protected by magical barding in matching Mithril that glinted as the birds sailed through the sky.

    "And this is why you don''t fly near the Palace," Ollie warned his companion. "The Griffineers hunt first, ask questions later, assuming you survive."

    "They look so awesome," Elvia squealed.

    "Evee, who do you think is stronger." Gwen breathed out when a Griffin turned to face the trio. "Gogo or¡ª er¡ª is that patrol coming toward us?"

    Her observation proved acute.

    A trio of Griffins, each the size of a caravan, alighted on the broad strip of tempered, crimson asphalt.

    "Stay calm," Ollie warned his House-sister, while Elvia hid behind her and her Sprites inside her jacket. "They''re likely asking for our ID. Papers at the ready¡ª."

    With a grand buffet of breaking air, the Griffins landed.

    A head double the size of Gwen''s torso turned to regard her with its golden eyes.

    "Halt!" the lead Knight approached. From the Saxon-scarlet satin adorning the man''s armour, Gwen could see that this was a Mage from Mathias'' most desired Ordo¡ª The Most Distinguished Order of St George. "Why do you approach the home of her Majesty?"

    "Lord Knight¡ª here are our identifications and credentials." Ollie presented their Public Practice of Magic licences. "We hail from Cambridge."

    The Knight scanned their cards with his eyes. When the man took Gwen''s ID from her to peruse its tiny, bible-print list of Schools and annotations, the man''s eyes widened.

    "SKAARK!" the Knight''s Griffin snarled. Leaning closer to the girls, it sniffed them both. Elvia hid her Sprites, hiding in Gwen''s shadow.

    Gwen''s feeding-hand itched. She wanted to give the Griffin a drop of Almudj juice. But, with Ollie besides her, it took everything she had to resist stroking the Griffin''s beak. This close, the creature''s beauty was heart-breaking. From its feathers to its divinely-sculpted profile, the Griffin was a thing of superb intelligent design.

    "Very well," the Knight returned a greeting. "I have taken note of your credentials. Now, why do you approach?"

    "We wish to sight-see," Ollie declared. "To my awareness, the public is allowed to approach up to and outside the Victorian Gate, are they not? We wish to contemplate the crest of the Unicorn and the Lion, so that we may wish her Majesty well."

    "I would allow it, usually," the Knight paused. His piercing blue eyes then locked onto Gwen. "However, proximal admittance for a Class VI War Mage will require clearance from the Tower."

    "Ah¡ª" Ollie bowed. "Apologies, I was not aware, Lord Knight. We shall take our leave."

    The Knight did not immediately dismiss them. Instead, he nudged his Griffin''s flanks so that it approached the Void Sorceress.

    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    "Hello," Gwen said nervously. The Griffin''s beak could arguably pierce her chest, puncture Elvia, and still had more length to spare.

    "Young Lady, the word is that you Purged the Red Gulch?" The officer, who Gwen could see was in his forties, kept a tight reign of his bird-mount. "By yourself?"

    "I had Evee here to help me." Gwen patted her healer on the back. "There was a guy called Mathias as well¡ª a bloke from St Micheal''s. He came along as support."

    "The Rothwell boy?"

    "The very same."

    "Good on him." The rider leaned down and extended a hand. "I am Knight-Captain George North. I am pleased to see such a worthy addition to our nation''s military arm. I do not doubt we may see each other again in the future. I hear you have a tamed Kirin?"

    "I do, Sir North." Gwen shook the man''s mailed glove, then curtsied a little lower than she wished. "And yes, Ariel is a Kirin¡ª of sorts. There''s Caliban too, with its many forms. May I know your partner''s name?"

    "This is Sparhawk." The Griffin Guard looked pleased with Gwen''s response. "We are bound by blood."

    "I''d love for Ariel and Sparhawk to meet, but don''t think I can summon my Familiars here," Gwen replied carefully. "Nonetheless, it''s nice to meet you both."

    "Likewise. My apologies for detaining you so far from the gate." The Knight-Captain was surprisingly cordial. "My liege is much occupied this time of year. As her guards, we take no chances."

    "Of course. I understand," Gwen simpered, stunned that she was having a conversation with a Royal Magister seated on a Royal Griffin, outside the Royal Home of Elizabeth II, discussing how close she could get to the Queen of England. "We don''t wish to inconvenience you."

    "I see we understand one another." The Knight backed his mount away. "¡ª Sparhawk?"

    Of its own volition, the Griffin nuzzled Elvia, enticed by the healer''s presence, or at least the morsels in her pockets.

    "Good luck." The Knight coaxed his mount way. "Cambion, Clifford, we''re resuming patrols!"

    "Yes, Sir!" The others took to the air. In a minute, the Griffin flight once again turned to specks above the palace grounds.

    "Well." Gwen turned to the others once the last bell-beat of wings faded. "That was¡­ something."

    "Isn''t it?" Ollie breathed out.

    "It''s the dream of every boy to be a Knight," Elvia provided some insight into Ollie''s sigh. "And the dream of every Knight is to join the Griffin Guard."

    "You get to raise a Griffin from infancy to adulthood," Ollie appended Elvia''s proclamation. "You receive an egg, once you''re inducted, to bond with your Astral Soul. If the rider dies, the Griffins will hunt down their partner''s killer to the end of the earth. Once avenged, or if the quest is no longer possible, they kill themselves. The same could be said of the riders."

    "Jesus."

    "That''s why they''re the ultimate symbol of loyalty," Ollie said. "Lions, Unicorns, and Griffins¡ª Courage, Purity, and Loyalty¡ª the watchwords of the Empire where the sun never sets."

    Gwen watched Ollie''s chest puff with pride. "How very nationalistic."

    "It''s only natural." Ollie shrugged. "We''re citizens of the Mageocracy, after all. As Mages, we''re the keepers of the state''s Mandate."

    "Of course." Gwen looked around at the empty avenue, deserted save for a few Mages like themselves who had business here. So much land, so many cloud-clapped spires, gilded statues and golden-winged cherubs had been dedicated to just one Household.

    But for how long could such a system sustain itself?

    History splutters, but it chugs on, driven by the momentum of the aeons.

    Like a glacier being pushed out to sea, the resentment of the NoMs would pile up, until one day, like climate change...

    Gwen felt her will waver. Why should she, a benefactor of the Tower systems, act as the catalyst? What if all she desired was a palace for herself and Evee?

    But no¡ª she cautioned herself. Touching Elvia''s golden curls to calm her mind. Some things ought to be done, not for the sake of picking a path, but because they were right. If not for collective gain and a mutual profit, why do anything at all?

    "¡­ and here we are, Trafalgar Square! The heart of the city! Up there''s Admiral Lord Horatio Nelson, Hero of Trafalgar, perished during the action against the French and Spanish allied fleet. His sacrifice led to unchallenged Britain supremacy over the Atlantic and Pacific for the entire Hanover epoch, culminating in the establishment of the Mageocracy as we know it."

    Nodding, Gwen surveyed the scene.

    Trafalgar Square was as she had recalled from her alter-life. The enormous roundabout was there, as was the Georgian and Edwardian Gothic-revival architecture that surrounded it. The difference, as far as Gwen could see, was that the iconic memorial felt more prominent and boisterous, matching the gravity of the Mageocracy.

    That, and the Lions that adorned the base of Lord Nelson''s column were instead a foursome of Griffins, each with their wings tucked, eyes sharp, and talons fully extended.

    The fountain monument beside Lord Nelson was also many times larger than Gwen recalled. Unlike its modest incarnation in her world, a massive Grecian sculpture in transmuted bronze marked its centre. Upon closer inspection, Gwen perceived the mangled series of fins, arms, busts and buttocks displaying an epic struggle of tumultuous battles at sea. At the very top of the structure, a triumphant Lord Admiral Cuthbert Collingwood rested the butt of his sword-wand on the head of a bowed Mermen King.

    "For the conquest of the Caribbean and the successful defence of the Mediterranean from the resurgent Mermen," Ollie helpfully provided the details. "The one been trodden on is the Coral King of Ionia. It''s a wonder that forty ships of the line managed to down a Leviathan, using only quasi-magical black powder and Dwarf-forged Adamantite Harpoons. Lord Collingwood was Lord Nelson''s Second if you''re wondering¡ª both are British legends."

    "Were they notable magic users?" Gwen inquired, feeling oppressed by the excessive history. Australian chronicles tended to favour the First Fleet, sans the Indigenous folk, and focused more on looking ahead. There was a lot to be proud of, though much of it involved desperate struggles celebrating local vagabonds like the Rogue Mage Ned Kelly, or acts of English futility like Gallipoli.

    "Lord Collingwood was an early example of a Master Transmuter." Ollie pointed to the plaque. "Lord Nelson... was talented in other ways."

    "How so?"

    "Today, we would call him a Squib." The Cambridge Magus forced the words from his throat. "I know, absurd, right?"

    "Wow." Elvia stroked Sen-sen with one hand, toying with Kiki with the other. The plants purred, mewing softly.

    Impressed, Gwen tried her best to visualise the battle at Trafalgar. For herself, it wasn''t hard to imagine a time when a man with a talent for command, a knack for rousing speeches, and a mind for tactics was far more important than a girl who could summon Wyverns and matter-devouring Caliban-beasts. If this world had indeed once entertained such individuals, what had gone wrong during the Spellcraft Revolution to curb the involvement of non-magical individuals in British society?

    As a beneficiary of the neo-libertarian new world order, Gwen suspected she knew the answer.

    "Shall we head to lunch?" Elvia tugged on her sleeve. "The Lord Moon is close."

    "Sure." Gwen turned away from the bubbling mayhem of amalgamated metal. A fin here, a boob there, contorted limbs all over. "Fish and chips it is."

    Gwen felt conflicted.

    Her biggest disappointment came in the form of a modern theatre made from glass and steel that sat beside Southwark. The ubiquitous Millennium Bridge was missing as well, making the stretch between Blackfriars and London Bridge exceptionally inconvenient.

    And then they arrived at London Tower, also known as the Old Palace, "The Ivory Tower", The Shard.

    Over its nine-century year history, the Tower had served sequentially as a palace, an armoury, a treasury, a menagerie, an administrative record office; and now the heart of the Mageocracy''s Tower System. For the locals, the soaring spire''s design had attracted an atypically dry English moniker¡ª "The Shard"¡ª for its likeness to a chipped HDM.

    Compared to Gwen'' recollection of the original structure¡ª London Tower and its surroundings proved far more extensive. With Mage Flight becoming commonplace, the moat was now a spacious lawn, within which, in centre of its double-walls, sat the fabled Tower. Though the designers had kept its original facade, it wasn''t difficult to spot the late 20th-century addition¡ª a section a kilometre in height, levitating above the medieval base. Combined with the dozens of renovated, medieval spires surrounding the base block, the scene stole all breath from Gwen''s lungs.

    "Wow," she marvelled on approach. "It''s taller than the Chinese one. They really built a floating superstructure?"

    "It''s the ''tallest'' Tower in the world. I mean, it would have to be. It houses the Crown Jewels!" Ollie''s eyes misted over with admiration. "Between the Crown, Sceptre and the Sovereign Orb, our Artefacts are powerful enough to cow even Dragons. You ever heard of the Heart¡ª"

    "Yes, the Heart of Flames¡ª" Gwen mumbled, her mind suddenly mired in the past. In the recess of her skull, a baritone voice hummed the Empire''s nationalistic masterpiece, "Jerusalem".

    Bring me my wand, of burning gold:

    Bring me my arrows of Desire:

    Bring me my stone: O clouds unfold!

    Bring me my Heart of Fire¡ª

    Her Master had sung that song, fighting embarrassment to mollycoddle her upset. Who would now do that again? Gwen despaired even as she swallowed her feelings. Gunther growled rather than hummed, and Alesia''s singing-voice sounded like she was vocalising from the bedroom.

    "I know the story. It''s the Core of an Ancient Dragon."

    Ollie sighed with relish. "Did you hear about the Red Dragon incident we had in ''01?"

    "I did." Gwen nodded. How could she forget, that was the day she "arrived" in this world.

    "Once the fires died down, her Majesty had a word with Sythinthimryr, the keeper of Carrauntoohil, regarding the egg episode. Palace officials say the Crimson Queen was invited into the Tower of London to gaze upon the Heart, after which she willingly went home without needing reparations. It was quite the story when it broke."

    "The tale of the tail-wagging Dragon Queen, eh?"

    "Well." Ollie grinned. "In the worst-case scenario, the Order of St George is well versed in hunting down Titans and Mythics. That and Carrauntoohil is within teleportation distance of the Shard. Arguably, after an incident like that, we have good cause to parley with the great lizards."

    "That''s awfully kind of the government." Gwen wondered if the incident really was as cleanly wrapped up as the reports said. In her opinion, someone like Ravenport may provide a more nuanced view of things.

    "That''s the way it is." The researcher laughed. "Shall we?"

    The trio made their way into the inner courtyard, up the ramparts, and between the gate towers.

    "Not many people here," Gwen observed. In Shanghai, even Fudan''s faux Towers were shoulder to shoulder with activity. "Slow day?"

    "Oh, Gwennie, people don''t ''walk'' into the Tower," Elvia chuckled. "We won''t be either, there are short-range Teleportation Circles at the base of the old Ivory Tower. It''s a security measure."

    "My mistake. Well done, Evee." Gwen ruffled Elvia''s hair to disguise her embarrassment. One can take the Omni-Mage out of the Frontier, but not, apparently, the other way around.

    At the gate, the trio was greeted by Tower Guards in midnight-blue uniforms, embroidered with markings in gules. Upon the men''s bosoms sat the Royal Crown, tied together with an overlarge hat, a thick coat and shoes sporting what appeared to be a stylised Tudor rose.

    Once the guests made a show of their licences, the stoic guards stood aside.

    "Are those Beefeaters?" Gwen whispered.

    "You know about Beefeaters too?" Ollie was well delighted by her knowledge. "That''s not a term you hear too much outside the service. Every Custodian is a veteran Mage who has served his or her tour in her Majesty''s beloved corps."

    "We should show the proper respect," Elvia reminded her boisterous, all-too-casual companion.

    "You know, the other half of the Beefeaters are the Ravens at the Green Tower. There are thousands of the buggers when the weather''s fair. They''ve been around since the eleventh century, or so the story goes. Most of the flock''s quasi-magical now after Henry VIII''s decision to make use of the local flock. At least a hundred at any given time serve as Familiar to the Beefeaters, who feed them beef sourced from the Royal farms. I''ve heard that some Transmuters have chosen to join them, leading the murder. This one Sun article said that when young Mages tried to Magic Missile one, the Raven turned one of the delinquents to stone."

    "If the last raven dies, the Tower falls," Elvia added ominously. "So the story goes."

    "Hold up." Gwen''s scalp crawled. "You''re telling me there''s Ravens that are in fact, people?"

    "Which is why it is best to leave the birds well-alone while in London," Ollie advised. "Imagine netting a Magister¡­"

    What Gwen protested was the loss of privacy to the fact that some Raven-guy could be staring at her right now. In fact, she seemed to recall seeing a few here and there while they toured the Thames.

    Her complaint, however, was silenced by their stepping into a circular portal located inside the spacious liminal space of the magically amplified Ivory Tower.

    "We''re in a secure pocket dimension used for transit¡ª" Ollie explained before they teleported into the interior. A split-second later, their circle flashed quicksilver, depositing the trio in the main lobby. "¡ª and here we are. Welcome, to London Tower, House-sister."

    "Holy¡ª"

    Inside, the lobby of the Ivory Shard could only be described as monolithic. Above them, the ceiling stretched upward indefinitely, though Gwen suspected some illusion must be at play. All around them, the horizontal space expanded outwards like an Olympic oval. Reminding her of termite mounds on the savannah, obsidian service counters sat on white marble, stretching as far as the eye could see.

    In place of pillars, Teleportation circles in aesthetic, circular tubes gave the sterile space a retro-future aesthetic.

    "From here, just approach a counter and they''ll port you to the right sector within the Shard." Gwen''s helpful House-Brother pointed to a smiling woman who was unoccupied. "Shall we?"

    At the counter, the middle-aged woman''s eyes lit-up. "Welcome to London Tower. Miss Song, I presume?"

    "You know me?"

    "It''s our job to know." The woman''s smile was kind and affecting. "How may I help?"

    "You''re famous!" Elvia cooed. "Miss Devourer of Shenyang."

    Embarrassed, Gwen slid over her ID. "I''d like to check my CC account, please."

    The clerk placed her card onto a small, elevated dais just enough to hold a phone. A glow of Divination engendered, then the clerk tapped on an unseen data slate. Once a hidden device spat out a receipt, she continued. "Here''s your script, Ma''am."

    Elvia looked away, as did Ollie.

    "2901." Gwen whistled, pleasantly surprised. "Where did the¡ª"

    A pair of tendrils from Kiki cupped her mouth by pressing a petal against her lips.

    "Gwen! You can''t just say that out loud!" Elvia hissed. "That information is private."

    "You wouldn''t want to invite hucksters." Ollie looked around nervously, as though Gwen was showing off an armful of Creature Cores. "Let''s keep moving. Did you have any business to conduct at the Tower?"

    "No, not yet." Gwen packed away her ID, then waved to the clerk. "Thank you, Ma''am."

    "Wouldn''t dream of it, Miss Song." The woman appeared genuinely taken by her presence. "Not for the daughter of Lord Ravenport."

    From smiling serenely, Gwen stopped dead in her tracks.

    Elvia''s eyes went wild.

    Ollie swallowed nervously. Having spent some time in her company, a few inklings of Gwen''s trouble with Ravenport had leaked through the sieve of idle conversation. "Gwen¡­ don''t mind it."

    "Gwen, that''s not true... right?" Evee appeared the sort easily swayed by print media.

    "Of course not!" Gwen snapped, first growling with ire, then deflating when she realised there was nothing to be mad about. Like Lady Grey forewarned, tabloids were a double-edged affair. "Ravenport and I¡ª We''re not anything! We''re less than nothing!"

    "Gwen¡ª" Ollie pulled her aside. "Keep your voice down."

    "Don''t be upset." Elvia patted her sides. "Let''s go to our next stop."

    "Not enough time for the Museum." Ollie quickly let go of Gwen''s clammy hand when he realised he had lewdly waylaid his House-sister without her permission. "Shall we head for the Isle? Master Samson should be waiting for you."

    "Alright." Gwen noticed that, as advised, the others around them had their ears perked. She wanted to stay in The Shard longer, to see if there were Demi-humans, possibly an Elf or two, but Ollie was right.

    The Tower could wait. Now, it was time to visit her London abode.

 Chapter 334 - The Rich get Richer

    The trio took the country-line to Limehouse, then a bus to Blackwall. No fare was needed thanks to their Public Practice of Magic Licences, which allowed the Mages free transit on intra-city transports from ferries to busses to the London Tube.

    At the station, Gwen bought a copy of the Sun Herald, one of the three newspapers widely available for purchase. When she handed over the currency card, a wide-eyed newsagent stared, scarcely believing that page three had come to life. Flipping through the spread, she could see that the public interest continued thanks to new testimonials coming out of Merthyr Tydfil.

    Once disembarked, Gwen studied the locality with a measured eye. In its present incarnation, Canada Square, Cabot Round and Westferry Circus all remained in their pre-developmental dilapidation, with short, squat brick buildings encompassing the length of the waterside, crammed to the brim with town housing for NoM dockers.

    For Gwen, who was all too familiar with old-world London''s infamous "second CBD", seeing Canary Wharf in an untransformed state was jarring to the extreme. In her plane, since the late 80s, foreign investment from the Saudis and then the Chinese had transformed the docklands into a financial leviathan. Pound for pound, the apartments and commercial spaces around the Isle became some of the most expensive in the city. The irony was that, when the economy of the Isle of Dogs collapsed in the 1980s, the project sold itself as bringing back jobs to the 20,000 dockworkers and their families.

    Naturally, by the 90s, all but the fringe-living families on the isle had been priced out by the enterprises. Thanks to Thatcher''s union-busting and Blair''s public cuts, Canary Wharf had even attained corporate extra-territoriality for its pseudo-public spaces.

    On their way to Millwall, Gwen felt giddy that present-day Canary Wharf remained entrenched in the 80s. There were no skyscrapers, only plumes of oily, inefficient mana exhaust adding to London''s winter smog.

    Amazingly, the old quay still operated¡ª serving the very same purpose it had some century ago, off-loading incoming freight that serviced the city. When she spied at the cargo barges, most of the ferried goods consisted of fruit and vegetables from both across the English Channel and from the northern wildlands.

    "It stinks," Ollie observed, wrinkling his nose.

    Elvia agreed. The region had been a bog-swamp. Now, as a result of urban decay, nature had reclaimed some of its industrial spaces.

    Half-a-kilometer later, the trio passed the Marsh Wall, arriving at what could have been the seventh-five storey Landmark Pinnacle. Disparate from Gwen''s recollection, a triple set of steel-gated warehouses, half-rusted with the teeth kicked-in and the windows smashed, occupied the hotel''s commercial space.

    "Location, location, location." Gwen smacked her lips audibly enough for the others to hear. "What a place this is."

    "Does it remind you of Forrestville?" Ollie''s lips curled, suggesting that Gwen was nostalgic for the industrial sprawl of her Australian home.

    "Forrestville wasn''t this bad¡­" Elvia pulled her sweater lower, even though she wore formless pants that hid her thin legs. "Gwen, there are NoMs here."

    "Of course there are NoMs here," Gwen snorted. "This is the hamlet of Millwall!"

    And as the trio knew nought of Millwall, there was nothing more to be said.

    To their left and right, moving down Westferry into the Outer Docks, sat rows of grey, Victorian terrace houses with shared partitions and dark, conjoined gables. From the windows of these cramped, dreary-looking homes, tired eyes looked out at the intruders.

    What must they look like to the NoMs? Gwen wondered. She must appear out of place with her elegant autumn getup. Beside her, Ollie was every inch a Wizard from Hogwarts, wearing grey trousers and oxfords, half-hidden under Cambridge''s signature robes. Behind them stood Elvia, whose garish combination of colours was the brightest, retina-searing thing from dockside to the farm.

    "Watch out!" Ollie halted the group. There was a puddle, or perhaps a sinkhole, or maybe something disgusting and unnameable, barring their way.

    Threateningly, the muddy water glooped.

    "We could walk around."

    "Not for much longer." Ollie indicated to the patch of green on the distant hill. "This area used to be a bog. Thanks to the snow, the mud rises like water across the tidal flat. Gwen can fly, but WE need to play by the rules."

    "Is Levitation too much?"

    "There''s always Prestidigitation," Elvia suggested.

    Gwen looked around. "Ariel!"

    "Ee!" A crash of thunder struck the clearing, Ariel appeared a split-second later, hovering mid-air. "Ollie, Evee, you guys Levitate and hold onto Ariel."

    Flying in a sense, but not-flying all the same, the trio forded the encircling ring of mud.

    "Ee!" Ariel''s senses were sharper than its human companions. Instinctively, it picked up the odour of unwashed bodies ripe with cabbage smells, emerging from the docker''s terraces. For a creature of rarified air, the stench of the unwashed masses shivering with winter-sweat was not a pleasant experience.

    "Looks like we''ve got company," Ollie observed drily.

    A mob approached, assembled from the flotsam and jetsam of folk emerging from the leaning terraces. Most of them wore work shirts with dark, rain-proof jackets. There was nary a woman among the men, who wore unfriendly scowls, carrying dangerous malice in their eyes.

    "Oi, wot''re the bleeding likes ef ya doin'' in a sheit hole loike this?" The leader, so far as Gwen could see, was a man in his late forties; ham-faced, barrel-chested, and wearing a newspaper cap.

    "I am sorry?" Gwen halted Ariel. "What are we doing here?"

    "Yeah, wot''re chicky Sorceresses loike yos doin'' in a hoe loike ours?"

    "Sight-seeing." Gwen returned a dazzling smile. "Gentlefolk, please don''t mind us."

    "Oh, but we do min'', young lydy. This ''ere is our ''omes. What''s so interestin'' abaht a bunch o'' wag''s hearths?"

    Gwen wondered if the workers would at all understand if she simply told them that she would soon bring them new jobs with fair pay for the next two decades. Seeing the isle in such a state, she could almost taste the untapped opportunities¡ª though that could also be the swamp water. Either way, all she needed was a spark, once an investor appeared with the cash to gentrify a single section, other punters followed like hungry mongrels smelling a fresh carcass.

    "Rest assured we have no unkind intentions, good sir." Gwen nodded.

    "Ya best be garn naw." The dockers menaced them.

    "Of course, we¡ª"

    Ollie halted her before Gwen could go. Leaning closer, the Praelector began to furiously whisper beside her ear. "Gwen, are you going just to let them¡­ bark?"

    Gwen cocked her head at her companion. "Yes?"

    Ollie raised a brow. "They''re NoMs."

    "I know. These are the salt of the docks. The common muck coughed forth by the Thames." Gwen shrugged. "Don''t give me that face, Ollie. Are you seriously going to bang spells with yokels?"

    "We are Elite Mages." Ollie''s voice rose an octave. "Untitled we may be, we remain beyond the NoM''s reproach. I am a Magus of Cambridge, and you''re a sanctioned War Mage. We are free to go where we please in London. Be it the Tower, or this¡ª eyesore."

    Hearing Ollie''s displeasure, the dockworkers stepped back.

    "Now you''re frightening the poor sods." Gwen sighed. "Good people of the Millwall. Pay Magus Edwards no mind. We''ll be leaving immediately."

    "Gwen." Elvia tugged Gwen''s sleeve.

    "Yes, Evee?"

    "I can sense their sickness." Elvia''s eyes darted toward the leader and a few more of the younger men. "Malnutrition mostly, and Diphtheria, Tuberculosis, Mould Lung¡­"

    "Black mould?"

    "Quasi-magical toxin poisoning," Elvia whispered. "There''s probably Slimes and other Magical Creatures living in the docks, or under the hamlet in the sewers."

    "Yikes¡­"

    "Can we help them?"

    "Are they dying as we speak?"

    "No¡­"

    "Then we''ll be back." Gwen waved at the dockworkers to show that indeed, they were merely passing by. "Ollie, be a dear and come away."

    The trio skirted the soupy water in the dock, then threaded their way through the dockland until they reached upper Mudchute, once a fishing village on a boggy rise emerging from the swamp. A century ago, the land had appeared as a result of displaced Transmutation overspill from the dock''s construction. Now, the mud-hill was the location of Gwen''s new address¡ª Lady Loftus'' gifted leasehold.

    At the gate of what could only be Mudchute farmhouse, Ollie fired off a flare to inform the keeper of their arrival. With the silvery Sigil blooming overhead, a hound call went up, followed by a long chain of howls, barks and growls. A moment later, streaming from the barns and the kennels, some two dozen dogs poured forth.

    "Holy hell¡­" Gwen fought back her lesser instincts.

    These were large dogs¡ª wolfhounds by the appearance of their bristly coats, and each the size of a pony. On long, graceful legs, the dogs pounded the sodden turf, bringing up great clouts of icy clod. Instantly they surrounded the trio, forcing Kiki and Sen-sen to hide even deeper inside Elvia''s pockets.

    "Come-bye!" came a great, booming voice over the hill.

    The dog-swarm obeyed, forming a clock-wise wheel as they encircled the travellers.

    The silhouette of a man emerged, stocky and stout and with the air of a military man.

    "Stand!" A shrill whistle followed the order. As one, the twenty-odd dogs stood to attention, a few scratching their ears while the rest panted, sniffing the air to taste the intruders.

    Gwen and her two companions waited until the man was in speaking range.

    "Gwen Song, War Mage," she introduced herself. "This is Magus Ollie Edwards¡ª Peterhouse''s Praelector, and here is Elvia Lindholm¡ª trainee Cleric from Nightingale''s. Master Samson, I believe?"

    "Right you are, Miss Song." The man saluted, despite Gwen possessing no official rank. "Excuse the pups. They are still in training."

    "They''re plenty well trained." Gwen drifted forward, just skimming the earth. The ground underfoot alternated between waterlogged grass and ankle-deep ice-sludge.

    "Aye, it''s a wee wet after the snow thaws." Wally Samson put on a knowing smile. "I brought a few pairs of Wellies."

    A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

    Together, the group made for the house on the hill. The veteran was older than he looked. The man''s wheat-coloured hair was interwoven with strands of grey, giving him a grizzled demeanour.

    "Wally Samson, at your service."

    "Thank you, sergeant."

    "Just Samson will be fine." The man brushed off their politeness. "Got early supper prepped if yer mind. Just simple, farmhouse fair."

    "I love a good farm to table." Gwen was entirely serious. The fish and chips had been a bit too lite and a bit too rich; a paradox made possible only by fast food.

    "EE!" Ariel expressed a desire to play with the dogs. Gwen obliged by cutting the Familiar loose, allowing Ariel to hover over to the panting hounds hungry to take in the newcomer''s scents.

    "Caliban!"

    "Shaa!"

    The dogs bolted, instantly recognising a predator who could consume the lot of them and still have the stomach to spare.

    "EE!" Ariel lamented, glaring at Caliban.

    "Shaa!" Caliban considered chasing the hounds.

    "Aww." Gwen tossed her Familiars a few HDM crystals. "Poor Cali. Don''t mind it."

    "Shaa¡­"

    Wally said nothing, though he did keep a safe distance from Caliban.

    The farmhouse itself was a brick and flint cottage in dusky red, with mossy-tiled roof and a lichen-covered fence surrounding the outskirts. To the rear sat two enormous barns, both taller than the house itself. The kennels were located in the eastern quadrant, taking up more space than both the main building and the barn, looking drier and better furnished as well. Here and there, Gwen could see Black-faced Suffolk sheep, the curly-haired Irish Auroch, and stranger creatures halfway between horse and goat. Atop the roof gable, a pair of ravens looked down on the gathering with cold, unblinking eyes.

    The voyeuristic birds and the dour stench of the swamp aside, the setting very much reminded Gwen of an episode in "Escape to the Country".

    Inside, Gwen was surprised to see an unsealed ceiling older than the Mageocracy, left exposed so that the fireplace could bake the moisture from the wood. With a Firebolt from Wally, the hearth roared into life, casting the dining room into shades of warm orange.

    "That er guess?" A woman emerged from the attached kitchen, her face white and round as a full moon. "Time ter service supper, ser?"

    "Almost, Mary, thank yee," Samson gave his orders, then shooed her from the dining. "Please, yer honours, sit where ever ya like."

    Ollie and Elvia sat on either side of the large, oaken table, while Gwen sat at its head. Wally Samson then left to retrieve a bundle of documents, returning to the desk with printed parchments and an expensive fountain pen.

    "Yer lease-holds, my lady." Wally presented the documents. "Sign here, and you''ll receive custodianship of the lower Isle''s estates, as well as care over Cubitt and Millwall for the next five years."

    "Thank you, Wally." Gwen read through the documents carefully, a paranoid habit inherited from an earlier life. "¡­ it says here I have to pay a levy?"

    "Ten per cent of what the estate produces." Wally nodded. "Mind you, other than the kennels. We don''t produce much of value. Just enough to eat."

    "I assume our benefactor receives the levy?" Gwen asked if the tithing was to the London Tower, the Commonwealth Government, or the Lady of Ely.

    "Yes, the tithing is to the Lady of Loftus," Wally clarified, apparently more in the know than Gwen gave him credit.

    "Of course." Gwen felt better for the fact. It came as no surprise that Lady Grey''s kindness wasn''t without her slice. "And the rent?"

    "No rent. But, as our custodian, you will be liable for the estate''s land tax, stamp tax, corporate tax and income tax during your occupation. Other than that, the levy is all."

    Gwen performed a few quick calculations. If her tax code served, up to thirty per cent goes to the man, plus lump sums throughout the year, plus another ten per cent of her gross goes to her benefactor. After that, whatever she portioned out to herself lost another thirty per cent to the state. Compared to her forming a party and going out and farming for Cores and crystals, it was a bland affair. If so, there was little wonder that adventuring, with its hard-to-trace income streams, was a principal avenue of profit.

    Studying the next few pages, she puckered her lips while scanning the documents. For someone without the means to circumvent the economic barriers, the Isle of Dogs was a problematic piece of real estate. For herself, who had seen it all happen, the matter was more so an issue of how to kick-start the transformation.

    First, she desired tax cuts.

    That was the catalyst she needed.

    She could effortlessly bring the cash, but the city of London had to guarantee her profitability if it desired advancement from the private sector. In exchange for bringing employment and rejuvenating the local economy, there had to be tangible benefits; not just for herself, but for her future investors.

    One of which was Lady Loftus, naturally. Once the isle''s potential could be realised, the Marchioness of Ely would be the envy of all. Then, assuming she could bring onboard new friends with vaults full of HDMs, it was entirely possible to recreate some portion of the isle''s commercial landscape within the span of five to ten years.

    Of course, she would need a trustworthy and wily manager to oversee the operations, at least until her Spellcraft course finished. If there was one thing she looked forward to, it was that few would dare to short-change Magister Song, War Mage. In time, she could then funnel the profits into a Tower¡ª if not in the Commonwealth, then a commercial one in the USA.

    And as for the NoMs¡ª Gwen paused when she reached the last page.

    NoMs weren''t Mages. No matter how much they worked, the distance between Demi-gods and mortals could not be bridged, not without unbearable upheaval. If there must be change, it must come gradually, slowly, trickling from below, seeping through the stratum of society like the moisture-seeking roots of a rock-tapping cactus.

    That, or ride in high upon the crashing crest of profit.

    With a flourish, she signed her name, then pressed her Glyph into the contract. The paper briefly flashed while the Divi-invocation took hold.

    Wally Samson bowed deeply. "Ma''am. The thirty employees of the estate and I, await your pleasure."

    "Thank you, Wally." Gwen packed the papers for safekeeping. "I look forward to working with you."

    "Nary a title, and yet already the mistress of a domain," Ollie said, his lips sultry with longing. "Maybe you can start by teaching those dockers a lesson in propriety."

    "You''re still mad about that?" Gwen gave Ollie a sideways glance. "Wally, what''s the state of employment in Millwall and Cubitt?"

    "Idle, Ma''am," Wally replied without any particular emotion. "Ever since the upgrade to the Royal Albert, the Royal Victoria, and the George V docklands, Canary Wharf has been neglected."

    "From that prefix¡ª I take it the ''Royal'' docklands are operated by folk with long names and blue blood?"

    "Correct. A coalition, ma''am. Each of the Factions has their cut. Norfolk, Camden and Exeter have controlling stakes, among others."

    "I see." Gwen''s nostrils flared when Wally spoke the familiar name.

    With some disappointment, she realised that market regulation in this world didn''t come in the form of government intervention. The state itself spearheaded the spirit of anti-competition. If so, then the proposals she sold in China would fail to net her the same portion of profits. Different to the economic wild west of the Frontier, London beheld itself to "Royal" robber barons and resource tycoons. In turn, all sycophants must offer perpetuation perpetual tithing to those at the top.

    Feudalism-in-reality.

    Democracy-in-name.

    Fascism-in-practice.

    Cronyism by design.

    ¡ª all sustained by the perpetual threat of extinction.

    Gwen found it ironic that a Brit¡ª the late novelist George Orwell¡ª warned the world that the purpose of conflict was to consume the products of human labour. In Oceania, the repressive fear of annihilation made the gifting of all power to a small caste seem the natural, unavoidable condition of survival. Fighting down an impulsive fancy, Gwen wondered what would happen if she quoted Orwell on a pamphlet and rained his wisdom over London? Would she be in Stasis by the end of the week?

    "I am sure even you can see these are desperate folk," Gwen invited Ollie to consider the NoM''s circumstances. "Who cares for propriety when there''s no gruel for the babe? Manners? Can manners nourish a dying daughter?"

    Ollie formed a slight frown.

    "And they''re sick," Elvia aided her companion. "These are hungry people, Ollie."

    "It''s the lord''s responsibility¡ª" Ollie began, then quickly realised what he was about to admit.

    "I have taken too little care." Wally bowed his head, saving the young man. "Please inform Lady Loftus of my ineptitude."

    "That''s not what I meant. I say, your dogs look wonderful," Ollie added quickly. "Incredible coats, very robust, superbly fed, I¡ª"

    The young man stopped when Gwen and Elvia''s gaze shoved the words back down his throat.

    "Well-fed Wolfhounds and starving villagers." Gwen sighed, turning away from the wisdom of Cambridge''s esteemed Magus Edwards. "Not the best combination, Wally."

    "The hounds have claimants." Wally''s voice grew stiff, "Many of them will grace the estates of the nation''s foremost Lords and Ladies. The genealogy of these dogs harkens back to the time of the Virgin Queen."

    "I know." Gwen reached out to deliver a reassuring pat on Wally''s shoulder. "I am not admonishing you, Wally¡ª but we are going to do things a little differently in the next few months. Please bear with me and trust in Lady Loftus."

    "I shall." The ex-soldier, now dog-man, doggedly bowed.

    On cue, more than likely listening for her entrance, Mary the kitchenmaid entered with a troop of maidservants, bringing in a stream of Mudchute''s finest produce. Toad in the hole, Shepard''s Pie, Scotch Eggs, Steak and Kidney Pudding, and of course, a famous, farmhouse Sunday Roast.

    Elvia professed to have lost her appetite thanks to growing concerns for the villagers. Ollie''s hunger was repressed by his earlier misstatement. Gwen partook in the early supper with her usual professionalism, pounding down unsaturated fat, creamy starch and baked carbohydrates without so much as a visible belly bulge.

    When she finished her third portion, Wally coughed politely.

    "Yes, Mister Samson?" Gwen looked up from her plate, a sausage sitting on a fork.

    "It''s customary to leave enough for the staff," Wally hinted in a low voice. "And for their families as well¡­ for, you know, bubble and squeak. It''s a rare treat."

    "I am sorry¡ª for what?" Gwen put down her sausage. "Leftovers? They eat our leftovers?"

    Her gaze swept over the mostly empty pots and pans.

    "My apologies¡­" She dabbed at the corner of her mouth with a serviette. "That said, ever heard of the wonders of SPAM?"

    Gwen and her party stayed the night at Mudchute Manor, a place that Mary intimated was known to the locals as "The Kennel".

    The cheeky moniker aside, there was ample room, as Wally had cleared Lady Loftus'' master bedroom for Gwen''s occupation, as well as two guest bedrooms, a study, and a section of the barn should she wish to stow a vehicle.

    The next morning, after a farmhouse breakfast of bacon and eggs, the trio, joined by Wally, made a tour of the farm.

    Caliban and Ariel had spent the night wandering the extremities of the estate, harassing sheep and playing with the dogs, eventually sleeping in the kennel, where it was nice and cosy. In part, thanks to Ariel''s intervention, the Wolfhounds accommodated Caliban''s presence, tolerating the slithering beast in their midst.

    After morning tea, the men, the women, the Familiars and the dogs bounced their way across the snow down to Cubitt. At the farm''s edge, the dogs returned. Gwen packed her Familiars away, not wanting to frighten the NoMs eking out an existence under the shadow of London''s Elite.

    Cubitt itself possessed less history than Millwall, though no less sorrowful. During the Pan-European Conflict, Canary Docks saw the launching of a dozen ships from Westwood & Baillie, Samuda Brothers, J & W Dudgeon, including the Dreadnaught HMS Royal Albert.

    After the Beast Tide, the shipyards and the freight-docks unilaterally migrated eastward to the five-kilometre stretch that made up the Royal Docklands. Canary''s owners, unable to find investors, allowed the facilities to rust, then rot.

    "What''s that building over yonder?" Gwen pointed to an enormous warehouse some two blocks across that looked like shipping containers plastered together with glass, concrete and sheet metal.

    "The West Terminal Printing Press," Wally advised. "It''s all but abandoned, I am afraid."

    "What happened?" Gwen''s profit-senses tingled. There was an opportunity here; she could feel it in her bones. "I thought the tabloid-rags did well in London."

    "Not all. Here lies The Observer''s final stand. Lord Mulholland, the first Earl of Halifax, built the press-factory originally in the thirties. The German blitz had damaged the press when they launched strategic spells at the docks. His grandson, Charles Wood Mulholland, third Earl of Halifax in the late 80s, hoped to revive the business through volume-production. Unfortunately, his business could not compete."

    "Who did it lose to?"

    "The Sun Herald and the Telegraph, ma''am. The London Observer performed well for a time. It faced criticism from Minister Thatcher''s government, for its socialist outlooks. Once sales began to slip, and the advertisers left, there was little Young Master Charles could do. In the end, he chose not to continue his grandfather''s legacy."

    "I take it." Gwen twisted her lips with pleasure. One man''s garbage was another transmigrant''s treasure. "That the Earl of Halifax thought Page Three was a sham, Page Five was for fools, Back Page sports was worthless and that the news should only report the truth and nothing but the truth?"

    "You''ve read him like a tabloid, ma''am."

    "Do we own the press?"

    "No, ma''am, just the land."

    "What''s in there now?"

    "Abandonment, I fear. Most of the machines are inoperable." Wally shook his head. "There''s been vandalism as well."

    "But the operation has remained," Gwen stated. "The system is there. The streamlined paper printing, I mean."

    "Yes, ma''am."

    "Is the lease released?"

    "The estate has outstanding rent." Wally coughed uncomfortably. "The Marchioness has instructed us not to pursue the balance¡­ for now."

    "Okay. Well, that''s just wonderful. I want to see inside," Gwen announced. "Wally, take us over."

    "We''re not going to the city?" Elvia butted in. Today, the Nightingale Cleric chose to wear a bright-red, knee-length jack with a rabbit-fur stole. She looked like a little Santa, or perhaps a young Missus Claus. They were three days off Christmas, mayhap Elvia was feeling festive?

    "Oh, museums can wait." Gwen''s eyes were positively aglow. She was feeling festive for an entirely different reason. There could be no better Christmas present than what she had just uncovered. "Wally, who used to work at the press?"

    "Locals from Millwall, Cubitt and Blackwall. The dockers can at least cross the river to work at the Royal Docklands¡ª the print labourers, I am afraid, have taken up either vagrancy or menial labour down in Dulwich and Greenwich."

    Fuck me! Gwen breathed out. Her heart had not palpitated like this since Tonglv went into business. It was amazing how, sometimes, things just fell into place of their own accord, as if a higher power directed her with a guiding hand. The isle, the printing press, the labour-ready workforce desperate for any work, the indebted owners...

    Through further confirmation awaited, she now knew London was a different beast to China. As a century-old ocean-fairing superpower, her desire to tap into the profits of the docklands was likely in vain.

    But, as Ravenport had demonstrated, the nobility''s economic prowess was wholly focused on the acquisition of tangible resources within the Mageocracy and its colonial heartlands. Ingredients, Crystals, Magical Beasts, Demi-humans, land itself¡ª these were its heart''s desire. Comparatively, against intangible forms of currency generation, the inbred nobles may as well be cross-eyed.

    "Wait, we''re NOT headed for the National Museum?" Ollie affirmed Gwen''s sudden change of plans, previously verified at breakfast, flabbergasted by his ward''s fickleness. "I was going to instruct you regarding the Mageocracy''s history!"

    "HA!" Gwen had to hold onto something to still her untamable pleasure. She found her stress ball in the form of Evee''s pliant, wincing shoulders. "The past can wait, old man! We''re going to see the future!"

 Chapter 335 - News on the March

    The idea of "free newspapers" wasn''t original.

    In Germany, at the turn of the twentieth century, an entrepreneur named Charles Cullmann attempted the nouveau business model with minimal success.

    Unable to compete with the prevalence of yellow journalism in unregulated tabloids, it took until the 1950s for San Francisco to see its first sustainable free newspaper, and the early 2000s for the emergence of Metro, a Swedish model from Luxembourg that focused on public-transit distributions.

    What Gwen could see in London, therefore, was a massive market gap for an essential information service¡ª ''free'' transit rags for the tube, the bus, the country-link, and the waiting lobby of the ISTCs.

    When Gwen had visited old-world London, she had ignored the red-top tabloids sold by News Corp and friends. But she had picked up copies of the Metro, left here and there and given to her at every exit, sometimes by panhandlers looking for coins. Though she had never studied journalism, the business model by which a "successful" "free paper" operated was well-known to her profession.

    The essential issue was that journalists weren''t business consultants. What the early wordsmiths had fumbled was targeting the right demographic. If in the epoch of mobile entertainment, rags like the Metro remained profitable, then it was self-evident that a world where folk happily bought newspapers, there was an unsaturated market. What''s more, unlike her predecessors'' wrangling of the counter-intuitive free-distribution model, her "Metro" would be spared the cost of trial and error.

    To start, she could release a bi-weekly edition while the new editorial office collected talented writers. The sections needn''t be lengthy, exclusive, or comprehensive. A few articles would be all: the national news, the international press, gossip columns, sports and entertainment, an adventure''s column. The psychology of need-to-know was human nature.

    Beyond the mundane, she would curate the paper''s main feature¡ª content "for" and "of" the millions of NoMs milling about London, holding up the city''s infrastructure. Content like baking recipes with grandmotherly sob stories, chicken soup for the soul. That and human interest anecdotes, life in the day of who''s who. The occasional tale of woe and success, the Mage "commoner" and the NoM who rose to prominence. A small section entitled "Weird" or "Humour of the Day", where editors rated memes of obscenely-shaped vegetables.

    And of course, an "Ask Evee" segment, where folk could post in questions about whatever, replied to by Elvia''s ghost-writers, or herself, if she''s inclined.

    The exchange, as it were, would give Mages insight into the multi-dimensional lives of NoMs. Meanwhile, the NoMs could freely read the exploits, dangers, and wonder of the Mage''s world straight from the horse''s mouth.

    And¡ª Gwen grinned. She had at minimum a hundred serials in her head. Assuming she could find a good NoM writer to act the revenant for her plagiarised authors, the "Fiction" section should keep eyeballs firmly glued to each edition.

    She even had a potential partner in mind¡ª Dominic Lorenzo.

    If the man was as good a journalist as his peers reported him to be, would Alesia''s old war bud choose to switch roles from frontline journo to editor-in-chief? Oi, Dom¡ª care to run an influential paper? She would ask him. One with above market-pay and a ten per cent stake for a five-year contract, with a second share-offer if circulation metrics met certain thresholds?

    Gwen wetted her lips, drawing strange looks from her companions.

    She was getting ahead of herself. For now, she needed to inspect the condition of the printing press.

    "Holy hell, what in the Wildlands is this?"

    Gwen wondered whether she had wandered into the innards of a steampunk dystopia.

    Once the daylight globes burned bright, the abandonment of the "Halifax" Printing Press revealed itself.

    "This thing is a monster!" Ollie marvelled at the mechanisms¡ª a thousand, perhaps ten-thousand times more complicated than a mid-tier strategic Mandala. "What Machinist could tame something like this?"

    Gwen agreed. Even in her old world, machinists were a dying breed. Outside of the underlying semantics, Gwen knew little to nothing about manufacturing. As far as marketing was concerned, once a recommendation was made; things happened, then products materialised. What happened in Shenzhen, China; stayed in Shenzhen, China.

    What the trio was looking at¡ª ignoring a collapsed section of the conveyor system, was what Wally dubbed a "Koenig & Sconebolt MK IV".

    From gate to gate, the warehouse was enormous, a stadium unto itself. Even so, it was choked from cargo gate to delivery bay with bits of protruding blue metal.

    "The core components came from W¨¹rzburg, Bavaria¡ª north of Munich and east of Frankfurt," the keeper of the isle explained with some difficulty. "Dwarven artifice, I am lead to believe. This one was built about thirty years ago. It''s been repaired now and then, of course. Expanded too, but alas¡­"

    Her groundskeeper lacked the jargon, and Gwen lacked the know-how. With her limited intuition, Gwen did her best to comprehend the mechanisms by confining her attention to just one section of the press.

    From the eastern quadrant, she could see small Golem-suits previously used to move large rolls of paper. Most of the Golems currently sat half-rusted beside piles of mouldy cylinders. Further down, roles of conveyor belts connected drum-feeders¡ª presumably where the paper rolls could be attached¡ª feeding a foursome of three-storey tall towers.

    "These are the presses?" Gwen drifted closer.

    Despite the disuse, she could smell the viscous ink, pungent and distinct, assailing her nostrils. She had once heard that fresh newspaper-ink resembled baked bread, though now they affected a sour fetor. There was the stink of machine oil as well, churned to the consistency of tar, as well as opaque lubricants still dripping through fissures and canals. The printing towers themselves were encased in a protective metal shell, still glowing faintly with mana. As for their insides, Gwen didn''t dare to look.

    "Printing Engines," Wally corrected her, shaking gunk from his gumboots. "The press-making machine requires a Mage to operate, a specialist by trade. It''s in another section of the building."

    "I see." Gwen followed the presses'' inter-connected "ley-lines" until she lost herself in the two-dozen rows of feeders snaking through the warehouse. At its end, she found a mechanism with rusted blades and precisely shaped funnels. Beyond that, more platforms, more swirling conveyers until finally, she saw the light of day at the western sector''s bundling bay.

    Strangely, this section did not appear nearly so ruined as the eastern quadrant.

    Further evidence supporting her observation appeared in the form of ink¡ª buckets of the stuff, still fresh from the smell of it, lying beside a plinking roll-press. The hint of mana, unlike at the primary engines, was still strong. There was Evocation, Conjuration, and a heavy dose of Transmutation and Enchantment; all rolled into one.

    "Wally!" she called out to her assistant. "Get over here. I think I''ve found something."

    It took the others almost ten minutes to navigate the innards of the printing press.

    Without so much as a grimace, Wally stuck a hand into the rollers and felt its press-plates. "Still wet. Someone''s been using this section."

    "What is it? A small printing engine?"

    Wally growled. "Aye, ma''am, looks like parts clogged together from that mess over yonder. That''s OUR spare parts, mind you. The Marchioness is owed debt."

    Gwen looked at the rusted, tangled heap that was once a fully functional newspaper press, said to churn out a hundred thousand papers a day. Now, it looked like a machinist''s nightmare.

    "Locals?"

    "We''ll see." Wally uncovered a panel. With some hesitation, he punched in a few Glyphs, and the van-sized press churned into life. A roll of almost-exhausted paper began to turn. From the top of the machine-tower, several drums slowly spun, some taking up ink from a plumbed feeder, another glistened with purified water.

    A loud hiss, followed by groaning metal turned the cogs, flywheels spun, sparks flew here and there, then the rear of the machine shat out a quart of black oil.

    CHONK! CHONK! CHONK!

    A pair of teeth at the bottom of the press gnashed. Somewhere to the left, a roll of prints emerged.

    Gwen picked up a sheet.

    There was a Mandala-looking inscription on the letterhead.

    "The Tower of Tandoori," Gwen read. "Serving the finest exotics from the East Indies. Butter Chicken, Tikka Masala, Chicken Biryani. Catering available. Call 20 7237 2247 for a booking. 14 Duchess Walk. Closed Mondays."

    Wally smacked his lips.

    "I am not sure what I expected," the gruff soldier stated blankly.

    "Revolutionary pamphlets?" Ollie remarked, taking one to read himself. "A secret meeting place? Spectre Cabal?"

    "Yes, Spectre meets there on Mondays." Gwen stowed a copy in her ring. She now knew where to have lunch.

    "Someone''s going to pay."

    "For using our parts?" Gwen shook her head. "If they can bang this together from that, we need to find them and give them a job."

    Wally''s face turned indignant, as did Ollie''s. "They''re burglars!"

    "Industrious ones, with skill and innovation," Gwen corrected her groundskeeper. "Put that on your to-do, Wally. Find out who these people are. Tell them they''re in no trouble and that they should keep working here. I formally give consent. However, they should refrain from looting the press until I can get someone to come in and have a look. Also, I need an office near here, or in here¡ª but away from the noise."

    Wally bowed his head.

    "Gwen, you can''t be serious about this printing business," Ollie spluttered. "This is such a waste of your time! You''re an Omni-Mage, what are you¡ª"

    "Ollie¡ª let me stop you there." Gwen waved a hand so that she cut him off mid-sentence. "In time, I shall prove you wrong. Until then, just watch. Don''t forget¡ª you''re not my keeper. If I require advice, I shall ask for it. If Lady Loftus did not trust in my abilities, she would have sent you to the isle instead."

    The Glyph on the wall proved a little excessive for Ollie, whose mouth pursed sulkily. Frustrated, he scratched his head, shedding a few hairs.

    "Wally, call the owner of this place. Tell them I have assumed control of the lease-hold. Negotiate a price for all this ''junk''. Emphasise the scrap metal¡ª and say the ''estate'' needs its debts repaid. If they''re willing, we''ll call it even. If not, call me, and I''ll explain to the Marchioness just how much she stands to profit. Tell Halifax¡ª tell them the interest is accruing as we speak..."

    "But there isn''t..."

    "There is now."

    "I see." Wally swallowed. "I''ll not disappoint, ma''am."

    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    "Good, get it done. As for the clean-up, you have until mid-January." Gwen materialised a crystal box. "Here''s two-thousand HDMs. Keep a record of all your expenditures, and Message me if you need to make extra-large purchases over a thousand HDMs."

    "No such need." Wally opened the currency-box. "I shall locate and clear out the old office. I recall it was in the northern quadrant, beside the press-plate storage. The local labourers are inexpensive."

    Wally pushed back a thousand HDMs.

    Gwen pushed back.

    "We''ll do a soup kitchen. And free lunch for labourers. Meat, vegetable, all that." Gwen gestured to Elvia. "Put everything under Evee''s name."

    "What?" Elvia raised both brows. "Gwen, what are you doing? That''s your money!"

    "Call it an experiment." Gwen conjured another set of 100 HDM currency cards. "Which reminds me. Take these and get a clinic set up in the local town hall. I''ll hire a few temps from the Tower. I reckon ''Elvia''s Blessed-Heart Foundation'' sounds about right. Get her face known, maybe make some iconography. Ollie?"

    "Y-yes?"

    "You''re an illusionist, right?"

    "I am."

    "Good, I want a big projection of Evee at the soup-kitchen and clinic."

    "But¡ª" Elvia protested before Ollie could interject. "Gwen, it''s all your money!"

    "I can spend my money how I wish." Gwen patted her Evee on the head. "You wanted to help the villagers, right? Are you going to refuse now? The charity will be in ''your'' name. I''ll be its director and you, its spiritual spokesperson. I can compensate you if you''re unwilling¡ª"

    "I''ll do it!" Elvia''s eyes grew bright. "I want to help the villagers!"

    "Of course, whatever your heart desires." Gwen''s smile grew calculating. "Get Mattie to come as well. Damned Knight''s got to earn his keep. My future taxes will be going into his upkeep."

    "Alright..." Elvia nodded obediently.

    "Good. Wally?"

    "It will be done, ma''am." Wally saluted. The housekeeper appeared appreciative of the fact that every command came bundled with HDMs.

    Gwen produced her Prestidigitation box and cleaned her hand and soiled boot, likewise running the cantrip over Elvia and the rest.

    "What now?" Ollie drew a shuddering breath before replying through petulant lips. "Back to the villages? Feed the poor? Give jobs to the masses? Hug an NoM child?"

    "I like your enthusiasm," Gwen said with a smirk. "Let''s head back to the Tower. I need to check the estate''s CC count and put in requests for healers¡ª after that, let''s bring the charitable spirit of Christmas to Millwall and Cubitt."

    His fringe had thinned.

    Ollie came to that realisation when finally, dead tired, the trio returned to the estate at Mudchute.

    Between his thumb and forefinger, he held a few loose strands.

    Gwen''s hair was black and velvety, so healthy that Ollie oft felt an urge to wrap a fistful around his hand. Elvia''s was fair and flaxen, full of Positive Mana. Wally was half-bald and had little to lose, meaning these definitely belonged to him.

    Following the horrid printing press, they had walked around the city non-stop. First, they went to London''s City Council Chambers, where Gwen spent almost three hours working out how to lodge a new Charity Organisation under her and Elvia''s name. Unfamiliar with the city''s nefarious bureaucracy, she grew dangerously frustrated until a middle-tier manager, sweating from every pore, materialised to appease the irate War Mage.

    After that exhaustive encounter, they returned to The Shard to recruit no less than ten healers to be stationed in the Isle of Dogs for three months, spending 300 of her credits and 300 from the estate''s coffers, as well as another thousand HDMs.

    In the late afternoon, starving and irate, the trio arrived at the Tower of Tandoori. Gwen ordered Demi-human dishes that smelled and tasted as intense and fiery as they looked, giving Ollie such an upset that he had to circulate mana for hours just to keep his intestines inside his lower body.

    When he asked the girl how she faired with the aftermath of this "Vindaloo", the bright-eyed sorceress replied with complete candidness.

    "I am used to the heat, to be honest. That and I''ve got these magical undies¡ª"

    "NO!" Ollie held her mouth before quickly removing his hands as though he''d gripped a sizzling branding iron.

    Red-faced, he admonished her for discussing drawers in public, shushing his House-sister in the strongest possible terms.

    "Never say that in polite company!" he warned her, as Lady Loftus has instructed. "Never! Some topics are taboo! They''re unmentionable!"

    The girl had laughed in his "prudish" face, which made Ollie''s chest sore. He could see in her eyes that she understood, but simply did not care.

    Afterwards, following a report from Wally, they returned to the isle to inspect the future address of the temporary clinic.

    That was the other thing driving Ollie up the wall.

    First, why did she care at all for NoMs? From the way she spoke to them, he could see that her inappropriate social-distancing was genuine. There was no superficiality in the way she talked to the muddy-booted scum dredged up from the thalweg of the Thames. In his eyes, Gwen chummed with the common muck as naturally as she interacted with him! A Magus of Cambridge! What was worse, she had taken the same tone with the Marchioness!

    When they had first met, and Gwen had sat beside the Lady of Ely, he had thought her a noble¡ª plausibly, as they whispered in the corridors, a bastard of Ravenport.

    Now, he had no idea, for only someone who had spent much of their time among the folk of the street could understand their cockney accents. To Ollie, the damned NoMs sounded like they were clearing their throat or gargling rocks!

    And this clinic business, the speed in which it was happening was giving him whiplash. Did the girl have no concept of capital? Or rather, who was supplying her with her seemingly limitless war chest? She hadn''t even sold her Creature Cores yet! Between the morning and the evening, some two thousand HDMs had been dispensed into Millwall and Cubitt, enough for a term of Spellcraft training, with lodging!

    Without delay, lured by the promise of cold, hard LDMs, men had lined up to clear out an old warehouse while women by the dozen scrubbed the floors. By the mid-afternoon, beside the new "clinic", a small mountain of garbage threatened to tip into the river.

    At first, when Gwen used Bilby''s Hand to compact the trash, Ollie had thought she was about to throw the lot into the Thames.

    Then the girl blasted the trash with Void.

    Ollie recalled screaming another "No!"

    VOID MAGIC! That rare and priceless resource of the Empire, an element that taxed the body and soul! Every use diminished the caster until they wasted away.

    "We can''t be polluting the Thames, Ollie old boy." Gwen had furrowed her brows before letting loose another tier 4 Elemental Sphere. The first stage all but consumed the remaining pile; the second stage levelled out the terrain. "Don''t wrinkle your face like that. I am good for a dozen of these without too much drama."

    The NoMs fell about fainting and vomiting at first¡ª then appeared to adapt with a frightful resilience befitting the verminous multitudes.

    In the late afternoon, Mathias Rothwell, a Knight from the Ordo of St Michael, rendezvoused with their party. Ollie had imagined the Knight an ally, but the quiet young man went about enacting the behest of his healer without complaint.

    Afterwards, at supper time, all the servants from Mudchute manor descended, using the cleared warehouse as a base, they started a soup kitchen of sorts, serving Spam.

    SPAM! Ollie''s vindaloo-ravaged innards cramped just thinking about it. Spam and cabbage soup. Spam, egg and rice. Grilled Spam with mustard. Spam in brown sauce. Ollie''s innards revolted just thinking of the mysterious Wildland meat.

    "Hang in there, Ollie!" Elvia had mopped the sweat from his brows, soothing his tortured soul.

    "Evee! More benedictions!" Gwen cracked her whip. "Come get your SPAM and BLESS! Groups of five! Don''t rush, plenty to go around! Those who worked get first dibs and a second-serving!"

    "Thank yee, missus! Thank yee so much!" There were some two thousand people between Cubitt and Millwall, meaning the manor''s staff had to work until midnight. Ollie had thought at first that the NoMs would rush the tables, or swarm Miss Elvia and was going to conjure some illusory deterrents. Gwen, however, was way ahead of him. All around the perimeter, a dozen pony-sized Wolfhounds, best-in-breed, kept the crowd honest. Additionally, her Void snake hissed at rowdy individuals while her Kirin hovered overhead, sniffing the sycophants petitioning the visage of Elvia he had earlier glamoured.

    All the while, the stoic Mathias stood guard beside Miss Lindholm, one hand on the pommel of his Spellblade, smiling serenely at the NoMs, glowing faintly with undisguised Radiance.

    When finally, all was said and done, Ollie sat in his room, trying to digest the last twelve hours.

    The reason for his whiplash, he slowly realised, was that Gwen had made good on all her pledges¡ª that was the cause of his ontological crisis. When he and his fellow Mages debated at Speaker''s Corner regarding the malaise of London, it was just that¡ª talk.

    Which among them would walk among the destitute?

    Who would want to spend Christmas and New Years feeding the poor? Even Ollie, who saw himself as a pillar of propriety, had worked for Saint Vincent''s twice in his life. Once when he was a Prefect at Eton, leading by example, and once during his first year at Cambridge.

    Comparatively, since the Frontier girl came to London, she had escaped to Wales, obliterated two armies of Trolls, saved a Dwarven Commandrumm, dug out a Hags Core, titillated the tabloids, and now she was bringing alms to the poor? And tomorrow or the day after, a troop of Clerics would arrive to treat the sick of Millwall and Cubitt, gratis. She had even declared compensated employment for those who labour to maintain the township! Sweep its streets! Shovel the mud into the river?!

    And Gwen had promised new roads, new buildings, new jobs at the printing press and in construction, all in one speech¡ª all in front of a warm and just-fed audience still buzzing with Elvia''s Blessing. She even said that there would be a Magister who would later arrive to oversee the operations and maintain the peace, one who had experience lording over a continental Frontier.

    Ollie''s temple throbbed.

    There was so much to digest that his brain felt like Butter Chicken.

    When he closed his eyes, the faces of the smiling folk haunted him. These bright, hopeful mouths, loudly chewing Spam, their lips red as ketchup. Were these NoMs the norm? He wondered. He knew NoMs, of course. They worked at the Tower as janitors and cleaners, semi-invisible in their grey tunics and white hats. Out in the country, he''d seen happy and well-fed NoMs, but these usually worked for a benevolent Lord or Lady on large, expansive estates.

    He had never seen NoMs, their clothes grimy with scum, hands grubby with the dockland''s ever-present dust, laugh and cry and eat and talk about their families. Was a job sweeping the docks worthy of roof-rattling cheers? Was a position ferrying bricks enough to make a grown man weep?

    "They''ll soon turn back into their dreary, conniving selves," or so he told Mathias, who humoured him with a nod.

    But nothing explained his hair.

    He was only twenty-six! The Praelector despaired. There was no pattern-baldness in his bloodline, so it must be something else. A disease? That was impossible, for the ever-attentive Miss Elvia would have known.

    What could it be?

    Christmas descended, blanketing the estate of Cliveden.

    Unlike the Commonwealth-wide Midnight Mass held at Westminster by Primate Archbishop Lorde Wembley, Lucy Astor''s gathering served a more earthly purpose¡ª the collection of social currency.

    It was because Lucy Waldorf Astor was not like the other Lords and Ladies of the English nobility.

    First of all, she was among the wealthiest, which instantly rose her above the ordinary, blue-blood claptrap.

    Secondly, she was American by birth.

    Thirdly, and perhaps with more complex than most would admit¡ª she''s not an Astor, nor a noble.

    Which is not to say the upper crust looked down on her. Instead, it was her being a stranger that made her endearing. In days of yore, the Astor family had its roots in old England, holding a traditional seat in Plymouth, Sutton. At the turn of the last century, the English side had dwindled, while the American branch prospered profoundly in the New World. When, after the Beast Tide, no more British Astors remained to inherit the title, the American Astors sent their first son, Waldorf Astor, across the ocean to take care of business.

    It was a subversive move, for the famous Waldorf was an infamous alcoholic with a choleric temper to match his bank account. His birth mother perished when he was a boy, and his ambitious step-mother had given birth to a second son with prodigal talent.

    Though many of the nobility of London looked down on the young Waldorf, they humoured him for his wealth, a resource sorely needed to rebuild Britain''s tattered, post-tide Empire.

    And this was where Waldorf''s young, charming wife came onto the scene.

    Beautiful and possessing a cutting wit, she diffused one crisis after another, tying together a web of patrons. Thanks to her guidance, the Sutton Astors regained its place among the House of Lords. The Chain of Being was restored, and in time, the wonderful and always charming Lady Astor gave birth to an heir¡ª "Bobby".

    And for two decades, things were reportedly well.

    Until Bobby perished in the Mediterranean, fighting an otherwise mundane battle against the Mermen. If the fight had been better fought, or perhaps if the stakes were higher, Lord Astor might have taken his son''s death better¡ª but the fact remained that Bobby died in a foolish mishap. It was unfortunate, but by the time their son''s body teleported back into Athens, the Merman''s venom had all but turned half his blood into jelly. The Temple of Apollo did what they could, but in the end¡ª a promising young Mage died because he and his team forgot to equip themselves with upper-tier injectors. It was a purposeless death¡ª nihilistic as mud, and all the more unfortunate for Bobby''s uncommon blood.

    Now heirless, it took five years for Lord Astor to drink himself to an early grave. An impressive feat, considering the Astor''s access to medicinal and magical healing. In his final days, Dwarven brew proved too potent for modern magic, even when interwoven with Faith.

    Pragmatically, the New York Astors desired to reinstate their claim by having her remarry a nephew or a branch member. Lucy told them they would have to Transmute a ring onto her cold, dead finger. She wasn''t afraid of them; with so many entwined interests, the Brits had her back.

    Widowed and still grieving the loss of her son, Viscountess Lucy Astor assumed her role as the Heiress of Cliveden. To prove herself, she would replace Waldolf''s seat in the House of Lords with another in the House of Commons.

    Of all her nest eggs, the GOS Hospital for Children proved her favourite, largely because her husband had sponsored the hospital in Bobby''s name. Waldorf''s charity had proved sound, for Lucy had gained a position sorely needed to distract her from the unyielding grief.

    In a way, her famous parties served the same purpose, especially when paired with politics.

    From noon, high tea was served at the grand hall, followed by an endless stream of canap¨¦s flowing from three kitchens, servicing the hundreds of guests flooding the concourse. In the chapel, the choir practised with the nuns, while the Bishop of Exeter polished his sermon. Out on the estate, hundreds more strolled through the extensive gardens, engaged in amorous rendezvous in the maze, or fought duels in the gymnasium.

    Trailing the room with a train of silvery silk, Lady Astor glided as though mercury slipping through the air, her poise unmatched by the younger upstarts with their pushed-up bosom and smokey eyes. Though she was no longer young, her generosity with crystals had afforded whatever longevity the Wildlands could supply.

    "Milady." A maid curtsied beside her mistress, awaiting her pleasure.

    "Yes, Lily?"

    "Miss Lindholm has arrived," the maid replied.

    "She has?" The Lady''s smile was genuine. "I am well pleased. Is our little angel alone?"

    "No, ma''am. She''s brought company."

    "Oh?" Lady Astor''s ruby-red lips grew rigid. A young man, perhaps? She felt a mote of disappointment. "Who has taken my adorable little cherub under his wing?"

    "Gwen Song, milady." The maid lowered her eyes, her voice trembled. "Miss Elvia is with the Devourer of Shenyang."

 Chapter 336 - The Garden of Delights

    "Kilroy''s ward?" Lucy Astor''s mind conjured forth an impressionable mien, a Phantom IV, and an outrageous short summer dress. The Lady of Cliveden had few vices and the gossip column was one of them. "Mycroft''s bastard?"

    The maid said nothing. An excellent servant did not presume.

    "Where''s Dickie now?"

    "At the Duke''s Garden, madam, with Exeter and Landsdowne, dealing in the dark."

    Lucy felt the corner of her lips curling. "Why do the men always act like they''re a cabal of warlocks? Nonetheless, this ought to be interesting. Where are our pups from the press?"

    "Airing themselves among the parterre."

    "Corral a pair to the Duke''s Garden. And tell Nellie to bring Miss Lindholm to the Garden as well. And our Devourer, naturally."

    "Aye, ma''am."

    "Do pass on my most sincere courtesy." Lucy Astor''s eyes informed her maid that the Lady of Cliveden was in one of her moods. "Let us see how Kilroy''s Apprentice performs."

    With ambivalence, Mathias followed the girls at a distance, not wanting to be too close to the Devourer of Shenyang, while fearing rebuke should he stray too far from Elvia Lindholm.

    Then there was the fact that he was exhausted.

    It wasn''t the sort of fatigue that came from defending a keep until the eleventh hour against the Mermen tide. It wasn''t even the tiredness he felt drilling Spells until he was OoM. It was an exhaustion of the mind, of administering the destitute for two days straight, assuring strangers that Miss Elvia would soon be free to oversee their ailment.

    Until midday, Gwen and her conspiracy from Mudchute had busied themselves with the spirit of what she called "A True Christmas Miracle", curing the sickest among the residents of the Isle of Dogs. Naturally, by then, the news had spread, and NoMs from Blackwall to Poplar and Greenwich had come in search of a meal and a heal.

    Thankfully, three mid-tier Clerics had arrived from the Tower, taking over some of Elvia''s duties. Concurrently, against a backdrop of Elvia''s face plastered across the back of the warehouse, the hungry received their Spam and pumpkin soup and black bread. Elsewhere, the ex-foremen of the docks took on their former roles, gathering the abled-bodied to sell them a dream of fairly-compensated labour. For some strange reason, Gwen had made the Praelector from Cambridge conjure up a jolly image of who he could only assume to be Saint Nicholas and to decorate a large, mostly dead tree.

    Despite having changed out of their grimy, NoM-molested attires and then teleported from London to Heathrow to Cliveden, Mathias felt stuck in transit. Having spent so much time among NoMs; he now felt repressed by the grandeur of Lady Astor''s Estate.

    Of the two extremes, which did he prefer? The Knight fought down an impulsive and chaotic thought. To walk among the insects who saw him as an avatar of compassion and charity, or to return to the shadow among the genteel folk?

    The Knight of St Michael had no answers, at least not without betraying a deeper part of his Oath.

    Ahead, his ward glowed in a corseted silk dress Gwen had produced from her Ring. The train was modest, an arm''s length at most, and the flowing fabric enchanted to repel grime and dust. On the dress''s front, an intricate jadeite necklace, threaded with silver, marked Elvia''s collarbones, sloping the fabric between the gentle swell of the healer''s bosoms.

    Besides his Cleric, the Devourer of Shenyang herself wore an oriental dress made from moth silk, elegant and contoured, but also skin-hugging and risqu¨¦. To cover her otherwise exposed arms and shoulders, the girl wore a sky-blue stole, adding to her natural elegance.

    Their Praelector, who had thought he was coming with them, was given orders to return to Peterhouse''s Matron.

    "I''ve got Mathias with us." Gwen had glanced at him. "Besides, I am a hoot when it comes to parties."

    "I don''t know¡­" Ollie Edwards had made several appeals.

    "Ollie, go home." Gwen''s voice grew stern. "I am spending Xmas with Evee, just Evee. Is that understood?"

    Though the Magus was her superior, the man nodded. Mathias felt a bout of sympathy and compassion, wondering if he had found a fellow sufferer. He was indebted to Gwen due to the events at the Gulch, as well as in the hope that one day, she would put in a word with Lord Shultz.

    "Miss Lindholm!"

    The callout from a maid stirred Mathias from his mental stupor.

    "Nellie!" Elvia tottered forward.

    "The Lady is beyond pleased that you could make it." The maid, prim in her penguin two-tone, bowed. "You are cordially invited to the Duke''s garden to accompany her ladyship."

    Mathias observed the exchange, especially when Elvia re-introduced "Nellie" as one of the three head maids of Cliveden.

    The Duke''s Garden? The VIP section of the Estate, used only for the entertainment of Lucy Astor''s most select friends?

    "Miss Nellie," the Knight intruded, mindful of his position. "May I ask why the Duke''s Garden? We''re perfectly happy to meet her in the central ballroom, or the guest dining inside Cliveden House itself."

    "I can''t say." Nellie remained bowed. "If you would follow me?"

    The trio followed.

    It wasn''t as though the girls could refuse, not with the head of Cliveden House calling for them explicitly. Even if they didn''t know Lady Astor on a personal level, the courtesy had to be repaid.

    Although like all the other guards, he would be left out in the cold.

    Duke''s Garden.

    Cliveden.

    Of the dozen English gardens surrounding the three hundred-odd acres of Cliveden, the Duke''s Garden was the sole original from before the Astor family renovated the home into one of the most extensive estates in Britain.

    Walled on all sides by Wildland flower beds, the Garden consisted of an acreage of elevated sandstone, built for privacy and warded from wind, rain and Divination by an elaborate underground Mandala.

    To enter, one negotiated the two guards standing outside, each holding the rank of Magus. Other guards patrolled the Garden''s exterior, awaiting a call from their masters should the conversation turn sour.

    Mycroft Ravenport knew the Lady of Cliveden was up to something the moment two reporters, one from the Telegraph and the other from the Sun Herald, wandered into the Garden''s confined spaces.

    In truth, the Duke of Norfolk didn''t much like Lucy Astor, "American" Heiress, and neither did she like him. They were partners in many ventures; however, he needed her business contacts across the borders, and she, his iron hand in whipping the nobles into line. In his younger days, he would have suggested that the woman''s presence tarnished the Chain of Being and the dignity of the nobility. Now, he could only concede that few among the blue-bloods had half the wit as Lady Astor. The obsession with breeding for talent, Mycroft confessed, had brought a terrible toll. Exeter''s twin morons, Mycroft shuddered, were evidence of that.

    The profitability of Lady Astor also made her a curious being among the Factions. In temperament and politics, he would gladly call her one of his own. Yet, the Lady of Cliveden professed on joining either the Middle Path Faction, or be without one; the latter being what the Factions preferred. To have Astor fiddle with the Middle Faction''s complex politics created vast unknowns¡ª while having her as an independent would at least make the woman''s profiteering predictable.

    Sheepishly, like conjured imps, the reporters slinked among the roses.

    Most of the upper class took no notice. Others, like Mycroft, dimmed their presence, wondering if their host was seeking a frontpage shot to entertain her bid for the House of Commons.

    Lucy had acumen, Mycroft respected that. If only the woman weren''t American. She wasn''t a raven-haired prodigy like his late wife but kept well enough to be desirable still for many of their ilks.

    Which was why when Lady Astor entered the Garden, gliding across the blue-green lawn like a shimmering bloom, the men turned to bow. Very soon, Lady Astor gathered around her a small swarm of crystal-chasing bumbling nincompoops, much like a nature goddess for fools.

    Mycroft himself chose the shadows offered by the Devil''s Pothos. There were a time and place for the limelight. Even the role of an officious parliamentarian did not make him anymore noticeable outside Downing Street. He was British-looking, not good-looking, meaning it was easy to glamour the part to suit the occasion¡ª or fade into the fog.

    The Duke of Norfolk was just about to smirk when his half-formed smile was forcibly torn from his thin, pale lips.

    Emerging from the gate was a vision in pale blue, slender and tall and clad in gossamer from the Ming Dynasty. When the girl moved, her shawl lingered like a scent, turning heads and pausing conversations for the briefest of seconds. Behind Gwen Song came a shorter lass in cold white, emerging as a shocking burst of gold-blonde hair. Elvia Lindholm, Mycroft recalled. She must be the companion Gwen saved in Ystradfellte. The girl''s dress suited her youthful body well, accentuating what she did possess, and making what she lacked less memorable.

    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

    As for Gwen Song, with her raven hair swishing at the waist, Mycroft couldn''t help but be reminded of another girl-child from long ago, following a Deathless Mage like a bright-eyed kitten.

    Bung! PA!

    Lumen-globes flashed.

    Mycroft grew increasingly self-aware of the fact that the eyes in the Garden were now looking for someone¡ª and that someone was him.

    Across the Garden''s lantern-lit trellises and ancient touchstone walls, two pairs of eyes met across time and space.

    Mycroft''s nose itched, his attention-dimming obfuscation rarely failed.

    The girl''s mouth mimed a word.

    F¡ª? Father?

    Mycroft''s scalp crawled.

    If the girl dared to say that aloud in public and within the lens of the reporters, Mycroft would have half a mind to reinvigorate the magic he had reportedly left unused for two decades. Such a deluge of Dust would arrive from the heavens that from this day forth, the Duke''s Garden would change its chronicle to adhere to Norfolk.

    Thankfully, the girl''s vivid irises passed like cold water, shifting toward Lady Astor.

    The girl smirked.

    What is this? Ravenport felt his spell-finger twitch.

    Was the girl saying this was a favour? He felt assaulted by absurdity. If so, did she expect him to repay it? Dare the girl try to tease her betters? One capable of ejecting her from the Material Plane itself, damn the consequences?

    Elvia wasn''t sure if she respected, or feared Lady Astor''s fierce affection.

    Perhaps only Lucy Astor''s maids knew, but the woman had told Elvia more of her life, of Robert and of Wardolf, than was proper for the friendship between the head of a Noble House and a stray girl picked up from the gutters.

    Or perhaps, as Gwen had informed her¡ª Elvia precisely presented what the Lady needed. The woman had lost a son and then a husband, and she had to abide by the stiff-upper-lip attitude. If so, why shouldn''t a plushie like Elvia become a source of her ladyship''s soul-soothing escapism?

    Elvia did not believe it of course, but the more she thought about it, the more sense it made. The Lady of Cliveden was upset, but her outward expression was always one of fairness and unbearable sternness. If Gwen was right, then wasn''t she, a young woman with no connections to anyone, the perfect sponge for the Lady''s unresolved emotions?

    "ELVIAAA!" Lady Astor''s thrilling voice called across the courtyard of the floral Garden, stirring the scent. "Come here, young lady."

    Her leggy companion fell back, allowing Elvia to lead. The move made Elvia nervous, especially considering the size of her heels and the irregular cobblestones. Without much grace, the Cleric tottered toward Lady Astor until, half a meter from the Lady, she fell into the woman''s motherly arms.

    "My golden cherub, back at last." The Mistress of Cliveden squeezed Elvia about the shoulders to steady her. "And this must be the intrepid Miss Song."

    Besides Elvia, Gwen raised her chin elegantly. Her companion had no trouble navigating anything in heels, striding on stilettos with a natural sense of balance. A little scandalously, the porcelain-wrapped young woman curtsied, showing off as much as she had intended.

    "You''re rather infamous, Gwen."

    "Shenyang was a necessity, ma''am." Gwen raised her chin, finding herself two inches taller than their host. "It was life or Undeath¡ª I chose life."

    "Well said." Their hostess clapped. "Elvia has told me much about you. I have also watched ALL of your matches."

    "I am flattered." Gwen smiled back. The whole exchange was happening above Elvia''s hastily piled curls. "I hope I can live up to both your expectations."

    "You have already, Miss MVP of the IIUC." Lady Astor studied Elvia''s companion.

    "Milady, surely you jest."

    Her friend''s body tensed with a sudden thrill."You think far too highly of me."

    "I do not think the ''impossible'' is something you''re known to abide by." Lady Astor''s smile was untouched. "I am a sponsor, you should know, for the competition. One of its financiers. I have a direct ley-line to Brussels. As usual, Oxford shall take the cake this year, though I am always happy to see a dark horse."

    "I am unworthy." Elvia''s friend bowed her head, accepting the reality with a hidden grin and a careful bite of her lips to preserve her makeup.

    "That''s wonderful, Gwen!" Elvia gushed for her friend''s growing fortunes, feeling such happiness that she was on the verge of soaring.

    "As repayment, dear," the Lady continued. "What is your relationship to Dickie?"

    The nobles around them grew silent. Crystal flutes that had been kissing sultry lips now rested against expectant bosoms.

    "Strictly business?" Gwen spoke with such innocence that Elvia had to laugh.

    "A bold answer."

    "Completely professional of course," Gwen continued. "Without a doubt, the good Duke and I shall share an orbit, whether I desire his company or otherwise, so I''ll not fight his advances."

    "You tease us, surely!" The Lady was enjoying herself immensely.

    One of the paper men raised a hand.

    "What''s there to tease?" Gwen shrugged, presenting herself so that she seemed to glow. Facing the two men from the press, she made her favourite tea kettle pose. "Observe¡ª Here are my hands, these are my knees¡ª I know the rags want a big strip-tease, but come on, get serious! The Duke and I barely know each other. If anything, we started in the opposite camp."

    Lady Astor leaned in closer so that Elvia was squished between the two women. With each cheek against a bit of side-boob, the two women continued their pantomime.

    "Yes. From what I know of Sydney... you should be at each other''s throats. Poor Henry, he was the best of us."

    "He was."

    "And Norfolk?"

    "Why, what did the Duke do to me?"

    "I wonder¡­"

    "Lady Astor," Gwen stated firmly so that all present heard. "I shall state this very clearly. The Duke of Norfolk is a most excellent gentleman. I know none among you who would profess yourself his enemy¡ª come! I dare you to declare yourself here and now¡ª"

    The crowd was silently rivetted. It wasn''t every day that a Manticore strolled into Rome and gave birth in front of a live audience.

    "I see¡ª and therefore I, a young waif from the Frontier, shall not short sell myself. I do not know if any of you call yourself a true friend of the Duke either. BUT I have been instructed by the Duke and can offer one insight. The Duke of Norfolk and I are of the same breed: We have no permanent enemies and no permanent allies, only permanent interests."

    "Well said!" Lady Astor clapped while the crowd tried to read between the lines. "Well done, I say! I wholly agree!"

    Elvia jostled so that she could escape from the two women pressing in, Gwen was tugging on her wrist, but Lady Astor had her shoulders well-arrested.

    "Mycroft, come and join us!" Lady Astor announced.

    Elvia felt her blood freeze. Was Gwen aware that the Duke of Norfolk was here? Was the most powerful man in Britain watching them the whole time? How terrible it must be to be talking behind a Duke''s back! W-would he slap her?

    From the darknesses, a sliver of twilight peeled from the shadows.

    The Duke of Norfolk. Earl Marshall and the Lord of the College of Arms. The Lord Great Chamberlain who sat beside and below the Sovereign''s Orb made his appearance known to Elvia''s wide and trembling eyes.

    "Milord."

    "Your Grace."

    "Ser Duc¡­"

    The others made room for their senior-ranked companion.

    "Milady Astor has ''goaded'' quite the ''tease'' from our Devourer of Shenyang." The Lord of Norfolk remarked in a rather unremarkable manner. "Another addition to your collection?"

    Elvia tried to study the man as Gwen had, but found Mycroft Ravenport''s face utterly unreadable. In her eyes, though the gauntly cheek-boned blue-blood appeared amiable, she still felt intimidated to the marrow.

    "You jest." Lady Astor feigned a blush so well that for a moment, Elvia thought her ladyship had materialised a fan. "I am perfectly comfortable here, in my little cottage at Sutton. What would I need to know of the big wide world?"

    "For one so professedly impoverished," the Duke remarked coldly. "You know far too much, Lady Astor."

    "Its the Lady''s business to know," Gwen intervened, her rudeness causing the lesser nobles to flinch. "I know a businesswoman when I see one."

    Elvia''s glowing blue eyes darted between the trio, lost for words for their meaningless words. How did these people even communicate? They''re speaking in tongues!

    "Lady Astor." Elvia''s friend abruptly revived the conversation. "I trust you because you''ve looked after Evee like one of your own. May I interest you in a curious business proposal?"

    The Duke of Norfolk coughed.

    "Go ahead." Lady Astor ignored the Duke''s reprimand. "What is it, dear?"

    "Elvia is now the head of her very own ''Blessed-Heart Foundation''," Gwen began.

    "She is?" Lady Astor appeared surprised, or at least Elvia believed she did. "How exciting! An enterprise of her own!"

    "And I am her executor in this venture," Gwen continued. "We''ve set up at the Isle of Dogs. By the way, I am now the isle''s legal administrator and custodian¡­"

    Both Ravenport and Astor raised their chins this time.

    "¡­ and I shall, in the next three to four years, develop the docklands into a major commercial and residential region, not to mention, revitalise the lives of the NoMs there."

    "The old docklands?" Ravenport sneered. "Fool girl, the Royal Docks are¡­"

    "I''ve no interest in the Dock''s business. I know very well this isn''t Nantong," Gwen snapped back. "And this is an offer for Lady Astor. Although, your grace and the lords are all welcome to participate. He and I are, after all, bound..."

    Elvia felt shaken when the Duke of Norfolk visibly frowned for the first time.

    "¡­ as associates of my late Master, Henry Kilroy."

    The crowd around the duo made knowing faces.

    "For now, I am cleaning the place up for Elvia. Her Foundation will be a self-sustaining charity, one that should hold some promise. Lady Astor, it would be my greatest pleasure to invite you as a visitor and a future investor."

    Ravenport''s paper-thin lips formed a barely perceptible line.

    "I would love to participate. As they say, the early Roc gets the Wyrm!" Lady Astor clapped. "Isn''t that so, Elvia?"

    "Gwen''s very good at making Crystals," Elvia assured her sponsor. "She''s put several thousand into the Foundation already, and cleaned up the two hamlets in a matter of days!"

    "Evee means she''s done it," Gwen corrected the girl in their midst. "Without Evee, I''d rightly say the folk there would still be wallowing in the muck dredged up from the Thames. We''ve set up a soup kitchen and a clinic, nothing unusual¡­"

    Gwen again addressed the two reporters lurking in the shadows.

    "¡­ you two, a picture of us all together? Remember, this here is Elvia Lindholm, over yonder is the Isle of Dogs! This year, they''re finally receiving the spirit of Christmas!"

    The reporters appeared hesitant.

    Lady Astor smiled her smile.

    The men both raised their Lumen Recorders.

    "Make sure Elvia isn''t left out." The Lady gathered them close so that the Duke of Norfolk couldn''t escape. "Say Dragons!"

    BUNG!

    Memory Crystals flared.

    "Toying with masses is a dangerous sport," Ravenport muttered as their bodies separated. "They''re playthings to you perhaps, but to me, they''re the Empire''s chief resource."

    "Come see for yourself," Gwen muttered back. "I don''t need your approval. I''ve got Lady Grey''s."

    "Are you asking me to up your ante?"

    "Is your present plotting too uninspiring?"

    "Don''t test me, whelp."

    "Don''t threaten me, old man."

    A cold, scalp-chilling dryness permeated.

    Once again, Elvia felt the aura of her companion crush her in their midst.

    "Hahahaha¡­." Lady Astor''s thrilling laughter cut in between the two like a knife. "That''s enough, you two. You speak as though you are¡­"

    Before Elvia''s eyes, Gwen and Mycroft tore themselves apart. Ravenport in his suit of dark fabrics, Gwen in her showy, leggy dress. The Cleric breathed a sigh of relief. She was sure that had the two continued, the Duke''s Garden may acquire a new reputation.

    Bung! The reflectors fired.

    "¡­ the same breed of people, as Gwen had supposed." Lady Astor golf clapped. "Alright, let us go to the chapel. It''s almost time for the mass. Then after that, I would love to see Miss Song here demonstrate some of that rare devouring ability."

    "You want Gwen to fight?" Elvia''s eyes blinked.

    "To cement for Gwen a useful reputation, and perform a courtesy for our Lady of Ely." Lucy Astor''s lips twisted. "Elvia, Gwen''s a fighter. Her ability is a part of who she represents to the Mageocracy. As a direct recipient of your friend''s prowess, don''t ever shun away from it."

    "I¡ª I see." Elvia lowered her chin. She knew Gwen enjoyed the fight, but she did not enjoy the sight of her friend fighting. When she watched the IIUC, every time her friend''s Shield was struck, each time Gwen grunted and reeled from the blowback of a Void Spell, her heart was rendered sore. But Lady Astor was right. Gwen''s battle ability, much like her acumen for crystals, was a defining part of her identity, as innate as her desire to aid the needy, no matter how impoverished.

    "Time to start the main course." Gwen pivoted her heel so that her dress briefly billowed, causing Elvia''s thoughts to go blank. "And after that, dessert."

 Chapter 337 - Blessed by Blood

    Christmas Mass was as magical as Gwen had anticipated, involving four rows of adolescent girls in white, each carrying Globes of Illumination, filling the sandstone cathedral with heavenly voices. The head girl, an elfin blonde, wore six illuminating Ioun Stones, appearing haloed with radiance.

    The service opened with popular hymns, then a rousing speech by the Bishop of Exeter on the nature of giving in the spirit of the Nazarene. Choir favourites followed, mostly in English, a few in Latin, followed by Lady Astor''s well-wishes to the attendees. At the service''s conclusion, a basket came and went for donations to the poor. Gwen filled in Elvia''s and Mathias'' tithe, not wanting the penniless duo to lose face, as her Chinese cousins would say.

    The Duke of Norfolk, Gwen noticed, had no time for something as trivial as charity and carols, having gone his merry way as soon as the garden''s business concluded. With the sourpuss gone, she could relax and enjoy the spectacle of Christmas at Cliveden.

    Post sermon, a Faith-laced Blessing from the Bishop warded the crowd from illness and disease and dispelled the British winter. After the final "Amen!" was delivered, the guests exited the private cathedral. Following the night''s activities, they gathered outside the Duelling Pavilion, where servitor Mages had engendered an early spring.

    From what Gwen could see, Cliveden ran a proper setup, with underground barrier generators hooked up to the estate''s ley-lines. The terrain modifying Transmutation slabs also appeared more complex than the ones she had seen in Rosebay. Overhead, the shimmering Walls of Force extended upward well over fifty meters.

    "So, do you think I''ll be duelling folk or eating monsters?" Gwen queried her companions. Unlike her previous locales, Lady Astor''s well-dressed guests meandered, all the while attended by the staff. Rather than a gladiatorial pit, the hedge garden made the arena akin to a rich man''s menagerie, where the contestants were the exotics on display. "Or eating fo¡ª"

    "MAGICAL Beasts, I would imagine," Mathias interrupted from behind Elvia, now serving the pair as their chaperone. There was a maid-attendant as well, though the smiling, middle-aged woman said nothing and simply allowed the trio to wander.

    "Mattie, stay here with Evee while I scope the joint," Gwen reassured her friend, then stalked her way down to the lawn. The Knight should know what to do if someone ''handsy'' showed up¡ª to shield Evees from undesired attention was the modus operandi of a Knight Protector.

    As for herself, Gwen knew her luck with parties. If she could get away without at least one Lightning-fried challenger, she would be doing well.

    Currently, the duelling arena was occupied.

    Inside, a bloke in his mid-twenties, an Air Evoker-Transmuter by the looks of his mana signature, squared off against an Owl Bear. With her enhanced vision, Gwen could see that this was no ordinary Magical Monster, but a rarer variant. Its feathers, for one, were warding off the Mage''s endless stream of bolts with ease, glimmering a dark-shade of turquoise as they resisted the Mage''s magic.

    "SCREEEEEE!"

    A jet blast of concentrated, icy air just missed the duelling Mage, clipping his mana shield.

    An Owl Bear! Using spells! Gwen baulked. Even the monsters in Britain were in a different league.

    "Hammer Press!" The young Mage''s AoE was a muffled gong reverberating across the battlefield, compressing the air in a broad circumference to paralyse the monster. "Beast! Submit!"

    "SCAWWWWL!" The Owl Bear forcibly escaped the grinding plates of pure force conjured by the Evoker. In its wake, the bear left behind fistfuls of bloody feathers and great gouges of dirt where its powerful claws propelled its body.

    "Thomas! Give it up!" Other spectators, which Gwen could only presume to be Thomas'' mates, hollered at the challenger. "You''ve bitten off more than you can chew!"

    "Shut up, Poins!" Thomas pirouetted mid-air, dodging a blast of pointed feathers and another jet of blue-green rime. "Missile Swarm!"

    Gwen whistled.

    The spell wasn''t overpowering, but it was the definition of finesse. As though shedding feathers from an invisible wing, some two dozen Magic Missiles, self-seeking and brimming with mana, peeled from Thomas'' shield even as he continued to duck and dodge.

    It was too bad, then, that the variant Owl Bear''s feather-plated coat proved resistant to his spells. In a dogfight, Gwen had no doubt; the man was an exceptional opponent. Against an ice-based tanker, the battle was woefully matched.

    "Hoo-Hoo!" The Owl Bear raised a fluffy, feathered paw. A flood of viridescence burst forth from its chest, flooding its bulky frame with emerald motes of glowing energy.

    "H-healing Renewal?" Gwen recognised the effect. She had seen Mayuree use the low-tier Clerical heal when her mana was low. It was a slow and gradual restoration, unlike the bone-itching, flesh-warping harshness of Cure Wounds.

    On the Owl Bear, however, the impact was immediate. Visibly, its feathers grew back, broken flesh knitted as though new; the monster even appeared to grow an inch.

    "Too bad, Tom!" Thomas'' friends burst into laughter.

    "Bah! Dimension Door!" More so discouraged than defeated, Thomas exited the duelling arena.

    A round of polite applause resounded, then fell to silence as Cliveden''s hostess arrived with her entourage. Across the blue lawn, Lucy Astor locked eyes with her guest.

    "Gwen¡ª care to try?" Gwen''s host succeeded at redirecting attention toward her proclaimed guest of honour.

    "Against that?" Gwen fired back a smirk, trying to guess whether her hostess was serious about wanting to see her deploy the infamous devouring, as was seen on TV. "Your ladyship, this Owl Bear has seen fairer days, I fear. It would hardly be a fair fight."

    A clamouring round of ambivalent murmurs rang through the court.

    "Arrogant simp..." Gwen sometimes regretted having such sharp ears.

    In the next moment, a hint of colour touched her cheeks. It would appear her feign modesty wasn''t as well-received as she had thought. Should she change gears then? Tone up the arrogance and entitlement?

    "You there¡ª !"

    It was too late; her miscalculation had attracted the attention of the duelist and his friends.

    "¡ª might you demonstrate your superior skills then?" Thomas landed not far from her, slowing from a full descent to a casual stroll. Closer, perhaps dazzled by her beauty, the man''s tone relaxed. "My apologies, you are¡ª?"

    "Gwen Song," Gwen nodded. "From Sydney."

    "A Frontierswoman?" Thomas raised both brows.

    "A Frontierswoman? Ahahaha¡­." Lady Astor''s floated across the lawn like a silver cloud. "Don''t let her pretty face fool you, Tom. Who we have here is the Devourer of Shenyang."

    Thomas bowed from the waist while a dozen others converged. As always, Lady Astor''s presence possessed a palpable gravitational pull.

    "Gwen, let me introduce you to our rare guests and your future colleagues."

    Gwen curtsied, mindful of her fashion choices. The younger of the men appeared appreciative; the women scandalised, while the older folk hid their reactions.

    "You''ve met Tom," Lady Astor indicated to Thomas the Air Mage. "And this is his brother, Joshua Freemantle. Over yonder is Dylan Downer, heir to Parker. Ah¡ª young Wakerworth! Glad to see you''ve made it, this is Gwen..."

    A dizzying array of names and ranks sprouted from the Lady''s lips without missing a syllable.

    Gwen shook hands, curtsied, nodded, grinned and smiled until her facial muscles were half-paralysed.

    Finally, the Lady''s attention alighted on a pair that Gwen had been wary of since the beginning.

    "Countess..." the greeting came as one voice.

    "Allow me to announce the future Lords of Exeter, Magus Edward Poins and Benedict Thomas, of House Holland."

    Gwen curtsied at the twins, both curious and a little alarmed that suddenly, the crowd grew silent. Looking up, she saw that the brothers had the same facial structure, though one sported a frightful head of dusky grey, while the other was a flaming carrot-top.

    "The Devourer of Shenyang," Edward mouthed sulkily. "In the flesh."

    "She looks better in the flesh," Benedict appended his brother''s observation. "You look a treat, my dear."

    Lady Astor remained smiling, heedless of the brothers killing the mirth.

    Caught flatfooted, Gwen studied the duo before her true feelings boiled over. Everything about the Exeters appeared tailor-made, from their tapered vests, their fingers full of rings, to their shiny, thrice-enchanted Oxfords. Assuming the men weren''t putting on a facade, they were walking, talking "Old Boys", the Polo Men, Tom Buchanans, men whose egos superseded their Astral Bodies.

    "Interesting choice of dress," the ashen-haired one continued.

    "Oriental," the other remarked. "But you don''t look oriental."

    The "Exeter" folk, Gwen concluded, looking from the brothers to Lady Astor and back. These must be the crowning roosters of the inbred-coop. Their indifference wasn''t just toward her¡ª it was toward their host as well.

    "Thank you, do you like it?" Gwen was beginning to really miss her Dragon Fear.

    The men closed in, caging her with their overt interest.

    The skin on her thighs prickled.

    Gwen recognised the all too familiar gaze. When had she last suffered such repression? Walking through Forrestville, it had been a daily affair; then there was that incident at Huang''s, and after that, Dai at the House of M. The Exeter twins were not studying a fellow student of the arcane, but browsing over an exotic animal, a rare mutant.

    Summoning a surge of Essence to circulate her conduits, she met them head-on.

    The air grew suddenly thick.

    Gwen smiled, showing some teeth.

    The men grinned back.

    Gradually, the back of her sheer dress grew soaked with sweat. Even without Ollie pouring warnings in her ear, her Divination senses warned her to speak softly and carry a big Caliban. The men''s ability to project their aura, not to mention their Spellcraft, was superior.

    Stolen novel; please report.

    "It''s a pleasure to meet you all..." Squaring her shoulders and forcing her spine to straighten, Gwen kept her balance. The twins appeared amused by her resilience, Gwen imagined they must be a pair of cats amazed by a mouse squeaking in protest.

    "¡­ and Gwen here, of course, is this year''s MVP." Lucy Astor touched a hand to Gwen''s silken shoulder. "Now, she''s going to demonstrate some of that Void Magic for us, aren''t you, dear?"

    "I shall," Gwen answered with a winsome smile. "Shall I take care of the¡­ Owl?"

    "Absolutely. Everyone, let''s give our Devourer some space."

    The crowd parted.

    Instead of jumping into the fray, the Void sorceress paused. If the twins were going to cause her trouble, Gwen mulled, she rather not fight them in a flimsy silk dress.

    "Milady, may I change into something more durable?"

    "Here and now?" Lucy Astor appeased the crowd at her expense. "I understand you''ve roughed it against the Beast Tide in South America and the Undead Tide in China, but here in Cliveden¡­"

    Though embarrassed, the reignited laughter softened the mood somewhat.

    "Gwen..." Elvia, having reached her side with Mathias, pulled at Gwen''s sleeve, her expression indignant and protective. "I''ll show you to the change rooms."

    "Thanks, Evee." Gwen slipped an arm in her Cleric''s elbow nook, glad for the opportunity to be out of sight. Taking solace in Elvia''s warmth, she fortified her spirit, then addressed her audience. "Lady Astor, my very merry fellows, I shall return shortly, and I shan''t disappoint."

    Edward Poins and Benedict Thomas watched with pleasure as their little mouse scampered from the fray.

    Of all present at Cliveden, the Exeter twins uniquely felt insulted by the presence of the MVP upstart. From the perspective of blue-veined noblemen, their ire was well-directed.

    They too had once been IIUC contestants, both Edward and Benedict were on the winning team of ''98, under the banner of Oxford. But the well-bred brothers did not go around gifting themselves titles as gregarious and grotesque as "The Devourer" and the, "Omni-Mage", nor proudly proclaim one''s earthen blood as Draconic.

    Unlike the mud-blooded Frontierwoman, House Holland''s peerage was the stuff of legend and lorel! Their progenitor was the begetter of Kings! Within their veins flowed the purest blood of the Plantagenets!

    They were the direct descendants of John Holland, father to Henry Bolingbroke, patriarch to Henry of Monmouth!

    Henry the Fifth!

    Henry of the golden reign!

    Henry, who seeded an empire!

    Henry the Undefeated!

    Within the potential of the Exeter''s bloodline, existed a natural, untaught grandmaster of sword, sorcery and statesmanship.

    If only the mewling waif could understand the grandeur of their ancestor!

    Did she know, for example, that at the tender age of seventeen, Harry, Prince of Wales, known as "Hal" to his boisterous mates, bewitched the world with his presence at Shrewsbury?

    Had the girl been educated, she would have known that the Holland bloodline heralded the first instance in which a Human Mage subjugated an overwhelming Demi-human force!

    In single combat, the former Prince of Wales slew the fabled Arthurian Knight Percy Northumberland. Armed with a conjured Black Blade, the future King harvested "Hotspur''s" crown of garlands¡ª said to be woven by Elven maidens, to be piked and displayed before the gobsmacked Druidic allies of Owain Glynd?r.

    As for Glynd?r himself, the young prince had captured, then redeemed the howling caster by wrapping the Arch-Druid''s intestines around his life-tree before purifying the heathen in righteous fire.

    Could the girl conceive of a bloodline so talented as to subjugate the Elven enclaves of Snowdonia, subdue the Circle Wizards of Edinburgh, and suppress the Dwarves of Ben Macdui?

    She should visit the London Musem!

    There, the Frontier simpleton could be educated by Lord Scribe Holinshed''s Chronicles. She would learn that in Henry''s campaign to reunite the English and French throne, he took the Fortress of Harfleur in two weeks with exhausted, outnumbered, and malnourished troops!

    Then, without pause, their King miraculously demolished the French retribution on the plains of Agincourt! Theirs was a King of firsts! The first to demonstrate nouveau tactics such as mixing magic and martial mettle. The first to widely employ Circle Wizards, trapping the superior French army in a "Quagmire" while flanking, swift-footed Elven archers made them into pincushions. Once decimated and demoralised, the King''s men-at-arms, supported by Dwarven Ironborn, simply moved into the field and hacked the opposition into mincemeat.

    Oh, the glory! Would the simp ever know that after Agincourt, Henry roped into service Mermen allies, deployed to route the Genoese mercenaries hired by Emperor Sigismund? That the triumphant, unstoppable Henry took Caen in a week and all of Lower Normandy in another month. That Rouen was promptly besieged, then sacked to feed his growing army¡ª that Henry herded the wasteful mouths of women and children, into the hungry, productive mouths of his Mermen allies?

    Sure, the Pontiff may have censured Henry as the "Mad King", but the man still arrived at Paris to forcibly wed Catherine of Valois, the French King''s daughter, successfully uniting the Franco-Saxon throne.

    Their only regret was that, like a fading comet flaming with all the grace stolen from heaven¡ª on August 1422, Henry the Fifth, the Northern Star of England, died, aged twenty-seven.

    The cause was unknown. Henry''s celestial fire simply extinguished, as the physicians of antiquity would say. The King''s "humours" were no longer in balance, and thus, his Astral Soul could no longer maintain its position in the firmament.

    The King was dead! Long live the King! The shadow cast by the young Mage-King was so vast that each scion who hailed from John the Gaunt believed that one day, by anointment, chance, or proper breeding, another celestial Plantagenet would arise.

    THEY would be the ones to unite the human world!

    THEY would crush the welkin beneath Britannia''s ironwood stave!

    Such was the position of supremacy from which the twin-sorcerers of Exeter saw their upstart, bushy-tailed sorceress sauntering about the courtyard of yet another upstart, Lady Lucy Astor.

    And to flaunt her body so boldly! The brother''s nostrils flared. To tease them so outrageously and act the coy waif! So unmannered, uncultured, and uncouth! Why¡ª if she were not a Class VI War Mage, they could just gobble the girl up!

    Therefore, without so much as a Telepathy, the duo agreed that the Wildland wildcat, who was a walking affront to the very visage of nobility, must be put in her place. Who did she think she was? What even flowed in her bastard, mongrel blood?

    For though the Crown now sat with the House of Windsor, the scions of Gaunt did not perceive themselves diminished. The Windsors are a branch of the Plantagenet, but the Hollands blood ran purer than Mithril.

    The future, as far as the patrilineal Plantagenet Houses were concerned, was one of male succession and blessed-blooded intermingling. In their minds, all true Englishmen harkened after the golden age of celestial Henry.

    Such was the ineffable order of the Chain of Being!

    Such was the Divine Right of House Holland, under whose auspice this "Omni-Mage" usurper must be taught her place!

    Gwen returned in her Shen-te¨© cloth-plates, drawing wows and coos from the crowd as they recognised the visage from the IIUC broadcasts.

    Greetings flooded in as other guests arrived for the demonstration, crowding beside the pavilion.

    But though the crowd''s blood heated up, Gwen''s motivation had grown cold.

    The Owl Bear¡ª it was meditating.

    Even when she teleported in with a thunderous Dimension Door, it remained docile, sitting like a hermit, drawing what mana it could from the tapped ley-lines under Cliveden.

    Was this thing intelligent? Gwen felt a bout of doubt; the sort she had wholly abandoned while the IIUC went on and endless battles drowned her better judgement. Now, after a long few months of peace and a few days with Evee, her sanity had rebounded enough to plague her conscience.

    Was it because¡ª Gwen cautioned herself; that the Owl Bear looked kind of cute? It did, after all, have the head of a great horned owl, possessing moody, expressive brows. Its body was large, about four meters from claw to crest fully extended, and completely round. The colouring of this variant species was dusky ice near its tail and a fresh turquoise on its wingtips. It was a beautiful creature, and to see such a thing slain for sport made Gwen rebellious to her present purpose.

    "Ariel!" She summoned her Kirin, much to the delight of the onlookers.

    "Caliban!" Her Void fiend drew both cheers and applause. The crowd continued clapping as Caliban''s palpable vertigo aura rippled forth from the Quasi-Elemental Plane of the Void.

    "Ariel, go chat to it," Gwen commanded. "Give it a zap if it''s hostile. Cali''s got your back."

    "EE EE!" Ariel asked for a jolt of Almudj''s blessing, and Gwen fluffed her Familiar until it glowed radiant like a rainbow.

    The crowd''s response was a mixture of envy, desire and wonder. A Kirin was rare enough, but Ariel was as unique a Kirin as the Owl Bear was different from its crazed, Wildland cousins.

    "EE! EE?" Ariel hovered a few meters from the Owl Bear. "Ee!"

    "Hoo-hoo!"

    "Ee¡ªee?"

    "Hoo-hoo¡ª"

    Gwen focused on her Empathic Link. With Ariel growing more intelligent by the day, she could discern more complex thoughts. From the character of Ariel''s translation, the creature was too demotivated to fight. It was instead resigned to its fate, ready to receive a dignified death.

    Furthermore, when Ariel scented the creature. It informed her that the Owl Bear wasn''t the creature''s original form. Her Familiar could sense that within the Owl Bear''s body was a whole other thing with wildly different Essence.

    "You''ve got to be shitting me," Gwen muttered. "That''s a Polymorphed being?"

    Now she was truly demotivated.

    "Shape-shifted¡ª actually." An intrusive Divination spell bloomed beside her ear. "We caught it near Dartmoor, raiding the local villages'' winter stores. It''s a fun little bugger, ain''t it?"

    Gwen turned her head slowly to see who was sending her unsolicited Messages and saw that it was one of the twins¡ª the ashen-haired elder of the two.

    "Do go on," the speaker urged. "Don''t tell me our all-devouring lioness is getting cold feet?"

    Here it comes. Gwen bit back a retort. What was his name? Edward-Poins? Or just Edward? Cold feet? Gwen fought off the annoyance. What joy was there in destroying a defenceless creature?

    "Lady Astor," she called out with Clarion Call. "This creature appears to be both intelligent and capable of sentimentality, I would prefer to consume something stronger, far more savage, and larger, if at all possible. Anywhere between tier seven to nine is fine."

    "Is the Owl Bear not to your liking?" Lady Astor''s voice rang out.

    "There''s no sport in it, ma''am." Gwen had just enough time to wonder what might then happen to the docile Owl Bear when the teleportation Mandala fired up once more.

    When the sizzling Conjuration cleared, it wasn''t a monster that appeared, but Edward Poins Holland.

    "Milord Holland?" Gwen quickly retracted her Familiars in case Caliban desired a snack. She looked to Lady Astor, who said nothing, while all around the arena, the crowd grew intense with anticipation. "What is the meaning of this intrusion?"

    "Allow me to give you a helping hand," Edward''s voice had barely reached Gwen''s ears when the man faded away, quite literally, into tendrils of smoke.

    "Sir, I don''t need your¡ª" Gwen protested.

    "SCRAWWWK!" The Owl Bear bolted upright, then slammed into an invisible wall with such force that it almost cracked its beak. A split-second later, bars of smoky, barely tangible force materialised like ethereal fingers, forming a bony, clawed hand in the guise of a cage.

    "Oi! You leave that damn Bear alone!" Gwen snapped. "That''s my prey¡­"

    "Wrong. It belongs to me, you see," the whispy Mage''s smile gave her the shivers. "I caught it, after all, and offered it up as tribute for some fun and games. If our bitch isn''t keen on bear-baiting, then I shall play the hound¡­"

    Did that cunt just call her a¡ª Gwen''s mind reeled.

    "It''s defenceless!" She gestured toward the Owl Bear, even now the smoke cage closed in, crushing its body and distorting its thick, plated feathers. Louder and louder the creature screeched, its wailing growing to such a pitch that Gwen could hardly hear herself think. She wanted to slap some sense into this sadistic blue-blood but knew that with Elvia just below her and Lady Astor and Lady Grey anticipating diplomacy, she couldn''t afford to offend the man, not over a Monster.

    "A mere Force Cage," Edward rematerialised, this time closer. "Come, surely you could counter such a thing."

    Listening to the bone-crunching wailing from below, a rush of blood touched her head.

    So this was the point. Gwen realised. The fucking bastard was showing her up.

    "Or a well-aimed Disintegrate? Hmm? No?"

    "I am still a student, milord¡­"

    "We were all young, once. So, NO Obliterate? NO Beam of Annihilation? Surely, a Destruction wouldn''t be too much to ask for?"

    The Force Cage was now half the size of the Owl Bear, and the creature''s pulsing innards were spilling from the gory spectacle. It was dying, but not dead.

    "COME ON! Do something! The damn thing''s suffering!" The smug face drifted yet closer, almost teasing her while scant laughter broke out across the arena''s perimeter. "How about a Dispel? It''s tier three Abjuration. Omni-Mage! Show us the goods, put crystal where your mouth is!"

    Gwen drifted away from the psychopath.

    Below, the Owl Bear breathed its last.

    Once its life-force ceased, its shape began to shrink until it resembled a furry Hob, only larger and hairier.

    A Bugbear, Gwen recognised the mangled shape from its distinctly crested brow and bat-like ears. A brutal thing, but a thinking, feeling being all the same.

    "Good show, Omni-Mage." Edward reached out to pat her shoulder. When Gwen retreated, the man offered her a smile full of teeth. "We''ll be seeing you around, Devourer."

    Gwen watched the Mage teleport away in a puff of acrid smoke. The scion of House Holland was a Smoke Mage, and from the looks of Force Cage, the man had at least one School of Magic touching tier 7.

    "Gwen," Lady Astor''s guiding voice was neutral as can be. "Don''t mind them. Come back and enjoy the evening. There''s more to Cliveden than duels, I assure you."

    "Alright." Gwen sighed. Should she have Consumed the Bugbear? Here was a being, clearly with a mind of its own, giving up the fight to preserve its dignity.

    As for her performance?

    Gwen shook herself out of her stupor. She mustn''t let the Holland pricks work up her edge. She was the current IIUC''s MVP, right? The ceremony was in January. Why would she worry about a dinner show? It was meaningless violence.

    "Gwen, are you alright?" Elvia waited on her as she returned with a dazzling Dimension Door, regretfully packing away a still-hungry Caliban and an upset Ariel.

    Lady Astor gave her a measured look that was equal parts "stay away from the Hollands" and "its time to take Elvia and enjoy another part of the garden".

    "I am fine, Evee," Gwen relieved her pent up stress on her friend. "Shall we... call it a night?"

 Chapter 338 - Stratums

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 Chapter 339 - Tremors

    The entrance to Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth loomed in every sense of the word, inducing a sense of breathlessness as the Striders stalked down the incline, minuscule amid an enormous avenue paved with dark granite, lined on either side by towering monuments of the ¡°Seven Ancestors¡±.

    The statues themselves bore the semblance of medieval metallurgists, depicting imposingly bearded Dwarven men. The foremost had the look of a warrior, being half-clad in plate mail, carrying an arcane measuring device in his dominant hand, while his offhand rested on the pommel of an enormous war hammer. The others were similarly positioned, each holding instruments signifying knowledge in one hand, while the other held weapons that symbolised martial prowess.

    ¡°Hanmoul, can I ask you an audacious question?¡± Gwen inquired carefully.

    ¡°Sure,¡± her driver replied, piloting one-handed.

    ¡°Are any of the Ancestors women?¡±

    Hanmoul gave her a strange look. On the Commandrumm''s face, a pair of finger-thick brows knitted, conjoining into a single, furry worm.

    ¡°Sorry¡­¡± Gwen apologised, realising that perhaps, she had stepped on a cultural Warding Glyph.

    ¡°O'' coorse there''s wimmin among them¡­¡± Hanmoul snorted when she attempted to walk back her question. ¡°What ya think, our babes are carved from boulders?¡±

    Gwen had indeed wondered if Dwarves were hewn from stone. After all, in areas affluent with Elemental Mana, creatures sprang out of rocks, or water, or from whatever corresponding Plane they usually hailed. Sometimes, from the chaos of the immaterial elements, obscene and strange creatures such as Chimeras came into being all on their own.

    ¡°If so.¡± Gwen wiggled her brows, studying Hanmoul intently. ¡°Which Ancestor is, er¡­ the less bearded sex?¡±

    ¡°Dunno.¡± Hanmoul shrugged.

    ¡°You don¡¯t know?¡±

    ¡°Not a cog.¡± Hanmoul laughed. ¡°The Clan Matrons like it that way. Who¡¯s ter say any of the Ancestors can¡¯t be wimmin? Maybe more than one? Maybe all of them?¡±

    ¡°I haven¡¯t seen any women yet,¡± Gwen mentioned casually.

    "Want me to get one of the lads to pop her armour?"

    Gwen''s brain throbbed at the poorly translated gender pronouns.

    "I assume I''ll see a Dwarven lassie eventually?"

    ¡°Since yer a wee lassie yerself, sure¡ª¡± Hanmoul replied with good humour. ¡°No luck fer Ollie though. Aye, I¡¯ve seen how that lad looks at ye. He¡¯s a willie one, that Ollie.¡±

    Gwen grinned. ¡°Ollie, eh? I suppose.¡±

    ¡°Ooo, I see em looking. I reckon that lad likes wot he sees.¡±

    ¡°I know, I know. Are you married, Hanmoul?¡±

    ¡°Now that''s an audacious question!¡± Hanmoul''s waist-length beard masked his expression. ¡°Nae lass, old Hanmoul¡¯s a bachelor.¡±

    ¡°Truly?! Surely, for someone in such a high position¡­¡±

    ¡°The Rite of Nogazen is all politics.¡± Hanmoul wiggled his moustache. ¡°It¡¯s best for the Commandrumm of the Hammer Guards not to be political. Besides, I''ve got cousins by the dozen.¡±

    ¡°I''ll take your word for it.¡± Gwen returned her attention to the outside world. ¡°Goodness, how deep are we going?¡±

    ¡°Boot a kilometre down is where Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth¡¯s main gate lies.¡± Hanmoul pointed to a vague structure in the darkness ahead, made visible by lumen globes leading up to an enormous keep. ¡°Of course, we won¡¯t be going through the Gate of Kazhul, but our Strider''s bay. I am sorry to say, lass, you¡¯re a guest of the Guild, not a dignitary visiting the Thane.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s fine with me,¡± Gwen reassured her host. ¡°I am honoured just to be here.¡±

    On approach, Gwen did her best to internalise the operatic, Dwarven architecture in familiar terms. From a broad base, the grand gates of Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth stood a dozen storeys tall, taking advantage of an impossibly large cavern system hollowed out by its Demi-human denizens. Nearer the understructure, she judged the aesthetic to be neo-brutalist, consisting of overlapping, herringbone grids. Higher up, upon closer inspection with her Essence-empowered vision, she realised that the herringbone pattern consisted of incalculable arrays of stairs forming a teeth-like array of battlements.

    The facade of the keep itself was a curious mix of art-deco and neo-brutalism, crossed with the grandeur found in neo-classical capital buildings. Holding up the multi-storey, hundred-meter deep gate, soaring buttresses the size of skyscrapers held the cavern¡¯s expansive roof aloft, each adorned with low-poly countenances taken from Dwarven lore.

    TSSS!

    Hanmoul cranked a shaft, then pivoted the Strider hard-right. Accompanied by the thunking of the Hammer Guard¡¯s uniform boots, Gwen¡¯s entourage guided their guest away from the city¡¯s principal entrance.

    Once diverted from the avenue, the spacious cavern gave way to multi-storey tunnels marked by low-hanging lumen globes. These had the look of service over commemoration, for Gwen could see the oil stains, burns, and the occasional missing slab as their procession thundered through the Transmuted passageway that hinted at a less than peaceful history.

    ¡°How do your people construct all of this?¡± Gwen indicated to the criss-crossing passages, reminding her of subway tunnels. ¡°Do Dwarves have Mages as well?¡±

    ¡°All Dwarves can meld stone in one degree or another,¡± Hanmoul answered. "For construction, we Murk Dwarves use specialist Golems. Our tunnellers can bore out a new shaft in a matter of days, assuming the earth permits. To achieve structural stability, we utilise our Artificers, Machinists and Engineers, and of course, we seek guidance from those with rarer talents, such as the Stone Speakers."

    ¡°And that would be the Deepdowners?¡±

    ¡°Not always, but aye, the Deepdowners produce the most accomplished Unrol Spakrumm. They are, after all, handpicked by the Ancestors, selected from wee lads to be custodians of our most sacred lore.¡±

    Gwen wanted to say that the arrangement sounded awfully like the human nobles monopolising education, but kept her opinion to herself. Why should she be surprised that, other than humans, Demi-humans also built artificial social strata based on withholding essential knowledge poignant to the survival of the species?

    To scoff would be hypocritical. In London, how many Humans could Awaken to become Mages? How many Mages graduated high school? How many graduates completed a tertiary education? And how many in places like Oxbridge? At the very least, Hanmoul and his Murk Dwarves seem to run their cities independent of their worshipped cousins.

    CLUNK¡ª! Hanmoul stomped a pedal into submission, filling the upper cavity of the tunnel with unspent miasma.

    The service tunnel ended at a guard post carved out from a single block of stone rising from floor to ceiling. With her Detect Magic active, Gwen could see that the gate positively crawled with runic wards.

    Yanking a lever, Hanmoul popped the canopy, revealing himself and his Void Mage cargo.

    ¡°Kumdael Hillbrook! Why is that gate nae lowered?¡± Hanmoul hollered at the guard just peeking out over the teeth-like battlements. ¡°I¡¯ve got important guests!¡±

    "Commandrumm!¡± A dozen heads appeared like the final stage of a Wack-a-Dwarf carnival game, half of whom wore miner¡¯s helmets with directional lumen globes. ¡°Trouble in sector seven-three-three, Ser! We¡¯ve got a breach in Shaft five! At the new farm, Ser!¡±

    ¡°Am gain fur half-a-day, and yer got britches?¡± Hanmoul growled. ¡°Where¡¯s Stonehammer?¡±

    ¡°The foreman''s taken a crew o¡¯ Crusher down Shaft nine ter plug a leak, Ser, got a swarm of Vannsk Sjekkliag loose in eight-two. Outpost eight-two and six-one are also occupied.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s a van-nesk-sklag?¡± Gwen waited for a lull in the conversation before asking. To her left, she could see Ollie crawling out of the Strider to straighten out his spine.

    ¡°A type of Water Elemental,¡± Hanmoul explained offhandedly. ¡°Nae a big threat, usually. Troublesome though, if they get powerful enough, they can flood the whole shaft.¡±

    The Commandrumm punched a few Glyphs invisible to Gwen¡¯s eye. A burst of steam and mana miasma hissed from the Strider¡¯s rear, then a platform lowered, revealing an empty suit of what Gwen recognised as Dwarven Golem Armour.

    ¡°Protocol is not to open the guard post until the Murk''s monsters clear,¡± Hanmoul said sombrely. ¡°Not to admit strangers, at least. My apologies lass, I am ashamed to say you may have to wait¡ª¡°

    ¡°I¡¯ll come with you,¡± Gwen interrupted Hanmoul before Ollie could get a word in edgewise. ¡°We¡¯re friends, aren¡¯t we? What¡¯s a dozen Trolls between mates?¡±

    ¡°Meites?¡± Hanmoul¡¯s beard rustled.

    ¡°It means we¡¯re war buddies.¡± Gwen quickly appended her vernacular. ¡°Ollie, you coming?¡±

    The Praelector sighed. ¡°Yes, Gwen.¡±

    ¡°Good man.¡± Gwen gave the tired-looking Illusionist a thumbs up.

    Thankfully, Hanmoul wasn¡¯t the squeamish or indecisive type. Without hesitation, he barked orders for his Hammer Guards to form up, then stepped into the empty suit of Golem Armour.

    Now that Gwen could see the suit up close, she could begin to appreciate why the Magisters marvelled at the Dwarve''s signature mechanised infantry. The interior, so far as she could tell, was alive with Glyphs, etched onto velvety leather crawling with Mandalas. The suit itself resembled a beetle-like exoskeleton, adding enough elevation to Hanmoul that, when equipped, he matched her height. The exterior of the armour consisted of mould-injected interlocking plates that reminded Gwen of archaic dive-suits. As wide as it was tall, the lumbering, hunch-backed Golem armour sported a Spellsword under the wrist of each massive gauntlet, one of which possessed an articulate hand, while the other held a tool-attachment that resembled a drill. Alone, a suited operator could be impervious to lower-tier creatures, as a squad, five units could hunt monsters that would occupy a Mageflight.

    Once occupied, the armour¡¯s hermetic seals slid into place. It¡¯s mana-engine roared, spewing cobalt jets of mana-exhaust from two cyclonic vents below the rear shoulder.

    ¡°Squad One, yer with me,¡± Hanmoul hollered. ¡°Squad Two, yer guarding our guests.¡±

    ¡°No need.¡± Gwen raised a hand. ¡°Ariel! Caliban!¡±

    "EE!"

    "Shaa!"

    While the Hammer Guards cleared some space for her Familiars, she completed another set of spells. ¡°Hound Pack! Blood Hound!¡±

    Eight Void Dogs plus "Buck" slinked into existence.

    ¡°¡­ Squad Two, form up on me.¡± Hanmoul nodded. ¡°Lass, we gonnae go a wee bit fast.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll keep up.¡± Gwen switched over to Lightning. ¡°Flight! Arcane Sight!¡±

    ¡°Mage Armour! Mirror Image!¡± Ollie buffed up a little himself. When Gwen addressed the four Ollies standing side by side, her House-brother answered as a sheepish quartet. ¡°I am not a combatant like you, Gwen. I¡¯ll do what I can as support¡­¡±

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    Hanmoul nodded, his movement fully articulated through the full-faced visor caste in the visage of a war-like Ancestor.

    CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!

    As one, the Hammer Guards marched in lockstep. At first, the Dwarfs¡¯ speed was as Gwen had anticipated, slow and ponderous. Gradually, the procession upped the pace so that the assembly stormed forward with the momentum of a freight train. A tunnel-length later, the troop of Dwarves was moving faster than Gwen could run, and it was only because of Flight that Gwen and Ollie could keep up.

    ¡°There isn¡¯t a troop transport we could take?¡± Gwen Messaged Hanmoul as the Commandrumm opened the way. ¡°Surely you can¡¯t be running from one fire to the next. What about the Rockcrusher suits?¡±

    ¡°The shafts are unstable and narrow, far too unpredictable for us to send a Crusher or a Vularm. If there''s a breach, it usually means somethings'' happened to the Repelling Wards.¡±

    ¡°A caterpillar?¡± Gwen caught the strange translation of Vularm.

    ¡°Segmented, multi-limbed transports with carriages.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t tell me our people stole the design for trams from your folk as well.¡±

    ¡°Could very well be.¡± Hanmoul¡¯s voice sounded deeper from inside the Golem plating.

    "So, what are we expecting?"

    "The farm lost contact a few hours back. It happens, our Echo Glyph nodes bleed intae the Planes an'' the signal goes unanswered."

    Nodding, Gwen made a note to investigate the Dwarven variation of Divination Towers. For now, she had poignant questions that needed answers.

    "Did your men delve too greedily and too deeply, thereby disturbing something large, fiery and angry?"

    ¡°Nae, Murk Dwarf donnae dig that deep, we mine for ore and groan our scran in the Murk, just belaw the surface. The resources are soond, but danger and reward come in twain. The richer the seam, the nastier beasties it attracts.¡±

    ¡°Oh." Gwen felt almost disappointed. "What manner of monsters do you get here, in the Murk, I mean?¡±

    ¡°Yer¡¯ve seen the Red Knobs and the Trollies.¡± Hanmoul slowed the cadence of his men¡¯s sure-footed march. Perhaps by design or through something like an internal gyroscope, the cumbersome armour was surprisingly agile while moving through the increasing non-uniform tunnel. ¡°But our grudge with the Scarred King is ancient history. The war is seasonal. On the other cog, monsters of the Murk obey no such tradition. There¡¯s an evil intelligence lying belaw, lurking in the deep dark, sending out its feelers to taste our defences, ambush our caravans, or massacre our outposts.¡±

    ¡°Intelligence, as in...¡± Gwen wondered if she should mention the Elder Gods. Perhaps Nyarlathotep had a hankering for Dwarf? "Ancient things?"

    ¡°Mayhap,¡± Hanmoul replied evasively. ¡°We Murk-dwellers don¡¯t rightly ken fer sure. The Deepdowners say that something awoke in the deep dark when the Black Dragon stirred three cycles ago. Others say that they dug too deep and angered something long entombed in the Elemental Plane of Earth. In the end, all we ken is that monsters appear throughout the Murk, disrupting our trade and our passages. Every time we exterminate a warren or pit a nest ter fire, two seem ter sprin'' up.¡±

    ¡°Sounds like the surface,¡± Gwen remarked. ¡°Our biggest problem is probably the Mermen. They breed fast, have fish for brains, and invade our cities at every opportunity.¡±

    ¡°We too get Mermen where there are large bodies of water,¡± Hanmoul said as he slowed his pace. ¡°Muck-men, we call them¡ª

    The Commandrumm raised a fist.

    "¡ªAlright lads, scouting formation. Tordrum, Grimgal, take the lead.¡±

    The troop of Golem Armours plinked and whined as their mana-jets cooled. Hanmoul''s soldiers had arrived at a network of newly bored tunnels extending every which way, including up and down. Gwen had a strange feeling that if she were to get lost in these passageways, she might very well transform into the tourist in Lovecraft¡¯s ¡°The Beast in the Cave¡±.

    ¡°You may use my dogs.¡± Gwen fought down her fear of orienteering in the dark, then offered the faceless, salivating head of Buck, whose jaw took up almost forty per cent of its body length. ¡°If you recall, they¡¯re rather resilient.¡±

    Hanmoul raised a fist. ¡°Yer our guest. Allow my men to protect you when we find the beasties.¡±

    ¡°Gwen, please let the Commandrumm do his job.¡± The chorus of Ollies begged her from the back.

    Gwen nodded. She drew Buck, Ariel and Caliban around herself, but willed the pack to take up an unobtrusive perimeter. Unlike her new friends, the dogs were consumables.

    Tordrum and Grimgal received the nod from their Commandrumm and moved out, their Golem plates thrumming as they lowered their profiles. The Hammer Guards appeared identical, with the only discernible difference being the numeric markings on their shoulder pauldrons.

    ¡°Ariel, Invisible Familiar,¡± Gwen incanted the spell under her breath. ¡°Move up and keep an eye out.¡±

    ¡°Ee!¡± the Kirin replied though their Empathic Link.

    ¡°Deploy the Krawluroz Eyre,¡± Hanmoul commanded.

    Up ahead, the two Hammer Guards moved their hands across the wall, materialising from their Storage Rings half-a-dozen spider-constructs. With a clang, wound-up sprockets sprang into gear, after which the palm-sized crawlers scattered like lemmings.

    ¡°You have drones?¡± Gwen was beyond impressed. How did that even work? She had seen no real indication that advanced electronics existed in her present world, much less AI. There were no modern creature comforts, not even in the six-figured, palatial sedans used by the state.

    ¡°Imbued Machines, not male bees,¡± Hanmoul carefully explained, as one might to a slow novice. ¡°The Eyre is a type of Golem. They''re made to be very irritating.¡±

    Just as Gwen was about to ask how exactly the mechanical spiders hoped to be irritating, one of them began to unleash an ungodly wail, all the while blasting beams of light in a shotgun pattern directly ahead.

    ¡°Contact!¡± Hanmoul barked into his suit''s communication device. ¡°Two O¡¯Clock, three hostiles, large size!¡±

    With complete obliviousness, the drones charged forward, skittering across the walls, the floor and even across the ceiling. One of them ran straight into what Gwen supposed as a large boulder, then exploded into globules of slime with the luminesce properties of Faery Fire.

    ¡°KARRAK!¡± Said bounder fell from the ceiling, striking the ground with a bone-throbbing thud. For a moment, Gwen wondered if she had finally encountered a Drop Bear.

    ¡°HOOKA AZKHORN!¡± Hanmoul hollered something about a "horror" with hooks, then ordered his men for ranged engagement. ¡°Penetrator Spells! On my mark¡ª Karaad!¡±

    Mana engines whirled into life, as did the protruding Spellblades. A near oppressive volume of Elemental Earth filled the tunnel; then the Dwarves fired their payloads.

    THUNK¡ª THUNK! THUNK! THUNK!

    The stone-like creature unfurled itself just in time to take a dozen metallic bolts to the chest. The majority was deflected by its carapace, though three shards thankfully overcame their target''s resilience.

    ¡°KARR-GARRGGGH¡ª!¡± The monstrosity stumbled backwards, vomiting up black blood.

    A chimaera? Gwen¡¯s glowing eyes focused on the creature¡¯s physiology. The Hooka was a turtle, a leatherback of some sort standing on two stumpy hind legs. Up top, its forearms were twin scything claws the size of Ollie. Remarkably, its head resembled that of a drake crossed with the likeness of a snapping turtle.

    With one swing, the armoured horror broke off the spines embedded in its body. Its bloodshot eyes rolled in its sockets, filling with rage. With a grunt, its head lowered, readying a charge.

    C-CRASH!

    Two more half-painted horrors landed from the murky height of the cavern, triggered by the light and sound.

    ¡°Gilthok!¡± Hanmoul swore. "Pin those down!"

    ¡°Need help?¡± Gwen¡¯s dogs were already whining. Not far, Caliban was salivating at the seams.

    ¡°No, not that,¡± Hanmoul growled. ¡°If Hookas are guarding the entrance, I donnae ''ave much hope we¡¯ll be finding the farmin'' team in one piece.¡±

    ¡°Oh.¡± Gwen grimaced.

    ¡°KARRAK!¡± The injured horror began its charge.

    ¡°Tordrum, Grimgal! Slow ''em down! The rest¡ª FOCUS FIRE!¡±

    The leading Hammer Guards spell-shaped the ground just in front of the creature as it charged, warping the floor so that the monstrosity reared off-balance, running head-first into the wall. Meanwhile, a mixed volley of magma, steel, and pure force struck the horror¡¯s armoured hide, burying it in an avalanche of spellfire.

    ¡°KARRAK!¡± The remaining two horrors, now fully unfurled, began their charge.

    ¡°AXES AT THE READY!¡± Hanmoul barked. ¡°Torrigg! Banmur! To the fore!¡±

    Gwen was happy to leave the fight to the Dwarves, but even she could see that one unlucky swipe from one of these king-crab looking turtle-demons would peel the armour from her new mates like a bowie knife popping a chilli can. If she was to do something, anything, now was the time.

    ¡°Ariel! Chain Lightning!¡±

    Her spell manifested in the nick of time, with Ariel positioned just so above the scythe-clawed fiends. With a mighty ¡°EE!¡±, the tunnels came alive with hysterical electricity, bouncing from horror to horror, the spell''s potent energies maintained by Ariel¡¯s unparalleled access to the Quasi-Elemental Plane of Lightning.

    ¡°GAOK¡ª¡° On its third retina-searing revolution, the channelled lightning turned the embedded spikes still sticking from the wounded horror¡¯s chest into molten slag. Its eyeballs exploded in a burst of bubbling, milk-white juices while smoke spewed from the creature¡¯s beak.

    Its remaining companions took far less damage but were stunned long enough for the lightning to singe their hide.

    ¡°Buck! Caliban, Onslaught!¡±

    Her contingent of Void-hounds surged forth as a dark tide, silently slobbering as they converged on the horrors. ¡°Sorry, Hanmoul, better safe than sorry.¡±

    ¡°Lower your swords!¡± Hanmoul halted his troops in response to Gwen¡¯s creatures swarming past the howling Golem-plated warriors.

    Buck was the fastest among them, making no sound but the splatter of gooey drool leaking from its enormous mouth. It bit into one of the horror¡¯s claws and hung on, corroding the creature''s resistance. The other deerhounds followed suit, swarming over their enemies so that momentarily, two writhing mounds slick with dark oil was all the Dwarves could make out.

    Caliban, resembling a great black spider drone, arrived just in time as the larger of the two horrors broke free. A corroded limb threw two of Gwen¡¯s dogs from its back with such force that one brained itself against the rough-hewn cavern.

    ¡°SHAA¡ª!¡± Caliban repaid the insult with a blur of forelimbs, each a segmented spear glimmering darkly with motes of Void. Soundlessly, it tore into the horror¡¯s chest, puncturing the turtle-demon from neck to the chops.

    ¡°KARRAK!¡± The horror pushed forward while Caliban¡¯s legs were still fast-stuck inside its body, uncaring that an eight-foot spider was dicing its innards. As one, Gwen¡¯s dogs retreated while spider and horror embraced like lovers.

    ¡°Consume!¡± Gwen agreed that if the Hooka Azhorn had a death-wish, then she would oblige. Additionally, assuming there was a bigger foe than these walking harvesters for enemies, she would need the life-force.

    By now, through borrowed vitality, her damaged dogs had recovered. All nine then piled onto the remaining horror, tearing and ripping at the armoured beast to disassemble it piece by piece. The horror¡¯s response was to enrage itself into a frenzy of blurring claws and gnashing beak, splattering the walls with deerhounds.

    Gwen shook off the slivers of ice that haunted her innards whenever vitality fled from her body. Caliban was now devouring the horror wholesale. What was interesting to see, she noted cooly, was that the monsters were fearless. Usually, when mundane creatures encountered her Void beasts, their first reaction was an existential fear that paralysed muscle and sinew. These fiends fought her monsters tooth-and-nail.

    ¡°Ancestor¡¯s Cogs¡­¡± Hanmoul held his men at bay while Gwen¡¯s creatures finished up. Caliban burped just once after swallowing an adversary twice its size and dozens of times its weight, then proceeded to scatter the dogs so that he could finish the ravaged remains of their final foe. ¡°Yer a true terror, lass.¡±

    ¡°All in a day¡¯s work,¡± Gwen replied sweetly, circulating both Essence and Mana. If Caliban¡¯s happy mewling was correct, there was likely going to be a significant volume of vitality incoming. ¡°I need to meditate, do you mind if I rest at the back?¡±

    ¡°I insist.¡± Hanmoul¡¯s tone was stoic.

    Gwen retreated beside an ambivalent Ollie.

    ¡°You should have let the Dwarves handle it themselves.¡±

    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t want us to return to base sans a member of our entourage. Do you think we''ll be in the mood to tour the city after that.¡±

    Ollie sighed.

    ¡°Anyway.¡± Gwen batted her long lashes. ¡°Could my Praelector conjure up some privacy for his House-sister?¡±

    Ollie blinked, his eyes growing wide and his face turning scarlet. ¡°Aren''t you wearing¡­ the er¡­ magical intimates?¡±

    ¡°Not for that, ya dirty dope!¡± Gwen berated her House-brother. ¡°I need to manage my vitality feedback! If you got something, do it now, else I am going to use Void Shield.¡±

    ¡°Will you be immobilised during this¡­ feedback?¡±

    ¡°I should be able to walk it off.¡±

    Ollie exhaled. ¡°Dissonant Blur!¡±

    Gwen¡¯s form instantly grew hazy and indistinct.

    ¡°Nice,¡± her voice replied from the general vicinity. ¡°I should pick this up for myself. I¡¯ll tell you when to dispel it.¡±

    ¡°I am gonnae to need a stiff bevvy efter this.¡±

    Hanmoul swore when they found their first suit of shattered Golem Armour. Like an opened can of pear, the interlocking carapace had parted at the seams. Near the back, a rent as wide as Gwen¡¯s thighs exposed the cobalt coolant, which had erupted with such pressure that the wall became pock-marked with caustic reactions.

    Presently, Gwen''s former entourage was assembled in a shaft that didn¡¯t so much resemble a mine, but a vertical hydroponic farm. Though ravaged, Gwen could make out the lattice-climbing legumes being fed a diet of nutrient-rich solutions, neatly arranged in an endless array of parallel aqueducts. Up top, near the ceiling, the levitating lumen globes had been crushed, casting the tunnel into pitch-blackness.

    ¡°More of those Hooka things?¡±

    ¡°A Shale Wyrm, by the looks of it.¡± Hanmoul''s grimness matched the low rumble of his armour. With a finger, he pulled a length of silk-like saliva from the emptied armour. ¡°Looks like its brooding.¡±

    ¡°Wyrm as in¡­¡± Gwen mimed a wingless drake swimming through the rocks.

    ¡°Aye lass, but not what you¡¯re thinking.¡± Hanmoul clambered back into his armour. ¡°This time of year, the eruption of Earthen mana is strong near the Red Peak. Just as we rush ter harvest the crystal growth, the Wyrm¡¯s come ter spawn, and just sae happens, it¡¯s found a warren full of scran.¡±

    ¡°Is it related to those Hooka things we fought earlier?¡±

    ¡°An elder Wyrm will use lesser creatures as servants in return for scraps and protection,¡± Hanmoul explained. ¡°As for the Wyrm itself, it hails from the Elemental Plane of Earth.¡±

    ¡°Sapient?¡±

    ¡°Not intelligent like you and I, but capable of reason, aye.¡± Hanmoul placed a hand over the empty suit of Golem Armour. A second later, the shattered armour rested in the Commandrumm''s Storage Ring. ¡°They¡¯ve more instinct than reason. Eyeless, foo ay teeth an'' scrabblin'' claw, mair worm than wyrm.¡±

    "We''ll follow you."

    "Aye, we need to follow the trail." Hanmoul¡¯s mana engine roared into action. ¡°There should be four more Hammer Guards, including their Foreman, as well as two dozen labourers. We''ll neeta brin'' buck their armour if naething else.¡±

    Gwen straightened her back. With the lumen globes gone and the hydroponics smashed up, the darkness seemed to stretch on forever. Acutely, she made herself aware that this was the world of the Dwarves, a place of fortresses, tunnels and shafts embedded in subterranean strata, choked full of danger far different from the surface. Up there, in her world, there was space to run, room to flee, an open sky full of possibilities provided one¡¯s enemy wasn¡¯t a flock of Furies or a pissed off Dragon. Here in the Murk, every confrontation was the survival of the fittest. Every engagement was a fight to the death for what little space nature or labour could carve out.

    From the darkness, her dogs slinked into view, each as sleek as missiles, appearing in the dim like malevolent drops of semi-solid crude. In the dark, her invisible Caliban reported a mass of delicious vitality existing some distance from their entry point.

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry Hanmoul.¡± She patted the thrumming armour, careful to avoid the vents. ¡°We¡¯ll find your mates, or we¡¯ll find the Wyrm. And with any luck, we¡¯ll find both.¡±

 Chapter 340 - The Early Bird

    "Commandrumm, we''re nae gonnae wait fer the Rockcrushers?" one of Hanmoul''s Iron Borns sent over a discrete line on the comms.

    "Nae lad, we''ve got the lassie here lending us a hand," his superior replied. "Besides, it''ll take another two hours for a squad of Wyrm-hunters ter get to us. Where dae yer think that''ll leave the survivors? There are twinti Dwarves in that farm, Tordok. You''re gonnae answer ter their Clan elders?"

    "Nae, Ser¡­"

    "Donnae think so." Hanmoul raised an armoured fist. "Squad Halt. Set up a perimeter patrol."

    "I believe our objective is just up ahead." Beside the Commandrum, the human sorceress appeared to focus on something out of sight. "Yes, Cali tastes something fairly substantial, about six Striders arranged end-to-end. Sounds about right?"

    "Aye, that''s our brooder." Hanmoul was now sure that including their helpful artillery was the right choice. "Can ya see any of our kin?"

    "There''s close to two hundred motes of life in that tunnel," Gwen translated what Hanmoul supposed was a vision from her Void Familiar. "How do you want to proceed?"

    "Normally, I donne say we britch from below." Hanmoul pondered their present condition. "However, I have it on good authority that Shale Wyrms possess the ability to sense tremors."

    "Hyper-sensitive to light and sound?" The sorceress'' face lit up.

    "Only to subterranean vibrations," Hanmoul said. "We''ve used sonic attacks against them before, and lightning, and fire. The Wyrm nae donne have eyes. Like most Draconids, they''re very resistant against all elements and near-impervious against lesser physical attacks."

    "And you''re positive that the Wyrm is draconic?"

    "Aye. Tis a mongrel of sorts. Thar be True Wyrms living in the Elemental Plane of Earth. I would presume the Shale Wyrm aye an offspring, or perhaps a creature morphed by Essence."

    "Breath attack?"

    "Ay believe so."

    "Can it speak Draconic?"

    "Yer ken Draconic?"

    "I can translate it¡­ " Gwen tapped the back of her neck.

    "I donnae think ye can talk it down."

    "Well." The sorceress appeared full of confidence. "As long as it''s running on Dragon juice, I think we''re good with non-diplomatic solutions."

    "How sae?" Hanmoul raised a bushy brow. The lassie was good at shaving Trolls down to a ramrod, but this was a creature he and his men would take hours to exhaust! If half of his armoured units survived the operation and only one man perished, Hanmoul would have counted himself lucky.

    "You''ll see." The sorceress cracked her knuckles, then stroked her eyeless black dog. "Trust me, Hanmoul. That Wyrm''s as good as worms meat."

    "... There are spherical things, here, about two dozen of them¡ª the same area, assuming those cocoon things are NOT eggs, should be your men. As with before, there are some strange formations here and here¡­ so they''re likely those subterranean Drop Bears we encountered, not to mention swarms of these worms with copper-coloured beaks..."

    The Commandrumm plotted out the assault based on what Gwen termed "Ariel VR". Unfortunately, due to the hostages, they could not flood the tunnel with noxious gas or open up with a Maelstrom. What they could do, however, was to have Gwen''s Familiars distract the enemy so that Hanmoul and his men could retrieve as many of the "storage cocoons" as possible.

    Ollie raised a hand. "I do believe that I can conjure enough Phantasmal Force to double, or triple our forces."

    "Aye, but the Wyrm sees through tremor, how good''s yer ghosts?"

    Ollie scratched his chin. "I could throw in some Mimic and Auditory Hallucinations, magnify the effect with Haunt."

    "I have no idea what that means," Gwen declared for the Dwarve''s benefit. "Ollie, can you explain in laymen terms the implications of those spells?"

    Realising his error, Ollie patiently obliged. Phantasmal Force allowed him to create mock-visages of the Golem units. Mimic could, as the name suggests, mime the sound of the Golem''s tangible qualities, including the vibration they made in transit. Auditory Hallucination, comparatively, directly affected simple creatures, being effective across an enormous range and coverage. Haunt was a single target spell that afflicted the target with hallucinations and phantom enemies, inducing sensory confusion or self-harm.

    "Sweet." Gwen gestured to her twin Hound Pack, totalling eighteen individuals in obsidian and cobalt. The Lightning dogs, after her encounter with the Wolfhounds at the isle, now appeared closer to their terrestrial cousins. "How many Phantoms can you manage?"

    "About three¡­" Ollie craned his neck proudly. "And I can manage six other layers concurrently."

    Ollie''s response reminded her of Tao. Sure, her cousin was stacking low tier spells, but in a way, the wannabe gangsta was a terrific Illusionist. Smiling secretly to herself, she wondered if Ollie and Tao would get along like a Wall of Fire.

    "Alright, let''s go with Mimic and Phantom then," she stated. "Hanmoul, you need to trust me on this. If that Wyrm has an ounce of Draconic in him, it''ll stick to Cali like Gogo on Phelara."

    The team wasn''t sure what the analogy meant but made ready for the rescue operation, materialising runic melee implements from piston-hammers, chain-axes to whirling drills. Meanwhile, Gwen called Caliban into position.

    "Make sure you get its attention," Gwen empathically commanded her Familiar to take whatever vitality it needed.

    Just outside the cavern where the Wyrm brooded, Caliban began to bloat.

    Gwen ordered her dogs into place. Post Caliban, they would be the first wave, followed shortly by a mixture of real and illusory Dwarven rescuers. Ollie had promised that at full throttle, he could guarantee an hour of faultless operation, more than enough time for their allies to flee with their targets.

    "Ancestors'' protect us," Hanmoul whispered what Gwen supposed was a Dwarven prayer. "May N?rn-Zur''s Dousing Rod guide us to the motherlode."

    There were many species of Shale Wyrms, pending on its elemental-genus and Draconic-origins. Prior to its exogenous metamorphosis, the creatures were said to be Earthen Worms living deep in the Elemental Plane of Earth, eyeless, blind, all-consuming but hardly malevolent.

    However, once polluted by the Essence of the Great Wyrms leaking from the Unformed Land, the Earthen Worms began to change. First, they grew larger, more aggressive, becoming voracious. An Earthen Wyrm began its career by consuming other worms in its vicinity, collating what little Essence its unevolved cousins had gathered unto themselves in the manner of Dragons. Then, by moving further afield, it found other prey. Little by little, intelligence engendered from its non-existent brain, growing ever more ill-disposed until one day, it became aware of its life-long pursuit¡ª to metamorph into a True Wyrm.

    Rarely, one such creature ventured too far through the Elemental Plane of Earth. It struck a fracture where the fabric of reality has worn thin and found itself in the Prime Material Plane.

    Suddenly cut off from the presence of its progenitor, the creatures grew slowly insane as their existential dogma grew futile, leaving them with little more purpose than to consume and procreate. In that regard, like most Planar annelids, the Earthen Wyrm reverted back to baser instincts, engendering eggs using its own hermaphroditic body to be brooded in nodes rich with mana.

    And so it was that this particular flotsam of the protean Planar tides, having found such a place, cowed the natives, then made its lair in a seam abundant with food.

    Here, it would breed, soaking its stone eggs in mana. Then it would watch as its young devour the morsels it had collected along the way, starting with prey, then finishing with its enslaved allies.

    "SHAA! SHAA!"

    The sleeping Wyrm stirred before the sound could reach its hyper-sensitive follicles. When its proboscis tasted the air, the Wyrm''s diluted Draconic blood ignited as though sulphur struck by lightning, rippling its carapaces from fanged snout to barbed tail.

    Without understanding, the Wyrm''s Essence-addled brain burned with agitation. Such resentment coursed through its bloated body that milk-white mucus poured from its pores, smothering its surroundings with strands of viscous silk.

    A moment later, a creature stomped into the domain of its tremor-sensitive bristles.

    The Shale Wyrm had never seen a bird before, but that did not prevent it from acknowledging acutely ancestral memories demanding its foe''s demise.

    "KE-KE¡ª!" The Wyrm bared its four pairs of fangs, each set embedded within the other. Its organ gurgled and gnashed, brought to bear by the blessing of the Great Wyrms. Distending its neck, pulling back every muscle in its throat, the Shale Wyrm compressed the dozen acid glans hidden in its fleshy cavities, compressing its potent payload.

    "GLUBLURRRGH!" Elemental Earth and Water, mixed with Essence and the creature''s secretions, vomited forth as a blue-green sludge.

    "SHAA!" Its avian assailant covered itself with both wings, shielding its face and body.

    In the aftermath, the Shale Wyrm panted, its great, glistening frame undulating as it absorbed the surrounding mana, turning fields of brittle crystals into lightless dust.

    Sulfurous gas rose from the granite flagstones as the all-melting compound slid from the bird''s crow-coat, eating the floor in great mouthfuls.

    "SHAA!" The creature continued its advance. Its wings unfurled to reveal a mouth that rivalled the Shale Wyrm''s flesh-flaying apparatus. Below its crow-black feathers, a white pair of claws, so discordant against its sleek body, stalked forward with dreadful purpose.

    Rising to the challenge, the Shale Wyrm uncoiled itself, segment by armoured segment.

    "Ke-ke-ke¡ª"

    Numberless symbiotic scavengers and parasitic hangers-on jolted awake at the behest of their usurping sovereign. With a growl more "Akch!" than throaty howl, it willed its dominated allies to expend themselves against the invader.

    "Harath!" Hanmoul gave the order.

    Over forty Golem-units rushed headlong into the cavern, following the pitter-patter of Gwen''s streaming hounds. At the threshold of the cavern, a chaotic line of scavengers, everything from swarms of elementals like the parrot-beaked Copper Slugs to a family of menacing Hookas met the trespassers.

    Grouped by themselves, Hanmoul would not have found the monsters to be insurmountable. Be it the iron-eating swarmers with their acidic breath, or the Hookas with their ambush, the Magical Monsters of the Murk had individual territories and quirks. Low in intelligence, these beasts were rarely a match for the organised Dwarves, who conducted monthly Purges to push from the Murk toward the Dyar Morkk, the low-ways. Indeed, only when commanded by a higher being to not fight among themselves did the tier of danger offered by the Murk multiplied.

    The dim cavern grew suddenly bright with firelight.

    A portion of the illusory Hammer Guards opened fire, while others dashed forward with no regard for their safety. The sorceress'' conjured beasties performed just as admirably, splitting into streams to flank the monsters in their midst, sowing confusion.

    "Tordrum, take Squad One left and start retrieving the cocoons. Grimgal! Take a right, you and Squad Two are with me!"

    "Aye, Commandrumm!"

    BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

    A rolling wave of corrosive gas, lime-green and glowing with supercharged mana, rolled over the lair''s invaders.

    "UP YER ELEMENTAL RESISTS!" Hanmoul punched-in the Glyph combination. "Keep moving even if yer legs melt!"

    Up ahead, the lass'' Big Bird survived the enveloping acid without so much as a step backwards. With a "Shaa!", it battered away the stone-melting sludge, then continued its march toward the Wyrm.

    The Wyrm itself was as Hanmoul had feared, an escaped denizen from the deeper parts of the Elemental Plane of Earth. It was an adult, at minimum the size of a ten-carriage Vularm, stretching from cavern floor to ceiling.

    How was the girl''s bird, which was a quarter its size, hoping to defeat such a beast? Hanmoul wondered.

    Or perhaps that wasn''t the point, Hanmoul contemplated the match-up. Was the girl offering her Familiar as a selfless distraction so that, given the operative time frame, Hanmoul''s men could pull as many cocooned eggs from the lair as possible? And, the Ancestors'' willing, would find his kin still possessing the breath of life?

    "KE-KE!"

    "Shaa!"

    The Wyrm was wily. Flanking the Big Bird, it attacked with all four-sets of diamond-hard mandibles from the flank, while up above, its tail was poised to strike with an envenomed, spear-tipped barb.

    "Girlie!" Hanmoul warned his companion even as the corroding fog sent up warming flares all over his diagnostic panel.

    "Void Sphere!"

    Hanmoul needn''t have worried. An eruption of dark matter spewed forth as though a tenebrous capsule of ink, consuming the tip of the tail, followed shortly by a secondary nova. In the spell''s passing, there was no explosion nor conflagration, not even a shockwave. There was only the eroded stump of what had been a tail, fountaining jets of oily, aubergine ichor.

    In totality, the spell had removed but a finger from the Wyrm''s mass. In practice, the Wyrm had been disarmed.

    "SHAA!" The bird took flight.

    Hanmoul didn''t know much about birds, but from the mass of the house-sized avian horror, it should not have been able to lift into the air, at least not without reinventing Gul-Z¨±h''s Law of Mass. Instead, the creature''s muscles and ligaments make a mockery of physics. With a thunderclap of dark wings, it lifted itself above the Wyrm, forcing the creature''s momentum-filled strike to pass harmlessly below.

    Then the Big Bird landed.

    A pair of white hands, slender and feminine, closed in around a segment of the Wyrm''s torso, one against its spine, assuming it had one, and the other nearer to the base of its neck.

    Hanmoul quaked, all rational thought momentarily fled his mind. As the creatures met in melee, Hanmoul forgot about the Copper Slugs gnawing at his armour''s thigh and swarming over his men, both real and imaginary.

    CRUNCH!

    Hanmoul winced, suddenly filled with compassion for the Wyrm.

    As had been done to the Trollies of Scarred Peak, the Big Bird''s finger-claws first deformed the Wyrm''s carapace, then rendered its soft-flesh into oozing clay.

    "KAKAKAKA¡ª" The Wyrm thrashed madly, perhaps in disbelief that it would be bested so quickly and so totally. Once again, writhing, twisting and turning, it opened its maw, glans at the ready, then smothered the bird with sulphuric acid.

    The Big Bird simply did not give a krummp.

    Hanmoul soberly forced himself to refocus on the task at hand. With a three-score of expertly-timed strikes from his chain-axe, he hewed at the Copper Slug''s joints until the carapace gave way. Crushing the soft flesh with his mechanised, mana-charged fist, the Commandrumm then pushed through the acid fog to arrive at the brooding site.

    Already, his men were hewing at the base of the cocoons, spell-shaping the granite to free their attached cargo. Locating an egg himself, Hanmoul set to work, mindful that not a dozen meters away, a terror bird was shredding a Vularm¡ª carriage by squirming carriage.

    "Buck! Take the Hooka on the right! Astro, retreat, then help carry the cocoons!"

    Via Ariel''s eyes, Gwen surveyed the battlefield, feeling every bit the all-seeing player of a real-time strategy game.

    Ollie stood a meter away, refreshing the Invisibility on her armour while maintaining his Phantasmic Force, concurrently confusing the swarms with hallucinations. The young man was already one mana potion down and panting, though his face flushed with excitement.

    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

    "Ariel, get ready¡­" Gwen waited for the monsters to converged on the fleeing Dwarven armour before pushing Almudj''s Essence into her conduits. "Ball Lightning!"

    "EE-EE!"

    Where the interior of the cavern had glowed with fire and magma, it now grew hysterically bright as orbs of sizzling, viridescent electricity expanded amidst the pursuing swarm.

    One by one, the Dwarves retreated with their cargos, some cradling two eggs, others having three cocoons chained together as a bouncing, skittering train.

    "Invisibility¡ª" Ollie obliged once more, an expert in Spellcraft but inexpert when it came to the art of war. He was also clad in the second-tier illusion staple, though as an ally, Gwen could make out a faded outline, as though her House-brother had become incorporeal. "Gwen, are we retreating now?"

    "Sif!" Her blood was up. Who would retreat when their gamble paid off? The Wyrm was well-pollinated with Draconic Essence, and as one who had experienced the prowess of the Big Birds against Golos, she possessed not an ounce of worry that Caliban would not emerge with a new form. "Retreat? We''re finishing this!"

    "But you said¡­"

    "I told him to trust me¡ª whoa¡ª" Gwen shuddered as vitality fled from her body, making her momentarily blank out. "Sorry, that had quite the kick¡ªand he''s right to do so. Cali will win, and we will reclaim this part of the mines for our allies."

    Unable to refute her claim, Gwen''s companion returned his gaze to the titanic struggle between bird and worm while Gwen returned hers to the general chaos of the battlefield.

    "Chain Lightning!" She loved the fact that thanks to Ollie''s illusions, and with Ariel acting as her portable turret, the enemy was wholly unaware of her lightning blasts'' origins. "Invisible Familiar!"

    "EE!" Ariel too enjoyed itself.

    Like shooting Gobs in a terraformed pit, electricity arched between Ariel''s sixteen pointed stag horns before sharing the Evocation favourite with the masses, ripping through the Hookas, liquifying a dozen Copper Worms, then circling again to ravage the foe anew.

    "SHAA!" A cry of triumph echoed.

    Caliban, missing feathers here and there, sans half the digits on its hands as well as a mortal segment of its neck, had removed enough Wyrm flesh to expose the Wyrm''s sacred component¡ª its Creature Core.

    "Consume!" Gwen''s heart pounded against her throat. "Cali! Do it now!"

    Perhaps realising that the end was nigh, the Wyrm reverted to its lesser instincts. From every inch of its quivering flesh, a silky, viscous ooze erupted forth, making itself slick and slippery. Caliban''s peeled, tooth-lined maw struck the creature''s flank, only to come away frustrated, catching a throat-full of slime.

    Gwen felt her understanding of Magic Creatures and their defence mechanisms fully renewed. All that vitality she poured forth, all that Void matter, and the mitigating offset was the power of Vaseline?! Nature does find a way!

    "Fuck me. Cali, keep it pinned! Ariel! Lightning Bolt!"

    Her alternative efforts were likewise disappointed by the Wyrm''s primordial defences.

    "Void Seeker!"

    Her discus consumed itself about half-a-meter into the creature''s flank, barely enough to slice off its lest rotund segment. Caliban made another attempt, but not only was it slipping on great gobs of slime from chin to chest, but its fingers were also losing grip.

    Ding!

    Hanmoul''s Message pinged. "Yer desiring to hunt the Wyrm?"

    "YES!" Gwen hollered back. "Any ideas?"

    "Don''t you worry, Lass," Hanmoul''s reply was full of confidence, as well as a hint of relief. "We''ll keep it contained. Alright, lads! Let''s turn up the heat for the lassies'' cockie! Dragonbreath! Give it all yer got!"

    Those of the Hammer Guards still retrieving the cocoons rushed past Ollie and Gwen, while others returning to the fray fired up both Spellswords. Beginning with Hanmoul, the Dwarves poured gouts of fire toward the slimy, shimmering Wyrm.

    If anything, Gwen supposed, Dwarves would know how to temper a forge. Instantly, the temperature in the cavern shot up. The smothering slime dried up within a matter of seconds, becoming flaky and crusty. As for the great Wyrm itself, it writhed and turned, seeking an escape, only to be battered back by Caliban using its wings and its whip-like neck.

    More and more Dwarves joined with their flamers, their mana-engines glowing blue-hot as the liquid crystal blew out. The air grew so hot that the cavern''s stones sizzled while its inhabitants baked.

    Ollie erected his Mage Shield, while Gwen found herself surprisingly resilient against the arcane fire. Her Lightning dogs seemed to largely ignore the heat, while her Void hounds skulked like murky skeletons among the wavering air.

    The surviving swarms that fed on the Shale Wyrm''s waste fled, while what remained of the family of Hookas perished under renewed volleys of iron-wrought spikes, impaled against stone hot enough to cook their insides.

    The Wyrm made a wild dash against the granite floor, shaping the stone, seeking a way out. Unfortunately for their otherworldly invader, its fount of slime was no longer sustainable in its immediate environment. Even as it attempted to bore a new hole, the Dwarves sealed its exit with stone shaping spells fired from their Spellswords.

    Caliban descended, breaking through the crispy, smouldering silk to tear away chunks of bruised and battered flesh. Where the blistering slime grew exposed to the searing heat, it quickly solidified, losing all viscosity.

    At long last, goaded by a madcap Gwen howling "Consume! CONSUME!" Caliban enclosed the creature''s Core with its tentacled maw, severing the Wyrm''s heart from its Tyrian-veined arteries in a single tug, painting the Dwarves below with an arc of bubbling purple blood.

    "SHAA!"

    Rousing cheers went up as the Hammer Guards bathed in ankle-deep gore.

    "Good work, Cali!" Gwen poured what vitality she had left into Caliban, restoring her fiend''s battle-weary body. No doubt she would soon be deep in meditation, the intensity of which nothing short of a Void Shield would keep decent. From her present vantage, all that was left was to grind down the remaining foes. Caliban was, after all, full-fluffed and choked full of vitality, brimming with battle lust in its most aggressive form.

    "Cali, Ariel, Buck, Astro, Ollie¡ª clean up the rest." She fought off the shivers even as her limbs grew ice-cold. "Mummy''s going to take a breather."

    Gwen emerged refreshed and hale from her meditation, having Prestidigitated her armour while in seclusion. When her Void Shield faded from view, she found herself surrounded by a wall of metal standing shoulder-to-shoulder.

    "They wanted to defend you while you were meditating," Ollie quickly explained.

    Gwen gave her audience an appreciative nod. "Hanmoul?"

    "Over there." Ollie''s expression did not posses expectant joy, nor a look of burgeoning hope.

    Bowing their heads slightly, the Iron Born Dwarves clanked aside in their cumbersome battlesuits. Further down the corridor, she could see Hanmoul and the others, flanked by his sergeants. Presently, the Dwarves were at the tail end of their egg-sorting labour. As she approached, she couldn''t help but notice that the tunnel''s walls were bruised with ichor in lurid, crimson shades.

    That and beside the group, there were rows of Dwarven bodies caked in slime. There were three dozen in all, all of whom laid perfectly still.

    "Shit¡­" Gwen muttered.

    "We didn''t know, but the Wyrm''s venom takes life while preserving the flesh," Hanmoul announced for her benefit. "I am truly sorry, lass. You did all of this for nothing."

    CRUNCH!

    One of the armoured Dwarves cracked open the last cocoon. Once the content revealed itself to be the rock-like egg belonging to their kin-slayer. Swiftly, the Hammer Guard smashed into the egg, splatting embryo across the wall, then set the yolk aflame with gouts of orange magma from his Spellsword.

    "That''s all of them." The Iron Born saluted.

    "I am sorry too, Hanmoul." Gwen walked through the rows of grey-faced cadavers. There were Dwarves both young and old, some with beards just reaching their neck, others as long as their waist. There were women as well, with fine whiskers and less prominent noses and jawbones and a certain softness to the brows. All of whom now laid side by side, still slick with the enzyme from the Wyrm''s digestive systems.

    Dearly, Gwen wished that she had an Evee to cuddle.

    "Caliban¡­"

    Her Void snake, now docile, communicated that there were no discernible motes of vitality to be consumed.

    "We''re grateful, lass," Hanmoul assured her, as if afraid of her displeasure. "Truly."

    "I know." Gwen fought down the cold invasion of disappointment. She had genuinely hoped that they would find someone, anyone, alive and well. If even one individual survived, then any effort would have been worthwhile.

    "We shall consign their bodies to their Clans."

    "That''s good to hear."

    "The Clans will be in your debt..."

    "That was not my intention." Gwen shook her head. Her intention had been two-fold. One, she wanted to bring back Hanmoul''s kin alive. As for her secondary purpose, it was the selfish curiosity of wanting to pit Caliban against a Draconic foe.

    "I''ve called for escorts and transports," Hanmoul continued. "We''ll be entering through the Gate of Kazhul, sorceress. By my word, ye shall receive a proper welcome."

    "You don''t have to." Gwen wondered if her modesty was feigned even as the words left her mouth. She had desired the Dwarves'' favour, that much was self-evident. They had access to technology and expertise that she could not beg from London, not with the nobles barring her way. "Hanmoul, I said we''re mates, and if you see me as a mate, we don''t need ceremony or repayment for offering a helping hand. If Ollie got nabbed, would you have aided me in his retrieval?"

    Ollie gave her a strange look, demanding to know if her analogy involved extracting his blue-veined corpse from the gut of a shredded Wyrm.

    "Nae, lass." Hanmoul wasn''t in the mood for debates of modesty. "I''ll not have yer slink into the city like a thief, not after what yer''ve done for us in aw home. The Clans will ken what you did and why yer''re here."

    Gwen could only nod, lamenting the murdered mirth that should have followed a thorough victory.

    Up close, the Gate of Kazhul was twice the size and grandeur.

    In her mind, Gwen always imagined that a hero''s welcome set in a world of high fantasy would involve rose petals, trumpets, clarions, tapestries and adoring fans lining the battlements tossing streamers.

    Instead, she walked beside Hanmoul, leading a train of grey-faced cadavers through the solemn halls embedded within the keep, watched by the lantern-like eyes of the Citadel''s citizens.

    Inside, she was in no mood to marvel at the architecture, the stained-crystal murals, the monolithic statues of Dwarven warriors holding up the ceiling. Instead, she was met with the despairing howls of families as they emerged from Citadel''s depth to claim the dead.

    Gwen stood and studied the gathered crowd while they watched her in turn. The citizens, as far as she could tell, were dressed in a variety of garbs closely resembling medieval tunics but adorned with gadgets and tools. Physiologically, the Demi-human folk known as Dwarves were essentially stout Humans, with the males being barrel-chested and rotund, while the females were thick-thighed and generously bosomed. There was an overt preference for unisex leather gloves, as well as knee-high boots, and far more uniformity than what one would expect in a Human enclave.

    Hanmoul walked among those unfortunate enough to have to step up from the crowd to claim a body, patting shoulders and offering kind words here and there. Once identified, the segmented, self-propelled dollies used to transport the bodies followed the claimants, presumably taking the corpses to the Clan''s abode to be returned to the Plane of Earth.

    "Gwen¡ª heads up." Ollie''s silent Message bloomed beside her ear.

    As prescribed, she looked up.

    There, standing behind the keep''s art-deco parapet, was a troop of black-clad Dwarves looking straight out of dystopian science fiction. Their leader was the one to whom Ollie referred, for the Dwarf was clad from head to toe in bound cloth and forge-pressed plating. The mask reminded Gwen of Daft Punk''s signature helmets, while around the man''s torso, form-fitting runic plating glowed faintly with warding magic. The Dwarf''s arms were likewise covered in what looked like holy scripts, ending in a pair of overlarge gauntlets half-hidden in long, pontifical sleeves.

    A Deepdowner, Gwen recognised the unusual look. Those who loathed the surface, and who considered anything outside the deep dark Vadam.

    Their eyes met, or rather, she met the helmet''s reflective exterior.

    "Don''t stare." Ollie coughed. "Remember what Hanmoul said."

    And what Lady Astor had forewarned, Gwen cautioned herself as she returned her attention to the grieving parents, siblings, Clanmates, mentors and friends. The scene was touching, but she had seen it all before. Were such displays of human suffering no longer sufficiently woeful? She wondered, or was it because there was no Elvia here to ground her to reality, to put the proper emotions in place?

    Cart by cart, the bodies were claimed until only one remained.

    "A Clanless¡­" Hanmoul shook his head. "We get them sometimes, survivors from another enclave."

    "What happens to him?"

    "We''ll consign him to the fire in the Hall of Names."

    With the last body gone, Gwen breathed out.

    "Let us return to the Rotary Guild." Hanmoul''s expression remained sombre. "We''ve done well today, thanks to you. Woe for the dead, but joy for the living. And so the Great Cog turns..."

    If Gwen had to describe the journey from the gate down to the imposing fortress known as the Rotary Guild, she would expound on the time she walked through Blackheath wearing a minidress. And like the residents of that down-and-out suburb, the Dwarves here did not shy away from a good gander.

    As before, walking beside Hanmoul, she felt like an animal in a gilded cage being paraded through the avenue, attracting the eyes of men, women and children alike. Ollie followed, possibly making himself less conspicuous with his illusions, leaving her to take the brunt of the Citadel''s attention.

    Now and then, she waved back as would a friendly celebrity. Her audience''s response was to shy away, cover their children''s eyes, or gave her the Sign of the Thrice-jammed Cog. Such was the intensity of the half-kilometre journey from the gate to the guild that she felt exhausted despite the newly usurped vitality.

    At the guild itself, Gwen and Ollie were ushered into an amphitheatre carved from the bedrock. The building had the look of a town hall, with its centre consisting of six monolithic pillars inscribed with Dwarven runes. There, not seated in the six-seat dais but standing on the stage to await her grace, stood Hanmoul''s superior, the Master of the Rotary Guild.

    "Miss Song, Magus Edwards," the Guild Master, much to the Human''s surprise, spoke perfect British English. "Welcome to our humble abode."

    "It''s a pleasure to be here." Gwen bowed from the waist. "Thank you for satisfying my selfish request."

    "Lord Engineseer." Ollie appeared to have studied the Murk Dwarf''s hierarchy. "Though you know us already, allow me to introduce us still. Here is Magus Gwen Song of Peterhouse, Cambridge, War Mage of London and my House-sister. Please refer to this one as Magus Ollie Edwards, also of Peterhouse, Cambridge, London Tower. We are beyond grateful for your reception."

    "No need." The Guild Master hand-waved the humans'' simulated modesty. "From what our man tells us, you have been instrumental in aiding Hanmoul yet again! Young one, you now owe Miss Song a great deal."

    "I shall endeavour to satisfy Haj-Z¨¹l''s Debt," Hanmoul assured his Guild Master. A name that Gwen now understood as one of the Seven Ancestors; one who had repaid a debt with such magnificence that the tale had grown into a cultural aspiration. "First, allow me to introduce the Chief Engineseer of Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth, Whurforl¨¹m Ironf?rge, First of his Clan, First of the Citadel Council, Lord Librarian, White Beard, and my teacher."

    "Hanmoul is too high-strung," the Guild Master scoffed at the breathless range of titles. "You may call me Whurforl¨¹m, though I have given myself a Human name as well¡ª Wilhelm."

    "Lord Ironf?rge," Ollie genuflected once more.

    "Milord Wilhelm." Gwen grinned at the portly old Dwarf. Unless she ignored the big white beard, the belly, the expansive, smiling face and the hale, rosy cheeks, it was impossible not to see Santa Claus.

    "I am sure you are eager to tour the city, and indeed, make certain requests of Hanmoul," the Guild Master accounted benevolently. "I understand that a difficult battle had taken place. You must be exhausted and hungry."

    "There''s no need¡ª" Ollie continued to play the diplomat.

    "I could eat," Gwen confessed. Her candidness was well-founded. Draining vitality made one exceptionally hungry. Restoring it did nothing for the feeling of fullness, nor accounted for an empty belly.

    "Then I am well pleased." The old Dwarf indicated to the exit. "Go and enjoy a banquet in your honour, walk the city with Hanmoul, think deeply of what you wish from us, then return here on the last day of your visitation. If I judge your demands acceptable, the Citadel will do its utmost to fulfil our side of the debt."

    Gwen felt most agreeable, finding the old Dwarf the most pleasant fellow she had come across in a long time. If all Dwarves could be negotiated with like the Guild Master, she saw no reason why some manner of burgeoning trade couldn''t be established between the races.

    "Hanmoul, do show our guests to the Great Hall. You and your Hammer Guards have done well."

    Hanmoul did not at all appear pleased by the praise. "No one was saved, Ser."

    "Yet, the bodies of our kin have been returned to the Hearth of their Ancestors. None have become fat for the Wyrm. Who to thank for that, but your Legion and our guests?"

    "... Thank you Ser," Hanmoul conceded. "I shall serve our people better from now on."

    The Guild Master patted his student on the head, then directed his guests to the door. "Do enjoy yourselves, young Humans, but beware the potency of our beverages. Overlanders such as yourselves have required healing in the past due to reckless indulgence. It would certainly not do for our honoured guests to teleport back their Citadel!"

    Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth.

    The Guild District.

    The Nut and Cog Rotary Tavern.

    As a culinary light-weight, Ollie paled at the Dwarven tavern-feast presented to the two guests. Piled three-stack high, the small mountain of foodstuffs consisted of creatures, legumes and root vegetable he had never seen or heard. The most salient was an enormous platter consisting of a horned iguana roasted throughout and stuffed with a mixture of unnamable herbs in fat-soaked Dwarf bread. Next was a plate of golden carapaced beetles, each a handspan in length, boiled then seasoned with milk-butter from God knews what source. Nearer Gwen sat potentially a pheasant, but more likely a flightless raptor of sorts, steaming famously on a plate of grease-strewn rhizomes.

    Then there were apple tarts.

    And six types of mead.

    And sixteen types of beer.

    And seven types of cider.

    And a grain-brewed something the Translation Stone forewarned as "Everclear".

    And Ollie would have kept well away from the sauce bottle had he not been bombarded by requests from the Hammer Guard to pour one out for the fallen. Compelled by circumstance, the Praelector chose mead¡ª and was down and out half a stein later.

    "A round fer our Sorceress!" Sergeant Tordrum raised his tankard. "Two mugs, for saving us twice over!"

    Without waiting, the Dwarf sculled the first, then took up the other. He managed half-way before he had to belch, a foppish act that drew boos and jeers from his peers.

    "Wellie, YOO bloody scullie the Black Stout if yer so hale!" the Sergeant sputtered mead all over his beard. "Come on, do yer Ancestors proud!"

    Gwen gave the mead a polite sip to ensure that it was to her taste. Hanmoul had said that the sticky brew was made from honey; though from what "honey" the Commandrumm had declined to clarify.

    "I''ll take you up on that." She stood with a stein in one hand. Tilting her head back, Gwen slammed down the sickly-sweet concoction without so much as a wrinkle of her brow.

    First, there was silence¡ª then a roaring cheer shook the roof as a dozen tankard hammered the table.

    "Another!"

    Grimgal, who turned out to be a ladette rather than a lad, handed her a brimming pewter mug.

    With a flourish and a mote of circulating Essence, Gwen drank half the mug, paused for effect, then finished the rest. Taking a cue from her Chinese adventures, she overturned the stein to show that not a drop remained.

    "Gwen! Gwen! Gwen!"

    "That Human lass sure can drink!"

    "Ach! By me beard! She might be a Dwarf in disguise!"

    "Gwen, are you alright?" Hanmoul was sweating from every pore. The Commandrumm knew well the effects of Dwarven alcohol on the teetotaling Humans. What if the sorceress expired? Could their physicians heal a Human?

    "I am feeling GREAT!" Gwen felt a flush of warmth flooding her innards, indicating that for the first time in a long time, she was beginning to hit that lauded drinker''s high. "Who''s next?"

    "The Commandrumm!" Grimgal grabbed a clay bottle from under the table. "I''ve got an heirloom bottle of Everclear..."

    "GRIMGAL!" Hanmoul slammed the table with a balled fist. "Yer trying to kill our guest, ya daft wrench?"

    "Hold up. I am game." Gwen could already feel her Essence at work, detoxifying her blood at such an alarming rate. "What''s the damage?"

    "Stormbreaker Everclear." Grimgal''s smile was full of teeth. "It''ll be a real test. Our Commandrumm''s a Berumm Fest Octobrumm champion; he can outdrink any Dwarf under the table, man or woman."

    "I was a lad of fifty then!" Hanmoul protested. "Don''t expect me to do that now. Argh, my poor liver..."

    "Jesus," Gwen remarked, studying the Dwarf from head to toe. Outside of his armour and uniform, Hanmoul looked like Gary Oldman as a lumberjack. "How old are ya now?"

    "A hundred and two."

    "Holy shit." Gwen cackled. "How old are the rest of ya?"

    "Seventy-four."

    "Fifty-nine."

    "Hundred and Twenty!"

    "Tordok''s the young ''un¡ª he''s forty-nine."

    "Nae old enough ter drink, but old enough ter pilot."

    To settle her nerves, Gwen reached for the bottle of Everclear, uncorked the cap, then took a generous swig. The taste was akin to high-proof absinthe. Slowly, the liquid seared her gullet like a line of fire.

    She belched. Her eyes watered.

    A thundering outburst exploded across the tavern. Even Dwarves not affiliated with the Hammer Guards were now joining in on the action.

    "Fer your information. I am EIGHTEEN!" Gwen called out, finally feeling the buzz. "HOW''S THAT, OLD MAN HANMOUL?"

    The tavern grew silent.

    "Gilthok!" Hanmoul grumbled.

    "Ahahaha¡­" Grimgal snorted so hard she choked on a bit of yam. "Ya sure pick em young, Commandrumm. She can''t be drinking with us!"

    "Don''t know about that." Young Tordok growled. "I wasn''t yet fifty, and yer all made me piss ma-self. Me mum had to drag ay carcass home to face the Ancestors."

    "She''s a Human adult!" Hanmoul assured his men. "Fine. Gwen, pass it here."

    "Hold up." Gwen was abuzz with inspiration. Unbidden, she felt the engendering of a beautiful epiphany. Thanks to the Everclear coursing through her blood, her thoughts were free-flowing and without inhibition. "I''ve got just the thing!"

    From her ring, she retrieved the final bottle of Maotai that she had stowed. The lamb''s fat jadeite flask caused a stir among the Dwarves, who marvelled at the intricately carved bottle made from a mineral rarely seen in this part of the world.

    With a deft hand, she uncorked the bottle.

    "Wot is that?"

    "The scent¡­"

    "LASS! Bring me a fresh mug!"

    "And a spot of the special sauce¡­" Gwen giggled, grinning like a demon, like a maniac alchemist, she materialised the rare whiskers she had harvested from Sen-sen, then deposited the lot into the fragrant sorghum-brew. In a set of crisp jade thimbles, she poured until the crystal liquid formed a brimming meniscus. "There!"

    "What is that?" Hanmoul licked his lips.

    "It''s Soma, Ambrosia, the Drink of Gods," Gwen boasted. "One glass, and you''ll be taking a holiday in heaven."

    "Bah!"

    "Human brew taste like water!"

    "It looks like water!" The other Dwarves jeered.

    Gwen gave them the Sign of the Thrice-jammed Cog. "Commandrumm?"

    The two very carefully raised their drinks¡ª Gwen with the rest of the Stormbreaker, and Hanmoul with her doctored Maotai.

    Hanmoul leaned in, allowed the cup to touch his lips, then in one gulp emptied the contents.

    "ARRGHK!" the Commandrumm suddenly stood.

    "Wot is it, Commandrumm?"

    "Did the lass poison ya?"

    "ANCESTOR''S COGS!" Hanmoul''s face turned communist red. His pupils rapidly dilated as his body filled with righteous fire in the form of unadulterated vitality gathered from a Mythic being so powerful as to permeate a plot of land ten times the size of the Red Citadel. "WOT IS THIS? THERE''S SOMETHING IN ME BLOOD!"

    "Hundred-year sorghum distilled with five-hundred-year Draconic Essence." Gwen''s nonchalance froze the life-blood of all who awaited to share a drink with the sorceress. "Trust me, mate, for an old war dog like you, this sauce will do yer good¡­"

 Chapter 341 - Watering Holes

    Hanmoul hailed from the bloodline of B¨¹rumm-Dal Ir?ngut, famous for turning any amount of alcohol into white-hot battle-gall. The ancestor was also a renowned warrior berserker. And among the Iron Borns, his blood flowed thick and sanguine, filling his descendants with equal-parts courage and choler.

    The Maotai, or perhaps the herb Gwen had placed inside the Maotai, seemed to have awakened something in Hanmoul long made dormant by his thankless labour as the Commandrumm of the Overland Expedition. Straightaway, his face grew beetroot, his bile churned, and his torso filled with fire.

    Crack!

    Hanmoul slammed the jadeite cup so hard that it splintered the ironwood, jarring his instrument-sensitive fingers.

    "Another!" His blood was boiling, evaporating the pain in his hand, swelling his head to twice its size. ¡°I¡¯ll not let you drink me under, lass! The Hammer Guard will never live it down if a mere child, and a human at that, defeat the sons of B¨¹rumm!¡±

    ¡°I am afraid you¡¯re in for a surprise then.¡± The girl¡¯s jadeite irises gleamed, vivid with the hue of rainbows¡ª a surface phenomenon that only the Overland Expedition had ever laid eyes upon. ¡°Bathroom breaks be damned; there¡¯s only one way this is going to end.¡±

    ¡°Oh-ho, lass, yer playing a dangerous game!¡± Hanmoul summoned his lads and ladettes behind him. ¡°KINNA! Brin'' the stash you¡¯ve got hidden in the cellar!¡±

    ¡°YER SURE?¡± the barkeep, a matronly Dwarven woman wider than even Hanmoul, hollered back with a voice no less loud than a Clarion Call. ¡°That lass''s quarter yer size. Do yer fancy popping her Human life-preserver?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll be fine, really.¡± Gwen¡¯s tone was almost amused. ¡°Commandrumm, care for a wager?¡±

    Her audience banged the table with their steins.

    ¡°Ankrumm! Ankrumm! Ankrumm!¡±

    ¡°Ankrumm it is! What do yer fancy?¡± Hanmoul belched, expelling the hot, alcoholic air, feeling as though he had just delivered a breath attack. ¡°I¡¯ll wager yee, alright, but woman, but what will ye do if yer lose?¡±

    ¡°First, that won''t happen because I¡¯ll drink ALL of you under¡­¡± The sorceress placed a hand on her pancake-flat abdomen. ¡°If I win, promise me you¡¯ll help me with some of my ¡®Overland¡¯ businesses. I need Dwarven Machinists, like the ones they¡¯ve got in Bavaria to repair my Dwarf-made printing engines.¡±

    ¡°I donnae know if anyone¡¯s willing ter leave the Murk.¡± Hanmoul¡¯s eyes were twin moons as he spoke. ¡°But aye lass, I¡¯ll find ye someone. And what if yer eyes are bigger than yer stomach?¡±

    ¡°First, I¡¯ll pay for everyone here. Additionally, I¡¯ll import, gratis, ten more bottles of this priceless liqueur,¡± Gwen offered. ¡°And supply you with monthly care packages from the above-ground world, sans commission.¡±

    ¡°Ha! Yer on!¡± Hanmoul¡¯s face was radiant with Essence. ¡°Bring on the J?ger and Korfrumm!¡±

    The crowd roared.

    ¡°Kor! The Commandrumm¡¯s serious now!¡± Grimgal¡¯s face glowed with admiration. ¡°His old man gullet might never recover from this.¡±

    ¡°Shall I call for the Kirkdun?¡± Tordrum, who was the oldest, asked the general vicinity. "We might still need the Commandrumm, come tomorrow."

    Gwen narrowed her eyes when a familiar-looking green bottle materialised on the table.

    ¡°From the old country.¡± Hanmoul grinned with confidence.

    Gwen did her best to read the label.

    ¡°Tell me that doesn¡¯t say J?ger... meister.¡±

    ¡°Aye lass.¡±

    ¡°¡­¡±

    ¡°And this?¡±

    ¡°Korfrumm is distilled from the crushed Korumm beetle. Do you have Korumm in the above-ground world?¡±

    Gwen gave the dark amber liquid a sniff. It was, for all intents and purposes, a sickly-sweet coffee-mead.

    ¡°Don¡¯t tell me.¡± She licked her drying lips. ¡°You pour the J?ger into a thimble¡ª then you drop it into a stein of Korfkrumm¡­?¡±

    ¡°You have heard of the magnificent J?ger Bombe?¡±

    Gwen pinched her brows, suddenly assaulted by heady visions of Friday night outings, projectile hurling, student dorms, ravished dresses and the ugliness of the morning after. When the only time a student could afford drinks for herself was the happy hour, it made for terrible drinking habits.

    "HA, no regrets, lass? Wilting on yer Commandrumm already?"

    ¡°Not really.¡± She sat back to reassess the situation. Ollie was asleep, thank god. Additionally, she was wearing tight, waterproof, malfunction-safe armour with magical undies, not to mention her liver was booze-proof. She was in good hands, ones belonging to herself. All-in-all, what was there to fear but fear itself? Student-Gwen would have been three shots in already.

    ¡°Alright, Hanmoul.¡± She banged on the long table. ¡°You lot! Clear out! Mistress Kinna! Line ''em up!¡±

    If there was drunken Karaoke in this world, Gwen was sure the Dwarves would be champions.

    "... We must away¡ª ere break of dawn.

    Far under the Himmseg¡ª to low-ways deep¡­"

    Inside The Nut and Cog Rotary Tavern, a Human sorceress'' voice reverberated.

    Earlier, Grimgal had regaled their audience with a bawdry jig about a lonely female Mechanic who discovered an amusingly shaped spanner. After a smack across the head, the aborted act was then followed by an epic recital by Hanmoul about B¨¹rumm-Dal¡¯s slaying of the Dusk Wyrm at D¨¹rren¡¯s Hall.

    Tordok attempted a song but passed out two verses into the tune. A few others obliged, too intoxicated to recall the lines, but made merry all the same.

    When finally it was Gwen¡¯s turn, she had to sing, or it would show that she was too intoxicated and therefore signal her loss. Driven to a corner by their expectant, exuberant faces, she called upon the spirit of Tolkien to see her through the predicament.

    Softly, beginning with melancholic, lilting notes, her contralto voice wafted through the boozy air, narrating the only ¡°Dwarven Song¡± she knew.

    "The fire was black¡ª it flaming spread..."

    One by one, the belching, groaning, fussing half-conscious tavern grew silent.

    What would the Human sing? The crowd had wondered. A song of home? A tale of sorceresses and suggestively shaped vegetables? Indeed, a sorceress of such alcoholic depth would possess a harem of legumes.

    Then she opened her mouth, and with the Divination-assisted aid of the Alexandrite left to her by her Master, she belted out the Dwarven words, drawing on a minor Ventriloquism cantrip to reinforce the sentiment.

    ¡°Far over the Misty Mountains cold

    To low-ways deep¡ª an¡¯ caverns old

    We must away¡ª ere break of dawn

    To find our lost and wayward home.

    The Dark was roaring, down below

    The earth was moaning¡ª in th¡¯ deep

    The drake was black¡ª its flames had spread;

    Our Citadels blazed all night.

    Now the iron''s rusted, on the heath

    And in Dyar Morkk¡ª there stirred no life:

    There the Murk lay¡ª in night and day

    And dark things silent crept beneath.

    O'' Farewell, to hearth and hall!

    Though death may follow¡ª our kin may fall

    We must away¡ª ere fall of dusk

    Far under the Himmseg¡ª to low-ways deep¡ª

    The longer she sang, trying to modify the tune on the fly, the more soundless the tavern grew until all she could hear was quiet sobs.

    ¡°¡­ Was it that bad?¡± Gwen stopped, her face so red as to radiate scarlet from chin to ear. ¡°If so, I am sorry for killing the mirth.¡±

    ¡°Yer making me eyes mourn, Ancestors¡¯ beard,¡± Hanmoul bawled, clearly overwhelmed by both alcohol and emotion. ¡°Aye, the deep, the DEEP! I know, I know. We¡¯ve got ter fin'' our way back through the blasted Murk. It''s the Dwarven thing to do. Aye, yer Gods¡ª O'' Ancestors¡­¡±

    ¡°Are you sure yer, not a Dwarf?¡± Grimgal was drooling snot and tears from every conceivable orifice. ¡°How else can you harken after Deepholm?¡±

    The other Dwarves, those still conscious, collectively sighed. Somewhere, another Iron Born cried himself to sleep.

    ¡°A righteous Sk¨±ld.¡± Hanmoul wiped away something from his face. ¡°If that tune had come out of the lips of a Deepdowner Runesinger, I wouldnae be stunned, but from you, a Human lass? What can an old Dwarf say?¡±

    ¡°You could clarify if we¡¯re still drinking¡­¡± Gwen¡¯s eyes swept across the half-hundred bottles, glasses, and steins, not to mention the mountain of Dwarven carcasses snoring beneath the tables.

    ¡°Nae lass, it''s yer win.¡± Hanmoul tried to stand. For an awkward second, he looked down at his feet as though surprised to find them there. ¡°B¨¹rumm''s beard¡­ I cannae seem to move my feet.¡±

    ¡°Commandrumm, that¡¯s my feet,¡± Grimgal, who sat beside her commander, informed him with great solemnity. ¡°Yours are buried between Thorke and Tordok.¡±

    ¡°Ah. Right you are.¡±

    The Commandrumm kicked away his junior officers. ¡°I should show you to your quarters.¡±

    Gwen pointed to the half-bottle of Maotai still left. ¡°Not finishing up?¡±

    ¡°Nae wannae explode,¡± Hanmoul growled. ¡°Do yer mind if I gift what¡¯s left to my teacher? Yer got no more, yer said?¡±

    ¡°Not for a while, no. It¡¯s all yours.¡±

    Hanmoul nodded, stowing the bottle. ¡°Right then lass¡ª let me show yer how our folk relax after a stiff stout!¡±

    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    The Guild District.

    The Rotary Guild, Guest Quarters.

    Gwen regarded Ollie¡¯s comatose, rag-doll body, as well as the freshly laid out Hanmoul.

    According to the Commandrumm''s last lucid moments, orders had been given to ready the facilities for her use, including the communal bathroom, the lounge, the meeting room, and the steam bath, a must-try local speciality.

    "Ah, boys," Gwen mused to herself.

    Once Hanmoul and Ollie were placed side by side and on their side to prevent choking on their vomit, she was finally in the mood to take in the sights. Prominently, she was given a room with a view. From the vista offered by the stained-crystal bay-window, Gwen saw that they were high up in the Guild Hall, in one of its side towers. Below, she could just make out the city, and in the distance, its all-enveloping stone barrier.

    How like our cities, she considered the d¨¦j¨¤ vu¡ª where they had Shielding Stations, the Dwarves had Rune-etched Walls.

    The Dwarven outpost, as Hanmoul had foretold, was split into four districts, with the Guildhall, the Ancestor¡¯s Hall, the Golem Hangers, the Hammer Guard¡¯s Barracks and other administration buildings at its centre. To the north sat the Gate of Kazhul, housing the Clans and their keeps. The east and west held the manufactoriums, while the spillage to the south was home to the factories and foundries. There, in the low-rising buildings, the vast majority of the Dwarven labourer-citizens eked out a living.

    Thanks to the floor to ceiling ¡°Wall¡±, the vista of the citadel appeared miniaturised, like one of those extensive model train-sets the English love to collect. Though she was in the ¡°centre¡± of town, the loci of the citadel sat like a sunnyside egg with the government buildings rising like the yolk while the eggwhite spilt into the dark. The difference, Gwen conceived as her eyes studied the pin-points of light, was that the Dwarves utilised vertical space, even ceiling space, in their city planning.

    Where the horizontal plane constrained humanities'' cities, the vertical space of Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth utilised every stalactite and stalagmite. Reinforced by runic warding and transmuted stone, these grew into natural apartments. Likewise, to service these population centres, track-lined ring-roads spiralled throughout the citadel¡¯s interior, making her eyes dizzy.

    Khunk! Khunk! Khunk! Khunk!

    A continuous, unceasing drone permeated the air, punctuated by the sound of a six-storey tall hydraulic hammer in the Craftsmen¡¯s quarter. To Gwen, whose body-clock informed her that it was ten PM at most, there was no discernible way to tell night from day. No change in lighting, sound, or the perpetual industry suggested that there were sessions for rest and recuperation.

    She tore herself away from the organised chaos.

    Gone was her booze-stained combat armour, the victim of many a quaffing from a dozen Dwarves hoping to see her make-out with the grimy floor. She had won the drinking contest thanks to Almudj¡¯s blessing, though the price of excess was a bone-weary soreness that came from overtaxing her organs.

    ¡°The steam bath¡­¡± Gwen pulled out the access Runes Hanmoul had gifted her before he passed out. Water wasn¡¯t a plentiful resource in the Murk, not because it wasn¡¯t everywhere, but because the Dwarves tended to prioritise industry over all else, leaving little fresh water for things like private showers. Instead, communal bathhouses akin to Sino Onsens pockmarked the residential districts.

    The Guild Hall¡¯s quasi-magical steam bath, according to Grimgal, was one of the best facilities in the Citadel. Most importantly, there were no other guests, meaning she had the facility to herself, or to share with Ollie if she so desired.

    After a few twists and turns through the winding corridors, Gwen reached her objective. Scented acacia framed the entrance, a rare material in a land without natural light¡ª showing the investment the Guild had put into making visitors feel well-loved.

    Gwen ducked under the doorway, finding herself in a long sandstone corridor dipping into the earth. Once past the warded threshold, the narrow space exponentially expanded to reveal multiple tiers of geometric baths covered in blankets of rolling mist. To her left and right, tastefully stone-shaped, were alcoves that served as private change rooms, made to appear out of sight when inside the bath.

    Happy that Grimgal''s advice rang true, Gwen disengaged her Shen-te¨© suit, then peeled the outfit from her sticky body like a second skin. Materialising a muslin towel, she stepped out of her undergarments, then gave herself a Prestidigitation to ensure she didn¡¯t pollute the bath.

    Gingerly, filling her nostrils with nourishing steam, she walked up the stone steps, then descended into the deepest pool at the apex of the cascade.

    Once the water kissed her waist, she melted.

    ¡°Mother of God, I should bring Elvia here¡­¡±

    The Dwarves'' trademark recreation utilised no mortal bathwater. The liquid was dense, almost gelatious, allowing her to sink into luxury. Once the bath was past her shoulders, Gwen felt as though returned to the womb. Additionally, the mist soothed her sore throat and dry nostrils, making her want to spread her limbs and just let it all go.

    ¡°I should build one of these in London¡­¡±

    Gradually, every knot in her muscles unwound, bringing forth the shower¡¯s Zen¡¯s lesser-known cousin, the bathing Zen.

    ¡°Jorumm.¡± Her Translation Stone did its best with invoking the throaty invocation. Near the ceiling, the hexagonal crystal rods dimmed.

    Smothered by the mellow ¡°Murk¡±, Gwen slowly sunk into the water, circulating Essence until she began to in-breathe, drinking the wealth of mana offered by the pool.

    Held aloft in the bobbing, buoyant liquid, she made mental bookmarks for the expatriate craftsmen she desired from Hanmoul, ideally a dozen or more, working on rotation to prevent the Dwarves from feeling homesick. Applications for cultural exchange could have to be made through the Tower¡ª ideally requested by Lady Grey. Additionally, Shielding Resonators for London¡¯s Stations had to be commissioned, then affixed to her employees to prevent spontaneous combustion.

    She also desired to barter with the Dwarves, possibly through the creation of a trading station. From the looks of their love for Jadeite and Maotai, perhaps an exchange of luxury goods was possible with the help of Marong and Mayuree and the House of M.

    And while she had Hanmoul''s hospitality, investigations into the transferability of Dwarven Magi-tech such as their Scrying Engines, Communication gadgetry, and semi-autonomous Golems would take priority. Likewise, if the Dwarves had a streamlined production process she could appropriate, she wasn''t going to be shy in pushing Hanmoul''s people.

    As for the Tower''s request, she would compose a wonderfully detailed report¡ª on trade, and luxury goods, and the potential boons of establishing a permanent trading port that would include military assets like Golems.

    After that, she would return to London. First, she would have to visit the isle to ensure that Elvia and her operation was running smoothly and that Wally and Mathias had taken care of business. Assuming all went well, she had a few more days to spend with Elvia, maybe visit the London Museum, or see what passed for theatre in this world.

    During this time, she would also have to track down Walken and Dominic, though the latter depended on her new crew of Machinists.

    After that would come the finale. On NYE, they could watch the parade while sitting somewhere suitably elevated, such as the spire of one of London¡¯s dozen bridges, to watch the fireworks and count down the hours. If at all possible, she would like to borrow an LRM device to contact Gunther, Alesia, her Opa, and her family in China.

    What would Uncle Jun think of her exploits?

    Had Percy learnt any new spells?

    When would Petra get to London?

    ¡ª SHUURK!

    The sound of the hermetic seal sucking shut stirred Gwen from her half-slumber. Very quietly, she brought her head above the water, all the while adjusting her eyes with Almudj¡¯s Essence for low-light vision.

    There was a Dwarf¡ª female by the shape of her heavy-set hips, inching toward the bath. When the woman did not react to her presence, Gwen realised the rolling steam must have obfuscated her body.

    Before she could decide if a polite cough was in order, the Dwarf woman stepped into the tub with a delightful moan. Gwen smiled to herself, knowing well the bliss they both shared.

    From her higher vantage, she could see that the Dwarven woman possessed skin like pale milk, flawless and aristocratic, not at all what she had imagined of the stout folk. Her hair as well, caught in the dim golden light, were flaming orange¡ª not the auburn-scarlet Alesia sported, but apricot fading to honey, hanging just below her waist.

    And her bosoms¡ª Gwen¡¯s nostrils flared. Even Yue would be impressed.

    Into one of the shallowest pools, the woman sat, then profoundly inhaled and exhaled, as though attempting to purge all her worries from her lungs.

    Once her intruder was suitably relaxed, Gwen made her move.

    ¡°¡­ Hello,¡± she said in Dwarven.

    The woman froze.

    A welling of ultra-dense mana suffused the woman¡¯s eyes, turning her irises brilliant citrine. The purity of the Earthen energy was such that, Gwen couldn¡¯t help but respond with a mana-rush of her own, preparing for sudden combat engendered by panic and fear.

    With great deliberation, two pairs of glowing eyes in the mist faced one another.

    Gwen responded by emerging from the water, one hand raised and the other covering her unobtrusive shame.

    The Dwarven woman parted the mist by swatting the air. It was impossible to tell the woman''s age, though she did possess a delicate mien with large eyes and a Roman nose, made imperfect by a weak chin.

    ¡°I was here first,¡± Gwen said softly. ¡°If you must know. I am a guest of the Commandrumm.¡±

    ¡°¡­ I know,¡± the woman replied, appearing to make up her mind. Coolly, she lowered her mana-charged hands. ¡°My apologies for the intrusion.¡±

    ¡°Not at all.¡± Gwen remained still. ¡°Shall I leave?¡±

    ¡°¡­ no.¡± The woman shook her head. ¡°The fault is mine. Do stay, Surfacer.¡±

    At a loss for conversation, a stony silence accompanied the gentle flowing of water.

    ¡°¡­ the steam there is the hottest in the room,¡± the Dwarven woman asked, attempting to dispel the awkwardness. ¡°How are you not fainting or feeling ill?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve got a good constitution,¡± Gwen explained. She had thought the water perfect for relaxing her Caliban-drained muscles. ¡°Quite the sigh you had. Long day?¡±

    ¡°I wonder." The woman stiffness visibly mellowed. "Often, it feels as though the Vigil of Varekan-K¨¹l never ends.¡±

    ¡°Are you a noble?¡± From her skin and her hair, Gwen could guess that this was not a Dwarf who engaged in manual labour. That and the guest¡¯s steam room had wards that granted exclusive access, meaning she had to be somebody. ¡°Sorry, I have been rude. My name is Gwen Song, a Human Magus. I hail from London.¡±

    ¡°Hilda,¡± the woman replied after some hesitation.

    ¡°Nice to meet you, Hilda.¡±

    ¡°The same.¡±

    ¡°¡­ do you mind if I dim the lights?¡± Hilda asked. ¡°The lumen rods don¡¯t agree with my eyes.¡±

    ¡°Go ahead.¡±

    ¡°Jorukka¡ª¡°

    The lights winked out.

    ¡°¡­ sorry, can you see?¡±

    ¡°Would you believe me if I said I could?¡±

    ¡°A surfacer who can see in the dark?¡± the woman scoffed. ¡°What am I holding up?¡±

    ¡°The Sign of the Thrice¡ª¡°

    ¡°¡ª Sorry." Hilda''s skin flushed peach and scarlet. "I believe you.¡±

    Gwen delivered a good-humoured snort, putting the matter to rest.

    Now acquainted, the duo enjoyed the bubbling silence, soaking their bones in the mineral-rich springs.

    ¡°Gwen, where do you call home?¡± Hilda¡¯s voice drifted through the dark.

    ¡°A place far, far from here, called Australia.¡±

    ¡°Your home. What¡¯s it like?¡±

    ¡°What, Australia?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°Well''s there are millions of us. We live in cities of glass and concrete that reach out for the skies, staked into the earth like swords. In some places, Humans rule supreme. Elsewhere, we¡¯re food for whatever Magical Monsters that make it past the Shielding Walls.¡±

    ¡°The land, I mean. What¡¯s it like?¡±

    ¡°Ah¡ª¡° Gwen''s tone grew homesick. ¡°Australia is an old and ancient country.¡±

    ¡°Big?¡±

    ¡°Beyond all concept of size. It¡¯s the wide brown land, stretching from horizon to horizon.¡±

    ¡°Strange words. I don¡¯t know what that means, I am afraid¡­¡±

    Gwen wondered if she could translate her nostalgia into more relatable terms.

    ¡°Well,¡± she searched her memory for something appropriate, locating her answer in the verse of a fellow expatriate homesick for the land of the boxing Kangaroo. "I come from a sunburnt country, a land of sweeping plains, full of rugged mountain ranges, droughts and flooding rains¡­¡±

    Hilda closed her eyes.

    "... an opal-hearted country, land of the rainbow gold. Though the Murk may hold all splendours, if ever I should encounter a Drop Bear, I know to what country, my Contingency Ring will fly.¡±

    ¡°I can see it now.¡± Hilda opened her eyes, cooing happily. ¡°So that¡¯s your home, a place of opals, precious stones, and Drop Bears.¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡± Gwen supposed that was good enough.

    ¡°You¡¯re very good with your Dwarven.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s the Translation Stone,¡± Gwen explained. ¡°A gift from my late Master. So far, it''s doing a bang-up job.¡±

    ¡°Then it must be you in the Guild''s Tavern¡­¡± Hilda¡¯s voice grew pregnant with emotion. ¡°I am told that you sang a song about Deepholm to the Commandrumm and his men.¡±

    ¡°Ah¡­¡± Gwen now realised why Hilda had asked her about ''home'' in the first place. ¡°Yes, I did.¡±

    ¡°Could you¡­ sing it for me?¡±

    Now that she was completely sober, singing an appropriated, plagiarised-song adapted from Tolkien¡¯s original epic seemed utterly cringe-worthy.

    ¡°Please?¡± Hilda¡¯s voice quivered.

    ¡°Okay, but don¡¯t laugh..¡±

    "I won''t."

    "Okay, let me warm up..." Gwen obliged as best as she could, beginning with the ¡°Misty Mountains Cold¡±. After a few rounds of the Chorus, she got into the mood, eventually ending with a rousing verse of ¡°and Low-ways deep¡±.

    ¡°¡­ I don¡¯t understand,¡± Hilda¡¯s voice quivered with emotion. ¡°Why you can vocalise what so many of our kin fail to comprehend.¡±

    ¡°Which is?¡±

    ¡°The desire to return home. Every stone cycle, we push and pull into the Murk, but every time, once we discover new seams or hollows, the Guild stops to mine the place. Each time, they bring the lode here¡ª not to Dwarfholm, but the Citadel.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s Dwarven nature though.¡± Gwen could sympathise with Hilda¡¯s frustration. ¡°What¡¯s wrong with the Red Citadel?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s so close to the Surface, for one. ¡±

    ¡°I don''t think that''s the problem?¡± Gwen refuted Hilda''s claim. ¡°What''s ''too close?'' Too close for raising a family? Finding a career? Eke out a living? Put food in their bellies? Money in their pockets?¡±

    When Hilda remained silent, Gwen continued. ¡°Folk are folk, Hildy, anywhere you find them. They¡¯ll stay as long as there¡¯s employment, bread, and the occasional circus. Home is where the hearth is, right? And the hearth is where you raise your family. Give a Dwarf a stiff drink, a pickaxe, a bag of precious minerals and a forge to call home, and he¡¯ll stay put. Humans are the same, no matter the skin colour, the creed or the culture.¡±

    ¡°¡­ I see.¡± Her companion grew contemplative.

    Have I upset the aristocrat with a teeth-jarring truth-nugget? Gwen felt a bout of paranoia. ¡°Hilda?¡±

    Clang! Clang!

    There was a polite knock on the sealed door.

    ¡°Thank you for the company,¡± the woman replied, suddenly displacing the bath. Glorious in her nudity, she made for the nook. ¡°Apologies Surfacer. I must return to my duties.¡±

    "Sure, it was nice meeting you."

    There was the rustling of cloth, the donning of armour; then the silhouette was gone without a backward glance.

    ¡°Hmm¡­¡± Gwen muttered to herself. ¡°Should have gotten her last name.¡±

 Chapter 342 - Friends for Hire

    The next day, a refreshed Hanmoul, buoyed by the Essence from Sen-sen, took Gwen and the hung-over Ollie around the Citadel on the Vularm transports, riding the mechanical caterpillars throughout the four districts. The entire journey, Ollie remained tight-lipped, utilising every ounce of will to stay respectable.

    The Citadel, perhaps due to its vertical space, was deceptively compact, taking up little more space than the central Business District in Shanghai. From rim to rim, the largest dome stretched over twenty kilometres, sans the stalactites, with the furthermost edge an ever-expanding pockmark of unfinished construction eating into the mountain''s interior.

    In the Craftsmen''s quarter, at her behest, she met a group of potential future employees in the form of Runesmiths and Tunesmiths, the Dwarven variation of Manufactorium Mages. A Runesmith specialised in the inscription of Glyphs, the foundation of Dwarven magic, while a Tuner, Gwen surmised, was akin to a mechatronic-engineer. Naturally, it took both specialisations to empower the constructs that turned the cog of the Dwarven industry. Upon further enquiry, those having attained mastery of both forms of Runecraft were called "Engineseer", or the antiquated title of "M?torserumm", one who communes with machines. Other titles and professions existed as well, though the Machinists she wished to hire would hail from the principle ranks of Dwarven professionals.

    Likewise, within the Craftsmen''s Quarter, Gwen observed a strict hierarchy. The younger, bright-eyed Dwarves coming from notable Clans made up the bulk of the apprentice-tier craftsmen, asking after their Masters like ducklings. Once deemed sufficiently skilled, the next tier was the attainment of a "Journeymen" licence. The problem was that with the Dyar Morkk out of commission, there was no real "journey" to be had. As such, graduates generally apprenticed for another decade or so, emerging as mechanics capable of independent, unsupervised labour.

    As a sizeable Dwarven stronghold, the Peak thankfully retained its share of Masters and Grand Masters of the craft. According to Hanmoul, the smaller enclaves cut off by the Murk had no such luck, meaning eventually, without the unlikely emergence of an anomalously talented individual, crafts and innovations stagnated forever.

    Out of necessity, therefore, Hanmoul explained, Craftsmen were paramount in influence and respect in the Murk. Warriors like himself were hailed as heroes but paled in comparison to a Grandmaster. An Engineseer''s work could power the entire city''s fleet of Golems, or expand the city''s arable food-shafts three-fold as a result of a new crop or an energy-efficient way to maintain the hydroponic systems.

    Perceptive as always, Gwen steered the conversation toward the Deepdowners.

    "Aye, yer ken. For the same reason, the Deepdowners eh held in high esteem. As Deepholm''s elite, they exist at the apex of both knowledge and talent."

    When Gwen asked if Hanmoul used the word "Talent" as the Human''s do, citing her dual-elements, the Commandrumm nodded.

    "Those deemed with ''talent'' inherit their gifts from the Seven Ancestors," Hanmoul explained as they strode down the open avenues of the Craft Quarter. There were workshops as far as the eye could see, though much to Gwen''s disappointment, the shopkeepers cared little for items suitable for Humans Mages. Most sold ready-made parts, such as Mana Engines, or a Flux Capacitor, or something that looked like a vehicle battery, or Spellsword blades, or parts for other Workshop''s creations. "Rarely ay one of us Murk-folk borne blessed. It happens much mair frequently in the awld Clans, especially in Deepholm."

    "You said all of you could Stoneshape to some degree." Gwen clattered alongside the Iron Born in her Mary Janes. Clad in her Magus mantle, she looked every inch the Cambridge-graduated sorceress she imitated. The Dwarves, Ollie explained, saw the ermine-lined robe as equivalent to the attire of a Master, if not in craft or skill, then at least in terms of power and influence. "Ergo, all Dwarves are talented in Earthen-magic?"

    "The difference ay enormous." Hanmoul nodded. "We''re scions of the Earth Mother, after all, and the Plane is mighty vast. Maybe I can demonstrate¡­"

    The Dwarf looked around the shopfronts, then picked up a detached rod of iron. Holding the rusty pole in front of Gwen, he twisted the metal until it formed the shape of a pretzel. "There. A small gift from B¨¹rumm."

    Gwen hefted the iron pretzel with both hands. If she had the Yinglong''s Draconic Essence, perhaps she could have managed to twist the metal. Presently, however, the rod remained un-malleable.

    "Amazing." Gwen returned the sample. "I think I am starting to understand why we haven''t ''stolen'' much else from your people."

    What she meant was that in all the Workshops she had visited, there were particular skills, talents, methods and applications unbefitting the one-mould-fits-all practice of production preferred by human industries. The rare Human Mage may mimic the Dwarve''s magic, but the masses couldn''t possibly achieve the same tier of expertise.

    For this reason, most of the workshops were akin to mid-sized outfitters crafting custom parts for high-octane racers. The majority of the craftsmen were employed by the Guild, which served as a central body for commissions. Others worked as individual contractors, with certain specialists attaining an essential status. The scale and size of the operations were far below Gwen''s expectations but made sense when considering that the Citadel held half-a-million Dwarves at best, barely the size of a mid-range Human metropolis.

    Gwen received a second confirmation at the Mana Engine workshop ran by Master Rostrum Luggcrann, the supplier for Hanmoul''s Striders. While she watched in silence, Gwen bore witness to the Dwarf sticking his hand, unprotected, into a bubbling vat of heated metal, moulding the engine frame not through precision machinery, but the mind. Components that would have required CAD software, machine beds and CNC cutters in her world had all been bypassed by intuition and "Talent".

    An additional factor, Ollie reminded Gwen as she pondered the nature of Dwarven industry, was that Dwarves lived long lives¡ª almost four-times an NoM''s and twice that of a fully provisioned Mage. Sans industrial accidents, the Craftsmen were seldom in danger, meaning most Apprentices could hope to reach the stage of a Master in their second century. The Citadel''s premier Grand Master of Runes, Master Grouzumin Zur-Himlegg, was in his fourth century and kept hale enough to drink two-century-old peers under the table.

    For lunch, the trio stopped at an artisanal street for food. Though more than half of the cramped boulevard consisted of craft-beer and spirt-mixers, dozens of families had taken up the enterprise of improving Dwarven cuisine.

    "Meat Smokers?" Gwen was surprised to find, of all things, a Journeyman chef engaged in the act of smoking an enormous side of Mud-land Iguana. "And hickory too!"

    "Aye. We have got a keen interest for certain things on the Surface world," Hanmoul confessed. "Especially when it comes to scran. Stone-bread is¡­"

    The Commandrumm made a face that suggested he wished he still had all of his original molars.

    As Demi-folk with creation origins rooted in the Elemental Plane of Earth, the Dwarves could subsist on native produce, such as the lichen and fungi that proliferated in the Murk. When ground down and baked, the product was a nigh indigestible pane de "stone". When appropriately stowed, the bread kept indefinitely, growing more inedible with time, so much that one look at an old loaf was enough to curb all hunger.

    When the Murk folk had first turned to the surface for quality of life improvements, one was the ever-present hydroponic systems that had replaced the moss and lichen harvests of yore. Culinary pursuits by renegade cooks had even introduced the nouveau profession of "Chef"¡ª one that was met with considerable success in citadels all over Dwarf-land.

    Once the lizard was greasing their insides, the tour continued.

    Throughout the way, Gwen paid explicit attention to a particular technology she wished to appropriate for her operations¡ª a Dwarven Magitech known as Echo or "repeater" Glyphs.

    At her behest, Hanmoul took the pair to tour the Avenue of Cunning Artificers, a section of the Western Craftsmen''s Quarter that specialised in Rune-tuning, magical accessories and machine-components.

    The Workshop they chose to visit was owned by Braem Yufir-Flaskthane, a lady-crafter with a century of experience under her considerable girth.

    "You''re after old tech pioneered by Grand Master Khaz¨¹l-Dal Bhordodd, of Deepholm." The boisterous Tuner was happy to entertain Gwen''s acute curiosity. "Of course, the proviso is that yer''s got a lode of Taveir to spare¡­"

    From a storage box with indefinite dimensions, Braem materialised two nondescript looking crystals. Each was inscribed with complex Glyphs in Dwarven Runescript. Tapping a few invisible Glyphs only she could see, the artificer activated the left-most crystal, lighting up a pattern of Runes. A split-second later, a corresponding set of Runes glowed on the adjacent gem.

    "The more refined the crystal, the more clarified the pulse, the greater the distance."

    "How rare are these Taveir Crystals?"

    "Rarer than Mithril in these parts." Braem''s words made her wince. "The motherlode''s in Deepholm. In the old days, we could order Vularm-trams of the stuff to be delivered. Now? We''re substituting whatever we can scrap."

    "Which is?"

    "Creature Cores." The Master Tuner shrugged. "Inconsistent as anything, yer ken. But it''s the best a Tuner can do under the circumstances."

    "How so?"

    "Tier, Element, clarity, battle-damage, supply, ye name it." The crafter shrugged. "O how I yearn for the days when we could receive a crate of two hundred identical stones from the same lode¡­"

    Gwen took notes, committing the knowledge to memory.

    According to their verbose Tuner, the Taveir crystal''s unique properties were empowered by resonator Glyphs. By likewise inscribing Creature Cores, a "poor Dwarf''s" sympathetic resonance could be achieved across distance and space, potentially even Planes. The problem was consistency, for each pair was unique.

    In this manner, the Dwarves maintained their equivalent of Divination Towers. To Gwen, the kit was akin to a magical form of Morse Code. The difference that was a skilled operator could add a near-infinite level of complexity, pending skill and materials. Additionally, paired with specially made equipment, it was possible to transmute the resonance into voice and vision.

    The problem for Gwen, alas, was that "D-Tech" was highly dependent on Dwarven artisans. Whether or not a human manufactorium could reproduce the same effect remained anyone''s guess. For her ambitions, therefore, D-Tech held both strength and weaknesses. The boon being she could have an exclusive, difficult to replicate operation¡ª while the bane was that her supply-chain was highly dependent on volatile, inter-racial politics.

    But it wasn''t as though she lacked countermeasures.

    Potentially, the technical hurdle could be lowered if say, a Dragon Prince were to supply quality Cores from Nagaland, Kachin and Manipur or Huangshan. Likewise, she needn''t begin with voice or vision. Texting would suffice for phase one. Hell, a Pager system would work.

    Later, she could commission Magisters to unravel or appropriate the tech. It wasn''t as though Dwarven-magic specialists did not exist. Even Petra confessed that the progenitor of her Spellcubes sourced their inspiration from Dwarven Runic Magic.

    When she proposed purchasing the Magi-tech, however, the Master Tuner broke into a high-pitched, snorting laugh.

    "Fool lass! Yer grasping at the Phantom of Thul-Dar! Hahaha¡­"

    "The Guild can supply you with Echo Beacons," Hanmoul explained, a little red-faced. "But the Guild of Artificers cannot teach you the Glyphs or the Runes. Whatever tech that belongs to, and is derived from, the grand teachings of the Ancestors belong to Deepholm. Only the Council of Seven can authorise such an audacious transaction."

    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

    "Could I make a petition?" Gwen smiled, thinking of Ruxin''s hoard. How many more HDMs had now accumulated from the Tonglv project? "I can be very convincing."

    Hanmoul politely coughed.

    "We''ve had scant contact with Deepholm since the Murk became flooded," the Commandrumm said. "You won''t even be able to make a petition, lass."

    "There''s no one who can authorise a barter for the betterment of the Citadel?" Gwen extended her enquiry.

    "No one would dare unless yer count the Deepdowners trapped here with us." Hanmoul shook his head. "Braem''s right, though. There''s no graspin'' for Thul-Dar''s Phantoms. It would take a supreme act to move their stone hearts."

    "Maybe if yer cod clear the way to Deepholm." The Master Tuner laughed at the Surfacers'' expense. "Then one of them could just be desperate enough to shoulder the reprimand and the responsibility of hawk''n the Ancestor''s Craft."

    "You would have to convince our Thane as well. Without Deepdowner support, he won''t act either." Hanmoul gestured to the gate, under which sat the Keep, a fortress-within-a-fortress that housed Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth''s elected leader, the foremost Dwarf among the Clans. "It donnae be Vadam."

    "But you can lend me personnel as well as sell me ready-made goods?"

    "That the Guild can manage on its own, och aye." Hanmoul nodded. "We traded with humans before. Yer should cont yer luck that despite the grudge between our folk, there was nae directive from Deepholm to cut commerce. It won''t be easy. First, you would have to convince the caravaneers. Most of them haven''t ventured out in decades, much less traversed the surface. They''re staying thrang just keeping the surrounding settlements supplied."

    Gwen looked at Ollie, who nodded back that Hanmoul was telling the truth.

    "How interesting," she muttered. "Right then. Shall we visit the lower regions?"

    Gwen could see that Hanmoul was ambivalent about her desire to see the Dwarven equivalent of the slums, but relented after Gwen explained that she wanted to see all of the city, not just the prosperous parts. What Gwen withheld from the Iron Born was that how a culture valued the most vulnerable was a key determinant for market viability. Her''s wasn''t a metric for morality; instead, she was taught to structure a business around a society''s strata. In countries where corruption wasn''t so much a disease but natural gut-fauna, bribes were an investment expense. In nations where the Rule of Law held sway, agencies took their cut, but also provided guidelines and assurances. When in the past, she had advised for an Australian mining firm looking to expand in Bangladesh, half the expense usually for environmental protection had fattened the local councilmen. What was legal and what was ethical were entirely separate matters. In the holistic pursuit of profit, altruism was a privilege.

    When their multi-segmented Vularm approached the working-class district called the Foundry, she immediately had flashbacks of Blackheath. She even felt a shiver when they stepped into the smog-filled suburb, where endless storeys of favela-structures made up the cavern''s walls.

    As before, Gwen became the immediate centre of attention. The Dwarven Citadel wasn''t small by any means, but it was compact, which meant rumours spread like an aftershock. Anyone who kept their ear to the ground knew of the Human Sorceress who had consumed a Shale Wyrm. All who now laid eyes on the giantess wondered if she brought destruction or salvation.

    To Gwen''s studied eyes, the workers'' conditions were leagues improved to what she had seen in Burma, and certainly better than the treatment of the dock labourers on the isle. For one, the teams of Dwarves manning the sky-scraper foundries all wore codified uniforms with protective Runes to shield them from the heat. There was OSHA, certainly, and the workers also appeared, at least on the surface, to be hale and enthusiastic about their work. If she had to present the atmosphere in familiar terms, she would cite case-studies of pre-Reagan Steel Belt. Whether as a result of propaganda or culture, the workers here had pride in their work and understood the essential nature of their labour.

    "How''s their upward mobility?" Gwen waved at the workers, who averted her eyes.

    "They move well enough." Hanmoul pointed to the carts and pulleys powered by thrumming mana engines.

    "... I mean their career mobility."

    "Aye..."

    When she looked to her companion, Hanmoul remarked with sagacity that such was the difference between those who lived by the work of hands besides those with craft and talent, one may be comparing dirt and Mithril.

    "Nevermind."

    "If yer mean better jobs, we recruit Guards from here." The Commandrumm nodded back to the workers. "Some talents aren''t gifted by the Ancestor''s blood."

    "Like?"

    "Like riding the Golems." Hanmoul grinned.

    "That''s true¡­" Gwen fell silent. She recalled hearing that the American IIUC teams used NoMs as pilots for their custom-made Iron Golems. As someone who came from the working class, she knew not to underestimate dedication driven by a desperate desire to escape mediocrity. As for the central continent, Hanmoul likely referred to the Bavarian Clans, who had not only worked but lived alongside the Human settlements in lower Germany. "You don''t use autonomous Golems?"

    "Machine Souls are Vadam!" Hanmoul lowered his voice; his skin flushed two shades darker. "The Ancestors have forbidden such a thing!"

    "Right, right." Gwen quickly changed the subject.

    The tour of the Foundry District took the rest of the afternoon. The group furthermore visited the mine shafts, as well as a system of ventilators that connected to the outside world. These, Gwen guessed correctly, were the source of the giant mana-plumes that she had twice almost flown into.

    Supper involved more roasted richness. This time, Gwen recognised the sickly-rich bread underneath the whole-animal roast as the infamous stone-bread. Despite soaking in saturated fat and smoke-cooked for up to ten hours, the discus bread''s nutritional value remained immutable.

    Following another round of riotous quaffing, one from which Ollie abstained, the Mages retired to their quarters.

    Nearing the witching hour, Gwen informed Ollie of her plans for the steam bath, leaving her Praelector red-faced and pale-lipped at the jocular invitation. This time, she checked that the chamber was unoccupied before stepping into the all-enveloping waters.

    Comfortable in the liquid-womb of the mana-rich water, she spent some time absorbing the sights of the day.

    Foremost of all, she desired the Dwarven technology known as the Echo Beacons, as well as the Runic Glyphs that made the "signal repeaters" possible. By that same measure, she wasn''t so naive to think that she would maintain a monopoly on Dwarven-tech for long. Once her profits came in, the technology behind the Towers would undoubtedly be copied and imitated. But¡ª she wasn''t worried. Her plans for Project Legion did not crutch on patented technology, but instead the arcane system she would devise with the help of data-tech, NoM employees, the House of M''s Centurion program, and Gunther and Lady Grey''s word with the Tower.

    The implementation of a seemingly unique Magi-tech system, therefore, would leave a Shoggoth-sized red-herring for her future competitors. Without a doubt, they would misplace their methodologies, resulting in investments both futile and fruitless.

    After which, she could snap up cheap assets like freshly picked legumes.

    Then there was the matter of the Machinists, of whom she desired a dozen, split between Runesmiths and Tuners. Hanmoul had said that hiring a Master was possible through short-lease. The contract would last a stone-cycle, a geo-synchronised measurement closely matching the Gregorian calendar. Additionally, she was confident that among the isle, there were Human tinkerers skilled enough to absorb enough of Dwarven knowledge to maintain the machines once their stout tutors inevitably returned to their Citadel.

    Tomorrow was their third day in the Guild. Hanmoul had promised a careful look at the lands surrounding the Dwarven Bastion, as well as a gander at the different types of Golems in the Hammer Guard''s armoury. Gwen had rolled her eyes when Ollie made the request but allowed the Praelector the freedom of making his bed. She had half a mind to pass Hanmoul a note under the table, but then again, Ollie was right in that the Dwarves were Demi-humans and not something like an oppositional Human nation. Should the inconsequential matter escalate, what would happen to her plans for Evee and Legion? Did that make her a bad friend and a worse partner? She chose not to dwell on the hypocrisy.

    SHURRRK¡ª

    The sucking sound of the pressurised door opening and closing announced the arrival of a late-night bather.

    Gwen had wondered if her companion would return, and to her delight, she did.

    "Magus Song?" The voice called out in the dark.

    "Hildy. I am happy you''ve returned." In consideration of her new friend, she had dimmed the lights to their lowest setting.

    "And so I have." From Hilda''s tone, the Dwarven noblewoman had been expecting her as well. "Shall we continue our conversation? I have since grown curious about the surface. Can you tell me more about the profession known as Adventurers? And thank you for the jadeite. As you have surmised, we are indeed interested in its many properties."

    "Of course." Gwen parted the steam with a wave of her hand. "But first, would you like to meet my Familiars? They''re simply adorable."

    The next morning, against all the odds and to Ollie''s complete surprise, their tour of the hydroponic farms and mining pits proceeded without encountering a single Magical Creature for Gwen to devour. The lack of action was so unanticipated that, by the end of the four-hour route, the unmitigated tension had exhausted the Praelector.

    Gwen, conversely, appeared deep in thought since the patrol began.

    When Ollie asked what she was worried about, the sorceress simply replied that she was thinking about how to best approach Whurforl¨¹m about her request.

    As usual, Ollie offered advice based on humility and delicacy.

    "No matter how much you desire funds for Elvia," the Praelector proposed with great understanding. "Don''t offend. Know your limits."

    "And what limit is that?" Gwen gave her companion the strangest look.

    "¡­ ten thousand HDMs?" Ollie scratched his head. The Illusionist was doing that a lot in recent days, so much that Gwen could see his hair thinning in real-time. "I am sure they have vast reserves of it leftover from the pre-Tide days."

    HDMs? Gwen restrained herself from patting Ollie like a puppy.

    Now elucidated by her midnight tuition, Gwen understood that the enclaves used human currency because of an unexpected schism following the Beast Tide. It all began pre-Dragon, with Humanities'' Spellcraft Revolution. Against the advice of the Deepdowners, many of the Murk Citadels chose to trade with Humans, greatly accelerating the development of Spellcraft while enormously enriching themselves. Post-Dragon, cut off and geologically displaced from Deepholm, the enclaves either shut themselves away or opened up new avenues of trade with their Surfacer neighbours.

    Prior, Dwarven currency, consisting principally of gold, Elementium, Adamantium, and precious metals like Mithril and True Silver, were minted exclusively by the Masters of the Iron Vault in Deepholm. In the decade that followed the Murk''s spread, Thanes of various enclaves diluted their coins, resulting in economic chaos among the Clans. Following the near-collapse of the Murk''s currency, as a compromise, the surface Clans agreed to switch to Human HDMs. It was a sound choice, as many Citadels lacking in resources now relied on Overland trade for raw materials. Concurrently, as Humans had little to no interest in expanding underground, the young race made perfect trading partners thanks to their greed for elemental minerals. In some places such as Bavaria, the two tribes even shared common racial enemies in the form of Green Skins and Magical Monsters that traversed the Overland and the Murk.

    Their present enclave, Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth, was a regional power wealthy enough to minimise contact with the Humans after the perceived betrayal of trust. It''s current Guild Master wished to test the waters of tentative trading¡ª while the conservative faction headed by the Deepdowners were dead-set against being tainted by the surface.

    It was a tug-of-war as old as time.

    In their exchange, her bathing buddy had advised that the conservative Clans were deeply ingrained in the teachings of the Deepdowners, believing Dwarf-kind diminished by the disconnect between Deepholm and the Murk. For many of the White Beards, the quintessence of Dwarvishness lay in completing one''s pilgrimage to the origin city to kiss the sarcophagi at the bases of the Seven Shrines of the Ancestors. For many of the Citadel''s craftsmen, they still recalled the golden halls of Deepholm, its glimmering galleries adorned with jewels the size of Dragon eggs, and the monuments of Grand Masters adorned with plated Mithril. To the true Dwarf, not having touched the Blackened Forge of Gul-Z¨±h or inhaled the bitter air surrounding N?rn-Zur''s Crucible made one deficient. If a smith never laid eyes on the original artifice of Haj-Z¨¹l, then how would they measure their craft? If a Tuner had never been dazzled by the ten-thousand scripts of Varekan-K¨¹l, how would they know mastery?

    It was only the young like Grimgal and Tordok who thought the stories of Deepholm a fool''s errand.

    Gwen had nodded in turn after Hilda unravelled the intricacies of Dwarven lore. Against all the odds, she sympathised with the zeitgeist of Hilda''s lost people. Like the Biblical Magi of old, having followed the Northern Star and seen the divine body of Christ in Bethlehem, how could the pilgrims return to their countries in peace? What riches, what pleasures, what palaces could bring them peace of mind when they had witnessed the Nazarene cooing for milk? Without Deepholm, the learned Dwarves of the Murk were lambs without Shepards, living in guilt every day they grew diverted from their objective. Conversely, as the young struggled to understand their elder''s obsession, the diaspora only grew. It was no wonder that Hanmoul''s love of the surface and the deep made him a little schizophrenic.

    To open up Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth, thereby, Gwen would first have to convince those whose modus was to delve deeper towards the low-ways. In the Murk, progress upwards had to be precipitated by advancement downwards.

    In turn, Gwen had informed her bathing buddy that few things moved humanity like unmitigated profit. If the Citadel had made little meaningful progress on its own in the last three decades, why not seek external aid? Given enough incentive, legions of Adventurers would flood the Murk to harvest the Dwarves'' foes and open new byways. So long as the residents of Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth were willing to accept expatriates in their midst, the potential for cooperation was limitless. In truth, what had the Dwarves to lose? It wasn''t as though Humans could inhabit the Murk; the claustrophobia alone would drive her kind mad.

    Her companion said nothing, but Gwen could see the bolts spinning into place behind Hilda''s eyes.

    By the night''s end, the noblewoman still hadn''t informed Gwen of her true identity. Gwen remained mum, knowing better than to demand something her helpful tutor refused to give freely. Already, Hildy had told her plenty¡ª enough for her to drive a good bargain with the Guild Master and to ensure that she had plenty of Dwarves manning the printing press.

    For now, that was enough.

    After all, not even Rome was transmuted in a day.

 Chapter 343 - Honours Tongue

    Gwen stood regal as a Tudor Rose in the sunken amphitheatre, garbed in ivory and carmine, possessing a poise befitting a virgin queen.

    Directly overhead, positioned just so that they could still look down on the petitioner, sat the Grand Council of Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth. To her right, appearing with the air of a funeral, sat a trio of iron-clad Deepdowners in their all-enveloping armour, attended by a train of sycophants. To her left sat the Clan Heads, representing the common interest of the citizens. Finally, directly ahead, Whurforl¨¹m Ironf?rge, Master of the Rotary Guild, surveyed the proceedings.

    Earlier, Hanmoul Bronzeborn, Commandrumm of the Hammer Guard, the Iron Born scion of B¨¹rumm-Dal Ir?ngut, had appraised his case for satisfying the Debt of Haj-Z¨¹l. In its aftermath, Gwen registered her demands.

    "¡­ in turn, I wish to obtain the aid of my brother-in-arms for my industrial endeavours. MY petition shall be satisfied with a staff of no less than twelve technicians split among Tuners and Runesmiths, including one Alchemist, lead by a Master, to travel with me to London for the duration of one Stone Cycle. Between our Adventurers and your Technicians, there shall be mutual benefit and common gain."

    "AND they won''t work for free. All employees shall receive an attractive stipend," Gwen continued with relish. "In minerals, in HDMs, in knowledge if they so desire, or the freedom to journey to Bavaria and back."

    The Guild Master, Whurforl¨¹m "Wilhelm" Ironf?rge, nodded encouragingly. The Clan heads, appearing as a cluster of beards, held various expressions from uncertainty to disdain to ambivalence. The Deepdowners were unreadable thanks to their masks, though Gwen could sense their flesh-flensing stares just the same.

    "My last petition, as Commandrumm Hanmoul has noted, is for the Magitech Enchantment known as the Echoing Glyph to be supplied to my firm, ''Legion'' Proprietary Limited, as an exclusive patent secured by London Tower."

    A nervous ripple spread from left to right.

    One of the Deepdowners growled, sounding like a seismic rumble.

    "AHEM¡ª" An uptown Dwarf with a beard the size of a broom made his displeasure known, then rose from the semi-circle rows of the amphitheatre.

    "Magus Song." The Dwarf made a show of drawing eyes from around the room. "I must object."

    Gwen acknowledged her "objector" by relenting the floor. She was not surprised that the Deepdowners had nominated a noble to kneecap her request. If Hilda hadn''t warned her, she would now be furious that the Dwarves were undercutting Hanmoul''s obligations. As the noblewoman had said, the Deepdowners'' faction loathed even a single mote of Earthen Mana escaping the earth. Opposing her attempt to bring Humans in, or to bring Dwarves out, came as naturally to them as breathing.

    Gwen studied the fine-bearded Dwarf. From what she had seen of the Dwarves'' frugal fashion, her present opponent was excessively-dressed for the part. His beard, for one, was bound in what looked like Mithril bands, and the Dwarf''s hands were encrusted with enchanted jewels. Making his way up the dais, the Dwarf lord stopped as soon as he gained the height advantage.

    A politician; Gwen recognised the Walken-esque sneer.

    "As we ur among Clan, fowk an'' friends, Ay shall speak candidly."

    Her bullshit senses tingled. The bastard had come with a speech! Gwen quickly glanced at Ollie. Her Praelector was already sweating buckets from her earlier proclamations. Ollie was a scholar, a student, a primrose of fantastic breeding, but one of Ravenport''s finest he was not.

    Around the amphitheatre, a murmur of agreement met the nobleman, making Gwen suspect more than a few were conservative plants.

    "Ye all ken my name¡ª Brugal Brumdahr." The Dwarf pointed his considerable chin down toward Gwen''s general direction. "Mine Clan has been the theme of honour''s tongue since the time of Haj-Z¨¹l Brumdahr, frae whose loins we ur issued. Ay dunnae think there is a better Iron Born to speak of the Debt and the honour of repayment other than Ay. If any of ye in this hall ken themselves moor suited tae speak for the Clans, then dear friends, make your voice knoon..."

    The rhetorical question met with silence. Gwen sought out the Guild Master with her eyes. Up top, the master craftsmen seemed content to see the drama play out.

    "Aye, we agree, then," Brugal continued. "Under our law, as in our LORE, the debt between Haj-Z¨¹l Brumdahr to B¨¹rumm-Dal woz a matter of rivalry, friendship¡ª or loove, if the Matrons have their say¡ª"

    The Clan Heads laughed.

    "¡ª Aye, B¨¹rumm-Dal''s admiration and love, was the source of his Debt of life. Yet, to call what we owe this mercenary, this free-lancer, this hired Goorumm from the Overland the Debt of Haj-Z¨¹l¡ª it pains me. The honour of our home, the honour of Clan Brumdahr, has never been so diminished! The Debt is something we rejoice in, and yit, when news reached me lugs that we are sending our wee jimmies and Masters of the Rune to Lundun? To that blighted, lidless place? I cood nae sit idle, mah friends."

    The barely veiled insult sent a touch of heat to kiss Gwen''s cheeks. More than her pride, however, she felt for Hanmoul. Already, the Commandrumm''s face was scarlet, like a trodden-on Displacer Beast, his beard was sticking end-on-end.

    "Dunnae look at me so peevish, Hanmoul. Yer know I honour the Hammer Guard and yer battle-kin. But yer gotter ken, me man, as yer was valorous, so I supported yer. But as yer trade our kin to the Overlander, I must oppose ye. Aye, yer saved our fellow Clansmen¡ª Just last night, I quaffed to yer health! But now, Commandrumm, I see yer ambition has out-grown the boundaries of yer duty; and so I must put yer back in yer Golem, lad."

    "Giltho¡ª"

    "¡ªHanmoul, let me finish," Brugal''s voice grew hypnotic. He turned away from Hanmoul and instead faced the assembling of Clan Heads seated here and there around the upper quadrant of the amphitheatre. "As yer can see, the Commandrumm aye offended. BUT is anyone here equally vexed that I wish tae preserve our purity? Our culture? Our doctrine? LOOK! Gaze upon the visage of our Lore Keepers, and see how they seethe! Who dares say that ay acted out of turn? Who can say Brugal am wrong? Misguided ye art, Hanmoul, we know yer yearning for the surface lad¡ª but upward is not dae way."

    Hanmoul choked as the noblemen dragged his petition through the Murk, too upset to compose a rebuttal. Gwen could see that the Commandrumm was a fighter, not a debater.

    "What say ye, Witch? Did yer think our kind so innocent as to allow yer tae abscond with our knowledge?"

    "Abscond?" her lips split to form a forced smile. Without the beard to go with the grin; however, she wasn''t sure if the Dwarves could be sufficiently titillated. "You, Ser, must be unaware of the contributions I have made to your esteemed city. The Wyrm? The Trolls? Was Commandrumm Hanmoul so lacking in charisma that you feel personally insulted by his achievements?"

    "Dunnae speak of Hanmoul ter me, lass. He is one of our own. Yer Mageocracy harkens after our Golems and our Mithril. Do tell, Witch, what do ye intend to do with our craftsmen? Excavate our secrets with yer Mind Magic?"

    "I do object!" Ollie raised a hand. "Sir Dwarf, you mistake my sister''s purpose. She''s after Crystals, nothing more!"

    "Then why not ask for Crystals? The human lust for HDMs is well-known."

    Gwen gave Ollie a withering look, then took a deep breath. Brugal put on a good show, she had to admit; but she was no stranger to smarmy snakes in business suits. The self-proclaimed descendent of Haj-Z¨¹l whats-his-name talked a good game, but little did the Dwarf know he was now in the big leagues.

    "Are you an artificer or a warrior yourself, esteemed Sir?" She tested the waters.

    "Do yer mock me, Magus?" The Dwarf''s brows knitted.

    Gwen''s sultry lips formed a thin red line. With her eagle-eyes, she could see that Brugal''s hands had not seen a day of labour. She felt sorry for Hanmoul. How disappointing it was that not even the Dwarve''s meritocratic society could escape the malaise of inherited wealth.

    "I wouldn''t dream of it, Ser Brumdahr." She feigned ignorance. "But I fear you have misread me from the beginning. Such a misconception is unbecoming of a Clan Lord."

    This time, it was the Brugal''s beard that bristled.

    "Your worries were apt, Ser," Gwen observed, then she addressed the entire assembly, including the Deepdowners. If the barrel-shaped lawyer wished to play the rat, Gwen mulled darkly; then she would play the piper.

    "Friends, Dwarves, Fellows of the Murk; I humbly beg for a minute more of your time."

    The Clan Heads maintained a polite silence. The Guild Master shifted in his seat, while the Deepdowners sat unmoved.

    "I understand Ser Brugal''s many insecurities. They are well-founded, for Ser Brumdahr is the theme of honour''s tongue, and indeed, so are all of our present company. However, if Ser Brumdahr wishes to speak ill of my dear battle-mate, Commandrumm Hanmoul, then I too, shall throw in my gauntlet."

    Together with her pantomime, she opened the tap on Almudj''s Essence, arresting her viewers with supernatural, newfound confidence.

    "When we first met, Ser Bronzeborn was fighting for his life. Not for his gain, nor for honour or glory. Thanklessly, he was protecting the ventilation systems that lead from the surface down to the heart of your city. The gallant engine of his Rockcrusher had been torn apart by a Brutaliser, ripped limb from limb, bleeding liquid-mana and blue-green coolant over the linen snow. One bite from the Troll and Hanmoul would have perished. Oh, when I found him, my friends! The Commandrumm bled from every pore; his courage had congealed against his armour in strands of coagulant gore! And YET he carried on!"

    Gwen paused, taking a step so that she rose a little up the dais, matching Brugal''s gaze. "Was this ambition? Was he fighting for the LOVE of Himmseg? Or was it Dwarven dogma?"

    Brugal''s expression grew worrisome. "Even a tongue of True Silver won''t¡ª"

    "Ser Brumdahr!" Gwen spun without warning, turning on Brugal like a viper. "Ser! I am EIGHTEEN¡ª a ''wee'' lass. A True Silver Tongue? For shame, Ser! Is mine a face of cunning? But then again, I can''t refute your claim. Unlike YOU, I am NOT the theme of honour''s tongue."

    Before the Dwarf could retort, she raised her voice once more, this time weaving a spot of Ventriloquism so that her suppressed emotions reverberated across the amphitheatre.

    "When I met Ser Bronzeborn again, it was at this very Citadel. At its gate, a toothy horror with a dozen tongues hailing straight from the deepest, darkest depth had found its way into your abode. There, the guards informed us that the Wyrm had Dwarf-napped your kin! Your Clansmen! Your family and citizens! For egg-fodder! For WORMS MEAT!"

    Her audience flinched as her irises glowed, circulating a dazzling play of colours. "Naturally, possessing no desire to risk my life, I shrugged. I am a greedy, conniving Human Sorceress. I just wanted to be let into the Citadel and stake my claim¡ª"

    The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    "BUT¡ª Ser Bronzeborn wouldn''t have it! He was an avatar of Dwarfdom! Naive and altruistic! He wanted to help without the backup of the Rockcrushers! He arrested my wrists¡ª like so, and looked me in the eye and said ''Lass, my kin aye down there.'' I asked him what was in it for me, and he said to me, ''Whatever yer desire, Human, from mah beard to me bones.''"

    Hanmoul stared with his mouth half-open, likely wondering if the J?ger Bombes addled their collective memory.

    "I was moved."

    Suddenly, without warning, Gwen took a step upward so that she now rose above Brugal. "But I digress. What do I know? I am not like Ser Brumdahr over yonder, the bloody theme of honour''s tongue, whistling, whistling away like a leaking steam-vent."

    The noble blinked.

    "BRUGAL!" Gwen suddenly spat, a spot of spittle striking the Dwarf like a bolt of lightning. "When we were neck-deep in Wyrm-spit and up to our crotch in Copper Worms, where were you and your honourable men?"

    A chuckle broke out from behind the row of Clan Heads. Someone was enjoying the spectacle. On the central platform, Whurforl¨¹m twirled the gavel in between his fingers, fighting back a smile.

    Brugal Brumdahr took a step back, only now realising he was seized in the jaws of a proverbial Wyrm.

    "Ser Bronzbeard risked his life and the life of his men to bring back the bodies of your kin so that their Spirits could be consigned to the Stone," Gwen drew out the timbre of emotion in her voice. "But what would he know? He''s not like you, Milord Brumdahr. He''s not the theme of bloody honour''s tongue."

    Her cadence picked up.

    "When we brought those poor Dwarves back to the gate, we spoke to the families as their husbands, wives, brothers and sisters, sons and daughters lay there, cold and unmoving." Gwen implored the Clan Heads, taking another step so that she towered above them, matching the Guild Master''s platform with the help of her heels. "Were you among them?"

    She leaned down to deliver the coup de grace.

    "What did you do for them? Brugal?"

    "Blame Hanmoul? Did a Wyrm eat your conscience?"

    "Was this the Commandrumm''s lauded love for the surface?"

    "If Hanmoul''s a turncoat, then what are you?"

    "I-insolence!" Brugal''s face had grown to encompass the likeness of a cornered mole-rat. "Yer¡ª ye¡ª"

    "I think you should sit down." Gwen patted the Dwarf on the shoulder. "You''re not yourself, Lord Brumdahr."

    To achieve the desired effect, she momentarily flooded her conduits with Void. Borrowing from the exercise she had learned from Ayxin, Gwen focused her intent until Brugal visibly lost his balance. Then, with a kind, helping hand, she steered him toward his seat.

    Slowly, for visual effect, Gwen straightened her spine. "Anyone else got¡ª"

    WHOMP!

    The assembly, with exception to the Guild Master and Gwen, collectively flinched.

    One of the Deepdowners rose to his considerable height, standing a whole head taller than the rest in their custom, hermetically sealed armour.

    "ARROGANCE!" A booming voice, projected as though through a loud hailer, deafened the room. "ALL IS VANITY."

    "Keeper Muirrigg!" The Guild Master, as Gwen''s bathing buddy had predicted, came to her aid as soon as the Deepdowners breached their custodial duty. "Your opinion is appreciated but not needed, Ser. As per the Ancestor''s teachings, the Keepers of Lore shall not interfere with the ruling of a Citadel."

    "I AM SAVING YOU FROM YOURSELVES." The Deepdowner had a voice like gravel. "THIS FEMALE, CAN YOU NOT TASTE THE DEATH ON HER SKIN? SHE IS VADAM, A WALKING CALAM¡ª."

    Gwen felt her lips twitch.

    "BAH! Ay have had just aboot enough fer this!" Hanmoul stepped in front of her, his hand half-drawing his Spellsword. Gwen could see that her impassioned defence had ignited the Commandrumm''s berserker-blood, as was expected of a scion of Ir?ngut. "Scorning the Debt of Haj-Z¨¹l! Insulting mine battle-mate! That es proper Dwarven now, AYE?"

    "Both of you! Calm yourselves!" Whurforl¨¹m slammed the table with a miniature war hammer. "Your distemper shames us all!"

    "THE SURFACER INVITES OUR DOOM," the Deepdowner persisted. A swirl of unadulterated Earthen mana flooded the space where the man stood. Gwen knew not how Dwarven Magic worked, but what she sensed was no less than a tier 5 Transmutation.

    "CALI!" Gwen conjured Caliban, materialising in the middle of the amphitheatre the living embodiment of the Deepdowner''s dread. Whurforl¨¹m stayed the guards with a wave of his hand; a few of the Clan Heads reached for their wands, though none chose to act. Behind the Deepdowner, their entourage made a show of rattling mailed gloves and magical implements.

    "If I may speak?" Gwen''s Clarion Call shook the room while Caliban soaked the attention like a sponge.

    "SHAA! SHAA!"

    "As I said earlier." She pointed to her serpent. "There has been a miscommunication. If you allow me to finish without interruption, I shall ratify all concerns. If you remain unsatisfied after, I shall leave and never return. But if you deny me, then I shall exact my price with interest."

    "Gwen!" Ollie appeared entangled in a nightmare. "P-put away Caliban now!"

    "Ollie." Gwen placed a hand on her Praelector''s shoulders. "Sit down and keep Ser Brumdahr company. He''s looking faint."

    Confused and shaken as to why Gwen reprimanded his perfectly sensible advice, the Praelector did as told.

    "Now." Gwen returned to her captive audience. "You accuse me of wanting to steal your precious Dwarven Golems. I have no idea where you even got this idea. I don''t need your Golems, be it the Striders, the Rockcrushers, or the Irongrinders because of a simple fact¡ª"

    Before the audience could react, rippling waves of nauseating feed-back flooded the chamber. Caliban began to moult, its carapace growing grotesque as her Familiar bloated. From the size of three Dwarves standing head-to-toe, it grew and grew, filling the spacious amphitheatre until the enormous council-chamber felt claustrophobic.

    The Dwarves, captive in their elevated seats, reared back as Caliban continued to expand.

    Unlike the Wyrm whose Core Caliban had consumed, the Void Wyrm was a horrifying thing, possessing more mouth than any other physiological apparatus. When her Familiar finally finished its bloated metamorphosis, leaving the Void Sorceress covered in a sheen of cold sweat, it stood thirty meters from end to end, possessing enough tentacles to pluck the whole assembly into its maw.

    "G-GUARDS!" The Deepdowner hollered¡ª a reasonable reaction.

    "HOLD!" Whurforl¨¹m thankfully rescinded the Deepdowner''s demand. Gwen fought down the heebie-jeebies wrecking her chest. She could act out because last night, Hanmoul had gifted the Sen-infused Maotai to his teacher, curing the old Dwarf of his rheumatism. It was an unseen debt, and now the Guild Master was using the encounter to repay her unsolicited favour. When the old Dwarf met her eyes, she knew that now and in the future, her insolence would be tolerated just once. "Magus Song, I believe you''ve made your point."

    "Your monster is no match for our Balefire Dreadnaughts!" Brumdahr growled from beside Ollie.

    "Perhaps," Whurforl¨¹m pronounced mockingly from up on high. "But will you consign your Spirit to the Ancestors to empower it, or will a younger kin volunteer? The theme of honour''s tongue, indeed!"

    "Whurforl¨¹m! You would side with a Surfacer?"

    "I do not have ''sides'' Brugal," Whurforl¨¹m''s voice carried a tone of retribution. "You wear away our patience, boy."

    Brugal swallowed his next words. Behind him, the table of Clan Heads suddenly found great interest in staring at their lap. The Noble caste may shout at the warriors or holler at the Overlanders, but an Engineseer''s words, and a Grand Master''s at that, carried supreme weight.

    "Caliban, return!" Gwen quickly withdrew the Void mana pumping into Caliban, though there was no salvaging the spent vitality. With a whine, her Void Wyrm shrivelled, then disappeared. Her complexion paled. Where the Big Bird form was demanding but efficient, the Wyrm form was sheer gluttony.

    "Just so we''re clear," Gwen walked down the granite tier and stepped carefully into the middle of the amphitheatre. "I don''t need your HDMs."

    THUNK!

    She dropped a crate worth at minimum five-thousand, splattering the lowly seated audience with Cali-goo. Instantly, the atmosphere grew thick.

    THUNK!

    THUNK! THUNK!

    THUNK! THUNK! THUNK!

    The vapour grew so dense as to paint the cold stone, affecting a luminous hue.

    "There is¡­ ten, twenty more stacks in the piggy," Gwen made a show of walking around the stockpile flashing her Storage Ring. "And countless more lodes are resting beneath Manipur, Kachin and Nagaland, awaiting my beck and call."

    Elevated on the steps, Ollie and Brugal sat beside one another, both with their nostrils flaring, sucking in the mana-rich fog. The Praelector''s eyes were bloodshot, while the Dwarven noble''s hypertension made his fingers tremble.

    "So you see." Gwen brushed a sticky strand of Caliban''s mucus from her Magus'' mantle. "I bring you neither doom nor gloom."

    To the Guild Master, she bowed her head. "To Midlord Ironf?rge and the Rotary Guild, I bring the winds of change to dispel the air of stagnancy that has shrouded Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth for three decades."

    Then, she faced the Clan Head sitting like ducks in a semi-circle row. "To you, my lords¡ª I am an investment, one that will bring your people and your Citadel unfathomable fortunes."

    Finally, she turned to the Deepdowners. "And to my friends of the deep, you denizens of Deepholm. I promise hope, hearth and home, down below the Misty Mountains cold¡­"

    "NAE¡ª" The Deepdowner stood, no longer willing to let her do as she pleased. The Runes on his armour blazed red, orange and ochre even as Gwen readied her double-glazed mana shield. Had she failed? Gwen cursed internally. Maybe the HDMs were too much.

    CLUNK!

    The Dwarf stumbled.

    A second Deepdowner, the one who had sat beside the gravel-voiced gruff, struck the first so hard that his helmet almost cracked.

    "Argh!" To Gwen''s surprise, the stricken Deepdowner, rather than retaliate, retreated a step before dropping to one knee. "A-Apologies, Lord Engineseer."

    Gwen raised an arched brow. An Engineseer and a Deepdowner? The leader of the trio of fishbowl-wannabes must be gifted indeed. More curious was the fact that even among Deepdowners there existed such a difference in prestige. Hilda had given the impression that the folk-below were a monastic order of Lore Keepers.

    As the leader of the Deepdowners rose, the entourage behind her shrunk away, either bowing or falling to one knee. From the patterns on the master-crafted armour, Gwen recognised the individual. She had seen this very Deepdowner coming into the Citadel observing her from the parapets.

    "As Master Whurforl¨¹m has said, it is not our role to interfere." A pleasant, melodious female voice reverberated through the chamber, one that was acutely familiar to Gwen''s ears. "Well said, Magus Song."

    Gwen blinked. She recognised the voice, she realised, though she had been banking that her bather-companion was either the Thane of the Citadel or at worst, a wife or daughter. Never in her wildest dreams could she have imagined that she could charm a Deepdowner while tits-up in a sauna. "Strewth¡­ Hildy?"

    "Your gift of gab is almost as pleasant as the Ancestor Scald, Billelynn M?svian." Hilda''s projected voice grew mirthful. "You have my vote, Sorceress. I''ll be watching and waiting."

    "Mistress¡­" Hilda''s Deepdowner attendant rose in surprise. "The Human¡ª"

    "Ebren, another complaint and you will be joining the craftsmen we''re lending to Miss Song. Imagine that, brother, strolling in Himmseg under a cavern without a ceiling."

    At his mistress'' rebuke, Ebren broke like a rusted factory spring. His containment suit seemed to shrink as the Dwarf within deflated.

    "Hilda!" Gwen called after the Deepdowner, stepping out of Caliban''s muck. "Can we have a word?"

    What she wanted to know was if their encounter had been serendipity, or if the Deepdowner had sought her out.

    "In time, we shall speak again in Dyar Morkk''s vaulted corridors." Hilda was already half-way down the hall. In a moment, her entourage enclosed around the Deepdowner, cutting off the sight of Hilda''s lumbering armour. "I would be disappointed, Magus Song, if that day does not come to pass. You bluster well, but I hope your actions speak louder."

    "Gwen, what''s happening?" Ollie watched his fingers jitter while he circulated mana to bring the feeling back into his toes. Up ahead, Gwen rode in a separate Strider with Hanmoul while Ollie himself sat next to a grinning Grimgal. Since leaving Red Peak, he had wondered how he would explain the occurrences to Lady Grey, and what Peterhouse would think of their newest position as a noted ally of the Dwarves.

    In their sockets, his eyeballs felt heavy and swollen. There was an indescribable ache in his belly.

    Why hadn''t Lady Loftus told him that Gwen was the heiress to a Dragon''s hoard? That she carried more HDMs on her person than the ancestral vault of Baronettes? If only the lady would laugh and tell him that Gwen was, in reality, a polymorphic Dragon playing silly buggers in the mortal world. And that speech she gave! The way she whipped the Dwarven noble until the poor sod''s face imprinted in the granite, the way she peeled back his ''honour'' until the man was stark naked and shivering in the limelight of mockery and laughter¡­

    Ollie shivered.

    Could he, a second son from the hills, really steer this Dragoness toward propriety? Was it possible for a man to tame a Displacer Beast? Can a Cabal of Wizards herd Drakes? What if she thought him too fussy and decided to put him through the same crucible? Would there be enough blood left in his shame-wrung body to keep his heart beating?

    "You just keep doing your job, Ollie," Gwen''s Message came back with a hint of mirth. "I think we did rather well, don''t you think? New trade route, new allies, new staff, a whole region opened up for adventuring. All in a day''s work, eh?"

    "Please don''t say ''we''."

    "Don''t be shy, Ollie. I couldn''t have done it without you."

    "No-no-no," Ollie moaned. The fluttering in his diaphragm was getting worse. He felt sick.

    "You were my moral support, you know; we''re like a... dynamic duo. I knew you had my back."

    "Please¡­"

    "Lady Grey will be so pleased."

    "Gwen, I am begging you¡­"

    "You''re my guy, Oz."

    Ollie groaned, vexing Grimgal, who disliked men who couldn''t keep their liquor, or their nerve.

    "Stone bread trouble?" she asked with a hint of sarcasm. "It goes down hard and comes out like a high-grit grinder. Is your bung¡ª"

    Grimgal''s passenger shook his head, hugged his knees in the cramped cabin, then stared out at the woodlands swishing by as the Striders pounded through the trail. Ollie Edwards, Magus and Praelector of Peterhouse, had been homesick for London since the first day they drank Dwarven Rum. Now, he wished he had stowed a bottle away to drink away his consciousness.

 Chapter 344 - A Cold Welcome

    Wednesday brought a rare lull in the snow.

    Two frigid evenings past Boxing Day, the zeal of gift-giving finally gave way to old enmities, restoring the city of London to cynicism as usual. At six-thirty AM sharp, from the icy coast of Canisbay to the southern-most part of Cornwall, the folk of England awoke to the sound of the paper boy''s adolescent holler.

    "DWARFIES to reopen the ye old RED KEEP! OLD Ally NEWLY back in the fold!"

    In every news agency, tram station and vendor stand, similar images of the Gate of Kazhul, wide-open for the first time in three decades, splayed across the tabloids. Lower, nearer the article itself, a portrait that had now thrice graced the red-letter tabloids smiled winsomely at the audience with sparkling eyes, promising exciting things to come.

    Over in Cambridge, Peterhouse, under the sheltered groves in the Deer Garden, over the clinking of heirloom silverware, Lady Grey shared a spot of morning tea with an old nemesis, "Dickie" Mycroft Ravenport.

    With pleasure, The Lady of Ely revelled in the fact that she had been the very first to know of the Murk Dwarves'' new stance toward the Mageocracy, and so had time to position her pieces just right. Though she had contributed nothing of note to the endeavour, the ambassador responsible for cracking the hard-headed Dwarves had been sent at her behest. In high-society, this meant Gwen''s accolades were foremostly hers, then Peterhouse''s, then Gwen''s.

    "I had to withdraw two Mage Flights and a triage team to babysit her unannounced caper," Ravenport intoned annoyedly. "You know what Ireland''s like this time of the year. The Militia''s short-staffed as it is, and now the Mercenaries are delving en-mass into Merthyr Tydfil like mud down a sinkhole."

    The mistress of Peterhouse waited for a block of loosely-compressed sugar to wholly dissolve before taking a sip of her steaming, yearling Devonshire. "Is that so bad? London has effectively gained access to a virgin Dungeon, one that''s untouched since the Beast Tide. Which of the central powers can boast the same? And it''s close to home as well, no need for complex logistics. Surely your people stand to benefit more than they can lose?"

    "We''ve no idea what''s down there, Maxi." Ravenport buttered a scone with far too much marmalade. Unbeknownst to his enemies, the stone-cold, sable-clad Duke of Norfolk had a sweet tooth. "The girl reported that she fought a Wyrm! A mutated, draconic Earthen Worm."

    "It''s Gwen''s Wyrm now," Maxine corrected her childhood companion. "Ergo, the danger is now sans Wyrm."

    Mycroft meticulously masticated, swallowed, then continued. "There''s no such thing as a free lunch. The Dwarves are not fools, least of all Whurforl¨¹m. Did you know my grandfather was the last Tower Mage to confide with the Guild Master in person? Now I, his grandson, must broker a deal with the same Dwarf. You understand how vexing that could be?"

    "A tad rich, coming from one who negotiated our treaty with the Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar," Maxine said carefully. "Aren''t the highborn effectively immortal? The first Duke of Norfolk, working under Henry V, would have dealt with the same aldermen as you had."

    "Wholly different," Mycroft refuted the implied hypocrisy. "The Hv¨ªt¨¢lfars are changeless, immutable, whereas the D?kk¨¢lfars are prone to change, only slower and more stubborn. A century from now, Snowdonia would remain as it has always been, out of touch¡ª and reach¡ª but can you say the same of Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth? The girl wants to punch through the Murk and connect their citadel back into the Dyar Morkk. I shudder to think they would succeed."

    "Is that so bad?" The Lady relayed her amusement at Mycroft''s frustration. "You''ve been trying to tempt the Dwarves¡ª well, OUR Dwarves, for years. You''re just upset that Gwen did the job of the Foreign Office in place of your lackeys, am I right? At any rate, whatever muck will hit the Dwarves first and foremost."

    "What an unkind thing to say." Mycroft sipped his tea, making a slight scowl. One of the reasons he did enjoy Maxine''s company was that as equals, and as acquaintances since they were children, there wasn''t too dire a need for facades and frivolities. After a long few days herding vipers, it was surprising how much one longed for candidness. "My Faction employs the finest men and women our country has to offer."

    "I am reminded of an oriental idiom." Maxine fought back a grin. "Black cat, white cat, fat or lean, a good cat is the one that catches the mice."

    "Now you''re rubbing salt in my wounds." Mycroft sighed. "Enjoy it while you can Maxi. Your whelp will stumble sooner or later. Then you''ll have to come to me to clean up her mess."

    "Gwen can afford the reparations. Isn''t that wonderful, Dickie? What a fortuitous investment Henry has left us, the gift that keeps on giving. All profit."

    "Profit?" Ravenport''s nostrils twitched. "You realise the Dwarves have submitted a hundred thirty-four requests for Resonators? One-Twenty of which was for overland travel to Central Europe. A mob of them to Sharr, a crowd to the Rila, a horde to Berchtesgaden and Lowland Bavaria. The Shard has decided to show our generosity and throw in diplomatic travel and Teleportation. Over in the mainland, their Towers are charging us arms and legs for the privilege of ferrying Journeymen to visit their cousins."

    "Assuming twelve of them are Gwen''s merry men, are any others staying in London?"

    "Two dozen. Liaisons for the Freelancers. The Guild Master said they don''t just want any riff-raff raiding in the Murk. There''ll be cultural sensitivity training on both sides and a new licence office."

    "And?"

    "And what?"

    "What is your department getting out of this, Dickie? Don''t tell me a bloodsucker like you has suddenly caught an outbreak of philanthropy."

    Mycroft twirled a dessert fork.

    "We''ve sent visitation applications to the Germanic and Icelandic citadels, as well as Dwarven enclaves in the Eastern Reaches. Requests for visitation and overland travel should be flooding in as we speak. Naturally, we hope to recoup our costs and then some."

    "How are our own responding to this?"

    Mycroft''s pursed lips edged upward. "It''s been a while since we could commission regional Dwarven battle-gear. Just the demand for Spellswords is driving the Militant Faction into a tizzy. The Knight Orders as well are demanding a refresh to their armoury. For a few years now, the youngsters have been making do with re-forged facsimiles."

    Maxine chuckled. "How desperate are the men?"

    "The Order of St George has offered to send Knight Commander Springfield with a Squadron of his best Hunters to scour the Murk if it means the Ordo can have first-privileges on custom blades. The Griffin Guard is keen for updated Spell-lances, though understandably, the underground nature of the Murk has limited their application."

    "You have this well in hand, I assume?"

    "Naturally, a good blood-letting¡ª by which I mean a public auction, is in order. We shall soon see who has deeper pockets."

    "Boys and their toys." Maxine rolled her eyes. "No extra Golems for the Kingdom''s forces?"

    "The Red Citadel''s designs aren''t as easily modified as the German Mark IV''s." Ravenport shook his head. "Besides, the contracts are set in stone. We''re still waiting on a delivery of two-hundred by next year''s end. The department''s current budget does not allow for more."

    "Nonetheless, you must be a popular man right now. More so than usual."

    Mycroft affirmed the Lady''s observation, then signalled a change in the subject by switching to an after-meal tea. As though hoisted by a poltergeist, the tea sets rearranged themselves.

    "I always digress when it comes to you. Very unpleasant. Now¡ª back to the subject of our sorceress. My sources from Hong Kong have informed me that the Communists are ready to make a move on her assets in Shanghai, in particular, her cut of Tonglv."

    "To be expected." The Lady shrugged. "Would you allow a Chinese Magister part ownership of the Royal Docks?"

    "You jest, but the clever thing is, they''re accusing her of the very thing. Supposedly, she''s supplying the Royal Docks. Naturally, rumours suggest she''s consorting with myself."

    "Supplying you with what, exactly?"

    "The fanciful finance she sold to Shanghai via the Pudong Tower."

    "Is it true?" The Lady of Ely raised a brow. "You did accost her at Heathrow. She told me all about it. Did the two of you consort beyond what''s proper?"

    "No, nothing of the sort."

    "And did you, Dickie Ravenport, as one of the four major stakeholders of the Royal Docklands, deny such an accusation?"

    Mycroft grinned like a shot fox. "I declined to comment, as did my colleagues."

    The Lady shot her confrere a concerning glare. "Nanny always said you were a nasty boy."

    "Nanny knows best. I wonder, though. Do you think the girl has contingencies in place?"

    "You don''t know?"

    "Should I?"

    Maxine covered her smirk with a side of scone. "If anyone should know, it should be you."

    "What?" Mycroft shrugged. "What is she to me? Am I the Oracle of Delphi?"

    If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    The Lady of Ely looked up from her teacup. "On a brighter note. Have you finalised the roster for Snowdonia?"

    Mycroft paused, sensing an unpleasant premonition rising to the fore. Maxine Loftus seldom made requests of her companions; when she did, the Lady of Ely expected satisfaction. "You jest."

    "Don''t you think it''ll be interesting?" Lady Loftus'' eyes became two smiling half-moons.

    "Maxine." The Duke of Norfolk replaced the fine china, indicating that he suddenly recalled pressing business. "I really must be going."

    "Dickie," his companion''s tone grew dangerously charming. "Care for a wager?"

    The Duke paused. "Go on."

    "I''ll loan you the girl for the Isle of Man if indeed she''s caught flatfooted by the scheming Orientals. Else, you have to find her a suitable instructor."

    Mycroft squared his shoulders "You wager that an adolescent, much less a Frontier bumpkin from Sydney, would possess enough personal or local clout to fend off an attempt by the Party to retrieve an infrastructural apparatus linked to gross domestic output? Am I to believe Lord Shultz will be shortly gracing Shanghai?"

    "My confidence in Gwen nears the supernatural."

    Mycroft let lose an undulating wave of uncharacteristic laughter. From the shadows among the trees, his footman, ever attentive Elliot Saville, materialised to aid the Duke in donning his outer coat.

    Outside the warmth of the Warding Mandala, the frigid winter whistled through the gothic fruit trees haunting the Deer Garden.

    "Fine." Mycroft donned his hat. "My scepticism is no less supreme."

    On Maxine Loftus'' face, the Lady of Ely blossomed as though Juno summoning a second spring. Raising her cup, she toasted the departing Duke.

    "Til next time, Dickie. May our communist friends live in interesting times."

    London.

    The Isle of Dogs.

    Magus Gwen Song; honorary Magus of Peterhouse, relayed the events of the past three days to her dearest provisional-practitioner of Magical Medicine, Elvia Lindholm of Great Osmond Street Children''s Hospital.

    Though it had been only three days, the stimulation afforded by the influx of HDMs had changed the atmosphere of Millwall from humid and mouldy to merely bedraggled. The streets which were previously choked with black snow, industrial waste and mud from the sea-swell had all been cleared, leaving the Victorian cobblestone exposed and glistening under the dreary wintery sun.

    The dilapidated press, Gwen''s targeted industrial operation, had likewise been unearthed by human hands wrought of flesh and powered by fragile hope, revealing a hint of its former glory. Gwen''s only gripe was the townfolk''s dubious grasp of sustainability. Downstream, a month on, the Royal Docklands would inevitably discover a glut of old trash clogging up its eastern in-takes.

    "Was Hanmoul upset?" Elvia listened, the very picture of attention, "When you told him Ollie was a spy?"

    "Not after I bribed him with a dozen Da-peng feathers," Gwen explained. "He forgot all about Ollie after that. Said it wasn''t the lad''s fault, and that he had to deal with the Clan Heads and the Deepdowners all the time in a similar fashion. Every time he came to Merthyr Tydfil, he took notes and bought information as well."

    "Hanmoul''s not among the twelve to come here?" Elvia spoke with disappointment.

    Gwen shook her head. "The Commandrumm will be all kinds of busy dealing with the new operations to clear a way through the Murk. He''s working hand-in-glove with our representative from the Shard though, so there''s a chance he might be able to visit."

    "A shame, I rather like Mister Bronzeborn."

    "Yeah, he''s a good bloke, one of the best I''ve met. Tell you what though. Give it some time and we can both look forward to working with him again."

    Quickly, Gwen polished off her richly laden bowl of SPAM soup, a concoction of cabbage, tomato paste and copious amounts of Spam sliced and boiled until falling apart.

    Her roster had left little time for cuisine. Since returning from Merthyr Tydfil, she had reported to Lady Gray, dropped off Ollie to recover his sanity, then jetted her way at maximum velocity back to her Evee. After spending a night cuddling the healer''s hot water-bottle body, she had risen, rested and restored enough to expend her final few days of freedom.

    First, there was Walken. Then, she had to locate Dominic Lorenzo and recruit him for the free paper gig as soon as possible. When her Dwarves arrived in a month, she had a feeling that things would be moving very quickly indeed. Assuming all went well, she should be wrapt in secret studies, meaning she had to have delegates set up and ready to go.

    "So." Gwen studied her flaxen-haired companion. "Ready to add a second Spirit to your menagerie?"

    "Sure am!" Elvia nodded, bobbing her fringe back and forth. Each day Sen-sen remained an unattached ginseng was a source of disquiet and danger for the not-so-well connected Cleric. "Have you found Master Walken?"

    "Lady Loftus gave me his country house address," Gwen said. "No wonder he''s disappeared from Cambridge, the old dog''s in Brighton."

    "The resort town?"

    "The very one." Gwen grinned. "Lucky for us, eh? We can take a stroll along the beach. Eat ice cream by the ivory pavilion."

    "It''s winter and five degrees out..."

    "... buy scarves, shoes and dresses from the Lanes, dine on sea scallops by the seashore."

    "I thought we''re there to find Master Walken''s family."

    "That too." Gwen laughed. "I take it all''s well in Millwall? Are you fine to be absent?"

    "Not really¡­" Elvia sulked. "The other Clerics aren''t giving it their all."

    "Is Mathias not doing his job?"

    "He is," Elvia quickly interjected, pointing to the lone figure of the Knight patrolling the aid station and the food hall. "I guess the Tower hires find it strange that we''re treating the NoMs, destitute ones at that."

    "Did you tell those snobs Lady Astor and Lady Gray are your sponsors?"

    "I don''t think we are¡­?" Elvia cocked her head.

    "You are," Gwen assured her friend. "Trust me on this. Why else would they offer?"

    "Umm¡­" Elvia pursed her petite, pink lips, the picture of uncertainty.

    "I''ll have a word with Mathias and our trio of hired help." Gwen flashed her Peterhouse Magus emblem. "I spent good CCs on those Clerics. They had better be OoM at the end of every shift, or somebody is going to suffer a stern word from Caliban."

    Gwen was very much glad that Brighton was where Walken had chosen to hole up because she adored the resort town in her old world. Of course, her glee had little to do with its famous beach¡ª Australia''s beaches were incontestable when it came to the quality and quantity of bronzed-bodies being tanned. Instead, she longed for its white-domed pier, its orient-influenced Royal Pavilion, its trendy art-house cafes and restaurants.

    As for the journey south, flying toward the curvature of the coast with Evee princess-carried against her torso was itself a pleasure. The squirming, squealing girl''s fright gave her no end of sadistic joy as she pumped more and more mana into her flight spell, piercing the air with such velocity that Brighton came within view within the hour.

    Mid-way over the rolling hills of West Sussex, the duo encountered a flock of Razor-billed Starlings, appearing as a vast net to enmesh the pair. A robust burst of pseudo-Dragon-fear from Ariel was enough to spare the ten-thousand or so spatchcocks. The farmhouse below, however, was left inundated in a sudden downpour of panicked deposits, spontaneously inspiring a scene from Hitchcock''s "The Birds".

    Closer to the sea, once accustomed to the skin-ship, her companion relaxed, staring in wide-eyed wonder at a vista which only those willing to pay the gratuitous cost of Flight could see.

    "I should learn a faster Flight Spell," Gwen murmured. The velocity was as therapeutic as Evee''s delightful squeals. "I recall Allie employed Greater Flight."

    "It''s a higher-tier Transmutation though," Elvia jittered as they plummeted downwards. When the seaside pavilion rapidly approached, Gwen cut their velocity via a rapid series of Dimension Doors.

    When finally the duo appeared on the ground, it was to the shock of the Town Guards on the watchtowers, whose Scrying diagnostics implicitly surmised that anyone licensed to be flying into town would not appreciate overcurious public servants.

    "Erg¡ª pebble-sand." Gwen grimaced. The idea of landing on Brighton Beach with Evee had been so enthralling she had neglected the impossibility of walking on loose pebbles in four-inch heels. Of course, the annoyance aside, she had good cause to loathe the touch of cold, clinging sand-grit. "It''s coarse and irritating and gets everywhere."

    "Sorry¡­" Elvia apologised.

    "What for?"

    "I wasn''t there for you when Debbie¡­"

    "It''s all in the Void now." Gwen dismissed her friend''s concern. "Really. Caliban can be very therapeutic."

    Both wishing to quell the rising sentiment, the two unfurled the town map.

    Elvia''s attire matched the winter decor, with her petite figure bundled in a knee-length overcoat and enclosed by a pair of suede booties. Gwen was her usual stubborn self, preferencing a light autumn-dress with stockings, vying for maximum comfort. Thanks to Almudj''s blessing, the ravages of the seasons seldom touched her skin, though as a Sydney-sider, she had never bothered with winter-wear across either of her two lives.

    "Walken''s address¡­" Gwen diverted her attention to the legend, both brows sulky with confusion.

    "Allow me." Elvia turned the map ninety degrees. "It''s close."

    "Shall we fly?"

    "The apartments here are tightly staggered." Her helpful Elf steered them onward. "You''ll never find it. Besides, it says 11/43 Chester Terrace, Brighton East. We''ll have to consult the locals. The buildings here all look the same."

    "Right," Gwen relented. There was certainly nothing wrong with a seaside stroll with Elvia.

    Once they cleared the beach, she was pleased to find that the ivory-facade Brighton was famous for had not faded in this world, but expanded to encompass entire blocks. Though her present world lacked many quality-of-life improvements in information technology, its sorcerous means of erecting buildings was second to none.

    "It''s beautiful," Elvia marvelled as they strolled through King''s Parade, overlooking the lapping blue-green waters of the English Channel on their left. The Lanes remained as Gwen had recalled, though more built up, with a significant extension of the Lanes. Gone, however, were the trendy boutiques¡ªinstead, trinket-makers, jewellery-crafters, and an assortment of fabric-sellers, seamstress'' abodes and gift-emporiums had replaced the familiar sights. After an eye-opening meander, Gwen made a note to take Elvia to a sweets shop called "Charlie''s Crystal Emporium", a business with patrons spilling out the doors. Secretly, she hoped that there would be something akin to Bertie Bott''s Every-Flavour Beans of Potter-lore. Surely that would be a fun game to play with Evee.

    After a few twists and turns from helpful, neighbourly individuals who seemingly appeared out of thin air to aid Elvia with directions, the duo looked upon No. 11/43 Chester Terrace, Brighton East.

    Unexpectedly, the abode was not an apartment but a townhouse with shared walls, as was proper for those with the means to afford the view. Impressively, the beach-facing home was three-storeys tall, crammed between two identical apartments in the same Regency style that made Brighton such a throwback to the halcyon days of empire.

    Gwen inhaled in the frigid sea air. Despite the Shielding Stations shimmering in the distance, there was almost no detectable trace of mana miasma.

    "Bloody good location," she remarked, glancing at the marina and its collection of private yachts. In a world of Mermen and monsters, a vessel spoke loudly of the owner''s confidence at sea. Barring the most unfortunate of cases, it was a Mermaid''s great misfortune to run into a group of eager Maguses and Magisters fishing for rare specimens. "Well then, shall we?"

    "Shouldn''t we Message Master Walken first?" Elvia withered in the shadow of the stately townhouse, plausibly worth more than a whole student wing at Nightingales.

    "His device isn''t in service." Gwen shrugged. "Besides, it''ll be interesting to see what he''s up to, don''t you think? Maybe he''s intimately catching up with his estranged wife."

    "Gwen!" Elvia appeared scandalised. "You have the wildest imagination... Maybe we should wait?"

    "It''s almost mid-day, and he''s unemployed," Gwen snorted. "Barring coitus interruptus, she''ll be right, mate."

    She pressed the doorbell.

    A delightful chime thrilled.

    A brief lull later, the door opened, revealing a young brunette who could only be one of Walken''s daughters. Unmistakably, the girl sported the same charcoal-coloured eyes as her father, an unusual hue among Saxons. Beatrix or Angie? Gwen wondered. The girl had the look of a second child, meaning she must be Angie.

    Their eyes met.

    Gwen put forward her most endearing, benevolent, winsome smile. She felt almost maternal toward the girl, notwithstanding the difference in their age. Having guided Walken with a tender hand in Shanghai, her feelings toward her colleague''s children were full of benevolence, especially Angie, who suffered from Mana Asthma. Just as her Master had taken care of Angie, so would she.

    "Good Afternoon! My name is Magus Gwen Song, this my colleague, Elvia Lindholm. We''re here to see your father, Magister Walken."

    As she announced herself, Angie''s smile arrested, then like the coming of permafrost, the girl''s expression grew increasingly rigid. An Ice Mage? Gwen applauded Walken''s genetics.

    Despite the unanticipated chill, Gwen maintained maximum amicability.

    "Is your father in¡ª"

    "MOTHER!" the girl cried out suddenly, her voice crackling with ice. "THE WHORE OF BABYLON HAS COME FOR DAD!"

 Chapter 345 - Past the Shallows

    In Gwen''s impressionable adolescence, there had been mandatory Christian-study in place of actual counsellors. Post Thatcher, Australia, like most liberal economies, had embraced a new wave of bible-thumping the likes of which had not been seen since the ''50s. It was the zeitgeist of a conservative right-wing boom aghast at the freedoms offered by the rock'' n'' rolling ''80s, a riposte against the rise of alt-pop, hiked-skirts and the modern woman.

    The pastor, plagued by gaggles of giggling school girls, gave up discipline within the hour and opted for the fire and fury of hell to inspire virginity for Jesus.

    Gwen, being the tallest, prettiest poppy of the lot, would be singled out more than once to endure such a sermon.

    The Whore of Babylon was often the topic of such an episode.

    "The Mother of Prostitutes! Abominations of the Earth! She with whom all the kings of the earth have committed fornication!"

    The pastor, recently divorced as per the spirit of the wanton age, would exhaust himself in bumbling ecstasy, his wandering eye regularly resting on the Eurasian in their midst. Thankfully, it was the age, and not something more sinister. Only recently had the "Gooks" made headlines as kingpins of heroine and the "Chinks" fled Tiananmen en-mass to Sydney''s shores, allowing, "the bloody Wogs" a relieving breath of unmolested air.

    When the same words emerged from the perfectly formed face of Angie, Gwen had to fight off the stunned donning of an all too disturbing mantle. It made no sense. In this life, her pastor would have wept like a child at her prudence.

    Was Walken''s daughter daft?

    Gwen knew she wasn''t a "whore", not by any metric. Naturally, she understood the biblical implication; the school chaplain had called his whore wife nothing else.

    Quickly, she glanced at Elvia, who appeared equally slack-jawed and wide-eyed, completely lacking in understanding. Evee had once remarked that a puss at work had labelled her with the title, though Gwen had yet to get around to skin that particular cat.

    "I am sorry?" Gwen opted for diplomacy, choosing to understand that there might be a misunderstanding. "Young lady¡­"

    "GWEN? You''re here?"

    The familiar face of Eric Walken, ex-member of the council of ten of Oceania, appeared in the corridor.

    "Eric!" Gwen waved. "Yes, I am here. Why wouldn''t I be?"

    Angie''s face fell once more.

    "Oh, dear¡­" Walken stopped in his tracks. To Gwen''s eyes, her old nemesis-turned-ally looked quite a bit different from his Machiavellian self. In Sydney, Walken had been the aloof politician. In China, he had persisted in the air of a prideful English Magister, always appearing a rung above the rest.

    Now, with his gold-rimmed spectacles, scruffy beard and apron, the Magister appeared emasculated. There was now an unmistakable air of domesticity to the older man that made Gwen doubt her eyes. She rather fancied the newly mellowed Walken, even though he was so divorced from the Mage she had imagined him to be. "¡­ I think you better come inside first."

    Despite her father''s amicability, Angie was not having it. "Dad, are you serious?"

    "Possum, don''t be rude to our guest."

    "MOTHER!" The girl fled.

    Gwen and Walken looked at one another eye-to-eye.

    Walken looked tired.

    VOOMP!

    A Dimension Door appeared and disappeared, revealing who could only be Audrey, Eric''s wife. In between the fading motes of icy Conjuration, Gwen spied a dark-haired woman with the likeness of a lark. At first impression, the wife of Walken seemed sweet and sincere. She was short, as per her bird-like guise, with a narrow body, a small face and teak eyes. She dressed well in a full-length cotton-skirt and a pale-blue cashmere cardigan, certainly better than her aproned husband, carrying a demeanour that was dignified and portrait-ready.

    "You must be the delightfully unattached Miss Song." Audrey''s voice, like her appearance, was sharp and controlled. "Do come into the kitchen."

    "Audrey," Walken raised his voice. "This is most improper. Gwen''s a guest and an important one at that. Show her to the living room."

    Gwen involuntarily gulped when Walken''s wife swept the gathering with her matronly gaze. Having enjoyed no experience of domesticity of any kind across two lives outside of compelling Percy to cook, she felt genuinely lost for words.

    "In the kitchen," the wife insisted. "Angie, you may make our guests some tea."

    The daughter stomped away, as did Audrey, leaving Gwen standing in the corridor, watched by a confused Elvia.

    "How''s London?" Walken said awkwardly.

    "Not the catch up I expected," Gwen replied to the unspoken question.

    "Mmm." Walken sighed. "I had wanted to prevent an incident, but now that you''re here, maybe you can help us resolve our differences."

    The country kitchen inside the townhouse was larger than Gwen had expected from the outside. Since the family occupied all three levels, the back porch had been knocked out and extended to the exterior, creating an oblong, half-dome winter garden. Around the kitchen table, the family sat for the impending presentation of their father''s head on a silver platter.

    "My apologies for Angie," Audrey began, her lips thin and severe. "Angie. Apologise."

    "Sorry, Miss Song." Angie inclined her chin. To Gwen, the girl looked to be in her late teens or very early twenties. Like her father, her keen features made her appear maturer than her years.

    "That''s fine." Gwen hand-waved the prior insult. It wasn''t as though she could extract satisfaction from Walken''s family, so the apology was a moot point.

    Audrey began the proceedings with a nod.

    "To formalise our introduction, my name is Audrey Walken¡ª of House Coke of Leicester, Norfolk. The late Earl Thomas Coke was my father. I am his surviving daughter. You''ve met my second, Andrey Coke-Walken, currently studying at London Imperial. Our eldest, Beatrix, is presently a Magus serving in Edinburgh. Finally, as you well know, Eric is currently unemployed."

    "Gwen Song, provisional Magus, Peterhouse, Cambridge and Class VI War Mage," Gwen answered stiffly, matching the woman''s terseness. "My companion is Elvia Lindholm, a provisional practitioner of GOS and Nightingales. Also, your husband isn''t unemployed."

    "Really?" Audrey spooned a sugar cube into a steaming cup of English Breakfast. "Do tell."

    "He will very soon be working as an Executive Officer on several operations involving the Isle of Dogs and an infrastructure project for the rest of London."

    "Working ''under'' you, I presume?"

    "You are correct." Gwen left her tea untouched. From the wife''s tone and the way Walken clenched his teeth, she was beginning to put two and two together. "Audrey, I am sensing a great deal of uninvited hostility. Your husband is correct in claiming that there has been a misunderstanding."

    "Very well." Audrey pursed her lips. "I am not unreasonable. Enlighten us."

    "Eric?" Gwen turned to Walken. "Care to clarify the problem?"

    Walken cleared his throat. "The fault is mine."

    "Naturally¡ª" Audrey stirred the tea.

    Gwen agreed, as did Angie.

    "...After our unfortunate incident in Sydney." Walken''s face took on an uncharacteristic hue. Gwen had never seen the man so flustered, not even in front of a Lich. "I er¡­ never quite communicated to Audrey the extent of the trouble I was in, what with the exile from Sydney and all..."

    "¡­ fuck me." Gwen winced. "Eric. REALLY?"

    Beside her, the well-informed Elvia gasped.

    Gwen now understood the source of Walken''s humility.

    "A temporary affair. As you know, I was repairing the damage from the fallout, and indeed, good progress has been made."

    "True." Gwen nodded.

    "What progress? From a regional administrator to unemployment?" Audrey chided her husband with her icy eyes. "That''s progress, is it?"

    Walken waited for his wife to stop interjecting. "At any rate, for amply good reasons, I was off the grid while in China¡ª the family was still provisioned materially, of course. Unfortunately, the trouble here began when they broadcasted the IIUC."

    "You didn''t realise they would show your face?" Gwen cocked her head. "You were our team advisor. You knew the Proctors by name."

    "I had made a request," Walken answered. "We had been right as rain up until the incident with the Lich. It''s hard to avoid the vid-casts when one''s nearly deceased."

    "Ah¡­" Realisation dawned.

    "Daddy risked his life for you!" Angie could no longer hold her tongue. "He wasn''t home often, but he always came back! Now, because of you, Daddy disappeared for almost a year! We haven''t heard a peep from him since the Fall of Sydney, and when we see him again, he''s on the vid-cast with you wrapped around his neck! Who are you to him anyway? Why would he do that for you?"

    Puzzle pieces clicked into place. Already, Gwen felt irked by the drama. She needed Walken up and running on the Isle of Dogs, not dealing with trivial domestic disputes.

    "Angie, manners," Audrey quietened her daughter. Turning to face Gwen, the older woman''s face was the picture of judgement. "I don''t know how your folk do things in Australia, but we Brits hold certain ceremonies as sacred. The facade of matrimony must be upheld on the highest pedestal. In private, if Eric wishes to seek the warm and inviting company of a young sorceress such as yourself, then I have only my lack of allure to blame. However, what you have done to our reputation as a household is irreparable. Beatrix has already received many a mocking remark, and Angie here can barely keep her head held high. I, myself, as the chief victim of his affair, should consider myself lucky that I have sympathetic companions and friends in high places. What I ask from you then, is merely the impoverished gift of truth."

    Gwen opened her mouth wide enough to fit two boiled eggs.

    What. The. Fuck.

    Walken''s wife was suspecting she and old man Walken were bumping uglies because the old dog had neglected to churned her butter? The very thought of herself and Walken as non-platonic professionals made her drier than a slab of biltong.

    Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.

    "According to Eric, you''re simply a stepping stone back to where he should be," Audrey continued, her words making Walken squirm like a cheap steak on a sizzle-plate. "He expects us to believe him. Of course, I want to, but the evidence is difficult to swallow."

    "What evidence?" Gwen demanded, her tone growing churlish. Being labelled a biblical destroyer and being accused of being a homewrecker were wholly different tiers of insults. What evidence did Audry possess? Was the woman going to show her a vid-cast of Instructor Walken teaching horizontal Spellcraft?

    "You''re easily worth the candle; I''ll give you that." Audrey''s eyes spoke volumes of what the wife thought of her attire, particularly the breathability offered by the autumn fabric. "Not that I don''t trust Eric''s temperance¡ª rather¡ª I know him too well."

    Gwen shot Walken a wilting glare.

    Walken''s wife lowered her teacup until it clinked. Turning to her husband, she cooly continued. "I don''t think, if it came to it, that you would die for me, Eric. Maybe for the girls, but not for me. You''ve always been an absent father and inattentive husband, but I always believed in your adherence to the gentleman''s code. Now, you''ve another significant other¡ª Miss Song here, which begs the question. What should your wife think, Magister Walken, when her husband is willing to give his all, NOT to his daughters, whom you''ve left here in London: Beatrix in that godforsaken Frontier; Angie with her asthma; nor to his loyal spouse¡ª but to Miss Song?"

    "You''re missing the point," Walken appeared blindsided by his wife''s audacity. "I''ve explained everything! More than once! Gwen''s not like that."

    "Like what? I somehow doubt this teenager is supplying you with the power and influence you crave. What she can offer, and what you may give; is self-evident." Audrey delivered her verdict. "So that leaves us with a natural conclusion. Ergo, Eric¡ª I want a divorce."

    Silently, Gwen mouthed the words, "Holy shit."

    "Divorce? DIVORCE?" Walken''s Adam''s apple bobbed like a buoy at noontide. "Christ, Audrey¡­"

    "It''s only fair if you can''t even pretend to play the faithful husband. At first, I had my doubts. Then I saw her kiss you¡ª or revive you¡ª or so you say, on the vid-cast, broadcasted across every respectable home in London and beyond. Still, I reserved my judgement, pushed my boundaries of belief, until the truth came out. We''ve all read the tabloids. Gwen Song, Void Sorceress, the maybe daughter of Mycroft Ravenport¡ª your old patron and Factional chum. That was the final straw, Eric. Now I know why you did what you did¡ª though I can''t fathom why she could bear reciprocating the advances of an ageing, greasy eel. The mystery''s gone, Eric. To the air, be free."

    "Rubbish!" Walken''s face blushed scarlet. "Why do you think I was away all the time? Why was I alongside Gwen in the IIUC? I was WORKING! Working to ensure that one day, we would be influential again. That one day, the girls could return to Holkham Hall!"

    "Never mind the ancestral estate, Eric. That''s not your business, not anymore. We wouldn''t dare take up any more of your time."

    Walken appeared to fight his hypertension with every mote of mana remaining in his unemployed body.

    "HOLD UP." Gwen raised her voice. She had seen enough. A few clarifying words should clear the whole thing up in a jiffy. "This is ridiculous. Audrey, Eric, Angie, can you at least listen to what I have to say before burning your bridges?"

    Three pairs of eyes converged on Gwen.

    "Gwen, tell them." Walken massaged his heart.

    Imperiously, Gwen sat up straight and dosed herself with a jolt of Almudj''s Essence. Crossing her long legs, she squared her shoulders and extended her swan-neck. "Fair warning. I will NOT be interrupted."

    The women snorted.

    Walken nodded.

    Elvia briefly met her gaze, her blue-eyes wild with alarm.

    Gwen began.

    "First, Audrey. You are mistaken. Eric and I started as enemies at each other''s throats. My Master, if you haven''t read the backlog, is Henry Kilroy, Master of the Ten, and victim to your husband''s grievous miscalculation. He''s dead now, in no small part thanks to Eric. Later, when Walken first approached me in Shanghai, we almost came to blows. When my sister-in-craft, Alesia de Botton found him, she chased him across the university district flinging Fireballs. In time, he assumed the role of an advisor for Fudan''s IIUC team, of which I was vice-captain. We went through the rounds, eventually ending up in the Chinese Undead Front. A Lich ambushed me, and not wanting to lose all his efforts in making it up to Alesia and my brother-in-craft, Gunther Shultz of Sydney, he risked his life to do what''s best for him. Having lost a gambit, I shared with Walken some of my life. That was the broadcast where I revived him from the brink of death."

    Walken nodded at Gwen, then at his wife.

    "This is why we''re close." Gwen patted Walken on the shoulder in a familiar manner. "I don''t know if you''ve ever fought a live Lich, but we survived one. At that moment, our lives were inextricably entwined. That''s the reason why I trust him, and he trusts me. For Combat Mages, there exists a special bond of camaraderie that''s difficult for civilians to internalise. But fear not, our bond is platonic and professional. With your husband beside me¡­"

    Walken inclined his chin in approval.

    His wife, however, grew more frigid with every word.

    Besides her mother, Angie''s mouth twisted with loathing. "Disgusting¡­" Angie mumbled. "Dad, you''re disgusting."

    "¡­ and as my Chief Executive Officer¡ª" Gwen bit her tongue. Her audience wasn''t listening, though God knew why. Having come from a family championed by Morye no.1 in her old world, and Hai no.2 in her new world, she knew she was ill-equipped to be a family consultant. But Gwen had thought her monologue thoroughly diplomatic. If she were her mother''s daughter, she would have slapped Audrey right in her sulky mouth.

    In any case, the wife was giving her the piss. Was exploring the beneficial bond between her and Walken insufficient? Perhaps Audrey needed to hear the jingle of crystals. How about a spiel about the profitability of Legion? Or the Isle? Or her Dwarves?

    "Eric." The wife spoke before she could continue. "We can make it to the Shard and get the forms signed before they shut."

    "Audrey, my patience isn''t without limits..." Walken undid his apron. Understandably, her companion had suffered enough.

    It was just as well; Gwen shrugged mentally. An unattached Walken would probably devote himself to work more readily than one with baggage. After his liberation, she could settle Walken down on the Isle as her majordomo. Once the Dwarves arrived, he would know how to deal with them. There was the matter of trade with the Red Keep as well, involving the import of jadeite and Maotai and other materials from Burma and beyond. Post commencement of her Spellcraft lessons, Walken would keep matters well in hand.

    "Dad, you''re ridiculous¡­"

    "Not now, Angie..."

    "Don''t you dare silence her! You''re just a Baronet if even that!"

    "You two do whatever you want, and I don''t complain¡­"

    "What do you call this then? Are you not complaining? I must have gone mad¡­"

    Once the noise began, Gwen tuned right out. It was amazing how some habits could cross over two lifetimes. Family disputes were all the same, everywhere. Vaguely, she felt sorry for her future officer, but really, Walken''s family business was his own. All she could offer the man was work to free him from strife.

    It was generosity enough.

    "STOP! ALL OF YOU!"

    The cry that rang out like clarion to quell the quarrel came from the unlikeliest of sources.

    Elvia stood, pale-faced, red-eyed and panting.

    "You''re all wrong!" She howled at them, a little lioness clawing at the air. "GWEN ISN''T A HOMEWRECKER!"

    "Who are you to say so?" Angie challenged Gwen''s companion. "Who are you to her?"

    "I am¡­" the girl paused. Gwen met her Evee''s glimmering eyes. What was her cleric up to now? Why should she care about Walken?

    "Evee¡ª"

    Then Gwen got her answer.

    Without reserve, hesitation nor warning, Elvia Lindholm; her sweet little Evee from Avalon¡ª kissed her full on the lips.

    Gwennie was digging her own grave.

    From what Elvia knew of her friend''s familial history, Gwen was the last person who should be giving Walken advice about marriage. The scenario was so insane that, as soon as they had passed the door, Elvia suspected Gwen would be swimming upstream through a river of shit.

    How in God''s name could two workaholics: one a power-hungry career politician who had left his family for almost a decade to work on the Frontier; the other an orphaned daughter of Hai and Helena¡ª rekindle the flames of a snuffed marriage? The two arsonists of love might as well douse Brighton in Dwarven promethium, then invite Yue to start a bonfire.

    When Gwen''s explanation strayed into how important Walken was to her immediate future, Elvia had cringed so hard her chest cramped. When again, through the lens of meritocracy, Gwen had raised Walken above and beyond the boundaries of ordinary friendship, her heart grew sore.

    If even herself, who knew Magister Walken was not Gwens'' carnal companion, was feeling such jealousy and frustration, what would Walken''s family think?

    There was also Gwen''s cold-heartedness, her complete disdain for the fact that a man was about to lose a wife and two daughters. How could her dearest friend be so kind, and yet be so insensitive to others? It was a side of Gwen she had rarely seen, one that sent shivers quivering down Elvia''s spine.

    In private, Gwen had once remarked that family was a love that grew about the bone. If so, why should Walken slave away in the salt-mines of regret and bitterness for Gwen''s convenience? Why not let go? Leave him to his family?

    As expected, following Gwen''s tirade, Walken''s wife and daughter descended into self-harm, feeding on each other''s flesh. As for Gwen, as soon as her friend''s eyes glazed over, Elvia knew the girl had gone over a cliff and would not be coming back.

    There was only one person present who could bring back the trio from the brink, and it was herself.

    "STOP! ALL OF YOU!"

    Her new-found sternness surprised even herself. When Angie, the foolish daughter of the Magister, furthermore challenged her with the absurd question of who she was to Gwen, all of her pent up frustration and longing cascaded into an unopposable, barrelling impulse.

    It was a threshold that she had told herself never to cross, no matter how much she desired it. Growing up in Avalon by the bay, she understood the importance of boundaries all too well. Her house had overlooked the Shield Walls. These invisible barriers, these curtains of civilisation, were the final frontier of Sydney. Once past the shallows, past the final stretch of the continental shelf, came the dark water¡ª murky and muddled and mired with Mermen.

    Now, she crossed it.

    Thoughtlessly, she had stepped past the sandbar and plunged into the deep dark before her mind even registered that her feet were no longer touching the seafloor.

    "To Gwen. I am the only one that matters." The voice that spoke was alien and strange, almost as if not her own. She must be sleep-talking, Elvia thought. Only in her dreams had she ever been so full of surety and confidence.

    From her pocket, the newly awakened Kiki, stirred by the turbulent emotions welling up inside her torso, made itself known with an equally elated, "KIKI¡ª KI!"

    "Gwen isn''t for your husband," the voice of God continued. "Not now, not ever. So you have nothing to worry about."

    "Ki-ki!"

    The room sat in stunned silence, including Gwen, now the victim of a Gorgon''s gaze.

    "Mister and Missus Walken!" Elvia wasn''t sure if she could maintain her ethos after her implied logos of love, but she was up to her neck now and paddling free. She had only the experience of her sickeningly-loving parents as an anecdote¡ª that and fifteen years of Sunday Service at St Mary''s. "Earlier, you said that you hold ''certain'' ceremonies sacred¡ª inferring that you made a vow to love and care for one another in sickness and in health, till death do you apart. Is this true?"

    The couple nodded.

    "Where were you married?"

    "St Andrews¡­" Walken''s eyes darted between Gwen and then herself.

    "By a priest?"

    "A Bishop¡­" Walken intoned drily.

    "Then why do you neglect the Lord''s sanctification? Did St Paul not say that husbands should love their wives, just as Christ loved the church, for he gave up his life for the latter? And YOU, Ma''am. As one with children, TWO in fact, how can you talk of divorce so carelessly? So selfishly? He who loves his wife loves himself. Man and woman; yolk of the one egg, who shall mock the flesh of their flesh? Why should Angie and Beatrix lack their parent? What kind of blasphemy do you propose to teach your children?"

    Audrey stared, bewildered by Elvia''s accusation of apostasy.

    "¡­ We''re agnostic," Walken''s wife interjected woodenly. "Papa wanted the chapel wedding."

    The atmosphere grew somehow even more awkward.

    "Do you love your wife, Magister Walken?" Elvia cashed her chips. She was all-in.

    "¡­ I do." Walken nodded sheepishly.

    "Say it then. Affirm yourself, Magister."

    Walken''s scarlet face was no less carmine than his wife''s. "I do still love you, Audrey."

    "Do you, Audrey, still love your husband?"

    There was hesitation.

    However, compelled by Elvia''s angelic aura, Audrey nodded.

    "Say it."

    "I¡­ don''t hate him."

    "Angie? Do you want mum and dad to go their separate ways?"

    "Jesus, I am in university¡­" Angie cowered in her chair. "Miss Lindholm, please don''t make me say this."

    Elvia channelled her inner Gwen, pouring positive mana throughout her conduits until she appeared to glow with unadulterated altruism. Likewise, tapping into what little Faith she had collated in the last few days, she threw in a silent invocation of Bless, turning a few motes of her outward projection golden.

    "¡­ I love you both¡­" Angie cringed against the chair, every inch an Undead compelled by the sun. "Oh my God¡­ someone Void me right now."

    "Then love each other deeply, because only love shall overcome the multitude of your sins," Elvia repeated the often spoken mantra drilled into her brain by the Matrons at Nightingales.

    "And another thing." She wasn''t finished just yet. "Why do you think we came all this way? We''re not just here for you, Sir Walken. Not at all! Gwen knew about Angie''s mana asthma, and I may have a way to deal with her condition in the interim."

    "You do?" Her companion blinked. "We did?"

    "Of course. Did you forget? We came to seek Master Walken''s aid in making a Greater Familiar contract-circle," Elvia announced. "Through Sen-sen, we may once again gain access to something akin to Lord Henry''s Golden Mead, or at least a facsimile. If the Essence of Mythic Dragons isn''t going to overcome something as worldly as hyper-inflammation of the respiratory tracts, then I would be supremely surprised by the Yinglong''s existence beside Shanghai''s world-class miasma."

    "Y¡ª you have Golden Mead?" Walken and his wife spoke up at once.

    "Not if you don''t corroborate with Gwen."

    "We''ll cooperate." The Magister affirmed his new loyalties.

    "Yes, it was all a misunderstanding." Audrey inclined her head. "My apologies. Angie, apologise."

    "Umm..." Angie appeared confused. "Sorry?"

    "GOOD." Elvia''s aura of benevolence faded. "Do everything in love. Amen."

    She sat back down.

    Just as her external crisis faded, her internal uproar rang out like an air siren. Slowly, she wrapped her arms around her torso, curled her knees into a foetal stance, then folded herself like origami.

    A threshold had been crossed.

    She was out now. Out and out. Out past the shallows, past the sand bar and the rolling white shoals brimming with mana, out where the sun burned bright, glimmering as blinding shards of scintillating silver, fleeing toward the great blue yonder; unbound and outside the shelter of Sydney''s Shielding Stations.

 Chapter 347 - From Kith to Kin

    The following morning, Gwen flew Elvia and herself back to London to meet Walken. Once the shellshock passed, she came to a nerve-pinching acceptance of her new reality¡ª that she had once again indulged in what Petra had remarked as gluttonous masochism.

    On the one hand, she felt happy. Deliriously happy, like Bacchus drunk-charioting after a Friday grape binge. On the other, she felt disturbed, like an insomniac wondering whether they''ll ever lay with Hypnos again. The high was nice, but she had been burned before. What would be the cost of overreach this time? An Icarian descent, perhaps¡ª first celestial, then meteoric.

    Then SPLAT!

    For now though, with the intoxicating scent of Evee in her arms, it was easy to dismiss the Leviathan of love parked off the coast of Brighton, floundering in the shallows. Perhaps that was why she had declined Walken''s offer of a free Teleport to London. The old dog''s interrogating gaze aside, she had to post-process the consequence of her choices.

    She had told Evee that she loved her for her simplicity.

    But now, with Elvia so invested, she felt that their relationship had become anything but simple.

    She had told Evee would make her special.

    But not like this.

    Then what? Her mind demanded her hypocritical self. What does Gwen Song want from Elvia Lindholm? Should Evee remain as a virgin handmaiden?

    But that wasn''t it either.

    Within her pocket dimension, Caliban rested fitfully.

    Suddenly, Gwen felt a novel desire to strangle something soft.

    "Gwennie, what''s the Summon Familiar ritual like?" Elvia yawned, breaking the monotony of constant locomotion.

    Glad for the distraction, Gwen did her best to recollect the first time she''d met Caliban and Ariel. She was fifteen, and she had no idea that her Master had pumped a Magister''s treasure trove into a tier 1 Spell designed initially for novices. And so, like a little fool, she had gone with the flow without a second thought, letting her imagination run wild.

    "Are you aware of how the spell works, Evee?"

    "I understand the theory."

    "Good. Okay. So, after you mix your mana into the circle, the Mandala does all the grunt work. You''ll feel a distortion in the Material Plane¡ª but since Sen-Sen is here already, I guess that part''s not important."

    "Mmm-hmm."

    "Then, here''s going to be a tugging feeling in your chest. Your Astral Soul is going to feel like it has been prodded, or pushed. That would be your Familiar''s Ego. Again, Ariel and Caliban were both infants then, so there wasn''t anything to dominate. Sen-sen''s willing¡ª or it better be¡ª so all you need to do is let it come into your Astral Body."

    Gwen paused to find the right words.

    "For Caliban, the exchange was more explicit. Cali was a ball of hunger demanding a pound of flesh to keep it manifested in the real world. Ariel was easier, I wanted a companion to counter Caliban, and so it came without compulsion. Again, with Sen-sen, I don''t know if you''ll have trouble controlling it or not, what with its age and lineage."

    Elvia inclined her chin. "I''ll do my best."

    "I know you will."

    She sped up, concurrently ensuring that her shield kept the buffeting wind at bay. If she had been a lesser Mage, she would have long been OoM had she simultaneously maintained Flight and the desired to keep their clothes unruffled.

    And with the disappearing distance, the taste in her mouth grew bittersweet.

    After tonight, she told herself, Evee would return to her classes at Nightingales and practicum at GOS. Gwen herself would be confined to Cambridge, likely in a dungeon with a train of tutors each eager to bludgeon knowledge into her brain. Other than the rare weekend, she would see her healer twice, at best thrice a month, assuming their timetables aligned.

    Would she be sad? Gwen wondered, fearful of the strange relief scratching the inside of her ribcage. She had only two weeks to spend with Elvia, only now, it felt like a lifetime.

    After an eye-watering meal at the Tower of Tandoori, Gwen and Elvia arrived at the Tower of London. At lunch, Elvia spoke at length about her brother and her family and how Gwen''s Long Range Message Device had been a godsend in keeping contact with her lost kin. Gwen reciprocated by speaking at length about Percy''s burgeoning talents in Shanghai, about his girlfriend Mei, and their contributions at Shenyang.

    Finally, just past three, they arrived at the Shard. As it was nine hours before the Big Ben tolled in the new year, the administrative staff had made the lobby both festive and inviting.

    Though the desks were as busy as ever, Walken had paid good CCs for the Tower''s time, affording unmolested transit from the marbled anterior to the Shard''s multi-dimensional interior. Unlike Sydney''s maze of gravitation platforms, the state of the art Shard utilised a system of Teleportation Circles to securely, and discretely, transfer Mages to their desired destination. As the unofficial capital of Spellcraft in the Britannic Mageocracy, the Shard''s mastery of dimensional magic was a cut above its central continent cousins.

    "You must be Magus Song and Miss Lindholm." A wizened Magister in a crimson artificer''s robe, studded with Glyphed pockets, led the pair into his workshop. Bespectacled in gold, the man''s wild hair was a proud badge indicating his profession as a master of the Enchantment School. "I am Magister Gilbert Rendfrey, Senior Enchanter here at the Shard. Magister Walken is already inside."

    On the exterior, the Shard resembled a minimalist blade of glass, crystal and steel. It''s interior''s "interior", however, was tailored to each Magister''s taste. As Gwen''s party would be borrowing Magister Rendfrey''s studio, they entered a smoky abode studded with magical bric-a-brac, with exotic materials lining the walls and spilling from every cabinet.

    A vision of Walken, prone on his stomach, soon appeared behind the threshold, halfway levitating from the floor, painstakingly etching the Greater Familiar Mandala with a sizzling inscriber.

    The chamber itself was atypical of the spacious sub-spaces popularly utilised for discrete experimentation. Once inside, the volume of the room rapidly expanded until it was almost the size of a modest warehouse. The air was crisp, and barring the unsettling grey-space near the edges, there was even a temperate ocean breeze, smelling faintly of morning brine.

    For Gwen, the disorientation lasted only a second.

    "Eric," Gwen greeted her Magister, sulky at how hard Angie''s father was willing to labour.

    It took Walken a good ten seconds to realign himself. The Magister was in good health, but he was no longer spry.

    "Gwen. Elvia."

    ¡°Magister Walken.¡± Elvia curtsied.

    "We have a problem." Walken wiped his hands on a bit of cloth. "Rendfrey?"

    "Mmm¡­ yes, we appear to be the victim of an inventory oversight." The Magister touched a guilty finger to his beard. "It rarely happens, but it does."

    "What''s missing?" Gwen examined the room.

    "Dragon blood, actually." Rendfrey adjusted his spectacles. "We have decided to proceed nonetheless because Magister Walken informed me you have access¡­ to live samples?"

    Gwen turned to examine the sheepish Walken.

    "Audrey and I invested a lot of CCs to get this done as soon as possible," the Magister explained. "Hiccups were anticipated, I would imagine. We should consider our selves in luck that the missing ingredient is readily available."

    Gwen masticated Walken''s words. "¡­ do you mean Golos?"

    "Unless you happen to have a vial of something more sanguine," Walken said. "You haven''t been very forthcoming on Golos'' origins."

    "You''ll get the whole picture once you start your job," she acknowledged his concern. One by one, her thoughts flittered through Ayxin, Ruxin and Golos. Of the trio, asking Ayxin for a pint was unthinkable. Ruxin might be willing to part with his blood if given enough incentives, while Golos, as Walken had guessed, was a malleable target. "So I am to summon Golos?"

    "I should mention the ritual does not necessarily need Dragon Blood," the Enchanter raised a hand. "Magister Walken is testing my hypothesis."

    "We need a resonating medium to act as the catalyst," Walken quickly explained. "Your Ginseng is very old, and bred in close vicinity to the Yinglong, or so you said. Without sacrificing sacred blood to shackle the Ginseng''s ego, Elvia may not be able to access that part of its lineage."

    "You mean, the part Angie needs," Gwen clarified for her researchers.

    "Undoubtedly." Walken raised both hands in defeat.

    Gwen''s lips pursed.

    To her, a committed father was a foreign thing.

    But for now, their interests aligned. She wanted Elvia to gain as much benefit from Sen-sen as possible, and agreeably, Walken wished to maximise the potential of Sen-sen being able to produce a panacea. Since she wanted Walken''s loyalty, it was only fair that she met her future executive halfway.

    "Right, where do I set up?"

    "Just over there" Rendfrey appeared entirely enthralled by the exchange. "A Thunder Wyvern with a mythic bloodline? I haven''t felt this excited since we started processing Griffin Blood!"

    London.

    The Shard.

    For the first time in the history of the Britannic Mageocracy, the city played host to a scion of the Yinglong.

    "You want my blood?" Golos breathed down at Gwen and Elvia''s face, sending their hair flying all over.

    "Just a litre or two," Gwen covered her nose. "You''ve got plenty to give. Just look at the size of that gut. Not much exercise at Ruxin''s?"

    "You''ve reneged on your promise," Golos sulked, his scales and spinal feathers bristling in turn. "I smell the scent of death on you fresh as a fat Eel-kin. You''ve been having fun. Did you eat another Wyrm?"

    "A foreign worm," Gwen nodded. "It was disgusting. All slimy and earthy, very gamy, you won''t like it, trust me. How''s your brother?"

    "He awaits your promised hoard."

    "On that front, we''re on track." Gwen felt a vague camaraderie with the Wyvern she hadn''t seen for a week, like meeting a companion from the past after a lengthy absence. "How''s Phelara?"

    "Still brooding. Ruxin has a keen interest in her homeland. Big brother wants to know when you''re going back for the Da-peng."

    "In good time," Gwen promised. "Best let sleeping birds lie for now."

    "Hmm¡­" Her Wyvern huffed at Elvia.

    "Greetings, Lord Golos," Elvia beamed. "It''s a pleasure to meet you. Sen-sen, say hi."

    "SEN!" The Ginseng fell on its face, performing a kowtow. "Sen! Sen!"

    "Mmm¡­" Golos'' nostrils flared. He sucked in the air around Elvia, then licked his tongue, tasting her presence. "And something else as well, the old one?"

    Gwen knew that Golos had a better nose than most, but the lizard''s present perception was impressive beyond all comprehension. "Very nice, Golos. Not only does your nose detect magic, but it also detects Essence?"

    "Not all beings that can be eaten should be eaten," Golos announced wisely. "Ruxin says this is because you never know when someone''s progenitor decides to eat you in turn."

    "Wise lad, that Ruxin. Did you catch up with Ryxi lately? I asked about Lulu before."

    "Missing your Kenshi mate already?" Golos'' laughter came in rolling waves. "She was a feisty one. Ryxi says she''s a handful."

    "Gogo..." Gwen was glad that Elvia could not speak nor translate Draconic. "Just as not everything can be eaten, you should also learn the difference between friendship and fornication. For example, we''re friends, right?"

    Golos leaned in closer.

    "I wouldn''t want to mount you anyway." The Wyvern huffed snot over her chest. "Too old."

    Elvia stared on innocent while Walken choked, then began to cough uncontrollably.

    Gwen pushed the massive, reptilian face away. "Thanks, Gogo. That makes me rest easier at night. Now pass me a pint, you sleazy slug."

    The Wyvern appeared hesitant.

    "I can compel the root," he offered, simultaneously unfolding its massive wings. "Sen! In the name of thy creator¡ª TYRTROL!"

    "SEN!" Sen-sen turned over to show its belly, then laid flat on the ground¡ª a root on chopping board, awaiting inevitable dissection.

    Gwen''s cutting-finger itched. Give her another hundred grams of pure, unadulterated Sen-sen for her future cache of Maotai and the Dwarves shall be dancing in the palm of her hand.

    "See?" Golos grinned, looking more smug than usual.

    "Walken?" Gwen turned to her Conjurer.

    "Rendfrey, what do you think?"

    "With all due respect to Lord Golos here." Rendfrey appeared wholly impressed with the Wyvern''s amiable performance thus far. "I am ill-equipped to comment. Dragon-tongue is not Spellcraft. The direct alteration of reality through force-of-will is a higher tier of study than mortal magic, I fear."

    "Blood it is then." Gwen turned back Golos. Pointing to his wings, she made a cutting motion with her hand. "You want to do this¡ª or me?"

    "Bah¡ª" Golos extended his neck until a particularly thick part presented itself. "Take it from here, Calamity, between the feathers¡ª wing wounds itch."

    "Good boy." She stroked the Wyvern again to show her approval. "Keep this up, and maybe we can go for a stroll in London, get you some genuine Chicken Tikka Masala from the Tower of Tandoori."

    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    Golos sniffed her lips. "Intriguing. I have scented something familiar near Ruxin''s abode, though only on the plants."

    "I strongly advise against that¡ª " Walken interjected. "Outside of this pocket dimension, I am afraid Lord Golos is going to fare very poorly indeed. Assuming he can resist the resonance given off by the city''s four-dozen Shielding Cores, the Griffin Guards shall subdue us within the minute, and then we''ll be in gaol, all of us, with her Majesty''s Cabal blanking our minds."

    "¡­ the shop does take out." Gwen tapped the golden vestibule against Golos'' electrum scales. "Eric. How long are we going to be here?"

    "That depends on the subject," Magister Rendfrey indicated to the quivering Sen-sen, quivering and ready to meet its maker. "And of course, the subject''s master."

    "Calamity, I shall not be denied this Chicken Tikka Masala you speak of¡ª"

    Gwen passed a smidgen of Void between her fingers.

    "GAAAARGH¡ª!"

    "Bosh! How the hell else am I going to get through your bloody diamond-armour?" Gwen tapped the vessel filling with dark, potent blood. "Look at the size of that neck of yours. That incision was a centimetre thick, tops. Your bleeding''s already slowing."

    "Your wounds are most irksome." Golos nudged her again until Gwen almost lost her balance. "I demand recompense."

    "If it''s not too much trouble. I''ll tell an Apprentice to bring up this Tandoori fellow," Magister Rendfrey volunteered. "It''s no bother if Lord Golos desires it. Him being most accomodating and courteous. I''ll pay, of course."

    "If you insist, Magister." Gwen moved over to Walken''s Mandala with the heavy jug of still-bubbling blood polluting the air with a stink of rust and iron. "Fair warning, Gogo eats just as much in his human form."

    "A humanoid morphic field! Astounding!" Magister Rendfrey rubbed his hands together. "Come! I shall give you my Apprentice''s Message Glyph. Use Giles as you see fit. Magister Walken! Shall we?"

    Walken took possession of the austere vessel of dragon blood. On the levitation platform, a host of ingredients already churned within an automated ink-blender. When Gwen''s eyes wandered over the interior, her Magister helpfully obliged. "Asphodel, Hippogriff''s Bezoar, Lionfish Core, Eye of Ash Newt, Coral Pearl Dust, Fireseed, Ice-laced Rocksalt and ingot of True Silver¡ª am I missing anything?"

    "That''s all, Eric." Rendfrey applauded his fellow Magister. "It''s a shame you''ve chosen not to take up alchemy proper."

    The addition of Golo''s blood prompted the keg of inscriptor-ink to simmer for a half-minute before the concoction settled. Though the smell was foul, the gathered could sense the palpable power of the blood-laced gloop swirling within.

    Meanwhile, Magister Rendfrey thrice-confirmed the Mandala''s every wand-stroke. "Miss Lindholm, if you would take your Spirits¡ª both your Spirits, into the circle''s midst, we may begin."

    "Yessir."

    "Now. Are you completely certain neither of your creatures will subsume the other? Don''t say I didn''t warn you," Rendfrey spoke as he coaxed the admixture from the pot with the length of carved yew that had been hanging by his side. Into the grooves of the base granite, the liquid seeped, lighting up with the silver-sheen of Conjuration as it touched the Mandala. "There''s no crying over spilt milk if one¡ª or both, perish as a result."

    Elvia''s eyes widened.

    "You got this," Gwen gave her healer an encouraging squeeze on the shoulder. She possessed absolute confidence her friend would succeed. "Golos is here to help as well. Sen-sen should prove no trouble."

    "Kiki!" The Alraune showed its determination by flexing its tendrils. "Kiki!"

    "Sen!" The Ginseng followed Elvia obediently into the middle of the Mandala, waddling as it went.

    "Alright!" Gwen finished inscribing the Message to Rendfrey''s Apprentice. After today, her Evee would never be underestimated by the Mageocracy, or anyone, ever again. "Let''s get this show on the road! Evee, your ascension is at hand!"

    Elvia sat in the lotus stance, trying her best to relax both body and mind.

    To her left rested her Alraune Spirit, waving gently against the invisible breeze. To her right, held captive within a triple-layer of Octogramic Warding, sat Sen-sen, staring at her with its eyeless face.

    "The Circle''s powering up!" came a warning from her present and future partner. "Start probing Sen-sen with your mind! Reach out and try to envelop him with your Astral Body!"

    Elvia closed her eyes and shut out all distractions. A healer''s concentration was different from that of a Combat Mage. A Cleric''s focus was inward-facing, generating an immutable sense of calm that drove away all unnecessary stimuli. Drawing upon that third-sense now, she sharped her insights until Sen-sen came into direct focus.

    Around her, the Mandala burned, igniting the Dragon Blood.

    Within the swirling world of conscious and the subconscious, Elvia''s world imploded.

    The bonding had begun.

    "Sen-sen¡ª come."

    The physiology of an NoM, lacking the reactive motes of mana that made one''s body near-transparent to the diagnostic magic of a healer, was a dull and uninspiring affair. Comparatively, a Mage''s body, depending on their expertise, could appear as a well-lit network of conduits, beneath which she could see the vessels of the body ferrying forth the lifeblood from the central mana organs¡ª the brain, the liver, the heart. Gwen''s interior, when Elvia had sought to satiate a forbidden curiosity, was a whirling network of Lightning and Void, criss-crossed in every which way and yet running in perfect parallel. It shamed her that, in the Frontier, she had been flooding Gwen with raw Positive Energy to stimulate her body''s healing potential. In those dark days, it was little wonder that they emerged from every battle utterly exhausted and craving the sweet embrace of slumber.

    As for Sen-sen, the stowed vitality crammed within the root''s tiny body was akin to diving into a celestial cluster. Within, she needed to locate Sen-sen''s Spirit, and with sufficient will, overpower the Ginseng''s ego.

    Deeper and deeper she dived, headlong into the nebula until, from that strange, metaphysical firmament, she began to tumble, limbs akimbo, falling and falling without end.

    A growing panic took hold.

    Something was wrong.

    This was not at all what the Spellcraft theory had prescribed, nor what Gwen had foretold.

    "AEEEEEE!" Lacking the means to fly, and missing her partner''s guiding hand, Elvia''s mind tumbled through the Astral world. "Gwennie!"

    "Tyrtrol vur qe Meagea!" Golos spat forth a mouthful of volcanic Vindaloo. Draconic¡ª with its forceful, plosive tones, wasn''t exactly the best language for simultaneous speaking and eating. "O-rigato dout Navnik Zhren!"

    A spot of curry sizzled against the burning Mandala.

    Gwen''s nose twitched.

    "Lord Magister," she quietly enquired of their hired aid. "Vindaloo doesn''t impact the efficacy of Mandalas, does it? Elvia won''t bond to curry, I hope."

    "I certainly hope not!" The Magister had taken one sniff at the oriental concoction, then backed away from the tubs of sludge-like spice. Adjusting the Arcane Eye embedded into his spectacles, he quickly confirmed his hypothesis. "Imagine the scandal. We would have the owners on stasis in a heartbeat! ''Tower'' of Tandoori indeed!"

    "Golos is certainly enthused¡­" Walken''s voice took a tone of concern. His eyes glowed with the light from a Glyph-studded spectroscope. "Your Ally is feeding the Mandala¡ª you know, usually, an expenditure of Essence comes at a drastic cost to the caster."

    "Good on Gogo for giving it his all." Gwen did her best via her Detect Magic. "Sen-sen might not have the brains, but it IS five centuries old and bred for Dragon-chow. Evee''s just recently eighteen. I imagine there''s quite the existential difference to be balanced out. Kiki as well is at least half a century old. What a rout, eh? I''d like to see her competitors bitch now."

    "True, and our Mandala is holding steady," Walken remarked. "You''ve tamed your pet Wyvern in ways we cannot begin to comprehend. In the future, you may wish to volunteer some of your methods with the Bestiary section of the Tower. The Griffin Tamers, in particular, have considerable trouble pinning down alpha specimens. Once the birds get a taste for human flesh..."

    Walken made a chopping motion with his hand.

    "Caliban¡ª I mean¡ª ''I'' can be very charming..." Gwen had never clarified the precise particulars of how Golos came to fear her, nor would she share it. For one, her prideful Wyvern might rampage if Humans started giving him looks of pity. "There''s not much to it. Golos is just a big ball of raging Draconic testosterone. He eats, shits and fucks. How hard can it be to satisfy that?"

    "All Dragons have hidden depth," Walken warned her. "No pool insufficiently deep can hold a Water Dragon, that''s an oriental saying, I believe?"

    Gwen looked over at Golos stuffing his face silly with naan and globs of curry, having the time of his life.

    "I''ll keep an eye out," she answered sceptically. "Say, do you know any Dungeons, parks or Wildlands hereabouts that''s Planar Ally friendly?"

    WHOOMP!

    Through the displacing dust, Elvia found herself alone and atop a blasted building torn to smithereens by the force of a recently passed AoE.

    The city below, a silhouette foreign to her memory, smouldered as though a rolling wave of coal-fired lava had erupted from the earth''s core. Screams, thick as the steam, filled the air, joining the barrier sirens to form an unholy requiem of death and destruction.

    "What¡­" Elvia circulated as much mana through her conduits as she was able to muster, concurrently calling on Kiki and Sen-sen.

    As expected, her Spirits failed to make an appearance.

    Where could she be? Caught in an illusion?

    If so, which city now boiled below?

    Elvia focused on empowering her vision. There wasn''t just fire; there was water as well. No city with skyscrapers and avenues like that should be so inundated by the sea.

    "SVA DRONG ANNYO!"

    A shrill, soul-piercing shriek resounded across the horizon. Elvia''s gaze followed the howling gale to see a moving, shifting, quadruped silhouette roving through the oily, aubergine atmosphere. Rippling waves of black-red ash fell from the blue-dark like October snow, smothering the city with its suffocating gloom.

    A Dragon?

    A BLACK DRAGON?

    Her heart seized.

    "Calm Emotion!" Elvia weaved the subconscious Clerical sorcery through the air. The spell failed to manifest, though she did feel calmer for the placebo. Momentarily, the charcoal creature pierced through the cloud bank.

    "¡­ Ariel?" There was no mistaking it. The stag horns, the stout body, the lion''s claws and the rear hoofs she had molested so often, as well as the goldfish''s fantail.

    A Kirin. An ashen Kirin shrouded by malevolent vapours of Negative Energy.

    Her body began to shiver. If that was Ariel, then where was Gwen? If that was Ariel, then what of Caliban?

    She scanned the city below.

    Presently, the milling mass of dark motes continued its onward march. There was an awful familiarity about it all, the way it flowed and ebbed, reached out with tendrils to test the distance, tasting the direction in which it spread.

    Undead! Elvia''s mind was now in full revolt. Millions of Undead! A whole host of them¡ª enough to swallow a capital!

    Why was she in the midst of this horrid vision?

    Where''s Sen-sen?

    ¡°Gwen?¡± She called out. ¡°Gwennie? Where are you? Lord Golos? Magister Walken?¡±

    "Evee¡­" a voice answered her from behind.

    Elvia spun.

    When finally her mind caught up, her lips parted with incomprehension.

    "P-Percy?"

    The boy¡ª or perhaps she should say, a young man now, appeared wiser than his years.

    "What are you doing here?" Elvia''s head abruptly filled with conspiracy. What if, for example, she and Gwen and everyone had fallen under the Curse of a malignant Hag''s nightmare. Or if there was a wide-scale terrorist attack on the Shard? "Where''s Gwen?"

    "The great Saviour Song is getting ready to deploy her Shoggoth," Percy''s tone was churlish and provoking. Closer, the young man''s salt-encrusted armour crumbled. With a grunt, he dispelled the upper layer, revealing a shrivelled body speckled with combat-damage. "Tianjin is gone, I am afraid. They''re letting Gwen clean up. This time tomorrow, there''ll only be a husk of a city left."

    "She''s using her Shoggoth?!" Elvia gulped. "I need to get to her! Why am I here of all places? Why is there Undead here in Northern China?"

    Percy appeared confused. "Don''t worry¡ª Lulan''s with Gwen. Sis told us to wait for her here, at the Observatory, don''t you remember? The city is overrun. The PLA is in full retreat. Beijing Tower''s not coming. There are nine million souls down there ready to join the Undead Tide from Pyongyang. The Party won''t let that happen, not with the Forbidden City a day away."

    "Jesus Christ." Elvia glanced at the carnage below. She could just make out pockets of fighting. A Squad of PLA Golems, burning blue with jets of exhaust, laid down lines of radiant fire into the avenues of the flaming city. Where the dark swarm retreated, a dozen tendrils emerged, each led by howling Wraiths and screeching Death Guards riding monstrous drake-steeds the size of semi-trailers. Behind the line of spluttering Golems, the city''s fleeing defenders¡ª an endless multitude of crying, churning civilians, scrambled over one another. "Percy, how did this happen?"

    "The cult of Juche, how else? But enough questions¡ª I am badly drained¡ª" Percy stumbled forward.

    Without thinking overmuch, Elvia caught the young man in her arms. "Are you alright?"

    "Does it look like I am right?" Percy''s cheeks appeared sallow, his eyes, now that the young man was closer, she could see that his eyes had the lustre of dead fish.

    "Sorry. I''ll heal you now."

    "My gratitude is boundless." Percy placed a hand around her shoulder, using her body as support. "How''s Richard? Did he make it?"

    "Richard? What happened to¡ª"

    CRACK!

    A booming roll of thunder snapped across the heavens.

    From the impenetrable dark clouds, a meteor rapidly fell, a white-scaled body clad in living lightning¡ª though much diminished and missing one wing. Together with the tumbling mass of its sleek, elegant figure was a deluge of corrupted blood, carapace and spellfire.

    "Lord Golos!" Elvia''s eyes went wide. "Is¡ª is GWEN there? Fighting?"

    The Ashen Kirin re-emerged in hot pursuit.

    "JAKA, shio sia Irlymi Wharac sva sia KILITH!" Hearing the Kirin''s croaking voice was like having claws scratching the inside of her skull. Her skin crawled. It almost sounded like the monstrous being was speaking in their general direction.

    "Axun, sva Drong Annyo," answered a voice an inch away from her neck.

    Elvia snapped her face around to see Percy''s eyes grow suddenly cruel.

    Suddenly, she couldn''t breathe.

    "I am sorry, Evee¡­" The boy who was Gwen''s brother gripped her neck with one hand, the other pressed against her abdomen. Unbidden, her mana, her vitality, all the warmth from her body drained away. Negative Energy hammered her brain, nullifying all thoughts into the consistency of soup, preventing her from conjuring of even the most rudimentary of spells.

    GWEN! Elvia wanted to awake from the nightmare. The sensation, the pain, the fear, the soul-crushing feeling of life drain, none of it felt like an illusion.

    "¡­ but it was a matter of time before Gwen finds out about Uncle Jun..."

    "Uuuuerrggk¡­"

    "... and I think we both know Sis well enough to guess her mad dog antics..." Strangely, Percy''s eyes were not focused on his victim, but the flickering, dark horizon, denying her the final dignity of having her murderer stare her down. Acutely, she felt her flesh turning to crystalline salt. The agony, in a clinical sense, was beyond the sensory limit of her nervous systems. "So this isn''t anything personal. If anything, I''d call it self-preservation."

    Reflected in Percy''s eyes, Elvia saw a great tendril descend from the churning heavens. It was the Shoggoth, and it had arrived to undo all the follies of man.

    GODS! This can''t be real! None of this is real! An internal voice howled in desperation. By the Nazarene! WAKE UP!

    Her eyes snapped open.

    There was light, and once her pupils adjusted, she saw rock formations bustling with pine trees that grew like sinuous serpents¡ªall around her, cloud banks and rolling seas of mist cascaded down calico granite cliffs. From the burning city, she was now floating listlessly through a stone mirage.

    She raised her head.

    Amongst the vague, mystical mountains, a mutton-jade rise pierced the heavens, shrouded in toiling cumulonimbus, cracking with blue-white lightning.

    Her heart ballooned until it was on the verge of bursting. Was this the domain of Almudj? The fabled Unformed Land? The air here was different¡ª the atmosphere was so thick with mana that she felt it permeate her mortal lungs.

    The clouds parted.

    A singular eye¡ª cobalt and emerald and enormous beyond all comprehension, appeared and disappeared into the uncertain fog.

    "GWEN!" Elvia called out, her spine growing rigid with alarm. There was no way this was Almudj. Here was a whole other Mythic, the one from Gwen''s stories, one with whom she should have no discernible business.

    "Thou art at a crossroads, companion of the Calamity..." a great, booming voice toiled in the recess of her head, filling her skull with its presence. Her host was enormous, stretching from peak to peak, coiled about the landscape as a roaring river. "Little Ginseng, O seed of ruin, thou shall choose which grain shall grow, and which shall wilt and rot..."

    The Mandala sizzled out.

    Within the confines of her Divination-infused vision, Elvia''s mana presence doubled¡ª perhaps tripled in intensity. It wasn''t so much a matter of volume, as per Gwen herself, but density and purity. For a mid-tier Spirit and a mundane Conjurer, a significant boost in Affinity was expected. In Elvia''s case, her transformation was transcendent.

    "How is it?" Gwen turned to her betters for an answer, her basic knowledge insufficient to offset her anxiousness.

    "No need to fret. I believe we have achieved our goal." Magister Rendfrey clapped his hands happily. "Most importantly, without incident! Without even a single contingency Glyph tripped! My word, Magus Song, are you certain your companion doesn''t have a little mystical Essence in her?"

    "Maybe she does. Evee''s special," Gwen smugly replied, relieved that Almudj has Evee in her sights.

    "No doubt. No doubt." Rendfrey nodded without refrain. "The diagnostics from our venture should serve the Tower well, I think. Dual-Spirits! And using only a Seventh-Circle Mandala following a classical Margulis-Gessner cross-modulation! I just knew the Dragon Blood would do the trick. Ah, but do not let me detain you¡ª here comes our future saintess!"

    Within the dissolving circle, Elvia emerged from the cascading sheets of silvery Conjuration, her complexion as pale and oily as lambswool. The girl was soaked in sweat, her blouse diaphanous enough for Gwen to materialise a towel.

    "Evee!" Gwen approached without hesitation. "My God! You must be exhausted."

    "I am alright." Elvia raised a dainty, trembling hand. "Gwennie, look at what I''ve got¡ª Sen-sen!"

    Her healer squeezed the Ginseng in her arms.

    The Cleric''s cheeks flushed crimson.

    The air around Elvia shimmered.

    "SEN!"

    Gwen''s body froze, not just at the sight of Elvia looking so radiant, but out of bone-deep, primal instincts ingrained into the genes of her ancestors. Walken as well, stiffened and grew pale, while the jubilant Magister Rendfrey sunk to his knees and whimpered.

    "¡­ Oops," her healer quickly relented. "That''s enough, Sen-sen. Sorry everyone, I am not sure how to use him yet. Gwen is going to have to coach me."

    "Sen!" Sen-sen attempted to wiggle out of Elvia''s arms.

    "Kiki!" Her Alraune slapped the Ginseng across the mid-section. "Kiki!"

    "Sen-sen..." Sen-sen quailed before the bulbous floral Sprite.

    Gwen waited for her jaws to re-hinge, forcing through Almudj''s Essence so that ligament by ligament, her muscles warmed up. Next, it took all her courage to make her next enquiry. "Evee¡­ is that¡ª Dragon Fear? What the hell did you do?"

    With a subtle gesture, her healer released her root vegetable from the Material Plane. After a final, relieved "Sen!", the Ginseng disappeared into its newly-formed pocket dimension. When Elvia gazed back, Gwen''s healer appeared taller somehow, more dignified.

    "You said you would make me special." Elvia''s blushing face was such a juxtaposition against the sphincter-crunching horror Gwen had just endured that she suffered from whiplash. "Now¡ª I am."

    Gwen licked her lips, her tongue parched, her mind tabula rasa. Gods, Evee was beautiful¡ª and terrifying.

    "Are you... not pleased?" Elvia cocked her head. "But..."

    For several seconds, the silence in the room grew thick enough to be sliced.

    "Hahaha¡­" Golos'' abrupt, interrupting laughter crowded the room like the stink of a suffocating, Draconic-curry fart. "So you''ve chosen. Well done, Moxt Myvish."

    Gwen''s brows furrowed as her Translation Stone performed its terrible divination.

    "Little¡­ S-sister?" She spun around toward Golos.

    She knew it! She just knew it was too good to be true!

    Gogo, an accommodating, considerate drake?

    There was no such thing as a free lunch!

    Fucking Golos, helping out, making Sen-sen obey!

    She couldn''t possibly be angry at Evee, so all she could do was steer the freight train of her anger elsewhere.

    "GOGO! EXPLAIN YOURSELF! OR I SWEAR TO EVEE, YOU''LL BE EATING CURRY OUT OF A TUBE!"

 Chapter 348 - Buyers Remorse

    "Gwen, NO." Elvia''s svelt figure interposed itself between Golos and the impending eruption of ultraviolence.

    From raising the hand of God, Gwen found herself suddenly diminished.

    "Evee, step aside." Her voice grew low and loud like impending thunder.

    "Gwen. No." Elvia''s response was accompanied by Kiki crawling up her arm to sit on one shoulder. Before Sen-sen, the Alraune had proved too heavy for the small-framed healer. Now, that was no longer the case. "This isn''t Lord Golos'' problem."

    "The hell it isn''t!" Gwen growled. "Gogo! You know what you did! Get your ass over here."

    "For aiding your mate in attaining her heart''s desire?" Golos lacked even the barest token of repentance. "Upset that I satisfied where you could not, Calamity? You should be thankful for our ''sister'' receiving what you had left disappointed."

    "Our? Is Ruxin a part of this? Is Ayxin?" Her mind furiously worked through the list of Dragons who might traffic Elvia against her. "Is your fucking father involved?"

    "You overstep," Golos snapped back, leaking Dragon fear in the manner of an upset puss dissuading predators. "Calamity, watch yourself."

    "Gwennie!" Elvia stomped her feet, her blue eyes flashing with annoyance. Usually, Gwen would have remarked that her healer''s upset made her all the more adorable. With Sen-sen, however, a truly upset Evee was a catastrophe.

    Fuck! She ground her teeth. She knew she should have diced the little Ginseng fucker for spice when she had the chance. "Evee, you''re not yourself, that''s the Essence talking. Why this? Almudj is big enough for both of us."

    "Almudj is Almudj. And just as it knows its mind." Elvia''s golden hair streamed as she spoke. "I know mine. You''re not Almudj''s sock puppet, and neither am I."

    "Evee, seriously." Gwen wanted to reach out, grab Golos, and wring the Wyvern like a wet rag until all the blood and poop oozed from every orifice. Her Evee! Her poor little Evee! Look at what they did to her beautiful Evee! "Don''t do this."

    "I am serious, Gwen. Dead serious." Elvia approached, leading with her eyes and her small, glistening mouth.

    Gwen took a step back. "Evee¡­"

    "Or are you saying my choice doesn''t matter?" Elvia''s accusation snapped like a whip. Elvia''s irises were blue, so blue that they hurt Gwen''s eyes. "Must you choose for me? Must a higher power choose for me? For all of the Nazarene''s divinity, Father Maxwell says the Almighty gives us free will. Do you deny what I''ve chosen for myself, Gwen?"

    "Evee, I didn''t say that."

    "Then a little respect would go a long way, I think." Elvia''s words crammed Gwen''s tongue back down her throat. "Gwennie, you can''t just get mad at Gogo without asking why."

    Gwen wanted to say "of course" she could; as a grown woman, she could do and say whatever the fuck she wanted. But she kept her mouth shut because she could see in Elvia''s eyes she would have to bypass her healer first.

    "You going to hide behind Evee, Gogo? A big Wyvern like you?" She tried a different approach.

    "I see you squirm, Calamity." The Wyvern appeared to be enjoying himself. Why the fuck wasn''t her Wyvern an idiot at a time like this? "Haha! As Father said, there is a foil to everything! As water is to fire! Metal to wood! So you are helpless against our Moxt Myvish! She''s your Argonite!"

    Argonite being the draconic equivalent of kidney stones, or so Golos had once overshared.

    Gwen felt her face grow hot. She was so pissed off she could feel the Lightning encircling her irises, empowered by a feverish desire to make Golos into a Caliban sock puppet.

    "Your hypertension is at a dangerous level, Gwennie." Elvia reached out with a compassionate hand. Gwen stood her ground. If she gave in now, what precedent would that set for Evee? For her stupid drake?

    "Calm Emotion!"

    Soft and gentle streams of mana flooded Gwen''s conduits, bathing her in lukewarm water. The anger that had simmered against her throat and made her voice hoarse suddenly abated. Unbidden, her heart-rate slowed, and the depth of her breathing grew shallow. Without biting her tongue, she would have moaned.

    "God damn it, Evee¡­" She breathed out, deflating as her rage died like Golos double-teamed by Big Birds. "What am I going to do with you."

    "A hug would be nice." Her healer was inches away. "There''s still five hours until midnight."

    As commanded, she hugged her healer, allowing the sickly sweetness to envelop her annoyance like raw honey. The girl''s soulful presence was akin to the milk of paradise.

    "Hee." A pair of prying eyes interrupted her revelry.

    "What are you staring at?" She snapped at her leering Wyvern. "Fuck off, Gogo. Go back to Ruxin and tell him I am very cross with you. Next time, if there''s a next time..."

    "Ingrate hag," Golos grumbled. Languishingly, he stepped back into the Summoning Circle. Momentarily, the Wyvern''s humanoid shape flashed blue and white, turning Rendfrey''s workshop quicksilver before his material body dis-corporated across space and time.

    A precious silence descended, accompanied by the stink of curry.

    "Miss Elvia¡­" Walken gently raised his voice, understandably impatient. "If I may ask¡­"

    Her healer left her arms.

    "I believe Sen-sen''s leaves can be crushed and infused within Miliberg''s Remedy-All Tonic to suppress Angie''s condition," Elvia acknowledged Walken''s concern. "Gradually, her constitution will improve, though I am unsure how many dosages it may take. May I recommend you take her to GOS, where I work, and put up a slate for Angie?"

    "Yes, that''s satisfactory." Walken nodded. "Thank you, Miss Lindholm. I''ll do that tomorrow."

    Unused to her assertiveness, Elvia''s face grew scarlet. "Think nothing of it, Magister Walken, you''ve been such an indispensable help to Gwen and myself. It''s I who owe you a favour."

    "Hahaha..." Walken too, wilted under Elvia''s sincerity.

    The corner of Gwen''s left eye twitched.

    "... And my most sincere apologies, Magister Rendfrey." Elvia bowed to the owner of the workshop. "I haven''t gotten used to Sen-sen''s power yet."

    "No problem, not at all." The now-recovered Rendfrey mopped his forehead. "The old heart isn''t what it used to be. Dragon Fear! How exhilarating!"

    "Allow me." Elvia raised a hand, "Peace be upon you, Magister. Aid!"

    A golden halo encircled the Enchanter for a split second, disappearing as quickly as it appeared, suffusing Rendfrey''s face with unbridled vitality. Straightening his back and neck, the Magister suddenly stood taller.

    "Oh my." Magister Rendfrey inhaled and exhaled with great enthusiasm. "My girl, we need to get you to a Cog-Chamber! I insist, and I shall pay! What I wouldn''t give to see your biometrics!"

    Thanks to Walken''s glib coaxing and a promise of favours from Rendfrey, the party of four arrived at a rotund Cog-Chamber.

    Gwen wetted her lips at the intimate familiarity. The Cognition Chamber which they now occupied was the same as the one Henry had used to teach her, a memory that made her chest sore. How strange it was that the shoe was on the other foot¡ª that she now plumbed Elvia''s potential, while Evee stood in her place, wondering what lurked inside her Astral Body.

    "Shall we recluse ourselves?" Gwen applauded Walken''s foresight to offer the girls privacy. Different from biometric readings, the matter of one''s Astral Soul was deeply personal.

    "Please." Elvia bowed her head. "We shall soon be done, Lord Magisters."

    Walken and Rendfrey exchanged a look.

    "Of course, of course. Let us waste no time. You girls wanted to see the New Year''s fireworks, yes?" Rendfrey added regretfully. "You won''t want to miss that! What a wonderful occasion to celebrate with a show of colour! That said..."

    "Rendfrey!"

    "Yes, yes..."

    "Operator, you may begin," Gwen announced to the general air once they were alone.

    The air thrummed.

    The distance disappeared.

    The mirrored lake interior manifested.

    And upon that illusory, parallel plane, a divine presence dawned.

    "Holy shit, Evee¡­" Gwen had never seen Elvia''s post-Sydney Astral Body, and so could not comment on Elvia''s Affinity before Sen-sen''s capitulation. To her knowledge, Elvia was gifted, but not so talented as to receive an invitation to Nightingales without Gunther, placing the girl at an Affinity apex of four-on-five at best. For Sydney, such an Affinity was well above average. In the Mageocracy''s heartland, the benchmark for receiving the esoteric craft of Faith-weaving demanded purer talents. "What am I even looking at?"

    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

    "There''s so much mana..." Her healer''s untainted, joyous excitement was turning Gwen''s bones to jelly.

    "Sen-sen! Kiki!"

    Elvia''s Spirits appeared beside her.

    "ARRUGH!" In the Cog-Chamber, one''s eyelids only worked marginally. Gwen had only felt such blinding, stabbing pain once before¡ª when Alesia decided to show off in front of Henry and had seared their newest sister''s retinas. This time, it took several circles of Essence to adjust to the lumen range.

    "Kiki! Kiki!" The Alraune bathed in the light from her mistress, visibly growing taller and plumper. As for the blasted Draconic Ginseng, it fed its mistress a steady stream of raw mana through their Empathic Link, their conduit so thick as to distort the illusory space conjured by the chamber.

    "What do you think?" Elvia twirled, or not, Gwen couldn''t tell because Elvia was a stadium flood-light. In ripples, Positive Energy rolled out from around the girl''s feet, brushing up against Gwen''s heels like thick, heavy water.

    Without a word, Gwen stepped from her Mary Janes and stood upon the Cognition Chamber''s chilly floor, barefoot and bare-legged. Visibly, the outward ebb of Elvia''s Positive Energy, that golden nectar of mana, began to swirl about her vague Void and electrified Lightning. Where their Astral Body''s edges met, she saw for the first time, the outer walls of her energy-hungry aura absorbing Elvia''s pearlescent motes of life.

    The pleasantness was indescribable.

    The tactility of Evee''s Positive Energy halo was different from the violent consumption and the cresting climaxes offered by Caliban''s Consume. Her healer''s blessing was, Gwen blushed, a thing of womb water, a gentle envelopment that made her calm and sleepy and docile. For someone like herself, who subsisted on Almudj and lived each night as the patron saint of insomnia, the temptation to simply drown herself in Evee''s chamber of the sea was all too real.

    "Does Sen-sen have a combat form?" Gwen changed the topic. "Does Kiki?"

    Elvia shook her head. "Kiki is still young, though she could be used if I need battlefield control. As for Sen-sen, I don''t think I can command it''s full power, at least not yet. Can you teach me how to use Dragon-Essence?"

    There existed not a single ounce of desire within the entirety of Gwen''s being that wanted to pass on the knowledge Ayxin had imparted.

    "Gwennie?" Elvia''s imploring eyes pulsed with star-fire.

    "¡­ sure." Gwen folded like a napkin. "It''s largely instinctual though, all I can teach you is the meditation and a general idea of how to wrangle the impulse."

    "Thanks, Gwennie. Let me finish up for the sensors."

    With a final word, her healer''s Astral Body turned supernova, bathing the room in light, casting behind Gwen a dancing line of macabre shadows, writhing like uncertain Calibans, eating away at the fabric of space and time.

    London.

    New Year''s Eve.

    Near midnight, the Thames lit up with vibrant Illusions and cacophonic Evocation. From behind the gargoyles lining the upper strata of Nightingale College, Gwen sat with her healer resting against her shoulder. Around the pair, their Familiars ran free: Kiki and Sen-sen paced around the rooftop, Caliban played pillow against her back, and Ariel drifted like a carefree cloud.

    Though the eclectic, floral atmosphere was heartbreakingly evocative, Gwen''s heart grew heavy, and not just with the weight of her Evee.

    She had wanted a stronger Elvia.

    She had fancied her Evee to be special, unique, a cut above the rest.

    That was why, unsure of what else she could offer Evee, she had given Elvia crystals, bling, and Spirit.

    But not like this.

    Gwen understood what it meant to be the victim of the Yinglong''s Draconic Essence. She knew all to well its intoxicating effect, the powers it offered, the way it bolstered her confidence to supernatural heights. She also knew that the Yinglong''s Essence came at a cost¡ªand that cost was a little snippet of one''s self, the portion that was doubtful, cautious and meticulous.

    "Sen!" Sen-sen wiggled back and forth, terrified and yet intrigued by the height, enjoying its restored limbs. Sulkily, Gwen observed that within its tiny body rested a reservoir far more significant than what Gwen herself had accessed, and now its resources were Evee''s to abuse as the healer saw fit.

    "Kiki!" the Alraune Sprite appeared more humanoid than its prior incarnation as well. It''s leg tendrils were more limb-like and less akin to green caterpillars. It even had a little waist to go with its bulbous upper body, shaped like a rare stargazer lily.

    And though Elvia had placated her unrest with a darting peck on the lips, a sourness remained, like sugarcane left fermenting for too long.

    Was it because Elvia was no longer hers alone?

    Or was it because Elvia had pledged herself to a different patron?

    Over-possessiveness was poison, Gwen had learned the lesson from Dr Monroe, but she just couldn''t shake the feeling that a precious thing had been denied. It was a perception that, if she had to vocalise her dissent, was akin to having one''s stock portfolio two-grand short of a million, missing that sweet seventh digit.

    A great cheer rose from below. The hospital staff, those soon to be on duty, took the opportunity to share the joy of entering a new year.

    "Cold?" Elvia adjusted her head so that she rested yet more of her body on Gwen''s torso. "Here, I''ll warm us up."

    A gradual heat transferred from Elvia''s body to hers. With hyper-tier Affinity, Walken had said; unusual things happened to a Mage''s Astral Body. With her Affinity to the Quasi-Elemental Plane of Lightning, much of her body chemistry had been affected. As for the Void, that she was alive and well was itself a miracle of modern Spellcraft.

    With Evee, with the addition of TWO spirits, one Sufina''s wily Junior, the other a Ginseng masochist, had gone beyond even that. Earlier, when the script from the Cognition Chamber spat out its numbers, both Magisters had steadfastly denied the accuracy of its numeric output.

    "An Affinity of FOURTEEN?" Walken had raised a brow before passing the data slate to Rendfrey. "Well done, Gwen. We have coaxed a Celestial Archon from the Positive Plane. Our next step should be to call the Church of England and tell them we recovered the long-lost Spirit of Saint Cuthbert. Your knighting ceremonies are next week."

    "A hyper-tier Cleric would cause a wave with the Vatican, what with their anointed saints and all." Rendfrey chuckled nervously, mopping sweat from his brow. "So er¡­ we agree to keep this between us for now?"

    "Yes." Walken passed the data slate back to Gwen. "The instrument isn''t made for measuring twin-Spirits. I shall go and lodge Elvia''s Spirit Registration with the Tower. We can leave the specifics for later. No doubt, there will be questions for Miss Lindholm shortly. Best leave this to the state''s Clerical apparatus."

    "When you get back to Great Osmond Street," Gwen likewise warned her healer. "Try not to bring back the dead accidentally."

    "Like you?" Her healer''s lips were coy.

    Walken coughed.

    Gwen recalled shivering then. The Magisters had downplayed the fact, but she could see on their faces the beginnings of trouble which none of them was equipped to forestall. Perhaps that was why her nerves remained frayed even now.

    Had she, in her haste, in her love, in her all-consuming desire for Elvia''s elevation, bypassed the threshold of theoretical Spellcraft? Had Elvia, the recipient of best intentions, accidentally ascended into quasi-Godhood? She had wanted Elvia to be unique.

    But not like this.

    Christ Almighty! Gwen fought back a morbid impulse. Like the fabled Victor Von Frankenstein, what had she created?

    And the bleeding Draconic Essence!

    Had the Cog-Chamber even takenthat in to account?

    GODS! What would Yue say when she found out?

    What would their oldest friend do to her if she found out how badly she had mangled Evee''s body? Thinking of Yue erupting with the fire and fury of a fully-formed Tandy, Gwen''s limbs grew covered with goosebumps.

    "Gwen, you''re shivering again." Elvia remained oblivious. What was the healer thinking? Gwen wondered. Probably how many more Blessings she could give at the Isle before she was OoM. Her healer''s selflessness could be infuriating at times. "How''s that possible? Between Almudj and my Bless, you can''t be ill."

    "I am just¡­" Gwen licked her lips. Evee''s hot waterbottle aura was making her a little dizzy. "¡­ so happy, is all. The fireworks, this city, everything''s just so beautiful."

    "It is, isn''t it?"

    "It is¡­"

    Bung! Pa¡ªPa¡ªPa¡ªBOOM!

    A floral display in the form of a peace lily, white-hot and glimmering with mana, showered the pair with their multi-coloured light.

    A cheer broke out all across the riverbank, welcoming the arrival of 2005.

    One supernova.

    Two supernovae.

    Three supernovae in quick succession.

    "Happy New Year, Gwennie."

    "Happy New Year, Evee."

    Little Evees, each at a fraction of the healer''s Cog-Chamber luminosity, erupted all over London''s skyline, turning night into day.

    January 1st.

    Morning.

    With her nostrils still hinting at her healer''s heavenly redolence, Gwen left her healer''s college for Cambridge. In her immediate future, she would return every few days in the first week of January. Her precious hours, however, would be for business, such as at the Isle of Dogs, or to check up on Evee''s progress with Draconic meditations.

    A new year.

    A new beginning.

    Back home, on New Year''s Day in Australia, most families opted for a spring clean, meaning every window and door of every house would be open, littering the lawn with trash from the last twelve months.

    In London, with the temperature below six and snow up to the ankle, there was no such bustle. The magically inclined families would mostly be recovering from their food coma, lazing about in cosy houses with logs of inscribed yew burning gently, drawing in heat from the Elemental Plane of Fire.

    The NoMs, if they were well-provisioned, would have something to celebrate as well. If not, then as little body heat should be expended as possible in this trying time.

    Feeling affected by the view, she circled the blanketed city as it slept. The fallen snow had obscured the city''s Districts, hiding the unseen suffering lurking in its industrial borders. When Gwen did a lap around her demesne, the children waved at her. For her subjects, the sight of the sorceress in her out of season dress had become commonplace. Now, with their bellies full of SPAM and the streets cleared of mud and refuse, the kids had excess energy to burn.

    Gwen waved back, happy that the mud of Mudchute, salt of the earth had gained a little reprieve. When she circled the farm, Wally the caretaker gave her a smart salute, then commanded the dogs to give a great howl as she passed. It was a simple gesture, but one that made her well-pleased, a feeling that juxtaposed her prior oppression.

    Was this Noblesse Oblige? She wondered. What had begun as sophistry to suck up to the old Magister was now manifested in reality. If her Master was alive right now, would he be weaving a garland of praises for her head, and would he be praising her with fatherly hugs and kisses?

    It was difficult to believe sometimes; when she stepped back to take it all in, of all that had happened and what was soon to transpire. What began in Sydney as a vague desire to survive comfortably had morphed into a chimeric monstrosity with more heads and tails than she could count. At first, plunged into the inky, Spellcraft sea, she had blundered onto her self-driven quest out of jaw-clenching reflex. Like Pac-man acting on instinct, she had consumed foe after foe without overthinking, desiring only to live her second life freely.

    Promptly, she entertained a dangerous thought. She had time, and indeed, the capital to do an "Hai Song". With what she had amassed thus far, she could retreat to Sydney, take up a side-gig clearing out Mermen or difficult and dug-in monsters to bide her time. Barring that, she could even find a cushy, laid-back position within the CCP if she so desired¡ª although that might piss off Percy.

    The point was that she could¡ª but would not¡ª be Hai''s daughter.

    She had made hard promises to too many people whose lives now depended on her maintaining momentum. That, and she was caught up in the undertow of things bigger than herself.

    Gwen sped up.

    She felt trapped. An ironic emotion, seeing as she was blasting across the English countryside at over a hundred kilometres an hour, an austere member of a select Cabal with the clout to go wherever they pleased. Wanting to leave the feeling behind, she pumped more and more mana into her spell, shrinking the radius of her barrier so that she could feel the whistling wind scraping against Gunther''s double-glazed shield.

    She had been reborn into this world, free, in a fashion.

    Now?

    Now she had the legacy left her by Master, Henry Kilroy, compounded by her siblings'' promises to hunt down Sobel. She had the burden of Tonglv''s success and the rise of her family''s fortunes in Shanghai. Elsewhere, she had Mayuree and Marong in Myanma, and dragons dreaming of Centurion and Legion. There was also the IIUC''s aftermath, Lady Grey''s patronage, the Isle and its expectant folk, the printing press, the promise of Deepholm.

    Evee''s rebellion.

    For all her freedom, she was everywhere in chains.

    Unconsciously, Gwen upped her velocity once more.

    Far below, confused farmhands waved at the rumbling contrail of mist and snow, unsure of whether this New Year''s omen signalled weal or woe.

 Chapter 349 - Dolls House

    "Gwen, come in."

    A smiling member of the student-staff opened the oaken doors to Lady Grey''s office at the Master''s Lodge.

    Inside, Gwen was surprised to find the Victorian room curtains billowing, flooding the solemn office with stark, wintery light.

    "Head Mistress Loftus." Gwen bowed as soon as she entered. An arcane Quadro stood with Maxine, as for their identity, she could hazard a guess that they were her tutors. "Milords, Sirs and Madams¡­"

    There were two men and two women, and they instantly refocused their attention to catch Gwen in the crossfire of their imperious gazes.

    "Your instructors," the Lady affirmed Gwen''s suspicions before turning to the austere group with a nod. "Magisters. Please introduce yourselves to our principal contributor in bringing England''s Dwarves back into the fold. I am sure you are as eager to begin your moulding of our Void Mage as she is eager to learn your spells, so please¡ª help yourselves."

    The first to tribute was a middle-aged gruff with a self-suffering demeanour. The man''s hair, what was left of it, was slicked back and parted in the three-quarter style popular with military men.

    "Nils Kott." The Mage''s speech carried a Germanic inflexion. "Abjuration, Warding and Enchantment specialist. I will be instructing you on the creation, maintenance and disruption of Spells and Mandalas."

    "Sir." Gwen delivered a heart-warming smile.

    Her instructor appeared unmoved.

    "¡­ Major Kott comes to us from Ludwig-Maximilians Universit?t. He is on loan in exchange for one of our own. Gwen, say hi to one of the top Abjurers of M¨¹nchen," the Lady kindly bridged the awkward gap. "I asked for the Major because he has extensive combat experience. It wouldn''t hurt to ask him about the Luftwaffe''s much-lauded Undead Purges carried out in Romania. Major Kott led the spearhead operation."

    "Sir!" Gwen saluted.

    The Major dipped his chin.

    Without pause, her next tutor, an enthused individual, younger than Kott, presented his very English self. Fair of skin and dark-haired, the sorcerer sported the atypical pale irises of a Mineral Mage.

    "Magus Song, it''s a pleasure to meet you. My name is Maxwell Brown, of the King''s Browns, from Lynn. Though I do hold the title of Viscount, I sincerely hope that you and I could be on first name terms."

    Gwen and the instructor shook hands. True to his disclosure, the Viscount''s fingers were warm and clammy.

    "I shall be your instructor in Adaptive Spellcraft theory. My speciality is meta-magic, and I currently teach Spell Theory over at Emmanuel''s. With your Omni-talent and my knowledge, I hope there will be deeper profundities with which we can plumb. Once our new Meister¡ª That is, Magister Wen from Fudan arrives, she will be joining us in expanding the hitherto untapped potentials of Void Magic. I will also be advising your cousin, Miss Kuznetsova, on her thesis."

    "Petra will be lucky to have you, sir. What manner of a caster are you, Magister Brown?"

    "Myself?" Brown''s grin grew broad. "I would fancy myself an Omni-Mage like yourself, Miss Song, although I was originally a Transmuter. My curiosity during my youth led me astray, I am afraid. I am no good in combat, though I hope with the aid of Magister Kott here, our endeavour may yet persevere."

    "It''s my pleasure to be under your care, Sir."

    "The same! The same." The manic researcher withdrew with a face full of undisguised anticipation.

    "Kareena Patil," the next instructor presented herself. This one had immediately attracted Gwen''s attention. She was the only other Indian subcontinent magic caster Gwen had seen outside of Taj, and Gwen had met more than her fair share of Mages by now. With her creme latte complexion, the woman''s age appeared repressed, revealed only by the subtle crow''s feet around the edge of her olive eyes. "I''ll be taking your Transmutation to the seventh tier, assuming your potential is genuine."

    If Magister Brown had given a fiery introduction, then Magister Patil''s was a cold one.

    "Dame Patil has been kind enough to divert from her duties at Lucy Cavendish," Lady Loftus intervened before the atmosphere grew colder. "There is scant a more accomplished sorceress in Cambridge when it comes to Spellshaping."

    "No need, Maxxie, to hide the girl''s inexperience. I have seen your transcripts and your essays from Fudan, Miss Song. So much raw power without the understanding of the metaphysics that empower the phenomenon is a dangerous thing. Rarely have I felt such agony watching a sorceress trounce her way through an IICU." Kareena Patil remained aloof despite Lady Grey''s kind intervention. "If you find my judgement too harsh, then prove me wrong in the months to come."

    "I won''t disappoint, milady." Gwen bowed again.

    "I would hope not." Patil shrugged. "It''s not my CCs been burnt."

    "I am last then," spoke Gwen''s final instructor, a woman in her forties with the bearing of someone from a period film. "My name is Keridwen Le Guevel, for the duration of your stay in Peterhouse and until my dismissal¡ª I shall be your Illusionist, as well as your instructor of etiquette, speech, and decorum."

    Gwen looked up at the Lady, who masked a smirk behind her flawless complexion.

    "Raw power," Keridwen stated abruptly. "Must come with dignity. I have heard of your peerless duelling exploits and have extensively studied your actions during the IIUC, Miss Song. Sufficient to say, if you wish to one day marry into the most august of Europe''s families, you will need to perform considerably fairer than your prevailing circumstances have prescribed. My mission is to ensure that you look well, present well, and keep well so that your prospects remain undiminished."

    At the word "marry", Gwen''s brow broke out in dismay. It was well, very well¡ª that Elvia was not present to give her opinion on that matter. Thus far, other than the very confused Walkens of Brighton, she had not told anyone of that particular inclination.

    "Yes, ma''am." She relented for now. With Evee''s present condition, her buyer''s remorse was as acute as ever. She loved her healer as a Dwarf loved Mithril, but now there was a Dragon-sized chasm between the pair.

    "Great! And finally, you have one more instructor¡ª me." Lady Grey stepped out from behind her desk. "From now until you are capable of enrolling and keeping up with Cambridge''s classes¡ª I shall be your chief tutor. I will inspect your progress fortnightly, and we shall have guidance sessions per fortnight so that you may ask me questions discrete from your instructors."

    "No discretion is needed!" Magister Brown appeared shocked. "Gwen, I will give you my all."

    "What''s a Magister without a secret or two?" The Lady hand-waved the Viscount''s concern. "Now, fair instructors, you may leave us. Gwen and I shall commence our first session. Peterhouse thanks you for your morning."

    Her instructors shuffled out.

    Servants shuffled in, laid down tea, then were gone again.

    Gwen sat in front of her patroness, shy as a lamb in her black and white pleated dress.

    "An august lot," Lady Loftus began.

    "I am in your debt, milady."

    Lady Loftus motioned for tea, and to Gwen''s amazement, the tea set obliged.

    "Think nothing of it. The most important thing about learning Spellcraft isn''t having access to the best spell instructors, spellbooks or tutors. Rather, one is required to know the right questions to ask. To that end, let''s begin with the fundamentals so you won''t embarrass yourself later. Amuse me, War Mage, what Frontier nonsense have they taught you about the Imperial Spellcraft System?"

    "The IMS began as an internationally ratified methodology for practising arcanistry first pioneered by Jean-Philipe de P¨¦rigord at Saint-Cloud," Gwen''s recall was as expert as the vagueness of her historical understanding. "Later, Meister Wolfgang Maximilian of Berlin expanded the system during the unification. The Mageocracy was a late fosterer that vastly expanded Spellcraft during the hey-days of Pax Britannica, peaking just before the Great War. The controversy is that we appropriated the system from the central powers despite refusing to participate in its inception."

    "Now that''s an amusing bit of history." Lady Grey drew in the scent from her Earl Grey, a tea named after one of her ancestors. "The accuracy is wanting, I fear. Tell me, child, as a guest of the Red Keep, what have the Dwarves told you? I know the Deepdowners mention this fact at every turn."

    "Hanmoul said Humans stole the structure for the IMS from the Seven Ancestors."

    "They''re not wrong." Lady Grey''s lips curled with amusement. "Though theft is such a strong word. One may as well steal the concept of colour! Magic, sorcery, arcanistry¡ª SPELLCRAFT¡ª Gwen, is the observance of that which governs the hidden laws of nature¡ª the rules that bind together this fabric we call the Prime Material Plane. Anyone sufficiently observant enough, or possessed of an earnest desire for discovery like Magister Brown, is going to uncover its rules sooner or later. So no, I would not venture to say who stole from who. The foundation was volunteered, at any rate¡ª"

    "Elves? Ma''am?"

    "That''s right. Now there''s something you don''t read in your Frontier manuals. Gwen, you''ve been studying Spellcraft, in a manner, but you''ve never tapped into its source. Take my Earl Grey, for example, you''ve drunk it all your life¡ª but have you seen Wildland Keemun? Have you ever touched the flesh of the bergamot that gives this tea its unique scent? Did you know a change in the rainfall changes the flavour? Or drying out the soil fortifies the scent?"

    Gwen shook her head.

    "And so it goes with Spellcraft. In time, as you grow into a finer sorceress than you are now, you will inevitably meet our benefactors who centuries ago sowed the seeds, I suppose, to see what will grow. Mind you, I am speaking only of the IMS. Long before the Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar gifted their unique, esoteric understanding, magic was studied in enclosed Enclaves and hidden Cabals, consisting of Wizard Circles, Witch Covens and Warlock Conspiracies. And of course, we mustn''t forget the Vatican¡ª though that''s another sarcophagus altogether."

    "The Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar?"

    "Indeed. It is what the High-born call themselves."

    "Ma''am." Gwen could barely contain the excitement in her voice. "Are you saying Elves taught us sorcery?"

    "No," Lady Grey bid Gwen curb her enthusiasm. "And nor is it ''Elves''. Our allies are a fringe group of forward-thinking radicals, and what they engendered was the beginnings of something no Demihuman could conceive, the ''rise'' of Humanity. Can you imagine, Gwen, that though there are now billions of humans dwelling upon the Prime Material Plane, we were once the runt of Terra''s litter? The most impoverished of the sapient races?"

    "Is Spellcraft Elven?" Gwen did her best to digest the Lady''s words, but her focus remained steadfast locked onto Elven matters.

    "I see Henry''s education has heavily favoured pragmatism," Lady Grey patiently commented. "Practice without context, how flavourless that must be, dear."

    "I didn''t mind it." Gwen stopped to retrieve a sweet biscuit.

    "Just as well then. I doubt your other tutors would be as inclined as I am. They''re used to older, more knowledgable pupils. Anyhow, to continue, let us begin with antiquity. No, Spellcraft isn''t Elven. Humans always possessed their own magic. From the ancient rule of the First Dynasty to the Israelites'' uprising against Ramses II, rare individuals in history have appeared with "Talent". Have you not heard of the Greek heroes of antiquity? Hercules? Hector, Perseus, the wily Illusionist Odysseus? The indomitable Transmuter Achilles? Doesn''t it make your blood boil, child, to think that despite our not so distant history, explosions of raw Human talent had germinated empires stretching far beyond our means? Ancient magic, Faith magic, and... Necromancy... evolved entirely on its own, surprising even the Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar."

    "The Elves¡­" Gwen reiterated.

    "Yes, yes." Lady Grey smiled. "As for Elven intervention, there exists no lack of circumstantial evidence. That said, the Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar''s schemes are beyond human history, if simply because the original contractees, their children, and their scions, had less life in them than the lowest Tr??lvor. Where the Hv¨ªt¨¢lfars have interfered in history, we have only ruins to tell the tale. For instance, Sumeria''s rise to power hinted heavily at the involvement of the Fair Folk."

    "Sumeria... Gilgamesh? I thought that part of the world consists of nought but Elementals and Black Zones?"

    "Indeed." Lady Loftus took a sip to wet her lips. "Present-day academics believe the Mesopotamian intervention by the Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar may have to do with the growing potency of the Eleventh Dynasty and the rise of the Canaanites, who by now had developed a potent form of Faith-craft. Do you know of Enkidu?"

    "The man-bull."

    "Right. Gilgamesh''s constant companion, was a being ''created by the Gods'' to interfere with the urban King Gilgamesh''s conquest. From what we know of the noble Elementals residing in the Babylonian basin, Enkidu was likely a simulacrum of sorts¡ª a Flesh Golem created by the Archon of the Elementals, Ishtar, keeper of the Sacred Plains. According to the surviving manuscripts, the Golem was peerless in combat and all but resistant to magic. If so, how could a fledgeling King defeat such a being created from the raw magic of creation?"

    Gwen''s brain bloated from the flood of information. Elementals, deserts, ancient history, Faith Magic, Spellcraft¡ª But then again, wasn''t that the nature of history? The chronicle of Humanity was by nature an interwoven web of causation, tottering from one tragedy to the next, with kingdoms rising and falling like sandcastles at high tide.

    "From the Epic of Gilgamesh, the poets speak of a companion of the King¡ª a ''temple maiden'' called Shamhat. She left his side, alone, mind you, to tame the Golem with her demi-divine body. In the desert, she made love to the creature for seven days and seven nights, until the Enkidu''s angst abated."

    "¡­ how lewd."

    "Poetic epics, much like our popular vid-cast, frequently whets its audience with high appeals to low appetites." The Lady laughed, pointing to Gwen''s exposed ankles. "Have you seen your IIUC broadcasts? I am afraid not even the highest institutions of learning is above titillating the audience for ratings."

    Gwen hid her cringe with another biscuit.

    "Anyway," the Lady continued. "Enkidu has no gender. It''s a golem. It has no genitals. Elementals do not reproduce as we do. It is neither male nor female. How does one make love to that?"

    "¡­ the Epic''s composers must have had an incredible imagination."

    "Haha¡­ indeed. Of course, now we have confirmation that Shamhat was a Lj¨®s¨¢lfar, an acolyte overseeing the Sumerian Sects. Our Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar herders wanted to see if our tenacious selves, capable of populating the harshest of habitats, could be a war potential against Ishtar."

    Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

    "We were the Elves'' spell fodder?" Gwen stated incredulously. "But¡­"

    "And therein lies the Hv¨ªt¨¢lfars'' dilemma. Humans, up to a certain point, whether now or in history, are easily steered, at least at first. Unlike the other races, say the Dwarves, with their ageless tradecraft, or the Green-skins, with their versatile mutability, or the Mermen, unparalleled in their propagation, what Humans excel in¡ª is chaos."

    "Chaos?"

    "Raw, unmitigated, chaos¡ª which we shall call innovation, invention and experimentation." The Lady''s face grew flushed. "That''s the beauty of our race, Gwen. Humanity can neither be contained or controlled. We proliferate regardless of the circumstances. With the meagrest aid, the slightest of hints, the most fragile seed of knowledge, we can bring about great booming Towers that defy distance to suck the marrow from Terra herself! Our benefactors may have withheld the true knowledge empowering magic¡ª but Humankind overcame! The Dwarves sold us their Runecraft for food and materials, so we mimicked their Mandalas! The Mermen''s attacks revealed the abundance of resource in the ocean, so now we harvest their kin, year on year!"

    The Lady paused for effect.

    "It is undeniable that modern magic and its foundations were never ours. Yet, it is without a doubt that we Humans are the legitimate successors of Spellcraft as it now exists. Human magic lacks nuance, as the Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar would say, and stability, so say the Dwarves¡ª but it''s ours. Only in our hands, does it flourish, do you see?"

    "I do." Gwen felt as though passing through a threshold. "To surmise, the methodology of magic is akin to language, right? Incantations are the words moulding the mana, invocations its grammar, its resultant metaphors and synecdoches are the spells we shape. IMS¡ª is arcane linguistics, for Humans. And like English, it is constantly evolving. Though its origins are myriad and rooted all over the world¡ª from culture to culture, race to race, its semantics remain coherent enough to communicate every idea, from the simplest order to the most empathic Ode. What the Elves had begun, and we Humans propagated, is now a common and accessible linguistic system for all Humanity to tap into sorcery, heedless of racial and cultural backgrounds!"

    Lady Loftus carefully lowered her tea. "Brilliantly surmised. Very concise. No wonder Henry saw something special in you. You''re not just beauty and brawn, my dear! What a dangerously brainy little kitty you are."

    "Why isn''t this common knowledge?" Gwen asked. "I feel embarrassed to be so delayed. Not even Master was forthcoming, and he taught me Dimension Door out of his very own Spellbook."

    "Oh, there''s much you will need to un-learn. Since you mentioned Spellbooks, let''s move onto that. The Grimoire, as you know, is a fundamental aspect of the Tower System your Master set up. The spells contained therein are accessible by anyone with the CCs and the talent, a pillar of the Mageocracy''s centralised infrastructure. Had you stayed on the Frontier, you would have spent your whole life collating CCs to purchase the spells crafted by your betters. But now¡ª furnished with proper access to the source of Spellcraft, you may compose your own. A spell, when deconstructed, is merely an arcane syntax, as you have interpreted."

    Gwen understood what her matron was saying. Give a man a fish, and he''ll eat for a day. Teach a man Magic Missile, and he''ll roast squirrels for life. Pre-written spells were rote learning. True Spellcraft was academia.

    "Another question?" The Lady was enjoying herself.

    "I do." Gwen had been fermenting one since last year. "I have a question regarding Affinity. Is it possible for a Mage''s Affinity to exceed 10?"

    The Lady cocked her head ever so slightly. "Worried about Miss Lindholm?"

    Gwen''s eyes grew wide and innocent. How did her patron discover Elvia''s talent so quickly? What did the Lady know?

    "I take the Familiar ritual was successful?"

    "¡­ Yes, ma''am."

    "I see." Maxine Loftus grew contemplative. "I suspected that at some junction, I will have to raise the topic of Miss Lindholm with you, though if you are acquiescent, I am more than happy to discuss the dilemma now."

    "Dilemma, ma''am?"

    Lady Loftus carefully stirred the sugar. The tea set added the milk, though she did not take up the fragrant beverage. "First, let us address the matter of Miss Lindholm''s undeserved Affinity. It is NOT fourteen. Magister Rendrey and Walken are right in suggesting that the script is in error. Miss Lindholm''s original talent is admirable but common. Even with her Alraune, she remained merely impressive. Unlike you, her ascension would not be for another decade or two, or five, not until the Alraune matures¡ª whereupon she shall make a passable Combat Cleric."

    "Is Kiki not... suited for Evee?"

    "Why would it be? Let me be honest¡ª the Alraune is wasted on her. I know a dozen students, Prime Mages like your Master Henry, who''re still waiting to discover their life-long companions."

    "Oh¡­" Gwen felt her heart prickle.

    "Of course, the nature of Spirits and their acquisition is less predictable than the English weather. No amount of longing will gift them with Miss Lindholm''s fortune."

    Fortune? Gwen felt guilt lick her insides. If Sufina hadn''t gotten to Evee, Yue and Whetu in time, she would have shipped three desiccated carcasses back to Australia.

    "An excess of fortune, however, is a terrible thing," the Lady stated ominously. "I understand you have transactions with members of the Ordo Draconis, dear. What I don''t understand is why you would offer up your dearest friend to be a ''Vessel''."

    "A¡­ ''Vessel''?" Gwen felt cold sweat soaking her dress. "What do you mean, ma''am?"

    "A Vessel, an Essence holder, a¡ª" Lady Loftus appeared to study her face to see if she was lying. When Gwen''s guileless orbs spoke of complete earnestness, her House Mistress grew incredulous. "Oh, dear¡­ You didn''t know?"

    "I¡­" Gwen bit her lower lip. "I''ve sort of just blundered and blasted my way through obstacles thus far."

    "Goodness gracious. I take back what I said earlier." Lady Loftus raised a hypercritical brow. "You understand YOURSELF to be a Vessel of the Mythic that resides in Ayers Rock, do you not? Your brother-in-craft was as forthright as he could, but as you know, Henry was a deeply private individual."

    "Ma''am, do you know about Almudj?"

    "Should I know about Almudj?"

    Gwen grew silent.

    "Gwen." The Lady''s tone grew serious. "I am your custodian and patron. Peterhouse has thus invested so far, two Senior Magisters and a Meisterhood, not to mention countless favours. For your instruction, I may be giving up much more. In return, it is your responsibility, your very purpose, to live up to mine¡ª and Henry''s¡ª expectations. You must make up for what Sobel destroyed."

    "And what is that?" Her tone grew low and agitated.

    "Do you recall what you told Henry?"

    "A deterrent," Gwen recalled her grandstanding.

    "Correct. Peace through the threat of absolute destruction¡ª mutual if it must be. Wars are coming, kitten. We will need your talents in the days to come to prevent another Sydney."

    "You can''t be serious." Gwen gulped. They were tottering from crisis to crisis, and she could hardly catch her breath. "With who?"

    "With whoever wishes to threaten our cities. The Mermen, the Undead in Eastern Europe and North Korea, the savage Demi-humans of the steppes, the Elementals East of the Fire Sea; Spectre''s shadow. We have been at peace, in a manner of speaking, for three decades, Gwen. Do you know how bloated the Empire has grown? How overtaxed the Communists have become? How ravenously the Americans plundered the New World? Humanity is a simmering vessel, and without the means to vent¡­"

    The magic kettle whistled.

    "¡­ We have strayed." The Lady sighed. "Back to the matter at hand. You are a Vessel, by definition if nothing else. Miss Lindholm is a Vessel. Each Vessel wishes for certain boons when they take on their agreement with their respective Mythics. You wished for life¡ª I assume, to offset the Void ravaging your body; and Miss Lindholm wished for unparalleled proficiency in her profession of choice."

    "So, the Affinity isn''t because of Sen-sen¡ª" Gwen almost bit her tongue. "That''s the Ginseng¡­ from the Mythic''s sanctuary."

    "The Ginseng is the conduit," Lady Loftus clarified. "The more profound the conduit, the more conducive the contract. I wonder, what was your conduit?"

    "So Elvia¡­"

    "Is no more improved than she would have been otherwise. Assuming the girl began with an Affinity of 4, I would place her Affinity at 8¡ª a tragedy, considering what two Plant Mages could have achieved with the same opportunity. Think, Gwen; the Mageocracy has missed a chance to produce two facsimiles of Henry. Why didn''t you listen to Ollie? Or Mattias? They''re right, you know. One wonders why you take your senior''s advice for nought. Had you made the right choice, two Great Houses would defend her to the last heir, while she could have remained simple and sheltered."

    Gwen said nothing. Her mind was too numb to respond.

    "Now, thanks to your generosity." Lady Loftus'' criticism was without mercy. "Miss Lindholm will have to make up to us. A Mythic''s Vessel makes the rarest of Mages, you of all people should know. Why else are you special? How many Void Mages may use Void Magic with impunity? Who can do what you can do, at your age? You''ve put Miss Lindholm in a precarious position, Gwen."

    "What will happen to Elvia?"

    "Once her talents are verified." Lady Loftus was once again studying her face. "Your friend will be transferred into the Order of the Bath, where she shall work toward becoming a Knight Companion."

    The colour in Gwen''s cheeks rose several degrees. "No way. A Knight''s Companion¡­"

    "... Is a title and a Rank, denoting membership in the Order of the Bath. There exist only twenty-four official posts otherwise." Lady Loftus sighed wistfully. "Good grief. The dangers of ignorance."

    "Sorry." Gwen was still reeling from the idea that she and Elvia were "Vessels". Why hadn''t anyone told her before? Then again, who in her orbit had been an expert on Draconic vassals? Ayxin of course¡ª but the Dragon Princess owed her nothing. If anything, their mutual admiration for Jun made them natural competitors. "Ma''am, is this common knowledge?"

    "Nothing involving Dragons can be common. In this regard, we have only hearsay. A better instructor than I... might know more."

    Gwen tried to regulate her breathing.

    "Which brings us to an unpleasant topic of conversation." Lady Loftus drew a Glyph in the air. The windows slowly swung inward, leaving the room utterly silent but for the crackling of the inscribed yew logs. "Gwen, can you clarify what your intentions are with Miss Lindholm?"

    "Protect her with everything I''ve got, Knight or no Knight," Gwen stated.

    "¡­ I mean as a companion."

    "Oh¡­ OOH." Gwen''s lips made an "o".

    "Always check for crows on your outings¡­" Lady Grey pointed outside the window, were a pair of crows, ubiquitous in London, sat opposite the French windows. "Or use your Portable Habitat. Why in God''s name would you do that sort of thing in plain view, when there''s still light? At least wait for nightfall."

    "Ah¡­" Gwen choked on embarrassment. She doubted her conversation with Elvia would have gone nearly as well if they had discussed it in the privacy of the Habitat''s bedroom.

    "It was just as well they were my Crows, and not Ravenport''s."

    "Oh thank God¡­" The unceasing revelations had made her quite breathless. "That said, milady, am I to understand you''ve been spying on me?"

    "Firstly." Lady Loftus raised a finger. "It is not my business to question how you spend your time, or with whom you find your fun. What I loath is your lack of discretion."

    "Understood." Gwen lowered her eyes. "I shall be cautious next time."

    "Secondly." Lady Loftus raised a second finger. "Being a Vessel completely complicates one''s political capital."

    Gwen grew silent. She empathised with her patron''s position¡ª but what about Evee? Had she inadvertantly fucked her friend sideways?

    "Thirdly, should Miss Elvia elevate herself¡ª and she shall¡ª that will mark her as an Exalted of The Most Honourable Order of the Bath, a bearer of its burnished sun crest. Her duty means she shall not have you or anyone as a carnal companion. Should she renounce celibacy, her position and the Relic she bears¡ª"

    "And what if Evee doesn''t want to enter the Ordo?"

    "So long as she is a citizen of the Mageocracy, a healer, and a Vessel, what has been squandered will not be squandered again."

    "She can''t refuse?" Gwen''s tone grew menacing.

    "Why the upset? It''s not as though you can deny your future Magisterhood." Lady Loftus remained unfazed. "The Mageocracy will not risk either of you slipping from its grasp; your extinction would be a preferable alternative¡ª that or Stasis."

    "If I may be so ungrateful." Gwen fought back the death-chill in her chest. "May Elvia and I leave for the New World? I have received offers from them as well if you must know."

    "Of course, and endure WORSE terms? With folk who don''t harken after Henry, who don''t care for your companions? What would Gunther think of such ungracious behaviour? Not to mention Miss Lindholm, with her ordinary talent, would not survive a year in the Protestants'' Lutheran Seminary. They''ll break her like a bare-back heathen on the wheel. If you wish to cut and run, Gwen, I would recommend China. Naturally, we would withdraw our Magisters, and Wen''s Meisterhood will be rescinded. But I am sure the Godless Communists would welcome a Void Mage."

    Now that the Lady''s sweetness was spent, Gwen realised that Maxine Loftus was far from gentle and beyond terrifying.

    The Lady''s candidness, however, was refreshing.

    "I understand." Gwen nodded. "My enquiry was¡­ academic."

    "And my advice merely hypotheticals." The Lady smiled. "Remember, whatever you wish for Miss Lindholm, think of your own future as the herald of our cause¡ª consult someone¡­ Richard perhaps, or Gunther, if you find us oldies wanting. Don''t let either of your Affinities¡ª or your patron, decide for you."

    "I understand." Gwen took a deep breath. "¡­ out of curiosity, Ma''am, just how much of my condition do you know?"

    "How much do you wish to divulge?"

    "I''d prefer none."

    "Then leave it at that. Didn''t Henry say that Magisters and secrets all go together like Dragons and Virgins? It comes with the title, dear."

    "One last thing, if I may be so forward¡ª society and nobility aside, what would the Tower, the Mageocracy even, perceive of my¡­ indelicacy with Miss Lindholm?"

    The matron of Peterhouse smirked. "It''s not all doom and gloom, Gwen. Let me conjure a Greater Image for you. As you are now? You will lose a significant portion of your freedom. Later, if you graduate a Magister of the Middle Faction, most if not all will turn a blind eye, as your worth far outweighs the trouble of censure. And if and when you become a Tower Master, even the Grand Master of the Order of the Bath will grin and bear whatever you wish to do with their Companion. He may even see your affection as a leash, well worth a sullied Companion. Beyond that..."

    Maxine Loftus took a deep breath.

    "¡­ there are two endgames. If you become a great bower for the Mageocracy as Henry was, then truly, there are very few shackles to your freedom other than those of your own making¡ª family, Apprentices, favoured folk. If you become its vorpal sword¡ª as Sobel was meant to be, then who would dare question anything you do?"

    "I see." Gwen rested both trembling hands on her knees. "Thank you, Maxine. For being so sincere with me. In the same vein, may I know more about my Master? I know so very little about him."

    "You may." Her patron willed away the tea tray. "But our present lesson is at an end. I have business elsewhere. Do remember that the IIUC''s final results will be out in a fortnight, so plan your London outings accordingly. Heed well my advice, child. Speak to your ''friends''. If you feel depressed, go and see the sights in Cambridge. Also, ask Keridwen to change you into something more official. You are, after all, a Cambridge celebrity¡­"

    London.

    Nightingale College.

    The first medic-call of the year sounded across the courtyard of the research building. Though not a principal port of call in London, the teaching hospital does cater to patient overflows arriving from combat zones all over the Mageocracy and its territories.

    Deep within the hospital''s bowels, the Teleportation Circle linking it and the Shard flared Mithril and quicksilver, pulsing in tune to the siren''s wail keening after the hospital''s skeleton staff.

    A physician in customary white, stained with congealed gore, appeared beside a gurney to greet the rush of nurses and doctors stationed since the evening. Promptly, the incoming physician drew a Glyph in the air.

    "Magus Joseph Carmichael, requesting triage handover to Nightingales!" the transferring doctor called out. "The patient is Magus William Fitzgerald, Code Orange, suffering from acute pulmonary obstruction due to quasi-magical diffusion of the alveolar. Currently, the patient has a situ Weiss-Hermann portable Ventilator implanted via trach. Pharmacology reports 5mg of Prilosec per alchemy cycle, catalysed by 1mg of Stirgenix. Potion injectors are infused with 12mg Ipratropium infused with 30-70 Wyvern serum."

    The receiving practitioner caught the glowing Glyph.

    "Magus Derek Hope, initiating handover." Hope took one scroll through the data slate and deflated. "Jesus... are you serious?"

    "Yes. Acute trauma of the left lumbar, punctured lung, poison, and Arachnid Hex, tier 4-5."

    "Active?"

    "Repressed, for now."

    "Christ, he''s sixty-four? Multiple combat tours¡­ old injuries¡ª the Boer Conflict, the Ashantee War¡ª That''s two decades ago. How the hell is he still standing? Why was an old vet like that still serving in Ireland?"

    "Don''t ask me." Doctor Carmichael shook his head. "We''re barely keeping the floor open over at Dublin at the moment. I hear the staging zone on the Isle''s a bloodbath."

    "Dare I ask why Magus Fitzgerald has arrived at our teaching hospital rather than Black''s or Royal Alfred''s or Cambridge?"

    "I don''t. Do you?"

    The room grew uncomfortably silent.

    The gurney''s diagnostic magic beeped.

    "Not at all." Hope swore internally. The patient, as far as he could tell, was a political case. For various reasons, the older generation of combat vets possessed bodies insensitive to magical healing. Some of them had wounds from Hexes that no longer existed, thanks to the Mageocracy''s extreme prejudice during the Beast Tide. Others had scar tissues both inside and out, piling on top of damage decades in the making. Nonetheless, any hospital that allowed a "War Hero" to die received a black mark. To send such a patient to a teaching hospital to allow the younger physicians to test their mettle under the pretence of triage, was a way to preserve the reputation of the Great Hospitals.

    "Who''s rostered right now?" Magus Hope turned to his team of nurses. "In the Emergency, I mean."

    "Doctor Lindholm and Witherspoon," the machine-nurse replied without hesitation. "Ser Witherspoon is a fine physician, and as for Doctor Lindholm, she''s the one with the reputation, sir, she''s why Lady Astor did the shakeup last year."

    "Director Aston¡ª do you mean the trouble maker who got herself a pledged Knight of St Michael by sucking eggs?"

    "Yessir."

    "Hmm¡­"

    "I should go." Doctor Carmichael returned to the circle. "I assume our patient will receive your utmost duty of care? He is, I should remind you, a holder of the Gallant Cross. There aren''t too many Maguses with that sort of standing left in London. The home office will not be pleased."

    The portal flared.

    With Carmichael fled, Hope turned to his attendant. "What else do you know?"

    "Not much. Doctor Lindholm has recused herself from Lady Astor after the Director returned to Cliveden. She is also a close associate of Lady Rothwell, though only the SRC President and not the family. Beyond that, I do not believe she has any sponsors. Oh, she also chums with one of the Frontier contestants from the IIUC, the Void Sorceress."

    "You seem to know an awful lot, Marie."

    "It''s common knowledge in the ward, sir. After she stirred up all that trouble with Lady Astor and got Nancy and the girls removed from GOS, here at Nightingale, we''ve kept an eye on her."

    On the gurney, the diagnostic displays began to issue the inevitable warning signs. As expected, the alchemical infusions were failing.

    "Very well." Hope acknowledged the time for deliberation and discussion was over. "Put him with Miss Elvia. Send her an assistant as well. Tell her to do her best¡ª and that she won''t be held accountable even if the Magus succumbs to his natural condition."

    "She won''t?" The nurse appeared disappointed.

    One glare from the Magus was enough to wilt his nurses'' questioning eyes. The stupidity of these waifs was beyond comprehension. Were they afflicted with Enfeeble Minds from birth?

    "Go now!" Hope barked, tapping his slate to confirm the transfer. "And don''t forget to tell Miss Elvia we have the utmost confidence in her ability to apply her training."

 Glossary

    Sanctioned Schools of Magic

    (Sigils by Lampshade)

    Evocation

    The most commonly awakened school in modern Spellcraft, Evocation is a school that manipulates energy. Evokers become the mainstay of the citizen-soldiers, wielding spells of Fire, Earth, Water, and more exotic elements such as Lightning or Radiance. As Evokers mature, they become more specialised in a particular elemental affinity, taking up specialist equipment, attunement and contract Spirits. In the media and propaganda, the Evoker is the archetype Mage, the spell slinging, fireball blasting Sorcerer of yore, tapping into and drawing limitless power from the elemental planes.

    Abjuration

    Abjurers weave spells that protect, block, dispel or banish. An Abjurer is a common but highly sought after profession. Abjuration made Shielding Stations possible. An Abjurer possesses the unique ability to utilise restoration spells such as De-Curse and the ability to dispense protective AOE combat buffs. Specialists in this field typically contract elementals of earth, ice, and water, all of which are relatively common.

    Conjuration

    Conjuration is a school that materialises creatures or materials for the caster. A Conjurer becomes a one-man army after mastering higher tiers of Magic. Through Familiar rituals and or contracting Magical Creatures, Conjurers gain life-long companions that grow with the Mage in power. Due to this advantage, it is not uncommon for Summoners to become several magnitudes more powerful than Mages of equal tier. The disadvantage of Conjuration is the persistent mana drain caused by most of its sustained effect spells and crippling loss of combat potential to specialised Abjuration such as Banish. Certain Conjurers choose to focus on the summoning of items or beings. These valuable individuals are also responsible for the Teleportation Circles around the cities.

    Divination

    Diviners reveal information. They are highly prized for their cognisant abilities in detection and foretelling. Many diviners go on to become telecommunication specialists, becoming key intelligence and strategist operatives who serve a multitude of critical roles. Other schools of Divination focuse on disaster deterrence, by reading the threads of time and fate. Despite their lack of offensive capabilities, it is said that the most influential Magi on the United Nations Council is the Oracle of the Acropolis. Though the Divination school has no preference for elemental afflictions, it is a school that synergises well with subsequent studies of other schools. Many Diviners go on to become Magus or Magister.

    Enchantment

    The school of Enchantment remains the most difficult and expensive to train of all schools. Capable of imbuing items and buildings with protection, strengthening materials and extending persist phenomena - Enchanters are essential to humanity¡¯s cities. The world''s most successful manufactoriums and artisanal workshops are all operated by skilled Enchanters. Unlike regular Mages, many Enchanters seek to master additional schools such as Transmutation or Abjuration for the creation of magical items. A dangerous school within-a-school of Enchanters are those whose abilities allow them to control, manipulate, and glamour the minds of others. Mind Mages are closely watched by government forces, for the misuse of mind-altering effects on others could lead to life-imprisonment or banishment.

    Illusion

    Illusion is the magic of mirage, the altering of perceptions to create false visions. Many Illusionists go on to become involved in espionage if they choose the path of the militant. Many others, however, have elected media and entertainment, creating spectacles for adoring audiences, becoming superstars of immense prestige. Illusion spells which deal damage attack the mind directly, creating what is known as psychic feedback.

    Transmutation

    Transmutation is an unusual school in that it changes the caster and the objects they touch, manipulating the properties in powerful ways. In the present world, Transmuters become builders, architects and creators, working hand-in-glove with Enchanters. In combat, some Transmuters choose to specialise in manipulating life itself, changing plants, creatures, and even themselves to become deadly and proficient in the art of war. It is said that Transmuters posses the most versatile school of all and enjoy the most lauded status after that of Evokers. An overall well-rounded School of Magic.

    Biomancy

    The Clerical School of Healing Magic has always existed in human history in one form or another. Some say that this was the original ''School'' of magic. In Modern Spellcraft, Clerical magic exists between Conjuration and Evocation, and is considered a ''hybrid school of magic''. Exclusively, Biomancy requires Mages attuned to the Positive Energy Plane. The combination of Healing Magic and Positive Energy often shrouds the Biomancer with a ''halo'' of sorts.

    Necromancy

    The dreaded School of Necromancy was banned after WWI following the Geneva Convention. Currently, the school is studied only by Sects authorised by the U.N, arguing that the study of souls and the afterlife is inseparably connected to matters of faith, culture and religion. For many scholars, the irony of the matter is that Necromancy is most likely the most ancient school of magic in the world; dating back to the Egyptian Pharaohs, in an age when man first uncovered magic. As such, it is more accurate to say that the summoning, raising, and animation of the dead is strictly forbidden, as much of the old world had turned into ash and cinder following The Great War with the Undead.

    Post Note: Other schools of magic likely exist but lie beyond the reach of the ordinary Mage. These include Faith Magic, ancestral worship, old world shamanism, naturalism, animalism, and so forth. By the same measure, rumours of humans learning the magic of monsters, magical beings, and demi-humanoids, or Demi-humans learning Human Spellcraft abound.

    Elements & Elemental Magic

    by Me (best with white background)

    Prime Material Plane (The Material Realm)

    The Primary Elements of the Material Plane are what Astrologists propose our world is made from. It is the very stuff of existence itself, existing in perfect harmony. It is suggested that when a Mage is attuned to a certain element, it is because that an excessive element is present within their body. Though exceedingly rare, there exist individuals who are born capable of tapping into all four Prime Elements, becoming mages capable of manipulating ''wood'' and other natural phenomena, hypothesised by Eastern Spellcraft as an individual element.

    Prime Energy Planes

    The Positive Plane - The Plane of Positive Energy is a place of pure life-force, it is where the healers draw their power to heal and mend one''s broken bones. The Undead are fearful of this energy, and the unwary caster should be as well. Too much positive power without the ability to channel it may lead to strange mutations and cancerous tumours.

    Negative Energy - Where Positive is life, Negative is death. The Undead are tethered to this plane, drawing their undead lifeforce from this domain. When ''living'' creatures utilise Negative Energy, they suffer Negative Drain, rapidly diminishing vitality. In the old days, the Mage world saw the Negative Energy as just another source of power. After WWI, Necromancy became highly controversial, gaining a dangerous reputation as a forbidden craft.

    Prime Elemental Planes

    Earth - Earth is one of the most useful and common elements awakening in Human Mages, it is the element responsible for most of our industry, mining for Mana Crystals, building our cities, and so on. It is said that one-fifth of Mages awaken as Earthen Mages.

    Air - The Elemental Plane of Air, as the name suggests, a place of gases and open space, frequently filled with thunderstorms, blizzards, microbursts, tornadoes and all manners of interesting weather phenomenona. Of the four common Elemental Affinities, Air is the rarest.

    Fire - Fire is another common element Mages manifest. Ancient legend has it that Fire was stolen from the Gods themselves. With Fire, man has created many useful tools and beaten back tides of monstrous creatures. Fire is another common element for Mages to possess and the mainstay of Combat Evokers, Transmuters and Conjurers.

    Water - Assumed to be a near-infinite volume of water, this Elemental Plane is pivotal to the survival of modern magical cities. The Plane provides Human cities with its supply of fresh water. Likewise, human cities pump its waste-water back into the Elemental Plane. It is theorised that the Oceans are directedly connected to this Elemental Plane. Water Affinity is exceptionally common among coastal communities.

    Para-Elemental Planes

    Ice - Ice is the most common Para-Element to awaken in Mages. It is a supremely useful element that creates drops in temperature - being a combination of Air and Water. The Plane of Ice is said to be a tumbling expanse of frigidity with islands of glacial ice. Ice provides good defence and offence capabilities, as well as chill and slow effects against water-based enemies.

    Ooze - Ooze is a stranger element, scarce and virtually non-existent outside of isolated magical bloodlines. Ooze Mages are specialists, pending on their school, with spells that focus on entrapment, debilitation, poison, and other strange and mysterious effects. A speciality of the Ooze Conjurer is the ability to summon creatures that exist within that elemental plane - Oozes. It is theorised that some oozes are virtually indestructible except by other Specialist Mages. Ooze is the combination of Water and Earth. Mud is a derivative of Ooze, though far closer to the Elemental Plane of Water than true Ooze Mages.

    Magma - The Magma Mage is unique indeed; a rare combination of Fire and Earth. These Mages are typically found where there are volcanic islands or fjords. Their power combines the physical prowess of the Earth Mage, with the damage potential of the Fire Mage.

    Smoke - Smoke is the marriage of Air and Fire. Smoke is an element that is said to only exist in legend. Very little is known about Smoke Mages or the Para-Elemental Plane of Smoke.

    Positive Quasi-Elemental Planes

    Mineral - Mineral Mages take their capabilities in the form of specialised mineral or metal to which the caster is attuned. As such, the Element creates distinct abilities that differ from Mage to Mage. A Mage capable of summoning volcanic stones, for instance, would generate obsidian shards which are brittle and fragile but possess dangerous offensive capabilities. Jedite Mages create powerful super-dense defensive layers. There are rumours that King Midas was a Gold Mage.

    Lightning - Existing between the Air and Positive Elemental planes, Lighting is the most penetrative of all elements due to its electrical nature. Lightning causes stun and paralysis, in addition to manifesting instantly and delivering payloads in a fraction of a second. Lightning Mages are preferably Evokers, Conjurers or Transmuters. The Quasi-Elemental Plane of Lightning is said to be a place of plasma, ozone and endless thunder.

    Steam - Where the Positive and Water Elemental Planes meet, one gets Steam. Steam is a rarely seen element. Only a handful of Mages are on record as having tapped into a Goldilocks'' zone where two Elements meet in harmony. There is little known about the Plane and its Elementalists.

    Radiance - Radiance is formed from Fire and Positive energy. Often mistaken as the power of Light. In theory, it should be useless, too scattered to be used offensively - too dispersed to be used defensively. It takes a special Mage, therefore, to change something so immaterial into a powerful projection of destruction. At a certain intensity, Radiance is capable of melting through solid steel, boiling blood, searing flesh, and severing matter. Not much is known about the Elemental Plane of Radiance.

    Negative Quasi-Elemental Planes

    Ash - A derivative of Negative-Fire that manifests corrosive ash and black flames. The most destructive element in the array of Elemental Planes. Ash Mages rarely live long as the Element eats away at their minds. It is said that Ash Mages exist as tortured existences whose ruinous powers rack their bodies with unbelievable pain. If one is Negative Drained by an Ash Mage, one loses one''s seven emotions and six desires.

    Dust - Dust is the most stable of the Negative Quasi-elements, next to Salt. It doesn''t have any offensive capabilities of its own but enjoys the same corrosive ability drain as Ash. The most annoying part of fighting a Dust Mage is their ability to deaden all elemental damage. Due to its abrogating nature, Dust consumes Fire, Water, Air, Lightning, even Ash. It is said to be the most stalwart Abjuration Affinity next to Mineral.

    Salt - Salt is a stable Negative Quasi-element, with the additional ability to form into a range of crystalline shapes. It''s capable of dealing extreme damage to Slimes and Oozes, as well as an assortment of creatures composed mostly of water - including Humans. The desiccation caused by the Salt Mage draws out elemental water from the bodies of their enemies. Elemental Salt is different from mortal salt, found in oceans and sometimes in rocks; it is formed where Negative Energy and Water meet. Salt is the least destructive of Negative Quasi-elements.

    Void - As the name suggests, the Elemental Plane of Void is a place of vast, perpetual darkness, where strange, forgotten things lurk in a vacuum darker than black, always hungering. It is a Plane consisting of the very idea of nothingness, a place where forgotten things end up. When manifested in the Material Plane, Void consumes matter, then disappears. Like Steam and Smoke Mages, very little is known about Void Mages. Arguably, the most famous Void Mage in Modern History is Elizabeth Sobel.

    Spellcraft and Metaworld Glossary

    Astral Body - The cognitively generated projection of one''s connection to the Multiverse, visualised via indoctrinated Spellcraft. Typically manifests as a humanoid silhouette with abstract details pertaining to the user''s Sigils and Elemental Affinity. Elements are perceived to be within the astrophysical body, while Sigils manifest Externally. Only Mages possess Astral Bodies.

    Physical Body - No matter how powerful a Mage may be, they are still biological creatures that need to eat, crap and sleep, subject to Eros and Thanatos, life and death. The Physicality of a Mage tends to reflect the degree of their Elemental affinity. Most infamously, Earthen Mages have rock-hard physiques, Air Mage are frail and flighty, while Lightning Mages have quickened metabolisms.

    Anima (Animus) - Drawn from the theory of the Meister Sigmund Jung, the psyche, the Anima (male psyche & common vernacular) and Animus (female psyche) inference a being''s subconscious self-awareness. Only sapient creatures are classified as capable of possessing Anima and Animus.

    Mana - The Gurus of Hinduism refer to this as spiritual energy or Prana. Chinese Doshi denotes this spiritual energy as Qi. Early Western Theology referred to this energy as Faith or Zeal. Modern Spellcraft unified the term as Mana, a generic word for mystical ''energies'' of any kind. The Astral Body produces mana as it interacts with Glyphs and Gates, channelling mana into conduits of the physical body.

    Mana Pool - The maximum amount of mana which a Mage can produce. When the Astral Body is no longer capable of producing mana, this is referred to as OOM, or Out of Mana. VMI - Volumetric Mana Index - is the official nomenclature for measuring a Mage''s mana pool.

    Mana Channel - Often confused with the concept of a Mana Conduit. A Mana channel refers to metaphysical pathways by which Mana produced by the Astral Body enters the Mage''s physical body. A Mage''s Mana Channels can never be damaged without injury to their Astral body.

    Gate and Conduit - A Gate refers to nomenclature describing the effect of non-elementally attuned mana becoming suffused with the Mage''s Element. This ''elementally-attuned'' mana then feeds back into the physical body. The pathways through the Mage''s physical body are referred to as Mana Conduits. Damage to the physical body damages one''s Mana Conduits.

    Essence - A metaphysical form of energy derived from a being''s existence. Referred to commonly as one''s ''Soul'' or "Spirit" in ancient Spellcraft, contemporary Spellcraft sees Essence as a hitherto little-known form of energy, separate from mana. Creatures possessing great magical power and ego possess higher degrees of Essence. Likewise, sapient beings typically possess greater essence than their non-sapient peers of the same subtype. NoMs, in general, possess little Essence. Human and Demi-human Mages possess immense Essence, a fact profoundly valuable to the study of Necromancy. Theoretical Spellcraft propose that Essence is tied to a Mage''s ability to access particular Schools of Magic.

    School of Magic (Imperial Metric Schools) - Since unifying the study of Magic under the IMPERIAL METRIC system during the Spellcraft Revolution at the turn of the 20th century, 7 Schools of Magic exist: Evocation, Transmutation, Conjuration, Abjuration, Divination, Enchantment and Illusion.

    Hybrid School of Magic - Rarely, some Mages awaken with Magic in between the Sanctioned Schools of Magic, belonging to no School. Of these types of Magic, Biomancy: the manipulation of Postive Energy and Necromancy: the manipulation of Negative Energy, reign supreme.

    Awakening - The term is loosely used to describe an Acolyte coming to terms with their first School of Magic and their Affinity for an Element. In Frontier cities, NoM Civilians are filtered, with potential Mages tested for aptitude. In tier 1 cities, Mages naturally grow into their powers, training from an early age. A ''Stimuli Crystal'' may be used to induce an Awakening, circulating mana into the recipient as to ''jolt'' their Astral Bodies into existence.

    Spellcraft - The study of Magic. The Imperial Metric System (IMS) splits spells into 9 Tiers.

    Advanced Spellcraft Theorems - Spells whose theory and manifestation fall outside of existing methodology. Most universities study Advanced Spellcraft to push past the current boundaries of human knowledge of Magic. Those who contribute significantly to this study are awarded the title of Meister.

    Sanctioned and Unsanctioned Magic - Sanctioned Magic may be purchased by Tower Mages with LDMs, HDMs, and CCs. Unsanctioned Magic may only be acquired through petition. If a Mage is found practising unlicenced Unsanctioned Magic, they are subject to severe punishments and even disbarment.

    Sigil - A spiritual manifestation of one''s affinity for particular forms of Magic, tied to the generation of one''s Astral Body during Awakening. Each school of Magic possesses a unique Sigil under the IMS visualisation doctrine.

    Glyph - Sigils exist only in one''s mind. When Mages wish to manifest the concept of Sigils externally, they turn to Glyphs. Glyphs vary but may be thought of as symbols of power capable of channelling Magical energy as though a man-made conduit existing outside the Mage''s body. Magic Items and Enchantments such as Wards rely exclusively on complex Glyphs and Mandalas.

    Mandala - Taken from Tibetian Mysticism, Mandala refers to large-scale, complex Glyph arrays used to support complex Spellcraft manifestations.

    Spell - A series of Incantations both somatic and verbal which triggers magical phenomena when exercised with mana from a Mage''s Astral Body.

    Rite - A spell requiring time, preparation, and setup, typically includes meditation, ritual and complex external components. Rites include city-wide Strategic-Class Spells.

    Incantation - Invocations with somatic and verbal components. These are mnemonics which manifest Magic through Sigils. The higher the ''tier'' of magic, the more complex and convoluted the number of Major and Minor Incantations. Senior and experienced Mages may specialise in particular spells so that they become ''silent''.

    Shield (Mage) - Shield refers to the mental ability for Mages to form a barrier of mana around their physical bodies. Even without training, a Mage is capable of manifesting a membrane of mana, projected just outside of their physical body, which displaces hostile mana and foreign objects. Abjuration specialises in forming persistent Shields and Shields that can manifest on Mages OTHER than the caster.

    Acolyte - Neophytes and Acolytes are the colloquial names for beginner Mages. The moniker of Mage or Senior Mage is given to those with mastery over at least one school of magic, meaning access to spells over tier 4.

    Magus - A Magus is an arcanist who has gained multiple Schools of Magic through talent or laborious study. To be called a Magus in public, the Mage must undergo examination within a Tower.

    Magister - Likewise, a Magister is a peer-reviewed, publically sanctioned Magic Caster. Unlike the moniker of Magus, Magister is a title that comes with the weight of public service and responsibility of upholding the Tower''s interest.

    Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

    Meister - A Meister is a Magister, but not all Magister can become a Meister. A Meister is a Mage who has contributed significant advancement to Spellcraft, and whose work benefits all of Mankind. Claude Van Saint, the famous healer who pioneered modern magical medicine, is a Meister. Philo R. Farnsworth, the man responsible for proving that Illusions may exist as a form of media stored in Capture Crystals, is a Meister. As powerful as famous individuals like Henry Kilroy has been, his preference for keeping his studies wrapt and secret excludes him from the title of Meister.

    Magi - A Mage whose power and command over Spellcraft exceed Sanctioned limits, going beyond the 9 Tiers. A Magi rarely concerns themselves with worldly affairs. They are seen as humanity''s greatest deterrence against Demi-human and Magical Creature incursions. It is unfortunate that Magi are typically old and venerable.

    Sanctioned Mage - A Mage registered under a Tower, beholden to its Laws, Codes of Conduct, and Ethics for Public Practice of Spellcraft.

    Rogue Mage - A Free-Mage that is not registered, practices magic freely and therefore perceived as dangerous to society.

    Tier (spell) - Tier 1 to 9 of Spellcraft. Tier 1 - 3 is accessible to almost all Mages. This tier is capable of combating individual, as well as groups of Monsters. Tier 4 - 6 exists within the realm of all Maguses as well as most Senior Mages with a single School of Magic. This tier is capable of wiping out Monster lairs and Demi-human villages. Tier 7 - 9 is open usually to Magisters for reason of both academic-access as well as state sanction. High tiers of Magic can act as strategic-class spells capable of wiping out cities.

    Tier (Affinity) - The attunement of a Mage to their element. The higher the affinity, the higher the efficacy for Damage and Mana Cost. As Affinity grows, damage increases by a magnitude of 10% for every observable tier. Likewise, mana cost for spells decreases with higher affinity. Though damage increase appears to be on a linear scale, mana cost suffers from diminishing returns. As such, a spell will never be ''free''.

    Higher affinity likewise involves physiological and psychological changes for the Mage in question. Some examples are provided below, taken from the story-in-progress.

    Fire Mages are often hot-tempered and over-zealous, possessing a short fuse. Physiologically, they gain resistance to cold and heat.

    Air Mages become fragile and whispy, becoming airy and flighty in their mannerisms.

    Earthern Mages undergo the most profound physiological change, becoming taller and more robust, with enhanced musculature, increasing both strength and fortitude.

    Water Mages are known to be pliable and easily convinced, with personalities that like water, are capable of fitting any vessel.

    Lightning Mages gain increased metabolism, becoming prideful and possessive beings.

    Ash Mages are known to become apathetic. Their emotions become dulled by the continued practice of Ash Magic until they waste away.

    Void Mages are rumoured to exhibit extreme hunger, both physiologically and in terms of their psychological demands.

    Ooze Mages are said to be slothful and lazy, unmotivated and uninspired.

    Mineral Mages become dispassionate and pragmatic, often, their eyes take on the likeness of their attuned mineral element.

    Positive Energy Mages are ubiquitously known to be amiable, friendly and full of life and vigour, possessing a halo of likability.

    Tier (Creature) - A generic classification system used in common parlance to ratify the danger-level of a particular creature. Goblins usually have a tier of 1. A raid of Goblins may be up to 4 or 5. An adult Dragon up to 20, pending bloodlines. A Leviathan with a swarm of Mermen may be up to 25 - 30, requiring the mobilisation of a Tower or Towers.

    Class (Monster) - Military lexicon for the number of Mages needed to pacify a threat. Soldier-Class infer a single Mage. Lieutenant-Class infers the need for a Magus or two or more Mages. General Class requires a Magister. Usually, a party of Mage may subdue a Lieutenant-Class Magical Creature. A Party of Senior Mages lead by a Magus may defeat a General-Class Creature. Some creatures, such as Titans (overlarge Monsters) and Mythics (Land Gods) are likewise a part of this denomination. Class systems differ from nation to nation and are not an official Tower designation.

    Wildlands - Lands not occupied by Human Cities, separated into Zones. Green - relatively safe for NoM habitation. Orange - unsafe for occupancy, safe for Mages to traverse. Purple - dangerous for both Mages and NoMs, contains hostile creatures that will disrupt human habitation. Black - extremely dangerous for human habitation; zone includes creatures that predate on humans. Environmental factors may also play into codified Zoning.

    Demi-Humans - Humanoid races that share the Prime Material Plane with Humans. Friendly species include Nordic and Bavarian Dwarves, Keltic Elves, German Gnomes and Hobbits from New Zealand. Hostile races include Goblinoids, Dragonoids, Harpies, Serpentfolk, Merfolk, Mermen (Oceanic), Lizardmen, Dryads, and other sapient beings capable of speech. Like most Magical Creatures, these beings possess a Core. Some Demi-humans are capable of interbreeding with humans. The majority of Human cities are highly xenophobic and racially homogeneous.

    Magical Creatures - Creatures generated by nature where the veil between the Prime Material and the Elemental Planes are weak. Current theory infers they are Elemental creatures that manifest into the Prime Material. Magical Creatures possess Cores, which are condensed mana that serve as the anchor of the creature''s Essence to the Prime Material, giving it life.

    Cores (Creature) - From the lowest Snotling to the highest Ancient Dragon, all Magical Creatures possess Cores. Upon death, the Core shatters, releasing the wild energies contained within. Interesting fact - ancient creatures have highly condensed and compact Cores that are virtually impervious to damage.

    Spirit (s) - When a creature possesses a high level of anima, its Core may contain a Spirit. Spirits are potentially found in all forms of Creature Cores, though typically, it is exceedingly rare amongst lower order Magical Creatures. For Spirit-Seekers, the irony lies in that billions of low-tier creatures exist with a lottery''s chance of possessing a Spirit. While beings with a high probability of retaining a Core upon death, as well as possessing both ego and anima, are exceedingly rare, and more often than not incredibly powerful.

    Spirit (Mage) - A Mage dreams of augmenting their elemental powers with a Spirit. A Spirit may be acquired through directly killing and harvesting Cores, then bending the will of the ''anima'' of the creature contained therein to the Mage''s service. When successfully attuned, the Spirit is absorbed into the Mage''s Astral Body, becoming a part of the Mage''s ability to channel Elemental powers. The alternate method of gaining a Spirit is through taming existing Magical Creatures and opening one''s Astral Body to the foreign Spirit. This methodology is considered highly irregular and potentially fatal for an unsuspecting Mage incapable of melding with the entity.

    Familiars - Typically, the Conjure Familiar spell is responsible for bonding Elemental entities to a Mage''s psyche or anima. Such creatures are manifested from the psyche of the caster. When a Spirit is partnered with the Mage, the Anima of the Spirit usually takes the form of the Familiar. When a Spirit is bonded with a Mage already in possession of a Familiar, it usually subsumes the form of the Familiar and replaces it with its own. It is not known if Familiars can become Spirits through gaining ego and animus.

    The Frontier - Originally a term denoting cities which are cut off from logistical support after WWII, the term has grown to encompass all Human territories lacking geodynamic Ley-lines. Some Frontier cities such as Merauke, Darwin, Chittagong, and Izmir, are little more than Human havens eking out a living in the wilderness, serving as little more than trading ports and supply stations. Prosperous Frontier cities such as Sydney, Singapore, Naples, Las Vegas, have a quality of life nearing tier 1 cities in all but name, lacking the geography, natural resource and political power to ascend into the status of a tier 1 city. With exceptions akin to continental hub-cities like Singapore and Istanbul, the vast majority of Frontier cities have limited access to Spellcraft and Magitech.

    Tier 1 Cities - Cities build around powerful convergences of Ley-lines are considered tier 1 cities. These cities have the near-perpetual energy to supply to their internal and external Shielding Stations. To apply for tier 1 status, a city-state must pass muster with the Commonwealth Towers , joining the network of tier 1 cities.

    Shielding Station - A stationary mini-Tower built to withstand the elements, manned by Abjurers and a patrolling team of Mages. At the heart of the Shielding Station is a Resonance Crystal which projects a frequency harmful to all beings possessing Cores not attuned to a Mage. A Shield Generator Tower creates the resonance, visually manifesting as a shimmering ''wall'' or ''barrier'', and additional, smaller station refract the "Shielding".

    ISTC Station - The Inter-State Teleportation Circle Station allow Mages long-range teleportation to and from nations. Prohibitively expensive, ISTC Stations are used only by the upper echelon of Tower Mages and State-level operatives. Most tier 1 cities have ISTC stations to and from the Towers in allied cities, as well as its satellite, Frontier cities.

    Tower - A robust structure with inbuilt Enchantments. A Tower can vary in size, function and power. In most cities, the Tower functions as a way-station, a bastion, and a nerve-centre for all magical matter. Even the most basic Tower include the ability to amplify the manifestation of Spellcraft of its stationed Mages, the levitation of its structural body, long-distance teleportation and displacement, and the ability to act as a mass-communication Divination array. A tier 1 city''s Ley-lines usually provide power to the Tower. For Frontier cities with limited geodynamic supplies of mana, a significant cargo of HDMs are required.

    The Towers - The United Nation Council of Towers (U.N) refers to a coalition of all Towers from around the world formed after World War II''s Beast Tide. Akin to the U.N in Gwen''s old world, the Towers sanctify and ratify the regulation of Spellcraft, the status of city-states, and mediate the conflicts of interest between Human nations.

    Tower (Commonwealth) - Towers belonging to the old British Mageocracy, said to have conquered more than 50% of all Human lands in its Golden Age. The Commonwealth form a loose factional coalition through a shared ideology of social democracy, English as a primary language, and mutual defence-pacts.

    Tower (Independent) - Towers not beholden to any specific faction and are wholly independent (on paper). Singapore, Istanbul, Tel Aviv, and Hong Kong are examples.

    Tower (State Owned) - Towers which are a part of the global network of Towers but are beholden to their city-states or nations. Almost all non-independent Towers belong to this category.

    NoMs - Non-Magical Human Beings, also derivatively known as No-Magic. In the Frontier and tier 1 cities, NoMs serves as a labour force. The majority of NoMs work in agriculture and manufacturing, with a small percentile working in Administration and other white-collar positions. Most NoMs, whether because of indoctrination or the social climate, see the possibility of becoming a Mage, or introducing a Mage to their bloodline to be a way out of a life of oppression, poverty and mediocrity.

    House (Mage) - A bloodline of Mages usually with a powerful or influential Progenitor. A House usually includes three or more generations of Mages. A Branch House is when a potential heir, usually a sibling, starts a new House with the same bloodline.

    Clan (Mage) - A coalition of Houses sharing the same bloodline. A Clan involves several hundred individuals across a dozen Branch Houses, supporting the Main House. Clans are highly hierarchical. Clans are also unique, pending context and culture. Asian Clans focus on styles or Schools of Magic, while European Clans may focus on bloodline lineage. Some Clans operate by region, heedless of bloodline or magic. Due to the desire to keep a particular bloodline ''pure'' or a specific magical talent prevalent, marriage within the Clan is common.

    Sect (Mage) - Sects can be religious, ideological, factional, or based upon styles of Magic. In China, old Doushi Clans evolved into Sects, with famous examples such as Kunlun, Huashan, Shaolin, Wutang, The White Lotus Society and so on. The Western world''s Sects tend to be based around organised religion, while regions in continental Africa tend to have Sects based around tribal boundaries and shared ancestry.

    Currency - The objective means by which trade is conducted. Humans use localised currency, LDMs, and HDMs.

    Mana Crystals (LDMs and HDMs) - Mana Crystal is the currency used by Mages across the human cities. In its raw form, they are harvested from places where the fabric between the Prime Material Plane and the Elemental Planes are thin, allowing ''crystalised'' shards of mana to grow. Where there are large volumes of Mana Crystals, there are almost always powerful Magical Beasts. While most mana crystals are non-elementally aligned, rare and precious specimens do exist as gems and precious stones. Examples include Jadeite, Citrine, Emerald, Zircon and Turquoise.

    Crystal Currency - Defined by the World Bank as a single shard of High or Low-density crystal, containing a standardised (1 LDM or 1 HDM) volume of mana. A shard of LDM resembles a fingerling crystal akin to a 3cm hexagonal pencil. The appearance of LDM currency is exemplified by its semi-opaque state. Comparatively, a shard of HDM is transparent and without blemish, measuring 5 CM. Certification is overseen by a cooperation between the Towers and a local agency (Bank of China, for example). The volume of crystals in circulation is often controlled on the Frontier.

    LDMs - Low-Density Mana Crystals are commonly used on the Frontier and as lesser denominations. Raw shards of L-D crystal can be exchanged in terms of weight and total mana volume, but cannot be used as formal currency.

    HDMs - High-Density Mana Crystals are the currency of choice for Mages in the tier 1 cities, consisting of compressed and certified crystals.

    Currency Cards - Certified cards which contain 10 - 50 - 100 - 1000 HDMs that can be exchanged at local banking branches and Towers.

    NoM Currency - Local currency issued by the government for use by the NoM population. In poorer Frontiers and tier 1 cities with large volumes of NoM activity, the local currency is vulnerable to hyperinflation, forgery, and currency fraud.

    Demi-humans and Human Currency - As humans are the only race capable of mass-producing crystal currency, Demi-humans have taken to use human currency as the preferred unit of exchange for barter.

    Scrolls - Scrolls are a way for mages to save their spells for later use and also to use spells they cant cast themselves. However, with the increasing difficulty of a spell, the cost of the materials of the scroll rises exponentially. It always takes an Enchanter to create one. A book of spells

    Grimoire - A book of spells.

    Mage Classifications

    CQB Mage - A Close Quarters Battle Mage as the name says is a mage focused on melee or low range combat. A Transmuter, the popular military spec is near peerless at lower tiers, growing to encompass the peak of power in the middle tiers. Against Mythics, however, the CQB Mage suffers from a problem of scale. Nonetheless, no dungeon crawl is complete without a CQB Mage.

    War Mage - War Mage is a classification of the Towers given to a Mage depending on how much damage a sorcerer can reliably cause given the opportunity. Though technically all Combat Mages are suited for war, very few individuals can sustain enough output to be classified as a danger by themselves. Though the metric is not definitive, a Class I War Mage may wipe out a Hamlet or Village without overtaxing themselves. A Class IV War Mage may cause significant loss of life and infrastructure if left unchecked. A Class VI War Mage may be able to depopulate a city of 100,000 or more alone. If a Mage is capable of such abilities without significant resource allocations, they are considered a public risk, and will almost always be tracked and monitored through their lives.

    Artillery Mage - A Mage serving as mobile artillery casting large scale AoE spells. A team usually supports them, providing protection and recovery. Multiple artillery mages with support team can rival the firepower of a Tower in short bursts. In times of War, boxed squadrons of Artillery Mages are seen follow the spearhead of an assault, laying waste to all that bar their way.

    Translocator - A Transportation Conjurer specialises in the translocation of personnel and goods. A large mana pool, knowledge in Enchantment and Mandala-crafting is essential for this class of specialists. Heedless of elements, these Mages are common to every mid to significant military engagement.

    Cleric / Healer / Combat Healer - The title of Cleric is an archaic one, often used in conjunction with that of the "healer". In modern Spellcraft, there is little difference, as both are seen by the public as angels in white, delivering salvation of magical restoration where ever they venture. In reality, a Cleric is a healer trained in the use of Faith magic. Faith, being a commodity unique to Humanity and its distinct history of arcanistry, has been long-since associated with healing, restoration, and resurrection. In ages past, without Spellcraft, it was only through pure Faith and invocations passed down from generation to generation by especial individuals born with talent and genius that healing magic existed. Today, any Mage capable of channelling Positive Energy will be trained as a healer. A Combat Healer refers to experienced healers who concurrently possess some ability to protect themselves. In peace times, healers work in the Great Hospitals. In times of war, all healers are Combat Healers. There exist as a particular denomination for Clerics specialising in combat-healing in the mid of spellfire¡ª Combat Clerics. These Relic-carrying faith healers, guarded by their retinue of Knights as they lay down the mass-benedictions of Faith, may very well change the tide of a losing battle.

    Mage Flight - a party of fiveMages, usually with balaned roles, equipped with means of Flight.

    Nations and Factions

    The Britannic Mageocracy (British Commonwealth) - A Behemoth that starves to death is still the size of a mountain. Though the days of Pax Britannia are long gone, the shadow of Victoria''s "Soverenity where the sun never sets," continues to leave its mark on the world. Once the apex Human organisation on Earth, the Mageocracy has had a long way to fall. First came the Undead and the Great War, forcing the Mageocracy to commit resources away from the colonies. This imbalance resulted in the Pan-European Conflict, spearheaded by resurgent competitors mad for the unclaimed Frontiers around the globe. After the 70s Beast Tide, the Mageocracy rebranded itself as the Commonwealth, emphasising cooperation between the far green isle in the north and its vassal Frontiers, from Australia to Singapore to South Africa.

    The United States of America - The US weathered the necromantic disaster and the pan-European conflict in the early 20th century quite well, managing to profit significantly from the diaspora of Mages leaving Europe for the New World after each world war. Despite its turbulent history of genocide and slavery against the native Demi-humans of North America, the nation prides itself on individual freedom, democracy, and the single most extensive cache of domestic Magitech armaments outside of Deepholm. After the Beast Tide, the USA lost large swaths of Frontiers, most notably the Great Plains and the Rocky mountains to resurgent Demi-humans, thus confining human settlements to the east and west coastal regions and the Great Lakes.

    Central Powers (European Union)

    - ETA

    The EU is a tightly-knit league of European Nations that survived the Beast Tide of ''71 through mutual defence-pacts. Together with France, Italy, Russia and over thirty other member states and city-states, the Central Powers rivals the Mageocracy, China, and the USA as the world''s premier Human Superpower.

    Germany - Germany has remained one of the leading powers in the world, channelling a large part of its influence through the EU.

    France -

    Greece is famed for the Oracle of Delphi, who has aided Humanity in mitigating many of its worst disasters. In antiquity, Greece was once the centre of Europe, bridging continents.

    Spain -

    Russia -

    Denmark, Sweden, The Netherlands -

    Poland -

    Italy -

    The Vatican - A Church-State led by Pope Benedict XV centred on Rome. It derives enormous influence indirectly through its institution as well as directly through martial and healing Orders sworn to the Catholic religion. Of all the Judeo-Christian Religion to survive the annuals of time, the Vatican commands the vastest body of believers among Humanity, which they call Christiandom. In aeons past, the Vatican had called up Holy Wars, called Crusades against the Undead of Eastern Europe, or the Elemental Sultanates of the Middle East. Today, the Vatican remains the spiritual centre of Humanity and has not participated in politics since the Spellcraft revolution of the 19th and 20th century.

    Australia - For a country where everything is trying to kill you, Australia is by equal degrees the lucky country. As a colony isolated from almost all geopolitical conflicts, the country has weathered the various global disputes, happy to contend with its internal crisis of Mermen, Saurians, Were-roos, Dropbears, Weredropbears. Aracanids, Dingos, Were-bats, Snake-kin, regular roos, Were-mus, regular emus, Gobs, Hobs, Yobbos, Trololos and so on. Australia, perhaps thanks to Henry Kilroy, surprisingly has five Towers, though only Sydney and Melbourne may be counted as equals among their European cousins. The current Master of Sydney is none other than Gunther von Shultz, arguably the most formidable Spellslinger in the southern hemisphere.

    China - The "Middle Country" of the Orient lost much of its power in the 19th and early 20th century. However, it is slowly clawing its way back towards the world stage. It had the unfortunate luck of fighting an Undead incursion from Pyongyang in the North-east when the Beast Tide struck. Late to embrace Spellcraft and its revolutionary impact on Humanity, China''s long history has gifted it with a unique magical heritage. Presently, the Chines Communists are contending with Undead from the northern Korean peninsula.

    Japan - Dai Nippon, like Germany, was a mid-40s industrial superpower afflicted by the resource-wars. Taking advantage of China''s rapid decline at the turn of the century, Japan took both Manchuria and Korea in the 1910s, then pushed into the Chinese heartland in the 1940s as an ally of the Reich. Ultimately, the ambition of its rapid expansion placed it on the warpath with the USA. After Germany''s surrender, Japan continued to plunder China and Korea until the Americans executed the first Super Massive Strategic Magic on Hiroshima. Post War, Japan quickly embraced Spellcraft manufacturing in both Heavy Industry and consumer Magi-tech. Currently, Japan is divided between its old capital¡ª Kyoto, favouring Demi-human co-existence, juxtaposing the Magi-tech capital, Tokyo.

    Korea - Korea refers to South Korea, marked by the purification zone stretching from Kaes?ng to Kosong, as North Korea has completely fallen under the sway of the Cult of Juche. Post Sino and then the Communist split, South Korea, with the help of the USA, has rebranded itself as a primary designer and manufacturer of Magi-tech. Though the country modelled itself after the USA, feudal rule by the Chaebol, the Ten Great Corporations, each ruled by a patriarch, hold absolute sway. Its citizens bitterly jest that in America, the top entrepreneurs can change anytime; in Seoul, the Gods are immovable.

    Aztecs - The Aztecs native nation in Meso-America is in a state of continual conflict with the US. For centuries since the arrival of the colonists to the New World, Central America has been plundered, first by the British then by the new nation that rose from slaying the British. Until the Beast Tide, the Aztecan Theocracy at Tenochtitlan had been hardpressed by superior American spell power. Now, after three decades, the Theocracy and its host of Spirit-Shifters will no longer be subordinate to any authority other than their own.

    The Incas - The Inca nation managed to reassert itself in the early 20th century, casting off the Spanish colonial government in the Andes. They are in a somewhat critical position, bordering the Amazonian Black Zone. A theocracy built around the Sun Cult and its King, Inti, they also one of the most isolated major human settlement in the world. Today, the nation has developed its first Mage Tower thanks to the Mageocracy and is looking to participate in global trade and politics.

    The Ideological Factions

    Factions can be broadly categorised by "The Greys", "The Middle Path" and "The Militants" Those three cover most of the ideological spectrum Mages follow across official geopolitical groups.

    The Militant Faction - The Militant Faction is composed of Mages that believe that it is the right of Humanity to dominate Earth. They are Mages whose origins often stem from families, Houses, and Clans that rose to the top during the hey-days of Spellcraft. To the far right, members support the extermination of all Demi-Human races by way of Purges; to the left, members wish for Humanity to rule over any useful non-human beings. Though the Militant Faction is the weakest among the top tiers of the magical community, it enjoys immense support among the lower-tiers, and the among the NoMs, who see nationalistic, race-based endeavours as a way out of poverty and suffering. They also have known links to the Vatican, though the depth of that relationship is unknown.

    The Grey Faction - The Grey Faction believes that Humanity is only one more race on Earth and that while they should strive for its betterment, it should not attempt to deprive the other sentient races of resources to do so. Practically speaking, the Grey Faction serves diplomats who tie commercial links of variable degrees of savouriness with the Demi-Humans factions. To the right, the extremist Greys believe that without the NoMs, Humanity could abandon the cities and reproduce among the Wildlands as a quasi-magical race. To the left, the socialists conceive of an intermingling of human and demi-human bloodlines, resulting in the blurring of racial and magical segregation.

    The Middle Path - The Middle Path Faction is, as its name indicate, not focused on an ideal like the Greys or the Militant. If they have an objective, it would be to balance and arbitrate the other''s excesses, assisting the Militant when a Purge is necessary to safeguard a settlement and bankrolling a Grey initiative to guarantee a stable relationship with Demi-human colonies. If anything, the Middle Path can be identified by their labyrinthine network of favours, acquaintance, enmity and friendship it has woven since its funding, promoted in part by its founder, Henry Kilroy. Though the Middle Path prides itself on being the most powerful of factions, it is wildly fragmented in its power base, with a decentralised system of politics.

    Demi-Human Races

    Dwarves - The Dwarves have their original hearth in the metropolis of Deepholm, said to be located in between the Prime Material and a deposit-rich region of the Elemental Plane of Earth. The Deep is the natural home region of the Dwarves, who have been digging ''upward'' to locate resources away from the highly competitive domain within the Elemental Plane itself. These colonies in the Murk are the Citadels, the equivalent of human Frontiers. After the Beast Tide separated Deepholm from the Murk, the stranded Dwarven Thanes in their respective domains attempted, with futility to reach a network of low-ways connecting the Dwarven cities of old called the ''Dyar Morkk''. Some communities, seeing the futility of such a quest, has chosen co-existence with Humans, others chose isolation.

    Elves

    TBA:

    Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar - White Elves, the Highborn Elves - the near-immortals

    D?kk¨¢lfar - An elvish term for Dwarves (Elves of Below) Humans generally do not use this term.

    Lj¨®s¨¢lfar - Light Elves (Beings of Light)

    Svart¨¢lfar - Dark Elves (Beings of Dark)

    Tr??lvor - Wood Elves (Beings of the Woods)

    Elementals - TBA in Collaboration with @Wandysama

    Saurians - Saurians live where the Jungles are thick, hot, and muggy, such as in far north Queensland. Like the Greenskins, these primordial creatures have thrived in various forms and created vast civilisations away from Humanity.

    Mermen - The Empires of the Sea remain a thorn in the side of the Mageocracy and Humanity in general. Some scholars have even stated that in fact, Terra is not a domain for land dwellers, but rather an extension of the Elemental Plane of Water. Considering how much of the surface is covered by water, the argument is sound. For Humanity, the ocean is a place of tremendous resource, far more extensive than the land itself. The current theory for the Merman empires indicates that incursions are a form of Holy War, or that the undersea Factions are using Humanity to blunt its abundant population, a warier rationale is that an existential conflict for Earth herself fuels the Mermen Kingdoms.

    Merfolk - Different to Mermen, the ''folk'' aspect infers land-dwelling Mermen, who live in rivers and lakes and estuaries. These are either outright hostile and exterminated, or live in a precarious peace with their human neighbours. Some have even attempted to integrate into civilised societies, though most remain at the stage of tribal governments.

    Greenskins - From Snots to Gobs to Hobs to Trolls to the Behemoths, the Greenskins are perhaps, the most prolific of all quasi-native elemental creatures. Pending on the region, they take on elemental subtypes, usually tied to one of the Prime-Elementals. When spikes of mana erupt, creating powerful mana flares near the Earth''s surface, Gobs are always first on the scene, appearing en-mass to populate, then desolate the local flora and fauna. Deep in the Wildlands, whole civilisations of Greenskins exist that are millennia old. It is said that the Greenskin are long-time competitors to Dwarves, long before Humans entered the scene, and may even be collectively as old as Elves or Dragons.

 Chapter 350 - Little Seeds

    "Sterilise."

    Elvia completed the cantrip without the need for somatic components, freeing her hands to direct her Spirit and her Familiar. Across the operating table, her machine-nurse, Rosemary, a low-tier healer trained in offering support to her betters, watched with mouth half-open as she went about a two-surgeon operation solo.

    Presently, Kiki, her Alraune, kept their patient well-sedated and securely tethered to the table with a proliferation of tendrils.

    "Wound looks clean," Elvia spoke to her imaginary co-surgeon. She was used to operating without aides-de-camp. Things had not been easy at GOS since Director Astor left to pursue her political venture, nor were they better here at Nightingale. In the beginning, she had moped in Sylvie''s arms, but over time, she grew accustomed to the cold shoulders. If anything, she considered the proliferation of low-tier Mages and NoMs assigned to her a badge of honour. Her lack of malpractice had annoyed the blue-bloods to no end, but there was little else her bullies could do in case Lady Astor materialised again to enact a new round of Purges.

    "Healing Word!"

    A gentle suffusion overcame her patient''s open wound, a broken femur resulting from a drunken, late-night meeting with a taxi.

    Elvia focused the viridescent vitality gathered near her fingers. "Sen-sen, follow my lead."

    With her right hand, she directed the Ginseng''s prehensile whiskers to remove the debris still embedded in the flesh. Sen-sen wasn''t as skilled as Kiki, who was experienced by now, but as her Familiar, its Empathic Link guaranteed ease of communication. Concurrently, with her left, Elvia stabbed at the ruined flesh with jolts of healing energy.

    A thrill coursed through Elvia''s veins as she conjoined the broken bone. Simply put, it was a pleasure to heal.

    Underneath her steady lay-on-hands, the man moaned as the tissue of his thighs rapidly began to regenerate. The itch that resulted from magical healing, no matter how repressed, was something that tugged at the soul.

    "Ma''am." The nurse offered a sheet of gauze.

    Elvia glanced up. A curious anomaly the Ginseng''s vitality effected was the ability to uplift a certain offensive organ. In Oriental medicine, the plant was considered "Yang", which Elvia took to mean vigorous.

    "... Sen-sen, lower the dosage. Rosemary, can you cover that up? It''s in the way."

    "Yes, Ma''am."

    "Beginning suture," she informed the machine-nurse. "Kiki, keep him still."

    A glamour from Kiki was enough to send the man back into the void for another five minutes.

    The machine-nurse obediently handed over one tool after another. Elvia threaded the hair-thin tendril generated by her Ginseng Familiar through the incision, well-practised after hundreds of sutured bananas, grapes, and NoMs. Once in motion, her hands moved like little white butterflies, working the wound to see the dermis restored.

    "Good. We''re done. Please clean up." Elvia withdrew her Familiars. "Heart-rate is depressed. Blood Pressure normal. Blood oxygen saturation is holding. Thanks, Rose. Give him a 5mmg Remove Disease immuno-infusion once he''s settled."

    "My pleasure, Dr Lindholm." The machine-nurse wiped the blood from the patient''s leg, revealing only a pink scar. The perfection of the heal was enough to draw a gasp. "Ma''am, how did you do that?"

    "Practice?" Elvia stepped back with both hands raised. "Sterilise! ¡ª Okay, I am going to make a cuppa, yourself?"

    "I''ll keep an eye on the patient."

    "Right."

    With her heart still singing, she ducked into the break room, where already, a big jug of English Breakfast simmered on the stove. She poured herself a cup, added milk and sugar, then checked her Message band.

    Six missed Messages. But Elvia didn''t much feel like returning them.

    Under the pale hospital light, she began to mull.

    Her resounding success with her present patients had thoroughly validated the Yinglong''s generosity. Sen-sen was an amazing boon to her Affinity in more ways than one. Never in her life, never in any medical books, had she heard of a newly-bonded Spirit Familiar having both high-ability and unwavering obedience. For instance, though her Alraune followed her lead, communication errors, disagreements and incomprehension of context often resulted in less than sterling results. With Sen-sen however, she had acquired a simulacrum, one with which she could generate as many pairs of helping hands as her concentration could muster.

    The control, the finesse, the exactitude offered by Sen-sen was orgasmic compared to the primitive prodding afforded by vague fingers or rune-scripted surgical tools. As a practitioner of magical medicine, she could imagine a future where, if she possessed the knowledge, no injury was an obstacle. If a Mage wasn''t dead on arrival, she could arguably keep their biometrics above the threshold. If they were¡ª she could even enact the kiss-of-life Gwen had performed on Magister Walken.

    But the blessing of restoration wasn''t free, and for this Elvia could not help but envision Gwen''s bitter face while she revealed her new patron.

    Was her action a form of betrayal? Elvia had wondered after the fact.

    To Gwen, perhaps. But not to herself.

    Even without the Yinglong''s divine intervention, she wanted the means to achieve her desire, one her mother, her uncle, and their parents had harkened after¡ª the Hand of God. Given the opportunity, why shouldn''t she resolutely accept the personal cost?

    With complete empathy, she understood her companion''s emotions¡ª for all her vulnerability, Gwen''s affection was like a rolling, all-consuming tide. And like a moody sea, Gwen was full of ebbs and flows, hiding a Kraken beneath her undertow.

    She wanted to change the future, even though her patron said there was no diverting the Yangtze of fate. Whatever will happen¡ª will happen, and the best a demi-god or she or anyone could do was fudging the details.

    Who was to die?

    Who was to live?

    Who was to grieve?

    It was a matter of delicacy.

    If she were to beg the Oracle of Delphi, the Seeress would say that no matter the histronics, Troy would burn, Agamemnon would die, and Priam would be made mince.

    But if an actor could stay Pyrrhus'' wrath for just an hour, then perhaps a hundred souls could flee his coal-eyed rampage. If another could keep the gore-clad avenger pinned at the palace, maybe Polyxena may live, and possibly Polites'' blood need not pollute Zeus'' marbled palace.

    That was the boon the Yinglong had offered her, a seed of subversion. She would be the stone to trouble the yellow river of predestination, even a little bit, and in exchange, she would be the Yinglong''s Vessel to overlook the Calamity.

    But why was Gwen the Calamity? Shouldn''t the calamitous sorceress be Elizabeth Sobel? Already, the Void Witch had consumed whole cities, resulting in the death of untold thousands, consumed human and Demi-humans, maybe even Dragons, alike.

    "Thy Sobel art merely a seed-spawned ivy strangling the princely trunk that once nourished her." The Yinglong''s thoughts had boomed across the toiling firmament. "The Calamity is uncertainty, an anomaly, usurping the fate of others."

    Sincerely, Elvia had begged for clarity, but the Yinglong spoke only in riddles, as was expected of a being older than the Nazarene¡ª older than western civilisation. All it could promise was that when the time came, when the divergent rivulets of destiny coalesced over that fateful battlefield, she would make a choice, and it would matter.

    That was the power which Sen-sen bestowed.

    "Magnificent one, may I inform Gwen?" She had demanded of the Yinglong. "If she usurps fate, won''t she be able to change the fate of millions?"

    "Mayhap the Calamity will trouble the river more than most," the great voice reverberated within her skull. "But the burden of change art for thee to bear. If thou wilt dispose mine divine vision, then so be it."

    It was an answer Elvia took to mean that if she changed enough of the future, then the exact location of the vision, as well as the participants involved, would change beyond recognition. Tianjin would fall, the Undead would rise, but she would not know where Percy was, or Gwen, or Richard, or Lulan, or Golos. What good then, would the foresight do? Who could she save?

    "Great Dragon." She had taken as much liberty as she dared. "What does it mean that Gwen consumes the fate of others?"

    "Thou should question thy Devourer" The Yinglong began to settle back into its long slumber. "Coax from thy Calamity the truth of her cruel conception, if thou would risk thine curiosity. But recall, Vessel, that thou art destined to restore mine child. This, thou wilt perform above all else."

    It was a duty Elvia had promised to deliver, though presently, her mental map remained incomplete. So many questions remained from the vision. Why were they in China? What happened to Uncle Jun? Why did Percy, Gwen''s coddled brother, turn into a monster? Why did fire, flood and Undead simultaneously unleash upon Tianjin?

    DING! DING!

    "DR LINDHOLM, please respond." The crimson Message Glyph bloomed beside Elvia''s ear. "You are needed in Emergency."

    Elvia tipped her tea and disappeared her tea set into the Storage Ring Gwen had given her. She felt the weight of the Contingency Ring acutely on her ring finger as well, a symbolism her friend had not previously noticed, which had made her dejected for days.

    "I am here!" Elvia saw the gurney before it arrived at her station. "What''s the status?"

    The machine-nurse passed over the data slate. "Code Orange. Spider Curse. Acute pulmonary interference. In situ Weiss-Hermann portable Ventilator via trach. Infusions of 5mg of Prilosec PAC, 1mg Stirgenix and 12mg Ipratropium compounded with 30-70 W-S."

    Elvia''s eyes browsed the transfer papers, then looked down at the patient, Magus William Fitzgerald of Kildare, holder of the Queen''s Gallantry Cross. The man''s body, what''s left of it, was a sunken, sallow husk of a human being. For a Combat Mage to live so long and fruitfully from the 70s was itself a small miracle.

    "He''s unwell." Elvia replaced the slate, realising her higher-up''s ploy. "Shall I ease his discomfort until the surgical team arrives?"

    "No, Dr Lindholm. You are to heal him," the machine-nurse related the orders from the head surgeon with sparkling eyes. "Magus Fitzgerald is in your care, Dr Lindholm. Please confirm the handover and nominate your staff."

    Elvia recognised the churlish tone. It told her more than she needed to know¡ª more than the hidden condition of her patient, at any rate. Magus Fitzgerald was not likely going to survive his ordeal, not when the Spider-Curse required an open cardiothoracic operation involving individual manipulation of major organs. From what she could see, merely attempting a thoracotomy of the pleural cavity would put the Magus six-feet-under. Even if they managed, resuscitative efforts would likely fail due to the Magus'' spent vitality.

    Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

    She met the nurse''s smug eyes.

    "I see," Elvia confirmed the handover Glyph, then Messaged her colleague. "Dr Witherspoon?"

    "Sorry, Elvia, I am a bit preoccupied here," came the reply a moment later. "Perhaps ask for someone from the ICU?"

    Elvia rang a few more of her stationed colleagues, each providing an excuse or were occupied in actuality. Feeling a cold stab of ice in her chest, she considered her options. Some of the staff she could beg, some others she could commandeer. What she needed was someone to clarify her limited knowledge base.

    If it weren''t so soon since the new year, she could ask Sylvie.

    Or if Emily had been here, her friend would bring a whole gaggle of healers, both senior and junior, who would grudgingly aid their mistress''s "pet".

    But Sylvia was away up north in Scotland, and Emily was back with her family. As for the other Doctors, they would only fight her if Kiki and Sen-sen took their place. In that case, Magus Fitzgerald was as good as dead.

    "You," Elvia''s lips pronounced as her eyes scanned over the self-satisfied handover nurse. Many of the senior nurses were more knowledgable than the doctors; what they lacked was magical talent. "You can be my assistant."

    "¡­ What?" the machine-nurse, whose name-tag read "Georgia Fields", spluttered. "I am Dr Hope''s assistant."

    "And now you''re mine." Elvia pulled back her lips so that she showed teeth, a habit that Gwen often affected. "What''s wrong? Magus Fitzgerald doesn''t have time to squander."

    "I¡­" The woman was sweating. Elvia knew the healer of middling-talent didn''t have the authority to refuse her demand. Each Doctor had their assistants and aides not because of official assignment, but because of preference and habit. Whatever her excuse, the hospital''s hierarchy was absolute. "I need to return to Magus Hope."

    "Don''t you want to save the Magus? The note here says he expects me to do my utmost. Well. Ergo, I command you to stay and aid me."

    The woman gulped. "Who¡­ else is with us?"

    "No one." Elvia placed her hand on the forehead of her patient. "Its just you and me, nurse Fields."

    "You''re insane!" The woman''s eyes widened. "You''re trying to drag me down with you!"

    "Am I?" Elvia cocked her head. "Is Magus Fitzgerald going to die?"

    "No! But¡­" Her eyes darted back and forth.

    "Follow me. Or not. It''s our positions on the line." Elvia commanded. "Kiki!"

    Her Alraune leapt from her pocket to rest atop the gurney. "Keep nurse Fields close, and keep Magus Fitzgerald sedated."

    "Kiki!" The floral Sprite twirled, sprinkling the unique sorcery of her species over the weakly breathing Magus. A few more tendrils, green and wax with new buds, teased the machine-nurse.

    "Bless! Aid!" Elvia bolstered the man''s vitality.

    On the diagnostic panel, the Magus'' biometrics stabilised. It was a temporary boost, one that would fail as soon as the spell''s duration rang out. Nonetheless, Elvia was confident Sen-sen''s bolstered buffs could remain active for at least twenty-four hours¡ª for such was the efficacy attained by having a demi-divinity strengthen one''s access to the Positive Plane.

    With Nurse Fields confused and tottering on the verge of blind panic behind her, Elvia savoured the peculiar satisfaction she felt for her tormentor''s internal agony, wondering if this was what Gwen observed when Consuming her foes.

    Soon, both passed the sterilising threshold of the operating theatre. Vivian, Elvia''s former machine-nurse, appeared with a fresh supply of sanitised tools.

    "Dr Lindholm?"

    "You sit this one out, Rose," Elvia commanded her sympathiser to leave, leaving Nurse Field on the verge of breathless asphyxiation. "Fields¡ª dress me."

    "I really must protest." Fields made no move, perhaps realising this was her final chance. "I need to return to Magus Hope."

    "NOW, Miss Fields!" Elvia knew that she would call upon Sen-sen''s abilities, but had not expected that the first time she would utilise it would be against her nurses. Inexpert and with poor focus, a wave of Dragon Fear radiated from her petite body, turning her already ultramarine eyes so blue that her audience grew bedazzled.

    Rosemary, being spared the brunt of Elvia''s intimidation, took several steps backwards, then fled from the theatre. Nurse Field stood ram-rod straight and stiff as a board, appearing as though every nerve had fired at once.

    "M-Ma''am!" the nurse stammered, then almost without thought, pulled open the scrubs and dressed Elvia with trembling hands. "I, I obey."

    "For the sake of keeping your bowels dignified, please don''t deny me again, Nurse Fields." She nixed the Essence-tap so that no more gut-clenching fear twisted her victim''s spine. A surge of guilt coursed through Elvia''s chest, battling the unbidden happiness leaking from somewhere unseen. "Please lend me your knowledge. We have a hero to save."

    * * *

    Magister Amanda Hatchley had received the news too late that a Gallant Cross recipient had been delivered to her beloved college, and knew that her arrival at London would prove a fruitless formality. Still, it was her desire, her duty even, to ensure that some poor sod from her school did not suffer the consequences of degrading failure when a futile request had been laid across their lap.

    She didn''t mind the "black mark". Come budget-time; there would be plenty of alumnae defending the college.

    Instead, as an administrator, she was wary that should the students perceive their instructors as willing to push them under the Golem, the moral implication would impact morale. Thereby, once she found whoever the hell decided to pass Fitzgerald on to the provisional medics, a public shaming would be in order. Her only hope was that her culprit, likely a third-son or daughter, did not have the clout to get away with so blatant a deflection of duty.

    "Ma''am, we''re here," her driver unobtrusively reminded his mistress of their arrival.

    Hatchley alighted from the saloon like a storm on heels. Hospital Directors often suffered short-lived holidays, but hers had died from malpractice within forty-eight hours.

    In the lobby, she hailed the first Matron to cross her path.

    "Sal!"

    "Director Hatchley?" the older woman paused. "What''s the matter?"

    "Where''s the patient?"

    "The patient?"

    "Magus Fitzgerald! Gallant Cross! Is he dead?"

    "Ma''am?" The Matron appeared confused. "We haven''t heard a death knell since last week."

    Amanda Hatchley stopped in her tracts. She could hardly believe it. The bleating goats are hiding mortuary reports now? Was that why no one could answer her Messaged enquiries? Who did they think they could fool? "Take me to Emergency. Bring me an audit report of all incoming and goings since this morning''s shift."

    "Yes, Director."

    Hatchley tapped her foot the whole agonising two minutes it took for the levitation platform to descend and take her down to Emergency. Nightingale, as a teaching hospital, was not equipped with the sprawling Emergency rooms usually seen in the Great Hospitals like Royal Alfreds. Theirs was a three-theatre affair, with no more than thirty beds available, of which no more than ten had attendants.

    Inside, the atmosphere was not at all what she had anticipated.

    There was no anxiety, no grim faces, no Matrons in a huff.

    Instead, everything appeared business as usual.

    "Where''s Magus Fitzgerald?" she demanded of the desk nurse, who quickly rose halfway through a sandwich.

    "Ward 3, Ma''am."

    Amanda Hatchley wasted no time. Such was her fury that a conga-line of nurses and a few junior doctors followed her from the levitation platform down to the section housing the Intensive Care Recovery rooms.

    As soon as she was through the door, she caught a headful of perfume smelling like fresh lilies. Dispelling the scent with her hand, she pulled back the curtain, expecting more than anything to see an empty bed.

    Instead, a stunned, half-naked old Mage with greying hair with a half-shaved chest stared back at her, mid-way through picking at the pink scars crossing his chest.

    "¡­ Excuse you, ma''am." The man slowly pulled up his surgical gown.

    "¡­ Magus Fitzgerald?" Hatchley''s eyes swerved to the diagnostic panel. The blood pressure and heart rate were all within acceptable parameters. The oxygenation was well over ninety per cent!

    "Aye, tis I." the Magus'' hinted strongly of his place of origin. "You are?"

    "Director Amanda Hatchley, Nightingale''s College."

    "A pleasure then." The man extended a hand. The two shook.

    Amanda Hatchley wanted to ask why the man was alive and well, but the proposal proved too absurd for the present. "I am happy to see you''re doing well."

    "A wee too well." the Magus took a deep breath. "I haven''t breathed like this since¡­ I can''t recall, really, not since the Boers struck me with that corrosive Cloud Kill. We got the blondies back though, kicked up Firestorm from up on high."

    "May I?" Hatchley indicated to the spectrographic metre on the wall. "I wish to confirm your health if that''s alright with you, sir. A thorough head to toe, if you may permit me."

    "Go ahead." Magus Fitzgerald''s face took on a dreamy look. "Quite the Cleric you''ve got there, the blonde girl. A celestial, hahaha. When I woke, I had thought the Lord''s Angels had come for me. Yer know¡ª we really need one like her at the Isle. Is she battlefield trained? Knighted?"

    "One moment, Sir William. Who is the Magus'' attending physician?" Hatchley turned to the Matron.

    "Dr Lindholm, ma''am."

    "Elvia?" A vision of fine, flaxen hair demurely drifted across Amanda Hatchley''s mind''s eye. "Where is she now?"

    "¡­ in theatre, Ma''am. There''s an NoM patient Dr Witherspoon did not wish to operate on."

    "She is?" Hatchley raised a brow. If she, as an upper-tier physician, had been present to perform Fitzgerald''s operation, she would have been exhausted by now. Did the girl utilise Faith? If so, where was she collecting it? "That''s admirable. I''ll stay here with Magus Fitzgerald."

    Her attention returned to the Magus. "I''ll make the enquires, Magus Fitzgerald. For now, please relax. Eye of Discernment!"

    The Director swept her all-seeing vision through the Magus'' body. The trachea had healed admirably with minimal scarring of the oesophagus. The right lung remained absent, meaning Elvia had not regenerated one from scratch. The bronchi tubes were cleared of the Spider-Curse''s ruination, as well as old growths. The left lung was presently functioning under the auspice of a restored pleural membrane, flushed with oxygenated blood from vibrant pulmonary vessels.

    Interestingly, where the intercostal musculature married the diaphragm, obstructive scarring from prior injuries had been suppressed. The work was far from the hand of God, but it was the sort a senior healer might achieve with a small team of specialists; that or a Relic-Attuned Cleric empowered by Faith. Elvia Lindholm, to her knowledge, was neither.

    "Who was with Elvia?" she turned to her Matron.

    "Nurse Fields, Ma''am."

    "I meant the attending specialists." Hatchley cocked her head.

    "How''s it look?" Below her data slate, Magus Fitzgerald appeared to delight in the very act of breathing. "How long have I got?"

    "I fear you have more to give to the Mageocracy," Hatchley stated with a tone of complete seriousness. "Your respiratory system is delicate, but only compared to a completely healthy Mage sans sustained injury such as yours."

    Magus Fitzgerald''s brows furrowed. "That''s¡­ impossible, you know. I was at Black''s. They said it could not be done."

    "It is done now." Hatchley did her best to keep a straight face.

    The Magus'' expression grew hearty. "When can I go back to the Isle? I have friends there, students, Apprentices, still fighting."

    Hatchley nodded. "Matron, who was with Dr Lindholm?"

    The Matron gulped. "¡­ Just Nurse Fields. Ma''am."

    The room was suddenly hushed.

    "Are there recordings of the surgery?"

    "Yes, Director."

    "Send them to my office." The Director of Nightingale''s teaching wing felt her scalp crawl. "Magus Fitzgerald, I would advise one more day on restoratives. Matron, as soon as Elvia is done, send her over."

    * * *

    Gwen had half a mind to teleport to London when after almost a day, Elvia still hadn''t returned her Messages. The anticipation was making her hungrier than ever, shocking even Richard when they caught up for luncheon.

    When, after two family-sized shepherd''s pies, she privately explained the ordeal to her cousin, he disappointingly declined to comment on Elvia''s condition, citing that one should not piss off the boss''s boss. Instead, he spoke at length about the Isle, the Dwarves soon to arrive, and his willingness to serve as her proxy in regards to the press.

    "I am good with NoMs," Richard sold his services over a cold stout. "Let me at ''em. And the paper press! What a brilliant idea! You''ve been a busy bee, cousin."

    But inevitably, the conversation returned to that of Elvia. What could the girl be doing? She demanded of Richard. Even if Evee''s working, surely she could take a Message and fire off a quick response?

    "Have you thought Elvia might be busy doing her things?" Richard politely interjected after the fifth complaint. "You know, like you? Like me? Having¡ª like, goals?"

    And that was the end of their luncheon.

    An hour later, with Richard back at King''s, the distraction caused by Elvia''s lack of response ballooned. Gwen felt such repression that she could hardly concentrate on Magus Keridwen Le Guevel''s lecture.

    Not that it was interesting¡ª the Magus was getting her to memorise the history of England and musical chair of Noble Houses.

    Thus far, her instructor had been very patient with her disinclined pupil.

    "Let''s take a pause." Le Guevel replaced the dictionary-sized edition of Twurp''s Peerage of England and the Kingdom. "What a face you''re making, Gwen. Remember the basics when dealing with Nobles. Don''t let your true emotions show."

    "I know, I know¡­" Gwen sighed. When it came to money, she could play poker with the best of them, but when it came to the matter of interpersonal relationships, her face took on a life of its own in the worst manner. When she was deliriously happy, she grinned and laughed and smiled to excess. When the mood soured, her bitch-face could cure meat into biltong. "What am I to do?"

    "Try smiling, dear."

    Gwen grinned for the imaginary cameras.

    "Try to smile with your eyes. Disconnect it from the thoughts in your head. Its a masquerade. Your face should be calm like a lake, static, placid, reflective¡ª oh Gods." Magus Le Guevel snorted when Gwen fluttered her lashes. "My dear, you reminded me of a short-changed whore in Soho trying to coax an extra florin from a tight-fisted John."

    "¡­ I am sorry, what?" Gwen performed a double-take. A flush of heat touched her cheeks. Had her ears deceived her?

    Her instructor''s smile was pure wickedness. Where the Magus had been a Victoriana flower, she promptly grew smokey and alluring. There was something about the woman''s expressive eyes that hinted at hidden and exciting things, making Gwen''s heart palpitate. "Did that wake our kitten up?"

    "Shouldn''t you be instructing me on social propriety?" Gwen furrowed her brows. "That was a bit crass, don''t you think? What would your nobles think?"

    "Poor kitty." Le Guevel''s amusement proved as annoying as it was disarming. "I knew you weren''t paying attention. Lady Grey didn''t employ me to teach you how to be polite, Guinevere, I am here to teach you how to be..."

    Le Guevel twirled a finger.

    "Be what?" Gwen was now wide awake.

    Her instructor wetted her lips ever so slightly. With no discernible change to the setting of the library''s tutor room, the atmosphere had shifted toward that of a sleazy jazz saloon.

    "... Limber, dear. How to be more limber."

 Chapter 351 - Twist and Turns

    "Limber?" Gwen cocked her head sideways. "Meaning?"

    Magus Keridwen Le Guevel spun on her kitten-heels with the grace of a serval. "Exactly what you intend it to mean."

    "Nope, not happening." Gwen stoppered her instructor''s retort. "Prostrate in front of those Troglodytes? There are easier paths to homicide."

    "Ah, but these are useful Troglodytes."

    "But amphibian nonetheless."

    "I never took you for a speciesist."

    "What''s not to hate? They''re slimy, for one, and oddly-shaped. I assume we''re still on the topic of the nobility?"

    Le Guevel snapped her fingers. With the impact of a quick-cut film-frame from Gwen''s old world, they returned to the dreary world of the archaic tutor room, buried four corridors deep in the Ward Library building.

    "Nice trick."

    "One I''m happy to teach if you pass muster. Else, it''ll get you in trouble faster than a Void Bolt. Tell me, kitten." Her instructor leaned in. "You possess enviable biometrics, and I know you''re not above abusing it for attention. I''ve seen those lumen-captures of you in the IIUC and the Sun Herald. Look at those ankles and calves. It''s winter! Are you not pandering to the audience?"

    "A free woman can dress however she likes." Gwen''s lips curled. "It''s my body, after all."

    "An interesting statement. I don''t know whether to be impressed or appalled. And is this woman not a member of the society within which she resides?"

    Gwen snorted. "Shall I wear a shawl? Dress in a habit?"

    "If you''re visiting a nunnery, YES." Le Guevel rolled her eyes. "What are you, a child? Did mummy not buy you pretty dresses when you''re younger? Why tease if you can''t be spry? Who are you impressing?"

    "Myself." On hearing mention of her absent parents, Gwen growled. The remark about Helena had broken skin, pierced flesh then struck bone. "Don''t act as if you know me."

    "Tsk, tsk, kitten." Le Guevel shook her head. "This is why feral cats get put down."

    "You can try." She crossed her arms. "Better Mages have failed."

    "I am Illusionist, dear." Le Guevel crossed her arms as well. "If I meant you harm, you''d be raving like a lunatic already. Still, I am sure you''ll come around. Tell me, how did you think you faired in your encounter with the Exeter twins?"

    "Well enough?"

    "Is your bar set so low?"

    "And what do you expect me to do? Fight them? Winning would''ve proven far more troublesome. Imagine if they lost their heads. I like my peace. Thank you very much."

    Le Guevel crossed her legs. Unlike Gwen, who steadfastly stuck to her autumn dresses, Gwen''s instructor wore a cashmere skirt, and her ribbon-tie blouse covered her up to the chin. Yet, the Illusionist possessed an aggressive sensuality that made Gwen uncomfortable. Was it her presence? Gwen wondered. Le Guevel was neither svelte nor voluptuous. Nonetheless, there was something of a contrast between them that said "here is a girl" and "here, is a woman". It almost made her wish she was older.

    "Here''s what I would have done." Le Guevel waved a hand. With the subtlest of somatic gestures, a portrait of the twins appeared. "Let us say you''ve properly armed yourself with knowledge¡ª such as that Edward Poins and Benedict Thomas Holland, sons of John Gaunt Holland, Duke of Exeter, are beholden to Ravenport financially."

    Le Guevel materialised another bust, that of a Duke with a scar across the side of his left lip, a sharp-faced, gaunt-jawed gent with the nose like a Roc''s beak and a ridiculous bowl-cut fringe.

    "Which is good news, because you happen to be the rumoured bastard of Norfolk, Lord Earl Marshall of England."

    "You know that''s bullshit."

    "This isn''t Bonk''s, Gwen. Its politics. Had you known this, you would have deduced that the twins wouldn''t dare test your true mettle, not with Ravenport''s reputation on the line. Likewise, you should have known that as a War Mage, and as a very priceless specimen for Peterhouse, you''re in the same boat when it comes to mutual-maiming."

    "And?"

    Le Guevel puckered her lips. "And Kitten, I am told Lady Astor has taken a liking to you. She was delighted with how you bantered with Ravenport. If so, have you wondered why someone with enough Crystals to buy herself a seat in parliament endured the Militants? It''s to give you an opportunity, dear, one that you failed as spectacularly as you succeeded elsewhere."

    Her instructor''s brows arched in ridicule.

    "So what would you have done?" Gwen glared back.

    Le Guevel cleared her throat. When she spoke again, it was in Gwen''s voice, miming her mannerism with such likeness that Gwen''s scalp crawled.

    "You devilish, aborted fae-spawns! How dare you make a nuisance of yourself in the home of your betters?"

    "H-how dare you?" Le Guevel answered in the voice of Edward Poins. "You''re just a Frontier poppet. I''ll break you here and now."

    "Really?" Her instructor''s waspish-waist was very limber indeed. When she spoke in Gwen''s voice, every syllable cracked like a whip''s. "That''s an audacious claim for someone who''s patriarch owes an entailment worth half-a-dozen Crystal-seams. Don''t you know it''s polite to pay your debts before you bite the hand that feeds? What are you, a half-orc?"

    Gwen leaned back in her seat.

    Le Guevel chuckled. "See how fun that was? To be limber is to know which fruits are ripe for juicing. The twins are the result of, let''s say, unsavoury arrangements, uncle and niece, sister-wives, that sort of thing¡ª not currently, mind you, and don''t say it out loud¡ª but its there, somewhere up the line."

    Gwen suppressed a gag.

    "Which is why they''re particularly incensed by any indirect inferences to bloodlines. Likewise, they do indeed owe a significant volume of debt to Ravenport and Astor both. How else do you think the Militants paid for the Royal Docks? Warmongering spoils from the Frontier takes time¡ª but commerce, comparatively, is instantaneous."

    "I can''t imagine ''Dickie'' would remain silent if I dropped his name."

    "Lord Ravenport will not make an appearance for fear of verifying the rumours. Or, if he did by chance, good on you. The Exeter duo can only cower before Uncle Dickie, an ally to Lady Astor. Thereby, by invoking a few choice words, you have both inflamed the fools, and positioned them in between an Earthen Elemental and a Diamond Drake."

    "Public shaming is dangerous." Gwen pointed out. "Pushed that far, surely they would prefer immediate satisfaction."

    Le Guevel cleared her throat, then placed a hand against a cheek.

    When the instructor looked up again, her eyes were full of fire, with her shoulders trembling, her chest heaving. At once, Gwen was struck with the paradoxical desire of wanting to push the woman down while desiring to embrace the miserable vision of abused femininity. "Strike me down then! I invite and dare you! Strike a lady! Strike the daughter of a benefactor! Here''s my other cheek! Strike it and see that your daddy-dear won''t flay the both of you with your spines!"

    The effect was such that Gwen felt quite breathless.

    "And then?"

    "Then they flee, of course." Le Guevel laughed. "What else? Murder you? They can try. Lady Astor and her Middle Faction will take the cue and see the pair lit like bonfires. Assuming you haven''t died from the first strike, the Middle Faction now has fewer Exeters to worry about¡ª AND Lord Exeter will owe you reparations for your anguish. And of course, in the ensuing chaos¡ª I would Consume them both. Just imagine what their in-bred talent could do for a Void Sorceress. How delicious!"

    "That''s¡­" Gwen swallowed. "Insane."

    "It''s what being limber means." Le Guevel returned her prim and proper personage. "So, do you wish to learn the exceptional art of limberness?"

    Gwen did.

    Not the part that goaded people into being Consumed, but the confidence that came with control. In hindsight, if she could have done that to the Exeters, it would have filled her with such joy, such satisfaction, that her chest may have burst.

    Her instructor grinned. Opposite Gwen, Le Guevel rematerialised the bible-sized "Twerp''s Peerage", as well as a second book, entitled "Bonk''s Genealogical Records of the Ennobled Affinities of England, Ireland and Scotland."

    "Study up, kitten¡ª do what you will, or can. The more you know¡ª the more you know."

    Cambridge.

    Unable to stomach the monotony of genealogy, Gwen decided to take Lady Grey''s advice to heart, diffusing her stress by wandering the wintery urban-scape of the college town as its Flaneur. Along the way, she absorbed the gothic trees and spired cathedrals, marvelling at antiquity to absolve the infirmities ailing her mind.

    After her lesson, post reanimation of her bangle, four Messages were waiting for her¡ª three from Dominic Lorenzo, stating that he had returned from somewhere called the Isle of Man¡ª and one from Elvia.

    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    At first, she felt immense relief.

    Then, considering the histrionic subtext of her last six Messages, Gwen suddenly didn''t feel so rushed to listen to her companion''s explanation. If Elvia carried on as though nothing happened, she wouldn''t feel vindicated. If Elvia whole-heartedly apologised, she would feel guilty, and should Evee placate her with excuses; she would only grow incensed.

    "Evee, Evee, Evee..." Gwen inhaled the frigid air, wistfully longing for the yesteryear.

    Instead of replying, she walked on, listening to Dominic''s Message.

    "... still, I can''t believe you took possession of the printing press! The one in the Isle of Dogs? The Mulholland Press? AND Dwarves are arriving to repair the engine? That''s incredible news. When are you in London again? Let me know; I am on standby at the moment, the battle''s stalled for now. Call me if you''re in town¡ª I want to discuss your offer as Editor of this ''Metro Paper''."

    Dominic''s gusto improved her mood somewhat, enough at least to see her saunter down Pembroke, waltz through Downing, then stroll over to the famous duck ponds at Emmanuel''s, kept emerald and temperate all year round by zealous groundskeepers.

    The pond was smaller than Gwen expected, certainly not living up to its fame. The ducks as well, were not very numerous, not to mention over half were dull-coloured mallards. She was here because she heard from the Peterhouse lodge that these were magical ducks and that years of feasting on the sorcerous leakage had enhanced their intelligence. Come spring, when birds of prey come to descend upon the ducklings, there were observed anecdotes of the ducks calling on student and staff with cries of "Quelp! Quelp!"

    In winter, with the student cohort away until the Lent term began mid-January, Gwen had only ducks with which to share the pond.

    "Ariel! Caliban!"

    She released her Familiars so that they too could enjoy the sorcery-empowered emerald pond and its wasteful expenditure of the ley-lines'' energies. With express orders not to harass the local fauna, her Familiars went about the place sniffing the willows and rolling in the grass, then snow.

    On her knee, she opened up Twerp''s Peerage, and flipped the page to Exeter. At almost a centimetre thick, the section could block a Magic Missile. Gingerly, she fingered the three lions passant with a blue border of the fleur-de-lis in gold. The page began with John of Gaunt, the Lancastrian progenitor.

    It was fascinating, in a way, how eugenics applied to high society. But Gwen understood the obsession. Henry V, Henry of Monmouth, was a man whose military success turned England into a globe-spanning colonial superpower. Wasn''t she aiming for the same? Extraordinary individuals were the way of her present world.

    She read on¡ª but the material was dry, and her affections for Elvia remained tinder hot. Somewhere in the suffocating jargon, she dithered between berating Elvia and hugging the flaxen healer tight against her bosom.

    "Yesterday..." She hummed, the tune rolling off her subconscious. "Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away. Now it looks as though they''re here to stay..."

    Why Evee had to go her way, Gwen couldn''t say, not without acknowledging it was all her fault. In her insecurity, she had told Elvia she was pure, then that she had to be unique, then that they would need to be equals. The contradictions had been intentional, and yet, that''s what Elvia now strived to achieve.

    Thankfully, she found some solace in Paul McCartney, misplacing her failures in the fancy that somewhere in London, Magus McCartney and maybe Lennon was still making music with the rest of the quartet. Was there a music industry in this world? She wondered, licking her lips. Two best-of albums and she could bribe another Ruxin or two.

    "Quack?"

    Gwen almost dropped her book. Lost in her sing-song daydream, she had not realised the ducks were listening.

    "Quack! Quack!" An abnormally large mandarine duck, the size of a goose, appeared to accost her.

    Gwen put down her book to regard the strange waterfowl. To her knowledge, ducks "Quabbed", though she was neither a drake fancier nor a duckologist. Her prior expertise on ducks involved pancake, shallots, and dipping sauce.

    "Shaa!" Caliban slithered over. With its aura entirely suppressed, her Void snake was a beautiful, semi-transparent worm wrought of obsidian-glass.

    The duck turned to flee.

    "Wait, don''t be scared." Gwen struck out a hand. Much to her surprise, the duck returned, then nuzzled her palm.

    Packing away her book in case the colourful duck pecked the moleskin cover, she searched her ring for food, eventually coming up with a can of SPAM. Opening the tab one-handed, she used the metal to spoon out a good chunk, then offered it to the duck. "Hungry?"

    "Quack!" the duck gobbled the lot.

    Gwen extracted the rest of the mysterious meat.

    "Quack!" The duck was an omnivore.

    Next, she produced a raw chunk of HDM.

    "QUACK!"

    Gwen marvelled as she watched the duck down the crystal shard. "Amazing, so you''re a magical duck¡ª WHOA¡ª"

    "Quack!" The duck mounted her with a grandiose flap of its wings. The effect was admirable, resembling an explosive rainbow appearing and disappearing at once.

    "Shaa!"

    "Cali, down!" Gwen commanded Caliban to sit even as the duck alighted, scrunching her dress as it nestled in between her thighs. In the pale light, its feathers shimmered like Almudj''s scales, while clear-cut lines of vibrant colours in sunburst, indigo and flamingo pink formed dynamic contours. It was¡ª without a doubt, the most beautiful duck Gwen had ever seen.

    "Quack!" The duck implored at her with large, soulful eyes, its irises twin obsidian orbs catching the light of her reflection. Gwen felt a strange sense of endearment. Was it the rainbow-hued body? She wondered, guiltily thinking of Evee and Almudj.

    "I bet you''re a Familiar," she said to the duck, looking around the whereabouts of their immediate vicinity to attempt visual confirmation of her hypothesis. When no sorcerer materialised to retrieve their soulful counterpart, Gwen raised a mischievous hand toward the duck''s vibrant bill. "Say, does ducky want some candy?"

    Cycling Essence, she pooled the viridescent green motes within a cupped hand.

    "Ee!" Ariel, drawn by the scent, returned to the fold, scattering the ducks surrounding its mistress.

    "Patience, Ariel." Gwen scratched the Kirin with one hand while offering the Demi-divine nectar of life to their new companion. If indeed this was a sorcerer toying with her, then they were in for a rude awakening when their Familiar escaped the paddock for the greener grass. Likewise, if the duck was a Transmuted student playing her for a lark, then Gwen took no responsibility for what was about to happen next.

    "Quack?" The duck lapped at the emerald elixir. "QUACK?"

    Immediately, the creature''s girth expanded another inch. It''s neck distended further, its wings larger and longer. It''s feathers, already the likeness of Almudj turned heart-achingly vivid.

    Gwen felt genuinely surprised that she was not being trolled. Delighted, she conjured a little more nectar and fed the rest to her adorably obedient Kirin. On her lap, the duck appeared caught in a trance as the Essence ran its course.

    Ding!

    A Message spell bloomed.

    It was her angel-faced tormentor.

    "Evee!" Her voice trembled before she could apply what Le Guevel had cautioned, pushing past a masochistic impulse to ignore the Glyph.

    "Gwennie!" Elvia''s tone wasn''t at all what she had anticipated. It was unsure, distressed, and full of vulnerability. "I¡ª I think I am in trouble!"

    Instinctively, Gwen felt her blood stir, her angst instantly evaporating. "What trouble? Who is it?"

    "No, no, not that kind of trouble," Elvia huffed. "I don''t know what''s happening! I pulled a Magus Fitzgerald back from the brink of death, and now they''re sending me away."

    "Hold on," Gwen commanded her Evee to calm, guilty that she felt genuine happiness to have her helpless dolly back in the fold. "You''ll have to explain from the beginning."

    "Okay!" Elvia''s thread-thin voice tickled Gwen''s ears. "This morning, I healed a War Mage from the Isle of Man who was badly wounded and on the brink of death. I did it with Kiki and Sen-sen''s help, but Director Hatchley said that not even a team at Blacks would have attempted the surgery because of the low success rate. I¡ª "

    Elvia halted. "¡ª are you still angry, Gwen, if you''re unhappy with me¡­"

    "Nevermind that," Gwen said, feeling the weight lift from her chest. "I wasn''t mad for long. Anyway, then what happened?"

    "Then I kept practising on the other patients, mostly NoMs, a few lower-tier Mages as well. Director Hatchley called me into her office and said that I was now a big fish in a small pond..."

    Gwen''s brows furrowed.

    Lady Grey was right.

    Talent bred trouble like sawmills and loose fingers.

    "So, when are you transferring over to the Order of the Bath?" Gwen decided a little Divination of her own might do Elvia some good.

    "The¡­ Order of the Bath?" Elvia''s response was one of pure puzzlement.

    "Aye," Gwen mimicked Hanmoul. Less than a week after politicking with humanity, she missed the Dwarves already. Communicating with the stouts had felt so effortless, for they were a race that rarely saw guile as a virtue. "Did the Knight-recruiters knockdown Director Hatchley''s door?"

    "¡­ Umm¡­" Elvia''s discomfort was palpable. "Gwen, they''re sending Mathias and me to the Isle of Man!"

    "Quack!" The duck protested when Gwen''s surprise almost tore out one of its feathers. The allure of Alumdj''s Essence, however, was enough to anchor the duck to her lap.

    "Sorry¡­" Gwen apologised.

    "Was that a duck?" Elvia asked.

    "Yes."

    "Why?"

    "I like ducks." Gwen mulled the place Elvia had mentioned in her mind. Where had she heard it before? "Forgive my ignorance, Evee. What''s on the Isle of Man again?"

    On hearing the endearing nickname, Elvia''s high-strung tone relaxed somewhat. "I don''t know much myself, only that the Wildland folk there live among Demi-humans. They''ve been fighting England since forever, and there''s a recent flair-up. I can''t tell you more right now, only that Magus Fitzgerald¡ª the Mage I healed, was badly wounded by a Snake Curse¡ª that''s old magic, Gwen, Animism from before Spellcraft. Director Hatchley said I was important to Nightingale and Mathias didn''t volunteer, so I don''t understand why I am being sent out of London again. This is all so confusing. Do you think I should ask Lady Astor? Would she be annoyed? Or Emily perhaps, maybe she can find out why? Oh, Gwennie, everything is happening so fast..."

    Gwen wanted to calm her companion but needed more information to ascertain Evee''s present crisis, which was why urged Elvia first to take a deep breath, then make herself a cup of tea. "Okay. I get the gist of it. I''ll Message you back, Evee. Let me make some enquiries. When do you deploy?"

    "¡­ Tomorrow, when Mathias gets here." Elvia exhaled. "There''s a whole host of us from the Great Hospitals, a ''volunteer'' group..."

    Gwen nodded to herself. Somehow, hearing Evee''s desperation filled her with a secret joy. It was good to know the Yinglong hadn''t''t changed her companion where it mattered. Now, she felt as if things had gotten back on track, returned to a state of yesterday.

    But of course, her gladness did not diminish the danger Elvia potentially faced. Closing the Message, she dialled in the Glyph for Dominic, having recalled why the "Isle of Man" sounded so familiar.

    Ding!

    "Gwen?" Dominic Lorenzo sounded positively delighted. "So soon? Feeling eager?"

    "I am always eager for your advice, Dom," Gwen teased her sister-in-craft''s old comrade. "But I''ll speak to you in detail about the job once things clear up here. For now, can I ask you some questions about the Isle of Man?"

    "The Isle? Sure, what would you like to know?"

    "I''ve got a close friend soon to be assigned there. I want to know if it''s dangerous to go. Is there a war going on?"

    "Ah¡ª you''ve come to the right man. I was reporting on the Isle just after your Dwarfs. Indeed, things are heating up over there."

    "What''s the trouble?"

    "The usual," Dominic said. "You want history or just the present-day drama?"

    "Explain like I am an NoM."

    "Well then, I''ll make it succinct." Dominic paused to gather his thoughts. "Pre-England, the Isle was the domain of the Elemental Manann¨¢n, worshipped by the Gaels as the God of the Sea. The Elemental demanded a few too many virgin sacrifices from the indigenous folk, resulting in a rebellion where the Druids, aided by their fellow sufferers, the Wood Elves, captured, then enslaved Manann¨¢n. After that, the Gaels proliferated for some time¡ª until the 13th century, when English conquest took the Isle. Since then, the conflict between the Manx, the descendants of the Gael and the Elves, and the Crown has risen and fallen with the regularity of the tide. The Mageocracy has a large presence in Douglas, an ex-Tower site, now trading port, and in Avalon, where the fabled King Arthur¡ª"

    "Quack!" The mandarine duck fled from Gwen after losing another feather.

    "Hold up." Gwen brushed the dirt from her legs. "Are you telling me the Isle of Man is where the Knights of the Round Table happened? I am talking Merlin here¡ª Guinevere! Lancelot!"

    "¡­ why do I hear a duck?"

    "I was keeping it company."

    "The Devourer of Shenyang is keeping company with a duck?"

    "I am at Emmanuel''s," Gwen said. "I was lonely, and besides, it''s a magical duck."

    "¡­ yes, Avalon," Dominic continued. "Is the where Arthur and his knights fell. An almost typical story of early colonisation. A group of enterprising Faith casters of old, armed with Relic of yore, enter the Wildlands to convert the heathens. Adventures ensued, success galore and then¡ª"

    "And then they delve into the heart of darkness; their Christian ethos turns to pitch-black Void, rape and rapine become the norm before it all ends with their leader dying from malaria, bleating ''the madness¡­ the madness¡­''?"

    "Not so¡­ dramatically," the reporter sounded impressed. "The Round Table did fall because of individual vice¡ª though more tragically, their quest was futile from the beginning. No, no, the Isle is the domain of the Manx, that will not change, unless¡ª"

    "Unless?"

    "Unless the Devourer of Shenyang wants a new moniker?" Dominic''s tone was full of enterprise. "I could imagine your updated title¡ª "

    Gwen shivered as Dominic revelled in the journalistic possibilities.

    "¡ª Gwen Song! The Devourer of Man!"

 Chapter 352 - The Best is Yet to Come

    "The Devourer of Man."

    For some reason, Gwen''s first thought was of Tao wiggling his brows.

    There was an unfortunate implication, lost in translation, whenever the Chinese spoke of the "Devourer" of Shenyang. The English inference was that of a "devouring, all-consuming force" akin to darkness at dusk. Unfortunately, the Chinese, with their cuisine-centric culture, understood "devour" to mean "swallow", as one might gluttonously consume a feast.

    "The Devourer of Man" therefore, was a title as aversive to Gwen as an Undead infestation. If the moniker did get out, her Babulya would need to Calm Emotion her Yeye each time a Party cadre winkingly praised their granddaughter.

    "You write that Dom, and I''ll leave you half-consumed by Caliban," Gwen addressed Dominic''s suggestion for the "title" of his article. "And why the bloodlust? What''s with you English and colonial conquests?"

    "Say that to the Mec Vannin." Dominic''s voice took on a solemn timbre. "You want to know a speciality of the Isle? Apart from the usual perils, it''s the birthplace of the Manx Cat, a feline beast with no tail¡ª instead, twin tentacles extend from its shoulder-blades, each armed with sucker-tipped mouths crowded with fangs."

    "Suckers lined with teeth? Please¡ªplease tell me there are natively-occurring VOID-afflicted monsters on the Isle." Gwen almost yelped. For how long had she waited for monsters of her particular Affinity to appear?

    "I wouldn''t bet on it," Dominic curbed her enthusiasm. "Rarity aside, these are not your average monsters, Gwen. The Manx Cats are ambush-hunters, used by the Manx to serve as battle-beasts. For your friend, the principal danger to her would be these monstrosities. They''re capable of warping space and travelling through barriers, blurring their presence to blend in with their surroundings, and attack from afar to drag their prey into the trees."

    "You''ve sold me. I want one." Gwen flexed her fingers. Below her, Caliban shivered in anticipation. Finally! A worthy upgrade for her worm! A compact battle form, not to mention potential Affinity for her Void Magic. "How rare are these monsters?"

    "Very, the original was a legend. The others exist only among the Mec Vannin."

    "With ''Mec Vannin'' being our opposition?"

    "A moniker for the elf-touched Wildkin, it means the ''Sons of Man'' in their bastardised language, separates them from the Wood Elves."

    "How curious... what do they want?"

    "To put it succinctly, they want the Mageocracy to get out. That''s impossible of course, the Manx''s long-dead King gifted the land to the Crown in 1392. The Elves have a claim, but..."

    "Tell me about the Elves." Gwen considered the manner of the Manx, their cats, and their patrons. In regards to the Elves, she had yet to meet one in the flesh. "These would be the Tr??lvor?"

    "Not exactly. The indigenous Elves of Man aren''t the Nordic Tr??lvor, but the local variety¡ª an ancient race, but not to be confused with the Silvan-Tr??lvor, to which the name implies. On the Isle, they mark their home in Glen Auldyn, the forest-home of the Wyld King Maleagant. They''re older than England, certainly, but hail from a less developed ethnography."

    Gwen furrowed her brows. In her mind, Wood Elves were folk like Elrond of Rivendell of fantasy fame. For years now, she had been looking forward to meeting an alter-world Arwen, though from what Dominic was saying, these were more akin to indigenous folk.

    "To confirm, their woodland Spires are not empowered by the sun and alternatively fed by the moonlight, appearing like Eco-lodges in a dream?" Gwen enquired. "Nor are they fair, tall, blonde or brunette, have a thing for "Rings" and speak like folk perpetually foretelling a prophecy?"

    Dominic laughed.

    "What an imagination! No, no. The one''s I''ve seen are proper Wildkin, all bark-skin attire, with hair and skin the hue of olives. As for their city, maybe in the privacy of their grove? The Woodland Guardians that the militia encounters, those travelling with the Manx, are a nightmare mixture of Druidic sorcery and shapeshifting horror. Remember those Manx Cats?"

    "Yes?"

    "The reason I doubt the Manx Cats'' Void-Affinity, is because, despite their natural scarcity, they''re a constant damned presence in the war. Why do you think that''s the case?"

    "Ah." Gwen was seeing the whole picture now. She had spared an Owl Bear yesteryear and quickly joined the dots herself. If these were shifters then, it meant Caliban could not usurp her desired form. Additionally, she had no desire to slide down that particular slippery slope. "Druidic Shapeshifting?"

    "Indeed." Dominic applauded her quick-wittedness. "And therein lies the danger. Your friend may not be in danger while in combat, or while guarded by a Flight of Mages, but that''s not how these Druids fight. Do you know what asymmetrical warfare is, Gwen?"

    "I have an idea."

    "That''s how they''ve kept being a thorn: guerrilla tactics. Be it, Strangler-vine ambushes, night raids, Manx Cat assassins or harassment of civilian miners; it never ends. We can''t abandon the Isle either. Avalon serves as an important Divination waypoint. The Teleportation Circle there enables reliable transit to Ireland, a pivotal Frontier too close to home to leave neglected."

    "And the Manx are allowed to exist?" Gwen asked an uncomfortable question.

    "There is debate as to whether the Crown should simply Purge the Isle of Man and be done with it. The cost has proven unattractive, as inevitably, the Elves will offer the Manx shelter from wide-area Purge bombardments."

    Gwen nodded to herself. As a girl-child, she had seen the collapse of the Twin Towers live on television, followed by a decade-long War on Terror that bankrupted a superpower.

    "¡­ so the Isle of Man''s like a tough bit of gristle; too savoury to toss, too stringy to chew." Dominic helpfully eased her "teenage" erudition.

    "I see." Gwen''s contemplation, however, wasn''t for herself. "Thanks, Dom, I''d love to know more about Manx and Camelot, but I fear I have more enquiries to make. Do you mind if we catch up later?"

    "Actually," Dominic said. "We shall meet very soon."

    "You will?"

    "Didn''t you hear? The Americans have come out on top in the IIUC. The Oxbridge team has lost its leader and vice leader."

    "Oh? I haven''t been keeping up with the IIUC," Gwen confessed. Since returning from London, Gwen had been non-stop updating her "basics". At the same time, she took time to settle into the Fellow''s Abode in Peterhouse''s domicile, collecting furniture and decorating her studio to her liking. "What was the challenge?"

    "A shared quest, the re-opening of an open-pit crystal mine the Grey Faction had been negotiating with the Gigantes of Castile Y Leon," Dominic explained. "Oxbridge attempted diplomacy, as did the Americans. In the end, the Rey of the Giants chose the Bostonites. An inter-Clan scuffle ensued, and Oxbridge emerged worse for wear. The Home Office is none too happy at the moment, having lost its staging post in Salamanca as a result. I can only assume the Americans are laughing since Exxon is a major sponsor for the East Coast IIUC contestants and the ones who will be taking over."

    Gwen tried to imagine how the Mages might have struggled against the Gigantes, an Earthen race noted by the Bestiary to possess unparalleled physical strength, high magic resistance, and calculating intelligence. Combined with arcanistry of their own, military tactics, and an Elemental Ethos of racial superiority, she could envision why her team from China would have had little chance when push came to shove. Merely the fact that the Gigantes bred Manticores the same way Lady Grey bred her hounds meant that a regular Mage Flight might just be enough to fight the family dog.

    "¡­ so you''ll be having your ceremony in Cambridge, after all," Dominic advised. "Assuming everything is wrapped by the weekend, you''ll be receiving your title with a full ceremony here in London. Of course, I''d like an exclusive."

    "Even after we lost?" Gwen cocked her head, her eyes scanning the pond for her wayward duck. Presently, her rainbow-hued companion floated by the edge, eyeing the hens.

    "All the more reason to put more ceremony into your MVP title," Dominic said. "Oxbridge''s pride demands it."

    Gwen agreed. "Thanks, Dom."

    "Anytime," the reporter returned happily. "Oh, and Gwen?"

    "Yes, Dom?"

    "If you want, I can keep an eye on your companion while in Douglas. I know the Commander there well enough to beg for an extra guard if need be."

    "That would be lovely. Thanks again."

    As soon as the light of the first Glyph died, Gwen dialled for Richard. She understood what she "ought" to do, but more than that, Gwen needed an affirming voice to fight the gnawing guilt in her chest telling her to go to Douglas.

    "Dick, you there?"

    "I am. Are you still taking the piss?" Richard''s greeting betrayed nothing.

    "Nope, I am good. Sorry, Dick, I wasn''t thinking straight."

    "So long as you''re thinking, that''s alright with me. So how may this humble one offer aid?"

    "Richard, I already apologised," Gwen reprimanded her cousin. "Dick, I need to pick your brain for a minute. Can you explain to me why I shouldn''t make time for an excursion to the Isle of Man?"

    "Colour me intrigued. Who, where, and what are you up to?"

    If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    "Just now, Evee was slated for the Isle of Man''s volunteer relief-force, and I do not believe it has much to do with her latent potential," Gwen cut to the chase. "I think someone saw what happened in Merthyr Tydfil, and has decided they can play silly buggers with my friends. Maybe its Evee today, maybe you or Petra tomorrow."

    Her cousin-cum-advisor''s reply was not immediate. There was a thoughtful pause, then another that was longer.

    "I don''t know the answer to that. BUT¡ª are you hoping to achieve what you managed in the Red Peak, only on the Isle?" Richard asked. "It is amazing what you did, Gwen. To say that you''ll replicate the success, however, is irresponsible. From what you''ve told me, there was plenty of serendipity involved. For starters, what do you even know about the political insurrection there?"

    Gwen briefly explained Dominic''s information.

    "That''s not ''danger''¡ª That''s life," Richard''s reply came without hesitation. "Speaking as someone who went to school with Elvia''s brother and knew of her before you did, this is a perfect opportunity for Evee. That girl''s always been indecisive and¡ª pardon me¡ª incapable of independent action. You and Yue coddled her in high school. Even in London, Elvia had allies galore. It may not seem it, but from what I''ve seen, she had more supporters the moment she stepped into Nightingale than you had after a year in Shanghai. I''ve been thinking about your situation with Elvia, and I say leaving Elvia benefits you both."

    "But¡ª"

    "IF Elvia is as talented as you describe, gifted with twin-spirits, then her labour is endless by nature. She''s a Cleric, Gwen. It''s her prerogative to provide care for those in need. Right now, that need is in the Isle of Man. Tomorrow, it could be the foothills of Fuentes Carrionas or the Elemental Sea raging north of Istanbul. Will you leave London to protect her then? Elvia has a personal Knight of St George, and besides, she has a Contingency Ring¡ª your Contingency Ring. In the time it takes for Mathias to perish, Elvia can teleport away unharmed. Besides, doesn''t she possess Sen-sen? What on earth is going to battle an enraged draconic Ginseng the caster herself can''t control? Also, will Peterhouse let you go without a Contingency Ring of your own?"

    Gwen touched the bare flesh on her ring finger.

    "Let me remind you. Did Master Kilroy accompany you to Blackheath? Did Gunther accompany you to Singapore? Did any of us in China insist we leave our responsibilities to chaperone you in Shanghai? Besides Uncle Jun, of course, he''s awesome."

    She was beginning to regret recruiting Richard.

    "You know I am right. You are a Magus now. You have duties, as do I, as does Elvia, your friend. You cannot¡ª ought not¡ª think like Helena. Your duty, the one you chose to accept when you came to Peterhouse, is paramount. What Lady Grey has gifted you is what folks like me can only dream of¡ª How can you repay your benefactor and your tutors through frivolous misadventure? Have you bedded her even?"

    "Richard, that''s enough." Gwen did not enjoy being guilt-tripped, less so when the words rang true. Like dripping water, each rationale Richard provided wore away the stubborn stone wedged against her heart.

    "Well? Are we in agreement?"

    Gwen dug deep for something profound to say, only to find her well of retorts completely dry.

    "That''s fine. I''ll wait." Richard''s Glyph changed hues, placing the call on idle.

    Seated on the bench, Gwen straightened her dress, relaxed her shoulders, then leaned back so that her neck hung over the wooden backrest. Above, the English sky was its usual hue of slate and stone; this far from the Mageocracy''s centre, the infamous London smog was barely perceptible.

    Richard''s affirmation was well-placed.

    It would be utterly irresponsible to run off a second time just because Elvia was being menaced by sedan-sized, tailless, shapeshifted feline assassins with tentacles.

    "Quack!"

    In the pond, her rainbow duck "quacked". She noticed that except for the abnormal specimen in their midst, most of the other ducks swam in pairs.

    Unwearied by the cold and warmed by the unnatural summer, amiable avian lovers paddled through the pond in companionable streams, leaving trails like open sextants. Some sat near the rushes, plucking at the reeds for nesting material. Others paddled among the stones, frolicking among the brimming water. Within this unnatural Eden, there was nought but serenity.

    "QUACK!" Her drake joined the fray; it''s bulk cutting the rushes like a frigate. In fear, the smaller ducks fled from the rainbow monstrosity. The drake gave chase, ploughing through the water. All around the pond, the rest of the hens suddenly took flight, mounting on clamouring wings, forming a great bell-beat of feathers as concentric ripples below echoed the great ring of panicked birds above.

    "QUACK!" The mandarin duck waddled back dejectedly, staring at Gwen confusedly.

    "... fuck me." Gwen exhaled with exasperation.

    "¡­ You sound upset," Richard interjected. "Evee?"

    "No, no¡ª that was for a duck."

    "¡­ I know you like to pick up strays." Richard''s tone grew bemused. "But why a duck?"

    "That is a VERY good question." Gwen''s eyes grew misty. "It was cute, I guess, and friendly, and I had the Essence to spare."

    "You''re a clear and present danger to anything adorable," Richard remarked. "Is one victim not enough to satiate your cuddle-lust?"

    "Very funny, Dick."

    "So, have you reconsidered?"

    "Yes," Gwen answered. "I am staying in London. I don''t have time to shepherd Elvia."

    "Good." Gwen could imagine Richard''s sarcastic golf-claps. "Did you reconsider my offer from our luncheon?"

    "I did. Welcome aboard, I suppose. We''ll head to Millwall together on Sunday, after my lesson. I''ll introduce you to Wally."

    "Great," Richard''s reply was curt and quick. "I''ve picked up a quest for clearing out the Slimes beneath the town. Did you post that?"

    "No way." Gwen''s stern lips broke into a smile. "You''re the one who took up Wally''s quest?"

    "I thought as much." Richard laughed. "I''ll introduce you to a few new mates from King''s who will be tagging along. Got a nice place for lunch?"

    "I do. Indian."

    "Sounds colonial. See you then?"

    "See you, Dick." Gwen bit her lower lip. "Thanks for the pep-talk."

    "Anytime, Duck," Richard replied. "Stay off the drakes!"

    Gwen disconnected the call, then tapped in the Glyph for Elvia.

    "Gwen!"

    "Evee¡­" She took a deep breath.

    "Quack!" the duck wailed, demanding a return to innocence.

    "¡­ okay, thanks, Gwennie. I''ll keep safe."

    "See ya¡ª Quack!"

    Elvia watched the light within the Device die.

    Steering Gwen was arguably the most dubious, and also disturbing thing she had done in all her eighteen years of life. Her mind was such a jumble of emotions that she wished she could Calm Emotion herself, even knowing that the histrionic-killing Clerical staple possessed marginal effect on the caster. Even now, knowing she had succeeded, her elevated heartrate was making her pant.

    On the call, Gwen had very carefully informed her that she was in no danger¡ª so long as Mathias looked out for Druids who could transform into cats sans tails, plus tentacles.

    Was she disappointed that her companion did not insist on accompanying her? Elvia asked herself after a self-medicating dose of becalmed emotions. Her heart said that she was¡ª her magically-placid mind told her it didn''t matter.

    Contrary to what she told Gwen, she welcomed the unexpected re-deployment. The more folk like Magus Fitzgerald she could pull from the brink, the merrier and more eager her desire to be in Douglas. It was for Gwen, her friend and companion and partner, that she had put on the pretension. More than anything, more than herself, she feared that her deployment was targeted at the Devourer of Shenyang to lure her friend into the mire of war. What Gwen had done for her in Dwarfland made her inconsolably happy, but it invariably left a weakness to be exploited.

    If her assignment had been kept from Gwen, Elvia knew her friend well enough to know that Gwen would teleport in, Caliban and all, at the first unexpected news of her endangerment. Now, her partner had made her bed and knew to lie in it. What was surprising for Elvia was that her friend had seen the light of day so articulately, accepting her absence without contest.

    Was it Lady Grey? Elvia considered who would offer Gwen such sterling advice. Or perhaps Ollie, her overzealous Praelector suffering from stress-pattern baldness? That poor man needed a dose of Sen-sen''s best before he lost all of his hair.

    Sighing, Elvia felt a strange tug of jealousy. Why was Gwennie still molesting that damned duck? Could her friend not live for one day without something cute to abuse?

    Cambridge.

    Peterhouse.

    Training Range.

    "Curve it!" Magister Kareena Patil''s command whipped at Gwen''s behind. "Bend it to your will!"

    "ARRRRGH!" Gwen flubbed her Void Bolt, a spell she could incant near-silently, but apparently not with applications of meta-magic applied. It was amazing, she conceded, how Yue managed Alesia''s Transmutation-Evocation specialisation. Her friend was someone with real talent, not stolen ability.

    "That was utterly pedestrian." Magister Patil remained unimpressed. "You know you can do better than that."

    Gwen wanted to retort, but first, she had to fight down the feedback loop from the Void mana flooding back into her conduits. When she finally suppressed her breakfast, she reexamined the long list of invocations.

    There were hundreds in all, and via matrix-sequences, they created custom formulae that impacted a spells'' range, AoE, shape, size, element, trajectory, channel and triggers. What Magister Patil wanted to squeeze from Gwen like blood from a rock was the ability to use Spellcraft not as pre-packaged incantation-chains, but as a fluid language.

    "When altering the inflexion, consider the previous predicate and how it modifies the core quantifiers. The second clause of Chomsky''s Elemental Cipher indicates a pause¡ª not an enjambment. It''s a tongue-tap, after which the original incantation must finish within eight Glyph-notes."

    Gwen loosened her tongue by making a lion-face, and then a lemon-face. Her jaws ached, but that was hardly the present problem.

    The issue, Gwen came to acknowledge, was that she might not be equipped to exercise the complexity of the magical "programming language"¡ª certainly not on the fly. If anything, rendering invocations were akin to the complex mathematics of her old world, something between the admixture of real and imaginary numbers, fractals in reality, with arcane wrinkles manifesting like a self-perpetuating Mandelbrot set.

    If she had been a real novice, she would have told herself that practice made perfect. But as one whose mind betrayed the limber youth of her body, she understood that in the distance loomed an inevitable cerebral bottleneck.

    What Magister Patil demanded was new tricks¡ª but Gwen knew herself to be an old bitch not so quickly re-trained.

    As a magic-caster, she likened herself to a performance-pianist¡ª fashionable and pretty and mechanically capable of producing the most celebrated works by the greatest composers. With confidence, she could stride on stage with a long slit dress to bathe in the light of ten-thousand watts. There would be applause and tears, and enough roses to fill the pit¡ª but as for talent, she fell far short of Chopin or Liszt.

    Simply put, she was a spell-hack¡ª one gifted with the hardware to enact the formulae, but abjectly poor when it came to freestyle; a master of the copy-paste, an Omnimage of common arcane application.

    If she was struggling with derivatives and differentiations here in the third tier, she could only imagine the horror of quantum physics past the seventh tier.

    Her present struggle also allowed her to relearn why her scholarly cousin, Petra, had neither time or effort to spare on matters like love, quality of life, or even Crystals. The pursuit of knowledge and expertise her instructor anticipated was a life-long endeavour. There were no shortcuts, no bypass, no convenient detours, not for one without the natural talent.

    "Void Bolt!"

    This time, she curved the Bolt, though the spell''s range halved.

    Gwen groaned.

    Beside her, Magister Kareena Patil''s expression had grown cold enough to quench Dwarven darksteel.

    "Try again, Omni-Mage."

    Gwen had half-a-mind to re-align her instructor''s world view.

    The holistic pursuit of sorcerous prowess was nice in itself, but Gwen never saw the sorcerous path as the "only" way. The more she thought about it, the more she appreciated why Henry, her Master, never bothered with the explicit teaching of the secrets behind the arcanistry.

    What her Master preferred to emphasise was the ambiguous, big-umbrella, utopian vision endorsed by the Middle Factions.

    To Deathless Henry, Magic was a tool, a path to power, a badge of proficiency, a hammer to strike down nails. Rather than arcane resources, she and her Master preferred "Human" resource.

    Few business leaders in her world, wielding the power of nations and operating budgets higher than the expenditure of some developed countries, possessed the necessary knowledge of operative semantics. Instead, industry-leading CEOs were more often creatures of charisma, leadership, guile, ruthlessness¡ª prophets of profit.

    To create a society where herself, Evee, Yue, Richard, squibs like James Ma and NoMs like Ru¨¬ could contribute their unique expertise to humanity, sorcerous supremacy was not the answer.

    She knew that her Babulya had said that she would walk the Path of Violent Conflict. Her Master had advocated the Middle Path. What if both could be traversed by the Golden Way, a currency-paved road of glittering HDMs?

    "To a lesser Acolyte, I would say repeat after me." Magister Patil tapped the runic scripts. "But that is not why we are here. Try again. No more aping, Gwen¡ª let the ''craft'' flow through your conduits."

    "Yes, Ma''am." Gwen refocused her mind to conduct the business at hand.

    For now, she would do her best.

    Later, she would do far better.

 Chapter 353 - No Rest for the Wicked

    "Halt!" Nils Kott, Gwen''s Abjuration Instructor, called for the cessation of crystalline bombardments on her opaque, double-glazed Mana Shield.

    "Very impressive, Magus Song." Professor Brown, who had insisted on joining the pair in the underground testing hall, boisterously clapped with cupped palms.

    "You''d have to thank Gunther." Gwen dispelled her barriers. "It''s his Signature Shield."

    "A complex algorithm, requiring a creative application of external knowledge." Brown''s brows remained raised. "And one well-suited for an energy-based Elementalist with high VMI. I am delighted you have it mastered so profoundly."

    "So ''profound'' it is the only Abjuration spell she knows..." Kott''s brows remained furrowed. "A miracle, considering Magus Song''s achievements."

    Gwen chuckled guiltily.

    Magister Brown matched her feigned mirth. "Hardly. I''ve studied the unedited broadcasts. You have a knack for monster slaying, Gwen¡ª something you shouldn''t dismiss so out of hand."

    Kotts remained unmoved.

    Earlier in the week, when Major Nils Kott had grilled her on the basics of Abjuration, Gwen told the Abjuration specialist that she knew "Shield" and ONLY "Shield". In the intervening few seconds, there had been an awkward silence when they both waited for the other to speak.

    Eventually, it dawned on the wide-eye Kott what Gwen meant.

    While her time at Fudan taught her the theoretical basics of "Utilitarian" Abjuration, her application of knowledge seldom extended beyond the necessary. Her lack had all but dashed Major Kott''s expectation that Gwen was looking to progress into her ''fourth-tier'' of expertise¡ª a tier from which an Abjurer mastering two-dozen spells would fall into one or more of the six pathways. Instead, Gwen had to ask Kott for clarification, which the Abjurer dutiful delivered.

    "Combat Abjuration" involved various forms of shielding, resistance and mitigation of incoming damage, both physical and elemental and rarely, psychic.

    "Structural Abjuration" inferred the protection of structures through inscriptions and Glyph Wards, such as those utilised by Enchanter-Transmuters in heavy industries.

    "Strategic Abjuration" comprised the protection and shielding of particular locales, a branch that served as the basis for the Resonance Crystals used by the Shielding Stations.

    "Tactical Abjuration" was the warding of an individual''s magic against other Mages, including portable Ward-setting and wide-area reinforcements.

    "Restorative Abjuration" referred to the original purpose of Abjuring magic¡ª the removal of harmful sorcery. It was a branch that emphasised removing wards, disenchanting protections, and decursing when employed in conjunction with Clerical Faith-craft.

    Finally, the last function of Abjuration was the hardest and most sought-after skill set, that of "Spell Piercing". As the name suggested, the sole offensive branch of Abjuration emphasised on spontaneous dispelling, disrupting and breaking of enemy invocations. Gwen''s bane, the infamous "Banish" that sent her reeling more often than not, hailed from this particular offshoot.

    When initially Kott asked which area she wanted to focus on, her choice was Combat Abjuration, which she already had a foot-in-door, and Spell Piercing.

    Now, Nils Kott delivered his verdict.

    "I spoke to Magister Patil," the Major informed Gwen sternly. "She says that you are incapable of spontaneous meta-magic Spellshaping?"

    "True, thus far," Gwen clarified her insufficiencies. "Give me time, and I should be able to do it for the lower tiers."

    "Without spontaneous Spellshaping," Kott disregarded her deliberation. "Even with Divination-assisted live-analysis, ''Counterspelling'' would prove nigh-impossible."

    Gwen implored her instructor for more information. It was Magister Brown who answered.

    "Counterspells are the most distinguished form of mana-manipulation. For instance, you require at the very least four to six seconds to weave up a Dark Tentacle. In that interval, an opponent who has studied your spell list may employ Saussure''s Parallax-Matrix to agitate your mana-channel, causing you to mana burn yourself. For Evocation, a well-timed Wall''s Quad-Helix Spell Jammer could prematurely ignite the mana as it forms, causing you to self-harm with Void. A feat Major Kott is well-capable of performing. It''s a fate diminishable by employing Signature Spells. That said, a true Spell Piercer is capable of near-instant analysis and reconstruction. Against such an opponent, it is best to use group-tactics. Unless you''re an Abjurer of equal-talent, your only recourse, regardless of your power, is to flee..."

    Kott''s stoicism was unflappable.

    "...But I am sure Major Kott is teasing you."

    "How so?" Gwen asked. "It seems logical to me that such a Mage should be near-indomitable against a fellow caster anyway."

    "The number of Mages capable of spontaneous mid-tier counterspelling in London, I would count no more than a hundred. The best are at the Meister tier, followed by a majority of Magisters and a handful of Maguses. Also, the faster the spell, the less chance of interception. This is why high-tier combat Mages prefer to use small scale, mid-range magic in rapid succession as opposed to the grand sorcery of the seventh tier and above. I mean, if you''re going to be spending anything between six-seconds to a minute invoking a spell, you''re certainly expecting an Abjurer to shield you. If you''re alone, invest in long-range bombardments and make a habit of first-strike via Divination. Who can disrupt a spell they can''t see coming?"

    At Brown''s words, Gwen felt better.

    "Could I turtle against a Spell Piercer?" She raised a point she had prior put to Major Kott.

    Magister Maxwell Brown snorted. "What is that?"

    "She means if she can egg-up in a Void Shell while casting spells," Kott explained Gwen''s slothful proposal. "That the answer is a tentative ''yes'' is an offence to Abjurers everywhere."

    "As an Omni-Mage," Gwen explained for her instructor. "I can devise a Shield, while simultaneously Scrying my surroundings. I could do it right now, technically, by using Link Sight with Ariel, though I am finding it almost impossible to cast upper-tier spells while my senses are preoccupied. I was discussing with Major Kott if there''s any way to replicate the same spell Sobel used in Sydney, what Magister Walken calls the Dark Egg."

    "Devouring Chrysalis." Brown raised an all-knowing digit.

    "Hmm?" Gwen blinked.

    "The spell is called the Devouring Chrysalis," Magister Brown repeated himself. "It''s in the archives on Sobel. You should know that our House Master at Emmanuel''s was on a first-name basis with Deathless. You should visit, sometimes, if you''re interested, I can submit a request."

    Gwen happily declared she would desire nothing else.

    "Out of curiosity, I am told you''ve taken a liking to our pond? Have you taken an interest in our humble abode? You''re as welcome at Emmanuel''s as Peterhouse..."

    "No no, just the ducks," Gwen denied the desire to jump ship.

    "The Ducks?" Brown snorted with surprise. "They speak, you know."

    "¡­ they speak?" Gwen cocked her head. "In English?"

    "Of course not! But with Commune, from the School of Divination¡­"

    Major Kott growled.

    "¡­ my apologies." Brown raised both hands. "Nil, she''s all yours."

    "To answer your question, Magus Song. You''d be a sitting duck. No Spell Piercer worth their salt is going to find much trouble with your low-tier Void Egg¡ª even if you are using Lord Shultz''s'' variation."

    "And yet, brother seems to do fine."

    "I imagine Tower Master Shultz would have no problems reducing a counter speller to dust before they could analyse a single Glyph." Kott''s lip formed a tenuous curl. "The Morning Star''s offence is his best defence."

    Another Gunther fanboy, Gwen marked Kott down in her mental notebook. Her brother-in-craft''s accumulated kudos was something she dearly desired. When would she be able to imitate the sun like Gunther and be respected by men and women halfway across the world?

    "Do you plan on teaching her Enchantment still?" Magister Brown was not very good at keeping his mouth shut. "It seems you have your hands full with Abjuration."

    "A good foundation takes time." To Gwen''s chagrin, Kott did not deny that his student was less suited for advanced Abjuration than he could ever imagine. "Decades, preferably."

    "Perhaps I could offer an accelerated pathway?" Magister Brown''s eyes twinkled. "Miss Song, you must forgive Major Kott and Magister Patil. Though humble, your instructors are authorities within their respective fields. Like Lord Shultz, they represent the convergence of talent and effort¡ª while you represent a most curious incongruity¡ª an excess of talent, spoilt by inexperience. My proposal, therefore, is that in lieu of militant learning, I could empower a holistic learning experience..."

    Major Kott closed the spell tome in his hand, cutting off his compatriot.

    "Since you are occupied, this is as far as we go today." Her instructor rose from his seat. "Complete the unfinished Mandala diagrams in chapter three and six by Thursday, before your IIUC ceremony. I imagine there will be an interruption to our schedule once your social obligations take a front seat. Practice well, and practice often. You need it."

    "Understood, Major." Gwen carefully opened the thigh-thick volume to the indicated chapters, where annotations had been made for her. All she had to do was to follow Kott''s precise instructions.

    Next, she waited for Brown to take his leave. Instead, the man invited her to come closer.

    "Such impatience! So much for being a Mineral Mage." Maxwell Brown''s lopsided grin sent goosebumps running up her thighs. "Now then, my dear, shall we streamline your learning methodology? Intuitive sorcery, alas, is the rare privilege of casters like you and me."

    "I don''t believe it. You look¡ª tired." Richard felt genuinely shocked when three days on from their prior communique, he and Gwen met on the Isle of Dogs.

    "Shit. One sec." His cousin closed her eyes and engaged in an intense minute of concentration. Visibly, her pale and lustreless skin once again assumed its vital glow, her eyes regaining their attractive sparkle. When she exhaled, signalling the completion of the Essence circuit, Richard could visibly see the weeds around Gwen''s feet grow ever-so-slightly, each blade reaching out to bootlick his cousin''s beetle-black Mary Janes.

    "I mean it as a compliment," he rephrased his comment. "You look like you''ve been studying hard."

    "And I have." Gwen shook out her arms and legs. "You have no idea of the corners I''ve painted myself. My tutors are borderline obsessive. I think they''re taking revenge."

    When Gwen explained what Brown had convinced the others to set up, he could only shake his head at their wastefulness. So many HDMs, it was only Gwen that could command such frivolous strategies.

    "How''s Elvia?" he changed the topic when Gwen complained of a throbbing brain. Richard felt nothing particular; the flaxen-haired beauty was useful only as a source of mental consolation for his moody cousin. She was, in his mind, a medicinal flower whose bud-juices, if applied in excess, turned to the "Blue" so popular with the NoMs. When Gwen spoke of gifting Elvia the Draconic Ginseng, Richard rolled his eyes. Once again, sentimentality had ridden roughshod over rationality. As for Elvia''s confession, Richard cared for nothing. The purpose of desire, he reasoned, was motivation. Attainment killed the magic.

    If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    It should be bloody obvious to all that his Void-fed cousin walked a path few could follow. Any beings caught in her orbit need possess both the arcane and mental aptitude to endure the course. Elvia Lindholm had never been anything special, if Gwen were Jupiter, then "Evee" was no more a Galilean pseudo-moon to Yue''s Ganymede or Petra''s Europa.

    Elvia Lindholm, a celestial object? What horror would that bring to the balance? The collisions, chaos and annihilation engendered by such a thing sat against everything Richard hoped for. So what if there were tentacled felines? If some Druids could extinguish the girl, Gwen was better off without the baggage.

    "Evee''s doing well." Gwen recollected their last exchange. "Already, she''s making a name for herself. I guess that Magus Kilkenny must have set things up so that she would be well-supported."

    "¡­ Fitzgerald," he reminded his overtired cousin.

    "...Oh, yes, of course, how could I forget Gatsby?" Gwen massaged her temples while sprouting a nonsensical Gwenism. "Sorry, Dick. Too many Mandalas. It''s all that''s in my head."

    "Perhaps a quest might soothe your fever, Duck." Richard rather liked the new nickname he bestowed her. "You could join us in the sewers. Slimes can be very exciting."

    Gwen shot him another withering look. "Another outfit? Oh, the hassle¡ª"

    "Hey." He shrugged, pointing at his Wellington boots, then at her ankles, bare up to her knees. "Is it my fault Lea and I are perfect for the job?"

    At the mention of her name, Lea materialised, keen on soliciting Gwen for Essence. With a wave of his hand, Richard banished the Undine back into its pocket dimension.

    "Not now, sweetpea," Richard apologised to his Sprite. "Remember what we discussed. You''re as good as Ariel, but I am no Gwen."

    "Low-key in London¡­" Lea''s voice drifted through the air, making his hair moist.

    "That''s right." He soothed his Undine with a jolt of mana. Looking around the entry to the Isle, he could see crows on the treetops and the roofs of the townhouses. In the distance between the pier and the townhouses, two discordant, upright figures came into view.

    "There''s our men. I''ll get them¡ª ELIS! LUKA!"

    The two young men who came to join them were dressed in camo-patterned training-outfits, the same as Richard. The shorter of the two sported sandy-blonde hair, the taller, matt-black. Seeing Richard call out, they quickly approached.

    "Dick! You''re early!" The first bowed from the waist. "This must be the divine employer."

    "You''ve been hiding her from us." The second young man, Luka, broke into a nervous grin.

    Gwen performed a half-curtsy, but the two university students shirked back.

    "Please don''t." The two laughed nervously. "Dick, how about you introduce us."

    In high society, etiquette dictated that one must be "introduced" to one''s superiors. A carcass must not walk into a conversation like a clueless rustic as Gwen had done on every occasion.

    "Duck, this is Elis Cox, third son of some Viscount somewhere in the Frontiers. He is our Evoker, a Lightning Mage like yourself who part-times in Illusion. He dreams of leaving for the colonies one day to make a name for himself."

    "My pleasure, Dick," Elis shook hands with Gwen.

    "¡­ and this is Luka Spencer, a nobody like me who just happened to work hard enough to claw his way to the top of the food chain. Luka has the rare talent of Ice, perfect for Slimes. He hopes to become a Civil Engineer."

    "I am an Enchanter-Transmuter." Luka shook Gwen''s hand as well. "I am afraid I won''t be much use in combat. But I can repair the wards and put new ones in place to filter out the Slimes to prevent future inundation like the present. Please call on me again if you are satisfied with my work."

    "That sounds lovely." Gwen smiled, and Richard watched his mates from King''s melt. He had met the duo during Lent O-week, and after some back and forth, had deemed that these two were talented enough to be useful, but sufficiently disconnected from nobility to offer an uncomplicated friendship. It was this sort of respectful partnership that Richard believed was the perfect and proper attitude his cousin should cultivate, especially considering her lack of friends.

    A puzzling reality for a girl who had debitors by the dozen, a lover or two, Family who loved her¡ª but non-existent social life, discounting Lady Grey, her Familiars, and now, a duck.

    Richard was beginning to miss Petra. Even a Lulan or Mayuree keeping Gwen company would do.

    "Well, then." Richard gestured to the sludge-slathered iron gate just below the waterline. "We''re going to get started. Assuming no complications, I imagine we should finish within a few hours. Are you coming or will you be shouting lunch?"

    "Lunch." Gwen took one look at the moss-caked brickwork and denied his invitation to participate in building rapport with the boys from King''s. "After, come find me at the estate. I''ll be checking Wally''s books and auditing Elvia''s soup kitchen."

    "You''re going to relax by working?" Richard remarked before inspecting the present state of the docks.

    From what Gwen had told him, the region was in a poor state before Elvia set up her "Foundation" here on the Isle. With a steady stream of HDMs fed to the furloughed workers, the place appeared to have regained a mote of life. For once, children were playing on the quay rather than huddling at home to conserve their body warmth. He could also spot folk going about sweeping the concrete and hosing off the mud. Elsewhere, across the eastern dockyard, several flatbeds were parked outside the printing press, dragging out great gut-fulls of scrap metal from a collapsed section of the warehouse.

    Richard shuddered to think that Gwen was using her Void magic to dispose of trash in a shady, NoM workhouse district. If her instructors were here, the one with a wand up her arse, Patil, would probably need a Calm Emotion from Elvia.

    He had no idea if the Isle of Dogs would ever grow into the ''second hub'' of London as Gwen proposed, but he could see the potential in an easily accessible peninsula close enough to see the Shard in all its glory.

    "See you later, Dick. Take care of Elis and Luka."

    "Til lunch, Duck." Richard parted from his cousin with a scented hug before returning to his companion''s jealous eyes.

    "You two close?" The question came from Elis.

    "Not nobly close." Richard''s lips curled "That said, if you''re feeling it, her warmth''s still lingering. I''ll do you a solid. How about a second-hand hug?"

    Cambridge.

    The ides of January came on like snarling Ice Troll, blanketing London with alternating gales of powder and sleet.

    Gwen woke to the sound of her Alarm spell blaring away beside her skull, inconsolable but for a placating algorithm Magister Brown had demanded to enforce spontaneous spell-construction as a part of her daily living.

    When she finally fell out of bed and stumbled into the bathroom, her hair falling about like that of a wet hag, she suffered the distinct pleasure of deciphering a spell-disjunction before the illusory Ward would allow her unvetted access to the porcelain bowl.

    Likewise, the hot shower she had so dearly desired accosted her with a minor Mandala puzzle requiring an articulation of random Glyph-formulae selected from her textbook.

    At the door of her fridge, breakfast was locked away by a Ward that required a precise spell-strike from a magic missile demanding three combinations of meta-magic, randomly selected by the embedded arcanistry.

    After a meal of eggs, Spam and toast, she arrived at her walk-in wardrobe, thankfully devoid of further interruptions, and reached out for a figure-hugging long-sleeved dress.

    A split-second later, an Octogramic Ward demanding a combination of Transmutation, Enchantment and Illusion keys overlaid itself over the wardrobe. In real-life, the Ward would trigger a tier 5 spell-strike linked to the specific element HDM it was empowered with¡ª though presently the boobytraps in her apartment hungered for solutions.

    As before, if she so desired, Gwen could ignore the probing puzzles and wear the dress anyway, though that would disappoint her instructors, who had each contributed to her anguish.

    "This has to be Le Guevel," Gwen complained to the frigid, general air. Near the window, the heating duct, a thing almost two centuries old, plinked in the cold. Unlike most, Gwen''s otherworldly constitution made her effectively immune to the cold, though heat and humidity still proved a challenge.

    She rummaged through the rest of her closet. An A-line tunic assaulted her eyes with a stronger Mandala than the first. The thigh-length one-piece, one of her favourites, demanded a tier 4 Illusion glyph she had never even seen before. The knee-socks could double as a minor thesis.

    "Jesus Christ¡­" Her scalp crawled. To think Le Guevel had the patience to sort her fashion wear by tiers of indecency. To test her hypothesis, Gwen laid hands on a white blouse that covered her from chin to hip.

    Nothing.

    Not a damn thing.

    Her hand shifted toward a minidress.

    A flurry of eye-straining illusions exploded forth whenever she touched the fabric.

    Above, she could see little carvings engraved onto the racks. If she wished to cheat, Gwen supposed, it was a simple matter of swapping the hangers.

    But that was beside the point.

    Sighing, she took down a heavy cotton skirt that reached her ankles in demure grey. Her other hand reached for a three-quarter-sleeve top. As expected, the puzzle-pieces were simple enough that her shame could be covered in under a minute.

    She reached for the pump heels.

    A half-dozen Mandalas blossomed.

    "...fuck."

    Peterhouse.

    Chapel.

    For the plethora of colleges dotting Cambridgeshire, the Chapel remained the centrepiece of each school. Some, like King''s, held royal patronage and served as the home to the Queen''s Choir. Comparatively, though not the largest nor the most magnificent, Peterhouse''s lacquered arches provided an intimacy that the transmuted marble at King''s lacked.

    ¡°Deus est caritas, et qui manet in caritate in Deo manet, et Deus in eo: sit Deus in nobis, et nos maneamus in ipso. Amen¡­¡±

    The final words of Peterhouse''s College Grace, read by the Vice-Chancellor, faded into the candle-lit air.

    A smattering of lumen-bulbs turned the panelled interior quicksilver. With perfect poise, Marchioness Maxine Loftus spoke sternly of solidarity and tenacity in these trying times of the Empire before relenting to the Chief Proctor from Brussels¡ª Magister Helmut Peeters.

    For Gwen who stood in her subfusc and crimson mantle, the rows of staff, the faculty, and the gathered students returning to attend the Lent term delivered a vivid flashback to her first day at Blackwattle. The speaker, a platinum-haired, fatherly Director of Events from Brussels, appeared a simulacrum of Jules Bartlett, her old principal.

    "Mages, Maguses, Magisters¡ª it gives me great pleasure today to welcome you all to this concluding occasion of the 2004 IIUC. With me today are our esteemed host, the Lady of Ely, Vice-Chancellor Lord Alfred Butterfield, fellow members of the campus, and finally¡ª the object for which we are here gathered¡ª Magus Gwen Song."

    Polite applause greeted the Chief Proctor.

    "It takes a village¡ª or as it were, two colleges, to raise a Mage to prominence." Chief Proctor Peeters was happy to sail on without a hint of irony. "And tenacity. And Persistence. And experience, for which Gwen Song has exhibited much¡ª certainly no less than many of us today who survived the Beast Tide. From Sydney to Shanghai, and now Cambridge, our starlet is a Mage dear to every leyline a Tower has touched. In Burma, Magus Song has shown leadership and wisdom beyond her years. In Cuzco, she created miracles in a land famous for revelations in saving Lord Inti. Then again, in Dalian, China, she took that expertise for which she is now famous, and applied it to the direst threat facing Humanity¡ª the Undead."

    "While many of us, Proctors included, sat safely in our armchairs¡ª Miss Song faced a Soul Eater and taught the renegade the meaning of humility. In her subsequent engagement, she confronted a Lich, fighting the fiend to a stand-still until aid arrived in the form of Magister Walken of Oxbridge¡ª"

    Walken bowed. Bulbs flashed. In the stands, Gwen saw his wife and child clapping happily.

    "As for what came to pass¡ª I need not tally for you here. Even now, the rebuilding of Shenyang proceeds at full flight, with our allies of the Orient industriously revitalising the Liaoning Frontier to cage the threat."

    More bulbs flashed, vivifying her two-toned irises. Standing in full view of the gathered crowd, Gwen studied the many faces present. Most on either wing, Ollie included, hailed from Peterhouse itself, roped by the Lady into filling the gallery. Others from Kings and the fraternity colleges, including Richard and his friends, sat nearer the exit.

    "¡­ Magus Song, step forward."

    Gwen''s Mary Janes clacked across the polished, mirror-shine floor.

    "By the power invested in me through the International Inter-University Tribunal, I present to thee, the title of Most Valuable Participant in the 2004 competition year."

    Outside, a brass clock struck noon; inside, applause assaulted the vaulted roof.

    "...As well, it is with great pleasure that we also present the accompanying prize¡ª An MVP Contingency Ring, wrought with treaties ratified by each and very Tower from London to Tokyo to Auckland."

    In a manner not unlike a proposal, the Chief Proctor materialised, then presented a clamshell ring-box. The Creature Core that accompanied the betokened life-saving jewel scintillated as the lumen-globes fired, vivifying its Glyph-lit interior. Like a knight receiving her first Spellsword, Gwen knelt on one knee as instructed, first collecting a Tyrian sash over the rainbow-hued cloth provided by Peterhouse, each representing a proficient School of Magic, then bowing to receive her reward.

    A ring of such stature¡ª ratified by all states, was a rare and precious gift indeed. It was a thing whose value did not lie in the cost of creation nor the rarity of its materials, but in the political capital it represented.

    A Mage that arrived at a Tower bearing such a ring was fortified by favours, treaties, alliances¡ª and threats of expulsion should a Tower fail to uphold the universal agreement that led to the item''s creation.

    In front of the lumen-recorders, Gwen placed the ring onto her finger; her silhouette made mercury by the sheer volume of flaring bulbs. In front of an envious audience, she invoked the silent Glyph passed onto her by the helpful Magister Peeters, then raised a dainty white hand to signal that the reward bonded to her Astral Soul.

    "I look forward to your future service, Magus Song." Magister Peeters stood to one side, leaving Gwen in the limelight. In turns, she briefly joined hands with Lady Grey for the photo-op, then again with Magister Butterfield, then was once more alone.

    From the crowd of reporters, the familiar face of Dominic Lorenzo came into view. Out of the thong of thrusting pens and jostling gestures, Gwen hand-picked her future Editor.

    "Magus Song, would you like to say a few words to the future contestants of London for bringing home such as auspicious title?"

    "I would," Gwen proceeded as rehearsed. "I want to thank my teammates from Shanghai, Lady Grey of Peterhouse and Dean Luo of Fudan, my colleagues, my mentors, and my brother and sister-in-craft for this honour..."

    She paused for effect.

    "But I would also like to point out that while we are warm and snug here in the Chapel, bathed in the music of the spheres, there are Mages out there¡ª Mages like my friend Elvia Lindholm of Nightingale''s, fighting to save lives, labouring to keep the Mageocracy in one piece. Milady''s speech was no sentiment¡ª it is the reality of where we, as a society, stand today."

    "Miss Elvia Lindholm?" Dominic feigned surprise. "By who you mean the upstart Cleric with a Draconic Ginseng Spirit and an Alarune? The favoured of Lady Astor?"

    The other reporters grew silent. A few began to scribble in their notebooks.

    "The very same," Gwen''s imploring presence filled the dais as she tapped into her well of Essence. Her next words were enough to vibrate the stained mana-crystals depicting St Peter''s reception of the Nazarene. "My selfless Evee! Volunteering in Douglas! On the Isle of Man! Pulling Mages from the brink of Death while fending off the Manx! Putting duty before pleasure, even the attendance of her dearest friend''s international ascension! Evee, if you''re watching, stay true to the course! All of us here, we''re cheering for you!"

 Chapter 354 - A Little Web as This

    Around the world''s imagined corners, the troubles of the Mageocracy toiled on and on. From the Isle of Man to Kandahar to the Great Australian Blight, folk wrestled with predicaments large and small, be it an intricate Mandala sealing a too-short skirt, or a strategic one poaching Mermen in the Baltic Sea.

    Ten thousand kilometres from where Humans fought the Manx and Dwarves fought the Murk, lay the mystical mount of Huangshan. There, Ryxi, the unrecognised oldest scion of the Yinglong, wise beyond human comprehension, mulled over the final verse of the Huiwen, a twenty-nine by twenty-nine character rhyming verse that could be read forward or backwards, horizontally, vertically, or diagonally.

    For almost two centuries, Ryxi could not find the time to compose his palindrome masterpiece. Golos daily attempted to rob or mate with the goats, carps, and various offerings Ryxi cultivated for their Father''s abode. Whether or not the Yinglong subsumed said offering was no business of his, but as Lotus Peak''s majordomo, he refused to shirk from his divine duty.

    In the year since the Calamity came to Huangshan, much had changed in his changeless home. Ayxin, the oppressive brother-now-sister, Father''s favourite, had gone down into the lower realms to nest. Ruxin, who had been away for several decades, recently came to announce that he had found a peak in a place called Nagaland and would not be returning. For good measure, their ''eldest'' had also taken Golos with him, which was guzen to Ryxi''s ear holes.

    Thank Father''s feathers! Ryxi rejoiced. From being pummelled by an iron-willed Ayxin, a pea-brained Golos and an overbearing Ruxin, he was free. With Father dreaming in the Unformed Land, he could do as he pleased.

    Sharing his serene sentiment, a pearl of limewater fell from a waxy pine-needle. On impulse, Ryxi''s dragon-whisker maobi danced across the silkscreen, flowing like water, moving of its own accord.

    Opposite his pavilion, a peak ten-millennia in the making stood solitary as his Father''s austere self. On his serpent-tongue, he savoured the scent of midnight frost melting into morning dew, dripping as the pines bowed, a chorus of scholars paying homage to the White Serpent ancestor.

    "Ten thousand clouds, ten thousand streams,

    Here I lie, an idle Snake,

    Roaming green peaks by day,

    Coiled by cliffs, slumbering peacefully

    From juniper to juniper, springs to autumns,

    Free of heat and disturbance, my genteel mind.

    Sweetness in solitude, needing nothing,

    Silent as the autumn river''s¡ª"

    SCHWING!¡ª THUNK!

    A murderous shard of glimmering iron, spinning at such velocity that it ignited the air, passed between one rising crag and another. Mid-flight, the mana enveloping the projectile forced it to curve around the arc of a vibrating pine before striking a granite rock face.

    "SHATTERING SWORD!"

    On impact, a shard of metal almost as tall as Ryxi''s human form erupted into a thousand fragments of spiralling alloy, stripping the cliff of every inch of plant life.

    With a slow and agonising rumble, the granite began to split, no longer capable of bearing its top-heavy trees. In front of Ryxi''s very eyes, the object of his versification crumbled then crashed down below, setting off flocks of startled avians.

    With a snap, the bamboo brush in Ryxi''s hands snapped in half.

    "¡­ Lulan!" Ryxi called out. Just when he thought he as finally alone! Why was it so hard for a snake to find peace? "Lulan! Why are you still here?"

    "Shifu! You called?"

    With a resounding "Clang!" of clashing iron, the dashing figure of a sword-woman leapt from the Shan-Shui landscape onto the pavilion, as vibrant as a brushstroke. Where she landed, the jade tile fractured, sending tremors of despair through Ryxi''s otherwise slow-beating heart.

    "Shifu!" Lulan bowed. "I am rushing the practice you set before I return to Shanghai. As I''ll be absent for a few weeks, I''ve added the missed training to my existing schedule. I''ll master the Third Form soon! I promise!"

    Ryxi recalled that indeed, it was he who had given her a grandiose speech about adhering to his training even if she died. It had only been a month, but already the human girl was showing progress. The Sword Art of Huashan was one of the Five Schools during the Song Dynasty for excellent reasons. What made Ryxi nervous was that, while the style''s original creators emphasised on the philosophy of "tapping reeds like Dragonfly, strike like plum blossoms"¡ª this Lulan wielded the gentlemen''s sword like a butcher''s cleaver, especially now that her internal techniques, corrupted by forgetful time, was repaired by Ryxi at the behest of Ayxin and Ruxin. To her credit, though Ryxi could trap the limber Kenshi in a Mist Maze for all of eternity, he would not want to fight the girl head-on.

    "There''s no need!" The White Jade Serpent of Lotus Peak wept over his paint-speckled silk from the mid-Ming period. He could magic the blemishes away, of course, but as its creator, he couldn''t unsee the imperfections. "Won''t you be late for Ruxin''s quest?"

    "No, Shifu! I shall use the Flying Sword technique you taught!" Lulan willed a hovering slab of sword-shaped iron into being. "I can make it to Shanghai in three hours if I use Body Reinforcement."

    Ryxi winced. Just the thought of Lulan slinging through the air, leaving contrails of disturbed mist made his scales ache. He was a serpent of delicacy and ethereal grace, as were the Sword Arts he taught. If so, how did he manage to train up a female Golos?

    "Then go." Ryxi sent out a gust to send Lulan drifting into the peak. "I''ll disable the Mist Maze. Don''t return until your earthly duties are done!"

    "What can I bring you from the human world, Shifu?" Lulan shouted as she drifted down the mount. "More paintings?"

    Ryxi paused. There was something he wanted.

    "Lumen Crystals!" he called out. "Moving pictures! Bring me all the moving pictures!"

    Ru¨¬ Li, advisory to Director Marong of the House of M, personal assistant to "he who must not be named" and General Manager of Gwen Song''s estates in Shanghai, could scarcely believe she stood now as an equal to Professor James Ma.

    Her folk were a family of farmers labouring in the Canton Frontier until her father got a position as a machine operator. The income from that fortuitous position was enough to put Rui and her brothers through the municipal high school, an endeavour in which Ru¨¬ excelled, receiving a scholarship to attend Canton University. At the NoM college, Ru¨¬ once again proved herself a prodigy, ultimately landing herself in Fudan, with a bright future as an accountant at a Mage-owned firm in the bright and shiny southern capital.

    At Fudan, she met Professor Ma, her mentor.

    Who introduced her to Gwen Song, her boss.

    Gwen then introduced her to Director Marong, a merchant-prince from Burma.

    Then, while touring working the House of M, Marong brought Ru¨¬ before her backer''s backer.

    Before the age of fourteen, Ru¨¬ could not recall speaking to a Magus. Now, she trafficked with a deity.

    Lord Ruxin, as Marong had called the giant with stag-horns and white hair, was Miss Song''s celestial investor. Ru¨¬ recalled bowing so deep her forehead almost touched her shoes. What else could she do? She doubted crawling on all fours would make the Land God like her anymore. As Gwen had said¡ª for an NoM, being useful was more endearing than being slick.

    After she explained her relation to Gwen, Lord Ruxin asked for the present state of Gwen''s holdings, now his equity.

    With the sagacity of one reading her palm-lines, Ru¨¬ had launched into a torrent of numbers and statistics, projections of expenses and anticipated revenue, threats, weaknesses and stakes.

    "A hundred and forty-six thousand, sixty-seven-four-fifty HDMs, Sire!" Ru¨¬ had called out with her clarion voice.

    "Annually?"

    "Last quarter, Sire!" The Land God ranked higher than a king, and so Rui took a title often used by actors on period, Lumen-screen dramas.

    "I like this one," the stag-horned giant had mused. "That all?"

    "No, Sire!"

    "No?"

    "That amount is Quarterly, for the Tonglv Canal, and the fund itself. Milady''s investments additionally include land from Phase 2, both residential and commercial investments. At her discretion, I''ve made investments on her behalf in the local service industry. Our secondary portfolio recorded an earning of sixteen-thousand-five-hundred HDMs last quarter."

    "Marong?"

    "Yes, Sire?"

    "Keep this mortal safe."

    "I shall, my Lord." Marong stood quietly to one side.

    "¡­ we''ve also made tertiary investments¡­" Ru¨¬ recalled continuing like a stuck lumen-recorder. Bathed in that august presence, she couldn''t stop for fear of peeing herself. "Eleven per cent of all stage one equity has been diversified into stocks of companies servicing Tonglv. Since the full operation began in April, the tertiary portfolio has seen an increase of seven-hundred-and-ten per cent¡­"

    When finally she was forced to take a breath, the Land God appeared well-pleased.

    "Tis a rare day a mortal could please me so," the voice boomed from the jade dais. "I shall reward you. For now, you may go."

    "But Sire." Ru¨¬ realised that at some point, so much adrenaline had flooded her spine it had ceased to flop. "That was for Tonglv, Sir. I haven''t told you of Milady''s Centurion holdings¡­"

    Twenty minutes later, the Land God''s laughter filled the palace. "Good! Good¡ª"

    "B-but, Sire." Ru¨¬ was on fire. If she died right now, her parents would be proud knowing it was the result of spontaneous combustion while facing down a Mythic being. "There''s still Milady Gwen''s branding payouts¡ª and I''ve yet to cover the Jade trade¡­"

    The Land God''s presence had flooded the chamber¡ª then Ru¨¬ knew no more.

    "Ru¨¬¡ª hey, Ru¨¬! Focus."

    Ru¨¬ shook herself from the intensity of her recollection.

    "Any idea why we''re being summoned before the Tonglv triumvirate?" James Ma stood with his arms crossed, flanked by two assistants, both Government-assigned bodyguards. Since becoming the head of the auditing tribunal, the former professor had entered the Party''s Secretariat department with a provisional rank of Inspector General. "Lulan? Do you know?"

    Behind Ru¨¬, there stood a now-famous Mage Ru¨¬ could call a friend. Lulan Li of Huashan, a compatriot of her Missus Boss'' and a student of the Land God''s lesser minion.

    "I''ve been told to protect Miss Ru¨¬." After a few months of absence, Lulan''s face had lost some of its puppy fat. The Sword Mage, Ru¨¬ felt, appeared like the keen edge of a blade. "From Shifu''s telepathic conversations, I think it has to do with Gwen."

    "Ah¡ª" James Ma nodded. "So its come at last."

    "What has?" Lulan cocked her head. "Gwen''s out of reach. What can they do to her here?"

    "It''s not Gwen they''re after, but her assets here in Shanghai." Secretariat-Inspector Ma pursed his thin lips. "I guess that resolves one mystery. I guess it is in the nature of Clanners to step on their toes. Unlike us scholar-bureaucratic families, the Clans are well-set in certain compulsions."

    "I don''t understand." Lulan appeared as confused as ever. The mana in her pupils smouldered like tempering iron. "Are we under attack?"

    She made a one-handed chopping motion.

    Ru¨¬ grew instantly nervous. "Please calm yourself, Miss Lulan. Miss Song is very wise. Also, we''re in the Fung''s building right now."

    "Gwen is ''Magus Song'' now, from what I''ve learned. Ru¨¬ is right though. You shouldn''t bare your fangs just yet." Ma regarded her puzzlingly. "I can foresee how this might go, but I don''t understand why you''re both here. They could have sent for the audit report you and I have provided."

    "I am Miss Song''s legal proxy for some of her investments," Ru¨¬ explained. In truth, she couldn''t fathom why she''d been sent either. Her orders from Director Marong had been to simply answer the Tonglv Triumvirate''s questions to the best of her abilities and with complete honesty. According to Marong, things would somehow work out, and that Lulan was merely there to keep her safe. As for what purpose she served, Ru¨¬ knew her place.

    In a Mages'' game of ''Go'', NoMs were less than spell-fodder.

    Dai Fung had always thought that the line of Fung would end because of his screw up, such as a hot-headed exchange with a Secretary''s scion, and not with his father''s lofty ambitions.

    Beside him, the Tonglv triumvirate lounged in the glass-walled boardroom atop the Fung corporate building.

    Internally, Dai''s guts were performing pirouettes.

    For months now, he had attempted to persuade his father, the Governor-Secretary of Nantong, to relent on recovering Gwen''s share of the Tonglv project. An iron-clad agreement from Pudong Tower aside, he had gotten a glimpse of what lurked behind the Void sorceress'' bottomless portfolio while working for the currency-witch and knew Gwen''s backers consisted of more than a humble Party-Secretary Yeye and a Hospital Director Nainai.

    "You look nervous, xiao-Fung." Tu Guangshao of the Shanghai Economics board toked on an ivory length of "Double Happiness", filling his lungs with flavourful mana.

    Dai did his best to smile.

    "Your boy''s still got feelings for the traitorous harlot?" Magister Quin Chen, the Party official overseeing the Tonglv project, had grown fat since the end of phase one. With profits from the projects rolling into the Party''s coffers, he had been paving his way upward, hoping that one day, he too would sit upon the Central Committees. "She was something, eh? Those legs¡ª the very best of east meets west. Haha, to be young..."

    Dai briefly envisioned punching the man''s teeth in.

    "Dai, control yourself!" Usually, his father''s voice sounded to Dai like a whip. Presently, Dai could hardly hear the noise coming from the head of the table. "¡ª Good. They''re here."

    With a sucking sound, the massive, double-door entry to the executive boardroom unsealed itself.

    Two doormen held the panes while their guests, Secretary James Ma, overseer of the Tonglv Audit Committee, and Ru¨¬, Gwen''s personal-accountant, entered the room on clicking heels. Behind the NoM, Dai caught the familiar face of Lulan Li, the Sword Mage from Huashan, famous in all of China thanks to the IIUC broadcasts. Were it not for the fact that she had disappeared of late, her darling face would be plastered all over Tonglv''s billboards.

    Across the floor, Ru¨¬ stood demure as a mouse.

    Though the NoM''s parents were peasants, Dai had since learned not to demean the girl''s talents. What she had, he sorely lacked. It was a stern lesson he took to heart, for though Gwen was now absent, their old crew, Effi and Terence, now worked for Dai. Additionally, he now had a whole contingent of NoM accountants working under him, reporting to him the undercurrents flowing beneath the Fung''s auspicious exterior.

    That was also why Dai knew the Fungs were in dire straits.

    As Gwen had long anticipated and Ma had warned¡ª it was in the very nature of the Clans to eat the grass around their hutch to fatten themselves. Were it not for the absurd volume of HDMs filtering into the company; the Clan''s coffers would have long been hollowed out.

    Or, a more disturbing insight interrupted his thought. Were it not for Gwen and the mass of crystals flooding into the Fung''s coffers¡ª their Clan would have remained the mud-Emperors of Nantong and not have leapt onto that precarious platform called Party politics.

    Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

    It was a calamity in the making¡ª the higher one''s rise, alas, the harder the impact, and in Dai''s opinion, the Fungs of Nantong had soared far too close to the Central Committee''s five-point celestial star.

    Opposite from Dai, he could see Ru¨¬ was terrified, which was a natural response. Beside her, James Ma''s demeanour was one of amusement.

    What did Fudan''s ex-professor know? Dai desired more than anything to find out.

    From the hands of servants, precious tea from Fur-Peak greeted the guests and hosts. One for each, but none for Ru¨¬. Dai''s lips twitched. With a stern glare, he commanded another cup to be made available.

    "Please help yourselves," his father began, ignoring Dai''s actions. The Patriarch did not appear bothered by the fact that James Ma seemed unfazed. "Since we are all here, I will waste no time. For some time now, we have entertained the architect of our Tonglv Project, Magus Song. As the granddaughter of Committee Chair Guo Song, she was someone we have placed great faith in bringing continued prosperity to the State and the Party."

    James Ma said nothing.

    Ru¨¬ stared at the table, avoiding the Patriarch''s eyes.

    "However," Shen Fung continued. "It is without a doubt that Gwen Song is no longer that young lady of the House of Song we so admired. You''ve all seen the broadcast of her receiving her title from the IIUC. Gwen Song! Of Cambridge! A travesty of loyalty and piety! She has forgotten her roots! You''ve all seen her bearing her crimson mantle, smiling as she held the hands of her British hound masters."

    James Ma nodded.

    Ru¨¬ studied the woodgrain.

    "Allow me." Tu took over. "Tonglv¡ª is a critical infrastructural component for Shanghai and the Party. As a representative of the Economic Activities Committee, I cannot¡ª will not¡ª allow a foreigner partial ownership of the Canal. I have already communicated this reality with our Regional Development office, and have a secured Secretary Jiang''s compliance. We have additionally obtained confirmation from London that Gwen Song is in league with the capitalist-imperialist Ravenport. Thereby, for the good of Tonglv, for the people of Nantong and the motherland itself, I declare that the triumvirate will rescind the contract given to Miss Song, and withdraw the single percentage stake of the Canal''s Class-A shares."

    Their opponents remained silent.

    Dai quaked.

    It was happening!

    Why wasn''t Ma up in arms? He desperately looked to his father, only to be met with a dead-eyed command to remain silent.

    "Of course, we are not without guilt," Magister Chen added his piece. "We too, must take responsibility for misplacing our trust. The Tonglv Committee will repay Miss Song for her losses, based on the price at which she originally acquired the shares."

    Ru¨¬ suddenly looked up. "Lords and Sirs. The original shares are worth less than a thousandth of what Tonglv is currently trading."

    Shen Fung furrowed his brows. "You are not here for input, Miss Ru¨¬. You are here to execute the order we have delivered. James, what say you?"

    "A fair deduction." James Ma inclined his chin.

    Dai held his breath.

    Something was coming.

    He could feel it in his Astral Body.

    It was only natural that Ma was unimpressed. Gwen had said that she had planned for this eventuality. He had even forewarned his father, but who in Shen''s lair of nepotistic favours had bothered to dig deep enough to uncover what favours Gwen had trafficked? Dai had looked into it himself and turned up nothing¡ª not a mote! Something¡ª someone¡ª at Pudong, had obfuscated Gwen''s financial activities. Was it James Ma? Or someone higher?

    "Sirs." Ru¨¬ humbly bowed her head. "I can''t process your command to rescind Miss Song''s shares. That is not within my given privileges."

    A round of snorting sneers answered the NoM woman. To Dai''s growing anxiety, Ru¨¬ no longer appeared so intimidated.

    "All you have to do." Tu''s patience for NoMs was non-existent. "Is take these contracts¡­"

    The man slid over a thick stack of papers.

    "... And inform Miss Song she needs to sign them."

    "I can''t do that¡ª"

    "Miss LI!" Magister Chen raised his voice. "You forget your place! Do you know who we are? What we stand for? You are not the Devourer of Shenyang!"

    Lulan moved to stand beside Ru¨¬. The Sword Mage was like a sheathed blade, waiting to be drawn.

    Dai heard his father laugh under his breath. Shen Fung did that whenever he grew annoyed or angry. The idea that an NoM woman, an accountant at that, was telling them she would not execute their order was magnitudes beyond what he and the two fat men beside him could stomach.

    "Ma, control your underling." Tu turned to the professor.

    "She''s not one of mine." Ma shrugged. "Besides, she''s right. There''s nothing Miss Ru¨¬ can do for you."

    "Then you do it," Tu growled. "You''re on the committee. You can bring us her asset report and execute the transfer once she signs."

    "I can''t do that either." Ma shook his head.

    "Why not?" Chen''s tone grew dangerous. Since Chen was an inner-Party official, Dai guessed, the professor-turned vice-secretary was less wary of Ma like the others. Moreso, Chen had always been jealous of Ma, a squib, who had received more power from the Central committee than he. "You can''t shield her, Ma. It''ll be the death of you. I''ll have you and that accountant there charged with treasonous activities."

    "Hahahaha¡­" Ma began to laugh. Dai baulked. It was a rare day that a squib mocked Mages. Such carelessness was suicide. Ma had even left his bodyguards in the lobby.

    "Have you gone mad?" Dai watched his father stand to point an accusatory finger. "Ma, what did the girl give you?"

    "It''s complicated." James Ma shook his head. "Ru¨¬, care to clarify?"

    "Miss Song no longer owns any of the assets you wish to reclaim," Ru¨¬ explained slowly and meticulously, as if to children. "I can''t process the rescind order even if the legalities allowed for such a thing. What doesn''t belong to Magus Song cannot be returned."

    Following Ru¨¬''s words, a vast silence descended.

    Dai closed his eyes, then slowly reopened them.

    Everything remained in its place¡ª this was not a bad dream.

    He knew Gwen would not have let things lie as they were.

    "Your mistress must have made out like a mountain bandit." It was Shen Fung, Dai''s father, who first broke the silence. Having received the warning from Dai, he knew well enough that Gwen had cards left in play. "No matter, let the records show what revenue she has absconded withal. We will recover every HDM, mark my words."

    "¡­ I am afraid that''s not possible." This time, it was James Ma who spoke. "I oversaw that transfer a month or so back. The young lady received a sum of exactly ZERO HDMs. No Shares, no warrants, no dividends. Nothing."

    "Bullshit!" Tu slapped the table so hard the mahogany trembled. "I would have known!"

    "I passed it upward." Ma''s lips curled with pleasure. "Maybe the transaction was authorised, maybe not, I am just an auditor. My only role was to ascertain Magus Song''s total assets at the moment of transfer."

    At Ma''s deflection, the trio''s attention returned to Ru¨¬.

    "Magus Song now owns no assets in Tonglv, or in Shanghai itself..."

    Dai inhaled as the air grew suddenly thick. As for what came next, there were three very angry, surprised, and frustrated Magus-tier casters in the room:

    Shen Fung.

    Tu Guangshao

    And Chen Quin.

    The four bodyguards from the Fung Clan as well had at least one School of Magic at the fourth tier, in addition to their Clan''s secret arts.

    The mana pressure exerted by the sheer hostility of the Mages was enough to compress the air around the poor NoM accountant like a wall. Very quickly, Ru¨¬''s face filled with blood. Without an Astral Body of their own, NoMs could easily asphyxiate from the aura exuded by an upper-tier Mage.

    "Who now owns the sorceress'' shares?" Shen Fung demanded.

    "Show me those files," Tu demanded the ring on Ru¨¬''s finger. "We''ll get to the bottom of this. If your western whore of a mistress thinks she can jilt the Tonglv Economics Committee, she''s in for a very long and unpleasant surprise, and so are you."

    Dai desired to act, but it was Lulan Li who stepped forward in his place.

    CLANG!

    With a single swing of her arm, a massive blade wider and taller than her body materialised from thin air. The blade-metal sliced the space between the triumvirate and the panting NoM and squib, instantly severing the pressure. At the same time, the single block of whetted alloy split clean through the century-old conference table''s arm-thick lumber, then cleaved deeply into the reinforced concrete.

    Dai''s heart leapt to his throat.

    Sword Energy? Sword Ki? Ken-ki?

    What ancient power was this? The building itself was protected against higher-tier destructive magic and built on a ley-node! Abjuration, Transmutation and even Fengshui reinforced it! To slice into the concrete like butter¡ª what man could erect a Shield to withstand a strike like that?

    His father was making a terrible mistake! Things were spiralling out of control!

    "¡­ INSOLENCE!" Shen Fung raised a hand to command the guards. As one, the Clan''s elite members drew their wands.

    Tu''s frustration was also at his limits. With a snarl, the hypocritical patriot Earthen Mage called upon a dozen rods of iron projectiles empowered by British magic, enabled by an American-made wand.

    Chen, ever the scholar, took two steps back and inexpertly worked on his cowardly Illusion.

    Every hair stood on Dai''s body.

    Gwen would never send someone like Lulan to die a dog''s death. His father might not believe it, but when Dai had chummed with Tao and Mina, the siblings had revealed that Gwen''s IIUC excursions had netted her patrons, allies, and debtors from all over the world. He wasn''t sure if any of them could pressure the CCP, rival the Party in power, but Gwen was the girl who liberated Shenyang, fought a Lich! No matter his father''s confidence, or Tu''s bribes, or Chen''s delusions of Party grandeur¡ª it was entirely possible Gwen had the eye of someone in the politburo. What if that was why she saw his admiration only as a distraction? There was someone else, maybe, a Party Secretary, or a European prince, who could be her amorous sponsor!

    "Father¡ª NO!" Dai knew it was now or never. He had to gamble everything. If Dai failed, he would be excommunicated by Shen, removed from the line of succession, chased out of Nantong. But if he succeeded and his guess was right¡ª

    Then the Nantong Fungs might still exist tomorrow!

    Bodily, Dai leapt in front of Lulan and Ru¨¬. "Patriarch! You''re making a terrible mistake!"

    "Dai!" His father growled like a Water Ghost. "Get out of the Mao-damned way, you ingrate¡ª"

    DING!

    A blooming Message spell exploded beside Shen''s, Tu''s, and Quin''s ear, visible to all. For those in the know, they perceived it to be a missive from the Party directorial office, delivered through the elevated channels occupied by the Confidential Communications Committee.

    Dai watched as Shen Fung looked at his son, at his partners, then lowered his hand.

    DING!

    The spell tolled on, demanding public redress.

    His father touched a finger to his wrist. "Wei, send it through."

    Without ceremony, the Message resounded through the room. The voice that broadcasted itself was strange to all but the three who oversaw Tonglv.

    "Mister Fung. I humbly ask you and your men to stand down when my men arrive. Should there be a confrontation, I have given full authority to my proxy to deal with you as they see fit¡­"

    Dai did not know the voice, but from the way his Father''s face turned instantly ashen, he could guess to whom it belonged.

    Secretary-General Miao Yang-B¨°!

    He who oversaw the Central Commission for Discipline and Inspection! The unseen-hand, holding the leashes! The watcher who watches the watchers. Who else could bypass his father''s web of alliances? Who else couldn''t care less for Tu and Chen''s cocoon of favours?

    "¡­ take a seat. Do not fret. Your deliverance will soon arrive."

    Magister Chen found an executive chair and sunk into the luxurious leather. He clutched his chest with one hand, while the other supported his torso so he could remain upright.

    Tu too had turned the colour of ash as he mopped the sweat pouring from his head with the palm of his hand, adding to the stains on his rapidly yellowing collar.

    Dai met his father''s eyes.

    An adage his father often sprouted in Dai''s youth came to mind. "Do no evil in the bright day. Fear no evil in the night."

    The CCDI had appropriated the same ancient aphorism as its eight-worded motto. "Curb desire at day, fear no knocking at dark."

    Sure, Gwen was fleecing the Tonglv project hundreds of thousands of HDMs a year, but she did so legally. Could the Fung Clan say the same? Could Tu? Or Chen? How bottomless was their greed, that they could not stomach losing even one-hundredth of the money Tonglv made?

    And now it was all too late.

    Like a man exhaling for the last time, the double doors opened once more.

    Shen, Tu and Chen all rose to greet the inspector sent by the CCDI.

    When they saw the familiar face, the blood drained from their bodies once more. Chen grew so weak that he even sank to the floor and had to be helped by a guard.

    "U-uncle Jun!" Dai blurted out when he met the man''s eyes. "You''re here? But¡­"

    But of course.

    Tao and Mina had mentioned in passing that Miao Yang-B¨° spoke to Gwen during an incident involving her Father''s wedding in Hangzhou. Behind Jun were other members of the CCDI, staff with absolute loyalty to the Party apparatus, bound by Geas and indoctrinated from childhood.

    Before Dai could bow and scrap, another figure entered the room.

    A woman.

    No, Dai reminded himself. A goddess.

    If Gwen was beautiful, then this vision of loveliness was the single most alluring being he had ever beheld in all his years. It wasn''t so much her hair, her vivid eyes, the flawlessness of her skin, or the stature of her svelte figure¡ª it was that her presence grew beyond what humanity could engender. She was otherworldly: that was all Dai could fathom as her aura filled the room.

    "Shishu." Lulan bowed from the waist.

    Master-Uncle? Dai''s jaws clenched reflexively. It took a second for his mental faculties to process the archaic title, and when they did, he understood that he was in the presence of a being whose bloodline hailed from a time when the Fung still fished with sticks and stones.

    "Lord Ayxin." Shen Fung held out his hands in a bygone, dynastic act of supplication. "The Nantong Fungs welcome the scion of the Yinglong to our humble abode."

    "Greetings to Lord Ayxin." Tu quaked.

    "Greetings to Lord Ayxin." Chen did his best to retain what dignity he had left.

    The guards fell to one knee. Ru¨¬ was already on both knees, though the girl knelt to one side, in the manner of a vassal.

    Dai''s face violently filled with blood.

    Like observing the end of a contentious game of Go, the final checker-piece fell into place.

    Secretary-General Miao.

    Jun Song.

    Princess Ayxin.

    Lulan Li''s Master-Uncle.

    Ru¨¬¡ª awed but unsurprised.

    James Ma''s great gloat.

    Gwen''s absent assets.

    Mao''s balls! Dai felt as though his mana channels were about to erupt. He lacked a mouth but was full of desire to scream and howl.

    GWEN SOLD THEM OUT TO A DRAGON.

    That''s why Secretary-General Miao was involved!

    A Dragon! The Huangshan princess! That she owned a portion of Tonglv meant that a mythic now held a mutual interest in China''s infrastructure! The old dogs in the Party were paying tithes in all but name to the master of southern China''s rice bowl! Since the inception of the CCP, the Party had struggled to create meaningful dialogue, and now, thanks to Jun¡ª or Gwen¡ª and Ayxin, they had it! Praise the Three Gorges!

    Across the room, Dai could see that his father must have reached the same conclusion. For a moment, their eyes met, and Dai saw in the usually imperturbable mien of his esteemed father, such despair and self-loathing that his heart instantly ruptured.

    "Vataka!" Ayxin gave the command. "What gall you must possess to threaten one of my brother''s employees? AND one of our disciples? I could flay your souls and not quail a mote of our family''s anger!"

    Dai allowed his body to fold.

    The triumvirate who had not knelt crashed to the floor, not so much that they could not resist Ayxin''s Dragon-tongue, but that they dared not. With the CCDI even now securing the building and Jun, the uncle of the very girl whose shares they attempted to usurp watching like a hawk, they knew there was nowhere to run, that a teenager had outplayed them all.

    "How dangerous is human greed, to desire more than you deserve," Jun remarked. To Dai, the war hero appeared younger than in the posters he recalled. "Ru¨¬, Lulu, why are you kneeling? Professor, please get up. Ayxin?"

    The Dragon-fear relented.

    Ma and his men retrieved themselves with Jun''s aid. Jun took a stroll around the cleaved table, whistled, patted Lulan on the head, then reached Dai.

    Dai looked up.

    "Get up, Mister Fung."

    With great unwillingness, Dai stood.

    "Don''t fret." Jun''s hand on his shoulder possessed the weight of mountains. "Gwen told me about you. And we''ve also seen how you''ve followed her advice in governing Tonglv¡ª curbing nepotism, fully-auditing accounts. Well done, xiao-Fung."

    Dai choked. "My¡­ my father."

    "Will live, thanks to you." Jun''s amiable mien may as well be the risen sun, melting the winter ice. "Those other two, however, will be taking a trip to Nagaland. As for Patriarch Fung. We''ll be mining his memories, delicately, so that he will recover in time. That said, a dozen years in Stasis goes without question. An example must be made."

    "Nagaland?" Dai mumbled over his words. "Father? Stasis? Why?"

    "Bribery of Party officials¡ª fermenting dissent, conspiring to form a party-within-the-Party. Disturbing the peace. Profiteering from Party infrastructure. Misuse of public funds. Tax Evasion." Jun sighed. "Gwen left the Fung''s something amazing. Was it not enough? I don''t know whether to praise or scold her for the flood of Penal Mages now serving in Shenyang. Tonglv might seem like an ascension to most, but to me, all I see is an enormous rat-trap."

    Behind the two, the Dragon goddess muttered something in a language Dai could not understand.

    Tu''s whimpering ceased at once¡ª not because the man had grown a spine, but because he had become entirely rigid.

    It was Stasis¡ª an upper-tier multi-school magic Dai had only heard rumours of existing. A spell that held one''s body frozen in time, or managed a visual facsimile, while horrifyingly, left one''s mind free to think and wonder. In Tianlanqiao, the spell required two mandalas, powered by a ley-line connected to a multi-storey structure.

    "Mao, please, I have a family. I have grandchildren¡­" Chen whimpered as Ayxin approached. "Please, princess, have mercy, think of your children. Have compassion¡ª"

    "Vataka!"

    THWACK! Chen slammed himself wetly against the floor so hard that when he once again lifted his face, it bled from every orifice.

    Without expression, the Dragon-Princess performed the same rite.

    "You two are a reparation gift." Ayxin''s face was without expression. "Don''t worry; your family will be going with you. Every one of them that has benefited from the hoard you stole from my brother, will answer in his Jade Court."

    Dai dared not glance at his father''s shivering form. Instead, he addressed Jun once more.

    "How¡­ could the Party just surrender its citizen like this? They misappropriated funds. They didn''t hurt anyone."

    Jun cut him off before he could finish. "HDMs? Is that all? These are men who have fed on the flesh of their fellow citizens, young Lord of the Fung Clan. As of now, almost a million of our people are reliant on the canal for their daily rice. From the meanest peddler to Ma''s senior auditors, the seasonal labourer to our Committee Chair. Your father¡ª Tu and Chen, though they have not maimed anyone personally, they''ve done untold harm to tens of thousands. Because they wanted more power, Crystals meant for investments bled out from Tonglv. Hundreds of thousands of workers, maybe more, were underpaid or not paid at all. How do you think those luckless workers in the Districts survived the winter? How about their starving wives and daughters? Because of their unnatural ambition, goals went unmet in phase two, land sold for cheap to their friends and families. But what about the jobs those sales were engendering? The workers whose wages were paid for by the project profits? What of Tonglv''s municipality, who never received the land tax? Who could keep the Districts running on hot air? Fresh food, clean water, books for the children, Awaken Crystals! Are these not lives in themselves? No, they may not have killed anyone¡ª but fractions of a hundred-thousand-lives were lost."

    Dai nodded.

    Could he have stopped his father?

    Tonglv was the infinite rice cooker Gwen had filled for the Clan of Fung.

    It was a golden goose that laid Mithril eggs, conjured from thin air¡ª but for the Clans, one goose wasn''t enough. What Jun said wasn''t arcane. The Grey Ghost''s mantra from Mao''s Red Book was a lesson all knew but few heeded.

    "Dai!" Shen Fung''s final words rang across the boardroom as Jun''s men politely bound his wrists. "Son, save the Clan!"

    Looking at the queerly familiar silhouette of Ayxin, Dai felt such regret that he had fallen for that vision of loveliness at the House of M. If he had controlled himself then¡ª if he had walked away¡ª

    He was the one who had invited Gwen into the Fung''s midst.

    And sure, Tonglv had elevated the Fung Clan to lofty heights of late.

    But what goes up, must come down.

    And now, the Fung Clan may never rise again.

    Evening.

    The Nantong-Shanghai Expressway.

    Against Jun, Ayxin lounged on the Drake-skin leather of the palatial German automobile the government had provided for her outings.

    She was in a delicate mood, one she seldom showed to her companion, feeling a discontent that only rose to the fore whenever Jun or someone discussed the matter of Gwen Song.

    Her lover still held enormous sentiments for his niece¡ª fatherly feelings, as familial as his filial respect for Klavdiya. Yet, they caused Ayxin untold upset. Consciously, she attributed her burgeoning emotions to her gradual humanisation. To understand Jun, his family, and to provide for a family of her own, she had allowed herself a gradual increase in mortal sensations.

    Jun, for example, had a preference for excessively spiced food¡ª a habit he professed to be weaning from thanks to her revitalisation of his Ash-tainted senses. As for Ayxin herself, she had no preferences other than for what Jun preferred. The mortal foodstuff in the lower realms had the Essence value of dust compared to the creatures fed by her Father''s occupancy. To that end, she had made demands to Ryxi to supply their meals.

    "Ayxin¡­" Jun turned his head to kiss her forehead. In his eyes, she could see her visage reflected, a sight that well pleased her. "Do you think Gwen planned for all of this? If she did¡ª Mao help us, that girl is inhuman."

    "No," Ayxin refuted all credit to Jun''s slithering, green-eyed niece. "Ruxin is the one mastering the claim."

    "Oh thank Mao," Jun exhaled, laughing nervously. "Of course, that makes more sense."

    Ayxin turned away, suddenly disquieted.

    Had the Calamity planned for any of this?

    Surely her eldest was the master behind the puppet?

    If not¡ª

    Ayxin observed the goosebumps rising on her bare thighs.

    Jun was looking as well, though likely for entirely different reasons.

    A curious thing, Ayxin wetted her lips; unlike her Draconic-form, her human body possessed a mind of its own.

 Chapter 355 - Bitter Fruits

    "Chin up!" With a finger, Magus Keridwen Le Guevel teased her student''s profile until she achieved the desired limberness. "My dear, you have an enviously inviting neck."

    "That''s not ominous at all." Gwen mindfully swallowed, tracing the wandering digit with her eyes. "There aren''t any Vampires in Cambridge, are there? Square jaw, smoky eyes, sparkles in the sun?"

    "One could hope," Le Guevel cooed. "England isn''t the untamed Eastern Reaches. I wonder, though. You would make a wonderful diplomat, with such tempting veins, rich with the unclaimed blood of a virgin."

    At the V-word, Gwen stumbled forward, her left foot tripping on her four-inch heels, the ball of her foot landing on her instructor''s shoe.

    "Oh my god¡­" Wincing in sympathy, Gwen made a face. At six-foot-something, she was not light like Elvia. "Keri, are you alright?"

    "I am¡­ fine," Le Guevel''s mouth spoke without moving.

    "You''re sweating¡­"

    "And you need to keep your chin up¡ª Mind your expression, dear." Magus Le Guevel recovered through sheer force of will. "You''re not Devouring. You''re dancing."

    Gwen did her best to put on a felicitous expression while her instructor attempted to regain her mobility.

    "This time, follow my lead." Her tutor took Gwen by the fingers. "Chin up¡ª poise is the point of the cotillion. We''ll get you into a corset and petticoat soon, kitten."

    "Er¡­ please don''t." Gwen rigidly swung her limbs, at once thrilled and horrified by the prospect. To her chagrin, her upper body and lower body appeared to possess separate nervous systems. "How is this so hard?"

    "Be patient, dear. As with Spellcraft, you''ll get there."

    "Why is this necessary again?" Gwen sighed. "Isn''t this sort of thing outdated?"

    "The cotillion? Outdated?" Magus Le Guevel snapped back indignantly. "Exclusivity is the point, kitten. Besides, how do you expect to spend your days and nights in high society? Show off your crates of HDMs? Compare Magic Items? God forbid you debate politics in public! A good mixer, pussy cat, is diplomacy! Be it a quadrille or a tango or a grand waltz¡ª they''ll tell you more about a man than any words. If your horizontal fandango is as uncoordinated as your vertical waltz¡ª"

    Gwen snorted.

    "Do you doubt our lesson, young noviciate?"

    "I wouldn''t use so strong a word." Gwen shook out her stiff arms. "I get it. But it''s not Mind Magic."

    "So you do doubt." Le Guevel snorted back. "Take my hand. I will show you. Are you familiar with the box step?"

    "I might be." Gwen met her instructor''s fingers with her own. Le Guevel''s sinews were taut like piano wires, expert and in control, a stark contrast to her own.

    "Let''s begin." Le Guevel led her forward, placing a palm so intimately against Gwen''s tapered waist that Gwen''s face grew flushed. In the next moment, when the illusory-music began to play, student and instructor stood skin to skin, an inch apart, with Le Guevel''s breath warm on the nape of her exposed neck while around them, a vague Blue Danube lulled from bar to bar. At first, her steps continued its confusion, but once she fell in rhythm with the tempo, her body felt far more natural.

    Le Guevel''s unorthodox lessons continued.

    "From the subtle tremors of your partner''s hand, you may sense their sincerity. This close, you can feel the rush of heat under their skin when they lie."

    Once the Waltz got going, Gwen felt as though caught in a trance. When was the last time she danced with someone in either of her two lives?

    "Good¡­ now that we are joined at the hip¡ª answer a question for me."

    "Go on." Gwen allowed her body to follow its instincts. Was it the human touch she craved? It had been weeks since she took her dose of Evee.

    "Kitten. Are your feelings for Miss Lindholm the result of indiscriminate longing for companionship?"

    Gwen retreated a step, tripped over her ankles, then overcorrected by pulling on her instructor and swinging her right foot forward.

    "See how easily you can unbalance an opponent?" the Illusionist spoke through clenched teeth.

    "... Sorry about your shoes."

    "You should be." Her teacher studied the ceiling, her expression unflappable. "They''re Parisian."

    The Isle of Man.

    Fort Nook.

    The Angel of Douglas, famous on Vid-cast, would have preferred being roasted in the interior of a Manx effigy to her present assignment.

    Never in all her eighteen years of life had she ever entertained the notion that someone was better off staying dead on her operating table. The very idea that leaving a woman to bleed out from a Serpent Curse could prevent unimaginable miseries had never occurred to Elvia before¡ª and now that it did, she suffered for it.

    Perhaps if Gwen were here, her savvy friend would know what to do, come up with an endearing excuse. Herself was woefully equipped to deal with the demands of her present dilemma. After surviving GOS, after the bullying and the hazing and the alienation, after Mathias and Red Peak and the Yinglong; she had thought herself fortified against the Wildlands.

    But not, apparently, against the depth of human depravity.

    Even now¡ª this very instant that she worked her magic, a part of her wanted to snuff out the life pressed between her forefinger and her thumb. It would be so easy, a little push, a nudge, and the suffering sinner would face the highest court of justice. But just as likely, her present patient could be innocent and ignorant, like her.

    The dissonance was enough to drive her mad.

    "Sen-sen, Kiki, we''re done here." Elvia raised her bloody hands. "Nurse, clean up. Sergeant Smith should wake up in an hour."

    "Yes, Dr Lindholm!" Her trio of assistant nurses obeyed without question. Unlike at GOS or Nightingale, numbers were the only thing that mattered in a field hospital. For Elvia, her accumulative success had gained her respect, adoration and faith.

    A worship she had welcomed with complete innocence until she found the mangled Manx boy outside the fort. Now, every near-cadaver that passed through her station made her question her credo. Nonetheless, she instinctually healed each of her patients, knowing that the responsibilities of a physician were intrinsic. She was not judge and jury, and she would not be the executioner either, even if she suspected their crimes.

    "I''ll be making the rounds," Elvia informed the guards as she passed, inviting winsome smiles and wholehearted salutes. Her Spirits, the sauntering Sen-sen and her gliding Alraune, likewise received benedictions in the form of Prime Element LDMs harvested from the isle''s interior.

    Outside the triage tent, Mathias was already waiting.

    "Elvia." Mathias appeared to have not slept for some time. The young Knight''s eyes were sallow despite her vitality-infusions. Her protector too had suffered from the burden of knowledge. "I''ve just come back from the Brig. They''ve rounded up more of them since this morning."

    "Manx Tree-Striders?"

    Mathias shook his head. "Civvies, both men and women. I heard the militia gloat about the Colonel''s latest ventures. They say she raided one of their Grots."

    "Kiki!" The petals on Elvia''s Alraune grew scarlet.

    "Where''s the Colonel now?"

    "Out foraging, again; she should be back in the evening."

    Foraging¡ª Elvia shuddered. If only she knew what that meant the first time.

    Elvia attempted to weigh the pros and cons of her desired action, but her head was a scrambled mess of wants and wishes, preventing an informed decision. But then again, it didn''t matter. She would follow her heart first; what was the alternative? Leave the locals to suffer needlessly?

    Very quickly, she made for the lower reaches of the encampment, where new Manx prisoners were covertly fed into "The Brig". From the courtyard, she crossed the murder holes, passing by Mages who stopped to wave. Once down the cliff face steps and through the carved out line-break, she and Mathias arrived at a secondary court levelled from the hillside by ancient Earthen Transmuters. Though the fort''s upper tier was new, the structure itself was a chimeric mess of encampments from each of the "Manx Wars" spanning the centuries.

    Opposite Fort Nook''s hillside, Elvia could see the Port of Douglas. During the 14th century, the original fort served as a bastion for English forces under Henry V. Together with Avalon on the isle''s north-east, and Fort Erin nearer the isle''s south, the triple locale serviced London''s sovereignty.

    The Brig was divorced from the main encampment, located in a part of the fort that few would visit. Were it not for the boy and Mathias'' subsequent enquiries, Elvia would not have even known it existed and would have blithely restored every monster that came her way.

    "Dr Lindholm, Ser Rothwell." The guards at the grated gates stood to attention. Their faces were friendly, but their body language spoke of wariness. "This area is out of bounds."

    "But not to one executing duties as a member of the medical staff." Elvia gave them the most charming grin she could muster, fighting the self-loathing and wondering how Gwen dealt with bad people so readily. "Please open the gate. Cleanliness is Godliness. I''d hate to treat you all for infections."

    The guards'' mien took on complicated expressions. "Ma''am, the Colonel has given an explicit command to bar you from entry."

    "Why?"

    "It is dangerous for an august personage like yourself to visit the Brig. These Manx, they''re animals."

    "And the Angel of Douglas can''t be aiding and abetting an enemy," the younger of the guards, a corporal, repeated something he must have heard from a higher up.

    "I am afraid he''s right." The senior of the two scratched his nose. "You''re a member of civ-staff as well. You need permission. I am sorry, Doc."

    Elvia looked to Mathias.

    "Corporal." Mathias stepped forward. "As a Knight of St Michael, I have extra-special powers of inspection regarding her Majesty''s armed forces. As such, I shall now exercise¡ª"

    Aarrrrrrgh¡ª Aarrrrrgh¡ª

    The cry that came from below was barely a whisper. The walls were thick stone reinforced by rebar. Whatever happened beyond the rusty portcullis, occurred in darkness, out of sight and out of mind. That was the purpose of the Brig.

    Elvia grew momentarily paralysed by that terrible sound. "Mattie, tell them to let me in."

    "Ma''am¡ª" The guards placed their hands on the pommel of their wands. "There is no¡ª"

    "LET ME IN!" Before Mathias could speak, Elvia felt the heat rise in her chest. With her Essence-enhanced senses, she could hear the scream again, and to her chagrin, she knew the owner. It was the Manx boy. God damn it! God damn these bottled spiders! These abortive devils! How could they?! "Sen-sen!"

    "Sen!" Her Ginseng Sprite obeyed without delay, impairing the pair with a crash of fear so poignant it may as well be liquid.

    The men vomited, reduced to jelly as they prostrated on the floor. Facing the miserable cretins, Elvia erased all conflicted feeling of guilt. For the "Fear" to truly work its wickedness, the user had to infuse the aura with harmful intent and emotion¡ª and right now, she was anything but a walking Tower of fury and vengeance.

    "Elvia." Mathias stood in her way. "They''re just following orders."

    This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

    Elvia did not agree. God gave all men the infinite faculty of choice, and these men had made theirs. "Sen. Take the gate down."

    "Sen!"

    The ground cracked. A dozen tendrils as thick as Elvia''s waist sprouted from the diminutive Sen-sen, forming a bizarre and disproportionate spectacle. Once the Ginseng dug in, it took only two tugs for the metal to warp, then for the gate itself to be wholly removed from the Warded walls, resulting in a shower of zig-zagging mana.

    "Assuming there''s a next time." Mathias watched while Kiki subdued the guards with a sting to their necks. "Let me cut the gate. At least that would be repairable."

    Saying nothing, Elvia entered the horridly dank stairway leading downward into the Brig. Once a medieval castle, the fort''s under-chambers previously served as storage. It was built from dark stone naturally resistant to magic, especially the kind wielded by the Druids of the isle.

    "I''ll lead." Mathias pushed his body in front of her. Elvia nodded. There was the likelihood of physical traps in a place like Fort Nook, with its history of perpetual war going back millennia and more.

    A level later, the Knight''s worries had been proven false. There were no flesh-turning Warding Glyphs. There was, however, the mercenaries.

    Spak! The sound of a Magic Missile pinging off Mathias'' Armour of Faith resounded sharply in the corridor.

    Ahead of Elvia, her Knight growled. Mathias appeared calm on the surface, but his biometrics spoke only of fury.

    "SMITE!" The Knight glowed briefly golden as the spell struck. The impact was followed shortly by the sound of a shattering shield, then the muffled thunk of a body hitting the floor.

    Around the corner, the Knight''s victim came into view. A middle-aged Mage, one of the many recruited by the Colonel, a "volunteer".

    "Healing Word!" Elvia made sure their assailant lived to pay for his crimes.

    "This way." Mathias pointed to the door from which the merc had emerged.

    Inside was another guard; one Mathias politely dispatched¡ª though that was no business of Elvia''s.

    She ran instead to the hog-tied silhouette in the cell and tore the tendon-like ropes with her bare fingers. When the boy came into view, Elvia''s blood curdled.

    Presently, he was naked and unconscious, breathing in alternating rhythms of fast and slow. His arms and legs, and the area near his ribs, were covered in little black scabs. His head was shaved bald, and worst of all, the long, tapered ears the Manx had inherited from their Elven forefathers had been hacked down to the stump.

    Elvia''s fingers trembled even as Mathias audibly swore, infringing on his oath.

    A week ago. A WEEK AGO! She and Mathias had found him below the fort, in a pile of indiscriminate trash. The dying boy was covered in the same wounds from neck to groin. Disturbed, Elvia had healed the boy then and there, inadvertently saving his life. She and Mathias had argued, then they allowed the boy to flee.

    Afterwards, Mathias had made enquiries, and that was when they found "The Brig". The same knowledge revealed why the Colonel had earlier arrived at Elvia''s operation table riddled with arrows, why three-dozen Manx, two Druids among them, had risked and lost their lives to ambush the Isle''s commander.

    Beside the boy, on an old, rickety table laden with rusted tools, Mathias picked up the boy''s file.

    "It says here..." The Knight''s tone could crack the stonework. "There has been a confession. A confession that the Manx had stolen from the granary, from the fort itself, from the townsfolk. It says there''s going to be an armed rebellion, and that in a month, there will be an all-out war against the kingdom. It says here that the boy is a spy, a scout."

    "Bastards!" Elvia bit back the bitter beginnings of seething tears. She willed Kiki to inject the boy with a dose of pleasant dreams, then with the greatest delicacy, she infused the Manx child with a vivifying surge of Essence-laced Positive Energy.

    The boy stirred, awoken by the bone-scraping itch of mending flesh. When the scabs fell from his body, Elvia could see that this time, there was no restoring his ears. The cartilage was sawed off. There would be no intervention without higher magics.

    The boy fought to open his eyes. When they finally did, his orbs were full of vacant violence, when he opened his mouth¡ª

    Elvia gasped.

    The boy''s teeth, or the lack of it, turned her stomach.

    "Calm Emotion! Bless!" She blasted the boy with twin fortification, one for the mind and the other for the body.

    "Deirfi¨²r!" The boy spoke sloppily, bewildered by his surroundings, his eyes swimming in their sockets. The Calm Emotion had hidden the horror, but lucidity brought new terrors to his waking mind. "Deirfi¨²r! Deirfi¨²r!"

    "What''s Deirfi¨²r?" Elvia looked to Mathias, who had a Translation Stone.

    "... sister." Mathias swallowed.

    "... Mathias..." Elvia could no longer think straight. Quickly, she doused herself with Sen-sen''s latent Essence, flooding her conduits with a tolerance she could not otherwise possess.

    "I''ll go on ahead." Her Knight volunteered. Spellsword in hand, the warden of St Michael''s Oath proceeded down the corridor, moving out of sight, hollering for who else was left in the Brig to give themselves up.

    Inside the small cell, Elvia asked her Ginseng to bundle the boy in a nest of tendrils. Kiki sprayed the corridor with neurotoxins in case more of the island''s militia arrived.

    Furiously, she turned her mind over and over, trying to think of a way forward. If there was one solace, it was that thanks to Gwen''s uninvited vid-cast, her present reputation had her high on an unwanted pedestal. A dozen senior Maguses like Fitzgerald and even the Colonel herself owed her their health. It meant that no matter the Colonel''s rage, she would have to weigh her options before confronting her.

    What must she do to expose the isle''s commander? Elvia queried herself. The confession the boy had signed made him an enemy combatant. There would be duplicates, even if Mathias burned the folder. If the Manx boy were human, the Tower would afford him certain rights, but as a demi-human¡ª

    Elvia glanced at the vacant boy, restored but for his teeth and ears. The Manx, with their olive-hued dermis, came in colours ranging from sweet birch to chocolate mahogany. Their eyes, much larger than a human''s, were fox-like and vivifying, not unlike Gwen''s. With their high cheekbones and petite mouths, the long-living demi-humans appeared younger than their years.

    Subhuman, according to the Colonel¡ª but human enough for Elvia to hate her own kind.

    But feelings aside, her present dilemma remained. She had effectively broken into the isle''s private prison and attacked its men. How could she turn this around? What would Gwennie do?

    Ding!

    An urgent Message came from Mathias. In between the warded walls, Elvia could hear the distinct sound of her Knight''s Radiant Rays scorching the stonework, as well as the familiar din of rapid spell casting from his opponents.

    "Follow me, stay close." Elvia placed the half-conscious youth between herself and Kiki, sending Sen-sen to lead the way.

    Past the muggy, low-ceiling corridor and its ancient stonework, she came upon the guard''s quarters. Within, Mathias had subdued the mercenaries by slicing their drinking table in twain, along with the wine and the cans of bully beef, scorching the cards and the gambling chips with his Radiant Aura.

    Elvia could see that her Knight shook with barely contained fury. His armament, a suit of Faith-laced Mage armour empowered by a minor Relic of St Michael, glimmered on and off like a bulb.

    With her arrival, Mathias stared so hard Elvia was half-way tempted to bestow a Calm Emotion on her companion. Numerically, the diagnostic overlay of her enchanted eyes marked the young man''s hypertension as well-past two-hundred. "Blackguards! Traitors to the Mageocracy! The honour..."

    Honour?

    Elvia sighed. She moved past Mathias, past the four singed Mages standing with their faces to the wall, then looked into the dozen or so cells spanning the lower reach of the makeshift dungeon.

    The first two cells held victims of harsh interrogation. The third held something far worse.

    "Don''t look!" Mathias was still far too overprotective.

    Elvia recalled the story Gwen once told of her finding such a scene in the lair of a Water Ghost chieftain. What Gwen tried to narrate, her diagnostic magic told her far more than she could ever desire to know. The Manx female would live, that much she could ascertain¡ª for the mercenaries'' cruel sport, as well as the extorted confession, a live victim was necessary.

    And all of this was the work of the Colonel. The same platinum-haired, blue-eyed Colonel who had publically commended her, kissing her cheeks! Now the thrice-damned demoness was once again out there, foraging for the Manx¡ª all thanks to Elvia.

    "¡­ I''ll melt this place to magma." Mathias'' fury came across in a silent Message. "Evee, the shame¡­ it''s too much. How could this happen? We''re long past the Beast Tide, and yet, these Mages are worse than the Beastmen. Now we know why the common folk can''t ever be in command!"

    Elvia had no answers for her Knight-companion. She wasn''t Gwen, who could fathom everything. What she did have, however, was the beginnings of an idea that only she could enact. As a famous no one who belonged to no House, no Faction, and whose patrons paid only in lip service, she was free¡ª free and unindentured to do what was necessary. What was the worst that could happen¡ª could they send her to another Frontier to heal the needy? Restore the NoMs?

    Thinking of her attention-loving partner, an idea coalesced.

    "Mattie," Elvia spoke while Kiki kept the guards dreaming until kingdom come. "Are the reporters still in Douglas?"

    "Reporters?" Mathias did not comprehend her purpose. "If they are, they''ll be at the port, drinking at the Sea Shanty."

    "Get Dominic." Elvia willed Kiki to do her thing. "Contact the base, sound the alarm. Tell everyone to bring everyone. Every lumen-recorder¡­"

    Realisation dawned on her partner''s face.

    "Evee¡ª I can take care of this. I swore an oath to uphold what''s good. The militia can''t fault me without infringing on the Knights'' Code. But you¡­"

    "No, it''s fine," Elvia shook her head. She was involved now. "Who needs an ''oath'' to do what''s right?"

    Elvia activated her Message Device as well. She had no idea who was in cahoots, nor did she care. The horrors here must be brought into the light.

    The Message spell chimed. Elvia greeted the man responsible for her presence on the isle.

    "Elvia?" the sound of Magus Fitzgerald''s gravelly voice sounded concerned. "What''s the matter? You sound upset."

    "Sir," Elvia needed no acting to voice her rioting emotions. "I need you to come down to the southern end of Fort Nook. I found something, and I need your help."

    The Lord Earl Marshall of Britain was in the middle of a meeting when the news broke that the timed Warding Glyph regarding Tonglv had erupted spectacularly.

    Outside, mid-conversation with his agent in Hong Kong, a second Crow from the Fifth Cabal arrived with developing events from the Isle of Man. Thanks to their man there, Dominic Lorenzo, the Foreign Service had gained twenty-four hours to frame the narrative before the news-cycle struck.

    Unfazed, the Duke of Norfolk communed with his officers, then reclused himself to the executive suite reserved for the Lord Marshall of England, deep within the tiered halls of the Westminster Palace.

    Once seated, Mycroft cooly massaged his temples, relaxed his brows, then settled down to think.

    That the communists'' capitalist venture would implode had been within expectations.

    Conversely, the Isle of Man was an ongoing headache. There was nothing like conflict close to home to burden the population with war fatigue. Now, the sentiment would only sour.

    On the surface, the two events would appear separate.

    But beneath the beneath, Mycroft could see the interconnected ley-lines.

    For Shanghai, what his agents had failed to foresee, was that a teenage Void Sorceress would rope a family of Mythics into managing a portion of Tonglv''s revenue stream. That and her patron was Ruxin, newly minted Lord of Nagaland, Kachin and Manipur, the offspring of the mythical Yinglong. To complicate matters, with Yangoon''s Tower underway, his Faction considered Ruxin a vital ally for regional stability.

    As for the twin-Spirted troublemaker in Fort Nook spoiling Colonel Tarleton''s stratagem, the same sorceress was responsible.

    How was it all correlated? The seemingly disjointed nature of what should be interconnected was what grated on Mycroft''s nerves.

    With an outreached Mage Hand, Mycroft punched an unseen Glyph. The cold air circulating the room thrummed, coalescing until it formed a vague, female silhouette. Ravenport closed his eyes and calmly meditated, wary of the Negative Energy flowing underfoot, feeding the Mandala etched into the ancient woodwork.

    Across from the Marshall''s table, nearer the centre of the room, the shadow of unlife grew substantial, birthing red cloth like velvety wine from an open casket. Atop the fount of falling fabric, a white face blossomed, wreathed in braided strands of crow-black hair.

    "My lord." The female figure bowed her head.

    "Morrigan." Ravenport dipped his chin. "I require clarification."

    "Of course. Your tithe?"

    The Duke of Norfolk extended his hand, from his palm, a single orb of sanguine blood drifted forward. Tenderly, the spectre parted her mouth, resting the droplet on her wanton tongue.

    "You should cut down on the sugar." The phantom licked her lips. "Very well, by oath and hearth¡ª How may I serve?"

    Ravenport gathered his thoughts. His thrall-Sprite had little patience for matters outside its domain.

    "I want everything gathered by the Crows, foreign and domestic, on the subject of Gwen Song, correlated with the Tonglv Project in Nantong. Search array should be between 2003 to late 2004. Process the reports in order of incidence, add keywords for the Dragons of Huangshan¡ª Yinglong, Ayxin, Ruxin, Golos."

    "Gwen Song. Understood."

    Like rich wine soaking into the corduroy carpet, Morrigan sunk unto the Mandala, burrowing into the vaults beneath Westminster Palace, where a million shelves housed the unfathomable volumes necessary in running an Empire as broad in scope as the Mageocracy.

    It took the phantom only fifteen minutes to return.

    One by one, the reports opened themselves for Ravenport''s convenience, held in a semi-circle before and above the Duke in the manner of an orchestral pit surrounding a wanded conductor.

    Each by each, the dossiers appeared unenterprising.

    Together, they were enough to construe a fanciful tale of events unfolding first in Nagaland, then Yangoon, then Nantong and Shanghai. After a focused hour, Mycroft concluded that the Mageocracy needed to invest more analysts to evaluate the intelligence filtering in from Hong Kong and Shanghai. The Communists had censored much of the information surrounding the Dragons of Huangshan, but the tale-telling facts had not been missed¡ª only disregarded.

    In hindsight, was the girl''s involvement coincidental or explicit? If the latter, when had she begun to sow the seeds of change? Around the time of the IIUC? Or earlier?

    "Morrigan, arrange the dossier via chronology and region, start with Shanghai, then Yangoon, Kachin, Huangshan, Dalian and finally Shenyang."

    "As you wish."

    With hindsight and a dozen hovering files floating around him, Mycroft Ravenport tentatively appended the missing connections.

    "¡­ Morrigan, bring forward all articles with mentions of Gwen Song."

    The scarlet phantom performed as was told.

    Mycroft Ravenport sighed.

    The emerging pattern told an unlikely tale. How could a single human Mage bring about such radical change? If Gwen Song rivalled Sobel, and if Kilroy still worked behind the scenes, then maybe, he was willing to entertain the possibility. But according to these reports, the girl had no political backing, no Factional membership, and no more than a dozen spells, none above the sixth tier.

    What was the source of Maxine''s confidence? What of Gunther Shultz, was he involved? Now, he had to make good on the promise of finding the girl an apt instructor, the means for which lay in Snowdonia.

    Mycroft felt a peculiar thrill as his gaze swept over the levitating reports. A part of him detested the scandal of being humbled by so young an opponent. Another part of him welcomed a skilled adversary, one whose potential, adequately directed, could bolster the Mageocracy''s upward momentum.

    Out of habit, his skeletal fingers drummed the ancient oak of the brass-bound Griffin-hide throne. Curiously, his rumoured bastard was settling into London wholeheartedly.

    According to Morrigan, the girl held unnatural affections for Fort Nook''s troublemaker. Concurrently, the Order of the Bath was closely following the healer''s performance on the isle. If so, regardless of the Knight Elector''s decision, he could put in a petition to have the girl inducted.

    There was also the girl''s first cousin, Richard, presently studying at King''s College. Like the Cleric, the prior Prince''s candidate, an ambitious young man with a steady hand for Crow work, was a seed worth cultivating.

    Additionally, according to Cambridge, yet another family member was on the way. What had prompted the memo on Petra Kuznetsova was the girl''s prior history as a Red Ghost in training from Moscow Tower, a femme fatale abandoned by the late "Master" Popov.

    Finally, there was Dominic Lorenzo, soon to become the girl''s confidant.

    A secret smile touched the Duke of Norfolk''s lips. There was undoubtedly much work to be done.

    "Thank you, Morrigan. That will be all. Please keep a bird on our Void Sorceress at all times."

    "Understood." The spectre dissolved. Gradually, the secret room regained its previous temperature.

    Tonglv.

    Communists.

    Dragons.

    Mycroft Ravenport finally relaxed.

    The lass was a hellcat to be sure.

    Just as well, fortune and success made for snug collars.

 Chapter 356 - The Gift

    Cambridge.

    Maxwell Brown, Professor of Advanced Spellcraft Theory at Emmanuel College, inspected the adjacent laboratory he had vacated for his new colleague, "Meister" Wen. For a while now, he''d been in an ebullient mood, ever since their schooling of the Void Sorceress began in earnest. As a member of the staff responsible for grooming the university''s premier show pony and the Mageocracy''s future workhorse, Brown considered himself a holistic devotee to the Omni-Mage known as Gwen Song.

    On the subject of Void Magic, Gwen was a fount of untapped potential, providing answers for so many questions Deathless Kilroy had left long neglected for want of materials.

    Answers to long-held enquiries such as how did Sobel grow so powerful and so quickly found a sterling reply in the rapid rise of Gwen from a mewling Evoker to ravaging a city. Likewise, the confounding question of Sobel''s survival in the intervening years was now an answer free for the men of Spellcraft to plumb.

    Deathless Kilroy! An existence for whom Maxwell Brown held the greatest ardour! One of the original architects of the later-day Mageocracy! The progenitor of the Towers! The maker of the witch who had reversed the Crown''s downward spiral!

    There was little wonder that the metaphysical child of Sobel and Kilroy should stand at the apex of the specimen pile.

    After Sobel''s initial success in subduing the Coral Sea and the Saurians, the Mageocracy had madly scrambled to secure more of her kind, hoping that each could turn the tide where Pax Britannia had been washed away by the Magical Beasts and demi-humans erupting in every province.

    The first of the Mages to grace Brown''s spectrometer had been an adolescent Evoker from Mumbai, retrieved by a Frontier survey team and brought to London for study. Brown''s predecessor, Magister Alex Fleming, had been the one to receive the caramel-complexioned youth. Compared to now, it was surreal to recall that he too had been a bright-eyed Magus shoring up his doctorate.

    As expected, their precious specimen had been handled with a silken cord, well-loved and fattened up before they began the rituals. It had been disappointing then, that their sorceress had become inert before her third set of Magic Missiles. Undeterred, they waited for the girl to recover, painted her a picture, then did their best keeping the permanently anaemic sorceress upright and casting.

    The girl perished halfway through the team''s second specimen, also a girl-child, this time from Hong Kong.

    By then, Oxbridge''s researchers had learned through corroborating evidence that Void Mage manifestations deviated from the norm. From Germany, France and the USA, all participants seeking to craft their own Sobel discovered that, whether kept in check or left to roam freely, no methods existed in the Imperial Spellcraft System to maintain a Void Mage''s health.

    To make matters worse, Tokyo University proved that even when denied the learning of Spellcraft, the Awakened struggled to survive puberty. Instinctually, the Void Mage grew increasingly unstable until, whether through mental infirmities or mana leaks, they imploded.

    Contrastingly, an LMU specimen kept at lower tiers managed to live longer¡ª surviving until her thirties in ''97. The proviso was that the Void Mage did not exercise spells above tier 4 and did not use their powers often. That and a carefully arranged diet of Wildland cuisine had kept the pampered sorceress alive. Regardless, her Astral Soul grew more porous than threadbare linen, proving both functionally useless in battle and a drain on resources.

    Undeterred, the quest for knowledge continued. In parts of the Mageocracy''s domain less concerned with optics, eugenic programs fathomed the possibility that mutations, variances and freak accidents may stabilise the bloodline. Again, failures proved the norm, while success was a rare and unreplicated bird. To Brown''s knowledge, a certain Meister Bekker from London Imperial, formerly of Pretoria, had succeeded in distilling a self-sufficient Void Mage with a comparable lifespan to normal Mages, possessing the potential to one day tap into the upper tiers. He had submitted a specimen request¡ª but was denied.

    Comparatively, Oxbridge''s final, unenterprising specimen was another young woman, one living out her peaceful days in Lucy Cavendish. From the very beginning, poor Gracie had struggled with the simplest spells. Her School of Magic Affinity was barely past two, and the girl''s talent emphasised on Illusion, making even the simplest physical magic a death wish.

    Perhaps he could arrange a meeting? Brown wondered. Maybe Gwen had something to offer her inferior counterpart.

    Stepping up to the window in the old court, Maxwell Brown relaxed by taking in the tranquil Eden-scape of the Duck Pond. Watching waterfowls was a habit many of the colleges'' senior staff developed throughout their years of tenure.

    In his opinion, Cambridgeshire''s wintertime only made the Duck Pond more beautiful. Well-pleased, Brown smiled to himself, filling his nostrils with the sterile scent of still-wrapped equipment, musty with a hint of salt from transit by sea.

    Roslyn-Marie Wen.

    Magister Wen''s enrichment to the corpus-knowledge of Void Magic had been incidental. Her contribution, such as Gwen''s profound ability to thrive through Void Consumption, was a freak accident of coalesced opportunities. Brown could only be thankful that during her time in England, the Magister had been well-trained in the Spellcraft Method. Her submissions on Gwen''s growth had been a boon to the Void Magic community, a fact significantly contributing to the decision of awarding the much-undeserved title.

    Once the "Meister" arrived, she would spend her time lecturing and teaching, as well as experimenting on the specimens the rest of Europe was sending Oxbridge''s way. Thanks to Kilroy, the pursuit of the stable application of Void Magic had held a constant interest in the academic community. Now, after Sobel and Gwen''s sterling performances, the tree was bearing fruit.

    As a bonus, he would concurrently mentor the curio known as Spellcubes, a project Wen had all but abandoned after dedicating her time to the study of Void manifestations. The newfangled Enchantment, modelled after the same patterns used by Dwarves to craft Spellblades, was now the domain of Petra Kuznetsova, Gwen''s cousin. As a thesis, the theory was sound. However, the overt disadvantage of the Spellcube system was the onus placed on the Enchanter, as well as the difficulty of teaching the spell to non-tertiary educated Mages. That the NoM manufactoriums could not even begin to replicate its spatial-encasement pre-shaped mana significantly limited the spell''s viability.

    Still deep in thought, Brown browsed the scene below with benevolence. On a beautiful, cloudless day like this, the snow sparkled, the waters refracted the clouds above, and it was only the ducks'' frolicking that cast ripples into the sublimity¡ª

    "Oh my¡­" Brown came closer to the window.

    Down in the courtyard, where a clear-cut, snowless path met the outskirts of the pond, he was bearing witness to an incredible sight.

    First, there was that lone mandarine duck the pond entertained, now somehow half the height of a student, roving the grounds as though it owned the Crown land.

    Then, there was a Kirin¡ª Gwen''s Kirin, roaming freely beside the duck, kicking up a fuss at the students.

    Finally, there was the Void worm, Caliban, slithering to and from between the two creatures, appearing as though wrought from obsidian-glass.

    Refracted against the window, Brown watched as they had cornered what looked like a first-year female student against the snow-line. Elsewhere, senior students stood, watching the show.

    The duck quacked, flapping its wings and flashing the lass with its rainbow underside. Terrified, the girl threw a fistful of LDMs at the trio of creatures, then quickly retreated behind the second years.

    Next, the Kirin approached. The mewling it made must have been thrilling, for the students instantly formed a ring around the creature to pat and molest its fur before awarding it everything from LDMs to HDMs to a ham-sandwich. The Kirin''s name, Brown recalled with delight, was "Ariel". For a chimeric-Draconid, the name was apt, for its etymology drew from the language spoken by the Elementals surrounding the Sea of Fire, meaning the "Lion of God".

    After the Lion of God came the Void fiend, only the watching students now scattered like seeds blown by a wicked wind, escaping from the hissing creature as though frightened deer in Peterhouse''s park. Compared to "Ariel", the professor had doubts as to how the serpent''s name came about. In the same Elemental tongue, the closest etymological link would be "Kalib", a term that inferred "yonder dog" or more precisely, "that which God has denied a human form". Again, the name was apt, but how could a Frontier teen possess such esoteric knowledge?

    Maxwell credited the girl''s late master once more.

    As for the duck, the student body had come to call it "Dede". The meaning was a mystery. There had been a poll, and the name stuck.

    Either way, Brown felt thoroughly impressed. According to Wen, Gwen Song had summoned these creatures when she was fifteen. When creating Familiars from the nebulous stuff of the Elemental Planes, one needed to have a complete understanding of what one sought. To bring into being such incredible monsters while so young¡ª it spoke loudly of the profound lengths Kilroy had gone through to ascend his priceless specimen.

    "Aeee!" the shrill screams of youthful females filled the courtyard.

    Magister Brown refocused on the scene below.

    Now the duck was chasing a student¡ª a different one, round and round the pond.

    "Damned duck! Desist in your vulgarity!" Another student, one who must have been an admirer, raised a hand in warning. "Last chance, fowl fiend!"

    Brown furrowed his brows.

    Students being harassed, attacked, maimed, accosted, robbed by the ducks was a well-honed tradition of the college. But a student stupid enough to attack the college''s ducks? Now that was a crime worthy of a visit from the Praelector.

    "Magic Missile!"

    Brown snorted when the student released the lowest spell he knew; mindful at least, in using the non-elemental variation, meaning he could avoid reporting to the discipline committee.

    "Quack!" Brown almost spat on the glass when, to his and the student''s surprise, Dede swatted the Magic Missiles from the air with one sweep of its wing, then promptly delivered a broken-nose to its assailant with a resounding snap from its beak.

    Maxwell Brown baulked.

    Who the hell recruited this spell fodder? The duck-abusing imbecile! How much of a bookworm must the boy be if he couldn''t even shield up to defend against a God-damned duck!

    That said, Dede had certainly fattened up of late, supernaturally so.

    Below, the boy rolled in agony, saved only when the girl he had been trying to help dropped a fistful of HDMs. Activating a suite of reinforcement magic, she bodily lifted her abortive white-knight in a princess carry, making for the infirmary.

    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

    Turning on his heels, Brown left for the pond.

    Had a Blackguard been experimenting with his beloved ducks? The scowl on his face grew more intense the more he thought about the possibility. These were the college''s waterfowls! Emmanuel''s pride and joy! His ducklings!

    When he reached the courtyard, he rediscovered the trio under the giant willow overlooking the pond, where Dede, Caliban and Ariel had pooled their loot.

    "What the devil?" Brown activated a localised Scry from the Old Court''s entryway.

    "EE! EE!"

    "Hissa!"

    "Quack!"

    The beasts were¡ª Brown felt his world spin¡ª splitting the loot!

    Dede nudged the crystals with its beak.

    One for itself, one for Caliban, one for Ariel¡ª

    Brown counted the HDMs and LDMs.

    "Dede knows arithmetic?!"

    The trio of creatures each took their share; Caliban in its mouth, the Kirin in a cloth pouch under its neck, and Dede gobbling the lot.

    Quickly, Brown approached.

    "Dede! Dada is here!" he called out endearingly, thinking kindly of his and the drake''s history. Nervously, the Void snake and the Kirin drifted a distance away, likely wary of the man who had tortured their master to near madness.

    A prideful Dede waddled up to Brown''s crotch.

    It had been weeks since Brown had paid appropriate attention to his avian companions in the pond. Such was the weight of his labour for Gwen, burdened atop of his usual teaching and marking duties, that he had hardly slept. Nonetheless, since the rainbow duck had appeared with regularity, he had thought all was well.

    "By the Nazarene!" Brown now realised something had gone awry. "Dede, you''re... positively monstrous!"

    The drake was now larger than a swan, and Cambridge was no stranger to Wildland swans! Gone was the cuddly, waddly duck. What faced him now was an apex avian that could wrestle a sea eagle.

    Calming himself, he activated the magic he had advised his Void student. "Commune!"

    "Dede..." Brown''s expression grew serious. "Who did this to you?"

    "Quack!"

    "A woman."

    "Quack!"

    "In a dress..."

    "Quack! Quack!"

    "She fed you... her j-juices?" Brown''s scalp crawled. What a sick, ill-minded monster! The college had surely fallen if such a degenerate was left to roam the campus. "Dede, who is this woman? Do you know?"

    "Quack! Quack! Quack-Quack¡ªQuack!"

    "Yesterday?" Brown cocked his head, silently humming the strange tune Dede was barking out. "All your troubles... was furtherer away?"

    Maxwell Brown''s brows furrowed. What the hell did that even mean?

    Not far, a Kirin and its companion snake fled for the safety of Deer Park.

    Ollie Edwards felt that Gwen had received a dose of her own medicine when, during their luncheon, they heard the name Elvia Lindholm play across the cafe''s lumen-caster. At first confused, then enthralled, his House-sister bolted upright from the lounge chair, halfway spilling her coffee.

    "¡­ That''s right, Gilbert; there hasn''t been an open scandal like this since the Duke of Norfolk reformed the Adventurer''s Charter of England four years ago. If you recall, that incident was the result of Foreign Service allowing mercenary auxiliaries to participate in the Fourth Ashanti War¡­"

    Before the brief interruption, Ollie had been discussing with Gwen the wisdom of allowing her Spirits to roam Cambridge, on advice offered by Lady Grey. It was a long-standing theory that more independent a Spirit could become, the faster its growth. Gwen had been stating that Lea, Richard''s Spirit, should roam with the others. With Ariel and Caliban to protect her, no Mage would dare lay a hand on her cousin''s Spirit¡ª not without having to fight off a very angry Void Fiend. Ollie had been considering whether he should contract a first-year as Gwen''s Familiar-sitter when Gwen suddenly grew fixated on the screen behind them.

    "You''re not thinking of flying to Douglas, are you?" Ollie''s scalp itched.

    "No," Gwen answered stiffly.

    "¡­ or Teleporting over."

    "Maybe," his House-sister answered honestly.

    "And leave your Dwarves to the cold?" Ollie reminded the girl of their most pressing concerns. "The first contingent of Runesmiths are due to arrive next week¡ª followed shortly by Petra. Didn''t you want to be there to supervise their meeting? You said ''Cousin Petra'' would be thrilled to meet a master of the craft she has adapted for Spellcraft."

    "Yes, yes." Gwen glanced at the vid-caster, her eyes cloudy with indecision.

    "Why not just call Miss Lindholm?" Ollie studied the fidgeting sorceress. The girl had finally unlocked some of her more flamboyant attires, though the fabric remained demure enough for winter. Like Ollie himself, the patrons in the coffee shop stared regardless. One because Gwen was pleasing to look at, another because there was nary a Mage in Cambridgeshire itself who would not recognise the Devourer of Shenyang.

    "I tried earlier." Gwen tapped her Device to try again. "See? No luck."

    "I wonder what she''s doing?" Ollie warily glanced at the news. The segment on Elvia had lasted barely ten seconds, the shot of the Cleric''s bust had materialised for no more than four. The principle report remained centred on the going conflict with the Manx and how the newly revealed atrocity would strain any effort at making peace with the fey-blooded indigenous folk of the isle.

    "I think¡­" Gwen began.

    "Don''t¡ª" Ollie shook his head. "To remind you of the Lady''s advice. You solve this one, and you''ll be called to every conflict and every stalemate. There is no rest for those who give up their gifts so easily."

    Gwen sighed. "You''re right¡ª you''re right. Ah sweet Evee¡­"

    "She''ll be fine." Ollie wanted to pat Gwen''s knees to reassure her but settled for his own. "She''s got the Ginseng and Ser Rothwell, and she heals like anything. It''ll take an army to take them down."

    "I hope you''re right." The Devourer of Shenyang sighed sulkily. "If anything happens to Evee, it''ll take an army to pry me from the Isle of Man."

    Elvia listened to the lecture from Dominic Lorenzo as their group made their way south with a sleepy Sen-sen nodding off by her shoulder, and Kiki swinging from tree to tree.

    The info-dump had been teased from the helpful reporter when Mathias had asked, not without some manner of frustration, "What is the Manx dissatisfied about anyway? And what do they, in fact, want from us?"

    The Manx''s demands, Dominic clarified, was simple.

    They wanted Humans to stop spreading across their lands.

    They wanted their island back, the mana miasma dispersed and the ley-line untapped.

    They desired sovereignty.

    "The raids carried out by the Colonel and their auxiliaries forces are unprovoked, to say the least." The reporter parted the snow with a Wand of Flaming Hands, concurrently serving as a walking stick. "Its a part of a longitudinal operation in which Tarleton has been given free reins. Unlike the previous commander, who failed to contain the war, she''s fresh from the Chad campaign, where the Mageocracy succeeded in removing the Bultungin¡ª that''s Lycanthropic Hyena-folk, from the Upper Niger Delta. There, she''s built quite the reputation for ruthlessness. Even before that, she was well known for her involvement in the Fourth Ashanti War, for ransoming the King''s captured children¡ª one limb at a time, until their Queen lost her mind and the King lost the popular support of his noblemen¡­"

    Elvia listened in silence. Behind her, the freed Manx prisoners followed obediently, awed by Sen-sen and charmed by Kiki. Of the six, the boy was the bravest and followed the closest. His name, Elvia learned, was "Sionn", meaning "The Fox", a moniker now diminished by the lack of long, pointed ears. His sister''s name was Siofra, a somewhat literal translation from Manx, meaning "Elf-like", so named because she was uncommonly pretty, a comeliness that had done the lassie a great disservice.

    Yesterday, in the aftermath of Elvia''s revelations, the Colonel had arrived to disperse the soldiers, the reporters, and the dozens of locals working in the Fort. Yet, despite her whistleblowing, Elvia was neither punished nor scolded by the Fort''s Commander. Instead, Colonel Susan Tarleton had assured her that the mercenaries would be trialled and punished for their crimes and that she would assume all responsibility for the actions of the auxiliaries.

    Happily, the reporters received their lumen-pics and quotes, then departed together with the stickybeaks.

    When Elvia demanded what was to become of the Manx prisoners, the Colonel had confided in her that usually, she would see their ashes scattered into the sea. But, as Elvia had saved her life, she would do right by her, and give her the prisoners as a reward¡ª to heal, to kill, to keep as playthings or release into the wilderness.

    "I have a war to run, sweetie." The Colonel had bitten the matter off with a smile that revealed nothing. "Now then, squirrelkin, run along."

    Lacking Gwen''s words and disheartened by the nonchalance shown by the other Mages, she had left Fort Nook saddled with six recently restored prisoners.

    She wished¡ª Elvia repressed her alter-instincts¡ª that the Manx could teach Tarleton another lesson, only this time she wouldn''t be there to heal the Colonel. She wished that the people in Fort Nook, rather than shying away or spitting at the Manx when she tried to find them food and clothing, would treat them any way other than as animals.

    "¡­ It''s a wonder why the Manx believe we would ever leave," Dominic concluded his lesson. "This place was forfeited to the Crown by their ancestors who lost the war in pitched battles. Everything between Douglas, Avalon and Port Erin has belonged to her Majesty for five or six centuries. As far as the government''s concerned, it''s our outpost, our settlement, our ISTC¡ª"

    Lorenzo glanced at the Manx trailing behind them, trudging through the sleet-like snow.

    "¡ª our guests appear unconvinced."

    "Chan eil sin f¨¬or!" The Manx sister of the boy, the Elf-like one, struck out her tongue at Lorenzo. Unlike the older Manx, the girl spoke enough standard English to trade with the locals. "Our people have been here since the time of the Elves! The isle has been our home since a hundred-hundred years ago! Since the old days, we have made the Stone Circles, tended the trees, grown orchards and harvested honey all over the isle. Here is our root, our home; all you have done is cut down our woods and bleed the land to harvest your Crystals. Luchd-ionnsaigh!"

    Elvia felt relieved that the girl had the energy to joust Dominic. It was just as well that the Manx''s anatomy was human-like. When considering how much of Siofra she had to heal, how much of the girl''s organs she had to re-align and repair¡ª it was good that Siofra did not recall what the mercenaries had done to her.

    Her present self-assigned quest was to take Siofra and the others home, a recourse Elvia had arrived at after seeing how Douglas'' townsfolk treated the Manx. Their destination was the sky lake, a place called "Injebreck", a name Dominic Lorenzo had touted as meaning Ingi''s Slope, a Nordic name, one that was undoubtedly un-Manx-like.

    "If the name of your home isn''t even in your language," the reporter had mocked the bronzed Manx girl. "Then how can the land be yours?"

    His words seemed to upset the lass, who then did not speak again for some time.

    The journey was not long. The lake was nary a ten-kilometre trek through shrub-land and low-woods, meaning they would be in and out before nightfall. Initially, the party consisted of only herself and Mathias. When Magus Fitzgerald caught wind, he and a few of the veterans she aided had asked for leave to escort Elvia on her search to appease her conscience. To no one''s surprise, the Colonel refuted the men''s request.

    In the end, it was Dominic who volunteered to play guide.

    And through Dominic, she found out the Manx lived only fifteen minutes Mage Flight away, and that the island was traversable in a few hours via the sky. What she had imagined as Wildland barbarians living in the dark and wending woods were, in fact, a stone''s throw''s distance from Fort Nook. Likewise, the war was waged by Humans on the isle''s north, while the regions around Douglas suffered only from infiltrations.

    For Elvia, the conflict was beginning to make sense¡ª until her party arrived at the sky lake.

    For a place the Manx kept calling a lake, Elvia knew what to expect; a serene pond, maybe a few ducks, reeds and fish, with possible encampments nearer the far bank. A place poorly defended against aerial assaults but sheltered against Magical Beasts.

    What she found instead was a blighted plateau.

    There was nothing.

    No water.

    No lake.

    Not even much snow.

    A strange sense of d¨¦j¨¤ vu overcame Elvia at once.

    The terrain was desolate but familiar, especially the pale pink of the salty lake-floor, where jagged hexagonal shards of raw salt pushed through the crystalised plane. Upon closer inspection, there was water, only the brine-like liquid oozed beneath the arm-thick crust, making the surface arguably a deathtrap.

    All around the lake, trees withered where they stood or died after becoming covered by permafrosts of crystals, lining the edge of the lake like grave posts. Concurrently, a strange stink of rotting vegetable pickled in sodium haunted the party''s nostrils. Much less fish, there wasn''t even a bird in the cloudless sky.

    Past the salt, after the party plodded across the side, she could see slimes, the primordial manifestation of rot and decay, clambering the edge of the alkaline lake where the salt had yet to grow. Nearer the brine''s surface, the stench grew so terrible Elvia had to cast "Aid" on the whole party. Shouldn''t this be where the Manx called home? Elvia felt her heart sink. Were they fighting the Mageocracy to the death to protect this?

    "Was it always like this?" Mathias suddenly spoke.

    "Of course not!" a reply came from the girl. "When I was younger, our home was beautiful. There were perch and bream in the lake, and waterfowl nesting by the tens of thousands."

    Elvia struggled to think that the adolescent she had thought younger than herself was in her thirties. The Manx, thanks to their Elven blood, were long-lived and slow-maturing.

    "How did it become like this?" Elvia asked the siblings and their fellows. Her eyes, however, fell on to Dominic, who seemed to know the isle''s history better than they.

    "It happens." Dominic''s response was lukewarm. "Where the fabric between the Prime and the Planes grow thin¡ª ah, but that''s a story for another time. I do believe we have company."

    "Halt!" Mathias raised a glowing fist, simultaneously rising an inch into the air, cascading salt that had crawled onto his combat boots.

    From the far edge, striding through the few trees that remained, a host approached, olive in their attire, olive-haired and olive-skinned, with ears as long and tapered as flensing knives.

    Before her Knight could draw his Spellblade, a palpable aura hundreds of meters in diameter erupted from Sen-sen. It was Dragon-fear, only there was no hostility, at least not yet. Instead, the stifling aura served as a warning that she came in peace, offering the gift of life.

    Or¡ª if these Elves would attack her or her party¡ª the gift of Gwen.

 Chapter 357 - Power in Restraint

    Elvia''s only knowledge of the Tr??lvor was through Nightingale''s extracurricular classes on Prime Material beings tiered as "better attuned" than Humanity, by which the lecturer meant "older" "troublesome" and "a hard nut to crack".

    That said, indigenous Elves from the Enclave on the Isle of Man was not the Nordic Tr??lvor of yore. Where the bestiary had prescribed the Tr??lvor Demi-race as fair-complexioned with dark hair and lithe silhouettes six to seven feet tall, these native "Tr??lvor" were much shorter, with their leader standing half a head shy of Gwen.

    "Miss Elvia. I fear your warning has fallen on long but deaf ears," Dominic Lorenzo drily observed.

    "Why?" Elvia whispered back to their Diviner. "We brought back their kin!"

    "Yes, but I don''t doubt the Colonel has made a habit of baiting the Manx," Dominic reminded her of why they were here. "If you wish to speak to them, you''ll have to first quell their mistrust."

    "How do I do that?"

    "Nothing engenders respect like a show of restrained force," Lorenzo advised. "Worry not. Ser Rothwell and I will keep you safe."

    Elvia nodded, her face turning bright pink.

    The party watched while their prisoners shuffled forward, with the boy and girl waving goodbye at Elvia, unaware of what was soon to follow.

    "Clann!" one of the Manx, a middle-aged woman standing behind the Elves reached out, urging the youths to hurry.

    An upraised hand halted her affectionate outburst. Beside her, the leader of the Elves stepped forward.

    "Our cousins applaud thy gall, invader," their leader''s voice covered the distance without effort, sounding as though susurrated from the surviving trees. "But doth thou think all would be forgiven if thou returned our kindred? A hundred lives lie in the embrace of the Earth Mother by thy efforts. How shall thee atone for our kin thy sorcery hath made mute?"

    "That doesn''t sound sylvan," Elvia whispered.

    "That''s... old English." Lorenzo raised a brow. "Their leader must have learned our tongue centuries ago."

    Elvia concentrated Essence onto her optic nerves, bringing the "Elder" into sharp focus. From afar, the Wood Elves'' leader reminded her of a wind-tossed oak of sorts. On closer inspection, their clothing, which Elvia had initially taken to be Druidic Bark Skin, revealed itself to be woven membranes of organic matter, a sort of living-armour. Likewise knotted through the Demi-human''s hair and clothing were branches and twigs with tiny leaves.

    The Elder''s face, Elvia discerned, possessed an elfin appearance that betrayed the caster''s advanced years, making the gruff leader appear ageless. Like the Manx besides him, the Wood Elve possessed large, oval-shaped eyes tilted towards at an angle like a feline''s, with crisp lilac irises that added an exotic mystique. Beside the presumed Alderman, stood a pair of near-identical sisters, likewise clad in skin-hugging bio-outfits, each carrying tall staves topped with entwined vines brimming with Primal mana.

    "Enclave Druids," Lorenzo silently dispensed his knowledge. "It''s safe to assume the old one is an Arch-Druid. In our language, his title is Primach."

    Elvia raised both hands in a show of diplomacy.

    "Noble Primach of the Enclave, I have come in peace and returned your kin," she announced, unused to hearing her voice spoken so loudly across so distant a space. "And to hear the grievance of your people."

    "A Sun Knight, a Priestess, and a Mind Seer, on an errand of arrogance." The Arch-Druid shook his head. "T¨¬r-Mara''s descendants shall not be deceived, Human. Thou wilt be ransomed for the return of our kin. Guardians! See that these invaders art chastised!"

    "Steady now," Lorenzo''s steady voice soothed Elvia''s strumming nerves. "He''s testing us to see if we''re here to talk, or if there''s an ambush."

    "Evee! Six O''clock!" Mathias conjured a Shield of Faith into place before she even noticed the shimmering of space around them, like mirages on a hot day. "Dom!"

    "Purge Invisibility!" Dominic, a veteran of many warzones, expertly wove his detection magic into place.

    The instant Lorenzo''s nova of revelation rang out, no less than three Manx Cats appeared within charging distance, sleek as midnight, elongated and elegant, with raised haunches that menacingly waved prehensile tentacles tipped with sucker-mouths, hungry for tender flesh.

    "I see them!" Mathias'' Radiant Aura burned golden, swiftly condensing into a suit of Faith-laced plate mail. "I''ll take the front and left."

    "Primach! Tha-iad nan daoine-math!" Siofra and her brother began to shout that they were friends and not foe. Elvia''s heart had already reached her throat when, thankfully, an eruption of tendrils coiled around the ex-prisoners, delivering them to safety.

    Concurrently, the rest of the tendrils entwined into a six-metre colossus wrought of vicious dog-thorn, reminding Elvia of the Amazonian Brutalisers from Gwen''s IIUC highlights.

    "A Thorn Elemental!" Mathias ignited his Spellblade. "That''s mine¡ª"

    "SCROOWORRRL!" Before Mathias could retort, the trio of Manx Cats made a sound that sounded like a high-pitched tumble drier on its last legs. By inches, the apex predators prowled closer, keeping their bodies low, their tentacles rising into the air as though tasting prey.

    Dominic backed away toward Elvia, covering her right flank.

    Their assailants inched closer.

    Despite Lorenzo''s spoon-fed foresight, Elvia''s adrenaline-addled brain was a mess of instincts clambering over one another, each demanding redress. In her prior forays, Mathias had made all the decisions and calls. In Sydney, Gwen was their fearless leader who yelled out the commands. Now, she was beginning to understand just how rare it was for a Mage to think straight while confined in a narrow alleyway with three tentacle-panthers looking for a feed. Should she defend first or attack? What of the Manx''s counter-attack? How to minimise harm to her teammates? Would maiming, then mending the Druids count as overt hostility?

    Thankfully, Alesia''s old contact came to her aid once more. "Miss Lindholm, taking down their Elemental might blunt their fervour."

    Elvia willed her Ginseng into action at once. "Sen-sen! Kiki!"

    "SEN!" Her Ginseng dug its tendrils into the ground with such palpable force that the salt-encrusted earth split and cracked. This time, she did not dilute the Dragon-fear.

    "MEOOWRRRL!" As one, their opponents'' ears, both cats'' and Demi-humans'', simultaneously flattened. The six-legged hunter-killers staggered back, their bodies and minds caught in the disharmony of primal fear and wilful lucidity, their tentacles ramrod straight.

    On the far side, the Elven party grew briefly viridescent. The twin druids by either side of the Primach rammed their staves into the salt-sodden earth, engendering twin rows of growth in the form of a trellis of thorns.

    A viridian, vital glow Elvia had once seen on Sufina travelled underground through some secret means and suffused the cats, dispelling the paralytic Dragon-fear.

    "That would explain why they were unfazed the first time," Lorenzo called out. "Incoming!"

    "STHKARRRWL!" The largest of the recovered cats leapt.

    Mathias''s armour flickered, indicating that a full dose of Radiance now coursed through his conduits. In his dominant hand, his Dwarf-forged Spellsword warped the air with simmering heat.

    Kth-Chunk!

    In Dominic''s leading hand, an Abjuring Rod was ready to deploy its defences.

    But the Cats did not attack.

    They were waiting for the Elemental.

    With a shackle-sound of thorn-parrying-thorn, the lumbering giant crossed the distance in great strides, making for her party.

    "Sen-sen!"

    Her Ginseng rooted itself with a thump.

    In the next-second, an enormous root, shaped vaguely like a carp, leapt from the cracked ground to intercept the thorny giant, collapsing it via its mid-section to pin the giant to the floor with an ear-splitting sound of wood breaking wood.

    At the same time, hidden coils of arm-thick roots erupted all around her party, grasping for the Manx Cats.

    Caught by surprise and dulled by the Dragon-fear, Elvia was sure the Manx Cats would be short-lived combatants.

    Her jubilance proved no less short-lived.

    Just as Sen-sen''s tendrils recoiled around the sleek beasts, the creatures Blinked away.

    "Well, shit." Dominic drew a second wand with his off-hand and marked the space in front of him in quick succession. "Reactive Barrier! Listen for¡ª"

    "Nine O''clock!" Dominic shouted.

    Elvia was still trying to untangle the chaos when Mathias activated his Spellsword and Relic. With one hand, the Knight pressed his healer behind him while his sword drew a cross in the air. "Radiant Guardian!"

    A shield bearing the heraldry of the Order of St Michael, as metaphysical as it was solid, briefly flittered into view as the Manx Cat materialised with a guttural snarl. Extending claws as long as fingers, it swatted at the Knight. The blow struck; Mathias grunted, parrying the murder-mitten even as it shaved away chunks of amber mana.

    "Kiki!" Elvia''s floral Sprite leapt into action. Now that it could sense their opponent, it quickly filled the trio''s front-right flank with a thorn-trellis vibrant with poisonous flowers. The barrier was enough to deter the charge from Manx Cats, though from the sight of the emerald sap filling the air with every swipe, Kiki''s sleep-inducing power was of no use.

    Across from her party, the twin Druids continued to chant, regrowing the Thorn Elemental to subdue her Ginseng''s counter-attack. Elvia suspected that if she were to send Sen-sen fully unleashed, she might be able to turn the tide. Unfortunately, she also had no idea if Sen-sen in such a state could be controlled, much less commanded to apply finesse. Besides her, Mathias retaliated with fiery Radiance, grunting whenever a tentacle or claw swiped at the Guardian spell keeping the trio safe.

    For a dozen exchanges, tentacles flailed, tendrils curled and regrew, and two titans wrestled in the salt-strewn earth.

    "My mana isn''t going to keep up," Mathias growled when the lead Manx dodged a Lance of St George from his smouldering Spellblade. "I''ll need to potion if they keep up the pace."

    "Barrier!" Dominic barred a tentacle with his wand. "Same, I brought enough cartridges, but I doubt they''ll let us reload."

    "Sen!" Of their party, it was only Sen-sen that dominated, trashing the Thorn Elemental''s futile efforts to reinforce the Blinking Manx Cats. Frustrated, Kiki misted the air with perfume and poison, though again, the anaesthetic appeared to have little impact on the snarling felines.

    "We need more offence," Dominic observed. "Ser Rothwell?"

    "I can''t both attack and defend."

    "Miss Elvia?"

    Elvia shook her head.

    "Not even Magic Missile?"

    "... I haven''t practised."

    "Well then." Dominic dissuaded a sucker-mouth with a pane of solidified air. "Miss Lindholm, you are aware of the alternate application of Biomancy on living creatures, yes?"

    Crack! Sen-sen pummelled the Thorn Elemental with its roots, tearing off a limb with a drake-headed tendril. In an instant, the Thorn Elemental''s sap painted the salt-strewn hilltop.

    "Yes¡­" Elvia felt an ominous premonition.

    "Then it''s up to you to subdue the Blinking bastards." Dominic pointed at the Manx Cats. "Use Aid, blend everything you''ve got into it. Faith, Essence, Mana, the works. Benedictions-class Clerical spells suffer no cooldowns, correct?"

    "Yes¡­" For very good reason, her mind reminded her of that time uncle Hans liquified a Mud Mage.

    "Good. Your buffs are so strong they can be used to stagger. If the cats can be incapacitated, we can parley."

    Elvia wasn''t sure if Lorenzo''s was the correct path forward. The decision, however, was quickly taken out of her hands when Mathias lost a chunk of his manifested armour to a hungry appendage.

    Subdue the Druids with Sen-sen?

    Or bless the Cats?

    "AID!" she raised a hand, gesturing toward the tentacled-toms, calling upon the power of the Almighty and the bottomless vitality of Sen-sen to wish the Manx Cats well. "Aid!"

    Instantly and involuntarily, a soft glow suffused the confused Manx Cats, energising their fatigued bodies. Visibly, the cats'' bodies bulged, their pupils grew large, and even their fur turned glossy.

    The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    "Aid!" Another jolt of heavenly fortification struck the shapeshifted Druids. "AID! AID! AID!"

    "Moorrrrwl!" A much-blessed Druid gnarred and grumbled, appearing as though suddenly intoxicated.

    The rapid din of combat lulled. The Arch-Druid and the twins from across the battlefield watched with perplexed expressions.

    "Moorrrrwl?" The leading Guardian paused its assault, suddenly sensing that a part of its polymorphed physiology had gone awry.

    "Hoo boy¡­" Dominic swapped his wand for a lumen-recorder.

    Elvia''s face burned. She understood very well what happened when too much of Sen-sen''s Essence was infused into her healing.

    "Murrrrrl!" As much as the Guardian tried, it was impossible to ignore its perilously engorged seventh leg, a swollen club of tortured flesh. When the feline attempted to move, it''s distended organ swung from side to side, dangerously scraping over the salt-encrusted floor, reducing its agility by half.

    The two bothered beasts eyed their untouched companion, a lucid female empowered, but otherwise unmolested by Sen-sen''s yang-energy. Suddenly apprehensive, the Guardian took an uncertain cat-step backward.

    Mathias lowered his sword to stare.

    "Good Lord, they''ve got barbs¡­" Dominic quietly intoned, "Let us wait and see if our Arch-Druid wants to continue. Miss Lindholm. Keep your blessing hand hot and ready for benediction."

    On the far side, Sen-sen''s tendrils wrapped around the Thorn Elemental''s neck and waist, with a booming crash of splintering timber, it tore the thing in twain.

    "Sen!" Ginseng flexed its tiny, root-knotted body.

    Elvia wetted her lips. Ginsengs were well-known for fortifying male potency. Likewise, Draconic Essence was liquid libido, as evidenced by the infused creature-hordes occupying the territory of a landed Dragon.

    Without pause, the female feline fled for the whereabouts of her Primach, while the other two Blinked away into the woods, leaving only a musky trace of their passing.

    An awkward minute of silence hung listlessly between the two parties.

    "Well fought," the Primach said at last. "You may... approach."

    Still burning with embarrassment, Elvia smoothed out her working robes, a white-on-cerulean robe that covered her from chin to ankle. Mathias dispelled his Mage Armour and followed closely behind. Dominic carefully stowed his Lumen-recorder.

    Closer, Elvia could see that the expressions on the Druids were sombre. The Manx she had rescued, including the siblings, hid stoically behind their kin, leaving Elvia to face their Elder.

    "Thou has... circumvented our Guardians." The Elder Druid glanced at the sky for a moment before extending a twig-like hand. "Without harm, which is commendable. Thou may call me Golion, son of Iliynore, Primach of the Snaefell Enclave, T¨¬r-Mara''s Protector and teacher to the Manx. I now greet thee in the custom of thine kinfolk."

    "Elvia Lindholm. This is Ser Rothwell, my Knight, and Ser... Lorenzo." Elvia reciprocated by extending a hand.

    The two gingerly shook. The Druid''s skin felt like paper.

    "Having satisfied thine ordeal, I now invite thee to partake in our generosity."

    The twin Druids parted, revealing a path that led to a sole remaining elm struggling to hang on to the last vestiges of life. The sisters chanted in synchrony, raising their twin-staves until the tree''s bark split open, revealing a depthless chasm.

    The spell known as Tree Striding was an infamous Druidic staple that ensured no trees large enough to be a threat existed within the concrete walls of Douglas and Fort Nook.

    Unsure of how to proceed, Elvia glanced at Dominic, who assured her with a nod.

    "I accept your generosity, Primach Golion." Elvia bowed.

    Still perplexed, the Primach led the way.

    "Evee... never use Essence when you heal or buff me," her Knight reminded her as he passed, placing her between himself and Dominic. "You know our code. Death before dishonour."

    Above the desolate sky lake, Colonel Susan Tarleton hovered with her Mage Flight, the loose cords from her combat jacket flapping angrily.

    "You''ll be taking responsibility?" she spoke not to a fellow Mage, but a crow perched atop her Sergeant. "That was the Gorlion and the twins, you know. We take any of the three and keep them entertained for any amount of time, and the fairies will fold like napkins."

    "Caw! Caw!" croaked the jet-black crow, cocking its head.

    "I politely decline." Tarleton''s icy mien grew somehow colder. Everything about the blonde, from her glacial blue eyes to her tightly knotted bun, spoke of war-worn hardiness. "We in the Militant Faction are not your flunkies, Lord Marshall. If you wish her preservation, get the Order to do it themselves, or submit an official channel request."

    "Caw!" The crow lifted itself, then fled toward the uncertain arc of the expanding horizon that housed the English coast.

    "Fucking politicians." Tarleton spat, turning to her men, she orientated herself back toward Douglas. "Bird''s the word, fellers. Hunt''s off!"

    Without a sound, the Colonel and her obfuscated Mage Flight departed, leaving the pilgrims below free to perform their insubordination.

    "Crystal-Crystal¡ª Crystals¡ª" the chirpy sorceress hummed under her breath, delighting Eric Walken with the simplicity of its sinful rhythm. "It''s a rich Mage''s world¡ª"

    "My my, you''re in a good mood." Walken kept pace beside his future employer. Presently, with Aella, Ariel and Caliban in tow, they were drawing eyes from all over the isle.

    "It''s been a good week, Eric." Gwen tapped along on her freshly unlocked Mary Janes, sending her long skirt aflutter. "Did you hear about Tonglv?"

    "No. I am no longer privy to that sort of information." Walken shrugged. "More victims?"

    "Ha!" the girl''s bell-like laughter thrilled his ears. In the three years that he had known her, Gwen had seldom appeared happy, and so her sun-soaked visage was a rare treat. "This is waaaaaaay better. Remember how I told you about the Tonglv triumvirate and how they would be going after my share of the project?"

    "Go on." Walken slowed his pace to take in their unimpressive surroundings. Here was where he was soon to be installed, no less in a dog house belonging to Lady Grey. Still, it was his duty to harness an impression of the region before he toured the place in an official capacity. "I am all ears."

    "Mayuree Messaged, saying the trio made their move." The girl grinned mischievously, her eye glinting like whetted knives. "They pushed to confiscate my share, saying that I worked for foreigners. What they didn''t know was that I already gave away my share to Ruxin."

    "The Lord of Nagaland?" Walken filled his lungs with frigid air, tasting a stink unique to areas affluent with NoM activity. "The Dragon we encountered in Kachin? The one you cited as a relative of sorts?"

    "That''s right." The girl puckered her lips. "The greedy guts tried to extort my Ru¨¬¡ª you remember Ru¨¬? They were six-miles high on their white horse until Ayxin and uncle came in¡ª"

    "You mean Captain Jun?"

    "It''s Dragon-whipped Jun now." Gwen''s tone grew sulky with sugar. "¡­ anyway, Ayxin and Jun showed up with an army of spooks from the Ministry of State Security and ran the lot of them through the bureaucratic blender."

    "What, all of them?"

    "Half the Fungs in Nantong, with Dai escaping the chopping block because he followed my advice." Gwen smugly struck out her chest. "Good corporate governance meant he need not be entertaining at the Front, and he will now inherit the Clan. Isn''t that amazing? Who could have thought that NOT embezzling funds from a government infrastructural project by putting relatives in key places to short-sell stock and land could keep a man from Shenyang?"

    Walken furrowed his brows. From what the girl was saying, it sounded like a massive Purge had happened on a mid-scale governmental level. If so, how many lives had been irrevocably changed? A thousand? Ten-thousand?

    "It''s not like I didn''t warn them!" The girl''s ebullient mood continued to fizz. "Zero tolerance for bullshit was my first lesson during our initial talk. I ran them through the importance of auditing, of gutting anyone that tries to subvert Ma''s work, but no, they preferred eating the bitter fruit of avarice¡­"

    Walken considered the girl''s words, reading the not so hidden subtext.

    "I think I understand." He halted their progress down Millwall''s abandoned dockland. "At least, I understand your veiled threat."

    The girl paused. Her lovely eyes drew blanks. "Wow... Shit, Eric. I didn''t mean it like that¡­"

    "It''s quite alright. I wouldn''t trust me either if I was in your position. Suspicion is a very healthy thing in a relationship like ours. We must gain mutually, as you have said, for true partnership. Audrey would prefer that, as well."

    The girl chewed on her lower lip.

    "Maybe a formal employment contract isn''t so necessary," she said suddenly. "It was on Lady Grey''s advice that we make one. I could probably persuade her to forgo the guarantee."

    "I am sure you could," Walken refused the goodwill, finding himself surprisingly at peace with an otherwise shameful binding. Then again, his history spoke for itself. "But that''s alright. She owns this place, and you''re merely its manager¡ª and I, your under-manager. Correct? Let''s give the Lady peace of mind."

    "It''s nothing like that," Gwen reassured him with a smile. "Here''s the thing. I''ve fashioned our investments into various divisions, each with vertically integrated stakeholders, with a core party as the proprietors of the parent company. The Isle of Dogs is merely an asset on loan, with monthly repayment tithes. What it means is that we''re all shareholders, you as well, so long as you remain our partner and Executive. That''s why you''re my subordinate only in a corporate sense. Eric, if you''re dissatisfied, it''s important that¡ª"

    "Gwen, there''s no more to explain." Walken shook his head, though the faint mirth on his face remained. "For now¡ª we remain equals. The journey ahead is long, my dear. Let us walk in his hour, as though the future has no power..."

    The words from his heart seemed to touch the girl somewhat, for he could see her throat bobbing.

    "What''s wrong?" Walken stopped to study the sorceress now staring out onto the half-frozen water. Sometimes, when he disregarded her uncommonly youthful face, Gwen''s silhouette reminded him of someone older¡ª much older, shouldering an unseen weight.

    Fortunately, the sentiment passed once he recalled that Gwen was a Void Sorceress with a vitality-tank and that once he wedded his fate to the Shard''s second Sobel, there would be no recourse, only sink or swim.

    "How''s Angie?" Gwen asked.

    "No recurring symptoms so far, but it''s only been a few weeks."

    The girl nodded. "To answer your earlier question. I was wondering what life would be like if we could speak like this before the fall of Sydney. Do you think things still would have happened as they did?"

    Walken settled himself beside his conversation partner, though he possessed no answers for her particular line of enquiry.

    "Missing your Master?"

    She inclined her chin. "And Allie, and Gunther, and Sufina."

    "Well, I wasn''t exactly a friend," he reminded her. "I don''t think you would have listened to anything I said, not with Alesia screeching beside your ear to Void me at the first opportunity. If ever we were to speak, it would be through Henry, I think. Alas¡­"

    "I still haven''t forgiven you," Gwen said suddenly.

    "For Sydney?"

    "For what you tried to do in Shanghai."

    Walken turned his head ever so guiltily. "Would a heartfelt apology suffice?"

    "Maybe."

    Without hesitation, he cleared his throat.

    "Eric, stop¡­" The girl interrupted Walken before he could continue.

    Walken waited for his student to speak.

    Behind them, their Familiars frolicked, too preoccupied with the open space to be bothered by the subtle emotions coursing through their Empathic Links.

    "¡­ I wasn''t serious."

    "Well, I was¡ª"

    Walken''s words became lost in a sudden jumble of sound, interrupted by a line of lorries rushing past the snow-strewn road, freshly shovelled by the inhabitants. As one struck a pothole, clods of river mud, as well as sprays of snowmelt, half-washed over the two Mages, forcing them to erect quick barriers or risk becoming soiled.

    "Cali, get back!" Gwen commanded her Void fiend to stop chasing the accelerating flatbed.

    The trucks'' destination was the print works, now a hive of activity compared to the abandoned docklands. Turning the corner, they saw a ring of NoMs a dozen bodies thick, gawking at something nearer the entrance.

    "I do believe our guests from the Murk have arrived ahead of schedule." Walken pointed at the dozen or so segmented trucks now visible outside the print works. Once they rush past the warehouse, he caught sight of the Dwarf-made Golem Engines unloading from the trucks.

    These were the "Fabricators", the distinguished units used by Dwarven crafters. As an ex-Overseer of the Grey Faction, he knew well how the Dwarves managed their resource-colonies, called Citadels. Each of the engines had a particular function, from digging to smithing to construction, creating the necessary structures and machine-beds used for Dwarven manufacturing. A complete six-Golem host, given the span of a month, could carve out a new outpost in the Murk capable of sustaining itself for centuries, assuming supplies and raw materials were plentiful.

    "Let''s hurry!" The girl quickened her pace. "I hope they''re not upset."

    "With whom? With one holding the Debt of Haj-Z¨¹l? You would have to go beyond all conceivable dignity." He followed Gwen''s clacking heels as they crossed the rough asphalt.

    "Let''s hope it never gets to that." Gwen''s reply had a hint of paranoia to her tone. When he followed her eyes, he could see that she was looking at the NoMs. It wasn''t so much that the isle''s folk would harass the lauded Engineseers, but that there was a lot of Dwarven cargo, and should something go missing¡ª

    Walken took a deep breath.

    Here was London. If an NoM was caught stealing from a Mage, hard labour awaited. Should the Mage strike out at said NoM, a stiff HDM and CC penalty applied. In the event of the transgressor''s death, a tribunal could theoretically sentence the offender to six-months of Stasis. However, rare was said sentence¡ª non-existent even, unless politics was involved.

    If one of these peasants were to offend an august personage by doing something nigh-unthinkable in Dwarven society¡ª stealing¡ª what would Gwen do to her new citizenry?

    The Eric part of Walken wished his student would never have to face such a dilemma. As for Magister Walken, he could barely suppress the morbid anticipation of seeing his boss'' first trial.

    The Isle of Man.

    Elf home.

    The visitation to the Grot was going as well as expected.

    Once inside, questioning glares from the Grot''s inhabitants had greeted the new arrivals, replete with menacing stares, glowers, the rattling of quivers, the hiss of critters, and mothers hiding their children behind leafy-attires.

    The interior landscape of the Grot was frankly sublime, made lesser only by its compactness, consisting of a verdant valley of proliferating emerald greenery hanging from plinths-mantles rich with orchids. All around the Grot''s edge, skyward junipers reached for the vibrant cerulean distance, appearing as though cumulus clouds of shamrock on chartreuse adorning columns of towering wood. "T¨¬r-Mara", the Wood Elves called their home, a garden of wood and sea¡ª their humble island abode.

    Of their party, Kiki appeared to be wholly enjoying herself, flittering from leaf to leaf, lapping at the dew and hugging the occasional flower. Comparatively, Sen-sen scoffed at the offering, compared to the vitality and grandeur of the Yinglong''s valley, Elvia presumed, the home of the indigenous Elves must feel like the Isle of Dogs.

    Nonetheless, Evee considered that she should be lucky to be invited into an Elf home, something not even Gwen has had the pleasure of experiencing.

    Once seated, Golion, scion of Iliynore, Primach of the Snaefel Enclave, presented them with sticky meads of wild-honey and fresh fruits from the orchard, delighting the visitors. They then discussed the matter of a certain Colonel Susan Tarleton, and the campaign of terror said Colonel had covertly carried out to flush the Manx from the southern portion of the isle.

    Taking a leaf from Gwen''s book of Essence-bribery, Elvia begged from Sen-sen a hair-thin tendril, which she then used to infuse a jug of floral mead.

    As expected, the Elves grew mightily thrilled by the foreign Essence, rapidly warming up to both herself and her Familiars. Once the scented alcohol ran dry, laughter flowed freely.

    What made Elvia curious, once each of their company introduced themselves, was that of the thirteen present, only three were the Manx. All the other who''s who of T¨¬r-Mara''s Druidic council consisted of the indigenous Tr??lvor.

    Once the conversation turned to the released prisoners, Elvia candidly confessed to Siofra''s suffering¡ª and the fact that she had healed then saved the young woman from the burden of bearing a poisoned fruit.

    As expected, the Manx clamoured for war.

    The Elves appeared more appreciative of her morbid kindness.

    Their concern was that the ISTC station appeared to be drawing far too much mana from the land, resulting in unpleasant changes to the isle''s elemental physiology.

    On and on the council laid out their grievances, until, at the end of a long-winded airing, Dominic raised a hand.

    "Speak, Ser Lorenzo¡ª" the wizened Arch-Druid had done his best with his unruly council. "Withhold nothing. We hath lent thee our ears¡ª now gift us thine thoughts."

    "Thank you." The reporter stood. "Protector of the Manx, most gracious Primach, as time is short, please forgive this humble one for conferring the stark reality the Manx face should they refuse the Colonel''s threefold partition."

    The table grew silent¡ª the Druids, including the two who had earlier fled with their erection between their legs, all ceased their melodic, chant-like chattering.

    "I present these findings with the most ardent humility." Lorenzo bowed from the waist. "¡ª please think of what you''re about to see as an act of complete earnestness and kindness, I wish only the best for our Elvish allies."

    Elvish, Elvia noted. But what about the Manx?

    With that, Lorenzo materialised a Lumen-projector, inserted a recording crystal, then waited several seconds for the Druids to protest. When none intervened, he pressed the Glyph for "play".

    A familiar scene sprang into view. A city in ruins, dark tunnels, a malevolent miasma punctuated by strange moans. A montage of a city overrun then rapidly panned through every monstrosity from Abominations to Corpse Hulks to Zombies legions a kilometre wide.

    "You would unleash Defilers onto our island home?" The Elder stated calmly, his purple eyes hidden behind two narrow slits of flesh. Across the rest of the table, his Druids began to clamour.

    "Nothing of the sort, please observe."

    A piece of eerie background music began to play. The projection flashed, the vision panned upward toward a sickly grey sky, then down slowly toward the silhouette of a stricken Frontier.

    "¡­ Shenyang¡­" A voice-over in the sultry voice of the female announcer pronounced with dread, gravid with desolation. "A city lost to the dead, taken by the numberless followers of Juche; a Necropolis lorded over by a deathless Lich¡­"

    Mathias blinked at Elvia, who stared back, equally confused.

    Why was Dominic Lorenzo playing a recording of Gwen''s IIUC Match?

 Chapter 358 - The Price of Progress

    Dominic Lorenzo, a veteran member of her Majesty''s Sixth Cabal, congratulated himself with an invisible pat on the back.

    All that groundwork he had laid on the Isle of Man, the interviews, the gratuitous drinking, the "friends" he made in the Brig, the covert recordings of their activities, all of it was coming to fruition faster than a reporter could push onto his editor. It was insane how fast things moved whenever Gwen Song''s unseen hand got involved. Considering that Tarleton, the "Ogre of Niger" was at the helm, he had expected the scandal to stew for many more months while fatigue blunted the jingoism. And like all good smut, the public just couldn''t get enough.

    Now, via the vehicle of Elvia Lindholm''s best intentions, he had arrived at the heart of the fray, no longer an observer, but a participant capable of steering the course of events; an agent of history, rather than its eyewitness.

    The prospect was peculiar because usually, both of Lorenzo''s jobs required distance and objectivity. As a member of her Majesty''s Ordo of tattle-tellers, he and his ilk were sworn only to the Crown, existing as threads on her Majesty''s gown of eyes and ears. Together, they informed her highness of which wild growths weighing down her magnificent trunk was next in line for pruning.

    The isle was one such bower that needed trimming, though compared to the ongoing horrors that were the Niger Delta, the Coastal Mermen and the Elementals of the Fire Sea, it was merely a stubborn twig. What magnified its notoriety was the proximity of it to the trunk, which weighed on the Crown not because of the scale of the victory or loss, but because of chest-beating populism propagated by parties behind the Herald Sun.

    "MANX OR MAN?"

    "TERROR ON DOUGLAS"

    "THIEVES IN THE NIGHT"

    Dominic recalled wincing every time he saw his publication, the Guardian, beside the red font of the Herald Sun like a slap to the face. His articles, with titles like "The Isle of Lives Lost", simply did not pluck the same heartstrings as a portrait of parents holding the inert body of their arrow-riddled son. And don''t even get started on tragedy paired with bared bosoms on Page Three!

    A worrisome fact of the isle''s conflict was that the Factions themselves, initially put in place by the Towers'' architects to decentralise power, now pandered to goals of their own. His superior had said that it was the inevitable consequence of long-range communication and ISTC stations, allowing the Factions to find like-minded allies across the globe.

    Take the Isle of Man, for example, and the unfounded aggression against the Manx. The war should have been preventable, but the militants had come to see themselves not as a branch of service to the legislative assembly of the Empire¡ª but a part of some ideological holy war waged for Humanity, a global behemoth, too big to fail, that fed on Human and Demi-human lives. Thanks to the proliferation of rags like the Herald Sun and its backers, inclusive of industrialists, noblemen, politicians and foreign investors, the public had been split in twain, dichotomously sundered into those clamouring for human supremacy, and those who turned a blind eye.

    And the Greys, for better or worse, pursued power as the prophets of the profit gospel. On the surface, they were the proponents of peace, advocates for integration. Beneath the beneath, Dominic secretly documented what Creature Cores the men trafficked, and what specimens in the form of appealing Demi-humanoids became available thanks to the war. These, more often than not, were transacted into London for the nobility''s exhaustive entertainments.

    Juxtaposing all that was Elvia, her eyes wet with second-hand remorse as she related events at the Brig. The commanding, crystal gaze the girl affected reminded Lorenzo of a simpler time, where for a stint, he had been a scalpel, scouring rotten flesh from the Mageocracy''s bloated hide.

    That was when he had first met Alesia De Botton. It was the nineties, and the Sixth Cabal had tracked down the remnants of a coven responsible for war crimes hailing back to the German occupation of Europe. Lorenzo had brokered the discovery, and seeing that ex-members of the Shultz family''s inner circle were involved, the power merchants in Britain extended a courtesy to the Paladin of Sydney.

    With star-struck eyes, Lorenzo had anticipated the arrival of the man they called the Morning Star. Instead, he met a fiery redhead in her early twenties.

    It had taken him several meetings to connect that vibrant, vivacious visage with that of the striking, flame-wreathed face used on propaganda posters.

    The Scarlet Sorceress! Lorenzo cautioned himself. Kilroy''s infamous attack dog! The Coral Sea Witch!

    As it turned out, working with Alesia was pure sublimity.

    The Cabal would uncover a nail¡ª

    And Alesia would hammer it down, no questions asked, performing her task with such conviction that Dominic wondered if the sorceress belonged to one of the Knight Orders. Amazingly, even when that very finger of the Crown pointed itself at family members who had aided, and indeed profited, from the coven of Rogue Mages and their ill-reputed work, the Scarlet Sorceress was ruthless. Whether she simply did not care, or that her sense of justice was beyond the politics of context, she left only smouldering infernos in her wake.

    After six months, their operation was concluded; the gangrene was scoured from the flesh, and the Mageocracy, now freed from boil and pustule, could heal. Calls for her head came from every Faction, but once she returned to Sydney, all complaints disappeared into the depth as though weighted with lead.

    As a once ambitious public servant, Lorenzo was in love.

    In the intervening years, the Scarlet Sorceress had sought him out many more times, from expurgations to headhunts to naive blonde healers. To Lorenzo, the Scarlet Sorceress'' ethos was unfazed and unchanged by time. Comparatively, the deeper he supplanted himself from his labour as a journalist, the further he drifted from the Sandhurst scholarship boy who had sworn to protect the Empire''s people.

    Then in November, he had received a private Missive from De Botton, stating that her sister-in-craft would be making her way to London and that the forces were trying to groom her into a second Sobel.

    "Looking out for her would be a direct conflict of interest," Lorenzo recalled confessing with complete candidness.

    "Oh, no, no, no." Alesia''s laughter had flooded the Message spell. "You just keep an eye out. Gwen''s slipperier than a Hagfish Merstrider. She''ll have them lapping Essence out of her hand soon enough."

    Lorenzo had wondered what Alesia meant by lubrication and lapping¡ª

    Until he had met the girl on Red Peak, corralling Greenskins and pulling Dwarves from the jaws of annihilation, smiting Trolls via Void Dogs, leaving not even a shred of flesh behind, while concurrently at London, the girl snagged the old printing press at the Isle of Dogs, secured the domain as her demesne, then thrice scandalised the Lord Marshall. Furthermore, far from disproving herself as the bastard of Ravenport, she leveraged the rumour, leading to the Lord Marshall expending favours to speak to him, a mere ghostly grunt, in person. Finally, as a reporter, he could only gawk at the snowballing momentum of Gwen''s misadventures in enthralling the Herald Sun, the Telegraph, and The Guardian, playing both victim and benefactor.

    Just as Lorenzo was beginning to wonder if the girl would take a breather, she left him a Message while he was digging up dirt on Tarleton.

    "Sup, Dom! I am starting a modest newspaper business, likely the largest in London. Keen to be my Editor?" Gwen had told him. "Also, I need you to look out for my five-century-old-Mythic-Essence-enhanced-Cleric on the isle. Cool?"

    The news that the headliner herself would now print the papers took Dominic some time to digest, but he was interested. He felt keen as an enchanted bean, if he had to be honest, because Gwen''s paper was free, and because it was for the NoMs to read. A newspaper for the NoMs? By the grace of England''s Virgin Rose! Why hadn''t HE thought of that? Then again, so what if he did? Did he have the crystals? The clout? The connections? Political ambition? He wondered what the powers-that-be would think of Kilroy''s seed weighing in on London''s political discourse, but possessed no real answers¡ª domestic policies were the domain of the Fifth Cabal.

    The Sixth''s task was the subversion of friend and foe outside London''s borders and within its Frontiers.

    A task to which he now committed himself.

    Across the oaken table, his captive audience grew glummer the longer the vid-caster played. Lorenzo had chosen the broadcast used for the IIUC recap after Gwen''s coronation as the MVP. It had everything: whether it was Gwen choking the "Death" out of the Soul Eater¡ª or her bringing forth the Shoggoth¡ª or her duelling the lich¡ª and when she stood beside Lady Grey to receive the Contingency Ring.

    Using Gwen as a deterrent had been on Lorenzo''s mind since he witnessed her prowess on Red Peak. As an agent of the Cabal and as a scholarship boy, Lorenzo always did his homework. Three decades ago, Henry Kilroy had subdued many realms with the help of his all-consuming wife. Naturally, this included conflict hotspots like the Isle of Man, on which the repressed Manx had taken the opportunity to throw off the Empire''s yoke. Ergo, by that history and logos, Lorenzo was willing to bet his Astral Soul Golion had seen Sobel in her prime.

    Now, he and his party waited for Golion; descendent of Iliynore, Primach of the Snaefel Enclave to respond.

    "The Usurper Sobel, is it?" The Arch-Druid''s tone was wary.

    Dominic nodded, waited a moment for his heart to calm, then shook his head to refute the Primach''s observation.

    "Not Sobel, lord Druid." Lorenzo pushed the recorder-player forward and left it sitting on the table. "Magus Gwen Song, a sorceress with far more potential, greater empathy, and autonomy. A pacifist at heart, a businesswoman and a dreamer well-concerned with the common folk."

    Lorenzo stood aside so that the whole table could see Elvia.

    "As evidenced by her dearest friend, our priestess, the kindhearted Miss Elvia Lindholm."

    The Primach regarded their Cleric. Elvia held her own by meeting his gaze.

    The Arch-Druid leaned forward, his purple eyes twinkling dangerously. "Art thou advising our Grot is forfeit? That Tir-Mara itself is forfeit should the Manx refuse to concede?"

    "No! Gwen wouldn''t." As Lorenzo anticipated, Elvia protested, rising from her seat. "She would never do that, not to people, never. She''s not Sobel. We found Sobel in Sydney. Gwen hates her guts¡ª she killed Gwen''s Master!"

    Lorenzo bade the shaken Cleric sit.

    "Please understand, Arch-Druid, that we have come in opposition to Colonel Tarleton. Your people, the Manx, were slated for executions, and Miss Elvia, a volunteer healer, whisked them away from the jaws of extinction to your Grot. As for myself, I am but a humble minstrel of the written word¡ª one who has seen too often how far the Mageocracy is willing to go."

    Lorenzo placed a hand on Elvia''s shoulder, an act that drew an unfriendly stare from her Knight.

    "The war¡ª this war¡ª it is deeply ambivalent for our people. The Mageocracy is averse to having atrocities so close to home. With the news of Tarleton''s rapine breaking in London as we speak, there will be only a short window where public sentiment has turned its tide."

    He turned to the trio of Manx Elders present on the table. Consciously, he switched to high Sylvan, aided by his upper-tier Translation Stone.

    "Milords of the Manx, as a political correspondent, I must provide you with the truth, no matter how unpleasant. You rail against the ISTC¡ª an understandable grievance¡ª but the ISTC station is here to stay. Its presence is pivotal to the Mageoracy because uniquely, your home offers interference-free translocation between Edinburgh, Dublin and London¡ª"

    Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

    Lorenzo retrieved a handful of the Druids'' fruity offerings.

    First, he rearranged the sweet stalks of Wildland rhubarb into the shape of the Union Jack. "Here we have London with its outward expanding Mageocracy, perched like a fat spider."

    The reporter then placed a golden apple and a red-skinned pear to the east.

    "And here lies Ireland, home to Tuatha D¨¦ Danann, your mound-hearth cousins on the Isle of Dusk and Dawn, vassals to Sythinthimryr, she who guards the Great Tree on Carrauntoohil."

    Closer to the rhubarb-asterisk, a juicy feijoa rolled into place.

    "And here endures the ivory hall of the Hv¨ªt¨¢lfars in white-spired Snowdonia."

    Lastly, Lorenzo let fall a handful of grapes and lychees, signifying the Mageocracy''s concerns to the north. "And finally, beyond Glasgow and Edinburgh, lie the Sundered Hills, home to our most common foe, the custodians of Cairn Gorm, the Son-Kings of Balor the Fomorian."

    While the Primach pondered the fruit-founded cartographic display, murmuring in near-silent Sylvan to the other Elves, Lorenzo circulated mana to calm his broiling mind. Finally, with steady fingers, he placed a grape in between each location.

    "And equal distant¡­ is Douglas, whose ley-lines are free from the influence of Loch Lomond, Carrauntoohil and Snowdonia, existing in perfect, triangulated harmony."

    Lorenzo wetted his parched lips.

    Could these native Tr??lvor be moved? Would they pull the Manx back and delay the inevitable for another half-century while the ley-line altered the southern ecosphere?

    "And what do you say of the threat of Sobel?" The Primach returned in high Sylvan, a dialect the Manx only half-understood.

    "There is nought to be said, milord," he replied. "What I''ve shown you has been shown across the world, from your Enclaves in Snowdonia to the Wildfire Gulch on Wilkinkarra, it is no secret that such a being now bides her time in the Mageocracy."

    The Arch-Druid turned to Elvia.

    "Gwen would never unleash the Shoggoth here, not against the innocent." The girl rose to the occasion once more. "Lord Druid, I swear by the Nazarine, by his Almighty Father, and on my Astral Soul."

    Lorenzo could see the Primach''s eyes turn in his skull.

    Were they doing it? Lorenzo gulped. Could the old Elf be convinced?

    "Lord Primach!" Across the table, nearer the end, the three Manx Druids rose on indignant feet. "The south is our home. We''ve lived here since you''ve known our ancestors."

    "¡ªYou can''t leave us!"

    "We''re kin!"

    Golion frowned.

    "...You would resist the Humans until the last Manx?" The Primach cocked his head, his lilac pupils pulsing with an inner light. "Or do you suppose that Snaefell Enclave would fight your enemies until its last Elf? We are the Guardians of T¨¬r-Mara, Alderman E¨°ghan. We promised to protect your people, but the Tr??lvor shall not be a shield for the Manx''s troubles."

    "We cannot hold our home if you leave!" Another of the Manx Druids was beginning to panic. "What they''re doing to us, to our people¡ª Primach, you cannot abide by¡ª"

    "And now you tell me what my people can and cannot do." Golion shook his head before glancing at Lorenzo''s party. "Did you forget our pact? Just as our sovereigns in that paradise of Snowdonia had left us with autonomy, so we have not interfered in your dealings with the Humans. YOU chose to fight them. They have made their proposal, E¨°ghan. What is yours?"

    "O-our what? Primach?"

    "What do you offer your benefactors, other than destruction and ruin? Can you deliver the peace we desire?"

    "You''re... abandoning us?" the Manx Druid named E¨°ghan turned to fume at Lorenzo, Elvia and finally Mathias, who sat silently beside his Cleric, stoic as a statue, one hand on the pommel of his Spellblade.

    "... Whatever your accusation, your Manx brothers and sisters shall have shelter, food, and space¡­" Golion touched a hand to his brow. "E¨°ghan, do you wish that we should fight for your home when you cannot? Why should the Tr??lvor of T¨¬r-Mara bleed for you half-bloods? Our Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar cousins do not fight for us. Why should we for you?"

    "Primach." E¨°ghan''s long and elegant eyes grew hard with hate. "These humans, they will come for the north eventually."

    "Perhaps." Golion''s interest appeared to wane. "Or reasonably, like every Human empire since they confronted us with sticks and stones and your ancestors were their''s and not ours, the threat will cease to exist¡ª the land will heal¡ª and no Elf need perish unnaturally."

    While the Manx grew pale, and the Primach returned his attention to Lorenzo.

    "Do enjoy the fruits of thine labour and ours." The Arch-Druid took the words right out of Lorenzo''s mouth. With that, the Primach stood, an act echoed by the other Elves, then began an agonising march away from the table to a private conference elsewhere in the meeting hall.

    The three Manx Druids followed with bows and scrapes, pleading with their elders.

    When Lorenzo sat back down, all the tension drained from his body at once, leaving him semi-paralysed. Had he done it? After all these years, was he now the one directing the headline?

    On his right, Elvia''s delicate face drifted closer, full of confusion and question. "Mister Lorenzo, what did they say? Why are the Manx so upset?"

    "They came to an inevitable conclusion, dear Evee. All thanks to the opportunity you provided with your selfless kindness." Lorenzo gazed benevolently upon the girl who would assume credit for his hidden labour. "I should congratulate you, Miss Lindholm, you''ve done it. After this, you can stand beside Magus Song on your own two feet."

    "Done what?" The girl''s breathing grew rapid. She wasn''t stupid, and from the looks on the Manx''s faces and the Elves who averted their eyes, she should be able to guess what the outcome had been. Nonetheless, Lorenzo chose kindness.

    "Why the war, Miss Lindholm. It''s done, at least for two decades. Only two paths now lie ahead of the Manx. Relocation¡ª or eradication."

    As was promised to Gwen, the Dwarves-on-loan at the Isle of Dogs numbered a total of twelve.

    Two Engineseers

    Two Runesmith Enchanters.

    Seven Senior Apprentices.

    And one Master Alchemist.

    Of the number, Nesatin Smeltshield and Doussed Wyvernbreaker, both Tuners, made up the Engineseers who would be revitalising the printing press, aided by their Journeymen, Vaz, Thakaen, Kilmug and Grutgruli; an all-beard contingent of volunteers eager to tour the Overland and its pubs.

    The Runesmiths consisted of two white-beards; Thulgig Flinthide and Danmurim the Glum, with the latter possessing a ruinous face thanks to a grim machine accident. They too were joined by their Apprentices, Grut, Skori and Ori, of which the last two wore fake beards because Human males had unquenchable thirsts.

    Finally, a Golem, better yet the bottom half of a modified Golem Suit, rumbled beside Gwen. Upon the platform, standing head and shoulders above her host, Yossari Vildrenbrandt introduced herself as their Alchemist. Unlike the other female Dwarves, her pilot''s jacket made no move to hide her femininity, a fact that drew considerable attention not only from the grinning Dwarven men but from the NoM crowd as well. Much to her delight, Yossari revealed herself to be the "Master" sent by Guild Master Whurforl¨¹m.

    While Walken briefed the others, Gwen settled beside the thrumming leader of the Dwarf party. Reaching up, they shook.

    "Hanmoul''s my nephew." The smiling matron shook Gwen''s hand via an articulated gauntlet. "He''s told me a lot about you, Magus Song."

    "I hope its all good." Gwen laughed.

    "All interesting, at the very least." Yossari paused, leaned in, then appeared to fixate on her IIUC Ring. "Huh, that''s one of ours."

    "Ours?" When she tried to withdraw her hand, she found her fingers well arrested.

    "Your Contingency Ring, the setting is of Dwarf-make." The Alchemist turned her hand over, taking a closer gander. "Ah yes, here it is¡ª Master Gemsmith Lindknottr of Vaduz. Very interesting how our cousins in Bavaria are getting along. Love to go there after this. And this Storage Ring¡ª my, it''s an old one, from before the war in Europe, not one of ours though."

    With a smile and a gentle yank, Gwen freed her hand. "You must be very knowledgable about Magical Items, Master Vildrenbrandt."

    "It''s a hobby." The Alchemist''s eyes swept the print works. "So, is this where we''re holed up?"

    "I''ve booked a hotel." Gwen pointed at the horizon, where several structures jutted skyward, one of which was the Thames Regency, whose accommodations for Demi-human dignitaries came with recommendations from Lady Grey.

    Yossari audibly snorted. "Aye, Hanmoul did say yer one to overthink. Der yer believe yonder Murk-boots would be willing ter leave the Earth Mother''s embrace when they''re away from home? Nay Lass, just tell us where to dig."

    "Dig?" Gwen looked about the vicinity of the printing works. The parking bay was enormous, but not that enormous.

    "Yer got jurisdiction over this lot?" Vildrenbrandt pointed to a section beside the outer dock''s rectangular mass of half-frozen water.

    Gwen followed the articulated mechanical digit. Hanmoul''s aunt was eyeing a section of the old freight road labelled by the London Metropolitan Council as "A-12-06". Presently, it was home to a row of townhouses abandoned once jobs dried up.

    "I don''t think you''d want to live there," Gwen replied with a note of caution. "Filth, vermin and poor construction aside, those folks at the Shard would crucify me if our Dwarven guests are put up in anything but the best we can offer. Did you know there was talk of accomodating you in St James'' Palace?"

    "Ha!" Vildrenbrandt chuckled, dialling a few nobs here and there. "We''re a humble lot. How much space do you think was in our keep? We''re far more comfortable sleeping in our workshops. Look, can yer offer us that block of land or not?"

    "It IS vacant, and I do manage it, but there''s not much bedrock." Gwen mimed her warning with her hands, wiggling fingers to show the groundwater. "You''re not thinking of starting now, surely? I''ve got a Habitat, and I can probably get a few more on loan¡ª"

    "You''re the local Thane then? That makes it easy." The Alchemist clunked past her without so much as a pause. "ALRIGHT, LADS! Over yonder''s where we''ll construct our outpost! Nesatin! Doussed! Yer on the Fabs with me! Thulgig! Danmurim! Get on the Diggers. Journeymen! Yer on material duty!"

    The Journeymen ran for their Golems, while the titled smiths merely nodded and made their way to the Fabricator Engines. A thundering hiss of steam blew up Gwen''s skirt. By the time she tamed the fabric, Walken had returned to her side, furrowed like a scrunched ball of paper.

    "You got permission for the Dwarves to build a fort in the middle of London?" The Magister raised a very valid point. "Since when was the Municipal office that pliant?"

    THUMP! THUMP! THUNK!

    Gwen''s reply was lost in the din of a four-metre Golem, the first of its kind to invade England''s capital city, thundering past the shore-break on its stumpy, cobble-crushing feet. In storage, the Fabricator-Golem had appeared to Gwen a giant steel box painted in sunburst yellow, scuffed with the signs of hard labour and smelling faintly of crude oil. Now unfolded, the 10-ton Golem was a monstrosity with a pair of bi-folding piston-feet each the size of vans. Hissing steam and howling jets of superheated mana from its exhaust, it lumbered forward in lurches, leaving footprints large enough to form future archaeological dig-sites.

    Behind it, a second engine unpacked, tall and lithe with the look of an orange-black six-limbed mantis. This one, Gwen guessed, should be a transformed crane of sorts, for its arms and limbs could be extended via means of inter-locking hydraulics.

    The third and fourth "Digger" Fabricators were a smaller, bipedal model with an enormous mana-tank almost three-quarters the size of its entire body. Its foursome of forelimbs consisted of nine-segment manipulator-arms with tiny crystalline tips, making Gwen suspect they were specialised Spellswords of some sort.

    Comparative to the bitumen-chomping behemoths, the smaller construction Golems piloted by the Journeymen were akin to the combat suits used by Hanmoul and his men, only odd-looking, boxy, and cumbersome, tottering along on stumpy legs busy with exposed pistons and a large mana tank nearer the back. These possessed the usual assortment of manipulator gauntlets, underneath of which were slotted Spellsword crystals.

    THUNK!

    Sorceress and Magister watched with wonder as the Alchemist-driven Fabricator anchored itself with self-digging bolts to the ground. With a monstrous shudder, it pivoted from the waist; then blasted a trio of brick townhouses with a pure stream of Transmutation magic. In front of their very eyes, the council-housing wilted. Glass, brick, terracotta, bits of metal and even the old fence collapsed into sand and silt.

    "Are you sure those are unoccupied?" Walken tapped Gwen on the shoulder. "Did someone do a survey?"

    "Wally said..." Gwen''s blood suddenly ran cold. Spinning on her heels, she turned to her crowd of NoMs. "OI! YOU LOT! ARE ANY OF THOSE OCCUPIED?"

    Most of the NoMs shook their head.

    To her chagrin, a few nodded.

    In the next moment, Gwen parted the crowd like a biblical Magi, isolating the group that had nodded. In her presence, the NoMs quailed. "WHO? Who is living in there?"

    "Derek and his family were taking turns with another lot of vagrants from Blackfriars." The NoM day-labourer pointed to the whereabouts of the quickly liquifying buildings. "I don''t know if they''re still in there though."

    "SHIT!" Gwen turned to face the Golems, Clarion Call on full blast. "Master Vildrenbrandt! STOP! There are possibly people in there! Please refrain from liquidating my citizens!"

    "Arrghk, they''ll be alright," the Alchemist''s voice came from above, projected through a Vox output. With an ear-splitting roar, a blast of raw mana tore through the rapidly atomising structure. Over the Thames, an enormous cloud of fine particles settled over the frigid water, revealing the base structure of the abandoned townhouses. Old mud, dried brick, rotten plumbing and sewerage pipes covered the lowest floor, looking like a wasp nest cleaved in twain.

    Also exposed was the wide-eyed, newly-nude family taking shelter in the abandoned townhouse, squinting at the sight of a screaming Fabricator Golem, a hundred-strong throng of NoMs, and their mistress and manager of the Isle of Dogs.

    "Our Transmute to Dust only works on the non-organic matter. Nothing living will be harmed," Vildrenbrandt noted smugly. "Not without a little tweaking, anyway. None of your folk hail from the Elemental Plane of Earth, do they?"

    True to the Alchemist''s word, there were masses of unnamable organic matter, their true compositions too horrible to consider, that now lay about in splotches. Likewise, though much of the fabric on the poor NoMs had been disintegrated, somehow enough remained, making the audience wonder.

    The sewerage began to pulse.

    Gwen suddenly recalled that in Dwarfland, the water closets were all unplumbed, quasi-magical devices.

    Across the Thames, the wind blew in.

    With her supernatural sense of smell, Gwen was the first to gag. In an instant, she and the crowd were turned captive victims by the raw and horrid smell of an NoM-empowered Stinking Cloud formed of human excreta, fermented by time, mixed with urine, garbage, refuse, enlivened by fleeing dock rats the size of cats.

    "Ironborn! Deep Gas Protocols!" The Alchemist was the first to call out. "Looks like we''ve hit a seam! Journeymen! Get those humans out of here!"

    Shuuu-CHUNK!

    The Golem units switched to internal filters.

    "Walken!" Gwen staggered from the inadvertent biological warfare breaking out over the lower docks, every meal from Sunday to now threatening to return to the above-ground world. Every breath was agony; every syllable filled her tongue with foul-tasting particles. "Wind Wall! WALKEN! Gurrrk¡ª WIND WALL!"

 Character Summary (357+)

Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.

 Chapter 359 - Dig Dig

    Once the NoM family received hand-me-downs from the public, the Dwarves went to work.

    Now that the hole she had dug herself was irreversibly deep, Gwen asked Walken for advice on how to best approach the bureaucratic bog. Eric wisely replied that personally calling the Metropolitan council was itself a lesson in futility; instead¡ª she should leverage Lady Grey''s position to plank over the paperwork quagmire.

    After a few minutes of watching the Dwarves work, Gwen decided to operate through an intermediary. With a flourish, she dialled her Praelector.

    "Ollie. Gwen here, how are things, buddy?"

    "¡­ Good?" the young man answered with a tone of caution. "Anything''s the matter? No¡ª trouble?"

    "Nothing serious," Gwen playfully teased the Message Device, her voice oozing with honey. If Le Guevel had been present, the Magus would have sighed with pleasure. "Oz, listen, I was wondering if you could spare me an hour since I am preoccupied with our guests from Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth. Can you do that for me?"

    "An hour? I suppose..."

    "GREAT!" Gwen gushed with relief. "I need a retro-authorised Development Permit for our Dwarven allies to make a medium-sized house, like an R-2¡ª"

    "Extensive bunker." Walken coughed. "Maybe, Z-3?"

    "Z-3... to make a large underground structure beneath the Isle of Dogs, like one of those parking complexes under Harold''s, you know? Three¡ª"

    "About seven." Her advisor observed.

    "Five storeys, down, two above at most," Gwen finished in one breath. "Make sure our dearest lady is clued in, okay? It''s her property, after all. Once the Dwarven Workshop is up and running, it is sure to become a major centre for invest¡ª for arcane learning! Don''t screw this up, Ollie!"

    "Wha¡ª I¡ª"

    "I know, Oz. I believe in you! Buy ya dinner later!" Gwen shouted into the pulsing Glyph, then snuffed the light with a wave of her hand before extinguishing the device entirely. "Phew¡ª that was easier than I imagined."

    "¡­ Gwen." Her partner shuddered beside her. "If you do that to me, I will do terrible things to you in turn. Do you think Ollie will manage?"

    "He''ll be right. Would Oz ever fail in managing the Lady''s affairs? Dare paper-pushers delay the Foreign Office''s triumph?" Gwen grinned. "I know Ollie''s type. They''re the backbone of the Empire. I''ll make it up to him later."

    "By not leaving him with more surprise quests?"

    "Hilarious, Eric."

    Besides the pair, the Fabricator with the likeness of a Mantis was already perched on top of the rectangular hole, its long and geometric limbs busy at work inscribing Runes onto the transmuted stone surface. Considering that the Glyphs used in Imperial Spellcraft had their origins in Dwarven arcana, Gwen could just make out anti-corrosion and stability Wards deployed in the Enchantment Mandalas taught by Nils Kott. These would be tied into the city''s mana-grid; thankfully, the isle had been built for heavy industry.

    From the talk of what Yossari Vildrenbrandt had planned, the Dwarves were carving out a whole complex of workshops, inclusive of garages for their Golems. The team must have come prepared, for one of the Fabricators was using Spatial Magic to conjure steel girders into thin air before fusing them into place.

    Meanwhile, the Diggers continued their work out of sight, perceivable only by the sound of their rumbling engines.

    "Where do you suppose all that waste-water and soil has gone?" Gwen asked Walken after a while. "Should I be expecting a complaint from downstream?"

    "The Dwarves are using an Elemental Exchange algorithm," the Magister explained. "Dwarven magic has extremely high mana fidelity compared to ours, so it''s possible to exchange denser matter in the Prime Material with objects in the Elemental Plane of Earth. Take their Diggers, for example; I wager that their Spellswords are using a form of Conjure Metal admixed with Runic modifiers for Shape Metal. What they pick up goes back into the Plane, while the seam they''re tapping is transmuted here in real-time¡ª"

    "Correct!" Yossari Vildrenbrandt''s voice came through her vox device. "Well done, Magister."

    Walken stared into the hole, then up at the Dwarven woman in the rumbling machine. "How deep are you digging? Once you''re past the clay, its quicksand and oyster beds throughout."

    "Oysters?" Gwen raised a brow.

    Walken gave her a superior look. "Layers of it half-a-kilometre thick. It''s a famous story, the death and triumph of the Brunels of Portsea. Have you heard?"

    "Not at all." Gwen''s curiosity piqued. "Care to enlighten us? Does it have to do with what Master Yossari is doing?"

    "Oh, absolutely." Ever the happy talker, Walken indicted to the depthless drop even now growing deeper. "About two centuries ago, during the reign of Mad King George, a Transmuter called Marcus Brunel tried to tunnel under the Thames. A few months in, his team of proto-Transmuters made it down and under the thalweg, fighting brackish water, seeping sewerage and Mer-Goblins. Fearful of the river falling in; they tried to dig deeper. Unfortunately, once the clay layer was exhausted, it turns out London sat on an enormous bed of oyster shells from the Draconic Era. Realising that he''d just about ruined his chances at making history, he tried to transmute back up through to the clay, only to have the underground water overwhelm him and his team. Marcus was a tenacious pioneer though¡ª after the investments dried up, he worked on it alone¡ª and came close to succeeding, until heavy floods from the rain season crushed his tunnel, erasing a life in its prime."

    "By the Sju Dorfran," Yossari hailed from up on high. "Always a shame to lose a fellow Digger. Tunnelling accidents happen though. Usually, it''s because we delved into the lair of something, or that ''something'' is digging into our tunnels. Let me tell yer, becoming trapped between an angry swarm of Ember Ants and a Fabricator too bulky to turn around is a terrible way to go. You said there was a triumph?"

    "Indeed, that would be with his son," Walken continued. "Isambard Brunel, who proved not only to be an apt Transmuter but one of the greatest Engineers of the Spellcraft Revolution. It was he who sought out the Dwarves and apprenticed himself to learn their craft, not the first to try¡ª but one of the few to succeed. Master Vildrenbrandt, have you heard of Isambard before?"

    Yossari''s machine continued to churn while its pilot thought it over. "I was a lass back then, so I wouldn''t know. If memory serves, I was being schooled at Eth Jarlethurkon-Gintor Kjangtoth. That was before the Murk turned completely dark."

    "A shame. At any rate, the future Meister Brunel returned from studying in Bavaria with a modified method of Dwarven Engineering which utilised runic steel¡ª" The Magister indicated to the labour being carried out by the mantis-crane. "To prevent flooding, he additionally designed the first elemental-exchange transformer, what you see used in our waterworks today, to displace the Thame back into the Elemental Plane of Water. It''s called the Brunel Water Engine."

    The story appeared to have garnered the interest of the Journeymen as well, who came closer to listen to the Magister speak.

    "A patient man, unlike his father, Isambard worked slowly and meticulously, taking a decade to inch his tunnel into the shell-bed. Meanwhile, he became responsible for two other engineering innovations¡ª the modern dockyard used to build Atlas-class ships¡ª and of course, the original transatlantic freighter-carrier."

    "Amazing, is he dead?" Yossari asked.

    "I am afraid he is."

    "Aye, yer short-lived humans. Yer burn bright, and yer dies like Murflies."

    "Compared to Dwarves," Walken agreed, then returned to his tale. "The younger Brunel, after eight years, succeeded in tunnelling below the Thames with only rudimentary Spellcraft and imported Dwarven knowledge. Yet, his work was extraordinary. It''s still in service today. I am sure Gwen''s even used it."

    "I have?"

    "Indeed, if you rode the Subway, it means you''ve passed the original tunnel at some point. The Brunel Tunnel is still in operation and perfect condition almost two centuries on."

    "Astounding!"

    "That does sound impressive." Yossari''s tone grew admiring. "Maybe we''ll visit."

    "Please let Gwen know before you do," Walken advised once more. "You will need a permit to enter the tunnels, and the trains will have to be routed. If your people could be so kind, Gwen could certainly use your help in improving transportation on the Isle of Dogs."

    "Yes, just give the word." Gwen gave their Master Alchemist the thumbs-up. "I know a guy, Ollie. He''s the man who can get it done!"

    For Gwen, January passed with the swiftness of a Wanka at full-mast, skittering across the salt flats on all ten legs. On the subject of her Spellcraft theory, she had made significant progress thanks to Brown''s merciless gavage. Though her "lacks" remained ample, Gwen had already unlocked better dresses with nicer fabrics, as well as more stylish heels. The improvement came as no surprise to herself; she was a mature age student with no lack of discipline, and now the results were showing¡ª at least for some of her tutors.

    In Abjuration, Nils Kott''s Munich-winter began to thaw once Gwen started to show more promise in alternate forms of Abjuration Magic. She could now carve out with speed and accuracy the basic Mandala known as Alarm, synthesising Abjuration and Enchantment with low-tier Illusions like Clarion Call to blare out an air-siren. The effect itself was superficial for someone who possessed dogs, a Drake, Kirin and worm, but the theory provided the groundwork for higher applications. Perhaps because Kott felt like Gunther-lite, she found herself rapidly warming up to the man, and her subsequent enthusiasm in investigating mana-vitality efficacy made their relationship easy and amiable.

    With Keridwen Le Guevel, Gwen''s lessons in seemingly irrelevant things continued. To teach her the proper use of Illusion beyond the cosmic utility of PowerPoint, Gwen had taken up painting and singing. To Gwen, who had never had the opportunity for either, the exercise proved a relaxing counterpoint to the mental strain of solving Brown''s puzzles and the constant disappointment of Kareena Patil. Initially, Le Guevel had intended to kill two birds with one stone by providing her with lessons in classical instruments favoured by the nobility. When Gwen began having vivid flashbacks of earlier life under Helena, she had opposed the training outright. To her tutor''s frustration, Gwen had little talent for either¡ª though the purpose, Le Guevel explained, was to ease her training in Illusion and not produce art or song. For Gwen, as much as she was tempted to blow "Keri" away with an old-world Top 40: say, Toto''s Africa; she refrained for fear of another leak like what had occurred with Jun. Le Guevel forgave her, then moved on to dancing lessons. One time, Le Guevel even invited a partner, a middle-aged NoM dandy for Gwen to exercise her limberness. The whole hour-long session, Gwen''s face had burned like the setting sun; besides the waltzing couple, her tutor took notes.

    Comparatively, Magister Kareena Patil''s tongue-lashes left her bruised and bleeding. In response, Gwen retorted that Patil had unrealistic expectations¡ª after all, she was performing admirably with Abjuration and Illusion and making steady headway with Mandalas. She was an Omni-Mage, Gwen snapped back, not an Omni-human. Perhaps it was the Magister''s attitude, or maybe she refused to yield to Patil''s constant conjecture that Gwen possessed some sort of learning difficulty, or mayhap the woman reminded her of Helena; the two got along like Void and Lightning. Neither looked forward to their lessons and their time together merely resulted in more resentment. Later, in private, Brown had told her that Kareena was the one who had devised most of the puzzle-Mandalas for Gwen''s home and that she should not judge a Mage by their scowl.

    Finally, as January came to a close with its snow and sleet, swelling the Thames, three unanticipated events marked the conclusion of a busy month in a foreign land.

    The first was the polarising opinion of what the Sun Herald insisted was a Dwarven Fortress and what the city of London had lodged as a workshop. The news went that Gwen Song, responsible for opening up relations with the Dwarves, was now a Demi-loving turncoat looking to profit from the people of London. All that good-will she had created on the Isle of Dogs, the paper inferred, was merely a cover for this outrageous land-grab for the "Squats". Gwen''s displeasure was that the Tower made no move to impute the Herald Sun for publishing flaming bullshit and that during her weekly audit of the isle, groups of reporters would crowd the manor, clamouring for her to confess. The truth, Gwen suspected, lay with Walken who convened with London Metro to discuss the possibility of paying the Dwarves to expand beneath the Isle of Dogs. With the Fabricators, they could likely complete a circular route of the eastern Underground within half a year.

    Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

    The second event to catch her by surprise happened at Emmanuel College, midway through massaging her rainbow-hued duck. While pampering her drake, a triumphant shout from the Old Court had sent the pair reeling against the park bench.

    "YOU! You''ve been modifying Dede?" Maxwell Brown Dimension Doored beside them, his face scarlet with a disapproving scowl. "Gwen, why?"

    Deeply ashamed, Dede''s gooseneck withdrew into its body.

    "Dede, Dada isn''t angry." Maxwell promptly changed his tone, much to Gwen''s surprise, then discomfort. The Magister then invited himself to sit beside her and the duck. After several kisses to the duck''s head, he turned to her accusingly. "Dede is a wild animal, Gwen. A Familiar or a Spirit might take to your Druidic Essence kindly, but a free creature like Dede? What you''ve done is highly unethical."

    Still shaken, Gwen wanted to know why.

    "Essence!" Brown seethed; rarely had she ever seen the jovial researcher in such a mood. "All animals have their scents, and when it comes to Magical Beasts, Essence, no matter how meagre, determines their physiology, tier and being. I know that you''ve had fortuitous encounters and your body is nothing short of miraculous, but you shouldn''t be polluting innocent creatures with your¡ª emanations!"

    "Dede loves it though." Gwen wiggled a finger like a worm.

    "Quack! Quack!" Dede agreed, kicking its little orange feet.

    Brown sighed. "Gwen, you''re of a certain age, so I think it is safe to say you''re not the wholesome young woman you pretend to be, certainly not with Keridwen Le Guevel sinking her claws into your brain. You''ve had boyfriends, right? I do apologise for the plural, but one can only speculate¡ª but think on this, how would you like it if someone came along and took advantage of your impoverished wisdom?"

    "Quack!"

    "I am not sure how your analogy works." Gwen narrowed her eyes, a little confused, more so insulted. "Are you saying I¡­ took ''advantage'' of your duck?"

    "Dede is his ''own'' duck," Brown snapped. "Don''t be insensitive."

    "Okay..."

    "You''ve changed him!" Brown growled. "Dede was a loner, but he was a mighty-fine duck, you know? How''s he going to find a mate now? Who is even in the same realm as Dede? The female mallards are terrified of him. Did you know the other day he fought with a male for their attention, and he swatted one into the water so hard it broke both wings? Some of the students had to take the poor mallard to the infirmary. After that, the hens fled. If Dede had tried to mate with one¡ª sweet Jesus¡ª excuse me, but by God..."

    "¡­ Maxwell." Gwen felt uncomfortable enough to change the topic. "You seem to know a lot about ducks."

    "I also know a lot about respecting our campus fellows, alright? Dede''s no different. You need to recognise his autonomy."

    "Dede has autonomy?"

    Brown nodded. "Dede is brilliant, always has been. Many of our finest Magisters and scholars spend their time here at the pond, the students as well. Maybe it rubs off? I am not a cryptozoologist, but after what you pulled..."

    The Magister took a deep breath. "Did you know your Familiars and Dede have been harassing our students? Shaking them down for food and crystals?"

    "They have?" Gwen looked around for her missing Familiars, who were gone as soon as Brown confronted her. Their absence meant that Magister Brown was likely telling the truth.

    "And they''ve been splitting the loot. Dede knows arithmetics."

    "Are you sure he''s originally a duck?" Gwen was very impressed. Not even Alesia''s decade-old Caracal could do that. At the same time, she wondered if Dean Luo''s Air Elemental, Ellen, could do mathematics.

    "And he knows how to buy bread from the local delicatessen."

    "That''s not that crazy; Ariel used to exchange crystals for chicken legs near Fudan."

    "Dede gets the change exact and gets his order delivered to the pond. He also uses coupons."

    "...wow."

    The Magister pinched his brows.

    "The point is, how''s Dede going to find a mate? How can Dede fulfil its purpose in life? Did you give him a purpose before you elevated him with your Draconic morphology?"

    "No¡­ but I see your point."

    "Do you?"

    "I think I do¡­"

    Brown watched her, and in her instructor''s eyes, Gwen saw herself helplessly shrug. When Dede paddled on her thighs and soulfully comforted her trespass, an unfortunate parallel, her dearest Evee, rose to the fore of her mind. Her mind grew gravid with doubt¡ª as with the duck, had she done right by Elvia, or had she made her friend''s situation infinitely worse? Was giving Evee Sen-sen her mistake? Or was Sen-sen merely the symptom of a bigger problem? The affection she felt for her Evee was as generous as ever, but now those feelings felt tainted¡ª by guilt, by self-loathing, by the poor returns.

    In the end, student and tutor petted the duck, fed it Crystals, and spent the afternoon in quiet contemplation of Dede''s future.

    The final event occurred the next day, on her morning jog through Cambridge, whereupon a familiar face on the front page¡ª that of her friend Elvia Lindholm, confronted her.

    Afraid of what she might read in the Herald Sun, she picked the Guardian.

    "HOSTILE DIPLOMACY" read the headline in bold print. Below was a picture of Elvia in what looked like her Nightingale school clothes, blonde as spun gold and cute as a button.

    Morbidly curious for what she was about to learn, Gwen strolled back to Emmanuel to pick up her Familiars, walking as she read.

    "¡­ Junior Cleric from Nightingale moves the Manx with compassion." The paper had printed. "Since last November, London''s fragile and often callous diplomatic ties with the indigenous folk on the Isle of Man has resulted in wide-ranging skirmishes costing lives on both sides. The hostility broke on Thursday evening when the Manx leadership offered a ceasefire and truce, unexpectedly agreeing to pull their presence from the isle''s south. Though the isle has long since belonged to Britain in legality, the Manx have continued to flout the treaty of 1347. With the present agreement, however, ratified by the Wood Elves of Tir-Mara, the Mageocracy anticipates a long-lasting peace¡­"

    Gwen skipped the fluff until she got to the paragraph with Elvia.

    "Doctor Lindholm, who last week was responsible for uncovering atrocities committed by mercenary-Adventurers under the command of Colonel Sarah Tarleton, had been forced to escort her rescued prisoners back to their hidden home. Aided by the Guardian''s own Dominic Lorenzo and Ser Mathias Rothwell of The Order of St Michael, the trio located and then proceeded with diplomatic talks. The Arch-Druid of Tir-Mara, Primarch Golion¡­"

    The story further goes on to mention that Elvia had convinced the Druid of the Mageocracy''s sincerity and that her warning was the straw on the camel''s back that broke the strained relationship between the Manx and the Elven Enclave on the isle. Without the Elves'' support in the war, the Manx could only pull back to designated safe zones ruled by their allies.

    "In an additional gesture, Lindholm has offered to remain behind to relocate the Manx, providing much-needed Clerical aide to a desperate and destitute people ravaged by centuries of war and discrimination¡­"

    "Our little Evee''s all grown up." Gwen sighed as she crumpled the paper. "To think a month ago, Mathias was using her as a rug."

    Suppressing her ambivalent emotions, she wondered when was the right time to give Elvia a call and ask how her friend was¡ª and how she felt.

    A few days later, Elvia did not call, and neither had she. Gwen had put the matter behind her, for it was so easy to be distracted when one wanted to be, and Elvia proved an easy victim to the insanity of her schedule.

    With the Dwarves now settled in, the repair of the printing press was underway. Accounts had to be balanced as capital flowed out and then rebalanced when a sudden rise in the enterprise of Tonglv and its associated projects saw her funds replenished. Yossari proved perfectly happy aiding in her immediate need for office space, especially now that a limited-permit had been issued to Lady Grey to accommodate whatever urban planning Gwen desired.

    As he had promised, Walken blood-sealed the contract without incident and assumed his position as an executive of the Millwall-Cubitt Development Group. Taking advantage of Gwen''s permit, the Magister asked the Dwarves to erect the company''s first official office space. It was a prospect both Grey and Gwen found agreeable, as Walken could now keep an eye on the Dwarves and oversee the town from up on high.

    A day later, Richard arrived, bringing Elis and Lucas from King''s College to seek out internships. Gwen placed them under Walken, roles the trio took without complaint, then personally toured the isle for outstanding issues to be resolved.

    Once the chaos settled, Gwen observed that the peninsula was finally something other than a dilapidated Dickensian wasteland of muck and refuse. The most significant change was in Millwall, where the streets had been cleared of trash, and the public buildings were once again in use. Shattered windows that once gazed out like blue-addicts onto A-12-06 now held both light and people, giving the town a feeling of human warmth. When Wally conducted the January census, he recorded a total of three thousand inhabitants, and just over a thousand vagrants who desired abodes in Millwall. Concurrently, Elvia''s clinic and soup kitchen had expended thrice and was known all over the region for its thick, gut-settling SPAM soup.

    For men on the isle, those who were able-bodied were employed by the printing press, either as cleaners, fitters, or day-labourers helping the Dwarves. Public projects like the restoration of the mud-covered roads continued, delivering gainful employment to hundreds, even though Richard and Lea could clear the lot in a week. With wages being paid on time and in LDMs, merchants smelling opportunity had set up stalls and rented shops closer to the shore, selling enigmatic sausages in a bun that not even Caliban would eat, at least not without the sauce that cost extra.

    Other labourers came from as far as Stratford and Vanbrugh to find work, for Gwen had given orders to keep as many bodies as possible on the isle. When the construction began in earnest, she had told Walken¡ª there would not be enough hands even if they drained the inlet from Limehouse to Plumstead.

    Then in between her life of increasingly more convoluted puzzles, training with Nils, persevering with Patil, tending ducks with Maxwell, limbering with Keridwen, and High Tea with Lady Grey, Petra arrived to preserve Gwen''s sanity.

    London.

    Heathrow.

    Gwen''s second time at Heathrow was met with far more success than the first. Rachel Swann, Ravenport''s replacement Director of Security at the ISTC station, had instructed her people to recognise Gwen on sight. Little did she know, her order was wholly unnecessary, for its entire staff, those not yet laid off¡ª had all witnessed the legendary lumen-recordings of the Devourer''s tantrum that lead to Director Reeve''s dismissal.

    Her infamy became apparent when she teleported in with Magister Brown in tow. As if via divination, two uniformed guards stood ready with welcomes and hellos, asking for her business and destination. When she said that she would not be travelling interstate and that she was instead here to receive a friend, the atmosphere visibly relaxed, and the guards explained themselves.

    "The arrival lounge is this way," the officer directed them toward a section of the ISTC that Gwen knew a little too well.

    "You''re a celebrity," Brown teased her with a smirk. "I doubt they have any idea who I am."

    "You should try having a ring with your entire inventory confiscated." Gwen chuckled. "I bet you''d fight them to the last mote of mana as well."

    "Oh, I would¡ª but I don''t have a Lord Marshall to back me up. What if I get arrested?"

    "Dickie didn''t bail me out for fun," Gwen explained as they made their way across the lounge. This time, she was at least in a calve-length coat; last time, she had teleported in wearing a summer dress. "If you recall, I was grilled within an inch of my life in that car."

    Brown laughed. "I am jealous. You have no idea how generously people will pay to arrest the Duke of Norfolk''s ear for an hour. To think he came to you, free of charge and in person. There''s little wonder the tabloids speculate."

    "No need to tell me about it. I am living it." Gwen quickened her pace. "Come on. I think Pats should be here already."

    ISTCs, unlike the air-lounges of her old world, were relatively instant for those with HDMs and passports. The only obstructions facing legitimate travellers were crystals and customs, a problem only for those who were Class VI War Mages carrying enough capital to fund a city-wide insurrection.

    At the glass doors facing the retro-futurist decor of the lounge, Gwen spotted her cousin seated beside the un-endearing face of Magister Wen.

    "PETRA!" She rushed forward.

    Petra looked up from her tablet.

    Her cousin remained as comely as she had always been; if a bit pale from the long-distance teleportation. Tall and svelte, Petra''s hair fell loosely about her shoulders, while on her shoulders hung a long sleeved one-piece that wrapped her figure snugly. Like herself, the Enchanter had forgone her coat. As an old Moscow girl, Gwen figured, Pats must not think much of London''s meagre single-digit winters.

    Beside her, the future Meister Wen looked like she walked out from Heilong Laboratory, got on a cab, strolled through the ISTC, then arrived at Heathrow''s lounge. Her face was its usual shrivelled-pickle self, and her eyes still possessed that lifeless, glassy quality that came standard in old Mineral Mages.

    "Gwen!"

    The two girls crashed in a fierce embrace, with Gwen enveloping her cousin by lifting her into the air. Petra''s body felt so soft, her hair smelled terrific, and it felt amazing to hug something other than a Familiar, or a duck. "Pats! I''ve missed you so much. Lord knows enough has happened with you gone."

    "Gwen¡ª you''ve¡­" Petra appeared surprised she could breathe. "You''ve lost your Draconic-strength? So it''s true?"

    "Aye, it''s true." Gwen let her go. "We''ll talk at Peterhouse, your new home. I''ve got a private suite there. Or on the Isle of Dogs where I''ve got a manor."

    "I am going to Peterhouse?" Petra turned her head.

    "You''re not?" Gwen looked to Maxwell Brown, who was shaking Wen''s hand and offering the usual English platitudes. That Vice-Chancellor Butterfield had sent Gwen to retrieve the scholar from Fudan had been a message in itself. Roslyn-Marie Wen was a research fellow, a Meister by virtue of what the college had exchanged¡ª not by academic merit. Likewise, as Brown would be taking over from Wen as the chief researcher of Gwen''s mystical prowess, the inclusion of the Magister in their welcoming party was an indication of Wen''s future place at Cambridge. In a way, Gwen almost felt sorry for the researcher. If she were to reach the apex of her life, she would hate for it to be half-arsed and co-dependent on politics. "Greetings, Magister Wen. You''re looking well."

    Wen inclined her chin. "Hello, Gwen."

    Still holding Petra''s hand, Gwen waited for an answer from Brown.

    "Well." Her tutor grinned. "I imagine that as a post-graduate, Magus Kuznetsova can pick whichever college she likes. That''s how it usually works, you know? Either we pick you, or you pick us. Not everyone''s inducted by Lady Grey personally at Hall. Besides, you''re a Magus of the college¡ª but not yet its student¡ª how''s that for an irregularity."

    "Magus?" Gwen met her cousin''s crystallin irises.

    "Dean Luo was very kind." Petra beamed. "I had enough units completed anyway, and moving to Cambridge as an undergraduate would prevent me from progressing in Spellcube research."

    "I am happy for you, Magus Kuznetsova!" Gwen squeezed her cousin''s hand.

    "The same, Magus Song."

    The two laughed, drawing eyes from around the lounge.

    "Magister Brown, I was thinking of Queen''s College," Petra answered their earlier question. "They have a very advanced corpus of work regarding Dwarven technologies."

    "Oh-ho-ho, Dear Petra¡ª" Gwen interrupted before Brown could deliver the news himself. Huffing arrogantly, she imperiously placed a hand around Petra''s waist and another around her shoulders. "If it''s Dwarven Runes yer'' ken, yer in for a treat, lass. Say, how''s the liver these days?"

    "My liver?" The researcher cocked her head.

    "Aye-aye." Gwen grinned with teeth, doing her best Hanmoul. "Tell me, lassie. Yer ever pass out from a Dwarven J?ger Bombe before?"

 Chapter 360 - A Full Revolution

    With Wen and Brown gone to Cambridge, Gwen conjured the third member of Team Cousin to convene with the duo at the Tower of Tandoori.

    Unexpectedly, they were joined by Richard''s friend and co-worker, Lucas Spencer.

    "We were surveying the isle when you called," their cousin explained when Gwen met them with an arched brow. "Besides, if Pats had questions about London or Cambridge, who''s going to answer her? You?"

    Gwen granted that this was true, though privately she had hoped that the cousins would have the afternoon to themselves. As she had feared, once Lucas'' eyes firmly rested on her cousin''s face, the young man was smitten.

    "Magus Kuznetsova, please do not hesitate to call upon me if you have errands or questions, academic or otherwise," Lucas ingratiated himself by listing his credentials for Enchantment and Abjuration. Gwen recognised that perhaps, this had been Richard''s plan all along. Petra may be gifted and well-trained, but her knowledge possessed gaps when compared to a Cambridge elite. Likewise, Petra having a volunteer concierge for the enormous campus would prevent much grief.

    "Was this planned?" she demanded.

    Instead of replying, Richard indicated behind her.

    "Ahh¡ª Namaste, Magus Song¡ª" A pair of well-wishes sallied forth from the swinging double-doors to the kitchen, revealing a pair of cinnamon-skinned siblings in lungis. "It''s good to have you revisit us."

    "Hello." Gwen waved back. She knew their faces, just not their names.

    "Namaste." Richard bowed his head. "Good to see you too, Burhan, Shab. How''s business?"

    "Master Huang, Lord Mages." The brothers bowed. "We are well, thanks to your patronage."

    "Dick, how do you know the owners?" Gwen asked out of curiosity.

    "I am far too fond of curry." Richard serenely smiled. "Since you took me here, I''ve eaten nothing else while working at the isle. Burhan and Shab are old Londoners, did you know? Far more local than your or I. They''re the second-generation owners. Their father hailed from the lost colony of Bengal. It''s a common story here."

    "Master Huang is too kind." The brothers bowed again. "We owe much of our success to Magus Song¡ª"

    "Me? You flatterer." Gwen laughed out loud before composing herself, unpleasantly recalling Le Guevel''s disapproving face. She needn''t have worried, for the other Mages cared not for her company. The clientele here wasn''t like Fenbo Village in Fudan, where the NoMs gawked because she was a foreigner and because she had been on the Lumen-caster.

    "If you recall, a month ago, Magus Song, you bought out our entire menu for a day and forced us to close," Burhan explained with care. "It has piqued the curiosity of many a Mage from the Shard. The business blossomed since then."

    "Sounds about right. That''s Gwen''s golden touch alright." Richard thanked the owners, then ordered for the table. "Chicken Tikka Masala, Goan Goat Vindaloo, Rogan Josh, Bombay Aloo and Mushroom Bhaji to share. Triple-portion rice, Gwen here can pack away enough for four."

    "Hey!"

    The table broke into laughter, breaking the ice.

    Some small-talk later, fragrant plates of spice arrived with mango lassis on the house. Gwen took hers saucy and robust, while Richard and Lucas opted for something creamier. Petra, who had never had real curry in her life, looked as though Pyrotechnics were about to shoot from her ears.

    Now gastronomically content, the cousins settled down for business.

    "Tell me about the Dwarves." Petra laid down her utensils. "How do I talk to them? What are the formal greetings? Should I bring a gift?"

    "Dwarves are blokes, basically," Gwen explained. "Master Yossari Vildrenbrandt''s their de facto leader, an Alchemist Master I''ve hired to make special ink, among other things. The two you''re after are Thulgig and Danmurim the Glum, both Runesmiths. Nesatin and Doussed are the Golem masters¡ª the rest being untitled Journeymen. Gift wise¡ª booze? I am waiting on shipments of Maotai routed through Yangoon; we''ll have to settle for something local. The cost is no object."

    "Just as well, did you know Lucas is a self-professed sommelier? His father trades in wine from Bordeaux and Rioja." Richard turned to the dark-headed Englishmen. "Spencer, how about you recommend something?"

    "For Dwarves?"

    "Sure." Gwen nodded. "Make sure its something flammable."

    Lucas pursed his lips in deep thought. "You don''t mind human-made Spirits?"

    "There are non-human made ones?" Gwen inched closer to the young man, suddenly very interested. Petra appeared equally keen. "Go on."

    "Well, not exactly, there''s Elven Birch Spirit." Lucas gulped. "Frozen birch-sap from Snowdonia is imported by Pullman and Sons into London, where its distilled into an ice-laced elemental liqueur that goes down like quick-rime. On a hot summer''s day, there''s nothing like it to keep cool."

    "That sounds amazing." Gwen licked her lips. "And¡­"

    Lucas'' throat bobbed. "Er¡­ a London Classic would be mana-burn Gin from Plymouth, named so because the Royal Navy never sets sail without a half-year supply of ninety-proof bottles. It''s a bit of a rough and tumble, cheap and popular with the dockers."

    "So long as it gets the job done." Richard stirred his lassi.

    "How about mead?" Lucas said. "It is winter, and a hot cup of overproof, tong-clinging mead can be rightly divine."

    "Gwen." Petra nudged her cousin. "You''re drooling."

    "Erg¡ª I haven''t boozed-up since the Red Keep," Gwen moped, licking her lips. "Lucas, where does one get this mead?"

    "You know what? We''ll take care of it." Richard volunteered as tribute. "You gals just go and have fun with your Dwarves."

    Gwen nodded approvingly. Tapping the table, she materialised a stack of HDM-chips. "Two hundred enough?"

    Lucas baulked. "Are you trying to buy enough alcohol to set sail for the new world?"

    "I don''t know about that¡ª" Gwen sighed dreamily. "BUT, we''re going to be pounding shots with Dwarves, Spencer. Get enough to make it to the Suez at least."

    A few hours out with Team Cousin, Petra already felt fuzzy.

    Now removed from the all-enveloping love of her Babulya, she had feared that the Moscow part of her life would resurface. Instead, she had laughed more in this one luncheon than many months under Wen.

    It was enough to dispel all of her worries.

    As an ex-candidate for a Red Ghost, she was erudite on human appetites. Yet, going to London, leaving Wen, striking out on her own with all the responsibilities, financial and otherwise, remained daunting for a young cadet who had been reared hand-to-mouth by a line of caretakers.

    She knew much about the world and yet knew little about the world. It didn''t help that Master Popov had been very particular about human hypocrisy, perfectly explaining that people were were-jackals. In his view, human beings are ungrateful, fickle, false, cowardly, covetous, and as long as one succeed they are yours entirely, offering food, blood, property, life, and children; and when the fortunes turned, so would they.

    "Take, for example, Minster Abramchenko''s lovely young wife, Viktoria." Her Master once boasted while conditioning her for high society. "She''s the kind to talk while enjoying the afterglow. It''s uncanny. No amount of liquor can pry her tight little lips, and she''s trained to obfuscate Mind Magic, but a good massage¡­"

    Petra recalled being disgusted, but her Master merely shrugged. In their profession, he had said, humanity''s appetites were bread and butter. She could be a cynic, but she should never get all sanctimonious like those pontific hypocrites in the Orthodox Sects.

    For the same purpose, Master Popov also took her on little practicals to air out her talent.

    On those trips, Petra, who spent her childhood in an elite cadet-academy, had felt such a thrill that her head grew full of stars. His job as a Mineral Enchanter aside, Master Popov''s covers included being a renowned novelist popular both home and abroad. He was also a distinguished paramour and an infamous socialite, one embroiled in no less than three scandals at a time. When he had dressed her up like a daughter-dolly and told her to play the part, she obeyed, and the two of them had frequented cafes and bars, high-rise penthouses, oligarchs'' homes, and one time, even toured the Kremlin.

    "You can sense the subtle shifts in pathos if you concentrate," Popov would explain with uncharacteristic patience, a rare occasion for the wandering bohemian. "Focus towards six O''clock. No, don''t turn to look. Shape your Detect Thoughts, tell me what they''re feeling."

    It didn''t take Detect Thoughts for Petra, then fifteen, to know what the man was feeling.

    "No, no, deeper," Master Popov urged. "Don''t skim the surface¡ª keep digging."

    "¡­ Shame?" Petra took a moment to digest the quagmire of emotions swarming her brain. "Self-loathing?"

    "Correct, now turn around and glare."

    Petra turned.

    The man drooling over her ripening figure was an old priest with a benevolent mien. He wore a priest''s collar, and when Petra''s cool-blue eyes met his, the man''s defence crumbled.

    As to what had happened next, Petra recalled with salience. Master Popov stubbed his cigarette, picked up his mug of booze-laced coffee, then walked across the floor.

    "YOU, pervert¡ª how dare you gawk at my daughter?"

    The priest blinked, his mind suddenly rioting with fear, so much so that Petra could see her thin legs trembling in resonance. "I am afraid you''re mistaken¡ª"

    CRACK!

    In one swift movement, Popov smashed his mug over the old priest'' head, causing him to topple from the chair onto the floor. Several patrons instantly moved to confront him¡ª Popov''s victim was a priest after all, and the old country had long indulged in the opium of the masses.

    "Tower business." Her Master wasn''t shy to use the notoriety of Moscow Tower. He gave no shits about his employer''s reputation.

    Naturally, without even questioning his credentials, the onlookers retreated.

    "Was that priest a criminal?" Petra recalled asking her Master in the aftermath. "He was bleeding so much."

    "Who knows?" Popov laughed once he''d tipped the waitress and they were on the way to their next location. "But then again, who is truly innocent? Purity merely invites sin, my little devotchka. When you get older, we''ll get your hands dirty yet."

    "Pats?" an endearing voice called from afar.

    Petra blinked away the daydream. "Yes?"

    "Are you done?" Gwen eyed her leftover Chicken Tikka, for Petra, the spice was too much. "Sorry, if it''s not to your liking."

    "I wasn''t that hungry, you know, because of the Teleportation." Petra smiled as they exchanged plates. Why was it, the Mind Mage wondered, that something as simple as Gwen eating leftovers made her felt warm and loved?

    London.

    The Isle of Dogs.

    Gwen couldn''t wait for Petra to see what her Demi-human employees had accomplished.

    In six-days, working day and night, her Dwarves-on-loan had performed three-months worth of labour, demonstrating a stark difference between Dwarven engineering and human artifice.

    In her old world, Gwen had marketed residential towers for Lendlease, and so possessed a learned eye for the convolution involved in construction projects. Compared to that, Dwarven methodology, combined with the ability to live-fabricate components with complete precision, made the process streamlined. Beyond doubt, what Walken had praised of the Fabricators was an understatement as to why humanity struggled to replicate Dwarf-tech.

    Even if a Human technician could attend the proverbial Deepholm College¡ª he or she would remain an Apprentice for three decades and a Journeyman for five. A professional by humanity''s standards matured at an age when a Dwarf was still a trainee¡ª edifying an insurmountable experience-gap.

    As for runic magic¡ª Gwen had seen Tuner Nesatin servicing the mantis-Fabricator. Once its bright yellow spine-panels came off, there was a galaxy of gears and pistons, lubricated and empowered with hundreds of micro-Mandalas. As someone who had seen War Golems stripped down to the bare frame, the intricacy between what a Masterclass Tuner had invested a half-century of work into, and a mass-produced MK-III was like comparing a Swatch to a Patek Philippe.

    What also amazed her was that the Dwarves had not rushed to build their workshops or their garages, though the cavities for those were ready and in service¡ª instead, the first structure to see completion was the Mead Hall.

    A Mead Hall! Gwen was giddy Petra had arrived so serendipitously. Sharing Dwarven mead with Pats was one of her most ardent desires. The whole while she partied in Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth, she had anticipated the prospect of family and friends participating in her Demi-human discoveries.

    Naively, she had first taken the room to be a cosy mess. The conjecture made sense, for the Dwarves had to eat, and Human food was far too exotic for Dwarven stomachs used to Battle Bread, charcoal-meat, Wildland legumes and copious volumes of alcohol.

    Then, when she toured one evening to check on the expenditure of materials the Dwarves had demanded, she was instead greeted with the sound of rowdy quaffing. Walken then carefully explained that their guests had unanimously voted for the Mead Hall''s construction to be prioritised¡ª and he had signed off on the proposal because it would mean keeping drunk Dwarves outside of London''s infamously rowdy pubs.

    Once inside, she learned that the Dwarves had brought enough materials from home to stock the bar. Behind the long counter, the Journeymen took turns playing the publican, while their Masters, the Tuners, Runesmiths, and of course Hanmoul''s aunt knocked down stein after stein. When she asked about the booze, it was revealed that each of the Master-tier white-beards had Storage Rings full of alcohol stowed away for their outing and that the Alchemist herself planned to construct a distillery at the first opportunity.

    The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    "Join us fer a pint, lassie!" Yossari, a descendent of B¨¹rumm-Dal Ir?ngut, invited their host to get smashed. "Hanmoul said yer drank em under the table! Tis a mighty feat if true, lass, let yer aunt see the prowess of the Devourer!"

    "Gwen still has accounts to settle."

    Much to her executive''s delight and horror, she took his advice and refrained from impromptu alcoholism.

    Thankfully, the Dwarves weren''t offended.

    Theirs was a hardy and straightforward life.

    The Murk-folk drank hard.

    And they were honest and hard-working. As an uncompromising superintendent, Gwen felt inspired by the Dwarve''s natural, uncomplaining Protestant work-ethic, not to mention their emotional honesty in airing grievances. In the absence of her extended family, she preferred the Demi-human''s company to the companionship of the inhabitants of London.

    That''s not to say there weren''t those with whom she could let down her hair¡ª Lady Grey, perhaps, but she couldn''t imagine the Lady quaffing and howling. There was Ollie as well, her Praelector was a dear, but the boy would be laid out like a carcass by the second stein. As for those closest to her, Walken proved a fatherly prude, and she had never seen Richard drunk. Caliban would just eat the stein, Ariel would get the zoomies, and Dede¡ª Dede could not afford to get into more trouble.

    As for Elvia¡ª Gwen knew full well that she was drinking to distract herself from that particular problem, and therefore her dearest little Cleric didn''t count.

    Thankfully, now Petra was here.

    Unlike Richard, who kept giving her crass and horrible advice, Petra would listen, and Petra would lend her a sympathetic ear. They were alike, she and Pats, both grew up without the support of parents, both had their Masters perish, and both worked like demons.

    Yes. With Petra here, Gwen manically convinced herself, everything would be better again.

    Despite Gwen''s upsell, the Mead Hall was a modest affair, accomodating three dozen bodies at most. Running parallel to the long table was a long bar about ten metres, behind which were kegs of Dwarven brew, provisioned by the inhabitants, was stacked three-kegs high against the recessions in the wall. An automated cleaning-station had been set up in the middle of the bar, and dozens of steins lined the counter. Unlike the freight shaft leading down past the Thames, the walls of the Mead Hall were textured stone, leaving an overall impression of cosiness. Finally, from the ceiling, a trio of moody lumen-globes glowed, flooding the chamber with a dusky warmth.

    Into the hall now stepped two giantesses an arm''s length short of the ceiling.

    Gwen hailed the Dwarves suffering through a supper of stone bread.

    The scene in front of her was unbelievable¡ª but as Master Popov used to say¡ª if you''re seeing it and feeling it after running a routine for Illusion, only an idiot would deny objective reality. Why couldn''t Gwen recruit Dwarven masters? Her cousin might not use Mind Magic, but she did possess the non-magical equivalents of Charm, Silver Tongue and Suggestion.

    From the waist, Petra bowed with sincerity. She had not shown so much respect to anyone other than Master Popov and her dear Babulya. It was a demonstration of her awe, her happiness, and her ardent desire to excavate what was buried in the heads of these Dwarves.

    "Hey ya, fellers! Yossari! Let me introduce a member of my family, this is Petra, is she not pretty?" Gwen walked past her arched figure without hesitation. "For your information, she''s studying magic from your race, and she''s a huge fan of Dwarven Runes."

    The Dwarves hailed with their mugs.

    Her sorcerous cousin strutted toward those august figures seated around the table, walked around the bar, then hefted a keg onto the table. "As promised, I''ll be joining you today. Pats, what''ll it be?"

    "Ur lurlom monleg kjanr etta torjof?" One of the Dwarves, a respected white-beard, chuckled. "Hanja klokar jikablith en Strider!"

    The barrage of Dwarven sounded like a man trying to gargle stones while drinking boiling water. Discretely, Petra activated Master Popov''s variation of Tongues, ashamed her training had fallen by the way-side.

    From the bar, Gwen was explaining that she wanted them to teach her Dwarven magic.

    In turn, the Dwarves were expressing their doubts.

    "Well then, what''s the limitation?" Gwen brokered the question on Petra''s lips with the same ease as one asking for a salad recipe. "She''d not acquiring your magic. She''s doing her own. Pats'' is having some trouble with the next stage. Complications with Meta-magic and Spellshaping are preventing the completion of her thesis."

    The Dwarves'' mutual gazes fell on Petra.

    Star-struck, she blushed, which made her more embarrassed, a prospect that seemed to please her cousin.

    "Aye, I am sure we can give the lass some pointers," the Alchemy Master said with a grin. "Come here Lass, let Yossari have a swatch at whit yer got."

    "Right now?" Petra''s gaze flowed from the Dwarves to Gwen then back to her impromptu examiner. "My magic?"

    "Of course! Strike while the iron''s hot." Gwen emerged with two jugs. "This is strong stuff, by the way, I don''t think you should be performing magic AFTER we get you liquored up."

    The mana in her veins pulsed.

    Things were happening quite a bit faster than she had anticipated.

    When Gwen mentioned Dwarven Masters, she had imagined standing quietly on the side, playing the sycophant. Cold glares and scoffs, then a demeaning command to perform an apprentice''s duty for a few months would follow, maybe a caning or two. At some point, Gwen would grease the wheels with gifts of Crystals, and like cold-dripped coffee, knowledge would filter down between her parched lips.

    Now, this fine-whiskered Dwarf, a matron of her craft and the leader of even these august white-beards, was asking Petra to show her shameful facsimile?

    "Come on, Pats, why so bashful?" Gwen sloshed the jugs, much to the Dwarves delight. "We''re asking for a show of magic, not table dancing. The drinks won''t wait."

    "A-alright." More flustered than when Master Popov had made her charm a man into doing the unmentionable, she extended both hands. A brief manifestation of her Naga Spirit appeared and disappeared, then in her palm laid an empty Spellcube of the fifth-tier.

    "This is the magic I am working on completing. Originally, it was my teacher''s, Magister Wen''s idea, but she''s since left it to me, and I''ve been improving the formulae."

    In her palm, the unoccupied Spellcube scintillated, a die of Nephrite half-translucent with veins of ivory lightning. On its surface, Glyphs derived from Dwarven Magic had been magically etched through hybrid Conjuration.

    "Interesting lass, a spatial hexahedron with multi-tier containment Runes." Yossari put on a pair of diagnostic spectacles. "Danmurim, this is your area, what do you think?"

    A well-soaked Dwarf with a deformed and acid-scarred face pulled himself from the long table. He extended a hand; with reverence, Petra handed over her cube.

    "How old are yer?" was the Dwarves'' first question.

    "I am twenty-one," Petra confessed. To think Gwen was just eighteen and could sit at the same table as these Dwarves.

    The Runesmith invoked a form of Detect Magic Petra could not decipher, enveloping her cube with an earthen dweomer.

    "Yer a mere babe? Then yer a genius by our standards." Danmurim allowed the cube to traverse from hand to hand while he probed its internal Mandalas. "This is Journeymen material, Yossari. The girl is a gem."

    "I knew it!" Gwen filled the steins of a Dwarf next to her, then her own. "To Petra the Gem! Bottoms up!"

    To Petra''s shock, her cousin downed the mug. The Dwarves performed likewise, then collectively let loose a tremendous belch.

    "That said," Danmurium the Glum continued soberly, untouched by the meagre volume of mead. "Yer can see how the Glyph-lines are smashed ter-gether like cobbled-rocks. The formulae are outdated as well, maybe from before the Murk turned dark. Looks a wee-bit strange ter me, maybe from Eth Vaefaz Urndlikr? From the Bjar Kjanth."

    "What''s that?" Gwen interjected.

    "Another Citadel-city, one of the rogue colonies. In your world¡­" Yossari tapped her empty tankard. Without shame, her cousin happily played the hostess. Once Gwen refilled the mugs, the woman continued. "... Our blue-skinned kindred live between Bavaria and the middle country, past the Elemental Sea, near where the mountains are plenty."

    When Gwen struggled to map the locale, Petra intervened. "Do you mean one of the central plains regions, Tajikistan? Kyrgyzstan?"

    The Alchemist shrugged. "I wouldn''t know. Haven''t seen the bastards for two centuries."

    "Well? Danmurium? You feel like taking on an intern?" Gwen refilled the Ruinesmith''s vessel.

    "Wot''s an intern?"

    Petra stared at her cousin.

    Gwen winked back.

    "A not-Apprentice," Gwen said. "Just let her follow you around, ask some questions, maybe you answer them, maybe you don''t. If you don''t like her or if she''s a bother, just let her know. You''re going to be inscribing the rest of the base with Nesatin, right? Then there''s the printing press and after that, the new subway line. I would be very grateful."

    Glum looked at Yassari, who raised a tankard. "Aye lass, I suppose that''s alright."

    Petra gulped. Was that it? Was that how easy it is to acquire a Dwarven instructor?

    "She can alternate between you and Nesatin," Yossari advised. "Who knows, you might take a liking to the lass if she''s that talented."

    Petra watched as Gwen reached her side, then forced her to sit in between her future instructors. A stein of sickly-sweet something soon arrived under her nose. "There you go Pats, all sorted. Cheers to Petra, first-ever intern to the Dwarves!"

    "Thank you." Petra received the foaming mug. How in the world had she gone from having never even seen a Dwarf in real life, to following TWO Masters around town? If Popov weren''t dead and dusted, the man would pinch her cheeks and call her a liar, then instruct her on how to bullshit believably.

    "Hey-hey." Gwen knocked her tankard. "Bottoms up. Before Richard gets here with even more booze¡ª let''s try out all the Demi-human stuff."

    "We need to get out of here." Richard slung the unconscious, well-quaffed Lucas over one shoulder. "I am going to lose my hearing."

    "Agreed." Her cousin grimaced, helping Petra to her feet.

    All around them, the Dwarves thundered with their snores, replicating a Fabricator at full-bore. A few had gone back to their unfinished workshops to sleep, but the rest slept where they fell, happy and blissful and well-soaked with Birch Spirit, which had been a surprise sleeper-hit for the folks from the Murk.

    Outside, the freezing night air of the Isle of Dogs cooled Petra''s flushed face and furnace-lit skin. Gwen appeared to be tipsy, though Petra suspected that unlike herself and Richard, Gwen''s intoxication was more mood and less alchemical aid.

    "I''ll take Lucas home." Richard slung their new friend over his shoulder. "We''ll hole up at Mudchute Manor. Our Praelector will have a fit if he sees us like this."

    "Thanks, Dick." Gwen hugged herself, even though she shouldn''t have felt the cold.

    Richard nodded to Petra. "Look after Duck, Pats. Lea, give me a hand. This guy weighs a ton."

    "I will." Petra circulated her mana. Mineral Mages, having access to both the Positive Plane and the Elemental Plane of Earth, possessed robust constitutions even when pitted against mixed alcohol.

    With Richard disappearing toward Mudchute Manor, she now stood alone in the wintery cold with her Void-ensorcelled cousin. Gwen kept warm by borrowed-Essence from a Mythic; she by her Russian blood and booze.

    "Let''s take a seat." Petra walked closer to the Thames, then conjured a bench by shaping the Nephrite offered by her Naga Spirit. In the moonlight, the slightly malformed bench of stacked-cubes appeared both comical and majestic, making Gwen laugh.

    The girls sat.

    "Go on." Petra knew she had to do this for her cousin, who had done much for her. Like Richard, her elevation to Cambridge was in no small part thanks to Gwen selling herself.

    Now seated beside the icy flow of the famous river, a whole world away from Shanghai and two from Moscow, Petra recognised once more that Gwen''s facade, her maniac exuberance, was as fragile as ice-crystal, as transparent as a poorly-laid glamour.

    Her cousin had a tale to tell. She could see it in the way Gwen''s eyes fixated the distance, turned to study the cobblestone, then kept flittering about between them. Her stuttering body language, her halting speech, the digression back to the Dwarves, all of it pointed at the emergence of a story that, like an angry box of bees, cried out for release.

    The Dwarves were an interlude, Petra decided. The alcohol was the point.

    On the bench, she invited Gwen to recline so that her cousin''s head rested on her shoulder like so many other times they watched the Lumen-caster at their apartment in Fudan.

    "I think I know you well enough to know that something''s eating you," Petra decided to initiate. "I am not completely lucid right now, so it''s a good time as any to say your piece. Master Popov had a saying¡ª the drunk doesn''t judge, and therefore make the best listeners."

    "Wait up." For some reason, her cousin activated a Detect Magic. Petra frowned. Was Gwen wary of her Mind Magic?

    "Okay¡­ no crows, and nothing too suspicious. All good. Oh-oh-oh, my mind has been full of scorpions, dear Pats."

    "Gwennie¡­ Are you in trouble?" Her cousin''s head was hot against her cheek. The scent from Gwen''s hair was earthy with hints of sandalwood and orange blossom, moss and cedar, as well as something vibrant and sweeter. "Is it something you can''t kill or eat?"

    Gwen''s eyes, bean-green in the dusk-blue light of the lower dock''s buzzing bulbs, enlarged with horror. "No! Evee''s the problem! Evee!"

    "Well¡ª" Petra patted her chest. "Lay it on me."

    "Okay¡­" Gwen took a deep breath, then exhaled; there was a lot inside of her cousin that needed expelling. For half an hour, Gwen''s gripes gushed forth like the destruction of the dam-wall at Tonglv, guiding in the South China Sea like a blue-white Leviathan, tumbling over, wave-on-wave, a rolling tsunami of complaints.

    "She confessed to you?" Petra halted her cousin when the topic took a turn for the queer. "Elvia, the Anglican Cleric, confessed her love for you?"

    "Yeah."

    "Is she attracted to you?"

    "I''d say so."

    "Se¡ª bodily?"

    "I would¡­ hope so?"

    "Okay." Petra did her best to digest Gwen''s words. She remained silent for a long, uncomfortable few seconds while her mind joined the dots. "Alright."

    The cold wind remained refreshing while the liquor in her blood diffused. Women could be attracted to women; this was something Petra acknowledged¡ª Master Popov had said it was nothing to be surprised about, for it was just as common for men to be attracted to men. In their world, such incidences were not forbidden so long as the involved parties performed their ultimate duty. Only in some circles¡ª such as under the Orthodox Sects, was the practice taboo; which made them ripe for blackmail.

    "Did you reciprocate?" Petra skirted the topic with a careful euphemism.

    "I said I was in love," Gwen confessed. "But¡­ no."

    "Do you regret not rejecting her? Were you serious?"

    "I don''t know," Gwen keened like a sickly banshee. "I feel like I''ve ruined something beautiful, like Dede."

    "Who is Dede?" Petra''s brows furrowed. A third party made things all the messier.

    "Dede''s a duck."

    "¡­ a duck?"

    "Aye."

    "¡­ go on."

    "I feel terrible for Dede. He was perfectly happy where it was at Emmanuel''s, then I¡ª"

    "I meant Elvia."

    Her cousin corrected the course.

    "¡­ I was content with being sisters, but then, of course, Elvia had wanted more than that. And my pent-up feelings in China kind of muddled things¡ª When I saw her again, I just wanted to give her stuff, everything I could spare. It was addictive, you know? The Contingency Ring, the Evasion Ring, a Ring of Storage, I felt such a thrill. I was so happy every time her face was surprised or content. She was upset with my treatment of the Ginseng¡ª do you remember the Ginseng?"

    "Yeah, it was delicious..." Petra remembered the Essence-infused Maotai. "Wait¡ª you gave her... THREE rings?"

    "Yeah?"

    "Into her hand?"

    "Onto her fingers..."

    "Was one of those fingers... the RING finger?"

    Gwen face slowly grew from confusion to recognition to horror.

    "Oh, Gwen..." Petra sighed. "Too late now. Keep going. You were onto the Ginseng."

    Gwen sighed long and hard, then continued. "... Elvia didn''t like that I kept slicing its limbs for wine, so I gave her Sen-sen as well. Holy shit¡ª was THAT a mistake. After the incident at Walken''s, I got her into the Tower to make the Ginseng her Familiar¡ª only when she finished, the bloody thing had subverted my Evee! MY EVEE was stolen from me by a night-tripping fairy, Pats! My Evee, a Changeling! She used the Ginseng''s connection to the Yinglong to rebuff Almudj''s Blessing, then came out the other end as a vessel!"

    "A vessel being what, exactly?" Petra turned the phrase in her mind.

    "What I am to Almudj, I suppose," Gwen confessed. "I don''t know how it works either. Lady Grey said she''ll find someone to explain the concept to me in context. For now, I know it as the manifestations of a Mythic''s will, a mortal agent of sorts."

    "Or a sock puppet." Petra''s eyes narrowed. "I think your Rainbow Patron has proven itself loyal, but this Yinglong¡­"

    "Yeah, I wouldn''t trust it as far as I can throw it, no matter how many daughters it''s got tapping Uncle Jun."

    "And after that?" Petra did her best to dispel Ayxin''s smug face. The loving duo regularly visited Babulya, and their affection was sickening.

    "After that, we stopped talking¡ª properly at least. I started my lessons, and Evee went off the Isle of Man. I think about her a lot, and every time, I get mad, you know? And then I think about how pissed I am, and that just makes me madder. Maybe Caliban can lick some sense into her."

    As she complained, arcs of blue-white electricity sparked from Gwen''s hair, numbing Petra''s skin, frazzling her hair.

    "Okay. Deep Breath." Petra circulated some Mana just in case, commanding her Naga to ground a head or two. Maybe a dash of Mind Magic would prevent any accidental electrocutions.

    "And the little... lass... used CALM EMOTION on me!" Gwen seethed. "I was livid, and then I was not! It was like having the wind knocked out of you, only it felt good. Can you imagine how weird that is? Her aura was so warm and tender¡ª and next to her. I felt drunk as a skunk. Drunk and happy, like everything''s right with the world¡ª Arrrrgh..."

    Petra listened. She was a listener by profession. Master Popov once said that when a target was digressing, never interrupt. From what Gwen had explained, she understood that this Elvia Lindholm was Gwen''s pet on a pedestal, only now the pet had subverted the Master''s control. What Gwen wanted to be was a protector-cum-benefactor. Instead, Elvia chose to live a life of her own and was empowered to pursue it. That was what made Gwen unhappy¡ª what began as holistic generosity now demanded undeserved redress, and the ambivalence was driving the Void Sorceress mad.

    In short, Petra concluded. It was nothing new. Gwen''s elementally induced masochism was playing up, and the episode should pass once something more concrete came along. Her cousin was an easy girl to love¡ª what she needed was a man, or a woman, who could be her lightning rod.

    "How do you feel about Elvia now?"

    "If I could scream at her for a bit, I think I would feel so much better. But if I see her¡­" Gwen sighed. "I don''t think I can work up the anger."

    "Can you forgive her?"

    "I don''t want to." Gwen shook her head, hesitated, then shook her head with more conviction. "Not until Evee purges the Yinglong from her system, but that would involve destroying everything she''s built up. I''ve been thinking about it a lot and, can you imagine the shit we might get into if I gave in to Evee? Imagine, a Draconic-pervert watching from behind her eyes, vicariously riding her senses¡­"

    Petra shivered.

    "Do you still desire intimacy with Miss Lindholm?"

    "No, no, no¡­" Gwen''s brow broke out with a sheen of cold sweat. "Nothing carnal. Don''t even go there. Just the occasional cuddles."

    Petra fought back a sigh of exasperation. So Gwen wanted a pet after all.

    "Okay." Petra pushed her cousin away from her. "I think I''ve heard enough."

    Gwen sat upright, held her hands, then waited for Petra''s verdict.

    "You can''t woo her or eat her, so until she purges the drake-juice, leave her be."

    Her cousin deflated.

    "So long as she''s the vessel of the Yinglong, you can''t trust her with your secrets. She might even be an operative of a foreign power with designs far removed from yours. As your future policy advisor, if it were up to me, I''d sever the turncoat like a gangrene limb¡ª but if you have lingering affections, then keep her at arm''s length. She can be a friend, but not a confidant¡ª a lover if you don''t mind the Dragon, but only for pleasure and not for business."

    "But¡ª"

    "And if you feel lonely." Petra struck out her chin. "IF a cuddle must be had, there''s Richard, and there''s me. You can always talk to us about anything. We''re your family, Gwen. Blood is thicker than water. You might not realise this, but Richard and I are in your orbit now. We''re tied to you in more ways than one. Your suffering is our suffering, your success and triumph we partake in as well. Don''t forget¡ª you''re the one that sold us your vision of a floating Tower with garden terraces and now, we''ve followed you to Cambridge. Whatever happens, you''ll have Richard and me¡ª and Yue, as well¡ª"

    "Arrrrrrugh!" Gwen pulled at her hair. "Fuck! FUCK!"

    "What now?"

    "I haven''t told Yue about any of this!" Gwen howled into the uncertain darkness of the lower docks, sending swarms of rats scattering back into the dark, waking babies from their sleep. "When she finds out I accidentally turned Elvia into a Draconic juice bottle, Yunnie is going to be PISSED¡­"

 Chapter 361 - Not with a Bang

    The next day, Gwen immediately regretted tipsy-griping to Petra.

    At Mudchute Manor, after a hearty bacon breakfast served by NoM servants, Wally broke the news that Dominic Lorenzo had arrived¡ª as well as karma in the lovely form of Elvia Lindholm.

    Gwen stared at Petra in wide-eyed self-loathing. Her cousin glared back, daring her to act upon what they had previously discussed.

    "I''ll leave it to you." She left the table, urging immediate commitment. "Are we going over now?"

    "Yeah, I''ve been expecting Dom for a while now." Gwen put down her utensils. "This is the same Dominic who has been helping out Evee on the Isle of Man to relocate the Manx. He''s a good guy."

    "Then I better keep an eye on him." Petra stretched out her limbs as if to announce her limberness. "Shall we jog down to the docks? I dare say the Dwarven masters are expecting me."

    Their chosen route took the girls from Mudchute down to Millwall Park, then down to A-12-06, where they dodged the occasional honking lorry to take the long way through Cubitt Town. Past Marsh Wall, they took a left through a semi-cleared field used to deposit construction materials, then arrived through Millwall proper at the outer dock print works.

    Clunk! Clunk! CLUNK! Mana vapour, steam and construction dust clouded the air over the printing press.

    The mantis-Fabricator and the Master Engine was busy at work churning out steel girders for the crew of workmen gathered around the eastern section of the warehouse, now cleared of debris. The Diggers, now armed with new Spellswords, hung from the rafters, were welding together sheets of metal, showing the NoMs below with sparks.

    One of the Journeymen Dwarves was instructing the NoM jockeys Walken had recruited on the use of the industrial Golem units abandoned at the factory, while nearer the loading bay Journeymen stripped a printing engine down to its rusty frames.

    Inside, Nestain and Doussed patrolled the mess of conveyor belts, replacing parts and tinkering with mechanisms deemed too inferior for the new streamlined design. Gwen reminded herself to ask Walken about the rogue flyer-printers as they passed the roller-tower, realising that at this rate, they would need skilled staff before the end of March.

    The pair found the handsome figure of Dominic Lorenzo at the western end, observing the construction of their provisional editorial office. The immediate objective involved a three-storey addition to the extensive warehouse, one that would house two dozen staffs, as well as an overseer''s office for Gwen''s weekly audits. For now, the exterior facade was Soviet in functionality, a factor Gwen would remedy once the paper was up and running.

    "Gwen!" Dominic approached, tired and haggard with his shirt-collar open to the cold. "Here I am. Freshly unemployed after the debacle at the Isle of Man."

    "Seriously?" Gwen raised both brows. "Why?"

    "It''s against journalistic code to intervene in an incident, no matter how dire," Lorenzo explained. "Don''t worry. I knew the consequences before I acted. With the Manx relocating, the outcome is far better than what Colonel Tarleton would have done to them."

    "Then I am equally happy and appalled¡ª thanks for staying to help Evee, by the way." Gwen nodded in agreement. "This is Petra, my cousin and fellow Magus at Cambridge. Pats, this is Mister Lorenzo, Alesia''s old war buddy. I think the two of you should get along just fine."

    The reporter and her cousin shook, each studying one another. Gwen watched their expressions. One was an ex-cadet for the Red Ghost program. The other, according to Alesia, was a reporter who moonlighted as British intelligence.

    "Where''s Elvia." Gwen''s eyes scanned the docks.

    "She''s gone to the clinic." Dominic pointed to Millwall.

    "That makes sense." Gwen hoped she had not ironically jogged past Elvia and snubbed her companion while distractedly thinking about her. "I''ll seek her out later. You''re early, Dom. It''ll be a week or two before the office is habitable. That said, there''s quite a bit I need you to do."

    "I can start today if you like." Lorenzo didn''t mind the lack of a workspace. "I spoke to Magister Walken while waiting for you. He mentioned an employment contract?"

    "Yes, though that was more specifically aimed at Eric, considering his history."

    Lorenzo''s tone grew solemn. "Aye, I can see why. What about the rest of us? Or the personnel I''ll need?"

    "Non-magical contracts will suffice." Gwen scanned the streets once more, then pointed toward Millwall. "Some new shops have opened up, how about morning tea while we talk?"

    "Much obliged." Dominic waited for Gwen to lead the way. "You''re lucky to have Miss Lindholm. Your friend might have the mien of an angel, but she works like a demon."

    "Ha." Gwen laughed to hide her awkwardness. "I''ll believe that."

    Petra scoffed; Gwen suppressed the colour in her cheeks while they made for the new hole-in-the-wall eatery.

    A block past the printing press, the Olive Canary cafe was run by an enterprising NoM family from Marsh Wall. The new owners of the lot had done their best with the partitioned warehouse and had even put out a plaque that said "Dwarves Welcome" in chalk. To promote small business on the isle, Gwen had offered rent-grants for up to six months.

    Once seated, the trio ordered scones, cream, jam, and a big jug of English Breakfast. Gwen categorised her thoughts, banished her immediate solicitudes, then began illuminating her designs for Dominic.

    "To clarify, the entity you will be helming for is our free Newspaper, the ''Metro Express'', operating under the Isle of Dogs Development Corporation." Gwen mimed a few squares with her fingers, and several hovering rectangles in shades of jade came into view. Hers was a demonstration of "PowerPoint 2.0"¡ª now with added sophistication thanks to Le Guevel''s tuition. "The Executive Committee, which thus far consists of myself, Eric, and Lady Grey, will be the administrators¡ª though we''re figureheads. Lady Grey is providing the clout, I am providing the Crystals, and you can think of Walken as our deputy."

    "And myself?" Dominic poked a finger at one of her illusory rectangles. When his fingers fell through, the man muttered a "Hmm..."

    "You''re our Editor-in-Chief," she replied while willing an orange tag into place. "The rest is flexible. What hierarchal structure have you got in mind?"

    "Editor-in-chief, Editors, then News Editors," Lorenzo replied, watching with wonder as Gwen added the text-boxes one by one. "I also want editors for Spellcraft, Economics, Politics, Local News, and a Feature section. These then have sub-Editors, who double as our on-the-ground staff."

    "Which would be the Reporters, Staff Writers, and?"

    "Correspondents." Her editor filled in the blanks.

    Gwen re-arranged the impromptu organisational chart. "Good¡ª That''s what I had in mind as well. How optimistic are you feeling about finding staff? I am offering one-year contracts, NoM or Mage doesn''t matter. Pay is ten per cent above market rate, with a raised ceiling for performance bonuses. I can also offer a month''s pay in advance. All petty-cash costs can be reclaimed, pending audit."

    "That''s very generous. I believe we can fill the top positions by April if that''s what you''re offering." Lorenzo materialised a Lumen-recorder, then took a snapshot of Gwen''s infographic. "Say, that''s a novel way of using Project Image. What do you call it?"

    "¡­ PowerPoint," Gwen replied without an ounce of guilt. "Two capitalised P''s. One word. I''ll submit it to the Tower''s Grimoire in the future."

    "How interesting." Lorenzo served up a scone, chewed thoughtfully, then swallowed. "Say, can I ask an audacious question?"

    "Of course you can, Lorrie." Gwen adjusted her legs while scanning the Millwall end of the street for any suddenly-appearing Clerics.

    "How do you know the free Newspaper isn''t a massive waste of Crystals? Your predecessors all failed to deliver a profitable Newspaper. The Guardian is only hanging on because of its political backers and as a counter to the Herald and the Telegraph. Why should the Metro survive when others did not? The Herald Sun has extensive access to the affairs of the Nobility, and the Telegraph is well-connected politically. What''s our sell?"

    "Circulation!" Gwen answered without hesitation. Straightening her spine, she sat tall in her chair to applaud the healthy scepticism shown by Lorenzo. "The Metro will have a level of circulation unmatched by any other. Our profitability will come from sponsored adverts for products¡ª and weekly classifieds for services."

    "Where do you get the confidence? Merely because the Metro Express is free?"

    "Because we''re filling a market gap," Gwen explained with patience. "Best of all, the other papers won''t be able to replicate our success without ruining their editorial board."

    "How do you mean?"

    "We''ll diversify content." Gwen conjured a few more PowerPoint rectangles into the air, this time in blue. "Imagine us having three main sections¡ª News, Features, and Spellcraft. Our news needn''t be breaking news because the Metro is weekly and merely summarise it. Likewise, our manifesto is to appear non-partisan, so we''ll always stake a position in between the Guardian, the Sun Herald and the Telegraph, or fact-check for the Sun if they feel disinclined."

    Lorenzo pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Hmm. I''d like that."

    "Good. Besides, the point of our Newspaper isn''t the news, not exactly. It''s more of a privately-owned self-sustained public service. In the Feature section, we''re going to have the following things¡ª entertainment and human interest stories for Mages and NoMs, like interviewing Evee for example, or successful NoMs, like the owners of the Tower of Tandoori. There''ll be a letter to the Editor page, where people can give opinions or ask for advice. I want a relationship column where people can talk about their love life¡ª or lack of one."

    "There''s lots of fun to be had," Gwen continued, her words coming as a torrent. "Since our principal avenue of distribution is the public transport system¡ª imagine a section where readers can send in letters to strangers they''re attracted to while taking the tube. ''Hi, my name is Wally, and I saw this gorgeous Fire Evoker with red hair on the six o''clock express from High Street to Mile End. I would love to speak with her''¡ª you get me? We''ll focus on Human interest and localised content. Additionally, we''ll be adding lifestyles pages, the hottest new adventuring locations, Magical Item advice, and even food recipes. We''re a must-read Weekly."

    "That is¡­ very interesting." Lorenzo licked his lips. "And you''re right. I can''t imagine the Herald or the Telegraph trying to copy our success. It would change the scope of their tabloid."

    "AND ours is free¡ª" Gwen chuckled. "I''ve gathered enough bodies on the isle to have two-men-teams standing at every exit from Heathrow to Stratford, giving out the papers for free. People can take it, or not, but I''ll tell you what. They''ll be seeing it at the bus stops, on the tables in cafe shops; the Metro will be everywhere¡ª always within hand''s reach whether folks need it or not."

    "I see!"

    "And that''s not all. When I was speaking to Lady Grey, she said that I should offer something to the Shard to stay on their good side. I''ve since decided that two ''central'' pages will be dedicated as a public announcement channel for the Tower and their quests¡ª free of charge."

    Lorenzo furrowed his brows. "Why free? The other papers charge the Shard a fortune to post its Quest listings."

    "Ha!" Gwen willed away her illusions. "Circulation, my dear Lorenzo! Every Mage in London will want to have a stickybeak at our free Newspaper because it''ll be easily within hands'' reach, cost-free. On that alone, we''ll have guaranteed readership among the Mages."

    "Marvellous¡ª"

    "¡ª Gwen, everything you just said sounds incredibly ambitious," Petra intervened. "Now that you''ve shown me the extent of it, I have to say I have no idea how much it all costs."

    "All enterprises cost money." Gwen swung a scone toward the direction of the printing press. "If we had failed to find our Dwarven compatriots, and if they had not provided us with the men and the equipment, I would not have rushed in at all. Without the volume to reach market saturation¡ª and without the reduced cost of mass production¡ª the system simply will not work."

    "How much have you¡­ has the company spent so far?" Lorenzo asked.

    Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

    "About eight-thousand HDMS," Gwen confessed. "That''s only one-fifth of the initial budget. I anticipate we''ll be in the red for about a year. After that, a healthy parity should happen within twenty-four months, and once our circulation stabilises, we''ll see profitability within three years. Eric has a copy of my business report if you''re keen."

    "You''ve written a business report? Alright. I''ll seek out Master Walken." Lorenzo slapped his thighs. "I don''t know what to say. Gwen. Are you sure you''re eighteen?"

    "I am an old soul." Gwen laughed once or twice. "What can I say? My impoverished upbringing in Sydney has got me running scared."

    "You''re the richest sorceress I know." Petra upended her humblebrag with a scoff. "You could probably bribe half the Mages in Moscow. In Russia, we call folk like you Oligarchs. They''re an evil lot."

    Gwen flashed her cousin a sardonic smile. "Not true, I''d say where they''re a problem, I am the cure. Money has to flow, Pats, why do you think they called it ''currency''? Anyway, Dom, there''s also something else I need you to do."

    "I am all ears."

    "As with the old Victorian rags, I am thinking of including a serial-fiction section, in preparation for our paperback side of the press business," she explained. "I''ve got a few interesting manuscripts in my head, but I need ghostwriters to get them manifested. Do you know anyone good at such a thing?"

    Dominic drank the rest of his coffee, then mulled for a minute. "I think so. Are NoMs acceptable?"

    "More so than Mages for what I''ve got in mind¡ª ideally someone unattached and unaffiliated." Gwen nodded. "They need to have real talent. I won''t be wasting these one-of-a-kind ideas on lacklustre freelancers. When you find them, bring them to me. I''ll conduct an interview¡ª and we''ll clarify the rules and incentives."

    "Sounds reasonable," the reporter said. "Before I go¡ª will you be meeting with Miss Lindholm later?"

    "I will." Gwen looked toward the direction of the clinic once more.

    "I see. I''ve apologised already to Miss Elvia for taking advantage of her goodwill, but let me apologise to you as well, Magus Song," Lorenzo spoke with sincerity. "The publication, the story I broke¡ª I fear I took some liberties with the truth. It was I who subverted the Elves¡ª and I used your infamy, Gwen, as the Devourer of Shenyang to do so."

    "Really?" Gwen was surprised she felt not a single mote of wonderment at the declaration. Why should she when Militant pacifism was the whole schtick with her Void Magic? Likewise, it wasn''t as though Alesia didn''t boast about Lorenzo being an operative. "Can you clarify?"

    With the succinctness of a professional columnist, Lorenzo explained his case, beginning with Elvia''s discovery of Tarleton''s strategy, and ending with their expedition to the Enclave of Tir-Mara.

    "I am not averse to your decision." Gwen forgave her editor, then looked to Petra for advice. "All''s well that ends well, at least for now. Pats?"

    "Mister Lorenzo, are you a Cabalist?" Petra''s next question made Gwen want to cover her cousin''s lips. Whether or not Dominic worked for the secret service was for him to reveal. If they pried it from him, the implications weren''t the same.

    "I am with the Sixth," Dominic confessed, neither changing tone nor his facial expression. "That''s all I can say. I don''t think my role here will force a conflict of interest with my other profession¡ª far from it; I would even say they''re complementary. So long as our reporting remains neutral, and the paper isn''t defaming the House of Windsor."

    "We''ll step carefully for sure," Gwen agreed. "I have high hopes for you, Dom."

    "I understand," the spy concurred. "Thank you for trusting me."

    "Better the devil we know." Petra nodded.

    Lorenzo expressed his approval. "If there should be an impasse, my resignation should act as a canary of sorts. Please place your trust in me as Alesia would."

    The two shook hands.

    "I''ll be going then." Lorenz stood. "Good luck with Miss Lindholm."

    "Dom, what has Evee told you?"

    "Not much, but she is not very good at hiding her sentiments."

    "I see."

    "Then I''ll be soon in contact with Magister Walken."

    Compared to when he came, the reporter sauntered away with a lighter step.

    "And now." Petra tugged at her elbow. "Let''s get your other business sorted."

    "Yes." She sighed. "Let''s."

    "Apply the poultice twice a day, and you should see a gradual improvement." Elvia Lindholm placed the satchel of infused herbs in the hands of the woman nodding like a bobbing hen. "The Lord''s Blessing on you, Miss Robertson."

    "Blessing on you as well, Dr Lindholm¡ª please take this." A cotton sack emerged forth from the heavy duffle bag the woman had brought in. "It''s taters'' our nan grew in her yard. Nan''s very proud of them, always said our family had the best mash on our lane¡­"

    "Thank you." Elvia knew the line behind the woman was still a dozen patients long and so took the gift without complaint. "I''ll be sure to enjoy them with Ser Mathias. He''s very fond of potatoes."

    Satisfied, the woman bent to kiss her hand, then retreated backwards, bowing as she made her exit.

    Elvia''s looked down at her fingers¡ª the Contingency Ring on her ring finger felt so new, even though a lifetime of events had occurred since Gwen carelessly slipped on the band.

    It had been a month since they had talked and Elvia would be dishonest if she said that she was not disappointed in her friend. As recent as yesterday, the locals had told her that Gwen was heard howling like a banshee at midnight, scaring the dog-sized sewer rats into submission.

    But where was her friend now?

    Back before the Yinglong''s vision, Gwen would have burst through the door, barged through the patients, then embraced Elvia so fiercely she could scarcely breathe. Now¡ª now there was no sight nor sound of her unconsummated lover.

    "Next¡ª" Elvia announced.

    Her next patient seated himself.

    Elvia looked up. It wasn''t a sickly NoM that faced her now, but a middle-aged man with steel-grey hair and depthless blue eyes in a traditional tunic and cloak.

    "Good morrow, Miss Lindholm." The gent indicated to a metallic brooch pinned near his collar bone, holding together two pieces of fabric that formed a stylish white-red shawl. The badge was that of a burnished sun, resplendent in its flames, crafted from some precious alloy Elvia could not recognise. In its centre, there sat a herald of three crowns, surrounded by a ring in guiles with the motto Tria Juncta In Uno in threaded gold. "I come seeking remedy for a dire injury."

    Elvia licked her lips nervously. "Sir¡­"

    "My arm, you see¡ª" The man raised his left arm with some difficulty. "Was injured yesterday. My companions and I were in pursuit of a Sarasti Strigoi who proved to be an adept wielder of forbidden Blood Sorcery. We tracked it down to Szczecin, where a long and arduous battle took place. It''s always hard capturing Vampires¡ª a Strigoi in an urbanscape, more so..."

    Slowly, the man disrobed a portion of his tunic, revealing a husk of an arm. "I have come to seek aid from one famed in bringing life to the withered and wasted."

    "Er... I am not sure¡­" Elvia swallowed. "Lord¡­"

    "Seneschal Adamus Ashburn." The man''s smoky voice sounded like sifting shekel-shells. "My present agony is exquisite, Dr Lindholm. I hope you will not turn away someone too ''impoverished'' to receive care from the Great Hospitals."

    "I understand," Elvia replied, knowing that she understood nothing. The old Mage wasn''t lying though. He was indeed in a great deal of pain, though his biometrics remained stable¡ª likely as a result of pain-suppression techniques. As for the man''s mangled arm, its mana conduits, blood-vessels and the musculature were all damaged by severe Negative Energy drain. If untreated, it would go into necrosis and need an amputation. "But I don''t know how much I can do here¡ª proper aid would have to be administered at Osmond Street, or Nightingale''s."

    "Please proceed as you would on a battlefield." The man took a deep breath. "My companions and I walked here from the Shard, then waited two hours to see you in person."

    "You waited in line, milord?"

    "There were others whose needs were greater or direr."

    "I understand. Sen-sen¡ª Kiki." Unsure of how to respond, Elvia coaxed her Familiar onto the table. "Please lend me your power to restore Seneschal Ashburn."

    "Ki-ki!"

    "Sen-sen!"

    Elvia took a deep breath. "Bless! Aid!"

    A gentle viridescence haloed outward from the Cleric as she invoked her sorcery, channelling the dormant, raw vitality of the Ginseng through her conduits and into her patient. Tapping into the unique blend of Essence-laced mana generated by her body, she goaded the Seneschal''s arm into activating its remaining life force.

    "I will now begin the Restoration. Please hold still." With two fingers on the Knight''s wrist and her off-hand on his exposed chest, she activated the highest tier of healing spell she knew. Kiki''s vine-tendrils wrapped around the man''s shoulder as a make-shift tourniquet. Sweating, Elvia raised Sen-sen''s tendrils. "Sir¡ª the injection will sting."

    "Kiki!" Her Alraune raised a perfumed bulb.

    "Do not mind me," the old Knight spoke to the flower Sprite with kindness. "I need to see what your master can do."

    "Kiki!"

    Elvia willed Sen-sen to continue, excavating past the man''s dermis to stimulate the deep-tissue directly. The process would take several minutes, and though the Seneschal''s complexion changed colour from pale to flush to pale, he continued to speak.

    "Miss Lindholm, are you learned in the Path of the Devoted? Has the hospice instructed you in participating in bearing our Lord''s burden?"

    "Yes, though I am a novitiate." Elvia lowered her eyes. "And my attendance at Mass has been lax of late."

    "It is not attendance that marks the Faithful." The Seneschal materialised a sun-token from his storage ring. "Continue, Miss Lindholm. I shall now activate this icon of our Ordo, so that it may judge your worthiness."

    Elvia wanted to protest, to tell the man to at least wait until his healing was done. Instead, the aura of fatherly benevolence from the Seneschal was so overwhelming that all she could do was nod.

    Gently, the sun-token began to glow, first with a gradual radiance, then warmth, filling the air around them with illuminated threads of gold. Around the old Knight, she could see the thousands of threads as plain as day, flaxen and vivid, pointing like vectors toward something the man wore under his chin. As for herself, the hair-thin ribbons were faded and indistinct.

    "Good, perfect¡ª" The Seneschal smiled protectively. "You have aided many, Practitioner Lindholm, and here lies the proof."

    "Is this Faith?" Elvia had only the most rudimentary understanding of Faith Magic. The college taught it as a form of latent energy, no different to mana, one generated by the strength of belief, harvested by Humanity since the pagan epoch under Egypt''s God-Kings. Today, this distinct form of sorcery belonged almost exclusively to Humanities'' organised religions.

    "You are not wrong." The Seneschal''s tone grew suddenly formal. "Miss Lindholm. As a steward of her Majesty''s Order of the Bath, I would like to extend to you an invitation to join our exalted ranks. After a probation period, you shall receive the Multifoliate Red-White Star of our founder, Henry Tudor, and don the Crimson Mantle of one who purifies and protects. Do you accept?"

    The Order of the Bath!

    One of the five Ancient Ordos!

    Though Lorenzo had mentioned that following her actions, one such offer was coming; she remained speechless while her treatment ran its course. Once Sen-sen unwrapped itself from the Lord Seneschal''s arm, she again drew breath. A minute later, she had worked up enough courage to meet his eyes.

    "I am honoured, Milord¡ª but if you wish an immediate answer¡­"

    She didn''t know if this was a decision she could make herself. To join an Ordo was a life-long affair. The vows one made were binding, as Mathias had demonstrated, and would place inconvenient limitations on her life in exchange for unfettered access to knowledge and resources. With her common birth and many complications, how could she join such an exalted existence?

    "Sir Ashburn..."

    "I am aware of your predicaments, Miss Lindholm. Know that we have been watching you." The Seneschal flexed the fingers of his restored arm. Satisfied, he continued. "Well done. Do not fret that you are involved with the Void Sorceress, or that you are a vessel to the Mythic of Huangshan¡ª far from it; such connections serve to fortify your candidacy. Your affairs on the Isle of Man as well have proven that you possess the right temperament to enter the ranks of higher service. A candidates'' natural inclinations we value above all else. You want to right wrongs, do you not? Give a voice to the unheard? In the future, as a Knight Companion, you will be given the authority and power to act on the Commonwealth''s behalf."

    When the word "future" announced itself from the Seneschal''s lips, Elvia couldn''t help but feel a tingle in her Astral Soul. The Yinglong''s vision once again rose to the fore, and she could see Percy''s twisted face gloating over her pale and life-drained carcass while behind the pair, Tianjin burned and the Undead crashed over the waterlogged barricades.

    "Sir Ashburn," she spoke suddenly, surprising the Seneschal. "Do Knight Companions receive combat training against Necromancy and the Undead?"

    The Knight nodded. "The best the Mageocracy has to offer. Since the Great War, the freeing of populations from the apostasy of Undeath has been one of our chief missions. Therefore, both through sorcery and Faith, our members are well protected from their ilk. Do you possess grievance against the Undead?"

    The Seneschal''s words rang her heart like a tolling bell. Was this fated? Elvia wondered. Had the Yinglong predicted this as well? Was joining the Ordo a part of what she must do to gain the power necessary to thwart Percy, the Kirin creature, and to stop the Cult of Juche?

    "Not personally, no." Elvia shook her head. "I will take your words into consideration, Lord Ashburn."

    Without hesitation, the man stood. "We will be waiting, Elvia. I do believe you will find a warm welcome at the fortress-monastery."

    Elvia touched a hand to the coin of the Tri-Crown Sun. "Sir, you forgot¡ª"

    "Its a gift, novitiate. The Sun-token is a minor Relic, one that will aid you in recognising your potential whether you joined us or not."

    The curtains to the consultation section of the clinic pulled back. To Elvia''s surprise, the line was now empty.

    "I had the men see to your patients, so that we may talk without delaying their care." The Seneschal''s secret smile was all-knowing and hopeful. "A sizeable donation has also been made to your Foundation and Clinic, Miss Lindholm. Whatever you choose, good deeds shall not go unrewarded."

    "Thank you, Seneschal."

    "One more thing." The Knight dipped his chin. "Though our Ordo is not given to careless charity¡ª its members are given the discretion to offer aid by drawing on our coffers."

    Elvia''s breath grew heavy.

    "I see you understand. May the Shepard guide you to our flock."

    Elvia''s eyes followed the man''s aristocratic silhouette as he joined his guards. The other Knights were crimson-robed, and each gave her a parting nod before exiting the converted warehouse. When the trio faded into the docks, Elvia saw that a figure remained undisplaced, one bearing an impatient, agonised mien. It was the Calamity herself, the mistress of the Isle, Gwen Song, here to see her long-neglected lover.

    Gwen very much disliked the idea that she could not just waltz into a clinic she had paid for to accost Elvia¡ª until Petra pointed out that the two men very politely barring their way wore the Crimson Mantles with golden sun icons.

    The Order of the Bath! Gwen gulped, recalling Le Guevel''s lessons and recollecting what Lady Grey had foretold a month ago. Finally, the monks came to elevate Evee into their aristocratic ranks. It was a prospect that should have filled her with pride, but now it only made her suffer, for Elvia'' ascension would only mean greater reluctance to forgo the Yinglong''s blessing.

    Beside her, Petra grew anxious; her cousin was a girl with Dwarves to entertain. Just as well, she would prefer Petra not striking Elvia with a Mindblank.

    "Pats, I don''t want to take up any more of your time, do you want to go see what Danmurim is doing? He might not be too happy if you don''t show up at all during his morning shift."

    "Are you sure?" Petra touched her arm protectively. "What if another Calm Emotion quails you?"

    "I''ll tell her to fuck off," Gwen promised. "I need to do this, Pats¡ª I owe it to Evee and to Yue to resolve this thing, one way or another. This unforeseen problem is taking up far too much of my headspace."

    It took some more cajoling to convince her cousin, but at last, Gwen was free to make her case with Elvia.

    For another quarter of an hour, she stood outside the clinic while inside, one of the Knights from the Order of the Bath liberally dispensed potions. As the happy residents retreated, they saw the mistress of Millwall milling impatiently, and so approached Gwen to offer their thanks and their love. Gwen obliged, and when finally the NoMs were gone, she persisted until a middle-aged man with steel-grey hair and an imposing aura of presence emerged from the clinic.

    Gwen raised a hand to hail the Knights and their leader, though the trio merely passed her with a nod, leaving her hanging.

    When her gaze awkwardly returned to the clinic, she saw Elvia standing pretty in her physician''s garb. Her chest constricted. The purity of her Evee had not at all been sullied by the horror conducted to the Manx. If anything, she appeared more resilient, mature, and imposing.

    "Hey there, Evee." Gwen thought she would initiate.

    "Hi, Gwen."

    "Did you miss me? How was the Isle of Man?"

    "It was the worst."

    Fuck. She mentally slapped herself, then pushed on. "Evee, I think we¡ª"

    "I know¡ª" Elvia gave her a simpering smile.

    Gwen breathed in, fighting the tingling in her fingers.

    "I know, Gwennie." Elvia directed her to the elevated hospice cot and its taut, uncompromising linen. "I know. Come sit. Let''s talk."

 Chapter 362 - But with a Whimper

    The hospice cot was softer than Gwen had expected. The foam, or whatever spring-insert sat between the linen, engulfed her buttocks with a lewd creak, drawing her level with Elvia.

    "I am sorry about what happened on the Isle of Man." Gwen patted the space beside her, opening the first salvo. "Dom told me everything."

    "Mister Lorenzo did what he thought was best." Elvia refused her invitation with a disarming smile. "He calls it his great success, even though it wasn''t right¡ª not for the Manx. Not for the Elves. Not even for the island."

    "And how do you know that?" Gwen smugly cocked her head. "Are the island folk not now safe from the predation of this Colonel Tarleton? The ceasefire everyone wanted is in effect. There''s no more loss of life on both sides."

    When Elvia raised her chin to glare, Gwen glared back.

    "The peace is sophistry." Elvia''s eyes, Gwen noted, were bright with discontent. "There was no redress, no justice, no punishment for the sinners. The Manx have lost their homes, Gwennie, they''ve lost everything. Is that how you''ll treat Goolagong and her people when you go back to Australia and lord over the continent with Gunther?"

    "Old Goolagong?" Gwen frowned, recalling the Indigenous woman. "We''re not at war with her people, Evee. Besides, thanks to Almudj, the descendants of the Pintupi share common goals with us. Whatever happens, they''re free to either stay on their land or assimilate, think of Tommy for example. I am not going to dictate whether they should embrace modernity¡ª"

    Elvia looked away, sighing.

    "¡ªWhat? Don''t give me that look. What''s wrong?"

    "You''re becoming like one of them."

    "One of who?" Gwen''s brows wrinkled.

    "The Lords and Ladies here."

    "In London?"

    Elvia bobbed her head. "You used to be¡­ nicer. I lack your words, Gwennie, so forgive my simplicity. I don''t know if you were happier back in Sydney, but I always looked up to how well you treated the NoMs at school, like Mr Rawson. You were so genuine. Could you do that now?"

    "Why would I treat Rawson any different?" Gwen swallowed her rising ire. Why was she the one being interrogated? It wasn''t as though she''s straddling the Yinglong and riding roughshod over their sisterly pact.

    "I don''t think you''ll be able to see Mr Rawson now and see him as anything other than another number in your multitude of NoMs." The sadness in her companion''s delivery made Gwen feel patronised. "The same way that the Manx''s exodus to you is just an abstracted problem to be solved. You''ve become a Colossus, Gwennie, and we mortals peep about your great white legs..."

    "And what''s that supposed to mean?" Gwen snapped.

    "I mean, how can you believe the Manx is doing better?" Seeing Elvia''s adorable face so upset was remarkably intimidating for Gwen. "Not to preach, Gwennie, but I don''t understand why you refuse to understand. Maybe there''s too much on your plate¡ª your Isle of Dogs being so much more important than the Isle of Man¡ª The tale of two Isles..."

    "Hold on," Gwen interrupted the healer. "What exactly are you trying to say here? That I AM trying to roll the Manx-folk off their usurped island? That I AM responsible for the Mageocracy''s imperialism from seven centuries ago? You''re ridiculous¡­"

    "Am I?" Elvia''s chest rose and fell. "Gwen. The Mageocracy, the very one who holds you dear like the Heart of Flames¡ª you''re on their side. They took the Manx''s women, children, their elders, and they treated them with contempt. They drove them from their homes, then they killed their loved ones, murdered their Druids, performed rapine on the very sites that the Crown had guaranteed them. They then built an ISTC that drained the mana from the Manx''s hearth, their trees and their sacred places."

    "That''s not¡­ my jurisdiction?" Gwen''s brows knitted with frustration. The girl''s wild accusation was not doing her cause any favours. "I am here to talk about us, Evee¡­ why¡­"

    "Then in the Newspaper and on the Lumen-casters, your Mageocracy, your Tower¡ª Lorenzo included¡ª they called them mad, mocked those of us who wanted to help or placed us on pedestals. The Foreign Office marginalised the Manx, degraded them, tormented and exiled them with politics, made their lives impossible. But they''re the bad guys, and you''re the good ones. They don''t deserve their home, but we deserve our ISTC Station. That''s what Dominic is celebrating, Gwennie. Do you support that?"

    Gwen gritted her teeth. Why was Elvia so caught up in this Manx business? Shit happened to folk everywhere. If Humanity were weak like the Manx, they would be the ones slaving away in Mermen coastal pens as opposed to having sushi Thursdays. "Evee, enough. Out with it. What do you want?"

    Elvia appeared to study her as if seeing her in a new light. "Look, your hypertension is shooting up again. Here, take my hand."

    Gwen stared at her partner''s dainty fingers.

    "No Positive Energy. No vitality." She warned her thankless lover. "Calm my Emotion, and I''ll have Caliban French you."

    "Okay," Elvia agreed, then continued where she left off. "To answer your question. I know what I want, Gwennie."

    "Good." Gwen''s long digits enveloped her friend''s hand. Evee''s fingers were rougher and more calloused than she could recall, a testament to her labour on the Isle of Man. "Come on, lay it on me. Ask, and I shall consider."

    "You make my needs sound like a problem to be solved." Her friend''s fingers searched out Gwen''s, then twined themselves around her slender digits. "Gwennie, must everything be accounted for and audited with you? Can''t you just trust me to do what''s best for us? For you? When you''re doing the same to me?"

    "T-trust? I have to trust¡ª" Gwen stopped herself before she could say something she''d rather not walk back. "Fine, you want to tango? Let''s do it. But first¡ª Ariel! Caliban!"

    "Shaa!" Caliban slithered into the world and onto Elvia''s lap.

    "EE! EE!" Ariel likewise nuzzled Elvia as soon as it materialised, running figure-eights around the healer like a cat.

    "Kiki!" From behind Elvia, the Alraune greeted its peers.

    Gwen fought off a wave of displeasure. "You two, go and secure the perimeter. NO CROWS. Cali, you can harass, but no eating. Anyone comes close, Spider them away."

    "Shaa!" The departing Caliban gave Elvia an oozy lick, drenching the front of the healer''s doctor''s coat. Likewise, Ariel kissed the Cleric thrice before reluctantly leaving to perform its duty.

    "Kiki, you help as well."

    "Kiki!"

    "They''ve grown so much since Sydney." Elvia produced a handkerchief to wipe the gloop from her chest. "Do you remember when Caliban was shorter than me, and Ariel was still a ferret?"

    "Simpler times." Gwen sighed. "That was a long time ago, Evee. Master was alive back then. Our world was smaller."

    "Yes, I miss Master Kilroy. Sufina too."

    Gwen said nothing. She wasn''t about to be softened by sentimentality.

    "So what do you want, Gwen?" Elvia threw her question back at her.

    "Me?" Gwen momentarily pondered if declaring "I want you" was acceptable, but decided against something so camp and easily misconstrued. "I want things to go back to what they were."

    "And what would that be?"

    "You, me, Yue¡ª just the three of us. Chilling. No Yinglong."

    Elvia smiled. "What was so dear about those days that you want to relive them so badly?"

    "You should know the answer to that, or at least; before your patron took over." Gwen refrained from shouting out her accusations. She was in control, she told herself. Be mature.

    "Gwennie, your inconsistency astounds me sometimes." Her healer walked her fingers over Gwen''s open palm. Gwen looked down, knowing there was Draconic strength there if Evee so desired. "You, who have been the vessel of Almudj for so long, do you not possess autonomy from its will? Why should I relent my potential to make the changes I want in the world when you do not?"

    "That''s hardly the same." Gwen channelled her Essence into her hands to ward away Evee in case she chose to use the Yinglong. "Almudj is benevolent."

    "And the Yinglong is not?"

    "It''s malicious!"

    "Who has thus suffered from its manoeuvres?" Elvia''s accusing lips were pink and moist. "You? Uncle Jun? Your family? The Chinese? Their homeland?"

    "The hell are you on about?" Gwen tried to pull her hand back, but her healer wouldn''t let go. "God damn it, Evee¡ª"

    "There''s that hypocrisy again." Elvia''s palm kissed hers. "That''s just it, see? Think about all the men and women you''ve sent to the Front through Tonglv, Gwen. All those machinations you''ve thus far plotted, all of them had winners and losers¡ª mostly losers¡ª while you came out on top. I should thank you for gifting me with the means of gaining both vision and knowledge, Gwen, but now that I''ve seen the truth¡ª how can I close my eyes to them? I can''t ever become the lordly Lady you aspire to be."

    "Oh, that''s a crock! I don''t aspire to any such thing!"

    "That''s because you want to be greater than even they¡ª" Elvia''s words were using her chest as knife-sheaths. "Isn''t that right?"

    "And that''s wrong, is it?" Gwen sensed the pulsing Positive Energy circulating under her healer''s skin. She could sense her Void-tinged mana pulse in response. "Fuck me for wanting to live my life, right? I should be content with being a Dragon''s sock puppet. Or the Mageocracy''s marionette. Or the dolly-wife of some dickhead like the Exeters, pumping out stillborn Faceless Void babies."

    "I don''t mean that." Elvia''s patience appeared infinite. "I am sad that you think that''s what I implied."

    Gwen withheld her immediate riposte, which was that she couldn''t give two fucks what Elvia thought about her ambitions¡ª but that was in itself deep dishonesty. She was the adult here; Gwen reminded herself repeatedly. Don''t let the Yinglong win.

    "Thanks to the Yinglong, I think it''s obvious that we''re no longer able to see eye to eye." Gwen''s throat bobbed; her expression grew hard. "But I can fix this, Evee. If you come back with me to Australia, I''ll talk to Almudj¡­"

    Elvia stood, then before Gwen could finish her words, she sat down beside her. The healer''s coat smelled like antiseptic, but her hair''s scent was divine, as was the lustre of her vitality-infused skin, so tender that she just wanted to reach out and pinch it.

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    "Gwen." Elvia looked up, her face as white and fragile as milk crystals. "I like you."

    A gush of strange heat ignited in Gwen''s chest. Her breathing was already irregular, but now it grew heavy. Was Elvia, her Evee of all people, trying to seduce her? Did her Cleric think that she could pay with her sweet little body for all her transgressions, or was this the Yinglong pushing her buttons?

    "Evee, you know that''s hardly fair. We need to talk. I am serious."

    "You misunderstand me again. I do want to talk." Elvia directed her body so that they sat beside each other. "Your face there was a little scary. Care to listen to a tale, Gwen? Afterwards, you can talk, then we''ll make our peace."

    With Evee''s shoulder warm against her own, Gwen sighed. "Aright. I''ll shut up and listen."

    "Thank you," Elvia''s voice came from beside her. "Do you know the Psalms of Sir Bors, Gwen?"

    Gwen shook her head.

    "It''s a story my mother used to tell me, taken from the tales of Saint Chaucer of Canterbury."

    "Alright¡­" Gwen failed to see how any of this was connected but resigned herself to lend Evee her ears before they reached an ultimatum.

    "Before we begin, you should know that Sir Bors was one of the Princes of antiquity to reign over the Isle of Man. His blood, if the tales are correct, contributed significantly to the blending of Elven and Human blood, thanks to him, the Manx survived the Christian epoch of Avalon."

    "Bors¡­ from Arthurian legend?"

    "The very same¡ª famed for returning with the Grail."

    "¡­ okay." Gwen refrained from jeering at this world''s patchwork theology. The people here took Faith a little more literally than the folks back in her world. From what she had seen of Prince Inti and the Northern Front, there was little reason why a deified existence like the Nazarene couldn''t have fed the multitudes or raised the dead. If she considered that Gilgamesh and Enkidu were all historical figures and that Perseus and Hercules parallelled Charlemagne, there was little reason to doubt the existence of a legendary Relic.

    "This parable pertains to you and me," Elvia said. "The details vary between authors, but in Saint Chaucer''s Chronicles of Avalon, Sir Bors was the youngest of Arthur''s knights, originally rescued from the clutches of the Orc warlord Claudas. While in Arthur''s service, the young Bors, a relative of boy-Lancelot, became one of the strongest Faith-casters on the island¡ª until he broke his vow of chastity."

    Gwen snorted. "We haven''t¡ª"

    "I know." Her healer balanced herself against Gwen''s weight; the Cleric was small and petite compared to her counterpart. "To his shame, Bors didn''t just break a vow of chastity; he raped a girl¡ª an Elven visitor who had come to the isle to converse with Arthur. The two had met at Arthur''s banquet, and after the mead and the wine, Bors offered to take the maiden up to her lodgings. Once they were alone up in the parapet, the young Bors gave in to lust and intemperance."

    The thematic parallels in the story, Gwen felt, was a little too close to home for comfort. Was Evee accusing her of shoving Almudj''s Essence down her throat? Could that be construed as a violation? But then again, back in the observatory, she was the one who halted Elvia''s wandering hand. Did that make Evee the aggressor? Was she Bors? But that made no sense either.

    "Deeply ashamed, Sir Bors left Arthur''s service to seek atonement. He travelled to the Sacred Lake in Loch Lomond and begged the Lady for a way to attain penitence. The Lady informed him that the only way to regain his credo is to discover what women truly desire."

    "Love?" Gwen said. "Or money, if we''re realistic..."

    "Don''t be impatient," Elvia rebuked her interjections. "Sir Bors travelled far and wide, rescuing women from horrible estates and freeing them from abuse and defending them from assault. He became very popular with young ladies, though every time, he resisted both wine and lust. A French variation goes that a group of fan-maidens grew so smitten that they threatened to throw themselves from the parapets unless Sir Bors made love to them all."

    "So he did?"

    "He did not." Elvia gave her a wilting look. "Yes, the old tales can be rather bawdy. As it turns out, these were Sirens who lusted after Sir Bors, and when he failed to heed their song, they leapt from the parapets to take him by force. Naturally, Sir Bors slew them all."

    Gwen quickly banished the rancorous vision of Sir Golos and the harpy flock from her mind.

    "For ten years, Sir Bors served the cause of women on the Isle, be they human or Demi-human. He came to understand their pain, their suffering, their woes and their desires. Still, he could not answer the question the Lady told him to find the answer to¡ª then, his nephew''s scandal with the Queen split the Round Table."

    Gwen licked her lips. The story was more elaborate than she had imagined.

    "Bors confronted Guinevere and demanded of her why she, who had the world under Arthur, would choose dishonour with Lancelot. The Queen said that though the Pendragon had given her the world, there was something the King refused to give, one Lancelot delivered without her ever asking."

    "The female orgasm is no less a mystery today..."

    Elvia sighed deeply.

    "Sorry." Gwen fought back a chortle. At least the mood was warmer now.

    Her healer ignored her and continued. "For the answer, the Queen instructed Bors to visit her kinfolk in the Enclave of Tir-Mara. Bors obliged, though he became entangled within the Fairy Circles. After wandering the woods for days, he met an old crone, who told him thus¡ª"

    "''Ye wilt ken what women want, but first yee must yield thy stubborn pride. We shall wed in the Tower ''ere thou defiled the maiden of our Grot, and this withered form, so haggard and woe-begone, shall be thy just reward.''"

    "¡­ that''s fucked." Gwen tried to imagine the thirty-something Bors, a hero in the prime of his life, being made to bone a Troll hag.

    "Bors, fraught with guilt, obliged. He took the old lady, who smelled half like the grave, back to Avalon. The sight of the pair was so absurd that though his nephew Lancelot was at war with Arthur, the King bade his ex-Knight to pass. There, up in the Tower, the two disrobed¡­"

    "Erg¡­" Gwen was now sure Elvia was pulling her leg.

    "As Bor had anticipated. The woman''s visage was most foul; her skin was akin to scales, her breasts shrivelled and sapless. Bors grew so disgusted he could barely lay eyes on her¡ª but still, he upheld the promise. In exchange for that which Guinevere refused to tell; he would bed the crone."

    "Before the Knight could seal the deal, the woman halted Sir Bors. ''I will give thee a choice,'' she told him. ''I can be as thee see me now so that unlike Arthur, thou wilt never fear cuckoldry. OR, thou may bed me as the woman of thine dreams, and like yer Queen, be unreined to relish the general camp as I please. What art thy choice, Sir Bors?''"

    That last question was directed at her.

    FUCK. Gwen gulped. She was sure there was a similar parable in her world, but she couldn''t for the life of her recall the plot-twist ending. From the way the story had been contextualised though, Gwen was certain Evee was running one of her bible-psalm analogies. In this case, was Evee saying that she had to love her unconditionally? Even if Evee was an undead hag? Even if she had a fucking Yinglong nestled in her gut? And if she said yes, would Elvia swear allegiance to her alone? But what of the alternative? Was Evee declaring that, if Almudj purged the Yinglong from her by force, she would leave forever? That even if she swung Evee with her new-found limberness, the Cleric would cuckold her?

    "Er¡­ the ugly¡­ one?" Gwen chose, she supposed, the mature choice.

    Elvia shook her head sadly.

    "Well, I am sorry I can''t read your mind." Gwen exhaled, suddenly disquiet. When she spoke again, her tone grew weighted with burgeoning emotions. "Fine, lets cut to the chase¡ª what do you want? Elvia?"

    Elvia appeared neither upset nor disturbed by the sudden shift in her timbre.

    "Sir Bors..." Her healer returned to the tale. "Sir Bors did not respond. He had spoken to so many women, listened to such suffering that the answer came to him in a flash. Bors did not choose; instead, the Knight said nothing. When the crone asked why he remained silent, Bors said that it is she who should choose. The choice was never his, and he would be a fool to think so. ''Aye'', the crone toothlessly grinned back at Bors. ''Ye finally ken. What women want more than anything is that which menfolk took for granted: that which costs nought, and yet weighs more than then Avalon itself¡ª sovereignty.''"

    The sudden punchline of Elvia''s parable struck Gwen like a bolt from the blue. The resentment and frustration of her heart instantly quieted, as did her rioting upset. She turned to face her friend, and Elvia''s eyes, the cool blue of her friend''s irises, were so tranquil and without defect that they washed over her like an icy current.

    She understood. How could she not when she had excelled so readily in the Humanities across two lifetimes? Her mouth opened and closed, but her Evee had snatched her tongue and skipped down the street. Deeply, her brain dug for an excuse, something to stopper the welling of remorse driving the air from her lungs. Her quest proved futile¡ª for her dear little Evee had perforated Gwen''s pride with nothing but a simpering fable for little girls.

    Sovereignty.

    How could she deny her Evee that? What kind of monstrous, tyrannical, selfish, ego-centric maniac would deny a person they love the very agency of human experience itself? Unbidden, an image of Helena floated to the fore of her mind, and Gwen suddenly felt such self-loathing that she was sick to her core.

    "Shaa! Shaa!"

    "EE! EE!"

    "Kiki?"

    Their familiars rushed back to see what had happened to their masters to cause such a disturbance, rubbing up again the girls'' legs to make things right again.

    "Gwen, are you alright?"

    "Kiki?" Elvia''s Sprite appeared concerned as well.

    "I am fine¡­" Gwen gulped air as hungrily as a newborn fawn. "Maybe you are suited to the seminary."

    "¡­ the crone," Elvia continued in a quiet voice. "Then transformed back into her original form. It was the female elf, now maiden no more, who Bors had violated almost a decade ago. Like a babe, Bors wept in her arms, and while she cradled his head, she forgave him. Their vows would hold, she told him, and she would bear him a child so that even if he should perish in the pursuit of the Grail, his bloodline will not fade."

    "I know, I know¡ª I get it." Gwen inhaled, then exhaled. To her surprise, she felt free. "Jesus Christ¡­ I am so sorry, Evee. I truly am."

    "I know." Now facing her, the healer''s hands reached up to cradle Gwen''s cheeks.

    Gwen allowed it to happen.

    From Elvia''s delicate fingertips, she felt her healer''s infused mana knead her skin.

    "Your mother''s a wise and kind woman." Gwen found something to say. "My mother..."

    "Gwen," Elvia spoke softly. "I''ll be going away for a while."

    "We''ve only hung out for two weeks," she moped. "God, I am such an idiot. Where are you going?"

    "To Battle Abbey, near Hastings," Elvia said. "It''s the home of the Order of the Bath."

    "¡­ I see, are you going away because of me? Because¡ª wait, wait, wait. The hell am I even on about¡ª Hastings?"

    "Yes."

    "I can fly there in an hour¡­"

    "I''ll be in intermittent reclusion," Elvia explained, biting back a laugh. "Maybe a month at a time, maybe longer, it''s determined by how I take to Faith Magic¡ª and if the Yinglong''s blessings interfere with Anglican Relics. There''ll be outings as well, missions of mercy elsewhere in the Commonwealth where my skills will be put to good use. Compassion is the Ordo''s manifesto, after all. There''s so much to do."

    "Oh¡­ so now the Yinglong gets to plague a Knight''s Order. Great."

    "The probation period is about a year, and the essential training at least another," Elvia said. "By then, maybe you''ve finished your studies at Cambridge?"

    "I sure as hell hope so." Gwen inhaled in the sweet scent of her soon to be gone Elvia. "I do expect to be in England for a while, though. The Isle is a five-year project; the Newspaper''s a longitudinal investment as well. I also don''t know how this Magister or Tower business is going to work out in London. I guess if I can make enough Crystals; I could just refurbish one when I eventually head to the States. Over there, Crystals talk a lot louder."

    "You always did look far into the future, Gwennie." Elvia''s breath was sweet on her face. "I wish I could have that foresight and confidence."

    Elvia let her hands fall.

    Gwen felt her face flush.

    "Evee¡­"

    "Yeah?"

    "Just to clarify." Her voice trembled. "Are we¡­ calling it off?"

    "Did we even begin?"

    "I don''t know," Gwen confessed despondently. "I told you before¡ª I am not good at this. And I wanted to wait till you got older, more experienced."

    "How about we keep being besties then?" Elvia suggested.

    "Yeah, I like that." Gwen could feel the negative emotions drain from her body in the same manner as Void Mana directed into a Conjure Elemental Swarm. "Holy shit, Evee. I would love that."

    "You won''t be able to kiss me anymore," Elvia teased her. "Would hand-holding suffice?"

    "I can''t..." Gwen wanted Evee to clarify whether cheeks counted, but then she would be kidding herself. "Sure, I''ll take that. There are no limits on cuddles, right? I''ll come visit every so often."

    "In private. It would be best to refrain in front of the Rectrix."

    "The what?"

    "The leader of the Order of the Bath," Elvia clarified for her. "Is Rectrix Theodora St. Claire, the former Duchess of Beaufort and Somerset."

    "¡­ That title sounds very familiar. Isn''t that where Mathias is from?"

    "Yeah, she''s a Rothwell. Emily and Mattie''s aunt." Elvia sniggered. "Britain is a small world."

    "A little too small." Gwen moped. "And claustrophobic."

    Unsure of what else to say, Gwen sat holding her healer''s hands for a while longer, basking in the cathartic silence. Could the Order of the Bath straighten out the Yinglong? She couldn''t help but wonder. The Order of St George was, after all, a brethren order of Dragon-killers.

    "Gwennie." Elvia''s hand found hers once more. "The story I told you¡ª I am serious."

    "I know, I know¡­"

    "If one day in the future, I chose to do something and you despise my choices... Promise me that you won''t dismiss me out of hand and treat me like a dolly. You have to open your eyes and see. You have to listen."

    "Yeah. I get it."

    "I don''t think you do."

    "I do. I promise to respect your sovereignty."

    "You must swear."

    "Okay." Gwen arched both brows. Her Evee could be difficult and stubborn, so it seemed. "If you''re taking this THAT seriously. I swear on my Astral Soul that I will carefully consider your choices and not get mad at you for no reason. I promise to listen before I make a decision."

    "Thank you." Elvia''s voice grew low; her eyes grew moist.

    "Whoa, whoa." Gwen held Elvia''s shoulders. "Chill, Evee. Why are you crying of all things?"

    Her Elvia was in tears. It wasn''t the first time she had seen Elvia sob, but it was undoubtedly the strangest. "I''ll respect and love you, as a friend, alright? The best of friends. Did I not swear? Jesus¡ª you''ve infected me, now I am choking up. Are you going to take responsibility, pay with a cuddle?"

    "Ee... Eeee..." Ariel nuzzled the Cleric.

    "Shaa!" Caliban sang a little song while coiled against Gwen''s ankles.

    "Kiki!" the Alarune cooed.

    Pushing her away, the Cleric wiped away her shame. "Gwennie. I am hungry."

    Gwen checked her Message device. "¡­ holy cows, we''ve been at this for two hours!"

    "I want..." Elvia blew her nose. "I want to eat curry. Spicy curry. Hot enough to make me hurt."

    "Okay, curry it is." Gwen patted Elvia''s head. "My shout. Did you know Petra''s here? In London? I''ll get her and Richard as well, though I do feel sorry for Pats."

    "Why?" Elvia looked up, and her newly freshened face was enough to fill Gwen''s chest with profound happiness.

    "Well." Gwen stroked her washboard abdomen. "Petra''s a bit sensitive to curry¡­ it gives her the er¡ª whimpers. But that''s fine. What doesn''t kill you, makes you stronger, right?"

 Chapter 363 - The Coven Gathers

    Over curry, Gwen explained to a distrustful Petra that she and Elvia had sorted things out for now.

    Unconvinced, her cousin crossed her legs and scrutinised the Cleric from her flaxen head to her calf-skin booties, sizing the healer up like an exotic creature. "You''ve caused some grief, Miss Lindholm. What I wouldn''t give to pick your brain..."

    "Be nice¡­" Gwen raised a piece of cheesy nan to diffuse the tension. "We''re cool now, Pats."

    Across from the bickering cousins, the demure healer focused on hammering home the lava-vindaloo, her cheeks rosy and her eyes brimming with moisture. The girl was suffering, Gwen could see, but Evee was determined to fulfil her earlier prophecy.

    "Don''t force yourself," Gwen cautioned. She wondered why her Evee was taking enough spice to keep Petra confined to the throne¡ª mayhap the Cleric was stress eating? Just the smell of the spice was making her lips heat up.

    With Petra gawking like a Big Bird, Evee dared not speak, and for the duration of the curry, the sound of spoons scraping plates passed for conversation.

    "So, I''ll be keeping your Foundation running while you''re away," Gwen said at last. "It''ll do you good, I imagine. The Ordo has relics that collect Faith, right?"

    "You don''t have to." Elvia replaced her spoon. "I''ll find the time to¡ª"

    "Nonsense, you don''t have the skills or the manpower, at least not yet." Gwen cut in. "Besides, I am keeping it running for my people on the Isle. They''re used to your face by now. No point changing it."

    "But maybe one day you could use Faith Magic as well," Elvia said. "After all, with Caliban, anything''s possible."

    "You''re not suggesting Cali should Consume a Knight or an Ordained Priest?" Gwen laughed. "Besides, I am not even religious. Faith Magic? The Anglicans would tie me to a cross and call me a witch. Say, is that all you''re eating?"

    Petra watched with fascination as Gwen wolfed the rest of their food, after which her abdomen showed nary a bump.

    "I''ll be going back to the dorm¡­" Elvia explained when Gwen asked for her immediate plans. "I still haven''t told Sylvie and the others about what happened. They''re probably wondering if I''ve been exiled to the Isle of Man."

    "When are you expecting to be stationed at Hastings?" Gwen asked as they proceeded down London''s infamously narrow streets, flanked by cars and lorries, driving a little too close for comfort.

    "As soon as possible, I imagine, once I inform the Seneschal." Elvia edged against the sandstone wall as she was the slimmest. "I guess I''ll see you later?"

    The casual goodbye was enough to make Gwen stop in the middle of the footpath, attracting more than a few grumbles from the passersby who had to step out onto the asphalt.

    "Yeah." Betraying her words, she hugged her dearest friend to her chest, enveloping Evee''s body with both arms. Even after huffing the Cleric''s hair and making Petra''s blood pressure rise, she held on. "Oh, Evee. I am going to miss this."

    "You said it yourself¡ª I am only an hour away. And I will be in London now and then." Elvia hugged her back, albeit with far less force. "I''ll miss you, Gwennie."

    "Me too, stay away from any skirt chasers," Gwen warned her. "I know those white knightly types. Give them an inch, and they''ll be in your panties next."

    "Mathias will be with me, remember? He''s sworn." Elvia giggled.

    "If its Mattie, then that''s fine. Just tell him there''s a face-to-face with Gunther in it for him if he keeps you safe. He''ll get it."

    "¡­ sure." Elvia pushed her away when Petra grunted beside them. "Gwennie, are you sure about the er..."

    Elvia touched her ring finger.

    "Of course, they''re yours." Gwen hand-waved the gifts. "I got my IIUC replacement, and mine''s a bigger Storage Ring. I''ll be getting some cool stuff from our Dwarven friends as well. You make good use of those."

    "Okay." Elvia touched Gwen''s arm. "I''ll be going now."

    The two young women watched the Cleric saunter away toward Nightingale College.

    "Good riddance¡ª"Petra made the universal gesture for sweeping out vermin.

    "Bloody oath, Pats..." Gwen warned her cousin.

    Petra shrugged.

    After twenty-odd metres into the crowd, Evee disappeared. Gwen watched her Cleric turn the corner, feeling a little lost, wondering whether she did the right thing.

    "Are you sure it''s wise to let the little minx go?" Petra reached her side. "She''s a Vessel of our foe, right? She knows too much."

    "Her patron is the Order''s problem now." Gwen patted Petra on the shoulders. "And in a way, Evee''s right. I can''t honestly say the Yinglong''s done anything unforgivable other than giving Evee a dodgy dose of sovereignty. That and I still need Golos until my abilities catch up. Speaking of which, how was your lesson with the Runesmiths?"

    "Very instructive." Petra''s mood lightened. "I never knew how intricate contemporary Dwarven magic could be! Did you know that Chadwick''s Constant could be paired with Giem''s Equilibrium through parallel conduits?"

    "I understood some of that." Gwen grinned broadly. "I''ll have you know; your cousin knows more than just Shield now. I also know Alarm, and I am working on Resist and a Cambridge Edition of Mage Armour."

    "Impressive." Petra bit back a smile. "How''s your Enchantment?"

    "Not sure, actually¡ª I should be on the second tier of efficacy. Major Knott has been sweating me with inscriptions." Gwen stretched her neck. "What are your plans for the rest of the week?"

    "Seeing as I''ll be missing the Lent Term regardless, would you mind if I stayed in London to accompany the Masters?"

    "Sure, it''s no skin off my nose," Gwen said as they made their way through East End. "Magister Wen isn''t going to mind?"

    "My learning contract with her has been absolved," Petra said.

    "What, just like that? You''re not sentimental at all?" Gwen felt surprised by Petra''s candidness. "She did look after you for three, four years?"

    "Babulya looked after me," Petra corrected her. "Which reminds me, you''ve been neglecting a lot of folks back home. They''ve been asking for you."

    Gwen slapped her forehead. "You''re right! Tonight! Wait, tomorrow! I''ll call home first thing in the morning!"

    To Gwen''s wonderment, a fortnight and then some elapsed without incident, vanishing the linen snow, replacing the sleet with warmer and wetter weather.

    The Dwarves'' construction projects continued full-steam, kindling her stock of HDMs as newly erected scaffolds transformed into warehouse buildings, brutalist offices and streamlined printing towers.

    Lorenzo returned after a week''s absence, bringing a list of names, mostly NoMs, who were willing to jump ship from the Herald Sun and the Telegraph. A few of the spook''s old mates at the Guardian were keen as well, and after signing off their CVs, Gwen interviewed her future staff in person.

    Petra finally enrolled, ultimately choosing Queens College. Gwen commissioned Ollie to find her cousin a rented house not too far from Peterhouse as Petra was a post-graduate student and therefore had the option of external accommodation. Once the orientation completed, the Mind Mage elected to spend most of her time on the Isle of Dogs, observing the Dwarves, bringing their daily skinship to an end.

    Gwen met with Elvia once more before she left for the Order of the Bath, taking the girls shopping at The Strand and filling their rings with clothes, shoes, makeup, snacks and assorted bric-a-brac. Hastings was a sizable township¡ª but its commercial offering was incomparable to the capital.

    Before her pilgrimage, Elvia informed Gwen that she had asked Sylvie Stratford, her colleague at Nightingale, to stand in at her Clinic to work under Walken. Gwen recalled that the pink-haired girl had looked after her friend, and so and told Elvia that Sylvie would receive her guidance.

    Concurrently, Gwen''s lessons under her tutors persisted: art, music and Illusion with Le Guevel, abjuring Mandalas under Kott, frustrations under Patel, tea with Lady Grey, and outings with Dede with Maxwell Brown.

    Then, one tranquil afternoon, while breaking bread with her duck, she was accosted by her tutor.

    "What''s wrong?" Gwen noted Brown''s haunted expression. The man wanted something from her but was hesitant to initiate.

    Finally, after some duck banter, the Magister cleared his voice and delivered the bad news.

    The first instalment of Gwen''s repayment had arrived. The college now desired her active participation in researching Void Magic.

    "Gwen, I''ve come to speak to you as a friend, your teacher, and the researcher trusted by the Academic Council to plumb the depth of arcanistry pertaining to your Element."

    "Really?" Gwen lifted her face from Dede''s rainbow feathers. "You need my permission?"

    "Of course dear, we''re not the CCP." Brown gave her a sideways glance. "We always ask for permission, so long as you don''t upset the powers-that-be by refusing."

    Gwen laughed at the mirthful Catch-22.

    "Why are you laughing? This is your life," Brown replied seriously.

    "Oh¡­" Gwen''s grin grew rigid.

    "The necessity of quantifying Void as an Element, which will lead to new Spellcraft advancements and countermeasures against Elizabeth Sobel, is no laughing matter." The Magister''s eyes were unmoved by her upset. "Of course, this is not just for yourself but other Void Mages as well. To pool together our knowledge, you''ll be joined by your contemporaries."

    "Other Void Mages? Who else is there aside from me?" Gwen was genuinely astonished.

    The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    "From London Imperial, there''s Meister Bekker''s boy, who recently returned from Pretoria. I believe you''re acquainted?"

    "Jean-Paul?"

    "The very same. And you''ll also be meeting Gracie Hillbrook."

    "And who would that be?"

    "A predecessor."

    "A Void Mage? Like Jean-Paul and me." Gwen''s mouth half fell open. "Why haven''t I heard of her?"

    "We''ve been keeping her safe."

    "Quack!" Dede struck out a wing in warning when Gwen''s fingers dug a little too deep into its feathers.

    "Come again?" Gwen placated the duck. "Cambridge has ''kept'' this girl on campus?"

    "She''s not the most stable sorceress." Brown cocked his chin. "A good study of Sobel''s deterioration over time, actually¡ª besides, if the college didn''t step in, she would have wasted away."

    "Kept her like¡­" Gwen looked to Dede then to Brown. "¡­ like a duck in a pond? How old is Gracie?"

    "Twenty-one," Brown recollected. "Her birthday was last November. She''s been with us for six years."

    "And you want us Void Mages to meet and greet, show and tell?"

    "An encounter that is in itself an experiment," Brown confessed. "We''re still negotiating with the central continent''s institutions for their candidates. Understandably, they''re wary of you. Don''t you think it''s interesting? Did you have nothing to gain from Adventuring with Jean-Paul?"

    "I suppose we had a good time." Gwen considered their experience with the Undead. Jean-Paul had indeed demonstrated a whole new tier of Void-based arcanistry.

    "We think Gracie could use a dose of your optimism. She''s recently become more unstable and erratic." Brown cautioned her. "Understandable. Nobody wants to die, of course, especially from Void consumption."

    "That''s¡­ sad." Gwen felt a surge of sympathy.

    "You''re sweeter than you look, Gwen." Brown struck out his hand and patted Dede. "Dede''s an excellent judge of character. Can I ask your permission to go ahead with the meeting of the Void Mages?"

    "I am glad you asked, but why would I say no?"

    "I am afraid you might feel compelled to save Gracie."

    "What?" Gwen cocked her head. "Are you saying I should let a fellow Void sorceress die when I can empathise with the hunger, the terror, and the needless suffering?"

    Brown''s lips formed a bitter smile.

    "Thanks to Wen, we now know your physiology is unique¡ª and that your Druidic Essence is a transferrable medium." He stroked Dede''s head. "I performed some tests on Dede, just to be on the safe side. Yours is a raw and primordial form of Essence. We don''t know what Caliban ate to give it to you, or if the vitality is a unique part of your Astro-morphic frame¡ª but it can benefit others."

    "It only works on Magical Creatures," Gwen pointed out.

    "Hardly. Have you tried giving it to humans?"

    "Of course not."

    "But you have," Brown reminded her. "That Chinese wine you dispensed so freely¡­"

    Gwen raised both brows. "That was Sen-sen."

    "A mere medium. Nothing we can''t solve, or we can have Miss Lindholm provide the leaves on commission. We can even have Gracie train in Conjuration and whip-up a Familiar. I hope you understand the implications. The burden of life is something no one wants to bear. That''s why I am warning you."

    Gwen spent a moment digesting Brown''s truism, gradually coming to terms with the entanglements Brown inferred. If indeed she could single-handedly prevent future Void Mages from dying with Almudj''s Essence, utilise mediums of Wildland origins to infuse consumables with vitality¡ª wouldn''t the onus of her kind''s livelihood be held in her dainty white fingers? As someone shouldering that obligation¡ª the potential dilemmas and moral baggage were unfathomable. Even altruistically, the idea of Void Mages whose lives relied on her goodwill made her skin crawl.

    "Please don''t look like that. It''s best to think of yourself as a medical specialist," Brown re-framed her growing unease. "You can save as many as you''re willing¡ª but no Cleric is morally obligated to operate on every patient."

    "Yeah, that''s a fucked up proposal if I ever heard one."

    "Quack!" Dede agreed, dabbing her cheek with its bill.

    "Please mull the matter over. You don''t have to decide right away. Also, that was the lesser of our two problems." Brown smiled. "I was, alas, buttering you up for the bigger predicament."

    "My womb is off-limits."

    "... Your mind amazes me sometimes." Brown choked on his spit. "No, no¡ª word has arrived from up-on-high to quantify the risk-tier of your Planar Ally. Factional interests wish to observe, document, then eradicate this creature you have dubbed the Shoggoth. I say this is a bigger problem because it isn''t so much a quest but an obligation¡ª one that pertains to your freedom anywhere in the developed world."

    Gwen pursed her lips.

    "Before you go and tattle¡­ Lady Grey is in favour," Brown explained. "I don''t think there''s a living soul who would suggest that we should allow the contractor of a creature as inexhaustive as the Shoggoth, to exist unchecked and unexplained. For your knowledge, the Militants have been banging on the gates very loudly since your arrival."

    "And NOW they tell me this? After how many weeks?" Gwen narrowed her eyes. "This would have been more palatable if it was a condition of coming to London."

    "Then blame the Isle of Man for bringing the time table forward. We wanted more time for you to settle in as well. The more invested you are in us, the more we can invest in you. It''s a two-way avenue." Brown returned her antagonism with calm logic. "If anything, blame that Cleric of yours who used your IIUC vid-cast for inciting the Militants. The Shoggoth can''t be used as a deterrent if we have no idea what it''s capable of deterring, or if it is quashable¡ª a crucial distinction."

    "They''re going to blow up my Shoggy? What if they piss it off?"

    Brown raised a critical brow. "In your report¡ª you said that the Shoggoth is a mindless mass of mouths and that it does not possess intelligence. In the haste to get you inducted, the college assured the Tower that this was the case..."

    Cold sweat instantly drenched the delicate fabric on Gwen''s back.

    "Right," she replied with the only acceptable answer.

    "Then, we will proceed." Brown hovered a hand over her shoulder, hesitated, then moved onto Dede. "Gwen, are you certain the Shoggoth is a Planar Manifestation without an Ego?"

    "Quack?" Dede gazed at her with its unsullied eyes of beady black, demanding the answer. "Quack-Quack?"

    Gwen knew she had only moments to speak.

    Was the Shoggoth capable of feelings or emotions?

    Did it understand logos as humans did?

    Was it a product of those stories she loved, or did the Shoggoth communicate the will of something swimming five fathoms down, deep in the depthless Void?

    In all honesty¡ª she desired a definite answer as well.

    "Yes." Gwen crossed both fingers under Dede''s feathers. "To my knowledge, I can say with confidence that Shoggy is an amoeba of hunger."

    "Enlarge. Seeking." Patel commanded from behind the Wall of Force.

    "Void Missile!" Gwen ramrodded the spell through her conduits, her lips muttering invocations while her fingers somatically assisted the mental incantation.

    Soundlessly, three amorphous globs, each resembling a dark ball of tenebrous ink, whipped through the air to strike the bird-Golem used for target practice. As her spell struck true, a sound of springs released from ratcheted tension accompanied the sight of the bird careening into the firing range.

    "Next. Extend Range. Delay. Simulcast."

    Another bird fluttered into the range, this time slow and ponderous to lower the difficulty of her targeting.

    "V-Void Missile!" Gwen fumbled but quickly recovered by repeating the latter portion of the spell. With her VMI and Almudj''s Essence, the exercise of low-tier Void-craft proved little inconvenience unless the elevated invocations suffered from catastrophic failure.

    As per her designation, the first set of missiles did not manifest.

    "Void Missile!" She finished her second spell just as the first materialised. Together, twin globs of Void matter shot forward as though propelled by a catapult. The second struck true, taking the Golem by the wing. The first missed by inches, sizzling against the Wall of Force before dissipating.

    Gwen growled.

    "Enlarge, Explosive." the command came from Patel.

    "Void Missile!" Fighting the spell-strain, Gwen just managed to complete the third spell. "Enlarge" required two additional Minor and one Major invocation. "Explosive" was trickier, adding seven Major invocations that required another twenty-two Minor ones so that the spell exploded on command and not the moment it left the gate.

    This time, her missile sailed just overhead of the fallen target. At her behest, it erupted in a jet-black burst of Void, showering the surrounding area with droplets of corrosive, all-consuming ink.

    "How''s that?" Gwen smugly turned to her instructor. "I did it."

    "You fumbled, and then you missed against a slow-moving target." Kareena golf-clapped. "Yes, congratulations, Magus Song, you did it."

    Just as she was about to offer a witty riposte, her tutor redirected her attention. "Before you embarrass yourself further. Your audience is growing impatient."

    Gwen spun on her heels.

    On the bleachers behind them, shielded by yet another Wall of Force, was a group of Mages. Two, she recognised instantly. One was Magister Brown in his demure jacket and dusky vest; the other had an unforgettable face; the last, a young woman, was new.

    Gwen quickly bowed toward her Transmutation-spellshaping tutor, then made for her observers.

    "JP!" Gwen dismissed the barrier, her voice bouncing across the high ceiling. In the next moment, she embraced the young man, who was shorter than herself, then gave him two unreciprocated air-kisses on either side of his face. "It''s good to see ya, buddy."

    In response to her friendly overture, the pale young man with a face that only a Meister could love polymorphed into an overlarge beetroot.

    Suddenly self-conscious, Gwen glanced down to see if she had unexpectedly shamed herself with a daring attire. These days, her attention often waned thanks to her mental toils. Some mornings, whatever she could unlock within the first ten minutes had to suffice. Presently, she wore conforming jeans joined by a zip-up sports top, hardly the sort of thing that could start a scandal.

    More than likely, JP had not anticipated so warm a welcome¡ª which, combined with his introverted tendencies, had made him flustered.

    "¡­ Hello." Jean-Paul unglued himself, extending each finger as though unfurling a row of sticky tendrils. "You look well."

    Gwen laughed. For some reason, she liked JP''s awkwardness. There was a genuineness to it that the smooth-talking folk at Cambridge with their titles and their upbringing could not affect even if they tried.

    "Emm¡­" Jean-Paul glanced at the young woman beside him, bracing himself with an expression of a boy waiting for the whip to land.

    Brown coughed. "Gwen, this is the sorceress we discussed, Gracie Hillbrook."

    With one hand still hanging on Jean-Paul''s shoulder, Gwen looked to her right.

    Gracie Hillbrook stood five-foot-six with a luxurious head of hair that fell over both shoulders down to her chest. She had an angular face atypical of the English, with freckles bespotting her pale skin from ear to ear. From sunken sockets, dark eye bags that rivalled Jean-Paul''s made her forest-green irises especially intense. If the girl could be healthier, Gwen would remark that the sorceress was pretty¡ª though now the girl simply appeared perpetually tired. On her bony shoulders, Gracie donned a tunic that was one-size too large, beneath of which a drab skirt covered her to the ankles. The overall effect, Gwen felt, was a frailness that cried out for a pair of strong arms to hold her tight.

    Their eyes met, the girl looked downward, not daring to meet her gaze.

    "Hello." Gwen extended a greeting. "I am Gwen Song."

    "Gracie¡­" the Void Sorceress swallowed the air before producing a skeletal hand. "Hillbrook."

    "Nice to meet you." Gwen took the woman''s enfeebled extremities. From the trembling in her digits, Gwen could sense the young woman was undergoing a whole range of complicated emotions. "You alright, Gracie?"

    The sorceress withdrew her hand. "Magus Song, are you well-acquainted with Jean-Paul?"

    The timbre in the woman''s voice was enough to catch Gwen off guard. With a bemused expression, she looked from sorcerer to sorceress, trying to discern the source of Gracie''s antagonism.

    "Of course, JP and me, we go way back." She patted Jean-Paul''s curved back. "He and I, we survived the Front together, demolished Dungeon-fulls of Undead in Shenyang! How about you, Gracie? When did you get to know Jean-Paul?"

    "Only a few days." Gracie''s expression remained irksome. To Gwen''s dismay, the young woman turned to Magister Brown accusingly. "Sir, what is the meaning of this?"

    Very carefully, Jean-Paul slipped from under Gwen''s arm to stand to one side.

    "Gwen." Brown''s expression was cringeworthy. "Though it is not my place to say so, I should inform you that Miss Hillbrook is well on her way to becoming Mrs Bekker..."

    "... What?" Gwen''s immediate response was to snort. A second later, she caught herself. "WHAT?"

    "Per our prior conversation," Magister Brown spoke slowly and meticulously. "Miss Hillbrook has decided to put her future in the hands of London Imperial''s Meister Bekker."

    Gwen''s mind performed a mental pirouette before landing back in reality. A week ago, post Brown''s petition, she had advised her tutor that she would not be providing for the Mageocracy''s future Void Mages. Brown had concurred, stating that the Tower''s wish was to respect whatever outcome she chose.

    Now she was being told that Gracie Hillbrook and Jean-Paul Bekker were en-route on becoming Mister and Missus Bekker. If Jean-Paul had said that he had known Gracie since childhood, Gwen would have bitten off the matter with a smile¡ª but Hillbrook had just admitted that she knew the guy for a few days.

    The fuck did that portend? Her fingers grew numb¡ª an arranged marriage? No, worse than that. Meister Bekker had a way to keep Void Mages alive¡ª as evidenced by Jean-Paul, and Brown had said that Gracie wasn''t going to last much longer. If so, was this young woman choosing to offer her body to Umzokwe''s Master to stay alive?

    A grotesque wave of repression suffused her abdomen, making her breathless. Gwen rarely felt such upset for someone she had never met. Gracie, poor fucking Gracie. As a fellow Void Sorceress, she completely understood the horror of extinction from self-consumption. She also empathised why Gracie would choose to risk-bearing a child over wasting away.

    BUT¡ª

    Did JP and Gracie know how fucked up it is to bear a Void baby?

    Did anyone even know that Faceless was Sobel''s kid? Or that Sobel went batshit insane on a Consume-spree because she was eating for two?

    She should tell them¡ª but was her Master''s shame her secret to give?

    As for Jean-Paul, the cocky prick¡ª

    "Oi, Bekker" Gwen heard her voice ring out, her tone as hollow as the Void. She glared at Jean-Paul, who she had thought was a nice enough chap, despite literally everything else. The very thought of Jean-Paul''s frog-like figure sprawled out over Gracie''s milk-white body made her want to punch his teeth inwards.

    "Y-yes, Gwen?" the Void Mage intensely studied the floor.

    "Are you for reals, JP?" A wave of expanding vertigo filled the space between them. Beside her, Gracie Hillbrook took a step back, her irises suddenly contracting as the Void mana still churning in Gwen''s conduits tuned the air solid with pressure. "Mate, you ever heard of the story of Sir Bors of Avalon?"

 Chapter 364 - Knowledge and the Power

    "Gwen! Stop that!" Magister Brown erected a Shield so that the barrier enveloped both himself and Gracie. "She can''t defend herself!"

    "Surely not." Gwen retracted her soul-constraining aura. "Look at JP¡ª he''s not even flinching."

    "Gwen¡­" Brown raised his voice several decibels. "With your history, you should know better."

    Gwen looked to Gracie, whose face was beading with sweat. The young woman looked as though she would faint at any moment. Still, Gwen felt the need to leave a stern impression. If Gracie couldn''t even take a harsh stare from a Void Sorceress on the fifth tier of Affinity, how could she stomach having a life-sucking parasite siphoning on her already disasterous constitution?

    "Sorry Gracie." Gwen raised both hands. "Jean-Paul, explain yourself."

    "Me? I-I¡ª er¡ª"

    "Perhaps you should converse with Gracie before you blame Jean-Paul." Brown set the trembling Gracie down on a cushioned seat before returning to Gwen. "Your friend is the ward of the Mevrou, and Gracie is ours. Please don''t presume you can compel either of them."

    The young woman took another minute to fully recover, allowing Gwen more time to study the kept Void Sorceress. Though her frumpy dress hid her figure, she could see from her collarbones that beneath the fabric was a vitality-famished body in the process of consuming itself. It wasn''t a matter of fat and sinew, as with cases of anorexia, but a deeper, more metaphysical malaise. Everything about Gracie was weightless and frail, so much that Gwen wondered if she could lift her with one hand¡ª or if such an act would break an arm or dislocate a shoulder. She felt sorry for the girl, and also upset and angry and resentful all at once.

    "Magus Song." Gracie''s voice sounded like a ghost''s. "I would not want to be a bother to your busy self."

    "Bollocks," Gwen cut in. "We''re both in Cambridge, and we''re both Void Mages. If anything, now that we''re acquainted¡ª I would loath to leave you be."

    "¡­ Thank you." Gracie swallowed. "I think Magister Brown has told you that I am not well."

    Gwen nodded.

    Gracie touched a white hand to her hair. "I am an Illusionist by trade. I can''t exercise my spells every well, and I don''t have any means of replenishing my vitality. Nonetheless, I understand that as I grow older and the talent continues to mature, my body won''t be able to keep up."

    "We''ve been looking after Gracie both nutritionally and through Clerical means," Brown interjected. "It is possible to keep Gracie hale if we simply pile on the Wildland ingredients¡ª"

    "I could chip in," Gwen said immediately. "You know how much¡­"

    "¡ª I fear between diminishing returns and the exorbitant cost, there''s a limit."

    Oh yeah, Gwen recollected from her Fructum Vitae adventure. Most effects from the Wildland''s mystical ingredients lost their efficacy by half with repeated consumption.

    Gracie'' shoulders fell. "I''ve never been able to do anything myself. I am sick of it."

    A pang of guilt hammered home the shame Gwen had kept at arm''s length. She thought of Elvia, then she thought of Dede. Gracie had made a decision that should be respected, but why shouldn''t she broaden the girl''s options? Wasn''t that sisterly solidarity? "Is marrying Jean-Paul a part of that?"

    "The Mevrou has said that she has a way for me to keep hale," Gracie lowered her voice. "She said I could live a normal life, or even be useful as a Mage¡ª if I so desire."

    "And that''s what you wanted?"

    "I am sick of being kept." Gracie''s breathing grew strenuous.

    "I see. That''s understandable. I don''t fault you, Gracie." Gwen took a deep breath, then turned to her old party companion. "Jean-Paul, do you know why I am angry?"

    "I listened to Mevrou Bekker?" The Void mage continued to study the floor.

    "No." Gwen clicked her tongue. "I am upset because last time, we talked about all of this. We talked about respect and marriage and love. Do you remember that?"

    Jean-Paul nodded.

    "I said to you¡ª there needs to be more to making babies than getting told you should. If there''s no love, no affection, only desperate perpetuation or blind lust, then you''re just animals¡ª cows and bulls. Besides, we''re talking about a kid here. A living, breathing, mini Jean-Paul or Gracie! Both our childhoods were fucked up¡ª yours especially. Why would you think giving that to a kid is a good idea?"

    Magister Brown loudly coughed.

    "...Yes, Max, I know I sound like Elvia delivering a Sermon. I know I chose not to help Gracie, and that makes me a hypocrite and a Void-damned bitch. But this is about¡ª dignity, I suppose. Jean-Paul, you failed to see that Gracie isn''t just a womb you need to fill at the Mevrou''s request. And Gracie, girl¡ª you need to have more respect for yourself. You too, Jean-Paul, you''re not just an inseminator." Gwen blushed heavily even as she spoke.

    "The¡ª er¡ª Mevrou said ''love'' should come tomorrow because Gracie needs to live today." Jean-Paul''s nostrils flared. "She also says you''re welcome to keep Gracie, but then she won''t be responsible for Cambridge''s candidate."

    Gwen felt a massive migraine come on. Looking at the young couple squirm, she could see that some personal sacrifices needed to be made on her part to dissuade the pair. "Okay. I am going to tell you about some very unpleasant truths. Max, can we get some privacy? I need to inform these two why this baby business is not happening. You can listen in¡ª but no questions."

    "Is this classified information?" Brown wetted his lips.

    "It''s private and pertains to mine and Gunther''s Master."

    "Very well. To avoid Scry and Crows, may I suggest your Portable Habitat?" The scholar extended a hand. "You can set it up over there."

    "Alright." Gwen led the foursome to the empty range. "Caliban! Ariel!"

    "EE! EE!"

    "Shaa! Shaa!"

    Her Familiars materialised with a flourish.

    Gracie''s eyes grew wide. "Its¡­ the Death Worm and the Kirin!"

    "You two, keep guard." Gwen inserted the crystal, then laid down the pocket dimension. "Alright, you love birds, come inside. It''s time to learn about the life-eating bees and the soul-sucking birds."

    Peterhouse.

    The Deer Garden.

    Gwen held the inconsolable Gracie''s bony waist with one arm, rubbing her back with another. Caliban rubbed itself against Gracie''s leg, while Ariel lent itself as her support.

    The story that Gwen had framed for the trio was that, fearful of her flirtatiousness among Sydney Tower''s young men, Henry Kilroy had set her aside for a cautionary tale about a pregnant Void Sorceress.

    Within her story, her Master had the misfortune of studying the unfortunate sorceress. Throughout the gestation period, the Void-talented Transmuter had grown so erratic and insane that she began to drain anything she could get her hands on from plants to dogs to manservants. In the end, at six month, her own body half-consumed the child. When the miscarriage occurred, what emerged was a mangled mass of aberrant, pulsing flesh, driving the woman mad. The poor girl then Voided herself, much to Kilroy''s dismay, and that was the end of her unsung story.

    "For me, all hanky-panky was off-limits." Gwen painted Henry as a stern father warning a rebellious daughter with a preference for miniskirts and heels. "Trust me¡ª neither you nor your baby is going to survive. You can''t breed Void Mages. They have to Awaken naturally."

    Jean-Paul then tried to explain that Mevrou Bekker could circumvent this tragedy through workarounds¡ª but Gwen retorted that if "Deathless Henry", husband to the vilest and most successful Void Sorceress in all history, drunk on Sufina''s Golden Mead, could not protect this pregnant nobody¡ª then it was unlikely a Meister from South Africa half of Kilroy''s age could proceed with confidence. If Jean-Paul cared at all for Gracie, Gwen said, he should consider the risks. If he didn''t care, then she would spank his ass with Lightning until he did.

    There was silence. Then all three sighed long and hard.

    By the time they left the portal and returned to the wet and dreary space of the Deer Garden, Gwen had delivered the promise that she would keep Gracie hale for now with her "Druidic" Essence¡ª while Jean-Paul should renegotiate with his Mevrou.

    "My Master will return next week," Jean-Paul muttered under his breath. "Could you speak to her for me?"

    "Er¡­" Gwen felt her innards scrunch. Speak to the Mevrou? A Meister? Not one like Wen, but a ruthless elite who had figured out the quirks of Void Magic and could even make spells for her Apprentice? Someone who, according to Jean-Paul, probably presided over a state-wide eugenics program? Would she be debating with the devil herself? "Sure thing, JP. Just give me plenty of warning. Don''t you dare throw me to the wolves like you did with Gracie."

    Jean-Paul responded to her elder-sisterly authority in the only way he knew how.

    Gwen sighed. She looked at Gracie; then she looked at Jean-Paul.

    Void Mages.

    What a fucked up existence.

    "You two." She mulled over the matter in her mind, toying with a solution. "You guys ever heard of a Worker''s Union?"

    The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

    A day later, Gwen convened at Peterhouse with Lady Grey, Magister Brown, Ollie and a representative from the Tower at the Master''s building opposite the Old Court. In a room richly draped with crimson and furnished with rare wood, the imperialist coven plotted the demise of the Mageocracy''s enemies.

    "By the authority of London Tower, I now commence this formal meeting to discuss the deployment of the Shoggoth by Magus Song, Public Practice Licence No. 321530¡ª Class VI War Mage," Colonel Sam Greyson, Administrative Official and representative of the Shard, spoke toward an omnidirectional recorder device. "Present with me are Marchioness Maxine Loftus of Ely, Magister Maxwell Brown of Emmanuel College and Magus Gwen Song of Peterhouse. Scribe Ollie Edwards shall serve as our minder of the minutes."

    The speaker waited for his august company''s silent input, nodded, then continued.

    "I present to our members the developing situation in Northern Wales." Colonel Greyson punched a few Glyphs in the air visible only to himself. "Our allies in Snowdonia tasked London Tower with a Quest last June. The given objective was to exterminate an aberrant parasitic life form, the carnivorous extra-planar species known as Triffidus Celestus, an invasive Elemental flora plaguing the peninsula of Anglesey¡ª allow me to bring up an image."

    With a touch, the Colonel projected a lumen-cast illusion into the space between the observers.

    "That''s a Triffid?" Gwen asked with both brows raised. In her mind, Triffids looked like single-stem orchids and were kind of cute. "It''s disgusting¡­"

    In the image, a roughly phallic-shaped monstrosity writhed and turned. On one bulbous end, a massive head consisting of tiers of lilac, violet and sunburst petals tapered into a muscular shaft that propelled itself via malicious tentacles. From the barbed neck, its waist snaked downwards until it formed a mass of angry knots that serviced its locomotion.

    "There are now three variants in the Triffidus species." Greyson breathed out. "During the first extermination, we sent a Flight of Magus-tier Combat Mages into Anglesey. The purge took a week, and their Quest reported success. In hindsight, the Tower should have sent specialists, as untrained Combat Mages could not have known that the flora left spores. When the next outbreak occurred, the Triffids were far more durable and immeasurably hardier, some even evolved. In October, we sent two Flights of veteran Combat Mages, together with a Botanist, Magister Valarie Banks, up to the region for a second round. The Purge was a success. However, Magister Banks reported that the Triffids had fundamentally altered the physiology of the landscape and that extermination would involve a longitudinal operation."

    The image shifted to a map showing the spread of the Triffid contagion.

    "Her prediction came true in early November. Adventurers Purging the region of regrowth reported seeing not two, but three variants of Triffids."

    A second bestiary image came into view. This time, it showed a Triffid with no less than three heads, and its central torso was a mess of vines that entwined to form a reptilian body. As it slithered forward, the whole thing appeared both comical and terrifying.

    "This variant, the adventurers call Hydraffid," the Colonel explained. "The Triffidus Hydrus possesses extreme regeneration. Size-wise, its three times the length of the Mono-Triffid while possessing extreme agility. Thus far, the encounter-tier is set at six. Unlike the normal Triffids, they do not hunt in packs."

    Finally, a third image came into view.

    "This came from our December expedition to study the creatures. We call it Triffidus Primus. It is an intelligent creature capable of reproducing crude but powerful Druidic manifestations. It can also summon its kind, rapidly regenerate, and is intelligent enough to utilise tactics. It speaks rudimentary Elemental."

    The image depicted an enormous humanoid-plant hybrid half-buried in the mossy ground. Its face was a flower with a maw that resembled a carnivorous fly-trap. A massive mane of leaves surrounded its neckless head, and on both of its shoulders distended two Triffidus Celestus that served as limbs.

    "We have consulted Snowdonia on the matter, and they have raised the level of alarm near their Grove. Though the Elves are fully capable of eradicating this invasive species, the Mageocracy''s present treaties with the Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar dictate that regions outside of their Tr??lvor Warden''s control remain within our jurisdiction."

    "With resource comes responsibility," Lady Grey interpreted for Gwen. "In this regard, we''re farmers given land to till."

    The Colonel brought up another map. "Since January, the Triffidus contagion has taken no less than three dozen Adventurers¡ª including one Mage Flight from the local Garrison sent to suppress its expansion. Thanks to the Isle of Man''s ceasefire, we can now relocate Mechanised Golem units across the Menai Strait to Pili Palas. The operation was set to commence next week¡ª until we received news that Magus Song shall be gracing us with her presence."

    "How green is this region?" Gwen asked. "Colonel, have you been briefed about the Shoggoth''s propagation abilities?"

    "If need be, you may cleanse the peninsular entirely." Colonel Greyson indicted to the infestation map. "Only a bridge conjoins the landmasses. Our citizens who have not left the island have long become monster-fodder. On the other hand, the indigenous inhabitants on the isle are negligible. We tried to evacuate them, but they are either in hiding, have escaped, or are being used as food by the Triffids."

    "All those villages are empty?" Gwen pointed to the hundred or so dots lining the coast from the English mainland to the Irish Sea.

    "Some benign Merfolk and Avian colonies live near the coast," the Colonel explained. "Fear not, they can escape into the ocean."

    "Let''s say the Shoggoth grows too large." Gwen eyed the map. "Then what happens?"

    "In Shenyang, it reached no more than three kilometres at the apex," Brown noted helpfully. "Mind you, that was a city said to have several thousand still-living souls. I think we should be fine. The amount of energy required to manifest in the Prime Material is astounding. For a Shoggoth, its maximum allowance is limited by your Void Affinity and Conjuration tier as well. Once its dimensional anchor becomes disrupted, the cost to remain in our world will directly be burdened by its internal supply of mana¡ª and there is no way to resupply while on the Prime Material. Void as an Element simply does not ''exist'' per se."

    "Which is why before it disappears, the 5th Regiment Royal Gunners, joined by the 32nd Royal Artillery, will be conducting field exercises. Likewise, they''ll be joined by specialists from Oxbridge and London Imperial, in addition to invited observers from our allies."

    "Shock and awe?" Gwen raised both brows. "You''re using this example to flex some muscles?"

    "You could say that." Colonel Greyson nodded.

    "We''re assuring our allies, dear." Lady Grey''s eyes twinkled. "Considering Sobel, it''s best to keep you an open secret."

    "And once the Triffids are gone, the moorlands should return to shrubbery and granite within the month with the Druids'' help," Browned assured Gwen. "Worry not. We''ve checked with the Dwarves as well. They don''t have a settlement in the area. It''s a clean Purge."

    "One more question." Gwen raised her hand. "Are the Triffids sapient?"

    "In the same vein as most extra-planar lifeforms of a high-enough tier," Colonel Greyson affirmed. "Is that important, Miss Song."

    "I mean, we negotiate and work with Dryads and the Alraune, don''t we?"

    "Not exactly, dear," Lady Grey joined the conversation. "Both your Master''s Sufina and Miss Lindholm''s Familiars were companions from an early age. In the wilderness, a fully developed Alraune is an upper-tier menace capable of siphoning away entire settlements if allowed to ensnare even a single man. Likewise, Sufina''s kind can dominate entire regions if gone unchecked. They''re not openly malicious, though one should always be wary when one''s neighbours reproduce by predating on sons and husbands."

    "Besides, the Triffids should not exist on our plane." Colonel Greyson''s patience endured. "That and their evolution is too rapid to be left alone. I hate to imagine the diplomatic pitfall should they make it to Snowdonia. It would be Ysbyty Ifan all over again."

    "What''s Ysbyty Ifan?" Gwen regarded her betters. "It sounds Elven."

    "Druidic-Gaelic, actually," Lady Grey answered her ward. "Ysbyty Ifan was where the Militants decided to challenge the Snowdonian Enclaves over ownership of Afon Tryweryn, the Lake of Crystals."

    "A tragedy." Greyson made the sign of the cross. "Less so because of the lives lost, but more so because we asked a question and we didn''t like the answer."

    "That and none of us stopped the Militants from asking the said question." Gwen''s House Mistress rolled her eyes. "The Crown too had made a misstep."

    The rest of the room remained silent. Only a childhood friend of the Crown could offer such open criticism. For the rest, to speak too candidly was a danger in itself, and disingenuous as well, considering the power and prestige the jewel of Britannia had salvaged from the Beast Tide''s aftermath.

    "Elves kicked our asses?" Gwen noticed the change in atmosphere.

    "I, for one, believe the humiliation was necessary," Colonel Greyson spoke carefully. "I think our heads got rather large after we recovered Australia and South Africa and parts of South-East Asia. The incorporation of new arcanistry from our Demi-human allies, as well as the plethora of new methodologies presented by the Grey Faction, had opened up avenues that Humanity was not yet ready to explore."

    Brown and Loftus both raised their cups.

    "¡­ one more thing." Gwen looked around the room. "Am I one of those avenues?"

    "Not you personally," Brown quickly interjected. "Sobel, on the other hand..."

    "I see." Gwen made a mental note to petition Lady Grey in private, hoping her hostess was willing to dispense with the details. With everything happening at once, Gwen realised she had neglected to chase up her Master''s old mates for their stories. "Please continue. I apologise for interrupting."

    The tension in the room relaxed.

    "Our operation will consist of the following." The Colonel returned to the map. "If you will observe¡­"

    For Gwen, the Purge action was set to be in two stages. Stage one involved the capture and collection of Triffids to be kept in Stasis. The Royal Botanical Society requested a hundred specimens of the baseline variant, as well as up to twenty of the evolved species. Four Flights of Mages, together with Adventurer-volunteers, would be deployed across the strait at the forward operating base at Menai. During this stage, Gwen would assist the Purge and stock up on vitality for her Shoggoth, helping to ensure the safety of the academic staff.

    The Shoggoth event itself would take place on the moorland, now a carnivorous forest crawling across tablelands formally known as Anglesey. In the aftermath, guarded by the Tower''s Mage Flights, Gwen would deploy her Planar Ally, then retreat to the Forward Operating Base. As insurance, Dublin''s defence-focused Tower had been put on alert and would mobilise in anticipation of an extreme event.

    Observation of the Shoggoth would then take place, followed by suppression.

    "¡­ and this concludes the briefing." Greyson bowed. "Marchioness, Magisters and Maguses. Are we in agreement?"

    His audience returned nods, or stood and bowed as the officer retrieved the recording device, bowed in turn, then made his exit.

    "Ollie, Max, you may leave us." Lady Loftus permitted the men to leave.

    Ollie bowed, gave Gwen an amicable look of caution, then turned for the door. Gwen''s instructor performed likewise after a silent exchange with the Marchioness through pulsing Message spells.

    Once the two were alone, the two women drank tea and made small talk about the news. Lady Grey informed her that a full biometric evaluation would take place before the mission to ascertain the efficacy of Caliban''s Consume, not to mention the Shoggoth''s baseline arcane emanations.

    "Gwen," Lady Grey hailed the contemplative sorceress once the tiring details were exhausted. "After the Purge, would you like to take a break?"

    "A break?" Gwen''s eyes lit up. "I would love a break. This isn''t a trick question, is it?"

    "It''s a sincere enquiry, dear. You''ve been working very hard both for yourself and for the Isle of Dogs. The college will fund this expedition for you. Would you like to spend a spell in Snowdonia?"

    Gwen blinked. "We can visit Snowdonia now?"

    "Of course, if you have the connections and the HDMs." The lady smiled. "That said, you won''t be entering the Enclave unless personally invited. There''s a trading post¡ª Trawsfynydd, not far from the Grot where it''s possible to spy the grand trunk of the Elfhome at Tryfan. It''s a very popular destination for our well-to-do members. I suppose you can consider it a waiting room of sorts for those seeking an audience with the Masters inside the Grot. If you''re lucky, you may even spy a Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar Elementalist training the youth on the Llyn. Moreover, there''s someone there who we would like you to meet."

    "Who would that be?"

    "An ally of the Mageocracy, someone who has been helping us for a very long time."

    "An Elf?"

    "Not just any elf. A Highborn immortal."

    Gwen swallowed. She immediately thought of Galadriel. Would it be like meeting a goddess? What would Snowdonia''s Grot look like, she wondered. Hopefully, like Lothl¨®rien. "Any idea what she needs from me?"

    "It''s a ''he''," Lady Grey assuaged her fears. "And I think you meant what you might need from he who is a thousand or more years old, likely older. He knew Henry Kilroy longer than any of us and can answer all the questions we''re not at liberty to address¡ª and only he has the authority to teach you a unique form of sorcery."

    Suddenly, Gwen''s Divination Sigil tingled. Instantly, Gwen''s chest constricted, although with excitement or fear, she couldn''t tell. The feeling of premonition travelling up and down her spine was making taste buds hallucinate. For some strange reason, she could taste eucalyptus.

    "Druidic Magic?"

    "Nothing quite so rustic." Lady Grey''s gaze was full of benevolence. "And don''t count your cockatrices before they hatch. No one said the Master is willing to teach you¡ª that, my dear, is a test where you''re truly on your own."

 Chapter 365 - The Blessed and the Damned

    Gwen wondered if she could replace the flimsy hospital gown with a swimsuit or a silk robe.

    The sheer fabric made her feel exposed, especially with the silhouette of Wen bending over the Glyph panels, reminding her of the unpleasantness that filled her early days in Shanghai.

    Back then, she had been desperate¡ª both to please and to find out more about her latent Void talent, a combination that resulted in her consenting to Wen''s suggestion of testing Caliban on a human being.

    The results had been spectacular¡ª even from the braindead Choi, she had extracted his talent for Illusion. In its aftermath, however, she had dreamt of the man''s expressionless face, half-drooling even as Caliban tunnelled under his tremulous rolls of fat.

    Beep¡ª Beep¡ª Beep¡ª

    Pinned to her chest, just above her heart and below her breasts, Glyph-clad devices the likeness of scarab beetles pulsed with light as her body channelled its energies. A thin veneer of sweat plastered her skin, making her feel all kinds of icky. Connected to the nodes was a thrumming thinking-engine feeding a stack of Wen''s Spellcubes, each tenebrous with Void Mana, drinking in the pale light. A year ago, before Almudj''s blessing, she could fill three or four¡ª now, she had just managed a dozen.

    "Gwen. No need to push yourself." Petra was ready with a warm robe even though Gwen did not fear the cold. It was the sterility of the lab, the smell of pristine equipment, the tang of metal-on-metal that made her skin alive with goosebumps.

    "She needs to push her limits for the accuracy of the data." Wen''s voice was no less sterile as she performed her calculations. "I can''t believe Cambridge hasn''t been collecting data the whole time you''re here."

    "Maybe they think of me as a person," Gwen replied with unapologetic sarcasm. "Having a lucid Void sorceress is more important than having data."

    "Wishful thinking," Wen said. "Their deference is because you swallowed Shenyang."

    "I''ll take it," Gwen said.

    From across the glass pane, Wen touched a few Glyphs only she could see. "This will sting."

    "Strewth!" Gwen flinched when the beetles attached to her skin suddenly bit her. The one attached to the base of her skull was especially nasty. "What the hell?"

    "Blood and skin samples." Petra stopped Gwen from removing the scarabs. "If you recall, the sensors are for your heart, liver and¡ª"

    "I know, I know¡­ jeez¡­"

    "We''re done. You may remove the dive nodes now, Petra," Wen informed her ex-student.

    Her cousin carefully tapped the seamless plating that married the scarabs to the tubes feeding back into the Spectrometer. With a squelch, the little lamprey-attachments loosened, leaving red welts marked with rows of tiny needle-teeth punctures.

    "Oh, you''re bleeding." Petra reached for a cotton pad. "You weren''t bleeding before."

    "I am dry on Essence." Gwen steadied herself with one hand against her cousin. "And I am running on mana fumes."

    "You look terrible." Her cousin agreed. "You look like that Gracie."

    Unable to staunch the blood naturally, Gwen accepted a low-tier Heal Minor Wounds from one of Petra''s spellcubes. After she healed, Gwen forwent the robe and slipped on her intimates, followed by a loose cotton one-piece dress from her ring. Once her hair was tamed and her feet adorned by a pair of kitten heels, she was ready to meet the others.

    Jean-Paul milled about just outside, half-hunched against the wall with a slumped Umzokwe blowing bubbles onto the floor. Both were exhausted, as the sorcerer''s Void admixture took from both himself and his Familiar. On the opposite wall, sitting and hugging her knees, Gracie appeared both diminished and drained.

    "How are you all feeling?" Gwen smoothed out her dress. "I am starving."

    "I could eat," Jean-Paul concurred.

    "I want to sleep." Gracie buried her head against her lower limbs. The sight was so pitiable that Gwen materialised a jacket for the young woman''s shivering shoulders. "Sleep for a week."

    The door to the laboratory next door slid open with a hiss, revealing Brown in his tweed coat. "Well done, you three. I''ve got the results. Would you like to share them?"

    "I don''t mind," Gwen shrugged.

    Jean-Paul nodded.

    Gracie said nothing.

    "¡­ here''s the script." Brown appeared to think better of reading the numbers out loud. "There¡ª at your discretion. Ask me questions."

    Petra took a step back, but Gwen positioned the script so that her cousin could read it anyway.

    Unlike the simple line-scripts from Fudan, Cambridge''s Spectrometer encompassed visualisations, depicting everything from Affinity for School to Mana Efficacy to aggregate scores for her Different Schools of Magic. The row on the left indicated Wen''s last measurement of her talents, while the row on the right showcased the score assigned by Cambridge.

    "Luckily, Wen trained in England," Brown explained. "Meister Bekker as well."

    Together, the girls read the report.

    Gwen Song

    PPL No.321530

    Lightning: 7.12 (7.57) ¡ª 7.17 (7.84)¡±

    Void: 5.23 (5.33) ¡ª 5.42 (5.56)"

    "The kids have grown thanks to adventuring with Dede," Gwen remarked to Petra. "Looks like socialising the Familiars does help. My affinity hasn''t grown much, though."

    "Thanks to diminishing returns, you would hit a soft cap around the sixth tier," Brown spoke beside them. "Where''s Wen? She might offer some better insight."

    "She''s occupied," Petra offered a non-committed answer. Gwen understood that Wen was taking some time to adjust. In Shanghai, she had been lauded and celebrated as the city''s precious Meister. Here, the polite indifference was maddening.

    "Your mana growth appear to have stunted." Brown watched as Gwen turned the page. "We both know the solution to that¡­"

    Gwen read the summary.

    VMI: 345 ¡ª 352

    Her growth, Gwen noted, was indeed minimal considering all the work she had put in.

    "Maybe it''ll expand after the expedition?" Brown read her disappointment. "There''s nothing like combat for a Mage to grow, and you''re one hell of a Battle Mage, or so they tell me."

    "Yeah." Gwen mulled over the various indices. "Let''s see the damage."

    ¡°Evocation 5.62 ¡ª 5.71¡±

    ¡°Conjuration 6.23 ¡ª 6.27¡±

    ¡°Transmutation 4.07 ¡ª 4.70¡±

    ¡°Abjuration 3.01 ¡ª 3.50¡±

    ¡°Divination 1.78 ¡ª2.00¡±

    ¡°Illusion 2.56 ¡ª 3.21¡±

    ¡°Enchantment 2.11¡ª 2.78¡±

    "Other - 4.78," she muttered to herself.

    "¡­ Other?" Gwen''s brows furrowed. "What''s ''other''?"

    "Our spectrometer takes into account talents other than those measurable by the IMS." Brown''s voice took on a calming tone. "Other is¡­ assorted efficacies other than the Schools mentioned above. They''re more common in students with exotic bloodlines."

    "That seems rather helpful." Gwen re-read the sheet. "Druidic magic?"

    "One would hope." The Magister smiled. "You have a rather exotic Astral Body that filters Essence, after all. It''s only fair you would have an affinity for unconventional arcanistry."

    "Maybe it refers to something older." Gwen thought of Almudj. Maybe it''s the Dreaming? She thought to herself. Holy shit! That would be amazing. "How do I find out what it is?"

    "I am told you will be receiving an instructor from Snowdonia?"

    "In Snowdonia¡ª" Gwen corrected her tutor. "I don''t know who this ''Master'' could be, Maxine would not say."

    "I shall enquire no further."

    "Suit yourself." Gwen kept reading. "I see that Evocation and Conjuration have reached a bottleneck."

    "It''s only natural," Petra observed. "Your Enchantment and Illusion was going up by leaps and bounds¡ª Transmutation especially."

    "I did a lot of Spellshaping," Gwen confessed. "Nothing but Void as well."

    Gwen turned the page, saw Jean-Paul''s profile image, then handed the sheet over to her compatriot.

    "Er... I''ve seen yours before¡­" the Void Sorcerer confessed. "Would you like to see mine?"

    "¡­ phrasing." Gwen amused herself, then took back the script. "Oh, this is very interesting."

    "Evocation 5.27 ¡ª 5.34."

    "Conjuration 5.61 ¡ª 5.71."

    "Transmutation 2.12 ¡ª 2.35."

    "You can access three Schools of Magic, JP?"

    "I was a Conjurer by trade. Many of the spells I utilise require Spellshaping and Multi-School focus from the very beginning." Jean-Paul''s lips formed a lopsided grin. "It''s not so hard if it''s all you''ve ever known."

    "Elite training, eh?" Gwen read on. "Void Affinity¡ª 5.80 (6.45) and a VMI of 220. That''s impressive, JP."

    "It''s not so impressive when you consider that I was¡­" Jean-Paul''s tone grew devoid of any particular emotion. "¡­ tailor-made."

    Woodenly, Gwen read on. There was a shorter section of the paper stack that remained¡ª Gracie''s biometrics.

    "Gracie, do you mind?" Gwen offered a platitude. "If I am sponsoring you, I would like to know what we''re dealing with."

    "Help yourself." Gracie''s face grew red. "It''s incomparable to your talents."

    Gwen quickly studied the graphs.

    Illusion 2.44 ¡ª 2.48

    Void Affinity ¡ª 4.11 - 4.12

    VMI - 43-45

    "Your Void Affinity is quite high," Gwen remarked with surprise. "How often do you train?"

    "That''s almost pure talent," Brown explained in Gracie''s stead. "Keep in mind that affinity denotes efficacy. Void Mages Awakening with low affinity have lower chances of survival."

    "But higher affinity means more mana leaks¡­" Gwen''s brows furrowed. "Jesus, we''re fucked from both ends?"

    "What a wonderful way with words you have, Gwen. Yes. There''s a Goldilock''s zone involved. You were lucky to have Awakened in Lightning concurrently," her tutor remarked. "Wen says your affinity began around two?"

    Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    "Something like that," she replied. "Master Kilroy had said I shouldn''t be bothering with Void Magic for a long while, at least until I was an adult. It wasn''t until I got to Shanghai that I started using it regularly."

    "And that would be thanks to Wen." Brown made an unpleasant face. "A fortunate woman who met a very lucky specimen. A less talented Void Mage would have perished in her laboratory."

    "What doesn''t kill you makes you stronger," Gwen smirked.

    "Your Affinity was only two?" Gracie looked up, her face full of hope.

    Pre-Faceless, it probably was, Gwen thought, mentally banishing the howling, laughing, screaming mien of the tar-like shapechanger as Caliban slurped her up like a line of stubborn snot.

    "Yeah. I had some close calls, but things worked out," Gwen assured her newest companion. "Somewhere up there, a hidden hand hath the steerage of my course."

    "Are you religious, Gwen?" Gracie responded to her Gwenism by stretching her limbs like someone trying to figure out independent muscle groups. "That sounded biblical."

    "No, not at all," she replied, helping Gracie into the jacket. "Let''s go get some piping hot curry. After that, allow me to prescribe some medicinal spirits. JP, Gracie, you''re coming with me."

    "Where to?" Jean-Paul looked to Brown for permission, then turned back to Gwen when Brown concurred.

    "To the Runic Underground!" Gwen grinned. "I wanna take you to a Dwarf Bar."

    The reason Gwen had elected to take her compatriots to the Dwarf Bar was that finally, after placing the order in early December, her new stock of Maotai had arrived.

    At the docklands, she was received by Wally, who made his report for the week, then lead the foursome down to the warehouse, where Gwen gazed with benevolence upon the virginal pallet of life-giving elixirs.

    Unfortunately, these were no longer the Dynastic-era distils, but decade-old variants available to the mass market. The House of M had acted as her agent in the auction and had succeeded in securing a pallet of the precious liquid for the open market. Its present value was well over ten thousand HDMs, a hit to the wallet even for someone like Gwen¡ª though she knew that with her special constitution, these liquids could open doors no volume of crystals could begin to pry.

    With a wave of her hand, twenty-four cases of six bottles each disappeared into her Storage Ring.

    They then toured the isle with Gwen selling its sights and prospects, making a detour via the printing press to say hello to Lorenzo''s gang, likewise meeting Eric Walken.

    "I''ve found those ghostwriters you were after," Lorenzo reminded her. "When do you want to meet them?"

    Gwen informed Lorenzo that things would have to wait until after the Triffidus Purge.

    "Such a shame our paper isn''t ready for this headliner." Lorenzo sighed. "Remember, no interviews. You''ll be on the Front Page of our first edition. ''An Audience with the Void Sorceress''."

    Gwen concurred.

    Walken''s concern was more so concentrated on the Void Mages.

    "An interesting development." The Magister''s gaze made Jean-Paul and Gracie uncomfortable. "I can see where this is going. It''s fine, I suppose. Just be careful out there. And don''t drink too much. Last time, you frightened the wits out of the NoMs with your midnight screeching."

    Gwen apologised, then unapologetically and without adieu, made for the bar.

    "Any ''mate'' of Gwennie''s is a clan of ours!" Yossari Vildrenbrandt slammed back the thimble of Maotai. "Phua¡ª! This Firewater kicks like an overcharged Strider!"

    "This is the Maotai I''ve been telling you about." Gwen studied the Dwarves as they threw back their heads, then wiped their beards or whiskers. "I''ve added some vitamins as well. How is it?"

    Yossari smacked her lips. "Curiously vital. It reminds me of Elven sap-mead. What''s in it?"

    "A criminal amount of fermented sorghum," Gwen explained. "I am told that the volume of harvest required to distil this one bottle could feed the township that makes Maotai for a year. It is a luxury for an era of prosperity. The older distils'' all gone now, more or less. No one had the food to spare to make Maotai during the Sino Conflict, and then the Revolution, and then the Beast Tide."

    "We''ve got spirits like that in Deepholm." The Alchemical Master poured herself another thimble. "What vitamin?"

    "A bit of Druidic Essence." Gwen smiled. "My secret concoction, what do you think?"

    "Earthy, with a hint of oak, a little bitter." Yossari swirled the metal vessel. "Needs stronger legs. Not nearly mellow enough. Yer no Brewmaster, are yer?"

    "I was a bit tired today." Gwen looked at Jean-Paul and Gracie. "Maybe it''ll have more kick when I am fully-charged."

    Jean-Paul was staring into his cup, half-slumped against her shoulder, his face red from the neck up. Gracie looked like she was warm and fuzzy and could do with a nap about now. Her complexion was much better, though Gwen doubted a mere 75 HDM crystal bottle of booze is going to fix her swiss-cheese Astral Body. More than likely, at least for now, she would have to add another leaf or two to her monthly Sen-sen Tax. Before she left for the Triffids and then Snowdonia, she would very much like to possess a bottle as close to the Sen-sen Original as possible prepared for her mysterious mentor.

    "I''ll ready another batch later," Gwen informed the Dwarves, who between them had already demolished no less than six bottles. "Trust me. When it''s at full strength, it''ll grow you a new beard."

    For the next few days, Gwen''s tutors readied her for the excursion. Le Guevel conjured a few life-like Triffid illusions to get her acquainted; Patel drove her up the wall with IFF spellshaping, and Brown busied himself with coordinating the Void trio. Her last lesson of the week was with Nils Kott, who wanted her to finalise proximity wards.

    "How''s this?" Gwen looked up from the floor, where she had been busy inscribing a Warding Circle.

    "Fair¡ª but too slow considering we''re on a levelled plane with no debris and no howling Triffid. Some field exercises would do you good." Major Kott walked around the circle scratching his chin, inspecting her work.

    Gwen pumped mana into the inscription rod, liquified the precious materials contained in its cartridge, then continued her mental chant while her hand moved the cumbersome wand over the floor. "Sir. Some of my largest gains in recent months are in Abjuration and Enchantment."

    "I''ve been informed." Kott smiled warmly. "I am glad you''re taking this seriously, Magus Song."

    "No need to be so formal. Just Gwen''s fine." Gwen gazed up at the square-jawed German. "Thank you for teaching me so well. I never knew that Enchantment and Abjuration had so much synergy and that it could be used offensively as well. I''ve banked enough CCs to pick up Repulsive Field, Spell Siphon and Core Shatter. It''s hard to imagine a defender capable of smashing monsters to smithereens."

    Gwen''s tone of worship was because she had finally gotten a glimpse at the true potential behind Abjuration when she tapped into the upper tiers. For instance, the sixth-tier Repulsive Field created a movable Wall of Force in a semi-dome that not only functioned as a barrier but created multiple ''sponge'' layers. These buoyant barriers then worked to absorb incoming attacks, ultimately unleashing an omnidirectional wave of destruction. Likewise, Spell Siphon at tier five could drain mana from an area to dampen a variety of effects, serving as the basis of Anti-Magic Mandalas inscribed by Enchanters. As for Core Shatter, Gwen had only recently discovered that such an Abjuration spell existed at the seventh tier, being capable of casting a "Banish" with such brutality that lower-tier Creature Cores would explode, instantly slaying their foe. When such a spell was deployed against a Creature Mage, Kott had warned her¡ª weak-willed Conjurers may suffer permanent damage to their Astral Souls, akin to what Alesia had sustained.

    In her mind, therefore, Gwen imagined a scene in which hundreds of Triffids hammered on Kott''s Repulsive Field. Then, at the apex of the spell''s potential energy, the Abjurer concurrently unleashes an AoE Core Shatter on the field itself, sending an explosion of erupting bodies flying every which way.

    "You have a long way before you get there." Kotts snorted. "Whatever the case, don''t get cocky, and don''t underestimate a wildland creature''s hunger for life. I''ve left instructions for the crew to have you perform the Wards for their camps. If you fail, somebody may very well die due to your negligence."

    "I''ll do my best." Gwen saluted, giving the man her best smile. The more time she spent with the Major, the more she admired his stoicism. Likewise, as with most Abjurers, there was a natural protective aura they exerted which she found to be calming.

    Major Kott looked downward. She followed his eyes, wondering if the instructor was seeking out something he liked.

    "If that''s your ''best'', I would be cautious in that Triffid-infested Purple Zone. Re-inscribe this hextogramic ward right now." The Abjurer-Enchanter knitted his brows. "And stop getting distracted while you''re inscribing. Abjuration isn''t Evocation! A wrong stroke could mean a life lost!"

    Emmanuel''s College.

    The Duck Ponds.

    A few days later, after some back and forth, it was decided that Richard and Petra would accompany Gwen, Gracie and Jean-Paul. Together, the fivesome would make a party of a sort, with Richard as the defender, Gwen and Jean-Paul as the damage dealers, Gracie on support, and Petra on utility.

    The rationale given by the university was that they wanted London''s three Void Mages to get to know each other better by observing one another in combat. Through feats of broil and battle, Brown explained, the participants may awaken particular instincts, or reach new states of clarity not possible while living in Cambridge''s greenhouse.

    Gwen had no complaints, neither did Jean-Paul, who had full confidence in his and her appetite for destruction. It was only Gracie who had never been to a Purple Zone, and who hyperventilated over the prospect of seeing a live-fire exercise of two battle-ready Void Mages against truck-sized monsters.

    On Gwen''s lap, Dede the duck coiled its massive body, mesmerising Gracie with its rainbow hues. Around the pond, Caliban and Umzokwe wrestled on the lawn, sending screeching students fleeing for the Old Court. Ariel drifted overhead, napping in the warm sun.

    "Between my dogs, Familiars, Richard and Lea, you''ll be right as rain," Gwen assured the Illusionist. "The university will also provide you with protective items, so this is more like a field trip of sorts. Besides, we''re not the front line. Mine and JP''s job will be stocking up on vitality while we travel with the Botanists."

    "Indeed," Jean-Paul chimed in. "Anglesey is Gwen''s proving ground. We''re just there to observe."

    "And you''ll get to meet Golos," Gwen said to the Void Sorceress. "You said he was your favourite out of the three on the vid-cast, right?"

    Gracie nodded. She had said that she admired the raw power and majesty of the Thunder Wyvern. Gwen was more interested in the copious volumes of Triffid Cores Golos could bring to the market. Once the Triffids ceased to exist in the wild, she could operate a soft monopoly until someone found a way to farm them safely.

    "Great, as so long as I have a stern chat with the horny lizard, you two can hang out." Her voice took on a chill that made the two Void Mages shiver. "If he''s as cheeky as before, you guys will get to see how Caliban tames Drakes."

    As for reaching the peninsula, only Gwen possessed a Flight licence, and so they would first take the ISTC from Paddington to Birmingham, then from Birmingham to Liverpool. Once outside Liverpool''s airspace, they would be free to utilise Flight spells. The distance, as Gwen could see between the coastal port and Bangor, was exactly fifty kilometres, meaning an hour''s flight at worst.

    "That said, how''re you feeling?" Gwen asked the young woman. Wen''s tests had been exhaustive, so much so that Brown had brought in a Cleric. "Are you taking your nightly Maotai?"

    Gracie''s luminous eyes lowered with shame. Once the sorceress found out that Gwen was sharing the source of her vitality to keep her hale, she hadn''t known how to express her gratitude. Gwen didn''t mind. She wasn''t helping Gracie for her appreciation. At least now she had confirmation of Brown''s hypothesis. After two biometric scries, spectrometry and blood works, it was determined that her "Druidic Essence" could indeed be a stop-gap for Gracie''s decline.

    The Maotai, as a Wildland component, would eventually lose its efficiency as Gracies'' body began to reject the rejuvenating effects. However, the same diminishing returns did not apply to Gwen''s Essence, which Gracie''s body appeared to absorb readily. What it meant, therefore, was that a Maotai-like medium could catalyse ''Druidic Essence'' to fortify physical and Astral bodies, even with its potency diluted.

    The confirmation meant that Gwen could arguably juice-up elixirs that could allow Void Sorceresses to keep their health. The problem was that, should Gwen fail to provide said elixirs, lose the ability to produce Essence or die in battle, the fate of all Void Users addicted to her life-giving salve would immediately be sealed.

    There was also a longitudinal predicament. With Gracie''s affinity, the more capable her body became in sustaining the demands of her talent, the more robust its growth. What should be a sufficient volume of Essence today may not be for tomorrow. If they were to multiply the demand by ten-fold, or a hundred-fold¡ª then what?

    But Magister Brown had an answer for that too. It wasn''t as though a Void Mage could not be kept upright through periodic injections of Positive Energy, Faith Healing and Wildland rarities¡ª as was the case with individuals reportedly living in the central continent and the USA. If they took that approach, Gwen''s talent was merely another unsustainable delay of the inevitable. What the researchers desired was Umzokwe and or Caliban as a sustainable addition¡ª a way to tap into the lamprey-Sprites theorised to exist within that realm of pitch and nothingness, awaiting a human mind to give them shape.

    "I am feeling better," Gracie replied demurely.

    "Quack!" Dede offered his sympathy. "Quack!"

    Gwen patted the girl''s hands in a show of solidarity. "Get some rest, Gracie. We''ll be leaving first thing tomorrow. JP?"

    Jean-Paul, half-draped over the park bench watching Caliban french Umzokwe, was smiling.

    "What''s up?" Gwen said, watching the master of the White Leech.

    "This is nice." Jean-Paul''s lopsided grin once again marred his face. "I am feeling an abnormality in my chest."

    "A what now?"

    "Like a current of warm water." Jean-Paul''s expression changed as he did his best to explain. "I feel less constricted."

    Gwen was about to ask Jean-Paul if he could clarify when the realisation struck. She tilted her head, studied the confused young man, then broke into a generous grin. Without a word, she reached out to give the wretch a big hug. "Come on, Dede. Gracie, you join in as well."

    "Quack!"

    Flustered, Jean-Paul sat with slack limbs while Gwen enveloped him in a manner akin to Caliban''s spider-limbs. Gracie dreamily joined in a moment later, her arms encircling Gwen''s waist to dig into Dede''s soft, luxurious feathers.

    "Quack!"

    "How about now?" Gwen said to the blushing young man. "Even better?"

    "Yes." Jean-Paul''s breathing grew rapid. "Am I ill?"

    "Oh, you poor thing." Gwen rubbed her companion''s hunched back, running her finger over the ridges of his spine. "JP¡ª that is what we call ordinary happiness."

 Interlude - The Great Shoal Forward

    Lieutenant Shiyang Chen ordered the corvette to drift closer to Jifen Village.

    In the South China Sea, on Chicken-shit Reef''s Turd Island, his map marked a fishing hamlet rife with stubborn, fish-headed Mermen refusing to leave even though the Navy repeatedly gave them warning to move further down the Xima-Anshan archipelago.

    The reason for clearing out undesirables was simple. From the lip of the Yellow Sea, it was only seven hundred kilometres, or two day''s passage between Shanghai, Jeju and that cursed Dai Nippon island chain of Okinawa, allowing no complications in the delicate balance. With his motherland as the most significant rising economic and military power in the region, both the American-backed Koreans and the Demi-human loving Japanese had grown enormously nervous.

    Chen''s was a fact-finding patrol; one sent to investigate the loss of a supertanker¡ª the Liaoming. With Tonglv and its canal operating at capacity, an endless volume of goods rolled into and out of Shanghai. As much as the nationalists loved to shout, the flow of Crystals between the three nations flourished in this period of unusual tranquillity. Any disruption to that flow was unacceptable.

    Presently, a question lingered on everyone''s lips. With the recovery of Shenyang hailed as a success, why was there no adverse reaction from Pyongyang? In the past, the Cult of Juche was never one to back down from a slight. Every so often, whenever it felt even the pettiest disrespect from its neighbours, the Lich Lords of Pyongyang would threaten to unleash a flood of Undeath across the borders unless a ransom was paid.

    Since the Beast Tide, the Undead threat had bound the three nations in a careful treaty. Now, with China''s success, the Koreans grew wary of Great Mao''s map-striding fingers walking through Liaoning once more. Of course, a land invasion via Jilin''s tundra was impossible, as was any hope of crossing the Yalu via Dadong. Its inaccessibility left the East China Sea as the only viable trade and military route, one that interconnected the Sea of Japan to the north and the Philippine Sea to the south.

    In Chen''s studied opinion, the East China Sea had grown far too crowded.

    Cargo carriers, military warships, fishing boats, patrol vessels, privateers and black market traders had all piled into the two-thousand-kilometre long trade routes between Asia''s largest population centres. Kilotons of fish, squid, prawn and Wildland Demi-humans of the South Sea, harvested by state-lead frigates crewed by red-eyed Mages trawled the waters for its seemingly limitless resources, battling the weather, the wildlife and the indigenous populace.

    "Lieutenant Chen. It''s all gone. Exactly as the Coast Guard had reported. Some form of ''planar activity'' wiped them out; there were no survivors."

    "Wiped out?" Chen furrowed his brows. "None of them have returned? Is the island still unoccupied? Usually, not even periodic Purges can discourage them."

    "Not a thing, sir. There''s a magic circle on the island, but that was from an authorised experiment carried out by the CCP Tower last year."

    "I see." Chen rubbed his chin. "How''s our Scry looking?"

    "No sign of the Liaoming anywhere." The Ensign saluted. "The waters around here are too clean. There aren''t even low-tier Mermen."

    "That makes no sense¡­" Lieutenant Chen couldn''t help but feel that there was no possible way that a container carrier half-a-kilometre long with a breadth of seventy-meters could just disappear without a trace. COSCO ships, like all carriers, had embedded Shielding Stations, meaning nothing short of a Kraken could come near the vessel without writhing in debilitating agony. The Liaoming''s route naturally detoured around Chicken-shit Island, and so he had thought to interrogate the inhabitants. If these Mermen had absconded, then did that mean the inhabitants of the island were responsible?

    Chen shook his head.

    That prospect was laughable.

    His suspicion was because Mermen who lived near Human coastal cities, the friendlier ones, had over the half-century developed a resistance to the resonance thrumming from the ships'' passage. The wretched fiends would have to¡ª or else their Cores, assuming they had one, would eventually collapse from the stress fractures from the tens of thousands of carriers that passed each year. The official intel was that these Mermen, resistant to resonance and highly adept at farming or gathering Wildland fauna, fed the tri-nations'' Grey Markets, and so had been left alone. The more accurate tale, Chen had suspected, was that the administration used them as an early warning system against undetectable Mermen activity in the deep.

    "Tell the men to return to the vessel," Lieutenant Chen gave the order. "We continue the patrol. Divert 20 per cent output to our Scrying Engines. Lin and Liang will have to cycle their shifts. I want one Diviner awake and searching the seabed at all times."

    The seaman then looked toward the open water.

    No Mermen anywhere? Chen felt disquieted.

    Sometimes, there was nothing more foreboding than unexpected good news.

    In the East China Sea, four hundred kilometres north-north-east of Shanghai, a "Great Shoal" was on the move, marauding across the murky depth.

    Terra¡ª the Prime Material Plane¡ª was over seventy per cent inundated by the boundless seas, its precious waters of life held hostage by gravity and atmosphere, ebbing and flowing endlessly, its currents and streams unknowable by the mere mind of men.

    If on land there existed places where the Prime Material grew thin, and the Elementals that inhabited their irrespective planes emerged to forage or begin new lives¡ª then the ocean''s three-dimensional, depthless space was a sieve of planar-instability, bringing every flotsam and jetsam from Krakens to Charybois to alluring Sirens through dimensional tears larger than human cities.

    Thankfully, these creatures of the deep, so used to the cold dark of the Elemental Plane of Water, rarely sought the warm and lighted space of the sunlight zone.

    Unfortunately, what these marauding masses of ageless predation also brought was a game of hunger in which monsters were pushed from stratum to stratum, rising bottom-up to plague Terra''s oldest migrants¡ª what Humanity called the Mermen.

    To say that the Mermen were a single species would be a great misunderstanding. The ocean, with its hugely variable living conditions, had led to the rapid evolution of creatures far more complex than the happy homogeneity offered by the arithmetic surety of living on land. What their numerous habitats also meant was that like the ocean itself, the arrangements and politics of the sea were always in flux.

    On his coral dais, affixed to the cargo carrier''s bridge, Lei-bup slumped against the side of his throne. Below, with the anchor-chains around their bullish necks, two tamed Ningen, their limbs lazily swimming through the water, pulled the Human ship toward its destination with powerful swishes of their vast, fleshy fins.

    Beside him, the Great Shoal of the Elder One, the multitude faithful of Yog, Saviour of the Deep, travelled as a constant stream toward the underwater city of Blightreef.

    Ever since leading his people from Turd Island, they had absorbed tribe after tribe, clan after clan, spreading the gospel of the Pale Priestess. In his heart, he knew that the power of the Elder One was unfathomable and that its will was as unpredictable as the sea. He was merely its instrument, a Mermaid''s Purse sown by the Pale Priestess to do the All-Watching One''s bidding.

    Even now, his near-death made him shudder. The last instance Lei-bup had successfully called forth the Pale Priestess'' Shoggoth, it had fully descended onto the island and devoured every last living thing that existed.

    That night, Lei-bup had thought himself on the verge of rapture.

    Yet, when the screaming had stopped, and only the silent susurration of the sea sounded on Turd Island, Lei-bup and a dozen of the faithful remained.

    Was it luck? A little voice at the back of Lei-bup''s mind demanded.

    No. Lei-bup felt an unholy assurance surge up his spine and envelope his Core.

    His survival was intentional. He had been chosen. The great Shoggoth, O digit of the Old Ones, poking through the abyssal gates to anoint the faithful, had chosen Lei-bup as its prophet.

    "I?! Great Elder One! O key to the Gates where the Spheres Conjoin!" Lei-bup recalled howling at the starless havens. "PRAISE!"

    "PRAISE!"

    "PRAISE!"

    "PRAISE!" echoed the voices of the surviving faithful, each rancorously covered in layers of abandoned ectoplasm.

    Joining the survivors, cries of jubilation and awe echoed from the sea. All around Turd Island, drawn by the tribe''s unexpected ascension, hundreds of thousands of the sea''s denizens had witnessed their communion with a God of the depth, saw the improbable survival of Lei-bup and his priests, and shuddered at the unfathomable power of the Shoggoth.

    After that, Lei-bup knew he had crossed the threshold of the void''s baptism.

    Where he had been the leader of the Jifen Folk and de facto master of the archipelago, he now metamorphosed into the heart of an immigrating shoal. A Great Shoal! The very thought straightened his spine¡ª for though he was the wise Elder of the Jifen, there had been no Great Shoals seen since what the Human''s called the Beast Tide.

    When finally, he had time to settle down and think, Lei-bup marvelled at the Elder One''s design. What the Priestess likely had fathomed was that life in the sea was ten times more arduous than Lei-bup''s life on land. Those Mermen who had been drawn by the food dispensed by the Jifen folk, whose females entered into the island chain''s hierarchy, and who had come to spy on the Jifen''s resolve, were all made to witness her gospel of power.

    Lei-bup was old for a Merman and knew that in the open sea, a few rules were Mythril.

    One was that there was safety found in numbers. On the land, a pack of Skull Jackals could down an Oliphant, and in the ocean, a frenzy of Gill-Tooth Marauders could strip a Megamouth to the bone within the hour. Alone, the individual Merman was ephemeral, an insignificant existence¡ªtogether, they were combined and eminent. To seek safety in numbers was an instinct built into the minds of the Mermen, no matter one''s fins, gills, tentacles or proboscis. Where the water grew deep, selfishness was self-destruction¡ª safety rested with the masses.

    And this Lei-bup knew well because he had read Mao''s Manifesto, delivered to his island by the missionaries from the mainland in rusty containers filled with the little red books. As the great exodus from Jifen took place, Lei-bup could not help but see a strange parallel between him taking his people from the tyranny of the Human bureaucrats and Mao''s revolution to build the promised country.

    It was just like how, when Mao had to fight the Imperialists, he took the Great Red Army of NoMs and Mages on that suicidal Exodus from Jiangxi to Yunnan to Shaanxi. The destruction of his home by the Shoggoth was a sign¡ª a dear and intimate omen from a priestess to a prophet. Why else, Lei-bup reasoned, was the only surviving food left from the Shoggoth''s all-consuming purge those tins of mysterious meat called SPAM? That was what the Pale Priestess had first gifted to Lei-bup. That was how Lei-bup knew she was watching. And just like how Mao was forced from his home to rule over the central continent upon his return, so Lei-bup must take his people away from Jifen to the sea shelf beyond.

    This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    As for the Shoggoth, that was another precept of the ocean that the Mermen inherently understood. Some beings and their prowess were insurmountable¡ª even if said being never ventured to the surface. Past the daylight zone, past the twilight, there lurked unfathomable creatures the size of islands, bigger than the largest Human tankers. Leviathans, these were called, beings whose stature dwarfed the oldest Krakens.

    That was why they believed in the Shoggoth. And though some kin would become fodder for the Elder Gods; the Mermen steadfastly believed they had found a proverbial shelter-beast; themselves serving as its Remora labourers. To survive, the Mermen were pragmatic. When the Hammerhead Raiders from the deep Clans attacked, nothing remained, be it females or eggs or food. At least with the Shoggoth, the Faithful would survive.

    All of this, Lei-bup understood, both as a Merman and as an indifferent disciple of Mao. When the representatives from each of the tribes approached Lei-bup to seek out his wisdom, this was what Lei-bup had to deliver:

    "Only in the Pale Priestess and her Elder Gods lies the truth. A truth that is beyond our mortal ken but yet paves the way to salvation. No¡ª do not question. We who are touched by her grace know that we must humble ourselves in front of she who brings forth the Great Shoal."

    "The Great Shoal!" The crowd had cried out, drunk on the elixir of belief.

    "Before we embark upon our great Exodus, lend me your ear-holes," Lei-bup raised his voice, finding that strangely, his words travelled through both air and water with equal ease. "If you wish to join us¡ª you must give up yourself. One fish¡ª no matter how smart or limber or powerful, is always defeated. You are doomed to die, alone, a failure of a fish who did not fertilise ten-thousand spawns. But with the Elder Gods, with the Path of the Pale Priestess! You can escape from the one fish''s frail and mortal body! Give me your submission! Give her your Faith! Call them! I?! Great Elder One! O key to the Gates where the Spheres Conjoin! I?! Yog-Sothoth! Only then can the one fish escape from his or her vice! Escape from predation! Only in the Great Shoal can the proletariat fish find their way to the Promised Land! Only as a part of the Great Shoalcan one fish be all powerful and all knowing! IMMORTAL and COMPLETE!"

    In the silence, Lei-bup knew that he had them.

    The Great Shoal was already forming, and soon, they would be on their way.

    "Weee¡ªWeeee¡ªWeeee¡ª Lei-bup began to cry, mimicking the Shoggoth.

    "Weee¡ªWeeee¡ª

    "Weee¡ªWeeee¡ªWeeee¡ª

    "Weee¡ªWeeee¡ªWeeee¡ª Weee¡ªWeeee¡ª"

    The multitude had sung.

    And the rest was history.

    Along their way, no tribe or clan who had seen their Great Shoal, its girth stretching from horizon to horizon, could resist their evangelisation. Over a distance of thousands of kilometres under the sea, meeting a thousand tribes in their tiny territories, they absorbed them all by faith or by teeth.

    Then, in the path of the Great Journey Forward, the passing Shoal became blocked by a Human cargo carrier bearing its own Shielding Station.

    For Lei-bup and the folk living near Jifen who regularly traded with the Humans, the agony from the passing ships had grown to encompass a part of their being. Those of them too weak to survive the disruption of their Cores had long ago died as spawnlings. As for the rest, the Leviathan-sized ship''s passing became a keen blade that sliced into his people, sending hundreds plummeting below while others held their heads in induced madness. Eggs burst, pregnant Mer-women miscarried. Some of the deep-living Shell-folk even tore off their limbs; such was the pain they endured.

    Lei-bup knew he had to do something. He was their father now and the shoal, his fingerlings.

    "Warriors! With me!" He counted on the fact that the more of them gathered, the more the resonating power of the ship''s onboard Shielding Core would be split, for without a direct connection to a ley-line, its output was severely limited. "Weee¡ªWeeee¡ª!"

    "Weee¡ªWeeee¡ª"

    "Weee¡ªWeeee¡ªWeeee¡ª"

    "Weee¡ªWeeee¡ªWeeee¡ª"

    A thousand warriors answered Lei-bup''s call. Following the folk from Jifen, they surged upwards toward the carrier. They had believed¡ª and so the High Priest''s words rang true, for with enough of them gathered, the resonance tearing apart their Cores wasn''t nearly so painful.

    On their barbed Seahorses, the Wave Striders of the Blue-fin Tribe burst through the surface to scale the container ship''s walls. From afar, forty Eagletail Razor Rays, each mounted by a dozen Flying Carvers with toothy blades of bleached coral, sailed through the spraying brine. The Ningen, risking their white-fins, halted the carrier in its wake.

    Lei-bup knew that once they boarded the ship, there wouldn''t be much of a fight, for the Humans rarely had Mage Flights to spare for cargo vessels. His first order was to bring down what he recognised as the ship''s Divination Tower. Then, he redirected the slower but heavily armoured Claw-folk to the bridge, where the human crew awaited for salvation that would not arrive. There, his faithful had peeled back the metal and made tasty work of the screeching bipeds packed-in like sardines.

    It took only an hour for the ship to be captured.

    Lei-bup was in the middle of considering scuttling the ship when one of his men from Jifen excitedly ran up the bloody stairs.

    "High Priest!" the man was dribbling slime and snot from every orifice. "We found it!"

    "You found what?"

    "The sign!"

    The sign? His opaque eye-lids formed a squint.

    Lei-bup did not know this sign. He had to see for himself.

    Together with his guards, which now consisted of an overlarge Bluefin Strider Captain, a burly Crustacean Razorclaw and two of his priests from Jifen, he entered the cargo bay. His folk, who had long worked with humans, had an excellent understanding of Human-made contraptions.

    "This is¡ª!"

    Lei-bup was speechless.

    Here was the cargo hold, and within it were thousands of containers. One of the Crab-folk had peeled back the tin to reveal cases and cases of the tiny golden boxes of nourishing meat. With trembling fingers, he lifted one of the tins.

    There, on the printed label, was a tiny visage of the Pale Priestess.

    "An official sponsor of the IIUC," the label read, followed by a tiny speech bubble from her mouth that said, "SPAM¡ª Miracle in a can."

    "How¡­" Lei-bup''s hands trembled. "How many are there?"

    "A hundred containers or more like this, filled with other foodstuffs in cans¡­" His aide swallowed the air like a fish on land. "High Priest, you should see this as well."

    Together with the others, Lei-bup followed the fish until they reached the crew''s quarters. Inside the cosy hiding hole, there were bunks, and plastered across the shared wall was an image anyone in the Great Shoal would recognise.

    It was the Pale Priestess, wearing a skin-tight suit of white and blue, looking like she was ready to dive into the ocean. Her benevolent face was smiling broadly at them with that secret smile of hers as if she knew everything that would happen from now until their eventual ascension. The poster was huge, almost life-size, so vivid that it seemed like the Pale Priestess might leap forth and bless them herself.

    "Sinomach Heavy Industries" read the logo. "Miss Gwen Song, International Inter-University Competition''s Most Valuable Participant. The Devourer of Shenyang will wear NOTHING ELSE."

    "Join Us!" read the words in Chinese, which only Lei-bup understood. It was followed by a prophesy written in blood-red calligraphy. "A hundred battles¡ª A hundred victories!"

    "A¡­ a fellow c-cultist?" Lei-bup stuttered, suddenly regretting killing all the Humans. It was amazing¡ª incredible¡ª beyond belief that there was MORE of them, even among the Humans. Naturally, unlike the other Mermen, he understood the poster to be an advert, but why else would such an image be in a prominent position? At this time? In this place?

    "She brought this gift to us," his adjutant began to wail, completing his hypothesis. "Gu-wen, S-song¡ª Weee¡ªWeeee¡ª"

    "Weee¡ªWeeee¡ª"

    "Weee¡ªWeeee¡ª" the others answered.

    "¡­ this ship, it is a gift by the Pale Priestess," Lei-bup announced to his men, finding the only acceptable answer to the serendipity as a feeling of unfettered acceptance suffused him. The clarity he now felt could only be described as divine. "It is ours now. The ship will be our mobile home. Its Core will deter our enemies and open the way for us."

    "How so?" The crustacean grumbled. His kind was most vulnerable to the resonance.

    "We will find a way to utilise the Crystal Core of this Drift Hulk," Lei-bup promised his warriors. "With her gift, we can build ourselves the promised land."

    "What shall we do now?"

    "We keep travelling," Lei-bup gave the order. "But tonight, we feast in her image¡ª and call out the name of Gwen Song."

    Since that eventful encounter, months had passed, and now they arrived at their destination.

    Lei-bup shifted in his seat, clearing the recollection from his mind.

    Blightreef.

    Even as a child, Lei-bup had heard of its infamy.

    Blightreef was the lawless, chaotic city at the end of the first Eastern Sea''s continental shelf. It was a Merman port ruled by gangs of Tigermaw Shark-folk, patrolled by Hammerhead Raiders, and lorded over by the machinations of the Kraken Biplipodoofu.

    It was also a place where Humans from the black markets traded with the denizens of the deep, pouring crystals into the greedy Kraken''s coffers even as it chopped up the city''s citizens for parts.

    All this was the tale that Lei-bup had heard from Humans¡ª stories now verified by Karasin, the Bluefin Captain, whose kin''s flesh was considered a delicacy among the Man-folk of Nippon. Even Jinka, the warrior supreme from the Claw Clan validated that indeed, Blightreef was the wealthiest city between the first and second sea shelf, and also a living Wet Market.

    Here was the place that Lei-bup saw as their promised land¡ª as one whose wisdom spanned both the above water and below water realm, Lei-bup''s perspective was uniquely positioned¡ª another blessing the Pale Priestess must have foreseen. He knew more than the others that Blightreef was near-equal-distant to the Human nations of Japan, China and Korea and so saw scant naval activity. Yet, at the same time, its existence was condoned by something called the "Grey Faction".

    Ever since the Great Shoal had left Jifen Island, Lei-bup had been wondering if their mass would grow powerful enough to subdue a city of a million Mermen ruled by a four-century-old Kraken.

    Before they had found the "Liaoming" bearing the sign of the Pale Priestess, the answer was no.

    Now¡ª now Lei-bup was confident they could take the tyrant by the tentacles and yank him from his octopus pot.

    If he could combine the advantage of the Human-made Resonating Crystal with their united calling for the descent of the Shoggoth¡ª the Kraken could only submit or be consumed.

    Of course, he would first give the slavers a chance to convert.

    He had plenty of food¡ª obscene volumes, in fact, and the folk that lived on Blightreef were well-starved by its cruel master. It was almost too easy¡ª for how else would they consign their children to be butchered? How else could the Kraken''s thugs bully the proletariat of the sea?

    The city''s masses were a million strong¡ª ten million more if Lei-bup counted the young, but how many predator-thugs did the Kraken command, all-in-all? A thousand? Ten-thousand? Even the Imperialist Mages had more men when Mao bore down on Nanking and Shanghai!

    Conversely, Lei-bup''s Great Shoal was a mass of a hundred-thousand fish, all chomping at the hook to be unleashed! They were well-fed, not only on the flesh of their enemies but the food they had unsealed from the tanker!

    "Lord High Priest."A Mermaid drifted closer, her lengthy hair fanning out in vibrant red waves. "We should arrive soon. Shall I inform the Striders and the Claw Clan?"

    "Not yet, we await parley¡ª" Lei-bup stood, peeling his slimy body from the coral throne. "What word from Biplipodoofu? We have his city surrounded."

    "The Messenger did not return." The pretty Mermaid, whose hair was dark and her skin like the moonlight, had been specially selected to serve as his aide. The first of many future Temple Priestesses. She was fertile and well-shaped, Lei-bup could see, and she was too pretty to be a helper.

    Were his followers afraid that Lei-bup would leave no heir? The High Priest chuckled to himself.

    There was nothing to fear. Lei-bup had twice survived the descent of the Shoggoth¡ª why would he worry over something as mundane as the little-death that resulted from violence? How could such insignificance compare to the Great Shoal? Did Mao''s death stop the Communists? Not even close. Even if he were to perish, the Shoal would go on. They had all sworn by the name of the Pale Priestess, whose human name was Gwen Song. They had all given up their Cores to become the Great Shoal itself, that all-consuming collective which is immortal and everlasting. Strike him down, Lei-bup laughed, and the Shoal would become more powerful than Biplipodoofu could imagine! Martyrdom? He welcomed it!

    "Then we wait for them to act," Lei-bup gave the commands. "Tell Blo-bup and Fu-bup that the Floating Hulk will move on my command. I will be along shortly to conduct the rites."

    "YES! High PRIEST!" The Mermaid''s eyes, along with that of the guards behind him, were crystal-bright.

    "Soon, we shall bear witness¡ª" Lei-bup gazed over at the teeming city below. The central spire of Blightreef, fashioned like a giant spiralling shell, rose up and up and up until it reached the surface, where a series of looted Human ships formed a flotilla of hulks.

    "Weee¡ª"

    "Weee¡ªWeeee¡ª"

    "Weee¡ªWeeee¡ª Weeee¡ª"

    "WEEE¡ªWEEE¡ª WEEE¡ª WEEE¡ª"

    The chants began, first from the hulk, then spreading throughout the Great Shoal until the water itself appeared to vibrate, growing thick with such a tangible resonance of mana and belief that it seemed as though the shimmering mass was not a multitude, but a single, living being.

 Chapter 366 - Flower Picking

    Northern Wales.

    Bangor Forward Operating Base.

    Gwen and her party of six marvelled at the British-made Cromwell MK VIII Multi-Terrain Golems queued to cross the Menai Bridge. Every third engine of death sported the "Winged Sword" of a Crusader MK V, signified by the distended wand on its shoulder as tall as the Golem itself.

    "Not half-bad." Yossari swilled from a flask of Maotai hanging from her wrist by a leather strap. "Your Runesmiths have developed variant algorithms different from our Spellswords: less precision and control, but an abundance of range and firepower. I guess yer''d have ta, what with yer ceiling having no lid. Very rarely do we need that sort of range in the Murk."

    Gwen glanced up at the horizon and tried to imagine an enormous ceiling covering the landscape like a potlid.

    "We would welcome your expertise," Magister Brown spoke beside the Dwarf. "Many of the Golems are survivors from an earlier time when we traded with your kin."

    "Yer won''t tease the Clan''s promise from me that easily." Yossari snorted at Gwen''s tutor, who smiled in that disarming, scholarly way he affected toward everyone but ducks. "What have yer got ter trade?"

    "How about an invitation to witness the Shoggoth?" Brown joked. "This sort of transparency between our people has to be worth something."

    The Alchemist chose to ignore the wily Magister.

    Gwen smiled. According to Brown, there would be several groups of emissaries from the surrounding powers coming to see her Shoggoth show. Names from Berlin, Paris, Rome, Brussels, Amsterdam and Athens have all made requests, each wanting a piece of the Commonwealth''s teenage Sobel. The Dwarven master crafter had been a last-minute addition, one the Tower was happy to accommodate.

    Across the strait, the B-54-20, a fire trail used for lumber and agriculture, snaked inland. The first contingent of mechanised infantry, joined by the Mage Flights, was already over the horizon, burning back the Triffidus Celestus'' alien groves, sending plumes of black smoke rising into the lidless sky.

    Out of habit, Gwen checked her gear. As usual, she wore her white-blue Shen-Te¨© suit, a look matched by Petra in red, their paired silhouettes leaving no doubt that the two girls were related. Richard wore his Shen-Te¨© as well, though the vibrant teal of the original design had been made into a pattern suitable for the woodland. Opposite, Jean-Paul wore a charcoal cloth-armour outfit that reminded Gwen of distillation suits from a desert space opera. As for Gracie, their final member was comically protected by an articulated suit formed of quasi-magical polymers, encasing her torso with tessellated plates. Her striking visage was so endearing that Gwen had taken to calling Gracie "Ser Hillbrook", bringing a curve to the others'' lips.

    "Yer not wearing helmets?" Yossari tapped the bulk of her Golem suit.

    "Non-specialists are not trained to cast spells in armour," Petra explained. "That proficiency has to be gained. Anything that interferes with natural gestures and invocations can result in spell-failure. Most non-military Mages prefer using Shield. At any rate, it is not as though we possess Dwarven Magitech."

    "Yeah. Mana burn''s a bitch." Gwen glanced at Gracie. In the Illusionist''s case, severe mana burn might mean death.

    The Alchemist chided that even the youngest Acolyte or Pilot in the Murk grew up in armour. Most Dwarves, even those from the labouring caste, could jostle about in Golem Plates with greater agility than if they were told to storm the Murk in the nude.

    Gwen thanked the Dwarf for the imagery, taking the chance to admire Yossari''s heirloom Golem Suit that had Cambridge''s Enchanters drooling. Earlier, the Dwarf had been generous enough to let them inside for a show-and-tell, though Gwen and Petra proved too tall for the squat exo-armour to encase their body.

    Behind them, the researchers'' group consisted of a convoy of ten trucks for storing specimens, two Cromwell units, and two dozen assorted Mercenaries. The leader of the mechanised column was the Botanist, Magister Valarie Banks, who deferred command to Major Halifax, an eagle-eyed Golem-Commander-Diviner from the Shard''s intelligence division.

    Gwen''s party consisted of themselves, though for now, the Tower Flights from Bangor base would be observing their progress.

    At the Major''s command, the secondary party formed into its irrespective columns, with Gwen''s party taking the right-most trail, Banks the left, and the trucks and Golems bringing up the rear. In the sky, a Mage Flight, joined by assorted specialists, relayed information back to Halifax''s command Golem.

    "Don''t worry, Miss Hillbrook, we got your back." Richard looked toward the unnatural green sea that covered the peninsula from horizon to horizon. "Please look forward to Golos. He''s very impressive."

    "Bless! Aid!" Petra popped off her stowed buffs, suffusing the party with vibrant motes of Positive Energy. "Resist Toxins!"

    Gwen allowed the buffs to suffuse her body, tasting the spell as though a connoisseur of Clerical sorcery. As she anticipated, a mundane Cleric''s potency was incomparable to Elvia''s endowments. The contrast was akin to Yue throwing Fire Bolts in high school, versus when they first witnessed Alesia''s Fire Ball.

    "Stay safe!" Brown waved the party away. "Richard, Petra, keep Gwen out of trouble!"

    The others burst into laughter.

    "What''s so funny?" Gracie appeared puzzled by the party''s high-strung mirth even as Gwen clicked her tongue.

    "Rude." She scolded her companions. "Alright, let''s go."

    Richard couldn''t help but grin when, a few kilometres into the verdant forest, the Void Mages exhibited their IIUC prowess. Gwen put up a good show, and he had no doubts that a Scry was in place and that a group of middle-aged men and women were chattering away in Bangor, sipping tea and buttering scones.

    Earlier, for an hour, a Mage Flight had been loitering overhead had watched Gwen and Jean-Paul in action. From their public Divination chatter, Richard felt sympathy for their demoralisation.

    Theirs was a military outfit consisting of two Evokers, an Abjurer-Transmuter, a Cleric and an Illusionist-Diviner.

    Below, between Gwen and Jean-Paul, the Cambridge party consisted of nine Lightning Hounds and nine Void Hounds from Gwen, Caliban in its Stag guise, Ariel in its Kirin form, Jean-Paul''s eight Void Hounds, Umzokwe, plus Lea.

    In a semi-circle of tooth and nail, the party''s minions fanned out in front, foraging through the unnaturally dense forest, leeching back vitality for their owners and ferreting forth the hidden Triffids.

    Very clearly, the Void Mages outclassed their would-be helpers.

    "SKARRRAAK!"

    Another Triffid burst from the twisted jungle that had usurped the island''s original flora. To a Mage who had never experienced arboreal battlefields, the ash-pink and lilac thorn-hedges, so unusually tropical and colourful would appear daunting. To Richard and his experienced party of Amazonian wayfarers; the Triffidus-infected trees could hardly compare to the sky-high elder-woods that locked invaders into a Dungeon of timber and fungi.

    "Lightning Bolt!"

    "EE!"

    "SKARRRAAL!" The lonesome Triffid ate dirt.

    Before the worm-like flower Sprite could even reach the Mages, the dogs were upon it, tearing and rending its tendrils until a pus-oozing, limbless slug-thing remained. These were left behind for harvest, for Void-tainted wounds took a very long time to regenerate and so could be left alone for the NoM cleanup crew to load into the stasis chambers.

    During the first stage of the operation, the going was slow and meticulous. Gwen had initially wanted to summon Golos then and there. However, her Wyvern had to slaughter the Triffids to absorb their Essence, meaning her Core-gathering clashed with Oxbridge''s specimen-collecting.

    Greedy for Cores, Gwen had even considered sending Golos to party with the main Mage Flights who were clearing a direct route into the heart of the Triffid infestation, aiming for Llyn Alaw, where the Tower planned for Gwen''s calling of the Shoggoth. In a rebuke, Richard noted the last time Golos was left out and about, the thing brought back three Big Birds. This time, so close to Snowdonia, Golos could do infinitely worse.

    Gwen grudgingly agreed. She would summon Golos once the platform for her Shoggoth was established, both to talk to the creature, and to strike some discipline into the haughty drake after its unsolicited tryst with Elvia.

    For now, their party''s goal was "Objective Beta". A smaller water source called Lyln Cefni, a place where the scouting parties had spotted a hive housing a Triffidus Primus.

    "Our dogs look so different," Gwen remarked at the carnage.

    Richard kept his eyes and ears open, observing Gwen as she and Jean-Paul compared Hound Packs. Gwen''s inquiry was because much like Jean-Paul''s Familiar, his dogs were pale, slimy, leech-like things, soft-bodied and possessed of sucker-mouths writhing with a circular discus of tiny teeth. Comparatively, Gwen''s dogs were skeletal, sleek, and jet-black, with a mouth that took up over half of the dogs'' torso.

    When butchering Triffids, Gwen''s animals took bite-sized chunks from the screeching, walking flowers, while the Afrikaner''s leech-dogs piled on, then hung on, turning Gracie two shades paler.

    By mid-afternoon, the party had ventured past the tree line and arrived in the woods'' inner sanctums. The map marked the place as Ceint, though now there was neither a village nor the road that at lead into it. The terrain was sodden with foliage and rotten wood, while all around them, with exception to the path they had cleared, alien vines with orchid flowers as large as their heads hung like listless, purple tongues.

    "JP, how do you want to do this?" Gwen stuck a thumb in the general direction of what she imagined to be the lake. "Elemental Swarm?"

    Richard helpfully corrected the direction of her digit. "Too slow. With a mass like this, the swarm would take far too long. Best to think of it as a Plant Mage''s Wall of Thorns or something. If you recall, the Triffidus Primus has Druidic powers."

    Just as he spoke, one of Gwen''s dogs ventured close enough to the tendril wall to trigger a reaction. From the tangled mess, a lashing vine ripped out from the knotted greenery to wrap around her dog. There was a brief struggle as purple ichor pumped through the thorn-strewn tentacle, then the Void Hound bit itself free and staggered back into the whinnying pack. It''s body momentarily shuddered; then it vomited forth a bubbling jet of hissing venom.

    "That looks like it could hurt," Gwen remarked.

    "Best keep our distance." Richard studied the thorn-hedge. "Try a Chakram?"

    Gwen performed as told, flooding her conduits to unleash a disk of Void as large as a dinner table. The silent discus managed to slice about two meters into the mass of jade-green vines, felling an enormous stack. Like a burst vein, a fountain of ichor sprayed into the atmosphere.

    "Lea¡ª" Richard commanded his Familiar. An enormous Water Shield materialised, enough to envelope the party, repelling the foul liquid.

    "Looks corrosive." Yossari''s Golem had in-built diagnostics and so ran some measurements once the spray died down. "Mild, but in enough volume, it''ll do some damage."

    "They''re regenerating." Petra pointed to the wall. "So much for cutting through."

    Where Gwen had made the incision, a busy susurration of vine-flesh began to sprout rapidly.

    The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    "Let me try." Jean-Paul raised his hand, then pulled at the air as though trying to take control of some unseen foe. "Consumptive Orb!"

    Where Gwen had struck, a tiny sphere of Void materialised, eating away at the bio-matter in its immediate vicinity to suddenly bloat and grow. Within seconds, the blob of pulsing Void was a metre across.

    Jean-Paul gritted his teeth and held on until the Consumptive Orb was the size of Caliban''s stag-form, then uttered an ejaculatory "Void Burst!"

    Like a popped balloon, the Consumptive Orb discharged its payload in a forward-facing spray of tenebrous and uncontrolled Void matter, splattering the writhing vines. A great commotion of shrivelling flesh resounded as the Void-splatter began to eat away at the wood.

    "Something''s coming," Yossari reported, checking her Golem''s HUD. "Two¡ª no, THREE Hydraffids!"

    "Thank God, finally." Gwen perked up. "The sooner we get our specimens; the sooner Golos can come out and play. Caliban! Ariel! Get ready!"

    "Vitriolic Mist!" Jean-Paul put in place a Signature Evocation-Conjuration Void Spell, materialising a fine haze of floating Void-motes in a wide semi-circle arc far from the party.

    "How are you two casting all of this?" Gracie almost bit her tongue. "So many spells at so many tiers!"

    Richard glanced at the disbelieving Void Sorceress while willing Lea to conjure the beginning of a Shield for each of their members. Like Gwen herself, he too had done the hard yakka since arriving at Cambridge. Different to his cousin''s Omni-path, Richard always knew that his way forward lied in greater efficacy with Lea. A Water Mage, particularly a Conjurer, was limited only by their imagination and the volume of water they could manipulate at once. As such, he had been training Lea''s affinity through an array of odd-jobs around London. Now with access to the Shard''s Grey Market, he had been spending both CCs and HDMs on acquiring Wildland ingredients that would increase his VMI, his Familiar efficacy, as well as empower Lea herself.

    "SKAAARRRL!"

    With a roar more hiss than bark, the infested woodlands parted, spilling forth the contorted bodies of a trio of Hydraffids. These waded through Jean-Paul''s fine mist of Void matter, crashing through the intangible barrier, growing slick with ichor as their'' outer dermis melted.

    As one, the Hydraffids reared their heads.

    "Dick!" Gwen called out. They had seen the same display in Burma.

    "On it! Water Prison!" Richard reacted before she even finished, conjuring bubbles of water around the heads of the monsters.

    His anticipation proved correct; a second later, globs of corrosive poison struck the prisons he had conjured, filling the pristine water with venom.

    "Recycle!" he commanded Lea. Effortlessly, his Familiar willed the contaminated liquid back into the Elemental Plane. "All yours, Duck."

    "Thanks, Dick!" Gwen commanded her mix of dogs to go for the second and third Hydraffid while Jean-Paul''s minions leapt for the first. "JP, we need them alive for the researchers!"

    "Understood!" Jean-Paul pointed at the tail segment of his prey. "Consumptive Orb!"

    "Lea! Keep them shielded!" Richard spread his awareness so that he could encompass the entire battlefield. "Don''t let them use range!"

    "SKAARRRK!"

    The woods to their east exploded with activity. A sixsome of Triffids newly arrived on the scene, slithering from the thorn-wall to join the fun. Like the Hydraffids, these ran head-first into the Void tinged mist Jean-Paul had conjured.

    "Duck! Keep them pinned!" Richard called out.

    His cousin concurred, "Ariel! Chain Lightning!"

    Rapid incantations thundered from Gwen''s lips as the Lightning Kirin lit up like a Christmas Tree at Trafalgar Square. From its horns, arcs of living lightning struck the Hydraffids before making their way toward the Triffids, striking with such force that orchid-coloured flesh exploded from their writhing bodies.

    "Here''s another!" Gwen appeared to have spell focus to spare. Her second string of plosive syllables was enough to send two Elemental Spheres into the creatures'' midst. "Ariel! Fry-em!"

    Richard expanded Lea''s many Shield spells, making sure that the blowback from the thunderous explosions did not impact the damage-dealers.

    "They''re still alive!" Yossari confirmed through her suit''s Scrying capabilities.

    Much to the party''s surprise, the Hydraffids carried on. It wasn''t that the Void or Lightning Magic were not sufficient¡ª more so that the plant-creatures appeared perfectly happy to function without heads or torsos and most of their limbs. Added to their resilience were a high spell resistance and the ability to regenerate wounds not sustained from Void, acid or fire, it was little wonder regular Mage Flights found them to be a living nightmare.

    "Caliban!" Gwen chose expedience. "Do it!"

    "SHAA! SHAA!" Caliban expanded like rising dough. In a moment, it transformed into an eight-metre Hydra far more robust than the sinuous Hydraffids. With six-heads writhing, it was just enough to intercept two of the creatures. Once in melee, Caliban split open the mouths of its faceless "heads" to reveal rows of gnashing teeth glistening with grey globs of saliva.

    "Umzokwe!" Jean-Paul''s creature proved less protean. Tapping into its vitality, it grew to three times its usual size, becoming almost six-metres, coiling itself around the Hydraffid. At its master''s command, its corrosive, pink-veined stomach inverted, exploding forth from its nozzle-like lips to splatter the Hydraffid as though casting a net of tangled flesh.

    "BLURRRRRGGH¡ª" Gracie fell to her knees and cleared the contents of her stomach.

    Next, the dogs closed in.

    "Lighting Bolt!" Gwen was relentless with the mid-ranged artillery from Ariel. "Lightning Sphere!"

    "Void Burst!" Jean-Paul took out the mobile part of his victim''s lower body. "Umzokwe! Control yourself!"

    Not far from the white leech, Caliban rendezvoused its twin Hydraffids head-on, frenching the creatures with its many maws. Where the plant monsters'' heads got severed, the stumps spurted pus-like, fungal blood.

    Behind the clashing titans, where the Void mist had dissipated, the triple pack of dogs made short work of the regular Triffids, with the Lightning Hound tearing off wriggling limbs while their Void counterparts feasted on chunk-fulls of vitality.

    Richard kept an eye on their surroundings while he studied Gwen''s rival. Like his cousin, Jean-Paul possessed the means to imbibe vitality through his leech. Unlike Caliban, the thing known as Umzokwe was overtly gluttonous, choked full of flesh meandering through the Familiar''s semi-clear, bloated body. Even so, Jean-Paul appeared stricken while Gwen grew flush from head to toe.

    It was a curious juxtaposition. Richard wasn''t sure how contracts between Master and Familiar worked for Void Mages, but it would appear Jean-Paul had gotten a rather bum deal compared to Gwen.

    "Stop!" Petra suddenly shouted, her eyes aglow with Divination. "They''re almost dead. Don''t forget, the longer it takes for the specimen collection to complete, the longer we''re stuck here."

    "Cali, return!" Gwen commanded her Familiar. Caliban withdrew its many heads, shook off the gore, then wandered back, burping loudly from two of its six heads.

    Umzokwe viciously tore out a final chunk of Hydraffid before it too returned, engorged and massive, trailing clear slime that dissolved the dense foliage beneath.

    Richard took some mental notes, then sent Lea to patrol the perimeter. Knowing one''s adversaries was half the fight.

    "Buck! Astro!" Gwen recalled her dog pack as well, urging Jean-Paul to do the same. En route, three headless, limbless Hydraffids rolled on the rotten foliage, spilling lime-green juices all over the floor.

    "This one needs a stabilisation." Petra pointed to the one Jean-Paul had left behind. "Dick, cover me."

    Richard encased his cousin with water while the Enchantress approached to dispense a Cure Minor Wounds, injecting the quivering mound of knotted flesh with just enough Positive Energy to keep it from expiring.

    Richard turned to Gracie, tasking the Illusionist with something useful. "That''s three Hydraffids and six more Triffids. What are we at?"

    On the forest floor, Gracie wheezed while she relayed Richard''s question. "¡­ Ten more Hydraffids and forty more Triffids. There are no Primus sightings as of yet."

    "How''s your mana?" Richard asked Gwen.

    "I am good. Jean-Paul?" Gwen''s cheeks were positively glowing.

    "I can keep going."

    "Great." His cousin placed both hands against her hips. "I think I''ve got a good idea of how we can clear this wall."

    "Cali-wyrm?" Richard recollected at once. "Would it work?"

    "Worth a try. Either way, I am up to my neck." Gwen tapped her throat with one hand. "Let me tell ya; these Triffids make for RICH eating."

    With the winter light dying over a smothered horizon, the party chose to camp at a township formerly known as Llangefni. Formerly¡ª because after the Triffids had taken over the land, the brick and mortar buildings had all been reduced to rubble.

    At the town''s centre, the only surviving structures were a regional government building and a church. Further excavation reduced the foliage, revealing a clocktower choked with Triffid spores.

    Gwen''s dogs, who had fanned out into the town once they ate through the vines, soon returned with the news that they had found something. The party proceeded to the church; in the basement, they found the drained bodies of no less than fifty-odd men and women, children too, tethered to the walls by withered vines.

    "JP, you stay with Gracie," Gwen told the two.

    Team Cousins, joined by a curious Yossari, ventured down into the ancient base-level.

    The scene was as she had observed via her Ariel VR.

    "You get folk like this everywhere," to their surprise, Yossari spoke up. "Yer can tell a town to evacuate, but there''s always folk who think they know better. Or who think yer a joke or the danger''s a hoax. Yer say this is a temple?"

    "Yes¡ª" Gwen covered her nose and mouth, fearful that her enhanced smelling-sense might overwhelm her olfactory functions. As it turned out, there was no need, for the poor sods fell apart the moment Richard touched them¡ª much in the manner of clumped loam having lost all its moisture. "Oh¡ª Jesus, Dick, careful with that!"

    Yossari shrugged. "That''ll explain it. Even in the Murk, there''s folk who think the Deepdowners or the Ancestors will save them, or that something or someone''s looking out for them. They refuse to leave their Citadels even when the monsters are scratching at the walls, flooding into the forge¡ª of course, by then, it''s far too late."

    "The Triffids are invaders, right?" Gwen asked her cousin, her jaws grim. "From another Plane?"

    "Something like that." Her cousin nodded. "I wouldn''t overthink. We''re here to exterminate them. They''ll cease to exist in three days. I wouldn''t bother with the academics. Not our job."

    "A fair point." Gwen looked around. It was easy to think of the Triffids as monsters. They obviously ate humans, and they were definitely in-human. "Do we bury these people?"

    "We can collapse the Church," Petra advised. "I don''t think they''re moveable. If Elvia was here, I bet she''s trained in the Final Rite."

    "I can do that for you." Yossari waved a manipulator arm, revealing a Spellblade. "I''ll return them to the earth''s embrace. The Earth Mother doesn''t discriminate."

    Gwen nodded her head sadly, then backed away toward the basement stairs. In the depth of her Empathic Link, Caliban informed her that it had finished patrolling the town. Ariel reported no more hostiles. "Alright, I think the Familiars are done. Let''s head up. We''ll set up on the roof of the town hall."

    "Should we inform Gracie and Jean-Paul?" Richard was the last to leave.

    "Naw." Gwen recalled Jean-Paul''s story about the Nun. "JP and church basements don''t mix."

    Weee¡ªWeeee¡ª

    Weee¡ªWeeee¡ªWeeee¡ª

    Weee¡ªWeeee¡ªWeeee¡ª Weee¡ªWeeee¡ª

    Gweeegn¡ª Gweeegn¡ª Gweeegn¡ª Gweeegn¡ª Gweeegn¡ª

    Gwen slowly opened her eyes.

    "What the fuck was that?" she demanded of the frigid night air, made lightless by an overcast sky. "Cali, was that you?"

    "Shaa! Shaa!" Caliban''s response came from below, where it waited in ambush for the wayward Triffids filtering in from the forest.

    Twice now, she had circulated her Essence to ward away sleep, and both times, the moment she entered a meditative stance, some god-forsaken voice started to resound in her head.

    "Is somebody Singing the Snake?" Gwen considered the possibility. She continued to circulate her Essence until she felt on the verge of bursting. "Almudj? Is that you?"

    Her reply came in the form of a splintering crash northward of the town hall, followed by the sound of her Alarm Wards firing away.

    The constant harassment was the reason why Gwen offered to take watch. With the Triffids crawling into the cleared square like clockwork, sleep was all but impossible, and only she and Jean-Paul could comfortably keep individual monsters at bay.

    And as only Gwen could arguably keep awake via Essence, she offered her team the Portable Habitat, while herself, Caliban, Ariel and the dogs held the fort.

    "SKARRR¡ª!" the howling abruptly cut short.

    A minute later, Caliban burped. The dogs soundlessly returned to their usual spots, with Astro''s pack lighting up the perimeter while Buck''s crow-black cabal hid in the dark.

    Gwen returned to her meditation, though like tinnitus, she could still make out the "Weee¡ª Weee¡ª" at the back of her skull.

    Throughout the night, her teammates came out to join her on the second floor of the abandoned town hall every odd hour while Caliban carried out an unseen carnage below.

    At dawn, the party emerged into an ichor-strewn street painted green with blood from what must be thirty-odd monsters. Most were dead, though a dozen, yet to bleed out, could be collected by the convoy.

    "I think I am good to summon the Shoggoth," Gwen informed them during breakfast, her appearance so hale that one would have thought her awakening from a 10,000 HDM spa treatment. "Who would have thought there were so many of those Triffids left?"

    "I say the grove is growing them as we speak." Richard performed a quick stretching routine. "We checked before we camped, it was all clear."

    "Such a shame Golos isn''t here." Gwen sighed. "All those wasted Cores..."

    Richard agreed.

    "How''d you sleep?" She turned to Gracie, who emerged in her bulk armour once more.

    "Well enough," Gracie replied, tugging on her hair with a brush. "Its¡­ very quiet in there."

    "Ha, the Ethereal Plane is like that. It takes a few nights to get used to it."

    Ding!

    A Message pinged the party.

    "Yes?" Gwen put the Message on an open channel. "Magus Song''s party reporting in."

    "Magus Song," the incoming command resounded. "This is Bangor Command. The main party has arrived at Llyn Alaw. We await your rendezvous at Check Point Alpha. The capture mission will continue. There''s no sign of the Primus."

    "Understood," Gwen reported. "We''re at Llangefni, about twelve kilometres out. Shall we make for Objective Beta?"

    "Negative. A Teleportation Circle has been set up at Alaw, please secure your perimeter and set up a field Circle. Do you require aid? We can fly a Specialist over."

    "No need. I''ll do it." Richard raised his hand.

    "Negative, Bangor Command. I''ll see you on-site soon," Gwen replied into the Message. "Please send the gate codes."

    "Roger that." There was a pause. "Sending codes now."

    Once Gwen memorised the flashing Glyphs, the Message spell dimmed, then died.

    "JP, you and I will set up the perimeter." Gwen turned to her partner. "Let''s get the dogs out and about. We''ll have to unsummon them before we port over."

    "I''ll help with the Teleportation Circle," Petra offered. "I know the script, though Richard will have to provide the mana and the spell."

    "Great." Gwen breathed out, observing the wall-to-wall exotic greenery surrounding their party. Already, the path they made via Cali-worm was creeping back. "I just hope Golos can find some Cores before we unleash the big dog."

 Chapter 367 - So Long, and Thanks for the...

    At Llyn Alaw, Gwen and her crew teleported into a clearing burned clean of Triffid infestation. From the portal to the pavilion, the landscape resembled a No Man''s Land, with the lake itself smothered with ash, emerald with Triffid spores, hinting at the battle that must have taken place overnight.

    At the edge of the Teleportation Circle''s raised dais, Gwen and her companions hailed the guards, then joined Magister Maxwell Brown, who had been waiting for them.

    Inside the overlarge pavilion, Gwen met with many strange faces and shook hands with every Magister and Magus until her fingers grew numb and her face grew partially paralysed. Jean-Paul likewise received benedictions and praise, though Gwen suspected her companion''s Master had far more to do with the introverted sorcerer''s popularity than his Triffid-count.

    "Gwen, how is your health?" Brown corralled his trio of Void sorcerers once Gwen had performed her social dues. "Mind you. We won''t be summoning the Shoggoth until we find that Primus."

    "I am all charged up," Gwen assured her tutor. "But we''re going to Llyn Cefni after this, aren''t we? I would like to exercise my Wyvern."

    "I admire your eagerness. Having the Purge was a serendipitous affair, wouldn''t you say?" Brown raised a cup of fragrant English breakfast. "If it weren''t for this fortuitous outbreak of Triffids, you would be between a Dwarf miner and a hard place."

    "How so?" Gwen cocked her head. Beside her, Jean-Paul and Gracie came close to hear what the Magister had to say.

    "Without the push from the Isle of Man." Gwen''s tutor replaced his cup with a clink. "The closest Purge would have been in the Niger Delta, be it the lycanthropes or the Mami Wata¡ª you be looking to consume some very talkative Demi-humans with complex social structures. The Mami Wata especially; most of them are snake-bodied, but their magic-casters are bipedal and near-human, alluring as well, from what the locals say. I suppose you wouldn''t be so keen on exterminating those, eh?"

    "True. I should be thankful for being put on weeding duty." Gwen pursed her lips. "I don''t profess to know much about Triffids, but I sure as hell prefer feeding Caliban salad than something that begs for its life."

    "Have you eaten¡­ those before, Gwen?" Gracie gulped her juice beside them; her eyes wide and morbid with fascination. "Things that beg?"

    "You want to know? Gracie? Curiosity killed the cat."

    Gracie looked to Jean-Paul for an answer.

    Jean-Paul gave Gracie an affirming nod of psychopathic solidarity. "Everyone''s eaten one at some point. They''re a primary source of Wildland bush trade, why, the Japanese¡­"

    "Please don''t." Gwen suddenly felt sick. "I would rather not know if my otoro can litigate. Besides, Caliban''s doing the eating."

    "Have you eaten¡­" Gracie licked her lips. "P-people?"

    "I have." Jean-Paul leapt into the abyss without hesitation. "Umzokwe''s first feast began that way¡ª"

    "If you must know. Same story here," Gwen lowered her voice. "Not willingly, of course. I was hog-tied in a basement, and Caliban went off the rails. I''ll tell you the story sometime."

    "Umzokwe has eaten at least a half-hundred." Jean-Paul''s candidness made Gwen wonder if he saw their mutual atrocities as a scoreboard. "When I was on a Purge quest in Swaziland, it was the most expedient way of dealing with Rogue Mage warlords."

    "You''ve killed half-a-hundred people?!" Gracie''s mouth hung open. "Not Demi-humans, but people?"

    "Haha..." Jean-Paul appeared to take Gracie''s horror as praise. "It''s nothing compared to Gwen''s accomplishments."

    Gracie turned to Gwen with an expression of pure horror.

    "Accomplishments?" Gwen gave Jean-Paul a stern look. "Jesus Christ, JP, that''s nothing to be proud of."

    "Why not?" Jean-Paul cocked his head. "You''re the Devourer of Shenyang! They say it was the greatest victory against the Undead in this decade! How many hundreds of Necromancers were in that city? How many of their sycophants?"

    Gwen''s blood ran cold even as her mind dug for an excuse.

    Inadvertently, Jean-Paul had pinched a nerve that she hadn''t ever really considered. Her present labours were not about how many fathers might lose their jobs because she recommended a corporate restructuring so that new hires could reduce overhead; these were actual beings¡ª hundreds and thousands of lives that she had snuffed out on her climb to the top. Looking at Gracie''s uncomprehending face, she became reminded of Elvia''s complaint against her protean morality. How strange it was that her memories of Blackheath now felt so indifferent.

    "Yeah well¡ª" Gwen delved deep for the right words. At the very least, she had to instruct Gracie. "Look, people or no people, there has to be a line, alright? This thin, red line, let''s call it morality¡ª better yet, ethics,or professionalism. Even if we''re Mages of Mass Destruction, there''s a boundary, right? We take on monsters that threaten our way of life¡ª help our kin find new homes, colonise new lands. Where possible, we sue for peace. Power, when properly projected, is a deterrent to conflict..."

    "Anway... I called it Militant Pacifism," Gwen chugged on. "The more power I¡ª I mean the Mageocracy projects, the less likely other races will choose the Path of Violent Conflict. Of course, there''s a whole social contract element involved, and things get muddled¡ª Oh, hey¡ª Yossari, what do you think?"

    While her monologue rambled on, their now unarmoured Dwarven Alchemist joined them. Yossari wore a metallic tunic with thick boots, held her hair in a tight bun secured by a Mithril band, and drank straight scotch from the bottle.

    "I ain''t one to speak, seeing as I am not from the warrior caste." The Alchemist shook her head. "Hanmoul has done well for himself, though. His notches can be counted in the thousands. Very interesting, this Military Pacifism. As for yer flustering..."

    The Dwarf turned to Gwen and gently punched her solar plexus. "Let me give yer some advice I once gave Hanmoul a century ago. The only burden yer should live with is yer code. For us, the Code of the Ancestors is very generous."

    The Dwarf took a deep breath.

    "Care for yer kin, care for yer Clan, care for yerself, care for yer Thane," the Alchemist said. "Not all of us take it in that order of priority, but it''s a start."

    Gwen grew contemplative.

    "Well said. For loyalists like us, its Queen and Country." Brown raised his refilled cuppa. "Long Live the Mageocracy, naturally."

    Gwen regarded her duck-loving tutor. "I''ll stick with having a conscience if it is all the same to you, Max."

    She then turned to the confused-looking void sorceress. "Don''t fret, Gracie. I don''t think you''ll become like us. As for me and JP, so long as we don''t cross that thin red line in our hearts, I think we''ll do okay. What do you think, Jean-Paul?"

    "Honestly¡­" Jean-Paul said. "I haven''t given it much thought."

    "Perhaps that is the correct answer." Maxwell Brown golf-clapped approvingly. "There''s nothing wrong with a strong sense of duty. Our topic reminds me of a limerick from the Pan-European war."

    The Magister cleared his throat.

    "''Do your duty, girl or boy¡ª

    Learn to survive and never want joy.

    You''ll all be happy, protected and warm,

    and fear no monster, suffer no harm''."

    A few close listeners hid their cynicism with a smile.

    Jean-Paul and Gracie appeared in agreement.

    Yossari cared not for the rhyming propaganda.

    As for Gwen, her lips moved with a volition of their own.

    "And because I obey, they think there''s no injury.

    Praise God and Queen, who makes a heaven from our misery."

    "Ha!" Yossari clapped at her Gwenism. "Nicely done!"

    "I would keep that to myself," Brown cautioned with uneasy wonder. "Gracie, keep in mind Gwen grew up on the Frontier, and has family in China. Her perception can be somewhat radical."

    Besides Gwen, good girl Gracie nodded her head.

    Gwen sighed. "Well whatever, let''s bring out Golos and find ourselves that Primus"

    After breakfast, Gwen''s party was followed by throngs of curious Magisters out toward the lake, where an earthen platform had been prepared for her demonstration.

    Armed with newfound Abjuration and Enchantment, Gwen produced her inscription wand and drew up a passably impressive Planar Ally Mandala with minimal guidance from Petra, completing the magic circle in record time. Once the circuits conjoined, she invoked the rites, vivified the etched Glyphs and spoke the words.

    As a final flourish, Gwen materialised the impressive crates of HDMs and placed them in the adjacent fuel-circles. These were enough to silence the crowd, giving her the tranquillity required to complete the tongue-twisting incantations.

    "Gogo!" she invoked the contract held within her Astral Body, envisioning Golos'' stupid, grinning face as the Lightning mana fled, consuming the crates of compressed HDMs. "Come! Aid me!"

    From the overcast English sky, a funnel of mana formed, materialising into vivid strikes of lightning that fed into the summoning mandala.With a thunderous crack of unmitigated power, a roaring gash to the Quasi-Elemental Plane of Lightning was torn into the Prime Material, forming a conduit that spanned the space between places.

    A living rod of lightning struck the dais.

    A split-second later, Golos, Wyvern Prince of Huangshan, surveyed the scene below him.

    Scant applause filled the banks of the lake where Gwen''s observers took notes or otherwise made encouraging remarks.

    To Gwen''s surprise, it wasn''t only the Wyvern that appeared, but also a dozen crates, each about half her size. These were etched with Glyphs, ones pertaining to long-distance Teleportation.

    "Gogo." Gwen waved. "I am surprised you''re in one piece. What''s in the boxes?"

    "Calamity." Golos smouldered as his scales cooled, discharging the excess energy from his transit. Seeing their audience, the Wyvern''s cruel, toothy lips split into a grin. "Ruxin has sent you gifts."

    Gwen remained unimpressed. "A refund for summoning you? How thoughtful your brother must be. Am I to take this as an apology?"

    "Take a look." The Wyvern stepped back. "He says if you desire additional morsels, he can arrange more."

    "Morsels?" Gwen approached one of the crates. She quickly glanced at her audience, checking that no one shouted warnings or began to weave Abjuration spells. Closer, a strange premonition tingled her spine. It wasn''t the spine-wrangling sting of imminent danger, but she was confident that something very unpleasant was about to enter her orbit. "Golos, what''s in this thing? More Ginsengs?"

    She could sure as hell use more Sen-sens right now.

    "Brother says that it''s a warning to all who would cheat you." The Wyvern reared his majestic head. Once risen, Golos began to speak in Draconic. "BEHOLD, MORTALS! SUCH IS THE FATE OF THOSE WHO WOULD DEFRAUD OUR KIN!"

    "Wait!" Gwen said to the Wyvern, her premonition evolving to encompass a migraine. "Gogo! What''s in the box¡ª"

    CLANG!

    As one, the Glyph-clad boxes opened, their panels falling to the wayside to reveal their precious cargo, the so-called ''gift'' to Gwen.

    A stink of sick and in some instance, urine, polluted the air.

    Gwen blinked, disbelieving her eyes, then rapidly blinked again to make sure she wasn''t having a lucid nightmare. The observers around her, most of whom had no access to Draconic, now gawked with their mouths open.

    "Morsels!" Golos opened his wings. "For you to bolster your unholy magic!"

    Gwen felt the flow of time around her in the manner of a Mage affected by Haste, where everything felt as though moving in slow motion. How could this be happening? She asked herself. She was just summoning Golos so the drake could shit out some cores. Was Ruxin trying fuck with her?

    On the elevated dais, the Devourer of Shenyang now stood with a Wyvern and a multitude of men and women in sullied, orange prison uniforms, most of whom she knew by name.

    Magister Quin Chen!

    Director Tu Guangshao!

    Magus Xing Fung!

    Magus Jiang Fung!

    Magus Bai An Fung!

    Magus Teng Cai Fung!

    Senior Abjurer Cui Delan Tu!

    Senior Transmuter Tian Hanying!

    Secretary Duan Zhen!

    District Party Secretary Geng Mu!

    The Wyvern aside, she had conjured men and women galore! A veritable Mage Flight! Enough high-tier magic users to run a provincial District!

    Very slowly, the pale-faced, blue-lipped Mages turned to face her. Like marionettes pulled by strings, their bodies moved against their will until, as one, the group fell, prostrating themselves by striking the floor with their hand and foreheads.

    "Now consume them!" Golos pointed a sizzling claw of lightning at the Mages, then at Gwen. "These carcasses stole Crystals from you, Calamity. Show them the wrath of an Elder Kindred! Use them for the only purpose they''re fit for¡ª as fertiliser for your calamitous, soul-drinking worm!"

    As Golos'' enthusiasm washed over her, Gwen became hyper-aware of her observers on the banks.

    Magister Brown was holding Gracie, who was near-collapsed in his arms. Richard stood with a shit-eating smile split from ear to ear. Petra appeared impressed and lively, and Jean-Paul looked like he could swallow an egg. Besides her team, the Colonels, Majors, Magisters and Maguses all wore various expressions impossible for her to read. As for Yossari, the Dwarf shook her head, likely wondering what the hell these Humans were up to now.

    "NO!" Gwen spun, sending her hair fanning out in a semi-circle. "NO! NO! NO! WHAT THE FUCK?! Golos! Did Ruxin put you up to this?"

    In the midst of her fury, there was also clarity. Ruxin was arrogant and a bit a of a dick, but there was no possible way the Dragon would spoil their investments by ruining her reputation like this. For the sake of Crystals, she would have the truth! She would have Caliban ferret the facts from Golos'' gut if that were how deep she had to dig.

    "WELL?"

    "Er¡­" Golos stumbled from the force of her glare. "I am just a Messenger."

    "And Ruxin told you to say this?" She pointed at the shivering prisoners. "Your brother, the Master of Manipur, Kachin and Nagaland, currently my partner, put you up to this pile of Dragon shit?"

    Out of sheer nervousness, Golos began to pick at his snout furiously.

    "Caliban!" Gwen called for her Familiar. "Big Bird¡ª"

    "Ayxin told me to say it!" Golos hastily spat before Caliban materialised.

    Gwen looked to the crowd, within whom the misunderstanding must be brewing like bacteria in a cesspit. She so wanted to grab the fangs sticking out of Golos'' face and rip a pair out. Thanks to the idiot, regardless of the truth, sensationalist headlines about man-eating sorceresses would fly its way around the world before reality could even get its pants on.

    Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

    "Ayxin?" Gwen bit back the vitality necessary for Caliban to beat the Wyvern a new shade of blue. "Why would she do that?"

    "Her mate speaks about you incessantly," Golos readily confessed, perhaps realising he may as well tell the whole tale. "When sister complained she was still without egg. I told her if she''s anxious about infidelity, then she should share. That way, the first female to bear fruit proves the better mate. Its how we Dragons do it."

    "Jesus, you dull-witted bird brain¡­" Gwen gagged, feeling such cringe that her skin itched. She could just imagine the siblings communing via their Dragon-App or whatever they used to talk. There''s Ruxin''s boasting about cash, Ayxin lamenting about Jun¡ª then Golos, for some stupid fucking reason, stops ploughing Phalera long enough to deliver Ayxin a shit-nugget of wisdom. In response, choked by a cold and vengeful fury, Ayxin gives Golos an amazing idea to piss on their niece, giving her enough reason to send Caliban on a magical mystery tour. "Bloody oath, Gogo¡­ you''ve got a god damned death wish."

    "¡­ you''re not going to eat them?"

    "Of course not!" Gwen snapped. "These are people, Golos! They''re wearing pants! Tell me, what are Ruxin''s plans? His real one this time."

    "These are your new labourers," Golos finally explained, revealing the untold secret behind the crates. "They''re Essence-bound to obey your every word and will."

    "Oh¡­" Gwen looked toward the prisoners shivering on the floor. "¡­ fuck. What happens if I don''t need them? Can I send them home?"

    "Then their Astral Bodies will cease to exist, and they will die," the Wyvern explained. "He did say they would make a good example of anyone who chooses to steal from you. He does not wish for the same thing to happen to his Crystals in this land of the western empires."

    Gwen opened her mouth to speak, then thought better of it.

    "Mister Tu," she left the Wyvern to address the kowtowing Mages. "What do you think of all this?"

    "Our only wish only is to perish in your service." The once-mighty Director of Finances, Tu Guangshao, kept his head low. "If we may advance your course by one millimetre, Mistress, then our duty is done."

    "Are you all glamoured?" Gwen asked.

    "Yes," Tu replied with a tone of maniacal optimism. "Master Ruxin would like you to know that this is what we chose out of the paths he had offered us. The ones you see here chose the Path of Servitude."

    Gwen sighed. Looking at Golos, she turned again to her old employers. "Magister Chen, are you under duress?"

    "It was death¡ª I chose life," Magister Chen replied. "I serve freely and willingly."

    "Somehow I doubt that," Gwen said. "What happens if I free you?"

    "Consumption by your Void Fiend would be preferable."

    "I see¡­" Gwen mulled over her options. If only Walken were here, she lamented. For now, someone else would have to fill the old fox''s shoes. Quickly, she sent a Message to Brown, explaining her dilemma.

    "More than anything, these are foreign Mages who have no right to be here." Brown pushed back against the clamouring of shocked Magisters surrounding him, "We''ll have to send them to Customs to get processed. What do you want to do with them?"

    "If I send them back, they''re meat," Gwen said. "They''re white-collar criminals who failed at playing politics. The Dragon I am doing business with¡ª Ruxin, sent them over to be my servants rather than killing them outright. They''re under some form of indentured servitude, sealed with a Draconic Geas."

    "No doubt," Brown''s voice returned. "Christ, Gwen¡ª this is a bureaucratic nightmare. These are Magisters and Maguses, not NoMs. And if they''re loyal to you or the Lord of Nagaland..."

    A moment of silence passed between them while behind Gwen, Golos the Wyvern scratched an ear hole with a wingtip.

    "Maybe you should let the Lady know."

    "Maybe I should let the Lady know¡­" the two said at the same time.

    "Okay." Gwen was glad that great minds thought alike. As much as she felt pity for these sods, they had made their beds. "Good idea. I''ll call Ollie."

    Once the excitement died down, Gwen''s party had two options¡ª to stay at Llyn Alaw and wait for the hunt for the Primus to conclude, or to venture out themselves to join the hunt.

    Gwen''s first choice, considering Golos'' smug face, was to proceed as planned. That was until Richard intervened and explained to her the poor optics of her thumping through the forest with Golos in tow while her ''servants'' stood on the dais in the wind and rain, suffering the potential of spontaneous combustion.

    "And no." Richard appeared perfectly happy with her new servants. "Putting them undercover doesn''t help. Who are the authorities going to talk to when they arrive? Ollie? Magister Brown? They''re your responsibility, Gwen. Or do you want them to interview Golos?"

    "I didn''t want this." Gwen felt such ambivalence. She understood that the lives of these folks were not her responsibility¡ª but she also acknowledged that she alone was responsible for them. In a Message to Mayuree, she had urged her business companion to begin working on sending her a team of auditors for London. Marong had replied that there would be many hurdles, as Frontier immigration remained troublesome¡ª that and most of their management-level staff in Shanghai would not want to leave their tier 1 home.

    Assuming word had travelled up the mountain, Ruxin''s boon was a natural solution to the Isle of Dog''s short-handedness.

    Her surface reading was that the Dragon was a good business partner, one providing her with capable, loyal, magically inclined staff with decades of experience in managing things¡ª albeit corruptly.

    The underhanded implication, Gwen suspected, was that Ruxin wanted eyes to see what she was doing and that for someone whose Crystal hoard was being held hostage, the Dragon wanted another layer of assurance.

    "Fine¡ª" she relented. "I''ll take care of this."

    She rounded up the docile prisoners, who gazed toward her as though she was the light of salvation at the end of a long tunnel. At her behest, Golos turned himself into his humanoid form, once again wowing the crowd with his spike tail club before Gwen made him wear pants.

    Once across the thin strip of land adjoining the platform to the lake''s edge, she handed over her "servants" to the military. When Major Halifax indicated that they did not have the men to spare, considering the Magister-tier casters in her group, Gwen conceded to Richard''s wisdom.

    "Good work, Dick," she commended her cousin, concurrently commanding Golos and her Familiars to keep an eye on the captives.

    "That''s alright, Duck." Richard patted her head. "Besides, I am sure half of those folks still think you''re going to eat them in secret. Maybe make a public announcement?"

    "Good idea." Gwen waited until the prisoners were relocated before she turned to address an eager crowd panting for the relationship between a shapeshifting Wyvern and a Void Sorceress. That particular bit of detail had been left out from their briefing, especially the part where Chinese Mages had cheated Gwen out of money she co-owned with a Dragon. Gwen did not mind. The Tonglv incident was an open secret; now, it was merely in the open.

    "Alright, you scoundrels¡ª" Gwen imperiously addressed the prisoners.

    "A gentle approach might be best¡­" This time, it was Petra who spoke through a Silent Message. "Gwen, you''re in England now. These Dragon-baits might answer to you, but you answer to London''s Tower. Be mindful of who''s watching."

    Their eyes briefly met. Petra nodded her head, nudging Gwen to move in the right direction.

    "Worry not," Gwen corrected course at once. "You will wait here with me until Heathrow sends their officers. When you are questioned; tell them what you know. Hide nothing. Your honesty will determine if you can carry out your duties as promised to Ruxin. If you lie, I''ll send you back to China or Nagaland to answer to the Dragon himself. Understood?"

    Collectively, the Mages bowed. "Yes, Mistress!"

    "Good, now talk." Gwen curled Caliban under her so that she instantly possessed an impromptu and terrifying bench. "Now¡ª tell me everything."

    Thankfully, it wasn''t nearly as bad as she had thought.

    According to Tu and Chen, after their arrest, they and their family were kept in stasis until they made the ISTC journey into Yangon. There, they were transported by Marong''s people, the private militia servicing the House of M called the Shadow Men of Manipur, to Nagaland.

    Upon their arrival in the Jade Palace, the hundred or so prisoners had kowtowed in Ruxin''s presence to face his judgement. The Dragon''s displeasure swept over them, and about a dozen of the weaker members died right there and then.

    The survivors weren''t nearly so lucky.

    The Dragon had used its Draconic tongue to compel the truth from their teaming brains. Each by each, the men and women confessed to every crime and perversion. All admitted to bribery, theft, false bookkeeping, lovers outside of wedlock, bastard children. One even professed of having silenced a mistress and another to having impure thoughts about a threesome with Ayxin and Jun. Nothing was left unturned as the Dragon''s Essence-tinged Mind Magic picked over their brains, turning their egos into mushy rice.

    Once satisfied with their blabbering, semi-moronic semblances, the Dragon gave his sentence. The intent was that they would die eventually in the jade mines, be it from abuse or exhaustion, Ruxin didn''t care¡ª

    ¡ª Until Ru¨¬ intervened.

    Out of the unsullied goodness of her heart, Ru¨¬ felt compassion for those men and women who would have murdered her over a mere hundred HDMs and suggested they could be put to use for Gwen in England. If even she, a mere mortal of so little power, could find it in her heart to feel for these miserable cretins, Ru¨¬ explained, why can''t Ruxin, who was so much wiser and kinder?

    The survivors of Ruxin''s interrogation eagerly agreed, even when Ruxin said that he would mark them and that they would die a death of ten-thousand cuts if they displeased him or betrayed Gwen in any capacity. If she commanded them to die, Tu spoke without expression; they may very well die more horribly if they failed to kill themselves.

    "I command you to live," Gwen said immediately, then shook her head in disgust.

    It took an hour for Customs to arrive. In time, Heathrow''s very friendly and accomodating officers arrived with Ollie, who looked like he wanted to wrap his hands around Gwen''s slender neck and just squeeze until something snapped. Gwen played the matter off with big smiles and fluttering lashes, telling her Praelector that here was an opportunity to give the Isle of Dogs project a kick in the behind.

    Grudgingly, Ollie relayed that Lady Grey would take custody of the Mages. For now, her new aides from Shanghai would be registered as illegal aliens, and only if they passed muster would they be expatriate labourers under Magister Walken''s care. Considering how much influence Gwen had over them, the Lady has advised that they work for Gwen, but not directly under her¡ª as the implications of slavery were something of an anathema to the British, who had weaned off that particular teat some centuries ago.

    The process of watching over the second round of preliminary interrogations took several more hours. During that time, Gwen grilled Golos about the incident with Elvia. When her Wyvern revealed nothing of note; she believed his ignorance. If the Yinglong was as wily as she supposed, there was no reason it would trust Golos to do anything other than act as a conduit between her and itself. From the way Golos blurted out its death wish to Ayxin, then revealed Ayxin''s plot to herself, the drake was either the dumbest lizard alive, or more devious than a Dragon who plotted to drag the Tyrant out of its lair without losing a single scale on its back.

    Dozens of interviews later, her head throbbed, and she was hungry to boot.

    To her surprise, an extraordinarily sumptuous meal of curry was teleported in for Golos, who must have demanded it from the accomodating staff servicing the Magisters coming to see her Shoggoth. To assert dominance, she spitefully ate his Chicken Tikka Masala.

    The overall atmosphere of the encampment returned to mirth once Golos'' simple-minded tomfoolery became apparent, chiefly when half of the Wyvern''s dialogue consisted of how many broods he had hatched with Phalera. If this world had smartphones, Gwen shuddered, she could just imagine Golos with one arm around the neck of a sweating Magister, scrolling through copious pictures of his "babies", oversharing the occasionally compromising photo of Phelara.

    "Young one!" Golos separated himself from the crowd of Magisters to greet Ollie, who he recognised from their last adventure. "Why the long face? Did the Calamity trouble you again?"

    "Of course." Ollie''s teeth gnashed as he looked up at Golos. "I don''t know how you do it, Ser Golos. Have you thought about eating her?"

    "She''s not so hard to handle," Golos snickered. "Did you know the Calamity''s one weakness is love? I can give you some tips. I am, after all, the father of a hundred chicks..."

    At dusk, the search party returned with a Primus kept in stasis on an enormous, levitating barge, ready to be teleported back to some undisclosed location in London.

    Gwen whistled as the raft floated by their encampment. The Primus was enormous, a verdant colossus if she had to guess by its pre-capture size. From the looks of the ichor-splattered Golems thundering back into the clearing, they must have knee-capped the thing somehow, and then worked their way up from there. Two of the Golems looked like they would need new canopies; one was missing most of its outer shell and was being towed across the sunken earth by its sibling on a Disk of Levitation.

    Once the show was over, the party returned to their tent to await the inevitable call for Gwen''s show and tell. Yossari, now that she was no longer a part of the party left to join the VIPs. As for Golos, the Wyvern wandered the camp, awaiting her pleasure. Once they began, she would be alone. During the Planar Ally''s deployment, only Gwen and her minions were immune to the Shoggoth.

    "Not all of the team came back," Richard remarked once he was comfortable. "But since everyone''s smiling, I assume no one died. We''re close enough to a Tower, even for shorter-ranged Contingency Rings."

    "I guess this means it''s my turn soon." Gwen yawned. Dealing with Heathrow''s Custom officers had been taxing. She had no idea how Ollie could survive the repetitive, constant interrogation and could only be glad for his presence. "Too bad I couldn''t exercise Golos."

    "You''re not at a loss. Since the college is paying for his ticket to London." Petra sat on her bunk, fiddling with a Spellcube. "And Walken''s got some new helpers. That''s got to be worth more than Cores."

    "We could have gotten both," Gwen pointed out. "You guys need funds, don''t you?"

    "Nothing urgent." Petra shook her head. "I can do Enchanting work, especially after I learn from the Dwarves."

    "And I''ve been doing odd jobs." Richard shrugged. "We''re fine, I think. I am receiving pay from Walken as well for work on the Isle of Dogs."

    Gwen looked across to Jean-Paul.

    "I''ve got Crystals." Jean-Paul touched his ring. "Do you need Crystals, Gwen?"

    "¡­ I am good." Gwen gave the man a thumbs up. "Thanks for offering."

    "I have some savings." Gracie raised her hand since it appeared that everyone''s talking about their finances. "Er¡­ I get an allowance; for surviving."

    "Oh, Gracie." Gwen walked across the tent to pat her new companion on the head. "Crystals are the least of your worries. Once your health improves, we''ll focus on getting you up to spec, hmm? I am sure there are lots of ways we can see if it is possible to get you up to spec. With Evee''s Sen-sen and my help, you''ll be fine. I promise. A Void Illusionist! You''ll be breaking new ground!"

    "Okay." Gracie''s expression grew so hopeful that Gwen felt a pang of guilt. "I''ve seen and learned a lot on this trip. Thank you, Gwen. You too, Jean-Paul."

    "Aww, you''re too sweet." Gwen gave the girl a big hug, pushing her shoulder against the young woman''s.

    Ding!

    On cue, a Message Glyph, red with urgency, blossomed beside Gwen''s head.

    Gwen answered the call.

    "Magus Song, we''re ready for you," came the reply. "Please gather your team at the main pavilion. Final checks have been carried out. We''re green-lit to go."

    "Understood," Gwen returned the Message. "I''ll see you on the dais."

    The array of instruments set up around the summoning platform reminded Gwen of a concert, while she was the diva taking centre stage.

    Spectrometers of all kinds with confusing Latin names bobbed in the water, hovered in the air, or were anchored to long steel piles driven into the soft earth. At her insistence, the observers forwent the bunkers the Transmuters had conjured from stone, and instead took to the open air. There were no shockwaves that followed a Shoggoth; she had told them; only tentacles coming out of dark places where ectoplasm could collect.

    Finally, with warnings delivered, Teleportation Beacons affixed, and mental wards assigned and tested, the gathered Mages were ready, and so was she.

    Behind her, her Wyvern grunted.

    Gwen had initially entertained the idea of having Golos sit outside the Mandala, for such was her annoyance at the brute¡ª but then she recalled that in Shenyang, the Amazon, and Nagaland, the two of them had fought shoulder to shoulder, and had bled together, his huffing snout against her breathless bosom. Under Shenyang, in the gaping maw of the Shoggoth, Golos had even covered her with its stinking, fear-drenched body. The Wyvern was a fool and an innocent, this she had to accept. If she could forgive and find trust in Eric Walken, whose actions had orchestrated the fall of her Master, then why shouldn''t she give the benefit of the doubt to Golos? Therefore, armed with sentimentality, she told Golos to sit inside the circle so that when the Shoggoth descended, they were both protected.

    "Alright," she muttered to herself. "Let''s get this show on the road."

    Stepping into the epicentre of the Summoning Circle, she flooded her conduits with Essence to offset the life-leeching Void. The first time she had called on the Shoggoth, she had not anticipated that an actual ''thing'' right out of Lovecraft''s Mountains of Madness would materialise so readily. Now, she had experience, knowledge and confidence.

    Though the night was clouded, Gwen in her blue-white Shen-Te¨© suit was lit by a bright nimbus, making her appear as though some old-world priestess. It was because a dozen Day Lights had been set up by the observing Magisters, momentarily banishing all shadow from the vicinity of Llyn Alaw and its calm, mirror-like water.

    Gwen wetted her lips, then began.

    "Yog-Sothoth!" she repeated the words from her last conjuration. She had no idea if the make-believe itself was necessary, but she was invested now in the old paths. "L?, Shub-Niggurath! Bring forth the creators of the mad cities! Birth unto this world ye servants! O ye Manglers from the Mount! Hunt mine enemies! I?¡ª YE MOUTHS OF MADNESS! CONSUME THESE TRIFFIDS!"

    The Mandala darkened with Void mana, its silvery burst of Conjuration consumed by the ink-like rushes of crow-black energies hungrily lashing at the air. As before, her once glowing face grew anaemic, though this time, she could feel her abundant Essence fighting the Negative Energy drain, preserving her stamina.

    Weee¡ªWeeee¡ª

    Weee¡ªWeeee¡ª Weee¡ª

    Weee¡ªWeeee¡ªWeeee¡ª Weee¡ª

    Gweeegn¡ª Gweeegn¡ª Gweeegn¡ª Gweeegn¡ª

    The strange gale she had heard in her dreams grew suddenly tumultuous within the recess of her mind. At her nadir, the Mandala connected the Prime Material and the Quasi-Elemental Plane of the Void. Toward her zenith, the clouds began to swirl and turn, forming into a descending funnel, not unlike Golo''s descent.

    Thus far, everything other than the uninvited howling was as she had anticipated. Just as she wondered if the strange hoots existed only in her mind or if it was wailing in real life, Golos began to shout.

    "Calamity!" Golos appeared bewildered. "What is that noise?! This isn''t like last time!"

    "You can hear it too?" Gwen said, suddenly realising that she could barely hear her voice. "GOLOS! WHAT''S THIS NOISE?"

    Even with Clarion Call, she couldn''t hear herself. It was as if a million voices were chanting at once, their cacophonic choruses pouring through the conduit she had forced into the Void to extract her Planar Ally.

    Golos said something, but like a dark tide, the sound of the Weee¡ª went up and down, filling all space, bouncing off every nook and cranny in the interior of her skull.

    Ding! A Message spell bloomed, though Gwen could no longer hear the ringing.

    Above, the cloud boiled then parted, revealing an enormous eye some fifty meters across, with a strange "W" shaped iris, staring straight down at Gwen and Golos.

    A foetid stink of ocean water mixed with fish guts and ancient soil fell upon the dais in a violent squall, plastering both cultist and Wyvern in what was absolutely not semi-gelatinous primordial ectoplasm. When Gwen raised her hand, she could even see bits of fish scales, half a lip, and what looked like a chewed fin, platter within their general vicinity.

    Gwen''s mouth moved, but no sound could be heard. The sudden, fishy tempest that muted her hard-bitten syllables had also filled her half-open mouth.

    From where the Shoggoth was supposed to emerge, the giant eyeball erupted as a dozen tentacles burst through its meniscus lens, revealing a formless protoplasm from primordial times¡ª an all-enveloping, all-consuming hunger made into a writhing, slithering mass of mouths.

    That¡ª and a torrential downpour of dismembered fish.

 Chapter 368 - Even Death may Die

    CRASH!

    Would his kin survive? Lei-bup could only hope that they too had faith.

    watching us!"

    A ship! Biplipodoofu recognised the silhouette at once. He could tell from the currents that it was falling rapidly toward his city.

    Weee¡ª still bouncing inside his head, he prayed that his ploy would strike true and that the ship, with its resonating crystal, would crush the rising Kraken.

    Ding! Ding! Another Message spell bloomed beside her face, though answering the damned thing was impossible. Both inside her head and as a physical manifestation, the howling voices drowned out all thought.

    She was watching all along!

 Chapter 369 - Rest and Respite

    "Forward Observer has confirmed Divi-Loc on Target." The comm-Glyph crackled from the disruptive flow of Negative Energy inundating the airwaves.

    "Confirmation Received. Fire for Effect!"

    Gwen braced for the explosive exit of artillery shells; what energised instead was the oppressive hiss of compressed mana from inscribed Creature Cores.

    From the Bangor basecamp, a Fire Team of hulking Crusader MK V Artillery Golems unleashed the latent energies stowed in their churning mana engines. The granite bluffs of the peninsula glowed brightly as a Daylight spell, turning the dark waters aquamarine. Like comets, a dozen streaks of spellfire arced toward the heavens, then simultaneously erupted over the twitching mass of the bloated Planar monstrosity.

    Next came the anticipated roar, followed closely by multifoliate roses of blooming plasma materialising over the glistening form of the Shoggoth. An expanding stink of foetid steam followed, cascading from the cold cliffs as the hot mist mixed with the frigid sea air.

    Gwen felt her organs tingle. Her empathic link with the Shoggoth transmuted little else other than hunger or satiation, yet even so, she suffered the sensation of a thousand tiny ants stinging her skin.

    Beside her, Magister Brown observed the instrument panels mirroring her health, as well as the status of the amoeba-like Shoggoth.

    "Prepare a Cold Round," Major Halifax instructed the artillery team.

    "How is it?" Richard took hold of her shaking shoulder.

    "Please don''t touch me right now." Gwen winced, retreating a step, then exhaled audibly to express her discomfort. "I should be glad Shoggy doesn''t possess pain receptors."

    From the firing line, tubular crystal caches ejected from the munition case with a hiss, landing red-hot on the sandy basin. The skilled Golem crew then slid home fresh cartridges, this time armed with Elemental Ice, into the spellshaping chamber.

    "I think this one is going to sting." Gwen circulated what Essence she managed to recover in four hours.

    "Divi-Loc Confirmed!" The Fire Control officer shouted over the intercom. "Fire for Effect!"

    An insidious hiss of compressed mana escaped the wands'' super-cooled tips as the forcibly compressed Evocation raced from Bangor toward the Shoggoth''s still-crisp body. At its highest point, the spells erupted, forming enormous but ephemeral Mandalas.

    From these arcane fireworks, the mana manifested into spells.

    The grey heaven roared, then a hail consisting of crackling ice the size of small cars pummeled her Planar Ally, erupting into frost novas on impact.

    Gwen quaked as unbidden goosebumps rose and fell all over her body. If she had worn a dress and not her bodysuit, she would have seen the muscles under her skin spasm.

    "I don''t think Shoggy likes the cold," she informed Brown. "Max, I need to sit down."

    "Shaa!" Caliban coiled into a seat.

    "EE-EE!" Ariel provided the blanket.

    "Thanks, boys."

    "Something to drink?" Brown motioned for cocoa from their assigned aides.

    "Good idea." On a side table, Gwen produced a mug and a bottle of Maotai, then began to unstopper the bottle with her shaking hands.

    "Allow me." Petra unscrewed the lid, unlocking the Glyph-seal. Before she poured, she looked to Brown.

    "It''s fine." The Magister nodded.

    "Phase one reduction of mass by twenty-five per cent!" The FO''s voice returned over the intercom. "Area of Effect clearance at eighty per cent."

    "I understand you feel terrible, Gwen. That said, I am glad that conventional arcanistry is working." Brown took the bottle from Petra and poured Gwen a mugful. "If we can stop your Ally by upscaling mundane arcanistry, that''s good news to you."

    "How is that good news?" Gwen slammed down the Maotai in two mouthfuls, flushing her cheeks pink with vitality. "Wouldn''t that mean Shoggy isn''t as useful?"

    "On the contrary." Brown refilled her cup to half-full. "That makes it far more useful."

    Gwen cocked her head. "You mean, I''ll prove less of a danger?"

    "And thereby live your day to day life in less danger," Brown clarified. "Not only that, assuming the same base matter services both your Ally and what we''ve observed from Sobel, then your Master''s Ex-Wife''s Spirit, Familiar or Ally isn''t insurmountable. It proves an important point¡ª that Sydney was a confluence of unfortunate circumstances and not a forgone conclusion."

    "The Black Sun," Gwen recalled the terrible orb that had dominated the horizon. "I don''t think it''s a Shoggoth. I remember it being ethereal, almost intangible. But yes, I can see the similarities."

    "A different spell, of course, and a different creature," Brown concurred. "But data is data. The more you know, the more prepared we''ll be. I have no doubt Spectre is planning their next disruption."

    "Target size reduction, sixty-per cent." The FO''s report followed the second volley.

    Gwen wiped the excess liquor from her lips. She felt better, though the nastiness from seeing her Shoggy''s slow death remained no less acute.

    "Finish it with Lightning Rounds." Not far from the observation post. Major Halifax gave the command.

    Gwen looked sourly to her spectators. Presently, her audience of Magisters from all over Europe relaxed in a bunker-pit overloaded with Lumen-caster projections. Some appeared amused; others studied data slates; a few cast careful looks toward her general direction.

    Crack-BOOM!

    Over the horizon, a Tempest Strike blue with crackling discharges abruptly banished the darkness. An eye-blink later, Gwen almost jumped from her seat as bolts of electricity sundered her Shoggoth, rendering it tendril from tendril, exploding its ectoplasmic exterior and boiling its multitude of eyes in their gooey sockets.

    Panting in tune with the Lightning raking over the landscape, Gwen swallowed the air in gulps, her fingers straining against Caliban''s slick, obsidian body.

    "Gwen¡ª cut the link," Petra worriedly warned. "You look like you''re about to burst a vein."

    "It''s fine," Gwen grunted. "I brought Shoggy here, so I''ll damn well see it home. Tell you what though, after all this, Snowdonia better be fucking amazing."

    Within the Department of the Interior, Mycroft Ravenport was the first among equals, and so naturally was the first to lay his hands on the latest biometric and spectrometric data on Gwen Song, the Devourer of Shenyang.

    Unfortunately for Mycroft, the privilege came burdened with responsibilities, which was why the Duke of Norfolk had not seen the interior of a bedroom for almost forty-eight hours.

    On his desk, Morrigan had laid out every tidbit of information he could gather on the Mageocracy''s hopefully sane Sobel. Heavy was the head that wore England''s crown, and with matters escalating so quickly, he suspected it would soon demand answers from its eyes and ears.

    It was a report the Duke of Norfolk dared not deliver to his superior unless he possessed complete confidence.

    For several days now, once his official duties were done, the fastidious Duke had locked himself away in the cold office, feeding the Sprite that governed the Mageocracy''s secrets. Sooner or later, Ravenport had anticipated, interest in the girl would reach the highest authority.

    What he had not anticipated was that the girl could foment trouble so swiftly and without warning, that circumstances surrounding her person would be a season of many storms, sweeping up plots and sucking-in unwilling bystanders.

    Tonglv¡ª Mycroft Ravenport''s head throbbed. He wished that he too has such a gift that kept on giving.

    When the girl''s Wyvern had arrived with her latest Draconic blessing, even Mycroft had to raise both brows. A Magister-Magus team, enslaved under the thumb of an eighteen-year-old student? Not even the Exeters would have the privilege of enjoying such an abundance of human resources. The only saving grace Mycroft could consider was that none of her helpers were Combat Mages and that their primary function would be aiding her administration of the Isle of Dogs. Thereby, as a compromise, the Tower was willing to take a gamble for the sake of stable trade with Manipur, Kachin, Nagaland and Yangon.

    Ravenport grumbled. The Interior Department''s initial dismissal of Tonglv had been his mistake, one whose debt he was paying even now. The girl''s apparent ''blood relations'' to the Nagaland''s new regent had unfortunately escaped the Mageocracy''s operatives. That and the fact Gwen Song was serving as the Vessel of a being most certainly NOT the Yinglong, as proven by reports regarding Elvia Lindholm''s induction into the Order of the Bath. According to the stories that survived pre-Sobel Sydney, the only Mythic to make its contact with the girl was the Rainbow Serpent, a connection even Mycroft found difficult to believe.

    The Dream Serpent was something that existed before humanity possessed the means to communicate through language. The ancient snake had been a ruling deity of the land down under since before the emergency of Necromancy, Faith Magic or even indigenous Shamanism. Ravenport was no Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar Spirit Sovereign, but he was confident in his knowledge of sorcerous affairs.

    Who could forge a contract with that?

    Not even Henry Kilroy could manage such a thing.

    And if she did¡ª then she mustn''t be human. Conversely, Mycroft had non-ambiguous evidence that the girl was indeed born in Sydney, that her father was Hai Song, a Salt Mage, and the woman whose womb bore the girl was a merely Tier Two Fire Mage of no renown. With Morrigan''s blessing, he had traced the girl''s lineage to Harbin''s Frontier from since before the Great War in Dynastic China as well as pre-colonial Indonesia.

    Thus far, nothing impressed the Duke of Norfolk.

    Ding! Ding!

    The crisp ring of newly arrived data blossomed carmine, signifying its urgency.

    "Morrigan, if you please."

    His scarlet-clad companion burst into a shadowy flock of aberrant, many-eyed crows.

    When she reassembled a few seconds later, one of the crows held a crystal-chip in its beak. Held between her bone-thin fingers, Morrigan scanned the data cache. Within the Sprite''s expanding pupils, words and images rapidly flashed across a depthless void.

    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    The edge of her mouth curled.

    "Morrigan¡ª" Ravenport raised a finger in warning. "Not now."

    "Who would demand the Goddess of Secrets to forgo such a morsel?" Morrigan''s tone grew mocking. "You must grant me the privilege of first-to-know, that was in our contract."

    Ravenport sighed. The more blood he fed the indentured Goddess, the more her original personality emerged.

    "Fine, I want a full analysis."

    Happier, Morrigan demurely stood in her corner of the office, her eyes half-closed, her vast mindscape stretching across the near-infinitely volumes of reports daily filed into the catacombs below. It took several minutes for the Sprite to digest her latest ''morsel''.

    "Now¡­" Ravenport slotted the returned data crystal into his desk. "Let''s see¡­"

    The first to appear were lines of biometric data pertaining to the girl''s vitality fluctuations. On the graphical display, the vital pulse sprinted across the X-axis with the regularity of a light jog until it struck the moment of truth. There, the spectrometer''s readings jumped ten-fold at its peak, then rapidly fell below the mean blue line.

    "A lesser Mage would have died," Ravenport said to himself, thinking aloud so that Morrigan could hear. "The mark of a Vessel. A powerful one at that."

    But an Elder being''s Vessel took decades of service to mature. To his knowledge, the Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar''s seeded Arch-sorcerors, be they Druids or the lauded Spirit Striders, took centuries to gain the tier of trust necessary to channel so much raw vitality from their sponsor. There was one exception, and this was if the Essence required barely tickled Gwen''s patron.

    Was her Patron the Rainbow Snake then? Even if Mycroft suggested it, he felt, few among his peers would believe it. How would one communicate with such a being? Would a creature as ancient as the stars even care for the fleeting life of a mortal? The same would imply Mycroft showing especial consideration to a dust mite he found clinging to his boot.

    Mayhap if the girl was a long-awaited Spirit Shaman or a Dream Singer with a dozen generations of inter-breeding¡ª or if her mother was a Vessel herself who bore the Spirit child of the Mythic, then there could be such a connection.

    "Her father, Hai Song, is rumoured to be quite the gigolo. The mother, by all accounts, could be unfaithful," he related to Morrigan. "What''s the possibility that she''s not their child?"

    "Less than one per cent," Morrigan stated flatly. "Such indiscretions would contradict all existing data."

    "Could she be a Changeling?"

    "There exist no records of illicit activities from the Fae in Sydney."

    Nodding, Ravenport activated the recordings.

    First came the funnel cloud.

    Then the rain of blood and guts.

    Then an explosion of milk-white pus from a giant eye.

    Then the Shoggoth''s tendrils descended.

    The girl and her Wyvern then bantered while massacring Triffids.

    Afterwards, she sent the creature away and returned to Bangor.

    From there, she squirmed atop her Familiar while the Golems expelled the Shoggoth until, with a final spasm from the jittering lass, the Shoggoth forcibly returned to its original residence.

    In the aftermath, the peninsula of Angelsley smouldered, stripped of all life. If one discounted the coaxing of Druids and Plant Mages for the next decade, it would remain a useless, uncultivated, barren plain.

    The Necromancy-seeming phenomena aside, the mission was a resounding success.

    On a separate Lumen-caster, he checked the girl''s spectrometric data.

    For a while, the only sound in the room was Ravenport''s increasingly strained breathing.

    Upon comprehension of the event''s spectrometric data, Ravenport''s brows grew deeply furrowed. Gingerly, the Duke of Norfolk poured himself a glass of the Navy''s stoutest rum. He needed something substantial to take off the edge; else he would pollute Morrigan''s ears with language too foul even for the slave-Sprite.

    First things first, Ravenport told himself.

    "That''s a Kraken''s eye," he dictated the facts to Morrigan.

    "¡­ I believe this is specifically Biplipodoofu''s eye." Morrigan''s reply sent his blood pressure well past his physician''s recommended threshold. "Your Faction''s sea trade with the beast is well-documented. As is the beast itself."

    Ravenport almost spilt the half-drunk glass across his velvet-draped office. "Biplipodoofu? How? WHY?"

    "Insufficient data."

    "How do you¡ª"

    "The chroma-scale of a Kraken''s iris is unique to individuals." Morrigan sounded amused. "They are like Human finger-runes. Besides, if you would examine the sub-reports, you will find that the residual mana signature given off by the eye matches our records by seventy-three per cent."

    "But the blasted thing''s in Blightreef! That''s eight¡ª no, NINE thousand kilometres away as the crow flies!"

    "Physical distance is no object if conjoined through the Summoning Portal of the Planar Mandala."

    "This makes no sense. Gwen can''t be summoning Biplipodoofu¡ª" Ravenport gazed up at the intricate ceiling. Finding no answers there, he laid down the class. "Can she?"

    "She cannot. That possibility does not exist within the current field of data."

    Ravenport circulated his Negatively tinged mana until the annoyance in his mind grew blunted.

    "Who do we have in the region?"

    "We can draw on Singapore Tower''s resources, or we can issue a quest to Seoul or Tokyo."

    "Do it. All of it."

    "I shall inform your peers at the Foreign Affairs Ministry."

    "There is something else." Morrigan extracted a series of readings from the crystal scripts. With a swipe of her hand, the Sprite cleared the recording from view. "I believe this should be of interest."

    Ravenport''s eyes quickly scanned the spectrometric reading.

    "Faith Magic?"

    Morrigan leaned in. "Not ours. The reading indicates rudimentary Shamanism. Its wavelength, however, is comparable to a large-scale congregation."

    "Interlopers then? What is it? Witchcraft? Voodoo? Uto-Aztecan Blood Rites? The Deepsea Kingdoms?"

    "The signature isn''t anything we have on record."

    "Then find out! Keep filtering through the records! I want all mentions of Gwen Song on Faith Magic, Mermen, and her ''other'' talent. Keep your crows on Lindholm and get me reports from the Order. If its Faith Magic, Lord knows if her companion is involved."

    "I shall. In the meanwhile, what will milord report to her Majesty?" Morrigan''s lips, bright as ruby petals, formed a winsome grin. "How will the Duke of Norfolk steer the talented Magus Song? Will you be chaperoning her in Snowdonia?"

    "Questions, Morrigan?" Ravenport''s tone grew annoyed. "How unbecoming for someone in your portfolio."

    "Tithe." Morrigan gently smacked her lips, ignoring her Master''s demand. "Your commissions make for thirsty labour."

    With a nick, The Duke of Norfolk unceremoniously filled a mithril goblet about the size of a thimble. "This and nothing more. You''re drunk."

    "I wonder how the blood of a Vessel tastes¡­" Morrigan licked her lips. "One with so many secrets."

    "Don''t," Ravenport cautioned the Sprite. "Lest you violate your Greater Geas."

    "Haha, who said I was going to aid her?" Morrigan''s tingling, bell-like laughter rang out. "What''s the harm in having a little side-dish?"

    She''s drunk. Mycroft furrowed his brows. Lately, he has been using the Sprite to excess. In his opinion, it didn''t help to have Morrigan restore too much of her independent personality. Studying her eyes, he measured the cost of keeping Morrigan active versus postponing the answers he sought. There was already enough mischief with one Gwen Song, he groaned. God forbid he would have to wrestle an ancient Undead Celt into obedience as well.

    "This place is fucking amazing." Gwen had little else to say when Trawsfynydd dawned on the horizon after a mere hour. As they had to skirt Snowdonia''s borders, the duo had made a loop around the domain of the Elves to soak in the sights.

    Her demeanour was genuine; Wales, as it existed in her memory, was the end product of a thousand generations of agrarian cultivation terraforming the primal forests of the pre-Roman Celts into rolling tablelands.

    In her present world of magic and monsters, no Human industry dared encroach on the land of the Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar. Rather than the gridded geometry of pasture or sheep or cattle, old forest as ancient as the landscape itself stood pristine and virginal, untouched except to service accessibility.

    According to Brown, Trawsfynydd served as a transitional point, an overlap between the Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar''s domain and the classic Kingdom of Britannia.

    What surprised Gwen more than anything was the scale of what her instructors reverently termed the "Sacred Forest of Light", for she was confident the eternal Elf home could be traversed in under two hours.

    In the Amazon, when the locals had spoken of Svart¨¢lfar, or "Dark Elves", she did not doubt that somewhere in that continent-spanning forest existed these legendary Demi-humans.

    But then again, Gwen reminded herself as she breathed in the heavily oxygenated air¡ª Lorien and Murkwood were both blips on Tolkien''s imaginary map. If she drew on the same rationale, then it made sense that both vertical living and a sparse population meant there was no need for lavish land holds.

    "It''s lovely, isn''t it?" Ollie Edwards, a student of Elven Magic and a man very much in need of rest after negotiating passage for Gwen''s train of trans-planar migrants from Tonglv, had been chosen to chaperone the Void Sorceress.

    Her only regret was that Richard and Petra could not come with her¡ª and though she had considered forgoing her "R&R" as a show of solidarity, neither of her cousins humoured her. Overhearing her indecision, Ollie Edwards had reminded Gwen that Lady Grey had arranged an opportunity for her at Trawsfynydd to meet with a potential instructor.

    "What do you know about this place?" Gwen inquired of her companion, who flew beside her via a pair of Boots of Flying on loan from Peterhouse. "You study Elven Magic, don''t you?"

    Ollie''s face was unusually happy.

    "My lineage has a mote of Elven blood." The young man brushed a hand past his thinning hair, now turning slightly grey.

    "You''re partly Demi? Do you have a Core?"

    "Ha!" Ollie snorted. "You know, it has been years since someone asked that question. No. Nothing of the sort. Its miracle enough that whoever inherited the blood could engender progeny, much less talent tied to the Elder blood. Folk in my family just have a bit more Affinity for Air and Water, and we age a bit slower. My great grandfather isn''t even at the higher tiers, but he''s been kicking around since before the Great War."

    "Have you been to Snowdonia before?"

    Her Praelector shook his head. "I haven''t even been to Trawsfynydd. I did grow up with tales of Snowdonia constantly in my head, though. My great-grandfather sang of it constantly. There''s this limerick he passed down through the generations. The legend goes if I ever get lost in Snowdonia, I can use it to orientate my bearings."

    Gwen looked at Ollie, saw that the boy was earnest, and so felt the tug of curiosity. "Alright, let''s hear it. You know me and orienteering. Also, last time we were travelling, I sang the Dwarf song."

    "You want to hear it now?"

    "Would you rather sing this thing in Trawsfynydd? What if it''s like a children''s song and the Elves think you''re a simpleton?"

    "Who said I was singing?" Ollie''s tone grew defiant.

    "House Brother¡ª" Gwen gave Ollie a grin as bright the newly risen sun over the tranquil waters of Lake Trawsfynydd. Her eyes grew large and vivid as she stretched the vowels of her long-winded plea. "Can you humour me? Your House Sister is asking so nicely."

    Her Praelector studied the forest, his cheeks rouged with unbidden heat.

    For some reason, Gwen was reminded of what Hanmoul had said about Ollie having a thing for her, and as hyperbolic as the Dwarf''s assertion could be, she cautioned herself against overmuch teasing her Praelector. Perhaps to dispel the awkwardness, Ollie quickly delivered his promise in a minor key, demonstrating a talent befitting a retired member of King''s Choir.

    "Gwydir! Ay know there''s no

    forests lovelier than ours,

    And fairer hills and loftier Fae,

    And grots more full o'' flowers,

    And boskier woods more blithe with rain

    And misty with birds'' adorning,

    With sweeter throats than I could sing

    Their prayers to the trees each morning

    By Talwaenydd, O tempest-worn,

    Or Gwydir''s everlasting glory,

    To Garmon, where the dead are buried,

    and Merlin once told his story,

    East by mountains where Arthur dreamt,

    Of Pendragon''s host defiant,

    Llanrhychwyn''s mound a molehill seems,

    A D?kk¨¢lfar to a giant.

    By Snow, Senny, Dovey and Dee,

    Edw, Eden, Arwen and all,

    Taff and Towy broad and free,

    From the highest branch, the waters fall,

    By Pont Pen-y-benglog, Dulais and Daw,

    Look for the tree on Glyder Fawr

    Small is the mirror of Llyns'' bath,

    West to Croesor, follow the path

    O Carnedd Llewelyn, King of the oak,

    Thy Heron''s Head has long been broke

    A bit of stone with seaweed spread

    North where gulls weep in Llanfairfefed.

    Unseen by men, lay the woods that wend

    By Golden Grove'' neath Nant Gwynant,

    And on the ley, the Alfa sing all day,

    They never, ever¡ª age away."

    Ollie''s voice traversed clean and crisp, as expected of a boy graduated from the world''s foremost choir. The way the song sounded reminded Gwen of her Dwarven rendition of Mountains Deep, but the song Ollie called "Alfar''s Way" wasn''t a forlorn hymn of sorrow or diaspora; instead, it was a ballad of remembrance and joy.

    "Sounds more like a poem than a song." Gwen played the words over again in her head. "Also, I have no idea what most of those words mean. Is it Old-Elven? My Ioun Stone can''t make heads or tales of the landmarks."

    "The land names are. Also, I fear its off-key, as I can''t replicate some sounds without the help of Sylvan Lyres," Ollie said sadly. "What do you think? That''s the best I can do."

    "You did a wonderful job. But, hows that supposed to help anyone orientate Snowdonia?"

    "I think." Ollie pursed his lips in thought. "The song teaches Humans how to pronounce the landmarks when they ask for directions."

    Gwen burst into laughter.

    "It''s true." Ollie joined her mirth. "You try saying ''Llanfairpwllgwyngyll'' without your stone."

    Gwen wagged her tongue clumsily, making a series of spluttering gurgles.

    Ollie looked away. "That reminds me, your translation stone allows for both Hv¨ªt¨¢lfarian and Tr??lvorian?"

    "Sylvan too," Gwen affirmed her polyglot supremacy. "It was my Master''s."

    "Good, we can avoid any awkwardness if that''s the case. Follow my lead after we land. There''s a process involved in identifying ourselves."

    As the two crested the final hill, the misty haze fell away, revealing Trawsfynydd with its rolling arboreal tree-scape and its sky-mirroring lake. The township itself was a mix of Human and what Gwen presumed to be Sylvan buildings, with the latter worked into the trees with the likeness of large, bell-shaped lanterns formed from pliant wood. In stark contrast, the human buildings were Nordic cabins with a stone base and slat-wood walls in ash and pine, appearing squat and geometric.

    "Now that''s my kind of fantasy," Gwen let loose a Gwenism. Drawing in the frigid air, she began her descent.

    Finally, four years and then some into her transmigration, she would soon be vis-a-vis with handsome Elves worthy of Tolkien lore.

 Chapter 370 - Tree Rings

    "Magus Song, Magus Edwards, welcome to Trawsfynydd."

    The second Gwen and Ollie alighted onto the soft grass, a pair of Elven women, flaxen-haired and graceful, buzzed from canopy to ground as though descending from a painting.

    The fair-haired pair was tall, as tall as Gwen herself if she wore her pump heels. Their figures appeared elongated, gracefully so, but with a hint of the uncanny that differed from the Dwarves'' well-proportioned squatness. For one, their graceful necks were so long as to be lofty, while their arms, when at rest, could almost rap their knees with their fingers. The tunics they wore were immodest even by Gwen''s standards, consisting of diaphanous layers of gossamer that reminded her of Dragonfly wings, beneath which the contours of their well-toned physique spoke of agility. As she anticipated, the Elves possessed ageless, elfin miens, markedly hinting at the aesthetics of Haute Couture. Likewise uncanny were the High Elves'' golden eyes¡ª breathlessly striking, but refracting the light in the form of pearlescent metal, akin to the chroma of a Jewel Scarab.

    In totality, the fair Elves'' allure was distinct from Evee''s adorability or Petra''s sensuality; theirs was a beauty that was stark and intimidating, like gazing upon the perfect symmetry of a Golden Orb Weaver.

    Gwen glanced at Ollie, other than his high cheekbones; the one-sixteenth Elf was definitively human.

    "Your ladyships, we hail from Cambridge," Ollie instructed Gwen to bow. "I am Magus Edwards, and this is Magus Song. I believe we are expected."

    "Your eminences are indeed expected," the leading Elf responded with a curtsy. Their articulate limbs both spindly but agile. "Allow me to introduce ourselves. My name is Sanari, and this is Zestari. We are your assigned guides. Welcome to Trawsfynydd. May I show you the way to your assigned cabin?"

    The Elven women gestured toward the general direction of the lake, and the duo followed.

    Gwen studied the women with the intensity of a spectrometer, scrutinising every detail. Ahead, her foremost host wore a halter-top tunic-dress. From Sanari''s posterior, she could see its many layers of semi-rigid silk being tethered by invisible threads, allowing the fabric to extend seamlessly past the Elf''s long legs while still affording ample mobility.

    Was there a market for Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar cuture? Gwen did not recall such a thing in London.

    Her hostess, Sanari, must have felt the intense inspection, for she turned to express her discomfort by meeting Gwen''s eyes.

    Gwen cleared her throat.

    "Lady Sanari, is there a place here that sells the dresses you''re wearing?" she asked casually, thinking that perhaps, she should pick up a set for all her girls in London and Shanghai, especially considering the breadth of her trade network. From what she knew of Tao''s peers, theirs was a market with far more Crystals than common sense.

    "Of course." Sanari grinned, though Gwen found the expression uncanny. "We have a crafters'' hall where those willing to trade with Humans may bring their wares. Trawsfynydd is, foremost of all, a trading hub for our peoples."

    Satisfied, Gwen allowed her eyes to wander.

    Here and there, rows of individual residences, literal "Air BnBs", lined the treetops overlooking the water. There were other Elves as well, gardeners in their olive overalls, officious looking sorcerers, guards in beetle-carapace, and hosts and hostesses in attires akin to Sanari and Zestari, accompanying Human guests.

    Nearer the semi-circle township''s epicentre, the foursome passed cafes, restaurants, and the trading hall. The experience, Gwen felt, was meticulously manicured. Here and there, the smiling ash-blonde Elves reminded her of Stepford men and women in a curated utopia. As impressive as it was, Trawsfynydd was no more representative of Elven culture than St. Regis at Bora Bora was representative of Polynesians.

    The foursome then travelled in silence for a while longer until they reached the base of an enormous oak at minimum four-storeys tall, crowned with a verdant bower about the width of a large field.

    "Here we are." The women curtsied once more, their dresses fluttering in the manner of translucent wings. "Please follow."

    Ollie took flight, as did Gwen once she renewed her concentration.

    Atop, the canopy cabin turned out to be a plurality of smaller rooms that created the semblance of a larger structure. The central, open cabin with its sloped, bell-shaped room served as a living room, with its interior adorned with ornate Sylvan furniture that favoured curved edges and crested, floral flourishes. To Gwen''s mind, the Elf hotel was a stark contrast to the geometric, art-deco design preferred by the Dwarves, unique in its nature-inspired philosophy. From the central ''pod'', pathways floored with large-leafed, semi-translucent plank-ways lead to what she presumed were the bedroom, a separate sunroom, and a final chamber with a higher elevation that offered a broad view of the lake.

    "The meditation room is the highest point of the lodge, perfect for harnessing mana, among other things."

    "Trawsfynydd occupies a ley-junction," Ollie aided the women''s explanation. "It is abundant with Elemental Air and Water. In the early morning, we should be able to see the silhouette of Glyder Fawr and its world-topping tree at Tryfan."

    Gwen looked out the window.

    "The grand trunk of Tryfan isn''t visible from the lake view suites." Sanari, the senior of the two, smiled apologetically. "If you wish to see our home, please visit the canopy''s lookout. There''s an information centre there as well."

    Gwen''s lips twitched. Did Resort Trawsfynydd come with a Tripadvisor no.1 rating? She wanted to ask. Whatever happened to her high fantasy Elves? Where were the low-key racism and the snottiness? How could her Elven encounter be complete without at least one snub?

    She exhaled. "Sanari, am I correct in saying Trawsfynydd is in an Elven resort for the well-to-do?"

    "Trawsfynydd is a trading station and a place for arcanists of all races to enjoy rare Elven delights," Zestari assured her from a rehearsed line. "You''re still in your combat suit, Magus Song. Would you like to change into something more comfortable? You as well, Magus Edwards. I can sense your weariness. Your work must be very stressful. Our world-famous day spa service is complimentary for our VIPs..."

    "Stressful?" Ollie eyed his Void sorceress. "Lady Zestari, you have no idea."

    Gwen ignored the jab as her fantasy continued to crumble. What she had hoped for was something akin to Hanmoul''s guided tour of the Citadel, where they strolled and spoke at length about history both ancient and recent and reflected on economic and political opportunities.

    Now, instead of Glorfindel the Elementalist¡ª what she got, Gwen lamented, wasn''t even Arwen, but Sanari, a concierge with the power to bestow rest and relaxation.

    "AH¡ª ah¡ª AH¡ª"

    Indecent moans conducted through the cultivated oak of the cabin, growing fainter the further the Void sorceress'' vibrato cries traversed the bower.

    Underneath her towel, Gwen''s pliant body quivered; her mind wild with unbidden stimulus. She could have never imagined that her first encounter with "High" Elves, the Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar of yore, would be both horizontal and intimate.

    Though Sanari resembled an anorexic model from Fashion Week, her fingers were freakishly strong, possessing such strength and dexterity that Gwen felt her soul leaving her body.

    "How are you so strong, Sanari?" Gwen groaned.

    Her strength, Sanari explained, was because in her last ''cycle'', she was a Warden. In the cycle before that, she served as a Druid of the First Circle. Now, in her eleventh "Cycle", she chose to be a caretaker at Trawsfynydd.

    Gwen asked for clarification, to which her host volunteered that the ageless Elves exercised a role arrangement in which members took on different functions of Elven society during certain periods of their lives. It made sense, given that they were so long-lived. Being stuck doing the same thing for aeons was a case for mastery, but just as likely a source of complacency and boredom. From what Gwen could see of the faintly-smiling Sanari and Zestari, the women had every indication of enjoying their job. At least until Zestari paused for a brief, unprofessional instance when Ollie was revealed to possess the atypical pale, English hobbit-feet, a stark distinction to Gwen'' photogenic perfection.

    "O¡ª Oooo¡ª" Zestari was ruthless in her assault of the Praelector''s scholarly body.

    "This will itch¡­" Sanari''s warning came a second before an orb of concentred Druidic mana rolled over the sole of her foot, curling her toes. "Let it sink in."

    Gwen grunted, the glistening skin of her trembling shoulders tensing as the knots in her overworked body unfurled one by one, releasing an unbidden undulation of indescribable pleasure not unlike Caliban''s gluttony.

    "Now for the other one." Sanari arrested her other foot. "Your body is very peculiar, Magus Song."

    "How so?" Gwen asked.

    "You possess Essence, as we do," the Druid-warder-masseuse noted. "Are you kin to our kind?"

    "I am a Vessel," Gwen confessed her open secret.

    "Ah." Sanari nodded. "Well done, Magus Song. it is rare that your kind can attract the especial care of an Elder being."

    "Ouch¡ª Arrrgh¡ª"

    Gwen buried her head in her towel, her Tolkien image of Elves all but shattered by the rejuvenating mana massaging her foot. The treatment, Sanari had promised, would have her feeling weightless for weeks.

    Earlier, once she had changed into something light and scant, Sanari and Zestari had invited them into the upper viewing room, then wood shaped twin spa beds. If Gwen wanted to know about Elven culture, Sanari had cooed, she may as well learn while relaxing.

    "Don''t worry, Magus Edwards." The bell-like laughter of Zestari made Ollie hyperconscious of his Englishmen''s feet. "We have a pedicure service as well. Why do you think us Elves are so light on our feet?"

    Ollie half-cried into the moth-silk towel. His skin was beet-red, both from the female hands touching his skin and from his loosely dressed companion''s matching moans.

    Gwen studied the woodgrains on the floor as Sanari''s fingers worked its way up her calves. "Are many Elves ''Vessels''?"

    "Only select individuals may attract the Guardian''s favour during their cycle of service as Wardens or as Druids. Even for us, Vessels are rare and precious. You must be truly special among your kin, Magus Song."

    Gwen cringed from the overt flattery but continued her enquiry. "Sanari, can you enlighten me on how the Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar see Humans?"

    Ollie rose to protest her political line of enquiry, only to have Zestari arrest his neck and push his face against the towel.

    "Of course, we''re allies," Sanari replied. "Our kindred and yours have shared this land since before the cult of the Nazarene arrived. In recent years, I suppose things grew strained somewhat. Do not fret, Trawsfynydd is neutral ground. There are no politics here; the highest Accords protect this grove."

    "So Trawsfynydd''s a DMZ?" Gwen almost choked on her own saliva. "You say there''s peace, but what about Ysbyty Ifan?" Gwen recalled from her Triffid briefing. "Wasn''t that recent? And close to here?"

    "An unfortunate skirmish. The Elders have marked it as the result of a misunderstanding. No Elf from the grove died, so the matter was forgotten." Sanari switched to Gwen''s other leg. "Your kin-folk can be as fickle as the Svart¨¢lfar."

    "I''ll agree to that." Gwen assumed the worst, curious that Magister Greyson''s tragedy was to her attendant''s eyes a mere skirmish. "Another question. My mentor at Peterhouse said that I was to meet with someone here, an instructor. Any ideas?"

    Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.

    Sanari relocated her fingers to Gwen''s neck and shoulders. "I can ask for you, though I have no doubt someone from Tryfan will wish to pay homage to the Devourer of Shenyang during your stay."

    "You know of me?" Gwen grunted as powerful fingers kneaded her shoulders.

    "We''re a trade station," the Elf reminded her once more. "Information is an important commodity in itself. That and you''re famous, Magus Song, not because you''re the Devourer, but because you''re an heir of Lord Kilroy."

    "You know of my Master?"

    "Most do. His death sent shockwaves of grief through the trees," Sanari replied. "Lady Sufina was well-loved as well. The ties that bind Lord Kilroy to Snowdonia are as many as the threads on a Weaver''s web."

    "That''s... incredible." Gwen twisted her upper body until she faced her attendant. "What did Master do here?"

    "He was first a student, then a friend, an ally, a teacher and finally a protector." Sanari''s gaze filled with benevolence.

    Gwen tightened her moth-silk robes. "Did you know my Master?"

    "Not especially, no."

    "Have you ever spoken to him?"

    "I have."

    Gwen felt her breath catch in her throat. The possibility that she and this ageless woman were connected by Henry Kilroy across species, continents and time, was beyond incredible.

    "What... was Master like? Back then?"

    "Young, then old." Sanari''s response was abstract. "He was Human."

    Gwen paused at the thought.

    Thirty years was a lifetime in the eyes of Humankind but to Elves, with their lifespan at minimum ten-times that of her species, were three decades not a short sabbatical in comparison?

    Sanari continued. "Magus Song, I should inform you that Lord Kilroy has an abode up on Tryfan, where the Sixth Circle commences. To my knowledge, it is untouched since his passing."

    "Could I access it?" Gwen felt such longing that before she realised, she was holding Sanari''s hand.

    "I will make enquiries for you, Magus Song."

    "You have my thanks, Sanari." Gwen''s voice grew muffled. That she would find so welcoming a boon in a holiday home was wholly unexpected. "If there''s any way I can thank you, be it Crystals or rare materials..."

    "No need." Sanari smiled serenely. "Please give me some time."

    Gwen nodded, returning her cheek to the spa bed.

    "Errrrrgghnnn¡ª" Not far from her, Ollie bit his towel. The young man rose to speak¡ª then Zestari fell upon his shoulder blades.

    Poor sod, Gwen felt sympathy for her Praelector''s internal cries of alarm. Lady Grey must be working the poor bastard down to the bone.

    The Council of the Ninth Circle took place near the zenith of the Elder Tree at Tryfan; a myth locale that, together with its brethren, had inspired fanciful lore-names like "Yggdrasil". Unfortunately, the Nords, though creative in their interpretation of Elven chronicles, had gendered a misnomer.

    In Sylvan lore, there was no need to differentiate the "one" Elder Tree from another. All had come from the seed of the world, and all were one. To give each a name would be as foolish as individually naming the crowning branches of a world-topping redgum. To outsiders, the Elder Elves rarely gifted the truth of the World Trees, and so the subject had grown obfuscated by myth and mystery.

    "Hierophant Initiate Sanari..." bowed the Wardens standing guard beside the Arch of the Triumphant. "Welcome back to Tryfan''s Embrace."

    "May her bloom be eternal." Sanari inclined her chin. "Where is Primach Vulmari?"

    "The council awaits your pleasure in the Ninth Circle."

    "Good." Sanari proceeded past the Wardens without a glance.

    Above and around the Hierophant-Initiate, the liminal subspace of the Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar''s home stretched upward, tapping directly into the Plane of Radiance, providing Tryfan''s World Tree with an inexhaustible source of life and vitality, banishing all notions of darkness.

    Sanari willed her clothes to change, its fabrics growing thicker and more articulate until it covered her arms and legs with long, flowering fabrics resembling the petals of exotic flowers found on the canopy.

    Nearer the towering roots of Tryfan''s tree, empathic vines growing upon the thick bark entwined, forming an emerald threshold just as Sanari passed, transporting her from the understory to the emergent layer.

    Time and distance momentarily lost meaning, then the Initiate arrived upon the canopy of Elfhome''s ninth pocket plane. Once past the threshold, Sanari drew in a deep breath of vitality-rich air, expanding her lungs until pain tickled her diaphragm and her head felt light. Gradually, she expelled the inferior oxygen of the exterior world.

    Once naturalised, Sanari proceeded down the branches toward the meeting place of Snowdonia''s apex Enclave. At the path''s end, the Bellflower Hall was cloaked in pale cobalt, with its interior open-air and filled with light.

    Herein gathered sat the Tryfan Enclaves'' Ninth Circle Council, ready to discuss the matter of the Mageocracy''s emergent Sobel.

    "Hierophant-Initiate Sanari¡ª" The gathered rose in their respective chairs; each positioned to represent their irrespective concourse of interests.

    At the head of the table, bathed in light, sat the Bloom in White, her Ladyship the Tongue of Tryfan, regal in her pale, pearlescent robes, still as a statue and untouched by time.

    To her right sat the Lords of the Sixth and Third Circle, Isilynor and Esta, anxious in their colourful ceremonial carapace. As the Tr??lvor Lords of the lower realms, their impatience spoke loudly of their limited lifespans.

    To the White Lady''s right, Primach Vulmari, Sanari''s instructor and blood-kin stood stoic and silent beside Arch-Warden Eldrin, a warrior faithfully wedded to his crow-black battle mantle.

    Finally, opposite the party of Elves sat their guest from the realm of men, one Duke of Norfolk, Mycroft Ravenport, aptly wrapt in a sable garb of velvet cloth.

    "Primach Vulmari, Hierophant Eldrin, Lord Isilynor, Lady Esta, your Grace." Sanari bowed her head. "And my Lady Solana¡ª Blessed be the Flower of Tryfan."

    "We art blessed," the Elves answered in turn.

    The Human nodded. "May Tryfan bloom eternal."

    Each member took their place on the circular table while Sanari entered its spacious centre to face her superiors.

    "How is our guest?" Hierophant Eldrin was the first to speak. The outpost of Trawsfynydd lay within his jurisdiction.

    "Relaxed and happy, for now. The child has asked after Lord Kilroy."

    "As she should." Eladrin shifted in his battle plate. "Arch-Druid Kilroy was an honourary member of the Circle Council. It is right that his Human Apprentice should inherit his abode and receive our benediction."

    "Eladrin, patience," the Primach of the Enclave, Vulmari Vagolorithil, interjected before the Warden could continue. "Sanari, tell us about the Void sorceress, what have you confirmed?"

    "She''s a Vessel," Sanari stated without ambiguity.

    "And who might her Patron be?" Hierophant Eldrin raised a perfectly arched brow, the stag-horns protruding from his helm tilted left and right.

    Sanari shook her head, indicating she did not know. "Her Patron did not respond to my probing¡ª though I can confirm its Essence is ancient."

    "Ancient? Older than Tryfan''s Guardian?" The haughty profile of Isilynor, Lord of the Sixth Circle, leaned forward. "You expect us to believe that such a being married a Human Vessel?"

    The round table grew silent.

    "Lord Mycroft, might you provide some clarity?" Hierophant Eladrin''s ageless voice drifted across the Council''s august chamber.

    "I fear I came here to find answers." The Human noble cleared his throat, then replied. "In Gwen''s dossier, I have spared no intrigue. My purpose is to request an instructor; if you will recall. It would be both foolish and fruitless to withhold information that your august selves will discern once her training begins."

    Lady Esta''s eyes narrowed, reminding Sanari of the monstrous orchid mantis sometimes found in the upper canopy. "Find her an instructor, and we shall find out? Do you take us for the gullible D?kk¨¢lfar, dear Duke?"

    "Then shall I tell her to return home?" Duke of Norfolk held his own against the Lords of the Circle. "Cambridge is but an hour''s flight and a Teleport away."

    Both Isilynor and Esta stared rapiers at the Duke.

    The audacity of Humans continued to surprise Sanari, who was in her fifth century of service. With their lives so threatened by mortality, each Human act was a plunge into uncertainty, whose fruit may never be tasted by the executor. Had Sanari not volunteered to be tenured at Trawsfynydd as one of the grove''s caretakers, she would have never comprehended how Humans saw the world. What differentiated Man and Elf, Sanari had discerned, was the understanding of immediacy, that strange and indescribable feeling of impending action. For some of her folk, such as Isilynor and Esta, the very notion that a decision must be made, here and now, filled them with agitation.

    "Good. Return the child to London." Lady Esta of the Third Circle raised a bejewelled hand. "Sobel was an ill-bearing fruit we all regretted. Need I remind his lordship the living blight is still on the loose. Why should Tryfan risk a second Sobel? Must Lord Kilroy perish in vain?"

    "I agree with Lady Esta," Isilynor offered his support. "Mycroft, you forget that your kin art mere mercenaries under Tryfan''s employ. One loose monstrosity is quite enough."

    "There won''t ever be another Sobel." The Duke''s voice took on a threatening air at Isilynor''s undisguised reminder of Humanity''s place within the Accord. The man leaned back, his fingers forming an arch. "Not if Magus Song receives the proper aid. If she does not¡ª"

    "Enough, Mycroft." Hierophant Eldrin silenced the Duke with a gesture. "Sanari, you''ve marked the child. Tell us of your findings."

    A room full of golden eyes focused on Sanari. More than the scrutiny of her superiors; however, it was Ravenport''s dusky irises, so grey and lifeless-seeming, that made her follicles crawl.

    "Gentle Lord. Esteemed Council." Sanari once more breathed in the mana rich air. "As stated, Magus Song is the lesser Vessel of an Elder Being. Upon contact, I spoke at length to the child, eventuating in the Rite of Rejuvenation. I have found that her Astral Body differs from Human Mages, as the Essence of her being consists of chimeric additions; though the Elder Being''s Essence has suppressed all potential revolt. Of these pilfered Essences, thousands exist, their tiny presences layered like sediments within her Astral Soul. When our Essence twined, there was no response from her Patron. Further examination has allowed me to conclude that her Lord Spirit does not inhabit her body, not yet, nor is there a Conduit present."

    "How is she receiving aid then?" Lady Esta demanded.

    "From within herself."

    "A Changeling, then." Primach Vulmari touched a finger to his forehead. "You''re brought us a right mess, Mycroft. Those separate, lesser Essences, I take it they''re the number of lives she''s consumed. Are you certain the child isn''t a second Sobel?"

    "¡ª A Patron as old or older than our Guardian¡­" Arch-Warden Eldrin contemplated the possibilities behind Sanari''s words. "A primordial being? An untethered serpent from when the world was young?"

    "An answer I would like to know myself." Ravenport splayed both hands to simulate his helplessness. "The girl knows nothing, as I said. She believes that she''s on an expenses-paid holiday¡ª"

    "As a reward for eradicating the Triffidus infestation," Sanari''s Arch-Warden informed the Council. "Though you have your doubts, I should remind all present that Lord Ravenport has yet to disappointed us and that his continued service is necessary for Tryfan''s continued bloom."

    The Lords of the Sixth and Third Circle scoffed.

    "A service that warrants reciprocation." Ravencroft turned not to his conversation partners, but to her ladyship, the Bloom in White. In Sanari''s eyes, the act was the definition of insolence, though as Vulmari and Eldrin remained mum, so did the other members of the Council. "As Tryfan has faith in my service, so I have faith in our Elven allies not to disappoint so meagre a request."

    The gathered Elves looked toward the esteemed Tongue of Tryfan.

    "I do not support the instruction of the girl." Isilynor raised his hand.

    "Neither do I," Lady Esta concurred. "I will, however, allow her access to Lord Kilroy''s suite. His abode is within the domain of my Circle, and in his demise, death now pollutes its sanctum. Were it not for Lady Sulfina''s sake; I would have had the space expelled back into the aether."

    "Well, I support the child''s instruction." Eldrin, Ex-Hierophant and Arch-Warden of the Enclave, nodded at Ravenport.

    "As do I." The Druids'' Primach cocked his chin. "I wish to converse with her Patron."

    "Then your ladyship has the final word, as is proper." The Human Duke bowed.

    Lady Solana, the Tongue of Tryfan, the speaker and the voice of the World Tree, first Vessel of its Guardian, parted the pink petals of her imperious lips to deliver the verdict. In her presence, the others lowered their heads.

    "Eldrin, bring her to me," the Bloom in White delivered her judgment. "We shall not grant instruction as the Raven has requested¡ª not until the child has proven herself suitable for the Accord, as her Master had been."

    Sanari glanced at the Human Duke. She could see the man''s lips tittering on the edge of protest, but in the end, his reverence superseded his Human capacity for rudeness.

    "I obey the Tongue of Tyran." The Human Duke arched his back. "May its white flowers bloom eternal."

    Sanari exhaled as the tension bleed from the room. Now, she must return to the lower realms and its foetid air to deliver the good news.

    While minds multitudes older than Gwen''s puzzled their heads, Gwen grew perplexed over tea.

    "Elf cakes." Gwen cut into her delicate offerings, each shaped like exotic wildflowers too beautiful to be butchered by her silver knives, feeling as though she wanted a refund on her Tolkien tour. "Not Lembas Bread, but berry tarts and citrus meringue?"

    "The Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar are famous for their obsession with perfection." Ollie sat opposite, so relaxed that his hair appeared thicker and his body language ten-years younger. "It was French Magisters who first introduced the idea of desserts made from flora to the C¨¦vennes Enclave. It grew to be immensely popular among the Elves, and now they make better dessert than we do."

    Unlike the often greasy pastry items that featured prominently on Human menus, the Elves'' selection was much like themselves¡ª light and airy, with a delicate texture that teased the palate.

    Gwen stretched, distending her limbs like a cat''s until her toes curled. The sun was warm, the air fresh, the view was a million HDMs, the tarts were sweet, the tea fragrant, and her company was tolerable.

    Yet, despite the perfection of the moment, the disarming tranquillity was disturbing. Was it the quietness? Gwen wondered. She was an urbanite; give her a cafe, loud traffic, endless streams of men and women hurrying to work and a hobo ranting about Jesus saves, and she would feel right at home.

    "You ever feel like something''s going to happen and you just can''t relax?" Gwen asked her Praelector.

    "What? Why?" Ollie bolted straight at once, all signs of happiness evaporating at once. "What''s happening? Did you do something? What did you do now?"

    "Nothing," Gwen chided her prudish House-Brother. "How rude."

    "Gwen, can''t you just let up for once?" Ollie begged her. "We can''t offend the Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar. Not even Lady Grey can save you from them."

    "And just how would I have an opportunity to offend them?" Gwen scowled back. "Is this about what happened at lunch again? That buffet wasn''t properly stocked. I swear to God¡ª"

    Chirp! Chirp!

    A cicada-shaped bell announced the arrival of a guest, interrupting Gwen''s impassioned self-defence of her gluttony.

    "Come in!" she announced.

    The lithe form of Sanari appeared at the doorway, her ageless face a flower of friendship. "Magus Song, I bring good tidings."

    "Is this about Master?" Gwen stood in her robe. Opposite, Ollie looked like a deer caught in the path of a Lightning Bolt.

    "Indeed." Sanari bowed deeply. "Our esteemed Lady, the Bloom in White, would like to speak with you in private regarding Lord Kilroy''s estate."

    "PUFFFFT!" Ollie spat out a half-sipped mouthful of tea all over the cakes. "The Speaker of Tryfan? The Immortal Bloom herself? Gwen, no! You¡ª This¡ª FU¡ª Oh my God!"

    Gwen stepped away from her embarrassing Praelector. "I am forever grateful."

    "NO!" Ollie begged from below. "You can''t offend her, Gwen. She''s the spiritual leader of the Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar! One word from her and¡ª look, just know that you''ll be speaking with someone no less august than our Majesty herself. Your etiquette is barely passable! You haven''t even passed your decorum class! You curtsy like a drunk Ork and eat like a starved Mermen, what if..."

    Caught in the middle of Ollie''s rant, Gwen grew uncertain.

    "Do not fret," Sanari promised with a smile. "There exists no kinder and wiser being than our Lady... certainly not outside this mundane mass of the Prime Material you so called London. As for you, Magus Edward, rest assured that there exists no ambiguity as to Magus Song''s attendance. To refuse would be a dire insult..."

 Chapter 371 - Close Encounter of the Demi-kind

    "So¡­ you are not a masseuse?" Gwen questioned her attendant, now confessed to be a multi-classed Druid Hierophant-Initiate of the Tryfan Enclave.

    "I am that and more, though I understand the confusion, Magus Song. It''s admirable¡ª for even the D?kk¨¢lfar with their long-lives seldom master more than one profession." Sanari''s perpetual smile persisted. "And though some of our kind prefer stagnancy, I enjoy the fluidity brought by each changing cycle of service. Within the World Tree, seasons change and each year is different from the last, why should we be any different?"

    "So you don''t find the work demeaning?" Gwen continued her enquiry out of morbid interest, attempting to trace the sprigs and branches of Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar society. "You''re an ageless being with centuries of wisdom, and you are willing to ''service'' a member of the younger race? I was under the impression that ''real'' Elves saw us as akin to apes... Like how we see the Mermen..."

    "We have no conflict with the Mermen to denigrate them as you do." Sanari waved away her accusation. "Their envoys are just as welcome as yourself. It is true that before my time, before even Lady Solana and the Guardian came to be, your kind may have been simians, but you are not now, are you?"

    For some reason, Gwen thought of the macaque queen she''d met in Burma, as well as the Water Ghosts in their sodden den.

    "No," she said. "But it''s still demeaning."

    "Demeaning?" Sanari slowed her step to match Gwen''s stride. "How so?"

    "I, for one, can''t imagine myself in your position." Gwen intimated that she was offended by the very notion of menial servitude, even if it was something respectable that cost a great deal of money to purchase. In her eyes, she''d rather pay with cash than cash-in her dignity.

    "What a peculiar arrogance." The Druid''s golden eyes regarded her with interest. "Must pride and power always occupy the same pod? In your Human Circle, does might and wealth make one superior to one''s kin?"

    "Not abstractly, not in a society where all have equal rights," Gwen replied with a hint of cheek. "But explicitly, prestige and power can purchase equality by the bundle."

    Sanari grew confused by her Gwenism. "A contradiction, I see. Is your hypocrisy because Mages in your society are inherently superior to your non-magically affiliated citizenry? How irrational. Doesn''t one engender the other? Mages don''t grow on trees, I assume."

    "Wait up," Gwen asked in turn. "Don''t the Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar lord over the Tr??lvor?"

    "If you mean whether the Tr??lvor come to us in times of need," Sanari replied. "Then, yes. Though not often. The Circle Council may grant a boon if the need is dire."

    "But the Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar do not consider themselves superior to the Tr??lvor?" Gwen asked. "I mean, in terms of magic, lore, lifespan, power..."

    "It''s truer to say the Tr??lvor consider themselves inferior." Sanari searched for her next words. "As kin, we think of them kindly, of course, though they have their duties, just as we have ours. I would not presume to impose a Tr??lvor Ranger, for instance, though most would be happy to do my bidding. Likewise, among our woodland cousins, some are proud as well, such as the Keepers of the Circles. They resist the hierarchy their people revere acutely¡ª it''s a complex affair."

    "I bet." Gwen took mental notes. "I like you, Sanari. You''re not snobbish and self-important despite holding such a position in your society. If that applies to your people in general, then the Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar sound too good to be true. I mean, do all Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar exist in an egalitarian commune?"

    "I do not think your human analogy would work," Sanari disagreed with her summation of fantasy communism. "This harmony is merely how things are. Take this notion of elevation which you prize so dearly. For our kin, the seasons turn as a water-wheel, and that which blooms shall wilt to bloom again. Why fight for the fecundity of the moment? An irresponsible desire for unnatural harvests will only poison the soil. Things fade, creatures die, trees perish. Nought exists for long but for the aeons. Our disinterest in pride and prestige isn''t something we consciously pursue: it exists as the Accord; as holistic as our genesis from the World Tree."

    "Like a... Great Chain of Being?" Gwen was beginning to feel that her fellow Humans had thrifted plenty of ideas from their knife-eared neighbours.

    "Perhaps. It is difficult to explain to an outsider."

    "I see¡­" Gwen attempted intellectual empathy, but lacking the necessary context, she felt like an illiterate rube trying to unpack Keynesian economics.

    "The Bloom in White will be a better instructor than I, I am sure," Sanari assured her. "I am yet unlearned in the Accord. Perhaps I shall apply myself in the next cycle."

    The two walked on until they reached the centre of the tourist town.

    At the crossroad of Trawsfynydd''s square stood the Heart Oak, so named because it was the tallest tree visible to the guests, and also because it served as the conduit between Trawsfynydd and Tryfan.

    "Before we head inward. Are there any taboo subjects? Despite being an Alfarphile, Ollie''s not much more knowledgable on Elven etiquette beyond trade basics. His sorcerous thesis was on Elven integration of the Imperial Magic System, not Elven intrigue."

    "When speaking to the Bloom, you should be yourself," Sanari stated. "The Lady has met generations of Humanity''s finest. Your genuine nature will be an important distinction."

    "I''ll do my best. Are we climbing the World Tree?" Gwen''s eyes sparkled. "Is it true that it''s a multi-tier Grot?"

    "Yes. No, we will proceed directly to the Sun Sanctum," Sanari informed her.

    "We''re not sight-seeing?" Gwen felt taken aback.

    "You are not a guest in Tryfan, not yet." Sanari''s face retained its unflappable serenity. "Your talents are too peculiar to be left unchecked. Your Void beast, if left alone, will bring great alarm to our insular kin."

    "Caliban?" Gwen touched a finger to her heart. "Cali is perfectly tame."

    "My concern isn''t for the wellbeing of our people." Sanari smiled. "Enough talk. Let us proceed."

    Ahead, the branches of the Heart Tree lowered themselves, entwining until a threshold formed. Sanari incanted in Sylvan, a language Gwen could comprehend only thanks to her Master''s Ioun Stone. Soundlessly, an emerald portal sprung into being in the space between the twisting branches.

    "Is this Tree Stride?" Gwen eyed the portal.

    The Druid extended a hand, saying nothing more.

    Swatting the butterflies alighting in her stomach, Gwen arrested the Elf''s elongated digits, mindful of her imminent close encounter of the Galadriel kind.

    In her old world, Gwen had travelled the breadth of its cities. Inevitably, curated by Tripadvisor, she had detoured through innumerable cathedrals from the medieval Notre-Dame de Paris to the ultra-modern Catedral de Bras¨ªlia, all of which had succeeded in making her cynical heart swell with wonder and worship.

    Such was her immediate impression of the Sun Sanctum, the interior of which reminded her of these vainglorious edifices.

    As with her visitation of the Hagia Sophia, her vision first ascended toward the Elf hall''s apex, a curved, bell-shaped roof grown from warped leaves two storeys tall, joined by colossal stems to form an organic, semi-translucent octogramic dome that filtered the radiance.

    From there, pillars composed of polished white oak, carved with what Gwen presumed to be narrative tapestries of Elven lore, cascaded downward as towering monoliths of ivory, seamlessly sprouting from the ground level. The floor itself was formed of soft moss, creating an overlay plusher than any carpet.

    Inside, the open space was sweet with mana. Nearer the exterior, in place of curtains, Sylvan Glyphs, gentle in their channelling of latent, mysterious energies, hovered between the columns, beyond of which an unbound and uncanny vista made Gwen gasp.

    The cosmos of the World Tree was without a horizon.

    A little disturbed, Gwen looked away, refocusing her attention toward the temple''s centre.

    As with her Master''s Grot, there was a tree in the Sun Sanctum''s loci, a yew tree from the looks of the leaves; an expected detail, considering Britain was famous for yews, whose wood was famous for producing bows, a staple armament of the Tr??lvor''s Ranger Wardens.

    The yew tree itself was enormous, with a height Gwen guessed to be six or seven storeys and a vast circumference of two football fields. When an unseen wind passed, its verdant foliage susurrated as she and Sanari crossed the mossy underlay.

    Gwen clutched the hem of her dress.

    Earlier, at the Hierophant-Initiate''s advice, she had forsaken her battle armour for a tunic-skirt that suited her humble purpose, a one-piece cut above the knee in crow-black with white-winged collars. For footwear, she entrusted her Mary Janes, a veteran of her many ordeals, to possess the grit and luck to see her through an Elder being''s scrutiny.

    If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    As they came closer, she noted the gentle incline of the floor and heard the music of tender water flowing beneath the tiles. The air inside the lowered depression was noticeably crisper, humid but pleasant, abundant with vital mana. Each step Gwen took, her body felt lighter, as though buoyed by new life, wearing away the lingering fatigue from conjuring her Shoggoth.

    "Where is the er¡­ White Flower?" Gwen asked of her hostess, her eyes scanning for what may be a colossal Alraune.

    Sanari bowed in the tree''s general direction. Gwen bowed likewise just in case. Then her host whispered something about "Bloom eternal", took a step backwards, and was away.

    "Sanari?" Gwen''s eyes followed the Druid until, a safe distance away, the ripple of a Tree Striding portal swallowed the Hierophant-Initiate.

    "¡­ Okay." Gwen returned her attention to the tree. "Em... Your Ladyship! I am Magus Gwen Song of Cambridge. Apprentice of Henry Kilroy. Please forgive my informality. How may I address you?"

    "In your tongue, ''Your Grace'' will suffice¡­" came a chirping voice from somewhere in the shadowy alcove.

    Gwen looked up.

    There was a blooming white flower sitting on a rough and pitted branch jutting from the giant yew.

    "Up here, dear child." The same voice filled her head, negating the distance. "The solar wind from the Plane of Radiance is quite nice."

    Gwen accepted the invitation, thinking of Ollie begging her with tears in his eyes to obey every word waggled forth by the Tongue of Tryfan. Gingerly, with great care not to touch a single leaf, she flew upward until she drew level with her interviewer.

    "Your Grace¡ª" Gwen''s voice caught in her throat as her mind briefly turned white.

    Solana''s divinity, simply put, was on par with Galadriel, dispelling the disappointment she felt for the worldly Sanari, leaving Gwen in stunned silence for a jaw-dropping second.

    Against the yew''s trunk, Lady Solana sat, regal as the noblest metal, pretty as the rarest flower, so absurdly brilliant that Evee would appear as common as a clucking hen besides a dignified crane. Was it Solana''s radiance? Gwen wondered, circulating both Void and Essence to dull the impact of the Demi-god''s glamour.

    Her effort at self-control took several breaths, gradually building in strength until the saintly aura of the Lady dimmed enough for her to rediscover her senses.

    "Well done, child of Kilroy," the voice in her head whispered again. "I had expected nothing less."

    Gwen swallowed.

    Now close enough to touch, she could see that the Bloom in White had the same atypical features as her kin, only more pronounced. From her head, Solana''s hair flowed fair and flaxen, wild and untethered as spun Mithril from her shoulders to her waist. Upon her elfin face, a pair of blazing golden irises looked out toward her impertinent guest; sagacious with experience, but tender with benevolence. Below her Grecian nose, Solana''s mouth was small and petite, gifting the ageless leader an unsettling youth. Finally, past her waspish waist, from the flower-pocket of her folded dress, a graceful pair of legs dangled over the branch, ending in a pair of dainty feet, its soles tinted green with sap.

    "Here." The Bloom in White patted the place beside her. "Let us take a look at you."

    Gwen demurely sat.

    "Don''t be shy," the High Priestess spoke, this time the words issuing from her lips. "No harm shall come to Henry''s legacy."

    Gwen shimmed closer, wincing when the rough bark stabbed into her unprotected thighs.

    "First time sitting in a tree?" Solana glanced at the bark. Without warning, her spiky saddle mutated into something with the softness of duck down. "I do apologise. Our bodies care little for creature comforts."

    Gwen nodded, relieved that she wasn''t about to be rubbed raw by a Mythic-class yew''s envenomed protrusions. "I haven''t scaled a tree since I was a child. The one time I did, my mother skinned me alive for ruining a forty-HDM dress."

    "Hahaha¡­" Solana laughed. "How candid you are. Your Master was never one to speak his mind. Did the two of you get along?"

    "Very well, strangely enough." She instantly felt a strange kinship with the demi-human deity, especially the way Solana managed to pronounce "Henry" so effortlessly and with natural ease.

    "Is that so?" The Tongue of Tryfan hugged a knee against her chest, just touching the tip of her sculpted chin. "I''ve been well-informed of your history and your achievements, Gwen. Both from sources working for us, and from your allies. In exchange, I judge it fair that you may ask me a few questions before I seek answers for mine."

    "I would like to know about my Master." Gwen wasn''t one to look a gift-goddess in the mouth. "That is, please tell me about the Mage Henry Kilroy and what you know of him."

    "You don''t¡­ know?" Solana tilted her head. "How curious. Henry has two other Apprentices, does he not?"

    "I''ll be blunt." Gwen used her hands to mime her lack of knowledge. "Master cared not for our past, and we did not ask about his. I didn''t even know about Sobel¡ª or at least not the whole story¡ª until some psycho called Mark sent me to the slums as bait. Master occasionally waxed about his old post-Tide days, but that''s about the extent of it."

    "What would you like to know?"

    There were so many questions simmering at her throat that Gwen took a moment to try and place the unreadable mien of the serene-looking spiritual leader of the Elves. Solana''s amicability felt different from Sanari''s polite caution. Where the Hierophant had the demeanour of a middle-manager, Solana felt akin to a professor overseeing a precocious pupil.

    Wary of the cosy vibe they had going on, Gwen reminded herself that the female demi-human in front of her wasn''t an elderly babulya, but something as old as the Nazarene, if not older, and according to Ollie, the Vessel of a tree that may have existed since tyrant lizards stalked the earth. Likewise, she had to remind herself that here was a being on another tier of existence. Even if she were to become Gwen-E-Buffett, she might not move the Bloom in White in the slightest. Here was a woman that had seen the Egyptian dynasts rise and fall, witnessed Caesar butchered in the streets of Rome and the Knight Templars burnt to smithereens by the Djinn Marauders of the Elemental Sea.

    If she were to insult the Bloom in White, such a quake would ripple through the Mageocracy that England''s Queen herself, armed with the faith of the Commonwealth''s billion-strong citizens, would move to placate her ire¡ª which may involve atomising their Void sorceress.

    "My question." Gwen made firm her trembling voice. "Is what questions may I ask. What topics are taboo, and how much time do we have?"

    "Hahaha¡­" Solana''s trilling laughter sent the tree into a shivering sway. "Thou truly art a strange one."

    "¡­ I''ve been told to tread like a Tr??lvor ranger," Gwen confessed, laying the blame on Ollie as her mind turned. "After all, your Ladyship is the oldest and most powerful being I''ve had the pleasure of meeting."

    "You lie well." Lady Solana''s lips formed a thin line, not unlike a headmistress catching her head girl midway through a fag.

    "Er¡­" Gwen felt taken aback by the sudden change in tone. "The most powerful Mage I know is Gunther, or maybe Master, so¡­"

    "Half-truths? How Henry of you..." Solana touched a finger to her chin. Her holinesses'' digits, Gwen noted, were without adornments; instead, she could just make out pale markings in Sylvan forming intricate floral patterns that extended up Solana''s wrists like Henna, with the rest hidden by her floral tunic.

    Gwen acutely felt the blood hammering at her temple. Should she just blurt her ''patron'' out when she had no idea what the stakes were? Was Almudj friendly or otherwise to the Elves? If Solana replied with "Ah, old Elf-muncher, very cheeky, we lost millions to that bastard... you bitch..." Would she be fucked?

    "Child..."

    Concurrently, alarming thoughts of Ollie screaming "Why-why-why!" flashed through her teaming brain. Gwen agonised over her imperfect awareness. If Solana was as old as they say, shouldn''t she know Almudj from the old days? Would the Mythics enjoy a once per-thousand-year meeting of the oldies, ala Golden Girls, to discuss the present state of Terra and the damned new kids on the block ruining the garden?

    "Your Grace..." Gwen took the plunge. "Are you familiar with the Rainbow Serpent?"

    "I know of it."

    "Al¡ªmu¡ªdj¡ª" Gwen uttered the syllables in the manner of a gipsy fortune teller. "Almudj!"

    "A true name for mortal ears, but one I have never had the pleasure of address." The Tongue of Tryfan''s confession filled Gwen with equal volumes of surprise and relief. "Perhaps Milord Tyfanevius will know. He is older than I."

    The bower grew turbulent, forcing Gwen to grasp the closest branches to keep her balance.

    "No matter. As promised, let us first converse about Henry." Lady Solana slid from the branch, Feather Falling to the ground with the grace of a petal bore by a gentle wind.

    "Who is Tyfanevius, your Grace?" Gwen inquired, following the Lady.

    "My consort and our Guardian. Do not fret, child. He''s been sleeping for a long time, albeit with one eye open."

    Before their feet even touched the ground, whatever forces that fed the enormous yew obeyed, germinating a table and three chairs.

    "Do remove your leather garments," Solana advised. "The moss of our Sun Sanctum is a rare pleasure for the younger races."

    Gwen willed her shoes and socks away, not wanting to perform the crass act of removing clothing mid-descent.

    When she landed, what met her was an immense nostalgia. At once, Gwen realised that Henry likely had modelled his Grot after the Sun Sanctum, for the design of the table and the chair were the exact ones she had enjoyed, and the positioning of these familiar-looking furniture was also precisely as she had recalled. Together with the dappled garden-grove, she could almost imagine her old life revisited, only this time her instructor was an ageless Elf Queen, and Sufina, she supposed, a world-topping tree.

    Solana took her seat, as did Gwen, leaving the chair of her ''consort'' jarringly empty. The Elven priestess waved her hand over the table. Instantly a feat of patisseries materialised.

    Gwen audibly gasped, her vision made blurry by the sheer volume of calories presented in one sitting. "Incredible! What manner of a spell conjures floral cakes? Is this high-tier Druidism?"

    The Elf gave her a puzzling look, then flashed a wood-band Storage Ring by raising a hand.

    "Oh¡­" Gwen turned as scarlet as the blossoming desserts.

    "Feel free to partake," Solana commanded. "I had these prepared. Do not mind my abstinence. I ate months ago."

    Gwen fought down a cheeky impulse to ask the Lady for dieting tips. Gently, she broke off a petal of crystallised sugar and delivered the morsel to her lips.

    A vivid sensation of verdant vitality suffused her tongue.

    "Vessel." Solana studied her with her golden irises. "Tell me what you know of Henry."

    Collecting her thoughts, Gwen did her best to narrate her and Kilroy''s first meeting, their conversation about the Middle Path, and her Apprenticeship. When prompted, she expanded on Marc Chandler, his sister, Elizabeth Sobel, Noosa Heads, and finally finishing with a first-hand account of Henry''s demise in their desperate push to regain control of the Tower.

    When Gwen finished, the immortal Elf sighed. Above them, the yew shivered, shedding a small sun shower of leaves.

    "What a needless and wasteful loss." Solana shook her head with far more human emotion than Gwen had expected the Demi-God of possessing.

    Gwen took another sugary petal to banish the oppressive melancholy, finding the vitality rush as therapeutic as it was intense.

    Solana waited for her to finish.

    "Your Master, Henry Kaine Foster Kilroy." The leader of the Elves of Snowdonia spoke after a half-minute of contemplation, dusting off the ancient history archived within her mind. "Is the eighth grand-scion hailing from the line of Morden. Do you know Arch-Mage Morden, child?"

    Gwen could almost recite the biography by heart, as Morden had been one of Henry''s favourite casters. "Yes. Malcolm Kane Morden, Arch-Mage. A nineteenth-century Scottish Highlander, originally from the Greyhawk Citadels in Suilven. He was the Master of a failed alliance called the Circle of Eight."

    "Well done." Solana appeared pleased by her knowledge. "Continue..."

    "He hunted Trolls and Giants and was... formidable as a Mage and a politician. Morden was against the English Crown and wanted Scotland''s independence. In the end, he disappeared, failing to stop the English, but leaving behind numerous books and spells, and a Noble House that prospers even now..."

    "Also¡ª Morden was a signatory of the Accord," the High Priest appended her recollected biography. "A sorcerous purist, and a progenitor of the Magic you employ, not to mention the Towers you build. And of course, he was Henry''s grandsire."

    Though Gwen''s non-monetary arithmetics suffered, she did her best. "I fear you''ve lost me. Do you mean Morden was Master''s progenitor?"

    Lady Soalan smiled.

    In response, Gwen''s hands grew clammy. "May I ask what year Master was born?"

    "We are not familiar with the calendar of the Nazarene," the Elf spoke without a single indication she found Henry''s purported age to be peculiar. "But I do recall that it was the same decade Alexandrina Victoria of Hanover took to the throne."

    "But that''s..." Gwen recalled from her high school propaganda class that Alexandrina Victoria was the maiden name of her Majesty, Queen Victoria. "That''s... that''s 1838!"

 Chapter 372 - A little Knowledge

    CRACK!

    Hiss! The Serpent below the tree spat at the heavens. It did not like strangers.

    HISSAK! Came the reply, filling the space of no space.

    ''Beware, how dangerous is the acquirement of knowledge. Happy is the man who believes his hamlet to be the world¡ª'' Do you not wish to live happily and in harmony?"

    illusion of knowledge, your Grace. THAT is the most dangerous thing of all."

 Chapter 373 - The Burden of Knowledge

    When earlier the Hierophant-Masseusse had arrived to pick up their guest, she was profoundly shaken by the vision of the Void Sorceress standing beside the Bloom in White with every limb intact.

    From the smell of ash in the air and the chaotic swirl of mana in the sanctum, she could guess why every Master Warden from the Seventh to the Ninth Circle had answered the breach siren. What Sanari did not understand was why the Bloom in White did not immediately reject their guest from the sacred tree but commanded Sanari to shelter Gwen on route to Henry Kilroy''s abandoned abode in the outer circuit of the Sixth Circle.

    "Woooow¡­" Beside the Heirophant-Initiate, the clueless Human cooed at the unbound vista, a scene that roused powerful emotions in the Circle''s guest.

    The broad avenue upon which the pair walked was the main thoroughfare through the upper district of the Circle, offering its residents an unfettered view of the lower Circles'' canopy roof. The circular branch-ways ringed the circumference of the Sixth, affording space aplenty for the Circle''s some two-thousand citizens. Different to the lower districts, which housed the agricultural regions of the World Tree, the Sixth Circle was the preferred residence of Elves currently undergoing their Cycle as Druids and Elementalists. As a result, its dwellings and public buildings were large and distantly placed, with vast open tracts of level growth serving as practice fields.

    Their present destination was a scant-occupied quarter used by the district''s most prominent casters. Within its shelter, the girl''s Master had made his home a century ago, first with Lady Sufina, then with the aberrant known as Sobel.

    "We''ve arrived," Sanari notified their guest.

    From her ring, the Hierophant-initiate produced a Key Glyph specific to the late master caster''s home. "Here is your key."

    The gate to the courtyard stood as a silvery carving etched onto the base of an enormous banyan tree, the kind native to Lady Sufina''s island. The sapling, Sanari notified her companion, was painstakingly translocated from the island home of the Dryad by her Master.

    "Thank you, Sanari." The girl took the key from her hands. "Would you like to come in?"

    "I do not believe that is appropriate." Sanari understood that while the Bloom in White may not consider the Grot''s content important, her more worldly superiors, such as Arch-Warden Eldrin or Primarch Vulmari, would possess no such qualms. To avoid getting caught between the High Priestess'' carefree generosity and her superior''s curiosity, Sanari figured it was best to let sleeping Nymphs lie.

    "Are there any Wards inside?" The girl played with the Glyph key. "Or guards, like a pissed-off mini Sufina?"

    Sanari searched her memory for hearsay from the last century. "I am unsure, as your Master is Human. He did enjoy a constant stream of visitors, so I do not believe his sanctum is warded to cause harm. He was perfectly safe here. The Tree of Tryfan is unassailable. Even Sythinthimryr the Red would think twice about flying too close."

    "That''s good to know. May I use magic here?" The Void Sorceress enquired. "I''d rather play it safe and scope the place first. Master liked his secrets."

    "You may," Sanari gave permission, a privilege granted by the Bloom. "Please keep your sorcery localised, especially those associated with the Negative Plane. Since Master Kilroy''s extinction was confirmed, his neighbours had all relocated¡ª that''s how sensitive the Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar are to mortality. I should also note that you should scour your Master''s Grot for his effects. Lady Esta, the Lord of the Sixth, has expressed her desire to purge this pocket plane into the Astral expanse."

    "What? Why?"

    "This is the home of a being no longer alive, and one associated with Sobel, a betrayer of the Accord," Sanari explained with patience when Gwen knitted her brows. "Please do not take offence. The same purgation is performed for our loved ones as well. Though it has been some decades since we''ve had a Sending."

    "No Elf has died in recent memory?" the girl''s tone grew sceptical. "Not even from violent deaths?"

    "Conflict is not our way¡­"

    "By which you mean¡­" Her guest''s lips grew churlish. "You''ve freed yourselves from the need for conflict because us Humans are fielding for your kin to catch the conflicts before they can roost at Tryfan, quashing problems like the Triffids."

    "Perhaps." Against the girls'' penetrative gaze, Sanari felt her chest constrict. It was true that since the young Human Queen took power, Tryfan''s Wardens and Rangers had suffered no losses.

    "Is it because of the Accord?" the girl followed up. "That we act as a buffer for Tryfan?"

    Sanari stopped herself short before she could blurt an answer. Was the girl baiting her? The Elf reminded herself to smile. "Magus Song, your benefactor''s legacy awaits within. You have only a few hours."

    "What''s a few more hours to those unmoved by the tyranny of time?" The girl''s grin made Sanari nervous.

    "I shall stand guard to warn away wayward eyes," she declared, ignoring the Human. "Proceed with your sorcery as you please. Do make haste. The Guardian is wary of your presence."

    "Thanks, I''ll be done in a jiffy." The Void Sorceress concentrated, drawing crude, borrowed Glyphs in the air "Morden''s Hound!"

    Unbidden, Sanari felt every muscle in her over-trained body tense, her Warden''s senses sending whistling flares up her spine and down her limbs, tingling her fingers. Unbidden, the Druidess'' breath caught in her throat as the tendons supporting her lofty skull tightened, making visible the blue veins supplying mana and blood to her brain. Simultaneously, a dreadful sensation of free-falling forced her to brace against the rugged bark of the banyan.

    Besides the child of Void, an obsidian horror, the likes of which Sanari had never thought she would behold, slinked into being from a slit in space. Half-maw and half-hound, the thing of living hunger was eyeless and faceless, akin to the pale wyrms that lived in the lightless caverns on the First Circle, languishingly feeding on the World Tree''s roots.

    Once birthed, the hound panted against the girl like a pup, smearing her thighs with its grey goo.

    "Stay still, Buck. I''ll get your buds out. Hound Pack!" The sorceress continued her unholy craft.

    Nine more of the terrible beasts emerged, smaller but no less ugly.

    Together, they sniffed the air around the tree, tasting its sacred spaces.

    For the love of Tryfan, please don''t wander away, Sanari prayed to the Bloom for support of her sanity. She had no desire to corral these things, and even if she did, she wasn''t sure the execution of the dogs'' summoner would sit well with the Circle Council.

    "Almost done," her guest assured the ashen Sanari. "Ariel! Caliban!"

    When the Draconic-chimaera emerged with a flourish and an "Ee!", Sanari breathed out a sigh of relief, unsurprised that a Familiar as piecemeal-proportioned as its Master existed. When the infamous Void Worm made its appearance, her disgust returned with a two-fold dose of oppression, so acute that a desire to send a Viridian Bolt to the creature''s featureless face flashed across her rioting mind.

    "This is Ariel the Kirin," the girl explained, ruffling the chimaera''s mane. "And this cutie is Cali. Say hi, everyone!"

    "EE!" the Kirin saluted, raising a front hoof to show its proud frog.

    "Shaa¡ª Shaa!" The Void fiend opened its maw to vociferate a gut full of grey goo. Was it staring at her? Sanari couldn''t tell for the thing had no eyes, though its depthless throat did communicate a distressing hunger.

    "Magus Song, please proceed inside," Sanari begged the Void Sorceress. With so many manifested clumps of Void tainting her mana senses, Sanari felt queasy, like that one time she ate greasy Human food fried in animal fat. Thankfully, the junior Void Sorceress rallied her creatures without ado, then pressed Kilroy''s key against the door to invoke the threshold.

    "Buck, fellers, in you go. Cali, keep an eye on them," the girl commanded her minions. "Ariel, you bring up the rear."

    "I hope you find what you need," Sanari well-wished the Human sorceress before stepping away, hoping her guardianship of the girl would soon end.

    "I hope so too." The girl smiled back. "Also, I am not going in yet. The doggies will give the place a once-over first, and I''ll be using Ariel VR."

    With patience, Gwen waited for her dogs to settle, then entered into a dimly lit interior plated from floor to ceiling with lacquered wood.

    Her hounds had already sniffed through the house, using their bodies to test for traps as they slinked through the modest space in-between the clutter of furniture, which to her eyes resembled an Edwardian drama set.

    The epoch of the decor made perfect sense¡ª Gwen realised once she stepped into the Grot herself, for it affirmed the Elves'' assertion that Henry had furnished his home in the period before the Great War.

    Atypical of the colonial epoch, the interior of Henry''s Grot-away-from-Grot was richly adorned, with wooden tapestries in carved oak stretching from floor to the two-storey ceiling, where exposed beams supported an ornate roof, beyond which lay the Astral expanse.

    From the foyer, which resembled a tunnel of geometric wood stained with dark varnish, the corridor opened into a well-lit living room library.

    A library at last! Huzzah! Gwen''s girlish heart burst into rapture.

    Books! Tomes! Grimoires and volumes were lining the walls in every windowless direction! From knee-level shelves, each a meter long and as tall as the ceiling, rigid, hard-cover spines pronounced their titles. Breaking the biblio-monotony were pigeon holes; different to the shallow shelves serviced the books, these hid scrolls and parchments, sporting "X" shaped alcoves stuffed with paper.

    In the middle of the living room and library sat an ecliptic assortment of couches in pastel. The largest was in burgundy, while another had lime-green floral for its fabric. Against every second armrest, tasselled table lamps sat on reading stands, with semi-translucent strings of crystal hanging from ivory shades. On the floor, enormous carpets with arcane designs stretched from sofa to sofa, marking the boundaries between areas for rest and locomotion. Facing the chairs sat a fake fireplace, fully functional from the looks of the enchanted kindling still pulsing with faint mana. On the furthermost side, a set of heavy curtains covered the wall.

    Thoughtfully, Gwen approached a well-worn single-seater sofa in midnight blue, finding interest in the indent in the frayed cushion. Within her mind''s eye, she could imagine a younger Henry, not so frail and possessed still of a heart, sitting there, a scroll in hand and a book on his lap, using Mage Hand to jot-down the results of his research.

    "Shaa Shaa!" Caliban slithered under a dresser, emerging a moment later with a pair of slippers.

    Gwen was on the verge of commending the creature when she noted from the design that these were not her Master''s slippers, but ones belonging to someone with smaller, daintier feet and a predisposition for lace.

    "Jesus Christ! Drop em!" Caliban recoiled, letting fall the offending footwear.

    As quick as her empathic sentimentality had come, what were most likely Sobel''s favourite comfy-shoes killed all nostalgia.

    "Ee! EE!" Opposite, Ariel played with the drawstrings threaded through the heavy drapes. With a careless tug, it displaced the curtain, revealing the hidden visage.

    A pair of unholy blue eyes stared out at the Grot''s uninvited intruder.

    "HOLY FUCK!" Gwen involuntarily took a step back, almost tripping over Caliban. "Elizabeth Sobel!"

    It was Sobel¡ª or more accurately, a portrait of Sobel, hung against the wall so that the peruser of the library, when seated to read, would always have its fairness within sight.

    "Thanks, Master, I hate it," Gwen complained, calming herself by circulating a mote of Almudj''s Essence. The portrait of Lizzy frozen in time was younger than the Elizabeth she had seen. The face was more rounded, the chin weaker and her eyes less almond and more oval. How old was Sobel during the sitting? Gwen wondered, approaching the painting to study its details.

    Up close, she could see the oily textures where the hues had been expertly blended to create the semi-realistic image. From the style, she would guess that the painter must be an old master, for she had seen the same likenesses of Magisters in Peterhouse''s common room.

    The most striking thing about the image, other than Sobel''s sultry, scarlet lips, were her eyes. The Void Sorceress'' orbs were a soulful baby-blue, so blue the pigments struggled to capture their vividness. And like herself, the girl within possessed pale, flawless skin, with a hint of rose to her cheeks framed by dark hair. In their youth, they did look somewhat alike, Gwen realised, ambivalent in her discovery.

    Stolen story; please report.

    Her Master must have enjoyed the countenance of his young wife, Gwen measured the vector between her Master''s favourite chair and the portrait''s gaze, vaguely aware of the implications. By the measure of years, her temptation to accept Elvia''s companionship seemed like a completely natural thing in comparison.

    She cast her gaze around the room.

    Sanari had given her a limited timeframe, but no specific deadline.

    She could drag out her stay in her Master''s home, but doing so excessively would outstay her welcome. If she refused to leave, would the delay piss off this Lady Esta enough to void the abode with her in it?

    Knowing the Elves'' antipathy towards bereavement, she chose urgency.

    From her Storage Ring, she produced three more Large Storage Rings, each a discounted item gifted to her by Marong for looting Golos'' spoils. While empty, extra rings could be stowed, but once in use, they must be worn or carried on her person.

    Together with her looted original, she totalled about five shipping containers of storage space. If Solana''s ilk intended to purge her Master''s pocket space, then it goes to reason that she should loot the joint like a bandit.

    Systematically, she began with the cumbersome couches and the tables, the lamps and the rugs. Once these were packed, she started with the books, running her hand along the rails so that the volumes disappeared each by each, giving her a glimpse of the titles.

    There were the usual suspects, such as Allenberg''s Primer for Astral Theory, Otsu''s Primer for Evokers and Goulding''s Primer for Transmutation, though, from the leather-bound covers, she suspected these were rarer editions than the cardboard mass-manufactured Spellbooks she had held as a high school student.

    Other volumes had portentous titles like The Netherbane Lexicon, Old Griever''s Ledger, Tome of Aquamancy, Crick''s Primer of Illusions, Bilby''s Spellbinding, G?rsthorn''s Epi-tome, Morden''s Guide to Giant Slaying, Hodking''s Notes on the Mysterious of the East, Oriental Magic: A Study, among which sat extra-exotic volumes that made her question why anyone would want to know Werewolve Husbandry.

    Very soon, the room grew spartan but for the portrait of Sobel and a small trove of books.

    "Shaa! Shaa!" Caliban reported that her hounds had found something unusual.

    Beside Sobel''s portrait, Buck and a buddy nuzzled a section of the bookcase she had yet to stow.

    "What is it?" Gwen came close.

    She double-checked the volumes the hounds were sniffing. The Void hounds possessed an indifferent sense for the olfactory, but she knew they were hyper-sensitive to mana and vitality.

    She waved her hand across the tomes, filing all but one volume into her ring.

    "Oh-ho?" Gwen placed a finger on the spine. "A pulley-book? How tacky¡­"

    The book was a lever.

    With a Shield spell on her lips, she took the stubby tome between her finger and her thumb, then pulled.

    Clack

    Sobel''s portrait swung open on silent hinges.

    "Not much of a secret." Gwen attempted to think as a younger Henry vicariously. "I guess this must be the reserved section."

    Behind the portrait was another bookshelf. This one contained both leather parchments and scrolls, as well as bound volumes in ancient leather. Here, Gwen guessed, must be the collection her Master did not want to display in public. There were a dozen alcoves in all, each holding an assortment of scrolls and books. Silently, Gwen prayed to the Bloom in White, hoping she would not be finding Henry''s stash of intimate photos of his wife.

    With great care, she took a textured parchment from the shelve.

    The contents were composed in a language she did not recognise, but as her eyes browsed the page, her Master''s Ioun Stone hummed, drawing on her passive mana to divine the scroll''s contents.

    Flesh Stitching

    Conjuration

    Casting Time: 81 Major Invocations

    Range: Visual, up to 20 metres between Familiar and Target

    Components: Somatic, Thrall blood

    Duration: Instant

    This spell restores the flesh of a wounded Familiar by drawing upon the flesh of a Thrall or a subdued enemy. The supplementary target must be subdued, unconscious, or willing. Vital energy will be transferred from the target to the Familiar, restoring bodily damage as well as Essence. The origin of this spell lies with the Witch-Hags of the Northern Reach Troll Tribes. See Appendix for notation on the base invocation.

    There was a handwritten note at the bottom.

    "Further tests needed for Mass supplement variation."

    Gwen lowered the Spell Scroll, suddenly feeling a terrible premonition. Just to be sure, she reread the description before replacing the parchment.

    Unable to stifle her curiosity, she took up another.

    "Void Enervation..."

    Void Enervation

    Conjuration-Evocation

    Casting Time: 120 Major, 121 Minor

    Range: Touch

    Components: Somatic

    Duration: Instant, Channel

    Through focusing Void-aligned mana, a manifested orb may suppress, paralyse, and drain the life force of any living creature the sorcerer strikes. Once touched, the target rapidly loses vitality equal to the volume-metric input of Negative-aligned mana utilised for the spell.

    Upon channelling, the subject will continue to take on Negative Drain while a portion of the subject''s vitality is transferred to the caster. The Negative Drain caused by this spell cannot be restored with basic Biomancy. A Clerical invocation such as Restoration of at least the fifth tier is required.

    This one also had a hand-scribbled note.

    "Enervation in its Necromantic form¡ª see attached scroll¡ª can be used to empower Undead Familiars. Empowerment of Lizzy''s Brood Worms has demonstrated limited economy..."

    Gwen''s spine grew gradually rigid as she finished reading the notes. Cold perspiration oozed from her shoulders, covering her neck with a snail sheen of sweat.

    Conjuration? EVOCATION?

    Wasn''t this Necro¡ª

    Touching a finger to her lips, Gwen forced herself to remain calm. Replacing the parchment, she picked up the thickest volume on the shelf.

    "¡­ Samshulael''s Tome of Flesh Puppetry¡­" She read out loud, just to double-check with her ears what her eyes were seeing through the Ioun Stone.

    Fervently, she opened the pages, hoping against hope that perhaps this was some perverted book about making conjugal aids. A dozen pages later, she found an entry with helpful diagrams.

    Poppet of Flesh

    Enchantment-Conjuration

    Casting Time: 219 Major, 22 Minor, Other

    Range: Close

    Components: See attached Ingredients List

    Duration: Persistent

    This spell details the process involved in making a servitor-ghoul (fig.1.3) with intelligence enough to serve as a serf or servant. The genesis invocation utilised for this is supplied from "Samshulael''s Records of the Golem Craft of the Middle-Age Israelites, Vol.3 1892", adapted from the Tome of Creation by Arch-Mage Izikiel Shamshad.

    To begin, a Poppet is an intermediate variation of the Golem of Flesh. The caster should start by preparing a fresh corpse¡ª

    Gwen quickly closed the book, then placed it back on the shelf.

    Ardently, she commanded her overimaginative mind to calm her farm. She forced herself to recall what Professor Michio Lee had said, that Necromancy without a Necromancer was just harmless knowledge. It was no different from reading The Anarchist''s Cookbook on the internet out of morbid curiosity.

    She comprehended a few more titles.

    So, these are Necromancy manuals; Gwen accepted her new reality with complete candidness. If so, was the possession of such knowledge a sin? Necromancy didn''t raise people. People raised people. Moreover, that Void Enervation spell sounded a treat, and from the look of it, she had also found a method to heal Ariel without the need for a healer as well, a skill that could come in handy if her dearest Kirin got wounded.

    As for these other volumes and scrolls; surely they''re all research material? After all, her Master beat back the Necromancers with a big stick, didn''t he? These must be Henry''s loot!

    With trembling fingers, she reached out for a volume bound in leather the colour of dried blood. There was no title, and the parchment had the texture of human dermis.

    This one was only the thickness of her finger. Contained therein were mostly handwritten notes, followed by what looked like half-completed spells.

    "Exsanguination¡­" She read. "Each creature within the radius of this spell with an open wound¡­"

    She stopped reading to swear.

    Her wandering fingers returned to another segment of the treasure trove of spells. One compartment appeared more disturbed than the others, with a few scrolls that appeared frayed from frequent access.

    Gwen retrieved the top-most page.

    "Void Conduit¡­" She read in a monotone voice. "This modified variant of the Vampiric Siphon shows promise when utilised with Evocation. Unfortunately, its vital drain has exceedingly poor economy compared to the Nosferatu original. The limitation is likely as a result of incompatibility with Major Invocations taken from Eastern Necromancy, which originated within the Orthodox Sects of Bulgaria. Without a constitution of Undeath, the life-leeching effects rack the user''s body with agony as excess¡­"

    She pulled something from the lower piles.

    "A Blood Thrall, even a volunteer..."

    She decided not to read-on for now.

    With a flick of her hand, she stowed the lot, fearing what Solana had said about the nature of knowledge and what would happen if an ignorant rube were to leave his hamlet for the big smoke.

    What are you going to do with these books? A voice in her head gently coughed. Are you going to read them? Study them?

    No! Gwen replied. Okay, maybe, just to read her Master''s notes. That''s an Apprentice''s duty, wasn''t it? If there''s a clue about Sobel''s sorcery, it was up to her and Gunther and Alesia to find out. If the secrets here should see the light of day, then the discretion lied with her and Gunther and Alesia. They were the gatekeepers of Henry''s legacy. They would decide together.

    But these scrolls. Did this mean that Henry dabbled in Necromancy? Gwen asked herself. If so, was she a Mandatory Reporter? Did that duty come with the title of Magus or War Mage or whatever they''re slathering her with these days? Power and privilege seldom came without obligation; should someone uncover that she had hidden Henry''s forbidden trove of spells and lore, heads would roll.

    Maybe her''s.

    Maybe another''s.

    Somehow, she doubted Ollie could handle something of this magnitude.

    She closed her eyes to think.

    When she opened them again, rationality prevailed. There was no possible way for Henry to be a Necromancer even if he tried. Her Master lacked the means¡ª at least Elementally. When Gwen ran the fact through her head once more, applying a fine sieve to the mass of information, another epiphany came to her.

    Her Master had used the Grot since before the Great War, right? The chronology of events meant that the collection had existed before Necromancy was outlawed. This stuff¡ª all of this, the whole kit¡ª it was necessary knowledge! As Guo would quote with a grumpy face, "If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles. If you know yourself but not the enemy, for every victory gained you will also suffer a defeat. If you know neither the enemy nor yourself, you''re an idiot."

    Henry had a lot on his plate, according to Solana. He had to fend off the School of Necromancy while dealing with competitors in the form of his siblings, while concurrently juggling international pressure against the adoption of the IMS and the Tower systems. Then, presumably, her Master attempted to experiment with Void Magic just like Jean-Paul''s adopted mother-mentor, which naturally meant digging for the deep knowledge of the past, before magic was regimented, simplified and categorised.

    What to do? Gwen agonised, causing Caliban to writhe and turn and Ariel to squirm. Her dogs as well, agitated by her surging adrenaline, huffed and whined.

    For the present, she boxed the lot into her Storage Ring. Leaving her Master''s smoking wands for the Elves wasn''t a decision she could make. Consultation with Gunther and Alesia would take precedence, and if need be, there was no proof a Void Bolt couldn''t disprove.

    Besides... Void Enervation sounded like one helluva boon for a Void Sorceress with a starved grimoire.

 Chapter 374 - A Grimoire of ones Own

    With the library looted, Gwen moved on to the smaller rooms, choosing not to overthink.

    In her Master''s bedroom, she packed away the ornate, hand-carved Elven four-post bed, an enormous fibrous mattress, a dresser, the wardrove, bedstands, two chests of sheets, and countless bric-a-brac once belonging to the couple. These, she figured, could be used to catalyse Divination Magic for finding their owner. There were also dozens of dresses, distinctly Elven in design, as well as pants and suits in the same style worn by the male Elves Gwen had seen in Trawsfynydd.

    Comparatively, the guest rooms proved spartan, with little more than empty decor.

    When she finished, all but one Storage Ring had been filled to the brim.

    Standing in the library, she looked around the room once more.

    "¡­ fuck it."

    With a gesture and a series of invocations, she conjured a Void Chakram and sliced the hinges securing the portrait of Sobel. Before the painting struck the hardwood floor, Gwen stowed the offending masterwork.

    "Ariel! Cali! Come back!" she dismissed the dogs and recalled her Familiars, hoping Sanari wasn''t too peeved that she had taken the better part of three hours.

    Outside, she found the Hierophant-Initiate engaged in meditation.

    When she approached, Sanari''s blonde lashes fluttered open, revealing the High Elf''s golden irises.

    "Are you ready to return to Trawsfynydd?" the Druid enquired, unfazed by Gwen''s liberal use of her time. "I fear your sorcery here has caused a disturbance in the District."

    "If I am that unwelcome, then let''s go." Gwen took a long, lingering look at the real-life Elfhome, fairest of all realms, a metropolis of tree-homes born from the dream of a World Tree. She had finally gotten her glimpse at the Elves of this world; only they weren''t the world-weary Lothl¨®rien-kind or the xenophobes of Mirkwood.Beneath the cordial surface shown to outsiders, the Elves of Tryfan harboured an unfathomably cold conspiracy called the "Accord".

    Was anyone in London willing to snitch on her host? Gwen mulled with ambivalence. Or would she have to wait to join the Accord one day and be bound by its enigmatic stipulations?

    To her disappointment, her return journey down from the Sixth District of Tryfan involved the shortest possible route. From the overhanging branches, Sanari conjured a Tree Striding portal¡ª

    And an eye-blink later, Gwen stood in the town square of Trawsfynydd, unceremoniously ejected from the home of her hostess.

    Sanari shut the portal behind them, then addressed her with cautious politeness. "Magus Song, shall I escort you to your cabin?"

    "Actually." Gwen turned to her guide unapologetically. By now, all desire to explore the holiday town had vanished from her mind. On her digits, the rings'' contents were burning red-hot on her fingers, the anxiety melting a hole through her stomach. "Sanari, could you be a dear and shout me a Portal back to London? I have urgent business with my siblings-in-craft."

    Sanari blinked in surprise. "Leaving so soon? You are a cherished guest. Lady Solana made that very clear."

    "I know, and I am very grateful." Gwen bowed her head slightly. "Please give the Lady my apologies. The matter is urgent."

    "Very well." The Druidess willed into being another portal, entwining the vines to form an arched trellis of wood. "Which direction? I can take you as far as the edge of Snowdonia."

    "Then put me beside Bangor." Gwen did her best to conjure up a mental map. "They''re still cleaning up Triffids. I am sure there''s a Teleportation Circle there I can use."

    "I do hope you will return to us soon." Sanari activated the portal. She paused for a moment, as if listening to some distant voice, then nodded at her guest. "The Bloom in White says you are forever welcome. If you have more questions about Lord Kilroy or the Accord, Arch-Warden Eldrin would be your point of contact, as will I."

    "Tell her Grace I am thankful for her generosity and wisdom." Gwen bowed in the Tree''s general direction. "Please do not hesitate to ask if I may be of service to Tryfan. May her bloom never wilt."

    "May her bloom be eternal." The Elf made the sign of the blooming flower with her fingers. "I shall await your return, future associate of the Accord."

    "Yes, that would be nice." Gwen bequeathed Sanari her most business-like smile before stepping through the threshold. "If I ever find out what it is."

    London.

    Westminster.

    Deep under the parliamentary building, a long-imprisoned Sprite, once a worshipped Demi-being, vicariously watched the world through her Crows. The world she once knew had changed much since her incarceration, so much that any other old God would have perished from confusion and irrelevance.

    But not so Morrigan, once M¨®r-R¨ªoghain, the foretelling phantom; she who guards the secrets to victory; the crow who is one and who is three. In the past, she had guided the Welkin, the people of the sky and the sea in that land now mapped as Ireland, bringing her folk to victory at Magh Tuireadh, leading the sons of Nemed unto the promised land. There, she taught them the hidden tongues of the Fey and the ¨¢lfar so that together with the Tuatha D¨¦ Danann, their coalition would triumph over the Fomorian hordes.

    Oh, how she missed those days of glory! Lo! How she longed for the past, where she had slaked her thirst with foe-blood and adorned herself with gore, bathing in the violence directed by her hand.

    But all that seemed so distant now, so indistinct that Morrigan could only vaguely recall her abduction by the King called "Hal". Bested by the young monarch''s demi-divinity, she had howled as his Crusaders slaughtered her folk and pillaged the home of their flower wives and daughters.

    After which, she had suffered the same fate¡ª a fitting end for a Goddess who guided the ''fate'' of the red-haired berserkers bawling her name. Without ceremony, her totem was uprooted and moved to London, bound and tied and smothered under the weight of a body of faith powerful enough to banish her ego at a whim.

    After that, for aeons, Morrigan had stared into the darkness, knowing nothing of the world''s secrets, existing for no purpose other than as a myth to frighten children to bed.

    Until one day, she saw the light, as well as her first Ravenport.

    "Serve," the man spoke in the old tongue. "Or fade forever."

    The old Gods were not like the new ones, haughty and prideful and impassioned by martyrdom.

    The old Gods were honest and human and full of desire.

    And so Morrigan chose service.

    In the beginning, from what she once knew of the followers of the Nazarene, Morrigan had expected a graceless, tedious epoch of servitude. What she received instead was a trove of secret knowledge so vast and so limitless that were her anima not bound to the bedrock of Westminster''s holy sanctums, her powers would grow a thousand-fold.

    Just how many secrets could one Kingdom hold?

    For three centuries, Morrigan laboured in the deep dark, commanding the crows occupying the Tower of London, plumbing the Mageocracy''s secrets, growing so bloated on conspiracies that her natural curiosity had grown blunted. Even for a Goddess, the Information Age was a tiresome thing.

    Very recently, she had found a new bauble. Her Master, the latest head to adorn the Ravenport line, had directed her eyes toward a rare individual who possessed enough intrigue to warrant her full attention.

    A second Sobel.

    In the same manner that a Vampire Noble of the Eastern Reaches could measure the vitality of a being at a glance, Morrigan, as per her portfolio, could taste the depth of a being''s secrets like a connoisseur savouring aged wine. Though her ability to warp fate had been siphoned from her, she could see the threads of destiny wrap around the girl like a vortex of Void.

    From Gwen''s accostment by Mycroft to her adventures in Merthyr Tydfil to her elevation of the avian known as Dede, Morrigan had kept her murder of crows close to the Mageocracy''s cherished specimen.

    The girl''s talents were exceptional, and what''s more, her body possessed an Essence of one older than even Morrigan¡ª what''s more, she freely gave it without care. At the thought of the sorceress'' sweet elixir, Morrigan wetted the petals of her scarlet-hued lips.

    She couldn''t directly interact with the girl. That would break the Geas placed on her by the scions of Norfolk. But a Goddess of mysteries could be very slippery if she wanted to be¡ª especially when she and her contractor shared the same desire to plunder the girl''s secrets.

    Down in the catacombs under Westminster, a thousand trained Diviners busied themselves filing the lastest missives into the crystal-storage that served as Morrigan''s stark temple.

    "Go to Mycroft, sweetie," she instructed the closest crow to find the Duke of Norfolk. "Tell him that the girl has returned from Elfhome with more secrets than when she''d entered, and that a missive has arrived from the Bloom in White, expecting his presence within the week."

    At Bangor, Gwen took advantage of her privilege as a Class VI War Mage to commandeer the Teleportation Circle to return to Heathrow''s ISTC before rerouting to Peterhouse at Cambridge.

    There, she flew directly to the Master''s Lodge, informing the door keep of her arrival and that she had to make immediate use of the college''s LRM Device.

    Inside, she proceeded to the private conference room, stopping only to ensure that Lady Grey was not seeking an audience, or that the device was in use.

    Presently, it was Tuesday, 1735 in London, meaning it was 0835 in Sydney. The time to call was perfect unless her overworked Brother-in-craft was already in an important meeting.

    The brass-bound device blinked, begging her patience, then a green crystal projection indicated that a connection had been made, after which Gunther''s chiselled mien came into view.

    "Gwen?" Her Brother-in-craft wore a broad smile. "This is certainly an unexpected pleasure. You''re calling from Peterhouse?"

    "I am." Gwen wasted no time. "I don''t know if this Message is secure, so I am going to make it vague and short. I just got back from the Tree of Tryfan after looting Master''s century-old home. I''ve picked up clothes, effects, STUFF, Sobel''s old slippers, the works. They''re burning a hole in my pocket, but I don''t know what to do with them. I NEED you or Allie here to sort through this stuff with me."

    To emphasise her desperation, Gwen made full use of her expressive eyes.

    Gunther''s comprehension was immediate. "How much did you find?"

    Gwen held up both hands. She had two Storage Rings on each hand, as well as her looted original.

    "Okay, I''ll come to London," Gunther said after a moment. "Expect me soon."

    "Just like that?" Gwen expressed shock at her Brother-in-craft''s composure.

    "Tower Masters have diplomatic immunity against such inconveniences," Gunther explained. "Give me an hour to clear matters here in Sydney. I''ll arrive before midnight. Can you inform Maxine?"

    "I shall," Gwen promised.

    "Good. I''ll meet you at Peterhouse. For now, go and find Lady Grey. You can trust her with anything relating to Henry. But don''t leave the lodge nor speak of this to anyone else."

    "Understood. Will Alesia join us?"

    "No, as a War Mage like yourself, her travel restrictions take time to lift." Gunther shook his head. "See you soon, little sister."

    "See you, brother." Gwen smiled at the sound of the endearing title.

    The projection died.

    Gwen closed the device, took a breather, then opened the double doors. Immediately outside, she saw the gentle face of the Lady of Ely sitting by the study lounge, sipping a cup of tea with a flawless display of grace and poise.

    "Your Ladyship." Gwen bowed slightly. "I have returned from Trawsfynydd."

    "In less than forty-eight hours?" the Lady''s brows formed the universal symbol for scepticism. From the hint of agitation in Maxine''s voice, Gwen guessed that the Marchioness was likely wondering if she had provoked the Elves in some way.

    Gwen gestured to the conference room. "Your Grace, can we speak in confidence?"

    "Of course, did something upset you?" The Lady''s sense for intrigue was vorpal. "Ollie, perhaps."

    "Oh shit, Ollie!" Gwen realised she had completely forgotten about her Praelector. "Er, yes. The matter is regarding Ollie."

    This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    Lady Grey sighed. "Alright, I can spare a few minutes. Millie?"

    Grey''s attendant maid bowed her head.

    "Push my schedule downward one quadrant. If need be, cancel Lord Braxton''s petition. I''ll let you know if more time is required."

    "Yes, ma''am." The maid read the situation well. Taking command of the entourage, she led the Lady''s aides away from the chamber.

    Gwen waited for the Lady of Ely to enter first before turning her back and closing the double doors with a click.

    From the lodge''s two-storey french windows, she could just make out the murder of crows sitting outside, chattering away with their long-drawn "Awwwwws."

    Gunther Shultz, first of Henry Kilroy''s Apprentices and the Master of Sydney Tower, arrived without pomp. His detour through Heathrow was the only indication that one of the foremost combat Mages in the Mageocracy had dropped into its capital, sending London''s various agencies into a frenzy.

    His departure from Sydney had been hasty but not without contingencies in place. As the inheritor of Kilroy''s most troubling Apprentice, Gunther knew well that a day on which he had to drop everything to Teleport to Gwen''s side was inevitable. Even before Gwen had left for China, he had already arranged an army of aides-de-camp to take over his day-to-day duties.

    If anything, the test for his secretaries had arrived later than he had imagined. Knowing Ravenport''s interest in his Sister-in-craft, and the matter with Edgar, he had anticipated a head-on collision with the Duke of Norfolk. Likewise, the paranoia of Gwen maiming London''s blue-bloods had been eating him for some time.

    When instead, their prideful princess took the abuse and turned the other cheek for the Exeter twins, Gunther knew the girl he had saved at Blackheath had finally grown up.

    Take the present matter, for example. That Gwen did not overreact but calmly returned to Cambridge, then contacted him without delay was a sign of growing wisdom. If so, he could feel at ease, for as her foster sibling, the guilt that came with lacking means and time to guide Gwen personally had gnawed on his conscience.

    That was why, when the double doors to the conference chamber at the Master''s Lodge opened, Gunther felt immense pleasure at seeing Gwen seated like a lady beside the peerless Marchioness of Ely, compiling a list of the Grot''s spoils.

    "Gunther!" Gwen lost all lady-like pretence at once, her eyes instantly swelling with moisture.

    Gunther allowed the indiscretion, feeling a brotherly joy when the girl dove like an overgrown pup into his open arms.

    "Holy hell, I missed you so much." The girl dug her face into his shirt. "Thanks for coming, I can only imagine how crazy your schedule must be."

    "It''s only been a few months." Gunther grinned despite himself. "From the sounds of it. You''re the one who''s being busy. Master had a Grot at Tryfan, eh? He never mentioned it."

    With some effort, he pulled the clinging girl from his torso.

    "Aunt Loftus." He bowed from the waist. The Lady of Ely was as he recalled from their last meeting many years prior¡ª wise and prideful, but also gentle and patient.

    "No ceremony." Maxine hand-waved his courteousness. "We''re close enough to dispense with all that¡ª and you''re a Tower Master now. How about that? The sullen boy who Henry used to bring to dinners is now the Master of millions and the governor of Oceania. The old man would have been proud as punch, Gunther."

    "I''d still prefer being Master''s Paladin." Gunther felt his chest constrict. "That said, some Paladin I turned out to be. If I had taken greater care¡­"

    "Nonsense!" The Marchioness was as sympathetic as she was tender. "Sobel was a debt that only your Master could have repaid. The fault was Henry''s if anyone''s at all. If he lived to know that you, Alesia and Gwen would now bear his burden, he would be horrified."

    Gunther understood the Lady of Ely as another victim of Henry''s untimely passing. In the past, Maxine had been a ward of Henry''s like himself; a favour Henry had to repay¡ª though Gunther had always suspected that the famous Marchioness held more than just daughterly affection for the man who sheltered her. Similar to Gunther, Henry had hand-reared Maxine Loftus to prominence amidst the troubled years of her hotly-contested inheritance.

    "I can see why you called." Gunther shifted his attention to the mess presently occupying the enormous table. At a glance, he caught the familiar hand-writing of his Master, scribbled here and there over the loose manuscripts. The one closest to him looked at least a century old, hand-composed in the letterbox composition the Tower''s Grimoires now imitated.

    He retrieved a wayward parchment.

    Corpse Explosion

    Evocation

    Casting Time: 20 Major 7 Minor

    Range: Medium

    Components: Material, Somatic

    Duration: Instant

    This copy originates from transcriptions of The Book of Coming Forth by Day. As per the original, this IMS variant offers a near-instantaneous Evocation that draws out the Negative Energies inhabiting a creature after death, creating an eruption of flesh and bone. For the base invocation, see the excerpt attached in Appendix 1C. My colleague, Zulkir Xash Tarn of Cairo, is credited with the base spell''s spellshaping add-ons. For chained, empowered, split, repeated and maximised modifications¡ª

    Seeing Henry''s annotations, Gunther felt awash with nostalgia.

    "Interesting choice of research Master was exercising." Gunther replaced the page. "It''s not all like this, is it?"

    "It''s all useful," his Sister-in-craft interpreted for him. "Lady Grey said she would help register any research that is compatible with the Tower''s policies."

    Gunther turned to their mutual compatriot with polite scepticism.

    The Lady nodded, affirming the girl''s hopeful tone.

    He picked up another parchment.

    Bone Shield

    Conjuration

    Casting Time: 7 Major 2 Minor

    Range: Self

    Components: Core, Somatic

    Duration: Long

    The durability of this classic Necromancy spell relies on the material used. Creatures of a higher tier create more substantial barriers than beings of a lower tier. Furthermore, this modified variation is capable of reproducing some of the elemental or physical properties the creature held while alive.

    "Would the Tower accept these?" Gunther envisioned Gwen in battle with blocks of bone behaving as reactive armour. In the past, he had fought Skelemancers before. As Creature Conjurers, these summoners were among some of his least favourite foes. Where a Soul Flayer was physically weak to his near-instantaneous beheading, Bone Mages could block his Radiant Lances with Negative-infused armour and shields.

    "I think Gwen should be in the right. Most of these are old manuscripts that predate the ban," the Marchioness explained. "Such things exist, here and there, in private collections and libraries. We even have an assortment here in Peterhouse, though untranscribed and useless for Void Magic. If the Shard''s willing to accept them into the Grimoire for Gwen to use, then there shouldn''t be a problem."

    "I wouldn''t accept this," Gunther gave his opinion. "Not in Sydney. That''s a slippery slope if I am not mistaken."

    "Just as well we''re in London, then." Lady Loftus pulled up another sheet. "The researchers here are hungrier and more forgiving. We''re already sanctioning Necromancers under a cultural pretext, so no point disparaging the spells. Oh, bosh! Don''t give me that look, Gunther. We''re doing this for Gwen. Here, read this."

    The Lady of Ely passed over a leather binder.

    Gunther''s fingers glided over the rough, skin-like parchment. Where ordinary Spell Books used paper made from Elder-wood sap, Necromancers preferred more exotic materials.

    Essence Tap

    None Assigned

    Casting Time: 243 Major

    Range: Medium

    Components: Verbal, Somatic

    Duration: Instant

    By invoking the True Name of a creature or Demi-human, the caster may forcibly usurp a portion of its Essence. This Essence may be stowed via the means of a Soul Well (See Appendix 2B), or be used as a spell component by a practitioner of Soul Sorcery. For a surviving target of a successful Essence Tap, secondary effects range from becoming stunned, falling comatose, to losing control over one''s corporeal form. For the original invocation, see Soul Tap (Appendix 3A).

    "Interesting, no? That''s Svart¨¢lfar Essence magic," the Lady said. "With some tinkering, its something Gwen could use to increase her capacity and to diversify her skill set."

    "I can see that," Gunther remarked to Henry''s old ally. "But isn''t Gwen receiving instruction from Cambridge?"

    "In conventional Spellcraft and spell theory, yes," Lady Grey said, taking the book from his hands to add to the pile slated for submission. "But your sister needs a unique Grimoire of specialised sorcery to supplement her unique physiology. We can''t have her subsisting on an impoverished spellbook. You''ve gone through the spell-making route, Gunther. Do you remember how long it took for Henry to develop your Signature spells?"

    "I was hoping the university could take care of that for Gwen," he said.

    "Maxwell Brown, among others, will indeed be taking care of it," the Lady said. "Don''t fret. We''ll make sure these spells are safe for Gwen''s use. I doubt you''ll like the alternative, such as borrowing Meister Bekker''s work. That would demand certain sacrifices on Gwen''s part."

    Gunther recalled the pasty face of the skinny young man. Though he held no feelings for the hopeful scoundrel, he snorted. "Gwen''s too good for him."

    "Aww," his sister cooed. "Don''t say that, Gunther. Jean-Paul''s a good bloke. He''s better than he looks."

    "Are you close?"

    "Closer. We''re forming a Void Mage coalition," Gwen boasted. "I think I''ll call it the Cabal of the Void. Besides, JP is kind of cute-ugly?"

    Lady Grey chuckled. "Stop teasing your brother. I am sure he has someone suitable in mind for his sister. Do you, Gunther?"

    "I wouldn''t dare." Gunther kept a straight face. "Gwen, do you have a companion in mind?"

    "Nope. I''ll give it another decade." The girl turned red as a beetroot.

    Lady Loftus gave a knowing smirk before reintroducing him to another stash of spells she had categorised. "These are the spells nearest to completion. Henry developed them for Sobel."

    Gunther took the half-dozen scrolls and read through them one by one, noting the standouts.

    Hydra

    Conjuration

    Casting Time: 20 Major 7 Minor

    Range: Medium

    Components: Verbal, Somatic

    Duration: Until dismissed

    This spell will manifest what Elizabeth calls "The Hydra", a creature¡ª or perhaps a portion of a larger "animal" that exists inside the Void that endlessly regenerates if there is enough vitality. We do not know its actual property, nor if the creature is intelligent. When made material in the Prime, the eyeless creature resembles slugs. However, by my observation, the physiology appears closely related to deep trench lampreys found below the Sea of Java. Perhaps they hail from the same source? We know nought about the Void and its properties due to how rarely it naturally materialises. For now, this spell will summon one to six of the things, with no discernible way to control how many slip through the portal. What we do know is that these are voracious worms of perpetual hunger, capable of partially sustaining themselves. Elizabeth says that she can command them to perform rudimentary tasks. Does this mean they can be tamed?

    Void Fire

    Evocation-Conjuration

    Casting Time: 30 Major 51 Minor

    Range: Close

    Components: Verbal, Somatic

    Duration: Varies, Channelled

    This spell creates a caustic Void flame that grows in size as per the Evocation original, Caustic Flame (See Appendix 1A). This combination of invocations creates a heatless fire formed of Void particles that replicate when made to consume living flesh, particularly high-vitality targets. I intend this variant to be the base spell to a family of new invocations. If one can reduce the consumption rate of the channelled mana, it may be possible to create a hybrid, self-perpetuating Negative Demi-element with the property of Druidic Wildfire or a Djinn''s Fire Curse.

    Desolation Aura

    Evocation-Illusion

    Casting Time: 60 Major 21 Minor

    Range: Medium

    Components: Verbal, Somatic

    Duration: Channelled

    We''ve experimented with intensifying the psychological and physiological effects associated with Void manifestations to create an aura field that incapacitates enemies in a large circumference. Presently, in this variation, those caught within melee range suffer Negative Drain sickness.

    "Your Master''s collection was enormous," Lady Loftus commented while Gunther read. "We found old Magic that the Elves forbade as well. How curious that the old man had kept it in the Grot at Tryfan of all things."

    "How old?"

    "Old." The Lady gestured to a few volumes bundled in vellum and threaded with silk. "There''s a half-translated copy of the Papyrus of Hunefer from the third Dynasty which any High Priest would give their Ibis heads to possess. Henry''s annotated the contents. It''s over there, take a look¡­"

    Following the Marchioness'' direction, Gunther retrieved the wrapt copy of hand-written notes. Gingerly unfurling the old paper, he quickly scanned the contents.

    "Is this the wrong scroll?" He turned to the Lady. "There''s nothing here."

    "Read the first line." Lady Grey wore an anticipatory smirk. "Fourth page."

    "The Papyrus of Hunefer: A disambiguation by Sir Richard Karl Lepsis¡­ edited by Henry Kilroy."

    "Give it to Gwen to read," the Lady said. "Gwen¡ª read Gunther''s page."

    Gunther passed the bundle over, noting how much more grown up the girl now seemed. With the pages in hand, Gwen''s intelligent eyes scanned the content, and then she began to read.

    "Okay, it says¡­ Soulfire Strike, er¡­ no School, untranslated, range is Medium. ''This ancient form of Necromancy ignites the Essence tied to the caster''s physical body, or a prepared source, to create Soulfire. A large enough volume can ignite the Astral Essence of all beings within its radius."

    "Really?" Gunther took the parched from the girl''s hands, then read the lines carefully. In his eyes, the text remained a dry-reading of history.

    "Detect Magic¡ª"

    Nothing.

    "Tongues¡ª" He activated another Divination staple.

    Still, he saw nothing of note.

    "True Seeing!"

    There were three layers of illusion on the scroll, but no spells.

    "How are you reading this?" he asked the giggling girl.

    Gingerly, Gwen pulled her blue-dark hair into a ponytail, revealing to him a slender neck with three Ioun Stones embedded against the ridge of her spine.

    "Master''s Translation Stone?"

    "That''s right." The corner of Maxine Loftus'' mouth curled. "What an ingenious method! The residual magic from the inscription overpowers the illusion, so it''s undetectable. The illusion itself requires the Ioun Stone to translate, so even knowing there''s an illusion there wouldn''t help."

    "Master had his ways." Gunther patted Gwen on the head, making her cover her neck. "What else are you hoping to submit?"

    "I found a spell that ''conjures'' Wraiths by using the Essence from recently deceased Magical Creatures. There''s another one that ''restores'' a companion, I think, from death. That one''s Egyptian in origin. It says the spell was intended for a cat¡­"

    Gunther didn''t know whether to be offended or appalled. "That''s unquestionably Necromancy."

    "There exist sanctioned variations already," Lady Loftus reminded him. "We''ll let the Shard''s prudes judge for themselves. Either way, something like this must be registered to prevent future troubles. You know how pedantic they can be about unsanctioned spellbooks."

    Gunther grunted, feeling ambivalent about the Lady''s nonchalance.

    "Henry also dabbled in Demi-human Shamanic magic." Loftus pointed to another pile. "Those were also hidden. They look like they''re derived from the Greenskin Totemcraft from the Middle period. Henry''s research into Void sorcery did not discriminate between sources."

    "There''s this spell." Gwen''s green eyes gleamed. "It''s amazing. Through this ritual, you ingest a potion mixed with blood from your mates. When active, the spell pools the collated vitality of the whole group. In the original, the weakest member of the party dies when the group takes damage or loses vitality¡ª but Master made it so that it is possible to redirect that damage to the strongest member of the group. He was trying to utilise the spell so that the drain from Void Sorcery could be spread out and mitigated. I think it can be altered so I can use Cali''s vital store instead."

    "You''re putting yourself in danger," Gunther noted with a frown. "Magic like this offer endless temptation."

    "I should remind you, Gunther, that Gwen is the hope of all Void Mages in the Mageocracy," Maxine defended her ward. "Besides, she''s been doing just fine, despite these temptations. Her new spells could be the beginning of a solution to resolve the vitality problem of other Void Mages. You know the University has been trying to find a reliable method for a long time. Henry''s trove isn''t something to be buried. Some of these spells Gwen can hoard, others we have to share. Whatever the case, there won''t be another opportunity to mitigate decades of research like this."

    "So, Necromancy from the Great War, Shamanism from the Steppes, Svart¨¢lfar Druidism, Egyptian Death Rites..." Gunther pointed to the rest of the unsorted stash. "What else?"

    "We also found Eastern Witchcraft and Sanguine Thaumaturgy." Gwen''s eyes watched him pleadingly, hoping for his acceptance.

    "Blood magic?" Gunther''s mind conjured forth some very vivid, and very unpleasant memories of hard-fought campaigns in Eastern Europe, where most of the surviving Necromancers from the Great War had holed up in their irrespective strongholds. "Do you mean Vampiric Thaumaturgy?"

    "There''s a spell that utilises vitality to make expendable barriers, kind of like Bone Shield, but much more subtle," Gwen hastily spoke. "The crazy part is that you don''t have to expend your vitality¡ª you can use your foe''s, like from Magical Creatures and such. Master was researching another one called the Sanguine Mantle¡ª"

    "¡­ I know that one." Gunther sighed at the girl''s excited face. "It''s a horrible spell that creates an armour of blood that crystallises and hardens around the user''s body. It also heals the caster''s wounds by replenishing their vitae."

    "Only now Master''s made them accessible through the IMS!"

    "Impressive, yes." Gunther bit back his immediate rebuke. "But the implication..."

    "Master said that Magic was a tool." Gwen''s expression spoke of her great expectations. "He said ''It''s the spell of the heart that murders, not the spell of the hand''. Do you remember that one, Gunther?"

    "I do," Gunther recalled the old man''s aphorism.

    "If these spells can be made viable through the IMS," Gwen said slowly. "And the Shard is fine with me using them; then they''re just tools. Like Master said, ''It''s the abuse of magic'' we should fear, not its ''use.'' Master left us these spells, and I am in dire need of a unique Void Grimoire. I think Master would have taught me these invocations anyway. I¡ª"

    "Do as you will." Gunther halted his sister''s tirade. He did not need to be convinced, for he had no doubt his Master would have left the bulk of his research to Gwen, as she had supposed. "What you practice is your freedom, sister, and my job isn''t to act as a gatekeeper. That said..."

    Just to drive the point home, Gunther hardened his gaze with a mote of Radiance. "In Master''s absence, I shall act as the disciplinarian. If you abuse his legacy..."

    He left the rest unsaid.

    "I won''t disappoint you, Gunther," the girl promised.

    "I know you won''t." Gunther patted her head once more, wondering what Alesia would have said in his place. "Use Master''s legacy well, little sister. When the time comes, you''ll be the one to take back everything he ever gave to Sobel."

 Chapter 375 - The Past Behind

    Gwen spent the next two days resting and relaxing with Gunther, touring an endless stream of cafes by the Thames, their conversation meandering from familial to foreign with complete ease. When she begged for updates, her brother was happy to humour his little sister.

    Foremost of her Australian connections was Surya, who after Sydney''s siege had transformed his art-ranch into a refugee camp. For her Grandfather, Gunther was happy to report that the old artist was back to his old trade, this time creating erotic artworks inspired by her summoned monstrosities.

    Comparatively, Alesia possessed no such leisure. Sydney''s outer regions continue to be a mess and she and her team, whose members the Scarlet Sorceress had retrieved from Yue, ceaselessly snuffed out fires on a Frontier where every flora and fauna preyed on Humanity.

    When Gwen asked after Yue, Gunther informed her that Gwen''s former schoolmate, the "Violent Sorceress" had founded another team together with Whetu and Rona Manaia, the quarterling Captain of Auckland U. As with Alesia, Yue engaged in an endless stream of errands under Sydney Tower to earn the CCs and HDMs necessary for improving her craft.

    "You mean violet sorceress?" Gwen asked.

    "No."

    "... Right."

    "I sometimes wonder if Yue''s your Changeling double," Gunther mused to himself. "She''s been walking the path Master had originally planned for you. Learning from us, performing quests, building a team and gaining accolades in Australia. That said, what you''ve managed for yourself, sister, be it arcanistry or industry is nothing short of astounding. I am in awe."

    "Speaking of Changelings." Gwen reacted to the familiar word, "The Elves said I might be one. Does the term mean what I think it means?"

    "I would assume so. Master had the same thought, though other than your Essence, you lack all the signs."

    "What signs?"

    "Talk in tongues, lunar morphic instabilities, speak with animals, visitations from Spirits, drift off into dreamscapes for prolonged periods, growing a horn..."

    "Ha!" Gwen snorted. "I''ve done the occasional ''Dreaming''."

    "A Fey dreams because they dream of home. They certainly don''t dream about running Towers and making Crystals," Gunther remarked drily.

    Gwen laughed out loud, half-covering her mouth as Le Guevel had instructed. Beside her, Gunther caught her infectious mirth, drawing eyes from other patrons.

    Gwen grinned. She relished the looks of envy when strolling with her Radiant German Adonis, especially with her arm hooked inside her brother''s elbow. She could only guess what the Londoners thought¡ª but took pleasure at their lip-biting and eye-popping. Savouring the intimacy, she then relayed to Gunther everything that had transpired, beginning with Ravenport, then Lady Grey, her tutors, Ollie, Walken, Jean-Paul, Petra, the Dwarves, the Elves, and her new "servants" from Tonglv.

    Out of her assemblage of ambivalent foes and allies, Gunther''s concern was unexpectedly not for Ravenport, but for Ruxin, the now-official Master of Manipur, Kachin and Nagaland.

    "I have yet to conspire with True Dragons." Gunther mulled over her clingy retelling until his coffee had to be re-heated with a glare, Superman-style. "More than when we first spoke, what surprises me is your presumed familiarity. Ayxin is a half-human Dragonkin, so her motivations I can sympathise. Golos isn''t a worry if you think Caliban can subdue him¡ª but Ruxin is a five-century old Asianic Dragon, I wouldn''t trust it any more than I''ll trust our western Chromatics."

    "A reasonable caution," Gwen''s response was cheeky. "Though as Ruso''s financial manager, I reckon our connection is arguably more reliable than if we were, say, in an amorous relationship. Ruxin and I, we''re bound by mutual profit. If he betrays me, his future as the undisputed king of crystal mountain will be in jeopardy. Where I need his money to grow, he needs me to grow his money. Our trust is forged by links of pure HDMs."

    "I see. Then why did you say the Yinglong is wary of you? Are you leading Ruxin astray?"

    "Ha! I wish. Naw, it''s worse than that..." Gwen grimaced.

    With some pain, she carefully explained her meeting with Elvia, the mistake she had made in giving Elvia Sen-sen, and the present strain of their friendship. Considering that Gunther was the closest thing she had to family outside the Songs, she left no leaf unturned and no closet locked.

    Gunther listened with an attentive ear, commenting when he desired clarity.

    "So, thoughts?" Gwen concluded with Elvia disappearing into the crowd. "Re: Evee, I mean. Who do you think is at fault?"

    "To assign fault is childish¡ª I think you and Miss Lindholm should remain each other''s support." Gunther''s unreserved acceptance was equal-parts unexpected and daunting for Gwen. "Love is hard. It took me a long time to comprehend and accept Alesia''s feelings¡ª considering I watched her ''mature'' from an angry, psychotic adolescent who wanted the world to burn into the lauded Scarlet Sorceress. As such, I''ll refrain from giving Romantic advice. Heck, even if Master was here, I doubt he could help, especially if he had stayed single for..."

    "A hundred and fifty years?"

    "After which he fell for Sobel. I do think, however, that you owe Miss Lindholm an apology."

    "Why?" Gwen''s tone grew sullen. Of all her people, she had expected Gunther to be on-side.

    "Is it so hard to understand? I speak for Yue and Alesia when I say that your power trajectory is nothing short of monstrous, sister." Gunther gave her a side-long stare. "For all of us, this is a wonderful thing, and if Master were alive, he''d be quaffing Golden Mead with joy¡ª but have you considered how hard it is for your friends and allies to keep pace with your accomplishments?"

    At Gunther''s words, Gwen felt the uncomfortable click of some terrible box opening inside her chest.

    "I can''t speak for your cousin Petra, or this girl, Lulan that you''ve befriended, but I can tell you with complete confidence that your growing authority has put a lot of pressure on Yue. For myself, a parallel would be Allie. For instance, I''ve known for a long while that she trains herself ceaselessly because she doesn''t want to be a burden if she wishes to stand beside me. Though it may seem arrogant to say so, I doubt there are many casters in the Mageocracy that can match my prowess. Don''t you think that puts particular insecurities into Alesia''s head?"

    "I guess¡­"

    "What''s worse, you and Yue came from the same school. She was your better, then equal for some time. Now, not so much. That''s why she''s been questing night and day. She knows that she can''t ever be as good as a Void Mage, just as Alesia''s Fire will never best my Radiance. Why do you think I consented to give Yue Allie''s Nightmare? I know exactly how your friend feels, Gwen, though I fear you haven''t given the matter much thought, considering the expression you''re making right now."

    "Fuck¡­ you''re right. You''re right." Gwen felt her throat constrict as Gunther kicked out her legs and set her to dangle. "Shit, so in the end, I AM the asshole."

    "Now¡ª Elvia. You''re telling me that this girl loves you, and has professed to have loved you for several years. She''s a healer¡ª a lauded position in Sydney, sure, but hardly special compared to a Void Sorceress, especially not one with a Shoggoth. In London, where you can have as many healers as you desire, she''s less than nothing. I can only imagine how Miss Lindholm must feel while watching these Magisters and Magus'' heads spin as they dance to your every whim. So why should you be shocked when she''s offered a way to level with you¡ª to be your equal, to become ''special'' as you are? How else is she going to stay beside the love of her life and not have her place taken by a better cast of supporting Mages?"

    Gwen groaned, her face alternating between hues of red.

    "That''s reason number ONE to return to Miss Lindholm. Now, let us not forget this Yinglong." Gunther patted her head, perhaps wondering if he''d gone too far. "Do you recall the saying, keep your friends close and keep your enemies closer? Elvia Lindholm happens to be both, so that''s reason number TWO."

    "Okay, okay, I''ll visit her Convent." Gwen fell back against her chair, completely helpless; her limbs had lost all strength and sensation after that asphyxiating rude awakening. "Gunther, you''d make a wonderful shrink."

    Her Brother-in-craft studied her face, pondering her Gwenism. A moment later, he gave up and instead offered her a fatherly grin.

    "I''ll shout." He drained his chai. "Let''s go. Didn''t you want to show me the Isle of Dogs?"

    On the isle, she showed Gunther what she had achieved with the Dwarves, introducing her Brother-in-craft to Master Alchemist Yossari Vildrenbrandt and her team of crafters tuning up her printing presses, squealing when Gunther started to speak in fluent Germanic-Dwarven.

    While touring his sister''s future propaganda rag, Gunther spotted Dominic Lorenzo advising the NoMs. Their eyes met, then with an unspoken understanding, the two men convened, leaving Gwen to contend with her stout companions. When they returned, they gave one another firm handshakes, then returned to their prior occupations.

    "What did you talk about?" Gwen burned with curiosity.

    "You know Dominic''s a Ghost, or something like it, correct?" her Brother-in-craft asked.

    "More or less. Allie said as much. Is that going to be a problem?"

    "Not until you''re a problem, but he''ll advise you before that happens. For now, he''s volunteering to be your canary."

    "Aww, that''s sweet."

    Gunther shook his head.

    They patrolled the two-storey printing towers. Yossari had been using her unique skills to create ink for the rolling presses.

    "Impressive, isn''t it?" Gwen said proudly. "Did I do good?"

    "I hope you''ll do some good," Gunther chortled. "A word of advice, though. No matter what happens, you cannot disparage the House of Windsor. As little as they''re involved in open politics¡ª when they do¡­"

    "Righto," Gwen promised. "May her Majesty''s bloom be eternal."

    Gunther gave her a strange look.

    After that, Gwen prepared her body for an awkward meeting she had been anticipating for some time.

    "Magister Walken." Outside, across from the canal of the outer dock, Gunther stood stiffly opposite the man partially responsible for their Master''s death. With Henry as a hot topic of late, the atmosphere grew instantly stifling.

    "Lord Shultz." Eric Walken''s lips appeared parched. Gwen had given her business partner the head''s up, and the old fox had consented; still, finding closure with Gunther was no easy prospect.

    "Eric has been helping me with just about everything," Gwen affirmed once more for Walken''s benefit. "From the IIUC to the Isle of Dogs. He''s been indispensable."

    Her Brother-in-craft looked at the silent Walken, then extended a hand. "Thank you for saving Gwen''s life, Eric."

    Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

    "No, no, it is I who should thank Gwen for the opportunity. My wife and children are in her debt as well." Walken shook the ex-Paladin''s gesture of forgiveness. "I couldn''t say it the last time we met¡ª but I am truly sorry, Gunther."

    "Then let us not speak of it again." Gunther released his grip after a moment. "Gwen has forgiven you. Alesia has chosen not to dwell, and my feelings were never as pronounced as theirs. If you''re going to be Gwen''s associate, I would prefer a genial relationship."

    "I see. I am happy with that." Walken tested their new friendship. "Cheers."

    "No worries, Eric," Gunther replied in Australian.

    "¡­ That''s it?" Gwen felt the tension drain from her chest. "No punch up? Not even a spell?"

    "Your Brother-in-craft isn''t so childish, unlike someone we know." Walken took a jab at the beaming girl. "What good would hysterics do for either of us?"

    "Master Walken is right," Gunther agreed. "You would do well to learn from him, little sister."

    "From an old villain like him?" Gwen turned aside. "More like he''s learning new tricks from me."

    Walken pretended not to hear. "How long will you be staying, Gunther?"

    "Not long. I''ll be returning tonight," Gunther explained. "Just so you both know. I''ve given some of Sobel''s items to the Sixth Cabal. Mostly her old, intimate things. Though Sobel should have anti-Divi arrays in place, I doubt she expects someone to source her intimates from two-three decades ago. Spectre''s been quiet of late, as have the Merman and the Saurians, and that worries me. There are reports of their activity up in Greenland, near the Arctic circle."

    "There''s nothing there but snow and Elves," Walken said.

    "I am sure London''s investigating," Guther returned. "Maybe the items will help."

    "Imagine if we manage to catch her thanks to Master''s preference for French negligees..." Gwen smirked.

    Of the looted memorabilia from their Master''s wife, Gwen had decided to gift Gunther the lot except for six dresses which she kept out of curiosity and spite. She couldn''t help it. With no immediate desire to return to the Elves, her concern for Elven-couture had out shone her loathing for Sobel. When Gunther appeared uncomfortable, Gwen grew adamant that fashion was without sin. Besides, she had answered; the offending articles appeared hardly worn, if ever.

    "Why do you suppose the old cat''s so deranged?" Gwen said. "Why is she so deadset on dragging us into the undertow?"

    "If you don''t mind a self-evident answer," Walken helpfully chimed in. "Here''s an axiom. Where there''s an old-world order, there will be folk wanting a new world order. Its the way of things."

    "But why?" Gwen stood beside the two men gazing out at the Thames. "What does she want? Better pay? Bigger house? Tower by the sea? Rarer dresses? Fresher seafood? Another husband?"

    "Speak for yourself?" Walken chortled. "If only it were so easy to tame Sobel."

    "I think Elizabeth wants do undo our Master''s work," Gunther spoke after listening to their banter. "She was his partner. During the Beast Tide, they were putting out fires and quashing monsters while he tuned the Factions and raised the new Towers. Perhaps she thinks that Master used her¡ª or that by destroying his legacy, she''ll finally find closure."

    "Say she succeeds, and then what?" Gwen frowned. "Does Sobel enjoy being hunted and hounded and never knowing a day of peace? How crazy do you have to be to give up all foreseeable pleasures to feel better about being rejected by a husband who took offence to you eating the locals?"

    "It takes great conviction," Walken replied to her rant. "To succeed the state of power Sobel has attained, and to enact her tier of atrocities. I doubt creature comforts are what moves her."

    Gwen sighed. "What I''d give to take a stroll in her head."

    "You''d probably go mad," Walken said. "Sobel''s insane, no matter how you twist it. She was willing to put a whole city to the sword to get at Henry."

    "Did Master never speak of Sobel to you, Gunther?"

    "Not in detail, no." Gunther shook his head. "Never mind the past, little sister; the die is cast, and our fatal collision is now written in the stars. Even if Master turns out to be a Lich King who raised Sobel, it doesn''t change our quest nor our conviction. As soon as your education finishes, or if we discover the woman''s hermitage¡ª you, Alesia and I shall go on the offensive. We''ll pursue her to the ends of the earth."

    This time in the afternoon, the Thames stank of mana miasma.

    When Gunther spoke again, his face was that of an Ex-Paladin. "Excuse my Dwarven, sister, but for Master and for Sydney, be it the bitch or Spectre, BOTH must burn."

    The same evening, Gunther returned to Sydney as foretold, refuting Gwen''s suggestion that her brother should stay for a short, impromptu holiday. It was a lost opportunity Gwen lamented, for she had been looking forward to seeing Elvia''s Knight lose his damned mind when Gunther casually turns up for dinner at the Tower of Tandoori.

    At Heathrow, hugs were had, though Gwen dispensed with tears and sighs. If she missed Gunther enough, it was a simple matter of taking a week off and burning three to four thousand HDMs, pending her Teleportation route.

    As for herself, she returned to her usual schedule¡ª now with additional sessions of tuition with Dede. In Emmanuel''s Old Court, with Maxwell Brown beside them, she came to know that thanks to Lady Grey and Gunther''s involvement, the Shard had delivered its judgement in record time.

    Most important was the decree that all recovered spells regarding the late Magister Kilroy would now belong to her, who was his rightful heir. All future magic thus derived from her Master''s research would be marked as such, with the royalties going toward the siblings-in-craft.

    As for her haul from the Elfin Grot, the Shard had divided them their irrespective Restriction Classes to stifle their spread.

    First, baseline invocations such as Hydra, Void Fire and Desolation Aura possessed no restriction as they were Void specialities and were no more dangerous than other magic used by Negatively-aligned Mages.

    In contrast, Class I Restricted spells applied to Bone Shield, indicating invocations with dubious origins re-tuned for ethical applications. There was still much work involved, for the originals were derived from pre-war Death Magic and used human components. For Gwen to safely utilise magical materials and non-human substitutes, the ethics board had to approve a Tower variant.

    Different to Class I, Class II Restricted spells applied to all sorcery with ethically ambivalent applications, with Cloud Kill as a prime example. The exchange of these spells was strictly controlled by the Tower, with every user requiring registration via unique mana signatures. For Gwen, these included her future "Abjuration" spells such as Sanguine Barrier, Mantle and Armour, both of which still had to pass muster before a variant that utilised Magical Creature as ingredient emerged.

    Of Class II spells, Flesh Stitching and what Maxwell dubbed as "Death March" landed on the watch list. Both derived from Shamanic mysticism, these arguably necromantic spells worked best with "willing" allies and so complicated their viability. Of the two, Death March was the nominated subject of Maxwell''s paramount research, with Gwen and Gracie as volunteers to test if she could share some of her boundless vitality with the weaker sorceress.

    For her selfless actions, Gwen''s reward was Enervating Orb, a spell derived from Void Enervation. With sufficient Spellshaping, she could deploy the Signature Void spell in its fifth-tier Evocation-Conjuration configuration. It would be her first individual Signature Spell, for only she was uniquely equipped to stomach the initial cost of the exorbitant manifestation.

    Analogously, Class III restrictions applied to the Essence Sorcery sourced from Svart¨¢lfar Druidism, likely because of pressure from the Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar. Of her current list of candidates, these included Essence Tap and Soulfire, spells that were useful to a uniquely positioned "Vessel" such as herself, but otherwise useless to the Mageocracy''s Grimoire. Categorically, Henry''s unfinished Essence Magic was pigeon-holed between the School of Evocation, Conjuration and Transmutation, seeing as its invocations and Glyphs drew heavily from similar Affinities used in Necromancy. As for her potential practice of these spells, the Shard had declared it private enterprise. These spells solely belonged to Gwen, and she was responsible for their upkeep and secrecy. If her variation of the sorcery disseminates, then the Tower would soon be knocking on her door.

    There was also a selection that became outright outlawed.

    These sat between Class IV and V, with IV being a slippery slope spells like "Raise Companion", and Class V spells being "Conjure Wraith". Even when Maxwell argued the case that Gwen was arguably a trustworthy individual¡ª being tied to the House of Loftus and Shultz, the Tower chose to err on the side of caution. Without cause for cultural or religious exemptions and extraordinary adventures, the Shard asserted, these spells should remain untaught. The Tower''s sole responsibility was persecution with extreme prejudice in the event of abuse.

    "Why not just confiscate them?" Gwen demanded. "Leaving it with me seems irresponsible."

    "Regulating secrets is a fool''s errand," Maxwell explained mirthfully. "The Shard is happy enough to know who to find if people in London start raising their dead pets."

    "So I am bearing the burden alone? That''s stupid. So much for Transparency."

    Brown laughed. "Transparency is insurance. Who would be foolish enough to declare their collection of old Necromancy Grimoires only to practice said sorcery in public? It pays to have the benefit of the doubt when it comes to the Tower''s Enforcers. Our Paladin, Horace Marshall of Knightsbridge, is no less zealous than your Brother-in-craft. You would much rather the man accost you at the door than crash through your window on his Griffin."

    "Quack!" Dede concurred, adding brevity to their conversation. "Quack! Quack!"

    "Agreed." Maxwell Brown patted the duck on the back. "It''s not going to be an easy few months ahead, Gwen. Are you certain you can keep up the pace? You''ve got the isle, and now all these new spells."

    "I''ll manage somehow."

    "Well, I trust you know best." Brown shrugged. "You did say your Druidic Essence substituted sleep, right?"

    A day later, after Gwen convened with Keridwen Le Guevel for Illusion classes, her worldly tutor produced some extracurricular reading for her to digest, namely the latest edition of the Herald Sun.

    "Gwen dearest. You''re famous all over again."

    Gwen remained stoic as Le Guevel had taught. There was no mistaking the image of her posing in her Shen-te¨© suit splashed across the front page. Behind her was a panoramic spread showing the Shoggoth sprawled across Anglesey. At the bottom, there was a candid image of her looking fresh at a coffee shop with a male companion. Gunther''s face was blurred out.

    "TRIFFIDUS EXTERMINATUS" screamed the headline in eye-watering scarlet. "The Mageocracy''s new Void Sorceress a veritable one-woman-unnatural-disaster," announced the first bleed out. The next bleed declared her "A double-edged blade" and a "clear and present danger to all foes of the Mageocracy".

    She flipped to the double tabloid spread.

    "Woe for the Orientals," read the next title line. There was a picture of Golos looking smug, below which was a line-up of her newly acquired "Indentured Servants", and an article speculating with surprising accuracy about her "trafficking" with Dragons.

    Le Guevel next directed her attention to the editorial section, where no less than six of London''s influential Magisters gave their opinions on her performance. Two praised her as a beacon for the Militant Path, while three condemned her for such callous demonstrations of power that would frighten allies and incite enemies. Only one critic was concerned that her Shoggoth could impact trade relations.

    "I see that no one has mentioned Shoggy folded after several dozen artillery rounds," Gwen remarked sarcastically.

    "Playing up your abilities to sell papers gets the blood boiling," her tutor said. "And playing you down gets the public frightened and weary, so they buy more papers."

    "What do the others say?"

    "See for yourself." Le Guevel displayed the other spectrums.

    The Telegraph proved marginally less obnoxious than the Herald Sun, while the Guardian appeared to be firmly against her brazen deployment of the Shoggoth.

    "So I am now a darling of the Militants?" Gwen snorted. "And the Middle Faction''s against the whole thing?"

    "The Middle Faction is fragmented." Le Guevel''s smoky eyes studied her face. "Few sit truly in the middle like our Lady Grey."

    "And the Grey faction?"

    "Any conflict they chose to support is usually quite profitable," her tutor reminded her. "Unprofitable wars seldom start in times of peace. Just think about the Isle of Man. If the island was a Black Zone like the Elemental Sea, you might be able to drag the Militants into the fray with calls for Human supremacy. Conversely, the Greys will fight you to their death with lofty calls for peace and respect for Demi-human sovereignty."

    Gwen shuddered at the mental gymnastics required for such a thing.

    "But that''s not your problem, at least not yet." Le Guevel laughed. "Now let''s see this new spell of yours, shall we? Void-based Illusions, how exciting!"

    Six months.

    That''s how much time Gwen had left before her commencement at Cambridge if she were to enrol in the Michaelmas Term.

    Her remaining bridging period was adequate, given CCs and Crystals heaped on her person by Peterhouse.

    In Maxwell Brown''s words, enrolling in Cambridge wasn''t an issue, for her backing was stout enough to overcome even the strictest, most cynical proctor. Instead, it was for her benefit that she must reach a level of Spellcraft expertise that matched the elite attendees so that she may blossom into a true Cambridge Magister.

    Echoing this point of view was Kareena Patil, who parroted that anyone hoping to supervise ten-thousand rubes and their surviving the Wildlands must possess no blind-sides.

    In this regard, the duties of any Magister worth their salt was unending and multifarious. If a Frontier lacked an Enchanter of sufficient talent, who would maintain the Filtration Mandala? When the Shielding failed or faltered, where will she find an Abjurer of the fifth tier to repair the circuits? Could she maintain the Militia''s equipment, or reconfigure Wands necessary to repel a particular type of foe? How about if a Wyvern ate their Divination Tower? Or their construction Golem was damaged during transportation? Or the crystal-powered mana barrier failed? What of the Thinking Engine used by her administrators to stow data on her citizens? How does a Magister urban-plan without the plans?

    And there were non-magical problems as well, from finance to accounting to economics, to agriculture, Demi-human lore, law both Human and Non-Human, and NoM husbandry galore, all of which were covered by the courses she would be completing from Michaelmas onwards.

    To the common folk who were the salt of the sea and the muck of the mire, Patil declared, a Cambridge Magister was a superhuman being; the apex of Humanity.

    Of course, in reality, no Magister could single-handed perform the tasks she had nominated¡ªbe it under their talent or through peers they''ve met during the period of their education. There were limitations to both magic and human resources that prevented Humanity from colonising parts of the world hostile to their presence.

    "Which is why every institution dreams of fielding an Omni-Mage." Patil''s amber eyes critiqued her in the manner of a Crufts'' judge watching a blue-ribbon pooch struggling to fetch. When she next spoke, Gwen could sense the uncertainty oozing in-between the Transmuter''s exotic accent. "And if it takes a Void sorceress usurping talent from her lessers..."

    Her tutor left it at that.

    The point was, Gwen had a distance to go.

    Whatever the Magister''s opinion, she understood that her arrow had now left the quiver. Her path was set; her aim and faculties clear and present. Knowledge, arcanistry, crystals, property, Magisterhood and Evee, she expected to consume them all.

    Gwen inhaled until her ribs ached.

    Six months was neither long nor short.

    If only there was a spell called "Training Montage".

 Chapter 376 - Gwen Song Observation Diary Part I

    London.

    Westminster.

    Morrigan, Ravenport''s Keeper of the Kingdom''s secrets, watched the world through avian eyes. Within the Raven''s Loft, below the Shard, her murders plotted far and wide.

    In the beginning, the ravens at the Tower of London were actual ravens¡ªintelligent Corvids bred to deliver messages in the age before Message spells. When Morrigan took over the loft, her immediate desire was to rid the Tower of its ravens and replace them with her crows. Considering the Ravens'' symbolic importance, however, she chose to subsume the ravens, for unlike her wild and often unruly crows, these were quasi-magical Corvids purpose-bred to be resourceful, resilient, and immensely adaptable to arcanistry.

    Over time, after a century or so, Morrigan had interbred the normally warring species to create a new breed both amiable to her possession and adaptable to the Tower''s ancient sorcery. These new hybrids had proven such a success that Mages had even taken to studying their particular physiology for Polymorphic purposes, resulting in some rather unsavoury rumours of Ravens knocking on doors, demanding entry.

    The Duke of Norfolk, arguably the busiest man this side of the Thames, had been missed of late by his equals in the House of Lords. It was an absence that his peers understood to be the imposition of power, for if one wanted to carry weight in parliament, one also had to shoulder the burden.

    As the Lord Marshall of the Kingdom, the nation''s problems were his problems.

    In the colonies, old mutinies were spiralling out of control within the Niger Delta.

    Across the Suez and the Senai, ancient grudges flared, as they wont to do every decade.

    In the United States, men with insatiable appetites for industry eyed the untapped resources of the Elemental Sea.

    Elsewhere, almost two years past Sydney''s tragedy, the ghost of Spectre was once again haunting the Mageocracy''s peace.

    At home, there was the sustained popularity of the Labour Party as the people grew tired of the Tories and their ties to the warmongering blue-bloods.

    These and a myriad of problems were why Mycroft Ravenport had all but given up going home to his estate and had taken up semi-permanent residence in the Westminster Building.

    As well, against the mounting stacks of reports requiring his attention, yet another duty added to his rising hypertension¡ª the unshakable feeling that the Devourer of Shenyang would pull a fast one.

    Presently, Morrigan had two murders alternating their observation of Gwen Song, adding endless entries to the file entitled the "G.Song Field Observation Journal". It was an impressive undertaking, even for a Sprite fed on data, for each of the entries possessed ties to associated files, records, memos and reports gathered by the Mageocracy''s Fifth Cabal and Sixth Cabal.

    24th of February 2005

    Cambridge, Peterhouse.

    The subject fed the duck called Dede again. The creature has wiles to influence the Void Sorceress. Mayhap the Devourer is attracted to Drakes? See Memo DD-3221.32.121.

    Saturday 26th of February 2005

    London, Isle of Dogs.

    The subject has met with Dominic Lorenzo, Sixth Cabal Agent WCD.FZ42302 and two NoMs who are known to the Ministry. Internal files indicate the individuals are Victor Verne of Villers-Cotter¨ºts, a French Novelist, and Iris Robertson of Dublin, runner-up in the Toby-Booker Prize a year prior. Initial findings indicate that the topic of interest appears to be Mockingbirds. Mockingbirds, from the Family Passeriformes and the Genus Mimidae, are an invasive quasi-magical species with known ability to mimic speech to the degree that their vocalisation is almost indistinguishable from humans. See Bestiary Link P224.M22.358.33.

    Ravenport paused to ponder the report.

    Mockingbirds?

    For a man steeped in secrets and veiled truths, Ravenport sometimes found Kilroy''s Apprentice puzzling beyond good sense. Take this Mockingbird, for example. Logic would dictate that the Void Sorceress had concluded experimentation with the duck, and was now moving onto more useful avians to modify. If so, more than a member of the Mimidae, wouldn''t a hyper-intelligent member of the Corvid family be a better candidate?

    Say Gwen Song succeeded in breeding an exceptionally intelligent Mockingbird. What then? Who would she imitate? Who could she fool with something as primitive as animal mimicry?

    Mycroft did not have answers, and so could only await the passage of time to see what eggs the insidious scion of Kilroy was hoping to lay.

    Sunday 27th of February 2005

    London, Isle of Dogs.

    Iris Robertson received an apartment from the subject in Millwall for the duration of Project "Mockingbird." Initial observations suggest the NoM composer is working on a propaganda piece. For surveillance notes and projections, see Data Crystal DB.2331.424.121.9.

    Morrigan''s crows had managed to gain access to the NoM''s apartment through knocking on the window and scaring the woman witless.

    Once Ravenport processed the pictures in his mind, he sat back to think, puzzled by Gwen Song''s enterprise.

    In the crows'' captured vision, he saw an apartment overspilling with notes. From his reading of the loose annotations, the NoM was trying to piece together a picture of injustice. The story was set in Australia, and it involved a family of Mages with two children, with the father characterised as a Tower Arbiter in the hard-wrought period just past the Beast Tide. Ravenport knew the period well. Folks were famished, Demi-humans ran rampant, and most resources were portioned for the magic-wielding citizens. Yet, within the story, it was an NoM chambermaid who taught the prodigious young sorceress "Allie" her life lessons, with the Radiant brother "James" as her ally and protector. The general complication, Ravenport discerned, was about a kind-hearted NoM accused of seducing a female Evoker suffering from war fatigue. When said NoM was put to trial for a crime he did not commit; the kids helplessly watched an innocent man perish, learning a harsh lesson of the real world. There was no dialogue as of yet, nor much of the text composed, only a skeleton.

    Ravenport pursed his lips. He was beginning to see that the story was about Kilroy, Alesia and Gunther, though as to the validity of the fictive biography, not even Morrigan could verify.

    But the characterisation of this "Finch" fellow was undoubtedly Kilroy.

    Was this then a re-writing of history? Mayhap an attempt to shift Kilroy''s past to twist public opinion? More than anyone, Ravenport understood just how many secrets Henry Kilroy possessed. After all, his father was the one who had introduced him to Kilroy.

    Once more, all he could do for the moment was wait.

    A few days later, another report landed on his desk.

    Tuesday 1st of March 2005

    Cambridge, King''s College Training Field, Outer Court

    The subject has been invited by members of King''s College to tour the grounds, accompanied by Instructor Maxwell Brown and Richard Huang. Several male pupils soon expressed interest in the subject, exhibiting a desire to mate. The Void Mage Jean-Paul Bekker, student and ward of Meister Engela Bekker of London Imperial, was used to deter interest. One of the subject''s amorous admirers then challenged Magus Bekker to a duel, after which, in the subjects'' words, the Void Magus "wiped the floor" with his challenger. Magus Bekker has expressed interest in the subject''s genetic potential.

    Ravenport smiled.

    Stag-duels were an honoured sport among the young nobility. He too was an able contender in his youth, and it was through such duels that he had met his first wife. Much like Bekker, Ravenport had also entertained the potential of introducing his children to the Void Sorceress. His eldest, however, was married and with children of his own. His second, Richmond, was seven years Gwen''s senior. Edmund was dead, murdered by the sorceress'' means, and as for Charlene, he doubted the prideful lass would want to associate with a peer responsible for her brother''s death.

    Sighing, Ravenport moved on with his work.

    Wednesday 9th of March 2005

    Cambridge, Emmanuel College

    The duck has received another dose of Essence. It is now nothing short of monstrous. See Memo DD-3221.32.122.

    Ravenport sighed again. Why was Morrigan so obsessed with the duck? He would have to warn the Sprite. Such a fixation was unhealthy and unprofessional.

    Monday 14th of March 2005

    London. Outer region.

    The subject has left London city, travelling two hours via Southend-on-sea to Battle. The rationale for leaving Cambridge appears to involve secondary observation target, the Draconic Vessel Elvia Lindholm. On route, subject encountered a roving band of Redcaps native to High Weald looting vineyards at Chapel Down. Following a brief engagement, all hostilities were extinguished. The subject was awarded a dozen cases of reserve Cabernet Sauvignon by the surviving owner, who recognised her. It would appear the sorceress is not against imbibing alcoholic beverages mid-flight. A penalty notice has been logged.

    Monday 14th of March 2005

    Battle Abbey, Battle

    The subject has arrived at Battle Abbey and joined Elvia Lindholm, shepherded by Rectrix Theodora St. Claire of the Somerset Rothwells. The Rectrix has displayed displeasure at this one''s duty. The murder was withdrawn as a result.

    Ravenport pondered the significance of the Rectrix''s reaction. The Order of the Bath, as with most of the Ordo under the control of the Crown, served their unique creeds and purposes independent from the government. In ancient times, the Ordos'' principal purpose was the recovery of Faith Relics. With the onset of Modernity, the power of the Ordos waned, becoming elite Military units under the Crown''s express command.

    The Rectrix belonged to no Faction and seldom cared for politics. It was, therefore, wisest to leave the abbey well alone.

    Monday 21st of March 2005

    London, Isle of Dogs

    Magister Eric Walken has summoned subject to attend. Observation indicates that the security forces on the Isle of Dogs have captured a group of looters who previously damaged the equipment belonging to the METRO Printing Press. The men had been in hiding and were discovered when locals reported engine components in one of the men''s homes. Magister Walken sent Mr Tu, now working under the Isle of Dogs, to retrieve the NoMs, John Green, Nathan Green, and Julia Deng of Millwall. The subject has asked the men to return the looted parts of the press without fear of penalty and has offered them atonement in exchange for service. Scotland Yard reports no such record of the theft. PD.343.767.32.5.

    Ravenport processed the timeline of events in his head, then frowned. That Gwen had asked the men to return the looted parts of the press in exchange for service was disregarding due process and highly unorthodox. Likewise, that the NoMs on the Isle of Dogs reported to the Dwarves at the press rather than offices from Scotland Yard, inferred Gwen to have obtained significant trust in the local populace.

    Either way, it was something to mull.

    Thursday 24th of March 2005

    Cambridge, Peterhouse.

    The Subject''s Abjuration has reached the fourth tier of expertise.

    The Subject''s Transmutation has reached the fifth tier of expertise.

    The subject''s Enchantment has reached the third tier of expertise.

    The subject''s multi-modal talent has reached the fifth tier of expertise.

    Thursday 31th of March 2005

    Cambridge, Emmanuel College

    Magister Roslyn-Marie Wen and Magister Maxwell Brown submitted spectrometric data for Void Enervation. Without complication, the subject has successfully recreated the Necromancy fifth-tier sorcery "Enervation" in its Void variant. The lodgement was as follows:

    Enervating Orb

    Conjuration-Evocation

    Casting Time: 180 Major 63 Minor

    Range: Medium

    Components: Verbal, Somatic

    This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.Duration: Channelled

    This variant of Void Enervation is derived from "Enervation", with credit for the original conversion going to Magister Henry Kilroy. This variant is the brain-child of Magister Maxwell Brown, Roslyn-Marie Wen and Magus Gwen Song. Through focusing on manifesting Void Mana, an orb is created at the designated location which radiates an aura of Void. Within its Affinity-based area of effect, affected targets become suppressed, paralysed, and drained, suffering both material and immaterial damage. A portion of the spell''s damage, both in terms of vitality and mana, will be redistributed through the converted Necromantic Glyphs into life-force. Current drawbacks include casting complications, stationary manifestation, incompatibility with most Spellshaping, and high initial cost in vitality. The original spells'' Negative Drain has been minimised for the Tower''s consideration. Initial tests carried out on Magical Creatures have demonstrated the viability of Void-Necromancy. Enervating Orb has been designated as a Class II Restricted Access spell.

    Ravenport tapped the table.

    "Morrigan, get me all the spectrometric data."

    The Sprite obliged, reappearing moments later with a thick stack of scrolls.

    Void-Necromancy! The Duke of Norfolk allowed the words to roll back and forth on his tongue. To a significant degree, the Mageocracy had always known that Soble dabbled. Their lenience had always depended on the fact that a firm hand had held the leash¡ª until the bitch grew crazed. To this day, no one knew what had gone down in Hungary. As an architect of the Tower System, Kilroy possessed a level of privacy like no other. Even now, the locals believed the killing spree was the work of a risen vampire Countess called Elizabeth B¨¢thory.

    If the girl would take a similar path, would there be a similar outcome? But the girl was a Vessel as well, and a Lightning Mage. She did not need to hide her power either. If anything, Ravenport mused, the girl had become a celebrity.

    It was a move he applauded, consequently enabling Ollie Edward''s prodigious ability to muster certifications and councils approvals. Be it family, fame or fortune, all three required investments, and like the roots of the Elves'' World Tree¡ª that which provides shelter and safety also binds and constraints.

    Saturday 2nd of April 2005

    London, Isle of Dogs

    Professor Victor Verne, Chair of Contemporary Literature at Sorbonne, CR.221.903.22.0 has returned to London with a manuscript for the subject.

    Currently, Ravenport sat in his private study, listening alarmedly to his Sprite ranting about a book.

    "The first of however many volumes," she declared with pride. "Is magnificent! It starts at sea..."

    Ravenport had anticipated espionage.

    At the very least, he was expecting Necromancy or an equally forbidden tier of sorcery to be smuggled into London by the NoM professor.

    Instead, the man wrote a book on Gwen''s orders.

    "The subject says that this story was initially told to her by Kilroy." Morrigan''s excitement was making Ravenport''s scalp crawl.

    According to his Sprite, what the Void Sorceress had commissioned was the tale of a Mage living in Napoleonic France with the name of Francois Picaud. The manuscript related that Francois was a talented young sorcerer who found success in the navy. Following the imprisonment of Bonaparte, he returned to Paris to marry his childhood friend and fianc¨¦e, the extraordinarily beautiful Mercedes. However, on their wedding night, Royalist Mages burst into the banquet and dragged Francois away, accusing him of spying on the French Crown for the English and plotting the Emperor''s return.

    Horrified by the accusation, Francois fought with all his might until he was subdued by the Royalist and taken to an island prison, the infamous Chateau d''If. There, he met the imprisoned Court Sorcerer of Napoleon, the Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar Elementalist Gaeardir, who was his cellmate. Over the next seventeen years, Gaeardir, who knew he would die, taught Francois everything he knew, including the location of Napoleon''s hidden treasure, which he had planned to use in the event of a counter-revolution against the First Restoration.

    "And then! Francois, using his new command over Arcanistry, escaped the Island! He dug up Napoleon''s SECRET treasure at a place called the Isle of Monte Cristo..."

    Morrigan''s cheeks were flushed, painting her lips a ruby red.

    With a feeling of ill omen, Ravenport listened to the story of a man driven by rage, now unfathomably rich, returning to a now peaceful and restored Paris. There, Francois disguised himself as an Englishman with Elven Glamours and visited his old home. There, he discovered that the night he lost Merc¨¦d¨¨s was no misunderstanding, but a plot orchestrated by three men he knew. The first was his fellow sailor in the French Navy, Douglas, a man who made his living selling magical contraband, and who was exposed and expelled by Francois. The next was his best friend and fellow sorcerer, Ferdinand, from whom he won Mercedes. The final member of the trio of plotters was Prosecutor Gerald, who had used the opportunity to gain a promotion.

    Now, seventeen years later, all three men were prominent figures under the restored Monarchy. The scamp Douglas was now the wealthiest man in Paris. Gerald had become Chief Prosecutor of the High Court and Ferdinand a Count thanks to his military achievements. What''s more, Mercedes, who Ferdinand had taken on Francois'' wedding night, had borne the Count an heir in a son¡ª Alberto de Morcerf.

    "And so... Francois, burning with desire for revenge, emerging from the balefire of hate and vengeance as the Count of Monte Cristo, hell-bent on tearing apart the happiness of every man who was responsible for his imprisonment! First, Francois arrived at Venice, where the children of his targets, Alberto, Frank and Vivian, were enjoying the Masque Festival¡ª"

    "... and then?" Ravenport swallowed. A man in his position very much enjoyed a good revenge story. Also, if the story rang true, he would have to consult with his French counterparts. A treasure left by Napoleon? Such a trove was rarely without a companion. No Emperor would ever place their eggs in a single basket.

    "... that''s it." Morrigan licked her lips. "That''s all he wrote."

    Ravenport could see the madness in his Sprite''s eyes. Had he given her too much blood of late? She was becoming very emotional, and very human¡ª both qualities he did not desire in an assistant.

    What frankly puzzled Ravenport, however, was why this particular tale exist. Unlike the Mockingbird, what was the purpose of this?

    Tuesday 5th of April 2005

    London, Isle of Dogs

    The subject has met with Jean Paul''s master, the honourable Meister Engela Bekker, formerly of Pretoria. Unfortunately, Meister Bekker has prevented all meaningful observation.

    Monday 11th of April 2005.

    Cambridge, Emmanuel College.

    Magister Brown and Wen have succeeded in formulating the spell originally dubbed Death March. See the annotation below.

    Sympathetic Life-Link

    Evocation-Enchantment-Transmutation

    Casting Time: 243 Major

    Range: Close

    Components: Verbal, Somatic, Ingredient

    Duration: Channelled

    A spell derived from the rites utilised by Greenskin Totemcraft commonly seen in the wake of a Greenskin Beast Tide. For the original invocation, see appendix 4b. A significant complication in the application of this spell is the need to attain Essence sympathy between its users. For Demi-humans and Magical Creatures with Cores, components possessing Essence, such as heart blood, can be consumed by the caster to grant sympathetic resonance. As Human Mages lack the means of materialising Essence, unorthodox methods such as Essence Tap in appendix 1a will replicate the effects. Post "Master" and "Thrall" Essence-Exchange, the spell activates. The parallel conduit established between caster and the follower creates a "Vital Bridge" which allows for the transfer of Positive or Negative Mana between them. With consent, the caster may receive both Negative and Positive Energy from the Thrall. However, the Thrall may only receive vital energy at the caster''s discretion.

    "... Further testing will take place on the 18th of April," Ravenport read out loud. He understood why the Tower had allowed such an abusable spell to pass muster. If Gwen Song could indeed share her vitality with a fellow Void Mage, then enough training without fear of sudden extinction could mean eventual control over one''s craft. It was an innovative proposal, one that he very much looked forward to seeing in practice.

    Thursday 14th of April 2005

    London, Isle of Dogs

    The subject has returned to Battle to visit Magus Elvia Lindholm. Outside the Cloister, the subject managed to consume three times the same volume of food as the Knight-Initiate. If this unnatural gluttony continues, it may be cause for concern. Additional investigation was not possible due to interference by the Rectrix.

    Monday 18th of April 2005.

    Cambridge. Peterhouse.

    The Subject, Gracie Hillbrook, Magister Brown and Magister Wen have succeeded in manifesting Sympathetic Life-Link. However, shortly after, Gracie Hillbrookwas hospitalised for treatment. A report from Magister Brown can be found at RP.550.31.1.

    Thursday 21st of April 2005

    London, Isle of Dogs

    The subject has gathered a large group of NoMs from the surrounding dockside to offer them "gainful employment". The details of the position appear to involve the propagation of the publication known as "METRO". A total of three hundred and forty-one NoMs have subscribed to " an opportunity you cannot afford to miss." It would appear their new duty involves handing out newspapers at particular places along the Metropolitan railway line. Each NoM has been armed with two hundred copies of this "London Metro", with multiple individuals standing guard near the exits of the underground from Queen''s Park to Liverpool, down to Westminster and West Brompton.

    As soon as Ravenport saw the memo, he left the office for a brisk walk.

    As the Sprite had suggested, the damned things were suddenly everywhere; be it abandoned on park benches, littered on the sandstone floors of the pier, or flying through the air whenever a particularly robust wind blew.

    Quickly, he approached the Westminster tube station. Sure enough, he spotted two NoMs standing outside, bowing and scraping.

    "Free paper, Sir!"

    "Free paper, Ma''am, no charge."

    "Please take a gander, milord, its free."

    To Ravenport''s horror, people took it.

    One of the NoMs caught him staring.

    "Milord! Free paper, Sir?"

    Ravenport took the paper without looking the man in the eye.

    "You look awful-familiar, Milord," the NoM grinned at him with pearly teeth. At the very least, the girl had the sense to pick the clean and better-dressed workers for the posher stations. "You the Prime Minister?"

    "That''s Magister Blaire." Ravenport shook his head, then quickly retreated to the privacy of Parliament Square Garden.

    Now that he could take a "good gander", Ravenport felt his jowls twitch.

    "THE PRICE OF PROGRESS," read the headline, prefaced with an image of the Void Sorceress in a pale teal dress that Ravenport recognised as an Elven treasure. The sorceress stood in what looked like Peterhouse, near the formal Hall, with her hand resting on an ornate brass lion. The girl was beautiful, Ravenport had to admit, and could see why so few refuted the paper. For the working folk, there was nothing quite so titillating as a pretty sorceress promising to devour the Mageocracy''s enemies.

    The article itself contained an interview with Gwen, written by Dominic Lorenzo, Chief Editor of the METRO. It detailed her operations on the Isle of Anglesey with a riveting account of the personal cost of practising Void sorcery from self-harm to ailments, to historical examples of temporary insanity caused by its Negative Drain. The picture it painted, Ravenport twisted his lips as Morrigan''s crows cawed overhead, reading over his shoulder, was one sympathetic to the additional images of the pretty, pale-skinned sorceress looking a picture of pity in her shoulder-less dress. Lorenzo''s tone made him curious, for it contained a distinct air of nationalistic martyrdom.

    Was the agent helping the girl in the genuine sense? Ravenport wondered. Or was the agent trying to cement the girl to London, as had been instructed?

    Other articles in the second and third pages covered news of the week, surmised by the editorial team of the Metro to be easily ingested. The headliner for the "News in Brief" section was one Ravenport loathed.

    "Blaire Polled to Win in May," it said¡ª as if he needed another reminder of the ill-will the Militants had injected into the voting public.

    It was followed by other eye-catching titles such as "Blame Game Continues in Westminster", "Duke of Norfolk says Application of Force Necessary and Proportionate in Niger Delta", and "Beast Tide Break over Sfax after Earthquake", "Coastal City Besieged" and a Global News segment with images from Friday with "Merfolk Swarms Mississippi after largest Hurricane in Decade ¡ª Are Elementals to Blame?".

    Past the news were articles surmising the latest in Magitech, followed by an opinion column on said politics and sorcerous developments. With a special section dedicated to the applications of Void Magic by Magister Maxwell Brown of Cambridge.

    In the middle segment of the METRO, Ravenport found the source of the paper''s income. There were hundreds of boxes, currently empty, under tags such as Employment, Magitech, Education, For Sale, with marked fonts in black and red stating "PUT YOUR AD HERE" and "SELL YOUR ITEM HERE" and "TRADE YOUR GOODS HERE" and "OFFER YOUR SERVICES HERE", together with contact details.

    Quickly, he flipped to the back section.

    Ravenport''s brows furrowed. There were strange headlines the likeness of which he had never seen on any paper, be it the Herald Sun, the Guardian, or the Telegraph.

    "Employment for NoMs on the Rise!"

    "Mage jailed after Unprovoked assault on NoM Family."

    "Heads and Tales¡ª How this Liverpool Father found his purpose."

    "The best pubs this side of West Side."

    "Non-Magical Mother of Four gives up Secret to raising Four Mages."

    "Horror at Mansfield, NoM Employee mauled by escaped Magical Pet."

    There were even recipes! For NoMs!

    "Pot Pie for Under Five Quid."

    "Spring Salads you can harvest from your local garden!"

    The more he read, the more puzzled he became.

    NoMs? Ravenport cocked his head like a bird''s. A newspaper for NoMs? He had an inkling after all these weeks observing the girl, but still, the excess effort exerted for the Mageocracy''s arguably second-class citizens puzzled him. Was this information warfare? Was the girl plotting a mutiny? Was this Communism?

    He turned the page.

    "CAW! CAW! CAW!" The crows watching him from the tree began to flock and dance.

    "The Count of Monte Cristo, by Alexander Dumas, Chapter One," read the tagline.

    The first instalment had only four chapters.

    "Caw!" Morrigan''s crows began to crow blue murder. "Caw! Caw!" Her crows murdered the cheap paper, beating their wings in a frenzy.

    Ravenport flung the paper away from him, only to have the pages torn to shreds by the enraged crows. "CAW! CAW! CAW!"

    Wednesday 27st of April 2005

    Cambridge, Emmanuel College

    The duck has received YET ANOTHER dose of Essence. Petition for the duck to join the murder. See Memo DD-3221.32.125.

 Chapter 377 - Gwen Song Observation Diary Part II

    Sunday 1st of May 2005

    London CBD

    The METRO''s internal files indicate that over 250,000 copies in print have left the press. By my crow''s calculation, 200,000 copies of the Metro have inundated the tube and rail system.

    Monday 2nd of May 2005

    London CBD

    The second edition of the METRO is now in distribution. The Count of Monte Cristo is currently at Chapter Eight. The comics attached to the NoM section depicting milord and other members of the nobility are proving popular. The free paper is now endemic in central London. My murders have observed the homeless using the METRO as blankets. MD-6221.62.139.

    Thursday 5th of May 2005

    Cambridge, Peterhouse.

    The subject has convened with Gracie Hillbrook, Magister Brown and Wen to re-attempt Sympathetic Life-Link. Submissions by Magister Brown indicate the success of the rudimentary Essence Sorcery. See RP.550.31.2

    Monday 9th of May 2005

    London CBD

    The third edition of the METRO is now in distribution. Circulation has reached 300,000. The murders observed NoMs from Wembley to Stratford to Dulwich speaking of little else but the METRO''s contents, particularly the novel. The free paper''s rivals are beginning to take note. The Herald Sun appears particularly hostile to the METRO''s success.

    Tuesday 10th of May 2005

    London, Westminster

    Milord. A dubious report has arrived from the South China Sea, which I included for your consideration. In recent months, two supertankers carrying trade goods from North America have been raided by Mermen pirates. Survivors from the ships'' crew reported that the Mermen were lead by a High Priest of immense power worshipping a being of the deep with the moniker "The Pale Priestess". The Captain reports that the raiders'' leader was reportedly wielding a Faith Relic consisting of SPAM cans. This entry has been submitted as the word "The Devourer of Shenyang" has appeared once and "Gwen Song" sixteen times in the interview transcript. See file FP.3190.312.21.1 for additional details.

    Once Ravenport finished the final report on Gwen Song, he pinched the ridge between his eyes.

    The witching hour was nigh, and Mycroft grew weary of the dangers of over-imagination caused by a sleep-deprived mind. Different to the Lords-in-name-only, London''s Lord Marshall possessed actual duties beyond his function as a chief courtier, one with hours so long, he oft wondered if the lack of long-lived Ravenports was less because of Affinity and more so exhaustion.

    As for the point of interest raised by Morrigan¡ª Ravenport tapped into his mental filing system, searching for a relevant entry. It was an exercise he often employed when faced with potential threats to the Empire, for a man in his position had to possess a healthy dose of paranoia and suspicion, even for the smallest detail.

    One by one, he had Morrigan summon said details and the associated segments.

    SPAM,

    Mermen Priest,

    Pale Priestess,

    The Yellow Sea,

    Monsters of the Deep,

    Biplipodoofu and Blightreef,

    Missing supertankers,

    and the golden trade-triangle between China, South Korean, and Japan.

    And somewhere in that mess, Gwen Song had her fingers in the pie.

    Other than the girl''s love of SPAM, he couldn''t see any links. The creatures from the Deep were innumerable and unpredictable, too alien to garner human sympathy.

    Were the Mermen readying for another invasion?

    And this Pale Priestess¡ª what could it be? There had been many such beings in history, though only one that''s contemporary. In the past, he had more than once heard the moniker circulate in conjunction with Kilroy''s pale-skinned, red-lipped Void wife. And after Sydney, all knew the woman was a known associate of the Mermen Kingdoms.

    "Morrigan, bring me everything on the South China Sea from the last month. Everything recent on Spectre as well."

    Morrigan sunk into the shadows.

    When she returned, the secretary Sprite materialised the data with the aid of Mage Hands, setting those with the highest relevance indices to hover. Mycroft scanned the files one by one, willing his mind to dive into the abyssal depth of cross-analysis.

    "I hypothesise that Sobel is evangelising Mermen in the Yellow Sea," he said to the Sprite.

    "The likelihood is great if we take precedence into account," Morrigan agreed. "Sydney serves as a significant example."

    "Send a Message to Secretary-General Miao. Call it a favour," Ravenport gave the order. "If the Mermen do invade their coast, they can''t say we didn''t warn them. Tell them to keep a close eye on their coastal batteries as well. Let Sydney be a stern lesson."

    Morrigan''s eyes grew briefly dark. "It''s done."

    The Duke of Norfolk rose from his seat. "Well then, goodnight, Morrigan."

    "Goodnight, my Duke."

    The double doors clicked shut, returning the suite to the shadows.

    Monday 16th of May 2005

    London CBD

    The fourth edition of the METRO is now in distribution. The subject has warned her staff about intrusive crows, not that it matters. The NoMs are well aware that when a crow knocks on their window or door, its best to let it in¡ª especially when they scratch out "Oi, Tower Business" on the window.

    Wednesday 18th of May 2005

    Cambridge, Emmanuel College.

    Memo DD-3221.32.129. The observer would like to note that the subject has scant observable examples of human friendship. As per your command, a compiled list of the subject''s most frequent contacts, sans family, employees, and instructors, appears as follows:

    Ollie Edwards ¡ª Less than a friend or a mate, the subject appears to treat her Praelector as a personal secretary.

    Gracie Hillbrook ¡ª the subject feels sympathy for the Void Illusionist.

    Jean-Paul Bekker ¡ª the subject has been using him to ward away unwanted interests.

    Elvia Lindholm ¡ª Miss Lindholm remains an intimate companion, though the pair rarely convene due to their positions.

    The closest companion to the subject remains Dede. It is strongly recommended that the duck be recruited into the murder.

    Saturday 21st of May 2005

    London, Heathrow

    Customs have intercepted a package for the subject, sent from Yangon. From exterior spectrometric readings, the item appears to be densely enchanted with Divination. Customs has passed the package onward without tampering with the Glyph Seal. CR.2240.938.21.6

    Sunday 22nd of May 2005

    London, Isle of Dogs

    The subject is touring the underground construction taking place beneath the isle of dogs. The overland extension Tramline and the refurbishment of the wharf at Millwall are progressing without incident. The municipality of Millwall and Cubitt has reported a population increase to 11,239 registered residents. The average land price of the county has increased by 146% since January.

    Monday 23rd of May 2005

    London, Westminster

    The fifth edition of the METRO is now in distribution. Memo DD-3221.32.129. The observer would like to note that Dominic Lorenzo was visited by Magus Sebastian Cribbage, Editor-in-chief of the Herald Sun. From internal files extracted from our sources in the Herald, their backers appear to feel threatened. The unannounced visitation from Cribbage and his subsequent, dissatisfaction indicate future complications to come.

    Wednesday, 25th of May 2005

    Cambridge, Peterhouse

    The subject is now nineteen years of age. Richard Huang, Petra Kuznetsova, Jean-Paul Bekker, Gracie Hillbrook have prepared a surprise celebration for the subject at Peterhouse''s Old Court. Some of the subject''s Housemates and Tutors elected to participate as well. A cake prepared for the subject was devoured by Dede prior to the reveal. The Dragon Ruxin has gifted an unusual present (See RP.2240.938.21.6). I''ve obtained a similar object with the closest attribute. Please note that the subject''s article has a Jadeite Pixiu Core.

    Omni-Directional Orb

    A crystal orb bestowed with highly advanced navigation magic, usually used in seafaring. The Orb is capable of guiding the user toward their desired direction regardless of obfuscation both magical and mundane. It may be used in conjunction with Find Person, Locate Object, and Dowsing. The accuracy of this item varies based on its materials.

    Tier 9 "Jadeite Pixiu Core", Black Zone, Tibetan China.

    Crafter - Unknown.

    Estimated worth, 12,000 HDM Crystals

    Pixiu? Ravenport masticated the word with his mind. "Morrigan, can you clarify?"

    Morrigan''s pupils grew dark.

    "The white jade Pixiu is a Draconic chimeric Draconoid found in Chinese-ruled Tibet, an auspicious creature tied to wealth and prosperity, said to harness the Essence of "Fortune". From the Analects of the Mountains and the Sea, the Pixiu was the well-behaved scion of the heavenly Asiatic Metallic Dragons. A gifted but spoiled child, it joined forces with monsters for whom it felt sympathy and rose against the Jade Emperor during the Great Sealing. To spare the Pixiu''s life, the Yinglong transformed the prideful creature into an animal without a rectum, constraining the creature''s diet to gold, silver, gems and crystals so that it may never consume human flesh again."

    "¡­ it has no rectum?" Ravenport raised a brow. Never in his ancestor''s wildest dreams would they have imagined that one day, a descendent would be demanding if Oriental Dragon-Lions possessed assholes.

    "I believe." Morrigan scanned the records for lions sans shit sheaths. "This particular chimaeric Draconid is a higher-order elemental who consumes Crystals and do not need defecation due to their extraordinary absorption rates."

    "Right."

    He knew from reports that the girl had a fatal, "directionally challenged" weakness. Logically speaking, this palm-sized item would resolve that problem. However, that such a thing arrived from a Thunder Dragon made Ravenport think.

    The Asiatic Dragons were inferior to the Western Chromatic Dragon''s physical prowess, but they did possess feats of Divination their western counterparts could not match. Was there a more profound implication to such a useless, albeit unique item?

    Ravenport chose to wait and see.

    Thursday 26th of May 2005

    London, Westminster

    The subject has spent 370 CCs out of 1780 CCs to purchase the following spell.

    Bilby''s Blade Barrier

    Evocation-Conjuration

    Casting Time: 401 Major 328 Minor

    Range: Close

    Components: Verbal, Somatic

    Duration: Channelled

    The caster creates a wall of whirling, razor-sharp blades of force. The baseline spell creates a barrier up to thirty meters long and half-a-metre wide, two-meters high in a line or as a ring. As with a Wall of Force, only a Greater Dispel, Spell Disjunction, or Disintegrate may impact the spell''s manifestation so long as the caster is alive. When an enemy enters into the space of Blade Barrier, it immediately begins to take damage and becomes ensnared. Bilby''s improved Morden''s Blade Barrier allows for complex manifestations utilising meta-magic spellshaping, including Elemental Shift. Likewise, a comprehensive range of expressions is available to the caster, including as a horizontal plane, a dome, a wedge, or as a piece-meal manifestation of singular blades in predetermined patterns. For Elemental variations, see appendix 1B. Note: The mana consumption of this spell''s channelled effect is exceptionally intensive.

    Ravenport couldn''t help but imagine what the staple offensive spell could do in the hands of a Void Sorceress. A combination of both Void and Force Magic was already lethal against grounded enemies. With Bilby''s variation, a skilled caster could even anchor the spell in mid-air, using it as a means to trap flying enemies like Rocs and Drakes.

    "Morrigan, are there any ongoing conflicts suitable for our sorceress to gain practical experience?" Ravenport asked of his Sprite.

    "The Fomorians will be entering their active season in August," the Spirit replied. "Six Flights have been committed to the Purge, including two Mechanised Units and their support auxiliaries."

    "Hmm... Giants." Ravenport took a sip of his piping Earl Grey. A keen blade needed whetting from both stone and flesh, and a Combat Mage was no different. "Make a Memo. We''ll consider it. No point letting a War Mage get rusty."

    Not to mention Tryfan had wanted to deepen their ties to the girl. Ravenport mulled in silence. Three months wasn''t much time in the eyes of the Elves, but by now Vulmari and Eldrin are wondering where their sorceress had gone. The girl had been given express consent to visit Trawsfynydd; only Gwen grew so wrapped up in her media hype, she must have forgotten about the Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar.

    To make the High Elves feel impatience! Ravenport smiled in the privacy of his secluded abode. The girl had good points after all.

    Monday 30th of May 2005

    London CBD

    The sixth instalment of the METRO has entered London''s transportation network. Circulation of the paper has reached 340,000 to 360,000. In busier stations like Waterloo, Victoria, Liverpool and Bridge, the subject has placed a dozen NoMs throughout every entry and exit, equipped with Dwarf-forged pulley carts, each a quasi-magical storage device with a capacity of ten-thousand or more copies of the METRO. My crows have reported several incidences of robbery. The incident has caused a stir in Scotland Yard as Master Yossari on the Isle of Dogs registered herself as the complainant. A record of the arrest can be MPS.2331.424.33.1.

    Monday 6th of June 2005

    London CBD

    The METRO''s seventh edition has included a piece on the recovery of the stolen Dwarven Storage "Pulley". The METRO has commended the Metropolitan Police London for its service. The Chief Superintendent has publically assured our allies from the Red Citadel that their business will not be impeded by "The rare scoundrel". Dominic Lorenzo penned the praise piece. My crows indicate the attacks on the NoMs were orchestrated by associates of the Herald Sun. The METRO has chosen not to pursue.

    Saturday, 11th of June 2005

    London, Westminster.

    The Dwarves under the subject''s command are nearing completion of the tube substation underneath the Isle of Dogs previously commended by your lordship. Together with the overland rail system, Millwall Docks is now the lastest location in London accessible by ferry, tube and overground trams. The locales'' unique accessibility has not gone unnoticed. The owners of Canary Wharf, the Barlow Consortium, has expressed concern and lodged complaints against the development of Millwall and Cubitt Town. See RP.560.32.5

    Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.

    Sunday 19th of June 2005

    London, Westminster.

    Of all the nobility in London, scant individuals stood shoulder-to-shoulder with the Lord Marshall of the Empire.

    There were those like the Exeters, who were his contemporaries, but whose excess choler and extreme views made them poor politicians. Then there were ones like Lucy Astor, who had money and weight but lacked the history to curry favour with the older families. Some he admired, like the Rothwells, who stuck to their obligation of keeping their noble noses out of politics and instead focus on improving the Mageocracy. Others, like Lady Maxine Loftus, were both his childhood companion and a friend.

    And it was by her behest that they now gathered here in the mud-strewn hills of Mudchute Farm, awkwardly engaged in an alfresco function.

    The purpose of the gathering, one in which notable names were invited, was to celebrate the completion of the first stage of the Isle of Dog''s redevelopment project. Under the auspice of fast-tracked council approvals and Lady Grey calling in favours: the Millwall Ferry, Millwall Tube Station, and Millwall overland Tram Exchange were now in service.

    Since mid-day, flocks of cocktail dresses and tuxedos enchanted to resist crinkle and stain had meandered from one transport interchange to another, smiling rigidly at the Lumen-recorders from the Telegraph, the Herald Sun, the Guardian and now the METRO.

    At the overland, Magister Eric Walken of the Isle of Dogs Redevelopment committee gave a stump speech about bringing employment and opportunities for the local population, with particular attention given to how many NoM families would soon find gainful employment in the construction projects slated to flood the peninsular.

    At the newly constructed tube station, under the curved facade of trigonometric Dwarf-cut glass in the art-deco style, Lady Loftus spoke proudly about offering the Mages of London a second business centre with unparalleled access. There, she unveiled the next expansion project of the Millwall-Canary interchange¡ª an ISTC junction connected to the Tower''s network, allowing relatively cheap teleporting into and out of the Isle of Dogs. The announcement was met with a shower of flashing strobes, followed by public transit to the finale at Mudchute Farm.

    Before the girl''s investments, the farm served as Maxine Loftus'' kennel.

    Now, a not-insignificant amount of landscaping had gone into the enormous English garden that sprawled over its locale, joined on the right by Maxine''s character-mansion and on the left by a Union Jack themed three-storey pavilion.

    Here and there, London''s elite exchanged gossip and clinked glasses, their eyes lingering over the distant lights that hid the Isle of Dogs'' newest economics zone.

    As a guest, Ravenport attired himself in unassuming grey. Prior to his attendance, he had Seville triple-check the guest list to ensure no undue complications awaited him. It was a necessary caution, as he had pushed back many requests seeking to stifle the Isle of Dog''s progress as a kindness to Maxine. Moreover, politically speaking, he had stepped on a few toes in the process, considering that the Labour Party and the Middle Faction were the ones pushing for development. In opposition, the Tories and the Militants had opposed it as a matter of principle.

    That was why presently, the Duke of Norfolk stood with his "Allies" on the matter of the Isle of Dogs. Each to each, he and his companions exchanged notes to fathom the depth of Gwen Song''s ability to bring about a six-month metamorphosis to a region that had remained unchanged since the Victorian Era.

    "... And on top of all that, she wants to link the underground to North Greenwich, up to Westham and loop through Stratford..." Lady Rothwell sipped on her flute of overpriced French bubbly wine.

    "And add a route to the Docklands Light Rail," Lady Grey explained patiently. "From Canary to Mudchute, to Island Garden and finally to Greenwich."

    "How is ''she'' paying for all of this?" Lady Astor marvelled.

    "The Dwarves have saved us a lot of crystals." Maxine Loftus smiled secretively. "We''re only providing the raw materials and the liquid HDMs. In six months, the Dwarven Masters will come to retrieve their Fabricators. After that, most of them will be returning to their Citadel."

    "Still, a Wharf, a Printing Press, three DLR stations and a new underground complex for the tube?" The new voice belonged to Emilia Callaghan, Chief Whip of the United Kingdoms Labour Party. "Is she secretly a Dragon? The cost of all this must be a whole hoard''s worth, especially if Waterloo Station''s refurbishment contract has anything to say."

    Ravenport hid his secret smile, though not too well.

    "Milord Mycroft, do you know something we don''t?" The Chief Whip was onto him in a split-second. "Do the Greys have anything to do with this?"

    Ravenport shrugged; it was fun watching his opponents puzzle over Gwen for once.

    "She submitted the Isle of Dog''s audit report months ago." Lady Grey held back a smile. "Fret not, Minister Callaghan, our bookkeeping should satisfy the Interior Department''s deepest scrutiny."

    "Indeed, both Lady Grey and I have placed much faith on this project," the wily Lady Astor spoke, her American accent drawing eyes a usual. "And the IoD Restoration Corporation is majority-owned by members belonging to the Mageocracy."

    The women''s candidness suggested to Ravenport that something was afoot. For a while now, Gwen''s investments had remained so secretive that Morrigan had to tap into the Municipal land-records filed by Magister Walken.

    With casual ease, he slipped away from the group, allowing the women to talk among themselves. He disliked Labour''s newest whip. She was a lass with an unshakable bias, believing that no project ever occurred without the Tories lining their pockets with the public purse.

    Naturally, she was right¡ª but such costs were merely a fact of business.

    All around the garden and the pavilion, the guests spread themselves thin between the open bar, displaced by its train of servants swaying with floating rounds of colourful alcohol. After a thirsty afternoon loitering from photo-op to photo-op, careless laughter gradually turned to casual innuendo. It was to be expected¡ª for all of the attendees knew one another from a thousand past soir¨¦es.

    Not wanting to be accosted, the Duke of Norfolk invoked subtle motes of Dust to blend into the background, enacting a reputation for being an excellent listener.

    Across the garden, the four-string orchestra Lady Grey had requested from the Conservatory took up their instruments, playing a key higher now to make the conversation easier. Ravenport retired beside a pillar, cloaked in Glamour, watching the groups ebb and flow, filling with new arrivals, dissolving when their conversation dried up.

    After a scan around the newly-grown garden, his eyes left the chittering cliques to land near the rose circle, where flashes of Lumen-strobes proclaimed the sorceress of the hour.

    The pale-complexioned girl stood with a group of Dwarves in formal tunics, wearing a risqu¨¨, one-of-a-kind Elven apparel with a corset in royal-blue, trailing a shimmering train of spectral daffodils petals.

    Also with the group were her Familiars: a Kirin about the size of a Great Dane wearing a bowtie; a snake as large as a Burmese Python, also wearing a bowtie, and a duck¡ª likewise wearing a bowtie.

    So that''s Dede. Ravenport recognised the beast at once from Morrigan''s incessant reports. He couldn''t help but notice that indeed, the duck was monstrously large, with its head height as tall as the Kirin. If the damned thing reached its peak, it may start giving Royal Griffins a run for their crystals.

    Among the crowd, the girl moved confidently, heedless of the Elven fabric barely covering her very alluring shoulders, amusing Ravenport whenever the men stiffened and the women upturned their noses. Her confidence surprised him once more, for she meandered here and there among the noble, the rich and the powerful, alternatively sliding between groups with the ease of fruity liqueur sliding down parched throats.

    When finally the girl retreated to a corner to rest her tongue, Ravenport saw a mouse-faced scoundrel break away from a circle close to the Militants.

    Sebastian Cribbage was the man''s name; an infamous wordsmith and the Herald Sun''s alpha attack dog strongly tied to the Militant Faction.

    The two met in shadow, where the Daylight Globes began to fade.

    Invoking a higher tier spell, Ravenport edged closer.

    "¡­ Dominic''s loyalties are misplaced, as are yours, Magus Song." Though the two spoke in "private", Ravenport could see the Militants with their ears to the wind, while on Gwen''s side, her two cousins stood distractedly. "A Newspaper isn''t all it seems, you understand. There are certain positions one must take, stakeholders one must respect. We had offered you an olive branch, not out of weakness but respect; if you continued on your path of self-delusion¡­"

    In Ravenport''s eyes, Cribbage was, as his name suggested, a low-life polymorphed cabbage. More than once, the Duke had wondered if his Barlow Consortium backers would dare file a suit against his position if a pair of crows happened to peck out the cabbage''s eyes. To his knowledge, it was Cribbage who pushed the story about Gwen "bastard Ravenport" Song. No one worthy believed the tale, of course, but his children had complained, and he had lost face. Nonetheless, it was refreshing to see Cribbage''s slithering villainy levelled against someone else.

    How would the girl react? Ravenport wondered. Overhead, he could sense Morrigan''s crows watching with equal interest.

    The girl stared at Cribbage, her face still pleasant. With every syllable leaving Cribbage''s lips, however, her expression grew gradually cold, bleeding the effervescence from her nubile body.

    When Cribbage finally finished, the Lightning Evoker had become the Void Conjurer. Against his expectations, the girl did not act out. Rather, the girl''s lips grew cruel like that of a predatory feline.

    "...Therefore, Miss Song, I would not seek to upset anyone else."

    "Oh dear, Mister Cribbage, I simply didn''t know the Herald Sun held sovereignty over our citizens'' right to know." With poignant sarcasm, the girl studied the Herald Sun''s Editor-in-chief. "Rest assured, I''ll shut down my paper first thing tomorrow."

    Cribbage frowned, clearly unused to resistive, sarcastic young women. "I am warning you, lass. We''ve been diplomatic for Lady Grey''s sake. If you dare challenge us, don''t blame me for the headlines tomorrow. We know of your sinful relationship with the Knight-Initiate from the Order of the Bath. We''ve also obtained records that you Consumed prisoners while in Shanghai to fuel your magic. You''re a mad, deviant stray, Magus Song, and that''s all there is to it. No amount of free newspapers is going to keep the truth from the people of London!"

    Ravenport suppressed a sudden thrill. Cribbage told the truth¡ª but like his newspaper, it was a half-truth.

    So long as Gwen played her part as the suppressant keeping the Mageocracy''s enemies on their heels, those in power could turn a blind eye, be it trade, transaction or propagation with Dragons, Dwarves or Elves. To his knowledge, the Mageocracy was no stranger to turning the other cheek when the benefits outweighed the costs. In that sense, Cribbage did well in flinging mud to see what stuck.

    Conversely, for Elvia Lindholm, accusations of moral deviancy at a sufficient volume could prove fatal for an untitled supplicant, for even within Battle Abbey''s hallowed halls, politics thrived.

    How would the girl react? Ravenport wished he had a bucket of the exploded corn that the lower-classes loved so much.

    Once more, Gwen Song''s reaction proved a delightful surprise.

    The girl sighed, appearing demure and disappointed.

    "If you''re willing to go that far, Mister Cribbage." She gave the look of a disapproving governess. "Then are you prepared to pay the price?"

    Cribbage''s complexion grew two shades darker. "Miss Song, do you believe my warning to be a joke?"

    "Sir, you''re asking me to shut down a business worth hundreds of thousands of HDMs," Gwen said. "Are you not serious?"

    "You¡ª"

    "Then let''s get serious." Gwen''s tone changed at once. She struck out her naked shoulders, took a deep breath so that for a moment, Cribbage''s eyes drifted downward, then¡ª

    SLAP!

    The slap didn''t have much force in it, but it was loud.

    The strike came so suddenly that Mycroft almost jumped. When next he looked at Cribbage, he near burst a snort because the Editor-in-chief looked as though his world had just exploded.

    "How dare you, Mister Cribbage!" Gwen''s voice pierced through Mudchute via her Clarion Call. "For shame!"

    Like flies to carrion, the guests flocked to the drama.

    Subtly, Ravenport slipped into the crowd.

    Cribbage shook off the slap with surprising candour. There was no rage, no outburst, just a cold, calculating coolness.

    Opposite, the girl was a picture of pity, instantly turning the young stags among the party to her cause. From their stance and eagerness, Ravenport could see that several were near-ready to duel Cribbage to the death.

    "You don''t think we know your whorish tricks?" Cribbage sneered, checking his cheek for blood from Gwen''s rings. "You don''t think my crew is recording? The Herald Sun is a paper of integrity and truth, Miss Song, unlike your NoM-cheering, cantankerous METRO! The truth will be known!"

    Ravenport nodded with satisfaction. Now there''s the thick-skinned Cribbage he knew. It was with good reason the man still retained both eyeballs.

    Now the rest of the crowd was looking to chew the proverbial exploded corn.

    "Oh, that wasn''t for your benefit, Mister Cribbage." The girl huffed, flicking away a strand of impertinent hair. "I just felt like slapping some sense into a fool. Tricks? Falsehoods? We don''t need that here on the Isle of Dogs. What makes you think YOU can threaten ME, Mister Cribbage?"

    "Threaten?" Ravenport could see that Cribbage was now aware that many of London''s upper class were watching. "You''re very good at misconstruing other''s words, Miss Song. How is a friendly reminder now a threat? I am thinking of tomorrow''s headline¡ª ''Man-Eating Void Sorceress menaces the Herald'', ''A Bully and a Bitch'', What do you make of that?"

    "I think¡ª ''Infamous Editor Propositions Young Sorceress'' would be a nice one," the girl replied with both hands on her hips. "Driven by arrogance, entitlement and appetite, Editor-in-Chief of the Herald Sun demands intimate favour from Gwen Song lest he publishes untoward articles ruining her vestal reputation."

    "You think anyone would believe that?"

    "Wouldn''t you know better?" Gwen laughed. "Is your written truth better certified than mine? I have Marchioness of Ely, Duchess Rothwell, and Lady Astor of Cliveden to vouch for me, and¡­"

    Slapped by yet another bout of the girl''s impertinence, Cribbage''s patience had burnt its last wick.

    "Keep that up, Miss Song, and ''Fatal Fire at West Ferry Press" may just adorn every headline in London," Cribbage whispered harshly. "You think a printing press doesn''t have accidents? There are always problems with the machines. It would be a shame if¡ª"

    The man''s next words caught in his throat.

    There was a visible ripple of mana, then the Void Sorceress'' pupils transformed into twin-points of depthless darkness. From the girl''s torso, Ravenport could sense twin, concentric circles of Illusory mana permeate the space around her.

    Desolation Aura! Ravenport recognised the spell. So the girl succeeded in another Signature spell. How did Morrigan not know this?

    "Before you froth and bite." Gwen raised her voice so that all present could hear. "Let me tell you something worthy of publishing¡ª the names of the major stakeholders of the Isle of Dogs Reconstruction Project, of which the METRO press belongs to."

    "First and foremost, there''s my House Mistress, Lady Maxine Loftus."

    Lady Loftus smiled in her usual serene manner.

    "Then there''s our angel investors, Lady Astor and Lady Rothwell."

    The two ladies gave elegant nods.

    "There is also milord Ruxin, Master of Nagaland, Kachin and Manipur, True Dragon and scion to the Yinglong," Gwen continued. "And over there are our friends from Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth, who have a twenty per cent take in the press and its proceeds. The Shard also owes a stake in the press, such as the patent to our printing presses and its associated systems. We only own the ink."

    It took Mycroft only a few seconds to process the girl''s words, after which he had to suppress the urge to clap. He had seen the report months earlier and had been puzzled by her generosity. Now he knew, for though the patent for the press was given freely to the Mageocracy, the design had to use ink made by the Alchemist! If Gwen''s press sold the ink, then the patent was itself a lure to consolidate buyers! She had a monopoly!

    "And this is only the beginning." The smiling Void Sorceress patted the stunned Chief Editor on the shoulder as she passed, then opened her arms as if to envelop the crowd, her dark pupils returning to their usual clarity. "All are welcome to invest in suites, apartments, offices and condos on the Isle of Dogs. And the earlier you buy, the more profitable your venture shall be. By October, we will release Phase I''s allotment, and you may purchase suites off-the-plan at an unmissable, competitive rate in the second heart of London."

    Stricken by the depth of the girl''s greed, Ravenport felt his thumbs prickle. The IoD group was gathering funds by selling off-the-plan! What a dastardly filthy idea. With Lady Grey, Astor and Rothwell''s skin in the game, there was no way the scheme could be a scam. If so, then the early crow gets the latest chapter of the Count of Montecristo!

    Gwen turned to Cribbage once more.

    "You see? I do not need tricks." Gwen gave the shivering man a look of unadulterated wickedness. "Let us make something very, very clear, Mister Cribbage. You sell your paper, and I''ll sell mine. You can put any old pile of horse shit into your paper, and I''ll put the truth, or its nearest, verifiable facsimile. I don''t need threats to evolve past your outdated business model, and I certainly don''t need you or your backer''s permission to operate. Come at me again with anything less than complete courtesy, and a raging Thunder Wyvern or a berserk Construction Golem will be the least of your worries, capeesh?"

    Somewhere, a Dwarven Alchemist burst into rip-roaring laughter.

    As for Ravenport, the final, non-sensical Italian was too much for the Duke of Norfolk, and he had to turn his head to hide his delight even as Cribbage stuttered and mumbled.

    His mirth aside, however, what worried him was that despite everything, extrinsic details had slipped through the cracks. He knew almost too much about the METRO, the printing press and their beef with the Herald Sun. He even knew what volume two of the Count of Monte Cristo entailed well ahead of the public.

    But he had heard nothing of note about the ink, and little else in regards to the property development on the Isle of Dogs.

    Maybe, Ravenport looked around the garden; strangely, both of Gwen''s Familiars, as well as the duck, were missing.

    What if Morrigan''s hunch was right? He wondered.

    What if, indeed, the duck was a way of breaking through to the girl''s inner circle?

    4th July 2005

    London, Westminster.

    From the subject''s internal filing, the circulation of the METRO is currently distributing between 450,000 to 500,000 copies per week.

 Interlude - A Ducks Tale

    Caw¡ª

    Caw¡ª Caw¡ª

    Caw¡ª Caw¡ª Caw!

    The ubiquitous crooning of Corvids at dusk was such an emblematic feature of London that it possessed the same ambience as vomiting drunks on Friday night.

    With the sun fled and the lightless sky overcast with impending showers, the Tower''s infamous murders flocked overhead, hopping from rooftop to rooftop, observing a swaggering trio of Magical Beasts sauntering away from Mudchute Farm.

    Under normal circumstances, the farm''s fences, not to mention its small battalion of Wolfhounds, would have prevented the entry or exit of magical fauna. These, however, were no mortal monsters.

    One was a Pseudo Kirin fed on the Essence of a True Dragon and a primordial Tree Serpent, made mobile aerially by blessings no terrestrial mongoose could match.

    Another was a Void beast, a thing of bottomless hunger that Consumed its way into possessing both form and ego, a deathless fiend even the Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar would think thrice about accosting.

    The final member of the swag-posse was a duck that drank the milk of paradise and was now near-escaping the mortal coil, a mathematician and a lord of larceny cowing the students on Emmanuel''s campus.

    It was with great interest then that Morrigan divided her murder so that a flock of Corvids observed the Familiars, while the rest kept their eyes on Mudchute, where her principal observation subject was in the midst of orally flagellating the Editor-in-chief of the Herald Sun.

    What dastardly evils could the Familiars and the duck be dreaming? Morrigan burned with curiosity.

    In a row, lead by Dede, the creatures strolled into Millwall.

    "Quack!" Dede raised a wing when he passed the Soup Kitchen. As with the construction site not far from Millwall''s inner dock, the suburb burned the midnight oil. The clinic''s patron, Elvia Lindholm, had secured funding from her new masters at the Order of the Bath and had expanded operations of late. Subsequently, "Evee''s Clinic" and the "Our Lady Elvia''s Soup Kitchen and Shelter" now operated twenty-four hours, drawing vagrants from far and wide.

    Outside the clinic, Morrigan observed Gwen''s predatory recruiters loitering about with pamphlets printed by the press, ready to seduce the honest swagman into dishonest work.

    "Oi there, lass. Had a good feed, ''ave we?" The rat-faced men dressed in the navy-blue uniforms of the Isle of Dogs Redevelopment Project, or IoDRP, would burst into bouts of capitalist evangelism. "Would yer like a job, feller? Full-time and all yer got ter do''s hand out papers, don''t even have to sell em! You there, lad, you look like you could shoulder a barrel of ink no problem, how about some gainful employment?"

    More often than not, the churning maw of the press lured men and women from the surrounding boroughs into its depth, emerging attired in blue, confused and weighed down with work.

    "Dede Duck! Mister Cali and Ariel!" The cries of children echoed in the night before emerging into the floodlight like a swarm of moths. Morrigan marvelled as the children began to dance around the trio, with Ariel emerging the clear favourite. That these kids weren''t afraid of the Familiars gave the Sprite food for thought as to whether Caliban thought of the children as food.

    Several of the children climbed onto Caliban, who hissed at them, sending the laughing kids scattering into the clinic before they emerged again, challenging one another to climb the snake.

    Dede stood regally, observing the children, possibly considering the consequences of swallowing one wholesale.

    "Yer Snots! Buzz off!" came a cry from the rumbling dark as a pair of headlights approached. From the rolling dust emerged a Dwarven Apprentice astride a Work Golem. "Don''t play ed de road, yer Gobs! Do you want ter be stepped-on? Oh¡ª"

    "Quack! Quack!"

    "Alright, alright, I didn''t see yer duckness there." the Golem took a detour, churning up blocks of dark mud and construction debris as its three-claw toes sunk into the soft earth.

    The kids blew raspberries at the Dwarf as the Golem passed.

    Morrigan was just about to croon about the audacity of these NoM Goblins when a heavy-set nurse built like a Dwarven matron burst from the clinic with a booming cry.

    "WHY ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR DORMS?!" the NoM woman''s voice may or may not have been naturally empowered with Clarion Call. "BACK! BACK YA GET! I SAID NOW, BILLY!"

    The kids fled.

    The woman, Morrigan saw, was the mistress of the orphanage now operating behind the clinic. Despite the rising land price, the subject had gifted the lease to a block of land for her friend Elvia''s charitable endeavours.

    "Terribly sorry, yer Familiarships." The woman scraped and bowed.

    "Quack!" Dede fossicked inside the feathered breast, then tossed an HDM at the woman. "Quack!"

    The NoM caught the crystal, bowed again, then retreated.

    "Shaa Shaa!"

    "EE!" The Familiars approved of the duck''s generosity.

    "Quack!" Dede raised its head high.

    "Shaa Shaa!"

    "EE!"

    After a round of self-congratulations, the trio continued on their way. Puzzled as to their destination, Morrigan set a crow overhead.

    Billingsgate Market! She realised at once when the crow cleared the dock''s warehouses. At night was when the fishing fleet arrived at Canary to offload the fresh produce. Were these creatures on their way to pilfer the fishermen''s hard-won labours?

    Just as she wondered how the trio hoped to reach the market, Dede took flight, its wing-span almost two meters in length, dwarfing that of her Corvid spies. Ariel took to the air by stepping on invisible steps, allowing its sibling to coil around its torso to catch a ride.

    Near the lower dock at Billingsgate, Blackwall, the scent of fish guts churning the Thames polluted the atmosphere with the stench of bacteria busy at decomposition. There, the Familiars landed, much to the shock of the fishermen and the workmen busy cleaning the night''s catch.

    "Quack!" Dede informed them that there was no cause for alarm, then took his companions toward the fishery.

    "Your lordships!" The shopkeep, who must have recognised who these creatures belonged to, hailed them. "Are ya here to purchase fish for her Ladyship?"

    "Quack!" Dede waddled closer. "Quack! Quack!"

    "One moment." The man bowed. "Hey, you lot! Can anyone use Speak with Animals or Tongues?"

    "I''ll get me-Missus, she''s a Diviner!" someone shouted from one of the bobbing ships swaying in the flickering dark.

    Morrigan circled the docks as the men who were resting on their vessels disembarked to observe the spectacle of the "Familiars" running errands. This time of the night, the area churned with activity, with both Mages and NoMs swarming over the fresh catch. As for why they remained unfazed by the Familiars, Morrigan suspected it was because they were wearing bowties. Without doubt, these were educated Familiars.

    A few minutes later, a young woman in rubber boots and a bloody apron rushed down from one of the larger ships.

    "Your honours." The woman curtsied. "How can Fawsitt''s be of service?"

    "Quack! Quack!"

    "Of course." The woman turned to her foreman. "Bring out the fresh catch from tonight."

    The men soon produced several carts laden with fish.

    "Quack! Quack!" Dede patrolled the produce. "Quack!"

    "Six Sea Bass, Three Rainbow Bream and four kilos of the Ivory Scallops, de-shelled and cleaned!" the woman hollered.

    While the men worked, there was an awkward silence. Once someone weighed the fishes, she demurely delivered the price.

    "That''s 17 HDMs and 11 LDMs, milords¡­"

    "Quack!"

    Caliban rose to its full height. Just before the seamen could holler blue murder, it coughed up a fistful of HDMs covered in grey goo.

    "Quack!" Dede counted the crystals, then pushed them forward.

    "¡­ you want them bagged?" the Diviner chose not to question her good fortune.

    Morrigan withdrew from her crows, feeling a little faint. There was the matter of training Spirit-Affinity through Humanisation, but what the hell was this? Why was a duck, a Void Fiend and a Kirin buying fish?

    Also, how did Caliban cough up the right change?

    In her mind''s eye, across the docklands, the creatures'' Master was now painting for the crowd a picture of a Millwall and Cubitt studded with skyscrapers and new residential apartments.

    When her attention returned, the snake, duck and Kirin had finished eating.

    The scallops were for Dede, while Ariel had the Bream. Caliban must have swallowed its meal wholesale, for there was nothing left but an empty cart.

    Maybe they''re returning to the Party now? Morrigan studied the fish carcasses. It was impossible for a duck to de-flesh a third-tier deep-sea fish with scales like steel plates, but Dede was able to peck part the fish with the ease of eating peas.

    To her mortification, the trio''s adventure continued. With Dede leading, the creatures continued to stroll toward Blackwall''s night market, with the NoMs and the occasional late-working Mage sparing the trio a wide berth. Here and there, someone recognised the subject''s Familiars, for the Void Sorceress'' generosity on the Isle of Dogs ranged far, drawing labourers widely from London''s Tower Hamlets.

    Once inside the bustling night-market, the crows watched with fascination as Dede continued to dispense HDMs, trading with the locals for everything from hot plates of fish and chips to buckets of beer. From one seller, the duck bought the entire pot of spicy crawdads and gobbled the lot with Ariel. Afterwards, Caliban ingested the rest, stock-pot and all.

    Then somewhere in the chaos, the duck and its gang of Familiars found something else of interest¡ª a little girl in yellow Wellies and a pastel pink rain jacket. Morrigan had noted the girl earlier, who seemed to be lost or at least looking for someone. The market was bustling this time of night, with hundreds of fishmongers pushing the day''s produce onto London''s restauranteurs. The lass looked local, though it was without doubt that a little girl was out of place in a square stinking of decaying fish. The girl was cute, Morrigan decided, but exceptionally common.

    "Quack?" Dede turned its head intelligently. The girl looked about nine or ten, barely as tall as the duck that now questioned her. "Quack?"

    This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    "Ee!" Ariel swished its tail, patting the girl on the head as if to ask if she''s alright. Beside it, Caliban drooled spicy hot sauce.

    "Hello Mister Duck¡­" the girl looked up at the enormous duck with its rainbow-hued feathers. "And Mister Monsters."

    "Quack!"

    "Ee!"

    "Shaa!"

    "Oh, me? I am looking for my cat, Mittens" the girl explained. "She always runs away when fresh fish is arriving."

    "Quack?"

    "You want to help find Mittens?" The girl guessed at the duck''s intent.

    In contrary to the girl''s belief, what Dede had said was "Get out of my way, peasant". It was a very duck thing to say, who were rude bastards compared to her Corvids.

    "Thanks, Mister Duck!" the girl hugged the enormous waterfowl.

    "Quack!" Dede replied the avian equivalent of, "Don''t touch me, you Plebeian!"

    "Okay, I think Mittens went this way!" the girl patted the duck on the snout. "Look for a Mittens this big. She''s got short stumpy legs, a black patch on one eye, and a brown patch on her tail."

    For a nervous second, Morrigan considered calling on Ravenport, for the duck looked as though it was seriously considering eating the NoM.

    "Quack!

    "EE!"

    "Shaa!"

    The other two reminded Dede that it was bad to harm humans.

    "Quack¡­" Dede waddled after the girl as she skipped away. Up above, Morrigan furrowed her avian brows. Was this turning into a kidnapping incident? If Dede pulverised the ignorant girl by accident, who would take responsibility?

    Her worries were for moot, for the foursome ran circles around the market until the NoM girl grew too tired to walk. Frustrated, she sat on the steps on a fishmonger''s warehouse and began to sob, complaining that someone might have abducted her cat.

    "EE!" Ariel was up in arms.

    "Shaa!" Caliban likewise hollered.

    "Quack!" Dede patted the NoM child on the head. "Quack!"

    Seeing the trio so dejected, Morrigan decided she could perhaps do the duck a favour. After all, if she wanted Dede in her murder at a future date, it was good to establish diplomatic ties early on.

    Caw¡ª

    Caw¡ª Caw¡ª

    Caw¡ª Caw¡ª Caw!

    A conflagration of dark feathers flocked overhead.

    Ten minutes later, Morrigan found her mark.

    There was a man putting cages into the back of a van not far from the market. She could sense that the man was a low-tier Evoker, one possessing just enough skill to be a pest-controller. Monster Catchers, the locals called them, a Mage variation of the traditional Rat-Catcher, a sort of bounty hunter who hunted small fauna that had grown used to the Tower''s Shielding oscillation. Presently, the man had a dozen cages worth of wild beasts, both mundane and quasi-magical. Most places like Fish Market and the city''s abattoirs hired such individuals, for the abundance of blood and offal attracted all kinds of nasties down in the sewers. Inside the van, near the outer row of cages, Morrigan spotted the girl''s cat, meowing away.

    Some distance away, a crow landed in front of the crying girl and her trio of frustrated animals.

    "Caw! Caw!"

    "Quack?"

    "Caw!"

    "Quack!" Dede pointed at the alleyway her crow had indicated. "Quack!"

    "Shaa!"

    "Ee!"

    "Is that where Mitten''s gone?" the girl ran after the hopping crow.

    Morrigan suspected having the little girl confront a scallywag Evoker over the matter of a cat might not be the best idea¡ª until she reminded herself this wasn''t her rodeo, but Dede''s. If Dede could swat down Elite Mages attending Cambridge, why would it fear a mere Monster Catcher? Likewise, it had a Void Fiend and a Kirin to back it up¡ª both lacked the means to activate their Combat Forms, lest Gwen calls them back, but dealing with a mere goon was no object.

    Just in case the man drove off without the girl finding him, she sent crows to harass the Evoker. As expected, the scoundrel was quick to pull a few Magic Missiles at her birds, resulting in her creature fleeing the scene imbued with her shadow magic.

    "MITTENS!" the little girl cried out the moment she burst onto the scene of the swearing Monster Catcher. "Mittens is in that cage! The bad man has her!"

    "Stand back!" the man growled, having just fought off a murder of crows¡ª and everyone knew just how unlucky it was to be accosted by crows in London. "Nonsense, young lady, here is a... Sumerian Dagger-Toothed Tiger! Albeit a young one. It''ll take off your hand in one bite!"

    "No! That''s Mittens!" the NoM lass insisted. "Give her back!"

    The man glanced behind her, then gulped. "Jesus Christ, that''s a fat duck."

    From her rooftop vantage, Morrigan could see that Dede had arrived on the scene to act as the distraction while the other Familiars circled from behind.

    Pack tactics! The Sprite marvelled. How did the duck learn this?

    "Quack!" Dede demanded the return of the cat so he could get on with it. To lubricate the process, it rummaged in its chest feathers for another HDMs crystal and tossed it at the Evoker''s feet.

    The Monster Catcher picked up the HDM and took a bite with his good teeth, testing the hardness. When the crystal proved to be real, the man eyed the duck, then slowly wetted his parched lips.

    Morrigan recognised the bloodshot look in the man''s eyes.

    Here was not a man marvelling at a duck tossing an HDM, but a man wondering if there were more HDMs inside the duck. Granted, a duck of Dede''s size could probably hide a small fortune.

    The little girl approached, heedless of the Evoker''s expression, her small hands reaching for Mitten''s cage, who was now meowing frantically.

    "Is this your duck, lassie?" the man may as well have "villain" stamped on his forehead.

    "Give Mittens back!" the girl demanded. "She''s mine!"

    Morrigan could see the hunter looking around. He and the girl were alone¡ª not in the sense that no one was watching from the small townhouse windows surrounding the alley, but that there was no one to stop the man from taking what he wanted.

    He glanced at the back of his van, only quarter-filled with dead and dying Monsters, then at the giant, HDM producing rainbow duck.

    Life for a Monster Catcher was hard, this Morrigan knew. On a good day, there were enough Magical Creatures in the sewers to eat you alive. On a bad day, the monsters had their meal.

    Unsurprisingly, the man chose to grasp this unlikely opportunity.

    "Girl, tell your duck to get in the can, and I''ll give you back your cat," the man promised.

    The girl glanced at Dede, then back toward the Evoker. "No!"

    The man materialised a catcher-pole from his Storage Ring. "Not your duck? I am afraid that duck is a public hazard. I''ll have to take it into custody."

    The little girl must have grown afraid, for she released her grip and began to shout that Dede needed to flee. Morrigan wondered why the man thought it was a good idea to catch a creature as conspicuous as Dede, but then again, human greed had lead to absurder and stranger acts by far.

    "Come on, now.'' The Evoker edged closer to Dede, its catcher-pole primed and ready to wrangle the duck by the neck. "Be a good duck now and¡ª Whoa!"

    CLANG!

    With one swipe of its wing, Dede deformed the hollow pole with the attached claw. When the Evoker attempted to use the bent head to snag Dede''s neck, it pecked at the mechanism, tearing apart the metal as though it were paper.

    "Jesus Christ!" The Catcher allowed the pole to fall when Dede tore the thing from his grasp with force rivalling a CQB Mage imbued with Ogre''s Strength.

    Crunch!

    With a stomp, the duck crushed the pole underfoot. "Quack!"

    "Little ducker¡ª!" The Catcher swore. Pulling back, he instantly erected a Mage Shield, then buffed himself. "Enhanced Strength!"

    Perhaps it was dark, or maybe the man just wasn''t that smart, but he did not notice as Morrigan did that the pavement under the drake''s webbed feet fissured.

    When Dede did not attack, the man raised a hand in warning. "You better come quietly, duck. Don''t make this harder for either of us. I work for the Tower."

    "Mittens! Mittens!" The little girl, perhaps realising she had one chance, frantically pulled at the cage piled on top of a row of other pens. Thanks to the Catcher''s preoccupation with a colossal duck, she managed to climb up to the second row before her luck ran out.

    With a sound of warping wires, the whole rack began to backslide, sending the animals inside tumbling toward her.

    "Quack!" The Catcher didn''t care, for the girl was neither his child nor his liability. The duck, however, did fancy itself responsible for the human it had inadvertently adopted.

    "EE!" A flash of light, quick as a flaring lumen-bulb on a recorder, turned the alleyway momentarily quicksilver. When Morrigan''s crows regained their sight, Ariel in its Ermine-Kirin form stood beside the van, the little girl half-caught in its mouth, while a small mountain of cages fell over its robust body.

    The Catcher turned to look at the Kirin.

    The man''s eye lit up with undisguised eagerness. "Well, I''ll be damned¡ªWhat''s a thing like you doing here in London? Do you have an owner?"

    "EE!" Ariel shrieked in warning, sounding as cute as ever.

    Morrigan seriously began to doubt the Catcher''s survival rate. Was the idiot thinking of catching Ariel for a reward, perhaps selling it to one of the local syndicates who would inevitably present it for auction in the Grey Market? Still, even without having seen the IIUC, common sense dictates that this was a powerful Mage''s Familiar. Can''t the man see that here was a Kirin! A chimeric Draconic being! Did he have cabbage for brains? Did he write for the Herald Sun?

    "EE!"

    From his Storage Ring, the man produced yet another catcher-pole. This time, Morrigan could see that it was a magical device, one with a Glyph that caused paralysis and numbness when the barbed mouth closed. Against mundane Magical Creatures lucky enough to survive the resonance, it would work wonders.

    "Quack!" Dede told Ariel to get back. The Familiar belonged to the subject and would get into trouble if it dismembered a human in the centre of London. As for Dede, he was a wild, proud and free-living Magical Creature, or so Morrigan discerned; that and there was no crime in acting in self-defence.

    "Buzz Off!" The Evoker snapped at Dede, fearful that the cute dog-thing would escape while he fended off the overlarge duck.

    When Dede aimed for his pole again, the man lost his temper.

    "Magic Missile!" Three shrieks of unerring mana shot toward Dede''s chest.

    SPAK! SPAK! SPAK!

    Dede swatted aside the missiles without blinking. "Quack!"

    The Monster Catcher''s eyes almost popped out of their swollen sockets. In his carelessness, his pole went wide, near grazing the little girl were it not for Ariel jousting the claws with its horns.

    "EE!" Ariel grunted as the paralysis sorcery struck. Its fur bristled¡ª Morrigan could imagine the Monster Catcher becoming a human pin-cushion in the next second.

    "Shit!" The Catcher erected a Shield again, but this time, his Mage Shield failed to form a semi-dome.

    Caw¡ª!

    Caw¡ª! Caw¡ª!

    Morrigan crows hollered blue murder, flocking into the skies.

    The Monster Catcher turned to examine what had blocked his Shield.

    "SHAA¡ªSHAA!" Morrigan felt every hair on her scalp stand on end as the monstrous Void Fiend exploded forth from the darkness, its segmented body tearing open to reveal a multitude of tentacles. With a splatter of grey saliva, Caliban smothered the man from head to toe with non-digestive juices.

    "ARRRRGH¡ª! ARRRRRGH¡ª!" The man began to scream.

    "AEEEEE!" The little girl screamed as well.

    "MEORRRWL! WEEEEERARAGH!" Mittens fought the cage, determined to do or die in an attempt to escape. The other animals, from foxes to dogs to hedgehogs that wandered into the wrong borough, raged within the van''s caged confines, fighting the barriers, fighting one another.

    "Quack! Quack!" Dede added a much-needed percussion.

    "EE! EE¡ª! EE¡ª!" And Ariel added the castrato vocals.

    "SHAA¡ª SHAA¡ª SHAA¡ª" Caliban began its aberrant serenade, joining the choir of madness.

    "Caw! CAW¡ª!" The sound of crooning crows added the final touch to the Magical Creature variation of Dante Alighieri''s Virgil falling to hell, reified by a hundred frantic string-segments.

    When finally Caliban''s tendril forced open the man''s clenched mouth for a sloppy, spicy-crawdad kiss, the Monster Catcher''s sanity evaporated.

    From above, Morrigan watched the man go limp.

    Dede pecked open the cage as though it were paper. The cat was now catatonic, though that was beside the point. In the sobbing girl''s arms, Dede deposited the limp feline.

    In the distance, the sound of police sirens added to the chaos.

    "Quack!" Dede pointed toward the Isle of Dogs, indicating that they should split post-haste. With practised expertise, Caliban mounted onto Ariel, then the trio made their escape into the night, trailed by a murder of curious crows.

    Her remaining Corvid looked down at the foaming Catcher and the confused, crying girl. Feeling overwhelmed by inexplicable fatigue, Morrigan sighed. The Familiars were gone, but someone had to waffle-stomp the shit stain they left behind.

    A split-second later, Morrigan assumed control of the crow.

    "Hey you," she addressed the girl, who was on the verge of hysteria after her allies fled, leaving her with a van full of hooting animals and a nasty bloke that even now twitched involuntarily.

    The girl looked up with large, liquid eyes. "Birdie?"

    "Yes, tis I, birdie." Morrigan nodded her avian head intelligently.

    "Where did Mister Duck go? I just wanted to find Mittens¡­"

    The child''s mental elasticity in facing otherworld horrors was nothing short of incredible. Hopping on to the girl''s shoulder, she patted the girl on the head. "What''s your name, child?"

    "Sandy."

    "Sandy, when the police get here, I want you to say nothing. I''ll take care of it, and after that, the nice officers will take you home, okay?"

    "Okay." Sandy nodded. "Is Mitten going to be okay?"

    Morrigan examined the cat. Physically, the cat was okay. Mentally, the cat had screamed out all nine of its lives.

    "I don''t think Mittens will be running away again," she assured the girl.

    It took only a few more minutes for two officers to alight from a squad car. Following protocol, the two advanced into the alleyway with wands raised, their off-hands operating hovering Light Globes.

    "MPS! Hands and Wands on the floor!" the leading officer, a Senior Sergeant, flicked off the safety on his Baton-wand. "Move away from the body!"

    Morrigan''s crow watched while Sandy turned, the girl''s face ashen from the sight of two armed officers.

    "It''s a little girl¡­ with a cat," the Senior Sergeant identified their culprit. "I see the victim. I think it''s the local Monster Catcher."

    "Right." The second officer lowered his wand. "Little girl, did you do this?"

    "Caw!" Morrigan flapped her wings to catch their attention. "No need for alarm, Officers. You''re speaking to a Tower Crow, Officer Code: TC21319. Watchword ''Raven''s Loft''. The girl''s with me and the man''s alive, just unconscious. He''s a smuggler who has been kidnapping local pets. Just check his van and his home, and you''ll find what you need."

    "Sarge." The younger man gulped. "Is she one of them Tower Crow Mages?"

    The older man packed away his Baton-Wand, then swatted the youngster on the helmet. "That''s Magus to you, dimwit. Sorry, Ma''am, do you mind if we run your ID code?"

    "Go ahead."

    The Senior Sergeant took a moment to communicate with Scotland Yard. When the Message returned, he bowed, as did the younger man. "Lord Magister, how may we be of service?"

    "Take this girl and her cat home," Morrigan commanded, indicating with her beak. "I have business elsewhere."

    "Yes, Ma''am." The men bowed again.

    "Sandy, go with them."

    "Okay, birdie." The little girl quickly ran into the officer''s open arms.

    "Don''t you worry, Miss Sandy, we''ll see you home," the Seargent explained. "Have a good night, Ma''am."

    Morrigan nodded her avian head at the officers. "Goodnight, officers."

    The sergeant and the constable saluted.

    Morrigan retracted her mind.

    That wasn''t at all how she had hoped to contact the duck, but what was done was done. If her Master would allow it, all that''s left was to cement the bond of Corvid and Drake.

 Chapter 378 - Gwen Song Observation Diary Part III

    Tuesday, 5th of July 2005

    London, Westminster.

    Project Mockingbird is nearing completion, and Iris Robertson has delivered the manuscript to the subject. A copy of the document has been obtained for your pleasure.

    "Dear Fifth Cabal," read the page inside the manuscript''s jacket. "I have made this copy available for the birdies always watching outside.

    ¡ª From your friends at Westferry METRO Printing Press."

    Ravenport snorted.

    The girl had quite the imagination.

    Nonetheless, despite this latest elucidation, the moniker of "Mockingbird" still made Ravenport wary. That was why, when his real work was finished, the Duke materialised the manuscript to check for insurgent details.

    If need be, members of Westminster''s Parliament may move motions to ban books. Any such action, however, was sure to raise hell among The Commons. Even her Majesty who rarely took a stance frowned on the notion of book burning, for during the Great War, a great many pigeon-winged grimoires penned by Necromancy partisans were destroyed to satisfy the Accord.

    Still, the more Ravenport masticated the prose within this "To Kill a Mockingbird", the more he felt the suspicion of something unspeakable coming to pass.

    At the same time, he couldn''t quite place his finger on the ley-line.

    Running his thumb across the spine of the stapled manuscript, he flipped through the finger-thick novella once more. Within the ghostwriter''s vision of the girl''s avian tale, there were three Mages by the avian name Finch¡ª the Father, Henrik; the son, James; and the youngest, a little girl called Allie living in post-Tide Sydney''s regional Frontier. Henrik was an Arbiter, a Pan-European War veteran-widower who had immigrated to Sydney, only to catch the full brunt of the Tide. The story, strangely enough, was not told from the perspective of Henrik but narrated through the deceptively observant voice of Allie, a future Fire Transmuter with great potential. In the first section of the novel, the kids hunted Gobs and amused themselves with their friend''s imaginary Quests, causing no end of trouble around the outback township. Their live-action roleplay, unfortunately, progressed into demeaning a half-dumb local veteran with crippling trauma from the war. When finally the Henrik caught wind of the kids'' actions, he schooled his children with this to say:

    "You''ll never really understand a person, be they NoM or Mage ''til you consider things from their point of view¡ª ''til you walk a mile in their shoes."

    It was a good analogy, though Ravenport suspected that as the father possessed the might of a Magister, he could have meant Polymorph.

    As the plot progressed, the kids went to Primary School and befriended NoMs for the first time. When James brought an NoM girl home for dinner, Allie insulted the girl, then bespoke that James'' companion, "Isn''t anything at all, she''s just an NoM." To Ravenport''s distaste, it was then the family''s NoM nanny, Old Goolagong, who gave Allie a tongue-lashing with the full support of father Finch.

    There were many such highlights in the novel, including one that stayed with Ravenport. It was an interlude incident involving a raving mad Abyssal Goose that roved into town, sending the guards to flee. In the end, it was Henrik who emerged from their house to wrangle the beast with his sorcery, teaching the kids that though violence is a solution to most problems¡ª it should never be the only solution. There was a "spell" of the hand and a "spell" of the heart¡ª and one must never lose sight of why God gave a Mage his or her "gift".

    The primary plot then opened midway in the sense of an NoM labourer accused of attempted rape after she showed him kindness. At first, the kids were appalled, until their father revealed that he was the Arbiter defending said NoM. When the kids experienced the derogatory truncation of being "NoM-Lovers" at school, the father told them that "''NoM'' is a foul and ugly label''" and that "NoM-Lover is a term used by ignorant, trashy people."

    Once more, Ravenport felt that within the book''s perfectly reasonable prose, there existed an air of sedition.

    Eventually, after defending the NoM with his life and having James and Allie dissuade an angry mob of low-tier Mages from tearing the NoM limb-from-limb, the climax struck in the courtroom, and it was this particular segment that gave the Duke of Norfolk the heebie-jeebies.

    In court, the father of the victim demanded nothing less than a live lynching of the "yonder NoM" who was "rutting my Mary." Yet, through Divination, hard evidence and tack-sharp cross-examination, Henrik managed to prove beyond doubt that it was the father himself that had caught Mary flirting with the man, and then in a fit of insane, petty rage, aberrantly abused his child.

    Then, with the full and disgusting picture revealed, the case came down to a jury of Magic-wielding peers serving in the local militia. There, despite the impossibility of an NoM overpowering the teenage Transmuter and clear evidence of the father''s sins, the Mages voted against the NoM. When the kids asked in the aftermath if dingoes had fled with the court''s justice, the father had this to say.

    "There''s something in our society that makes the Magic-wielding folk lose their heads¡ª and for that, they couldn''t see past their noses if they tried. In our courts, when it''s a Mage''s word against a NoM''s, the Mage always wins. It always takes a Mage to fight a Mage¡ª a sad fact of life. The Empire''s courthouse is a place were a Mage and a Non-Magical Human is equal, but a court is only as sound as its jury, and the jury is only as sound as the Mages who make it. I have already used every tool available to save Thomas, Allie¡ª but in the secret courts of Mages'' hearts, Thomas was dead the moment her father heard Mary hollering."

    Curiously, that was not the end of the novel. During the case, Henrik publically made Bob into a pariah. In his rage, Bob sought revenge by attacking Jame and Allie. Though young, the just-Awakened James held off the foul-mouthed Evoker just enough for a saviour to arrive, preventing Allie from her first live-burning. As to that saviour, it was the veteran who the kids earlier mocked.

    In the aftermath, there was one more poignant allegory for the kids to learn.

    "It''s a sin to kill a mockingbird. They don''t do one thing except for miming our voice and singing their hearts out. That''s why its a sin to kill a mockingbird."

    Finally, in the epilogue, Henrik went on to become a Tower Master, James became his Paladin, and Allie took up a life of service fighting against exploitive and malignant Mages exploiting NoMs as a firebrand sorceress.

    As a bystander reading between the fictive lines, Ravenport felt an indescribable sense of passive oppression. One for the plot''s heartrending description of the quality of life NoMs experienced after the Tide, and two for the fact that the book was a blatant attempt at altering Kilroy''s legacy.

    But more than that, what Ravenport mulled over was what the story represented of the girl''s innate views on the Mageocracy.

    For someone like Ravenport, the Non-Magical Human population was a fact of life in the same manner serfdom was a fact of the medieval Empire. All around Terra, the Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar had the Tr??lvor; the Deepdowners had the Murk Dwellers; the Trolls ruled the Hobs, and the Hob ate the Gobs who ate the Snots. Therefore, it was well-within the Chain of Being that Mages were superior to NoMs, despite NoMs giving birth to Mages.

    As to who gets chosen, who awakens and what wild magic emerges, the "gift" of arcanistry was a force majeure in the same manner as the Beast Tides. Of course, Humanity had since gained some control over incidence and occurrence of such things, but the fact remained that a dual-element Lightning-Void Sorceress could be born from a renowned Salt Mage and a low tier Evoker.

    Was this why religion remained so entrenched? Ravenport mused himself.

    Nonetheless, the girl''s propensity for NoM welfare fed the Duke of Norfolk food for thought.

    As a subject who was shaping up as the Mageocracy''s "Vorpal Sword", it only made sense that the Mageocracy sheathed her in a jewelled scabbard. A naked blade was, after all, a danger to oneself, no matter how skilled the wielder.

    Politically speaking, the girl''s actions aligned strongly with the socialist members of the Labour Party. She appeared to believe that indeed, NoMs were "Equal" both abstractly, socially and economically to the Mage.

    Yet unlike the inward-turning Leftists, she was a right-winged economist. Within the Mageocracy''s political spectrum, only the Grey Faction''s most ardent members believed in total economic integration on a global scale with Demi-humans. Of which Gwen had already demonstrated by using a Chinese-Burmese True Dragon''s hoard as her piggy bank, as well as integrating Dwarven technology into her and the Tower''s businesses.

    How could the silly girl hope to reconcile these two extremes when arguably, for most Demi-humans, Mages were a food that fought back and therefore demanded recognition, while NoMs were food, full-stop? What would happen when she forges a blood-bound alliance with a Clan of Draconoids who hunted Humans for sport? What if she had to choose between all-out war with a Vampire Count leaving or leaving the NoMs as dumb, bipedal blood-cattle?

    For that, not even the Duke of Norfolk had answers, though he did look forward to the girls'' inevitable consternation.

    Thursday, 7th July 2005

    London, Westminster.

    A request has arrived from Trawsfynydd asking after the subject. I have forwarded the request to your official desk. RP.2143.323.00.1

    Monday, 11th July 2005

    London, Westminster.

    The subject has returned from visiting Knight-Initiate Lindholm in Battle. Between mid-July and October, Initiate Lindholm will be assigned to the 4th Expedition to Glenveagh, Northern Island, as a part of the Order''s annual duties against Fomorian aggression. Her Knight, Sir Mathias Rothwell, will be attending; together they make one of ten Ordo-attendants assigned to Lord Glenwell''s Forward Operating Base at Lough Beagh. Lady Grey has expressly warned the subject not to travel to Glenveagh lest she amplified Ireland''s problems.

    Friday, 15th July 2005

    Cambridge, Peterhouse.

    With the aid of Magister Brown and Major Kott, the following spells have been provisionally made available to the subject. The Shard has approved of the following variations.

    Lesser Sanguine Mantle

    Abjuration-Transmutation

    Casting Time: 81 Major

    Range: Self

    Components: Blood, Somatic

    Duration: Channelled

    For the original conversion by Henry Kilroy, see Sanguine Mantle. This unique variation of Sanguine Mantle only works with Demi-human and Magical Creatures. Derived from True Vampiric Thaumaturgy, the spell requires blood-letting as a part of its initial-invocation, either from the user or the caster''s opponent. Once manifested, the Mantle serves as a fully articulated heavy-tier armour, with a potency that increases with the caster''s Affinity in Abjuration. When in use, the armour remains in a semi-gel-like state as per the original, reacting instantly to incoming attacks, offering significant boosts to physical and elemental resistance, as well as spell-resistance. Users should beware that damage to the armour exhausts the plasma fed into the spell. Without means to replenish one''s vitality, self-inflicted exhaustion from blood loss will occur.

    Reactive Bone Shield

    Conjuration-Evocation

    Casting Time: 81 Major

    Range: Self

    Components: Creature Core, Somatic

    Duration: Until Dismissed

    For the original conversion, see Necromantic Archives for Bone Shield. This unique variation of Bone Shield is a modified alternative that cannot be fuelled by Human remains. Instead, it utilises etched Creature Cores to mimic the original invocation, allowing the caster to conjure forth articulated barriers formed of Elements unique to the material consumed. Once active, the reactive shield manifests a number of times approximately equating the caster''s tier of Affinity in Abjuration.

    Note: Of the two spells, Reactive Bone Shield was put into circulation in the Shard''s Grimoire, while Lesser Sanguine Mantle has made its mark as the subject''s Signature Spell.

    Sunday, 17th July 2005

    London, Westminster.

    The subject''s contingent of NoM accountants from Shanghai has arrived at Heathrow. Following quarantine procedures, the men and women received their visitation permits and relocated to the Isle of Dogs.

    "Morrigan." Ravenport briefly glanced at the dossier on each of the tier 1 city clerks. Like most Westerners, he was prone to Asian face-blindness, and so chose to rely on the judgement of his mistress of secrets. "Are there anything of note with these¡­ workers?"

    "They''re from the group responsible for bringing down the Tonglv triumvirate," Morrigan explained. "As far as NoMs go, their backgrounds are clean. Their previous employee, Professor James Ma, is a squib with little dealings outside of tertiary education and his more recent role acting as CCDI''s internal revenue auditor."

    Ravenport eyed the report once more. "This is unprecedented."

    "It is rather unusual," Morrigan agreed. "Forty-three expatriate NoMs moved from the Orient into the Empire in one week, and from a Communist nation no less."

    "I meant the cost." Ravenport tapped his fingers on the table. "Gwen spent over fifty thousand HDMs moving nameless NoMs from Shanghai to London. What kind of NoMs are worth that kind of money?"

    "They''re experienced professionals in their field."

    "We have analysts as well, here in the kingdom." Ravenport touched a finger to his temple to massage his throbbing head. "NoM auditors¡­ is she going to replicate Tonglv in London?"

    "That probability is high." Morrigan ran the numbers. "A reckoning of the Isle of Dog''s internal accounts may be nigh; our Mages are no less immune to skimming funds than the Orientals."

    Ravenport eyed another stack of reports he had yet to have time to decipher.

    "The land sales began last week," Morrigan reminded him. "If you recall, there was a double-page advert in the Metro and the Telegraph. The IoDRP sold its first allotment within twenty-four hours."

    "What''s the isle''s land value now?"

    "Approximately 578% since January, and rising."

    "Give me concrete numbers."

    "The Isle of Dog is a small peninsula." Morrigan conjured up a shadowy, illusory map. "But it now has the transport infrastructure rivalling that of a major hub in London. If we discount the inner dock and the printing press¡­"

    Morrigan pointed to the outer edges of Millwall, tracing her fingers along the seawall until she reached Cubitt Town. "¡­ there''s more than two decade''s worth of developments to be made. The apartment towers she proposed are also highly unorthodox. The filter rooms and the parking is underground, as expected, but the ground floor and the second floor will not serve as a foyer, but as shopfronts, cafes and restaurants adjoined by waterfront parklands."

    If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    "How much to purchase a two-bedroom suite overlooking the quay?" Ravenport furrowed his brows.

    "Between 25,000 HDMs to 45,000 HDMs off-the-plan, milord." The Sprite was quick with the mathematics. "Many of the NoMs in the area are selling their leaseholds to the highest bidder for thousands of HDMs, then purchasing homes outright adjacently in Rotherhithe and Greenwich."

    "¡­ Preposterous!" Ravenport breathed through clenched teeth.

    NoMs with HDM! What''s next? Mermen wanting to buy studios adjoining the Thame?

    To an NoM labourer who usually used the overinflated coin currency the state provided, a hundred HDMs were a veritable fortune, enough to keep a family of four fed for a year. Now, overnight, more than a hundred NoMs were moving out of Millwall with more HDMs than they would ever see in their lives. Was that a good thing, Ravenport wondered, or something that will bring the newly wealthy leasers untoward danger and misery? After all, it was one thing to possess so much HDMs, and another thing to be able to keep the proceeds.

    "Did you obtain a copy of their intake?"

    Morrigan made a strange face. "Milord¡­"

    The Sprite materialised a richly produced pamphlet hard-covered with Wildland vellum. "I passed a Message through the duck. Subsequently, Magister Eric Walken gave my crows one of these."

    Ravenport raised a critical brow, then ran his finger over the cover. There was an illusion-Glyph embedded into the vellum, one that activated once he sent a jolt of mana into the parchment.

    Instantly, a scene of the Isle of Dogs choked full of gleaming skyscrapers, gardens, terraces and parks came into view. Doubtlessly, a master Illusion-artisan had meticulously crafted the faux-skyline.

    "Interesting." He opened the first page.

    A flood of information popped into existence, hovering over the inscribed vellum.

    "The subject calls this an ''Infographic''," Morrigan explained. "It is a little amazing."

    In the next moment, the illusory sorceress'' sultry voice began her siren''s song.

    "The Isle of Dogs Restoration Projection Corporation presents its first integrated, Illusion-infused Quarterly Report to communicate how our business operates. Within this report, you will find fact-checked, internally-audited performance metrics, as well as an introduction to our prospects¡ª know that always, transparency is the isle''s watchword..."

    The scene changed, switching to a headshot of the subject in a grided window, next to her, Ravenport recognised the faces of Maxine Loftus, Jane Rothwell, and Lucy Astor. In the fourth column, there was a handsome mien with a stag-horned head, who Ravenport could only assume to be Ruxin. The fifth column contained a fair of faces he recognised as the siblings from Yangon''s royal household.

    He turned the page.

    The visage of the girl smiled at him alluringly.

    "The Mageocracy in which we operate is rapidly changing. Many global trends, including urbanisation and magi-tech from both Dwarven and Elven sources, are reshaping the way Mages and our Non-Magical family across the Prime Material live their lives and build their homes..."

    "How do I skip this?"

    "Turn the page, milord."

    Ravenport turned the page. There was a number that popped up in emerald green, under which there was a smaller font.

    "¡­ 16.3 Million?" The Duke of Norfolk almost dropped the hardcover pamphlet.

    "That includes all forty units in the initial sale, including two discounted penthouse suites."

    The subject''s voice continued in the background. "To our esteemed investors, we would like to report that our profit after tax in the second quarter of 2005 is 9.5 Million HDMs¡­"

    "...What''s the girl''s share?"

    "Her consultancy rate is 1% of net." Morrigan''s eyes appear to glow in the dark. "Her stake in the IoDRP is 34%, though near all of it is technically owed to the Dragon Ruxin. She likewise has proxy control over Mayuree and Marong''s 4%."

    "She has generated 165,000 HDMs in six months?"

    "After Corporate and Individual Tax, milord, the subject has acquired between 100,000 to 110,000 HDMs."

    "9.5 Million HDMs¡­" Ravenport felt his pulse quicken. Last financial year, the entirety of Norfolk Estate''s income was a "mere" 4.75 Million HDMs, and most of it was spent on maintenance, reconstruction and public service. The amount that reached the estate''s coffers was less than 500,000 HDMs.

    Yet here, the untitled girl made in six months a quarter of the income of his entire estate! He was the Duke of Norfolk! He maintained properties from the edge of Hunstanton to the western reaches of Great Yarmouth! Of course, the estate wasn''t his only revenue stream, there were also the Royal Docks, the Grey Markets, Sotheby''s Auction House, proceeds from the Militant''s wars, so on and so on, but this was one girl! In six months! With no peerage or land!

    "Turn the page, milord." Morrigan appeared to be enjoying herself.

    Ravenport wondered if he should turn the page at all lest his hypertension acted up again, but did so anyway with the mind of a martyr.

    The girl''s smiling face and striking eyes appeared once more.

    "By 2010, we aim to generate a billion HDM in turnover¡­" her voice began.

    Ravenport snapped the vellum shut.

    One per cent of a billion crystals was ten million HDMs.

    At the bare minimum, the girl would be worth a million HDMs a year by 2010?

    If such a subject was to become the Master of a Crytal-forged Tower, what would her Majesty make of her? Ravenport felt his shirt grow clammy. A Tower Master with that kind of financial backing and that kind of personal income; had such a thing ever occurred in the history of the Mageocracy? How should his Faction react to such a being?

    Tuesday, 19th July 2005

    London, Isle of Dogs

    The subject has let it be known that "beta-testers" of the Dwarven Press will receive discounted ink and free mechanical service; late-comers will pay full fare. Together, including the Shard''s Archive Division, a total of 128 units have been ordered, including a ten-year loan contract with the Guardian Newspaper.

    Thursday, 21st July 2005

    London, Westminster.

    The Dwarven Captain, Hanmoul Bronzeborn, son of Dwomrul, kin to the Alchemist Yossari Vildrenbrandt, has arrived at the Isle of Dogs, bringing news of progress throughout the Murk. Though the tunnelling itself has progressed commendably, there were significant losses from both our Adventurers and the Dwarves'' Iron Guards. The subject has promised to convene with Hilda, a Deepdowner at a later date when an opportunity arrives.

    Saturday, 23rd July 2005

    Cambridge, Emmanuel College

    I am pleased to report that the murder previously involved in the Monster Catcher incident have befriended Dede. The duck''s greed has proven to be more acute than previously anticipated, which has made the creature susceptible to gastronomic and economic temptations. A suspicious Magister Brown has made enquiries through the Shard; though we have chosen not to disclose any unnecessary information.

    Monday, 25th July 2005

    London, Westminster.

    The METRO has reached 700,000 in circulation and has begun delivery to outer suburbs and shires around London. The paper''s continued publication of the Count of Monte Cristo has contributed significantly to the METRO''s success. As of this time, the paperback edition of the novel''s first volume has gone on sale together with "Mockingbird". Due to pressure from the Barlow Group, most of London''s chain-bookstores have chosen not to carry books from the Metro Press. However, the subject has retaliated by allowing both books to be sold by the three thousand odd NoMs distributing the METRO. Significant friction has resulted throughout the industry as a result.

    Tuesday, 2nd of August 2005

    Cambridge, Peterhouse

    Progress befriending the duck known as Dede continues. Though the creature''s original home is the Duck Ponds at Emmanuel, it has grown accustomed to following the subject to the Isle of Dogs. There, it has gained a popular following among the children at the orphanage, where it now acts as a foster-patron. The children have begun to call themselves "Children of the Duck". Milord, as yourself have sponsored orphans of the military, I do believe "The Crow Children" make an excellent moniker.

    On this day, Ravenport decided rewarding excess blood to Morrigan was a bad idea.

    Tuesday 9th of August 2005

    London, Westminster

    Milord, allow me to note that Trawsfynydd has continued to ask after the subject. Master Eldrin has enquired if he should send a contingent from the Diplomatic Corps. See MM 413.524.32.9

    Thursday, 11th of August 2005

    London, Westminster

    Phase II of the Isle of Dogs Redevelopment has started in Cubitt Town. The second high rise block will consist of 55 units split between 20 studios, 20 two-bedroom apartments, 13 three-bedroom apartments, two penthouse suites and 3,700 square meters of commercial space overlooking the now pristine inner dockland. The projected cost of the design rests at 837,000 HDMs, with another 200,000 in liquid capital preserved from Phase I profits.

    Wednesday, 17th of August 2005

    London, Westminster

    The Earl of Huntingdon and the Viscount Torrington of her Majesty''s Most Loyal Opposition have issued an injunction on the floor of the Upper House against "To Kill a Mocking Bird" on the grounds of its seditious allegory. Fierce contest has arisen from Her Majesty''s Government, lead by Dame Emilia Callaghan, Chief Whip, climaxing in a near-brawl on the parliament floor. The ghostwriter, Iris Robertson of Dublin, has refused all interviewers, leaving only the comment "Let the people judge." The Barlow Group''s backers, together with London''s major private publishers, are likely behind the move to shut down "The riotous press at Westferry".

    Ravenport rubbed his chin.

    As if he hadn''t got enough on his plate with the American upstarts in the Elemental Sea or the Lycanthropic tribes in the Niger Delta; now the House of Lords was pressuring his office to give up the dirt on Iris Robertson. Of course, he would if he could, but the NoM was a tool and not even the original wielder at that. What could the woman give up? Nothing but a waste of his time. Had the girl planned this, or was it a simple coincidence?

    Conversely, this French fellow, Victor Verne, was receiving attention like no other. Though he confessed to having composed the text from a "discovered, partial manuscript" with elements of "realism and historical research", the man was fast becoming a trending celebrity in the English and French-speaking world.

    "Morrigan, if any of the Militants do anything stupid to Iris Robertson, record everything, especially if Gwen gets involved."

    "I wouldn''t worry, milord, but I shall do as you ask."

    "And why is that?"

    "The writer currently resides on the Isle of Dogs," Morrigan replied. "A stone''s throw away from the Printing Press, there''s enough Mages and Dwarven Golems there to fend off one of your Queen''s best Griffin Flights. Dominic Lorenzo has also put safety measures in place for the subject''s pet author through the Cabals."

    "¡­ I see." Ravenport took a moment to gather his thoughts. Taking into account Eric Walken, Fabricator Golems, Lady Grey''s Kennel Master, the Chinese Mages permanently stationed on the Isle of Dogs and the students working odd jobs on-site, he really couldn''t imagine a scenario where a bully gang of sorcerous thugs broke down an author''s door. "Well then, carry on."

    Tuesday 23rd of August 2005

    London, Isle of Dogs

    The METRO has issued a double-page spread condemning the censuring of Mockingbird, together with signed petitions from the Labour protests. As a result of the parliament''s censure appearing throughout the Telegraph, Herald Sun, the Guardian and the METRO, sales have increased fifteen-fold. Internal documents from the subject''s press indicate that well over 64,000 copies have circulated.

    Ravenport sighed deeply.

    His political companions had truly raw-dogged the Cerberus by bringing this damn book of no-repute into public ill-repute. With "allies" like these, who needed enemies?

    Friday 26th of August 2005

    London, Westminster

    The debate over the book''s contents continued to rage, dividing opinions in both the Upper and Lower Houses. Chief Whip Callaghan has cited the impossibility of censoring a book now so widely in circulation and has invited her opposition to try and silence "the people".

    Monday, 5th September 2005

    Cambridge, Peterhouse

    Sales of "Mockingbird" has broken 100,000. Circulation of the Metro''s latest edition has broken 1,000,000 with a special edition promoting the book. Concurrently, the IoDRP has taken out multiple double-page spreads in the paper lauding the prospects of the Isle of Dogs with a public announcement that they will support NoM and Mage developments on the isle equally.

    Wednesday, 7th September 2005

    London, The Ritz Carlton by the Thames

    The subject has invited London''s high society to attend a celebratory banquet for the press''s recent achievements. Much of London''s community and its business leaders have responded to the invitations sent by Lady Grey, Lady Rothwell and Lady Astor. Scenes from the banquet have dominated the back pages.

    The Duke of Norfolk unfurled the Herald Sun, then sat back with a frown.

    He raised his brow at the third Elven master-crafted evening dress Gwen had displayed since returning from Elfhome, a lilac-pink piece blooming above the waist like a flower, leaving her neck and shoulders a little too bare for English sensibilities. Below her tapered waist, the train was a flowing river of Moonmoth silk glamoured to resemble dew-laden wisteria.

    He regarded the lacquer-panelled ceiling for a moment.

    Ravenport knew for a fact that the Herald Sun considered the girl their top-ten public foe. Yet, its editors, like Void Fiends, were instinct-driven to chomp at the bit when presented with Lumen-pics of beauties and celebrities. That the publication freely publicised the girl and her activities with gusto was, Ravenport supposed with consternation, a form of masochistic professionalism.

    Friday, 9th September 2005

    Cambridge, Peterhouse

    The Sixth Cabal continues to report troubles in the Yellow Sea, especially in the Kraken-infested Purple Zone between China, South Korea and Japan. The Mermen mentioned in the earlier report have become a significant menace. Preliminary findings by Tokyo''s Cabinet Intelligence and Research Office has given us a name for their presumed leader¡ª High Priest Lei-bup, a fact confirmed by the CCDI. By your will, I have cross-examined all reports concerning the subject and found the following receipt from before the commencement of the 2004 IIUC. It seemed she at one point ordered a container of rice for a Mermen tribe on "Turd Island", whose''chief goes by the name Lei-bup. There exist no other evidence of direct or indirect contact. Please note that "Lei-bup", pig-Mer for "the round-bellied one", is a prevalent Mermen name. The probability that a High Priest, a shallow-water powerhouse is the same plebian the subject has encountered is extremely low, though not impossible.

    Sunday, 11th of September 2005

    London, Westminster

    Trawsfynydd has asked after the subject''s progress. I have sent Master Eldrin a comprehensive report. See MM 413.524.32.21

    Monday, 12th September 2005

    Cambridge, Peterhouse

    The subject has commenced her Michaelmas Admissions Examination.

    Friday, 30th September 2005

    Cambridge, Peterhouse

    The results of the subject''s secondary performance percentile bands for the 2005 final senior school intake are as follows:

    Biometric Admissions Test (BAT) - S+

    Categorical Affinity -

    - Evocation: 5.71 ¡ª 6.06

    - Conjuration: 6.27 ¡ª 6.35

    - Transmutation: 5.04 ¡ª 5.17

    - Abjuration: 4.18 ¡ª 4.44

    - Divination: 2.00 ¡ª 2.09

    - Illusion: 3.21¡ª 3.78

    - Enchantment: 3.21 ¡ª 4.05

    - Other: 5.79

    Elemental Affinity -

    - Lightning: 7.17 (7.84) - 7.23 (8.21)

    - Void: 5.42 (5.56) - 5.63 (6.12)

    Astral Volume -

    - VMI: 352 ¡ª 374

    Higher Magical Learning Admissions Test (HMLAT) - A

    Spellshaping B

    Magical Theory B

    Sorcerous History A

    Bestiary Knowledge A

    Formations and Mandalas A

    Literature Admissions Test (LAT) - A+

    General Literacy - A

    Classical Literature - A

    Sociology and Politics - A

    General Knowledge Aptitude Test (GKAT) - A+

    Arithmetic - A

    Economics - A+

    Geography - A

    History - B

    "A straight-A student," Morrigan reported.

    Ravenport was not surprised. After six-months observing the girl weekly, he was no longer surprised by anything. At the beginning of the year, if someone told him that an imported Frontier sorceress would make more HDMs in half-a-year than his salary as the Lord Marshall for the same year, he would laugh in their faces. Now, he could only numbly accept the sad reality sold to him by the Devourer of Shenyang.

    "The subject''s classes commence from the 5th of October," Morrigan said.

    "I know." Ravenport replaced the report on the table. He felt strangely affected by an unpleasant jumble of emotions. The last time he had held the "grade report" of a child and felt such a rush of blood while reading the results was for Charlene, his youngest. "What course is she undertaking?"

    Morrigan paused before materialising a copy of her subject''s application.

    "¡­ Land Economy and Management Studies? She''s not going to push for Magical Engineering or Advanced Spellcraft?"

    "The application says that she''s hoping to do her future Tower justice, milord."

    Ravenport took a deep breath.

    Typical "Elite" students studied to attain the title of Magister so that they may work their way up within the Mageocracy''s Tower system. Gwen Song "studied" because she couldn''t erect her Tower without a Magistership under her belt.

    A Magistership¡ª one of the most lauded positions in the world, a title worshipped and adored by the multifarious multitude in their milling millions, was a mere tool the girl needed to keep a promise made with her dead Master.

    The Duke of Norfolk carefully examined his turbulent feelings.

    Not for the first time and not for the last time, Mycroft Ravenport wished that Edmund wasn''t such a blithe, red-headed fool. If his boy had turned out anything near normal, he would have been a post-graduate scholar by now, or at the very least a Major in her Majesty''s esteemed service. Maybe then, with a bit of coaxing and a dash of Morrigan''s serendipity, the meeting between Gwen and Edmund would have been something worth celebrating, especially with his spell-hand casting Grease on the wheels of affection.

    "Where is she now?" Ravenport asked.

    "Soon not to be in Cambridge, milord," Morrigan produced another document. "She will be going away for the first two weeks."

    "Truly?" The Duke of Norfolk scanned the application. "An application for leave¡­ is she returning to Shanghai? I suppose that makes sense, considering how long she''s to remain anchored in London once her classes commence in full. The Magistery Qualification Exams are not easy by far."

    "The subject will route to Yangon, then to Shanghai," Morrigan replied. "Then within the week, onto Singapore with Gunther Shultz and Alesia de Botton."

 Chapter 379 - City Hopper

    Yangon.

    Kandawgyi Lake.

    Within Karaweik Palace''s golden exterior, "Matriarch" Mayuree, Lady Protector of My?ma and it''s Frontier provinces, reunited with her friend and saviour. The embrace was heartfelt, for though nary a year had elapsed since Shanghai, a lifetime had transpired.

    Wilted was the Mia of the past, a meek little Diviner fearing for her life at every turn; she was now robed in silk, satin and authority, a glorious vision of wealth and prosperity mirroring her burgeoning city on the Yangon River''s lip.

    Trailing the throne-hall, twin lines of servants from menial to civil bowed from the waist while seated on their knees, engaged in genuflection. Some venerated her out of genuine worship, for Mayuree remained an inheritor of the Eight-headed Naga''s blood. Others yielded out of fear for the glimmering eyes lurking in the shadowy ceiling. A few final obstructionists, half-crouched, bided their time, too proud to confess their capitulation.

    Yet, bathed in the presence of a Devourer capable of banishing existence from the karmic wheel, Mayuree could see that even the hardliners quaked with soul-trembling terror.

    A year was a long time for a city in constant flux. After the IIUC, Marong''s Shadowmen had performed a deep cleansing of the House of M''s affairs with the aid of Ruxin''s compelling Dragon-tongue. Then, in March, after Professor James Ma sent the pair a company of auditors, a second reckoning had shaken Yangon''s provincial government. Each time, the infamy of the Devourer had been utilised by Marong to cow the opposition.

    Now, with the insurgency in hiding, the Pillar of Jade installed inside the gemmed halls of the Shwe Dagon Pagoda and the newly furbished Yangon Tower guarding her reign; peace of a kind had returned to Kachin, Manipur, Yangon and Nagaland, forming a vast stretch of fertile Green and Orange Zones. Even as Mayuree received her companion of yesteryear, a million square kilometres of the Irrawaddy River''s rich-silt shores awaited transformation into fertile rice fields, while up north, past the abandoned capital of Mandalay, Dwarf-made diggers crushed the jade-rich seams to pour a constant stream of revenue into Ruxin''s emerald vaults.

    And most importantly, the House of M, a consortium that once existed only to retain what little resource the royal family once possessed, was now a regional powerhouse controlling the South-East Asian jade trade with a near-monopoly. It also served as the largest financial institution in Indo-China, offering itself as the Mageocracy''s lending proxy.

    Yangon''s new seaport, taking a leaf from Tonglv, added to the trade from the Ivory Coast, the Bay of Bengal, and to the fortress city of Singapore and beyond. Concurrently, in the wake of its industrial rebirth, new public infrastructure from Shielding Stations to public schools sprouted like new fungi after the yearly monsoon. For the first time in a long time, the colonial city''s streets were choked with industrious labourers, while hopeful children grew assured that human tithings to the Tyrant were a thing of the past.

    "I''ve missed you." Mayuree ignored the stares from her ministers as she held her guest''s hand like a lovesick child. It was a struggle to voice just how she felt seeing her old friend again, for though their titles had changed, her feelings of awe and gratefulness remained Mithril. She was now a ruler with the fate of millions on her shoulders and Gwen, a renowned Combat Mage and Mageocracy socialite known around the world.

    "I missed you too." Her friend held Yangon''s royal majesty for a long minute, squeezing the girl against her tall and imposing figure. "It''s good to see you again, Mia."

    "I hate to intrude, but Master Ruxin awaits." Mayuree''s beloved brother, Marong, stood by her side, every inch the demure servant, no longer possessed of the arrogance and pride he once carelessly exhibited. She was his queen now, Marong had explained, and he, her subject. The only privilege he retained was the right to smoke in the throne room. "Reunions can wait."

    "I just got here." Gwen gave her brother a churlish reply. "What''s the rush?"

    "Well, we wouldn''t want to upset a Dragon." Marong exhaled nervously through both nostrils, trailing smoke as he spoke. "We''re in Lord Ruxin''s debt¡ª and unlike yourself, we''re not his relatives."

    "Bah, Russo''s long-lived," Gwen insisted. "He''ll be fine."

    Mayuree watched her friend dismiss the caprices of a being capable of returning Yangon to the jungle at a whim. No doubt, Gwen had matured, for the unusual age her friend previously displayed now harmonised with the allure of a budding young woman. As for Gwen''s presence¡ª Mayuree could only compare the sorceress to the Thunder Dragon who now ruled the region through mutual accord with the Mageocracy.

    "... or maybe you''re right. Your office is a lot busier than I imagined." To her surprise, her companion appeared uncomfortable in the presence of open, slack-jawed worship by her servants and ministers. "Fine, Ruxin it is. I''ll do it as a favour for my exchequer."

    Marong bowed. "You have my thanks. The Teleportation Circle is in the lower levels."

    Seeing that Gwen chose to humour her insistent brother, Mayuree relaxed. While technically speaking, they were safe from the Dragon for many reasons, Gwen''s favour was central to the precious peace they had carved out of blood and jade in Yangon.

    "It''s a shame that Shanghai proved more troublesome than anticipated," Marong commented as they made their way past the prostrating ministers. "I suppose in the end, the House of M''s hand in the Tonglv confrontation trod on the Communist''s bottom line. The socialists are happy to eat their own, but when you invite a Dragon to a Human buffet..."

    "It''s fine." Gwen dismissed the bad news. "As long as Ruxin gets his cut of Tonglv, we''re good. I still need that revenue."

    "The Jade has more than made up for the limitation to our enterprises in Shanghai." Marong toked deeply on a dogend. "The communists are not going to give us the freedom to take the Centurion program beyond entertainment and hospitality. Their central bank is proving to be as zealous as Master Ruxin."

    "Hahaha..." Gwen laughed. "Very well, then. Say Marong, I know we talk shop a lot, and I know Mia''s happy, but how are you these days?"

    "Well, if you must know, I am still losing sleep over Aung Sung''s rebels, the lot of them..."

    "I meant you, Marong." Gwen stopped her brother before he could continue to gripe about national security. "You weren''t very forthright about working for Ruxin, though now I see you two are as thick as thieves. It can''t be easy both managing your sister''s estate and keeping a True Dragon satiated. There''s little wonder you smoke two packs a day..."

    Her brother regarded Gwen, exhaled a lungful of smoke, then reorganised his thoughts. "I am alright, I suppose. If Mia''s fine, then I am fine. We talk a lot about this book you''ve published these days."

    "Oh? Which one?"

    "The Mockingbird," Mayuree said. "We''re learning a lot to avoid our ancestor''s pitfalls."

    "Aww, that''s cute. Still, you should take care of yourself. Learn to delegate and go easy on the smokes. I''ll leave you a few bottles of the Essence-Maotai. Get Ruxin to reward you some of their free-range Draconic ingredients as well."

    "I''ll... take care," Marong replied. Mayuree could see that her brother appeared affected by the concern from the Dragon''s niece.

    "You better. After all, we''ve still got Legion to test and implement in Yangon." Gwen burst out laughing as soon as the words left her lips. "Once the Dwarves make enough progress through the Murk, I''ll see if it''s possible to get them to send us a contingent of Magitech Engineers and Runesmiths. For now, we better fatten up Russo before his hoard shrinks again, hahaha¡­"

    Mayuree joined the pair, filling the cold halls of Karaweik Palace with warm laughter.

    Nagaland.

    Saramati Peak.

    Ruxin never understood his immortal father''s fascination with the human female that bore Ayxin, at least until he met the female called Ru¨¬, whose name, "Ru¡ªYi¡ª" meant "wished for" in the old dynastic dialect.

    But, as a hermitic Dragon for whom very few events could elicit powerful emotions, Ru¨¬''s monthly visits did gift him with genuine pleasure, and for that, his immortal self felt well-pleased.

    "Is she here yet?" Beside the throne of Jade, Golos paced.

    "Please be patient, Lord Golos," trilled the voice of a multi-coloured individual with a woman''s upper torso and the lower body of a bird. In her feathered arms, she held a trio of chirping Harpy-spawn. These had the lovely likeness of their mother, though their feathers had taken on the vibrant hue of spawn descended from the line of the Yinglong. The Lord of Nagaland glanced at the pair: reflected in his slitted irises, "Phalera" was at least the apex embodiment of her Avian race. Conversely, Golos'' chimeric whelps, despite their wanting, luminous moon-yolk eyes, were ordinary mud.

    "They are arriving now, Lord Golos," Sagol Kangba, Vairagi and Grandmaster of the Shadowmen of Manipur, softly whispered from the shadows.

    Ruxin felt the ley-lines beneath the Jade Palace faintly pulse.

    He counted to twenty, ignoring his impatient brother and his rainbow-coloured consort while engaged in meditation. When he opened his eyes again, the double doors to the palace opened, revealing the petite figure of his maid-servant, Tika.

    Ruxin watched as the pathetic Naga removed herself from his sight. With the vermin gone, his eyes met with the smug and smiling mien of his crystal tree niece.

    "Russo! How''s it going?" Gwen broke into an enormous grin as she strode into the jade-plated hall, her heels clicking musically on the tiles. As usual, she attired herself in a manner advertising one seeking a mate, though Ruxin always suspected the display was a ritual, a ploy or a lure, like those monsters of the Deep that possessed light-emitting mana-organs. "Mate, guess what I''ve got for you?"

    "M-mate?!" Golos almost jumped, his eyes darting between Ruxin and the sorceress.

    "It''s an expression, brother, from the land of the Elder Serpent," Ruxin explained with patience lest the Wyvern misunderstood. "You should know better than I the Calamity''s glibness. Have you learned nothing in your travels with our niece?"

    "¡­ I''ve never been to the Calamity''s homeland," Golos grumbled, peeking at Gwen from beneath his scaly eyelids. "Haven''t met her mother snake either."

    "That''s for the best, I am sure. If you anger the Elder One, its wrath may very well reduce you to Essence cinders¡ª"

    This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    The girl walked right past Golos.

    "Oh my god!" the Devourer squealed, passing under Ruxin''s eyes with an impertinence that reminded him of Ayxin in her youth. "Phalera! Is that¡ª"

    "These are our children." The bird-being came closer, her avian eyes full of happiness. "This is Verynse, Phynase, and this is Lysaphse."

    "SO CUTE!" The girl reached out to pet the chicks'' heads. "Do they bite?"

    "Don''t you dare devour my girls!" Golos warned the girl. "Despite their affinity for Lightning, they''re not tasty at all."

    Gwen gave Golos a glance. It was evident what the girl thought of his brother''s intelligence.

    Amused, Ruxin observed the girl as she picked up a chirping harpy-chick and began to speak to it as though her intelligence had dropped to an infantile stage as well. The girl''s affection surprised him, for the chicks were crude fledgelings with muddy bloodlines. A True Dragon spent aeons developing intelligence and mastery in the egg; these fledgelings were bred and spawned within eight months in a mortal shell barely large enough for a Golos-portioned omelette.

    "Calamity, I want a favour." His brother was without tact as usual. "Can you spare my kids some of your Primordial Essence? I want them to grow up strong enough to fight the Da-peng!"

    To Ruxin''s surprise, Gwen looked to him for advice. "Fine by me. But would your Father mind, Ruxin? "

    "No." Ruxin shook his head. "Their blood is... thin."

    Phalera lowered her head in shame.

    Gwen turned to Phalera. "Then I''ll thicken their blood. One drop enough? We can re-dose when they''re older. Does this make me their fairy God Mother, haha..."

    "YEEEE!"

    "YAAA!"

    "EEEEE!"

    The chicks eagerly opened their mouths to receive their blessings.

    What horrors would these bird-beings become if they''re weaned on the Essence of an Elder Serpent? Ruxin felt a tingle of morbid curiosity. A part of him desired to put a stop to this affront to the Elder Serpent, but as a Dragon millennia away Unformed Land, he was also bored enough to want to see what would happen.

    With the doses delivered, the chicks fell asleep to digest the enormous potential now injected into their tender bodies. Golos loudly boasted that his kin could grow big enough to wrestle Big-Birds while Phalera prostrated to show her gratitude.

    "Enough." Ruxin silenced his chittering family. "Gwen, Ru¨¬ said you had something to show me?"

    "Ah ye." Gwen gave the chicks one last pat while their parents beat a retreat away from the irate Ruxin. Ruxin watched the girl walk into the middle of the throne chamber. "Here looks like a big enough space. You ready?"

    "For?" Ruxin cocked his head. As with their kind, the girl liked her showmanship.

    Gwen grinned.

    "For your investment returns." She flashed both hands, revealing four Storage Rings. "Alright, Hoss. It took me a lot of effort to prepare this."

    In the next moment, a wave of raw mana blew over those still sitting in the throne room. A small rive of clattering crystals poured onto the jade tiles, made far more impressive by the fact that on solid stone, the crystals jingled and clattered, skipped and jumped, flowing over one another like liquid. Each hexagonal rod, representing a single HDM, radiated the astral energy contained within its elemental prison, enriching the air with their tangible presence.

    Near the door, Golos and his avian consort stared. Ruxin did not condemn his bumpkin brother for acting the idiot, for the young drake had never seen their father''s treasure hoard.

    As for himself, he felt his Essence quickened, just a little.

    "Two million-odd HDMs is a lot less impressive in person than I imagine, but here it is. That said, if I gave you the same profit in ten-thousand HDM credit chips, it would be less impressive still," Gwen explained, drained from the exhaustive act of using mana to unload the HDMs from her ring. "I was originally going for raw Air, Water or Lightning crystals, but the volume of ore was near-impossible to stow without paying out for even bigger rings."

    The Dragon''s eyes narrowed suspiciously. The pile was majestic and glimmering, but really, it was big enough only for Gwen to make a bed. Without the compression applied by the Mageocracy''s minting engines, raw HDM crystals made a rough collection, hugely varying in purity and element. The girl was right that if she had materialised the same volume in freshly mined crystals, the "hoard" would make a comfortable bed for Ruxin¡ª but that would be an unergonomic gift.

    "Well done. I thought you said ten years," Ruxin recalled from his perfect memory. "Is it wise to return so much crystal so soon?"

    "I said I would flood your vault to the brim and then some in ten years." The girl waded through the ankle-deep pile of crystals. "Not to mention..."

    His niece made a circle with her arms.

    "All this¡ª This is just the beginning. Give me your complete confidence because soon, I''ll be needing A LOT more crystals. You''re my Bank of Ruxin, remember?"

    "I am your..." Ruxin''s chest cavity tightened. Unsure of what to think, he motioned to Tika by the door. "Tika, move the spoils to the treasure room. Every last one."

    Tika''s shoulders drooped as her eyes swept over the small mound of crystals scattered all over the hall.

    "Sorry," Gwen gave his servant an insincere apology. Ruxin wondered what his niece would think if he told her that here was the Naga that had eaten one of her "friends". Would the girl demand Astaka''s Core there and then? Undoubtedly, knowing their relationship, he would be happy to oblige.

    "Well then, that was an entertaining display," he confessed. "What do you wish as a reward? An item? Sorcery? Creature Cores?"

    The girl approached. When she stood close enough to touch, Ruxin considered his conversation partner. The girl''s Astral Body had grown since their last meeting. Not immeasurably, but more contained and controlled, akin to a compressed HDM versus its raw, excavated form. She was also glancing at his brother''s bastards while making moon-eyes, cooing with her lips at the Essence-drunk infants.

    "I want a favour, one only you can give, though you may not be willing to give it."

    Ruxin grew suddenly worried.

    "Name your demand¡ª though I should forewarn you that unlike yonder ''Gogo'', a True Dragon''s first-spawn cannot and shall not be a Dragon Carp¡ª"

    "What? No!" Caught by surprise, the girl almost swallowed her tongue, a reaction that made Ruxin relax his spine-ridge.

    Near the door, the stricken Thunder Wyvern fled from the shameful past of his adolescence. The Yinglong''s ''first-spawn'' nodded. His brother had learned shame since travelling with Gwen.

    His niece shuddered at the thought of the carp-grubbing Thunder Wyvern relieving himself. "Nah, Russo, we''re not partners in that sense. I would like you to speak to your Father about what plans Daddy Dear has for my friend, his shiny new Faith-filled Vessel¡ª your er... ''aunt''?"

    Shanghai.

    Hongqiao.

    When she first transmigrated into her present world, Gwen lamented the fact that air travel was rendered moot by marauding Air Elementals.

    Now, armed with riches beyond the wildest dreams of most Magisters, she much-preferred the Conjuration-empowered workarounds used by the residents of her present reality.

    The longest flight she had taken in her past life was a business trip to Argentina involving a four flight from Sydney to Auckland, thirteen hours to Santiago, then another six to Buenos Aires. Including transfers, she had remained lucid and awake for over thirty hours, finally alighting drunk and sleep-deprived, slathered with gritty, half-runny foundation.

    Comparatively, in a world sans air bussing, she took a few minutes to teleport from Nagaland to Yangon, then an hour to transfer from Yangon to Kunming before arriving at Chongqing for customs processing. There, forgoing the Panda-folk yet again, she stepped into the ley-line Circles connecting Chongqing to Shanghai''s Hongqiao interchange, appearing a split-second later at her desired destination.

    All-in-all, the trip took two hours. Less time than it took to drive to Kensington''s air lounge, check-in, buy coffee, wait for boarding, then embark.

    Her travel arrangements proved so expeditious that she had arrived ahead of her escorts from the MSS, ensuing a quiet lull that gave her some time to catch up on her conversation with her Draconic banker.

    All-in-all, her detour to post-Colonial Myanmar proved fruitful.

    Last night, over dinner, when she had questioned her business partner about the intentions of his Demi-god patriarch, the perfect-jawed drake had evasively provided some food for thought.

    First, the Thunder Dragon explained that thanks to his new abode, he was no longer affiliated with his esteemed father in any way Dragons were concerned. They were now competitors, and only after another aeon when his father soared into the Unformed Land would he return to the Yinglong''s court. Assuming the other Asiatic Dragons had not themselves ascended, his "Uncles" would help Ruxin defend his father''s legacy from foreign Dragons, such as the three-headed green-lizard in Siberia. Beyond that, if their scions wished to contest Ruxin, then Huangshan was his to defend. Alliances like this were why True Dragons lauded unsullied bloodlines, as the ancient kin would only aid those who bled the same Essence.

    Then the topic moved onto Elvia, whose predicament she had explained to Ruxin. In the past few months, she and Elvia had patched up much of their grievances, though their friendship continued to suffer from the air of secrecy between Elvia and her patron. As her friend had not forbidden Gwen from seeking discovery, she had interpreted Elvia''s reticence as an invitation.

    With his role exacted, Ruxin explained that his father''s position had always been a neutral one not dissimilar to the Middle Faction''s propensity for avoiding extremes. As a skilled Soothsayer who was the first to "ying" or "heed" the call of the Jade Emperor, thereby acquiring the title of Yinglong, his father seldom acted rashly.

    In his opinion, Elvia Lindholm must be a central character in a future event; a lynchpin in an interplay of cosmic convergence regarding a matter his father held dear. As to when, what, why, who, and how, Ruxin had no idea¡ª but the centrality of her flaxen-haired companion was beyond doubt.

    "Whether his blessing bodes ill or weal, I do not think our father will allow his Vessel to perish. Alas, I must also challenge your claim of foul play. Have you considered that perhaps, all of this could have nothing to do with you? For instance, this "Evee" of yours, you say that she is now a part of an elite Sect of Sorceror-Monks?"

    "Er¡­ the Order of the Bath, yes," Gwen had to admit Ruxin made an excellent if disturbing observation. It was Draconic arrogance to think that whatever the Yinglong had planned must revolve around herself like Jupiter''s moons, but why else would Elvia be chosen? "They''re an order of do-gooders, generally speaking. With the ''altruism'' being whatever brings repute for the House of Windsor and ''bad'' being whatever would paint them with ill-repute."

    "Then what are the chances of your ''Evee'' engaging in battle against some great Calamity? Like this ''Sobel'' and her ''Spectre'', independent of you? With her vital facilities, could she not preserve someone pivotal to some balance in the human world¡ª and therefore our world?"

    Gwen had sighed, unconvinced by the Dragon''s musing.

    "We keep a precarious balance among our kind." Ruxin''s patience proved impressive. "Through her, for example, Father could prevent the slaying of a Chromatic whelp, thereby averting a generation of War or another Beast Tide. Either way, whatever branch of fate Father chooses to prune or preserve, I doubt Father cares about you as much as you think. That and you over-estimate our patriarch''s interest in the Human world. Father could doze for a century, and all the humans we now know would be dust. Now, if you were involved with the Elder-kin, that would be¡ª"

    "Russo, you keep saying ''we''," she had remarked after measuring the Draconic scale of time against her Human urgency. "Why?"

    Ruxin had given her a strange look, which when paired with his perfectly Polymorphed face, made for a comical combination. "I forget you''re younger than an egg sometimes. Though I suppose time will be a better teacher than I."

    After that, their conversation returned to the matter of business ventures from Yangon to London.

    Gwen briefly closed her eyes, trying to imagine how her Evee was doing in Ireland. Was Mathias keeping her safe? Was the expedition keeping the Fomorians in check? The Bestiary had said that the violent and ancient fae could grow powerful enough to hunt Dragons should the fabric between the Planes grow thin-enough to allow the ancient elementals free rein. If Caliban couldn''t eat Elves, how about a fey?

    "Magus Song?" A pair of bowing bodies shook her from her mental revelry.

    "That''s me." Gwen looked up to see a pair of vaguely familiar faces.

    "Good morning, Magus." The stoic-looking Chinese Mage snapped a salute. "I am Officer Wei, and this is my partner, Officer Yung¡ª"

    "¡­ I know you guys." Gwen left the lounge, shaking out the fatigue from her body by circulating a mote of Essence. "You guys came for me when I was in Singapore."

    "Ah." Wei''s face grew instantly clammy. "Maybe that was¡­ another Wei?"

    "My memory is perfect." In heels, Gwen stood half a head taller than the man who once arrested her. "I mean, your partner''s even wearing the same shirt."

    Wei glared at his partner accusingly.

    "¡­ I like this shirt." Officer Yung complained to the devastated Wei, far less affected by Gwen''s recognition of her former captors. "Besides, we were perfect escorts. She vomited on you last time, and you helped the Miss clean up."

    "You fellers still working for Gramps?" she asked, genuinely nostalgic that Guo''s goons were still around. She didn''t dislike them, for although she possessed no fame, wealth, nor power the last time they met, Wei was very professional.

    "Promoted. Wei''s a Departmental Head now." Yung laughed infectiously. "Word from above is for us to accompany you while you''re here in Shanghai."

    "A guard detail? Surely I am a trustworthy individual." Gwen snorted. "I spent almost two years in Fudan without burning the city down, and then I fixed Tonglv and cleaned up Shenyang. Secretary Miao even commended me."

    "Miss Song, we''re not here for your protection or as your guards," Wei explained while staring down the passersby who stopped to stare. "It''s just that. You have no idea just how famous the face of SPAM might be in Shanghai, especially after news of what you managed in Tonglv became common knowledge. For the duration of your stay, orders from Secretary-General Miao is to filter your visitors through the Ministry of State Security."

    "May I speak to anyone I wish?"

    "That''s your freedom, ma''am."

    "But if unsolicited people want to speak to me..."

    "Then they''ll have to go through us." Wei nodded with solemnity. "You''re a Class VI War Mage, Magus Song. And a Mageocracy one at that..."

    Gwen straightened out her dress, then took a deep breath.

    Only nine months, and how things had changed...

 Chapter 380 - Like Salmon to the Stream

    Gwen''s Mary-Janes clacked against the tiled interior of the Song compound, leaving behind the palatial MSS saloon with its Divination-warded windows.

    Almost three years ago, when she walked through the redwood door frame for the first time, she hadn''t recognised a single soul residing within its quartered courtyard. This time, she arrived with the bearing of a returning prodigal scholar-bureaucrat newly lauded by the Emperor, missing only the scarlet shower of firecrackers.

    "Gwen, welcome back!"

    "Granddaughter, welcome home."

    "Gwennie! We''ve missed you!"

    "Yo! Yo! Yo! Gwenabitch back in da house!"

    "Sis Gwen¡ª!"

    "Welcome home, sis¡­"

    Each of the familiar faces and voices staked an unmistakable feeling of gratitude deep into her crystal-wrapt heart, striking at the foundation of her being.

    Gwen felt an unseen tension unwound like a ball of yarn.

    This life, she had made the right choices.

    Percy''s smile fought to reach his eyes, then deserted him altogether once his sister grew distracted by their grandmother.

    In any other elite family at the tier of the Songs, a young man with his accomplishments would have been hailed as a once-a-century prodigy. Nonetheless, he felt like a support prop for his sister''s prima donna mid-air pirouette.

    What infuriated Percy bitterly wasn''t the usual story of sibling rivalry that plagued households like theirs but the complete acceptance the Songs demonstrated.

    "Don''t worry, Percy." His Babulya had set him aside every so often when news of Gwen filtered through the Party''s information Shield Wall. "Your sister''s path can''t be walked by anyone else."

    "Always making trouble, never a quiet moment!" Guo''s dismissal continued unabated, often accompanied by a self-satisfied smile. "Ignore her, Percy. Gwen''s not someone you need to concern yourself with."

    "Focus on yourself, Percy¡ª Gwen''s on a different plane." Jun too had laughed off Gwen''s overseas accomplishments as fact. "What else can I say when Ayxin''s brother is her business partner?"

    "Forget your sister." In Suzhou, even the apathetic Hai had assured him with a wink as young Sui bounced on his lap. "It''s best not to be concerned at all. Much more relaxing that way, hahaha¡­"

    Finally, Percy turned to Mei, only to cough up clotted blood when his girlfriend had given him a hypercritical glare.

    "The way I like Sister Gwen is different from how I like you. Why are you so obsessed with Sister Gwen anyway? You''re not bothered by Aunt Ayxin, are you?"

    Percy bit his lip; the Kirin Amulet nestled between his collarbones grew warm as his emotions churned.

    Dismissal.

    Apathy.

    Nonchalance.

    These were the reactions that stoked the balefire smouldering inside his chest.

    Was he not trying hard enough? Percy ground his teeth in frustration. Could he try any harder? Xiangming High School was already the pyramid''s peak when it came to burgeoning young sorcerers in China. Its ranking within the Municipality of Shanghai was the product of unbridled meritocracy, a congregation of top talent filtered through tests and trials. Almost two years on, within his cohort, Percy Song stood near the top as a member of the school''s Discipline Committee. Likewise, in the Municipal Militia, he held the position of a Cadet Officer with the rank of Junior Lieutenant.

    Outside of school, thanks to Uncle Jun''s recommendation and his grandfather calling in favours, he and Mei had also participated in every significant Purge action after the reclaiming of Shenyang.

    His magical accomplishments as well were nothing short of miracles:

    Tier four Abjuration.

    Tier four Evocation, encroaching on five.

    Tier three Transmutation.

    He had a registered spell list of over thirty invocations.

    And he possessed the prodigious ability to replicate all relevant magic taught to him by his instructors with a success rate unmatched by others of his age from the same school.

    AND he possessed charisma, a good face, a national hero for an uncle, as well as a grandfather who retired from a public security Committee Chair, only to fall into an actual inner-Party Committee Chair.

    But the reaction anyone ever enacted whenever Percy became known, be it a military camp, a function, or a gathering of Guo''s inner-Party officials¡ª was a knowing nod followed by the everpresent, backhanded comment, "So that''s Gwen Song''s brother¡­"

    His frustration was also engendered by the fact that his sister''s accomplishments had long abandoned the realm of Spellcraft, while he could only push forward by punishing his health. Salt was a gentler Negative Element compared to Void or Ash, but it was a Negative Element nonetheless. The Amulet kept the Negative Energy drain down to a trickle, but even a trickle could wear away fertility and vitality if abused. To combat the diminishment of his body, Percy ate Wildland food until he was sick even though he knew that there was one satiation his Astral Soul desired.

    Vitality and Essence.

    But without a Tower Master''s backing that Gwen received, he had few opportunities to utilise Drain Life¡ª of late, only one on the Northern Front, another during a Purge in Hangzhou''s Lake District, where he enjoyed enough privacy to bolster Transmutation and Abjuration. On these adventures, Mei had followed him everywhere¡ª serving both as his alibi as well as a gatekeeper to the constant temptation that threatened to spill.

    Thankfully, in a recent expedition to the Yellow Sea, he had the luck of picking up a tier of Illusion from a Rogue Mage, a useful skill for an uncertain future.

    With Gwen gone for ten months, his concern for her had diminished somewhat, becoming preoccupied with what opportunities he could garner by taking on Quests.

    Now, with the prodigal princess returned, he felt paralysed by her radiant presence.

    "Gwen, welcome back!"

    "Granddaughter, welcome home."

    "Gwennie! We''ve missed you!"

    "Yo! Yo! Yo! Gwenabitch in da house!"

    "Sis Gwen¡ª!"

    His girlfriend and party member, Mei, ran to embrace his sister while the rest of the family filled the compound with laughter.

    The genuineness of the felicitous atmosphere felt like Cloud Kill stabbing at his lungs. For the banquet, other than Jun and Ayxin, Hai and his new family, the whole Song Clan had gathered for his sister''s return.

    When had he last heard the family laugh like this?

    "Welcome home, sis¡­" Percy forced himself to think of simpler times when he and Gwen lived under one roof in Forestville, surviving off sambal eggs on toast. Back then, it seemed a strong wind could blow his paper-thin sister away from the apartment balcony. Now, her brilliance could bake raw terracotta into bricks.

    "Percy¡­" His sister''s face opened like a white flower in bloom, the joy on her face so striking as to make his chest contract with self-loathing guilt. Hugging Mei and then setting his girlfriend aside, she gifted him her full attention.

    "Oh, my..." Gwen''s measured eyes were twin smiling half-moons. "You''ve grown! My little Percy is finally a little man¡­"

    Guo agreed wholeheartedly with Gwen.

    Not so much that Percy was a "little man", but that his grandson had indeed matured into a hardworking young man rarely seen in Shanghai''s privileged circles. To Guo, Percy was so studious that sometimes, he wondered how in Mao''s name an ingrate like Hai managed to seed a son so talented and humble with a partner whose only talent was her looks.

    When his friends at the Bureau insisted that it was Guo''s superior genes that must have been inherited, the Committee Chair modestly declined¡ª instead referring to his peerless wife, Gwen''s dear Babulya. Knowing their colleague''s ego, those old dogs at the Committee had jeered his humblebragging, demanding that he thank his ancestors neither Gwen nor Percy had inherited his bulldog exterior. Stone-faced, Guo had threatened to audit their expense accounts while his peers toasted.

    Nonetheless, whatever the opinion of the other Committee Chairs in the Secretariat group, his grandson remained a rare child.

    Of Guo''s compatriots, few of their grand or great-grandchildren amounted to anything. Some, such as the public scorned power progeny, only understood coercion and intimidation through their father''s influences. Others, such as the Fu-er-dai, were akin to the trumpeting, tongue-twisting Tao, spoilt by freedom and privilege.

    Such occurrences were an insult to the older generation. In their minds, when the country still fought incursions from the Undead, Centaurs on the Steppes and caste-driven Elemental-sycophants across the Himalaya range, what kind of man-child aspired to make music?

    And not even propaganda music, but western music!

    And not even classical western music! But Hip-Hop?!

    Where was "Hip" "Hop" when he and Klavdiya death marched from Harbin to Tianjin? The same Juche-damned Undead that laid waste to the north were still roaming the earth, and the heir of Wang enterprises wanted to waste his life rhyming non-sensically about hoods? Preposterous.

    With some measure of self-caution, Guo forced himself to calm. Of the Song''s youngest generation, there was Mina, Tao, Percy, Gwen and now Sui.

    Mina was an able socialite, polite, meticulous and helpful to her father. As a healer, she could take either route as a businesswoman or follow in Klavdiya''s footsteps.

    Tao was dead to him.

    Sui was still too young to be judged, though he doubted the Liu Clan would allow their ''heir'' to be anything but upstanding.

    Percy was a boon he had duly received from the ancestors.

    But his granddaughter continued to bewilder Guo.

    In their way, he and the girl had made their peace. Yet, he felt a wariness when dealing with her that did not extend to other members of the family, not even his Demi-daughter-in-law, who possessed a mind that could move mountains but the guile of an infant.

    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    In recent months, he and Secretary-General Miao had kept their confidential Message Devices open to their counterpart in London. The news that had filtered through to Guo via the CCDI''s international channels had made him immeasurably proud but also hesitant as to whether an Elemental had pierced the veil and usurped Gwen''s Astral Body.

    According to London, post-Tonglv, his granddaughter had busied herself with real estate on the Isle of Dogs, aided by indentured Dwarves who had contributed Runsmiths, Engineseers, Alchemists and even their precious Fabricator Engines, all to serve the whim of a teenage girl.

    Demi-humans?! Guo wanted to vent his bewilderment. What in Tao''s "ill-rhyming" business was his granddaughter doing with Demi-humans from the deep floors? Was this what she meant by having lived in the "land down under"?

    Then the girl started a printing press.

    He recalled Miao had given him strange looks.

    Shouldn''t Gwen be in a preparatory course for Cambridge? What was the correlation between printers and bridging-courses?

    But then, of course, news arrived that she started a Newspaper and not only that, its circulation was eating established publishers alive because it was free and wholly crafted to cater to NoMs.

    "¡­ is the girl spreading the Teachings of the Red Book?" Miao had announced with reverence. "By Mao, what a precious child!"

    But when they received copies of the paper, Miao and Guo''s brows grew full of wrinkles.

    Baking recipes?

    Celebrity news?

    Latest Magitech for NoMs?

    Paid Classifieds?

    A trading post?

    Investment tips for the Non-Magical citizen?

    The Count of Monte Cristo?

    Without a doubt, Capitalism had gnawed away the girl''s good senses.

    Over the next few editions, Guo also bore witnesses to numerous lumen-pictures of Gwen wearing semi-living diaphanous leaves that did away with her dignity, burning his eyes with fiery shame even as Miao coughed and tried not to laugh.

    "I have three grandsons, one her age¡ª " The Secret-General spoke to the ceiling. "The oldest is older by a decade, though that might not be a bad thing. My youngest is graduating from Tsinghua this year and has been tapped to enter the CCDI as a junior cadet, training from the ground up."

    Guo recalled staring at his counterpart, his mind numb with possibilities.

    It was one thing to be the relative of a Dragon-princess who had chosen his son out of the blue¡ª and a whole other thing to join hands with the director of the CCDI. While any other Committee Chair would drool at the opportunity, Guo knew well there was no such thing as a free lunch. Eventually, when Miao lost power¡ª every macaque taking shelter in the grand trunk that was the Middle Faction would fall into the Yellow River and drown in the wake of Clan Miao''s passing.

    Politely, Guo declined the suggestion.

    After the newspaper, the girl''s press released a book in support of justice for NoMs.

    Not economic justice, Guo noted with displeasure.

    Just "justice" in the sense that NoMs deserved it as much as a man dying of thirst deserved a drink of water. The context made no sense to him, nor did the uppity attitude of the Arbitrator father. He much preferred the French novel about the secret treasure of Napoleon and its cautionary tale about a man consumed by his desire for revenge.

    Then after that, Miao passed a memo that Gwen had made an eye-watering amount of crystals in the short span she had resided in London. The total volume wasn''t near as much money as she had generated through Tonglv, but the implication was different. In Tonglv, his granddaughter''s crystals were bundled with stakeholders far beyond her lonesome power to move. Though she could freely spend her proceeds, moving the wealth elsewhere was something the Party would dissuade with extreme prejudice. In the "Free" West, however, she could exploit the masses as she pleased.

    As for the amount, the volume of Crystals she dispensed to Ruxin was around two million.

    Guo had to write out the numbers in Elementally derived Middle Eastern numerals to make sure there were six zeros behind the "2", after which he stared at the paper. Had the Songs ever possessed that many Crystals in the course of their millennium-old history? He asked himself. Their ancestral home in Hubei might be worth that much, but who in their right minds would sell the land of their forebears? Only the rootless capitalists!

    "Nainai! Ye-ye!" Gwen bowed from the waist. The girl was wearing the dress her grandmother had gifted her upon their first meeting¡ª a gesture that made Klavidya tremble with emotion.

    But for a Chairman of the Confidential Communications Committee who had sent two of his best men to keep his granddaughter well-segregated from the masses, he understood his feelings a little too well.

    Between him and his wife, Guo would leave the loving to Klavdyia.

    As for himself, Guo wholly embraced the anxiety, fear and weariness that came with guiding Gwen. With Ayxin at least, he understood that she was an actual daughter-in-law who happened to be a Dragon. With Gwen, however, he couldn''t shake the idea that perhaps, she was a Dragon masquerading as a Human granddaughter.

    Once she polished every dish on the banquet table, Gwen chewed the fat with her cousins and her baby brother. For her present trip, she had only a night and day in Shanghai, and then she would teleport to Singapore, where Gunther and Alesia would await her arrival.

    Each to each, Gwen regarded her present company. Of her family in China, it went without saying that her bond with Babulya was most precious. Klavdiya''s care was without condition, and though grandmother and daughter had shared no similar interests beyond each other''s lives, the exchange between them felt the most genuine.

    Closely behind was Percy, bound by two lifetimes of affection. Listening to Percy''s unassuming digression of his endless commendations and accolades, she could see the pleasure on Guo''s face and the genuine happiness her grandmother felt for her husband and their heir.

    Beside Percy, Tao yawned.

    Gwen chuckled. "The Big Peach" occupied a particular spot in her bosom. It wasn''t that they had anything in common other than lineage, but that The Big P''s unbridled passion and his devil-may-care attitude toward what other''s thought tickled her pragmatic heart in strange ways. Her cousin had talent¡ª she knew this; how else could a rapper perform a multi-instrumental Illusion solo alone? What his elders did not understand was that Tao was a man born in the wrong place and in the wrong time. She was confident, however, that given time, she could make good on the promise of touring the USA with Tao in tow. Though she knew nothing of recording crystals in the states, just from the rudimentary music industry in the UK, Australia and China, she could see that consumer entertainment was a Wildland Black zone.

    "Are you and the ''boys'' doing well?" she caught the colour of her grandfather''s face changing as Tao told his tale of trying to bring hip-hop to Shanghai''s masses without success, lamenting that Gwen was "making bank" while he wallowed in mud.

    "Me and da bois are doing good," Tao assured her nonetheless, throwing a few arcane gestures her way. "Big Dog collects your pictures, for the lonely times¡­"

    Tao wiggled his brows.

    Mina covered Tao''s face with a napkin.

    Gwen laughed out loud, undeterred by Tao''s dubious charms. "As an infamous someone, how''s my ''cred'' on the homefront, Peaches?"

    "Higher than a Roc, dawg!" Tao declared. "Even mah motherfucker''s impressed. He says yo development of the Isle of Dawgs is naffink short of a miracle. The old bastard''s got a lot to learn from you."

    "Ah-Wang says it''s too bad he didn''t have the foresight to work with you more closely while you''re still in Shanghai," Tao''s mother joked half-seriously, so desensitised by Tao''s indecency she no longer noticed it. "Can you help Tao, Gwen? Our Peaches rarely listens to anyone, not even Ah-Wang, but he seems to listen to you."

    "Mr Wang''s far too kind." Gwen pushed away from Tao''s father''s excessive endorsement. "And I''ll do my best with Peaches."

    "No need to be humble," Mina said. "We should all thank you, my father included."

    "How so?" Gwen raised a brow. "I am not even in China."

    Her cousin glanced at their grandfather. Seeing as Guo did no object, she leaned closer conspiratorially and began to explain to her the Song and Wang''s present fortunes.

    "After you sold Tao''s talent to father, he''s decided not to force him." Her cousin''s eyes were gleaming. "Which leaves me..."

    To Gwen''s delight, Mina explained that since Tao had decided to embrace music, she was now the heir apparent. While usually, women did not inherit the family business, that cultural prejudice had been made moot by Gwen''s showing at the Isle of "Dawgs", as Tao puts it. Further on, Mina remarked that Gwen''s rising social capital and their grandfather''s "friendship" with Secretary-General Miao also served to bolster her influence over Wang Enterprises, and this wasn''t even taking into account Ayxin''s relationship with Jun. Indeed, three years ago, Guo was slated to retire from his role. Now, their grandfather sat above his old superior, not far under Miao himself.

    All-in-all, the Song family had reached a new height of influence and power in an epoch characterised by China''s burgeoning globalist ambitions, now accelerated by the rapid retreat of the Cult of Juche from Manchuria.

    "Aren''t you the one to thank for all of this?" Mina asked.

    "Bloody hell¡ª" There was a barely audible groan. When Gwen looked up, she saw Percy rolling his eyes.

    "Tell us about the Doofs!" Tao cut in just as the atmosphere grew strangely anxious. "Does their music have rolling rocks in it?"

    Gwen burst out laughing at the Translation Stone''s rare misnomer. Her Master''s Ioun Stone was so great she had utterly forgotten that they were conversing in different languages.

    With some added spice, she told the story of her drunk-singing the Dwarves into submission with a rendition of Misty Mountain.

    With the youngsters talking away, plates of dumplings made by Klavdiya arrived. Between mouthfuls of minced Wildland boar cut with garlic and chives, Gwen answered questions about her adventures in London, especially her work with Dwarves and her meeting with the Elves¡ª two Demi-human races absent from the long homogenous "Central Country".

    Naturally, Peaches grew enthralled by the topic of ageless Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar women, while Gwen promised Mina she would gift her one of the Elven dresses.

    "I hope your venture in London isn''t another Tonglv," her grandfather spoke after observing the children''s chatter. "The Fungs deserved what they got¡ª but to have a Dynastic Clan plucked like a boiled pheasant¡­"

    "I heard that Professor Ma''s classes are using your drafts as case studies," Gwen''s Babulya changed the topic of conversation to divert her grandfather''s incoming rant about Capitalist evils. "The new students are publishing papers to try and analyse the economic impact of your actions. Your old Professor''s on the up-and-up, he and his NoMs are now an established branch of the CCDI''s Internal Revenue Audit Committee."

    "That''s good because Tonglv is in phase three now." Gwen pictured the endless array of enterprises drooling over land and licence sales. Phase III was the redevelopment of Nantong into a city of manufacturers. If successful, she even had plans to build her future Divination Towers there. "It''s out of my hands, though. I''ve signed it all away."

    "I know, dear." Her Babulya sighed.

    "Yoooo! That''s what my Dad''s most impressed with," Tao said. "To let go like that, at the right time, with the right poise, my motherfucker says you''ve got balls. Dragon Balls."

    Gwen almost dropped her dumpling.

    "Are you doing things by the book in London?" Guo asked suspiciously.

    "I''ve paid all my taxes if that''s what you mean." Gwen gave her grandfather an ambiguous smile. "Everything is double audited, internally and externally. There''s a great deal of philanthropic work under the IoDRP as well, mostly headed by Evee¡ª do you remember Elvia Lindholm?"

    Guo rested his chopsticks. "Is what I''ve heard about your friend true?"

    "That she''s joined the Order of the Bath?" Gwen tested the water. Her grandfather wasn''t referring to her thinking of dating Elvia, was he? If so, then either Petra or Richard was a lot less reliable than she had imagined.

    Guo raised a brow. "The Ying..."

    "¡ªAh." Gwen wiggled her brows in turn. "Yeah. That''s true. You can put it in the bank."

    "What''s the world coming to?" Guo shook his head. "Chinese Dragons are now possessing Gweilo Vessels?"

    "Maybe the Yinglong is a Yin-long?" Tao guessed at the topic of their conversation, using the Chinese homophone of "heeding" interchangeably with "lascivious" to infer to the sexual infamy of Dragons.

    Guo, who''d been moodily chewing a dumpling, suddenly choked and began to cough.

    "Tao!" Her Babulya was shocked. "If Aunty were here, she''d make you beat yourself black and blue."

    Gwen grimaced, trying not to imagine the "Big P''s" furious self-flagellation. "Babulya, how''s Uncle Jun, anyway. It''s a shame I''ve missed him this time."

    "They''re training in Huangshan," her Babulya advised with a wink. "Ayxin''s getting impatient, so they''re going to try where the Yinglong''s Essence is strongest."

    Gwen immediately dismissed her Babulya''s candid vision of Uncle Jun and Ayxin trying to conceive even as a peculiar analogy invaded her head.

    Ayxin and Jun, swimming back to the holy mount to breed, climbing the jade peaks to fertilise eggs?

    What were they, Salmon?

    "Ah, well." Gwen shrugged. She had no time to fly to Huangshan. Besides, it would be beyond rude to pass over her father''s head and not say hi or stop to see Sui, her new baby brother, so leaving the meeting for next time would be best.

    "How''s Lulu doing?" she asked Mina; not flying to the mount also meant missing her Sword Mage.

    "I am glad you asked. Are you free after dinner?" Mina asked in turn.

    "Sure." Gwen had until the next morning to Teleport to Singapore. "What''s up?"

    "Lulu and Kusu are both at the House of M, waiting for you."

    "Why didn''t you say so?!" Gwen chided her cousin, who glanced at Guo.

    "Go!" her grandfather growled. "None of you are children anymore. Do what you want. Just don''t cause trouble."

    "Trouble?" Gwen snorted dismissively, hooking her outstretched arms around Percy and Peaches'' necks. "Do we look like the type to cause trouble?"

 Chapter 381 - Cant Die if you Dont Die

    Shanghai.

    The Old Districts.

    The M on the Bund, Gwen felt, was the right choice for a reunion.

    The first time she was "taken out" by her cousins Mina and Tao, it was to this cafe by day, underground fight club by night. Here, she met Dai, fought her first duel in Shanghai, and was near-arrested for cockfighting. After that, thanks to actions by Mayuree and Marong, the M on the Bund had become a favoured haunt for her new circle of friends, mainly because she had been poor and Mia had footed the bill.

    Now almost eighteen-months into the epoch of Centurion Credit, the House of M stood as a playground for the wealthy and privileged in Shanghai. The source of the House''s prestige lay with Marong who had secured the once riotous venue by proportioning out profits to influential Party members, choosing to harness social capital over wealth.

    In this way, the House of M was now the venue of choice for the Guan-er-dai and the Fu-er-dai. Here, the progenies of power resolved disputes through duels, found happiness in questionable pursuits and exchanged grey market goods, all under the watchful eye of their guardians¡ª as well as Marong''s Manipuri Shadowmen.

    Prior, there had been a collective hush when the military-plated vehicle arrived. Now, Gwen inspired a sucking-in of breath as she stepped onto the curb, aided by Wei.

    Gone was the demure china-blue apparel she received from her Babulya. Instead, she wore a naughty black dress purchased from a London designer with a flair for the Elven.

    Quickly adjusting her hem, she waited as Tao and Mina rendezvoused with Percy and Officer Yung from the second saloon, then made for the entrance.

    "Esteemed young Misses and Sirs." The six or so doormen bowed before accosting the group. "Do you have an invitation?"

    Before Wei acted, Mina snatched at the air like a Conjurer performing a trick, revealing a Centurion Card. The sight was enough to draw a collective murmur of awe and envy from the queue, to which Gwen nodded with pleasure at the reaction. From the crowd''s longing glances, it meant the marketing Marong had put in place at her behest was working well.

    The security Mages hurriedly unhooked the velvet rope barring entry to the club. "Welcome to the M on the Bund, Ma''am. May I ask for your preferred destination? The jazz lounge, karaoke, the M Club or the duelling ring? We shall ready a suite before you arrive."

    Gwen looked toward Mina.

    "The duelling ring."

    Gwen raised an arched brow.

    Mina gave her a secret smile in turn.

    "This way." The leading concierge half-turned¡ª then suddenly paused. A hint of recognition abruptly registered in the man''s eyes, changing the tone and pitch of his voice. "Ma''am, may I enquire if your Ladyship is the esteemed Miss Song?"

    "Dat''s right, bitches!" Besides her, Tao could no longer contain his smugness. Wherever there was a crowd, Gwen observed, Tao''s inner Peaches threatened to spill. "Mah ''Cuz'' here is the world-famous Devourer of Shenyang!"

    Gwen winced the moment the words left Peaches'' flapping lips.

    As expected, the unhappy, chittering queue of gawkers checking out the giantess fell into a stunned stillness.

    "So that''s Gwen Song¡­" someone murmured.

    "It''s her; I recognise the... eyes."

    "Mao, she looks exactly like her SPAM advert¡­"

    "Can a Void Mage live in a tier 1 city?"

    For Gwen, it had been some time since a peanut gallery had turned her into a curio. Perhaps it were the cultural differences between Shanghai and London; East versus West; or simply that there were more Magisters in London than one could shake a Wand at. In London, not once had the actual public stopped to stare as though an Owl Bear was giving birth on Broadway.

    Then, to her surprise, the tightly packed crowd began to disperse.

    "Looks like you''re more famous than you think, sis." Percy smirked.

    The departing crowd collectively chose taciturnity, bowing, nodding, curtsying and backing away with forced smiles. Within the minute, the hundred or so well-dressed party-goers flocked for the shadows, leaving Gwen''s party watching woodenly by the entryway.

    Once more, Gwen looked toward Mina questioningly.

    "What you did to Dai," Mina explained while shaking her head. "And by extension, the Fung Clan has become a fabled allegory among the youth."

    "What ''I'' did?" Gwen''s tone turned churlish. She could understand if these assorted progenies wanted to kiss her hand or her feet, knowing their fetishes, but to turn from her like she was a Void Plague?

    "Word on the street, Gwennabitch," Peaches illustrated with rare sobriety. "Is that those who woo you or attracts your ire will suffer the pain of excommunication from their House or Clan. The journalists call you the Saviour of Shenyang, dawg, but in the hood, we call you the C¡ª"

    "Peaches!" Mina hissed.

    "¡ª Calamity!" Peaches blurted forth the four-syllable word.

    "¡­ Calamity it is." Gwen breathed out with a sigh. Looking at the empty line, she supposed a deserted club was better than no club. "Alright, come on. Let''s hope Lulu''s got better luck with the guests."

    In the underground arena of the infamous House of M, Shanghai''s midnight children spell-duelled for honour and ego.

    Officially, there existed not even a remote possibility that any an illegal activity would be condoned by a Party whose watchword began and ended with social "Harmony". Unofficially, such a facility HAD to exist, and if it must, then it might as well profit its backers.

    Compared to the Devourer''s infamous initial visit, the "House Arena" now sported a tier of Abjuration akin to IIUC competitions. On the floor, shape-shifting terrain-plates that generated any number of exotic battle-settings sheltered Anti-magic Wards to keep contestants cool in the heat of battle, enveloped by continuous Walls of Force.

    Usually, a cacophony of squealing women and hooting men ran circles around the oval area, placing bets, quaffing drinks and baying for blood.

    Tonight, however, even the premier Adjudicator Magus Ji Meng Yuu remained unusually reticent.

    In the VIP box, Kusu Li checked his Message Device for the umpteenth time.

    "Are they here yet?" Ru¨¬ downed a shot of mana-rich rice wine, her teeth still chattering after what Lulan had done to her last victim.

    Kusu wanted to know the answer to that question as well. Checking his device once more, the Sword Mage from Huashan felt so anxious his bladder throbbed. From memory, driving from Wujiaochang to the Bund couldn''t have taken more than forty minutes, even taking traffic into account.

    "The Winner is Miss Lulan Li!" A burst of Illusion-empowered fireworks smothered the ceiling, followed by scant cheers and a few half-hearted claps.

    On the far side, a contingent of Healers, one at least at the rank of Magus, dragged a rag-dolled body out of the arena. Beside them, an NoM crew wiped the blood from the Wall of Force.

    "You." The petite figure on the stage pointed to a group of ashen-faced young men and women sitting like Wildland quails at a street-side butcher in Wuhan. "You''re next."

    A young man, the object of his sister''s finger, twisted his face with an expression of undisclosed inner agony. Kusu could see that he and his lackeys knew they had stepped on a Warding Glyph, and they had apologised, in a way¡ª but Lulu was neither one to take on apologies nor sycophantic pleas.

    "Miss Li." The young man stood, straightening out his suit to soothe his nerves. "If you do not accept our sincerity even after what you did to Pei, then you''re truly making an enemy of the Sun family."

    "The Arena, NOW." His sister''s face was all rime, and her voice was December frost. "Or apologise to Ru¨¬. Or I fight you out there. No rules, no healers, no magic dampeners."

    The young Mage''s lips twitched; for a young master, grovelling to an NoM peasant was a fate worse than Lulan. It didn''t help that somewhere in the dark, Kusu could hear the sound of people failing to suppress their glee.

    The Sword Mage''s temple throbbed.

    Here was the reason he never allowed Lulan to visit seedy places like the M on the Bund. Ever since her Heart of Iron days, his berserker sister was always low on what Gwen coined as emotional intelligence. It took an insidious mind to navigate the twisted path outside; his sister''s thought process, conversely, was as straight as a shot of Panzerschreck.

    A few days ago, when news arrived that Gwen would stay over for a day in Shanghai, Lulan had flown back from Ryxi''s abode hoping to see their friend and saviour. Over the last nine-months, Lulan had greatly enhanced her fighting potential by training in the ancient methods provided by the White Serpent of Huangshan, her Shifu. Having mastered the early stages of the Plum Blossom Sword, she had wanted to show off her progress to Gwen, whom his sister had professed to serve as a vassal when the Devourer earned her Tower and by extension, semi-autonomous extraterritoriality.

    When she spoke to Mina about duelling Gwen, Mina had recommended the underground arena run by the House of M. With her Centurion Card, Mina explained, they could eat and drink to their leisure, as well as book the fighting pit at a moment''s notice, assuming Gwen could attend. As a result, Lulan had dragged Kusu, herself, and the hardworking Ru¨¬ out to meet Gwen.

    And as expected, almost without fail, trouble found them.

    Sun Liyun, the Mage Lulan was currently chopping down to size, was the son of someone who was someone, or so Kusu figured. His bodyguard, a man Lulan had pulverised with a single Heart-Seeking jadeite slab at medium range, was a Magus of no small renown at the M''s duelling floor.

    Kusu felt sorry for the bastard, for Sun''s highly paid bodyguard had stepped into the arena only because Lulan had earlier sent three of Sun''s "friends" to the infirmary.

    The first bout had ended with a Cloud Striking Palm that shattered a woman''s jaw, the next with a round-house that mashed a man against the wall. Yet another concluded with a sword swing that turned an Abjurer''s arm U-shaped, then after that came the bodyguard, though none of their bodies had satiated Lulu''s bloodlust.

    But Kusu couldn''t blame his sister, not this time.

    As the old saying goes, "If you don''t try to die, you won''t die."

    The whole event happened earlier when Lulu had ordered an expensive drink called "Sex on the Beach", arriving concurrently at their VIP booth with a boisterous group of Guan-er-dai headed for the stall next door.

    The moment Sun''s eyes had rested on his sister, the Mage''s lips curled, a reaction understandable to Kusu.

    Lulu was the most beautiful beauty he knew, more beautiful than even the Flower of Fudan, attractive enough that passersby suffered from whiplash. Every so often, he wished that Lulan would look more like Ru¨¬, who was mundane, not tall, nor skinny, nor pale like nephrite, just pleasant enough to look nice.

    Opposite, Sun Liyun was a perfectly handsome, perfectly educated, perfectly rich kid with HDMs to burn. The young man and his buds were out on the Bund for a good time, probably after studying hard all week, and Kusu had no desire to see the sod arrive at the morgue with nary enough bits for his family to identify.

    "Hey, beauty." The young man had begun with the softest white rice pick-up Kusu could imagine, so lame that Kusu had gone into crisis mode. How did this Sun not recognise Lulu''s lovely face? He had baulked. His sister wasn''t as famous as Gwen, but she had graced the billboards for a few months after the IIUC. And though news of Lulan had died down after she left for training, who could forget a face like his sister''s?

    Lulan had responded by raising a hand and shaking her head, dismissing the catcall.

    Naturally, the Guan-er-dai were undeterred.

    "Go away," Lulu had next replied. Kusu recalled feeling very proud of Lulu''s self-restraint.

    "Beauty, give us some face." Sun Liyun then proceeded to the next stage of auto-erotic asphyxiation without even a wrinkle of the brow. "So that you know, I am Sun Liyun."

    Watching Sun''s face filling with hope, Kusu had decided he wanted to save the young man''s bright future from himself.

    "Mr Sun''s fame is well known!" Kusu had raised a glass of water, for neither he nor Ru¨¬ liked alcohol. "Unfortunately, we are waiting for an important guest. If Mr Sun doesn''t mind, please permit us to grace your presence at a later date."

    "You are¡­?"

    "Kusu Li." Kusu had bowed his head respectfully but not in subservience. "Of Mount Hua."

    Technically, he and Lulan were no longer linked to the Clan. Still, as Elder Li was now digging for ore in some Orange Zone and the Clan had given its "Outer Sect" prodigies unanimous support, Kusu was well within his right to wield the Clan''s title.

    Thankfully, Sun had bought the bill. Raising a glass of amber liquid, he toasted Lulan. "Well met. I''ve always admired Mount Hua. To your health."

    Turning to his sister, Kusu had furiously wriggled his eyebrows.

    Sighing, Lulan raised her liquor and drank.

    Kusu was half-way to relief when, to his complete chagrin, Sun''s companions then approached with smirking fox-faces, each holding a glass.

    He wanted to facepalm.

    How many ways did these people want to die? Did they write wills before coming to the House of M?

    "Hey, you¡ª why don''t you drink to Brother Sun''s health as well?" One of Sun''s female companions had pointed to Ru¨¬.

    Ru¨¬''s face had grown instantly two shades paler. While working for Gwen''s holdings in the House of M and overseeing Tonglv and Ruxin, she knew her position well. Outside of the company, however, an NoM was an NoM.

    "I don''t think Brother Sun cares for a common¡ª" someone behind Sun had hollered half-way before suddenly realising the lack of mana radiating from Ru¨¬''s body. "Wocao! She''s an NoM!"

    "Whahaha¡ª they brought that here?"

    "Why is there an NoM in the VIP box?" someone protested. "Kick the filth out!"

    "You sure know how to play, Brother Li," another voice roared. "With a sister like that, you''re still turning to NoMs?"

    The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    Against the jeering, Ru¨¬ had assumed a mousy demeanour, her eyes studying the floor.

    Splash!

    Before Kusu could stop her, Lulan had picked up the glass that one of the men had placed on the table and threw the contents in a wide arc toward Ru¨¬''s tormentors. Instantly, a half-dozen Mage Shields sprung up, protecting their casters from the cocktail but at the cost of no small chaos among the clamouring crowd.

    Kusu had then positioned himself in front of Lulan, knowing that a single Shattering Sword from his sister would reduce this crowd of future "leaders" into strips of Dragon-carp bait.

    Please don''t attack! Kusu had prayed to his ancestors. He wasn''t sure if he could tank the spells from these Guan-er-dai with his implements, but he knew they would not survive if Ru¨¬ so much as lost a single hair.

    "Esteemed Guests!" Thankfully, the voice of Magus Yuu, overseer of the duelling arena, had burst around them like a Fire Bolt. "If you have grievances, look no further than to the arena. Should you fight out here, I hope you can face the consequences."

    They had all turned to gaze at the wizened old organiser. Yuu was a veteran and a well-connected Abjurer with actual skill; how else could he become the custodian of a place as rowdy as the House of M''s night club?

    Before Sun Liyun could address the respectable Magus, Lulan had Misty Stepped into the arena without a word, her expression a dense slab of cold iron hungering for hot flesh.

    "You¡ª you¡ª you and you." His sister had raised her sword hand. "Come at once."

    Kusu had figured that Yuu must know Lulan''s identity, for the triage Mages were already standing ready beside the duelling box. At the same time, Yuu''s nonchalance also gave Kusu a good idea of what Sun Liyun was worth and how influential his family may be. Additionally, the Magus likely knew Lulan''s spells¡ª for though Elemental Magic could be dampened and made harmless, the "mass" of a raw slab of hyper-dense jadeite could not.

    "I''ll teach this little bitch a lesson, Brother Sun." A young woman, an Evoker by the looks of her, had leapt into the arena in defence of her man. "She''ll be kowtowing in no time."

    And the rest was spleen-splattering history.

    Kusu knew the only way to save Sun now was if Gwen arrived to change his sister''s mood. Once again, he raised the Message Device to his face, dialling in the Glyph code with a flourish.

    Ding!

    Ding! Ding!

    The sound came from the entryway.

    "THANK MAO!" Kusu almost burst into tears. "Gwen! Miss Song! Over here! Over here!"

    Responding to Kusu''s wild gesticulation, all eyes turned toward the silhouettes descending the stairs.

    With Gwen''s arrival, Kusu''s worried eyes ignited with hope.

    That undeniable, alluring mien!

    That poise and presence!

    That air of confidence!

    In all of Shanghai, there was no equal to the face of SPAM.

    In front of Gwen, two grim-faced Mages with the aura of throat-slitting razors opened the path for their newly arriving guest. Besides the leading sorceress, Kusu hailed the appearance of Mina Wang, heir to Wang Enterprises, juxtaposed by the half-hunched, swaggering "Wassap!" that was her brother. Behind the trio, Kusu could see that the Song''s rising star, Percy Song, moodily followed.

    "Gwen!" Lulan''s murderous mood changed at once, erasing Sun and Co''s presence from her mind. With a heel-stomp, his sister Misty Stepped from Sun Liyun''s circle to greet their saviour, her ponytail wagging with happiness.

    Gwen embraced his sister before Lulan could bow. "Lulu! I''ve missed you as well. What''s happened? Oh hey, there''s Ru¨¬ as well. Hi Ru¨¬, good work with Russo!"

    Ru¨¬ stood and bowed.

    Kusu turned to regard Sun Liyun and saw that the young man had gone completely white. The heir to the Sun Clan might accept that a beating from his sister was at least an honourable way out, but he now faced the Shanghai spokeswoman for SPAM.

    For the city''s established families, the Devourer of Shenyang was an impressive title but not one that gave them pause. After all, it wasn''t as though Gwen could unleash her Shoggoth in Shanghai. But as the victor of Tonglv and one who had single-handedly uprooted the Fung Clan with its millennia-old roots, there was a standing order to keep a wide berth between themselves and the Worm Handler of Fudan.

    "Trouble?" Gwen looked to her bodyguards, who began the process of removing Sun Liyun.

    "It was a misunderstanding!" Impressively, Sun made his choice before Gwen''s men even opened their mouths. Striding forward toward Ru¨¬, the young man bowed from the waist, then remained stooped as he spoke. "We had no idea Miss Li and her friend were affliiates of the granddaughter of Chairman Song. With all my heart, I humbly beg for forgiveness. To show sincerity, we are willing to accept any punishment!"

    Ru¨¬ looked to Gwen, then Lulan, then to Kusu. "I don''t mind..."

    "Well said, Master Sun," Kusu interjected before Gwen or his sister could speak. "Take care that this never happens again. Now go."

    "Thank you!" Sun gave Kusu a nod of gratitude as he passed. Wasting no time, he gathered up his entourage, then quickly skulked from the scene, leaping up the velvet steps with the aid of Expeditious Retreat.

    Kusu exhaled. It wasn''t easy saving a whole Clan from self-annihilation.

    Opposite, Gwen chuckled, then held his diminutive sister''s hand with a self-satisfied smile.

    Around the club, those whose curiosity overruled the warning from their elders stayed, while the other half of the guests chose to relocate to other parts of the club.

    "Well done, Sis." Percy laughed when Gwen''s expression grew concerned. "I haven''t seen a room clear this fast since someone in the barracks said they found a bite-mark on their ankle."

    Gwen gave her brother the evil eye before turning to Lulan. "Wow, Lulu, you look fantastic. That aura! And the mana! Your growth is incredible! What were you doing just now? Showing the youngsters here the ropes?"

    "Ryxi has taught me well," Lulan said, then without waiting for the ice to thaw, his sister retracted her fingers from Gwen''s grasp, then delivered the cargo that had been stowed rent-free in her mind. "Gwen, I want you to duel me seriously."

    The Devourer of Shenyang stared at his guileless sister. Kusu understood her dismay, for Gwen had not even warmed her buttocks before being asked to fight with all her might.

    Gwen stared at Lulan, her eyes measuring the Sword Mage from head to toe. The Omni-Mage must have read his sister''s sincerity, for the next moment, she gave her consent.

    "Alrighty then." The girl grinned. "Let''s see how far my Lulu has come."

    "Miss Song." One of the men accompanying Gwen coughed politely. "You''re supposed to stay out of trouble."

    "Just stretching my legs." Gwen smiled back. "Besides, Lulu''s a teammate and a future employee. We''re revising our training."

    Kusu observed their saviour, sensing that something about Gwen had changed. Both physically and mentally, she seemed in tune with her now older self. During the start of the IIUC, Kusu always felt that the youthful mien possessed by Gwen did not suit her mature presence. Now, Gwen appeared more comfortable in her skin.

    "Oxford or Harvard?" Gwen asked once she was inside, kicking off her heels and stowing them as she twirled her long hair into a tightly knotted bun, revealing the slender nape of her neck.

    "Harvard." Lulan Misty Stepped to join her, likewise removing her shoes, one heel still dripping blood. "Use Caliban or Ariel, and buff how you will."

    Kusu felt his chest constrict. "Lulu, be careful."

    "We''ll stop when it hurts," Gwen''s assurance was not very reassuring.

    Those spectators who had not left by now gathered close, happy that they were going to witness a battle to brag about in their old age but also wary that should the barriers fail, there would be no old age to worry over. But they stayed nonetheless, firstly because they were young and reckless, and secondly because of the hormones fogging their brains. It was a phenomenon that Kusu understood, for no one drew eyeballs as readily as the Devourer other than his sister, and now the both of them were in one spot.

    "Caliban! Ariel!" Gwen conjured forth her Familiars. To Kusu''s untrained senses, Ariel manifested as its IIUC self. Conversely for Caliban, Kusu felt the snake had grown by magnitudes.

    "Shaa!" Caliban rushed for Lulan.

    "Cali! Back!" Gwen commanded the creature. "Fight first, then hug!"

    "Shaa! Shaa!"

    "Ee! Ee!"

    "Agility! Strength! Constitution!" Their IIUC vice-captain matched Lulan buff-for-buff, missing only Lulan''s signature Iron Skin. "And one more thing so you can go all-out¡ª Sanguine Mantle!"

    In front of a wide-eyed audience, the Void Sorceress produced a vial of scarlet serum, unstoppered the contents, then released a free-floating ball of liquid to hover about her person.

    "New spell?" Lulan assumed a fighting stance, one that Kusu recognised as the opening form to Huashan''s Plum Blossom.

    "New Abjuration," Gwen answered as an insidious, inky Void-sphere enveloped the contents of the vial. "Whatever happens, until my vitality''s depleted, it''ll keep me on my feet, so feel free to go hard. Should I start, or do you want to go first?"

    "We''ll go at the same time."

    "Alright." Gwen raised her hand. "Ariel! Lightning Bolt!"

    The invocation half-formed before Gwen had even finished the incantation, demonstrating a passive Affinity that bordered on complete mastery. At once, twin bolts of Lightning leapt from Ariel''s horns while from Gwen''s fingertips, a bright blue arc erupted into a thigh-thick bolt of pure power, turning the dark club incandescent.

    "Plum Blossom Sword¡ª Verdant Spring!" Lulan announced her attack for the benefit of her competitor. Unlike most Western magic, the esoteric arts of the warrior ascetics focused entirely on internal discipline, striking with the force of a cyclone but the subtlety of a gentle breeze.

    The moment the Lightning blazed, Lulan was gone, leaving only a slab of iron to act as a grounding rod for Gwen''s assault.

    In the blink of an eye, his sister closed the distance between them, her hand forming the somatic incantation for summoning Huashan''s signature sword strike.

    "Shield!" Gwen''s famous double-glazed barrier erupted in the form of an enormous semi-dome large enough to keep two Lulans at bay, taking full advantage of her abnormally large VMI. The unorthodox defence was enough to catch Lulan flat-footed, as she hadn''t anticipated Gwen to spellshape her barrier. "Void Seeker!"

    The speed at which Gwen completed her incantations left Lulan little room for hesitation. In quick succession, she stepped on Gwen''s shield, using the hardened barrier as a springboard to dodge the incoming chakram of Void.

    "Parry!" A rough slab of half-formed iron ate up the target-seeking disk of Void. "Heart-Seeking Sword!"

    CLANG!

    Such was the speed of Lulan''s spell that the sound of the blade striking the double-glazed barrier happened a split-second after her invocation.

    "Good work, Lulu." Gwen remained unmoved. "Cali! Ariel, Ball Lightning!"

    "Shaa¡ª Shaa!" Cali came on in its spider form with all its limbs waving in the air, sending the guests recoiling from the barrier wall with ashen faces.

    On Lulan''s side, a surge of Transmutation in the form of "ki" informed Kusu that his sister was getting serious. A brief vision of a six-headed Naga formed behind Lulan, visualising the Spirit inhabiting her Astral Body.

    Behind his sister, as though Lulu possessed additional eyes, two blades of jadeite three meters long pierced the encroaching Caliban, momentarily pinning the spider Fiend to the floor like a specimen.

    In front, four rods of jadeite as thick as Gwen''s waist, half-mixed with rusty chunks of oxidised iron intercepted the barrage of target-seeking electricity, giving Lulan enough time to perform half-a-dozen Misty steps around the closeted battle area. Once Lulan was confident Gwen grew disorientated, she let loose the spell she had been nursing.

    "Shattering Sword!"

    Since her training, Ryxi had absolved Lulan of much of the pastiche arts borrowed from Spellcraft, modern magic and Huashan''s remaining manuscripts. The long-ranged spell that Gwen had devised for her friend, Panzerschreck, had now become amalgamated into its final form¡ª The Flower Shattering Sword.

    "Dimension Door!" Gwen must not have possessed the confidence she could stomach the killing blow with her Shield alone, and so re-appeared nearer the ceiling mid-invocation. Her choice proved correct, for the sword first stabbed into the double barrier with a Clang! Then erupted into ten thousand shards of razor-sharp jadeite.

    To buy time, Caliban directly transformed into its Big Bird form, sending the spectators reeling while simultaneously parrying the fragments with its metallic feathers.

    "Ee!" Yet another twin-bolted pair of Lightning flashed across the area, near-striking Lulan as she twisted and turned through the air with supernatural agility. Having perfected the step-formation technique from Ryxi, his sister''s movements grew too erratic to predict, especially with her at-will usage of Misty Step.

    "Petal-Plucking Sword!" Lulan extended an arm. The Spirit of the jadeite Naga grew fully visible for a brief moment.

    "Blade Barrier!" Gwen''s spell and Lulu''s sword strike manifested concurrently, sending the whirling generators containing the battle into a frenzy.

    From nothing, a vast array of spinning blades of force, now wreathed in lightning, materialised both on Lulan''s path of assault and her retreat, instantly transforming Lulan''s forward momentum into self-defeat. Ahead of her, Gwen hovered, but in her way were three sets of rapidly spinning, star-shaped force-swords. Behind her as well as everywhere in the oval were these same rotating mincers, each crackling with electricity. What''s worse, below her awaited Big Bird Caliban, its neck distended, waiting for her to lose momentum.

    But if Lulan forfeited now, then she wouldn''t be Lulan.

    "Lulu!" Kusu saw his sister enclose her fist, pulling the blades closer so that they wrapped her like a suit of armour. Then, maintaining her head-long rush, she charged in-between two sets of whirling blades.

    SPAK! SPAK! CLANG!

    CLANG! SPAK! SPAK!

    An ear-grating array of noises denoting the meeting of an immovable object and an unstoppable force, throwing such a shower of bright sparks that the interior of the underground abode once more turned incandescent.

    "Lulu!" Kusu shouted. "Control yourself!"

    Though Gwen had resolved much of Lulu''s chi issues regarding the Heart of Iron, Kusu''s sister had lived with the excess Yang energy in her body long enough to turn her bane into a boon. Even so, there was a cost; compared to the others in their Clan, Lulu''s berserker form was as pronounced in power as it was burdensome on her psyche.

    When finally the light died down enough for all to see, Lulan emerged from between the blades, her clothes in tatters, her skin whipped and welted and her hair a whole crop shorter than before.

    Kusu winced. He liked Lulu with long hair, as did Ryxi, who liked to dress Lulu in moon-silk attires from the Tang and Ming dynasties.

    "Shield!" Gwen had not anticipated that Lulan would rush through a deadly, Mage-mincing barrier. "Lightning Bolt!"

    Lulan discarded her sword shell, opting for a quick finish.

    Just as Gwen''s barrier formed, four more sword-slabs smashed into the dome, turning the surface opaque.

    This time, Lulan chose to eat the Lightning Bolts to maintain her forward momentum. Watching the hysterical upper-tier energy dance across his sister''s singed skin, Kusu felt his organs grow suddenly old.

    But the sacrifice was enough for Lulan to reach the double-glazed shield. "Shivering Blossoms!"

    Kusu''s throat constricted.

    When had his sister grown so great?

    Gwen was arguably the most peerless Mage he had ever worked with, possessing the largest mana pool known for someone not already a Magister.

    Yet, Lulu was going to make the hope of the Mageocracy yield in a one-on-one battle? Were the girls not best friends, Kusu would almost imagine that Lulu was scheming to use the Devourer of Shenyang to prop up a reputation for herself, or at least put herself in a position to promote China''s burgeoning nationalism.

    The "Blossoms" struck.

    With a sound of suddenly shattering glass, Gwen''s Shield disintegrated. Lulan reached in and conjured another sword, this one just long enough to hover an inch away from Gwen''s quivering white collarbones.

    "Do you yield?" Lulan huffed, her chest rising and falling rapidly as her organs worked furiously to replenish the energy drained by the rapid series of non-stop movements.

    "Do you?" Gwen smirked in turn. "Look down."

    Kusu looked up at the same time as Lulan looked down.

    The air shimmered, then Caliban''s Spider Form re-appeared.

    Gwen wasn''t flying, but instead standing on Caliban''s segmented torso.

    Presently, just as Lulan had a sword to Gwen''s throat, Caliban''s all-consuming maw was less than half a meter and a split-second away from dragging Lulan into the abyss with an array of hissing tentacles.

    "How?!" Ru¨¬ gasped, unable to help herself.

    Both Mina and Tao made their awe known, as did Gwen''s guards.

    Below, the Big Bird Caliban shimmered, performed a convincing "Shaa!", then faded from view.

    An illusion! The crowd murmured in turn.

    Still, who was the victor? Kusu wondered, then realised the stupidity behind his naive conjecture. Hadn''t Gwen had earlier activated something called Sanguine Mantle? Assuming the spell was anywhere near as stout as her shield, the girls'' exchange wouldn''t be at all equal. At worst, Gwen would be maimed and incapacitated, while Lulan would have taken a long trip down to tentacle town.

    "I lost." Lulan retracted her sword with an expression of self-loathing.

    "You held back," Gwen said. "No Vibration Sword earlier? You could have cut through my shield anytime. My Mantle didn''t activate, but who knows if you''re able to slice through it."

    "You held back on using Void Spells," Lulan said, shaking her head. "If that had been Void Bolts and a Void-aligned Blade Barrier¡­"

    "We''re not duelling to the death, Lulu." Gwen unsummoned her Blade Barrier, but left her Familiars. Once the girls alighted, Caliban and Ariel both rushed to comfort Lulan, giving her face a tongue-bath even as they made figure-eights between her legs.

    "I wanted to be of use," Lulan mourned her loss, both hands keeping Gwen''s pets at bay.

    "You ARE of use, or will be," Gwen assured her, joining the huddle. "Gods, Lulu, you have no idea how kick-ass that was. I was sweating buckets! Buckets! Touch my back; I am drenched!"

    With Gwen''s kind words, Kusu saw that his sister''s expression took on a note of undisguised happiness. As expected, his Lulu was no match for the wily capitalist.

    "I''ll go back to training," Lulan promised. "I''ll get better. Learn more Sword spells from Ryxi! I''ll work twice as hard!"

    "Don''t work too hard." Gwen wrapped her arm around Lulu''s neck. "Jeebus, my Sanguine Armour''s all sticky. And your dress is ruined."

    "I don''t mind¡ª"

    "I know you don''t, but I mind, and Kusu minds..." Gwen shot him a wink as she materialised a towel. So intense was the battle and its aftermath that it was only now that Kusu realised his sister was showing an awful lot of skin. He did have spare clothes for Lulu, but to walk out now and bring out a set of women''s tracksuits may engender some very awkward rumours.

    A Dimension Door later, the pair was back in the lounge area.

    "The change room is this way." Magus Yuu and the staff from the House of M was ready to wait on the two women, eager to satisfy any requests they might make.

    "Good. Come along, Lulu. I got you a half-ring worth of goods from London. Elf-made dresses, Lulu. I saved you a set. You''ll never guess who they used to belong to..."

    "I''ll help." Mina left the VIP box and joined the pair, leaving Kusu standing alone with Percy and Gwen''s thuggish-looking escorts. "Are we picking the dresses now?"

    With his blood pressure finally down to a safe level, Kusu found himself a seat. Opposite, Percy nursed a glass of wine, his expression a mask of deep thought. Ru¨¬ blended into the background through an NoM''s innate ability to seem unassuming, while Gwen''s guards stood on either side of the women''s change rooms, drawing curious looks from the remaining audience.

    "Your sister''s special." Kusu surmised he had found a kindred spirit in Percy, who also shared complicated feelings for his overachieving sister. "Must be tiresome having a sister like Gwen."

    "Yes," Percy mumbled tiredly, his evasive eyes telling Kusu everything he needed to know. "It''s a hell of a thing."

    "But you wouldn''t trade her for anyone else, right?" Kusu laughed, the handsome vision of Lulan duelling Gwen playing over and over again in his mind, making his chest burst with pride. "I sure wouldn''t."

    "I wouldn''t trade my sister for any of yours either." Tao looked around smugly when Percy appeared to mull over Kusu''s proclamation. "Mina''s the best sister ever, she''s taking over the family business, did you know? I am FREE, BITCHES! How''s that for a great sister? Eh?"

    "To great sisters." Kusu raised a glass of rice wine.

    "To our bitch''n sisters!" Tao cracked a can he earlier swiped from Sun''s table. "Come on, Percy, grab a beer!"

    Sighing deeply, Percy raised an unopened can. "To Gwen."

    "To Mina!"

    "To Lulu!"

    "To FREEDOM!"

 Chapter 382 - Like Old Times

    Gwen''s last twenty-four hours spent in Shanghai were so satisfying that she considered taking an overnight hop over to Sydney to slug a few stubbies with Surya.

    It was a tempting impulse, though one overshadowed by her impending reunion with Sufina.

    According to conventional Spellcraft lore, dearest "Sufi" would have lost most of her Henry-acquired Humanity by now, for without the anima or animus of a Mage fostering an Elemental, personality reversions were inevitable. Luckily, for Kilroy''s Apprentices, higher-order beings like Sufina immutably retained their intelligence.

    As for her present aftermath, once she and Lulu had liquored themselves up to the neck, a relieved Kusu had taken his sister and Ru¨¬ home, with Wei and Yung driving the Songs back to their respective manors. At their penthouse, Tao had made Gwen promise to contact him as soon as she had plans for the United States. Mina, meanwhile, made sure their father kept in contact with Gwen through the House of M.

    The next morning, at breakfast, Gwen emerged in her silk PJs to a grumbling grandfather griping about her reckless hen-fight with Lulan, relishing the opportunity to tell her off once more.

    "I''ll try to come back during Golden Week," Gwen promised her family while she nestled in her Babulya''s arms like a smug cat after tipping the soy sauce bottle. "Between the Isle of Dogs, the Void Union, Dwarves, Elves and Cambridge, I am going to be flat-out. I think there will be planned field exercises too. Ruxin''s expecting a lot more HDMs as well..."

    Her Yeye gazed at the ceiling, perhaps to question an ancestor, then bade her go her way.

    "I am so proud of you." Her Babulya sighed while stroking her grandchild''s hair.

    Gwen agreed, self-satisfied by a feeling of accomplishment. Things had gone swimmingly for her in the last nine months; other than a dozen lawsuits and underhanded competition against London''s notorious news rags, her two-year plan was well on track.

    "Fingers cross I''ll find my keepsake," she breathed out, hoping her run of good luck would continue.

    "You are certain this ''keepsake'' is with your Master''s Familiar?" her Yeye asked.

    "I used it on Henry last," Gwen said confidently. "I''ve managed without it just fine, but after everything the Elves said, it seems quite a bit more important than just a memento."

    "Do be careful." Her Babulya worriedly patted her hand. "Dryads are extremely pernicious creatures, especially if they''re once the companion of a master Mage."

    "I''ll take care," Gwen promised before turning to Percy to give her blushing brother a sloppy kiss on the forehead. "Take care, little bro. Don''t push yourself too hard."

    Percy''s hug felt a little limp compared to her full-bodied enthusiasm. "Goodbye, sis."

    "Ciao, champ."

    Then she was away, escorted by silent Wei and chatty Yung back to Hongqiao''s ISTC interchange. At the gate, she hired an LRM Device to quickly send Gunther and Alesia a notification that she was on route. After that, it was time for goodbye.

    "Good luck, Magus Song."

    "Stay safe, Gwen." The relieved Wei and Fung both bid her farewell.

    "See you again next time!"

    With a final nod, Gwen stepped into the blazing circle of quicksilver Conjuration, then was gone.

    Singapore.

    Changi ISTC Interchange.

    The usually fluid flow of passengers streaming forth from the furthest-reaching ISTC station in the southern hemisphere stopped to stare at the sight of a pair of rare figures in the arrival lounge.

    One was a Germanic giant with dark hair, silently simmering with a gentle, barely contained radiance. Without apparent effort, the Mage appeared a Demi-god even while dressed in an unbuttoned shirt and a loose tee, drawing wholesale adoration from the milling multitudes.

    Standing beside the man was a stunning redhead, her loose head of autumn hair cascading from her shoulders and down her back. She wore red as well, pairing a light-pink top with a billowing, retina-searing carmine skirt and ruby wedge sandals, cutting a figure that appeared as bold as a dab of blood on laundered linen.

    As a combination, therefore, the pair slowed the traffic to a standstill, unaccosted only because six of Changi''s best security officers stood by, keeping the crowd at bay.

    The arrival lounge''s glass doors slid open.

    "Gwennie!"

    "Sis!"

    "Gwen."

    "Brother!"

    A young woman no less distinct than the pair emerged from the ISTC portals. The crowd cooed, tantalised by the sheer luck required to win the genetic lottery thrice within the same bloodline. When the two women hugged and exchanged cheeks, there was an audible, collective sigh.

    "Let''s go," the man declared, glancing at the travellers forming an ever-thickening semi-circle around them. "If we stay any longer there''ll be a complaint from Tower Master Lee."

    Escorted by the guards, the trio soon found themselves victims to the city''s unyielding summer. As always, the humidity native to Singapore was enough to glue fabric to skin.

    Outside the terminal, the trio''s youngest was surprised to find that there was no escort to deliver them to the docks.

    "Er¡­ how do we get to Abang? It''s a hundred kilometres out. Weren''t we hiring a ship?"

    "No, you goose," the sister-in-red laughed. "We fly, of course."

    "To Riau island chain? There are a thousand or more islands out there. What if we get lost?"

    "Don''t you have an Omni-Directional Orb?" the man asked. "I figured we could put it to good use."

    "I haven''t tested it on the open ocean," the girl gulped.

    "Don''t worry." The woman patted the girl''s head. "Worst comes to worst; we''ve Teleportation Scrolls that''ll take us back to Singapore Tower."

    Flying through Singapore''s mana-miasma made Gwen feel as though she was swimming through coconut laksa. The heat was a symptom of the city''s prosperity, for the same multi-layered ring of Resonance Shields that kept the monsters at bay also served to stifle the sea breeze, transforming the bay into a giant heat trap.

    Worse still, they had to fly low and slow while within the city limits, and so took almost thirty minutes to clear the harbour and shipping lanes, finally arriving on the open ocean. There, hovering above a blue meniscus horizon, she sighed with happiness as the salty breeze cooly kissed her sunscreen-smothered legs.

    Once her clothes sufficiently dried, Gwen set the Omni-Orb to hover while she drifted toward Abang.

    As expected, the Orb began to fly in the opposite direction.

    "How useful." Alesia whistled. "Draconic Core?"

    "Yep. From a Dragon sans asshole." Gwen followed the Orb. She had no idea how it worked, only that it hadn''t failed her yet. Once attuned, all Gwen had to do was to will in her mind the "right" place, and the Orb would begin to float in the "right" direction in an entirely mystical manner. Once, she had experimented by desiring Chinese food after a late night of auditing on the Isle of Dogs. Dumbly, Gwen had followed the Orb for twenty minutes, finally arriving at a mid-night Hotpot joint operated by an immigrant family in Croydon. The next day, when she consulted with Diviners at Cambridge, the mystics informed her it was safest to rely on the Orb for translocation and orienteering and nothing else, lest she became misguided to places where she "had causation" but no business nor desire to visit.

    "How fast can you fly?" Gunther studied the Orb with interest before turning to the women.

    "About one-thirty, if I push it," Gwen said. "I am running tier 5 Transmutation at the moment."

    "I can do one-fifty in short bursts." Alesia looked to Gunther. "One-ten consistently. Are we racing?"

    "Unlike you two, Transmutation isn''t my strong suit." Gunther laughed. "I''ll be burning Crystals instead."

    The Tower Master pulled up his trouser leg to reveal the inscribed pair of boots. "Primarch Roc Core¡­ tier 16."

    The corner of Gwen''s lips twitched. It was good to be a Tower Master.

    "It is indeed." Her Brother-in-craft grinned, reading her mind. "Something to keep you motivated, but do go at a speed of your choosing. I''ll take the rear."

    "Are we going like this?" Gwen pointed to her skort, which looked like a miniskirt but was, in reality, a pair of comfortable shorts, then to Alesia''s flowing maxi. "There''s a lot of creepy crawlies on the island. Flesh-eating plants and such. Flying''s fine, but the trek is going to destroy our clothes."

    "We can change into leathers once we land," Gunther suggested. "I bought enough for all of us, though I doubt we''ll run into anything near our combat-class. Unless, of course, you''re thinking of taking on Sufina."

    "Let''s hope it doesn''t come to that. Also, does Singapore''s Tower Master know about Sufi?" Gwen asked. "I mean, is she common knowledge to the higher-ups?"

    "They know, but they don''t know," Gunther replied. "They know that Master''s Grot''s somewhere in the Riau archipelago, but no one knows which island or which grove. Lee knows, but he''s an ally. He was also keeping out unlucky Adventurers when Master was alive, but not since."

    "Do you think anyone''s harrassed Sufi?" Gwen furrowed her brows. "One would presume Master''s Grot holds many treasures, not that there was any while I was there, but it''s logical to assume that a Master''s Tower home would be as provisioned as the one I found in Tryfan."

    "They''ll be a nice snack if anything. You should know that Sufi could drain a lesser Dragon down to the marrow if she wished," Gunther assured her. "I don''t think you ever had an opportunity to see Sufina in full bloom. Master was already past his prime when he took us on as his Apprentices, but Sufina''s the type that grows stronger with age. Don''t forget she''s also capable of manipulating space and time inside her Grot. Who or whatever tries to access Master''s home is going to have a wonderfully terribly time."

    "Yeah, Sufina was the one sustaining Master in the end," Alesia concurred sadly. "Were it not for that Void bitch, Master could have lasted another century or two at least."

    In the silence that followed, Gwen solemnly sent the Orb forward. When in use, the Omni-Orb traversed a little faster and further ahead than its owner, regardless of the user''s velocity. It was another one of those occult occurrences only proper Enchanters with mastery over contemporary and ancient methods could truly fathom.

    "I''ll lead." She sent her Familiar forward as a windbreak. "Ariel!"

    "EE-EE!"

    Opening the flood gates of Elemental Lightning, she pumped her channels full of crackling electricity, then shot toward Abang as an arc of blue-white energy, trailed closely by a streak of scarlet and then the casual figure of a Tower Master following with neither flare nor showmanship.

    If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    Though Gwen was a Diviner, she had not received training beyond Detect Magic. As a novice, therefore, she lacked the means to attain the meditative state required to function as a Divination node. It was a lack that limited the trio to line-of-sight communications; a restriction made null by the open sea but may grow cumbersome in a dense, death-filled jungle.

    Presently, midway through the Singapore Strait, Gunther and Alesia watched Caliban resupply on a shoal of Golden-eyed Travelly in its carp form, stocking up on Vitality for whatever trouble might greet the pair on Abang. Watching the hunt was hair-raising, for though Caliban''s river-carp figure lacked the sleekness adopted by ocean predators, its advantage lay in two-meter long lamprey-tipped tentacle-tongues capable of snatching prey from two body-lengths away. While her Familiar ate, Gwen marvelled at the ease of collecting vitality from the ocean. Indeed, as her tutors had taught, the sea remained a limitless Frontier barely penetrated by Humanity''s shipping fleets.

    "Shaa!"

    "EE¡ª!"

    Not to be outdone by its darkling sibling, Ariel also joined in, emerging now and then with a fish half the size of Gwen''s torso, revelling in the slime and slick, drenching its fur with semi-transparent blood.

    Once they were in motion again, Alesia updated Gwen on Yue''s rise within Sydney''s militia. While Gwen studied, Alesia explained, the infamous "Violent Flight" with Yue, Whetu and Rona had become a CC farming powerhouse throughout Oceania''s coastal waters.

    "Yue is an able combatant, but her Fireball diplomacy bottlenecks her promotion pathways." Gunther''s Message blossomed beside Gwen''s ear. "I tried putting her on administrative duty in June; she burned down the records office after a spat with one of the Senior Managers."

    "Jeff was stealing from the Tower," Alesia''s interjection arrived a split-second later.

    "Jeff continues to be one of my best Arbitrators." Gunther looked away from his wife. "Sure, he''s using Tower funds to socialise and supply favours, but his negotiations always prioritise the Tower''s interest."

    "That doesn''t absolve him of pilfering the Tower''s resources," Alesia snapped. "Once a thief, always a thief."

    The Tower Master of Sydney sighed. "What do you think, Sister?"

    "Tell him to fuck right off, Gwennie."

    Gwen had a feeling Gunther was using her as a Wand of Persuasion, or a Shield.

    "I would have demoted the man, but kept him on with a bonus. I would also promise to doubly promote him if his work ethic improves," Gwen said after a moment''s pause. "That or open an expense account for the man to use if he needs extra funds to get his job done¡ª after a public apology. I don''t mind if my managers need to shower clients through the company, I mean, who can afford the out of pocket expenses as an individual? Even bribes are just an expense if the outcome is good."

    "¡­ you sound like Walken," Alesia sulked.

    "And Eric''s a good manager." Gwen decided to side with Gunther. "Your personal feelings are not wrong, Allie, but if you want Yunnie to be anything other than a glorified spell turret, she needs methods other than setting folks on fire. I am not critical. Gunther''s just telling it like it is. Think about the Isle of Dogs and how many people are dipping into my honey pot. You can''t imagine how many pies-in-the-sky I had to conjure to convince people to risk their crystals. The NoMs as well¡ª there''s over six-thousand now working for the Westferry-Millwall Printing Press. Another four thousand''s working on the construction site. There are ten thousand more, servicing the ten thousand labourers, their families, and the local small businesses. No amount of Fireballs is going to make that happen."

    "I want Yunnie to do better than me," Alesia confessed. "I know I am not good with these things like you."

    "Don''t fret, Allie. You''re not ''wrong'' wanting do what''s ''right''," Gwen assured her sister-in-craft. "You just be you, and Yue can be herself. In the future, I''ll have a spot for Evee and Lulu and Yue in my Tower. I think I''ll need folk like them to tell me when I''ve gone too far. In that regard, we all need a bit of Alesia in our lives."

    "Hear that?" Alesia snorted at her husband.

    "Well said," Gunther laughed. "I wouldn''t exchange Allie for all of Sydney."

    Gwen''s flight speed dipped as her Siblings-in-crafts crammed their moon-eyed sentiments down her throat.

    "Please get a room." Gwen tried her best not to think of her Evee''s milk-white face and how snugly the Cleric had fitted in between her arms. "And¡ª hold up, what''s that?"

    Of the trio, Gwen possessed the sharpest eyesight by far.

    Upon the simmering, fish-scale horizon, she could see the silhouette of ships, a dozen of them or more, stretching between a series of islands. A few looked like trawlers; a few more had the shape and size of coastal patrol vessels. The mothership, however, possessed the distinct cumbersome form of an 80''s'' supertanker, a medium-sized carrier used by militaries all over the world.

    "Is that¡ª?" Alesia furrowed her brows when Gwen pointed out the ship adjacent to their destination. "Abang?"

    Gwen squinted. "This can''t be a coincidence."

    "I wager it might be." Gunther supplied a less sceptical perspective. "I mean, if they''re here for us, there would be at least a strike cruiser or a troop carrier. Look at that thing. The barriers are so weak I could sink their cargo-carrier from here. The silhouettes look ancient. Considering where we are, they''re probably from Malaysia or Indonesia."

    "Then what do we do?"

    "I''ll go," Alesia said, exhaling sulphur. "If they attack, that''s that."

    Gunther stopped his wife. "Gwen, can you handle this?"

    "Me?" Gwen glanced at the specks on the horizon. "Sure."

    "Let''s see if our sister''s practicals are as amazing as her theory," Gunther said to Alesia, concurrently talking with his eyes. "Don''t worry about her safety. She''s got both Familiars and Dimension Door. Even if something catastrophic were to occur, I burn a Teleport Other scroll and displace the both of you before you burn your rings."

    "Sounds good. Either way, let me check it out first," Gwen noted Gunther had that particular look. "Don''t worry, Gunther. I''ll engage if the need arises. Ariel! Cali!"

    While herself remained visible, Ariel and the now Big Bird Caliban took on the guise gifted by Invisible Familiar. She then buffed herself with a suite of spells ranging from Ability Enhancers to Sanguine Mantle. She felt tempted to deploy Reactive Bone Armour, but suitable Creature Cores didn''t exactly grow on trees. Conversely, there was no harm in a little blood-letting, and so Lesser Sanguine Mantle demonstrated its versatility once more.

    With Gwen gone, Sydney''s Tower Master turned to his wife.

    "So much for exercise¡­" Alesia displaced her mana until her skin once more grew cool. "What do you think? Doesn''t look like a sanctioned resource fleet to me."

    "It''s a poacher fleet," Gunther agreed. "Bad luck for them. Poaching in non-international coastal zones is punishable by Death or Stasis. Lord knows what the Demis will get up to if we don''t draw a line in the sand."

    "Are you sure it''s coincidence there''s a fleet near Sufi''s island?"

    "Good chance it is," Gunther remained positive. "Half of Sydney knows I am away¡ª or at least a Teleportation Scroll away. That and I''ve got multi contingencies set up if something happens to either of us. Even if that''s a United States strike-cruiser armed with an Obelisk of Disintegration, we''ll still sink it. Besides, if need be, Lee can teleport the mobile Tower here in less than it takes to chase us down, Gwen especially."

    "Think she''ll handle it?" Alesia asked once Gwen''s figure shrunk to a speck.

    "I''ll run a Scry," Gunther burned a scroll, concurrently conjuring a mirror showing the area traversed by Gwen.

    "You couldn''t have Scryed instead of sending her?" Alesia said. "You can be so nasty sometimes."

    "Our little sister''s been in polite society for too long," Gunther explained, drawing his wife closer, so they stood shoulder to shoulder. "This is the Wildlands, Allie. Gwen needs to know there are far more desperate folk out there than those who are after her profit margins. Besides, I am keen to how our little Void Fiend has gotten with the program since Blackheath. What good is a tier VI War Mage if high-living mills away her bloodlust?"

    "¡­ what do you think she''ll do?"

    "With her tier of Abjuration? I would say she''ll suffer a moral quandary for ten minutes."

    "That''s hardly fair," Alesia complained. "Usually we have a party and a ship of our own to deal with poachers. Without a prison ship for prisoners, what do you want her to do with the survivors?"

    "They''re dead men by law," Gunther said without any particular feeling. "Besides, this close to Sufina and Master''s Grot, I am not too confident in my capacity for compassion."

    "Still thinking this whole thing is a coincidence?"

    The Tower Master of Sydney appeared thoughtful. "If Gwen sinks the carrier, then yes."

    "And if they manage to take her down?"

    "Then we better save a few survivors," Gunther remarked drily. "And dig through their brains to see who is pulling strings¡­"

    "HAILING ALL VESSELS! STOP YOUR ENGINES, POWER DOWN YOUR SHIELDS."

    Gwen''s air siren greeting rolled like thunder over the ships anchored across the island chain. On approach, she had the choice of engaging stealthily or openly. Considering the size of the fleet and the pressure she could exert as a Mageocracy Magus, she chose the former.

    As expected, like a kicked ant''s nest, the decks suddenly filled with people, with about one in a dozen possessing a low-tier mana signature.

    When she drifted closer, she could see that someone had docked several of the vessels against the island where Sufina made her home. That and the fact that a long chain of floating logs trailed from the coast to the ships, with several mid-sized cargo carriers loading the wood onto their rusty decking.

    Loggers? Gwen''s brows furrowed in an unfriendly manner. According to Attenborough''s Bestiary, Dryad Groves did produce inordinately prized lumber, not to mention Dryadic Heartwood harvested from their hearth-tree made precious wand and stave ingredients. The harvesting itself, however, was often a deadly affair.

    On the island, she could see men in Golem-suits, going at the Banyan treeline hammer and tongs, filling the air with mana miasma and the crash of whipping chainsaws chewing on wood. With many kilometres to the heart of the island, either the Dryads didn''t care, or there was a resonator keeping them at bay.

    Around the cumbersome carrier, smaller ships in the form of rusty tub vessels were trawling for fish with enormous nets stretching from bay to bay. On the factory-carrier itself, she could see metric-tons of silvery bait-fish piled in between the crude hulls, feeding into a churning metal mouth.

    Loggers and fishers? An idea was beginning to form in her head.

    Poachers?

    Was this a poaching fleet stealing from Purple and Black Zones under the protection of city-states? According to her Commonwealth Territorial Treaties handbook supplied by Le Guevel, wasn''t the offence punishable by imprisonment, stasis and for the Captains, death?

    Gunther wasn''t expecting her to be judge, jury and executioner, was he? Gwen felt suddenly nervous. For some reason, she thought of Blackheath.

    "THIS IS MAGUS SONG OF LONDON TOWER," Gwen declared via Clarion Call as per protocol. Hopefully, these dodgy looking vessels could provide some evidence of their innocence. If anything, she dreaded the inevitable use of force to convince the poachers to leave Sufina''s island. "STATE YOUR¡ª"

    Her Divination senses tingled before the mana signatures below could complete their circuits. Reflexively, she erected her double-glazed Gunther Shield.

    SPAK! SPAK¡ªSPAK!

    SPAK-SPAK! SPAK!

    SPAK! SPAK¡ªSPAK! SPAK! SPAK¡ªSPAK!

    HSSS¡ª!

    A dozen Magic Missiles enhanced by whatever Mandala was inscribed on the ship to increase the range of the Mages'' spells washed over her spherical barrier like pelting hail, turning half of her globe white with impact. The last attack was an Acid Arrow, indicating something of an Ooze Transmuter onboard the vessel. When she replenished her barrier, she could even see NoMs wielding charged-wands fed by cumbersome mana-batteries.

    FUCK! She swore silently. Gwen Dimension Doored about a hundred meters out, reappearing some distance away. "HALT¡ª"

    Her Divination Sigil pinged again.

    HSSS¡ª!

    SPAK! SPAK¡ªSPAK!

    SPAK-SPAK! SPAK!

    SPAK! SPAK¡ªSPAK!

    Another round of ship-enhanced low-tier Evocation blasted her Shield. Individually, the spells were negligible, but the sheer volume of attacks landing on her was both draining her mana and preventing her from casting. Worst of all, the attacks were unceasing, with smaller spells hitting every few seconds in between the volleys.

    "Gunther!" She Messaged her Brother-in-craft back while gaining altitude. "These idiots started attacking me!"

    "We can see that." Gunther''s Message came back. "Poaching in Singapore''s waters awards eighty lashes¡ª effectively a death sentence for non-Transmuters. Harvesting Dryad wood and threatening the unspoken peace Singapore has established with the Demi-folk is likewise punishable by swimming with the Merlions."

    "You knew they were poachers?"

    "You just confirmed it."

    HSSS¡ª!

    SPAK! SPAK!

    SPAK-SPAK! SPAK!

    SPAK! SPAK¡ªSPAK!

    HSSSS!

    "God damn it!" Gwen growled in frustration. These bastards had a deathwish! She had already Dimension Doored three times!

    "How are they targeting me?" she asked Alesia through another Message, sensing that Gunther was up to his usual tricks.

    "Their command ship''s got a Divi-loc on your mana Signature," Alesia''s voice sounded amused. "You could fly out of range, but we need to get on the island anyway, meaning we''ll have to bypass these goons regardless¡ª unless you want to wait a day for the coast guard? So, you want to handle this or should I oblige? Gunther can be done in fifteen minutes."

    "We''re killing them, just like that?" Gwen demanded darkly, suddenly realising her siblings had sent her out for a reason. "Come on, that''s ridiculous. There''s like a hundred¡ª two hundred people on those ships, likely more!"

    "Are they not presently trying to kill you?" Gunther asked. "Need I remind you¡ª"

    Gwen corkscrewed through the air to no avail. Having studied and worked mainly outside of combat for nearly nine months, Gwen knew her Flight was rusty. Then again, it wasn''t as though she could dodge Divi-guided Magic Missiles anyway.

    Just as Gunther''s warning reverberated through her head, a foursome of Elemental Orbs, each resembling green boils, burst about her person, fracturing the first layer of her Shield. If she had been a lesser Mage, a face full of noxious acid would be her present condition.

    Slipping away through yet another Dimension Door, Gwen took a good long gander at the Mages flinging spells at her person. Through her Essence enhanced eyes, she could just make out the Poacher''s leader, a scruffy Ooze Evoker or Transmuter throwing low and mid-tier spells her way, dressed in a tattered combat suit. The rest of the poachers, both NoMs and low-tier Mages, appeared to be just that¡ª low-tier nobodies and NoMs. To her eyes, the men looked Indonesian, with oily skin the same hue as Surya''s.

    "Shaa!" Caliban expressed a desire to board the vessel.

    "EE! EE!" Ariel suggested an Essence-infused Maelstrom.

    Gwen chose to dodge for now.

    Gunther''s advice at Blackheath seared her brain like a branding iron, as fresh as a jagged flesh wound. In her head, however, she couldn''t help but think about the same desperate people who had been starving in Millwall and Cubitt before she arrived. These guys were poachers, not blood-thirsty pirates. They''re just folk trying to make a living off the edge of society by providing for the Grey Market. Is trying to make a living punishable by death? Killing NoMs for poaching was such a medieval act, no matter how Gunther framed it.

    SPAK-SPAK! SPAK!

    SPAK! SPAK¡ªSPAK!

    Gwen flew up and up until she was out of range and the ships were once more miniscule.

    Undeniably, Gunther was right on one point.

    They DID try to kill her.

    She had flown for several minutes just now without retaliation, and the bastards hadn''t let up. As her Babulya would say, even Buddha loses patience when struck in the face three times.

    Inside her chest, a raging torrent of hysterical electricity threatened to spill. Below, the poacher fleet appeared as tiny as sand, a mere speck, a pinprick on the goosebump of an orange, its rusty vessels the colour of rotten pulp.

    And above them, their unhappy arbiter of fate hovered, an indecisive goddess holding back the power to split the bean-green sea asunder.

 Chapter 383 - The Face of Spam

    Nanang "The Brave" was born in the seaside port of Semarang, south of the Indonesian island chain that formed the Greater Sunda Islands.

    For generations, his family worshipped the Elemental God Batara Guru, a deity-Spirit who aeons ago ordered the creation of their island home by taking one of the five peaks of Mahameru in Jambudvipa and anchoring it to the floating landmass that was Java. On his island, Nanang and his ilk believed that the fire-belching ring of fire wasn''t an island at all, but a Leviathan-deity, a slumbering Naga Turtle with the Meru on its back, sleeping in the bean-green sea.

    For Nanang and his people, the Sea of Java was the womb of their civilisation.

    As a child, he collected cockerels and shellfish from its shores.

    As an adolescent, he dived for abalone and lobsters.

    And when he Awakened at fifteen, Nanang joined the other boys of similar age from the village and boarded the rusty vessels sailing from Semarang to the Frontier city of Jakarta. Standing half-naked on the shoreline, they were hand-picked by the exalted Captains of the Naga fleet in a grand auction of the local talent.

    As a tier three Water Transmuter, Nanang fetched 80 HDMs, a veritable fortune for his impoverished, starving village. After that, once the Headhunter took his cut, 68 HDMs were exchanged for food and sundry, then sent back to Nanang''s settlement. That night, the village celebrated while its prodigy son, Nanang, took his place on the deck of the Akimvrishka, one of the Naga fleet''s many converted factory-carriers.

    This year, Nanang was twenty-two. For seven years, he had worked ceaselessly on the Akimvrishka, earning the rank of Third Mate thanks to the short-lived career of his seniors. For the Naga fleet, the sea was harsh and generous in equal measure; a Deva and an Asura in one. Those who lived off her many bosomed teets had to suffer weather, accident, Mermen and zealous disputes with their Captains on a near-daily basis.

    Nanang''s dearest wish, if there was one, was to finish his ten-year tour and return to Semarang.

    There, he could rejoin the village as one of the lucky ones, find himself a woman, father children, and pay respects to his sire, assuming the Mage was alive, then crew a small fishing vessel as its Master.

    Nanang had deemed his dream a humble one, though now it seemed his last incarnation might have contaminated his present luck. For a fleet of their size, it wasn''t that unusual to be accosted by the Coast Guard who could be bought with HDMs or Creature Cores. What was unusual was a random encounter with a lone Mage out in the Black Zones, one that demanded unconditional surrender. Stranger still, when the sorceress came close enough for Nanang to see, he had felt an unspeakable sense of recognition¡ª feeling as though he had seen her supple silhouette elsewhere.

    "Keep firing!" Captain Raharjo''s spittle landed on Nanang''s shoulder. "Take the harlot down! No witnesses!"

    Nanang''s chest flooded with fatigue as he conjured yet another Magic Missile. The Mandala-tuned mana enriched by the ship''s defences overwhelmed his conduits, bloating his body to bursting. Around him, Nanang could see his lesser shipmates bleeding from their noses and their ears; a few had burst the capillaries in their irises, turning them into red-eyed Asuras.

    As for their foe, Nanang did not believe they could slay nor capture the sorceress.

    Over the last seven years, he had slain Mermen Scouts, jousted with Manta Riders and exchanged blows with Crab-clawed Heavy Infantry. On the islands the fleet passed, he had subdued flesh-eating natives, drowned crazed snake-women with scale-covered breasts that shorne like jewels and splintered walking trees that tore men apart and ate their fatty intestines. Each of the battles was hard-won, for it was only thanks to the combined force of the ship''s Resonator and its make-shift Wands that they could triumph over the Black Zone.

    But Nanang had never witnessed such an encounter as a Bulai who was pretty as a picture, single-handedly confronting a Naga fleet while armoured in a flimsy shirt and skirt.

    Not only that, she had declared herself to be a Magus from London, and that the fleet should prepare to be boarded by her lonesome self.

    Naturally, their Captain refused to suffer the insult.

    They had too much to gain and too little to lose.

    As for whether Raharjo made the right decision, Nanang couldn''t say.

    For men who lived on the crests'' edge, violent solutions were a jaw-clenching reflex. Raharjo had no idea if the girl was alone, or if there was a fleet or a Flight cloaked with Mass Invisibility in her mana wake. He only cared that if their presence got back to Singapore via officious channels, the fortress city''s Strike Cruisers would pursue them from Bangka Belitung to Jakarta.

    "How is her Shield still unshattered?" His Captain watched the girl ascend without effort, trailed by no less than a dozen Magic Missiles pinging off her spherical mana wall. Somehow, she had even shrugged off his fourth-tier Elemental Orbs. "Bangke! What is she, a Sea Elf?"

    Nanang had no answers for his Captain. He wasn''t educated like those Singaporeans across the strait, safe in their fortress, he hadn''t gone to secondary school or even learned to read and write beyond what was necessary for survival.

    "She''s out of range," Nanang observed.

    "I can see that," his Captain growled. "Bangsat! She''s up too high! Now we''ll have to hunt her down! Sinta! Dian! Come with me!"

    "Aye, Captain!" The ship''s First and Second Mate, both women and both Transmuters-Abjurers, broke from the milling thong of NoMs fiddling with sizzling-hot wands overheated from the meta-magic. A few seconds later, they completed their Flight and defence buffs and hovered through the air.

    "Bridge, where is she now?"

    "We''re tracking her directly above us, about two hundred and twenty metres, Captain."

    "Don''t lose her. Keep her signature locked-on."

    A pulsing green Message flare affirmed Raharjo''s command.

    For Nanang, his superiors'' flying forms, dark against the burning brightness of the water, made his heart sore. When would he have an opportunity to learn spells like Flight? Nanang lamented. His Affinity for Transmutation, according to the scribes at the auction office, was already at the right tier. For a rube like him, however, it would cost over two hundred HDMs to hire a tutor willing to teach him while under the auspice of a Cognisance Chamber. If Nanang was a woman, and a pretty one at that, his Captain might have taken an interest¡ª but Nanang was a man and therefore both a useful tool and a potential competitor. Though his increase in sorcerous potential could help, there was little motivation for his Captain to elevate Nanang, at least not with Sinta and Dian clinging onto the Raharjo''s trouser legs.

    DING! DING! DING!

    A Mass Message spell from the bridge''s Divination room blossomed beside Nanang''s ears.

    "Unexpected Conjuration detected, Captain! Look out for¡ª"

    "SHAAA¡ª!"

    Something akin to a shadow briefly flickered at the edge of Nanang''s vision. A wave of nausea washed over him; then like a mirage revealing a Dragon Turtle hidden in the mist, the monster fell upon them before anyone could react.

    A twin pair of white hands, feminine and slender like that of the divine Avalokite?vara, reached out across the aether toward Sinta and Dian and caught them, one by the torso and the other by the hip. The strangely beautiful spectacle felt so surreal that Nanang''s lips naturally affected a grin, recalling how he had once seen pretty girls at the market clutching colourful dolls carved from leftover lumber.

    "¡ªARRRRRRGH!"

    "GNnnnarblergh¡ª!"

    The slender fingers squeezed.

    His shipmate''s Shields shattered in intermittent bursts of discordant mana.

    "ACID Barrier!" His Captain forwent saving the two screaming Transmuters, for he could see their innards overflowing from between the digits of the six-fingered hands; if anything¡ª death would be a mercy.

    The spells struck, there were a hiss, an SHAA and a cry of pain, then the fog in Nanang''s head dispersed.

    "Concentrate all FIRE!" he howled at the NoM sailors with their tethered wands. "BANISH THE RAKSHASA!"

    The lower-tier Mages and the NoMs raised their weapons once more. When finally his Captain''s acid slid from the creature, Nanang saw the monstrous bird in its entirety. The fiend wasn''t overly large, as it had appeared earlier in his mind, but still as big as a Gull-winged Peng, the mortal scions of the Leviathan-bird of Kunlun.

    What terrified his NoM shipmates and Nanang was that the bird had no face, for it was all mouth from the neck up, and now it was doing its best to devour their Captain even as he transmuted spell and shield to escape the tentacles latching onto his acid-tinged barrier.

    SPAK! SPAK! SPAK!

    SPAK-SPAK!

    The Wand-spells struck.

    A hive of piercing missiles ricochetted from the creature''s jet-black, obsidian feathers, bending nary a plume.

    "B-Blink!" In a blind panic, Captain Raharjo jaunted through the aether, leaving behind a pile of rags and un-attuned clothing, reappearing near-naked some distance away on the deck. By now, the man''s eyes were two bloodshot orbs of hapless desperation. "Corrosive Missiles!"

    "Lesser Shape Metal!" Nanang drew on everything he had to transmute the shattered decking, hoping to snare the creature so that his Captain could reduce it into a pile of bubbling black bile.

    "SHAA!" When its fingers tore through his sheet metal like paper, Nanang felt complete despair. What manner of creature was this? He demanded to know. From what demi-plane of the Gods had it descended and how could they defeat that which could not be harmed?

    CRACK!

    Before Nanang could catch up with his runaway imagination, the well-lit sky grew unnaturally, infinitely brighter.

    A solid rod of living lightning, as thick as the stoutest pillar in the Obsidian Temple of Shiva in Bali, struck the water before expanding into ten thousand branches of arcing electricity, blossoming like a giant Banyan, turning the blue sea white.

    Up in the bridge''s castle housing, the magic-dampening Mandala must have taken damage, for Nanang could hear the distinct sound of the ship''s inner conduits shriek, after which the thrumming mana beneath his feet churned and choked.

    "SURRENDER YOUR ARMS!" Came the command from the heavens, the very same that had ordered them earlier. It was the girl whose likeness brushed against vague memories he could not recollect. For now, as the bird-thing smeared the deck with gore, Raharjo''s Third Mate had only one thought¡ª if this winged Rakshasa served the sorceress, then had they offended an incarnation of Shiva?

    "SURRENDER NOW OR¡ª"

    "Nanang! PUSH IT INTO THE WATER!" Raharjo half-melted a fleeing NoM with one sweep of his hand. "Do it now!"

    Nanang compelled his mind to concentrate, banishing the stalking bird from view. Between the bird and himself, there were some dozen NoMs who would act as his proxies before he came face to face with that bottomless gullet. His Captain was right; if he could move the armoured bird into the sea where its hands and wings were useless, maybe it would drown.

    "ARIEL!" Came a shattering howl of righteous anger.

    "EE!" The air above the tanker shimmered, revealing a quasi-draconic visage ten-times the resplendence of the idols in Candi Borobudur''s sacred halls.

    A KIRIN! By Batara Kala! Nanang''s mind grew suddenly blank as ancient tales of Devas and Asuras warring over the fate of man unfurled in his head like a length of illustrated Sutra. A Kirin? Rather than an Asura, was the sorceress an emissary of the Deva?

    There was a moment''s pause, the calm before the storm. Nanang had only a moment to ponder if the girl was an Asura or Deva, then¡ª

    The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

    "BARBANGINY!"

    ¡ª their tribulation arrived.

    Nanang supposed the sorceress'' wrath was a foregone conclusion, a punishment for Nanang and his ilk who had not immediately prostrated to kiss her flawlessly pale feet.

    The lightning landed this time on the castle, naturally guided by the laws laid down by the Gods to the highest point of the factory-carrier. The Shielding Mandala visibly glowered for a few seconds as the materials used to inscribe the Ward turned to motes of super-heated liquid. A split-second later, the bridge erupted in a blooming flower of emerald electricity.

    All around Nanang, chaos reigned. From the castle, bits of metal, some as large as crab-folk Mermen, rained down around them.

    "SHAAA!" There was a brief scream. Nanang turned, caught in a dream of slow-time, discovering to his surprise not a large bird with a mouth for a face, but a six-headed Naga where the bird had been. Each faceless head had presently arrested a resistive Mage, their bewildered Captain included.

    The scene all but erased the last shred of doubt in Nanang''s mind. To command the Naga and a six-headed beast at that, the girl must be a High Asura, one of the ten-thousand hands of she who was the Destroyer of Worlds. Caught in the monster''s mouths, his Captain had attempted another Blink, but the unpracticed Mage proved too stricken with horror to maintain his concentration. With an effortless tug from two heads, Captain Raharjo split at the seams, his entrails stringing between two mouths fighting for the upper portion of Raharjo''s carcass.

    Nanang knelt with the others laying down their arms. "Great Varunas, we give ourselves willingly, please return this offending servant to the Great Wheel."

    A burgeoning surge of violent frustration filled Gwen''s chest to the verge of bursting, releasing only when the supercharged mana left her conduits, leaving her blissfully empty.

    Below the halo of heat left by the racing electricity, Ariel''s quasi-divine visage grew envigorated until it was larger than even Caliban in his Big-bird form. Once fed on Almudj''s Essence, its horns grew incandescent, so bright that a second sun appeared to envelop the Kirin¡ª then both bolts discharged at once.

    Of the Evocation in her present repertoire, Gwen chose Chain Lightning for its capacity to carry the necessary voltage of mana, as well as its inclination to leap between targets. Taking a leaf from the lessons taught by Patel, she had taken the time to modify the spell for range and violence, vastly inflating the spectacle of her sorcery in exchange for lethal potential.

    CRACK!

    Her Barbanginy struck, drawn to the lightning rod Divination bridge.

    The initial impact shattered every shielded window, first blowing the warded panes inward before the scorched interior expelled its occupants outwards. Concurrently, the fleeing currents of blue-green electricity proved too much for the old carrier, peeling the rusty panes from their scaffolding, melting the heated rivet bolts.

    From the bridge, the Chain Lightning then leapt to the forecastle, tearing up the double hull in a fantastic explosion.

    Then from the carrier, the much-diminished discharge travelled to the closest trawler, one pulling blocks of pilfered wood into the factory ramp, lighting the cabin like an overblown bulb before striking an adjacent tug, igniting the crystal stows so spectacularly the resulting explosion kissed the gunwale of the factory-carrier.

    Gwen took a deep breath then delivered her final ultimatum.

    "SURRENDER OR PERISH!" Her vociferated warning rolled like low thunder across an oily sky polluted by streaked columns of black smoke.

    "Shaa!" In her mind, Caliban reported that the stunned survivors had fallen to their knees to beg for mercy. As for those that continued to attack, they now rested in its gullet.

    Around the carrier, she could see that the ships which had escaped her Chain Lightning now attempted to flee. A quick assessment flashed across her mind. Catching all the vessels would require a supreme effort of using Dimension Door together with Lighting Bolts, a bothersome but not impossible task.

    BUT¡ª such pyroclastic performances would inevitably consume the lives of the NoMs too weak to defend themselves against her meagrest spell.

    I should show mercy toward these helpless NoMs, the white-winged portion of her conscience remained resolute.

    Ah, but is letting the ships flee mercy at all? The fork-tail voice of rationality mocked her conscience. Out there was the Javanese Sea: a hot zone of men-eating Mermen; without a Shielding ship, how far could your mercy float before becoming Mer-feed?

    She didn''t like the answer, and so chose not to dwell. Instead, she focused on the group grovelling on the carrier''s broad-brimmed deck.

    One group was on their knees, chanting in front of Naga Caliban, while the other half of the crew confusedly hollered at Ariel to save them from Caliban.

    Gwen hovered mid-air, mindful of the Wands still lying within arm''s reach.

    "Allie, Gunther, I''ve subdued the ship," she sent out a Message when no attack came. "The fishing fleet fled."

    Thirty-seconds later, Alesia arrived as a retina-searing meteor.

    Gunther caught up a few seconds later with a non-too-impressed disposition that made her chest tighten.

    "¡­ An interesting outcome, one I assume you planned for," Gunther said. "I can see most of them are unharmed."

    "I killed the belligerents."

    "They''re all belligerents."

    "Being poor and desperate isn''t a crime, Gunther."

    "Attempted murder of a Magus of the Mageocracy executing his or her official duty is a capital offence." Gunther''s eyes were cold as steel as they swept over her tightly wound body. He then pointed to the abandoned trawler nets and the floating logs. "As is the theft of the state''s resources and the agitation of Demi-humans within the state''s area of control."

    "That may be, but we are not Singapore Tower''s goons," she retorted. "I am not dirtying my hands to save their guards the effort of coming out here themselves."

    "Is that what a future Tower Master should say?" Gunther cocked his head. "Are laws so malleable?"

    "No more malleable than yours," Gwen snapped back at her brother-in-craft. "Else you''d be flaming any officers who dared to steal from the Tower''s coffers, even if it''s in the execution of their duty."

    "Gwennie¡­" Her sister-in-craft looked torn between wanting to clap because Gwen had nailed Gunther with his hypocrisy and wanting to scold Gwen for not sinking every ship she could.

    Gunther met her defiant amber-green eyes.

    "Then I shall abstain from commenting on your methods," the man said, his tone unchanging. "I do not fault you for taking a stand, Sister. Just know that every choice has a cost."

    Gwen relaxed.

    "Which brings us to this¡ª" Gunther''s next words had her by the throat. "What do you intend to do with these poachers?"

    Below the trio, men and women squirmed like exposed grubs, their sickly skin slick with oozy perspiration, their caramel complexions blanched with fear. From the bridge, the stench of scorched flesh drifted downwards, viscid and oily; around the deck, a stink of oxidising iron accompanied the mangled victims of the fallen debris. When the sea breeze picked up, the wafting odour of unwashed bodies, soiled garments, sweat and spoiled fish only added to the picture of misery.

    In Gwen''s mind, these men were floating on a veritable Raft of the Medusa. As for Gunther''s question, she knew what she did NOT want to do. But she had no idea what to do.

    "Sail them back to Singapore?" Try as she might, she couldn''t think of anything else. "The city is only a hundred kilometres out."

    "Assuming they aren''t scuttled the moment they appear within Shielding range, that''s a possibility," Gunther said. "Do you happen to have any diplomatic connections in Singapore?"

    "¡­ I know a Tower Master from a major power next door, whose city is Singapore''s chief supplier of grain and beef." Gwen looked to her brother-in-craft. "Maybe he could help."

    "I can guarantee that you can land the ship, but no one here will escape punishment," Gunther said. "Look at them, do you think they''ll survive the lashes?"

    Gwen''s eyes swept across the crowd, many of whom stared back at her in horror. A few of the men must have understood English, for Gwen could see in their faces that a few of their prisoners understood their impending fate.

    "We''ll cross that bridge when we get to it." Gwen sighed. "Tell you what, though. Get me in contact with someone who''s someone, and I''ll put on the old charm¡ª"

    "SHE LIES!"

    Her consideration was interrupted by an unexpected disruption. One of the servitor Mages, an Evoker tethered to a Magic Missile Wand, grew suddenly wild with speculation.

    "She lies!" The man''s eyes hid nothing of his feelings. "They won''t spare us! She''s Priestess to the Rakshasa! She''s the Asura they worship! We''re not going to Singapore! We''re food! We''re FISH FOOD!"

    Before Gwen could respond, a low-tier Transmuter beside the Evoker tackled the man to the floor and covered his mouth with his hands.

    Bewildered, Gwen looked to Alesia and Gunther, who appeared equally perplexed, then turned to the struggling duo. The siblings all sported upper-tier Translation Stones, so the Pig Latin used by these men wasn''t alien to them.

    Priestess?

    Asura?

    Fish food?

    "Mistress, Bambang isn''t well." A caramel-skinned Water Mage prevented Gwen from directly addressing the sobbing dissident. "He did not know your grace ruled these waters."

    "I rule what now?" Gwen questioned the man, her brows furrowing. "What''s your name?"

    "Nanang, O worshipfulness. I am the ship''s Third Mate."

    "Where are your First and the Second?"

    Nanang gestured behind her.

    "Shaa?" First Mate Caliban cooed coyly.

    Gwen nodded. "I see. What''s your man talking about?"

    "Bambang has gone mad, Mistress," the man explained meekly, sweat oozing from every pore. Though he already prostrated, he somehow grovelled lower. "I humbly beg for your mercy."

    "You''re a fool, Nanang! There''s no mistaking it! She''s the Priestess of the Rakshasi of the sea!" Bambang appeared to shrink as she approached. "We should have never have harvested that shoal of Mermaids! She''s here for them, just like they said! The Pale Priestess will come, they said! The Pale Priestess avenges!"

    "Bambang, do not irritate the Mistress!" The sailor known as Nanang swiftly kicked the man in the face, then grovelled once more. "He speaks of dreams, your worshipfulness!"

    "What Mermaids?" Gwen demanded, her curiosity peaking. Without effort, her Desolation Aura swept across the deck, cowering any who dared to stare. "Show me, or I''ll show you the anger of an Asura."

    The pair grew paler as the Negative Energy lapped at their Astral Bodies, wearing away their will. After a moment more, their pupils grew dark and fatalistic.

    "In¡ª in the hold."

    "Take me down." Gwen signalled Caliban.

    A rippling wave of vertigo accompanied the sound of shifting flesh and snapping bone as Caliban assumed a multi-legged form suitable for low passages and narrow gangways. In a ring around Gwen, her prisoners kissed their heads against the rusty deck in the manner of men wishing they could meld with the metal.

    "I''ll be back," Gwen said to her siblings, who appeared intrigued by the whole ordeal. "Ariel. Overwatch."

    "EE-EE¡ªEE!"

    Alesia promised, ruffling the Kirin''s fur. "Fair warning. If they have a go at me, they burn."

    Gunther delivered an assuring nod.

    Led by the shaking, muttering Evoker and accompanied by the ship''s Third Mate, Gwen descended into the dark.

    The interior of the ship stank as much as the exterior, only with an acridness thrice as concentrated. The interior passages, Gwen could see, were far from OSHA compliant, as there were clothing, shoes, toiletry and personal effects hung all over, acting as evidence of the inhabitants'' thread-bare humanity.

    "This way."

    The path down to the factory floor took a dozen twists and turns, confusing Gwen so much that she felt tempted to produce her Omni-Orb.

    "In here, O worshipfulness." The men grovelled.

    The chamber in which she and the others arrived was an interior processing unit for tinned seafood. When the iron door swung open, the result of billions of bacteria busily decomposing portions of fish struck Gwen like a mallet, overpowering even her eyesight.

    "SHAA! SHAA! SHAA!" Caliban began to sing, celebrating the miasma of decay that made the dim-lit factory line so morbid to behold. As with any place where life had been extinguished on an industrial scale, there was no lack of Negative Energy.

    Bathed in stench and desiring to burn her present attire, she took a moment to gather her wits.

    Inside, Nanang and Bambang dragged forward a crate on casters the size of a skip bin filled with what looked like unprocessed fish.

    In it, Gwen recognised what could only be sawed-off components of Mermen and Mermaids, now mingled in bloody matrimony. Despite being a stable food source, a Mer-person''s upper body was usually processed into fish paste because its humanoid likeness was too much for consumers. Hypocritically, their tail was often left on display over sheets of ice, perfectly preserved through Gentle Repose and wildly popular with fine diners.

    With some effort, the Mages pulled several torsos from the pile.

    "Light." Gwen activated a cantrip. When her spell shed elucidation on what the men had first attempted to hide, her concentration faltered, causing the globe to flicker.

    "August Asura." Bambang lowered his head. "We did not mean to harm your slaves. It was all under Raharjo''s orders."

    Gwen swallowed hard, doing her best to ignore the bile brushing her tonsils. The dismembered bodies in front of her displayed nautical tattoos commonly found on Mermen tribesmen and women. Culturally, the practice paralleled the Kiwi''s Ta Moko, though to Gwen''s knowledge, rather than ancestry, the Mermen''s florid inscriptions served to identify religion, fealty and accomplishments.

    Her shock, therefore, was for the likeness staring back at her.

    It was her face.

    A stranger might not recognise Gwen at first from the blue-black lines, but she could¡ª for the particularity of the shape, the silhouette, the lines around her eyes and her chin and the way her hair framed her shoulders were all familiar.

    It was the lumen-image of her sold to the Hormel Food Company for use on IIUC promotional cans.

    A second body had the same visage roughly imprinted on its chest, not unlike the countenance of Ernesto "Che" Guevara on the t-shirts of liberal college girls.

    Another female had her eyes tattooed near the collarbones.

    Gwen''s skin grew gradually clammy. A thousand questions assailed her mind, the foremost being, "Why her face was being used as Ta Moko?" Hadn''t these Mermen ever heard about registered trademarks?

    Yet another likeness of her, a half-body version from throat to navel, had been chopped in half by a meat saw.

    "What the fuck is this?" She made her confusion known, though no answer came from her trembling prisoners. With some effort, a fifth body was pulled from the bin, exposing its back where a mass of dark markings resembling tentacles with eyes writhed.

    A sudden and terrible suspicion came to her, numbing Gwen from her sweaty crown to her curling toes.

    "You two, enough." Gwen halted the two Indonesian Mages from dragging more bodies from the bin. Gwen pinched her brows, banished the confusion from her mind, then tried to think her way through this discovery.

    Unfortunately, she wasn''t the self-philosophising Prince Hamlet. Her God-given capability and reason did not prevail. In her confined experience, no notion, rationale, justification, nor understanding could explain why her face adorned the bodies of the Mermen.

    Maybe, she ventured a guess. Maybe the Mermen in the region REALLY liked SPAM and thought she was the originator of miracle mystery meat? It wasn''t unreasonable to believe that the fishy masses might have confused branding with evangelising, coming to see her as a SPAM-bearing messiah.

    Should she ask Ru¨¬ what their contract with Homel entailed? Gwen queried herself, shivering at the crude ink depicting her smiling face. Even if Ru¨¬ was trying to maximise their quarterly earnings, selling her image to a Mermen church seemed excessive.

    "Gunther? Allie?" her voice echoed in the foul space of the iron-walled hull. Unfortunately, her companions were out of Divination line of sight.

    Gwen sighed.

    She should have sunk the ship.

 Chapter 384 - Mama and ?

    For an ambivalent few seconds, Gwen entertained the possibility of scuttling the ship with Void Sphere. After looking around the interior of the factory floor, she deemed the unethical impulse impractical, first because the factory-carrier was a modern Titanic with a segmented double-hull and secondly because she wasn''t about making fish-food out of NoMs.

    "Let us return," she commanded the two men. "I''ve seen enough."

    Disbelieving Gwen would spare their wretched existence, the tottering Mages lead her back up the intestinal-tract passageways, plodding from the tomb-like interior back into the light.

    Once out in the open, Caliban huffed, displeased to be away from the reek of death and decay.

    "What did you find?" Alesia brimmed with curiosity. When she came close, however, her nose wrinkled. "Fuck''n oath, what was down there? You smell like Kraken guts."

    Despite the anxiety burning a hole in her belly, Gwen spared the patience to effect a cleansing Prestidigitation. "I found some shit alright. Gunther, I need your advice on this."

    "I figured as much." Her Tower Master appeared happy to help. "Was the hull too thick for our little sister?"

    "... Not that kind of help, though I certainly am considering it. So er¡ª I found something downstairs..." Via Silent Messages, Gwen then communicated her discovery.

    "I''ll take a gander." Gunther left her standing with Alesia while he took the two crew members below. The crew followed with complete obedience, instantly falling into place as her brother-in-craft''s most ardent sycophants.

    "They tend to do that." Alesia brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. Her sister-in-craft appeared nonplussed by Gwen''s horror.

    "Do what?"

    "Elevate powerful beings into mythoi then worship them," Alesia clarified. "Life in the sea is unpredictable. Brutality and power are privileged above all else. Gunther has got worshippers too, after a dozen campaigns in the Coral Sea. The island Mermen living on Moreton and Stradbroke think he''s some sort of Sun Spirit. Despite diplomacy missions dissuading them, he remains the head of their pantheon."

    "So he''s like Inti, but for Mermen?" Gwen recalled the grinning face of the amicable Prince of Peru.

    "Not in the sense of organised religion or Faith Magic." Alesia shook her head. "We''re talking run-of-the-mill idolatry, spawns named after him, that sort of thing."

    "Hahaha, so there are Mermen named Gunther?"

    "And a Clan of Soldier Crabs on Christmas Island called Shultz." Alesia laughed in turn. "Don''t make that face¡ª I am completely serious. That''s what happens when you leave survivors."

    "Surely the Scarlet Sorceress has a band of fishy worshippers?"

    "I am far too professional to leave enough witnesses to start a cult." Alesia glanced at the damp entryway Gunther had descended. "That and you need insurmountable power, something that will displace the Mermen''s fear of the Deep Creatures that control them."

    "Like Krakens?"

    "Sure. And any number of similar beings. Oceanic Dragon-things, Deep Flayers, Whales, Leviathans, past the light zone, the deep sea may as well be the Elemental Plane of Water."

    "We''re not at war with them, I hope? Cambridge says our beef is with the Mermen Dominions."

    "For now, though Gunther did mention there are enormous reservoirs of liquid mana under the crust of the continental shelf," Alesia said conspiratorially. "Enough to keep our manufactoriums fed for centuries."

    "But tapping those sources would lead to war?"

    "Who knows?" Alesia shrugged. "It would be a strange war if anything. We don''t want their land, only the liquid mana¡ª and they desire neither our land nor our resource, only our annihilation. Do recall that the Mermen think our Earth is theirs as it possesses far more aquascape than landscape. The Kingdoms believe we are no better than predatory beasts; amphibian aliens evolved to hunt them. It''s just as well that we''ve got plenty of other resource nodes right now. Black Zones like the Elemental Sea and the Amazon have plenty of untapped crystals, Cores, and materials."

    While Gwen pondered the possibility of drilling platforms pounded into the crust to slurp up liquidised HDMs like soup from a straw, Gunther returned.

    "Interesting find." Her brother-in-craft cleaned himself with a cantrip. "That said, I don''t think having your face imprinted on Mermaids is as madcap as you believe."

    "Are you saying the Mageocracy should be cool with it?"

    "It happens," Gunther said. "I wouldn''t be surprised if NoMs somewhere have a shrine to you or Sobel either. Besides, what''s happened has happened, so it isn''t as though you can enact preventative measures now. Do you even have the time and means to delve for the truth in the dark?"

    "No."

    "Do you readily know why fishes are worshipping your SPAM face?"

    "Not really."

    "Do you command anyone with the expertise to carry out an investigation?"

    "Nope. Walken''s busy, and Richard''s still studying. Maybe Ollie?"

    "Then, don''t worry about it." Gunther shrugged. "Whatever this is, it can''t be worse than being the world-famous Summoner of the Shoggoth. I am not saying you should strike this incident from your mind, but that you shouldn''t dwell out of fear. Leave the investigation to the professionals, report this to your superiors."

    "That''s good advice," Alesia gave her two cents. "After your display on Anglesey, there was talk of what to do with you. You should thank your sponsors for keeping your detractors silent. The tattoo thing is going to turn some heads, but that''s nothing compared to the clout needed for letting the Devourer of Shenyang fly around the world at her leisure."

    "I feel¡­" Gwen tried to grasp the disappointment in her heart. "Relieved, but not really?"

    "Well, are you cultivating a cult?" Gunther grinned at her. "If so, let me know. Else, let the Mermen be. What are you going to do if they start hollering your name? Spare the fish that bear your likeness from the tinning machines? Start an Undersea Union like that Void thing you''re pushing?"

    Alesia burst into laughter.

    Gwen did not appreciate the humour taken at her expense. "Okay, so what do we do about these guys?" She pointed to the still prostrating sailors.

    "Nanang," Gunther addressed the bowed Third Mate. "Can the ship sail?"

    "With repairs, O lordship, we can manage coastal travel," Nanang answered. "The bridge is shattered, but we can operate the Engine Room by hand as Magus Song has spared the Enchanters."

    "Good, then repair the ship and prepare to sail for Singapore. Keep the fish below on ice. Once we''re in port, I''ll have someone collect them, and your crew."

    "We''re not destroying the evidence?" Gwen raised both brows.

    "Of course not," Gunther said. "Why, do you have something to hide?"

    "No."

    "Then tell the world you are bemused by the discovery," Gunther said. "Put it in the tabloids. The more people know, the more diminished its significance."

    Gwen pondered her Brother-in-craft''s advice, realised his wisdom, then nodded. "I''ll put it in my paper, with pictures. And I''ll CC up a quest for more information from the Shard."

    "Good girl." Gunther patted her head. "You learn quick."

    "And the crew?"

    "Their punishment cannot be disregarded, though a compromise isn''t impossible. I can put you within ear-shot of Chief Arbitrator Kwok, but you must accept his judgement, whatever the outcome. Is that clear?"

    "Crystal."

    Seeing that Gwen was satisfied, the Tower Master turned from his siblings-in-craft, growing radiant as he rose into the air. A second later, an inspiriting wave of compelled worship bathed the trembling sailors.

    "Nanang, you''re acting Captain until we return. If anyone asks, this ship, its crew and its contents are now under the jurisdiction of Magus Song of Cambridge, Class VI War Mage. Until we return, repair the engine and keep the Shielding Crystal stoked."

    "AT YOUR COMMAND." Nanang and his ilk wept with spontaneous affection, exhibiting so much passion that Gwen felt sorry for the mind-washed sods. "We live to serve, O Deva of Batari Sunan.

    "See how easy it is to be worshipped, intentionally or otherwise?" Alesia whispered beside Gwen''s ear. "Say, do you think Gunther would look dashing in a priest''s coat and collar?"

    "Dashing and celibate."

    "All the more fun to sin with¡­"

    "Strewth, you two." Gunther furrowed his brows at the grinning women. "Get changed!"

    Alesia squeezed Gwen''s arm when Gunther stepped from the lower deck, strapped from chin to heel in a suit of Aries MK IV Dragon Skin.

    "So dashing..."

    "Dashingly excessive, don''t you think?" Gwen fought down an impulse to laugh. Standing in his form-fitting golden armour, all Gunther needed were a pair of green pantaloons and DC would be sending Sydney Tower a DMCA notice. "Who are you supposed to be, the King of Atlantis?"

    "It''s a bit much, eh?" Gunther flexed his Leviathan-scale gauntlets. "This is only the second time I''ve worn it. Would you believe me if I told you the design favours function over form?"

    "You''re going to draw every Dryad on the island." Gwen shielded her eyes against the Dragon scales, each polished with a Mithril solution then Rune-carved to enhance Gunther''s Radiant Aura. "You know how they like men and Radiance."

    "All the easier to lead us to Sufina," Gunther said, toning down his passive aura. "If you''re that uncomfortable, I''ve got a normal suit of armour as well, standard military issue."

    "No, no." Gwen shook her head. "Think of it like this. We''ll see you coming even in a dense jungle."

    Standing beside the Tower Master, Gwen felt her stylised Shen-te¨© cloth-plate had lost its lustre. Alesia as well appeared meek in her combat suit, despite it being visually titillating and dyed in her favourite colour.

    "Then let''s not dawdle." Gunther''s scales bathed the deck in light. "Gwen, do you remember where the Grot was?"

    "Sure." She produced her Omni-Orb. "I think."

    The trio had three routes to reach Sufina.

    One was to enter from the edge of the forest and trek their way toward the Dryad''s Grot; the safest but the most time-consuming path.

    Another involved flying overhead until the Orb ceased movement, then dropping down spells-blazing to clear whatever critter or monster lurked below; the fastest route.

    The final method, curtesy of Gwen thinking of alter-world GPS, was to triangulate the whereabouts of Sufina''s Grot by flying circles around the island and taking note of the Orb''s directional changes. After that, the party could penetrate the tropical jungle by clearing an inconspicuous patch of forest a convenient distance away.

    After careful deliberation, the Apprentices chose the third route to avoid becoming bogged down by monsters hiding in the tall grass, furthermore repelled by running Desolation Aura on full-blast. Small, poisonous critters attracted to the warm flesh and blood of the casters would be naturally wary against an aura of all-consuming hunger. At the same time, monsters and Demi-humans strong enough to resist would know to avoid the trio.

    Ten minutes in, they found their first Dryad half-draped across a Banyan''s fanned bowers. Upon sighting the invaders, the island nymph swung down on the tree''s tendrils, her willowy hair a waterfall of flowers, her long limbs tanned Fragipanni stems bespotted with pale blossoms. In the Dryad''s hair was a matching host of pink blooms, adding a dash of colour to the hard-bodied native.

    This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

    "You?" The Dryad''s eyes alighted on Gwen. When the woman tip-toed forward, Gwen once more questioned the intelligent design behind gifting Dryads ginormous bolt-ons. "I know you."

    "We''re here to see Sufina." Gwen raised both hands to communicate her peaceful intentions.

    "The Lady knows of your arrival, although..." The Dryad licked her lips. "Perhaps my sisters and I can entertain your companions on her behalf? Your last visit thoroughly seeded the grove."

    "Not this time. Our business is urgent and private." Gwen fought down a throatful of bile as she imagined a host of Hai-wrought seedlings skipping about the place. "If you could take us to Sufi forthwith, your kindness will be much appreciated.

    "How appreciated?" the Dryad made eyes at Gunther.

    Gwen had planned and rehearsed her next response, and so quickly produced a mote of Almudj''s Essence. "How about a taste of paradise?"

    The Dryad''s eyes widened, revealing the hard yellow orbs beneath the mossy lashes, both burning with desire. "Oh, you sweet thing, I could just eat you up."

    "The feeling is mutual." A jolt of Void Mana circulated through her Desolation Aura. Visibly, the moss and grass around her feet wilted.

    "Come." Gwen watched as the woodworker''s wife stiffly obliged, evidently changing her mind. "Lady Sufina awaits. And I trust you not to renege on the reward."

    As before, the woods seemed to part, cleaving a path from the wilderness. Lead by their guide, the trio met no resistance, feeling both silly and overdressed.

    Some thirty minutes later, the woods attained a density akin to Amazonia. The number of Dryads coming out to watch them had also increased to about a dozen, each more nymph-like than the last, all making moon-eyes at the stone-faced Tower Master. The atmosphere grew incrementally more fragrant as well, becoming so thick with pollen and perfume that Gwen wondered if they had stumbled into a supernatural bordello.

    "We''re in an arboreal sub-space," Gunther informed the two of them, his nose wrinkling. "Did you sense the change, Gwen?"

    "Yes. It feels like when I quested in Peru." Gwen felt thankful they came prepared after all. In a sub-space like this where distance grew arbitrary, anything could happen.

    "Keep your eyes peeled, and don''t touch anything."

    "Right. Should I bring out Cali?"

    "No, let''s just keep going. Allie?"

    "Gunther," Alesia whispered conspiratorially. "Check out the tits on that one."

    "I shan''t." The wisest man Gwen knew walked on like a monk.

    Much to the trio''s relief, their anticipation for a perfumed ambush proved unfounded, for the forest path grew gradually familiar, becoming akin to the sheave-strewn passage in their collective memories.

    "We have arrived." The Dryad withdrew beside her, drawing to Gwen''s height.

    Gwen dispensed a tiny mote of her blessed Essence, then watched the wood-woman susurrate with joy as she retreated.

    "Oh my¡­" Alesia grew misty-eyed as she walked the landscape of their yesteryears. "This is Master''s¡­"

    "I know." Gunther touched her arm.

    While her siblings indulged in the past, Gwen felt overwhelmed by an inscrutable feeling of familiarity, one that blended with recollections of her Master''s Grot, obfuscating her attempts at elucidation.

    Her time to think was short, for after another stretch of dubious distance, the Apprentices of Kilroy promptly arrived at their desired destination.

    In front of a vined gateway, the unmistakable profile of Sufina stood beside the atrium of Henry''s Grot.

    Spontaneously, the girls'' eyes misted over, for though Sufina was a changeless being, the Familiar had nonetheless changed.

    During their halcyon Sydney days, Henry had suffered Sufina to assume whatever guise she coveted. Sometimes, when the mood was right, Sufina toyed with wearing Gwen''s likeness, while other times, she wore Alesia''s. Now, Sufina was herself¡ª a flawless, peerless beauty, but one deeply entrenched in the uncanny valley of human-mimicry. Now, from her fiery tresses of mossy hair to her pale blonde skin to the dagger-feet stalks that made up her disproportionate lower limbs, their former "Mother" appeared the perfect creation of an otherworldly doll-maker.

    "Lady Sufina."

    "SUFI!"

    "Sufina¡­"

    Three separate namesakes emerged from their lips, each indicating the place the Dryad held within their hearts. To their eldest, Sufina was a feared matron, a mentor and a tangible manifestation of their Master''s valour. Alesia, alternatively, saw Sufina as a mother of sorts, filling the void of womanly-affection in her formative years. As for Gwen, Sufina was a companion of her Master and her teacher, as well as a friend.

    "Children grow up so fast." Sufina''s lukewarm response dimmed the fire in their hearts. "And what is this? Combat suits? Are we foes and not friends?"

    "Master taught us too well." Gwen bowed in an immediate attempt to thaw the icy atmosphere. "You''re to blame, Sufi. The Familiar we know is, after all, a force of nature and a peerless princess of thorns. I wouldn''t dare intrude on your domain without a certain conviction."

    "Do you fancy yourselves a match for me?" Sufina''s hair lengthened, adding to her menacing air. "A Dryad Hierophant, now untethered from Henry, with the might of my Grot at my beck and call?"

    "Sufi¡­" Alesia stepped in front of her husband and Sister-in-craft. "Sufi, we would never hurt you. Ever."

    "Allie." Sufina outstretched a hand. "You always were the sweetest one. Come to Sufi, dearest."

    Their Sister-in-craft went to the Dryad despite Gunther tugging on her suit.

    "My child." The Demi-goddess of Abang cradled the murky-eyed Alesia close to her bosom with the infinite patience of a Saintess. When she gazed up at Gwen and Gunther once more, they could see the mocking defiance in the Dryad''s eyes, as if to deride them for their faithlessness.

    "Sufina." Gwen felt her heart soften at once. Though she hated the uncertainly, she chose to err on the belief Sufina yet recalled their time together. "It''s good to see you again. May we see Master?"

    "You may." When their mother-figure stroked Alesia''s hair as one might soothe a kitten, their adult sister began to sob like a lost child, making Gwen''s heart sore. "This way."

    The tunnel of roots the trio passed through wasn''t a tunnel at all, but something of a pocket-space, the kind materialised by willing the Astral Plane into substance. When the party re-emerged, the scene that accosted Gwen was nothing short of dreadful.

    There in front of the trio lay Henry''s garden.

    And there, under the leafy pavilion of a great Banyan with impossible autumn colours, sat a lone figure beside a vine-wrought table, occupying one of four chairs. There was a basket of manna bread on the table as well, sitting beside a trio of cups and a jug of what could only be Golden Mead.

    At the sight of Henry''s propped-up body, Gwen felt every follicle raise in alarm.

    "Master!" Alesia pulled from Sufina and ran for the life-size diorama.

    Gwen attempted to retrieve their sister, only to be intercepted by her brother.

    "Let her be," Gunther said, shaking his head. "Allie needs this."

    "But¡ª"

    "There''s no Necromancy here," Gunther assured her. "This is Alesia''s way of keeping a part of herself... alive, I guess. As for Sufi..."

    Gunther sighed.

    Gwen''s chest rose and fell, ambivalent that her Master''s body was being used as a prop. Meanwhile, Alesia reached Henry Kilroy''s reposed remains in a matter of seconds. From afar, it would almost appear as if Henry was alive and receiving his second Apprentice.

    The implication of Sufina playing dolls with Kilroy''s carcass made Gwen question whether Sufina''s lingering sentiment should be extinguished after all. The dead must have peace, or so she was taught. Or was that a prejudice she had inherited from her previous incarnation? Logically, shouldn''t a lucid Sufi trump all else?

    "Gunther, do you think¡­"

    "I somehow doubt we could." Gunther''s eyes scrutinised their sometimes summer home. "There''s a tangible difference about the Grot, do you feel it?"

    "I do!" Gwen nodded vigorously. "Doesn''t it feel too... real?"

    "Aye, the sub-space here is unusually stable, more than even when Master was alive," Gunther agreed. "I don''t think I can disrupt it even if I tried. Breaking out of here is going to take a lot more than a Mass Teleportation scroll."

    "Is Sufi tapped into the ley-line on the island?"

    "She''s entrenched deeper than that," her brother-in-craft replied. "Something''s different about Sufina as well. Dare I say she is possessed of a higher bearing than I had anticipated? She says she''s a Hierophant-class, but that''s a lie."

    Across the room, Alesia knelt, holding Henry''s limp hands. To both Gwen and Gunther''s chagrin, she kissed the dead man''s palms, then placed the cold flesh against her cheek.

    "How do you mean?" Gwen shivered.

    "Like Golos to Ruxin." Gunther met her gaze. "Or¡­ like the Yinglong to Almudj."

    Gwen''s throat bobbed twice in quick succession. "My Essence can elevate Golos'' chicks. Sufi has my Scale, maybe. Do you think..."

    "It''s a possibility, but the Scale is yours."

    "I made Master draw on its Essence to help him recover from Sobel¡ª" Gwen tried to recall a fuzzy past. "By which I mean, I told Sulfina to oblige in Master''s stead..."

    The two peeked at Sufina, who was presently observing the father-daughterly interaction between Alesia and their Master''s remains with immeasurable benevolence.

    It took a whole other minute for Alesia to take her place on the chair Sufina had set up, after which both Dryad and sorceress awaited Gwen and Gunther''s arrival.

    The very idea of Sufina serving tea to three alive Apprentices and a dead man unscrewed her brain from its spinal stem, but what else could she do?

    Following her laconic brother, she arrived at the table, joining her sister as Alesia mopped up snail-trails left by overwhelmed eyeliners.

    "I am so glad Sufi preserved Master." Alesia dabbed the corner of her eyes. "To think I never saw Master again after that arch-whore tricked us out of the Grot."

    The two of them humoured their middle sister while Sufina flittered about the foursome, placing plates and forks, filling their cups with Golden Mead from the jug.

    "Drink," the Dryad commanded, her amber orbs holding captive Kilroy''s wayward children. "Partake."

    Alesia took a bite of the manna bread, moaned softly with remembrance, then drank the mead.

    Gunther took a sip to wet his throat, then swallowed the manna slice wholesale by rolling the dough into a ball.

    As for Gwen, the moment Sufina''s Golden Mead graced her lips¡ª she found the source of her earlier befuddlement.

    ESSENCE!

    There were motes of Almudj''s Essence in the Golden Mead, mixed in with the Dryad''s life-force!

    To the others, the dew might revitalise their mind and body. But to Gwen, she felt akin to a stagnant billabong long cut off from a meandering estuary refilled by a thundering wet season.

    There was no doubt in her mind now that Sufi had kept Amuldj''s keepsake.

    "You know, I dreamt of this moment." Sufina''s voice came to them as though in a hazy daydream, filling the chamber with its echo. "Henry and our Apprentices, sitting under the shelter of my bower, drinking mead and breaking bread, speaking of things tomorrow would bring."

    "In this, I think you and Master''s wills are one," Gunther said. "Our teacher''s kindness enfolds us all, even in his passing."

    "But of course, your Master''s gone," Sufina continued to speak. "But this moment doesn''t have to be. Wouldn''t it be nice if we remained together like this, forever?"

    The garden grew suddenly silent. Above the trio, the Banyan tree''s accomodating canopy turned gothic. Sufina stalked about their Master''s body until she cradled Henry''s head against her bosoms.

    "Sufina." Gunther swilled the liquor in the cup. "I sincerely hope that was a passing fancy and nothing more."

    With her hands placed on Henry''s shoulders, the Dryad''s exquisite face looked down on Kilroy''s most auspicious Apprentice. "Is that how a child should speak to his mother?"

    "Gunther doesn''t mean it as a threat," Gwen intervened, realising she had to diffuse the situation before Alesia could add kerosene to the embers. "Sufi¡ª you love us, I hope, and we all love you. We''re not going to harm you, and I know you don''t want to harm us. If you did, why go to all this trouble? Why put together this scene if you cared to hurt us? We can''t humour your wishes, not exactly, but we can compromise."

    Sufina''s expression grew pained.

    "Master''s gone." The Tower Master''s tone softened as well. "That thing in your arms is a cicada husk. Were it not out of consideration for you, Sufi, I would have cremated Master to protect his remains against Sobel and her allies."

    "Why are you here if not for Henry?" Sufina asked.

    "Respect, assurance and closure," Gunther explained. "That and we would like to enquire about Master''s surviving Grimoires for Gwen''s sake. We''re also here for Almudj''s Scale¡ª if you have it."

    "The Scale¡­"

    "Yes." Gwen gulped, realising the moment was upon them. "Sufi, I understand what happened to me now, both during the Field Trip and while repelling Sobel. Almudj had made me his Vessel, and the Scale was my Conduit to my Patron. I need it back."

    The Dryad studied their youngest, her gaze landing on Gwen as though for the first time. "Henry had an inkling¡­ but you were so weak back then, so insignificant and mewling. How could someone so meek be a Vessel to a Mythic? Your body would explode like an overripe melon."

    "I wouldn''t say I am meek anymore." To illustrate her point, Gwen circulated Essence until her presence appeared magnified. Then, the formerly ''meek'' Vessel cupped her hands as if in prayer, filling the void in-between with simmering, rainbow-hued Essence. "You see, I''ve hit a growth spurt of late. Care to check for yourself?"

    To the trio''s relief, the Dryad nonchalantly sauntered from Henry''s seated corpse to stand beside their youngest, conceding her earlier threat to the realm of impulse. With the bare bark of the Dryad''s belly an inch from her face, Sufina cupped Gwen''s hands with her long digits, then dipped a finger into the Essence puddle.

    The flesh of Gwen''s palm tickled as a mossy mass of micro-roots kissed her skin like a host of dancing spiders.

    "Oh¡­" The Dryad''s face grew flushed, causing the woodgrain beneath her complexion to darken. "This¡­ the Elder One, and yet it isn''t¡­"

    "What you''re tasting is ''me''." Gwen grinned. "I''ve been cultivating Essence on my own. Do you like it?"

    Sufina placed a hand against Gwen''s cheek. "What have you become, Gwennie? What would your Master say?"

    "I am a Void Mage, a self-sustained variant." Gwen affectionately wrapped her arm around the giantess'' waspish waist. Unexpectedly, the Dryad''s torso was warm and supple. "Master succeeded in me, Sufi. He has found his Omni-Mage, and I''m not even half as crazy as Sobel. My sanity is certified if you must know¡ª I passed all my Mind Mage evaluations with flying colours. If Master were alive now, he would have no more regrets¡ª Sobel aside, of course."

    "Sobel¡­" Sufina''s lips curled into a snarl. "She''s still alive?"

    "She is." Alesia hung her head in shame. "It took us some time to recover after Sydney."

    "When will I see the harlot''s head?"

    "After Gwen''s graduation," Gunther said. "We who are Henry''s hounds will purify Master''s legacy. Would you like to join us, Sufi? If you aid us with Tree Stride and Terraform, we''ll make far better progress cornering Sobel."

    Sufina wasn''t the sort of Demi-human who needed to breathe, but she sighed nonetheless in a humanistic manner. "I fear not."

    Both Gunther and Alesia appeared puzzled by her refusal.

    "I would have imagined you to possess more zealousness," Gunther commented. "But of course, if your feelings have dimmed¡­"

    "They have not." Sufina played with Gwen''s hair, then left their youngest Apprentice to walk toward the Banyan at the centre of the grove where her Heart Tree rose up and above them. "And they will never diminish. Because of this¡­"

    At the Dryad''s touch, the tree''s bark parted, revealing a network of fibrous sinews tethered around what looked like a root-knot. When the Apprentices channelled mana into their eyes, they saw that the knot was roughly spherical and semi-transparent, with what looked like a pulsing bean of intense vitality inside an eggshell of tender green fibres.

    "The Scale!" Alesia yelped. "Eureka, Gwennie! That''s your Scale!"

    Gunther''s eyes glowed with diagnostic magic. "I don''t think that''s her Scale anymore."

    "I know." Gwen herself inherently understood the "Conduit" they now observed was no longer her keepsake, else the resonance she should be feeling would have filled her with unbidden euphoria. "I don''t feel anything from it."

    "That''s because it''s waiting." Sufina steered Gwen toward the heart-tree of the Grot with a hand. "It awaits your awakening touch."

    "It is?" Gwen looked to Gunther for instruction. Finding none, she looked toward Sufina for elucidation.

    Sufina extended a lithe limb over the Heart-Scale, then let drip a drop of Gwen''s Essence.

    The Scale pulsed.

    The Apprentices suddenly heard the roar of rough surfs eroding golden shores, soothed only by the bubbling silt caught between the peeping roots of mangroves.

    They smelled in their nostrils the hard clay and felt the fine sediment of the red soil baked until cracking by a harsh, cloudless sky.

    They tasted the brilliant fragrance of eucalyptus on their tongues, spicy, aromatic and enveloping.

    Then in their eyes, they briefly saw a pink lake of such largess that their feeble human minds struggled to encompass its full expanse.

    "There is always a Tree," the Dryad said, finding no unusualness in her aphorism, using no enjambments or emphasis, not even a lilting syllable to punctuate her point. "And there is always a Serpent."

    Alesia nodded, as did Gunther.

    Comparatively, Gwen''s cognisance thundered with the force of an August storm whipping fields of cane into mass hysteria.

    "There is always a Tree."

    "And there is always a Serpent."

    In between her well-rounded ears, the Elf Queen''s truth at the Tree of Tryfan trumpeted in her brain with the force of a Barbanginy.

    Tree.

    Serpent.

    Sufina.

    Almudj.

    Holy fucking shit! Her mind grew riotous as her eye once more rested on the eggshell enveloping her Scale, now nestled in the womb of Sufina''s Heart Tree.

    Did... did her patron Serpent just knock up her patron Dryad?

 Chapter 385 - Like Dew in the Rain

    Watching Sufina''s waspish waist sway this way and that, Gwen wondered if she should have chomped down hard on that wiggling worm that was "The Accord". Perhaps then, she would be better equipped to comprehend this outbreak of Vessels, World Trees, and cheeky Serpents.

    Unfortunately, her present circumstance left only herself and her siblings to tackle Sufina''s mythic-tier cuckoldry.

    Luckily, her nine months of accelerated tutelage had plenty to say about Dryadic reproduction, a topic she had reluctantly researched thanks to Hai sowing his wild oats. Through her self-study, Gwen had learned that from a "Human" perspective, Dryads and Nymphs made ambivalent foes. Some Groves savoured their men, releasing bow-legged survivors to spread the love by word-of-mouth. Others remained voracious for food and seed until inevitably attaining heat-death by Spellfire.

    Equally disturbing was Attenborough''s New England Bestiary remarking that Nymph Groves remained popular destinations despite capricious chance-encounters. This was because Dryads that predated on mammalian males possessed morphic means to hyper-stimulate reproductive behaviour. In the aftermath, successful fertilisation of the pseudo-womb produced seedings for the communal Grove, whose future Dryads, when matured, would then retain their father''s morphic specialities. Specimens mated with Wood Elves, for instance, had longer life spans and higher affinity for Druidic sorcery. Likewise, those coupled with Mages developed particular affinities or resistances, becoming capable of thriving even in hostile landscapes. On the Eurasian Steppes, especially-bred "Tree-Kin" of Green-skin war hosts became living battering rams thanks to Ogrish seed-fathers.

    As for Sufina and Almudj, Gwen could only guess at the strange fruit that may yet germinate.

    When the Bloom in White had informed Gwen that "There is always a Tree", Gwen had taken the Elf to mean botany. For someone with an informed understanding of ecosystems, it made perfect sense that terrestrial life began within arboreal biomasses, within which naturally-evolving food pyramids engendered civilisations that inevitably inspired the worship of "World Trees".

    For instance, even a careless browse of Peterhouses'' library would reveal volumes wedged between Ice Giants and Frost Wyrms detailing the World Tree Yggdrasil. Two aisles across, leather-bound books told of Tenochtitlanians immolating human hearts to access the Axis Mundi: conduit-portals that linked the Prime, Positive, and the Negative via metaphysical tree trunks. In the reserve section for theology students, she would encounter Trees of Good, Evil, Life and Knowledge, each marking man''s earliest genesis. And within those trees, more often than not, she would find dodgy serpents offering seedy figs to bewildered young ladies.

    Trees, Serpents and Women.

    Though Gwen herself was not religious, both her lives had instilled a distinct perception that serpents were not nice. Far from being beautiful or wise, they were wicked, vile, insidious things up to no good: always scheming to swallow the world.

    Comparatively, when Gwen turned to Demi-human charters, the academic purview of serpents grew kinder. In the story of the Nag¨©''s Enlightenment, Mayuree''s people told of Mucalinda, the King Snake of the Bodhi Tree who used its flesh and blood to defend Buddha until he attained transcendence. Likewise, in the untamed parts of the East Indies, priestesses burned incense to invoke Serpent-Sprites such as Adishesha the Wish Fulfiller and Kadru, the Mother of Thousands. Further north, the Elemental Sea was said to house a skyward tree harbouring an Elder Salamander whose summoner was an abyssal witch-queen.

    In codified lore, therefore¡ª trees, serpents and women made a m¨¦nage ¨¤ trois as old as time, one in which Gwen suspected she now had a part.

    "Sufi, can you clarify?" Gwen indicated to Sufina''s parroting of Tryfan''s Serpent-Tree-Priestess tripartite. "Why do you need Almudj, exactly?"

    "I am confused as well." Alesia raised both hands. "Is that not Gwen''s Conduit?"

    "What do you need, exactly?" Gunther swung his laser-like insight pointed toward the jugular of the matter.

    "Yes, let''s start with that." Gwen gestured to the tendril-wrapped serpent Scale.

    "You are correct that this is indeed a Conduit belonging to the Elder One." Sufina motioned toward the shimmering object held hovering inside its veiny chrysalis. "As for what I am doing with it¡ª the Scale is presently tethered to your Master''s body, thereby preventing my animus from reverting to a primal state."

    Alesia''s eyes grew large. When she spoke, her digits trembled. "Our Master''s body still lives?"

    "Don''t be absurd!" Gunther refuted Alesia''s observation. "Not even Deathless Henry can survive the single most powerful Void Mage on Earth blighting his Astral Soul¡ª"

    "His heart," Sufina interrupted their eldest. "I have kept Henry''s physical remains¡­ preserved through the heart."

    Gwen abruptly recalled the story their Master had told after Blackheath. "If I remember correctly. Master said his wife voided a whole heap of his organs, didn''t she? You had to regrow the missing parts. Is that what you mean, Sufi?"

    "Correct," Sufina approved of their youngest'' sterling memory. "Most of Henry''s heart and his left lung, in fact, and the tissues and bones that had been damaged as well. All of it, I had replaced using my sap and sinew. In the three decades since, my roots had enmeshed every organ in Henry''s body to prevent his flesh from failing. That was why your Master drank copious volumes of Golden Mead, you see. The mortal portion of his being lacked the means to keep my grafts satiated."

    "You were keeping our Master alive through flesh-stitching?" Gunther drank in a breath of cold air. "That''s borderline Necromancy."

    "Considering it stopped your Master from dying, shouldn''t it be Biomancy?" Sufina''s lips curled mockingly. "You have to understand Sobel took those vital organs from his Astral as well as his physical body. There was no way to heal or regenerate what had been consumed. What Henry managed while dying was nothing short of a miracle and a testament to your Master''s prowess."

    "A prowess that we are slowly uncovering, it seems," Gunther replied sardonically. "Still, nursing a soulless body blighted by a Void Mage isn''t a feat attainable through brute-force vital injections. Is that why you need Gwen''s Serpent?"

    "Its Essence was essential." Sufina did not deny that she needed Almudj''s help, nor did she confess to receiving its aid. "Through the Rainbow Serpent''s regenerative prowess, I was able to rejoin the voided Astral conduits Sobel had disrupted to prevent me from reviving Henry. By then, the essential part of your Master was long gone, but the lesser part of his being needn''t perish. So long as his corporeal conduits continue to exist, the Familiar that accompanied Magister Kilroy through a century of service would not fade either."

    Gunther appeared to withhold his opinion. "Alesia? Gwen? What are your feelings on this?"

    "If you ask me," Alesia confessed. "I am happy to know our Master remains deathless, in a way."

    "Gwen?" Gunther grew grim.

    "I would like to know how my ''Scale'' factors and continues to factor into this ordeal." Gwen could see that her siblings stood divided on the part of Sufina playing house with a lukewarm cadaver. "As for Master''s remains, I want to give Sufi the benefit of the doubt. I mean, we owe Master our love and respect, but Sufi''s been with Henry through thick and thin for longer than we have been alive. That and she''ll lose the part of herself that we''ve come to love and admire if we take Master away. Ergo, all things considered, and my Scale notwithstanding, I am willing to bear the anguish of Master''s remains... remaining."

    "Well said." Alesia pumped a fist.

    Gunther''s tautly-clenched jaw muscles took several seconds to relax. "I see. Very well, I''ll concede the point."

    "It''s not as though you three could have taken Henry from me." Sufina gave them a disapproving look. "I am beyond the reproach of children."

    "Right." Gwen made a motion of moving the old matter aside. "Now, about my Conduit. Any chance I could have it back?"

    "Not without losing Henry."

    "As I suspected. Alright, I am all ears."

    "Unfortunately, the Essence I received wasn''t enough to sustain Henry indefinitely." Sufina caressed the trunk of her Heart Tree. "I had to improvise by tapping the source directly."

    Upon hearing the Dryad''s confession, Gwen felt another horrifying puzzle piece click into place. "Holy fuck, Sufi, you used Essence Tap on Almudj?"

    "Henry''s variation is called Spirit Tap." Sufina appeared stunned by her accusation. "How do you know that spell?"

    "I played removalist at the holiday home in Tryfan earlier this year. The Elves then voided the lot."

    "That blooming arch-bitch untethered my home from Tryfan?" Sufina''s smouldering amber pupils glowed with a dangerous light. "And Eldrin allowed this?"

    "I never met Eldrin..." Gwen said. "Do you know Sanari?"

    "A junior Hierophant of no consequence." Sufina sighed. "Who would have thought that even Elves suffered from a shortage of sentimentality. So much for never forgetting a friendship."

    "They said something about not wanting to keep the abode of a dead man alive in a living tree." Gwen tried her best to imagine Sufina giving the Bloom in White a tongue-lashing, desiring very much to be a Cali on the wall if that should happen. "Solana was very courteous. She even showed me her Heart Tree. Speaking of which, I must say, Sufi, on the way in, I sensed a significant overlap between that Grot and this one. Is that intentional?"

    The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    "Compared to Tryfan, Henry''s Grot is centuries away from reaching the scale attained by the Elves," Sufina denied the similarities. "Unless your Patron lends us its life-force."

    "From Almudj?" Gwen''s eyes moved from the coiled roots around her Scale to their grinning Mistress of Thorns. "How? Are you not drinking from the fount already?"

    "If you''ve learnt Essence Tap, then you should also know that usurping Essence from Mythics amounts to little more than parasitism," Sufina continued to drop bombs without so much a bat of her lush lashes. "Besides, even an Oliphant would grow annoyed at a persistent gnat. The Svart¨¢lfar never meant for Soul Tap to be subtle."

    With some reluctance, Gwen recalled that to utilise Sympathetic Life-Link with Gracie, she had to "Tap" Gracie''s Astral Body. During their first attempt, she accidently went beyond ''just a tap'', resulting in a soulful cry of existential agony from her partner¡ª after which Gwen had to drip-feed Gracie an Essence-laced bottle of Maotai to bring her back from gibbering incoherency. Now she could see that Gracie''s suffering ratified both of Sufina''s claims¡ª that of the viability of Essence Tap, and that of the regenerative properties of Al''s Essence. "So, you want to create a channel between my ''Conduit'' and the Grot?"

    "That and intercede on my and Almudj''s behalf," Sufina stated blankly. "I can''t imagine the Serpent is too pleased with me nibbling at its beard."

    Gwen grew momentarily confused. Wasn''t it usually a serpent that nibbled on tree roots and not the other way around? She gestured at the tendrils. "And those roots are what you''re using to tap Almudj''s sap?"

    "Yes. All for the sake of your Master."

    Henry''s youngest Apprentice glanced at her "Master", then fell into a contemplative mood, filling the ambiguous space of the Grot with her silence.

    Sufina and Almudj?

    What would emerge from that?

    On the topic of her Patron, Gwen had uncovered only the obscurest volumes.

    Within these rare notes, researchers spoke of an Elder being that was male, female, hermaphroditic, androgynous and bisexual. Likewise, ambiguous records saw of Almudj as the bringer of life and death, drought and rain, sun and thunderstorms. Without Almudj, no rain would fall anywhere on Earth. Without Almudj, women''s bellies would not grow ripe with fruit, and the monthly blood would not come.

    In a rarer manuscript, she had found a Pintupi folktale that spoke of one incarnation who had grown attracted to the scent of a trio of sisters, each a skilled singer of Dreamtime magic. At night, as a bearded black snake, Almudj then visited each of the sisters in turn, swelling their bellies with seed. When the women awoke to some surprise, they decided to carry the Serpent''s children to term. These youth were then born with full mastery over the land''s sacred rites and languages, raising a rocky formation in honour of their mothers.

    Disparate to the picture Sufina painted, however, the lore surrounding Terra Australis did not lack in Serpents, but rarely mentioned Trees. If so, would Almudj be amicable to receiving a Dryad? Though Sufi was flora, she was also fauna and a veritable fount of fertility.

    The foremost thought on her mind, however, were the possibilities brought to term by the union of snake and tree. In hindsight, what she had seen in Tryfan had hinted at a utopian end-game. To this end, Sufina, in usurping her Scale and illicitly pilfering from Almudj, had opened a window of possibilities previously deemed mythical.

    "Sufi¡ª" she spoke at last. "IF I beg Almudj to forgive you and even lend you its Essence¡ª what will I get out of it? What''s my cut of the action?"

    "Gwen!" Alesia appeared aghast. "This isn''t¡ª"

    "Allie, Gwen''s right." Gunther took his partner by the hand before she could further protest. "We respect Sufi¡ª but not to the point of selflessness. If Gwen has to risk angering her Patron or leave her Conduit with Sufina, she would be giving up enormous potentials¡ª one that will limit her development as a Void Mage and as a Vessel. Such a sacrifice must be balanced with equal gain, for our Master did not raise fools who thought only with their hearts. Besides, we have already compromised in gifting Sufi Master''s remains. Her additional requests must be paid in full."

    "Think of it like this, Allie¡ª We''re all living in a practical world, and I am a practical girl," Gwen said musically. "And a Mythic is a girl''s best friend. Sufi, May I see my Scale?"

    The Dryad ran a hand over the coiled roots, causing the fibres to soften, distending the tendrils arresting the Scale until its shimmering self laid between the three Apprentice and their Master''s slumped body. Gwen could see that at the very bottom of the palm-sized Conduit, a pulsing umbilical vine held the sacred thing aloft.

    "Good, I can still feel Almudj." Gwen hovered a hand over her Conduit, caressing the thing with her will. In response, the vivid Scale shimmered and flared, refracting the light like the petrol-sheen on a pigeon''s neck. "Right, let''s hear your offer."

    "Gwennie!"

    Gunther silenced his wife by arresting her fingers and gently kissing them.

    Sufina studied their youngest until Gwen grew uncomfortable, then began to speak.

    "I''ll give you a safe zone."

    "A safe zone?"

    "Yes. Over the last century, Henry and I had uncovered much of the Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar''s secrets¡ª replicating, for instance¡ª self-sustained pocket-Planes such as this Grot. Earlier, you said you met the Bloom in White, meaning you should know that Solana, Tryfan and Tyfanevius together maintain Snowdonia''s sovereignty. Within this tripartite, Tryfan exists as the Core of Snowdonia, a great spiral of roots where all the ley-lines accumulate. By soaking up all ambient mana, it tethers the tumultuous Elemental forces around it in place¡ª acting as a dimensional anchor."

    Gwen internalised the new diction, soaking in the Dryad''s knowledge.

    "Equal to Solana, Tyfanevius is the Guardian, not quite as old as Tryfan, but older than Human civilisation. For aeons, the Green Wyrm has watered the tree with its Essence, while protecting its home from the aberrant things that crawl in the fissures where the spheres conjoin, hungry for entry into the Prime Material."

    "And then there are the Elves, sycophants of the World Trees before your kind had learned tools, much less Spellcraft. According to their elders, their ancestors were indigenous to another Plane but were lured by the fruits of the World Tree into becoming the Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar and Svart¨¢lfar. Solana, the one they call the Eternal Bloom in White, is one of the few surviving Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar carrying the blood of their Planar ancestors, whose bonds to Tryfan and Tyfanevius are bound by Accords older than any other living being on Earth."

    Gwen''s eyes grew gradually glazed as the implication of Sufina''s tale dawned.

    "So you''re saying..." Her mind felt afflicted by a strange fever as the nibbles of knowledge she had gathered on the Elves, the Accord, the World Trees and the Serpents fell into their rightful places. To her present understanding, what their other-mother inferred was that the Prime Material possessed inherent fissures where bisecting Planes of existence bled over¡ª hence the Gobs and Hobs and whatnot that kept popping up¡ª and that here and there in their world were giant trees evolved to feed on energy leaks, thereby nixing planar instabilities by sucking up mana that, if left unchecked, would tear the fabric of space and invite non-terrestrial invaders.

    "Holy shit." Gwen grew dizzy with the euphoria of understanding. "I think I get what you''re offering."

    "You do?" Sufina cocked her head. "Then what knowledge have you gleaned, little one?"

    "You''re offering me an opportunity to downgrade a Zone''s danger rating! Right? The area around a World Tree is safe from undesirables because in Tryfan''s shadow, even if an Elemental pierces the veil, the World Tree would starve them of mana so that their extinction becomes natural and inevitable. That''s why Snowdonia is always peaceful and never sees outbreaks within its borders, correct? That''s why they freak when invasive flora like the Triffids pop up."

    "Yes," Sufina concurred, her yellow orbs growing soft and inviting, forcing Gwen''s heart to skip a beat. "If ancient Almudj would be our Tyfanevius¡ª then I invite you, daughter, to be as Solana to my Tryfan."

    Besides Gwen, Gunther''s mouth grew equally wide. "Gwen, this is an incredible opportunity, one for which I can only feel envy."

    "Don''t our Towers already do that?" Alesia demanded.

    "For what the Tree of Tryfan can maintain, you would need a superstructural Tower," Gunther said.

    "Whoa!" Gwen fought to keep her excitement in check. "Sufi. Let me confirm again. You''re saying that you''ll sedate a region for me, ala-Tryfan¡ª in exchange for my guiding Almudj to you? That and make sure it isn''t going to eat you?"

    "Only if the Elder One joins us." Dryad inclined her sculpted chin, her face the perfect creation of a master doll-maker. "I can''t do this myself, just as I can''t maintain Henry alone."

    "So many birds with one Fireball!" Alesia clapped. "Gwennie, say yes!"

    "Indeed, allow me to applaud your new opportunity," Gunther cut in. "BUT as your Guardian and brother-in-craft, I should advise a visit to the Tree of Tryfan to notify Lady Solana before you venture any further with Sufina. The two of you may appear to be in the know, but a little knowledge¡­"

    "¡­ can be a dangerous thing," Gwen agreed. "I take it I am missing some key details?"

    "You are." Gunther nodded. "I am not a member of the Accord, so I can''t say how the Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar would react if you decided to germinate a World Tree between yourself, Sufina and Almudj. As an parallel, I would not allow someone I can''t control to erect a Tower in Australia even at no cost to Sydney."

    "Bah, they can react all they like." Sufina smiled prettily. "What are the knife-eared tree ants going to do? Send Tyfanevius against us? Your Patron will crush that wiggling Wyrm like a pillbug."

    "You say that." Gunther halted the Dryad from further tempting their red-eared, inexperienced sibling. "But Gwen has both friends and family in the Prime Material. The Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar of Tryfan may keep to themselves, but their reach through the Accord has permeated the Mageocracy and the Commonwealth for centuries. Unless you wish for Gwen never to leave the Grot or set up her tree somewhere in China, where there are no Elves..."

    Sufina shrugged. "Is that not agreeable?"

    Gwen''s back grew clammy when she realised that, true to Gunther''s words, the Dryad had indeed laid the groundworks to alienate her from her present world.

    "No, Sufi. I don''t think I''ll be too thrilled if I had to hang here with only Al, you and Master''s corpse for company. But on that note, I will make a decision here and now," she replied to the Dryad. "I''ll bequeath you the Scale for the moment, Sufi, so that you may maintain yourself. As for asking Almudj to intercede on your behalf¡ª I am not in a position to make an educated verdict, and so I shall delay that decision until after graduation, or at least until I can draft a comprehensive Five-Year Plan and have it peer-reviewed¡­"

    "A sound decision." Her brother-in-craft gave her a curt nod before addressing their Familiar-mother. "With all due respect, Sufi, your gift is too precious to expend carelessly, and there are far too many variables in its expenditure. For all we know, it might open up an inter-species global conflict."

    "Or maybe the two of you are making a Troll Warren out of a Gob Hill." Alesia bit her lips. "Sufi wants to preserve both our Master and herself. It doesn''t need to be complicated if you don''t make it more complicated. It seems to me that Tower and power are the only ideas bouncing around in your heads. No wonder you two forgave Walken so easily. You''re the same breed of animal."

    "And our Master was the best among us." Gunther''s patience for his wife made Gwen blush for feeling agitated. "You''re right¡ª but Gwen''s life is at stake, and it''s her future that''s up in the balance. Will you challenging her choice, Allie?"

    Despondently, Alesia shook her head.

    "Sorry, Allie." Gwen then returned to Sufina before Alesia could change her mind. "Sufi, is that agreeable to you? I''ll need two more years before I can make an informed decision."

    Sufina glided across the sheave-strew floor until she stood behind their Master. Gazing at the three Apprentices, the Dryad gingerly dipped her chin.

    Gwen chose to interpret the ambivalent gesture as an agreement.

    "Alright, then." She forced herself to smile. "How about Master''s Grimoires, Sufi? Any idea where Master hid his stash?"

    Sufina kissed Henry''s head.

    The trio of Apprentices each delivered their most polite but sceptical expression.

    "Well¡­" Sufina leaned in until her bosoms pressed against the back of their dead Master''s hair. With an elongated finger, she tapped the space between her globular bosoms, roughly where a woman might have her heart. "In here, I suppose."

    Gunther''s brows furrowed.

    Gwen hoped Sufina did not infer that Dryads'' had breasts for brains.

    "That''s right." Sufina rested a hand on her hip. "Our baby bird better commit to a decision soon. Because when her Essence runs dry, I''ll be forgetting far more than just your Master''s life. All those spells he wrote for Sobel, all that knowledge he pilfered from Morden''s Enclave and the Elven Accord¡ª all that... Necromancy... would disappear from my Astral Soul, like¡ª"

    Sufina paused in her search for a figurative expression. All Familiars struggled with the abstract¡ª it was a hallmark of Elemental beings whose very existence were metaphors made manifest.

    "¡­ like tears in the rain?" Gwen put forward a plagarised movie line.

    "Yes." Sufina placed her cheek beside Henry''s, whose restful mien resembled a reposed Hypnos. "Or like the morning dew."

 Interlude - Fire and or Ice

    Her companions once called her the "Devourer".

    At first, the moniker was the product of good-natured humour because she ate enough for two men and yet had the frailest constitution among their party.

    Later, when they staggered out of the blight that was the Brisbane Zone, reality murdered the mirth.

    After that, the moniker took on an all-devouring life of its own.

    In every corner where the burgeoning post-Tide Commonwealth reigned, her husband ensured the nickname was never mentioned, and that she was remembered as the heroine of the hour.

    Outside of Humanity''s cities, the infamy of the Devourer spread like flaming-tempests sowing wildfires, blazing north from the Saurian Reaches of far north Queensland down through the Coral Sea and onto the Shelf Kingdoms of the Mermen.

    Even when her notoriety reached its peak, the men of the Mageocracy attributed the credits she had accrued to her prospector for uncovering an unpolished gem¡ª one that, once cut and mounted, could rival the Heart of Flames.

    Little did their "Friends" know that her wizened, deathless hubby had anticipated the outburst at the Brisbane Line since the evening he had found a half-wild child-sorceress hugging a dead dog''s shaggy carcass. "Alfie" was the drained mutt''s name, the sorceress recalled, and initially, she had loathed the kind, smiling Mage who had refused to raise her pup from the dead.

    As if mocking her forlorn recollection, the Arctic wind howled, encircling her lone figure like a pack of Frost Wolves. Here at the Earth''s end, the Planes of Water, Salt and Ice grew salient as angle and distance muted the presence of Radiance and Fire.

    The cold did not bother the sorceress as she watched the ice crystals kiss her flawless snow-white skin. Now and then, when she did feel the cold and her body became aware of the absence beside her, she would wonder if her decision in Eger was the beginning of an end or the beginning of something beyond herself.

    Thankfully, the nostalgia lasted only a second. With a rising sense of self-caution, the sorceress suppressed her sentimentalities. Perhaps, if she still lived in civilised society, someone would accuse her with the worst crime a woman could commit¡ª but what consolation could regret offer when there had been no choice?

    It was too late anyhow. Presently, in her depthless Soul Well, a million lingering shards from every being on Terra: Men, Elves, Dwarves, Orcs, Saurians, Mermen, Birdmen, Insects and Draconids; the once-living and the undying, the physical and the incorporeal, all churned in the Astral soup that was her Essence Pool, driving her onward.

    "Your Ladyship¡­" A lithe contour half-rose from the shadows formed by a low-rising sun that drew claw-like stretches of shade over the blighted landscape. The speaker was a Wight, a lieutenant in her loose organisation of peers; a faceless, murky ghost garbed in a cowl of anonymity. "Lord Sszrar reports that his Shoals are¡ª"

    TSSSS! The earth shook.

    Great plumes of abruptly superheated frost tore through the glacial sheets.

    Her conversation with the Wight was checked by a monstrous predator famed for brutal power bursting from the snow. As it emerged, the linen landscape seemed to move with it, shedding algae-rich permafrost as it rose to its full height. From a billowing maw, great gouts of steam huffed as its multiple hearts inspired action, filling its conduits with molten metal. As it panted, droplets of liquified earth fell from its charred hide, drumming the hard soil with instant beads of dirty alloy.

    Their intruder was an Emperor Ursine of the Magma subtype, a monster that should not exist in a place where Elemental Fire waned, and the frost ruled.

    "How uncouth." Besides the Witch in black, her companion Wight crouched in the shade of her erect figure. The Ursine were an ancient species from the time of Elves. Even an earthly variant commanded a respectable tier of power. A specimen so large and so dense with Elemental mana could possess enough prowess to warp the landscape.

    "Do take a civilised form." The sorceress frowned when her sheer attire flared and flailed from the heat.

    "You think it''s easy to pierce through the Planes and emerge in a place as miserable as this?" A thundering voice boomed from the magnificent bear. Different to the susurrating Sylvan spoken by her companion, the Elemental speech of the Fire Sea were all hiss and crackle.

    "It''s no reason to be rude. Know that soon, both the Dauphiness and our leader will grace us. I would not have either of them offended before we divide our rights and duties. How pleased might you be if your counterpart bursts through the crust riding a Dreadnaught Leviathan?"

    "Ho? Your sponsor has chosen to come out of the shadows?" The Ursine began to shrink until it was twice her height, reducing in girth until only a hulking, red-skinned, barrel-chested giant tattooed with searing mystical inscriptions remained. On his head, a long tuft of white hair stood tightly coiled in the shape of a turban, affixed with priceless ornaments wrought from gems and precious metals. Below his tapered waist, the Elemental''s trunk-like legs ended in massive red feet clawed with obsidian. Where the Efreet stood, his bronze bangles smouldered, polluting the atmosphere with whiffs of nostril-singing sulphur.

    The Elemental cracked his neck. In the Efreet''s molten-metal eyes, the sorceress recognised a smouldering thirst.

    "One would think you''d abhor mortal flesh," she mocked the creature''s unnatural, inter-species impulse. "Little wonder you''ve yet to ascend, Lord Zodiam. For shame."

    "So long as we smoulder, we are slaves to the death-desire." The Efreeti Emir did not bother hiding his wanton impulse. "In beings with vital-forces as rich as we, the impulse for blissful oblivion parallels the lust for conquest. Such is the Elder One''s will, is it not? As natural as the molten core of our home where the spheres conjoin. I am a man, and you, a woman¡ª what shame should this one feel? In this, you may be unique, O Witch of Untamable Hunger."

    Before the sorceress could offer a riposte, a seaspray surrounded them, setting her dress to glisten and the Efreeti''s skin to hiss and pop.

    "Correct, there is no equal to the Void Witch on all of Terra, not even in the lightless depths, O Emir from the Sea of Sand and Fire." The voice that joined them arrived as a cloud of congealing mist, growing more solid with distance until finally, an exquisite face materialised with a complexion the translucence of brilliant aquamarine.

    Their finned ally arrived as anticipated, her scales clad in the sheerest of gossamer. Unlike Human armour, the true daughters of the sea wrapped themselves in spirit-garments wrought from the skin of their beloved kin. In the deep depth where the weight of countless fathoms warped the Planes themselves, no physical apparel could be worn that did not impede the movement of the wearer. It was for this reason that a Mermen''s most prideful possession was their highly-evolved body, each specialised for survival against the ten-thousand-and-one threats seeking to engulf the Sea-kin at every instance of their lives.

    As one, the two inclined their chins. Nin Gak was a youthful Priestess blessed by the Watchers in the Deep, a Dauphiness ruling over a billion souls and thus, worthy of their respect.

    But despite the Mermaid''s adolescence, the sorceress and the Efreet knew better than to underestimate their bioluminescent companion. Where the Efreeti received their knowledge from their ancestors, the Mermen endured through their unseen patrons. Though Nin Gak''s body was youthful, her mind may well be an instrument millenniums in the making.

    "We now await our leader," the Witch of the Void said to either of her lauded companions.

    "Milady. Our Lord has arrived." At her prompt, the obfuscated shadow beneath the sorceress stepped into the light. "This one shall now excuse herself."

    Abruptly, the female figure began to change. From underneath the cowl came the sound of snapping bone and transmuting flesh, then in one, agonising pull, the figure stood, removing the headpiece covering his face.

    "Lillybird," the man addressed the raven-haired sorceress with a faint, paternal smile. "I thank thee. And to our partners, welcome."

    "Emir Zodaim, Dauphiness Nin Gak, may I refer your attention to the architect of our endeavour¡ª" the sorceress dipped her head at the knife-eared male standing straight as an oak. "If you wish to address our compatriot directly, he fancies the name Malakath."

    "A Lj¨®s¨¢lfar bearing the name of a Svart¨¢lfar Elder One?" The Efreet''s nostrils, which resembled the hungering orifice of carmine carnivorous plants, swallowed the air. "What are you?"

    "I sense that we are as fellow Vessels¡­ but who is your patron?" the Mermen Priestess drank in the ambient mana, flaring her pink gills as the flow of slow-forming rime filtered through her transmuted organ.

    The Elf raised a hand to dismiss the creatures'' invasive enquiry.

    "Well met, Princelings of Fire and Water." The Elf took a moment to stretch out his newly formed body. From the portions of their speaker not covered by the heavy-set robes, the Elementals could make out the man''s lustrous blonde brows and Mithril-hued hair, marking the Demi-human as a "Light Elf", elder beings that hailed from the north where the sky-curtains danced, keepers of the old Lore. And as with all Elder-kin, it was impossible to tell his age. "Tis is a pleasure to meet thee both in person. It cannot be easy travelling so far from thy homes, especially thanks to that..."

    The foursome looked toward the horizon. There, set against a backdrop of an endless snowdrift, giant bowers stretched upward like vague fingers.

    "We meet today to attain assurance." Nin Gak''s petite nostrils couldn''t help but shrink against the icy air. "Both the Emir and I have committed an immoderate amount of our resources to your cause. The promises you''ve pledged¡ª if it cannot be met¡­"

    "Have faith, good allies." The Elf''s lips curled cruelly. "If not in me, then in the simplicity of the laws that govern the Prime Material Plane. If thou hast questions, I am but here to put thy worries to eternal rest. Be liberal, make thy minds known."

    "Then allow me to verify what your pet sorceress has sold us¡ª by what means will you nullify the World Tree''s divine protection?" demanded the Efreeti Emir. "I may forcibly bypass its defences, but for our lesser kin, the perimetry is near-inviolable."

    "The answer is simple, scion of the Ever-burning Flame, we shall draw out the Serpent to weaken its barrier," replied the Elf. "Without the Frost Wyrm, there shall be no absolute territory. Trees, even one from the beginnings of the world, are merely the material manifestation of order in a sea of chaos. Its trunk has existed since time immemorial, but it possesses no Ego, no will. It is a thing, an aggregate of power, a fount of mana, an anchor, that is all."

    "The Serpent will not leave the tree," Nin Gak reminded the Elf. "It is known."

    "Not so," the Elf said. "The Serpent can be compelled. If the Frost Flower of Lh?weth suffers, it has no choice but to battle the threats outside its barrier. That''s the sole reason for its upkeep, after all."

    "How will you compel it?" The Efreet enquired.

    "Through my numberless minions." Nin Gak redirected the Efreet''s attention unto herself. "I shall commit both of the Great Shoals under my leadership."

    Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

    "And for that, thou hast humbled me." The Elf inclined his chin in thanks. "Though the long march may prove wasteful, rest assured that no loss shall be wasted in the end."

    "And this will bring forth the Snake from the pocket plane?"

    "If the Serpent does not emerge to purify the land," the Elf continued. "Then the dead will rule, and their World Tree can only wilt. Of course, two Shoals, or three, or four shalln''t fathom the defences of an Elfhome guarded by a Serpent. For that, we have our Void Witch."

    "And I shall do my duty," the sorceress stated flatly. "Two Shoals, or whatever survives, together with the Tree''s disrupted ley, should be enough to destabilise the Serpent''s bond to Lh?weth, either through consuming it directly, or forcing it into dormancy¡ª the latter, of course, is likelier than the first."

    "And even so, a World Tree as ancient as that will not bend nor yield," the Elf known as Malakath continued. "But tis no matter; its decimation was never our purpose."

    "Aye. We have agreed to crack the pillars of the Planes, not to fell it." The Efreet Prince agreed.

    "Indeed, though thy advantage will endure no more than a decade," the Elf spoke with a tone of regret. "Though overwhelming power may alter the elemental admixture of a place, the Tree is tenacious."

    "Whatever the outcome, your folk will have enough time to wreak havoc," the sorceress added her assurance.

    "It is strange to me." Nin Gak watched the sorceress and her Elf''s impassive faces. "Both the Emir and I know what we shall gain from this endeavour. For myself, our people have always known that Terra was our domain and that these terrestrial ''Humans'' must be exorcised like a parasitic barnacle. Zodiam''s country as well, has been endlessly harassed by Humans, his kin reduced to Cores and made into weapons and ornaments¡ª but what of yourself? Are you not terrestrial beings of this Plane? Where is your Tree, Elf?"

    "Tis a most intimate question." Malakath raised a hand in protest. "Forgive me. We art allies and compatriots, Dauphiness, not friends."

    "You say that, but I am committing two Great Shoals¡ª that''s four million souls sacrificed to the Void Witch so that we may cripple a sleeping, limbless Wyrm. Is that insufficient cause for trust?"

    "Aye, it is out of sincerity that we are here, risking our flesh." The Efreet smouldered. "I am with Nin Gak. Even if you lie, we would like to hear your reasons; else I cannot put it past my conscience to commit my tribe to this frozen wasteland."

    "Is the promise of conquest and revenge not persuasive enough?" The Elf chuckled. "We art sincere in our suit, O Emir, else your father would immolate mine immortal Soul for all of eternity."

    "I am an excellent judge, dear Elf," Nin Gak assured them. "Do you forget that I am the mistress of a thousand-millions. I can taste falsehoods before they manifest."

    The Elf shrugged. "Very well¡ª though our snow-white Lilybird here has a far better tale to tell. Nevertheless, I shall speak of mine with as much courtesy as I can offer without the Accord rending mine soul asunder."

    The two Elementals remained unmoved by the Elf''s aggrandisement.

    Assuming a faint hint of sorrow, the Elf pointed to himself. "This one rages against the chains that tether mine kin. I thrash and howl against the bindings of kismet."

    "You seek to escape the karmic wheel?" The Efreeti''s pupils burned. "Are you an adherent of Undeath?"

    The Elf shook his head.

    "No Necromancy. Nothing so crude will free mine people," he said. "Did thou know that all Humans are born free? Their kind art blank slates, free to be whatever they desire, to succeed, or to fail. Yet we who art ageless sovereigns art bound by kismet. Be we Elf or Elemental, it enshrouds us, forces us into our respective places. The ¨¢lfar art tethered to the pillars of the Prime Material. However we struggle, imprisonment is our only reward."

    The Elementals furrowed their brows; Zodiam''s bushy brows were twin gouts of bright fire, while Nin Gak''s sleek scales crinkled and overlapped.

    "For thou whose birth was given purpose, it may be hard to imagine the frustration." The Elf laughed. "This one has had a few thousand years to ponder, after all. Can thou even imagine the frustration of such a thing? Living for longer than most civilisation has stood, agonisingly comprehending the limitations of thy sphere and its dumb Pillars¡ª all is futility! If the Humans and the mortal beings art born free, then why should their betters be held in bondage? Why is this the sufferance of my tribe? For whose benefit and at whose command do we yield our sacred selves?"

    The Elementals stood in silence, clearly struggling to empathise with the Elf. When the Demi-human said nothing more, they turned to the woman.

    "Revenge." Her smile was effortlessly chilling. "I want the Commonwealth to bleed. I want their Mageocracy to fall. I want everything my husband had ever touched to turn to dust and ruin and ash. I want to see his beloved Humanity fed to the fishes."

    For some reason, though they had known the female for far longer than the mad Elf, their irrespective scales and hair suddenly stood on end.

    To Nin Gak, the sorceress'' vitriol regarding her mate was utterly alien. In her palace, she would spawn her eggs in a pool, after which a host of Champions standing at the apex of a billion beings would fertilise her eggs. Then, as elvers, her children would cannibalise each other''s potentials until a dozen Priestesses and Champions emerged as the next generation''s successors.

    Conversely, Zodiam thought of the Sultanate''s famed seraglio from which his mother came and the sheer number of adversaries whose Cores she had to immolate to attain the power she now wielded in the Brass Court. Female Elementals, be they Djinn of the Sky, Efreeti of the Fire Sea, the noble Marids of the coast, or the wily Shaitan hiding among the Sand Sea, all held grudges with an intensity rivalling True Dragons. If what the Void Sorceress professed was the truth, then the Emir could only worship the woman''s malice. Passion, in his mind, made a female desirable. As his mother had shown, few appetites burned as bright and black as unbridled hate.

    "You would spite a mate by making his entire tribe pay?" Against the invading cold and the stabilising dimensions forcing his energies to disperse, Zodiam warmed his body with Elemental Fire, once more turning a healthy, molten orange.

    "Late... husband," the sorceress added. "He is with the Void now."

    The Efreet licked his lips. "But one''s tribe..."

    "Elf or Human, we art outcasts now, beings with neither tribe nor home," the Elf interceded on his sorceress'' behalf. "The Witch of the Void and I, we art the forgotten ghosts of abandoned conscience¡ª the hollow ones¡ª straw-stuffed Revenants belonging to a vengeful, spectral band. Does that satisfy?"

    Their audience showed neither compassion nor satisfaction.

    "No? Then call it revenge," the Elf conceded. "Why complicate a simple thing?"

    "Let us return to our prior topic." Zodiam chose not to dwell. "I now perceive the disruption to the region caused by our assault on the Tree. However, I do not understand how terraforming these frozen wilds will lead to the accomplishment of more enduring goals."

    "Hahaha, trust our kin of flames to grow confused at the power of water." Nin Gak laughed, then offered her summer compatriot a shot at understanding autumn. "Look around you, exalted Emir. Know that an enormous volume of liquid is stowed in this vast wasteland connected to the Quasi-Elemental Plane of Salt, Ice and Water. The disruption of the ley-lines, together with the proliferation of your kin, will be enough to return much of it to the ocean, for a time."

    "And?"

    "The overabundance of Elemental Water will cause Terra''s Planar Axis to overcompensate," the Elf continued with an all-knowing serenity. "As the Axis Mundi seeks to rebalance itself, the dimensional instabilities that afflict the Prime Material with grow by three to four-fold. Mana Storms the likes of which the planet has never seen will afflict its equatorial regions. Quakes compounded by a recession of the Elemental Plane of Earth and the expansion of the Elemental Plane of Water will plague its diminishing shores. Even without Leviathans, Priestess Nin Gak''s Shoals will be able to access the innermost reaches of Humanities'' coastal cities. For both of thy folk, there shall be such access to thine Planes the likes of which has not existed since the Dragon Age."

    "Not to mention," the Human sorceress added to the conversation. "Dark and aberrant things long-hidden in the dark spaces between the Planes will emerge to feast."

    Zodiam cocked his magnificently wrapped head. "What of our Human allies? Their goals seemed self-defeating."

    "Humanity tis a strange, multi-headed beast," the eternal Lj¨®s¨¢lfar answered the Elemental Emir. "Wouldst thou believe that a portion of Humanity desires this outcome? Tis insanity, but then again, such is human freedom. Within their warring tribe, our sympathetic compatriots have lost sway. For them, this blood-letting shall serve as a way to reclaim power. In their eyes, only by surrendering the good of the many can the few arise."

    "Recall that, unlike Lord Malakath''s kin, Humanity is afflicted by impurity," Nin Gak explained to Zodiam. "Like our kin, they are split into mortal fodder and sorcerous predator. Presently, their leading echelon believes that the weaker humans should be protected and sheltered by the powerful¡ª but our allies believe in the opposite."

    The Elf laughed. "Tis nothing so noble, sweet Priestess. Verily, they simply loath the sharing of power. Imagine if an Imp had the same say as your esteemed self, Lord Zodiam¡ª because a hundred-thousand Imps made this one Imp their representative."

    "I would extinguish them all!" Zodiam sucked in a breath of frigid air, feeling his head throb from the frosty breath.

    "Precisely," the Elf nodded approvingly. "Long ago, our allies once held the reigns of power. Now deprived of their influence, they see no more merit in feeding their federation. For them, playing the Necromancer over a shattered carcass is preferable to permitting others to rule in their stead."

    "It''s a fish-eat-fish world." Nin Gak shrugged. "The humans are the same as us in this regard, though they do try very hard to suppress what comes naturally to them, unlike our Void Witch."

    "Aye." The Elemental Emir laughed. "From the mana in her body, I can only say our vanguard has not held back for some time."

    "You flatter." The woman smiled, then looked up at the horizon. Awed by one of the world''s old existences, the group allowed the conversation to fade.

    "We proceed as planned." Nin Gak was the first to concede. She had a lot to lose, but at the same time, her Mermen bred quick and food was scarce. "I do apologise for my impatience, but your air is murder, and my feet feel as though pierced by jagged coral."

    "Yes, we proceed." Zodiam flared once more, heating the frigid atmosphere around his polymorphed avatar. Unlike the Mermaid, what the Emir had in mind was the accomplishments brought by his success and his place in the line of succession once their father ascends. "By the Sultan''s Mark, the Fire Sea shall not rescind its commitment."

    "Very well." The Elf bowed. "Thou hast mine word, O Lord and Lady of Fire and Water. Though in the aftermath, the Grove of Lh?weth may stand and the world''s balance return¡ª Humanity shall ebb as the receding noon-tide and thy time of reckoning will satisfy. Lilybird, canst thou escort our guests? This far from their natural abode, it is inconvenient for them to return."

    "Very well." The sorceress turned and swung her arm, splattering the broken ground of the tundra with tenebrous ink. Very quickly, the tar-like discharge blossomed into proliferating clusters of milling Hydras, eating into the earth until an intricate, multi-layered Mandala formed.

    "Mass Teleportation!" The sorceress finished the eighth-tier invocation before the Efreet''s body could cool, burning the Mandala mid-night black with mana from the Quasi-Elemental Plane of the Void.

    Their august guests could hardly hide their aversion as an obsidian portal the shape of an elliptical gash connected the Prime Material and the Astral.

    "It''s ready, Dauphiness Nin, Emir Zodiam, step this way¡ª"

    The Elementals regarded one another.

    "Humans have a saying." The Efreet grinned at the Mermaid. "Ladies first."

    Unamused, Nin Gak stepped through the portal.

    Toward the sorceress, the Fire Elemental winked, then was gone, swallowed by the pitch-black Void.

    The remaining two individuals waited in silence in case their guests inadvertently returned. When no Elemental royalty re-materialised, they relaxed their guard and shut the portal.

    "Wights¡ª" Malakath hissed at the shrinking shadows now that the sun hung higher. "How fairs the south?"

    From the distending shadow of the sorceress came the milling forms of the organisation''s Essence-fed sycophants, some tall, some hideous, some short and others stout. All of them occupied Avatars consisting of vile, chimeric vermin fed with the sorceress'' consumptive mana.

    "¡ª The terraforming is on schedule¡ª Emperor Sszrar sends¡ª Six Shoals of his finest¡ª for our southern endeavour."

    "His demands?"

    "He desires¡ª every coast of Oceania," The shadow''s speech jittered and halted, the lag in delivery an unfortunate symptom of the World Tree''s dimensional pacification. "¡ªGunther Shultz¡ª"

    The Elf looked toward the sorceress, who stood unfazed.

    "Tell the greedy whale he can have Sydney, Shultz, and whatever else he desires," the sorceress scoffed. "He''s seen what can be accomplished when the desire for conquest overrules compassion for his creatures. Remind Sszrar that it is because he failed to commit the entirety of his forces that Sydney still stands. A Holy War must be paid in blood, that''s the way of the world."

    "¡ª the way."

    "Notify our sorceress if any changes should occur," Malakath dismissed the shadow before addressing another. "Speak, what of the Svart¨¢lfar?"

    "The Guardian¡ªSea of Trees¡ª unaware," another phantom jittered, his movements like that of a faulty Golem. "¡ªuncaring¡ª insular."

    "That''s Elves for you." The sorceress shrugged at her partner. "Were you expecting anything else?"

    "Perhaps," The Light Elf glanced at the ice tree on the horizon. "Though maybe not."

    "Are you certain we can''t bring down the tree?" The woman wet her ruby-red lips. "The vitality there could be put to use on our next project, and the next."

    "Not without dire cost, Lilybird," the Elf declined. "A failure to defend the Tree is the problem of the Grove; as is the Serpent''s pacification by a superior force. There are no eternal victors, for that which is bound to nature must ebb and flow, whether by interference, occurrence or chance. Mine kind will not act harshly to failure. BUT¡ª if we fell a pillar, then the meddlesome Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar may put aside their split from the Svart¨¢lfar to cooperate. That would be a dire prospect."

    "If our involvement is discovered and our purpose fails." The sorceress chuckled. "Every Grove on Terra and their allies as well would hunt us down from the Prime Material to the Unformed Land. Is that not a direr prospect?"

    "We cannot and will not fail." The Elf faced his partner, his hard eyes growing soft. "Yes, tis dire, Elizabeth. I thank thee and love thee for thy labours."

    From Devourer to Revenant, one bloodless face observed the other.

    "Be very careful, Malakath," Elizabeth Sobel''s voice was a whisper on the wind. "If I didn''t know better, I''d say your Humanity is leaking."

 Chapter 386 - Support Pillars

    The exit from the Grot involved enduring silence from Gunther and Gwen while Alesia said goodbye to Sufina with tears and kisses for their Master. When finally they emerged from the Grot into the natural light, Gwen inhaled the insufferably humid air with rare relish. Beside her, Gunther readjusted his Message Device, then informed them that they were several hours off¡ª and that the time in Sufina''s home appeared to pass slower than in the material world, a testament to Sufina''s undiminished prowess.

    After that, the trio made for the thunderstruck Akimvrishka, where Gunther announced they would soon leave to attend to their duties as Officers of Sydney Tower, leaving Gwen behind to cater to the consequences of her compassion.

    While the ship conditioned itself for the voyage from Abang to Singapore, the siblings took a moment to bounce one another''s thoughts against the forecastle.

    "If anyone can clarify all of Master''s intrigues from his early years as Morden''s ward to his last days with Sobel, it would be Sufina." Their resident Tower Master paced back and forth, pondering the new hand they had just been dealt. "All I can say is that Sufi is far too cunning a being for our little sister to wrestle by her lonesome self."

    "Yeah, I mean¡ª if she can Essence Tap from Al, a legit Mythic," Gwen agreed by raising both brows in genuine worry. "For sure Sufi''s got nasty tricks hidden up her canopy."

    "At least Master''s safe," Alesia disapproved of her siblings'' antagonism. "That counts for something."

    "Oh, of course, he''s looking better than he had in years," Gwen remarked drily. "That''s no joke either. I wouldn''t be surprised if he got up and started calling our names."

    Gunther chose not to comment. "It''s too bad we can''t keep a closer eye on Sufi. Her sanctum is all but impenetrable by Divination."

    "Just as well. I mean, we''re keeping our Master''s condition between us, right?"

    "No worries there, what''s there to tell?" Alesia scoffed with a snort. "Borderline Necromancy isn''t exactly something to boast about."

    "I''ve no doubt Sufi can perform Necromancy if she inclined. If she has access to Master''s conduits and spells, I don''t see why she can''t figure out a workaround for Negative Energy." Gunther leaned against the rails. "Your thoughts?"

    "My head is this big right now." Gwen mimed with her hands the act of holding an overripe melon. "That said, Essence Tap isn''t Soul Tap per se. Its sorcery used by the Dark Elves. I am using it as a way to catalyse Greenkin Totemcraft, and my variant has been certified by The Shard. Granted they''re similar, as both spells share root Sigils in their IMS conversions. The distinction is there; however, Professor Brown was very particular. With Essence Tap and Sympathetic Life-Link, we''re going to figure out a way to help other Void Mages."

    "I meant the flesh-stitching," the Ex-Paladin corrected himself. "It takes a practised hand to instantly repair organs afflicted with Negative Energy, not to mention Void Mana. Did you know that it''s far easier to manipulate Negative Energy than to neutralise it with Clerical sorcery? That''s why the Necros are so adept at using Death Magic without catastrophic self-harm. I don''t know anyone capable of performing such a feat as the Master had managed, especially when the surgeon is concurrently the dying patient."

    "He is ''Deathless'' Henry," Gwen concurred. "A guy two centuries in the making has got unplumbed depth for sure. I mean, not even you knew about his Hungary adventures until the Chandler incident."

    "That''s true." Gunther nodded. "Albeit Master never asked for our past either. I guess it''s a little too late to regret not exchanging a few secrets. I respected him too much to keep digging."

    "What''s your big-bad secret?" their Void sorceress grinned wolfishly. "Is it about your family in Europe?"

    "Do you have a good secret to trade?" Her Brother-in-craft regarded their smirking sister. "I''ll show you mine if you show me yours."

    "Oi! That''s unfair," Alesia interrupted them. "You two know everything about me! I don''t have anything to bargain with!"

    "You haven''t told Allie about Europe either?" Gwen said incredulously.

    "That part of my life is dead and buried." Gunther met her eyes with caution. "As Master once said, I am not dwelling on the past, and neither should you."

    "And that''s how we end up knowing nothing about our Master." Gwen grinned at her hypocritical brother. "What if our Tower Master had a secret fianc¨¦e in Europe?"

    "They better be damn good at Abjuration¡ª" Alesia huffed.

    "Need I remind you it''s YOUR Grimoires we''re after?" Gunther gave Gwen a flick on the forehead. "If you want to know, we''ll talk later. For now, I need to put contingencies for Sufina into place. Allie, we''re leaving before our homewrecker causes any more trouble."

    "Aww, you''ve upset your brother!" Alesia laughed.

    Gwen smirked in turn. "Say hi to Surya for me. Tell Opa I''ll drop in mid-semester if I can."

    "I shall." Gunther reached out and patted their youngest on the head. "Will you be fine with this lot?"

    "I''ll send out the Familiars and the Dogs," Gwen assured her siblings. "Fair flight, Brother. You too, Allie. Take care!"

    With nothing else left to be said, the trio changed into their civilian attires. After the fact, the siblings embraced once more, then the husband and wife pair was on their way.

    Watching the diminishing pair of companionable silhouettes slipping through the air, Gwen couldn''t help but think of Evee. She imagined the two of them as the same couple fading into the horizon and tasted an anticipatory sweetness on her lips. After a moment, however, her chest grew sore, and her mood grew strange, so she poured her feelings into her clamouring Familiars, furthermore whipping up a new pack of Void and Lightning dogs and their alphas, Astro and Buck.

    Presently, her Void Hounds had a hint of serpentine to their sleek heads and a low-gloss petrol-sheen attached to their oily bodies, making her wonder if the continued growth of her Essence-producing Astral Body had anything to do with the morphic detailing. Comparatively, her Lightning Dogs resembled little Ariels, shaggy with manes of stabbing electricity that anaesthetised her fingertips, but were otherwise related to the Wolfhounds found on the Highlands.

    "EE! EE!" Ariel cooed.

    "SHAA! SHAA!" Caliban was more interested in what lied in the belly of the ship.

    "Nanang!" she called out from the forecastle deck, summoning the third mate. Naturally, Caliban was now First Mate and Ariel, her handsome second-in-command. As for herself, she now assumed the role of the Captain of this Raft of the Medusa.

    The Indonesian skipper grovelled, albeit at a safe distance.

    "It''s time," Gwen commanded the group who insisted on falling to their knees every time Ariel or Caliban passed. Strangely, the men and women felt less inclined to bend the knee for the Familiar''s two-legged mortal Mistress. "Set course for Singapore!"

    "EE! EE!" Ariel gave the order for full-steam ahead.

    "SHAA! SHAA!"

    "ARRRROOOOOOO¡ª" The hounds bayed.

    "Aye-aye, Lord Ariel!" the Third Mate relayed the Kirin''s orders. "We should arrive at Singapore''s coastal waters in ten hours!"

    At day-break, the Akimvrishka met a Coast Guard Cruiser hosting a mid-tier Mage Flight as they crossed the strait of Batam. Gwen flew out to meet the Mages, growing glad when they did not attack but proclaimed to be sent by Tower Master Lee at the behest of her Brother-in-craft.

    "We''ll take it from here, Ma''am." Captain Chen saluted. "The Akimvrishka will be docked and decommissioned, its cargo inspected, re-valued and sold at auction. We''ll credit your share of the CCs and HDMs for capturing the illicit vessel."

    "What of the crew?" she asked, mindful of her original purpose.

    "As a favour to the Devourer of Shenyang, there shall be a measure of leniency," the youthful Captain assured her, though Gwen knew her Brother-in-craft shouldered the real favour. "If they pass questioning, the crew can choose indentured service for five years, or try their luck at the public lashes. After that, they''ll be deported to their Frontier homes once processed. Of course, we''ll give the Mages a choice to work in Singapore if they prove obedient."

    "They would stay after all that?" Gwen watched the crew of the Akimvrishka and was surprised to find that the sailors appeared quite happy to be arrested now that they no longer had a meeting with the Mermen below the Singapore Strait.

    "We regularly recruit from the locals near the Java sea." Chen''s gaze swept over the men and women bound with arcane-cords enchanted with a modified Lock spell. "Though it seems the Wildlands have had a talent boom of late if the pirates are soaking up Rogue Mages by the hundreds."

    "Is the fortress city not interested in enriching and securing the Javanese islands?" Gwen asked.

    "I wouldn''t presume to discern our regional policy, Ma''am," Captain Chen apologised. "I will inform you, however, that the zone ratings for the regions of Sumatra, Kalimantan, and the Indonesian enclave changes with the currents; until there''s a way to stabilise the region or purge it of Mermen, our city isn''t going to get over-ambitious. The late Prime Minister Lee has our developmental plan mapped out, and under his legacy, we haven''t misstepped so far. Is our arrangement for the crew acceptable to you, Magus Song?"

    Gwen took a gander at Nanang, their Third Mate. She had spent the night conversing with the Water Mage and his seamen, eventually coming to empathise with their origins and the culture of piracy that afflicted the Java Sea. From history, she understood that the continental coastline linking India, Myanmar, Thailand, Malaysia, Cambodia and Vietnam had seeded the island chains of the South China Sea from Palawan to Port Moresby.

    The Human settlements of the Javanese Frontier were a loose compilation of coastal settlers from the continents who had interbred with the Demi-humans of the South Sea. On those verdant and deadly paradise islands, men and women afflicted with scales, tails, fins and gills were commonplace in the Orange and Purple Zones. Closer to Singapore, only a handful of Green Zones like Jakarta or Kuala Lumpur were safe for unsullied Human habitation.

    As a measure against the unpredictable tides, the folk had taken up worship of Elementals¡ª most often the land gods, other times local monsters with religion and beliefs derived from the mainland from which their diverse people had first arrived.

    In the decades following the Beast Tide, international recovery efforts had increased sea trade one-hundred fold, bringing food, education and technology to an otherwise forgotten colonial Frontier. It was because, as a result of the proportional increase in security and resources, the number of Human settlements in the South China Sea increased exponentially.

    "Yes." Gwen conceded that if she were to do something for Nanang, it would be out of mutual interest and not some half-baked compassion she felt by merely sharing a Maotai with the Mages to boost their chances at surviving the lash. "And the matter with the Mermen using my image?"

    "We''ll lodge a report with the Tower," the Captain said. "As for the Homel Food Company, I am afraid you''ll have to approach your patron yourself. The Mageocracy has limited sway with the Americans."

    "Understood. Thank you, Captain Chen." Gwen dipped her chin. "You''ve done well."

    "It is we who should thank you for gracing Singapore." The Captain saluted. "And for capturing these pirates. I am certain the information provided by the crew here will lead us to their caches and allow us to intercept their shipping routes. There have been ships missing in the South China Sea since February; we''ve no doubt more pirates are behind the incidents, perhaps even working with the Mermen."

    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

    Gwen nodded. "Then I shall be returning to London. If there''s anything else you need from me, the Tower has my offices'' contacts for both Cambridge and the Isle of Dogs. One more thing though, may I donate the proceeds from the ship''s inventory? Does the Singapore Tower have any Frontier aid programs for building schools, farms, medical facilities and so forth in the region of Java?"

    "We do, though that''s outside my jurisdiction."

    "Then please inform Master Lee of my desire to see the lives of the survivors improved," she said. "It wouldn''t do for their kin to take up piracy once more. If a city wants to nip the problem at the root, it has to start at the bottom with education and opportunity."

    "By your will, Magus Song."

    "Then you have my thanks." Gwen took a step back, her body drifting slowly into the air. "Please keep me informed."

    With the Captain nodding, her mind at ease and the Mages below saluting in awe, the Class VI War Mage zapped across the horizon as a blue-green streak of fulminating lightning, wiping the fate of the otherworldly refugees from her conscience.

    London''s October was a relatively dry period of the year suitable for both summer and autumn attires thanks to its cooling, mid-teen weather. It was also the season when the city''s deciduous trees transformed its emerald avenues into cosy fire.

    For her second international transit, Gwen''s ISTC hopping proved uneventful, arriving and exiting Heathrow without so much as an inventory questionnaire from Customs, after which she made for the Isle of Dogs.

    In early October, the Isle had four projects under concurrent construction. With two months to go on her Fabricator hire, her Executive Officer Eric Walken had engaged the Red Citadel in talks to extend the lease¡ª on principle, however; the Dwarves refused to allow precious Engines out of the Murk once the Debt of Haj-Z¨¹l was repaid. It meant that, if Gwen were desperate, then she would have to further the Debt by applying herself to the exploration of the Murk; a prospect that had grown grim of late as the Dwarves and the Human Adventurers delved deeper into the abyss.

    Of the projects, three were residential high-rises with commercial space below. The fourth was a twenty-storey business building and the first of the Isle''s ambitious attempts at attracting government agencies to take up a long-term lease. From Lady Grey, Gwen had heard that Scotland Yard was looking to relocate from Victoria Street. In her old world, the Police Headquarters had eyed the Embankment opposite Westminster for their renovated headquarters near an address close to No. 10 Downing. In her present London, proximity to the Shard was far more critical than closeness to parliament, meaning if the building offered a low enough rental for a large enough space, the City of London may just take up her offer. For the Isle of Dogs, having a critical government department take up residence would officialise the newly revamped district as a second city centre and bring about an avalanche of business. In Gwen''s plan, the influx of Mages would naturally gentrify the region and push out the NoM residents, who could make a tidy sum from selling their piecemeal leaseholds and taking up better residences in Greenwich and Charlton twenty minutes away, bringing advantage to all.

    Naturally, the rapid rise in land price and the ballooning of wealth would require her auditors to keep a keen eye on the Crystals flowing into and out of the Isle. Transparency was paramount for reporting increased economic activity she brought to the region; a key metric when haggling for additional permits.

    Arriving overhead above the ferry pier, she entered the Printing Press via the rafters, where a loft had been constructed to accommodate her unorthodox mode of entry. This late in the afternoon, the Press was a steaming, churning, screeching chaos of organised mayhem. From the delivery bay, Worker Golems piloted by trained NoMs moved barrels of unenchanted ink into the mixing room alongside four-legged Mitsubishi MK-Vs hauling paper rolls by the pallet.

    This late, the Dwarves were no longer a common sight, with most of them working in the deeper regions of the Press some six-storeys down from the ground floor, regulating the engines'' mechanical and alchemical gut-flora so that the belts and rollers above could churn out circulation West Ferry vomited into London and beyond daily.

    In the west quadrant, where magical dampening had been put into place to hinder the noise, Gwen found Lorenzo and the editorial staff debating over the front page. Before entering, she took a moment to listen in to see what nastiness her team got up to in her absence. Within, Lorenzo voiced that Adventurers serving as front-line fodder for Murk Dives should be the centrepiece of the next edition. At the same time, his assistant, a war journalist Diviner called Wyatt Bennett, felt that the story would shed an unflattering light on their boss.

    "Gentlemen!" She stepped in without knocking. The Editorial Room, as per Lorenzo''s demand, had an open door policy. "What ails my board of truth peddlers?"

    "Boss!" Lorenzo nodded. "Alright, Wyatt, ask her yourself."

    "Magus Song." Wyatt''s expression appeared wary. "There''s been unacceptable casualties in the Murk. The Dwarves still speak fondly of you, but the public''s opinion of the alliance has taken a nosedive. Most of the Mages who came back from the Murk laden with loot in June now returned in body bags after encountering monsters of a higher tier than the Red Citadel had anticipated. The Dwarves have done what they can, and last I heard, they are securing a beachhead to building a new Forward Operating Citadel. Nonetheless, at minimum, a quarter of the first wave of Adventurer who went in did not return."

    "Yikes." Gwen grimaced. "My condolences, but I am involved, how?"

    "You aren''t." Bennett sighed. "The other papers are saying it''s all your fault, though."

    "I see." Gwen gave the matter some thought and realised there wasn''t that much more spin to be spun. She was responsible for open trade with the Dwarves, and she did invite Human Mages to loot the Murk. From December to March, she had taken in the fame and the kudos, now, she should shoulder some of the blame. "Get some statements from the Dwarves and just tell it as it is. It''s futile to convince folk who don''t trust the sight of their eyes nor the words striking their ears anyway. Whether they''re a vocal minority or a Cabal with a chip on their shoulder, leave the matter to Walken."

    "See?" Lorenzo grinned at Bennett. "You can trust Gwen to fight falsehoods with the truth."

    "Yep." Gwen gave her editors a confident grin. "For journalists, The Sun can''t seem to heed the advice that one shouldn''t quarrel with anyone who buys ink by the barrel. Don''t despair, Magus Bennett, once our reach supersedes those yellow rags, I''ll buy their devalued shares, and we can initiate a hostile takeover. The METRO will have the last laugh; you have my word¡­"

    "I''ll be looking forward to that!" Lorenzo laughed as well, with the rest of the editorial department following more confusedly.

    "Anyway, I got a cool story for you guys." Gwen waited for the room to calm. With a casual invocation, she conjured up a few Illusion-empowered projections of pictures taken with a Lumen-Recorder. "Check out the tats on these¡­"

    In detail, she told the others of her discovery in the South Sea, then informed Lorenzo that for this incident to fade, they had to control the narrative. As she possessed the raw images and the first-hand account, she would provide them with some riveting interviews and theories, and they could be the ones to initiate the enquiry.

    "Excellent, I''ll go and generate the Quests at the Shard right now." Wyatt volunteered.

    "Keep the rewards on the highest tier," Gwen advised. "If by some off chance someone does find out why the fish were wearing my face, I want to be informed pronto."

    The others agreed.

    With her impending infamy sorted at least for now, Gwen then visited Walken, finding the Magister buried behind a small mountain of accounts, files, contracts and reports. Walken''s present office, now lovingly dubbed by the locals as the "Bunker" thanks to the Herald Sun, had recently completed an expensive leather and oiled oak renovation.

    "When are you coming back to do some real work?" The Magister demanded of the giggling girl watching him from the safety of the doorway.

    "Saturday," Gwen said. "I''ve got Lectures all week."

    "Ah, yes." Eric Walken nodded, appearing to recall that his boss was still a student. "How''s Sufina? Did you retrieve the Scale? From the lack of changes in your general aura, I am going to say no."

    Gwen made her way into the office, searched around the polished facade and found the liqueur cabinet.

    "Aren''t you a bit young for that sort of thing?" Walken remarked on her casually topping off a glass of Dwarven rum. "Care for a cigar to go with that?"

    Gwen took a swig, then topped the glass again once her body warmed up. "You correctly guessed that we saw Sufi and had a chat. After that, we made a deal."

    "Free to elaborate?"

    "Somewhat. I need your advice on something¡­" Gwen took a moment to gather her thoughts and to filter out what could be said and what to withhold from her business partner, then relayed what she could about Sufina''s angel investment offer. Walken grew increasingly silent as she explained, then fell into a delicate mood.

    "¡­ Shultz is right; you need to speak with the Elves. A private World Tree could become a Human-Demi-human dispute issue." Walken spoke after a while. "As for what London can offer, consult with the Marchioness of Ely. Don''t worry about secrecy, and don''t fret over the news getting out."

    "Why? Wouldn''t privacy be better?"

    "This is one of those rare instances were the more people know of your capacity to establish a potential Green Zone, the less advantage they''ll have over you by whatever means. As with your Void talent, you''re a prize for others to win over. All you need to do is accept the best deal offered to you."

    "And if someone doesn''t want to compete fairly?" Gwen grinned. "That''s only to be expected here in London."

    "Then bring it up in public and let the world know." Walken grinned back. "You do have a newspaper, after all, one that''s free. I look forward to the day our company offers lands partitions in a safe zone."

    "Hahaha¡­" Gwen sipped her rum. "You know it!"

    With her mind at ease, Gwen addressed her underground staff, dropped off Chinese souvenirs for her Dwarven Engineseers and Alchemist, then made ready for Cambridge. On her final tour around the Isle of Dogs, she inspected Evee''s clinic-soup-kitchen-orphanage and spoke to some of the staff to ensure that whatever Elvia had left in her care ran swimmingly, then was on her way to report to Lady Grey.

    There was a lecture, Gwen recalled, set for the next morning¡ª one that encompassed the very thing she now needed to comprehend: Contemporary Planar Theory.

    The "New" Museum Site east of Corpus Christi and north of Pembroke was a bit of a misnomer. It was a common misunderstanding for folk who hadn''t grown up around Cambridge or had siblings talented enough to attend the prestigious college. Like the other sites in Cambridge, the New Museum, which was two centuries old, consisted of Spellcraft libraries dedicated to the study of Magical Theory. The inner court was home to august offices of learning like the Old Cavendish Building with its Regency facade, sitting beside the neo-Victorian exterior of Mond Hall, where Dwarven artisans once more graced. Its resident scholars were famous for carrying out breakthroughs in Spellcraft, serving as home to Meisters like Allenberg and Goulding, surnames synonymous with textbooks. Most famously, the site was home to the posthumously awarded Evoker-Conjurer Magi James Chadwick, discoverer of the "Mote"¡ª the invisible, smallest unit of metric possible for mana.

    It was here in the McCrum Lecture Hall that junior students newly arrived for the Michaelmas Term had their first taste of Cambridge''s free-range learning style¡ª that and their first stickybeak at the leggy Devourer of Shenyang.

    "On the lore of Axis Mundi¡ª" Magister Addison Andrews, first Chair of Cosmology and Planar Theory at Corpus Christi, persisted with her lecture, pointedly ignoring the eye-catching celebrity in their midst. At Cambridge, though there was no shortage of lords and ladies¡ª the love child of the Herald Sun''s back and front pages nonetheless remained a cause for distraction. The Void sorceress'' daring outfit notwithstanding, the professor''s professionalism was undeterred.

    "¡ª Also known by folklore across the continents as the stem of the cosmos, the loci of the world, and simple ''The Pillars'' by our Demi-human compatriots, exist as a metaphysical conceit tied to nature. For the academics among you learned in the subject, you will know that the idea is closely tied to current conjecture on the application of ley-lines. Such is because, across our known world, the understanding of Axis Mundi varies. Under the auspice of Christendom, we associate the Axis with trees¡ª as in the Tree of Knowledge, at the centre of which lies Eden."

    The lecturer took a drink of water while the projected Illusion of a woman, a man, a tree and a cheeky snake changed "slides".

    "In the metaphysical sense, this is a localised belief. The Axis Mundi is, in reality, is akin to Conduits. Such Conduits form through the natural flow of energies between the Planes, derived by forces in a manner akin to estuaries, governed by nature and as such, bound by the laws of the Prime Material. For example, the Chinese have for thousands of years believed that their Middle Kingdom to be the loci of the Axis, though our history strongly disagrees with theirs. The Central Continent is a nation where trees are not venerated¡ª likely because of the lack of Elves, or some other historical calamity. Rather, what they worship is something else. Magus Song, I believe you''re well-acquainted with China since you''re a Fudan alumina, what do you suppose replaced the Western tree in the Oriental psyche?"

    "Er¡­" a husky, alluring voice piped up. "Mountains? The Five Peaks?"

    "Correct." The lecturer awarded the girl with a happy clap. "Mount Heng, Mount Hua, Mount Emei, Mount Tai and Mount Huang. Each, unsurprisingly, is habited by?"

    "Elder Dragons?"

    "Correct again. Each is home to Wyrms¡ª though that will be for a future lecture. Today, we explore the presence of Axis Mundi as folklore in Planar Theory. If we look toward regions where Elves have less impact on the cultural history of the world, Humans and Demi-humans seldom perceive of the Axis as a ''Tree''. The Japanese, for instance, believed that Mount Fuji serves as the loci ley-line for their island nation. The Teotihuacan tribe of the Aztecs built mock-mountain ziggurats and blessed them with Mage blood to attract the Quetzalcoatl to roost. The summit of Delphi, where the Oracle resides beneath the Great Olive Tree, as well, serves as a half-way example of such nodes."

    "What of Demi-humans?" a voice asked from the crowd.

    "In Demi-humans, the mythos of trees-as-Axis proliferate. If we look to the Spirits who dominate the Indian subcontinent through theocratic rule, then one may look to the sacred Bodhi Tree where the Magi Buddha attained Enlightenment. A radical example would be Temple Mount, north of the Fire Sea where the Elemental''s sacred Flame Tree has torn open a gash into the Elemental Plane of Fire. Distressingly, the Fire Tree isn''t a Pillar supporting ''our'' Plane, but rather the Efreets'' charred home. Finally, for the Were-folk of the Lower Niger Delta, who I am sure you''ve read about in the METRO, the Sacred Grove of Osun-Osogbo is yet another domain, albeit with neither mount nor tree but a low-lying rainforest. Concurrently, one should not dismiss human-made objects used for worship. The famous Pyramids, for instance, serve as ''Pillars'' of Undeath that provide Necromantic mana to the Undead roaming its vicinity, as well as sustain the slumbering Pharaohs and their sleeping God-Priests."

    "Are our Towers¡­ a part of the Axis Mundi?" the Devourer of Shenyang asked from the front row.

    "Excellent question." The lecturer''s voice took on renewed energy as she fell into a familiar rhythm. "But that lecture is slated for week eight. First, let''s continue our unpacking of Ley-lines and the pragmatic purpose of harnessing the Axis for the grand purpose of Human expansion!"

 Chapter 387 - Back to the Grind

    Gwen emerged from the lecture wholly impressed by the breadth and depth of knowledge demonstrated by the resident scholars of Cambridge. What imprinted on her the most was how the lecturer scholar framed each point of expertise with history and context, often from a multitude of cultural-racial perspectives.

    Though seemingly dry, these leys of reference acted as vectors within her mind, linking hypothesis and speculation to attain a new elucidation of the role she may yet occupy in the event of aiding Sufina''s ascension, leaving her hungry for more.

    Once the lecture was over, a few brave freshmen approached Gwen to say hello and offer notes. Gwen replied with big smiles and handshakes, thanking them for their welcomes. On their Message devices, they exchanged contact details, making sure to flair their Colleges and professions.

    When others saw that the Class VI War Mage was amicable to such exchanges, a small line formed to greet her, only dispersing when one of the Beadles appeared to growl at the students, scattering them so that the next lecture could carry on.

    Once she extricated herself, Gwen made haste for Emmanuel College, where she was now late for her appointment with Gracie Hillbrook. Lucky for her, she had the privilege of flight.

    "Gwennie!" Gracie looked up from the data slate she was studying. "How was Singapore? Did you finish your quest?"

    "Things got somewhat complicated." Gwen checked the laboratory for signs of their instructor. Wen was missing as well, though that was because the soon to be Meister was touring the Colleges, giving lectures on the physiology of the Void Element. "Where''s Maxwell?"

    "Lecturing." Gracie yawned, replaced the data slate, then took up another. "I am sorry to hear your quest didn''t go as planned."

    "Things seldom go as planned." Gwen shrugged. "But it''ll sort itself out. How are you feeling?"

    "Never better." The Void Illusionist passed her a slate. "My Elemental Affinity is almost at tier 5 now. The lower-tier spells take much less effort, and the drain on the higher-tier spells isn''t nearly so taxing."

    "That''s wonderful." Gwen had a look through the specs. "How''s Conjuration coming along?"

    "I''ve got the theory pat-down." Her Void-afflicted compatriot paused. "I expect tier two isn''t out of the question by the year''s end. Forgive my rudeness Gwennie, but no luck on your Master''s Familiar spell?"

    "None-what-so-ever." Gwen shook her head sadly. "Sorry to disappoint, Gracie."

    "I am already beyond thankful." The young woman motioned to her data slates. "I''d never thought I''d prove useful, much less have a chance at using my talents. It''s all thanks to you."

    "No need to be humble with me; you''re the one who endured." Gwen thought of the ashen Gracie after Gwen had muddled up an overzealous Essence Tap. That particular experience, Gwen figured, was one that aptly suited the hyperbole of ''worse than death''.

    "Have you settled into your classes for the trimester?" Gracie asked. "As a graduate of sorts, I can help."

    What the girl meant was that she had spent almost six years listening to lectures and studying the various courses Cambridge had to offer while serving as the college''s resident guinea pig. Though her practical theory was unimpressive, Gracie was a capable administrator and scholar, even if somewhat bookish and unlearned. For the Void Sorceress who had not expected to live past thirty, academia was where she excelled.

    "I am taking Advanced Astral Theory and History, Foundations of Politics and International Relations, Contemporary Issues in Government and Frontier Governance, and finally Politics, Peace and Persistent Prosperity," Gwen recounted her courses.

    "No sorcery lessons?"

    "I''ll be taking those privately, paid by CCs, though I''d rather attend practicals," Gwen clarified. "Are you keen to come along? Jean-Paul said he''s all in if we''re going to adventure somewhere. All we need is a Cleric and an Abjurer."

    "If you''ve got something in mind, I am in." Gracie nodded vigorously. "After Michaelmas?"

    "Between that and Lent," Gwen agreed. "I am thinking of volunteering up north, in Ireland."

    "Where Miss Elvia is stationed?"

    At Gwen''s behest, Gracie and Jean-Paul had both met Elvia. As expected, the happy healer was wholly unaffected by the Void casters'' Negatively aligned presence. When both grew enamoured with Elvia, Gwen affirmed a hypothesis where Negative Affinity Mages had a predisposition to enjoy the company of those with highly positively-attuned Elements.

    As for Gracie''s well-placed speculation, Gwen could only laugh. "Or maybe the Murk. I feel a bit guilty for leaving it entirely to the Adventurers. I want to visit Hanmoul, as well."

    "The Dwarves would like that. I think Richard would like that too. More than going up to Ireland." Gracie paused. "I believe you told me the higher-ups told you to stay away from Ireland?"

    "Ahahaha, that''s right." Gwen disguised her awkwardness with a smile. "Well, if you don''t need a top-up, then I am off to see Dede, care to join me?"

    The sorceress shook her head. "I have to finish these before Supervisor Brown gets back."

    "Is it weird that we study under Max?" Gwen remarked. "While he studies us? And that''s our graduation thesis¡ª how to survive and prosper as a Void Mage?"

    "At least with Sir Maxwell as our Super, we''re free to do as we please." Gracie possessed far more grace than Gwen. "And he''s expert enough at everything to teach us what we need."

    A fact that was mostly true, Gwen conceded. Peculiar as the duck-rearing Magister was, Maxwell Brown came as advertised, an expert in more or less everything, a self-taught Omni-Mage in name and an ambitious magical discoverer of yet untamed frontiers.

    "Suit yourself." She looked around the laboratory once more, her eyes bouncing from instrument to instrument. "Alright, I''ll be going."

    Cambridge.

    Emmanuel College.

    The enormous form of Dede the duck floating serenely on the school''s now-infamous pond drew furtive glances from the freshmen who tiptoed by, some going as far as to weave illusions to hide their presence.

    Others walked taller, having already paid their tithes for the month, and so laughed and jeered at the juniors who confusedly retreated from the brimming waters.

    "QUACK!" the drake roared, sending a ripple of water to lap at the pool''s edge. With only two powerful strokes, it approached the sedge and parted the stalks, drying itself as it waddled toward Gwen.

    "Hey, buddy!" Gwen patted the duck on the head. Compared to nine-months ago, Dede was now the size of a small horse or at least the height of one. Though he hadn''t received an official weighing, some suspected the duck possessed a good ten stones of pure avian sinew and muscle beneath its vibrant feathers. As for the mallard''s strength, Gwen had once seen Dede fish a work Golem that had lost control at the fish docks out of the water.

    In recent months, Dede had taken up crashing Mage Duels whenever they were held in the open, often subduing both contestants before extorting from them HDMs. When the students complained, they were told that the duck was a vital experiment the Magisters of the College were carrying out and if they wished their HDMs back¡ª they should at least be strong enough to best a duck. Naturally, the instructors forwent the fact that Dede was now at minimum at the seventh or eighth tier, requiring a Magus-lead party of Single-School Mages to subdue.

    "Quack!"

    Gwen fed the duck a drip of her Essence. "You won''t believe what happened."

    "Quack? QUACK! QUACK!"

    "Yep, didn''t go well at all. Getting the Scale back just got crazy complicated."

    "Quack?!"

    "I know, I am disappointed too." Gwen sighed, finding solace in stroking the duck''s back, wondering with a small mote of paranoia if that''s how Almudj felt when dealing with her.

    "Quack!" Dede flapped its wings.

    "Oh?" Gwen looked up toward where the duck had gestured. "Your friends are back?"

    Above, she saw a host of crows, or perhaps Jackdaws. Once their eyes met, the dark-feathered avians quickly alighted around the duck, forming a circular murder.

    "Caw-Caw!" The leading bird was familiar to her, for the bird was near twice the size of the other Crows and had a keen intelligence about its eyes. "Caw! Caw!"

    Dede placed a wing over the raven.

    "You''ve become good friends, eh?"

    "Caw!"

    "Quack!"

    Ambivalent as to whether she should learn ''Speak with Animals'', a second-tier Divination spell that took significant energy to master, she released her Familiars to benefit from the Empathic Link.

    "EE! EE!"

    "SHAA!"

    Across the pool, the group of freshmen that had been gawking at her gasped, some in horror, others in barely contained excitement.

    "Hello!" the raven bobbed its head.

    "So." Gwen made sure her skirt was tucked before she addressed the bird. "You''re not Mage, are you?"

    "Nay!" The answer was no. When the Crow first began to talk, it almost blew Gwen''s mind. When it appeared the Crow only knew how to say a dozen words, she had grown immeasurably disappointed.

    "Sure you''re not a Familiar?"

    "Nay!" the raven replied with a negative.

    "So you''re a wildling, here in London?" she knelt to inspect the raven once more, checking its leg for bands or Storage Rings. "And you don''t work for a Mage?"

    "Ya! Ya!" The raven hopped closer, its eyes were as bright as polished Mithril, with both irises the colour of quicksilver.

    "What a beautiful bird." Gwen struck out a hand and slowly inched toward the raven. The raven leaned in and allowed the sorceress to pet its feathers. Its feathers, Gwen noted, had a metallic sheen, but the section around its neck and belly were incredibly soft and felt good to touch.

    This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    "Quack!" Dede approved of her acceptance as she stroked the bird.

    "Alright, alright." Gwen calmed Magister Brown''s favourite duck. "Here¡ª"

    She gathered a mote of Essence.

    "Ya!" The raven took the mote, grew suddenly stiff for a few seconds, then danced happily by hopping about here and there, performing a little dance. All around them, the murder cawed, some flapping away, others joining in some unholy ritual by fanning their tail feathers. To Gwen, her goal was to give Dede a friend and companion. Originally, she had thought Dede would have picked one of the female ducks for apparent reasons. As it turned out, Dede was more of an inter-species fanatic with exotic tastes, not unlike a North Shore trust-fund kid with yellow fever.

    "¡­ Just a mote." Gwen patted the duck. "We don''t want Max in a huff now, do we? Your mate''s going to live a long time, Dede. And she''ll have no enemies that can outfly her."

    That last part rang true, for she had seen the enhanced raven in flight. Thanks to her Essence boost, the bloody thing was a streak of Void-coloured lightning.

    Having now reported to both sorceress and duck at Emmanuel, Gwen''s errand concluded.

    Outside the college, Gwen checked her Message device. Seeing that both Petra and Richard had not responded, it was safe to assume the two preoccupied and she would be enjoying her butter chicken alone.

    Like herself, her family members'' new lives at Cambridge had been full of enterprise.

    Petra, for instance, had taken up with the Dwarves, learning directly under Yossari after receiving the college''s benediction for extra-curriculum credits. In the months that she had remained in London, she had not only picked up a fan club but also made a name for herself as the researcher of the Nephrite Spellcube, a systematic spell-stowing system surging in popularity among the junior Mages studying Enchantment.

    Hers was a much-desired outcome that aligned with Petra''s original objective, for her Magus Thesis'' submission was the founding of an "Enchantment-based Spell-storage System that increased the Versatility of Enchanters". Through her improvements to the project initially began by Wen, Petra''s patented Spellcubes were now longer-lasting, easier to maintain, and more adaptable in the number, type, and Meta-magic they could capture. That an Enchanter could, upon taking on the mantle of a Spellcube user, replicate five-to-six instances of her party''s spells, or begin the adventure with a trove of healing, restoration, detoxification and detection spells would also significantly improve the quality of life for Adventuring Enchanters¡ª a Mage Class infamously restricted to either item-combat or illicit Mind Magic. The Spellcube, in Petra''s words, wouldn''t make Enchanters frontline fighters¡ª but it would make Enchanters the most versatile School of Magic outside of Transmutation and Conjuration.

    But there was a caveat. Aside from needing an enormous VMI and a high Affinity, copycat spells lacked the intricacy of the original. For instance, an untrained Illusionist still had little to no control over the manifestation of an Illusion. Likewise, upper-tier Transmutation like Investitures and other polymorphic spells used by Mages without Affinity in Transmutation would end in spectacular and horrific deaths. Even Divination, when used by a non-Diviner, could drive a Mage insane with its flood of voices and thoughts, just as anything beyond essential healing of wounds by unguided application of pre-condition flow of Positive Energy would hasten a patient''s demise.

    Petra''s unannounced goal, however, was something Gwen understood to be quite controversial¡ª the creation of Spellcubes that could be used by Non-Mages. It was with great irony that her cousin''s unnatural ambition had its origins in Magister Wen, whose altruism gave way when a Void Sorceress fell into her lap.

    Whatever the case, Petra''s goals were clear and within reach, and that was something to envy.

    Conversely, Richard''s two trimesters at Cambridge saw the Conjurer take to London''s social scene like a fish to water. Perhaps it was because her cousin had been reared by Prince''s into the Old Boys'' culture, or maybe he was simply that charismatic, Richard was already a junior vice-chair in one of King''s oldest societies, with the motto being "All the King''s Men", or "The most Exclusive Society of the Kinsmen"; both of which reeked of obnoxiousness.

    Of late, her cousin had passionately advocated her visitation of one of their stag parties, promising a bevy of men lusting to enter her service at the Isle of Dogs. To Gwen''s knowledge, Richard wasn''t joking either. To date, at least twenty of the junior staff at the Isle of Dog''s various projects were members of King''s College. If the trend continued until the Isle''s final phase, she might very well be the figurehead of a newly formed "Old Dog''s Club."

    For this reason, Gwen had felt the temptation to humour her employees. But then, inevitably, she thought about Evee still slogging through blood, shit and Spellfire in Ireland and the sheer hassle of having to smile and nod and pretend to listen to someone talk about their family or their magic as they licked her over with their eyes. When she thought of that, even her half-hearted interest waned.

    On the sorcerous front, Richard had finally surpassed a major Conjuration milestone, reaching the seventh tier of expertise by mid-September. Concurrently, with his Abjuration skills bottlenecked at five, her cousin considered between picking up Transmutation or Illusion.

    For a Water Mage, Transmutation was a staple School of Magic that offered everything from Advanced Spellshaping to body-morphic magic. On the other hand, even without Transmutation, Lea, Richard''s Undine Familiar could double as a gateway, leaving Richard to exercise the School of Illusion. The latter''s advantage was that water, being a soft-Abjuration element, benefited most from obfuscation, evasion and deflection rather than erecting hard-shield after hard-shield like Earthen, Crystal or Dust Abjurers.

    Other than that, Richard had taken out a small loan from the family bank, AKA "Gwen", to purchase an apartment in the Isle of Dogs.

    "Here is my home now," the land-owning Mr Huang had said with a smile. And Gwen had felt secretly very happy indeed.

    And so, inspired by her cousins, Gwen readied herself for the attainment of her long-promised slice of personal paradise, a domain she could mould as she saw fit to recreate some of that nostalgia from her long-lost homeworld.

    Peterhouse.

    The Old Court.

    From her dorm, Gwen primed her body for the nine hectic weeks of tutelage that would culminate in a slew of assignments and examinations. Thankfully, for the first year, the course content of her chose subjects of governance were all case study reports, wherein during her second year, she would have to engage in active field surveys. Of her courses, therefore, it was only Advanced Astral Theory and History that consisted of a written examination. That said, with her Essence-enhanced memory and her grandmother''s Ioun Stone of Clarity, she felt confident her grades should satisfy.

    As for her remaining waking hours, she continued intermittent lessons with her tutors, as advised by Lady Grey, as well as her monthly meetups with her House Mistress to discuss concerns, progress, and to enjoy High Tea. Though the Marchioniness did not offer the selfless devotion of her Babulya, Gwen steadily received her bi-weekly dose of human affection.

    Overall, her planning had paid off. With the Westferry Print Works handed to Lorenzo and the Isle of Dogs presided over by Eric Walken and a growing battalion of NoM auditors, she had time to focus on academics and personal development, researching her Master''s Tomes for other forms of potentially degenerate arcanistry.

    Shockingly, her planned peace lasted six weeks.

    Then, one cold November morning, while she and Gracie burned vitality and mana in the belly of an advanced Cognitive Chamber, trouble came calling in the shape of a Dwarf and a reporter.

    Her callers were Yossari Vildrenbrandt, Alchemist Master of Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth and Dominic Lorenzo, who after hearing the Dwarf''s request deemed it best that he accompanied the Master.

    "Gwen." Yossari was in a right tiff; her face was the colour of at least six slammed steins of finest stout. "Greetings from the Murk, Lass. I''ve got a Message from Lady Hilda. Think yer got sometime fer us?"

    "Always." Gwen bid Gracie to take a break, then mopped the sweat from her excited face with a towel. When Gracie asked if she should leave, Gwen bid the girl stay. Glancing at Lorenzo, she then addressed her Dwarven ally. "You look atrocious. Has something terrible happened?"

    "Aye." The Dwarf''s shoulder''s drooped. "A Deepdowners duo, newly arrived from Bavaria, has detained Hanmoul and Hilda. They''re livid that she opened up the Murk to Human Adventurers and want to rescind the treaty we signed with the Shard. Hanmoul''s people tried to reason with them, but they''ve got the Citadel rightly rilled up. The Guildhall''s split in our favour¡ª for now, though I don''t know fer how long if the Iron Guard''s Captain and our Deepdowner is absent from the council. Yer''ve met our nobles, haven''t ye? Bunch of self-serving Murk rats!"

    "I thought we''re doing well down there." Gwen cocked her head in mild confusion. "I mean, casualties are a thing of course, but you guys are down to the Deep Murk, aren''t you? New Citadel and all that. More progress in a year than three decades."

    "Tis true." Yossari appeared sheepish. "The Deepdowners though, they would rather we never pierce the Murk at all than to do it with Human help."

    Conservatives, Gwen acknowledged with a frown, were as a species the same all over the world, superseding even the boundaries of the Planes.

    "Wait up." Gwen stopped the Alchemist. "If those buggers ain''t from Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth and the Murk''s under path is still being cleared, how the hell did they get over here to London?"

    "Using the Murk''s upper strata Keystone Gates," Yossari explained. "They exist still, it''s an old magic belonging to the Deepdowners. These Keystones work so long as Deepholm stands, that''s also how we know our Ancestor''s Halls still stands stalwart against the lurkers in the dark."

    "But they don''t connect to Deepholm?"

    "Not anymore."

    Gwen considered her Alchemist''s words. "Well, I am all for doing you favours, if you know what I mean."

    "Aye, I know yer mean the Fabricators." Yossari despaired. "Suppose that''s why they took Hilda. They said she broke the Code of the Engineseers and the Artificer''s Laws laid down by Haj-Z¨¹l Brumdahr by sending the Engines and their Seers to the surface and allowing their secrets to be studied by infidels."

    "They don''t think I am owed a Debt of Haj-Z¨¹l?"

    "Not really¡­" the Dwarf''s face grew scarlet. "They want to pay you off with Crystals, as they do with the subterranean Draconids around Deepholm."

    "Does it look like I need Crystals?" Gwen growled in a manner no less menacing than Ruxin.

    "It''s not as though Dragons need Crystals either," Lorenzo reasoned. "In the eyes of these old, deep-down Dwarves, we Humans are no less prone to purposeless hoarding."

    "¡­ I''ll concede that point." Gwen rolled her eyes. "So, what do you want an outsider like me to do. Void these bastards and bring Hilda back?"

    Gracie, who was drinking her water, suddenly choked.

    "That is ill-advised!" Lorenzo interceded. "Gwen, you''d start a war between Bavaria and the Towers there. If you murder those Deepdowners, either the Shard gives you up, or there will be a multi-front civil war with the Murk."

    "Somehow, I doubt that." Gwen passed the possibility of such a conflict through a mental filter. "That would mean we''ll be fighting the Murk Dwarves, and the Murk Dwarves have far more to benefit from siding with us than with the Deepdowners. As long as the Dyar Morkk isn''t made accessible, no one''s going home¡ª meaning they''d be risking their current ''home'' for the sake of a few expatriate preachers who can''t even get them to their real homes. In my opinion, unless the Citadel Council gets taken over by religious fanatics, there''s no way they''d choose all-out war."

    "Aye, well said, lass." Yossari appeared immensely impressed. "But there are fanatics fer sure; the only question is how many. We were thinking, how about a demonstration of yer powers like the one that so impressed Whurforl¨¹m and Hilda? These Deepdowners, they''ve lived in their world of crystals and minerals for so long, they have no idea how powerful yer kin can be and how necessary yer all are in reconnecting us to the Dyar Morkk."

    "You say ''convince'',''" Gwen made a gesture like Caliban menacing prey in its spider form "Do you mean like this?"

    "Nay, not threatening the Murk rats." Yossari put up both hands. "Yer can frighten them by aiding us Purge a Dweller Den¡ª" The Dwarf''s bushy brows then wiggled. "¡ª Yer could also diplomacy them with yer juice."

    Gracie''s eyes grew as wide as hen''s eggs.

    "Mistress Yossari." Lorenzo cut in. "Our young lady isn''t that kind of sorceress."

    "She means Essence Maotai," Gwen assured Lorenzo that Yossari had the best of intentions. "Get em licked and they''ll give Hanmoul and Hilda back?"

    "If they can''t be convinced even then." Yossari''s expression grew dangerous. "Guildmaster Ironf?rge''s patience isn''t infinite. We Dwarf''s don''t lust after warring¡ª but if war sits on yer like a flatulent Greenskin..."

    Gwen mulled over this piece of information for a moment more, matching in her mind what knowledge she had gained about the Dwarves in her many months at Cambridge.

    "Yossari, I think it''s got to be something else," she said. "The stakes are too high for these Deepdowners if they''re just here to bugger with our Adventuring arrangements. These full-plate maniacs travelled via the surface, the very Vadam thing they hate just to tell the Red Citadel ''no humans''? That''s ridiculous."

    "Lass, I wouldn''t hide anything from yer." Yossari''s voice took on a serious tone. "If yer suspicious, there''s no obligation ter come. We''re ''mates'' whether yer wants ter help Hilda or nay."

    "Of course I''ll help," Gwen told the Dwarf. "My Void Mages and I need a good stretch after so much time cooped up inside the Cog Chambers. Lorenzo, what''s your take on this? How about you, Gracie?"

    "I think it''s good publicity," Lorenzo said. "That said, you might have to ask for some favours from Lady Grey or Astor. They''re both involved with parliament, have business with the Dwarves, and possess direct access to Lord Ravenport. The Duke of Norfolk is in charge of the Foreign Affairs Office and will have a far better lead on why these Deepdowners are here now of all times."

    "Dickie, eh?" Gwen realised she hadn''t thought about the man for some time. Such was the peace offered by London that her mind focused only on her studies¡ª that and the act of rolling her investments to fleece the City of London of tax incentives. "Gracie?"

    "I am happy to help," the girl said nervously, though her eyes were bright and anticipatory. "I''ve always wanted to go on an adventure outside of London."

    "Nice. I''ll go and see Lady Grey then. Yossari, you want to come?"

    "I shall await yer decision at the Printing Press." Yossari shook her head. "The lidless cave here makes my head spin. It''s worse than the knife ear''s forests. There''ll be rewards, Gwen¡ª if you succeed, Lady Hilda will owe yer a great deal, and her family tapped into rich seams in Deepholm."

    Gwen laughed, as did Lorenzo. More than Crystals, both knew how urgently Gwen needed those Fabricators to keep up the speed of development on the Isle. Without the Dwarves'' aid, her projected timetable would stretch out by three-fold.

    "Alright." She patted the Alchemist on the shoulder. "We''ll get to the bottom of this, Yossari."

    "Aye, lass, I knew we could count on yer!" Yossari gave her a big hug around the waist. "Can''t wait ter see the look on those blasted Deepdowner''s faces when yer deploys yer beasties!"

 Chapter 388 - The Isle of Dreams

    Evening descended on the Isle of Dogs.

    In the not so distant past, not a single soul would stalk the streets of Millwall at midnight lest they were fleeing from a muddy mugger or a vermin-infested hostel. Now, there was an enormous flow of folk, both Mages and NoMs, loudly meandering their way through the boisterous stalls.

    Unlike the usual markets catered toward farmers selling their produces or Mages who sold Enchanted trinkets, the "Millwall Night Market''s" focus was unsanitary comfort cuisine of all kinds catering to the twenty-four-hour construction schedule. Once past the entryway, the smell of coffee wafted through the frigid air, joined by the ambient scent of newly installed heating elements blasting the crowd with diffused radiance. Past the beverage stands positioned for quick sales, the town''s favourite street foods lined the first few rows, luring in customers with the scent of sizzling bacon and melting sour cream on steaming potato. Deeper inside, the sound of fryers turning raw fish into crispy fingers of delectable white flesh joined the glooping of hot soup pouring into waxed cups. Pie stalls by the dozen, each no larger than a van, sold an array of baked goods from the home kitchens of the residents, adding to the income of sons and husbands who invariably worked on the construction site.

    On this evening, while the Isle''s insatiable mistress looked into the possibility of an incursion into the Deep Murk, Richard Huang, Eliot Cox and Luka Spencer relaxed after a long day of labour.

    Thanks to Richard''s connections, the duo, together with others from King''s, worked to complete internships in the most-advertised private infrastructural development district in London, one that expanded exponentially thanks to the aid of Dwarven engineering overcoming both shell and mud. Each of the Mages had already survived the baptism of combat; what they needed now to qualify as administrator Maguses was the experience to assuage the scepticism of their Cambridge Supervisors.

    Of their present meal, Richard had ordered the Fishermen''s Pie, a local delicacy made by an old matron over on Tiller''s Road who usually sold out before her cart could make it past the ferry. Naturally, Richard had charmed the baker, and so she habitually reserved a pie for the "nice young man" on Thursdays. Eliot stuck true to Fish and Chips, being a faithful Londoner. Finally, Lukas settled for a plate of farm to table sausages swimming in greasy gravy, a decision he now regretted because the stall owner, a Mr Dobson, was better at selling bangers than he was at making them.

    Presently, the trio was watching the locals put on a shit show.

    The street theatre involved a party of security officials, likely not from Millwall, Mudchute or Cubitt Town, albeit outfitted correctly, having a chat with the dubious sausage-seller.

    "Don''t be a bore, Dobson, the Late Night Opening Surcharge is 3 HDMs, clear as day," shouted the leading Mage, a Transmuter of sorts with a wand knocking by his knees. From the smoke-ring at its tip, the man was no stranger to using it. "You know the drill."

    Dobson, the purveyor of Luka''s mystery meat, appeared wholly indignant. "Bollocks, ye lot collected th'' late-night supervision fees just yesterday! I gave ye two HDMs!"

    "Who told you to open past midnight?" The Transmuter had a face that only a mother could love, and that''s assuming the mother was an Orc. "You know this."

    "I did not!" The owner moved a hand over to the tongs that had been sitting in oil.

    "Oi, oi." Another fellow, a Fire Mage from the looks of the mana carelessly leaking from his body, lit up a finger with a mote of fire. "Don''t get testy now."

    "You''re charging what, a quarter LDM for a plate of sausage." The Transmuter dipped a digit into the bubbling gravy without fear for the heat, stirred the watery sauce, then watched the oil drip. "And that''s not even including mash and whatever this slop might be. Is that even potato? It looks like flour..."

    "That''s good feeding, that is!" Dobson was indignant. "At that price, that''s cutting me own throat!"

    Richard''s lips curled.

    Luka pushed away his plate.

    What puzzled the trio was that these "Security" wore the blue-black uniform of the locally contracted guards looking after the labourers and workers flooding into the Isle of Dogs.

    "I didn''t know thugs wore uniforms," said the Ice Mage to his companions.

    Gwen''s cousin let loose a low snigger. "Where''ve you been, Luka? It''s only natural that the biggest thugs wear the flashiest uniforms."

    "What are these guys? They look like the guards the boss hired."

    "They''re from the private security firm Magister Walken engaged to keep an eye on the NoMs," Richard said. "Sentry Holdings? They''re certainly taking some liberties."

    CLANG!

    A tray of gravy struck the floor, flooding the cold night air with the delicious smell of melted fat swimming in a savoury soup. Somewhere, a crow cawed, likely offended by the sound and smell of spilt offal.

    "Jesus, Dobson, the amount of lard in that thing." The Transmuter lifted both hands. "Bloody slippery, eh? Just slipped off the cart. You should secure the load before you hurt someone and cause some damage. If that happens, it''ll be another 8 HDMs. I mean, look at your stall, there are a dozen health violations at least."

    The stall owner''s face turned the colour of duck liver.

    Besides Richard and Eliot, Luka stared in horror at his half-eaten, sawdusty bangers.

    "Should we do something?" Eliot nudged Richard. "This isn''t going to do the Isle any favours."

    Richard told his friend to hang on.

    "Fine. Here." Dobson appeared to have made up his mind. Reaching into his apron, he produced a stack of greasy LDMs and threw it down in front of the Transmuter in a fit of frustration. Perhaps it was by choice, or maybe by chance, but the stack of bundled paper and crystals landed in the still dissolving pot of lard.

    "Pick that up, NoM." The Transmuter''s expression lost the amicable, mocking mirth. "Do it now."

    "Just leave me alone," the stall owner growled. "I am trying to make an honest living here, ye bastards¡ª"

    CRASH!

    Before the man could finish, the Transmuter-in-uniform launched a kick that sent the cart of profane sausages surging forward until it struck the rail preventing visitors from falling into the Thames. The top half of the cart snapped off entirely, breaking free from the frame to tumble into the river, sending the bangers downstream to poison unlucky fishes.

    "Consider that an official warning," the Transmuter said to the sausage sizzler with a scowl, his face full of sadistic satisfaction. "Next time you sell meat that comes from God knows, we''ll be less lenient."

    The stall owner took a deep breath. Richard could see Dobson was shaking from head to toe as though he was the one that had just taken a dip in the Thames and not his sausage cart. He could fight, of course; the hot air of courage was free. Unfortunately, against a team of Mages, he would be slitting his own throat.

    "You can''t do this," the man said quietly. "The Devourer won''t allow it."

    The hoodlums broke into scattered laughter. "We''re the security here, old man. If you want to file a complaint, you can take it with Mr Smithen. Now pick up those crystals and clean them."

    "You think you can do whatever you want¡­" the sausage seller spoke as though in a trance. "You''re wrong, here is the Isle of Dogs."

    The Transmuter''s patience evaporated.

    But before the man could loosen his shock wand, one of his companions held him back with a pat on the shoulder. "Mr Dobson is free to do business, or not, Jared. Don''t over-complicate a simple thing."

    The Transmuter shrugged off his friend. "Count yourself lucky, NoM."

    The stall owner had more mouth to deliver, but the older man who spoke up silenced him with a look. "I think that''s enough, Mr Dobson. As we said, the Isle of Dogs isn''t a good place for NoMs, not anymore. There''s good money to be made if you choose to leave, and a businessman has to spend Crystals to make Crystals. I hope you understand how fleeting opportunities can be."

    Dobson''s eyes remained downcast. The Evoker retrieved the money with a Mage Hand, cleaned the LDMs and notes, then stowed the lot. "Sell your home, go to Greenwich, find a wife and pray one of your kids Awakens. That''s the best you can hope for."

    With the theatre now at an end, Eliot turned to Richard. "Who is this Smithen?"

    "I am assuming the guy running the security company looking after the Millwall Market." Richard dabbed the corner of his mouth. "But how does someone this dirty get past Walken? Or is our Magister complicit? Nah? A few HDMs? Even ten-thousand HDMs, wouldn''t be worth Walken''s meagrest effort. The situation stinks like overnight oysters if you ask me."

    "What''re are you thinking?" Luka''s tone grew worried.

    "Something very entertaining." Richard grinned. "As for now, they''ve won my curiosity."

    An hour later, the trio from King''s lurked outside a recently refurbished apartment converted into a commercial unit for office space, listening-in via Richard''s Familiar and a Scry Scroll. After watching the same crew shakedown a dozen stalls, they now had a decent idea of the men''s modus operandi.

    Outside the converted residential building, signage depicting the logo for the "Sentry Holdings" was displayed prominently. There were even flyers they could take from a concrete box transmuted into the stonework. To the residents, on the surface at least, the security firm appeared entirely legitimate.

    Inside, on the second level, Lea hovered in her mist form, invisible and silent, observing the events inside the soddy office.

    "Here''s our take for the evening, Sir." The Transmuter emptied his Storage Ring of LDMs, notes and HDMs onto a countertop presided over by a burly Mage in an ill-fitting suit.

    "That much?" The man whistled. "That''s a lot of sparkles for a food market run by NoMs."

    "Their clients are mostly Mages," Jared explained. "Transmuters, Conjurers, Enchanters, white-collars and builders. The Devourer pays well."

    "Any trouble?" The man known as "Smithen" cocked his head to study his underlings. "No one spoke up?"

    "Nothing so far." Jared slapped his chest. "We''re all battle-hardened, Sir. A single look from one of us and those desk jockeys would go soft at the knees."

    "You were not followed?"

    "We triple-checked," the older Evoker assured their leader.

    "Good. Do be careful you don''t run into the Devourer, and stay away from the Dwarves."

    "Goes without saying, Lieutenant."

    The man growled.

    "Sorry, James," the Transmuter apologised. "Force of habit."

    Smithen rapped the table with his knuckles. "There''s too many Crystals here."

    Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

    "Too much?" Jared appeared puzzled. "If anything, they''ve got more."

    "Take too much, and their business won''t survive." Smithen materialised a cigarette. Beside Jared, their Fire Mage ignited the fag''s tip with a slick flick of the wrist. "We''re shearing sheep... You''re butchering them."

    "¡­ Sorry, Lieu¡ª Smithen." Jared half-saluted before he stopped himself. "Shall I return the money?"

    "No need, but stay low for a bit," Smithen declined. "Tell the men to stand down for a few days as well, take some rest and relaxation. If you want to work, reinforce Team Two and Six while they clear out the rest of the undesirables in Sector Seven, Canary Lane. I want the whole street sealed and sold by the end of the month. Is that clear?"

    "Too easy, Sir," another voice commented from behind their leader. "This beats hunting monsters any day. Who''d have thought there''s so much HDMs in civilian property development."

    "Watch your mouth," Smithen snapped at the voice from the back. "You better get your mana conduits wired together, Cater, or someone is going to take a giant shit on you one day."

    "Sir! Yessir!" The man saluted while the other laughed.

    "Dismissed."

    With the conversation over, Richard commanded his Undine to withdraw, concurrently terminating one of the several Scrys he just happened to have stowed, because that''s what any respectable Mage would have on their person at all times.

    "Thoughts?" he asked the others. "Act natural; we''re just passersby."

    "Military Unit? They look like a platoon to me. Not a Mage Flight, maybe grunts returning from the Frontiers?"

    "It''s not unusual for ex-military Service folk to work security," Luka agreed. "Bit unscrupulous though."

    "You fellers don''t see what they''re doing?" Richard regarded his two bookish companions. "They said they''re trying to get the NoMs to sell their properties."

    "So?" Elliot appeared puzzled. "All the NoMs are trying to sell at the moment."

    "You think those folks are buying land at the market rate?" Richard snorted. "I bet they can turn around tidy profit auctioning those properties. After all, if all the NoMs are selling, then the market''s oversaturated, but if you can hold onto a few to push back redevelopment, there''s a lot that suddenly comes into play."

    His companions made faces of elucidation.

    "Okay, are you going to¡­ deal with them?" The hesitation in Eliot''s voice was because after working beside Richard for nearly a year, he and Luka had come to acknowledge a particular side of the talented Mr Huang. When it came to his cousin, the Water Mage was a two-legged Dire Hound.

    And like a good hound, when it came to their Master''s property, Richard Huang was the sort whose cruelty attained apex inspiration at the slightest provocation. For instance, during the earlier months of the Isle of Dog''s excavation, the trio of Questing Mages had caught a group of river thieves stealing construction supplies.

    Within hours, Luka and Eliot saw their friend in a whole new light. It was like another Richard whose heart was as black as his jet-like pupils suddenly rose to the surface and took command.

    The same afternoon, the formerly tight-lipped thieves gave up their contacts, after which a root-network of dealers, traders and dodgy drafters was exorcised from the parkland expansion project. Later, Richard had even received a commendation from Scotland Yard and a personal endorsement from Magister Walken.

    "My public practice of Magic Licence is too low-tier to deal with these." Richard regretfully shook his head. "Besides, if it''s just some corrupt employees, I can drag them before the Arbitrators. Our little theatre troupe there has higher ambitions, or so it seems."

    "If they''re all ex-Military Mages, then yes." Luka nodded. "Typically, Mage units are broken up and sent to different cities and Frontiers specifically to prevent this sort of thing."

    "You have to admit, it''s a novel way to farm HDMs," Elliot agreed. "Fleecing NoMs is one thing, but gutting them out of their homes? Who''d have thought such a thing was so profitable?"

    "Something to be nipped in the bud then." Lea materialised behind Richard, hugging her Master by the neck and making the two Cambridge Mages blush with her teasing eyes. "Lea says Smithen keeps a Storage Ring full of documents. Probably the accounts to show his employee lest these army dogs eat more than their allocated fill. For now, let''s find Dobson and gather a few more witnesses for Magister Walken before he slits his own throat out of desperation. If we''re going to clean house, I want the place scoured down to the foundation."

    Cambridge.

    Peterhouse Deer Gardens.

    "Would a mere ten days of absence suffice?" Lady Grey replaced her cup with a clink. "The Dwarves are inviting you into the Deep Murk; there are horrors there rarely documented with abilities beyond what the Bestiary has recorded."

    "Which is why our team will be a good fit," Gwen replied with complete confidence. "Caliban is extremely versatile, and I can bore through the ground with its Wyrm form if the need calls for it."

    "Don''t fret. I am not opposed to your desire to give our Dwarven allies a helping hand, nor doubting your abilities." Lady Grey answered with the pose of a swan. "Can you concurrently pass your semester though? Even with an extended exam block?"

    "Not a problem," Gwen promised. "I''m well ahead on my governance courses, and I should be able to catch up on missed lectures for Planar Theory through recordings. As for Spellcraft¡ª I need field practice, anyway."

    "Recordings?"

    "Some of my new friends have volunteered to Lumen-cast the Lecture. Magister Andrews has consented on account of my work with Magister Brown."

    "Of course." Lady Grey nodded. "New friends are good. Who will you be taking with you?"

    "Myself, Gracie and Jean-Paul," Gwen said. "I am bringing Richard as our Abjurer and Petra as our utilitarian member. Except for Richard, we all need to put in some field exercises and collect statistics for our spells."

    "Your Cousin, the Mind Mage?"

    "Yes, but she hasn''t use Mind Magic for a while."

    "MM is a useful skill to have." Lady Grey smiled serenely. "Very well, how do you hope to keep Gracie safe?"

    "I''ll borrow a Golem Suit if I have to, but I think we should be fine." Gwen recalled Gracie sweating in her comically ungraceful armour. "Unlike our unfortunate compatriot-Adventurers, we''ve got upper-tier Contingency Rings and, with the new Forward Operating Base they''ve erected, we should have working Divination Towers as well."

    "What manner of Monsters will you be anticipating?"

    "Elemental creatures of the Murk, of course¡ª but Aberrants as well. Maybe Cali''s getting a new form soon."

    "That would be a troublesome encounter for an adventuring party."

    "Less so for us," Gwen laughed. "Between Jean-Paul and me, we''ve got something upward of twenty Hounds and three Familiars. Richard''s has Lea on double duty Abjuration as well. Together with the Dwarven Iron Guards, we''re a veritable expedition, hahaha¡­"

    Lady Grey chuckled politely, though her steel-coloured eyes remained wholly serious. "Don''t underestimate the Murk, dear. The Dwarves'' military is no less than ours. Theirs has been a generational struggle, and I don''t see why the addition of three Void Mages would make their task any easier."

    "Noted," Gwen answered thoughtfully. "I''ll be careful."

    "One more thing." The Marchioness of Ely waited for Gwen to settle before making her point. "If you wish to put the Dwarves into your debt once more, it will need to go through the Foreign Affairs Office. We can''t have rogue War Mages haphazardly pulling their weight in the Murk now that official diplomatic ley-lines have been ratified. Put in a report through Ollie at least. Have you spoken to Dickie of late? Or has Dickie found someone to speak to you?"

    "Not at all." Gwen lifted a brow. "Does the Duke of Norfolk have business with me?"

    "As a matter of fact, yes." Lady Grey chuckled. "He''s been asking about you."

    "Er¡­" Gwen felt the sheer fabric on her back grow suddenly clammy. "Any reason? I haven''t Consumed anything or made any significant asset acquisitions. Is this about the tattooed Mermen? That''s not my fault."

    "Tryfan wants to know when you''ll be visiting." The Lady smirked. "Their Chief Warden, Eldrin, was expecting you as early as March, and then you simply disappeared."

    "The Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar? What do they want now?"

    "They did give you access to your Master''s abode, dear. And you came home laden with loot, no? There''s the Accord, of course, though that''s hardly important if like Gunther, you plan to stay well away from the central continent. That said, you''re not Gunther or Alesia. The foundation of your Void resistance, alas, is married to the quintessence of that which the Elves hold dear. Moreover, thanks to Sufina''s offer, you would have to consult with our long-lived friends sooner or later. Perhaps it is wise to lend them an ear?"

    "¡­ Right. And what''s Dickie''s part in this?"

    "He''s our liaison," the Marchioness reminded her. "As a part of his duties, Lord Marshall Ravenport oversees the Department of Foreign Affairs. Not as an elected official of course, but as an overseer of sorts for the Crown''s interests."

    "And Her Majesty is interested in this?"

    "The House of Windsor is a stakeholder, yes." Lady Grey inclined her chin. "So I would take every precaution. You''ve done a great deal very quickly, Gwen. All the more reason to step lightly, because the more you''ve gained from the Mageocracy¡­"

    "¡­The more I have to lose."

    "And the more your allies and family has to lose," the Lady affirmed her fears. "Life anywhere involves ''give and take''¡ª what you need to remember, Gwen, is that if you are to give¡ª then don''t be shy when the time comes to take¡­ neither the Elves, the Crown, or the Shard are tight-fisted when the need is dire."

    "I think I understand," Gwen returned the Lady''s inference. "How do I schedule a meeting with the Elves?"

    "You have an outstanding invitation to Trawsfynydd," Lady Grey reminded her. "Shall I leverage a favour for you? Some support from The Shard and the Duke for your second visit to Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth could do wonders for publicity even if you need nothing else."

    "Please." Gwen grew glad she came to visit her mentor. "Thank you, Milady."

    "It''s what Henry would have wanted." Maxine Loftus willed away the tea set. "And it''s the least I could do for someone who has turned my dog kennel into some of London''s most desirable new addresses."

    When an ecstatic Gwen arrived at the Isle of Dogs a day later to find Richard, she was instead invited into the Bunker by her cousin for a meeting with her Executive Officer.

    Together, the two relayed the antecedents of a dastardly ploy to undermine the Isle of Dog Redevelopment Project''s betterment of the local NoM''s finances.

    "¡­ so it seems they''re from the Militant Faction." Eric Walken swirled the Devonshire tea to mix in the milk. "And they''re here with two express purposes. One, to make a quick snatch and grab off the local NoMs, and two¡ª to sell our leases to bidders from their Faction, likely with some goal of achieving a measure of influence within the Lease Holder''s voting council."

    "Not surprisingly, the Barlow Group is providing the funds," Richard appended Walken''s explanation. "And I have it on good word that the Exeters are involved in the upper echelons of this infiltration program. Do you have a feud with them?"

    "I don''t even remember their first names," she explained.

    Once the heat drained from her brain, Gwen tried to make heads and tales out of the hidden crisis that now afflicted her regional development project. The idea that someone somewhere would seek to profit from her deeds was entirely within expectations. In her mind, so long as potential profiteers tapped into the crystal seam without endangering her operations, then she would welcome the competition. What Walken and Richard uncovered, however, was no different than some carrion grubs digging at the roots of her HDM tree!

    "So, you want to deal with the Dwarves first, or deal with this?" Richard asked. "Magister Walken has some ideas."

    "Eric?" Gwen''s voice was icy. "Your advice?"

    "That depends on your thirst for satisfaction." Walken eyed the young sorceress within whose body swirling motes of Void-tinged mana rose and fell. "How vengeful are you feeling, and how high do you want this petition to go?"

    "First, I want to nip this in the bud," Gwen said, repositioning her legs to relax her waist before her body grew over tense. "With extreme prejudice."

    "Alright." Walken replaced the porcelain. "You want to Void the thieving hand privately, humiliate the culprits publicly, or both."

    "Both."

    "I had a feeling you would say that," Eric Walken remarked drily. "Very well, I propose we allow our perpetrators to hang themselves first¡ª after that, we''ll make a big stink and go after their employers."

    "Explain yourself."

    "The Militants are trying to coerce land from the NoMs to resell," Walken explained. "But we handle the contracts. First, we''ll add a clause to all future contracts especially outlining the voiding of a lease with stiff penalties when it is obtained through unscrupulous terms, such as intimidation. I''ve included something similar in Section 11 already, though, with help from my associates from the Shard, we can ensure the new clause is well-shielded from all litigious enquiries. After that, I''ll have the auditors go over the sales and record every transaction, where the HDMs are coming from, where they''re going and so on."

    "At the same time," the Magister continued. "I''ll have these military thugs tagged and their dealings put on file. The NoMs might suffer for now, but we''ll do our best; informing NoMs of our plans would not do them any favours¡ª it may endanger them instead."

    "Agreed." Gwen nodded. "We can make it up to them after."

    "That''s right," Walken agreed. "Through evidence-gathering, we''ll build an internal case, and then I''ll have an Arbitrator we can trust at the Tower set up a case file. I''ve spoken to Lorenzo, and he says Cabal Number Five might be interested as well, considering the Isle is an infrastructural project for the City of London and any time the military tries to tap into civilian coffers, the Crown grows very upset indeed. Officially, England can''t have Mages going around fleecing NoMs of their hard-earned luck. A narrative like that, if left to fester for long enough, would be akin to dismantling the Commonwealth."

    "But we''re putting the story on the METRO anyway." Gwen''s grin grew cruel. "Since we''re both the victims and the investigators."

    "Oh, of course," the Magister smiled with teeth. "The best way to get those in power to move is to embarrass them¡ª not enough to enrage, but just enough to nudge them in the right direction. When their reputations are at stake, you''ll be amazed how fast those sluggish politicians can move."

    "¡­ Speaking from experience?"

    "That''s uncalled for." Walken rolled his eyes. "But I am sure you can imagine the fallout when Lorenzo puts the title ''Rob the Poor and Feed the Rich¡ª Militant Greed Knows no Bounds.'' on every paper in London."

    Gwen licked her lips. "How do we know it''s the Exeters behind this?"

    "The offending military units ''retired'' here to London come from Militias under the control of their House, mostly returning from the Niger Delta," Richard explained. "That and I think they''re taking an extra cut on top of whatever the Barlow Group is trying to accomplish¡ª typical entitlement if you ask me."

    "Their infiltration is my responsibility," Walken apologised. "The security company came as recommended, and the other areas they patrolled reported positive outcomes. I''ll be questioning Magister Vorne when the time comes and give you a proper answer."

    "No one reported the coercion?"

    "The Night Markets enjoyed a low level of criminality," Walken said. "Of course, now we know why."

    "Yeah, all the criminals went out of business once the mob moved in." Gwen rolled her eyes. "How do we want to deal with this in the future? I have a feeling this isn''t going to be an isolated occurrence."

    "We''ll use this incident as a public warning," Walken said. "Go and build up some momentum with the Dwarves, get your name circulating through the paper again. When you return on a chariot of infamy once more¡­"

    "¡­ We''ll close the net." Gwen cackled wickedly. "New headline¡ª ''Rats out to Play when the Mistress is Away.''"

    Richard laughed. "And afterwards, we should deal with these Militants in public out of righteous anger in defence of our NoM citizens. If anyone else wishes to fleece the IoDRP, then they should beware of our Devourer who descends with dark hair. For though she brings Crystals, she also eats men like air!"

 Chapter 389 - Taking the Low Road

    Khorok Umgor, or the "Obsidian Caverns" in the Lingua Franca employed by Humanity, was the deepest established Murk outpost from Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth, some two hundred meandering kilometres from the Citadel''s gates.

    Clang! Clang-Clang!

    "SKAARRRRRR¡ª"

    CRASH!

    BOOM! BOOM¡ªBOOM!

    Ding!

    Vadam''."

    Mori? Ravenport suddenly felt an icy suspicion stabbing at his chest. Had the girl called his raven Mori?

 Chapter 390 - Deep Politics

CLUNG! CLUNG! CLUNG!

    Vadam."

    Vadam'' folk as much as possible?"

    Kirkja¡ª holy, in a sense."

 Chapter 391 - When Life gives Aberrants

    "Gogo!" the tunnel echoed with the sound of Gwen''s happy hollers. "Welcome to the Murk!"

    "Calamity¡­" the Thunder Wyvern checked his surroundings by sniffing the air. "What is this place? It stinks."

    The Dwarves shifted uncomfortably.

    "Hey, that''s not nice," Gwen berated her brute. "Sorry, Rory. No offence, that''s just Gogo being his usually tactful self."

    "None-taken," Bumrorlim Vildrenbrandt, cousin to Hanmoul, voiced from the vox-caster of her Swiftstrider, a Golem suit built for speed by mimicking the distended limbs of the Murk Centipede, a ten-legged carnivorous insect known for its agility. As Gwen''s Planar Ally unfurled, the Iron Guard moved her spindly legs backwards with a hiss, giving the Wyvern the space he needed.

    "Gogo, I think a compact form might perform better in a place like this." Gwen gestured to the ever-narrowing walls in the distance. "Something good for bruising, what do you reckon?"

    Golos made the cavern positively tiny at his full height, an act that awed both Human and Dwarves. There was no doubt that the Thunder Wyvern was majestic, even if the True Draconic-scion''s mental capacity proved leagues behind his physical prowess.

    Ther Wyvern grunted.

    There was a flash, then in a scene akin to Magic Girl Transformations Gwen had once seen on TV, Golos grew vivified with retina-searing lightning, lacking all but a personalised BGM. When finally the disco died down, she was staring at a Dragon-headed Whetu twice the Maori''s size.

    Her Wyvern flexed its enormous claws, "Hmm¡­" Then swished its flail of a tail. "This will do nicely."

    "Very handsome." Gwen admired the tapered snout and the white-blue scales set about Golos'' rugged jaws, offset by a burst of brilliant feathers extending from his skull crest. To describe the creature as a juggernaut would be an apt observation, especially considering that Golos'' Draconic strength amplified his muscular power by tens of magnitudes. "Care for a weapon?"

    "What do you have?"

    "A Smasher Axe." Hanmoul''s cousin, "Rori" Vildrenbrandt, released the heavy metal Gwen had requested prior.

    KLUNG!

    The Dwarf-forged implement landed with a thud; wicked and deadly, its chainsaw mechanism was tooled for hewing reinforced bedrock. With one hand, Golos hefted the weapon and checked its balance.

    "I would have preferred a sword." The Wyvern turned the axe over and over. "This has no finesse."

    "You can do swordplay?" Gwen was taken aback by the Wyvern''s untapped depth. "I imagined you would be a part of the bludgeoning club."

    "Ryxi taught us Sword Arts when we''re younger." The hulking mass of scale and muscle shrugged. "Worry not, Calamity, this primitive implement will do. What are we killing?"

    Rori awkwardly laughed.

    "Aberrants," Gwen said conspiratorially. "Murk-Beast Waves, essentially."

    "Taste any good?"

    Once the Dwarf recovered from Golos'' insult of her mastercrafted Smasher Axe, she gave her two HDMs. "Nay, Lord Drake, their foul flesh taste like poison."

    "Sounds spicy." the Wyvern slung the giant axe over his shoulder. He looked over the group, then nodded at Gracie, who quickly looked away. "Just us?"

    "Of course not." Gwen took note. "Alright, everyone, are we ready?"

    "Ladies first," Richard said.

    "Yep." Petra produced a glimmering, crystalline Spellcube.

    "I am ready to take notes." Gracie grinned sheepishly.

    "I am ready." Jean-Paul''s voice was a whisper in the presence of Gracie, Gwen and Petra.

    "Alright, then let''s unleash the doggos¡ª Morden''s Hound Pack!"

    The silvery light of Conjuration momentarily flooded the tunnel as the four Conjurers each tapped into their Elemental Gates to manifest their hounds.

    From Gwen came eight Lightning Hounds and then eight Void Hounds in their strange quasi-Draconic forms.

    From Richard came eight Water Hounds in their original Highland likeness.

    Petra''s mimicry produced six crystalline Mineral Hounds in minimalist nephrite, smooth and polished and long-legged in the form of the Borzoi, a breed prized by the Moscow Tower.

    And finally from Jean-Paul came seven slithering somethings, pale and pallid and barely hound-like, with triple-jointed legs and faceless heads ending in lamprey lips. If the party had not known that Jean-Paul was trying to spell shape dogs, they would have thought these creatures cousins of Umzokwe.

    To finish, Gwen conjured forth Astro and Buck to command the packs.

    "EE!" Ariel was positively delighted by the army the group had conjured.

    "Shaa! Shaa!" Not to be dismissed, Caliban made its spidery presence known.

    Umzokwe drooled with anticipation.

    Lea clapped happily, marvelling at their impromptu army.

    As a canine battalion, the conjured dogs engulfed the cavern as they mustered into place, shimmering with unique mana signatures. The largest was Gwen''s Essence-fed Void Hounds, while the smallest was Petra''s jade dogs.

    "Astro, you''re on defence. Buck, you and your packs are on harm duty!" Gwen drifted into the air, hailing her companions to follow. Though she had not informed the Guildmaster, her confidence in discovering Hanmoul and Hilda lay with a secret weapon no earth-dwelling Dwarf could imagine¡ª a gift of Divination from a Thunder Dragon in the form of a floating orb. "Alrighty, fellers¡ª MOVE OUT!"

    Different to overland transit, travelling through the Dwarf''s tunnels was a slow and ponderous affair. Despite the efforts made by Fabricator Engines to create straight and uniform passageways, unpredictable eddies of slush and blockages of super-dense Elemental Earth, combined with natural hollows formed by underground waterways inevitably brought three-dimensional complications. In the olden days, teams of Deepdowners would will-away the Elemental oddities, though not nearly enough of the deep-dwelling scholars now existed in the Murk to make such operations worth their time.

    Comparatively, having absolved themselves of the need for mechanised infantry, Gwen''s party travelled as though Hasted, heralding their arrival with a wave of yelping, yapping and howling dogs bouncing off the walls. At the forefront were her Void Hounds, enormous figures of strange sleekness with unnatural agility, trigging fungi bursts and bolting through Murk Spider dens without wincing¡ª though that may be because her creatures possessed no faces. Behind them, streams of Water Hounds made the passage slick with their secretions as they bounded behind their dark-skinned cousins, purifying the air of spores with mist as they passed.

    Around the party itself skulked Jean-Paul''s Leech Hounds, each keeping a close sniffer on their inexperienced Void sorceress companion. The Jade Hounds took up rear patrol, being the slowest but stockiest of the bunch, while here and there Gwen''s Lightning Hounds provided much-needed light as they dashed about, freely patrolling the perimetry as living electric lamps.

    For a sorceress who lorded over the Isle of Dogs, it was all very fitting.

    "Contact!" Gwen called out while keeping a close eye on her Omni-orb. The party was making good progress, seeing as they could ignore most of the lesser dangers of the Murk with their harrying dogs, especially when lead by a party of flying Mages.

    "Don''t forget, the Aberrants'' blood can be corrosive and toxic!" Rori brought her Spellsword to bear. "Hurdal, Hurdan, take my flank!"

    "Not a problem." The sorceress grinned. "Buck, consume the rest, but bring a survivor, I want to see what we''re dealing with."

    Out of sight and around a corner that distended upward and to the right, there came the sound of howls and yips followed by an insane choir of hysterical screaming.

    When their party eventually arrived, Gwen halted the group. "Well done, Bucko, Cali, let us see what we''re dealing with."

    There was something pallid and still very much alive squirming on the potholed floor of the transit tunnel. A dozen of the dogs were fanned out as forward-guards, while two of the Void Hounds, Buck included, wagged their tails atop their trophy.

    "By the Sju Dorfran¡­" their guide bulked. "What in the Murk did you do, Overlander?"

    "Disarmed it." Gwen drifted closer. "What would you call this?"

    She had left the empathic commanding of the dogs to Caliban; so far, her wiggly Void Fiend had not disappointed. In front of them, the creature was missing all of its limbs¡ª which from the looks of its gnawed stumps, once numbered between six and ten. As for its complexion, the skin was sickly white, though not in the sense of Petra''s warm nephrite, but a befouled, deathly paleness that hinted at a deficiency of Vitamin-D.

    "Tis an Aberrant Scout¡ª a Murk Crawler," Rori said. "They''re incredibly fast, how did yer dogs catch it?"

    "They have their ways." Gwen could only attribute the hunt''s success to the pack tactics innate to Morden''s Hounds. "Interesting, I''ve never seen Murk creatures up close. No eyes, all mouth and those enormous nostrils, I wonder how it sees. You said it senses us through tremors? Does it think or feel at all?"

    Perhaps scenting their warm bodies so close, the ribald beast began to gnash its teeth. What disturbed Gwen the most, other than the thing''s lilac-pink tongue, was the incisors at the front of its jaw, followed by several canines and even a hint of molars.

    "A scavenger Omnivore?" Richard suggested once he reached their side.

    "They eat anything from minerals to kin-flesh." Gracie''s voice came from behind them. "Aberrants are cannibals as well as omnivores."

    "Waste not¡ª want not." Petra shrugged. "Food is scarce here. As for whether it''s sentient, give me a second."

    The Mind Mage intensely concentrated. When her cousin opened her brilliant blue eyes once more, she furrowed her brows. "Hard to say, there is intelligence, or at least there used to be¡ª but its all muddled. Whatever this thing is now. It is as mindless as they come."

    Gwen looked at the terraformed transit tunnel around them. "If this is a scout, then where are the rest?"

    "Likely in a pocket where the Planar rifts are thin," Rori advised from above. "They don''t like to venture far from their nest."

    "Buck," Gwen commanded her creature. "Extract the Core."

    The dog dug in, engendering a final round of hapless howling from the writhing Aberrant Crawler. When Buck''s eyeless head once again emerged, it vomited forth a small, misshapen sphere the size of a tennis ball.

    One of Richard''s dogs gave the thing a once over, then brought it over to Gwen.

    "Please don''t Gwen-handle it." Richard enveloped the thing in a film of floating water. "It''s composition is very muddy. I sense Negative Energy as well."

    "What do you think?" Gwen turned to Petra and Gracie, their resident scholars.

    "Ooze," Petra said after a moment of magical inspection. "And something else."

    "And ''Aberrant'' energy from the Astral." Gracie''s inspection was aided by instruments built into her combat suit. "These beasts are not naturally occurring if I had to guess. The Core looks like it was forcibly warped with Transmutation, then inter-bred. If I had to guess, I would say its a form of chimaera?"

    "Old and malevolent creatures are said to live between the Planes in their darker recesses," Bumrorlim spoke from the vox box. "We believe they escaped into the Murk when the Dark One awoke and twisted the Ley-lines."

    "You mean the Black Dragon?" Richard said.

    "Aye." The Dwarf lowered her voice. "The Old Drake in the Dark..."

    "Vynssarion," Gwen said suddenly.

    The party turned to regard the sorceress.

    "Everyone keeps talking about the Dark Drake, the Black Dragon and all that¡ª it has a name, and it''s Vynssarion, Ex-Guardian of the Black Sea, presumably looking after a tree."

    "¡­ I don''t think I am supposed to know that." Bumrorlim groaned audibly over the external speakers. Her guards likewise shifted uncomfortably. "That sounds like Deepdowner knowledge."

    "Vynssarion, eh?" Richard nodded. "Sounds mean."

    "In Dragon Tongue," Gracie added after a moment of thought. "It means Herald of the Abyss."

    "That''s not very nice." Jean-Paul sucked in a breath of cold air.

    "Somewhat self-evident, given what the Beast Tide brought," Petra related with a sigh.

    "Calamity, you should speak that name with quiet reverence, or not at all." Golos provided a rare nugget of wisdom. "My father can hear those who whisper his name when he dreams of the Unformed Land. Maybe the Supreme of the Western Blacks is listening even now? If you don''t believe me, say it out loud three times before you sleep."

    "Oh, dear." Gracie gulped, making the sign of the Nazarene.

    "Anyway¡­" Gwen waved away the strange atmosphere that had just now engendered, pointing down the upward turning tunnel, she chose to change topics. "Shall we?"

    The thing with finding anything in the Murk was that one tunnel split into two, then two into five, and then those passageways kept on diversifying ad infinitum. Where the Dwarves had constructed the tunnels, they did their best to leave landmarks, labels and street signs, though such efforts were often sabotaged by cunning predators lurking in the dark.

    Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    However, when Gwen''s party arrived, there was no ambiguity about the tunnel they should take.

    "This way," the sorceress watched her Omni-orb hover toward the far right of an intersection offering five distinct routes. On Rori''s map, two led to mana lodes with HDM mines and the other three lead onward into the lower Murk. Conversely, the Dwarf also reminded their guests that no civilised being had ventured this far from the Citadel for decades save for Hanmoul and Hilda''s expedition.

    "There, I found a Glyph Rune." Rori scraped at the wall with her Strider''s mechanised limbs until the mud fell away. "Someone''s covered it. Clever buggers. Aye, tis Revered Hildenbrandt''s."

    "Anything to suggest where Hanmoul went?"

    The Strider''s scanning array continued its work for several minutes; eventually, the cockpit shook itself in a life-like manner. "Maybe, there was a battle here, a running skirmish¡ª but the tracks lead to at least two tunnels¡ª both of which are not the ones Hilda took."

    "Looks to me like someone''s herding Hanmoul onto a different course," Richard offered a hypothesis.

    "Ariel? Cali?" Gwen asked her Familiars. "Buck? Astro?"

    The Conjured creatures milled about aimlessly.

    "I see, good thing we''ve got Gogo here with us." Gwen turned to her Wyvern. If her dogs couldn''t pick up scent or vitality, then she had to turn to an expert. "Alright, Bud¡ª what does your Dragon nose see?"

    "The lingering traces of Earthen mana down those tunnels stink like Dwarves." Golos huffed with smugness. "All around the entrances, there''s befouled mana, though it remains the thickest down the first tunnel. I don''t smell this Hilda or her troops, meaning they passed some time ago. The scent of the white freaks remains fresh, maybe hours old, and there''s something else."

    "Well done. What is it?" Gwen beamed at the Wyvern.

    "Hehe¡­" Golos'' nostrils flared. "I smell fresh tortoise-suits, ones from the city. They passed here an hour ago. I''d say six or seven of them, all burning with activity."

    "Impossible!" Rori''s Strider tilted to one side. "We''re the only expedition to leave the city since Hanmoul''s gone missing. Maybe you''re picking up their patrol residue?"

    "Fool." Golos bared its fangs. "Do not question my nose, squat. This latest presence carries the mana-smog from your stench-strewn hovel. To one as august as myself, the fetor of your underground den is unforgettable, especially the impure Elemental Fire you use to produce the liquid powering your engines."

    "Gogo," Gwen berated the Wyvern. "Don''t be rude."

    "If Golos is right." Richard patted Lea''s disembodied head as she appeared and disappeared. "And there''s a third force from the city complicating things for us. Then we have to decide to find Hanmoul or Hilda first."

    "Anything on the Echo Glyph?" Gwen hovered closer to the Strider.

    "Nothing yet." Within the cockpit, Hanmoul''s cousin shook her head.

    "My Orb says this way." Gwen pointed down the stone passage where an

    "objective" might eventually be found. "But let''s spring clean before we go. I wouldn''t want to find Hanmoul or Hilda while cornered by swarms of Aberrants from either side. Cali, you take the pack and head down the first tunnel. Astro, take yours and clear the second. Ariel, you take Richard''s pack down the third."

    "Umzokwe will take the south-west entrance with my Leech-dogs," Jean-Paul said helpfully.

    "Thanks, J-P." Gwen gave him a thumbs up. "Alright, BUFF UP, and then let''s see what our Dachshunds ferret from the mole mounds."

    "Jackpot near the end of the first tunnel." Gwen awoke from her meditation after only fifteen minutes. "Cali just stirred the hornet''s nest by taking a chunk out of what must be their breeder or something. I''ve regenerated two dogs already¡ª holy hell; these guys are PISSED¡ª"

    "How many?" Richard was up on his feet in an instant. "How far?"

    "A few hundred, two minutes or so out¡ª" Gwen observed the faraway action through her Caliban VR. "Cali found them about two, two-and-a-half kilometres down behind a mud wall. They were all huddled up in an alcove of sorts, kind of like a giant wasp nest, lots of goo surrounding a big vitality signature. I told Cali to dig through, and I think it ended up inside a flesh sack."

    Rori''s Golem roared back into life. Bringing her weapons to bear with a thrum, the Dwarf turned to their party leader. "Hurdal, Hurdan, combat formation. Magus Song, what''s the plan?"

    "Gogo, Lea, Richard, we''ll be counting on you," Gwen said to their defenders. "Pats, keep an eye on Gracie. We''re Life-linked, and there''s going to be plenty of vital-fluctuations in a moment. Rori, fire-at-will, but stay behind the dogs and the Familiars."

    "Gracie, behind me," Petra commanded the obedient novice. By her will, the Nephrite Hounds formed a vigilant circle around the party. "You too, Gwen. Stay safe and don''t stray too deep. Your Sanguine Mantle isn''t invincible."

    "I''ll try not to be a burden." Gracie took a deep breath, her bosoms rising and falling as she activated her battle suit''s inbuilt Abjuration suite. From the front of the party, Gwen gave her a reassuring thumbs-up.

    Golos walked into the middle of the five-way interchange and unslung his Smasher''s chain axe. Cracking his neck, the Wyvern stretched out his impressive physique, allowing his tail to skitter across the floor, striking electric sparks every time it bounced off the rough granite.

    From the tunnel now, they could smell a foul wind and hear the sound of hooting and howling growing stronger with every passing second.

    "Gwen," Jean-Paul spoke up. "I''ve found a pack in the fourth tunnel as well. These must be the reserve forces. Umzokwe reports enormous vital signatures. I suspect they may be the Aberrant Hulks or the Centaur variants that Rori said we should stay away from."

    "Think you can handle it?" Gwen''s eyes dug into her party member. "Make your Meister proud?"

    "I can do it." Jean-Paul''s face grew beet red. "I haven''t slacked off while you trained."

    "That''s what I like to hear." Gwen turned once more to their Illusionist, in case she felt left out. "Gracie, is your Phantasmic Forces good to go?"

    "Absolutely," the young woman affirmed. "I''ll run interference with Hallucinatory Terrain if I can manage, though I imagine Illusion has limited impact when they''re as mad as they sound."

    "Take it at your own pace." Gwen returned her attention to the first tunnel, happy that what she had hypothesised for their underground adventure was coming to pass. "Ariel, Astro, return!"

    "SKAARRRRR¡ª"

    "KEEHHHARRR¡ª"

    The howling from the tunnel was now at a decibel level that irritated their ears. Like a foul and swollen pustule given an unexpected channel, Caliban''s sudden and unprovoked rampage in the Aberrants nesting site had sent the mustered Aberrants into a blind, rage-fuelled frenzy.

    "Incoming!" Rori counted the blimps on her instruments before declaring the results aloud. "It''s a wave! O, Byllelynn M?svian, consign me to Deepholm if I should perish in victory!"

    Gwen took a deep breath. If there was anything she had learned from Walken''s tales of Sobel in the confined chambers of Sydney Tower, it was that Void Mages possessed unprecedented advantages when fighting in enclosed spaces against living beings. Like a conductor commanding unseen music, she called the mnemonic invocations to her lips, then began the long chant for one of her favourite spells, one that would keep any number of creatures at bay so long as they could not supersede the spell''s area of effect.

    "SKARRRR¡ªARRRGGHH¡ª" the horde had arrived.

    At once, the forefront of the Aberrant wave smashed into an invisible Wall of Water conjured by Richard, slowing their descent into the five-way junction. It took a moment for the momentum of the distended bodies to break through the membrane, but by then Gwen was ready.

    "EXTENDED BLADE BARRIER!" Ashamedly, she wove the spell-shaped incantation inefficiently, burning more vitality and mana than she had anticipated. If Magister Kareena Patil were with her, she would likely roll her eyes. Still, Gwen felt that credit should be given for manifesting a tier 7 Conjuration-Evocation in unmitigated Void without burning herself silly.

    "Shaa!" Caliban shivered like a dog in the rain when she tapped into its vitality via their Sympathetic Life-link. For Gwen, her Master''s unique Shaman-craft conversion was the Magnus Opus of her year''s worth of academic investment. For years, she knew that Caliban stowed vitality within itself, hoarding life like a greedy little piggy bank. Now, thanks to her Master''s hidden cache, she knew how to draw on that reservoir and share it among herself and her life-linked "minions".

    "Oh, Gods." Gracie''s complexion turned white and then red as the vitality distributed between them ebbed and flowed, manifesting as barely perceptible threads of scarlet connecting their Astral Souls.

    Undeterred, Gwen began work on a second, Lightning-based Blade Barrier, this one spell-shaped into a ring that lined the top and bottom of the shaft.

    "SKAARRRRR¡ª"

    "KEEHHHARRR¡ª"

    The Aberrant tide broke free from Richard''s boggy barrier.

    The monsters poured into the entrance and its concentric rings of whirling mana as a single mass of tangled legs and scribbling claws, barrelling into her defences. Where the Void Blades struck, there was nary a sound, only an inaudible hiss as flesh, bone and sinew grew displaced, producing mince on the other side. Gwen did her best to replenish the spent "teeth" of her Blade Barrier with each dead beast, marvelling that though the Void barrier was without equal, her Lightning variant''s efficiency was comparatively unparalleled.

    "Buck! Astro!" Her dogs, repositioned from drawing the monster''s aggression, took on the stragglers that emerged, tearing the wounded creatures apart.

    "SHAA! SHAA!" Not wanting to waste the splendid vitality, Caliban re-engaged by sauntering forward on the ceiling in its Spider-form to pick out the still-living Aberrants from the floor, stuffing them greedily into its mucus-dribbling abdomen-maw.

    "Ariel!" The crackling sorceress sent a flood of Elemental Lightning into her Kirin. "Empowered Lightning Bolt!"

    Three lines of hysterical electricity turned the dim tunnel from dusk to morning, alternating in their strikes so that barely two seconds passed before another thigh-thick line of plasma tore into the surging crowd. Visually transformed into a proverbial spell-turret, the Devourer of Shenyang allowed herself to indulge in the intoxication of absolute power, revelling in the helplessness of the flailing monstrosities being crushed and broken beneath her dagger heels.

    "Looks like you got this. I''ll go and help J-P, shall I?" Richard turned his attention to the fourth tunnel.

    "Agreed. I''ll be over there." Golos moved across the aisle when a minute passed, and not a single Aberrant made it past the twin Blade Barriers. As demonstrated by their betters on the Northern Front, few spells were so explicitly effective when used against middling Swarms of middle-tier monsters.

    But their mistress wasn''t listening to her teammates'' bored complaints. Her pupils grew wider and bluer with excitement as the Lightning mana coursed through her conduits to vivify her nubile figure, sending out sparks to sizzle the air. After so long stuck behind the books, she had let loose all the pent up stress accrued by living in high society, rediscovering the joy of free-living in a Frontier that sanctioned mass murder.

    Monstrous ichor bled down the ramp and pooled below the entrance like a foul soup, stopped only when the party''s Mineral Mage conjured a grease trap to contain the dizzying volume of diced offal meandering their way.

    In front of Petra, Meister Bekker''s ward followed his counterpart''s fusillade so intently that he almost forgot he also had monsters incoming. Only when Umzokwe took a chunk of his vitality did Jean-Paul shift his attention from Gwen''s silhouette of ongoing destruction, returning his mind to the labour at hand.

    That Gwen used her talents and accrued power and wealth for herself¡ª not to mention revelling in both¡ª was something his Meister Master applauded and therefore Jean-Paul genuinely admired.

    Crunch¡ª SPLAT!

    From the tunnel, the mangled body of one of his Leech Hounds came flying up the incline to paint the walls purple and black. The carcass rolled a few times before Umzokwe renewed the vital-infusion, allowing the Hound to stagger back onto its spindly legs.

    Catching his breath, Jean-Paul concentrated. His craft was custom-composed by the Mevrou for efficiency, a style that diverged wildly from Gwen''s sweeping gestures of grandeur. Looking at how his counterpart was expending vitality and mana, there was little wonder early Void Sorceresses drained themselves to death while executing their IMS-inspired invocations.

    "ROOOWAAARRRRGH¡ª" The first of the Centaurs appeared, a multi-legged monstrosity with an enormous pale head sunken into the torso, split from the middle to form a "T" shaped mouth lined with independently moving teeth. At the forefront, two massively powerful legs ended in scribbling, distended hooks, with the index finger manifesting as a single scythe-claw. Behind its torso, a bulbous thorax ended in skittering legs akin to Caliban''s Spider-form. What Jean-Paul had thought most peculiar, comparatively, were a pair of human-like legs senselessly dangling near its silk-drooling rear.

    "How strangely beautiful." Jean-Paul admired the design of the creature, awed that something dark and esoteric had engineered the being. "You know, I feel almost sorry¡­"

    "J-P!" Richard cried out. "Stop perving on the bloody thing and render it to goo!"

    "Right." The Void Mage called the Quickened spell to his lips and finished before his incantations shaped and manifested the mana. "Usurp!"

    A bean of Void appeared just in front of the Aberration, far too subtle for it to detect with tremor-sense. The next second, the party''s foremost assailant walked right into the dark dot, at which point its expression changed from blind range to horrific fascination.

    "Drain!" Jean-Paul activated the second part of his spell. The bean of Void, now enveloped in the flesh, rapidly expanded, consuming its prison with such a voracious appetite that it blew up to ten-times its size.

    The Aberrant Hulk tottered forward, a cylinder of emptied flesh appearing between its chest and its damaged spine.

    "GARRRRRGGH¡ª" it choked.

    "SKARRRRRGK¡ª SKAARRG!" Halfway between Hulks and Crawlers, two more creatures escaped from Richard''s meniscus of water with no visible concern for their forerunner.

    "Implode!" Jean-Paul allowed the orb of Void to reach critical mass before releasing its latent energies, sending a splattering splash of tenebrous ink in every direction. When inevitably the creatures ran teeth-first into the viscous Void-ink, he redoubled his focus.

    "Drain!" the Void Mage controlled as much of the Void Mana as he was able, then began the ritual anew. At his present tier of expertise, he could manage just three orbs. Thankfully, so long as his spell could find fresh flesh, he could maintain the cycle indefinitely until either his vitality failed or his concentration lapsed from spell fatigue.

    Or when something interrupted his spell cycle.

    "ROARRRR!" A line of Lightning, thicker than Caliban in its serpent form, washed over Hulks and Crawlers'' incoming troop, reducing the first three to charred stumps.

    "You dispelled my Wall of Replenishing Water." Richard sighed at the Wyvern. "Lord Golos, please give us a warning, Lea put a lot of effort into that."

    "You folks are having too much fun." The Wyvern shrugged, hefting its axe. "Oi, you, Pale Calamity¡ª let a few over. Let''s see how they are in a real fight."

    "Um¡­ should I¡­" Gracie raised her hand.

    "Maybe practice a few Illusions on the stragglers while Lord Golos stretches his limbs," Richard advised. "I wouldn''t get between him and his fun."

    "Hee hee, good Human." The Wyvern grinned cruelly. "Ah, there''s a fat one!"

    True to Golos'' observation, there was indeed a "Hulk" of an Aberrant approaching, a bipedal elephant-monster with a tentacled face and arms as large as its disproportionate upper torso. From afar, the thing resembled a striding, muscular tumour armed with teeth and claw.

    "GARRRRRGH¡ª!" The Aberrant barged through the floating field of Void Orbs, demonstrating an abnormal mass of elemental resistance.

    On their side, Golos waited for the Hulk to drop its shoulder and begin its charge. Digging his heels in, the True Dragon-kin suffused his limbs with the Essence gifted by his progenitor, then let loose with a rip-roaring buzz from the chain axe.

    The two connected, the "Smasher Axe" bashing the creature so totally that the overstressed metal cracked, the chains slipped, and the obsidian teeth grew jarred as they bit into its flesh. As for the Hulk itself, there was a mangled groan of crushed bone and rending flesh, then an explosion of sound signalling the unhappy consequence of two unstoppable objects meeting in disharmony.

    "YEAARRRGH!" Unhappy with the splintered weapon in his hand, Golos brought his tail to bear, striking the still-charging siege-Aberrant in the face to pulverise its skull with a sodden thunk.

    The Aberrant collapsed as its innards blew out of its ass. Comparatively, Golos lost only a dozen scales as the monster''s maw raked his chest and shoulders, leaving the Wyvern bloodied and delighted.

    Richard put up a Water Shield to prevent the Aberrant Hulk''s flayed flesh assailing Gracie and the other Mages.

    "Ha! See that, puny mortals?" The Wyvern congratulated itself as it wiped away a mouthful of arguably poisonous, corrosive ichor. "Now that''s a fight, you tortoises! MORE, PALE ONE! GIVE ME TWO THIS TIME, A WORM AND A FAT ONE! "

    Gwen kept up the barriers and the bolts until her mind grew woozy from the fatigue, a feeling not dissimilar to taking too many J?gerbombs while racing the Happy Hour at the harbour. The Essence and vitality Caliban had picked up from the stragglers kept her awake and hail, but the mental drain of formulating so much magic so quickly and in such volume was taking its toll.

    When finally she ceased her firing, dispelled the barriers and set the dogs to work, there was only the plinking of cooling silica inside the tunnel, that and the occasional scrabbling of creatures unfortunate enough to be still alive.

    "You didn''t have to spend all of your mana." Richard reached her side. "Nice work, nonetheless."

    "I am on about half-tank," she said sheepishly. "Lightning Bolts don''t cost much, nor do Void spells."

    "¡­ sure." Richard gave her an appreciative pat on the back. "Rori, how''s it looking?"

    "Four hundred and sixty-five Crawlers and six Hulks and eight Centaurs." Came a trembling voice behind their battle line. From the cockpit visor, they could see the Dwarf woman''s expression was comparable to one who''d seen the Seven Ancestors rise from the grave to the tune of Michael Jackson''s Thriller. "By the Sju Dorfran, I hope Magus Song is not representative of all Himmseg Mages."

    "One would wish." Richard laughed. "I tell you truly, Rori, if everyone''s like Gwen up there, we''ll be ruling the Prime Material in no time¡ª lucky for all life on earth, Gwen is unique."

    "Don''t forget Sobel." Gwen stretched, then wrinkled her nose. "Pats, could you¡­"

    "Earth Shape!" Petra warped the stone so that the enormous pit of offal became covered by a rough mound of transmuted stone.

    "Thanks." Gwen breathed better once the death pit flattened. "So, is that it?"

    "That would be a significant number," Bumrorlim Vildrenbrandt said with a tone of relief. "I would additionally advise that we clear the Aberrants'' nest."

    "Is it important?" Gwen asked.

    "Aye," the Golem pilot replied. "They''ll replenish soon enough, assuming there''s enough Aberrants left to feed the nest and gender more of their kind."

    "Terrifying, how are these monsters procuring supplies?" Gwen cocked her head. "And there''s also the fact that ''city Dwarves'' passed here only recently. What''s the deal with that? And we know it wasn''t Hanmoul¡ª assuming there''s no way they could have dealt with what we just Purged, who are these Dwarves and how did they pass?"

    Rori ashamedly shook her head. "I don''t have an answer for you, Magus Song."

    "We''ll find out soon enough," Richard assured them. "For now, time is of the utmost importance. Do you think Cali can deal with the nest?"

    "I''ll send Umzokwe to help," Jean-Paul offered. "And the Leech Hounds. They''re not nearly as fast as yours."

    "Then Buck and the Void Pack will keep scouting." Gwen struck a thumb toward the tunnel where Hanmoul should have passed a week or more ago. "I''ll send a troop of Hydras up to the nest to clean up. J-P, please ensure nothing with a mote of vitality remains. Ariel, Cali, go with Umzokwe, I''ll check on you with Sight Link."

    "EE!"

    "SHAA! SHAA!"

    The rest of the party stepped back while Gwen conjured up three Hydras, each resembling Caliban in its primitive, original form¡ª a carapaced slug-serpent with a bullet-shaped armoured head possessed of no face. These were her latest summons, slithering stomaches whose only purpose was to gather vitality for their mistress.

    "Shaa-Shaa!" Caliban guided its new minions onwards. Together with Umzokwe, the roving mass of all-consuming Void beast went on their merry way, shepherded by an invisible Ariel.

    "Also, Gogo." Gwen turned to her stinking Wyvern, who was currently picking out bits of bone and claw from his carapace while reliving the thrill of combat. "You take the front. Dick, can you give him a cleanup? He smells like the bloody pits."

 Chapter 392 - The Flesh is Willing

    Through Ariel VR, Gwen watched their mutual Void minions make short work of the undefended Aberrant nest, paying particular attention to the strange monsters'' alien nature. Overall, her opinion of the "Aberrants" was paralleled by the Triffid nest she had Purged months earlier. Only this time, her foe''s uncanny appearance was a chimeric cocktail of otherworldly Transmutation mangled by bootleg Flesh Grafting.

    The "lair" itself was the stuff of 80s'' monster movies, all sinew and slug skin strew from cavern to floor in convulsing lumps. The "womb", if Gwen dared to use such a term, involved pulsating tumours stitched together with pallid growths of unnamable anatomy, adding sacks and satchels of embryonic fluid to the glistening, dermis-clad walls.

    Mildly unnerved, Gwen was thankful that Umzokwe and the leeches possessed the right physiology for reducing quivering neoplasms into primordial gloop. With brutal efficiency, JP''s summons penetrated, then slurped the embryotic fluid as a lukewarm soup, first injecting their victims with Void ink, then sucking the symbiotic creature of all vitality before physically taking the "meat". Her Hydras were comparatively dumber and slower than the dogs and the worms, albeit they could expand their jaws to swallow pallid eggs wholesale.

    "Did anyone ever find out who or what is responsible for the Aberrants?" she asked the party once her mind retracted from Ariel. "I mean, these things don''t grow on their own, do they? They''re nothing like Gobs or Snots. Something''s making them, I suppose?"

    "If we ignore the Deepdowner''s legends," Hanmoul''s cousin spoke from her vox, eager to be helpful as she had only fired a dozen shots during the engagement. "And focus purely on what the Guild has discovered, we can trace the Aberrants to the denizens that lurk in the pockets between the Planes, are you familiar with those, Magus Song?"

    "In a manner of speaking." Gwen thought of the Hengsha Island, where she had as a novice encountered the Gila. The monstrous, flesh-warping, gene-splicing lizards were also a form of Aberrant Magical Creature, now that she had access to higher learning. They also possessed parasitic means of propagation that involved seeding the prime material''s denizens with invasive seeds. The Elder Gila that Cali had taken down wasn''t too smart, but it had populated a whole pocket plane with its kin, despite it being a single monster. Even after its demise, so long as its children lived on¡ª Hengsha would always be the Gila''s domain.

    "Then know that we have encountered other civilisations in the Murk¡ª ones with hostile and invasive designs."

    "Have you ever seen these ''beings'' in the flesh?" Richard asked.

    "Wait," Gracie intervened. "Ser Rori, do you mean to say the Dwarves have evidence of upper-tier creatures?"

    Gwen turned to the Void Sorceress. "I thought modern theory contested their existence and classified them as Magical Creatures? The texts I read suggest Demi-planes are something akin to the Unformed Land dreamt by Dragons."

    "Meister Brahe''s Demi-Planar thesis declares that they do exist." Gracie nodded. "But lacking the Dragons'' reality-altering willpower, the Demi-Planes should be seen as leftover Astral Matter that, like floating hulks drawn by the ocean currents, meet to create slapped-together worlds. Naturally, these worlds'' unstable environments imply that their inhabitants are doomed to become refugees. Their homes are in a state of flux, though their destructive scale may be measured in tens of thousands, if not millions of years."

    "How exciting!" Gwen marvelled. "And from this bricolage of realities come the Aberrants, yes?"

    "Indeed." Their Iron Guard guide waited for the Mages'' bookish excitement to die down. "In one of the expeditions led by Hanmoul, he says that he caught a glimpse of one of these ''dark intellects''¡ª a Dwarf-like being with the face of Caliban''s mouthparts¡­"

    "Tentacles?" Gwen moved her fingers just under her nose, wiggling her digits just so. "Like this?"

    "Aye." Rori nodded. "He says that it can control the Aberrants with its mind and that the monsters are subordinate to its will. In its presence, the Hulks fought until every mote of life was exhausted."

    "The paper I read." Gracie raised a hand. "Said that Meister Brahe''s 42nd Deep Expedition uncovered the corpse of a Lung Fish the size of a double-decker bus. The carcass, after a thorough dissection, revealed a brain as large as a sedan, inferring extensive telepathic, telekinetic and other cerebral capabilities."

    "So these ''Aberrants''," the Dwarf said. "They''re trying to break through the Prime Material through the Murk, where the fabric of the Planes grow thin enough for monsters to pass. Their goal, I would imagine, is to infect enough of us¡ª or whatever they can get their tentacles on¡ª to establish a beachhead to deliver the rest of their kin, assuming they have a civilisation."

    "Well, if the bloody buggers are live-grafting folks they find, as demonstrated by what we just fought." Gwen winced. "I''d imagine there''s a civilisation alright, although they sound like terrible neighbours."

    "It makes a lot of sense." Petra''s brows furrowed. "You know, now I am wondering whether all those stories of Changelings and missing villages in Moscow have anything to do with these ''Far Plane'' creatures. Though rare compared to Lycanthropy outbreaks or Undead raids, the stories are very consistent from year to year and always involve unidentifiable monsters."

    The party grew silent while they pondered the facts.

    Compared to her contemplative companions, Gwen''s mind delved a little deeper courtesy of knowledge the Bloom in White had gifted. As much as she felt disassociated with the Murk''s problems, she couldn''t shake the feeling that the Elvish talk of "Trees" "Snakes" and "ageless women" may be explicitly linked to the Dwarves'' present dilemmas.

    If she was to assume the same problems occurring in the Murk were to afflict "Himmseg", what would these Aberrants do to Human cities with their surplus of impoverished millions? Would Human townships provide food to walking tumours scouring the landscape to enable passage from their dying home? And if indeed a group of sapient, intelligent beings arrived with capacities greater than Humanity, how should the Commonwealth receive them? Considering how much trouble they had with Triffids, what if something bigger and badder slipped across the threshold?

    A part of her preferred their present circumstance. Let the monsters lurk in the Murk, her heart whispered. That way, the solution was self-evident and expedient.

    "Let''s go find Hanmoul." She checked in on her Familiars and Hydras and then informed the group that their monsters had completed the Purge action. "How''s your haul, JP?"

    "So-so." Jean-Paul balanced a palm in the air. "They''re not very vital, these Aberrants."

    "Well, we are in the Murk." Gwen regarded the space around them. "It''s not exactly Amazonia down here."

    "And we very much appreciate London''s generosity in the food trade," Bumrorlim said. "Did you know that a few years ago, we had to vote whether to eat the spuds or use them to brew alcohol¡­"

    Two hours later, Gwen''s Omni-orb struck gold.

    Considering the nature of their quest, she had expected to find Hanmoul surrounded by the bodies of his fallen kin, an ugly wound down the side of his face, frothing blood and wielding a chain axe with a bare-bosomed lassie by his leg.

    As this was real-life, her Lightning Hounds found the "Iron Legion" of about a hundred Dwarves holed up in a natural cavern, wondering why the assaults from the Aberrants had suddenly ceased.

    "Girly!" Hanmoul unlatched his armour at once, an act that spoke dearly of his feelings for their friendship. "I''d expected Master to send a squad or two, but YOU? Brumdahr''s beard, yer''ve made me a happy lad to see his lucky lassie, HA!"

    "Hanmoul." Gwen drifted close enough so that the two could shake hands. "Always a pleasure to catch you in the thick of it. Did you wait long? We ran into quite the pack on the way. A furious bunch that numbered in the hundreds."

    "And yer did away with em as yer''d done with them Trollies?" Hanmoul rubbed his hands. "Yer a veritable reverse-Fabricator! My Legion is in yer debt again!"

    "I''d be dishonest if I were to suggest I didn''t come down here with that in mind." Gwen stifled a snigger. "Anyway, how are your folk? I brought healing spells, food, HDMs, booze, the works."

    "Aye, we''ve been fighting for a few cycles." Hanmoul''s face sagged. "If yer got some Maotai, let''s see it. Is it ter good stuff?"

    "I could juice it up, yes." Gwen felt happy that her friends had suffered no significant losses. Hanmoul''s expedition had a dozen walking-wounded and thirty-odd disabled suits, including two Smashers; numbers that would have risen sharply had she not Purged the nest. "G''day, mates. Tordok, Tordum, Grimgal, you''re looking worse for wear."

    "I''ve seen better cycles." Grimgal slapped her Rock Smasher''s cracked canopy, wincing when a sheet of crystal fell out. "When did you arrive at the Citadel? I am shocked those Deepdowners let you leave. I was telling Hamoul that they''re sending us out to fail."

    "Got here a cycle ago and left the Citadel right away," Gwen said. "As for permission, I never asked."

    Grimgal burst into laughter. "There''s something to be learned there."

    "Ah, I wouldn''t if I were you," Grimgal''s Commandrumm warned his ace pilot. "Who are these, lassie? I see there''s more of yer kind now."

    Gwen brought her party up one-by-one.

    "Right, this is my crew¡ª Here''s Jean-Paul, a Void Mage like me. Gracie''s new to this but a Void user as well. You already know Richard and Petra, the latter is receiving guidance from Yossari. That tank of a brute over yonder you should know as my meat shield. Gogo, say hi."

    At her introduction, Golos near-swallowed his tongue with indignation.

    "Lord Golos." Hanmoul bowed.

    "... Dwarf," the Wyvern greeted the Commandrumm, then growled at Gwen. "No manners."

    "Haha." Gwen chuckled. "And of course, here''s one of yours."

    "Cousin!" Bumrorlim finally managed to get a word in edgewise. Exiting her engine, she and Hanmoul embraced. "It''s good to see you''re safe, Hamm."

    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    "Thank yer for coming for us." Hanmoul held his cousin for a few more seconds before releasing the female Dwarf. "I am truly blessed by B¨¹rumm-Dal to have you lot at me back. I''d thought we would have to grind our way out, to think we''d turn the tide, and so soon!"

    The two guards that came with Bumrorlim also made their presence known to Hanmoul''s Iron Legion. With the ice broken, the parties briefly mingled to share the news.

    "Sorry to interrupt." Gwen waited until the greetings were over. "As much as I''d love to break out the booze right here, we still need to find Hilda."

    "Aye, lassie." Hanmoul''s expression grew serious. "That we do. I''ve tracked her to the ''Hydra''s Head'', but then we were ambushed by the pale-faced stink bugs. We''ll have to backtrack and retrace her progress."

    "There''s no need." Gwen turned her palm upward, at which point she materialised her Omni-Orb.

    In the lamplight from the Smasher Golems, the slowly twirling orb was a thing of alluring beauty. "Do you trust me, Hanmoul?"

    "With all me heart, lass." The Iron Guard Commandrumm exhibited such faith that Gwen blushed to think of what she desired from him in return. "I am in yer hands, girly, but can yer clarify what yer ken?"

    Gwen briefly described the orb''s functions, emphasising that it consisted of the Core of a Dragon and that it was gifted to her by an ancient and influential member of the Yinglong''s family. "¡­ So where ever this leads, we''ll find Hilda, but we''ll need to move fast. The more ground we can cover, the better the Divination will perform."

    Hanmoul turned to regard his Legion. "Grimgal, how many Swiftstriders have we got with us?"

    "If we tear down the Smashers and take parts from the Golem suits¡ª sixteen?" Grimgal checked her instruments. "We can do it within the hour. The rest of the IronGuards can progress independently to secure our return route, Foreman Khzaarum can lead, and Engineseer Bakkar can be his second."

    "We won''t let you down, Commandrumm." A White Beard popped his hatch to salute Hanmoul, joined a moment later by a second Dwarf with greying hair and a runic spectacle replacing his right eye.

    "If I lose even one Iron Born, consign me to the Soul Forge." Foreman Khazzrum''s pupils blazed like twin coal beads as he made the vow.

    Hanmoul patted both on the shoulder. "Right¡ª We''ll make haste then¡ªone hour rest and retooling. Engineseers, yer with me, Runesmiths, assist yer Seers. We leave after one hour."

    "Great." Gwen was happy there would be a minimal delay and that she did not have to leave Hanmoul behind. If and when they found Hilda, she wanted to keep all of her VIPs close. "Now, just one more thing. We''ll be running with Hounds, packs and packs of em, so it''s probably best your men get used to them."

    "Nasty little nippers?" Hanmoul regarded the Lighting Hound pack that had found them. "I''ve seen em before."

    "Oh, there''s a few more this time." Gwen grinned with anticipation. "And let me tell ya, Hammy, these bad boys don''t just nip¡­"

    "It''s just a concussion." Hilda''s Keeper''s voice traversed through the haze. "Unclench yer teeth, breath deeply, relax yer muscles and let the suit do the work."

    Hilda''s hand came away from her head, half-expecting to see a smear of muddied blood on her glove. Fortunately, reality proved her expectations false. Her "Khro Klad" was a one-of-a-kind improved by generations of Engineseers, a priceless relic passed down from the pinnacle of Deepholm''s Machine Hall, serving as insurance for a true-blooded scion. Unlike a regular Klad, within its spinal columns, powerful Cores collected by the Clan''s warriors and Enchanted by its Runesmiths contained the power of a foundry.

    Hilda K¨¹l-Hildenbrandt couldn''t recall the last time she had participated in combat.

    Though the Ancestors did say that piloting a Kald suit was like stilt-walking a bipedal Strider; she had nonetheless allowed her overheated Core to overwhelm her head, making Hilda wish she could hook up a coolant pipe into her brain.

    "Help me up," she said out of habit, though her suit was perfectly capable of uprighting its staggered occupant by tapping into magnetic forces. Eben''s gauntlet locked behind her pauldrons, then brought her to her feet. Compared to her Klad, his suit was monstrous and antiquated, passed down through a lesser lineage and therefore a product of function over form.

    "Yer shouldn''t have¡ª"

    "I know." Hilda brushed her Attendant aside. Not far, her Iron Guards were being chewed out by their sergeant. Her close call wasn''t their fault, though. She had miscalculated her Tremor Shift and as a result, had slid inadvertently into the fray. Hilda could only imagine what must be going through her guards'' heads when it happened; likely, the moment in which the Aberrant Hulk knocked her clear, their first thought was to bolt their brains out lest folk at the Citadel found out their failure. "My apologies. It won''t happen again. How''s the battle looking?"

    "We''re barely sustaining our advantage." Ebren changed back to his external vox speaker, his voice once again becoming grating and mechanical. "The Human Mages are exhausted. Without rest, they''ll be nothing but slag to be ferried. The Iron Guards are largely fighting hand-to-hand now. The Fabricators are on full crank producing mana fuel. Once that falls behind, we''ll be cutting our fighting size by half."

    Hilda ran diagnostics while she surveyed the battlefield. In times like these, she wanted to tap into the Khro Klad''s reserves and share the abundant energies bound within its stowed Cores. If she were a Grand Engineseer, she would have the authority to dismantle the suit¡ª but alas, someone of her age, even if they possessed the skill, could not attain the title¡ª and even if the Ancestor''s Hall were to make an exception, it wasn''t as though she could return to Deepholm to receive the blessing.

    "Thrice-Jammed Cog!" Hilda swore¡ª an act that scandalised her partner but expelled the air of frustration in her chest. "If only I wore a Battle Klad!"

    "You''re the august scion of a Maker-Clan, Milady." Keeper Ebren huffed into his rebreather to remind her of a Deepdowner''s decorum and dignity. "Leave the grunt work to the Iron Borns. We are what the Ancestors have made us."

    "I don''t doubt that." Hilda raised a hand to signal that she was alright. The diagnostics that returned from her suit indicated that forty-seven separate implements in her finely tuned Klad would require maintenance. "How''s your Klad holding up, Ebren?"

    "There''s enough functions left, as always." Ebren''s voice took on a note of mirth. Pipes trilled and pressure-flooded chambers hissed as he moved. "It will take more than a Hulk to bring this one to his Ancestors."

    "Captain Bronzehorn." She nodded, then spoke into her vox box. "Report."

    "Esteemed Engineseer." The Captain''s voice reverberated through her ear-piece. "The tide is thinning even though our killing count has rapidly diminished. Either the Murk monsters are exhausted, or we may have allies finding their way to us. Should I send out a scout?"

    "But we have no Striders to spare. You are confident the Wave is ending?"

    "Aye, Mistress." Her Captains answer was punctuated by the sound of his Smasher Axe buzzing through a host of skittering limbs. "My men can clear a path. Please give the word."

    "I can Earthstride," Hilda said. "Do you¡ª"

    A hand touched her shoulder.

    "¡ª Please remain here, for all our sakes," Ebren denied her request to join the fray once more. "There are many suits requiring repairs and wounded Iron Guards needing your assistance. If you must help, Lady K¨¹l, let it be from behind the battle line. No one can mend a wrangled Golem Plate as well as you, Milady. The men would fight to the death, and when they do, they would prefer it if they fell defending you and not chasing you."

    "It''s a scion''s duty to¡ª"

    "I will go." When she tried to push Ebren away, her actuators flashed yellow. Her Keeper''s Klad possessed more strength than her surface diagnostics could fathom, Hilda suddenly realised. All of the Dwarves here had untapped depth¡ª a stark contrast to herself, who felt shamefully at her limit. All the more important then, that she made good on her promise to punch through the Murk to the Dyar Morkk. How else could she repay the sacrifices made by her Murk-kin? Bringing them home to the Ancestor''s Hall to receive the Cog''s benediction would be the least she could do as their Engineseer.

    Hilda taxed her rebreather with another long sigh.

    "¡ª Mistress!" The voice of Captain Bronzehorn burst through the intercom. "No need fer a Scout, Milady! Reinforcement! They''ve arrived!"

    "Who is it?" Hilda''s voice grew shrill and hopeful. "Is it Hanmoul?"

    "Nay, Milady," the Captain said. "Their Glyph reports a Legion from the Citadel! It''s Engineseer Thalmar and His Murk Divers!"

    "Angus the Eminent?" Eben''s helmet turned to regard her own. "The venerable White Beard is thirty cycles south of three hundred! How is he even piloting a Golem? He was bed-ridden!"

    Hilda felt concurrently glad and ashamed. "How many of them? How are they fairing against the Centaurs?"

    "Our reinforcements number only in the dozen." The Captain''s tone grew strange. When he next spoke, his voice grew breathless with loss. "But they are approaching fast. Mistress¡ª I regret to inform you that the Engineseer has given himself to the Soul Forge."

    "The White Beard has¡­" Hilda choked. To deliver oneself to the Soul Forge would be to deny their Cores the chance to return to the Ancestors and the Elemental Plane of Earth. In the aftermath, one''s Essence would also burn like a wick until every mote was exhausted. "I''ve decreed the act VADAM! Who dares¡ª Zairic and Zethoag! Those Murk moles! How could they?"

    Eben''s shoulders appeared to sag at the news as well. "Hilda, maybe it''s best to speak to the Engineseer first. Remember the lessons of N?rn-Zur and not reach for conclusions without evidence."

    Hilda nodded. Gathering her wits and then her guards, she made for the battlement where her troops had been slogging it out with the Aberrant horde, retreating to newly Transmuted battlements every time the ground grew soaked with corrosive body fluids.

    Since they had been surrounded, the Fabricators had bunkered down almost three kilometres, but Hilda''s men had retreated more than that, resulting in a buffer no more the length of a Citadel spire between the front and back lines.

    When she arrived, she could see the Balefire Golem¡ª a medium variant newly cast from Orichalcum and vivified with Runes of Electrum, Palladium and Mithril. Below the battlement, the re-forged Dwarf was currently pillaging his way through the Aberrants, wielding the Elements with the ease of a Grandmaster Machine Smith refining impurities in the Grand Forge.

    At five meters tall, the Engineseer formerly known as Emgus Thalmar, venerated White Beard and Maker of Arms was without peer. Compared to the muted blips of Dwarves in Diver Suits beside him, his mana signature burned as a miniaturised Radiant phenomenon ripped from the heart of the Quasi-Elemental Plane, smouldering with enough energy to power all of Hilda''s Iron Guards and then some.

    To Hilda, who had from her earliest childhood spent her time under the watchful eye of sleepy Deepdowners and their retinue of Balefire Guardians, she could only lament her helplessness.

    "Hilda K¨¹l-Hildenbrandt¡ª true scion of Varekan-K¨¹l, Bringer of the Lumen!" a booming voice cried out from the battlefield to reverberate against the cathedral cavern, its intonation thick with old Dwarven still spoken in Deepholm. "Be at peace, girly! Thine kin has come for thee!"

    "I welcome thy guiding hand!" Hilda made the Blessed Cog sign with both hands raised above her head; her mood compressed as though caught in a gigaton hammer press. As with the Dwarf addressing her, she too utilised her vox caster. "Khorok Umgor welcomes thee, venerable Seer! Our gates open to receive thee!"

    A rapid series of ground-shaking explosions, each triggered by Lava Bursts conjured by the old Engineseer, appeared to tear the reinforced cavern asunder, sending down an avalanche of boulders to crush the Aberrants, concurrently stymying the flow of flesh leaking in from the northern-most cathedral cavern.

    Behind the Balefire Golem, the Murk Divers¡ª select units made for rapid transit through the Murk¡ª finished off the stragglers with Stone Lances issued from their Spellswords, skewering the trapped Aberrants so that their still-living bodies formed grisly, writhing totems.

    "Open the gates." Hilda''s concern was only for the sacrifice made by their oldest Engineseer. Even as her Klad unconsciously moulded the stone to create stairs that would hasten her descent, all she could think about was the debt she now owed the usually aloof instructor. To die for a Deepdowner was a fate many warriors wished for¡ª but Thalmar was a venerated White Beard, an authority in his field. That such a man would give up his flesh and blood to bring their prideful priestess home was the ultimate sacrifice.

    "Let us welcome our saviours." Hilda was glad her suit hid her over-emotional face. "I will greet Engineseer Thalmar myself¡ª any less would be an insult to the Debt of Haj-Z¨¹l."

    Taking on Gwen''s advice, the Dwarves prioritised tools, medical supplies and transport space under the assumption that Hilda would be neck-deep in Aberrants. Assuming there was a "quick-in"¡ª they would purge the Obsidian Cavern of Aberrants and regroup with Hilda to uncover the nest. In the off-chance of a "quick-out"¡ª Gwen and company would stimy the tide while the Dwarves dumped supplies to ferried out as many men and engines as they could salvage. There remained also the fact that Golos had scented an undeclared expedition of Dwarves, though in their present circumstance, they would have to deal with that particular detail as it emerged.

    For now, Hanmoul''s Iron Legion would return to the Hydra''s Head interchange to set up checkpoints and secure their retreat, ensuring that the return path to Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth remained unimpeded. Meanwhile, Gwen''s train of Hounds, Dwarves, Humans and Striders, accompanied by flying, hovering, striding and slithering Familiars was ready to depart.

    "I can''t wait to see the look on Hildy''s face," Gwen remarked to her companion. "Well, on her helmet. Those Deepsuits are surprisingly expressive, what with the circular visor and the articulated helmets."

    "Aye, if yer kin desire ter use the Dyar Mokk," Hanmoul agreed. "Then yer''ll need the Deepdowners in yer debt. Once we bring back Hilda, we''ll have to find a way to deal with Zairic and Zethoag Gul-Z¨±h. Any clues on how yer wanna do that, lassie?"

    "We''ll do our best." Gwen grinned with confidence, her eyes full of mischief and anticipation. "What else can we do but tell the old men that they now live in new worlds?"

 Chapter 393 - Between an Anvil and a Hard Place

    When Hilda was a girl-child with only a slight wisp of facial hair, she had the honour of conversing with her Clan''s Balefire Guardian. Her father, the venerable Lord Seer Bermyr K¨¹l, had been in a session with the Grand Citadel Council to deliver the Craftsmen''s Guilds'' quarter-cycle Devlar on Dwarven Productivity. His negligence had left Hilda free to wander the Grand Hall of Gul-Z¨±h, where she had taken the rare opportunity to make mischief.

    At the door to the Chamber of the Eternal Cog, she was stopped by a smouldering gauntlet almost as wide as herself.

    "Thou cannot go that way, child." The voice that emerged from the vox-box communed with her through vibrations that tapped into her Core. "For one as youthful as thee, the deep-knowledge is Vadam."

    At four metres, Lord Engineseer Urmrak K¨¹l was over five hundred years old. He had consigned his Core to the Eternal Forge during the Long Siege when the Elemental Princes of the Deep had sealed off the Dyar Morkk in an attempt to starve the Dwarven city.

    The result of that conflict¡ª in no small part thanks to the ignition of the Soul Forge and the men and women who stepped up to the Glyph to consign their Cores¡ª was a total defeat for the Elementals. For Deepholm, the victory ushered in a brief Golden Age of wealth and expansion, resulting in the rise of "Murk" Dwarves and their surface Citadels.

    "Lord Urmra..." Hilda had bowed deep until she almost prostrated. Children like her, benefactors of the epoch of plenty, were taught from birth that their lives were indebted to the sacrifices of these noble Spirits. "It is not my intention to enter. I was merely curious."

    "Then turn thine eyes away." The Golem-being rumbled, as did the chamber as it spoke. "Trouble not this old soul."

    Unable to resist, she had reached out and touched the complex Glyph-work on the Dwarf''s plating. Though young, her gift for inscriptions had already made her blood-line talents manifest.

    "Does it hurt?" Her fingers traced the runes. "There''s so much mana¡­ the burden on your Core, Lord Urmrak, must be unbearable."

    Urmrak''s armour used his face''s likeness in life; when the Balefire Golem peered down to regard the girl-child, the evanescent runes had cast an unexpectedly melancholic shadow over Hilda.

    "The ''Rite'' is bearable¡­" the Golem had droned, its eye sockets were now empty and dark, two black holes were vibrant eyes full of wisdom would have once been seated. "That, dear child, us Balefires must believe above all else."

    Hilda felt her Core shudder with recollection as the venerable White Beard ducked under the lip of the archway leading to the makeshift hall.

    "Lord Thalmar." Her voice modulator kept her emotions in check, though Varekan-K¨¹l, blessed be her Ancestor, knew that a part of her just wanted to scream. "Your arrival is most welcome in this dire time."

    "Aye, tis Dire¡ª" The Balefire Golem''s voice rumbled. Its Core-housing helmet was of an unprecedented design and not in a good way. Back home, the traditional Balefire patterns were highly personalised. Each Golem was unique, carefully modelled after the likeness of the sacrificed Engineseer or Master and explicitly stylised with Runes and patterns that told their life''s work. A Balefire hailing from a Crafter''s House, for example, would usually sport motifs of hammer and tongs and wield tools the Master had used in life. One descended from a Warrior''s Noble House would usually occupy the Dreadnaught or the Berserks body, becoming a living embodiment of valour.

    Thalmar''s body, as far as she could see, was a rushed piece of work. The helmet had not the likeness of Thalmar in life, famous for his broken and shattered nose¡ª a proud relic of his younger brawling days, but was entirely nondescript. Horrifically, if she had to place her fingers on the anvil, she would complain that the craftsmanship was a sham for someone as august as Emgus Thalmar, Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth''s Master Maker of Arms.

    "¡ª But is any of this necessary?" the Golem continued. "Thou should have remained in the Citadel and listened to thy elders. Now, for thy selfish ambition, thy kin shall all suffer."

    Hilda felt the heat rise but had learned enough to will the biochemical apparatuses in her suit to cool her head before the sentimental sympathy for the old codger faded.

    "I shall not contest your displeasure, Lord Thalmar." Hilda glanced at her Keeper to see if her fellow Deepdowner had an objection. As expected, Ebren stood stoic and without a word while his Mistress took the helm. "To that end, Lord Thalmar, do you have recommendations from the Citadel?"

    "I have." The nondescript visor smouldered. "Thou art to cease thy foolish act and return at once."

    "That, I cannot entertain." Hilda''s voice grew instantly stern. "Lives have been lost, Lord Thalmar, and many have paid the price. To withdraw now would be to disregard their sacrifice and contribution."

    The Golem did not immediately respond, but stared at Hilda, making her scalp crawl even inside her Klad. Unlike her House Guardian, there was something deeply menacing about Thalmar, particularly the way his eyes smouldered, leaking Elemental Magma. "Thou would refuse?"

    "I do not mean to be ungrateful. Yet I cannot be swayed from my course." Hilda held her breath as she fought the inner conflict of duty against tradition. She owed Thalmar an enormous debt¡ª but she was in the right that personal gratitudes should not influence a Citadel''s commitments. She had no idea what Zairic and Zethoag Gul-Z¨±h had offered the Engineseer to give up his existence as a Dwarf, but she understood the act must be directed toward herself.

    For a moment, their contesting mana aura meeting mid-air grew thick enough to ignite the resting runes on Ebren''s Klad.

    "¡ª I can sense thy conviction." The Golem fumed, releasing an ear-piercing shrill as its internal gasses escaped.

    "If there is anything else milady may entertain..." Ebren spoke in that soft and melancholy voice of his, usually disguised by his modified vox box.

    The Golem''s light fell on Ebren, lingered rudely, then returned to Hilda.

    "Very well, what I ask for instead is an opportunity to offer you instruction from the Masters, Gul-Z¨±h and Gul-Z¨±h. They know that thou will not meet them alone, so I have come bearing an Echo Device. Fraron!"

    A Dwarf in his Murk Diver''s suit shuffled forward and presented an obsidian cube inscribed with enough Runes to make the average Runesmith dizzy.

    "A request for an audience is hardly appropriate for a debt of this magnitude," Hilda refuted the Engineseer''s well-wishes at once. "I will listen."

    "We wish to converse in private," Thalmar clarified his position with a low rumble. "We desire the knowledge of everything thou knows of this ''Devourer of Shenyang''. And in the aftermath of our meeting, we ask for Ancestor M?svian''s Silence."

    For a brief second, even in her Klad, Hilda appeared taken aback. M?svian''s Silence, Hilda understood, was a sacred promise passed between the ordained scholars of Deepholm. In the original psalm, M?svian the Skald was told of Brumdahr''s shame, and though honour would dictate that the singer would inform the people, the battle Skald chose to keep a vow of silence for a decade while Brumdahr made amends for his trespass.

    In the present day, M?svian''s Silence was a vow to the Ancestors that what passes between confessing Dwarves would remain among them unto death. When invoked, the Vow passed on knowledge and shameful secrets, and its violation would invalidate the "Oath Breaker", no matter the intrigue.

    As for knowledge of her Human ally, Hilda understood Thalmar''s wariness, for the sorceress had been instrumental in bringing Humans into the Murk.

    If they were in the Citadel, there would be no way Hilda would willingly be subject to the burden that M?svian''s Silence would engender¡ª certainly not when the deliverers are Zairic and Zethoag Gul-Z¨±h, two purity-obsessed fanatics from Umgor ¨¨ron Var¨¨kan. But for her present circumstance, to refuse even distant communication with the brothers while under the auspice of debt from their aide was arrogance too far even for a K¨¹l-Hildenbrandt.

    "Very well." Hilda could feel herself sweating despite the perfect environs of her Klad. "Ebren, prepare the conference room for privacy, then leave us. Until they are satisfied, Engineseer Thalmar and I will converse with our seniors from Umgor ¨¨ron Var¨¨kan."

    When the party ran face-first into a clogged tunnel made impassable by battle debris, Gwen volunteered the vitality vacuumed up from the Aberrant nest to utilise Caliban in its Wyrm guise.

    Several rationales supported such a lavish expenditure¡ª first because the excess vitality shared between herself, Cali and Gracie was making them giddy and far too excitable, and secondly because she wanted to test Caliban''s abilities as a digger to salvage lost time spent in transit.

    Thankfully, her hopeful hypothesis proved on-point. Akin to the giant Wyrm Caliban had consumed a year prior, it began to writhe and drill at the shattered and fractured rock wall, clearing a path forward.

    "Think Cali could manage to emulate a Fabricator?" Gwen fell into step beside Hanmoul as they watched the Wyrm excavate its way downward and forward. A few of the Dwarves were marking the Omni-orb''s path, for even a few degrees of error could send them somewhere entirely off course. "After which we can get Human Transmuters to put up concrete supports and pillars."

    "If it''s only this size." Hanmoul studied the diagnostic data on his Swiftstrider. "But if yer wants the tunnel to stick around, keep to Dwarven engineering."

    Caliban''s width and girth meant that its tunnel was enough for someone like Gwen to walk through if she stooped, though if she desired to install a mass transit system, it would mean doubling Caliban''s girth.

    "Shaa!" Caliban made its pleasure known. As for its Master, her spine-tingled as the Void consumption withdrew the energy and mana her Familiar needed to digest and process the rocks.

    "That''s a shame." She checked that Gracie was coping well, and the young woman gave her an affirming nod. In her opinion, her newest ward was rapidly gaining confidence as she witnessed the true potential of Void magic. Though Richard had joked about the possibility that she may very well be breeding a new Sobel, thereby completing her Master''s Path in totality¡ª Gwen knew that with Essence Tap, she would have mastery over Gracie until one of them died. Such was the barbarity of Shamanistic Magic¡ª and such was the rationale behind why seemingly "useful" Wildland sorcery was shunned by the Shard. Compared to invocations like Morden''s Hound that''s widely lauded and rapidly becoming a Conjuration staple, her "Kilroy Collection" remained ethically ambiguous at the best of times.

    However, through her conversations with Walken, her Executive Officer remarked that the Shard applauded her exemplary monetary investments. One of the elements that defined Sobel was her withdrawal from a centralised political system. The Tower trusted Kilroy or had no choice but to believe that he would keep a tab on his Missus¡ª though in hindsight such boundless freedom was a catastrophic mistake. Comparatively, with so many stakes in the city and the Mageocracy itself, including her extended family, the Mageocracy''s offices felt at ease that Magus Song''s commitment manifested as concrete and glass.

    While she mulled over her Himmseg circumstances, Cali''s rock crushing continued. To widen and then fortify the shattered tunnel with their lightly equipped Dwarven Swiftstrider took some effort, meaning the party had to toil even though Caliban had expedited the process by ten-fold.

    "Shaa-Shaa!" Caliban hissed again from somewhere within its undulating, pulsating torso, its shrieks reverberating through the smoothly-bored walls.

    "Cali says," Gwen translated for the rest. "We''re almost near the end."

    "Lots of signs of combat," Hanmoul remarked from his vox, his Swiftrunner pinging the walls with beeps and trills from its sonar. "Loose rubble, but also fused by Dwarven Runecraft. I am a bit curious as to what occurred."

    "Maybe Hilda sealed themselves in?" Gwen asked.

    "That makes sense," Petra, who had been helping the Dwarves, agreed. "The easiest way to keep safe would be walling the Aberrants out."

    "I disagree." Richard chuckled, his voice echoing sinisterly in the flickering light emitted by Gwen''s Lightning Hounds. "If you ask me, I reckon this is for walling folks in¡­"

    "HOLD FIRE!" Hanmoul bellowed into the newly excavated and connected tunnel. "WE''RE BROADCASTING FRIENDLY GLYPHS! YER MURK-HEADS!"

    Gwen felt an unbidden heat flush ripple through her body as the explosion on the other side of the wall ripped through Caliban''s innards. Someone on the Citadel-side must have been surprised when an "Earthen Wyrm" without a smidgen of Earthen mana burst through the debris with a whirling maw of circular teeth and gobbling tongues flailing in every direction. For that reason, she was not upset, though Caliban''s temper had taken a feat of will to banish "under" the underground.

    To her relief, the Dwarves opposite did cease their Magma Bombs, Lava Bursts and Obsidian Shards once Hanmoul put himself between the retreating Caliban and harm''s way. The Dwarf also had Lea to thank, for the Commandrumm of the Iron Guards would have taken a rippling blast to the canopy had her water barriers not diverted the heat and pressure.

    As a show of loyalty, her Dwarves went first with their Striders to parley, after which Gwen and company emerged with hands slightly raised to show that they meant no harm, keeping their army of pets in the back chamber to prevent agitating the trigger-happy Iron Guards.

    As they emerged, Gwen could see that they were in an enormous cathedral of dark granite, the largest she had encountered since delving into the Murk. On the far side, some several hundred meters away, stood the scarred battlements of the Obsidian Cavern. From what she could discern, the freshly churned earth below its battered walls still oozed black blood.

    "What''s the meaning of this?" Hanmoul''s Strider popped its cockpit with a release of pressurised gas. "Bronzehorn! Why are your vox-units turned off? Where''s Engineseer Hilda?"

    Gwen had expected this "Captain Bronzehorn" to fall out of his cockpit and grovel for forgiveness. To her surprise, there wasn''t even a popped cockpit.

    "I see the Humans have sent their reinforcements." The Dwarf''s tone was entirely apathetic.

    "Aye that they have." Hanmoul waited for his counterpart to show his face. When the Captain failed to dispense even the slightest remorse, his tone grew dark. "Captain, as the Commandrumm of the Iron Guards, I am giving you an order to speak truthfully. What''s happening? Where''s her Eminence?"

    "Her Eminence is inside," Bronzehorn''s vox crackled. "I''ve reported your arrival."

    Gwen led her party within walking distance of the Smashers, then stopped with both hands raised, keeping Golos at the party''s rear. She could see the roughed-up Golem suits still had their Spellsword hot and sizzling, casting no doubt as to what had struck Caliban. "Hanmoul. Are we cool now?"

    The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

    "We will be," Hanmoul ordered his Dwarves to fan out between the Humans and his kin. "Bronzehorn''s not himself. Could be war-wariness, or a touch of the Murk Madness. It frays the nerves when yer''ve fought Aberrants for too long, making folk see and think things that are not there."

    "Alright, how about an official approach?" Gwen raised a hand to signal her arrival. "Captain Bronzeborn! You are addressing Magus Gwen Song of the Shard! I have come to retrieve our Mages and resupply our allies. Tell your Eminence a friend has come to aid her in her time of need."

    "Ah, about that," Bronzehorn''s voice broadcasted across the distance between them. "The Deepdowner doesn''t need yer help anymore, Human¡ª she''s safe now, and she gave express orders for you to leave the Murk."

    "Bronzeborn! Insolent boy! What does that mean?" Hanmoul''s temper flared. "We risked my men coming ter save her! Yer telling me that was fer nought? Deal with us? Send back an Echo Message! Tell the Deepdowner we''re not her lackeys! I ain''t leaving until the lassie learns some respect and we see the Citadel safe and secured!"

    "If you know what''s good for you." The Golem''s tinted cockpit observed first Gwen and then his Commandrumm with visible agitation. "You should go. Lord Thalmar has arrived with a contingent of his Deep Divers. They mopped up the Aberrants and are in council with Mistress Hilda. You''re not needed anymore."

    "Thalmar? The Maker of Arms? What''s a bleeding Cogmen doing digging in the Murk?" From Hanmoul''s incredulous expression, Gwen took it that the news came as a shock for the Commandrumm. "The Engineseer''s three centuries old, fer B¨¹rumm''s sake! Did he get carried here on a Swiftrunner? His beard was down to here! He¡ª"

    Hanmoul suddenly stopped talking.

    The ring of Rock Smashers, broken and mangled as they are from cycles of ceaseless siege, had formed a semi-circle with Gwen and Hanmoul at the centre of their crossfire.

    "I am sorry, Commandrumm." The Captain''s voice lost all joy. "Return now. Those are my orders."

    Around them, the Iron Guards raised their weapons.

    Hanmoul''s Swiftstriders raised their Shields.

    Profanities exploded from Hanmoul while both of his hands signalled the curse of the Thrice-Jammed Cog.

    Just in case, Gwen checked the hovering orb still veering toward the Citadel''s depth. If the orb''s mystical energies were correct, what she "desired", meaning Hilda, was still inside the Citadel.

    More than Hilda, however, what worried her was where the hell their Mages had gone. There were at least sixty-odd adventurers inside the Dwarven Citadel. If Hilda wasn''t in the mood to greet them, or if this Thalmar has taken control, then what of her men and women? What happens to the grass in the middle when two elephants fought?

    "Calamity." Golos'' voice drifted across to the inner circle where Gwen watched Hanmoul rave at the Third Legion''s seditious Captain.

    "Gogo?" Gwen offered an ear to the Wyvern. "What''s the matter? Are you hungry? Bored? I am afraid I didn''t expect this. I''ll tell you what though, get ready for trouble. This ''Murk'' business is turning out murkier than we could have imagined. So much for the simplicity of Dwarven honour."

    "I smell Dwarves," Golos informed her.

    Gwen wrinkled her nose. She had to agree, for Captain Bronzehorn and his battered troops stank of old engine oil, burnt paint and unfiltered, badly combusted mana.

    "Daft female!" The Wyvern gnashed his teeth. "I mean the ones who came before us. I smell them here."

    "I would imagine so." Gwen struck a thumb toward the Citadel''s scarred surface. "You''re smelling Thalmar, I guess? They managed to save Hilda before we got here. I doubt that''s a coincidence. It looks to me like these new Deepdowners have got it in for us and are trying to prevent Hilda from owing us a solid one."

    "Nay, there''s something else." The Wyvern''s nostrils inhaled and exhaled. "It''s in the air. Something stinks like those white ones."

    Gwen glanced at the mass graves bleeding dark ichor. "They''ve killed hundreds, or so they say, and their blood makes the land fallow. Is that what you smell?"

    "They hid the scent." Golos glanced at the Citadel suspiciously, his slitted eyes hardening. "But it is in there. I can taste their polluted Essence mingled with the Dwarves. They''re a single creature, Calamity¡ª"

    "Do you smell our Mages?" Gwen suddenly realised she could have asked Golos all along.

    "I do," Golos grunted. "They''re weak, but they should yet live."

    Gwen paused to look at the livid Hanmoul and the unmoving vehicle of Bronzehorn, neither of whom understood a word of Draconic, unlike those of her party members who had come adequately provisioned.

    Should she abide by Golos'' deductions?

    If the question was whether she trusted the Wyvern to pass on a message, she would feel ambivalent. As an Essence-based bloodhound, however, she couldn''t think of any reason why the Wyvern would lie.

    At any rate, if the Human Adventurers did not make an appearance soon, she should probably expect the worst.

    "Richard, get everyone ready." She delivered a Silent Message via her device. "JP¡ª bring the dogs up. Gracie, follow JP. Pats, keep a few Cubes ready to go. If there''s going to be a fight, let''s not get caught flat-footed."

    "Captain Bronzeborn," she concurrently interrupted the Dwarven defender, both of her pupils glowing green with Essence and Lighting. "Let me ask you one more time. Can you send out our Human Mages? Where are they?"

    "They''re inside," the Captain responded flatly.

    "Are they being held as hostages?" Gwen asked. "Are they safe?"

    The Dwarf took a moment to respond. "They are exhausted from the battles and need rest."

    Gwen pointed a finger to the Citadel. "Captain. Do you know who I am?"

    "Aye," the Captain answered. There was a pause; then Bronzehorn''s vox crackled in a voice that was not his own. "Kill the Devourer."

    A surge of mana gathered at the tip of Bronzehorn''s Spellswords.

    "Bronzeborn! Ingrate! Yer dares¡ª" Hanmoul''s cry cut off mid-howl as an invisible Ariel swept up the Commandrumm and threw the Dwarf back into his Swiftrunner Strider before he could come between Gwen and the Golem.

    CLANG!

    Besides Gwen, Golos launched forward with the swiftness of a Lightning Bolt. In a flash, the Wyvern caught the offending Spellsword attached to the Smasher''s power-gauntlet and wrenched the thing from its mounting. In a follow-up motion, the Wyvern swung the dismounted weapon back toward the Rock Smasher, sinking the cracked and burning blade deep enough into the cockpit to deform the chassis.

    "FIRE AT WILL!" Came a commanding cry from another Smasher at their encirclement. At once, the platoon of Smashers took up their arms and began to charge, a few even closing in for melee. "KILL THE DEVOURER!"

    More so than the sudden hostility, Gwen felt puzzled by how a team of beaten mechanical constructs believed they could best a Mage Flight capable of piercing the Murk without so much as a hair out of place.

    "Richard, I''ll draw their fire and perform Recon-in-Force," Gwen fired off an order. "If Hilda''s serious, tell Hanmoul to prepare to prioritise our men and women."

    "What about these?" Richard replied with complete calm.

    "Disable them!"

    Compared to the uncharacteristic chaos displayed by the indecisive Iron Guards, Gwen''s party fell into formation with instant clarity.

    She Dimension Doored forward to draw the Golems'' fire, understanding Richard''s Undine would keep off the attackers'' brunt. Her ulterior motive was to breach the Citadel itself to take a peek inside¡ª ideally from the battlements to determine whether the Citadel and thereby Hilda herself had extenuating circumstances.

    Behind her, Richard took to the fore, instantly concealing the space around the party with a blanket of mist. Jean-Paul positionedhimself in front of Gracie but put a safe distance behind Richard, a set of absorption spells ready to be ushered from his lips as Umzokwe materialised by his side. Gracie and Petra took up the final two spot in the line formation, keeping together and trusting their teams to keep them safe while they provided support.

    CRACK!

    Golos'' meteor of a tail smashed into the War Golem that held Bronzehorn, toppling the Dwarven engine.

    His impromptu barricade fell just in time, catching the worst of the Lava Burst and Obsidian Shards before the rest rolled mutedly over Golos'' innate spell resistance. Lightning crackled across the Wyvern''s carapace as Draconic Essence raged through his veins, almost doubling the Wyvern''s dimensions. Opening his mouth, Golos roared at the closest pair of Rock Smashers.

    "Insolent Earthen-apes! LOREAT!" the scion of the Yinglong proclaimed the construct''s destruction. A line of living electricity pulsed in the dusky light of the Murk, vivifying the cavern for three fulminating seconds as a Rock Smasher spat plasma in every direction; its Earthen barrier clashing with Golos'' Essence-derived Lightning Breath. The illumination was enough to turn Richard''s mist white as snow and briefly reveal the compelling figure of Lea''s hidden body, though the next moment, the Sprite faded into oblivion.

    Petra blocked a dozen blows with Crystalline Walls and reactive barriers, keeping the slow-reacting Gracie safe as the novice did her best to stomach the noise and weave her spells.

    Up ahead, the cathedral''s combatants collectively held their breath while the Rock Smasher sizzled, both sides seeing if the Golem would hold or fold.

    To the Dwarves'' groaning disappointment, the cockpit spat out its coolant-drenched capsule before the remaining mana ignited in a fireball of blazing and burning that turned the cavern''s upper stratum black with ash.

    Gwen took advantage of the Wyvern''s showy aggression to dodge criss-crossing lines of Elemental bolts, arriving near the hastily-constructed Citadel. Up close, she could see where its walls were still streaked and cracked where Aberrant fiends had perished against its stones.

    As forewarned, this deep in the Murk, she could feel the sluggishness of her conduits trying to draw from the Gate of Lightning inside her Astral Body. For someone with her tier of Affinity, the stifling sensation was akin to singing through a face mask, where though her invocations were audible, their effects grew muffled.

    Nonetheless, she had recklessly chosen Reconnaissance-in-Force because she had to know the extent to which she could exert the force of her party. Though the Dwarves inexplicably turned hostile, there was a dire difference between a skirmish to establish political advantage and a battle of mutual destruction.

    Very quickly, she checked her Omni-orb.

    It still tittered toward what she presumed to be Hilda.

    "WE ARE A HUMAN DELEGATION FROM THE SHARD!" She addressed the fortress through Clarion Call. "BY ORDER OF COMMANDRUMM HANMOUL¡ª IF YOU DON''T WANT A DIPLOMATIC INCIDENT, TELL YOUR MEN TO STAND DOWN!"

    An answer soon arrived from the parapets, albeit not the apology Gwen had expected. Instead, gobs of acid and corrosive ooze emanated from Spellswords wielded by a group of Dwarves-in-black. Compared to the Iron Guards whose visage involved articulated mechanical plates and overlarge gauntlets with attached blades, these suits were more akin to the Deepdowner''s armour, with full-face headgears resembling gas-masks from the Great War.

    On the shoulders of these suits, Gwen could see their single-mounted Spellblades glow like tiny stars where attuned energies of Earth and Ooze and Mineral struck an apex before manifesting their payloads.

    "Dimension Door!" It was clear that these Dwarves were unused to fighting Human Mages, which made sense considering there had been no overt contact, much less hostile conflict between their cities. Only a few of the offending explosions were aimed at where she may re-appear, and even then their marksmanship was embarrassingly wide.

    A jolt through the Void later, she was only twenty-odd meters from the wall. Not knowing what was inside, she couldn''t teleport in.

    Should she capture one of these rubber-suited Dwarves and ask for Hilda and her Mages'' whereabouts? Gwen quickly measured the possibility of such a thing. Whatever their plan had been, shit had now struck the fan. As their team leader, she had to take responsibility and offer a clear path by gathering information.

    "Wha¡ª"

    Just as Gwen eyed the wall for a possible angle to arrest a Dwarf, her spine tingled with a shriek, a sensation she had not felt for some time.

    Sparing no time for hesitation, her Shield was up in less than the blink of an eye, though still not as fast as Lea, who had a commanding bird''s eye view of the battlefield from above. Just as the Magma Bomb ripped out, the Undine''s film of all-enveloping water doused the flames so that the impact that rolled over her consisted only of kinetic energy.

    Gwen quickly measured the lightning-fast attack as she allowed the momentum to carry her backwards. The front of her double-glazed barrier instantly turned opaque, though it did not crack, suggesting a mid-tier manifestation.

    Instead, what unnerved her was the swiftness by which the attack had manifested. With her Divination and her casting speed, Gwen seldom fell flat-footed, but that attack just now had sent her heart rate leaping into the mid-hundreds.

    This time, she Dimension Doored twice in directions guided by her innate sense for danger, overriding her conscious decision making. Nils, her defence teacher, had promoted the stratagem as viable against enemies with foresight abilities.

    As anticipated, the next two Lava Bursts struck close to home but landed far enough that Lea could negate the damage.

    "Gwennie, look up! There''s a big fire Dwarf casting spells without a Spellsword!" Lea''s cry rang about her ears. "It''s an Elder Elemental!"

    After the first eruption, Gwen had a good idea of what she faced. The gate of Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth had given her a preview; only she hadn''t expected an encounter so soon.

    "No, it''s a Balefire Golem," Gwen informed the Undine. She did not look up because there was no need. If there''s a Balefire standing its ground, then she was confident there would be no breaking through the Dwarven battle lines by herself. The data provided by the Shard had stipulated very clearly that Balefire Golems, be they the Guardian variant or the siege-type Dreadnaught, were on par with ancient Elementals creatures, additionally reinforced by Dwarven Runecraft. Via their ever-burning cores, it was possible for these reborn "Dwarves" to instantly and without spell fatigue generate mid-tier sorcery unique to their professions in life. Additionally, they needed no food, no air, no water or shelter, and were arguably ageless.

    A Balefire, therefore, could not be worn down¡ª it can only be bested or overpowered.

    The air around her grew scorching hot.

    Another attack was coming, and the Balefire was biding its time.

    "Tell the others to regroup, we¡ª" Gwen was on the cusp of a long-ranging Dimension Door when she suddenly fell face-first into invisible wool. It was a sensation she knew well, though one she had not had the displeasure of encountering for a long time.

    "¡ªSHIT!"

    Gwen knew she was caught in the cusp of some long-ranging Mind Magic, though she couldn''t tell if the assailant utilised Human or Demi-human sorcery. From the "lockout" of her senses, she further understood the effect to be akin to a "Hold Monster" in the middle-to-upper tier, a spell that Petra had utilised in the competition on their foes.

    At once, she performed as her cousin had taught, clearing her mind of all thought and focusing only on circulating mana through her body at its maximum threshold. Disregarding her tingling conduits, she further added Essence so that her mind and body grew resilient against invasive forces.

    "GWEN!" Lea''s scream rippled through the air.

    She had been caught only for a moment, no more than a second or two, but such an interval was an eternity for a sorceress dodging spellfire.

    Her world grew momentarily white.

    The Balefire''s full-force Lava Bursts erupted almost on top of her, followed by acid and ooze and a dozen other globs of energised matter conjured by Dwarven Spellswords.

    Lea instantly congealed into her humanoid form, forming a triple-layer of semi-sphere Water Shields to fend away the incoming assaults. Bodily, the Undine dived on top of Gwen, bowling her over so that the Demi-human''s watery figure withstood the residual energies piercing through her protective veils. The blasts connected, sending the two skittering a dozen meters away from the Citadel, leaving a long line of gouged dirt where Gwen''s armoured body had traversed, darkly stained by the gel-trail left by Lea''s dissolving form.

    Against her armour, Lea''s shuddering figure grew impossible hot, the Undine''s liquid flesh growing cloudy as charred impurities roughly penetrated her gel-like innards to lodge in her chest and abdomen.

    At the Undine'' moan of torturous agony, Gwen expelled the last of the psychic energies clouding her mind, restoring her adrenaline-addled brain to crystal clarity. With a hand half-struck into the Undine''s side, she injected a flood of unmitigated Essence, then wrapping her arms around Richard''s feverish Familiar, she formulated another Dimension Door through sheer force of will.

    "Dimension D¡ª"

    She needed a second, but as before, a single tick-tock was an eternity when a Balefire was laying down the full force of the Runic spells it knew in life.

    Gwen clenched her teeth. There would be anguish; of that, she had no doubt. But after her agony, there would be a reckoning.

    "USURP!" A mote of Void exploded just above the young women''s entangled bodies. Jean-Paul''s Signature Spell grew suddenly bloated as the manifesting mana was absorbed, then exploded as a fantastic nova of tenebrous ink, providing Gwen with the necessary split-second for her to complete the Conjuration uninterrupted.

    When she re-appeared, she was a hundred meters away and returning to their original position.

    By now, Golos was on his third Rock Smasher. As a Wyvern weened on Big Birds'' flesh, the Dwarf''s weapons were to him minor painful inconveniences. His choice then was to ignore cover and defence and solely focus on maximising ultraviolence.

    Jean-Paul as well, before aiding Gwen with a series of Dimension Doors and a well-timed Usurp, had crippled a Smasher by taking away its armaments and its legs. Even Gracie, much to Gwen''s surprise, had succeeded by utilising her Void-empowered Phantom Vertigo to send two Rock Smashers drunkenly careening into one another while firing wildly in every direction but theirs.

    However, the most assuring sight was that of her armada of hounds, finally arriving to swarm over the remaining Smasher Golems, concurrently preventing them from attacking and serving to hinder the mechanised infantry.

    "Thanks, JP."

    The Void Mage gave her an eager nod, once again willing Umzokwe to engage.

    "Is Lea alright?" She turned to Richard, who appeared to exhale as he dispelled the Undine clinging to her torso.

    "She''ll be fine," Richard assured her. "It takes time and mana to neutralise the damage. With your Essence, however, Lea should be right in ten minutes or so. The question is, are you alright?"

    "I am fine now." Gwen hesitated. "Got hit by Mind Magic, I think."

    "One of ours?" Petra''s brow furrowed. "That''s impossible unless one of the Adventurers hides their talent. The Shard''s dossiers said nothing."

    "Lass." Hanmoul''s voice burst through a glowing Glyph by her ear. "Am so sorry¡­"

    "Not now, Hanmoul," Gwen snapped at the Dwarf, genuinely upset and annoyed that they had put in all this effort, only to be met with inexplicable hostility. She knew of course that Hanmoul was not to blame, and from the looks of it, Hilda may be a victim as well. But if and when she cracked that Citadel, and if she were to find anything but dazed and worried Human Mages, there would be hell to pay.

    "Naw, Lass, yer have to listen¡ª"

    "Hanmoul!" She growled at her companion. "I don''t care about your apology. I trust you and need you to support me in whatever the hell is going to happen next. We''re going to breach that damn Citadel, and I WILL see our Mages SAFE and SOUND, and maybe Hilda if we can help it! So stop pussyfooting and tell me how to bust that thing open¡ª!"

    "LASS!" The Iron Guard''s Commandrumm, to her surprise, raised his voice as well. "I ain''t APOLOGISING, yer git! Yer''ve got incoming! My Iron Guards have reported contact in the tunnels! The bleeding Aberrants are flooding back in full force!"

    "... Fuck me, are you serious?" Gwen could hardly hear her voice over the bellowing Spellswords and the moaning Golem suits battling a tsunami of howling, yipping, yammering dogs pulling apart anything that could be targeted.

    Was this why Bronzehorn engaged them so far out from the Citadel? She wondered. Was it this Thalmar''s intent that they would be caught between the hammer and anvil that was the Obsidian Caverns and the incoming Beast Wave of Aberrants?

    It made sense¡ª but why would the Aberrants attack so opportunistically? Could the Balefire predict the future?

    "Dead serious, Lass¡ª" Hanmoul'' vox could barely be heard over the sound of warnings exploding across his instrument cluster. "My men held back every Crawler they could, but these gobblers are suicidal! They''re pouring in by the kettle load! I''ve seen this before, Gwen¡ª"

    "Like when we found you?"

    "Nay." The Commandrumm''s tone grew grim. "There''s one of them intellects! I reckon there''s one controlling the horde!"

 Chapter 394 - Dwarves in the Dark

    Dust flaked from the ceiling of Khorok Umgor''s Hall of Communion, signalling the beginning of yet another battle outside its Dwarf-forged walls. Bound and un-Klad, Hilda K¨¹l-Hildenbrandt, scion of Varekan-K¨¹l, Bringer of the Lumen, sat in the dark, her eyes glistening wetly at the pale nimbus from the extinguished light stones.

    Of course, her lineage could see perfectly well in the dark.

    What distressed her was that both herself and Ebren were no longer safe in their protective, religious garb. Worse still, Ebren''s unseen form had been strapped to an apparatus consisting of a tomb filled with inward-facing obsidian spikes, crafted from a crudely split geode. As for herself, she sat on a cushioned chair of moleskin leather, still dignified in the embryonic Klad-skin despite being bound by inscribed bands of corrupted Palladium.

    "Ebren? Are you still¡­?" Her voice was hauntingly feminine without the modification provided by the vox-caster.

    "I live yet, Mistress."

    "Who do you think is fighting outside?"

    "Commandrumm Hanmoul, without a doubt."

    "Will the Commandrumm succeed?"

    "Will he survive? No. Not if Lord Thalmar personally engages the First Legion. Not if he doesn''t flee from the Aberrant horde."

    Hilda sighed, exhaling almost all of the air in her lungs. "Kin against Kin, blood against blood. Are we to sing the Dirge of M?svian after all?"

    "I wouldn''t call those things ''Kin''," Ebren croaked. "They will never set foot in the Ancestor''s Halls. Deepholm, if it stands, shall never allow it¡ª"

    The ground shook once more, sending dust and debris down as a fine mist.

    Hilda shuddered just the same, her body shaking in the same manner as the stone walls even now under assault. Deepholm would never allow it? She wanted to believe that was true, but what if the monsters'' terms were valid and Deepholm had moved on from being Dwarfholm to something entirely aberrant?

    When Farron Galrol, Captain of the Murk Divers had removed her helmet to prove Thalmar''s point¡ª

    The Deepdowner banished the thought.

    Hilda attempted to invoke her innate talent out of sheer desperation if nothing else. Usually, the Earth-bound mana inside her body would immediately attune to the surrounding stones, but now, they only brought pain.

    "ARRRGGH¡ª ENNNNMGGH!"

    A disturbing odour of sizzling flesh escaped the Palladium bands as they heated up, turning her mind white-hot with agony. The pain, if she had to bear it, wasn''t incapacitating. Her Shape Metal, however, refused to manifest.

    "Don''t," Ebren''s voice floated through the dark, still muffled by the geode tomb. "There''s nought we can do, for now. Be patient. Know that the Ancestors have suffered more in their building of Deepholm, and yet they still built our glorious city and carved out a home for our race to prosper. All of this¡ª it will pass, or we will die. Either way, we shall return to the earth''s embrace and leave nothing for the Aberrants."

    Hilda regulated her breath until the cresting surges of agony grew dull enough for her to resume her speech. She wondered for a moment if a part of her embryonic suit had now welded to her skin.

    "Were you tempted, Ebren?" she asked between huffs, her vision blurry with frustration. "By what that ''thing'' offered?"

    "If what they say is true," Ebren replied. "I could see why some would join them. The Elders have always envied the Knife-ears, and it isn''t as though attempts to prolong their life weren''t made in the past. The Chamber of the Eternal Cog is half-choked with Vadam designs, how many, Brumdahr knows, have escaped us?"

    "Were you not¡­ fascinated? Even in the slightest?"

    "I am your Keeper, milady." The wizened Dwarf''s voice grew pained. "We are our duties, Hilda. Never mind immortality. Never lust after boundless knowledge. If we forsake our debt to our Kin and our Ancestors, how could we still be Dwarves? We may as well be¡­"

    "¡­ Aberrants?" Hilda felt a smile touch her lips. A split-second later, her heart grew sore enough to bleed. "Ebren, do you think the other Citadels are aware?"

    "¡­ I hope they live in ignorance," Ebren said. "If they are not¡ª"

    CRACK!

    Khorok Umgor jumped.

    They were underground, and short of an Elder Earthen Dragon turning in its sleep, the cavern couldn''t collapse. Hilda looked up, seeing the cracks just now appearing in the ceiling. The wards would hold¡ª for they were designed precisely for incidents such as this, but what force could shake the Citadel''s very foundations?

    Hanmoul''s Legion? She wondered. More Balefires Golems?

    "B¨¹rumm-Dal, give thy scions strength," her Keeper murmured in the dark even as the crystalline shards slowly bled the life from his enfeebled veins. "If we art to die, let us die as Dwarves."

    "Yer not worried, lassie?" Hanmoul, son of Dwomrul, grandson of Handrek Bronzeborn, first of his name, struggled to fathom the leap in prowess his sorceress "mate" effortlessly demonstrated. Since their chance encounters less than a Himmseg cycle ago, the Human Mage''s potential for destruction had risen ten-fold.

    For the Dwarf, such growth was a terrifying prospect. If Himmseg''s other Mages would improve as she did, then the Deepdowners were right to fear humanity''s ambitions. Hanmoul was thankful, therefore, that Gwen trusted him enough to confess that she was a unique existence among the sorcerous millions inhabiting the Mageocracy.

    "Why would I be worried?" The young female stood beside his barricade of Swiftstriders all lined up to form an impromptu fort, their exteriors clad with conjured obsidian, creating a formidable hedgehog barricade. The girl had called the manoeuvre "Encircling the Wagons", though for Hanmoul''s Iron Guards, the tactic was standard fare for transportation crews travelling through the Murk.

    Swallowing his nerves, Hanmoul examined the map panel, marking the tide of red blips swarming down from the sides. Most were funnelling into the very tunnel they had dug to access Khorok Umgor, while others slipped through gaps and cracks, or used their innate talents to make new passageways.

    Below Hanmoul, Bronzehorn''s Iron Guards were by now subdued or disabled, rounded up and held at sword-point with their Smashers added as material to the barricade. Most of them appeared groggy and confused, and more than a few, Hanmoul suspected, would never recover their senses. As for Bronzehorn himself¡ª once Hanmoul''s men could cut the poor sod from his Smasher suit, he had to be restored by Lady Petra''s Spellcube then dressed by their medic, Barva, so that interrogation could take place.

    "It is Mind Magic, I am confident," the lassie''s cousin had informed them. "I''ll do what I can, but this doesn''t feel like sorcery we employ. The entrenchment of the glamour is pure brute-force."

    "Alright." Gwen nodded, then again pointed to the danger from the Citadel. "Hanmoul, you think Thalmar will join the fray?"

    "Nay, lass." Hanmoul shook his head. Dwarves as a whole disfavoured assaults while there was a wall to stand behind. The tactic of bunkering against foes was something hardwired into the Dwarven conscience. Without radical intervention and tactical experience, it was categorically extraordinary for a Dwarven force to abandon a stronghold.

    "How about Ebren and Hilda? They could make for powerful military assets if they act against us."

    "Not a chance, lass." Once more, he put Gwen to ease knowing that if "Their Deepdowners" were complicit, the pair would have shown their face by now. If Hilda desired, Hanmoul would be duty-bound to escort Gwen from Khorok Umgor if both Deepdowners demanded as such.

    For these reasons, the Commandrumm had sworn by the Ancestor Ir?ngut that they could take their time dealing with the Aberrant swarm before refocusing their attention on the problem of the rogue Engineseer and the mystery of their missing Mages and Deepdowners.

    "Gracie, this is going to get rough!" The girl called out from above. "Best make sure your Contingency Ring is firmly affixed. That said, any luck with our Captain?"

    "Nothing yet," Petra reported back. "We''re trying, but his brain''s more wool than grey matter."

    Hanmoul felt his chest constrict. He had known Bronzehorn since he was a lad. He had fought in the same tunnel as Bronzehorn''s father.

    BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

    The instrument panel he had extracted from the cockpit was now more red than black, indicating an imminent incursion.

    "It''s time," Hanmoul informed the others.

    "We''re surrounded? Good. Just like old times," the arrogant grumbling from above their makeshift Golem-fort was from Golos. Presently, the Wyvern had returned to its full size.

    Hanmoul felt envy at the Wyvern''s confidence, for if he had a body with a reach of almost twelve meters and the armour to withstand a full-strength blow from a Hulk, he would also revel in all-out-combat.

    The sorceress ignored her pet Wyvern. Instead, she sent Caliban deeper until it hid under the surface in its Wyrm form, saving it as a pleasant surprise should their enemies bunch up.

    Standing beside the girl, Hanmoul felt his Core shudder as invisible waves of Negative Energy cascaded from her armour.

    BEEP! BEEP! His instruments flashed their final warnings.

    Caliban was not in luck. As anticipated, rather than rushing through the tunnel as a single, mindless swarm, the Aberrant force was banked on the other side and sifting through the bedrock.

    Some of the signatures were enormous, indicating Hulks. Others suggested Centaur variants. Thankfully, most appeared to be Crawlers or their lesser cousins, the near-mindless Collectors. The whole nest, Hanmoul judged, was out for blood. Was this because Gwen had eradicated a brood earlier? He had never thought that Aberrants could hold grudges, which was why the present scenario further lent credence to his suspicion of a "Dark Intellect" guiding their foe.

    If so, someone had to be tasked with finding and eradicating the thing. In Hanmoul''s experience, so long as the "mind'' was close by, not until the last Aberrant fell and the earth grew fallow with their poisoned blood would the monsters know retreat.

    PLOP!

    A stone fell from the wall, revealing a pair of pinching pincers widening the path.

    "How many are in the first wave?" Gwen spoke, her complexion rapidly regaining its haleness after Caliban presumably took its share.

    "Three hundred, not less." Hanmoul performed the calculations with a glance. "Mostly fodder, unless they overwhelm us."

    "Good." The girl nodded. "JP, Richard, cover our flanks."

    "Yes, boss!" the lass'' followers replied from their vantage platforms on the fort.

    "Lea, don''t let anything past the barricade." Richard had by now restored his always-laughing Water Sprite, a feat that was a marvel in itself.

    "I am ready!" Jean-Paul, a sorcerer Hanmoul had initially perceived as a half-Hob, stood on the opposite side. "Nothing will get through."

    The remaining two lasses, together with Barva, were still trying to get Bronzehorn to talk, or at least find out what had muddled his mind.

    Finally, it was Hanmouls'' turn.

    "LADS!" the Commandrumm broadcasted to his crew. "This is it, Iron Guards! When that wave of rot hits, it''s us against the tide! The odds are in our favour, so show nae fear! Keep up the fort, keep our allies safe, and keep bevvy ter drink the lassie''s Mao-tai after!"

    "YES! COMMANDRUMM!" came a resounding reply, fired up the thought of vital, Essence-infused alcohol from around the other side of Himmseg.

    The ground shook.

    More debris fell, irking the Wyvern perched atop the barricade.

    "Confn!" The Wyvern vocalised in guttural Draconic. "Aldoer ekess dout marfedelom!"

    "SKKAAARRRRK!" As if in reply, a dozen more blocks of debris burst into fragments, revealing pallid, scrabbling bodies struggling to escape the loose stones.

    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

    "Ready?" Gwen asked him.

    "Aye. Ready." Hanmoul''s fingers rested on the control units of the twin Spellswords mounted atop his Swiftstrider, now re-tooled into repair armaments. "Remember, look fer the one that does the Swarm''s thinking."

    "Will do," the girl replied. "Alrighty then, EVERYONE! Cover your ears!"

    Hanmoul felt his Core hum as the gathering of Elemental Air and Positive Energy collected beside him, a stark contrast to the life-draining aura from before. The girl''s eyes glowed blue then white, then took on a viridescent hue, transforming the sparks that leapt from her blue armour into vivid bursts of earth-seeking electricity. The toiling mana continued building for several seconds, so much that Hanmoul was sure his instruments were on the verge of popping their gaskets.

    A hum of discerning tinnitus slowly built in the space between Hanmoul''s head as Essence and Lightning mingled within Ariel''s, growing so powerful as to distort the Invisibility shielding it from view, turning its antlers into twin branches of solid, glowing plasma.

    The Dwarf covered his ears as told.

    Gwen took a deep breath, then unleashed the fury of a continent.

    "BARBANGINY!"

    The ground shook.

    The cavern jumped.

    Stones leapt into the air like struck Gobs while sleeping stalactites fell as summoned spears onto the transgressing Aberrants below.

    To Gwen''s knowledge, Walken''s Thundering Shatter had never been used in a place like this, nor had it ever been mustered with the full force of overcharged, maximised meta-magic together with Mystic Essence.

    Perhaps because Almudj was itself an embodiment of lightning fulminating over cane fields¡ª or maybe the granite stratum''s quartz and basalt were prone to such disruption¡ª her spell distorted the air, blurred all vision, then struck the far grotto with the force of a Leviathan sliding into Sydney harbour.

    The dark cave turned shadowless.

    Even with their ears covered and Ariel rerouting power, Gwen''s crew suffered. Hanmoul''s screens exploded into a thousand shards; instrument panels popped and cladding shed their bolts to the din of clattering and clanging.

    The rock wall split and sundered, crushing the Aberrants tunnelling through with a glacial mass of liquified stone turned into ten-million pieces of rolling debris. Those that escaped or were too robust to instantly perish stood stunned as the rocks turned to slag, crushing their ichorous bodies in a spontaneous avalanche of cascading slabs.

    Hanmoul''s Dwarves did their best to shield the party from the deluge of boulders, as did Richard. For the next few minutes and more, all Gwen''s allies could focus on was managing not to be crushed by the disaster their leader had created, paying no heed to the enemies that once threatened to swallow them in a grotesque tide of teeth and claw.

    "ROAAARR!" Golos battered away the fallen stones with his enormous wings, sending the rocks flying into the panicked swarm. Having the Wyvern assume its original shape proved foresightful, for the drake''s reach sufficiently covered the "fort" made by the Dwarves. Likewise, though tumbling bits of igneous shards were deadly to an undefended Dwarf or Human Mage, the Wyvern''s Draconic constitution made light work of otherwise haphazard labour.

    "They''re still coming through, but the first wave is pretty much a done deal." Petra, who kept a Clairvoyance Cube handy, took up relay duties when the Dwarves reported that they could no longer rely on their displays.

    "How many?" Gwen asked through their communication devices. Almost all of their ears still buzzed with the aftermath of the Thundering Shatter.

    "More than enough."

    "Good!" she exclaimed. "I thought there wouldn''t be enough to fill-in for future expenditure. JP! Let loose the Hounds!"

    "OKAY," the Void Mage shouted back. "UMZOKWE!"

    The Afrikaner''s slinking Void leeches, joined by Gwen''s dogs and lead by a slithering white Umzokwe and an obsidian Buck, raced for the carnage.

    While the dogs cleared the distance, the slag heap began to shift and move. Crumbled granite and inert bodies were pushed apart, revealing distended limbs and powerful torsos that had not only survived the collapse but were now forcing the carcasses of their allies out of mangled tunnels. From Gwen''s vantage, she couldn''t help but shudder at the sight, for the scene appeared as though a nightmarish vision of pallid wasps emerging from a shattered hive to sting and stab at their hateful enemies.

    "Will you look at that," Richard remarked. "There''s a Hulk dragging itself out, guts and all. Damn these things are tenacious."

    Following her cousin''s thumb, Gwen''s Essence-fed eyes saw a six-limbed siege Hulk pulling itself forward, only now its powerful torso ended where a length of exposed spine unfurled rope-loads of its purple digestive tract.

    "I don''t know if these things feel misery." She swallowed the bitter bile. "But I am sure as hell am going to put them out of it."

    "Cleanse Mind!"

    Mind Magic was different to Enchantment in that almost all of its manifestations were without visual components. Therefore, the hallmark of a good Mind Mage was subtlety.

    Likewise for the victim, good Mind Magic was subconscious, unseen and natural in its application. The recipient should not feel an overtly adverse aftereffect other than a headache or a bout of fatigue, or fuzzy recollections of young women and alcohol.

    In scrutinising Bronzeborn, Petra felt tempted to ask if a Chinese or Russian Mind Wipe team had gotten to the Dwarf¡ª for the Captain''s continued mental degradation had reduced the pilot''s cerebral state to that of a drooling imbecile.

    To her chagrin, the same effect had spread among the surviving Iron Guards under Bronzeborn, all of whom now sat demure and sedated, battered and exhausted in a modified Wall of Crystals Petra conjured to prevent the Dwarves from escaping with their innate Earthen talents.

    While Gwen and company delayed the Aberrant tide, their job was to gather intelligence from the survivors, though presently, she might as well be fishing in a ditch.

    Together with Gracie, the two had attempted every method from Renew Mind to Dispel Magic to Greater Dispel. When those failed, Gracie gave Hallucination and Cloud Sense a run for their money.

    When nothing worked, the medic ran diagnostics on the enfeebled Bronzehorn, finally revealing the presence of an embedded "object"¡ª the reason why whenever Petra attempted to glamour the delirious Bronzehorn, her sorcery sunk into the Dwarf''s mind like a river into the sea.

    "Cog! What in the Ancestors'' name is this?" Barva Katri, Hanmoul''s Medical Officer, held down what remained of Captain Bronzehorn with one hand. "There''s a wound under his right eye, his sclera''s bruised to bits."

    "Let''s see." Gracie leaned in. "Ouch, that looks nasty. I think they forced something into his head."

    "Or something forced itself into his head..." Petra took a second to compose herself. "I guess now we know ''how''. The question now is ''what''..."

    According to Hanmoul, for such a Captain-ranked officer to turn willingly¡ª and in a manner that was so stupid and reckless, belied every training exercise Hanmoul and his men had ever conducted. Furthermore, Bronzehorn''s family still lived in the Craftsmen''s District, meaning even if he had succeeded, not only would he bring shame, his family would suffer for his ambition as well.

    If so, what did this portend?

    Was this the "Dark Intellect" that Hanmoul proposed was behind all this? Most importantly, was this being the one that attempted a Hold Monster on Gwen''s person?

    At the Tower, the Mind Mages were taught many things.

    How to tease; how to please; how to talk, and most importantly, how to listen. Master Popov never mentioned underground monsters capable of Mind Magic, certainly not ones that dug into a person''s brain.

    The girls regarded the Dwarven combat medic expectantly.

    "What?" The Dwarf furrowed her bushy brows. "You don''t expect me to open his skull here? Aberrants are howling all over, fer Ancestor''s sake! Besides, he''s still alive!"

    Petra considered the cost of ignoring the Dwarf''s feelings and just cleaving into Bronzehorn''s skull.

    "Pats!" Gwen''s voice rang from above, saving her from such a decision. "How''s it looking? What did you find out?"

    It took only ten minutes for the tide to turn.

    "Buck! Return! JP! Get Ume back to base!" Gwen ordered the dogs to retreat. "Pats! How''s it looking? What did you find out?"

    After the Void Hounds tore apart and consumed the stragglers, a fresh wave of Aberrants began to push through the debris. The newcomers possessed a madness that surprised even Gwen, for they burst from the stone-piles and immediately snatched at the Void Hounds. A few that were still feeding on twitching Aberrants fell victim to elongated limbs with grasping claws, suffering near-critical damage before what remained of their corporeal forms could slip away and regenerate.

    "Sorry, Gwennie. His head''s cotton candy," her cousin reported from below. "Hanmoul''s right, though. Something was controlling him. Something like a device or a parasite on par with Dominate Mind."

    "... Fuck, I am so sorry, Hanmoul." Gwen turned to the Commandrumm with a face full of sympathy. Their initial plan had been to gain intelligence and then act on it. Now¡ª they''d have to play it by ear. "How do you want to proceed?"

    "We must find the Aberrant''s whip," Hanmoul commented through his viewfinder. "Easier said than done though, lassie. These new buggers look old and experienced with better spell resistance ter boot. It''s nae going ter be an easy fight."

    "It would be if we can funnel them." Gwen watched her dogs retreat. "Dick, any ideas? What do you think about a V-shaped Blade Barrier? Maybe I can flood the place with an Elemental Swarm? I am not sure how effective that would be though¡ª these Aberrants aren''t very vital."

    Her cousin''s eyes shone with a keen malevolence. Gwen knew Richard had been on more adventures than she had and could always be trusted to give good advice. "You''re looking to ambush them with Cali, correct?"

    "Yeah, but the buggers are skirmishing us now. They''ve learned."

    "Then don''t use Cali for mass-Consume." Richard looked over the barricade. "I''d say we save Cali as a hunter-killer unit. Hanmoul said the Aberrants would fight to the last monster if their leader lives, right? Then all we need to do is focus on finding and Consuming the leader."

    Gwen nodded. Dick''s proposal made sense.

    "At the same time, we can try to mill the swarm down¡ª I mean, it is not as though we have a choice. We can surround the Strider with a Lightning Blade Barrier, and set the space above us with a Void variant of Cloud Kill. Have the dogs fight them outside for as long as possible, let the numbers build, then we can focus on AOE. At some point, one of us can locate this ''Dark Intellect'' of Hanmoul''s, after which Cali can nix it."

    "Gracie and I can try and Scry its whereabouts," Petra informed the party. "How are you planning to get to it if we do?"

    "Cali can dig undetected, correct?"

    "More or less," Gwen said. "With enough vitality at its disposal, anyway."

    "SHAA! SHAA!" Caliban echoed the sentiment in her mind.

    Gwen briefly pictured an infamous worm from a specific sandy planet full of spice. Caliban was nowhere near such epic, mythic proportions, but she was confident a "Wyrm" with two dozen lamprey tentacles would have no trouble stuffing an Aberrant brain into its gullet.

    "Alright, that sounds good to me." Gwen turned to the rest of the party. "Hanmoul, can your Swiftstriders hold up?"

    "Aye, my Guards and I will keep the fort standing, or meet the Ancestors trying..." the Commandrumm nodded. "Do what yer must, girlie. Don''t worry yer whiskers about old Hanmoul."

    "Nonsense. We''re the ones with Contingency Rings," Gwen reminded Hanmoul while self-consciously touching the top of her lips for said whiskers. "We''ll survive, more or less, but you and your kin might become the next wave of Aberrants¡­"

    "Ha! Ir?ngut would turn in the Ancestor''s Halls before that happens!" The Dwarf steeled his eyes. "Alright, lads! Yer heard the Devourer! Let nothing through! Bumrorlim! Keep yer ears to the ground and make sure none of the buggers undermines us! We survive this, and I''ll give yer Bronzehorn''s Third Legion!"

    "Yes, Commandrumm!" Hanmoul''s cousin saluted with a Sign of the Interlocking Cog.

    ¡°Tordok, Tordum, Grimgal!¡±

    "Til'' the Ancestors call!"

    "AYE!" Hanmoul flexed his gauntlets, returning the Cog Sign. "Do or Die, LADS! Show them Murk rats that Dwarves bow to no monster!"

    Without their IIUC experience, Gwen was confident her party would have shat their pants by now.

    As predicted, the reemerging Aberrants punching through the debris field were either veterans or upper-tier variants, both individually cunning and capable of working in small groups. Even a single kill was fraught with danger, for when Gwen harried the pallid monstrosities with her dogs, she found that more often than not, they either ignored her bait or set ambushes.

    Though the encounter''s slow escalation to an all-out melee felt as slow as molasses, in real-time, it took only a few minutes for Gwen''s wagon-circle to be completely overwhelmed.

    "BLADE BARRIER!"

    A glowing halo of electric current ignited at the wagon fort''s base, sparking into life arcing plasma blades by the hundreds. Unlike the vorpal edge of the Void barrier, the energy-based blades could only leave gashes and gouges on the scarred flesh of the pale marauders milling into their killing zone. The deterrent, however, was efficient enough to dissuade both the Crawlers and the long-limbed Collectors.

    "ROOOOWARR!" Golos was a blur of tooth and claw, club and wing, thrashing, throwing, biting and tossing Aberrants from the Dwarf-made mound, role-playing a future king of the hill. In only a dozen rounds of melee, his lower torso grew coated in corrosive ichor, though thanks to his Draconic constitution, the searing agony only roused his ire.

    "Chain Lightning!" a sonorous female voice rang out from within the skittering pile of stabbing legs trying to drag down the Wyvern. The first chain struck out from below, while the second and third chains leapt from nearer the ceiling where a pseudo-Kirin acted the spell turret.

    CRACK¡ªBOOM! An echoing fulmination broke across the cavern.

    The top of the wagon-fort glowed viridescent with currents of criss-crossing electricity, then exploded as the compressed energies of the upper-tier evocation erupted, sending a mass of limbs and body parts flying through the air.

    Golos howled, revelling in the violence.

    "Lightning Sphere!"

    The Aberrants cramming into the void left by the previous attack fell back as multiple electric novae rang out, empowering the Thunder Wyvern and sending their foe skittering.

    "WEAK!" Golos cackled. "CALAMITY! MORE!"

    "EE!" came a thrilling battle cry from above. Ariel''s horns were white-hot with inefficiently expended mana. Gwen grunted, sharing in the stifling agony Ariel sustained when shifting Elemental Lightning through its conduits. With its repressed Affinity, the effort applied was like squeezing a bag of over-thick batter through a clogged sieve.

    "Ball Lightning!" Four more explosions tore through the undulating pile of pallid skin and sinews, clearing a path for less than a second before other bodies piled in.

    If anything, the battle''s direction made it apparent that either the Aberrants all died¡ª or the Human Mages OoMed and Teleported back, leaving their Dwarven "Mates" to suffer fates worse than death.

    "LEA! LEFT FLANK!" Richard directed Lea''s super-pressurised jets toward a pair of jaws that had bitten through the reinforced sheet metal of the Swiftstrider barricade. The pummelling mass of super-pressurised water instantly filled the gap, bloating the offending maw with so much liquid that the stiffening body behind it exploded like a popped balloon.

    "Grimgal!" Hanmoul redirected his crew even as he repaired another punctured hole made by the monstrous beings.

    "Got it!" Grimgal steered the tethered Spellsword back toward the momentarily empty hole. Ignoring the ichor and the gore, she welded shut the rent just in time to catch a scribbling pair of elongated digits trying to widen the gap, severing the finger so suddenly that the fallen extremity continued to dance on the venom soaked floor.

    Opposite, JP served the same purpose as Richard with his Signature Spell Usurpation, filling in rents and holes with motes of self-expanding Void matter that fed on the flesh of their enemies. Unlike Gwen''s Enervating Orb, the Void Mage''s spell possessed the means to condense Void matter under his complete control, minimising friendly fire.

    Gracie and Petra stood on elevated platforms in the middle, guarding their collection of drooling prisoners and firing off support spells to ease the burden on their defenders. Concurrently, the girls had Scrying pools conjured in front of them as they scanned for signs of whatever was controlling the swarm. Each took a quadrant, and each searched for static mana signatures within the roving sea of moving pings and blips.

    "I think we found it!" Gracie shouted up at the floating Mages fending off the swarm. "Er¡­ I think?"

    "What is it?" Their leader finished off another round of explosive, Aberrant rending Evocation.

    With one hand, Petra threw the projection forward until the Scrying pool expanded for all to see.

    "CHAIN LIGHTNING!" Gwen fired off another volley of Lightning Bolts, feeling her tank drop to half. Upon seeing Hanmoul''s boogieman, her eyes widened. "The F¡ª M-Mysterio? No, wait, is that a Dwarf?"

    In the mirage-like pane, the party observed a Dwarf garbed in rubbery armour from head to toe, with an overlarge helmet of semi-translucent obsidian in the form of an upturned fishbowl. Left without context, none of them would have suspected their offender of being anything other than a Dwarf in a Murk suit. However, within the Scryed vision, the stunted Demi-human stood in a tunnel crawling with Aberrants, directing the troops.

    "B¨¹rumm-Dal''s Beard!" Hanmoul''s voice came from below. "That''s Farron Galrol, Captain of the Murk Divers! WHY?"

    "Never mind why." Gwen cast her eyes toward the insensible Iron Guards of Bronzehorn''s Legion then back toward the projection. In her mind, she willed her tunnelling Wyrm forward toward the location Gracie had indicated. "Cali¡­ I want that thing nixed..."

 Chapter 395 - The Calamari Among Us

    Hidden in the outer orbital passage of Khorok Umgor, a Klad-covered silhouette stood among leaping, howling masses of warped flesh bellowing for blood.

    If any Dwarves were present, they would have recognised the visage as that of a Murk Diver, a specialist Legionnaire trained in infiltration, discovery, and mineral-finding. However, they might wonder why such an august member of the Citadel kept company with a ravening horde of rabid chimaeras.

    Furthermore, if they could see the throbbing organ hidden within the semi-opaque obsidian helmet, stimulating the glans grown into the Aberrants'' spines, they would grow warier still.

    "SKARRK!" the dome Dwarf screeched.

    A pulse of reverberating telepathy rang out, bouncing around the walls and the bodies of its numberless minions, whipping the swarm forward.

    A second later, its echoing thought returned with the assurance that there were no enemies near. Satisfied, it reached out once more, seizing each node of bestial consciousness embedded in the retarded organs of its minions.

    Despite its numeric supremacy, the creature was worried; for against all expectation, the battle had gone awry.

    Though diminished by distance, it participated in the anxiety of its brood still bastioned in the Citadel, rushing to create the Thralls necessary to halt the Human incursion so they wouldn''t have to.

    Initially, their entwined wisdom had deduced that the Human Mages would soon be exhausted. Collectively, they understood that where Dwarves seldomly wielded overwhelming power, their longevity and ability to re-arm and fortify made them troublesome prey. On the other tentacle, the Humans began every battle with overwhelming prowess but seldom could continue the fight longer than a stone cycle. Both were conclusions directly extracted from their Thralls'' grey matter, and therefore could not be false.

    Thus far, despite heavy losses on their side, the newly arrived Human Mages did not appear to be losing mana.

    Nonetheless, the brood was confident the Humans should exhaust themselves shortly.

    And once captured, these august specimens would add to the brood''s body of knowledge.

    Verily, it looked forward to inhabiting the alpha female. Earlier, it had entered her mind and found the vitality of her body more exquisite than anything it had ever experienced since emerging from the brine pool.

    Unfortunately for the thoughtful Dwarf, it did not notice its favourite female''s Familiar rapidly ascending from below, paralleling its predatory thoughts.

    Therefore, the "Dark Intellect" realised far too late that some aberrant thing was about to breach the stones beneath its feet.

    The floor below it shrunk in the manner of a rapidly-forming sink hole possessing the pull of a Maelstrom. That and several tentacles, each armed with lamprey lips not uncommon to the demi-plane where it lived had pierced into its Klad-suit.

    In a blind panic, the creature aimed its will downward and musted all its might for a psionic strike.

    Its thoughts, which would usually stun or pierce the mind of any lucid foe, rolled over the expanding tripartite lips like water off a Murk eel''s hide.

    Out of beak-clenching habit, the doomed creature performed a final act¡ª probing its killer''s mind to send a warning back to its brood.

    Hunger¡ª that was the thought its abominable mind communicated.

    Depthless, insatiable hunger.

    "Did ya get em, lassie?" Hanmoul shouted from below. "Is it nixed?"

    "A snap and shut case," Gwen informed her party over their Message Devices, shaking herself out of Caliban VR lest her hunger grew too tangled with her Familiar''s. "Alright, Hanmoul, let''s see if your hypothesis is correct. Gracie, you can ease off now."

    "Okay!" Their newest member withdrew the vitality expenditure of her Phantasmal Force. As an illusionist, her phantom "Hounds" cost significantly less life-force than Gwen''s Conjuration variant. The offset was that Void Illusions lacked the advantage of Negative Drain, albeit pitted against the right opponent, she could instil spontaneous insanity. In the future, Gwen figured, Gracie would have to create Signature Spells, a noteworthy but not improbable feat, especially considering her tenure at Cambridge and the enthusiasm of Maxwell Brown.

    Clad in static as a neon goddess, Gwen let loose consecutive Lightning Bolts. As much as her rip-roaring mass-bombardment spells showed off the extraordinary destructive potential of her Affinity, the simplicity of the tier 3 staple relaxed rather than taxed her mind.

    "HA! WEAK!" Golos shouted from above, raining spittle and bloody foam down on his team members. Rents and gashes covered the Wyvern from tail to toe and marred the length of his majestic neck. The flesh wounds looked worse than they were in actuality, but even so, the horror made Gwen frown. "They''re more lively now. Calamity, did your fiend consume another nest or what?"

    Golos'' guess was as good as her''s, Gwen thought as she observed the leaping horde piling on top of one another, impaling themselves on whatever space was left, even if it meant humping an obsidian shard. Once more, she thought of what would happen if these creatures ever made it to the surface. If the Siege of Sydney replaced zealous Mermen looking to loot with these stomachs on legs, what manner of a catastrophe would that engender?

    Then it happened.

    The assault of the Aberrant tide lost their singular focus.

    Individually, the monsters were still fighting fit. From Gwen''s levitated vantage, however, she sensed that something had pulled the adrenaline plug and replaced it with a general madness. Not only were the monsters fighting Golos, her Mages, and the scant Morden''s Hounds that still lived, they were now also fighting among themselves.

    It must be the hunger¡ª a stray thought filtered through. The Aberrants'' bodies are not unlike hers in that while active, they consumed vital internal energies to fuel their frenzy. Now that she had robbed their nest and its essential nutrients, the hive must hunt indefinitely or perish. Whatever the case, she acknowledged that these "Dark Intellects" that Hanmoul mentioned must be truly sadistic with designs utterly alien to Humanity and its allies.

    "How''s it look?" Hanmoul asked anxiously. "Did nix''n Farron Galrol help?"

    Gwen returned her attention to the undulating tide of bodies bashing against their barricade and now one another. Whenever a claw or maw pierced the rubbery hide of an ally, the accidental violence would engender a maddened blur of frenzied self-destruction. Like hens pecking at a diseased companion, fresh carnage would break loose near the wounded Aberrant, be they Hulk or Centaur, ending when the victim became gnawed, brittle bone.

    But of course, such furore would never end at one victim. In the insane scramble for food, others would emerge, wounded by the insensible, omnidirectional attacks. Like street cats thrown into a bag, the Aberrants turned from fighting Dwarves and Humans to each other, with pockets of the swarm descending entirely into derangement.

    All monsters had weaknesses, Gwen profoundly observed. For the Aberrants, was destroying the nest the lynchpin? Or was it the extinction of Mysterio Dwarf? Or perhaps both?

    "I think," Petra observed the fray from below through Scry. "That the ''Dark Intellect'' Dwarf must be suppressing the instincts of these creatures to keep them advancing as an orderly horde. We see it with the Highland Demi-humans and the High Shamans of the Northern Steppes who make use of monster tides."

    "Like a node?" Gwen whipped at the horde mercilessly. Was Petra right? Was Mysterio merely a relay, like the ones refracting resonance from a Shield Generator?

    "Ya think?" Hanmoul''s expression remained grim. "If Farron''s a node¡ª then what''s the source?"

    "SHAA¡ªSHAA!" Just in time, Caliban''s arrival brought answers the party sought.

    "What''s that?" Gwen asked of her Familiar when Cali began to act coy through their mental link. "You brought me something?"

    In her mind, the worm nodded. The inference Gwen had empathically received was the understanding that one of her cats had caught something in the garden and was now taking it inside the house for show and tell.

    "SHAA!" Caliban pierced through the crust at the bottom of the barricade, merely inconvenienced by the transmuted metal as its caustic Void-saliva melted through the warded steel.

    "Ancestor''s Beard!" Hanmoul swore. "Give us a warning, lass!"

    "Shaa! SHAA!" Caliban rose until its upper body hovered above the Swiftstrider barricade. It wiggled its bloated waist, as if to show off, then split itself in twain by peeling back its shell.

    "Alright, alright." Hanmoul waved off the apology with a gauntleted hand, fighting the induced vertigo.

    The Wyrm''s faceless mien leaned over, then with an enthused SHAA! Its tongues rolled outwards, vomiting forth its prize. The party collective ceased breathing for a moment as the contents of Caliban''s gullet poured onto the metal planks.

    Their prize consisted mostly of piecemeal Aberrants coated in corrosive Void-goo, that and blocks of precious metal collected during its passage.

    Most importantly, there was a Dwarf¡ª or what''s left of a Dwarf''s upper torso, sans legs, one arm, left lumbar and most of her innards. What surprised Gwen was that she had only thought of capturing the Dwarf in passing and had not given express orders for its recovery. Could this imply a new tier of empathic understanding in her Familiar?

    "Clever girl!" She patted her Familiar.

    "Farron Galrol!" Hanmoul recognised the inscriptions on the armour. "Ancestor''s Beard! What a way ter go."

    "Shaa! Shaa!" Caliban slid wetly into its hole, then reemerged in a manner that was borderline obscene. "SHAA!"

    "Of course you can," Gwen understood her Familiar''s desire to burst in on the anarchic Aberrants to harvest whatever life it could.

    With another happy "SHAA!" Caliban slid itself back into the vertical tunnel like a jack-in-the-box, causing Golos to expel an audible whimper.

    Gwen looked up.

    The Wyvern''s blaming eyes met her demanding gaze.

    A split-second of understanding passed between Master and Wyvern.

    "Good work, Gogo," Gwen delivered her heartfelt praise. Gogo had worked hard this time around. The missing scales and the sheer volume of corroded wounds on the drake''s body was plentiful evidence of how hard the Wyvern had fought for her sake. "Essence and SPAM later? These Aberrants are rather malnourished¡­"

    Golos returned to clubbing Aberrants with a grunt.

    "J-P!" She re-engaged command of the field. "I think we can start mop-up operations. I''ll take left flank¡ª you take the right."

    "Yes, Ma''am!" Jean-Paul agreed without complaint. "Umzokwe!"

    The freshly reborn leech slithered from the Void to happily vault the barrier, hungry for confused Aberrants. To aid in their efforts, Jean-Paul conjured corpse worms akin to Umzokwe, while Gwen settled for a threesome of vitality-harvesting Hydras.

    "How many dogs have we got left?" Gwen asked her crew.

    Petra indicated that her dogs were spent, as did Jean-Paul.

    Richard''s perishable pets hung around thanks to their ability to turn incorporeal via Lea but would serve little purpose as hunter-killers. As for Gwen''s dogs, all had died to the crushing horde of tooth and claw, fulfilling their purpose.

    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    "Any reaction from the citadel and our Engineseer?" Gwen demanded of Hanmoul. "This Farron fellow was one of their''s, I assume."

    "Aye." Hanmoul left the defence to his men and approached the helmeted carcass of the Murk Diver''s Captain. "She WAS a Master-tier Diver, one of the best Earth Striders in Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth. It''s a nasty way ter perish, getting nixed by the Void. And aye, Khorok Umgor remains silent."

    "They don''t want to strike while we''re OoM?" Gwen furrowed her brows.

    She had enough left to fight, though she couldn''t say the same for the traditional casters in her party like Richard. Petra as well was running low as she had provided buffs and defence together with active barrier-building.

    "Well, we''re in a fort." Hanmoul pointed out something that no Dwarf would deny. "They''re in a better fort. And they''re Dwarves. As I said, abandoning defensive positions isn''t in their blood."

    Gwen mulled over the Commandrumm''s fuzzy logic while the battle between their monsters seesawed back and forth.

    For another hour, the carnage continued, with most of the killing performed by herself and Jean-Paul''s minions until finally, the Aberrant horde began to disperse. Even as the pale and skittering bodies started to retreat into the dark crevices of the cavern, Caliban and Umzokwe pursued, dragging limbs and half-consumed torsos down from ceilings with sticky projectiles, or dragging screeching creatures underground with pink tentacled tongues. Her Hydras, lacking the Familiars'' speed, went about slurping up broken stragglers, too damaged to escape, too wounded to fight.

    The spectacle was mesmerising even for the hardboiled Mages. Without Gwen and Jean-Paul present, they would have wondered which side were theirs.

    "Umm¡­ Gwen?" It was Gracie who raised her hand and dispelled the stupor. Gwen had tasked her and Petra to pry apart the rubbery, interlocking armour, hoping to reveal some worthy intel Bronzehorn had failed to elucidate. "I think you and Hanmoul need to come and see this. I believe we found your ''Dark Intellect''."

    Still mystified by the lack of response from Khorok Umgor, Gwen dropped down with Richard, putting Golos in charge of any overambitious Aberrants seeking final glory.

    "I am here," their sparkle-fingered leader landed. "What''s the¡ª HOLY HELL, WHAT THE FUCK?"

    There was a Merman''s head, INSIDE the Dwarf''s helmet. Where Farron''s "face" should be, she was dead set staring at a Mon Calamari.

    "Is it dead?" Gwen could hardly believe her eyes. Had the Mermen penetration of the Planes come so far as to infiltrate the Murk? "Wow. Just like the movies."

    "Aye, tis the tentacled ''Intellect'' like the one I saw," Hanmoul confirmed her horror while ignoring her Gwenism. "But why is it wearing one of our suits?"

    From the neckband of the Diver''s suit that sealed the interior, they could see rubbery flesh more so resembling the underside of a squid; only this one had multiple skin folds that reminded Gwen of gills. Its eyes as well, were enormous and bulbous, protruding from either side of its elongated skull, tied to its face by powerful optic musculature. More notably, there were four tentacles, each ending in fingertip appendages that now lay limp on its cheeks. Within its gaping mouth, teeth that were once incisors had fused to become a parrot''s beak.

    "Imposter Dwarves!" Gwen sucked in a breath of tepid air. "Holy shit! Hilda¡ª do you think¡ª"

    "It''s not a disguise." Hanmoul shook his head. Using a length of Spellsword, the Commandrumm pried open a portion of the suit still hanging onto the carcass''s torso. There was a Glyph there, tattooed into the skin like a Ta Moko. "See here, that''s a Glyph of Dark Passage. It''s what Farron would have earned when training to be a Murk Diver. Within the inner Glyph, you can see the Cog and Anvil of House Galrol."

    "I don''t understand, why are there Mermen in the Murk this far from water?" Gwen pivoted her hypothesis. "And wearing Golem suits."

    "She''s wearing a Klad," Hanmoul said. "Those who do not wish to be tainted by the light of Himmseg wear Klad sanctified by Deepholm."

    "Alright, so that''s a Klad," Gwen nodded. "So, are these Mermen infiltrators? I heard there are underground oceans. I mean, if there are giant Brain-whales, why not a Calamari-Dwarf?"

    "Gwen, I think it''s a parasitic creature attached to Farron," Gracie pointed to the difference between the skin textures of the body and the face. "If we''re looking at a head that doesn''t match the neck, that''s usually the case. There''s lots of precedence in nature. The Evermore Mistletoe, for example, assumes complete control of the trunk. The Wright Fungi found in the Deep Murk does the same, rooting themselves inside a Murk Stinger''s spinal column to subvert the host''s control of their body. There''s a kind of aquatic Murk mite that eats their fish host''s tongue, and then becomes the tongue itself while controlling the fish¡­"

    "Jesus Christ, the Murk is underground Australia." Gwen felt her skin crawl all over. "Hanmoul, considering that we still need to know what the hell we''re fighting next. Do you want to do the honours?"

    Hanmoul pointed the sword''s tip at the centre of the squid''s head. "Am sure the Ancestors won''t mind if we need ter ken if there are imposters in our midst."

    With a swift strike, the Commandrumm split the head in twain.

    A gush of foul, yellow liquid with the consistency of yolk immediately escaped the parted skull.

    "Brumdahr''s beard, there''s no skullcap!" Hanmoul immediately cleaned his blade with a runic word. "Cuts like a rotten melon."

    "That explains the fishbowl." Gwen waited for Richard to hose down the two halves, then exhaled deeply when what they''d all been expecting came into view.

    "Where''s her brain?" Gracie''s eyes widened with horror. "Jesus, is that all in the head? There''s a heart, gills, digestive tracts, nerve vessels by the bundle..."

    "Talk about living rent-free." Gwen grimaced, then pointed to the white, fatty bits that formed a fist-shaped cluster of vessels and nerve endings. "I assume that''s the brain of the Mon Calamari and not our Dwarf."

    "Aye." Hanmoul prodded the jello-like fat. "Mon Calamari, eh?"

    Gwen traced the cross-sectioned nerves'' pattern until her eyes lingered on the beginnings of the hewed spinal column.

    "You know what?" she said suddenly, realising that they had been stunned by this turn of events without acknowledging the significance of what this portended. "While we''re standing here marvelling at our specimen, wouldn''t there be a dozen more of these fuckers inside the Citadel waiting to head-hump Hildy?"

    At once, the party of chagrined rescuers turned their attention to the pockmarked walls of Khorok Umgor.

    "Gather up and mana up," Gwen gave the order even as her blood ran ice cold. "Let''s get ready to breaking through."

    "If we had the Smashers, we might be able to entangle Thalmar," Hanmoul remarked as the Swiftstriders untangled themselves from the mangled Golem armours. From Bronzehorn, the Dwarves only managed to recover three suits, now used to defend the survivors. "As fer now, I am afraid we''ll only get in yer way."

    "Nonsense," a scarlet-cheeked Gwen replied as she rebalanced the vitality Caliban and the Hydras were feeding back into their collective vital pool. "You did well defending us, Hanmoul, and now you''re our support once more. Assuming we can recover our Mages, we''re going to need rapid exfiltration to the ISTC station in Merthyr Tydfil. No way that''s happening without you."

    The Dwarf agreed with a depressing solemnity.

    "I''ll do the fighting in your stead, Earthen one." Golos leaned his massive head closer, forming a formidable backdrop to the svelte sorceress''s profile, not unlike a classical fantasy lumen-poster. The drake appeared pleased while picking at the scabs with a claw, licking the Aberrant ichor clean. "You can owe me a debt as well, hahaha¡­"

    "Gogo, don''t be rude," Gwen waved off her Wyvern. "Alright, any suggestions? Petra, any parley demands?"

    Her cousin shook her head.

    "I smell the Humans still," Golos reminded Gwen. "And they stink as well."

    "A delay tactic?" Richard tossed in his two cents after packing away an empty mana injector. "More Calamari coming our way, perhaps."

    Gwen rubbed her throbbing forehead. Since accidentally naming the squid-faced brain parasites, "Mon Calamari", was now fast-stuck inside everyone''s heads.

    "Right, then we proceed as discussed. JP, you take care of the Balefire''s spell-chains. Once we immobilise it, Cali will attempt to swallow it wholesale, and we''ll try to subdue the rest of the Murk Divers with our Morden''s Hounds. Dick, knowing how fast that thing casts, we''re going to need you to catch whatever JP misses."

    "Of course." Richard gave her the thumbs up. "Lea''s ready to pull some squids from their Klads."

    "I''ll drown them all!" The Undine''s voice rippled through the air like ice. "Especially the ones that hurt me!"

    "They''re squids, so they probably aren''t prone to drowning." Richard patted the invisible shape beside him. "Too bad Yue isn''t here, else we could have calamari teppanyaki."

    Thinking sweetly of their foul-mouthed firebrand, Gwen relaxed her nerves. "Alright, any luck with the Scry?"

    Gracie shook her head. "I can''t get through the wall to find our Mages, sorry, Gwen. Maybe if we get closer."

    The team studied the distance between them and the Citadel. They were currently well out of Spellsword range, and by Gwen''s reckoning, the Balefire''s rapid spell-assault had only half the reach of an Obsidian Shard. If they teleported closer, they might succeed in conjuring a penetrative Scry or Clairvoyance¡ª but at the same time, Gracie and Petra would be within the range of artillery spells.

    "I''ll keep Gracie safe," Petra assured her cousin by withdrawing six defensive Spellcubes kept afloat via Naga heads. "For now, gather round for Mind Wards. My Abjuration is woeful, but better an impoverished mental barrier than nothing at all."

    "I should buy us all Mind Ward earrings," Gwen remarked while the team received their final benedictions. "I never did replenish the one that got nixed in Shenyang."

    Petra''s eyes lingered on her cousin''s thoughtful face. "If I acquired mid to upper-tier Mind spells, I can Enchant the items myself."

    A current warmth ran through Gwen''s solar plexus, which inspired her to lean in and embrace Petra. With the Balefire Golem waiting impatiently to unleash hell up them, Gwen felt a genuine nostalgia for the "simple" days at Fudan, when all they had to deal with were Fu-er-dai cockfights and not Calamari head humpers.

    Like walking on an invisible ladder, Gwen stepped into the air.

    "Shaa! Shaa!" Caliban had assumed its position underground, ready to entangle a Balefire.

    "EE! EE!" Ariel launched its invisible self forward, ready to deliver its mistress'' displeasure.

    Gwen took a deep breath.

    "BARBAGINY!"

    For the second time in as many hours, Khorok Umgor leapt into the air.

    Usually, such as in the case of Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth, a Citadel''s walls were built by generations of stonemasons piling Enchantment enhanced stones through interlinked Glyph works. Performed correctly, not only were the walls impervious to non-catastrophic damage, they effortlessly survived inevitable Turnings of the Earth-Dragon.

    Khorok Umgor was a stronghold build within a month. Its parapets and barriers were reinforced slabs of tilted granite raised and conjured from Elemental Plane.

    When the Thundering Shatter struck, the impact manifested as a million hair-line cracks appearing along the wall at once, followed by the rapid liquefaction of the load-bearing base transformed into a crushing wave of crumbling slag.

    Gwen had chosen a frontal assault because of the ease of forced entry combined with the lack of desire to become trapped in the claustrophobic space of a sealed interior. She had also chosen the strategy because no "Dwarves" were staffing the walls, and even if there were, she suspected it would be those fish-bowled Calamari Mysterios that used Ooze Magic.

    It took a few seconds for the dust to clear.

    Gwen''s Essence-focused pupils grew into twin pinpoints.

    "MOTHER FUCKER!" their team leader''s curse swept through the still-ringing cavern. From her vantage point, the scene that came into view killed both motivation and momentum.

    As anticipated, there were no Dwarves, but there were plenty of Humans. Against all expectation, the Human Mages Gwen had vowed to save were not trapped in stone halls or suffering in watery dungeons, but milling about like drones in the courtyard.

    What was worse was that there were no screams nor complaints, just impassive stoicism as the wall folded onto their upright bodies.

    Without a Dwarf''s innate fortitude or the ability to Stoneshape¡ª without even activating their Shields, the volunteer "Murk Mages" from the Shard took on the brunt of the rolling slabs, some larger and taller than a grown man, others the size of their heads.

    The invocations of a maximum range Dimension Door was on Gwen''s lips within a split-second.

    "Gwen! Don''t!" Petra''s voice halted her cousin''s impulse.

    "They''re glamoured!" Gracie''s voice rang from a Message spell blooming by her ear. "Don''t go, Gwen, what if they''re lying in wait?"

    Despite the blind rage coursing through her conduits, Farron''s squid-shaped frontal lobe flashed across her own.

    "Magus Song, the Iron Guard will go first," Hanmoul volunteered, revving the engines of his Swiftstrider. "If they restrain us, do what you must. They can''t control all of us; else they would have taken Khorok Umgor long ago."

    Their leader cooled her heated head by circulating Void to dull the adrenaline, then ordered the minions to advance past the Dwarves.

    "Buck! Astro! Umzokwe! Bring me the prisoners and dig out the survivors!"

    The monstrous army of dogs fanned out, launching like multi-coloured rockets over the jagged granite. Fuming but still calm enough to remain out of spell-reach, Gwen held her position as her Lightning Hounds blazed onto the base of the collapsed wall.

    BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

    Hanmoul''s jerry-rigged instruments burst into life.

    The Dwarf invoked the thrice-jammed cog.

    A pillar of heat sprung into existence where the dogs made a mad scramble up the hillside. Even from outside the spell''s maximum manifestation range, they heard the in-ward sucking of air as superheated Magma gathered into a point, then¡ª

    KABOOM¡ª!

    An explosion rang out, taking three of her dogs and sending the rest skittering and rolling down the slag heap. On the other side, Gwen saw the shockwave pummel the milling Mages. A new piece of debris, as large as Buck, rolled into the loosely positioned crowd, instantly reducing two insensible Adventurers to wine stains.

    Gwen''s mind turned white with superheated fury. The fucking¡ª

    "THALMAR! YER ANCESTOR-CURSED ABERRANT!" Hanmoul''s voice burst like a thunderclap. The Dwarf stood on both accelerator pedals, his expression so contorted with rage that his speech shuddered. "CRAVEN BASTARD! ARE YER STILL A DWARF!?"

    "We need to push through." Richard''s voice cut through the chaos. "Forget the hostages. They''re dead Mages walking. Be it from the Mind Magic or the Calamari or Thalmar, or if we leave them by retreating, they''re fucked. If we pussyfoot this, then they died for nothing."

    Between the roaring blasts and her team members, Gwen''s mind buzzed from the mental tinnitus of seeing Mages she was tasked to rescue dying deaths of no worth.

    But she was no longer that young girl who Gunther had rescued from Blackheath. She was now the MVP of the IIUC and a certified War Mage. Unlike the Gwen Song of Forrestville, the Magus Song of London had put down a city of ten thousand Undead and razed a peninsular of Triffidus.

    The fire fled, rapidly replaced by chilling ice.

    As the liquid lead in her veins solidified, calculated choices crystallised within her mind.

    To do as Richard suggested would benefit her party by far. Gwen did not know if the Empire would hold her accountable for innocent lives, but she had no doubt that every Mage dying to misadventures equated more weight London could exert to pry open the Dyar Morkk.

    The alternative was obvious.

    Kill the Mon Calamari, nuke the Balefire, free the Mages, find Hilda, then go back to Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth to find out if the Deepdowners there had tentacles for beards. The difficulty of that, comparatively, bordered on masochism.

    She glanced at her teammates.

    Richard and Golos were both eager to begin the assault, their expression showing either conviction or complete disregard for the hostages.

    Petra silently awaited her cousin''s decision.

    Gracie''s eyes were wider than hers had been, and the Illusionist''s mouth still hung on its hinges, her pink tongue parched and hesitant.

    Jean-Paul stared straight ahead, his intent beyond her comprehension.

    Hanmoul and his Dwarves were already halfway, fully ready to make up for his kin''s shameful display.

    "Gwen, don''t..." Richard read her mind. "It''s a trap!"

    Her frontal lobes throbbed. The rational part of her wanted to listen to Dick, but what choice did she have? Who could have thought that the damned molluscs would have a one-up on the Empire?

 Chapter 396 - Bait and Switch

    KA-BOOM! BUNG!

    KABOOM!

    BOOM¡ª KABOOM!

    THWACK! She landed flatly against the hard granite, then rolled her body to disperse the momentum, confident that the mantle would absorb any scrapes and breakages. Against her body, she felt the heat lick the silicone-like skin of the Vampiric Abjuration. Perhaps against another enemy, she could have made use of their lifeblood, or if she were cruel and without conscience, that of the hostages¡ª but that was a dilemma for another time.

    CRASH!

    CRASH! Caliban''s bullet-shaped head penetrated through the ceiling, crushing in-ward the stoneworks. When it opened its faceless maw, a flood of Void-tinged digestive juices, together with writing tentacles hidden in the tenebrous goo, tore into the hidden chambers as sticky tongues of an ant-eaters fishing for larvae.

    Gracie! An unorthodox scheme ignited in her mind, one so absurd and ridiculous she just knew it had to work.

    Clang!"

    YE GODS! LET IT OUT!

    FUCK OFF! Came a second cry, her voice, more clarified than the first, and with it came Almudj''s restorative Essence, overwhelming and powerful, washing over the white-hot fire with the force of a noontide, soothing her soul, smothering everything with the cerulean blue waters of Lake Eyre.

 Chapter 397 - Octopus Pot

    Gwen heard the hiss and clangs before she saw the Deepdowners Hilda and Ebren.

    As a matter of station and rank, Hilda led the procession, followed by Ebren. Behind their clanking Klads, Petra and Gracie stalked at a polite distance, though from Gwen''s vantage, the scene resembled two prisoners escorted by their wardens.

    As for herself, she sat with a purring Caliban to her right and Ariel cushioning her left in the lotus stance, with her shoulder resting against her Kirin''s mane. Richard and Jean-Paul stood a distance away, documenting the dead. Hanmoul and his crew busied themselves with the wounded or stood as nervous guardsmen awaiting their spiritual leader''s arrival. As for Golos, the Wyvern''s healing proved far too slow in a place so lacking in the Elements he required, and so Gwen had sent her ally home. There may be a battle to come, but considering the skyscraper-sized Balefire standing guard over Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth, there was little doubt that the next fight would be with words.

    From afar, Gwen studied the Deepdowner as she walked, feeling a palpable sense of purpose in the way the Dwarven priestess placed one foot ahead of the other, like a martyr headed for the stake. As for Hilda''s purpose, Gwen needed no divination to discern her desire.

    At two meters, the clunking footfalls ceased.

    "Lady Hilda." Gwen put on her best, most disarming smile. "We humans have a saying¡ª revenge is a dish best served cold."

    The domed helmet dipped, where the rebreather connected to the broad base, the mechanism inhaled and exhaled. "Aye, I find Humanity''s diamonds of wisdom pleasing."

    Beside Hilda, Ebren lurched forward on one knee.

    "MAGUS SONG, WE ARE IN YOUR¡ª"

    "Ebren." Hilda halted her partner before he could bowl Gwen over with vows of gratitude. "No modulations. These are friends to whom we owe the Debt of Haj-Z¨¹l."

    "Of course," Ebren''s natural voice broadcasted through his crude vox. Unlike Hanmoul, Ebren''s voice was pleasant and mellow. "Please accept this one''s apologies for my earlier rudeness."

    "Accepted." Gwen knew the straight-laced Dwarves far favoured forwardness to meandering politeness. "But let''s discuss where we shall go from here. The mind-controlled Legion is neutralised, the Mon Calamari are slain, and the Balefire Golem has¡ª"

    Gwen paused to look at Hanmoul, whose brows wiggled with alarm.

    "¡ª been pacified."

    "That goes with saying, I think." Hilda tilted her helmet. "Well done, Magus Song. I would have thought the feat impossible."

    "You are not upset?" Gwen raised a brow.

    "For banishing a selfish, Clanless traitor who put continuation over that of his people?" Hilda shrugged her shoulders. "It''s a bitter truth that our Guardian has fallen. BUT, the alternative is unthinkable. For simply being here and speaking to you in my Klad, Ebren and I will count ourselves blessed by M?svian''s luck."

    Considering the Calamari-headed Aberrants the two just escaped from, Gwen could only agree. "Thank you for understanding, Hilda."

    "We''re the ones to blame," Hilda said. "Now, shall we get on with business? We Dwarves aren''t much for revenge, but by Brumdahr, we hold a grudge. This betrayal cannot go unpunished. Our people need to scour this scourge with flame and chisel."

    "I like the way you think." Gwen leaned back, feeling every joint in her body creak. She hissed, then took a deep breath to re-circulate her recovering Essence. "So, mind telling us what''s the deal with the Calamari?"

    "Aye, the ''Dark Intellects'' of the Planes between Planes." Hilda did not deny her narrative prompt. "Deepholm had known of their existence for some centuries, though never in my life could I imagine that a brood would do such untold damage to our Clan. Our Kin of the North from the Citadel of Helzink dubbed them the ''Sinneslukare'', meaning Will Devourer. They were meant to be chronicled creatures from before the Sundering, Murk Ogres of the mind, myths, but obviously, that is no longer so."

    "Sinneslukare." Gwen breathed out, happy that she no longer had to worry about copyright. "What can you tell me about them? More importantly, if you don''t mind me asking¡ª if you were out of your Klads, how are you fine? Don''t they eat brains?"

    "Magus Song..." Ebren cleared his vox.

    "It''s fine." Hilda walked in front of Gwen, then sat cross-legged. "We need Magus Song''s help to re-establish credibility in Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth''s Hall of the Eternal Cog. Let''s not repeat the prideful mistake of our ancestors by pushing away potential allies in our time of need."

    "I am all ears, Lady Hildenbrandt."

    Hilda extended a gauntleted hand covered with intricate Glyphs.

    Gwen took it.

    "The rot goes deep, I am afraid. Deepholm itself is either under threat or threatened." Hilda''s voice blossomed as a private Message spell.

    "Or fallen," Gwen drily added.

    "Unthinkable," Hilda denied her companion''s pessimism. "Deepholm is home to millions and more. A hundred swarms of Aberrants wouldn''t breach its Outer Rims, much less the Inner Sphere. Besides, if a city of Deepholm''s magnitude ceases to revolve, the Prime Material''s Citadels won''t escape unscathed. That and the portals only we Deepdowners can activate to expedite travel in the Dyar Mokk remain functional, and those function by drawing focus from the Loci Engine at the heart of the Revolving Hall."

    "A city of brass may not need living Dwarves. Anything''s possible if it decays from the inside," Gwen said. "The leadership becomes insular and selfish and removed from the people. They get replaced..."

    "I''ll concede that possibility," Hilda said. "But deny that things can be as bad as that. As for why Ebren and I remain safe, I fear the Sinneslukare that had assumed the mind of Captain Farron Gahrol had more important plans for us, ones I suspect had very much to do with infiltrating Deepholm proper. In my Klad and wearing my Glyph, there is a real possibility that they could penetrate deep into the city''s core."

    "Thalmar isn''t..."

    "He aided them, but no."

    "Alright. How come the squids didn''t give you a head-bug?" Gwen asked.

    "Successful parasitism requires toxins of the mind, and time," the Deepdowner explained with a mild tremble to her voice. "I was informed that willing subjects make better adherents, and suffer... far less degradation."

    "Why did they have Ebren tortured?"

    "I had until my Keeper bled out to make a decision..."

    "... So, either you agree and get brained, and Ebren dies¡ª and you get brained and..."

    "Do not ask me how their cruel mind works," Hilda said distastefully. "I cannot fathom their sadistic joys."

    "Sorry."

    "Aye, so now you know. May I speak without the guise of politics, Magus Song?"

    "Alright, shoot."

    "I need to return to Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth. I need to regain the prestige I once wielded. I need to expel Zairic and Zethoag Gul-Z¨±h, who may or may not be supporting the Sinneslukare, or even be of their kind. I need vengeance for my lost Legion of Iron Guards, and to honour their loss, I am determined to pierce into the Dyar Mokk. However..."

    "However?"

    Hilda paused. "I do not know how."

    Gwen almost choked on her spit. "What?"

    "Ebren and I..." Hilda spoke with a voice that was far too feminine. "We are crafters, Lore Keepers, scholars, Runesmiths and Engineseers, Magus Song. We are not..."

    "Politicians?"

    "Warmongers. Disruptors. Usurpers."

    "... I see." Gwen nodded. "I guess you''re looking for a Consultant. Well, you''re in luck. For my part, I am happy to say someone must pay dearly for the needless loss of our Mages. Someone has to pay in blood."

    "... Agreed."

    Gwen studied the smooth and featureless surface of Hilda''s Klad-suit. Naturally, she could read nothing. "So, I''ll be blunt. I''ve recovered our Mages, and now I am returning you, Lord Ebren here, and Commandrumm Hanmoul to Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth. We''ve got a diplomatic corp set up to settle accounts once we get back. Do you want London''s full weight behind you? No problem. Give us access to the Low Ways once we punch through."

    "Humans utilising the Dyar Morkk?" Hilda gave pause. "That''s unorthodox. The Low Ways are Dwarven."

    "Is it though? Tell me more about your success in keeping out Aberrants and brain-Calamari so far?" Gwen gripped Hilda''s gauntlet with renewed strength. "The Shard''s emphasis is to find alternative pathways to expedite resource transfer between London, Dublin and the European mainland. Assuming the Dyar Morkk indeed offers stable planar short-cuts, how much of it currently lies fallow? How many nests of Aberrants have taken up refuge? How many more years until all of the Iron Born are brained by the squids? Can Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth afford to play silly-buggers with the Sinneslukare?"

    Hilda grew contemplative.

    Gwen gestured at Hanmoul and relented on the silent Message.

    "As Hanmoul''s friend, I am happy to be your deliverance." Gwen looked at her reflection in Hilda''s visor as earnestly as she could manage. "Take the initiative to throw your lot in with us, and you''ll have plenty of chips on the negotiating table. Tradition? Sure¡ª but is it as important as gains from opening your untapped infrastructure? Think of the progress and the profits made possible by relenting. For example, new stations to house the transit nodes; Human Mage Flights replacing Dwarven Exploratory Teams; taxes collected from the transfer of goods. Gateway fees, withholding fees, dockage fees, small business for folk from the Citadel, commissions for your artisans, and unfettered access to resource from the surface¡ª Sure, it sounds wonderful to say, ''this is the Ancestor''s way!'', but think about what common folk in the Citadel want. It''s not spiritual elation, Hilda. The labourers want their daily Dwarf Bread, the artisans want work, time and resources to perfect their craft; Hanmoul and his warriors to fight monsters, not Dwarves and rogue Balefires..."

    Her eyes sparkled with the promise of investment returns.

    "And we want the same thing too. Human or Dwarf, I think of screwing Zairic and Zethoag as an absolute win-win scenario."

    Hilda did not move.

    Gwen rested her talkative fingers on Hilda''s palm. "I mean, you can choose slow and steady¡ª but then what? Your Deepdowners are culprits of this sedition! Will you ask for help from other Citadels? Even assuming one of your distant Kin chooses to aid you, what''s the mutual benefit? How can you trust folk who offer aid when the cost outweighs the gains? You can trust the Mageocracy to hammer out a deal and stick to the rails¡ª because mutual profit is the gospel of cooperation."

    "You''ve banished my doubt, Magus Song." Gwen could see Hilda''s breathing apparatus rising and falling. "Will you aid me in seeking redress, Magus Song?"

    "You can bet you Kiad I will." Gwen figured she might as well do Dickie a favour now and ask for more favours after compounding interests. "Now, I am no expert on Dwarven intrigue, but from what Hanmoul told me, the whole thing we just survived was a trap. From what I saw, I don''t think the Sinneslukare own Thalmar, do they? He didn''t give a shit about them getting Devoured."

    "Correct," Hilda said. "Thalmar was acting on behalf of Zairic and Zethoag."

    "That''s good news then."

    "Gwen," Hilda reminded her. "Despite the role Ebren and I hold within the hierarchy of our people, we are, as I said, Craftsmen and scholars. We pursue objectives and devise mechanisms to achieve those goals. Politics isn''t in the blood of us Ancestral families from Deepholm, hence our failure to detect Zairic and Zethoag''s deviation from honourable conduct."

    "That means Zairic and Zethoag are also new to traitorous intrigue, no? Their ploy had no alternatives and was hugely reliant on killing or braining all of us."

    The Deepdowner paused. "Aye, I think."

    "Good, help me up."

    The party of Humans and Dwarves solemnly watched as the Deepdowner and the Human sorceress clasped palms, with Hilda helping the resting Gwen to her feet.

    "Shaa!" Caliban purred.

    Ariel swished its tail.

    "Whatever happens, I don''t think our party will be much good in a fight in Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth," Gwen said after checking the condition of her body. Even now, the disjunction caused by the forceful deployment of Essence Tap was wreaking havoc with her Sigils and Elemental Gates. Her vitality was also nearing rock-bottom, and her companions were near OoM.

    Unfortunately, her wounded adventurers could not wait to receive proper treatment, nor could Gwen''s party dally lest more complication would throw the developing situation in Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth into disarray.

    Looking at the expressionless Hilda, the kneeling Ebren and the stone-faced Commandrumm beating himself over his failure to protect their Deepdowner, a cunning plan formulated in her head.

    Gwen''s grin was full of teeth. "You know, we have another saying in the Himmseg..."

    "What is it?" Hilda asked, suddenly feeling fearful of the alliance with the wolfish Void sorceress.

    Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

    "There''s more than one way to skin a cat¡­"

    Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth

    The Centre Spire.

    For the Iron Legion to slink through the side gates with such discretion could only mean one thing¡ª shit had hit the fan.

    Usually, after marching through the pavilion, the procedure involved a general assembly that broadcasted the Legion''s losses with Scribes from the Hall of the Ancestors taking the names of those returned to Deepholm. The commanding officer would then retreat to a private meeting to compose a detailed report for the Guild before his presentation to the High Council, assuming the failure did not require immediate redress.

    During this same process, family members of the warrior caste would receive their exhausted Kin, or receive their bodies. Other members with the requisite training would then volunteer to enter the Guard, replenishing the diminished numbers.

    However, this time the defeat grew dire enough to trigger a meeting of the High Council.

    "The Deepdowners K¨¹l-Hildenbrandt and Varekan are lost to the Aberrants. The Third Legion is annihilated, and the First Legion decimated." That was the news that spread across the city''s carriageways, flooding the Guild Hall''s floors until it reached the ears of Ollie Edwards.

    "¡­Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!" Ollie Edwards, Second Secretary of the Diplomatic Corps, felt as though he had lost every follicle of hair at once, even the stubble on his chin. "GOD DAMN IT, WHERE''S GWEN?"

    "She''s returned with Hanmoul''s Legion," Magister Millard, Chief Aide, declared with a measured tone of ambivalence. "Her party managed to eradicate the Aberrant threat and secure Lord Hanmoul. We don''t know the details, but the subsequent attempt to retrieve the Deepdowners did not go well. The word from the lower tiers is that Magus Song has overextended her abilities trying to rescue our Mages."

    "Is Gwen unwell? How are the others?" Ollie felt his spine grow cold, more so than the news that the Dwarves had lost two of their religious leaders. How was he going to answer to Lord Ravenport now? How will he address Lady Grey if Cambridge''s precious Void Sorceress suffered setbacks under his watch?

    Ollie calmed himself with a quick circulation of Elemental Air.

    Gwen might have fallen short of her boast to return with Hilda and Hanmoul, but she returned nonetheless with Hanmoul and the First Legion. Assuming the rumours were sound and the Third Legion was sleeping with the Murk fishes, it was arguable that their demise had nothing to do with Gwen. As London''s representative, therefore, his job was to secure the best outcome for his nation despite the obstacles in their way.

    "Ser Millard, gather the corp." Ollie suppressed his nervousness, then called on his seniors in the room. "Magister Turner, Magus Mason, will you accompany me to the High Council? I shall act as Gwen''s shield in this regard. How many of our Mages did you say returned with her?"

    "Thirty-Seven, with another four in critical condition already Teleported to London. At the Magus'' advise, they are undergoing physical examinations and decontamination before being released back to the city."

    "That''s¡­ thirteen¡ª Fourteen Mages total MIA or KIA," Turner reminded Ollie.

    "Enough to make a fuss?" Ollie put up a pained expression. He didn''t like the idea of politicising the dead, but there was no choice now.

    "If we upsell the Shard''s sentiments, yes," Magister Millard affirmed their Second Secretary''s strategy. "Enough to maintain the status quo, I would hope."

    Ollie searched his mind for the weasel words that needed to be said to the Dwarven High Council. Shamefully, in service to Gwen, he found them quickly enough. Whatever the moral cost, Gwen''s merits in the Murk must be protected, while her failures had to be cast-off as outside Humanities'' control.

    "Right." He straightened his jacket with his hands. "Make the request. London will not retreat until our grievance is heard!"

    "Gwen!" Ollie''s heart sunk as he crossed the floor to meet their exploratory team. Thankfully, all three Void Cabal members had returned intact, with only Gwen looking worse for wear. "Good gods! What did you fight?!"

    The young woman famous on the front page for her faultless if scandalous appearance was looking sore all over. From her singed and frazzled hair to her blood-caked armour, Gwen looked as though she had spent the last few days fighting a Gigaton Press at the Hall of Forging. The infamous Shen-te¨© suit that she had worn since her IIUC days was missing fabric and plating, exposing some of the inner mesh, and where her skin showed, Gwen''s complexion was a clammy, unhealthy Aberrant white.

    He quickly greeted the others, nodding especially at Jean-Paul and Gracie, whose safety was technically also under his charge. Gwen''s crew looked worse for wear, but not physically abused as she did.

    "Three swarms and a nest." Gwen''s lips looked parched and cracked, her eyes tired and sleepy. "We cleared out the first swarm getting to Hanmoul, then had to clear a nest and fight two foes while being sandwiched between Khorok Umgor and the Hydra-head. After that, we had to clear infested Dwarves from Khorok Umgor, but by then it was too late to save Hilda."

    "Infested?"

    "Long story, but the Aberrants can eat brains and take over bodies..."

    "My god!" Ollie tried his best to imagine the slaughter and found his mind limited in its capacity for carnage. "Is that what happened to the Deepdowners? Did you recover the Deepdowner''s¡­"

    "We didn''t see them." Gwen shrugged. "But we recovered their Klads."

    "Good." Ollie patted his heart. "Have you spoken to anyone else on the council yet?"

    "Just Whurforl¨¹m," Gwen said. "Hanmoul gave him a full report with my consent. The Guildmaster is on our side. You''re all here to help, I assume."

    "Of course." Ollie bit back the sourness simmering at his throat. "They said you were wounded and that you failed in all but one of your objectives, but this isn''t as bad as it looks. I was afraid you had Consumed the Deepdowners."

    Gwen gave him a strange look.

    "Not our objective. We cleared the tunnels and got our men and women back," Gwen said, then audibly sighed. "I am sorry there was nothing I could do for the ones we lost. Some of the deaths are my fault. I''ll submit a full report when we get back to London."

    "You did your best." Ollie touched the sorceress'' hand and winced. When his gloves came away with flaking gore. "Are you sure you''re alright? Is your Essence healing not working? You look worse than ever."

    "Not enough vitality." Gwen shook her head. "I took a few spellcubes of healing so I''ll be fine. The sickness is for show. We''ll need the sympathy of the Council for what''s to come¡ª oh, there it is."

    CLUNK-Clunk! Clunk! Clunk¡ª

    The enormous cog-shaped doors to the Hall of the High Council began to part, indicating all members close enough to be present had now entered the chamber via means unknown to the Human guests waiting in the atrium.

    Inside, the semi-circle audience chamber filled from wall to wall, crest to dip with Dwarves, a veritable sea of beards hid sat atop a variety of clothing from oily craftsmen''s garbs to the fine livery of Nobles from the Upper Spire.

    "Our guests, do proceed to the dais," Guild Master Whurforl¨¹m Ironf?rge''s booming voice invited the Human party into the room. "Our friends from the Shard, please take your place to the right while Magus Song speaks of the dire circumstances we now find ourselves."

    Behind the Guildmaster, flanking either side, sat the Deepdowners Zairic and Zethoag in their Deep Diving "Klads". As the brothers moved into place, he could hear the gurgle of fluids pumping through valves, triggering the hissing pistons fueling their rebreathers.

    Ollie and the corp took up seats on a transmuted section with resized granite suitable for a human''s sitting height. Gwen and her party sat at the fore, with Gwen remaining upright while the rest took their places in the sunken pit ringing the raised dais.

    Opposite, in the Warrior Caste''s section, Ollie caught Bromlim and Hanmoul sitting with Yossari still in their torn and soiled battle armour. Behind them sat many Iron Guards still in their Dwarven Plates, most of which was dented and damaged, with one trickling blue coolant. As Gwen said, the necessity of theatrics demanded suspensions of decorum.

    The crowd murmured, growing in volume until Whurforl¨¹m quietened the room by raising a gauntleted hand.

    "Magus Song, as our guest and the rescuer of our Commandrumm, I invite you to speak first."

    "Thank you, Guildmaster. Friends, Craftsmen, Nobles, lend me your ears, for my tale is solemn..." Gwen relayed a harrowing tale of trial by combat with quiet dignity, beginning with the ambush at the Hydra''s Head, followed by the raid on the Aberrant nest, the finding of Hanmoul, and finally the bitter battle at Khorok Umgor that resulted in fruitless nothings.

    After her epic concluded, she invited Hanmoul onto the dais.

    With great solemnity, Hanmoul verified Gwen''s narrative, then materialised the two empty Klad suits.

    Clunk¡ª

    The sad silhouettes of Klads without their Deepdowners materialised, punctuating the council chamber''s dour atmosphere with a lonesome, reverberating clang.

    "¡­ Whatever happens, my heart rests knowing that Hanmoul is safe and that his Iron Guards, together with our Mages, could return home to speak with their fathers, brothers, mothers and children." The Mageocracy''s premier Void sorceress returned to the Human''s side of the Council Chamber. "And that''s all I have to say about that."

    The chamber murmured.

    "The Council thanks you for your service, Magus Song. Your actions have gone beyond the boundaries of duty," Whurforl¨¹m proclaimed from up on high, flanked on both sides by grimly visored Deepdowners.

    Gwen retreated. Ollie stifled the butterflies in his stomach, gained assurance from his peers, then motioned for his place on the dais.

    "O, Masters of the Citadel!" His act was interrupted by an unexpected interjection from the ranks of the Noble quadrant. "Allow this one to speak for his kin."

    Ollie''s eyes focused on the silken attire of Brugal Brumdahr and knew immediately that here was a born shit-stirrer trying to practice his natural talents. As a member of the Diplomacy Corp, however, he was not in a position to silence the Noble, at least not before the Dwarf Gwen had prior shamed exercised his opportunity to outrage the Council.

    "You may speak." Whurforl¨¹m likely did not wish to appear to favour the Humans.

    "Start taking notes and have a retort ready," Ollie informed his aides, who responded by laying their hands on data slates with the poise of duelists resting their palms on the oaken shafts of Wands.

    With the same flourish and arrogance as his prior performance a year ago, Brugal, direct line to Haj-Z¨¹l Brumdahr, strode until he stood beside the two suits of empty Klads. The Dwarf ran a hand down the side of Hilda''s armour as if in reverence, then looked up at the two silent Deepdowners behind the Guildmaster.

    "SPEAK YOUR HEART, BRUMDAHR," came the supporting act from the Zairic.

    Brumdahr turned to face the chamber.

    "Magus Song," the Dwarf spoke with an elevated pitch of accusation and mockery. "Before I raise the enormous question ay yer culpability in the loss of our dearest mistress Hilda K¨¹l-Hildenbrandt, last of the Varekan-K¨¹l outside the Halls of Deepholm, she who brings the Lumen into our halls¡ª allow me tae say this: Ye and ya ilk, yer greedy Human folk, will NEVER have reign in the Dyar Morkk!"

    Ollie felt his hair roots wilt as the accusation rang out.

    He knew that within the Citadel, the conversation regarding the Dyar Morkk, whether as a joint-project or as a lease, had been met with doubt. Never had he imagined there could be overt hostility.

    "We were at peace, Magus Song, before the arrival of yerself and your Himmseg Kin! Now, gaze upon at what yer''ve brought us? War! Endless War! Not only the fight against the Red King of Scarred Peak but Aberrants besides! Murk monstrosities beyond comprehension! Our Kin has lived a hard life, Magus Song, but we were content, and we survived because of the purity of our purpose, our tenacity as Dwarves!"

    Brugal''s resounding voice rang across the stone halls.

    "Hear-hear!"

    "That''s the Stone''s Truth!"

    "Out with the Humans!"

    Compared to the Noble Quadrant, the craftsmen''s section remained mostly mum, though the commons and the quadrant inhabited by the upper spire Dwarves grew increasingly loud.

    "¡ªmy friends." Brugal silenced the group. "Now, we have lost a Legion! AN ENTIRE LEGION! The Third Legion of our finest Iron Guards under Captain Bronzehorn! One HUNDRED golden-blooded Kin in the prime of their lives, LOST!"

    Ollie felt his breaths deepen as the noble''s incitement filled the room.

    "Yer is trying ter twist the truth!" Hanmoul growled over the group. "Brugal, yer scummy¡ª"

    "SILENCE, HANMOUL! By mine House''s honour, I''ll cast yer from the title of Commandrumm!" Brugal''s face flushed with the excitement of victory. "Yee failed to return with, Engineseer Hildenbrandt and Keeper Ebren! Yee helped Humans more than our Kin! Please don''t embarrass yer duty any more than yer already has!"

    Hanmoul appeared on the verge of popping a gasket.

    Ollie grew contemplative. Looking at Gwen, he could see that she appeared stunned, or at least devastated and different to her usual confident self. The battle, he figured, must have taken its toll.

    Satisfied, Brugal continued.

    "I do not mean in any way to disparage the memory of Lady Hilda, but allow me to say this. Her dream of Deepholm was right, but her methods were wrong. Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth was happy and content; we donnae need the Humans to help access the Dyar Morkk. Had we taken the same path in our pure way¡ª the Dwarven way, slow and steady, there would have been no tragedy. Our lives are long, and our Kin would still be alive."

    A ragged cheer broke out among the council chamber''s upper half, infecting the lower half through its riotous volume. Ollie smelled the conspiracy in the air as clearly as the stink of violence on Gwen''s armour, but he had to be patient.

    "In my capacity as the head of House Brumdahr, I motion, therefore¡ª" Brugal took a deep breath. "¡ªTo EXPEL the HUMANs and return Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth to its original path!"

    "Nonsense!" The Guildmaster struck his table with his gauntlet. "Brumdahr, you overstep!"

    "WE SUSTAIN THE MOTION," a pair of mechanically synced voices rang out from behind the Guildmaster before he could continue. "IR?NFORGE, THOU ART A DWARF. ACT LIKE ONE."

    Ollie knew that it was now or never. With complete disregard for the disarray in his mind, he stood from the block of granite that served as his chair.

    "The Shard objects together with the Guildmaster!" He amplified his voice with Clarion Call. "As the representative of London and in our capacity as an ally of the Citadel, we oppose to Ser Brumdahr''s outrageous attempt at undermining the trust that we have spent centuries cultivating."

    "Centuries?" Brugal snorted. "For a race that matures in the same span as a Murk Eel?"

    Laughter filled the same portion of the chamber.

    "Master Whurforl¨¹m!" Ollie raised his voice, drawing from the ever-thinning air to inflate his courage. "This rudeness is unbecoming. Must I remind the Council that we have paid dearly as well? Our men and women have given their lives in service of the Citadel''s cause, of Lady Hildenbrandt''s shared desire to bring her people home to Deepholm!"

    "They died for HDMs!" Brumdahr shouted.

    "SILENCE!" Whurforl¨¹m barked. "Do you wish to be expelled?"

    "¡ª I understand that your people have suffered dire losses." Ollie continued to speak, ignoring his hecklers and receiving notes and suggestions from his aides via their silent Message Devices. "But we too, have lost lives: seventy-six in the nine months since the operation began, and fourteen just now in the tragedy of today. They too had Kin in London. Mothers, fathers, brothers and sisters, some even children, though that may be difficult to conceive for long-lived folk such as yourselves. They came here to Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth to pursue a dream and to aid in a cause. One, they too desired to return our allies to their ancestral homes, and two, they too risk their lives to unearth the secrets of the Murk!"

    Ollie felt himself fall into a comfortable rhyme as he continued, with annotations from his peers flowing into his mind as a stream.

    "And regarding Aberrants, Lord Brugal¡ª Do not think for a minute that they appeared because of us! They were there, always! Since time immemorial, they had lusted after your city and your Kin, ambush them in the Low Ways! In your Empire before the Beast Tide, how many of your folk have perished to keep the path operational? If you accuse us Humans of inciting the Aberrant swarms¡ª then what say you of your Ancestor''s efforts?"

    "Dare you to accuse us of failing our Ancestors, Human?" Brugal''s face twisted as cruelly as Ollie''s logic. "When my ancestors ruled the Murk, your forefathers were still chattel under the hoofs of the Mongol Shaman-Lords!"

    "That may be true." Ollie felt buoyed by supernatural confidence. "But is that relevant to our present case? Are you saying that our Mages have died for a cause¡ª your cause¡ª of no worth? Is that your opinion of our belief in Lady Hildenbrandt''s hopes for her Kin?"

    "You warp words as well as your sorceress." Brugal sneered. "But no matter how you twist and turn, Magus Edwards of the Shard¡ª the Dyar Morkk is closed to you! Your toxic solicitudes will not mar the mind of our people, Human. Us Dwarves are tempered iron, and we shall not yield even if you hold our natural honour hostage!"

    "Then you do confess that¡ª"

    "Brugal¡ª" Whurforl¨¹m growled.

    "SPEAK!" A metallic holler came again from the twins behind the Guildmaster, sounding like raw Pyrite being crushed and sorted in a circular press.

    Whurforl¨¹m fumed.

    "Of course, my Masters." The Noblemen bowed. "Let me ask you once more, Magus Edwards. Do you concede your presence in the Murk? Will the Shard retreat while our people remain on friendly terms?"

    "Never, we will honour our word." Ollie folded his arms. "I trust Master Ironf?rge and the High Council to honour theirs. Gwen and I will never concede that we would abandon our comrades in their hour of need."

    "Camaraderie? Yer say?" Brugal''s expression sent another jolt of ice into Ollie''s spine. "Hahahaha¡ª so be it! Yer put this on yourselves, Humans. MAGUS SONG!"

    The noble turned to Gwen. "That was a good story you told, but allow me to cast a shard of Lumen in the darkness of your tale. Here, I have a Message from the esteemed Captain Farron Galrol of the esteemed Murk Divers¡­"

    The Noble produced a crystalline device Ollie recognised as a Resonator, one used by Dwarves to circumvent distance and distortion within the Murk. Under the gaze of all, Brugal pressed a Glyph.

    Before Gwen could respond, the device began to play loudly.

    "¡­ Lords, the Devourer of Shenyang is making quick work of the Aberrant Swarm. The monsters are numerous, but they are no match for the Void Mage''s voracious hunger. Her creatures, the Earthen Wyrm and her dark dogs are even now breaching the walls of Khorok Umgor. Her ravenous fiends have already overpowered the Iron Guards under Lady Hilda''s command, and I fear for her and Lord Ebren''s safety¡­"

    The Message ceased reverberating around the room, but its intent was clear.

    Ollie felt the pit of his stomach fall and his testicles withdraw, killing all future potential for virile hair growth. Did Gwen eat the Deepdowners after all? How did she get Hanmoul to cooperate with her?

    Slowly, he watched Gwen rise to her feet once more to take the stage.

    An inexplicable change had overcome the girl''s tired expression.

    Her eyes gleamed.

    Her lips curled.

    There was as perceptible hunger about her vital body.

    It was the look, Ollie realised with a gulp.

    The look of a very hungry Caliban.

 Chapter 398 - Writhe

    According to Niccol¨° Machiavelli, any leader worth his or her salt must paradoxically be the fox and the lion; because the lion cannot defend himself against snares and the fox cannot wrangle wolves. Therefore, it took a fox to trigger the traps and a lion to terrorise the wolves; else a prince would only be prey.

    For this reason, Gwen did not despise her reputation as the "Devourer of Shenyang". She even worked to cultivate her infamy, for Nick also said that fear was better than love, and given enough profit; every advantage to break faith would be pursued. In contrast, the threat of bankruptcy preserved loyalty like no other.

    Ergo, in her mind, Zairic and Zethoag, octopus-bearded or otherwise, were fools to think they could compete with her and Hilda''s gospel of progress. As frogs in the same well, Zairic and Zethoag''s factionalism offered nothing of note to the folk who held up Dwarven society''s base.

    As she approached the inflated Brugal, Gwen passed the sweltering Ollie and patted his shoulder. "Take a seat, Oz, I got this. There''ll be accolades and rewards once you deliver the good news, trust me."

    Bathed under the gaze of hostile Dwarves, Gwen slow-strutted up to the dais, then made a stand with her legs slightly apart and her off-hand aggressively resting on her hip. Gazing down on the smug noble, she then raised a reprimanding finger, imitating a headmistress chiding misbehaving schoolboys.

    The theatricality was enough to make her party members cringe, but the Dwarves appeared enthralled, for they were simple folk not usually given to grandstanding.

    "Scarcely a word comes out of your mouth without it being a lie," she stated openly, weaving in a spell of Clarion Call so that her confidence filled the vaulted hall. "Since when do Dwarves deceive so readily and without embarrassment? Are you in actuality an Aberrant dressed in Dwarf-skin, or has one of those Murk-Squids replaced the real Brugal Brumdahr?"

    The Council Chamber expectantly erupted with collective protest, though Gwen''s focus was on the two Deepdowners behind the Guildmaster.

    She sensed the Dwarves'' elevated vitals and knew her choice words had struck a nerve.

    "Yer defence is ter accuse me of lying?" Brugal spluttered in disbelief. "ME! BRUGAL! The theme of honour''s tongue since the time of Haj-Z¨¹l Brumdahr¡ª"

    "Brummy, I thought we''re already over that Honour of Theme''s Tongue crud." Gwen waved her hand dismissively. "Look, you have a recording. So what? It''s ''hearsay'', a word on the wind! Why are you so confident? Were you there, Brugal? Did you see me murder the Iron Guards of the Third Legion with your own eyes? If so, why didn''t you make a Lumen-recording? Why didn''t Farron?"

    The Dwarf snorted at her weaselling. "Farron is the Captain of the Murk Divers! She has served the upper spire for sixty cycles, never failing in her tasks! Guildmaster Whurforl¨¹m¡ª perhaps yer could inform this clueless Human that a lying usurper cannot doubt Captain Gahrol''s report!"

    "Magus Song." Whurforl¨¹m''s voice remained neutral. "That was indeed Farron''s voice, and if that IS her¡ª Captain Farron is as trustworthy as Brugal proclaims. If you insist that Lord Brumdahr is deceiving the High Council, the onus of proof shall fall on you."

    "Fine, where is Farron?" Gwen whipped around to face Brugal once more. "If I am accused, I want it told to my face. I did not expend mana, vitality and my one-of-a-kind suit fighting Aberrants for twelve hours just so that a faceless Message recording can twist the truth and paint me as a turncoat."

    "Farron Gahrol has not returned." Brugal''s voice grew low. "A highly unusual prospect. Perhaps ye can tell us where she went?"

    "Me?" Gwen smiled. "What makes you think I would know?"

    "Her last communication was of ye, Magus Song. If yer pacified the Third Legion, what''s to say yer Wyrm hasn''t discovered Farron?"

    "So now you''re accusing me of murdering Farron?" Gwen reared back with a look of disgust. "Why not accuse me of nixing your Deepdowners as well? By reputation, I rarely leave witnesses."

    "HA!" Brugal''s eyes lit up. The precarious "gotcha" she had allowed him was making even his moustache erect. "The Human confesses! Yer the reason we lost Mistress Hildenbrandt and Keeper Ebren! Woe betides the Kin of Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth who art cheated for so long, Kinslayer!"

    "BRUGAL!" A bark erupted from the warrior faction. Hanmoul was not having it. Gwen blinked, she had told the Dwarf to act the best he could, but improv-club champion he was not. "YER SCUMMY MURK RAT!"

    Gwen pretended to stop the Commandrumm. Hanmoul strode on stage in his Dwarven plates and performed the only rebuttal he knew¡ª by grabbing the startled Brugal by the silken collars and¡ª

    CLANG!

    Hanmoul must have an iron plate embedded in his forehead, Gwen thought, for the Dwarf head-butted the nobleman with the force of an oaken beam striking a brass temple bell.

    "ARRRGGGH¡ª!" Brugal fell back, tripping over his own feet as his brain rattled against his skull. "B-brute! Yer a brute, Hanmoul! How can yer defend a Kingslayer?"

    Hanmoul wasn''t done yet.

    Maybe it was the lack of sleep, or perhaps it was the pressure from their obfuscated Deepdowners clad in Golem plating below the dais, Hanmoul''s eyes glowed with mana like a miniature Balefire. The Commandrumm, Gwen suspected, was living out his fantasy of pummelling the slippery noble to death before their big reveal, knowing he may never get a chance like this again.

    "STOP¡ª help!" Brugal rolled left and right when Hanmoul tried to stomp his guts out. Dwarves were uncomplicated people; if Brugal had any martial merit, he would have defended himself¡ª if not, a beating wasn''t unreasonable. For this reason, the High Council watched impassively. On their side, Hanmoul''s men did not move for obvious reasons, and from what Gwen could see, the opposition lacked enough love for Brugal to jump in.

    "The Commandrumm''s gone berserk!"

    "Barbarity! Strip him of his title!"

    "This isn''t the pre-Sundering¡­" A Whitebeard rolled his milky eyes. "Fool young un''s..."

    To Gwen''s bemusement and amusement, the nobles yammered and shouted¡ª yet no one stood up for Brugal.

    Her heart grew strangely sympathetic.

    "ENOUGH!" A booming command halted the Commandrumm in-between his impassioned gutter stomps. "SON OF DWOMRUL! WHURFORL¨¹M! THOU KIN OVERSTEP TOO FAR!"

    The Deepdowners were smart, Gwen observed, to place the onus of fault on Whurforl¨¹m.

    Catching a glance from the Guildmaster, Gwen placed a hand on Hanmoul''s shoulder, appearing not unlike a cruel mistress holding back a deranged attack dog. Underneath his armour, Gwen could feel Hanmoul''s body smoulder with wrath, the heat of his burning blood transferring across the dermal cladding to warm her fingers.

    "Peace, Commandrumm," she said loud enough for all to hear. "We know you''re not the traitor here. Have faith, those who put their interests over that of Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth will receive their just desserts quicker than you think."

    Not far, Brugal picked up his torn body, fixed his jacket with a dignified air, then wiped the blood from his bloodied nose.

    "Yer''ll pay for that." The noble swallowed what must be a set of teeth.

    Gwen ignored Brugal and instead looked up toward the Deepdowner behind Whurforl¨¹m. "Milords Zairic and Zethoag¡ª You''re Dwarves underneath that Klad, yes? What should one say to a Noble who peddles lies as easily as he breathes?"

    "THOU DARE¡ª" Both began.

    "Tone down your vox mods," Gwen barked back dismissively. "What''s there to hide?"

    Her abrasiveness possessed such high grit that the two bit-back their next words. When they replied again, their roaring accusation was proceeded by rippling Earthen mana.

    "VADAM WITCH!" Zairic or maybe Zethoag declared. "GUARDS! EJECT THIS HUMAN FROM THE COUNCIL HALLS."

    From the noble faction''s quadrant came the clanking of armour. Unfortunately, the guards'' progress ended at the base of the speaker''s dais, where Hanmoul''s men stood in their way with crossed arms.

    The move was enough to trigger a flurry of additional guards with gleaming impractical Golem armours polished to perfection.

    That particular reaction catalysed a roar of protest from the Craftsmen''s section, causing more Hammer Guards to rise, some clad in Golem plating and others materialising spellhammers and spellswords.

    In a matter of minutes, the Chamber had split in twain, with the nobles of the upper spire taking the west wing with a faction of the commoners'' aldermen. The neutral Iron Borns native to the Citadel formed a barrier toward the east wing, joined by Craftsmen with weaponised tools.

    Ollie stood with the rest of the diplomatic cabal behind Gwen, joined by her party members, who appeared entirely relaxed and in need of exploded corn covered in crystallised caramel.

    The atmosphere grew gradually thick enough to slice as the ambient mana clashed.

    "THOU WOULD DEFY HEARTH AND STONE?" The deeper of the two voices that Gwen anointed as Zethoag ran short of patience. With a grunt and a series of hisses and clicks, he shifted the enormous bulk of his Dive Klad and made his clanking way down to the lectern platform, followed by his brother. "SHALL THIS ONE REMOVE HER HIMSELF?"

    Hanmoul moved to intercept and was in turn blocked by Gwen, who stood without a change in stance or expression, waiting to call the Deepdowner''s buff.

    "UN-DWARVEN!" Zairic declared. "PITH VADARAM!"

    The declaration caused some consternation among the Dwarves still unsure of which side to join.

    "Milords." Gwen circulated the Essence she had since mustered, pushing herself through the haze of clashing mana. "Pray, answer my enquiry¡ª what makes you think that these Dwarves, your warriors and craftsmen, are ''un-Dwarven''? What makes you think you''re ''Dwarven'' when overt deceit is Vadam by nature?"

    "THOU ART AN OUTSIDER," Zethoag declared. "WE ART THE LEARNED KEEPERS OF UMGOR ¨¨RON VAR¨¨KAN! OUR WORD IS LAW!"

    "Aye! The Keeper''s words art backed by lore," Brugal retorted now that there was a Deepdowner by his side. "Give up the lode, Human. Yer cannot win without despoiling the city yer need to profit. Yer path to the Dyar Morkk art blocked, Usurper!"

    Gwen laughed in Brugal''s face.

    It wasn''t every day that one got to skin a cat hedging multiple lives.

    "Magus Song!" Gwen''s simple, honest fun was interrupted by a call of clarity from the Santa-Dwarf seated above the pitched battle below. "We are igneous folk, Gwen. Please get on with it."

    "Very well." Gwen swiftly returned to the meowing Deepdowners and their cat-in-heat, Brugal.

    "Friends, Kin, good masters of Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth," she announced to the hall. "I am innocent, as are my companions of these accusations¡ª because I have irrefutable evidence that the demise of Ser Ebren and Lady Hilda came from within the Citadel itself. Commandrumm Hamoul and I did our best, but our effort was overwhelmed by treachery and deceit. I didn''t initially mention this, because who would want to doubt our allies'' veracity? Yet, never would I imagine that your esteemed Keepers would attempt to lay the fault on me."

    "LIES!" Brugal spluttered.

    "DISHONESTY!"

    "VARADAM!" the trio called out as if in sync.

    "If ye has evidence, then illuminate our minds!" Brugal''s voice rose in volume, though his tone dipped from confidence to doubt. With the two Deepdowners behind him, however, the noble was entirely committed. "That or accept expulsion, Human! Yer art a Calamity upon our Citadel, yer very presence soils the sacred stones of our domain."

    Gwen ignored Brugal and turned instead to the Deepdowners. "How about a round of Ankrumm?"

    The room collectively paused at her unexpected demand.

    "¡­ Gwen." Ollie''s silent Message bloomed beside her ear. "Ankrumm means er¡­ ''contested wager'', yes, but the implication is that the loser quaffs enough beverage to pass out, so I am not sure what you intend here¡­"

    "¡­ Oh." Gwen''s cheeks grew rosy. She had genuinely intended Ankrumm to imply honour-bound acquiescence or ante.

    Nonetheless, Brugal''s perplexed expression and the stunned silence from the Deepdowners was pleasing enough.

    "¡­ Also." Ollie''s voice filtered across once more. "Some Deepdowners abstain from alcohol. It''s a part of their monastic preservation. Umgor ¨¨ron Var¨¨kan is one of those places."

    Gwen felt light-headed. A little knowledge was a troublesome thing.

    "Ankrumm!" Hanmoul dismissed her consternation, joined a split-second later by Yossari and Bumrorlim. Following their examples, the warriors and the craftsmen roared. Of all the Dwarves, their castes'' delight in destroying ethanol-processing organs were most widespread.

    "Ankrumm! Ankrumm! Ankrumm! Ankrumm!" Gwen concluded the peanut-crunching crowd also did not care for such a thing as snobbish Keepers from the Cavern of Enlightenment. Even across races, the division of class was an easy sentiment to underestimate. If a group of Darjeeling-drinking Magisters in Cambridge showed up in Leeds to lecture the local labourers, they should also expect awe to sour into loathing.

    "Ankrumm! Ankrumm!" Even the conservative aldermen appeared affected.

    Gwen took another step forward, bolstered by the jeering. Even if her Ankrumm was a faux pas, it was Brugal and the Deepdowner''s problem now.

    "Ankrumm?" she cheekily made another attempt at butchering Dwarven cultural conventions.

    "This isn''t a tavern." Brugal''s retort was pure venom, an effect exaggerated by his bruised face. "If you desire Ankrumm, Magus Song, then let us up the ante. By mine honour and my Clan, I call for B?ldarak!"

    The crunching peanut gallery quietened.

    "You''ll have to enlighten me." Gwen spread her hands and shrugged her shoulders. "What''s B?ldarak?"

    "The Trial of Truth, as told by Byllelynn M?svian in warning to the Dusk Kin of Fulroth-D?l, traitors to Deepholm," their Guildmaster delivered his impartial advice from above. "If you have faith that your words will illuminate the lies of your foe, then speak the vow."

    "And if one breaks the Vow?"

    "For us Dwarves, it means having one''s Clan name stricken from the Ancestor''s Halls. It would mean our Core would never rejoin the Elemental Plane of Earth, never to be reborn or remembered, no matter one''s achievement." Brugal''s voice rose several octaves. "Do yer dare, Magus Song?"

    Ah, Gwen nodded. Collective punishment. Very good. "I am not a Dwarf."

    "¡ªI''ll swear in her stead." Hanmoul raised a Brugal-stained gauntlet.

    "¡ªAnd I''ll accept exile, including pulling all of London''s forces out of the Murk." Gwen grinned wolfishly.

    The colour drained from Brugal''s face.

    Opposite, Ollie lost all colour as his diplomatic corp scrambled.

    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.Her party munched on ration bars in place of exploded corn.

    "I double-dare you..." Gwen''s taunt lay ticking at the Deepdowners iron-clad feet. "As the Guildmaster says, let us all abide by this B?ldarak. Let truth light the way."

    Perhaps not expecting her to call their bluff, the silence form Zairic and Zethoag Gul-Z¨±h was deafening.

    "Well?" Gwen wasn''t about to give her enemies time to balance the risks and rewards. "I thought you folk were from Umgor ¨¨ron Var¨¨kan, the cavern of Enlightenment. Isn''t that where Varekan-K¨¹l sang that ''The lumen in the dark always lights the way''?"

    The aphorism had been taught to her by Ebren, who suggested that a few well-known psalms could sway the mood of the Council.

    Brugal''s eyes flittered from her to the Deepdowners, but Gwen could see the poor sod was at a loss for words. Maybe he thought she had misunderstood the implications of betting on the B?ldarak, or perhaps he thought she was bluffing as well. Either way, the noblemen''s blackened-eyes hardened like burnt honeycomb.

    "House Brumdahr accepts the trial of B?ldarak."

    The Council Hall collectively inhaled.

    "Brummy, I don''t give a Murk squid''s entrails about you or your Clan." Gwen''s next words made their exhalation catch in their throat. "I want those behind you to stand trial. I want their apology or their commitment to this B?ldarak. If you speak for them, tell them to shut their beaks and return to their swamp, or B?ldarak. We don''t need librarians steering the business of the Citadel, especially liars who can''t take a J?ger Bombe."

    Following her multi-pronged assault, Brugal''s complexion polymorphed into Ollie''s when he delivered Farron''s Message. With his flushed lips forming a severe line like a slit-wound, the pallid noble turned to his masters for direction. Gwen knew the Dwarf did not dare speak for the Deepdowners, but that was the point. Her deal with Hilda was to hammer Zairic and Zethoag Gul-Z¨±h into the Void. Without pushing them against the wall, how could she rip off their masks? Only with the pair permanently removed could Hilda and Whurforl¨¹m bulldoze the conservative faction and move their people toward cosmopolitan globalisation.

    "THOU¡ª" Zairic the younger wound up but was cut off by Zethoag the older with a swipe of a gauntlet-clad hand.

    "WE ART KEEPERS OF LORE. LORE CANNOT BE DENIED," the older made his case. "HUMAN, IF THOU HAST PROOF, CLAN BRUMDAHR SHALL ACT AS SURETY. THOU ART NOT DESERVING OF MORE."

    Gwen tsked. The old codgers are trickier than she had imagined.

    Then again, if they were smart enough to trap Hilda and Ebren and try to make her cop the responsibility for their death, she shouldn''t be surprised.

    Brugal Brumdahr took on the look of someone who in his very bones knew he was looking into a depthless abyss and that Hanmoul was about to shout "This is Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth!" and give him a final stomp.

    Gwen subtly looked up at Whurforl¨¹m, whose beard twitched affirmatively. As a people, the Dwarves were too honourable to endure.

    "I swear by this B?ldarak of yours," Gwen decided to maker her move before Brugal grew any softer and slipped out. "If my evidence fails to satisfy, then I shall remove myself and all Human presence from not only the Murk but the city itself. Furthermore, I shall pursue no further the death of our Mages."

    Brugal''s breath came hard and fast. He glanced once more at the Deepdowners, then puffed out his chest like an unapologetic bushranger wearing a noose. "I accept. I, Brugal of Clan Brumdahr, swear by my Ancestors. By B?ldarak, I speak the truth and seek not to deceive mine Kin. If there is deceit, then I shall accept exile from Clan and Kin in Deepholm, seeking forgiveness in the Hall of the Eternal Cog."

    As the Dwarf spoke, his spine straightened and his voice grew firm. Such was the power of desperation, Gwen observed with a mote of empathic sadness. How strong was Brugal''s hope? Did he not see that his masters had refused to back his sacrifice with their own?

    "Good, are we now witnessed?" She turned to the Deepdowners, glanced at her co-conspirators, then toward Whurforl¨¹m.

    "Thou art witnessed," Whurforl¨¹m delivered his verdict, speaking for the otherwise silent High Council. "Proceed."

    "Good. Here''s the truth." Gwen passed a hand over the dais, releasing her cargo with a clang. "Let''s hope you can handle it."

    The crowd of Dwarves leaned in, some physically, others with remote-viewing devices.

    "Farron Gahrol!" One of the Dwarves from the noble quadrant confirmed their suspicions. "She killed Farron Gahrol!"

    Gwen rolled her eyes, then pointed to the facial portion of Farron Gahrol, Captain of the Murk Divers.

    "¡­ What is that?" An alderman had to step back from revulsion. "Has it mated with her head?"

    "That''s¡­ a Sinneslukare!" a helpful and more knowledgeable voice declared from the Craftsmen''s wing. "I am sure of it! I''ve seen the diagrams in the bestiary! A Mind Eater!"

    "Impossible! They''re a myth!"

    "What do yer call that then?"

    While the crowd argued, Gwen studied the Deepdowners Zairic and Zethoag. Once more, she could sense their disquiet through their fluctuating vitals. For someone with her hyper-attuned senses, focusing on a particular detail like the sound of fluids pumping through tubing wasn''t as tricky as it would seem.

    "Earlier, you said¡ª" Brugal appeared lost for words, his face ashen. "That''s¡ª"

    There was no question that the body belonged to Farron. Any Dwarf worth their salt in any capacity could check what remained of the Glyphs embedded into the Captain''s body to declare without a shadow of a doubt that the flesh was Farron''s, even if the head was not.

    "Are you allied with the Sinneslukare, Brugal? Are you bartering Kin to the brain-calamari for power and profit?" Gwen prodded the panicking noble to see if he would jump into the abyss of his own accord.

    "NO!" Brugal''s refutation came as a scream. "Never! How dare¡ª"

    "If not you, then is it them?" Gwen pointed a finger toward Zairic and Zethoag. "You swore, Brugal. You imputed that I was killing Iron Guards and may have murdered Hilda and Ebren, but your proof hinged on this thing? An Aberrant that has taken over the mind of your precious Captain? The theme of Honour''s Tongue, indeed!"

    "I didn''t know¡­" Brugal moaned. "How could I know?"

    "I think you mean they didn''t tell you," Gwen addressed the Deepdowners once more. "Well? Are you guilty of alliance with the Aberrants, milords?"

    "WE ART DECEIVED AS WELL." The pair did not relent but stood taller instead. "HUMOUR US, HUMAN. WHAT HAS THOU DONE WITH THE ESTEEMED ENGINESEER THALMAR?"

    "Thalmar?" Gwen raised her chin. "Who or what is that?"

    "DOTH THOU THINK US FOOLS?" came the retort from a pair of hissing suits. "WE FEARED THY TREACHERY, HUMAN. WE ASKED THE ETERNAL THALMAR TO RETRIEVE OUR SISTER. HE DID NOT RETURN NOR DID HE REPORT¡ª THEREFORE HE MUST HAVE PERISHED BY THY HAND."

    The murmuring Council Chamber grew quiet once more.

    All who entered the Soulforge had their names engraved upon the Ancestor''s Hall''s hallowed plaques, and so all knew of Thalmar, once Engineseer and now an eternal engine. Gwen could see that the knowledge they lacked was that Thalmar been sent on a secretive and seditious mission.

    "I don''t know who Thalmar is," Gwen lied as effortlessly as she breathed, confessing that she didn''t know anything about Thalmar other than the echoing agony of his dispersing soul as she pulled its Essence from the Golem''s Creature Core, a detail she omitted. "But if you''re going to accuse me without evidence, then I''ve got a good one, just for you."

    She moved her hand across the dais once more.

    Three more bodies appeared, all preserved by Caliban.

    One was intact, the rest were mostly digested but for the head.

    All possessed the inert brain-attachments of the Sinneslukare for all to see.

    "Here''s an accusation," she said to Brugal. "Your precious Murk Divers were trying to set the Aberrants onto us. They were mind-controlling the Crawlers, Centaurs, Hulks and making them attack us relentlessly. How else do you think Hilda failed to hold Khorok Umgor? She had a LEGION with her, Brummy. Twenty Rock Smashers, forty men and women in Golem plating, forty engineers and auxiliary staff AND she had a Fabricator Engine digging up minerals to manufacture fuel and ammunition. How do you lose with a setup like that if not for infiltration?"

    The Council Chamber exploded at her revelation, causing Brugal to shrink.

    "Now, now." Gwen gestured for the members of the crowd to approach and inspect the bodies at their leisure. She addressed her primary targets once more. "Milord Deepdowners¡ª where were we?"

    Zairic and Zethoag Gul-Z¨±h both raised their gauntlets. "MAGUS SONG, THOU TREAD A DANGEROUS PATH."

    "Yeah¡ªNah." Gwen shook her head. "I don''t think so. You know what? I think that under those armours of yours, we might find some suckers..."

    If the High Council had acted prior like the audience of a tragic opera, now came the moment when all the devils of hell spiralled into being around Dante Alighieri, descending into the abyss whilst a sea of strings screeched on the minor scale.

    "Care to remove your helmets?" Gwen placed a hand on either side of her hip. "Show me I am wrong. Else there''s no reason for us to return to the question of my guilt."

    "YER DARE?!" Brugal inflated like a blow-up noodle man. "T-these are our sacred Deepdowners!"

    "These are your sacred Sinneslukare!" Gwen bit back with a snarl. "Guildmaster! As an ally of the Citadel and friend of Hilda, I ask for the Council to take action in the interest of the city''s security! These two, honoured as they are, have acted to obstruct every attempt at contacting Deepholm, going so far as to endanger Kin, if not outright result in their demise. Until we have confirmation, no justice can stand!"

    As she spoke, electricity sparked, for such was her delight in vengeance.

    Of course, she had no evidence that the Deepdowners were Sinneslukare. She was bluffing. Her outright accusation of the Deepdowners was a Hail Mary pass, one that as far as Gwen could see, had no setbacks. With Hilda and Ebren hidden among Hanmoul''s Iron Guards in the second round, a game-winning touchdown was a matter of time.

    If so, there was no reason NOT to attempt such sensible manipulations.

    What if she guessed correctly and accidentally saved the whole Citadel from Sinneslukare subversion? The Saviour of Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth as a title would surely turn some heads, especially Dickie''s, who she needed to rat-fuck the Militants out of her Isle of Dogs.

    Which was why she felt no need to respond to Brugal but instead stood and awaited the Deepdowner''s response.

    To her surprise, the Deepdowners were slipperier than Murk eels.

    "WE ART DISAPPOINTED," the pair spoke in twain to their perplexed audience. "DOTH THOU BELIEVE THAT THE ABERRANT MINDS OF THE FAR PLANES WOULD KNOW THE LEGACY OF N?RN-ZUR''S ALCHEMICAL CREATIONS? OR OF GUL-Z¨¹H''S OIL-BEGETTING FORMULAE?"

    Zairic pointed an iron-clad digit at someone in the noble faction. "WOULD A SINNESLUKARE BE ABLE TO ATTUNE THE FROST-FLAME GLYPHS OF HOUSE VADOR?"

    Zethoag addressed the aldermen from the commons. "CAN A SINNESLURKARE DISMANTLE AND REASSEMBLE A THREE-CENTURY TIEFWASSERFILTRATION UNIT MADE BY ENGINESEER KASTOR KORRUUM?"

    Gwen sighed as the audience murmured their approval. As the Deepdowners said, the peanut-crunching audience did not think that a squid-brained Dwarf could employ apex-tier Dwarven blood-runes, and even if they did, the real knowledge of Deepholm isn''t something so quickly usurped without accumulated effort over centuries.

    In only a few sentences, the pair had turned the silence against her. Such was the boon of having home ground.

    "You do not wish to remove your visor and prove your innocence?" Gwen said. "Then at best, infiltrators you are not, but traitors you still are. Your Klads are not off the hook yet, milords. Why did you prevent Hamoul from receiving resupplies? Why was Hilda left to her own device for months on end in Khorok Umgor? Why are you blaming us, who fought side-by-side with Hilda and Ebren, and not yourselves for her demise when you confessedly did ''nothing''?"

    "WE REFUTE THY ACCUSATIONS." Their twin iron bodies appeared immovable. "IN THESE HALLOWED HALLS, ONLY DEEPKIN MAY QUESTION DEEPKIN. AND NEVER A HUMAN. WHERE ART THOU EVIDENCE? OR ART THOU BUT PEDDLING HEARSAY AND DECEIT? ART THOU A PAWN OF THE SINNESLUKARE?"

    The nobles lent the Deepdowners their greedy ears, with more than a few broadcasting their open agreement. Their hopeful faces said that having Gwen''s accusation turned against her was a breath of fresh air.

    Conversely, Gwen was happy that finally, she had gotten the Deepdowners to invest.

    "I think." She approached the pair but stopped short of facing them directly. "That even if you''re unwilling to show your true faces, you should be willing to enter into our B?ldarak contract. Did you forget that I fought the Aberrants, purged their nests, rescued my men and secured Khorok Umgor only six hours ago? And you say I am a liar? If you''re so guiltless, shouldn''t you at least have the honour and the gall to commit to a vow? Even Brugal gave his name¡ª what makes you better than anyone else here? Do they not deserve you? You who hail from the Cavern of Enlightenment?"

    Once more, the silence turned against her foes.

    Gwen knew that the Deepdowners would not take the oath. They were too slippery for that, and their natural position ensured that no Dwarf, not even the Guildmaster, could force them into such a contract of truth.

    With the stalemate dragging out, she figured prolonging the agony had lost all profitability. It was now time to strike for the jugular and put an end to the charade.

    "I see," she said. "Tentacles might have caught your tongues, but here''s someone who does wish to have their grievances heard¡ª Hanmoul? Bring forth our witnesses."

    Hanmoul ordered his Iron Born to spread out.

    From their number, two stepped forward, clanging onto the stage in their damaged Golem plates. At the Hammer Guards'' behest, the crowd was forced back, leaving only Gwen, the Deepdowners, Whurforl¨¹m and their two newcomers in the middle of the dais.

    Pssssssht¡ª

    The first Golem armour released its torso and helmet, revealing the face of a youthful Dwarven woman still dressed in the dermal-layer of her Klad. The second armour showcased an older Dwarf, a venerable-looking fellow with white hair and a knotted beard in a shabby, loosely-hanging dermal-suit.

    The crowd was not familiar with either of their faces, but there was no mistaking their identity. Each Deepdowner, Gwen supposed, had their unique auras, ones that were unmistakable when put on full display.

    The fairer of the pair opened her hand and produced a Glyph for all to see.

    "Lady Hilda K¨¹l-Hildenbrandt!" Brugal''s orbs appeared almost to remove themselves from his skull. "Lord Ebren!"

    Sounds of rushing fluid erupted from Zairic and Zethoag''s Klads.

    "Milords Gul-Z¨±h," Hilda''s tone hailed from the glacial caverns close to the Para-Elemental Plane of Ice. "Engineseer Thalmar sends his regards. Hanmoul!"

    CLUNK¡ª!

    Without delay, Hanmoul released the "corpse" of the Guardian Balefire, filling half the dais with the enormity of the unmoving Golem.

    The grand hall ceiling was a dozen meters in height, even so, the five-meter form of the dead Balefire appeared to fill the place from granite nadir to lumen-runed zenith.

    Phsssst¡ªPhsssst¡ªPhsssst¡ª

    From the sound of their hyperventilating suits, the brothers had finally lost their composure. Beside them, Brugal appeared as though he had lost his mind.

    "Clan and Kin!" Hilda refrained from using her vox-caster, relying instead on her sweet and feminine voice. "You know me¡ª as I have been among you for the last three decades and more, stoking the crystals in the Hall of the Eternal Cog so that our glorious city burns as a bright beacon against the endless Murk."

    Hilda waited for her audience to quieten.

    Already, Gwen could see bodies belonging to vocal objectors attempting to retreat. A few even tried to exit the High Council Chamber, though the Guildmaster had given express orders to let none leave. When they hissed at the guards to move, the Hammer Guards'' Spellblades hissed back.

    "Lord Thalmar¡­" Hilda''s voice reverberated. "... Came for us. Valiant as he was in life, he fought with every mote of mana against the Aberrant horde. Yet, even with his indomitable spirit, the combined might of the swarm, together with the wicked mind sorcery of the Sinneslukare, proved too much. Even with the arrival of our Human friends and Commandrumm Hanmoul, the Murk Divers infected by the Aberrant brain-worms proved too wily and disruptive. While Ebren and I were besieged by their pallid bodies, the swarm was driven into an unholy frenzy, exhausting the hastily-forged Thalmar with their unholy sorcery."

    "What she said," Gwen finished up for her companion. "I am sorry I couldn''t have done more, Hilda."

    Hilda shook her head, touched Gwen''s gloved hand, then looked up to the brothers Gul-Z¨±h. "I do not know if both of thee art still Dwarves, Lord Keepers, but I know that you withheld my resources. I know that you delayed Hanmoul and that you''re the reason this¡ª all of this¡ª"

    The female Deepdowner''s voice grew suddenly firm and vengeful. "A HUNDRED DWARVES! Keepers Gul-Z¨±h! One HUNDRED gold-blooded Hammer Guards born of iron! Gone! Perished! Reduced to Murk meat by the Aberrants because two errant scholars coveted influence and power they should not have wielded to begin with!"

    The brothers'' Klads continued to ventilate.

    They were in a room full of angry Dwarves, Gwen observed. Most importantly, they were in a room with her. Surely these Gul-Z¨±h folk weren''t thinking of making a break for it? What would be the point?

    "THOU HAST NO PROOF¡­" came their vox-warped retort full of incoherence, grasping at Murk reeds to battle the sucking mud of despair.

    "Are my absent Hammer Guards not proof enough?" Hilda''s voice was almost a feral snarl. "Is your support for this¡ª"

    She pointed to Farron''s rotting squid face. "¡ª not enough?"

    She pointed to her and Ebren''s Klad, even now sitting empty. "THEY KNEW THE RUNE GLYPHS TO UNLOCK OUR KLADS, GUL-Z¨±H! Do you expect to tell me SOMEONE ELSE present could access the Hall of Records?! That there exists another Dwarf in Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth, a Deepdowner Keeper, who comes from Umgor ¨¨ron Var¨¨kan?"

    And that was it.

    Gwen unclenched her mind.

    That was the Maximised Lava Bomb.

    She had no idea how Hilda became un-Klad in the first place¡ª but this tale they concocted was as good as a mithril-clad biblical revelation delivered straight from Hilda''s mouth.

    "Ironf?rge!" Hilda turned to Whurforl¨¹m, who had been awaiting this moment for the last hour. When finally she called on him, the old Dwarf visibly glowed with pleasure. "By the Lumen and the Runes of my Ancestors Hildenbrandt, Varekan and K¨¹l, I proclaim a Decree of Exile against these two shameless ingrates, these unDwarven bookworms that may even now be calamari!"

    Whurforl¨¹m rose to his full height, which wasn''t very tall, albeit the Earthen mana radiating from the Guildmaster could probably levitate a nimble-bodied ¨¤lf. "I CALL FOR A VOTE¡ª"

    "NO NEED," Zethoag''s voice cut across the Guildmaster''s command. "WE CAN SEE THAT THOU HAST PLANNED THIS, LASS OF THE LUMEN. THOU SENIORS ART MOST DISAPPOINTED."

    "IF WE ART NOT WELCOME, THEN THE KEEPERS OF LORE SHALL LEAVE THE CITADEL AND RETURN TO UMGOR ¨¨RON VAR¨¨KAN," spoke the other. "THERE NEED NOT BE BLOOD SPILT, FOR THE BLOOD OF KIN IS GOLD."

    The atmosphere visibly relaxed.

    Gwen sighed.

    So much for nixing the bud in-house.

    She looked to Hilda, whose expression remained unmoved and acknowledged that they would soon proceed to her auxiliary backup plan. It was an outcome she loathed¡ª but that didn''t mean she would shy away. Long ago, in as a dark and claustrophobic a place as the Murk, she had learned a hard lesson from Gunther. Her late Master as well had demonstrated the consequences of allowing sentimentality to fester until sepsis took his life.

    "BRUGAL." The brother did not abandon their fool. "MAKE WAY."

    Gwen watched, pregnant with hope that someone would throw a spell or stab one of the Deepdowners in an attempt to pry open their helmets.

    She was to be disappointed, for these were Dwarves.

    They were honourable, foolish and romantic, with reverence for the elderly and the wise hardwired like nerve stems into their cast-iron brains.

    Instead of anger, the mob watched in silence, their eyes full of shame. Notably, it wasn''t shame heaped upon the Deepdowners and Brugal¡ª but that they fell for lies and powerplays. In the aftermath, a hundred Dwarves or more were dead, as was an Eternal Soul, and if not for Humans, Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth would have lost Hilda and Ebren too.

    From the dais to the cog-driven doors, there was a path of a hundred metres.

    Gwen could imagine that for Brugal and his Clan, the slow-retreat must have felt like an eternity.

    Across from her, Hilda too sunk into her Golem armour, too emotional to speak, unable to swallow the self-loathing of lying to her people. Besides her, a kind Whurforl¨¹m wisely repeated ancestral anecdotes in his calming radio operator''s voice to soothe her toiling mind.

    CLAK¡ªCLAK¡ªCLAK¡ªCLAK¡ª

    The exit doors rolled to either side.

    A troop of Iron Guards, soon to be joined by others, marched out in their Golem plates, Spellswords raised to expel the disgraced deceivers of Kin. Ebren stepped from the dais, said his peace, then left with the Hammer Guards, for somewhere out there was a Balefire Dreadnaught that needed coxing.

    Silently, Gwen retreated to stand beside her Human counterparts.

    "¡­ That was¡­" Ollie licked his lips nervously. "Did you just start a coup?"

    "In China, we call it ''The People''s Will''," Gwen drily replied. "Dickie would likely need to know all the details, after all, and you''re the bringer of the good news."

    Ollie looked into her eyes then furrowed his brows. He was reading her, Gwen could see, and from the twisting grimace now distorting his face from relief to horror, she could see Second Secretary Edwards''s hair-roots cry out in pain. "What? What is it? What else are you going to do? Please, Gwennie¡ª not more trouble¡­"

    "No, not more trouble." Gwen looked at her crew, who stood and nodded. They were rested now, meditated and restored and ready to rumble.

    She patted the future Sir Oliver Edwards on the shoulder.

    "For Christ''s sake, Gwen," Ollie pleaded. "What are you planning now? Where are you all going? Can we talk about this first?"

    "Don''t worry. We''re nixing trouble." Gwen''s smile did not reach her eyes. "I am closing the deal I made with Hildy, Ollie. Tell Dickie to post Quests for survey teams and guards. After today, the Shard will have unfettered access to the Dyar Mokk from John o'' Groats to Southsea."

 Chapter 399 - All of the Above

    Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth.

    The Low Ways.

    In every Dwarven fortification, auxiliary pathways existed as a part of the Demi-human''s philosophy of construction.

    Ironically, Gwen and her companions'' route to reach the dim-Murk on the outskirts was the same one Thalmar had taken at the brothers Gul-Z¨±hs'' behest, a transit involving rapid Teleportation Stations that resembled Dimension Doors, each with a range of a kilometre, and each hardwired through Glyph-wrought Runic nodes.

    "I can see where we got our ISTC inspirations," Gwen remarked to Hanmoul''s cousin.

    "Ha! Yer Humans are good at ''borrowing'' Spellcraft fer sure." Bumrorlim, who had volunteered as their guide, kept up a forced cheer. Though originally Gwen had wanted to perform her final act of cleansing alone, only Dwarves of a specific bloodline, possessing Glyphs of particular Clans, could utilise the auxiliary trail. As Hilda and Ebren had to wash their hands clean for what was to come and Hanmoul''s position was too sensitive, Rori offered herself as their Judas goat.

    Once the party buffed up, summoned their Hounds and settled their Familiars, they waited for their guests.

    Gwen looked down the passageway, her eyes piercing the Murk until the tunnel angled away.

    The brothers Gul-Z¨±h would soon arrive¡ª that was her gut feeling.

    Their ambush point was the only node by which they could safely access the Low-ways parallel to the now-defunct Dyar Morkk. An alternative for returning to the Caverns of Enlightenment would involve trudging through the Murk without an entourage, an unimaginable prospect for two scholars and a few exiled nobles.

    A quarter of an hour later, her victims lumbered into view.

    Together with the Gul-Z¨±h siblings walked the dejected form of Brugal Brumdahr and a small entourage of his relatives cast off by the Clan like a Murk lizard severing a bitten tail. None wore Golem plates, though almost all held onto Spellswords with their sweat-stained hands. The men''s fine clothes, which they wore to the High Council meeting, were stained with dust and debris. Their flawless beards, which had been oiled and impeccably trimmed, struck out randomly, rebelling from the golden bands that kept thick strands in check.

    The Deepdowners among them hissed and clanked, moving with an air of exertion. The brothers'' Klads, Hilda had specified, must be returned to her people or consigned to the Void; in either case, Rori would witness the act and report back as necessary.

    While the exiles approached, Gwen stifled her deep-seated feelings of discomfort for committing what any jury would agree to be premeditated murder.

    Each time a little worm of doubt began to gnaw at her conscience, she danced on the seedling to stymie her natural compassion. These are the monsters who would murder legions of their own for a little power, Gwen reminded herself. If she were a regular Evoker, like those Adventurer-Mages, she would now either be dead or brained via Mon Calamari. In a kinder world, the defeated may deserve compassion; presently, no good governed her actions, only pragmatism.

    Down in the dip under the tunnel''s snaking ceiling, her victims stopped.

    Above them, burrowed in the transmuted stone, Caliban coiled its serpentine body, ready to strike.

    Gwen stood in the middle of the path, awaiting their arrival, a pale spectre of death, a lithe reaper in blue-white and blood-caked Shen-te¨© armour.

    "¡­ Magus Song," Brugal''s voice croaked.

    Gwen boldly measured each of her targets, her Void-tinged aura licking their Astral Souls with bouts of vertigo as invisible tentacle-tongues.

    Earlier, she had asked Rori if the Dwarves could avoid the Dyar Morkk.

    Rori replied that the Deepdowners could flee by turning the stone in any direction they liked, but how long could their mana last? Their Klads'' offered powerful sorcerous effects unmatched even by Rock Smasher Golems, but that didn''t mean they ignored the equivalent exchange of energy. Ten kilometres¡ª twenty¡ª that''s how far they could dig. But then what? Break into the natural caverns in the Murk to battle flora and fauna? Dwarven expeditions rarely ventured from the Citadel without a resupply train and a Fabricator Engine with good reasons. That and Deepholm never lacked for Deepdowners, but that didn''t prevent them from losing access to the Dyar Morkk.

    Psssht¡ª

    Pssssssht¡ª

    The sound of deep-breathing respirators filled the quiet air of the passage.

    Gwen steeled her resolve.

    "This can be quick." She splayed both hands, praying that the Dwarves would resign themselves to their fate. At the very least, she could give them painless dignity. "And you can return to the earth. Or this can be complicated."

    She felt sick hearing the words come out of her mouth.

    How was it that Gunther and Alesia did their duties untouched by weaknesses of the mind? Even with cause, her skull swarmed like a nest of duelling scorpions busting out of a rotten, fungi-infested log.

    Brugal''s face grew three shades paler, as did the complexions of his Kin. With some desperation, he turned to Hanmoul''s cousin. "Bumrorlim¡­ yer¡ª"

    The newly minted Captain of the Murk Divers shook her head. "Perish with honour, cousin Brugal. What ye and yer Kin has precipitated is Varadam. Why does yer expect compassion when yer little better than a howling Aberrant? When yer chose to stand with Zairic and Zethoag Gul-Z¨±h, were yer not reminded that the lumen will always light the way?"

    How simple and how faultless, Gwen thought. Varadam¡ª Un-Dwarven. Brugal and the Keepers were in the eyes of their Kin no longer "Dwarves", for a Dwarf would have known better than to send an Eternal Soul and a hundred Iron Born to a purposeless death, then lie to the High Council, then swear by the Ancestors.

    And if these are no longer Dwarves, then slaying them bore no more moral cost than crushing a Murk rat found thieving from the granary.

    Opposite, the Keepers appeared to have made up their minds.

    When faced with certain death, some chose acceptance.

    Others fought to the bitter end.

    Some acted only when it was too late.

    Such paradoxes marked the nature of higher-thinking beings.

    "OUR ALLIES WILT¡ª" Zairic and Zethoag Gul-Z¨±h made Brugal''s choice for him. Before their final taunt even finished, an eruption of Void sorcery smothered the Dwarves.

    Phantasmal Forces from Gracie materialised as stabbing shadows to send the casters reeling, ignoring armour and defence, bypassing the Klads.

    Hold Monsters spells freed from Spellcubes by Petra reinforced the psyche-devouring illusions, holding the Deepdowners in place.

    Usurp ate up the ambient Earthen mana and half-manifested defence spells triggered from the Klads and the Spellswords.

    And from Gwen came a merciless, wide-area suppression¡ª

    "Enervating Orb!"

    A miniature black sun dawned overhead amidst the Dwarves, draining away all life and vitality.

    Brugal and the unarmored nobles were the first to be reduced to pale cadavers.

    Comparatively, Zairic and Zethoag Gul-Z¨±h stood in place, unable to move, fighting the spell with their Klads.

    Gwen ignored the mana sparking off their grotesque silhouettes and instead focused on increasing potency. When the unarmoured Dwarves died, she had felt a surge of vitality, but now her output far outpaced the drain. As anticipated, Enervating Orb was best against clumped, high-vital targets rather than against small numbers of elite units. Likewise, the penetrative impact of Enervating Orb against upper-tier targets was lacking.

    That said¡ª

    "Enervating Orb!"

    A second black sun materialised beside the first.

    The vital drain remained unsatisfactory.

    "Enervating Orb!"

    A third joined the hovering twins.

    She could cast as many spheres of enervation as her mana and vitality allowed. Simultaneously, so long as the orbs remained in orbit, they were self-feeding or relied on her vital pool but otherwise required no concentration to control and manipulate. With three in place, the flow of life energies doubled. That''s how magical resistance worked. Rather than a percentile diminishment, a creature''s spell resistance was a linear reduction like armour. Once superseded, the target may as well be defenceless.

    The effort to maintain three orbs, however, was significant.

    "Duck." Richard patted her back after she had counted to twenty. "I am pretty sure they''re dead. You pour any more Negative Energy onto them. The corpses are going to rise¡­"

    Gwen ceased her spell casting. She felt gutted and hollow, a symptom of overdrawn vitality, or so she told herself.

    Not far, Brugal and his fellows were now dry husks, so dry that Gwen wondered if their remains were brittle enough to break from toppling over.

    As for the Klads.

    "Richard, can you do it?" she coaxed Ariel near, then slumped against the Kirin, not wanting to look at her handy work any more than she needed. "I am a bit tired."

    "Sure." Richard took the lead.

    Petra arrived beside her and placed her arms around Gwen. "Let''s go home after this, Gwennie. I think we all need to see some sun. Else we''re going to go mad. I bet Dede misses you."

    Her other teammates agreed.

    Gwen buried her face in Ariel. She wanted to fall into her Kirin''s fur and sleep like the dead until she was back in London.

    Whatever cleanup was left in Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth would be the domain of Ollie.

    Richard approached the Klads with Bumrorlim, tasked to retrieve Klads once their occupants perished. After a few Glyph sequences, Zethoag''s "unoccupied" Klad hissed open, spilling out its guts of tubing and white vital fluids.

    Inside the oversized Dive Klad, the shrivelled body of the Keeper appeared like a giant infant with an immensely disproportioned head, his limbs almost entirely atrophied by disuse. Tubing connecting to the dermal suit kept his torso suspended in the runny, embryonic liquid while mechanical components protruded from plugs railed into the shrivelled flesh.

    "¡­ Jesus Christ." Richard gagged at the smell. "How come Hilda and Ebren aren''t like this?"

    "They''re not relying on the Klad to stay alive." Bumrorlim put on a rebreather unit.

    "You want to do the honours?"

    The Dwarf obliged. That was her duty.

    Phsssssst!

    Bumrorlim pried open the helmet with a hiss, releasing the pressure and revealing the Deepdowner whole hog.

    "¡­ Unexpected." Richard now felt glad that Gwen hadn''t succeeded in making the Deepdowners show their faces back in the Citadel, for though Zethoag still had his head, with his beard either shaven or fallen out thanks to the liquid, the Dwarf resembled a pale Aberrant more so than his stout Kin.

    If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

    "No Sinneslukare¡­" Hanmoul''s cousin emerged half-drenched in the milk-white gloop, one hand red with fresh gore from the corpse-husk. "Does this mean¡­"

    "That they''re WILLINGLY working with the Sinneslukare?" Richard marvelled with a whistle and then placed a sympathetic hand on the Dwarf, holding the Iron Born steady. "Goodness. If this is the standard with your upper crust, then Deepholm¡ª is fucked."

    Westminister.

    Norfolk''s Office.

    "Mori" shivered with pleasure as she processed the reports flooding in from the Dwarf-controlled Murk. The majority of the missives were passed on from the Diplomacy Corp working under her Master. Others were from the Adventurers and the merchants operating in the Murk, detailing juicy tidbits about Cambridge''s Void vixen, the limitless profit potential of the Dyar Morkk, and the grand meeting of the Citadels currently being planned in Bavaria.

    Suffice it to say, the Devourer of Shenyang had done it again.

    A dozen times, Morrigan had watched the lumen-recording Oliver Edwards had sent over, analysing every word, savouring every move the young woman made to corner the Dwarven nobility and their Deepdowner allies.

    What a fiery catalyst the girl continued to be! If Morrigan had met the sorceress a millennia ago, she would have desired the girl to be her Champion, and she, her Goddess of victory!

    The plots Gwen had revealed, exposed, kept for another day, and had yet to uncover were enough to make the Patroness of Secrets salivate. The Dwarves as well, though they were a race Morrigan had known since the dawn of Anno Domini, had demonstrated as much malicious political intrigue as their habitual abstractly hoarding of knowledge.

    And the Sinneslukare! A whole race shrouded in secrecy! What delicious morsels might they provide if they were to escape onto the surface? Not even Morrigan had a holistic understanding of the Far Planes.

    She wished that Gwen would remain in the Murk to oversee the final push into the Dyar Morkk, but Ravenport had capitulated to Lady Grey''s wishes that Gwen returned to finish the trimester.

    It was a shame, but then again, on the other talon, the girl''s return meant "Mori" the crow could once more woo the sorceress for her Essence, though she had to take care so that Ravenport wouldn''t grow rebellious to her little experiment.

    Last time, when a simple "Mori" danced past the tip of Gwen''s tongue, her Master had delved into a deep bout of suspicion, going as far as to invoke the old rites to make her speak.

    Under such astral bindings, Morrigan was incapable of lying and so confessed to all.

    "Mori" was contacting the girl to better spy on her.

    "Mori" knew the girl had a habit of talking to animals, particularly avians.

    "Mori" figured Gwen knew she was a Tower raven, so they may as well exercise transparency.

    "Mori" stated that a tiny droplet of Essence for a being like Morrigan was nothing, a gift less substantial than a tuft of hair plucked from a herd of oxen.

    That and she had other murders stalking Gwen in the dark, while "Mori" was merely a distraction. The more critical to the Mageocracy the girl became, the more eyes they needed on her, not so much to guard the girl but for preventing others from crossing her path. Likewise, if any agent with foreign designs would tempt their precious sorceress, Ravenport would be the first to receive a collection of freshly-plucked eyeballs.

    Did "Dickie" believe her? "Mori" decided on yes.

    Both her and Ravenport understood that while Morrigan was incapable of deceiving her contractor, their Faith-bond could not prevent her from withholding information on a contextual level, else the millions of messages entering the catacombs each year would explode a reigning Duke''s head.

    Sighing, her Master allowed the matter to lapse, promising to review the case pending the usefulness of "Mori''s" contact with Gwen. To invoke a modern idiom, the Duke of Norfolk had bigger fish to fry, such as the fact that the Devourer of Shenyang had once more changed the whole dynamic of a battlefront.

    In four days, she had soothed the Dwarves'' protests, rescued the trapped Adventurers, rallied the Craftsmen and the Warrior Caste in supporting the Shard and opened up the Citadel''s crafts to London''s Grey Market.

    Most importantly, she had rescued the "good" Deepdowners.

    Then, she shucked two more out of their Klads like Oysters, not to mention lay waste to the Soul Core of a Balefire.

    Morrigan recalled that the Duke of Norfolk had become so shocked that his mana momentarily escaped his control, making his favourite porcelain cup so brittle as to shatter, spilling Earl Grey all over his documents. The cup was one of four in a Royal Albert set gifted to him by the Queen, and now the collection''s flawless symmetry had gone the way of the Deepdowners.

    Compared to her overworked Master, Morrigan had sadistically savoured the colours flashing across Ravenport''s stone-faced mien. Having known Mycroft since boyhood, she knew it wasn''t every day that the unflappable Lord Marshall had to stop processing documents and pour himself a stiff tumbler of Macallan Highland single malt. The last time her Master had inhaled a glass alone in the dark was when the Red Dragon tore through Paddington after ripping a troop of Griffin Guards to shreds.

    As for now, a hundred and one things required his attention.

    "Morrigan¡ª" Across the table, the Duke flourished his confirmation signatures over and over again across a dozen levitating data slates. "Send these to the Shard. Tell Simmons to prime the Teleportation Circle."

    "Where to, milord?" Morrigan was very obedient these days.

    "Buckingham," her Master replied. "Ser Douglas and I have an appointment."

    "Is this about Magus Song?" Morrigan asked.

    "It is." The Duke did not withhold his thoughts. "The reward this time will be substantial."

    Morrigan pursed her lips.

    Bind the girl? The Ex-Goddess of Secrets chortled. Could London afford a second Isle of Dogs to give?

    While divinely ordained forces debated the nature of suitable rewards, the svelte source of the city''s hypertension lounged on the Duck Pond lawn, enjoying the evergreen enchantment built into its surroundings. Presently, the Devourer-in-residence rested against the feathered breast of a docile Dede defenceless on the dew-laden turf, watching Lumen recordings.

    Whenever students passed, they would politely skirt the domain of the indomitable duck. Freshmen would ask, "who is that?" To which College Seniors would tsk and say, "This is she! The Master of the Duck! Newly returned from the Murk!"

    The newer students would then gulp and acknowledge their place in the food chain, leaving their HDM tithe under a glimmering bush already laden with crystals.

    As for Gwen, she had decided to delve into work and education to banish her lingering feelings about murdering in the Murk. In another world, she might have managed with an electronic miracle of a device, watching minute-long videos of men and women making a fool of themselves in hopes of becoming "viral".

    In this world, she alleviated her disquiet by budgeting for the Isle of Dogs and revising her end-of-Michaelmas examinations. Not that she needed it, for three of her first-year Magisterial courses were a cake-walk.

    For Foundations of Politics and International Relations, all she had to do was compose essays based on real-world exemplars of dilemmas currently facing the Mageocracy. As the whole paper favoured speculation, she should have no issues bullshitting her way through to a High Distinction.

    Likewise, Contemporary Issues in Government and Frontier Governance, and Politics, Peace and Persistent Prosperity required students to give in-person presentations, a skill that she already mastered. For her work, she chose to exercise a proposal for developing the Dwarven Frontier¡ª unsurprisingly the definitive "Hot Topic" in London''s Mage circles.

    The one subject she lacked in confidence in was Advanced Astral Theory and History, the foundational course for Stage II Metamagical Dynamics and Advanced Metaphysical Manifestations, both compulsory courses she needed to complete her higher learning next year, after which a "normal" Magus or Magister candidate had to pick a specialisation.

    From Maxwell''s informative blabbering, Gwen gathered that upper-tier Mages slipped into specialisation based on the number of Schools of Magic they mastered, as well as their Affinity with each School.

    Evokers specialising in Thermodynamic Mana Theory, for example, had the choice of joining rare Cabals attempting to master Climate Control.

    Abjurers with Schools in Transmutation and investments in either Enchantment, Evocation or Divination gravitated toward Planar-Spatial Engineering.

    Conjurers who wanted to fortify a complete understanding of transposing matter took up Astral Trans-Planar Dynamics.

    Enchanters tapped into Transmutation, Evocation or Abjurations could alternatively take up civil and industrial applications in Civil Sorcery and Quasi-Magical Materials. Ones with interest in Heavy Industry such as Golem-crafting took up programs like Dwarven Magi-tech and Mechatronic Applications.

    With her powerful Omni-Magic and her proportionally woeful knowledge of Spellcraft theory, Gwen was suitable for precisely none of those limit-testing courseworks. As each mastery consumed between one and three decades.

    Compared to career scholars, she just wanted her qualifications to make substantial changes to the world around her.

    For a "Political Candidate" like herself, Maxwell Brown, her career advisor and Supervisor, suggested participation in real-world excursions.

    With her successful subversion of the Dwarven situation, the Shard, Ravenport''s Department of Foreign Affairs and Oxbridge had officially recognised her uncanny ability to swing stalemates into stunning successes for the Mageocracy.

    Hers was a talent that ventured beyond conventional Spellcraft, they said; the Tower Master who wastes nothing wants not. To misapply such a sorceress on Spellcraft that any Magister with enough time, talent, and resource could obtain would be a tremendous waste.

    Instead, in the quoted praise of Lord Magister Seamus Burbank Hammond, Tower Master of London, Gwen was, "A lass with a true talent for the push and pull of diplomatic tango, leading the Mageocracy and its allies toward mutual profit." As there existed no higher praise from a man with so much sway in London''s academic circles, the statement had graced the front page of every paper from the Sun to the METRO, framing an image of Gwen in her blood-stained Shen-Te¨©.

    In Oxbridge''s opinion, therefore, there was no better test for Gwen''s subsequent years than experience and practice so that she could attain her self-professed goals faster. The girl''s spell-damage potential was already at an eye-watering tier; what they desired now the mental fortitude to apply faultless governance.

    "A year ago, we had all thought your adventure in Burma was a fluke." Maxwell had been very enthused by her return and her growing infamy. "And later, the Dwarven city as well. But now, you''ve tapped us into the Murk! Bloody hell! I, for one, will be the first to sign any application for extracurricular excursions, assuming you complete your accelerated theory work, of course."

    When she asked, Maxwell implied that Gwen would be invited to participate in Frontier governance, pending her accolades from the Lent and Easter terms. Since the Spellcraft revolution, Oxbridge and Royal Imperial''s affiliated Magisters had operated on a tenure system where Magister candidates travelled to various Frontiers to gather data, train local Mages, act as government auditors, or perform civil or military maintenance. To volunteer on such "Quests" marked the beginning of the "Magister''s Path".

    "Enlighten me," she had asked her guidance counsellor. "What''s on the menu?"

    "There''s an ongoing civil war in the Niger Delta the Shard is struggling to mediate," Maxwell had said after taking a minute to tally the Shard''s latest international atrocities. "As per the Mageocracy''s foreign policy, we''re on the side of the losing side."

    "Ah¡ª" Gwen nodded, for this was nothing but history repeating. "I take it the losers are losing a little too hard?"

    "¡­ very astute." Maxwell smiled, appearing to affirm his bias of her innate gift for foreign relations. "Indeed. We''re pushing more resources in than we''re getting out."

    "Sounds straightforward enough. What else?"

    "Mermen problems. This one''s stuck around like rotting fish. I heard you were involved in one of the reports? There''s talk they worship the ''Pale Priestess''."

    "You mean the freighter Gunther returned?"

    "Yes, in the South China Sea." Maxwell nodded. "Interesting pot of trouble brewing over there. Singapore''s fleets are suffering a not-insignificant loss of transports, meaning they''re forced to hire superstructural vessels from Denmark at reduced margins. Meanwhile, whatever this cult is, it''s developing quietly out of control. We''re seeing the Shoals as far as the Australian west coast and up to the Sea of Okhotsk. I don''t know if there''s any correlation, but the entire South-East Asian region has a SPAM shortage. The world''s getting stranger, that''s for sure."

    Gwen considered her likeness that the Mermen privateers had pirated.

    Ru¨¬ had continued the contract with Homel Foods to use her likeness for SPAM. Supposedly, this year''s IIUC for China had straight-away returned to the dark days of grinding through the preliminaries via tears and blood. The pyrrhic victory was such agony to watch that citizens preferred propaganda reruns, bringing a new bout of recognition to the team and especially Lulan, who had all but disappeared from the public eye.

    "Alternatively, if you want to try your hand at governance, Meister Bekker over at London Imperial will be taking Mage Flights to the Northern Steppes with your friend Jean-Paul," Maxwell spoke with sudden recollection. "There''s a whole string of chaos whipping up within the southern Elementals Sultanates that''s driving the Hoof-folk nuts. Very foreboding, even if we have no idea what they''re up to or what the Americans stirred up this time."

    "I thought Centaur-folk ran the Steppes?" Gwen recalled Richard had written a paper on the continued chaos in the region. In the Mongol days, the Demi-human Centaurs had an iron-age empire spanning continents. Pre-beast tide, the Mageocracy that replaced it possessed Protectorates stretching from the Red Sea to the Elemental Sea and from the Mediterranean to the Bay of Frost and Fire. Post-Tide, the Mageocracy was left with only trading stations eking out a living collecting whatever the Elemental Sultans of the Fire Sea were willing to trade. Were it not for the Djinns'' preferences for warring among "worthy" threats such as their Kin; their sudden emergence would have cowed every terrestrial race.

    "Neigh, the glory days of their Khaganate are centuries past." Maxwell had bitten back a smile. "Back then, they fought their own, they fought us, and they fought the Wildlands. Considering how reliant we were on physical walls and a handful of Mages holding up each city, it''s no surprise their empire stretched from the South China Sea to the holy seat of Istanbul. These days, not much has changed¡ª better food and water, more resilient animal husbandry and magical arms perhaps, but think about the foes they now face: Undead spilling through from Northern China, Bloodsuckers filtering through Lower Eastern Europe, Elementals flooding over from the Fire Sea, AND us, pulling their hind legs."

    "Did you just..." Gwen could have sworn the cheeky Magister had tried to Dad-pun her.

    "Their entire region''s full of untapped Crystal veins, precious gems and minerals, rare earth metals, magical flora and fauna and everything in between," Maxwell explained. "Our success, Magus Song, implies enough materials to build a second London."

    "Well then..." Gwen recalled grinning at her instructor, the tip of her pink tongue quickly dabbing her lips. "That sounds like a good place to start a Tower Fund¡­"

    "Ha!" Her Supervisor had laughed. "So, which one do you fancy?"

    "You forget who you''re talking to¡ª" Gwen recalled snorting hot air at her instructor. "If this is a multiple-choice question, Max, then I choose D."

 Chapter 400 - More Money, More Problems

    "Our Drakaina has returned to her cavern." Eric Walken''s smarmy grin made Gwen briefly think of the man she had initially encountered in Sydney. These days though, her Executive Officer''s smugness was a part of his confidence and charm.

    Besides them, the always handsome Dominic Lorenzo chortled, nursing his Maotai.

    This late at the "Bunker", most of the employees had left, leaving Gwen with her two most trusted lieutenants to traffic in her study of London''s intrigues. With the loan on their Fabricator unit and its crew now extended for at least two more years, Gwen grew once more confident of Phase III''s profitability.

    As for the request she had prior left with Walken, evidence gathering and sly testimonials from assured NoMs took time, especially if the IoDRP desired to excavate a slippery Sarlacc pit of litigation for their opponents.

    That said, the Militants'' thieving vermin claws had dug more than skin deep into her fundraising project, breaking the skin and tapping into her golden veins. As a famed financier who usually did the marrow-sucking herself, she felt personally assaulted.

    "They''ve accumulated properties worth 247,231 HDMs?" Gwen''s teeth felt like she had tried to bite Golos, especially after reading the interim report. "You know, regimes have fallen for far less."

    "I am worried less about money and more about open opposition to the Exeters," Walken said. "A quarter of the METRO''s annual turnover should cover our losses. That or since the Dwarves are staying with us, we can expect to cut construction costs by one-third."

    "The total tally involves seventy-eight parties with various leases and holdings," Lorenzo explained. "There ARE legitimate sales mixed in with the bad faith trades. Block 21-C to 27-D had leaseholds belonging to a lesser aristocrat. 44E and 11C, respectively, are owned by family members of the House of Lords. It''s the smaller, single-block leaseholds that are most under threat. The ones that have been here for generations."

    Gwen scanned the map behind Walken. "That''s a huge lot. Enough for a shopping mall or six multi-storey apartment-hotels. Is it those Barlow fellers again?"

    "Yes," Walken said. "Or the Barlow Trade Consortium, if we go by the Grey Market."

    Gwen furrowed her brows. "I assume that''s the same schmucks who own Canary Wharf upstream? The ones refusing to dough out the METRO at their outdated trade hub? The same one who expelled our NoM paper-handlers?"

    "The very same." Walken tapped the table. "They''re an old nemesis¡ª particularly if we assume they started paying attention to you from the incident at Lady Astors. Whether intentionally or otherwise, you''ve stiletto-heeled their toes more than once."

    "Enlighten me." Gwen crossed her legs.

    "They''re in the property business, the newspaper business, the train and tram business, the transport business, the print business..."

    "... Fair enough," Gwen concurred. "So, we''re mortal enemies. But Le Guevel never mentioned a Barlow Group in her lectures."

    Lorenzo was ready for her enquiry. "The executors of the ''The Barlow Consortium'' is a collective formed by London''s militant-inclined industrialists. Magus Le Guevel didn''t mention them because their officers are not aristocracy; some aren''t even Mages. They service their betters, who provide them with backing and muscle. The Duke of Exeter and his ilk act as a figurehead, among others. As for their origin¡ª Gwen, are you familiar with Henry of Monmouth?"

    A year ago, Gwen would have known nothing. Thanks to Le Guevel and Lady Grey, her tier of royal trivia was now on par, with supplementary rumours, insights, analysis and evaluations to boot.

    "The ''Argent'' King," Gwen repeated from Holinshed''s Chronicles of English Propaganda. "England''s Gloria, the 15th-century predecessor of Gloriana, He of all Humours, Hal the Omni-Mage, Fifth of his Name, King of France and England, Wales and Scotland."

    "Just Henry V will do." Lorenzo gave her a thumbs up. "Do you like titles? O MVP of the IIUC, Devourer of Shenyang, CEO of the IoDRP, She who Rides the Beast of Many Heads, the Woman who is the Great city, which reigns over the Kings of the Earth..."

    Walken burst out in laughter, after which Gwen got the joke. "Oi! You''re bruising for a cruising, mate!"

    Lorenzo didn''t dodge her punch. Luckily, Gwen was no longer possessed of her Draconic strength; else, he would have made a Lorenzo-shaped exit through the rune-reinforced concrete.

    "If there''s one thing that links the Militants, it''s the Lancastrian line," Lorenzo continued, controlling his mirth. "As you should know, Her Majesty hails from the Saxe-Coburg and Gotha bloodline, a fact that has irked the purists since the Hanovers took the Crown during the beginning of the 18th century, ending with Eternal Victoriana."

    "Ah yes, the three surviving Royal families." Gwen nodded. "I''ve heard of this. But what does this have to do with the Barlows?"

    "The Lancastrians are historically the purist branch of true ''English'' Monarchs, at least in their eyes. They hail from the Plantagenet''s mystically potent blood. They claim all heirs hitherto from Monmouth to Elizabeth, the formative period of England''s pacification of the Demi-humans Wildlands. For the Barlow Consortium, membership is exclusive to those with blood-ties. To us commoners, the very idea is absurd, but the Lancastrians possess both the sorcery and means to take advantage of the Mageocracy''s long recovery. Their encroaching on the Isle is one such example."

    "Ah¡ª" Gwen understood the underlying politics between the nobles'' faction-within-factions immediately. "Do they have anyone worth their salt in a fight?"

    "At least a dozen," Lorenzo warned her. "You know your Exeters, and they are closely tied to Scotland''s Tower of the Magi as well."

    "Your talent gives them all the more reason to hate your guts." Walken laughed. "Henry of Monmouth was an Omni-Mage, so the Lancastrians boast. One would imagine they''ve been breeding like Lady Grey''s bloodhounds to try and reproduce the right combination passed on by their progenitor. Imagine the existential chaos in their Cabal''s upper ranks when you showed up wielding every School of Magic, Lightning and Void and the ability to rally Dwarves and whisper Elves."

    "... you forget investing with Dragons," Gwen added.

    Walken and Lorenzo shot her disgusted looks, deriding her smug Lightning Affinity.

    She shrugged. "So what''s their stake? Sounds to me like they want in on the developer''s buffet?"

    "Who wouldn''t?" Walken walked over to the map behind Lorenzo. "See here¡ª Canary Wharf, C21, D34, F23, G22... they''ve acquired ownership over these portions."

    "Minor Image!" Gwen helpfully tossed up a few Illusions to overlay the map, aiding Lorenzo''s fingers.

    "¡­ Well done," Lorenzo praised her. "Yes, the red parts. While we''re here, these portions, including Mudchute and the lower portion of Cubitt Town, belong to Lady Grey as freeholds, while the IoDRP owns these."

    Gwen added the shades of blue. Cobalt freeholds meant the title-owner possessed the land. It differed from the teal leaseholds, where the tenant owned an apartment or a serviced unit, but not the land.

    "Thanks to Lady Grey''s good governance, these are all her leaseholds." Lorenzo pointed to the gaps. "But here and there, D12, D17, E12, B12-21 are leaseholds owned by independents, among others."

    Gwen added purple and green.

    The resultant quilt-work of ownership made their foe''s plans self-evident. "Ah¡ª so that''s what our industrious little rats are after..."

    She could see that if the Barlow Group had taken Millharbour and South Quay. With these properties, they could add secondary overland rail and ferry stations to rival the IoDRP and occupy one-third of the waterfront space to become a commercial centre within her commercial district. In another world, this would be the free market doing its thing. In this world, she alone was responsible for terraforming upended river dredgings into HDMs. Thereby, every percentile of return from now and into the future belonged to herself and her investors, more so if she wanted to attract more than one local-lizard to serve on her Board of Directors.

    That final detail was pivotal for Legion.

    How dare they steal from a Dragon''s maw? Gwen fumed. Did the Barlow Group not know that pilfering profit was no less than slaying one''s lover? They might as well try to murder Evee!

    "I think I understand your position." Walken read her like a young adult light-RPG fiction. "We will figure out how to best prevent their next phase from taking place."

    Prevention?

    Gwen shook her head.

    Fuck prevention. You can stop a thief for a day, but how do you mitigate the risk forever? There was bound to be ways to screw over the IoDRP if their foes kept trying.

    What she coveted was their thieving hand on a silver platter.

    Gwen pondered the map, her mind furiously brewing up the economic equivalent of Void-induced ultraviolence. When her brain brushed over the miniature-scale models of their phase III apartments, malicious and maleficient thoughts of malpractice materialised.

    The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

    "What were our phase II construction stage outgoings? How about III?"

    "On paper? Mid Six-hundred thousand HDMs," Walken said. "But that''s with support from the Great London Metropolitan Office. Phase III''s gamble is our own, early estimates, even with the Fabricators in place, is close to two million."

    "Any debts on our balance sheets?"

    "None. Lady Astor, Lady Grey, Duchess Rothwell, and the Duke of Norfolk have all chosen to reinvest their dividends."

    Gwen rolled her eyes. Dickie was making money off her sweat and blood, and he still wanted her to tour the Elves? The man had better give her the show of a lifetime when the time came to fleece the Lancastrian nobles.

    "Just for the afflicted area, what''s our projected five-year return?"

    "Including rentals, taking into account inflation and land speculation, about nine to twelve million HDMs," Walken replied with relish. "Enough to keep a fully-staffed Siege Tower fighting for a month. You''re not thinking of sponsoring the Shard for an invasion, are you?"

    Gwen''s eyes grew cold. "If the Barlow Group takes that shoreline and builds cheap apartments, they''re going to undercut our prices. Conversely, if they built high, our leases will see stiff competition. All that is going to hit our bottom line, hard. That means we might have to delay phase IV."

    Phase IV being "Legion", a bottomless Crystal pit, but one she knew would bring tangible change to the life of Humans and Demi-humans everywhere.

    And goodwill.

    And endless, boundless profit.

    Unlike Gunther, if she was to have a Tower, she had no desire to be short-changed by politics, funding, and lack of talent. All of her Tower''s future obstacles would be solved by bashing HDMs at problems until they begged for mercy.

    In this world, she would be Carlos Slim, Mukesh Ambani and or Masayoshi Son. None began in telecommunication, but their golden billions would have been unachievable without investing in an industry with explosive growth. But for her gamble to succeed, she had to have secondary industries feeding her primary monopoly, a stratagem well proven by companies like Samsung, Viacom and Intel.

    For primary infrastructure, the rules of investment were inversed.

    More capital.

    Greater scale.

    Less risk. For "the masses" mitigated the potential of catastrophic collapse. The more coverage, the more customers, the more clients, the more assured the company''s capital base. And likewise, the more likely the government had to step in.

    As for the IoDRP''s landholdings¡ª she didn''t expect to become a real estate Baron. "Land" was always a tricky investment. There were too many competitors, and someone was bound to be willing to bet their life while she wasn''t.

    And like she discussed with Mia, Marong and Ruxin, "Legion" needed obscene volumes of HDMs, enough to pay for research and development, land acquisition, hardware and software, storefronts, multiple headquarters on par with Frontier Towers sans offensive capabilities, and thousands of staff in every region they conquered.

    Or at the very least, she needed enough collateral to borrow that much money from mutually-interested parties, such as the Shard, or the Crown, or the city of "insert metropolis here", or the Mageocracy.

    And the Barlow Group was standing in her way.

    Which meant it was standing in the way of history.

    "I recall you said the Militants are short on funds," Gwen said. "Is that still true?"

    "With the Niger Delta and the Steppes as they are," Walken answered. "I doubt they are shipping back anything worthwhile."

    Upon hearing such familiar places, Gwen told Walken of Maxwell''s suggestion that she furthered her studies through practicals and fieldwork, further fortifying her credibility.

    "Magister Brown''s not wrong." Her executive officer rubbed his chin. "We know you''re an Omni-Mage, but I doubt anyone''s expecting you to be the variant whose academic depth could bring about advances like Superstructural Mandalas. You''re on good terms with Jean-Paul as well¡ª I don''t see why Meister Bekker would refuse to tutor you together with her pet. If anything, I can see her being very keen on it."

    Angie''s father wiggled his brows. "The boy''s not a looker, but..."

    "I don''t think Jean-Paul and I are going to be like that," Gwen cautioned her Magister. "He''s even given up on Gracie, now that she''s not going to expire anytime soon."

    "Why so controlling if you''re not keen?" Walken gave her a strange look. "What does it matter to you what they do?"

    "Did we forget Sobel?" Gwen huffed. "Why she went mad?"

    Walken said nothing else and instead drank his tea. "So, the Lancastrians. Shall I take care of them while you gallop around the world, saving the Mageocracy from one financial disaster after another?"

    "That''s my curse," Gwen returned to their original topic. "So how are the Lancastrians sourcing their funds? State banks, private entities? Stealing from the treasury?"

    "All of the above. The Royal Reserve holds a certain volume that it issues as military bonds. The Bank of England under the Crown is generous to its frontline aristocracy. And many of the Lancastrians sit on the board of old companies. Their liquidity comes from the Hong Kong Shanghai Banking Conglomerate, who also acts as the central currency exchequer for the Frontiers."

    She pondered the new information.

    "Assuming we catch them red-handed and Dickie puts his weight behind us," she said. "How many contracts can be voided?"

    "About forty thousand. Enough to hurt."

    A negligible volume that wasn''t enough to even bruise.

    Gwen returned her eyes to the multi-coloured map.

    "How about¡­" she paused. "I don''t know about the legality here, but the Barlow Group borrowing money means they have to return interest. This month, the Royal Reserve is at 4.72%, correct?"

    "That''s right."

    "Naturally, they''re not going to need to borrow to buy properties from the NoMs but to demolish, rebuild and furnish these waterfront properties. They''ll need at least as much HDMs as us, if not more."

    "Certainly, since they lack both Fabricators and Dwarven engineers. Even if they tap into the Royal Engineers, that''s still Human-made equipment. Their Mages and Golems will eventually get the job done, but they won''t be as swift or efficient as our construction team. At best, it''s a seven-year project for them."

    Gwen rested her eyes while crunching the numbers. When she opened her eyes again, her compatriots shivered at the inner light of greed glimmering within her amber-green orbs.

    "Right. Here''s what we''ll do." She turned to Lorenzo. "Keep gathering evidence. Leak a headline now and then between the next phase of our plan. As long as you''ve got the facts straight, snitch like a mad bitch. They''re sure to come knocking, then keep evidence of their coercion of the METRO as well. If they cross the line, get the Dwarves to hold the fort. I''d love to see what Her Majesty and her Shard has to say if greedy merchants try to destabilise a major infrastructural project that''ll bring back the glory days of the Mageocracy''s trade channels. If they even bruise one of our Demi-human allies, then we''ve profited."

    "Right."

    She turned to Walken. "Eric, find out as much as you can of the Barlow folks'' financial situation. Most importantly, who they borrowed from and how much."

    "Alright, and?"

    Gwen grinned. "I''ll speak to Lady Grey and Lady Astor. After phase III, we''ll play it safe and keep a high volume of liquid capital, at least around a million HDMs of float. I can draw from my Dragon bank if the IoDRP reserves fall short."

    "Why delay?" Walken furrowed his browns. "Don''t you want to race the Barlow group? If we can sell our units before their''s complete¡­"

    "Hee hee hee." Gwen''s teeth glinted in the dusky light of Walken''s ornate office. "They''re building with borrowed funds, meaning there''s an obligation to reimburse HSBC after a specified period. If they''re unable to, there''s not only the usual usury but compounded additional interest for breach of contract. Correct?"

    "One may assume so. Business is business."

    "Good. Then what if the Barlow Group purchases the land, demolishes the homes and the workshops, invest north of a million HDMs into their new project, only to be exposed that they robbed the poor and tried to destabilise the Mageocracy?"

    Both Lorenzo and Walken opened their mouths.

    "I don''t think that''ll stop them," Lorenzo replied with an eye on reality.

    "Who said I want to stop them?" Gwen snorted. "I want to DELAY the construction. The folk they ripped off deserve justice!"

    "Justice?" Walken did not believe a single word passing between her pouty lips. "Of course. I almost forgot your primary motivation."

    "Who am I to argue with the METRO that will print the same developing story week after week and with evidence? Not only that, I want you to look into their other business dealings. Ask the Cabal if you have to; God knows they owe us one."

    Lorenzo''s breath grew heavy.

    "I want you to put down headlines like ''Barlow Bankrupt yet another Victim'' and accuse their vertical corporations of the same double-dealing. Delay their construction schedule for six months, a year, as long as you''re able."

    "That''s going to drive the Lancastrians up the wall for sure." Walken touched a hand to his heart. "Good God, Gwen, you''re a piece of work."

    "We''re not even in the first circle of hell!" Gwen gave Walken a look that said she was disappointed by his lack of vicious ambition.

    The two men fell silent once more as cold sweat drenched their backs.

    "Once there''s enough fear and instability and delay," she continued with complete confidence. "I want you to approach HSBC and whoever holds Barlow''s trading identities."

    Walken''s eyes grew glassy. "Jesus¡­"

    "Jesus might not save them," Gwen said. "But I will. When their investors start to sweat, I want you to buy their bad debts at a discount. Push the price down as far as you can. If they''re desperate, I think half-price for insolvent loans that are unlikely ever to see returns would satisfy their lenders. If the Barlow Consortium panics beforehand and their members pull out¡ª we might be able to buy-in at one-tenth the cost."

    ".. and then?" Lorenzo was slower than Walken to comprehend her economic buccaneering.

    "¡­ and then we litigate to put down the Barlow Group like Atticus Magic Missiling a rabid Corpse Hound." She carelessly let loose an allusion to her novel. "After which we''ll drink up all their holdings in the Isle of Dogs, or depending on their corporate structure, force them to declare bankruptcy. If they''re smart, they''ll trade their controlling shares¡ª not that their shares will be worth anything by then. Once we have enough to subvert the Board of Directors, we''ll strip them for parts, dissolve the unprofitable divisions and vortex up the rest. I don''t mind shares in the Sun Herald. Do you?"

    Walken pursed his lips in thought. "If you get to that point, they''re bound to come for blood. Will you be ready?"

    "I am the Devourer of Shenyang. I brought the Dyar Morkk to Dickie. He''s going to be my shield, or I tell Hildy and Ebs they should think twice about the reliability of their allies. Tell you what, we''ll extend an olive branch to HSBC or whomever when the time comes as well. That''ll put the stake in their coffin."

    "Fair enough." Lorenzo scratched his stubble-strewn chin; the man''s eyes scanned their crystal-mad witch from her bouncing hair to her dainty little heels.

    "¡­ just like that?" he said after a moment, still in shock. "This is the Barlow Group! The money bag for the Militants! A Lancastrian Consortium!"

    "Yeah. Just like that," Gwen said without hesitation. "When you mess with the Devourer, you get the Caliban up your snoot."

    Walken winced. Somewhere, a Wyvern clenched his cheeks. "Isn''t all this a bit too¡­easy?"

    "Why should it be hard?" Gwen retorted. "We spent time and money and capital to develop the Isle of Dogs. Then we reinvested our profit. Thanks to our Dwarven engineers, we''re as stable as a Pyramidal Necropolis. They''re borrowing money to steal from our citizens, to snatch the meat from our jaws! Why shouldn''t we bite back? When they have no foundation to fall back on, why shouldn''t they fall like a troop of Gobs trying to block a Rock Smasher?"

    "Alright, alright." Walken backed away defensively. "Lorenzo, never anger our Void Drakaina."

    Lorenzo disguised his discomfort with empty laughter.

    "One more thing." Gwen figured she might as well save some time.

    "Yes?"

    "You said the Exeters and the Barlow folk are invested in this Elemental Fire Sea Sultanate Northen Steppe Centaur ordeal, right?"

    "The Militant Faction is." Both men drew back a cold breath of suddenly chilling air, though Walken understood her immediately. "Gwen, you''re not thinking..."

    "Of course I am." Gwen skulled her glass with one swig, then exhaled fragrantly in the direction of their faces. "Haven''t you heard the adage? Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned; nor hell a fury like profits pilfered¡­"

 Chapter 401 - Friends in High Places

    Gwen''s Michaelmas exams came and went.

    Due to her direct involvement in the Dwarven intervention, her various "Murk" showcases met with resounding applause. Her Almudj-enhanced memory, a talent usually reserved for strangers and grudges, proved enough to hit the Distinction range for Astral Theory. However, as she added nothing inspiring to her meticulously regurgitated notes, Gwen barely scraped the D. Nonetheless, she was glad for the taxing work, as the repression from her black-handed murder grew muddled as she mired her mind with academia, IoDRP statements and future intrigues for January.

    Now, with Christmas and 2006 so close, it was time for family.

    On advice from Lady Grey, Gwen gathered Elvia, Richard, Petra, Jean-Paul and Gracie to grace the historic manor owned by Lady Astor.

    The offer had come from the Lady herself, who, as a vital IoDRP stockholder, expressed the desire for Gwen''s goodwill and that she dearly missed Evee, a sentiment shared by both women.

    At the Lady''s generous behest, Ferrier''s Cottage, a recently renovated, pre-Tudor stand-alone structure quietly sitting by the Thames, had been made available to Gwen and her company for the week, inclusive of a luxury barge and a team of cooks and servants hand-picked from the main house''s retinue. As for the Lady herself, she would receive Gwen and her companions on Christmas eve in a grand ball. Both before and after, they were free to use Cliveden until real-world business once more required their presence.

    Before the boon, Gwen had thought to take an ISTC hop back to Sydney or Shanghai. But considering Astor''s invitation and her intimate "family" close at hand, she settled on being pampered at home.

    "I''ll visit the Elves in January..." she promised herself, eyeing the days left in her remaining calendar. "With their long-lives, the knife-ears could surely afford more patience.

    As for her upcoming week, she had research to conduct and an Elvia to visit.

    Hastings.

    Battle Abbey.

    Elvia Lindholm, Knight Companion Elect, tensed every muscle in her body as the Devourer enveloped her with outstretched arms, her body language resembling Spider-ban''s maw.

    "E-E-Eveeeee¡ª!" The Void Witch of Cambridge enfolded her petite figure with both arms, her smooth cheeks pushing against Elvia''s own as she lifted her off her feet. "Oh, how I''ve missed you."

    Elvia buried her face in Gwen''s bosoms, drinking in the familiar scent. With her Draconic senses, she could taste the pulsing seed of Divinity within her companion''s Astral Body, knowing her friend had grown yet again after usurping monsters in the Murk.

    Having not seen each other for so long, she allowed Gwen''s hands to meander.

    "You''ve grown stronger!" Gwen remarked after squeezing her arms, which now possessed some definition to go with the bones. Simultaneously, her companion waved an unenthused hand at Mathias, who looked on like a pup whose master had gotten a new boyfriend.

    "...And taller!" Gwen marvelled. "But then again, so much has happened, and it has only been a year, Evee. Can you believe it?"

    Elvia could. It was precisely in the same week of December one year ago that Gwen had arrived in England and collected her from Mathias'' thankless quest in Merthyr Tydfil. There, Gwen had accidentally saved Hanmoul, berated Mathias, Purged a Troll Warren, then set in motion what would catalyse the Mageocracy''s bugle-blaring march into the Dyar Morkk.

    For any other nineteen-year-old, Gwen''s feats would enter the realm of mythoi. For the Gwen in Elvia''s heart, it was just another Monday. With an arm wrapped around the tall sorceress'' waspish waist, Elvia considered her friend with whom she had spent ten days cheek to cheek and then the major part of a year apart.

    If Gwen''s observation was that her "Evee" had changed¡ª then Elvia could only say that Gwen had changed even more. In her eyes, Gwen now displayed a commanding presence that only elders like Seneschal Ashburn or her teacher, the Rectrix Theodora St. Claire, readily possessed. It was the confidence and aura, Elvia discerned, of an administrator whose word and will could at a thought, sent hundreds of families, both Humans and Demi-humans, to heaven or hell.

    "How fared Northern Ireland?" Gwen continued off from their last conversation months ago.

    Elvia''s smile froze for a split-second. "It was rough."

    Rough was not a word that could begin to describe the Fomorian''s annual Wild Hunt in the Prime Material. Yet, Elvia chose to downplay the hardship, for she had no wish for her friend to once more descend into righteous madness, at least not before Tianjin came to pass.

    Still holding her hand, Gwen turned to Mathias. "Mattie? What happened in Northern Ireland?"

    "The Fomorians were out in force. We drove them back, but they got what they came for." Mathias'' response was far less considerate. Still, she couldn''t blame her bodyguard, for where the Knight possessed the pride and enthusiasm of a prancing pony a year ago, recent events had rapidly repressed his optimism. In a way, both she and Mathias had the Fomorians to thank for their rapid acquisition of perspective. "But that''s a story for another time. This way, please, the Rectrix is waiting."

    "Come on, Gwennie." Elvia relished the secret thrill of once more calling Gwen''s nickname. In the Northern Ireland campaign, were it not for the Yinglong''s blessing and Sen-sen''s outrageous combat multiplier, she would have been Evee-napped and taken to the sacred soil of the Tuatha D¨¦ Dannan to serve some nefarious purpose.

    Still holding one another''s hand and scandalising the passersby guards and trainees, their party passed under the imposing gate of Battle, its portcullis built for its namesake.

    Inside were several cloisters that resembled the ones in Rosebay, through which they reached a courtyard with a half-moon garden and a gazebo, in the shade of which stood Theodora St. Claire, former Duchess of Beaufort and Somerset, grandmother to Emily Greyson Rothwell, and Elvia''s warden.

    On the roof of the pavilion sat an inch of December snow.

    Yet all around the structure grew a profusion of multi-coloured flowers.

    "Kiki, Sen-sen." Elvia released her Familiars into the evergreen garden, for it was due to her Familiars that the mortal plants repelled the winter''s ravages.

    "Ariel, Cali." Gwen performed likewise. "Cali, stay away from the plants¡­"

    A few meters from the smiling Rectrix, Elvia''s teacher received them with open arms.

    As one of the Holy Ordo, Rectrix St. Claire, possessed equal-rank to that of a Diocesan. As the co-head of a militant order, she also kept pace with the state''s Generals. In the year Elvia had spent with the Rectorix, she recognised the woman as genuine and compassionate yet flexible and pragmatic¡ª the polar opposite of Senechal Ashburn, who was as unyielding as a redwood.

    "Your Grace." The Void Sorceress curtsied like a pro.

    "Welcome, Magus Song." The Rectrix took Gwen by the hand and led her into the pavilion''s interior, where a hearty breakfast of jam, honey and scones had been laid out. "It''s still early. Have you eaten?"

    "I could eat." Gwen waited for the Rectrix to sit before taking her seat. Elvia sat adjacent; Mathias took his place beside her, stoic as a sentinel.

    "Mattie, sit," Gwen said to the Knight.

    "¡­ That''s improper," Mathias recited flatly.

    "Do sit, Mathias," the Rectrix implored. "This is Evee''s friend, and so she is ours."

    The Knight loosened his polished cuirass, then sat with his buttocks nearer the edge of the seat. Elvia gave her Knight an encouraging smile.

    "Chip on his shoulder?" Gwen mused at Elvia.

    "Mattie''s unhappy about what happened in Lurgan," Elvia replied euphemistically. "The Fomorians broke through the defence line and overran the triage centre. Mathias protected me. Many Mages died, as well as several of my fellow Clerics who did not have a Knight of St Michael at their side."

    "I see." Her companion allowed the matter to drop. Passing a hand over the empty half of the table, she materialised several obsidian Creature Cores.

    Elvia''s nose wrinkled. There was something terrible and wrong about the Essence emanating from those Cores.

    "Rectrix¡ª my mentor sends her regards. She said that these might be useful to you?"

    It took Elvia a second or two to realise the misshapen, kidney-stone shaped Cores were the remains of Aberrants harvested thanks to Golos'' presence. From their Element, Elvia could see that the Creature Cores, each with its admixture of Elemental Earth and Ooze, were uniquely suited to ancient Abjuration magic, which were crude but unfussy about materials. A place like Battle was thus perfect for giving roughly-aligned but potent materials proper utility. As to what utility, Elvia could only guess.

    "The Ordo thanks you, Magus Song." The Rectrix passed a hand over the Cores while her other hand, glimmering with a faint aura of Faith, touched Gwen''s fingers.

    "Elvia. Let us pray for your friend''s health.

    O rise, King of the eternal,

    immortal, invisible,

    wrap this blessed soul in purple, O Lord

    By Christ''s cross and Adam''s tree,

    Look, o Three-personed God, and find thy sermons¡ª

    Thy honour and glory be eternal. Amen.

    ¡ª Greater Bless."

    Motes of Faith rose from Elvia''s body, forming a brief halo around her brow, mirroring the same phenomenon on the Rectrix. Soundlessly, the spell discharged, its psychic energies of belief manifesting as a "Miracle".

    Gwen''s expression turned from surprised to wonder, then to awe as the last vestige of any negative feelings she might have held coming into Battle faded into oblivion. From her broad, sunny smile, Elvia recalled a girl living her happiest moments in Sydney, before the Mermen invasion, before Debora-turned-Faceless.

    "I am honoured." Gwen bowed her head.

    "Please, enjoy the food," the Rectrix commanded the trio. "Waste nothing. These scones are hand-made by our Acolytes for the occasion. The jam is from Seneschal Ashburn''s private reserve, and our acolytes in South India hand-picked the tea leaves."

    The youngsters performed as told while the Rectrix watched. "Maxine has told me that you wanted to ask about the Northern Steppes?"

    Elvia sipped her tea, watching her friend''s thoughts transmute.

    Undaunted, Gwen affirmatively buttered, creamed, then jammed her scone between her reply. "I have a mind to get down there and see how I may contribute to resolving the local tension. As you know, Meister Bekker was tapped to reinforce the local garrison and put an end to the insurrection, and my friend Jean-Paul is going with her. As a part of my Magisterial course, I''d thought I could spend the month between now and mid-Lent term helping out."

    "In your capacity as the Devourer of Shenyang?" her Rectrix was all smiles. "And do as you had done for the Murk?"

    "Well," Gwen replied with a hint of smugness. "I have a knack, or so the Tower Master says."

    "What do you know?" The Rectrix wasn''t one to waste breath.

    "From my research." Gwen pointed in the sea''s direction, a misaligned gesture Elvia understood to mean Cambridge. "I understand that the Mageocracy has spent centuries fleecing the Centaur-folk from Dushanbe to Karagandy, adding fuel to their inter-tribal grudges every few years. From the local region, there are small mountains of HDMs to be made selling skin, fur and Creature Cores, not to mention rare-earth Crystals needed for Mandalas. After the Tide, when Elementals arrive en mass and the Fire Sea manifested as-is; the entire Frontier pulled back from Baku, and had been pulling back ever since."

    Gwen had done her homework.

    The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.Elvia''s knowledge of the region was only thanks to Lord Ashburn''s campaign there to exorcise a corrupt governor, one that was driving the local centaurs into the arms of the Elementals'' domain.

    "As a result of the Fire Sea''s emergence, the balance established by the Mageocracy collapsed, leading to a plethora of problems today. Foremostly, the Khitani Khanate has absorbed the refugees fleeing from the lost Turkmen lands and the tribes exiled from Afghanistan¡ª rapidly outpacing our outposts. Two, the Elementals have begun to enslave and transmute tribes with appropriate affinities into Changeling war hosts. With both concurrently in motion, the Mageocracy knows that a sea-change is coming, but to resist the incoming Tide, it needs to maintain border buffers."

    Gwen took a deep breath. "As a result, the Shard is in a bind. There''s the Ukrainian line to the west, the Kazakhstani line to the north. The Pakistani line to the west. And Sinai to the south¡ª albeit the Americans are responsible for that fiasco. The point is that everywhere around the steppes sit precarious positions that could spiral out of control at a moment''s notice. When they do, the Mageocracy''s tenuous control of Central Asia will cease to exist."

    "Yes." her Rectrix nodded. "Our Empire is stretched as thin as beaten gold."

    Gwen looked over at her attentively, then sighed. "When I was in China, we talked about the Mageocracy as though it was a hegemonic Leviathan. The Empire where the Sun Never Sets, that sort of thing. Now that I am here¡­ it feels like we''re trying to catch water with sheets of Swiss cheese."

    The Rectrix laughed. "That''s an observation Lord Ravenport shares, to be sure. Elvia, you''ve studied the Steppe Campaign under Ashburn. What do you think of your friend''s concerns?"

    Elvia cleared her throat, then began to speak in a melodic but meticulous manner. "Gwen is correct, though she lacks details which make the situation worse than it is. The Death Cult of Egypt has its history and conflicts, but we can at least agree they''re not going to ally with the Elemental Sultanate. The Undead Aristocracy of Eastern Europe as well, is as opposed to the Elementals as the Mageocracy. To the east, there''s the Himalaya divide and the Old Kingdoms of Delhi that fear the Sultanate more than they loath the Mageocracy, which means there is only the problem of the Northern Steppes."

    She took a sip of the tea, then continued.

    "What happens if the newly risen Khanate breaks off its reliance on the Mageocracy? What if, God forbid, they lay down their arms when the Elemental hosts come knocking? Without the ore, wool, leather, Cores and agricultural produce, who would supply the Eastern European Frontiers? Where would the Mageocracy find another raw-material export zone?"

    "Where indeed?" The Rectrix threw the question back at their guest.

    "Which is why I''ve come to the Order." As Gwen spoke, she reached out under the table and squeezed Elvia''s hand, signalling that she would soon require her aid. "As one of the Holy Ordo with interest in genuine peace with the Elementals and the Centaurs, I would like to ask for your advice before I commit myself to the plans I''ve devised for the Steppe region."

    Rectrix Theodora St. Claire raised her classically elegant face. Despite her deceptively youthful mien, there was no ignoring her aura of authority and the experience she exuded.

    "The Ordo''s goals," the former Duchess of Somerset announced. "Is in general alliance with Her Majesty''s role as Governor Supreme of our Church of England. Our interest in harmony isn''t one pursued out of ethical consideration¡ª but one seeking to preserve the fragile status quo hanging over the Holy Land. What you might see as charity, sympathy, mercy, compassion, inclusiveness and ardent pursuit of peace, is in reality, the product of ulterior interests. Do you understand?"

    Elvia recalled being shocked when Ashburn gave her the full dose on her and Mattie''s first foray. The good performed by the various Ordos were not acts of inherent selflessness but actions taken to maintain her Majesty''s hold on the Mageocracy. In a time when competing interests within her Empire would put House Windsor''s interests below their own, the Holy Orders were the monarch''s flame and scalpel. Compared to the Towers or the provincial governments of the Commonwealth, the fundamental dissonance was their vows as the Poor Fellow-Soldiers of Christ, with strict pledges restricting their access to pleasure and property. Instead, the crown supplied their coffers while they reaped Faith from the masses. To take herself as an anecdote, her soup kitchen in the IoDRP, her orphanage, her clinics and her actions in Northern Ireland all contributed to her and the Ordo''s reservoir of Faith.

    "I do." Gwen nodded, untouched by the realpolitik. "Rectrix, you''ve seen how I''ve dealt with the Mageocracy''s dilemmas in Burma, in Peru and the Murk. You''ve also seen how I''ve performed in forming diplomatic ties with the Dwarves. Likewise, in London, I have some sway with the public through my paper, the METRO. Just as well, both the Shard and the Foreign Affairs Department are indebted to me for services rendered. If I can apply pressure from both sides, we may not stop the warmongers, but I can twist their arm and divert their claim. Can you tell me more about the Steppe''s internal conflicts?"

    The Rectrix motioned with her Mage Hand, refilling her cup. "We''re a monastic order, Magus Song. Not politicians or financiers. I can only tell you this¡ª if the Militants and the Greys can give up their unnatural occupation of the resources belonging to the Khitani Khanate, we may yet gain a potent ally against the Tide. If not¡­"

    "You think an outbreak of war from the central region is inevitable?"

    The Rectrix slightly shrugged her shoulders, then fixed her habit. "Nothing is predestined, though if you look at our politicians and corporations, at how they squeeze the Frontiers for resources and reap wealth from the corpses of the Demi-humans, it should hardly come as a surprise. You come from the Frontier, do you not? What did you learn as a child?"

    "That we Humans are at the mercy of the Demi-humans and that we''re eking out a living in between their warring factions."

    "Do you consider this to be true?"

    Gwen thought of the general fear and anxiety Sydney-siders lived in, even with someone like Gunther at the helm. "I can''t deny it."

    "Your''s is a fear London''s Militants do not possess. Imagine if you were born in the heart of the Mageocracy as they are," the Rectrix explained. "Picture your aristocratic ascension in a city that has never fallen to the Wildlands, that not only remained standing but reached out and profited from its Frontiers during the Tide. You open the papers each day or watch the vid-casts on the Lumen-channels. On every front, the discussion is what region should the Mageocracy next usurp, which race has capitulated to the Shard''s pressure, and which Lord as profited from what war."

    "Ah, the old military-industrial complex," the Void sorceress surmised with a Gwenism. "I get it. Invariably, that''s the source of the Militant''s confidence, their funding, as well as why they must keep conquering out of jaw-clenching reflex. They''ve built themselves around a myth, and they''re driven forward by the momentum like an ouroboros of ambition, eating their tail inch by inch. So long as their gains exceed their loss, they maraud onward like Micah''s Juggernaut, crushing the Godless, revelling in plunder, believing themselves the Masters of the Earth!"

    Elvia could see her teacher was very impressed.

    "Indeed, that''s the force you''ll be trying to divert if you want to bring stability to the region," the Rectrix concluded. "We tried, God, knows the Ordo did its best¡ª but alas¡­"

    Elvia could feel the Rectrix''s frustration and so lowered her head. She understood her teacher''s feelings well. In Ireland, against the endlessly mutating Fae and their reality-warping Faery Circles, against the Changelings that replaced one''s allies, she had felt the same. In Toner''s Bog, she recalled the village they had entered, where her patrol found the missing children swimming in a bubbling Hag-stew¡ª there was no healing Sen-sen or Kiki could manage that would bring back what Mattie and herself had lost in that campaign.

    If the Northern Steppes were worse still, what would Gwen do? What if their foes weren''t Centaurs but Mages from London? Even with the Shoggoth at her beck and call, what could she change?

    Currency. Crystals. Greed. Those were Gwen''s weapons as well as her Void and Lightning. If so, would she buy them out of the Steppes? How could she guarantee that the Militants would stay away if there is so much more wealth to be made by reneging on agreements?

    "Thank you for that," Gwen thanked her Rectrix. "I think I understand what the reports won''t say. Now then, Milady St. Claire, may I ask for a boon?"

    Elvia looked up to see Gwen''s gaze washing gently over her.

    She blinked as their eyes met.

    "Could I borrow Evee and the Ordo''s aid?"

    "For the Northern Steppes?"

    "Yes." Elvia''s oldest friend placed an assuring palm on the Cleric''s knee. Her breath quickening, Elvia''s eyes grew as large as pigeon eggs, while beside them, Mathias turned pink as pippins. "Mattie can come along as well. I''ll pay for every expense. If you''re worried, I can have Evee attend in custom Dwarven Golem Klad to mitigate the danger. If the region is as unstable as you have prescribed, we''ll need a gentle hand to deal with the local folk. In that regard, Elvia is far more suited than I, though she''ll need support in terms of logistics and a Class VI War Mage to stiffen her resolve."

    The Rectrix appeared amused by the idea. "Elvia, dearie. What do you think?"

    On the field, Knight Companions played both leader and follower, but here in the Fortress Monastery, Elvia knew better than to lecture her betters. That said, she did desire to work with Gwen once more, not as a sycophant but as an equal. As Gwen had proposed, there were things only Gwen could do and things only she could do. Gwen possessed the threat of total annihilation and HDMs, while Elvia had her healing and the Ordo''s reputation. Together, what couldn''t be overcome?

    "Your wish is my command, your Grace." She bowed her head, conscious of Gwen''s hand still arresting her knee.

    Theodora St. Claire returned to the Void Sorceress in their midst. "If Elvia has no complaints, neither do I. The Ordo will not oppose you, considering your record so far. However, may I suggest that you scout the Steppes with Meister Bekker? Elvia still has her duties here and training in London''s Great Hospitals. I will grant you access to our Chapel Chapter in Aktau. When you need her, the Abbot there can arrange for Elvia''s Teleportation, as well as answer any questions you may have. Does that satisfy?"

    "A wonderful arrangement." Gwen struck out the hand warmed by her knee.

    Ignoring their difference in rank, the Rectrix took it.

    In front of Elvia and the wordless Knight, the two women shook.

    "Well, now." Gwen sidled up to her Evee. "I''ll be taking her to Lady Astor''s as discussed. Her ladyship has dearly missed Evee."

    "Don''t forget our Cleric has sworn to be a Poor Fellows of Christ." The Rectrix shook her head in the manner of a gentle mother warning her bright-eyed daughters. "No liquor and nothing her fellow Brother and Sisters in the Ordo wouldn''t do. Mathias, while the Nazarene sees all, only you can keep an eye on our future Knight Companion. Can I trust our Brother Ordo of St Michael on this?"

    "Yes! Your Grace!" Mathias left his seat and saluted, finally relieving himself of the accused chair. "She''ll be safe with me, Ma''am!"

    The look Gwen gave Mathias made Elvia''s hairs stand on end.

    After that, they were dismissed by the Rectrix, returning Gwen and company to the upper battlements where she had initially landed to the dismay of the temple guards.

    Elvia allowed herself to be Gwen-handled. It wasn''t that she couldn''t do the same, but her friend''s height made it impossible for the smaller woman to take the lead.

    "Can you fly yet, Evee?" Gwen lead her by the hand, her mind once again turning mischievous.

    "Not yet." Elvia shook her head. "Mattie and I have Orbs of Lesser Flight."

    "Well then, tell me about Ireland on the way." Her too-friendly companion put her arm around Elvia''s tiny waist. "Mattie, Cliveden isn''t far. Catch us if you can!"

    Buckinghamshire.

    Cliveden.

    Ferrier''s Cottage.

    "The Prince of Wales once sat in that chair." Richard gingerly slipped his arse onto the gold-threaded cushion. "¡­ firmer than I imagined."

    A few moments later, her cousin hailed the group tour to the master bedroom.

    "The Prince of Wales once slept in that bed." Richard ran his hand over the velvet and crimson laced quilt. "At the very least, two Kings have fornicated on¡­"

    "DICK!"

    "Richard!"

    "God damn it, Rich¡­"

    Gwen threw a pillow at her laughing cousin. "Don''t you dare ruin this for me!"

    "Hey, you''re the one who wanted to come to Cliveden." Richard cackled. "And holy shit! Ferrier''s Cottage! This place is full of history! Scandalous, perfumed history. Isn''t that why we''re here? You even brought Evee¡ª is that a completely innocent gesture?"

    The Cleric''s face grew instantly red.

    Besides the perplexed Gwen, their other guests looked on with confused faces. Jean-Paul was South African and so knew nothing. Petra had never been to England or been taught the trivia. Mathias would never learn of such scandal, and Gracie was a bookworm of an entirely different species.

    "You don''t know?" Richard roared. "Oh-oh-oh, Duck, you innocent flock of waterfowls¡­"

    At the country kitchen, Richard ordered anytime High Tea from the team of discrete servants living at the main building, then settled the crew down to storytime in the country dining with its lavish decor.

    "The main building isn''t originally the Astors," Richard began between gulps of English Breakfast, leaving his teeth stained pink with intrigue. "It was originally built by the Lord Duke Villiers of Buckingham, Richard''s right hand. He built it not for his long-suffering wife but the stunningly beautiful Lady Talbot, a married woman. This land and its entire property, the most expensive in England at the time, was a gift to his mistress."

    Richard pointed at the picturesque bridge just out of view. "When Lady Talbot''s husband found out his wife had been taking equestrian lessons atop Buckingham, the Earl of Shrewsbury challenged the Duke. An Earl! An administrator! Against a Duc! A war leader! You can imagine the outcome. And so, on that bridge yonder occurred the first love-induced Mage-duel-to-the-death in English history¡ª which was why Lady Astor ALWAYS hosts stag-duels whenever there''s a part at the river garden. "

    The listeners made O shapes with their mouths.

    "But of course, a one-sided slaughter is hardly romantic. What''s infamous is Lady Talbot''s performance while the two men duelled."

    "What did she do?" Gracie trembled as she asked.

    "She stood on the Duke''s side and held his horse while the men fought. In the aftermath, she frenched the Duke in front of the witnesses while her husband turned to dust."

    Richard''s audience drew in deep breaths. The boys weren''t much into the aristocratic drama, but the girls were no less thrilled than modern-day homemakers watching the season finale of Downton Abbey.

    "After that, the House of Lords ordered the Duke to stay away from Lady Talbot." Richard thumped the table with a suggestive rhythm. "So naturally, the two took to creaming discretely in Ferrier''s Cottage¡­"

    The girls put down their biscuits and teas.

    "¡­ and later gave birth to the Duke''s favourite bastard in one of those beds upstairs."

    Richard took another sip. "Not to be outdone by her brother-in-law, Lord Villiers'' wisp of a wife had a vivacious vixen for a sister who the Duke occasionally fancied as well. Since she had free reign of this building while Lady Talbot and the Duke were away, she decided to outdo her brother-in-law by entertaining both King George I and later George II in her lap of luxury¡­ somewhere around here¡­"

    The girls began to doubt what the inch-thick Ursine rugs were hiding beneath. The white-washed walls were starting to look a little too white.

    "After that, of course, there were a few centuries of peace until Lady Astor''s in-laws took over the estate¡ª But not before falling to the cottage''s unique charm. One of Lady Astor''s relatives was well-connected to the Germans during that unnatural bout of ambition from the Central Continent and used Cliveden as a sort of royal whorehouse for information gathering. Naturally, he chose a secretive and private portion of the estate¡­"

    "Oh, my God..."

    Richard grinned wolfishly. "Finally, it was here that Lord Magister Profumo, War Master of the Mageocracy''s Mage Flights, was revealed to be entertaining his nineteen-year-old Apprentice in private equestrian lessons as well. Of course, old aristocrats chewing on young tobacco leaves isn''t news¡ª but the fashionable sorceress wasn''t just a side-piece polishing the War Master''s golden knob¡ª she was a bona fide Mind Mage; hailing from the ice country¡­"

    "OH!" Petra''s eyes grew wide. It was rare for the trained Mind Mage to be so excited. "Magus Kabiccaya! I know of her! She''s a legend in our Tower. There are even portraits of her. That was here? I thought it was the Spring Cottage?"

    "After that fiasco, they renamed the cottage."

    The ex-Mind Mage rose from her seat to study the room anew, her eyes full of stars. "Do you know which room they used?"

    "Pats..." Gwen pulled her cousin down.

    "And there you have it." Richard allowed the dollop cream to dribble from his spoon, then looking to Gwen and then to Elvia; the man wiggled his brows. "Welcome to Ferrier''s Cottage, Ladies and gents, hand-picked by your Magus Song truly, a sordid homestay with an orgiastic history of sex, spies and scandal!"

 Chapter 402 - A Steep Steppe Forward

    Gwen''s original plan was to have an old-fashioned girls'' sleepover in the spacious extra-king-sized bed of the master suite, where all four women could lay beside one another and yet have room to spare.

    After Richard convinced the party of the possibility that the Cottage may inspire spontaneous orgies of debauchery, Gwen''s companions slept on the couch, the floor, and behind pillow forts on the bed.

    The next day, the crew took a ferry up the Thames, stepped onto quaint old docks while enviously watched by passersby and shopped to their hearts'' content from Maidenhead to Medmenham. At night, a traditional farmhouse feast was abruptly demolished by the always-famished Void Mages, leaving the others to ring the main house for replenishments and snacks.

    After a second night of listening to Gwen and Elvia exchange horror stories of War and destruction, the party''s female members grew close. Gracie especially found an ally in Elvia, who overflowed with vitality and magnanimity, particularly after the woman confessed to being Gwen''s soul-subordinate. Gwen replied that Gracie''s humbled obedience was wrongly attributed and that she was a free Void Sorceress soon to gain her footing. In response, Gracie grew red-eyed with heartfelt gratitude.

    On the third day, a pair of dangerous birds arrived at Cliveden, alighting at the Rose Garden, requiring Gwen''s party to emerge from seclusion. The intruders were one black and the other white and were both known intimately to the Devourer.

    The ''black'' was Mori.

    The ''white'' was Dede.

    According to Ariel, both "missed her dearly", which Gwen took to imply the birds were thirsty for Essence. Out of morbid curiosity, Gwen introduced the pair to Elvia, her fellow "Vessel" and an authentic Draconic practitioner.

    "Evee¡­ I want to see what happened if you offer them a mote of the Yinglong''s Essence¡­" After some clamouring from the birds, Gwen suggested they experiment in mixing their juices.

    As a biometric academic and a Creature Mage, Elvia''s natural curiosity convinced her to entertain Gwen''s idea.

    Surprisingly, when the girls manifested a clear drop of golden Essence, the avians grew wild.

    "Quack! QUACK!" Dede flapped its wings at Elvia, threatening her with its glorious white breast.

    "Caw! Caw-CAW!" Mori, much to Gwen''s confusion, was no less hostile.

    The offence from Mori and Dede was enough to warrant a response from Elvia''s defenders.

    "Kiki!" Her Alraune Sprite perfumed the air with protest.

    "Sen-sen!" The elder Ginseng as well, rose to wrestle the duck, proving itself the superior combatant.

    "Looks like the Yinglong and our Almudj don''t see eye-to-eye," Richard remarked for their companions. "How curious. I read that lesser beings taken with Essence are susceptible to morphic resonance, resulting in undying loyalty to the patron. The more Essence, the more changes, the more they identify with their Essence-giver. Usually, it''s a Draconic phenomenon, but I guess Al''s no less an ancient drake, if not more."

    "How do you know this?" Gwen asked.

    "The King''s library is very extensive," her cousin replied. "HOLY HELL¡ª DEDE!"

    "Quack!" Dede howled as Sen-sen spun its avian body via its mass of tendrils, turning it just enough to piledrive the bird beak-first into the soft turf. On the other wing, Mori let loose a mighty "CAW!"¡ª summoning a dark murder of crows enough to weigh-down a nearby, splendiferous oak.

    Enraged, Dede excavated itself from the floor. Digging into its fluffy breast, it retrieved, then popped an HDM into its beak to replenish its energies. "Quack!"

    ¡°SHAAAA!¡± Caliban entered the fray, believing the contest some great grand melee.

    "CAW-CAW-CAW!"

    "QUACK!"

    "KIKIKI!"

    "SEN!"

    "WHOA!"

    "Ouch!"

    Raging torrents of free-flowing mana clashed, ripping up the dirt and wilting the grass, sending drifts of free-falling snow and rose petals in every direction.

    "SHUT UP! ALL OF YOU!" Gwen calmed the farm with a Clarion Call, steam rising from her in spontaneous streams. "We''re guests here, for God''s sake!"

    The Familiars cowered. The Devourer of Shenyang turned to the ongoing party that had all but ceased at the Rose Garden, each drawn by the spectacle of a duck wrestling a root vegetable while a murder of crows bickered with a flower, with a Kirin mewling for peace and a Richard taking bets.

    "Lady Astor¡­ I am so sorry¡­"

    The Lady of the house was with her entourage and joined by a dozen guests who had earlier arrived to celebrate Christmas Eve''s festivities. Gwen''s party had wandered up from Ferrier Cottage, seeing as they were holiday residents. Had Dede and Mori not descended, they would not have met until the evening.

    Lady Astor was staring wide-eyed at the crows, evidently recognising their origins and their purpose.

    "Caw!" Mori dispersed her flock with a cry, leaving a wordless group of aristocrats and mid-tier bureaucrats thoughtfully sipping gulps of wine.

    Their hostess quickly recovered, then invited the students forward to be introduced. Both groups of guests exchanged titles and names, then mingled. When Gwen asked who Astor was expecting to attend, she said that this year, there would be no Ravenport and no Lady Grey, not even a Rothwell in attendance. The advantage Gwen had materialised with the Dwarven alliance meant the Duke of Norfolk was holding a private soiree in his estate for members of the Grey Faction. Being more Middle than Grey, the Lady decided to break from the usually tense and intrigue-charged gatherings at Cliveden every other year.

    "If you want excitement, I can ask the Exeters to send the twins over." Lucy Astor sipped from a flute while standing beside Gwen with a smirk. "Care for some payback for last time? With your present standing in the Tower and the news cycle, you''ll be able to push much harder than they''re willing to push back."

    "Thanks for the offer, but I''ll pass." Gwen looked to Elvia, who was scolding her two Familiars for their un-lady-like behaviour. "I want this year to be fun and relaxing. Next year we''ve got Phase III to digest, and after that, our coffers permitting, all of us needs to start laying the foundations for Phase IV."

    "How are your studies?"

    "Going well, racking up credits," Gwen said. "Hopefully enough to pick up the Magisterhood in another year or two."

    "I heard from St. Claire that you and Evee are thinking of heading up to the Steppes?" Astor remarked, her eyes drifting past Gwen''s Familiars to the crow now perched on a vine arch. "With Meister Bekker there, I doubt you''ll face much danger. That said, you ARE headed for the Steppes, a Black Zone! Do you think you can turn the deficit void-chasm there into profit?"

    "I think the Mageocracy can do better than snatch-and-grabs, general oppression and stoking civil bloodsheds," she replied in a low whisper. "If there are as many crystal mines, rare herbs, leather and Cores as they say down there, I think we could manage an import-export consortium. Keen to invest? It could be a new Silk Road."

    "If you manage to wrangle the political situation there, sure." Lady Astor nodded. "That said, I do have traders operating out of Istanbul. I''ll give you their contacts. When you arrive and are ready to begin operations, tell them I sent you."

    "That''ll be lovely." Gwen gave the Lady an affirming nod.

    Their hostess passed a contact Glyph between them, then turned to Elvia. "My little Evee, my-my, how you''ve grown. A future Knight of the Bath! Incredible!"

    Elvia curtsied. "Your Ladyship."

    "I wonder how those sows at GOS would see you now," the ex-Secular Cleric, now House of Commons member, mused. "Probably scrap for scraps at your feet, if I had to guess. Especially the Matrons who used to bully you and those other trainees from Black''s too, I wager. Ever thought of going back?"

    "I haven''t thought of them much." Elvia''s expression remained pure and serene. "The Ordo has much work to do."

    "True." Lady Astor hugged the girl, squeezing her shoulders hard. "I heard about Northern Ireland. I am so sorry you had to experience that."

    "It was a lesson I had to learn. One I don''t regret." Elvia gave the Lady one of her signature, heart-melting smiles, one that made both Gwen and Lady Astor sigh with maternal longing.

    "Enjoy the party." Lady Astor withdrew, expressing that she had already spent too much time with one group and must now continue her free-flowing meandering. "Merry Christmas. We have high hopes for you all, you who are our nation''s future. Magus Song¡ª"

    "A merry Xmas to you too, Lady Astor." Gwen curtsied, then hooked an arm around Elvia''s inner elbow. "If you don''t mind, we''ll return to Ferrier''s before the crowd arrives. Dede! Cali! Ariel! Mori! We''re going!"

    "Suit yourselves." The Lady touched a hand to Elvia''s cheek and gave it a satisfying squeeze before leaning in to bid them both a fair holiday season. "Keep our Essence-sucking money tree safe, Evee. We''re counting on her to pave the Middle Path with crystals."

    As a business owner, Gwen understood well the concept of there being no rest for the wicked. The Tuesday past Boxing Day, while the rest of London returned to their repetitive labour, so did the Devourer of Shenyang return to her Isle of Dogs to crunch debit tables and balance expenditures.

    The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    In the aftermath of the Shard''s "New Deal" with the Dwarves, Yossari returned with more of her folk to help expand the Westferry Print Works, concurrently providing Petra with more opportunities to delve into the secret of Runic sorcery. At the same time, Nesatin the Smith, Doussed the Rune Tuner, and the two Whitebeards, Thulgig Flinthide and Danmurim the Glum had reached their one-surface-cycle contract and were due home. For their return trip, Gwen gifted caskets of Maotai and rings full of surface goodies from sweets to cured meat, as well as trinkets and Lumen-recordings that she hoped would lure more young Dwarves into exploring Himmseg.

    Two days before New Years, Jean-Paul invited her down to London Imperial, concurrent with a Message that his Meister would be expecting her to join her for a working luncheon.

    Having already met with Meister Bekker upon her previous return, Gwen made her way down to the grand avenues of South Kensington. She rather admired Jean-Paul''s university, though more imposing than the fourteen Meisters under London Imperial''s name or the Royal degree marking its inception was the fact that London Imperial has the most generous endowment of any learning institution in Europe, emerging the principle collegial benefactor of Victoriana''s colonial conquests. Even now, among all of the universities of the Mageocracy, graduates from London Imperial rank first for employment prospects, dwarfing even the majesty of Oxbridge''s combined might.

    Recently and infamously, a late Meister Stephan Grimm had committed suicide in the college''s now repurposed Royal Spellcraft Hall for reasons unknown. In the aftermath, perhaps more tellingly than the Dust Meister''s untimely demise, it was the coverup and the subsequent revelation of the faculties involved in executing factional rivalries, petty jealousies and bitter spitefulness that marred the college''s two-century-old name.

    Of course, the scandal did not diminish London Imperial''s imposing approach. Outside its entrance, the Void Sorceress stood tall as a winter tulip in pale-blue boot-cut jeans, with a light wind jacket just reaching her knees. It took all but a minute for a gaggle of snickering young geese to descend from the steps to surround her, crowding every angle so that her only escape would be via Flight.

    "Young Miss." One of the young men bowed his head in a gesture of feigned gentlemanliness, not unlike Dede fossicking for HDMs. "You''re a pleasure for sore eyes, have we met?"

    Had the man''s pick-up not being so tacky, Gwen would have reminded the boy he''d probably seen her on the front page of the METRO. As it were, it had been so long since she experienced harassment by strangers that the encounter felt refreshingly candid. What further enhanced her thrill was the fact that these young drakes had thought themselves cornering a hen when in truth, they were waltzing head-first in a slavering Caliban.

    "I am waiting for a friend," Gwen answered demurely, feeling every inch a cat swishing its tail in front of mesmerised mice.

    "We can stand in for your friend," another of the young men said. "Where you do hail from?"

    "Sydney," she replied. "I am new to London."

    "Then we can show you around." The third managed with gusto. "I know the best pubs¡ª"

    "GWEN! Over here!"

    Gwen was just about to agree to drink the men''s wallets dry when Jean-Paul appeared from the main building''s double-glass doors. Perhaps the Void Mage was in a hurry, or maybe he was a masochist, but Jean-Paul dressed his lower half in slacks and the top half in a cashmere jumper. Above the ugly Christmas sweater, he even had on an orange and blue beanie. The overall effect could only be described as something the Void had regurgitated after an unsuccessful Christmas eve binge.

    "Sorry, fellers." Gwen gave the men an apologetic shrug. "I''d love to get to know you all, but my special buddy is here."

    The men''s expressions fell several storeys and died on impact. Perhaps they knew of Jean-Paul and knew of his reputation, or mayhap they didn''t; either way, Gwen took the opportunity to slip past their guard, leaving only a trail of perfume.

    "Miss¡ª" Their leader took on a pained expression of self-doubt after seeing Jean-Paul''s exquisite face. "Are you seriously suggesting¡­"

    "Sorry, but it''s true." Gwen winked back with a smile. "JP''s not good-looking, nor is he rich, but I don''t know anyone else with a worm as impressive and useful as his. No other man compares."

    The young Imperialists looked as though devastated by a Barbanginy.

    Gwen left with a thrilling laugh, quickly leaping up the stairs in twos and threes with elegant dancer''s strides to join Jean-Paul. "Hey, bud."

    "What did you do to them?" Jean-Paul furrowed his brows. "Desolation Aura?"

    Gwen gave her Quasimodo a hearty slap on the back. "You think I''d experiment on students of London Imperial?"

    Jean-Paul''s expression inferred she would.

    Gwen followed her fellow Void Mage through the main foyer, turning heads and catching eyes as she passed. At the atrium, she saw an enormous silhouette four storeys tall in technicolour that Jean-Paul identified as the Astral Body scan of a medical Meister specialising in imaging Divinations.

    The building''s interior was enormous, easily the size of Kings College''s main campus cathedral plus the Old Court, with a section of Peterhouse added as the library wing. Jean-Paul took her through a maze of corridors that would surely spell her doom, arriving finally at a secluded area reserved for Magisters, Meisters and upper-tier administrative staff.

    "Meister." Gwen bowed as she approached.

    Meister Engela "Mevrou" Bekker, one of three Meisters to emerge from Cape of Good Hope and now a resident researcher at London Imperial, had the atypical appearance of a Boer, with salient ash-blonde hair and piercing, cerulean eyes. When Gwen first met Bekker vis-a-vis, she was shocked to discover that the famed Pretorian scholar was an Ooze Mage, for the clean, austere appearance Bekker maintained was usually reserved for those aligned with Ice or Mineral.

    Though in her early fifties, the Meister had enjoyed the likes of Vitae Fruits and rejuvenation treatments, possessing the appearance of a well-kept woman in her thirties. Unlike Lady Astor or Rectrix St. Claire, however, the Meister''s appearance was to Gwen a facade, for she lacked the natural youthfulness that came with Positive Energy.

    "Gwen, come sit." The Meister was one used to command. "Jean, be a dear and get us fresh beverages, aseblief."

    Gwen sat, keeping at arm''s length from the Meister.

    Here was a woman whose achievements in Spellcraft, academia and politics she could not yet challenge. As for wealth and luxury¡ª she doubted someone sitting at the apex of the sorcerous pyramid would care for something she could acquire at a moment''s notice.

    In Gwen''s eyes, the "Madam''s" relationship with Jean-Paul was a strange admixture born out of experimentation. To say that the Mevrou felt love for Jean-Paul wasn''t wrong, but it was the leftover sentiment of having a dog by one''s side for so long that one felt amiss in its absence. In their everyday interactions, the Mevrou''s command of Jean-Paul was absolute, treating the talented Void Mage as something between a scion and a servant.

    Yet, Gwen also bore witness to how protective the Mevrou was of Jean-Paul. Engela''s was a fierce, maternal emotion the Mevrou herself may not fully comprehend. For instance, in the trimester she had spent with Jean-Paul and Gracie, the girls had attracted unwanted pursuers more than once. As a deterrence, Gwen regularly half-jokingly used Jean-Paul as a Shield to discourage prospective suitors. Unfortunately, there was no lack of young men un-accustomed to women with attitude in a place like London.

    When Jean-Paul, "friend with benefits" to Gwen and Gracie, fell victim to unkind rumours, he did not need Gwen or the METRO to step in. Instead, the Mevrou stamped her foot.

    Later, the culprits issued public apologies, with one going so far as to withdraw from the college.

    The Mevrou was married in her youth but did not have children of her own due to her rapid sorcerous advancements. Jean-Paul was the closest thing to a son, Apprentice and heir she had.

    In the privacy of the canteen with no one but themselves, the trio settled down to business.

    Meister Bekker''s wish was to hit the Steppes just after the Gregorian Calendar turned over to 2006.

    As for the journey itself, with Gwen joining them, the Meister advised taking the Eastern European route. They and their party of two-dozen Magisters and Maguses would arrive at Kyiv and then take a short-hop ISTC station to Volgograd, where the Russians once halted the German''s eastward ambitions through spellfire, blood and enough bodies to start a second Undead War.

    From there, the Flights would have to proceed on-air, hopping down the Volga River for half a day, resting at a trading post on the shores of the Caspian Sea, then take a two-day, two-thousand-kilometre flight across a southern section of the Caspian now renamed the "Fire Sea" to arrive somewhere between the land of the Uzbeki and the Kazakhstani Centaurs, both presently held under the Golden Banner of the Khitani Khanate. As to where their FOB might be, not even Meister Bekker could be sure¡ª for the Golden Pavilion was forever on the move, following the rains, clouds and the seasons of the plains.

    Jean-Paul remarked that Gwen owned an Orb that could arguably direct the party toward the desired location through mystical means. If she consciously set her mind on the Golden Pavilion, there was no reason why the Omni-orb couldn''t circumvent that particular complication in Meister Bekker''s quest.

    "¡­ How quaint. If I were a Diviner, I would say fate works in strange ways." Meister Bekker sipped her coffee. "As I am not, I shall abide by an old saying from the Steppes, that ''one shouldn''t count a gifted Slave''s teeth''."

    It took Gwen a moment to catch the Meister''s implication.

    "Does that idiom mean what I think it means?" Gwen''s eyes slightly narrowed. She had only the slightest clue about flesh-trading among the Demi-humans of the Steppes, at least not in enough detail to suggest it was a part of the everyday fabric of life.

    "War is constant on the Steppes. And so is the caste system used in the region," the Mevrou flatly replied. "We''ll be making extensive use of it, so keep your eyes half-closed and your mind wide open."

    "I was under the impression that the ''slavery'' was a form of indentured servitude¡ª" Gwen thought she''d ask once more. "Or something like prison camp labour derived from the defeated."

    "No," Jean-Paul''s teacher assured her of the implications. "These are SLAVES in the sense of American history. There''s no euphemism implied. We''re talking people as property to treat and trade as you, the owner, sees fit. It''s a speciality of the Khanate and one of the principal economic forces that drive inter-tribal conflict. Every battle proceeds with a fatal charge of the slave-corps, after which the main force commits its finest archers and riders."

    Gwen acknowledged that reading up on the Golden Horde''s history may have warped her understanding of local customs. So far, she had gathered that the Steppes, consisting of plains, tundras, plateaus, reliefs and endless estuaries descending from glaciers to the north and east, was home to hundreds of Demi-human tribes. What she did not realise was that the medieval method of victory through enslaving your opponents was alive and galloping today.

    "That''s crazy. Outright slavery! I mean, not even serfdom! In this day and age?"

    "How much do you think the Northern Steppes has changed since the time of Genghis'' Golden Horde?" The Mevrou stirred her coffee, re-heating the liquid with a stern glance. "Whatever system of government they had devised was effective enough to rule the largest land empire on Terra¡ª why should the ''Nayza?ay Qan?'' Kin that hail from his golden blood desire administerial modernisations hailing from France?"

    "Alright," Gwen conceded her human-centric worldview. "What do you mean by we''ll be using¡­ the slaves?"

    "Use that big brain of yours." Engela Bekker drew her a picture. "On the Steppes, there are many commodities to be traded. Crystal currency, rare earth minerals, Creature Cores and magical ingredients are what we''re after, but what do you think the ''Nayza?ay Qan?'', the ''Thunderblooded'' prefer for trade in a place so vast and full of danger?"

    "¡­ Labour?" Gwen dreaded the fact that she knew the answer. "¡­ and Food? Wait... Jesus Christ."

    "During winter, the two are not exclusive," Jean-Paul''s teacher''s reply made Gwen''s toes curl. "The Thunderblood Marauders of Khitan think nothing of using the docile Tasm¨¹yiz for nourishment. We don''t think much of our sheep and cows, and neither do they. Further north, the Wolf Mothers of the Qasq?r Clan pay extremely well for teams of ??pter slaves. During spring and summer, the ??pter tend to the fields and nurse the pups. In winter, they make for good sport¡ª and if the weather remains foul for too long¡­"

    "¡­ Strewth." Gwen had to put down her fourth croissant. "It''s the fucking Dark Ages out there."

    "Don''t be like those old fogies in the Anthropological Section," the Mevrou chided her. "The Steppe is life in its purest form, raw and free, unbound by petty rules to protect the weak. There''s much we could learn, as Mages, from those Centaurs."

    Gwen grew contemplative. "This is harder than advertised."

    "Did you think this would be easy?" The Mevrou laughed. "The Golden Horde was responsible for the Dark Ages, after all. Our job, Magus Song, is to drag the Khitani Centaurs kicking and screaming into the 19th century."

    "Do you mean the 21st?"

    "Your optimism is commendable." The Meister gave her a look of disapproval. "You''re going to be my assistant Administrator, Gwen. Not the Second Coming of the Nazarene."

 Chapter 403 - All in Accord

    Isle of Dogs.

    The Bunker.

    Gwen plotted out her timetable for the foreseeable future.

    She had four days until the New Years, a day of many celebrations. Yet for the Devourer, her holidays were looking like a period filled with preparations. After all, the Mageocracy''s centaur crisis waited for no woman, not even one still idling on the invite to Trawsfynydd.

    She decided to utilise all four Storage Rings for her imminent venture to work with Evee, undermine the Exeters and usurp more money yet.

    One for sundry.

    One for HDMs.

    One for equipment and materials.

    And her original loot Ring from Sobel''s underling would hold shoes, shirts, skirts and personal effects like a wardrobe.

    The Steppes, if it was indeed a crash course in Dark Age ethics, could not be easily overcome through municipal management. Yet, at the same time, Gwen couldn''t help but feel strangely aroused by the thought of so much untapped chaos awaiting her therapeutic touch of order.

    Even in this world''s limited understanding of global macroeconomics, the Frontier was a meaty beast ripe for rapine. As the top-scorer in her governance and 4P course, Gwen had sniffed out financial dynamics even her lecturers lacked the perspective to see.

    In the Purple and Black Zones, her teachers observed resistance to the Mageocracy''s imperial government system, preventing investments from ruling class prospectors. They pointed their wands menacingly, principally as a means to subjugate, subdue or coerce local powers into servicing mutual interests, hence the Mageocracy''s passion for supporting minorities and "losers" in regional conflicts.

    Therefore, the profitability of Frontier ventures lay in untapped raw material markets made possible by infrastructural barriers to foreign investment. Australia, for example, outside its coastal Green Zones, possessed a Saurian-dominated north verdant with untapped HDM mines, lumber, agricultural estate and Magical Materials.

    There, Gunther''s diplomatic strategy of "shock and awe" alternated between the carrot and the stick, with Humanity conceding a clear-cut boundary they would not cross. In exchange, the Saurians had to operate a trade channel where humans could acquire materials and goods from the Daintree tropics. Concurrently, the Saurians had to resist the temptation to hunt outside their sizeable domain.

    Naturally, considering the tribal politics of the Saurians, no small number of them overspilled from the prime rainforest as a result of inter-tribal conflict. In these instances, Gunther would demand the Saurians settle accounts on behalf of Humanity. It was a hard-ball method of "scorched earth, one only someone with the gall of Gunther could show their two-pronged neighbours.

    Conversely, the Coral Sea was home to riches that would arguably make Sydney and Brisbane as wealthy as Singapore were it not for the unceasing vermin-tide in the form of Merman. Unlike the Saurians, whose home Gunther could threaten and who threatened Brisbane and Cairns in turn, there was no chasing Mermen Wave Riders five fathoms deep into the Pacific Kingdoms. As a result, like a reverse Rural Fire Service, Gunther and Alesia had to spend random allotments of their time setting ablaze rising waves of clamouring fish that could appear anywhere between Melbourne and Cairns¡ª not that they minded. A significant portion of Australia''s export produce came from the ocean, further exacerbating the endless skirmish.

    If anything, history in her present world had proven the futility of Humanity trying to govern Demi-humans. As a whole, her species had settled on Democratic Socialism, Constitutional Monarchy, Theocracy or Communism. Conversely, the Demi-denizens of the world privileged entirely different social-political frameworks.

    Take the Dwarves, for example. Hanmoul''s homeland contains a social system that made no sense in Human terms. At the top of the Dwarven pyramid were Ancestors academics, venerated but removed from holding seats of power and politics in Deepholm. In the Cog Hall, the Dwarven council was formed by a feudal coalition of Clans and Guilds, together holding the reins of Dwarven society''s mineral veins. Therefore, the Dwarven people ran a theocratic, decentralised feudal meritocracy with a socialist policy creation system that relied on tradition, honour, and general honesty.

    How would that even work, knowing Humanity''s propensity for anarchic outbursts of individualism?

    Likewise, for the ¨¢lfar staying rent-free in her mind thanks to Dickie¡ª Was there even a word for a system of government centred around the maintenance of a tree and a Wyrm? The Elves she had met so far all seemed to act both independently while at the same time appearing to know their exact, multiple roles. If she had to draw an analogy, the whole of Tryfan seemed more akin to a colony of Giant Hornets than svelte and lithe supermodel Elementalists inhabiting an arboreal pocket dimension.

    Gwen exhaled as her eyes swept over the construction site with its teams of Golems large and small, hammering away at concrete and stone with bursts of purple Transmutation and vivid Evocation.

    If possible, she wanted to delay her Tryfan visit until after the Steppes¡ª but from the sounds of Meister Bekker''s business there, one month might not cut the mustard.

    And if she neglected the visit for too long, say until March or April, the favour Dickie promised might waste away, and she might even eat into the goodwill he owed her for the Dwarven situation.

    Hence, she would visit Tryfan on Friday.

    At worst, she would be back by NYE.

    With her mind made up, Gwen set others to task.

    For any other War Mage, even a Magister-tier operator, they would have to source their materials for their quests themselves or through relevant departments. A Tower Magister, assuming they had appropriate sectional powers from the Shard, could outsource the legwork to apprentices and aides.

    For Gwen, she merely stopped by the Isle of Dogs with a list of the following to be delivered no later than a day or two into the new year.

    50,000 HDMs, newly minted by the Bank of London in various denominations.

    50,000 HDMs, in raw crystals of various Elements.

    144 Potions of Healing.

    48 Potions of Remove Disease.

    25 Potions of Greater Healing.

    12 Potions of Restoration.

    6 Potions of Haste.

    6 Potions of Heroism.

    20 Pallets of Military Rations, assorted.

    8 Pallets of SPAM in Regular, Cheese and Bacon.

    2 Pallets of survival equipment, enough for three Mage Flights.

    2 Dwarf-forged Omni-suits for small civil projects.

    And armour and arms for herself, Evee, Mathias, and whoever might join them.

    As Gwen''s stay in the Steppes was strongly correlated with Meister Bekker''s designs for her Tower Operations in the region, only she and Evee would be semi-permanent. Even if her family, like Richard or Petra, wanted in on the action, she would have to pay to get them teleported down, and even then, there was the risk of flying solo to find the Golden Pavillion in a Black Zone without Divination Towers. Unlike Evee, who had the Order of the Bath to back her, there would be no secret transit nodes for two ''lowly'' Magus-tier casters from Cambridge.

    As for armaments, a Dwarf-forged Spellsword was something Gwen had promised Mathias almost a year ago, but both parties had been so busy that what should have been a celebrated and longed-for kit refresh had wholly escaped them. After returning from Battle, she had reminded Walken of the fact. After that, the Magister had informed the Dwarves working at the Isle of Dogs manning the Fabricator. The next day, the Order of St Michael delivered the material components and an order outsourcing the manufacturing to Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth.

    As for the armours, her Shen-Te¨© suit was presently in tatters and beyond its ability to self-repair. She could send it back to China, or she could order another one, but now Gwen was interested in something Hanmoul had mentioned a long while ago.

    The possibility of creating armour from Big Bird feathers.

    So that the Citadel could put hammer to anvil, she had given Hanmoul the go-ahead to craft something "local" that would serve as an improved suit of Shen-Te¨©. As a Mageocracy War Mage, to have Sinomach sent her a new bodysuit would likely tickle some beards, especially considering how the Shard felt about "Inferior" Communist state enterprises. Just as well, she disliked owing favours to the Greys and especially the Militants, not when she could manage the supplier herself.

    She wanted something sleek and svelte and held up well against both elemental and physical damage, a quality that nothing short of Master-tier Dwarven Runecrafting would provide. As for the Creature Core component, she had several Hulk specimens with Negatively-aligned properties that would serve as the suit''s conduits¡ª considering her future abuse of Sanguine Mantle and Bone Shield; she didn''t mind more Negative Energy drain.

    And in the concourse of waiting for her suit to be made, she figured she might as well have one crafted for Elvia as well. The Order of the Bath possessed its own Enchanter Brethren, but Elvia wasn''t of the rank necessary to pursue their services. As such, Gwen gave Walken instructions to find Elvia something suitably "Saint-looking" to both protect her friend from harm and harness Faith from folk she would rescue in their future expedition.

    When she had mentioned this idea to Elvia during their restless night at the Ferrier''s Cottage, the Cleric accepted her gift of a suit in the mid-five-figures range. She then asked: "Who am I saving? Is this for the Steppes?"

    Gwen''s response had been, "No idea, but I know from whom you''ll be saving folks."

    "Who?" Elvia had cocked her head with sweet, unknowing innocence.

    "¡­ me."

    Trawsfynydd.

    In the end, Gwen decided not to risk Dickie''s ire and the Elves'' further impatience. Therefore, from London to Birmingham then to the skies, she had blazed her way north-west at full belt while following her Divi-orb, arriving finally at her fated meeting.

    On the grassy knoll approaching the trade station, the Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar receiving her wasn''t the lithe Hierophant Sanari but a black-clad warrior dressed in a scarab-shell battle mantle.

    Arch-Warden Eldrin, she recognised the look if not the Elf. The Wardens wore mantles of different length, each resembling gossamer insect wings, with the juniors sporting a single pair of silken fabric. From the looks of the luxurious waterfall of semi-transparent material behind him, the Arch-Warden possessed no less than four pairs.

    Was the fabric merely ceremonial? Gwen wondered as she landed with the biggest smile she could muster. Or were they magic items of sorts? Either a form of transformative armour or maybe something akin to wings that could enable supersonic flight.

    Different to Solana''s ageless mien of tender benevolence, Eldrin''s face was more angular and cruel, with a hooked nose that reminded Gwen of a down-turned horned beetle. He was tall even for an elf, standing past two meters from greave to headpiece, all in satin crow-black.

    Solana the white. Gwen mused to herself. Eldrin the black.

    One took care of the tree and distributed its benediction.

    And the other, if the cosplay was anything to go by, was the kind who dispensed violence in the dark, doing clandestine deeds to satisfy Solana''s needs so that the rest of the Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar could look each other in the eye and say "May the Bloom be Eternal" without fear in their leafy warrens.

    Gwen inhaled the nourishing air.

    The first time she came to Tryfan, she had expected Rivendell with a twist. Now armed with renewed Planar knowledge, she had a better understanding of the Hv¨ªt¨¢lfars'' position. According to Cambridge, the conjecture was that Elves were symbiotic colonisers of the Prime Material. Theirs was a way of the world that had been conceived in a time when men still walked with hunched backs, and Dwarves cowered from the hungry things swimming through the Murk.

    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

    "Greetings from the Shard." Gwen bowed deep as she landed. "I have come for an audience with Eldrin, Arch-Warden of Tryfan."

    The Elf''s pupils were the usual chromatic gold common to the Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar, and thanks to the dark garb of the Arch-Warden, Gwen felt as though acutely studied by an alien beetle with an insectile mind. From her position, boundless potential energy seemed to encase the Arch-warden''s conforming bodysuit of chitin, making him appear melded with his carapace armour. In place of stitchings, straps and seals, the suit was unblemished by manufacturing, appearing wholly home-grown.

    No doubt, Gwen whistled internally in her mind. The battle suit was unique, mayhap was as rare as the giant Red Dragon Core the House of Windsor displayed in London''s Tower.

    "Magus Song." Eldrin didn''t even grace her with a nod. "You''ve kept us waiting."

    "Duty called." Gwen indicated in the wrong direction that wasn''t the Shard. For some reason, she felt strangely rebellious against Dickie''s advice to fawn over the Elves like her peers in the Tower. "Lord Hierophant, you weren''t standing here for months on end, were you?"

    The Arch-Warden''s facial muscled moved a micro-millimetre. "Come, we shall speak in a more appropriate place."

    Gwen glanced at the phantom "Tree" in the distance that seemed to rise into the heavens. It was an impossible sight, for the weight of all that wood would make its physics akin to an inverted K2 sitting atop the Matterhorn.

    "Okay." She followed like an obedient kitten.

    Another Mage would question the wisdom of following an elite Elementalist into an abode within which they held complete control over time and space. As for Gwen, the last time she was here, Almudj had a heart-to-heart with the Bloom in White, momentarily transforming the elfin goddess into AC/DC''s 1990 Australian classic, "Thunderstruck".

    Gwen felt guilty that once more, she was piggy-backing on Al''s good graces, despite her Patron having given no such consent. Of course, with the Path of power she had plotted out for herself, such crutches would not remain permanent. Within ten years, she was confident that she would attain Sobel''s sorcery level, then far surpass her Master''s wife.

    Why?

    Why Legion, of course.

    Short of usurping the telecommunication conglomerate from her, no one in their right minds would allow such a categorical advancement in quality of life to be rescinded from the world.

    Even if the Mageocracy tried their darndest, she wasn''t worried.

    Short of Undeath, they would have to pry the controlling shares from her cold, dead hands.

    Beside her, without need for an existing tree, Eldrin willed a trellis gate into existence, then opened a portal into Tryfan.

    "Tree Striding is SO incredibly useful¡­" Gwen remarked as she stepped through.

    "Henry could do something like this," came the cold reply. "So can you, if you are willing to learn."

    Inside of the portal, they unsurprisingly arrived on the foliage of the grand trunk. The pair was not near the heartwood, as Solana''s abode had been, but a balcony overlooking the Cloud Sea below the Plane of Radiance, a sight that hinted at the Quasi-Elemental Plane of Steam having drifted close. They were on a private viewing platform, below which the Great Tree extended into the white unknown and above which the vibrant, jade-leaf foliage tapered toward a blue infinity.

    There was an elegant table wrought of vines, fossilised and then carved meticulously with wood-shaping spells, erect amid two equally elaborate chairs. The motif, as far as Gwen could tell, was a narrative tapestry of sorts.

    "I have waited upon you, Magus Song," Eldrin began. "Because in my capacity as Arch-Warden, I had been a companion to your Master, Lord Henry Kilroy."

    "Thank you for being patient," Gwen said with a tone of apology. "I didn''t know you knew my Master."

    It was a white lie.

    Considering that Henry had a bloody secluded abode where he lived with a bleeding Void Sorceress, there was no possibility that he was on bad terms with the head of security. Still, there was no reason to demonstrate her foresight. Against her seniors, especially older men, Gwen had long learned it was best to pretend that she was ambitious and brilliant but low on wisdom and cunning.

    Eldrin gave her a critical glare.

    The Essence in her Astral Body instinctively roused, stiffening her spine and adding colour to her cheeks.

    "I understand that we are both individuals with more matters of immediacy than time," Eldrin remarked. "Nonetheless, it is The Bloom''s wish that you come to understand the arrangement your Master and Tryfan once shared."

    "Time? Our lives are as mayflies to willow''s compared to yours, Lord Warden," Gwen returned. "Even so, I am surprised the Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar experience impatience."

    The Elf studied her with his chromatic orbs catching the Radiant light. "You speak like one with a limited life, you¡ª who is a calf of the old ones."

    "I am still young." Gwen shrugged. "Two decades is all I''ve known."

    Eldrin''s unconvinced face made her self-conscious. She felt like an older woman trying to convince the young buck at the bar she was still in her twenties.

    "The arrangement we had with Lord Henry stems from the Accord," Eldrin said. "A good number of your Human leaders on the continent you call Europe likewise share this understanding with our kind. Your species may be native to the Prime Material, but our kind has been here far longer than you. Without our presence, the Prime Material will be far more vulnerable to the Astral law of entropy. Without its Great Trees, the Prime Material would have never existed, nor would it continue to exist."

    "I understood some of that," Gwen replied stiffly, conscious that they''d been standing the whole while. Unfortunately, since Eldrin stood still as a sentinel, and she had to oblige likewise.

    "Magus Song." The gangly and giant Elf loomed. "Will you, as Lord Kilroy''s scion, join our Accord?"

    "Is Gunther a part of this?" Gwen asked in turn. "Is Alesia?"

    "Magus De Botton and Master Shultz are a different breed compared to you and Lord Kilroy," Eldrin answered. "They stand at the apex of your kind, but they are not of interest to the Accord. Master Shultz would have suited our Bloom''s purpose, but Lord Kilroy had by choice took him from our commonwealth into his. Now, in Master Kilroy''s vacancy, we turn to you who is closest to him and whose potential may be greater."

    "Hold up." Gwen put up both hands. "I''ll have you know that no one ever explained what the Accord was to me. As far as I know, it''s air."

    Eldrin appeared to study her face to read the thoughts coursing through her head. "I see. Shall I elucidate its purpose?"

    "Not if it means I have to join," Gwen said quickly. "Sometimes, ignorance is bliss."

    "You are not curious?"

    "Curiosity killed the Displacer Beast," Gwen replied. "Then sold its skin for five hundred HDMs at the Grey Market. I should know. I''ve got the coat in my Storage Ring. Beautiful colour."

    "I see." Eldrin considered her words. "Then, in my capacity as Arch-Warden, I shall consent to give you a certain degree of clarity without charge. Do you still wish to know?"

    Gwen was tempted to ask whether it was possible to discuss the issue in her flying Tower a decade from now but also recognised that the Elves were likely starting to take her seriously as a threat, or at least as an unknown element that shouldn''t be left alone. Back in the day, Solana had said that they had left Henry to his devices¡ª the consequence was Sobel, then and Henry''s death.

    Likewise, she still had to report on Sufina''s proposal, though she would not make that demand of the Elves until she had some leverage to lubricate the discussion.

    Gwen sighed at her indecision.

    "You are a very peculiar specimen, Magus Song." Eldrin''s expression remained unchanged. "How many of your kind have perished to be let into the Accord so that they may know the deeper secrets of the Prime Material, and yet, you dither at the threshold. We are offering an olive branch out of diplomacy, Gwen. And out of consideration that you are Henry''s true Apprentice."

    Henry''s true Apprentice.

    Her breath quickened.

    She liked that.

    "Fine, I''ll bite." Gwen shrugged her shoulders. "Don''t you know that a little knowledge is a dangerous thing? How much are you willing to give for free, and if I listen, what choice might I have in remaining neutral to Tryfan''s cause? I wasn''t staying away out of arrogance, Arch-Warden. I was staying away because there might be prospects far beyond what I can or am willing to handle."

    "¡­ And the council complains that you Humans rush forward without consideration for consequences." Eldrin finally revealed a less stern expression. "You may sit."

    "And if I refused, were you going to portal me out?" Gwen rolled her eyes and sat. "I am all ears, Arch-Warden."

    Eldrin joined her in the adjacent chair.

    Elves have long torsos, Gwen observed. Eldrin''s sitting height made her feel like he was still standing.

    "The Accord," Eldrin began again. "Is both simple and complex. The World Trees are the source of the Prime Material''s stability. In its health, there sits the Bloom in White, Master Tyfanevius, and we. In this, they are three and yet; all are one."

    "There is always a woman, a snake, and a tree," Gwen mouthed to herself.

    "While my kind has made our home here for longer than you can imagine, beings like Humanity are the true inheritors of the Prime Material. We ¨¢lfar are custodians¡ª to maintain this balance, your kind as well must do your duty."

    "Alright." Gwen thought of the Triffidus infestation she had purged. "But surely there''s more to it."

    "The Accord is an agreement to maintain the Tree''s health, and thereby the health of this Plane we call home," Eldrin explained. "Balance, Magus Song, is more than Purging invasive species and defeating common enemies. Ecological maintenance requires delicacy, for it is an act of foresightful and constant, meticulous pruning. For all our sakes, the equilibrium is maintained. To do otherwise would contribute directly to the Plane''s demise."

    "Why does that sound so ominous?" Gwen asked.

    "Because your kind has failed once already," Eldrin stated without any particular emotion. "Thirty-four Sun Cycles ago, the Great Mor Ereg withered, its Guardian turned on the Great Tree''s custodians, and the basin from which some of your greatest ancient nations emerged erupted into a sea of flame. The "Caspian" boiled, Magus Song, and the Prime Material both our people hold dear was torn asunder by the Astral rent that took Mor Ereg''s place. The sea changed, the land changed, the clouds shifted. The consequence, you should know well."

    "The Beast Tide. The Black Dragon."

    "Ancient Vynssarion, yes." Eldrin nodded. "The death of the tree robbed from the old one all sensibility. A being of his power, nourished for aeons by the Great Tree''s roots, isn''t a madness Elves without a tree could tame alone. As a result, the Elementals usurped a portion of our world¡ª and the Astral fabric tethering together the Prime Material grew thinner yet."

    "So, the Accord is a mutual defence treaty?" Gwen asked for clarification. "That''s nothing out of the ordinary. Why the secrecy?"

    Eldrin waited for her to finish.

    "Maintaining equilibrium," he said carefully. "Is a difficult affair. Each Great Tree''s pillar stretches only so far, and each tribe, be it the Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar, the Lj¨®s¨¢lfar, the Svart¨¢lfar or our mortal cousins, the Tr??lvor, take a different approach. Some guard their duty with jealousy and hostility. Others chose isolation and seclusion. WE chose cooperation, becoming Wardens, servants to the great balance of all things, living or dead, elemental or native. If you so choose, you too may join the ranks of our kind, nourished by immortality, tethered by compromise."

    "Our kind? Immortality?"

    "Solana has already mentioned this," the Arch-Warden said. "The Great Tree nourishes the Wyrm, the Wyrm its Vessels."

    "VESSELS?" Gwen''s eyes grew wide, a torrent of thoughts flooding through her swirling mind. She wasn''t sure how the Yinglong fitted into this western narrative, but her cognisance was no longer blank. "I think¡­ I get it. Wow¡ª is that what a Vessel is? Is that the purpose of the Dragons? Are you saying there are more Vessels like Evee and I all over the world?"

    "Yes¡­ and no. You are not unique in that capacity, at least. Just as Humanity isn''t alone in this sacred enterprise..."

    Eldrin left it at that and instead impassively studied her face for signs of further comprehension.

    There was much to digest in Eldrin''s words, and Gwen chose to do just that.

    During the Triffidus infestation, the Shard had moved its military forces from Northern Ireland to put down the Far Planes'' planar overspill. According to her lecturer, this was because of ecological conservation and a need to prevent further decay of the Prime Material''s paper-thin boundaries.

    Now Eldrin spoke of a more significant threat, a kind of Triffidus endgame, that of a Planar race spilling into the Prime Material and becoming a dominant presence strong enough to bend space and warp the elemental composition of Terra.

    Unless the Elf was bald-faced lying about the Black Sea, then she could trust his assertion that someone fucked up in the 70s and didn''t manage to hold the fort against whatever was undermining the World Tree thereabouts. The consequence, therefore, was the collapse of a planar junction to the south-east, earmarking a part of the world that had served as the cradle of Human civilisation in antiquity as a Black Zone.

    As for the meaning hidden in between Eldrin''s words, Gwen knew for a fact that there was something direr the Arch-Warden desired her to fathom through conscious cognisance. Only then could this "something" so ominous be acceptable to her.

    One by one, she carefully masticated Eldrin''s diction choices in her mind, hoping her Master''s Translation Stone was up to snuff.

    Balance.

    Ecology.

    Tree.

    From the way Eldrin positioned himself, the Warden saw the Hv¨ªt¨¢lfars'' position as guardians of sorts. Even his title of "Arch-Warden" sounded like it hadn''t so much to do with defending his tree, but more so to do with a managerial role, something like a CEO.

    The Triffdus of Angelsley.

    The Elementals of the Fire Sea.

    The Purge actions.

    Each a volatile element not of this world.

    Pruning.

    Astral fabric.

    Prime Material.

    Gwen wracked her brain, sifting the details through a sieve of logic.

    What was Eldrin directing her to see? Why was the Accord a thing that folks kept secret? Why was her Master a part of it, but not Gunther or Alesia or the Mages more famous than herself at the University? As for those who are in the Accord, why would they obfuscate their participation? Why did even Dickie speak of it haltingly?

    She cycled her train of thought once more, this time from the beginning.

    Pruning.

    Plane.

    Purge.

    Equilibrium.

    Ecology.

    Tree.

    Something clicked.

    Pieces fell into place.

    She looked down at her hands.

    They were white, pale beyond belief.

    Her fingers were shaking.

    Beside her, a slight display of affirming mirth displaced Eldrin''s thin, severe lips, forming a pink gash like a fresh razor wound.

    The Accord¡ª

    In accordance with¡ª

    To reach an accord by consensus¡ª

    A terrible understanding dawned, emerging from the Mountain of Madness like a gibbering aberrant baying for attention.

    The role her Master played for the Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar burst upon Gwen as though hot slime from a foetid Void pustule.

    In her old world, in Yellowstone, the wolves and bears ate the elk who ate the elm, the elm fed the beavers, the beavers built the dams, the dam prevented lowland floods, and the precipitation fed the highland elm. Like a spider''s web, every ecological chain was welded to the other, with the removal of a single link spelling catastrophe. For decades, the Wardens of her world pruned the trees, bred the wolves, shot the elk, and balanced the ecological chain.

    In this world, the Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar instituted a more nouveau method.

    They invited the elms, the wolves, the beavers, the bears, the ravens, the salmon and whatever else lived in the Prime Material.

    And among the species, they picked out a few stand-out individuals.

    And then they told them the way of the world.

    "Welcome to the round table. Let''s keep this simple. Do you want to prune yourself? Or should we do it for you?"

    Today, she pruned the Triffidus.

    A decade from now, she may prune the Elementals out the Fire Sea.

    Then one day, inevitably and for the greater good, she would prune her own.

    That was the Accord.

 Chapter 404 - Lost and Found

    For what felt like a Microsoft minute, Gwen''s blanked-out mind showed "page not found".

    When her thoughts came to, her protest choked up with offence and outrage compounded by outright existential woe.

    Opposite, the Arch-Warden watched her expression for a while, then raised a hand to halt her increasingly outlandish emotions from erupting between her ears and blowing her brains out.

    "Magus, your Void is leaking." Eldrin''s golden eyes gleamed. "Do not fret. You are not a member of the Accord yet. Even if you are eager to participate, it takes decades to prove one''s mettle. There will be tests of loyalty and dedication, and the temptation to use the information we provide to the advantage of Humanity will be many. When you are ready to join, you will have no such qualms."

    "J-Join?" Gwen spat, glaring at Eldrin with undisguised aversion that she allowed a Gwenism to lapse. "Why would anyone with any sense of goodness put themselves in that position? Gods! This is just another Coalition of the Willing, isn''t it? Thanks for the knowledge, Arch-Warden, but no thanks."

    "Do you consider your disregard as good as our experience?" Eldrin appeared genuinely amused that he had a resistive sorceress on his hands. "Then again, your kind do proudly pronounce that ignorance is bliss. You are not wrong. For a short-lived species, many generations may yet pass in prosperity and peace. Many of your rulers would consider that arrangement completely acceptable, so long as their generation blooms and wilts without suffering. Nonetheless¡ª the Accord would not want one of its future members to take the wrong, nor would Henry if he were alive."

    Gwen took a deep breath.

    She re-arranged her thoughts.

    If the Arch-Warden thought he could bully her into obedience, then the bastard had a whole Caliban coming for his buns! Nonetheless, she wasn''t drunk enough on Lighting Affinity to try and headbutt the Elves, at least not with a face as delicate as hers.

    What should she do then if she could neither accept nor outright deny?

    "Has Tryfan ever pruned itself?" Gwen asked, her tone growing churlish, probing Eldrin for cracks.

    "No," Eldrin categorically denied her accusation.

    "Well, well, doesn''t that come as a surprise. Would you do it if it came to it?"

    "A moot question." Eldrin shook his head. "Another member of the Accord will perform the deed if a race''s members will not. You need not dirty your hands. That is also a part of the Accord."

    "How bloody convenient." Gwen''s mind raced. "I guess that makes reaping your blood all the more acceptable. So long as you''re not strangling any babies¡ª it doesn''t matter how many dozens perish in a fire, right?"

    "Your vitriol art misled," Eldrin replied with an annoying amount of patience. "Allow me to elucidate¡ª what you proposed as self-pruning, Magus Song, is something that need not occur if your people exercise self-governance. In this, we have set an example as the Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar. For all our might, we have constrained our numbers for aeons and restricted ourselves to our modest living space. Even Guardian Tyfanevius, whose kind possess a natural inclination you know well, is restricted within the Great Tree, much to his frustration."

    Gwen half-listened to the Arch-Warden, her mind still bushwacking the dark to escape the Elf''s grim entanglement.

    "To take your people as an example," Eldrin continued. "Humanity''s vivaciousness is beyond belief. Even when the world was young and your kind was without sorcery, you thrived, going so far as to manifest ripples in reality through sheer force of belief. You are aware of how voraciously your species has progressed, Magus Song, are you not?"

    "Maybe, enlighten me."

    "''Spellcraft'', the source-arcanistry Humanity now wields to sustain its seat of power," Eldrin said. "Has its origins in us. Your kind has taken the gentle boon we bestowed to ease your resistance against the Planar-usurpers into something that strains the Prime Material. In aeons past, the Accord''s early progenitors consented for your people to inherit vast tracts of Terra that would fall into ruin and disjunction to Core-bearing colonists. Yet now, your kind has grown numerous enough to test the Astral fabric''s elasticity. Your cities..."

    Eldrin shook his head.

    "We''ve grown too powerful?" Gwen raised both brows.

    Eldrin''s lips grew mocking. "Too prideful, too ambitious, too intemperate."

    "Okay¡ª so NOT too powerful, but annoying enough to be of concern," Gwen minced the Elf''s choice of diction. "Exactly how much of our Spellcraft is based on yours?"

    "I believe that''s enough talk of the Accord." Eldrin stopped her with a dismissive gesture. "Any more, and our allies would accuse me of bestowing undue partiality. Perhaps they already shall, but that would be a burden I have brought upon myself. You are very astute, Gwen, for one so young. So, how now?"

    "One last question." Gwen raised her voice. If she desired to delay, then the first thing she had to do was set fire to Eldrin''s evergreen coolness.

    Inhaling deeply, she settled on delivering a kidney blow.

    "Tell me true, Arch-Warden. Was Sobel one of yours?" Her voice rose an octave as she circulated the overspilling Void mana throughout her conduits, priming her accusation with an aura similar to that of the Elizabeth she had encountered in Sydney. "If you want me to join, then tell me the truth. Was Lizzy a willing agent of the Accord or a rogue one?"

    The Arch-warden''s golden orbs shrunk as motes of Druidic mana coursed through the Elf''s conduits, reacting to her Void aura. His brow gave the slightest wrinkle, which she took to mean annoyance.

    Before she could pull back the pressure, Eldrin responded.

    A near-physical wave of Dragon-fear radiated from the Elf, almost balling her over with its intensity. Fighting the unbidden butterflies taking flight from her abdomen, Gwen kept up her demanding gaze even as her skin grew clammy and the hair on her thighs stood on end, rising from her knees to her neck then back again like a Mexican wave.

    "That''s a nice reaction." Gwen felt a thrilling surge of masochistic satisfaction as yet more demands danced on the tip of her tongue. Eldrin''s Dragon Fear was purer than even Golos'' as it strummed her every nerve, mangling her innards and rousing Almudj''s irritated Essence. Forcing her jaws to unclench, she continued her barrage. "Ha! How about this, then? Will the Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar abide by the Rule of Law and prune the Svart¨¢lfar or the Lj¨®s¨¢lfar?"

    "If it comes to that¡­" Eldrin scowled.

    "So, you HAVE exterminated ¨¢lfar before?" Gwen pursued with a quick follow-up. "Has the Accord had a go at a Dragon yet? Are the Asiatic Drakes a part of the Accord? How about the Merman of the Seven Kingdoms? ¡ª Holy shit! Was the Mermen invasion of Sydney the work of the Accord?"

    Against Gwen''s barrage, Eldrin''s expression grew darker and darker until Gwen finally saw the blood clotting against his pale, flawless skin. The fire in the Arch-Warden''s eyes likewise grew in intensity. When she resorted to taking his silence as a "Gotcha!" the Dragon Fear radiating from the Arch-Warden became solid tendrils kneading her trembling figure, grasping at her neck and running spindly-little spider-fingers down her spine.

    "Magus Song¡ª"

    "There''s the rub! If the Elemental remains active, does that mean Humanity''s safe so long as the Fire Sea remains a present threat? How about the North Korean Undead and their Juche? How do the Undead figure into¡ª"

    She raised her voice and asked more questions, allowing the word vomit in her mind to pour out and drench the scoundrel from head to foot like Void bile from Caliban''s gut.

    "¡ª and the Dwarves! How about Deepholm''s troubles, are you guys in cahoots with Calamari¡ª"

    "Enough¡ª!"

    Finally, to her immense relief, just as she flinched in anticipation of a smack on the mouth, Eldrin growled, turned, then walked headfirst into a newly-formed trellis Portal. Before Gwen could finish her tirade, the Arch-Warden dematerialised.

    For several seconds, she drank in the blessed silence, the elevated emotions in her chest finally returning to a mortal plane. After calming her nerves, she breathed long and deep, picking her spent sanity off the floor.

    She wasn''t Prince Hamlet, but she knew well the value in delaying her "benefactor" with false fire. Sometimes, the only way out of a blind date was to meander breathlessly about cats, then sneak out for a bathroom break from which there was no return¡ª

    Unfortunately, her resounding success in annoying the elder Elf had now left her stranded in a room atop a World Tree, where wandering without a guide may annoy millennia-old Elementalists by the hundreds.

    "Solana?" she addressed the wall. "Are you watching?"

    No reply came.

    "Come on, I know you''re watching." She furrowed her brows. "It must get pretty boring up in the atrium with the Heartwood, what with no midday Vid-cast programming and all."

    Eeeearygh¡ª The vine-barrier leading to the balcony yawned open.

    Gwen snorted. It didn''t take a Meister to know that the leader of the Elves was watching her performance. Eldrin might have a temper, but she was under no delusion that Solana would be tricked. In fact, now that she thought about it, maybe Eldrin just couldn''t be bothered playing with a lesser individual like herself.

    Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

    With her spirits dampened, she made for the door¡ª

    "Magus Song!"

    ¡ª And almost ran face-first into Sanari''s silk-bound bosoms.

    "Lady Sanari¡ª" Gwen stopped herself just in time to prevent unintended intimacy.

    Sanari stood awkwardly by the door, evidently blocking the exit with her body.

    Gwen chose not to force her way past the flustered Elf but instead waited to see what the Hierophant had to say. The female Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar''s golden eyes were rich with clashing emotion, revealing far more than the cold, metallic rings in Eldrin''s dying-star orbs.

    "The Bloom in White has a gift for you." Solana produced a vibrant-hued satchel woven from two leaves, each half the breadth of the female''s impressive handspans. Upon closer inspection, Gwen realised both blades'' veins had fused so that the entire leaf-purse appeared a single living organism. "It''s for your venture in the Northern Steppes; Lady Solana says that this would be of help."

    Tilting the satchel, Sanari allowed a handful of dots to fall from the pouch''s slit-opening.

    "Seeds?" Gwen possessed no knowledge of botany beyond basic Google image. All of her indoor plants had died to neglect or her cats. A green-thumbed colleague once remarked her winter garden of starved or overwatered plants was a one-woman botanic Holocaust.

    "Starling Tomatoes, Jade Cucumbers, Polar Beans and Sunburst Squash," Solana counted the misshapen forms with the gentleness of one bobbing the heads of her children. "All produce commonly planted here at the tree. With Lady Solana''s blessing, they''re able to thrive anywhere on the Prime Material, provided there''s sun, soil and water."

    "And these are for me?" Gwen asked, wondering why Solana would gift her plants. Considering the nature of the Black Zone, wouldn''t a suit of what Eldrin wore be more helpful? "What am I to do with¡­ squash?"

    Sanari''s consternation indicated one innocent of esoteric knowledge.

    "Don''t worry. I''ll not look a gift-slav¡­ horse in the mouth." Gwen reflexively passed a hand over the container. "Ow¡ª!"

    The mana feedback gave her fingers quite the kick.

    Nursing her bruised hand, she looked at Sanari.

    "This is a spatial container for living things," Sanari quickly explained. "You cannot store an item such as this in your crude spatial devices."

    "Ah." Gwen realised her error. In the human world, seeds were not alive, nor Bags of Holding. From the looks of it, the seeds contained in the Elven "living" Bag of Holding was not only brimming with vitality and Essence, but even their container was ripe with the lifeblood of the World Tree. "It''s a bag specialising in storing things with life?"

    "It nourishes the seeds." Sanari nodded. "All Druids have one."

    "And¡­ it''s for me?" Gwen grinned with teeth, all repression from Eldrin''s bullying forgotten in the face of glorious loot. In a world where hand-bags were no longer necessary, having a cute Elven satchel was all kinds of tasteful.

    "Yes¡­" Sanari regarded Gwen''s avarice-misted eyes with hesitation.

    "Is this available for trade at the way station in Trawsfynydd?"

    "This is a gift." Sanari looked scandalised. "It''s for Druids, Magus Song! How can such a sacred thing, woven from the leaves of the World Tree, be bought with human currency?"

    "Of course, you''re right." Gwen nodded in disappointment. It was a shame that she couldn''t get one each for her female companions, at the very least for Evee, who could surely make use of such an item better than she did.

    Sanari exhaled. "And this is for you as well. It needs to be kept in the Druid Bag to remain hale."

    The Heirophant produced a green parchment.

    At first, Gwen had thought the thing a document, but the inscriptions on the irregularly shaped piece of vellum-like material did not mask the fact that it was once fresh foliage. Its Elvish patterns¡ª ones she recognised as Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar Glyphs of sorts, had been applied so intricately and in such complex, microscopic detail that there existed no possibility it could be done by hand.

    "What''s this?" Gwen received both items. Sanari looked like she was giving up a child.

    "A Llais leaf, the kind that inspired the rough sorcery of your Divination Mages," the Druid explained while wincing. "If you would nourish the leaf with your Essence, it is possible to transmute thoughts and Messages to the Bloom."

    "Really? But I''ll be out of the range of any Divination Towers," Gwen said, her fingers shaking a little. "How would this work?"

    "So long as The Bloom''s Essence remains nourished and the vine-script remains intact, the Llais leaf will speak to its progenitor. Our Druids who staff the Grove of Voices may then transmute your Message through the trunks of the Great Tree, though our Lady in White would require no such intermediaries."

    A Thundering Shatter rang out in the interior of Gwen''s skull.

    She studied the leaf, her lips suddenly more parched than when she mouthed-off Eldrin. A rising wave of entrepreneurial enterprise stirred within her, warming her from belly to chest, bringing the blood to her cheeks.

    "You didn''t mention the range." Her voice trembled. "What''s the range?"

    "Within the Great Tree?" Sanari''s brows furrowed.

    "Within the Prime Material¡­"

    "The Great Tree IS the Prime Material."

    She had to circulate several jolts of Void to crush the madcap endorphins now inundating her brain. Eyes gleaming, she caressed the leaf, all the while studying Sanari''s disturbed-mien to see if the Druid was boasting. When the Druid said nothing else, she returned to holding the Llias leaf like a Knight Templar holding the One Grail.

    Holy shit.

    Holy shit.

    Holy shit.

    Holy shit.

    Did the Elves have any idea?

    Did Solana have any idea what the Llais leaf meant for a race struggling to get a Message from Central to Katoomba, much less London to Istanbul? The sheer cost in diplomacy, HDMs, Tower investments and maintenance of a Divi-Tower network could bring a city-state to its knees! Not to mention someone could blow a Tower up! If the Isle of Man were to lose its Divination Tower, then the lower half of Ireland, not to mention Northern Ireland, would fall into darkness. There would be no coordination, no reinforcements, not even news. No one would know if the Fomorians swept the isle and wiped away all human habitation in a week-long Wild Hunt! Most importantly, low-tier Contingency Rings would be useless!

    Was this knowledge a part of the Accord?

    Or could a pretty girl simper her way into acquiring the design?

    Or mayhap Sufina could manage a simulacrum of the same sorcery?

    Her mind was suddenly pregnant with possibilities, her imagination bathed in the wonders of Elven Magi-tech and the opportunities it brought for Legion.

    She should apologise to Dickie; Gwen felt stuck by a stray thought, her heart suddenly filling with unbidden love for the dickish Duke of Norfolk who had begged her to speak to the Elves. To think she had put off visiting Trawsfynydd for so long! For almost a year, she had communed with her Dwarven allies for possibilities of borrowing Echo Crystal technology, only to conclude that even if the Ancestors allowed such a trespass, there would be no Mother Lode to provide the raw materials without accessing Deepholm.

    And yet, here, in plain sight, the Elves already had matured Magi-tech rearing to go.

    She decided to double-check, lest her excitement mislead her reading of the situation.

    "So, the range is unlimited?" she announced each word with deliberate care. "I can use this anywhere on Earth? How rare is this leaf?"

    "The Llais Leaf only communes with the Great Tree of its origin." Sanari''s expression remained perplexed. "For our kin, it is common practice to detour through the Grove of Voices if we are to venture far from home. As Lord Eldrin has said, our kind possesses little enough desire to leave our sacred grot, so when necessity calls, we always take its sounds, smells and Essence with us. Even if we were to venture to another Plane, the Llais keeps us tethered to Tryfan."

    Jesus, a real-world manifestation of the Axis Mundi Theory, Gwen noted from her Planar lectures. Something that for Humanity was in the realm of quantum physics, but for their Elven counterparts, something of the fabric of life on the Prime Material.

    "And this script¡­"

    ¡°A manifestation of Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar Druidism,¡± Sanari confirmed. "The Bloom in White said that if you are keen to learn¡­"

    "I would have to join the Accord?"

    "Correct."

    Her boiling blood cooled.

    Her trial period was over.

    But what she uncovered was enough for now.

    For the Llais to work, she needed three things¡ª Essence, a World Tree tapped into the Axis Mundi, and Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar Druid-Arcanists.

    Of the three, she could arguably access the former two if Sufina remained keen to play ball. As for the final component¡ª there was no lack of Scholars in London obsessed with Elven sorcery. If Sulfina lacked the knowledge, perhaps a big-brained Meister somewhere could create a facsimile for ten thousand HDMs. If not, how about a hundred thousand? How about a percentile stake in the business? Undoubtedly, the driving force of greed and ambition would take Humanity to new heights once more.

    Suddenly, the dream of owning a commercial, continent-spanning communication network didn''t seem so distant after all.

    "¡­ The Bloom said that as the Elementals are our direst threat," Sanari, unable to fathom the strange excitement on her face, decided to continue delivering the Lady in White''s sentiments. "You may ask her for advice. The Steppes is also a part of the Accord, and the preservation of the Centaurs natives is central to the region''s stability."

    "Centaurs have Cores." Gwen pointed out.

    "They have habited the region far longer than your kind has possessed written language." Sanari pointed in turn. "Lady Solana says you mustn''t take Lord Eldrin''s approach of the Accord too seriously. In her eyes, the nurturing of life is far more important than the taking of it."

    Gwen pursed her lips to stop herself from unveiling a sardonic smile.

    Solana, the good cop. Eldrin, the bad cop. One white, one bl¡ª Gwen quickly derailed that train of thought. The point was, had she been a "real" young woman with only a few years of adulthood nursing her brain, she might have exhaled with relief and believed Sanari''s innocent and somewhat vacant eyes.

    "Her magnanimity has put me to shame," Gwen said. "I understand. Is that all?"

    "Yes, that is all."

    "Then one more thing," Gwen reiterated. "The seeds are a personal favour Solana is gifting to the Centaurs, and the Elias Leaf is free of charge. The use of either will not accidentally land me in the Accord, correct?"

    "Correct." Sanari appeared insulted by her insinuation.

    "Alrighty then." Gwen dared not demand that she needed Solana''s word. To do so would harm her social capital. By that same measure, asking Sanari to give hers would serve no purpose other than making the situation more awkward.

    "Shall I see you out?" Sanari appeared relieved by her willingness to leave.

    Gwen looked around the balcony, then at the splendiferous view of the deadly Planes.

    She looked toward the tree''s apex and decided to express her gratitude. "Thank you, Lady Solana. I very much appreciate what I''ve learned during my visit, and I''ll make VERY GOOD use of your boons, I promise. And of course, I''ll take care of the Centaurs."

    There was no answer to her farewell, or if there was, it was only the susurration of the World Tree, yawning gently toward a radiant Plane of eternal light.

    The day before NYE, at a carefree luncheon with Lady Grey at Peterhouse, Gwen received a Message from Meister Bekker to be on her way. The disruption was very business-like, signalling that her student days of drinking and flying wherever she pleased, whenever she wanted, were likely at an end.

    According to Jean-Paul, the situation in the Golden Pavilion was rapidly developing, and that the Nayza?ay Qan¨© was on the move to meet the Elementals in the region. The Meister and her Flights were to reinforce the Magisters working at Kaplankyr effective immediately, meaning Gwen had the option of travelling with them or travelling alone to find them.

    The latter was unacceptable, as not only was the danger excessive, the Meister was counting on her Divi-Orb to guide them hastily toward the Golden Pavilion.

    Immediately, Gwen Messaged Walken, who had completed the inventory with immediacy. As for her new battle suit, Yossari regretfully conceded that Gwen''s variant would likely arrive weeks later, at which point she should be planning for Elvia''s arrival. The Cleric and her knight could, therefore, take delivery of all their items.

    "Milady, what''s Ollie doing these days?" A nervous administrator''s sweaty face flashed through Gwen''s mind as she bid the Marchioness happy holidays.

    "He''s enjoying his promotion, though he''s gone home for the holidays." Lady Grey''s smile was all-knowing. "Shall I call upon him? I am sure he''ll be useful even in the Steppes, assuming you can find a use for him. That said, you''re an assistant administrator, a student under Meister Bekker. To have Ollie as your assistant would put him in an awkward position, don''t you think?"

    "¡­ Yeah-Nah," Gwen affirmed the Lady''s wisdom. "Ollie needs a break."

    "That he does." The Lady''s eyes were kind and pure, not at all bloodshot with sadism as Gwen''s appeared. "He''s an earnest boy, but he worries too much."

    "Well, then." Gwen invoked her Flight Spell without the need for somatic nor verbal components. "I''ll return with the good news."

    "I am sure you will, dear." Lady Grey toasted her with a cup of gently steaming Earl Grey. "Venture forth, sweet sorceress. Deliver unto the Orientals the best of our majesty and mercy, but if need be, spare not the rod of the Mageocracy!"

 Chapter 405 - Where the River meets the Sea

    Gwen met with Jean-Paul and his Meister at Heathrow''s ISTC station in a segregated tier set aside for military operators.

    "¡­ I''ll go change," was Gwen''s first reply after seeing the austere group''s equipment. Of the middle-aged men and women gathered upon the oval long-range platform, all wore combat suits of one kind or another, their auras dense with Abjuration. A few who had the usual physique of Mineral or Earthen Abjurers even had Dwarf-forged plates, ensuring they towered over their contemporaries. Others sported enchanted leather or cloth-plating, crafted from synthetic, quasi-magical materials resembling Gwen''s Shen-Te¨©.

    "... Sorry, I should have said something." Jean-Paul''s stooped figure blushed among the group. He had informed her of everything, including a long checklist of survival staples, but not that she had to preemptively dress for the occasion. As a result, the young sorceress looked startlingly out of place in her flared blouse, ankle-jeans and black heels, enticing wide, appreciative grins from her audiences'' faces.

    Gwen herself had anticipated that they would muster at Volgograd, but developing events meant Bekker had the intent to travel continuously.

    "Take your time. We''re waiting for the ISTC to calibrate." Meister Bekker did not appear to mind, though the Magisters and Maguses behind her all chuckled at the inexperienced "first-timer". Within the group, only the gloomy and solemn Jean-Paul shared her role of Magister-in-training. With Gwen joining the group, a nice splash of youth and zest was added to the otherwise severe war party.

    When Gwen re-appeared, she wore a custom-spec bodysuit attune to both Lightning and Void in navy and black. The British-made ensemble she had told Walken to requisition was made-to-order and modified by Dwarven Runesmiths. From the unanticipated aesthetic improvements, Gwen could only deduce Walken knew her too well and presumed too much. For example, atop the sculpted knee and shin guards, the armour irrationally deployed a cloth skirt, much like her made-for-TV Shen-te¨©, an impractical design with no real purpose akin to Supergirl''s predilection for cheerleading miniskirts. In actual practice, at high flight speeds, the mini-petticoat bellowed out and increased drag, especially if she were to fly backwards. Likewise, the suit''s torso material adhered tightly to her svelte, eye-catching silhouette rather than sporting a hard-frame cuirass, directing many a raised brow and pats to the back of a breathless Jean-Paul.

    "To be young..." the sentiment audibly spread among the veterans.

    "To think..." one of the men sighed. "You used to look like that¡ª"

    "You''re begging for death, Taylor," a female voice answered from the crowd.

    The cabal of Magisters and Maguses laughed.

    "You look lovely," Jean-Paul stammered.

    Gwen gave the young man a one-over. "You''re quite dashing yourself."

    In reality, Jean-Paul''s battle suit, together with the aura he gave off, gave the impression of a high-rent gimp suit. It was because the enchanted Griffin-skin was tanned black and then double-treated with sacred oils, giving the minimalist surface a unique lustre. According to the Void Mage, Jean-Paul''s armour was one-of-a-kind and hand-Enchanted by Arcanists serving under Meister Bekker, making Gwen sentimental for her lost Master.

    Her saltiness was quickly transmuted into sugar when she saw a familiar sight.

    "Magus Kott!" It was Major Nils Kott, her Abjuration tutor. Reasonably, she had imagined the man returned to Germany after his exchange period was over, and their lessons had ceased the week prior. "How come you''re here?"

    The Magus'' Gunther-esq bearing filled her heart with gladness. Of all her tutors, the laconic Nil was her favourite next to "Mistress" Le Guevel.

    "I have decided to take on a well-paying quest before I return to Berlin." The Abjurer''s smile made her feel strangely flustered. "It was a good deal of CCs, offered by a certain Lady from Ely."

    At Nil''s confession, Gwen no longer felt the sting of jealousy. If Jean-Paul had his Meister, then she had her Marchioness! In this regard, they were equals!

    "Magus Nil remains a part of my team," Bekker reminded Gwen to wipe away her foolish grin. "You''ll get your turn, but only if we can spare the Abjuration slot. If every Magister-in-training received a war hero Abjurer as a bodyguard, the Tower''s testing system would collapse within the year¡­"

    "He-he-he¡ª" Gwen snickered, fluttering her lashes innocently at her disapproving elders.

    Kott rolled his eyes.

    Bekker shook her head, then introduced her to the rest of the team.

    There were four Boer Mages among the lead Flight, Bekker''s old crew from Tukkies, the same as Alesia''s foursome of tightly-knit followers.

    These were Magister Altus Schoeman and Louw Jonke, joined by Magus Andr¨¦ Jouberts and Adriaan Pietersen. Together, the four made up Bekker''s London Imperial Task Team. Gwen shook each of the men''s hands and noted their similar features, such as their shocking heads of fair hair and their lightly-hued eyes. Considering Jean-Paul''s origin tale and the men''s mid-thirty ages, she couldn''t help but wonder if the four shared a bit of history with the Void Mage.

    The Shard Flights consisted of two teams, both lead by Magisters, each fielding four Maguses.

    The Magisters were both men, one a Transportation Specialist, Colonel Eli Hill, the other a ridiculously handsome Diviner with an Ambassadorial rank named Frank Taylor who also served as the team leader.

    The other eight Maguses, inclusive of Nil, Gwen greeted one by one, memorising their names and ranks. Altogether, the three Flights fielded One Meister, Four Magisters, ten Maguses, one Jean-Paul and Gwen, a strategic "War Mage".

    Of their sorcerous classes, most of the Mages were multi-talented. Nonetheless, for their principal occupations, they were two Evokers, three Abjurers, an Enchanter, three Transmuters, two Conjurers, one Illusionist, one Cleric, and two Diviners.

    As for their secondary schools, almost every member of the party could fight as individuals through Evocation or Transmutation, and over half of the party could act as temporary Abjurers. According to Jean-Paul, the gathered Mages possessed enough clout to plough a Frontier if need be.

    By the time Gwen finished shaking the last woman''s hand, they were approached by two customs officers.

    "Magister Bekker, the ISTC array is primed and ready."

    Bekker patted Gwen on the shoulder to stop her hobnobbing with the crew.

    "Final equipment checks!" Bekker called out. "Confirm your manifests!"

    "Confirmed!"

    "Confirmed!"

    "Confirmed..."

    "I am good." Gwen scanned over her multiple Storage Ring and the Elven Bag of Holding. Her standing order was to bring whatever she deemed necessary at her own expense. Jean-Paul''s portion included food, water and shelter for them both; hers involved enough supplies to feed a Battalion of NoMs for months.

    "Hope you all had a light breakfast," Bekker informed the Mages. "All of you, grab a buddy. JP, stay with Gwen. Move out!"

    The Kyiv interchange took less than ten minutes, giving Gwen nary a look at Boryspil. However, from her furtive glimpse, she could deduce that the ISTC station was near-new, as indicated by its extensive use of aluminium and glass. It was also a way-station, involving only a single building with three service tiers. Comparatively, Heathrow sported four international and one domestic exchange relays, each buzzing like beehives.

    Post Kyiv, the parties materialised at Volgograd, a town briefly renamed Stalingrad after a particular outburst of Communist fervour in Gwen''s world, an administrative centre with half-a-million residents.

    In this world, the Volgograd Frontier grew infamous after a bloody defence against German aggressors during the Pan-European War. In the wake of a battle in which NoM-staffed armies tested the new limits of Spellcraft. In the aftermath, with over a million NoMs and thousands of Mages'' corpses littering the city, the Frontier abruptly grew into a hot zone of Necromancy, suffering yet another brief lull of war and turmoil before reconstruction could begin. In the end, it took until the 60s, after the earth was salted and blessed and the bodies were incinerated, that restoration began.

    Then came the Beast Tide, and Volgograd''s rebirth halted for another two decades. During this time, the Russian Frontier overran with every medium of native Elementals from Water Devils in the Volga, Harpies in the skies to Lycanthropic Hordes in the countryside.

    Her Volgograd, therefore, had an age of no more than two decades.

    "Are you alright?" Jean-Paul tugged her fingers.

    "Perfectly fine." Gwen inhaled the silvery motes of Conjuration. The ISTC station here wasn''t in the best condition, and its Mandala array had to burn off excess mana, vastly extending the cooldown timer.

    If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    Just outside the ISTC array with its plinking Glyphs, the group was greeted by the local Tower Master, Khokhlachev Eduard Mikhailovich, or Edik for short. Together with Meister Bekker, the two exchanged documents, news, then a handful of Storage Rings. After that, the group politely withdrew from the gawking crowd gathered in the array.

    Outside, the sky starkly streaked with grey, its temperature as unforgiving as Frost Wolves.

    "HOLY HELL!" Gwen quickly circulated Essence until her body warmed up. "It''s minus twenty here!"

    The rest of the parties also invoked various cantrips.

    "About six under." Magus Bekker casually invoked a Resistance spell. "Not the best conditions for high-speed flight. You now know why we left earlier than needed."

    "No joke." Gwen watched her half-gloved fingers return to a healthy pink. "Strewth, I am Australian, for God''s sake. In my first fifteen years, I''ve seen snow once."

    "The temperature can drop to minus forty or more while we fly," Major Kott notified her and the rest of their crew. "Magister Jonke and I will provide Cold Resistance buffs. We will refresh the necessary protections every 12 hours. Once we reach the Fire Sea, the weather should warm up significantly."

    "Gather around¡ª" Jonke lined up the team for Abjuration.

    "Gwen, once we''re on the open water, use the orb," Meister Bekker informed her.

    "Gotcha."

    "Good luck, Magus and Magisters." Tower Master Edick bowed his head. As a Frontier Master, a London Meister was arguably leagues above his station.

    The other Magisters gave affirming return-nods.

    Gwen bowed her head. When she looked up, her eyes met the Tower Masters.

    "Sir?"

    "You''re Kilroy''s Apprentice." The Tower Master stated.

    "I am," Gwen replied, squaring her shoulders.

    "I am sorry for your loss." He held out a hand. "Master Henry was very kind to me in the past. If you need anything, don''t hesitate to ask."

    "I won''t be a stranger." Gwen smiled. Even now, it amazed her how often her Master''s name cropped up out of the blue from the mouths of strangers in high places.

    "Good. I look forward to your safe return. Don''t take either the Elementals or the Centaurs lightly."

    "I''ll take care." Gwen bowed again, this time from the waist.

    "You can catch up with Gwen on her return." Meister Bekker patted the man on the shoulder with a friendliness she did not usually offer. The reason for Bekker''s rare show of deference, Jean-Paul explained in a whisper, was because their first stop in the instance of their Contingency Rings triggering would be Volgograd Tower. The Rings Bekker had transferred across served both as gifts and as an emergency stash if the Frontier lacked in upper-tier materials, equipment and Potions. With Edick''s confessed support for Gwen, Bekker did the polite thing by professing mutual support for Edick.

    Gwen nodded in turn.

    Even gestures as simple as this was an important lesson for future Magisters like herself and Jean-Paul. In the real world, little details made a Magister''s work more fluid, and such things weren''t taught in a walled garden like Cambridge.

    The River Volga flowed from Volgograd toward the Caspian, so it wasn''t difficult for the party to follow its blue-white length.

    "In summer, the river is stunningly beautiful," the party''s Diviner and a veteran diplomat to the region spoke as the Flights flew, transmuting his thoughts while bathed in a radiant halo of light.

    The spell active around Magister Frank Taylor''s head was a fifth-tier Divination staple called Circle Scry, a pulse-based, wide-range Divination spell used to detect unusual mana signatures and overt hostility with a radius tethered to the caster''s Affinity tier. While the Ambassador remained somewhat aloof toward the others, his attitude toward Gwen, an Omni-Mage, War Mage and a fellow "Diviner" was softer than most.

    Of course, Gwen suspected her achievements had a great deal to do with the Magister''s friendliness as well. As a Diplomat Corp member, the man understandably placed her upon a pedestal due to her aristocratic connections and her successes in the Murk.

    At the fore of the party flew Meister Bekker and her crew, while above them, shielded from potential attacks from below, drifted Gwen and Jean-Paul. On their present trajectory, across the vast expanse of water, the party''s objective was Aktau, once the trade city of White Cliffs.

    However, the distance to be covered involved three hundred kilometres down the Volga, followed by another four hundred kilometres of open water in soul-freezing weather.

    At noon, the party officially exited the boundaries of human occupation and penetrated the Oblast Frontier. As a meandering serpent, the icy Volga wound through the frost-bitten landscape, a blue bruise across a vast expanse of unblemished snow.

    "It wasn''t this cold before the Tide," Magister Taylor''s radio host voice broke the shield-induced silence. He would comment on the splendiferous landscape whenever Bekker led the group lower in altitude to prevent their barriers from building up entirely with ice and snow.

    Even with their Mage Shields and Resistances active, Gwen could sense the chill from the whipping, howling wind outside, sending sheets of occasional sleet clattering against their oblong shells as their Flights pierced the wintry cold.

    "Why is it colder now?" One of the Maguses asked. "More tears into the Para-Elemental Planes of Ice?"

    "Not exactly," Taylor elucidated the group. "It''s microclimate from the Fire Sea. You''ll see what I mean once we get closer to the Caspian. The hot air heated up by the Prime Material''s weakened fabric against the Elemental Plane of Fire is driving moisture into the upper atmosphere. It travels north, rapidly cools against the sea and the northern winter then falls as snow and sleet."

    "Are we expecting rain on top of this?" One of the Magisters sucked in a breath of cold air. "Christ, no wonder it''s a Black Zone."

    "That''s why we''re avoiding the mountains and taking the route over the sea," Taylor said. "If we do run into storm clouds, we''ll have to fly around them or drift closer into the Fire Sea."

    "Will we run into Elementals?" Gwen asked after requesting permission to speak.

    "With the Astral noises our mana signature are making?" Taylor gestured to the halo scanning for foes around his head. "Undoubtedly. The only question is, will they engage?"

    "You and Jean-Paul can use our future foes for practice," Meister Bekker''s words filtered through the Divination relay. "Have you fought pure Elementals before? Humanoid variants or otherwise."

    Gwen thought of Ellen, Dean Luo''s Familiar. Richard''s Lea was a "pure" Elemental as well. Both demonstrated a way of fighting that was frightening to behold. Lea could turn herself into an invisible mist, after which she could instantly coalesce Water Tombs to trap Mages and prevent them from casting. Ellen, assuming she possessed similar abilities, could be even more dangerous, though, for outliers like Gwen, air lacked water''s incompressible physics. If in her practice duels with Richard, she could shrug off Lea''s Entombs, she did not believe Ellen''s disruptions would fare better, at least not without Stinking Cloud.

    "No, not wild ones," Gwen confessed. "I¡ª"

    "¡ª CONTACT!" Magister Taylor''s voice cut through the conversation like a Flame Blade through butter. "¡ª but keep talking. It''s nothing too serious. I just thought you''d like to see some of the locals."

    Taylor''s warning was itself interjected by the emergence of a dozen spears flying from the top of tree tips the three Flights of Mages passed.

    "Trolls?" Gwen''s Essence-enhanced vision needed no Scry to spot the shapes hidden in the evergreens. "Forest Trolls?"

    "They must be very hungry and desperate." Taylor adjusted the party''s flight path so that they fell just out of range of the spears. Nonetheless, a few clattered against the underside of Meister Bekker''s barrier-protected party. "The changing weather has driven them upriver. They''ll be sieging Volgograd soon, given another year or two."

    "That won''t happen though," the voice of another Magus answered Magister Taylor. "We''ll send in a request. Berlin will Purge them before anything happens."

    "Naturally," Taylor replied. "That is the way of things."

    "Our workshop could do with some Troll-skin and Cores, actually," the Enchanters remarked. "Not much coming out of Red Peak these days, thanks to the Dwarves."

    "You mean, thanks to Gwen?"

    While the rest of the Mages chuckled at their sorceress, Gwen''s heart grew heavy.

    Purge.

    Prune.

    Monkey see¡ª monkey do.

    She was starting to see where the Mageocracy gets its peculiar vernacular.

    At dusk, the Flights alighted in the shadow of a city that once housed close to a quarter of a million souls. Three decades ago, when the Black Dragon "roused" the Elementals and its rage had torn a tear large enough for the denizens of the Planes to eek through, Astrakhan was the first major Human settlement in its path.

    As a result, the city''s skeletal ruins splattered the linen landscape like a dried blood clot; its spindly streets flattened like the splayed ribs of a dead Titan.

    The party landed atop the kremlin, the only structure to survive the Elementals'' northward sweep.

    "Lord Magisters!" a fur-clad group of Mages saluted them from knee-deep ice and snow. Their leader, as far as Gwen could see, was a Russian military officer. Quickly, the man presented his insignia Glyph; an announcement soon returned by Magister Taylor. "Captain Turgenev, 23rd Recon, Moscow Tower. Welcome to Astrakhan, milords and matrons, please follow me."

    Gwen knew from Meister Bekker''s earlier conversation that the 15th-century fort wasn''t their final destination but a stopover.

    Below, once the Mages made their way through a series of stone warrens, their present objective elucidated itself.

    Eli Hill, their Translocation Officer, produced a Storage Ring for the Captain. "Here you are. Please double-check the list."

    While the Moscow Captain emptied the supply of cans, food, HDMs and materials into neat stacks, the other military Mages approached with hot cocoa, coffee, tea and biscuits.

    Unsurprisingly, Gwen became the foci of the young officers, who were all keen to know a future "Magister", or at least bathe in the presence of a War Mage as accomplished as she was comely.

    While the older folk exchanged details of the Frontier and the Elemental Sea''s latest news, Gwen did her best to integrate Jean-Paul into the conversation. Unfortunately, Jean-Paul''s ability to socialise was as woeful as his outward appearance, a fact that compounded the difficulty of his future leadership endeavours. When Gwen furthermore noted that Meister Bekker''s attention kept wandering toward them, she couldn''t help but query if getting Jean-Paul closer to her involved a purer motive. Though it was arrogant to think so, Gwen did not doubt that there weren''t many Void Mages who could hold up a party like she could or supply emergency vitality to a fellow Void practitioner if the matter was life-or-death. Bekker herself could look after Jean-Paul, but her Apprentice would spend more and more time away from his nest in the days to come. If anything, seeing Jean-Paul''s woeful ability to string together trustworthy allies, the unflappable Mevrou must be fuming something serious deep inside.

    After consuming half-a-dozen scones, two cups of hot cocoa and a week''s worth of biscuit rations, Gwen left the amazed junior officers'' presences and joined the main party''s departure from the fort.

    Gwen breathed in the frigid air.

    Her Message Device read midnight.

    Yet, the light filtering from outside the stone walls told her that there was still lingering daylight.

    From the howling outside, it didn''t take an Air Mage to know the winds had grown sadistic.

    Emerging into the cold, Gwen''s pupils grew abruptly large.

    In the distance, stretching from horizon to horizon, emanating from the centre, then growing gradually blue and then dark, was an impossible sunrise in vivid hues of orange and magenta.

    The Fire Sea! Her mind finally connected the name to the place, acknowledging the impossible visage.

    Refracted upon a million-million sheaves of flint light, a great gate of heat and light thrust itself against the weight of a blue-dark sea, setting its long banks alight with supernatural fire, transforming the unfathomable waters a jadeite-green.

    From a midnight Astrakhan, grey weirs of water rolled against the banks, snarling at the cold twilight as the hot air billowing from the distant shore drove north the freezing wind with long lines of lion''s teeth in scintillating marigold. Everywhere, the Prime Material''s natural clime snapped at the impossible aurora of eternal combustion, snarling and baying, fawning and mouthing to reclaim its domain, helpless with frustration.

    The Fire Sea!

    The domain of the Djinn! Beings utterly alien to human life, with physiologies and motivations unfathomable by creatures of mortal flesh!

    "When we cross the mid-point," Bekker''s voice drifted across the murk. "Re-buff for heat resistance. All Flights, prepare for engagement."

 Chapter 406 - Where the Shadows Burn Bright

    Upon the horizon, the Fire Sea glimmered, refracting across the blue dark, transforming the Caspian''s southern shores from cerulean to turquoise.

    Gwen now knew why the Meister was utterly confident they could cross the Caspian by night. Where she had imagined zooming through a pitch-black, fingerless murk, aided only by the Omni-Orb, the surreal reality was that they would soon be flying through an eternal sunset.

    According to Bekker, an Elemental encounter was inevitable. It wasn''t a question of if, but when, and for that, Gwen asked if it was possible to first bring out her Familiars or perhaps Golos.

    "If you open a Planar Portal to the Quasi-Lightning here, you''re going to draw every Elemental being, wild or otherwise, from Baku to Amol!" Taylor spluttered at her request. "Just stay behind us. If it''s safe to test your mettle, we''ll let you know."

    Gwen concurred.

    From Astrakhan to Aktau was two hundred kilometres as the crow flew. With the sunburst from the Fire Sea and the increasingly volatile weather, even an experience navigator couldn''t say they would travel in a straight line.

    "Use the Omni-Orb," Meister Bekker gave the command, and Gwen obeyed without delay, producing her wondrous object for all to see.

    A few of the Mages whistled.

    "Incredible!" Magister Taylor was all kinds of impressed. "You know, they say the Dragons of Asia use a completely original form of Divination based on ley-lines called Fengshui. They''re particularly good at dousing paths to natural resources, like water and minerals. Mayhap this is one of those objects?"

    "This one kind of just goes¡­ where it thinks where I ought to go," Gwen explained. "I have no idea how it works, but I get there."

    "No doubt." Taylor ran a quick diagnostic Divination on her Orb.

    "I don''t think that''s a good idea, Sir," Gwen offered a polite warning.

    "Taylor, unless you want to pay a personal visit to the Dragon that gave her that thing..." Bekker snorted at the Diviner from the Shard. "You should also know that her Wyvern, the tyrannical Golos, is the brother to the owner of the Orb, so good luck."

    "But of course," the Magister was quick to apologise. "I did not mean to offend. Forgive my academic interest."

    Gwen was sure that the man was lying through his teeth, though falsehoods from a noble countenance were easier to swallow. Fighting the urge to believe the smiling dandy, Gwen reminded herself that Taylor was a diplomat and that deception was his bread and butter.

    "Don''t get distracted¡ª" Bekker rallied the crew as they took into the air. "Abjurers, you have priority access to Circle Scry. If we run into something, Purge it, else we will withdraw northward. Hughes and Kott will be our rear guard."

    "Yes, Ma''am." The three Abjurers gave their affirmations, as did Angela Hughes, their Illusionist.

    It took the party ten minutes to clear the rest of the frigid, frozen forest, after which the open sea burst upon them as a limitless, lightless horizon to the east and a marigold aurora to the south and south-west.

    The eeriest thing, Gwen noted, wasn''t so much the light and dark¡ª but that she couldn''t see a single star as a result of the light pollution and heat haze from the south.

    Now in the Black Zone proper, the party kept a semblance of Divination silence, with only Taylor giving commentary. By the Diviner''s estimate, the journey should take around an hour and a half before the abandoned Sea Fort at Shevchenko came into view. Should the landmark present itself, it would indicate that they were going in the right direction.

    Should they fail to see Kazakhstan''s headlands, then it would be safe to assume that an Air Djinn or Water Marid had managed to waylay their path, that or Gwen''s Omni-Orb wasn''t all it cracked up to be.

    "Look below." After an hour, Magister Taylor decided to point out some interesting sights for the two novices-Magisters in training.

    Gwen''s gaze dipped below, catching sight of an enormous shape moving through the dimly lit waters. From the looks of it, the colossal thing was at least the size of a frigate.

    "A whale?" Gwen''s mouth fell half-open. "Here? In an inland sea?"

    "Impressive, isn''t it? It''s a Titan Class Bone-spined Sturgeon," the Magister''s tone shared her awe. "Long said to be extinct. It''s amazing what''s coming back now that the Planar fabric''s torn. More than likely, the Marids are responsible for such a thing. Within their coral palaces, they keep vast aqua-farms of Elemental monstrosities for sport and sustenance."

    "Incredible," Gwen marvelled.

    Momentarily, a portion of the Sturgeon ascended, breaking the surface with ridge after ridge of protruding soft-shelled carapace.

    "There are some in the Militant Faction who say the return of Titans such as these to the Prime Material is a good thing," Taylor remarked after what seemed like a whole minute when the final segment of the fish disappeared. "I, for one, have my doubts. Titan-Class Cores are welcome and all, but the proviso is that someone has to hunt them down and de-Core these things before they grow hungry enough to visit one of our cities. Take the Caspian, for example. Even if we manage to transmute a deep-sea port into existence, who would dare fish in waters such as these? It would take a supertanker to dissuade such a monster from coming near the fleet. Likewise, left un-hunted, an overt density of these Magical Creatures would only destabilise the fabric of the Prime Material."

    Despite having captured a supertanker in Singapore, Gwen felt she had nothing of substance to add to the Magister''s musing and so said nothing.

    "Bloody Militant meddlers¡ª" Their Illusionist, the woman who had scalded Taylor in London, spoke up. "Who told you this?"

    "Oh, the usual suspects. You know, our friends from Devonshire."

    "Of House Exeter? You''re in rare company these days, Frank."

    "It''s an occupational hazard, Angie, though you certainly didn''t hear anything from me. Should anyone ask, I shall call you a witch," Taylor spoke in mirth. "What''s your interest? Does the Fifth Cabal want the time and place, name and associations? I am happy to entertain your interrogation in private."

    "You wish, Frank."

    "I mean, I didn''t see anything untoward. It''s not a crime to complain about state policy." Taylor''s tone grew mischievous. "At least to my knowledge, voicing one''s opinion in public isn''t yet sedition. There was a respectable amount of liqueur involved, I''ll have you know, and a great deal of tobacco."

    "I am sure there was." The voice of Angela echoed through the Divination channel. "You know, I am curious. Regarding our present purpose, you didn''t take a bribe from the Militants, did you, Frank? You should know better¡­"

    "Of course I did!" To Gwen''s surprise, their Diviner burst into laughter. "Naturally, I passed it forward to my superiors. Not taking it would be suspicious and unnatural. We''re not the Royal Griffin Guards, you know?"

    A few chuckles escaped the rest of the party. Gwen laughed out loud as well.

    "Which Faction are you? Magus Song?" The party''s probable Fifth Cabal observer suddenly enquired of her political standings.

    "Er¡­" Gwen wasn''t sure she wanted to answer that question.

    "She''s a bit young to be involved in Faction politics, no?" Taylor said. "Come on, Angie, that''s a question you shouldn''t ask lightly."

    "What''s there to fear? You forget who her progenitor is¡ª" One of the Evokers butted in.

    "What, the Lord Ravenport thing?" Another voice spoke up. "I thought that''s a crock of bull?"

    "Well, Magus Song?"

    "Angela, leave her alone." Magister Taylor, who appeared to stand firmly in Gwen''s camp, interrupted the chorus of competing banter. "That''s her business and none of yours."

    Taylor''s undiplomatic decorum appeared to annoy the Illusionist. From their banter, Gwen could tell the two had history, which also informed her a little of Taylor''s deference for herself. Gwen wondered if she should speak up but chose the better option of focusing on her Omni-orb. After ten more minutes, she noted the appearance of a vague silhouette on the horizon.

    Once she was entirely sure of what she''d seen, Gwen made her discovery known. "Land-HO!"

    "Truly?" Taylor''s voice returned a moment later. "I can''t see anything in this light. Lord, what I''d give for a Divi-Tower on that headland."

    "Neither can I," Major Kott affirmed their Diviner''s observation. "Although Gwen''s physiology is more peculiar than ours. What are you seeing?"

    Gwen channelled both Essence and mana to her eyes. "... Tall cliffs, a peninsular of sorts, followed by a flat expanse that stretches into the horizon. There are buildings beside the cliffs, and what look like ruins of a town? Or a base."

    "Sounds like Bautino," the Magister asserted her verdict. "Do you see an abandoned port? Look for round things, like grain silos and warehouses. There should be what''s left of an industrial pier as well."

    "I see it." Gwen breathed out a sigh of relief. "Yes, there are two tanker-piers still standing."

    "Good eyes." Taylor sounded impressed. "Any enemies?"

    Gwen squinted. "I see silhouettes moving about, a lot of them. My, they''re awful diminutive, and yes, there''s a lot of them."

    "Diminutive? I see the reports were right," the Diviner said. "Meister? Your recommendations?"

    "Prepare for combat." Magister Bekker slowed the Flights to a crawl. "Abjurers, Resist Disease! Defence against Projectiles."

    Of the three Abjurers, Nils Kott was the combat specialist and so provided Mage Armour for all. Pietersen, Bekker''s ordained Abjurer, renewed Elemental Resistance while the Cleric, Sarah Nurse, Blessed then fortified the party with Resist Disease.

    "INCOMING!" Magister'' Taylor''s voice cut through the chatter. "Eleven O Clock! Three Air Elementals, one greater standing by, two mediums coming toward us."

    Gwen''s pupils refocused in the low-light. From afar where the fort once stood, she could see roughly humanoid shapes approaching from atop the ruins toward them.

    "Gwen, Jean-Paul, standby for engagement." Bekker gave the command. ¡°Schoeman, Jonke, take lead. Taylor, cover our flanks."

    "Yes, Meister!" The men gave their affirmations, as did Gwen and Jean-Paul.

    The Mage Flight dispersed at once, sending the Shard''s Mages to the left and right while Bekker and her team moved to the fore, leaving Gwen and Jean-Paul holding the middle.

    The three parties hovered forward for another fifteen seconds before Gwen caught her first glimpse of a Djinn.

    The two that now approached were one female and one male, both as anthropomorphic as the tales foretold. The female was slender of form, with a sky-blue complexion framing an exotic face of no particular ethnicity. For attire, the creature may as well be wearing wisps of air, while dark blue strands of dew-laden hair fluttering from a strapped ponytail tethered with a brass bangle. In her right hand, the Djinn held a shimmering whip formed from condensed mana.

    Comparatively, the male was lank but possessed well-defined musculature. On both arms, the creature wore enormous brass gauntlets crackling with electricity, while on his hip, a slim scimitar etched with squiggly runes loosely hung around a thick, copper-threaded belt.

    Both, Gwen noted with awe, had their lower body taper to a tip until it resided in a golden receptacle. These, according to her Magister-instructors, were the Elementals'' way of staying in the Prime Material¡ª by anchoring their Essence in a container that shielded their Cores, a device no less difficult to destroy than a Lich''s phylactery. This very same methodology also made Elementals prime targets for Core harvesting¡ª assuming the sorcerous hunters weren''t first enslaved or made into sport by their prey.

    "Halt!" The male Djinn glided into place, his voice the sound of a howling gale. "Humans! Why do you pollute our presence with your befouling mana?"

    "Djinn of the Air¡ª" Bekker likewise declared in Elemental, a language impossible to invoke without the aid of upper-tier Ioun Stones. "Why do you bar our way? You who art merely travellers through our home and hearth?"

    The Golden Rule, Gwen had learned from her instructors, was never to show your proverbial back when dealing with the Djinn, Dao, Marid or Efreet¡ª one because these were beings who thrived through controlling "lesser beings", the other because there was nothing "dishonourable" about stabbing creatures the likeness of chattel in the back, even if they talked a good game. To a Demi-human Elemental, respect for mortal citizens of the Prime Material was akin to acknowledging a talking dog walking on two legs.

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    "Your subordinates appear able and useful." The female of the Djinn possessed a voice like a chilling breeze. "Our Master can offer you a chance to serve and ascend the mortal coil. There''s no shame in offering oneself wholly to a greater being."

    "I must decline the Caliphate''s offer," Bekker replied without hesitation. "Though here''s a counter-offer¡ª the Mageocracy could always use mid-tier Djinns as Spirit Contractors. Isn''t that better than serving your tyrants?"

    The female Djinn chuckled, while the male Djinn laughed in Bekker''s face. Gwen measured the pair with Detect Magic, determining the two to be about the seventh or eighth tier of pure power, though their Humanoid intelligence may well add two or more degrees to their threat level.

    Unmoved by the mockery, the Meister''s silent Message commanded them to hold their ground. She then signalled to Gwen and Jean-Paul via Taylor. "Gwen, Void Orb, two each to these insolent research specimens. Jean-Paul, I want a Maximised Void Vortex on that church spire to flush out the Greater Elemental."

    Jean-Paul began to incant before his Master had even finished. Gwen quickly followed her team leader''s command, ramming through the Elementally shifted Lightning Orb incantations.

    Both Void Mages'' pupils turned instantly midnight as the consumptive energy coursed through their conduits.

    "Void Vortex"

    "Void Orb!"

    With Void vertigo caressing their allies, the pair let loose a torrent of Void spells at the Djinns.

    The Elementals'' mockery ceased at once as they attempted to dodge the seeking spheres hungry for immortal flesh. From their stationary position, the creatures slid backwards with an agility no human could manage, then flew forward toward the Mages, attempting to drive the seeking orbs into her allies.

    "Perish, mortal!" The female attempted to envelop Bekker.

    A shimmering semi-sphere of silver wrapped around the Meister, diverting the suddenly gaseous form of the Djinn.

    "Dimension Anchor!" Kott wove a Glyph in each hand, drawing a temporary Mandala in the air.

    Instantly, the Djinns re-materialised, their faces full of astonishment.

    "Abjuring Ward!" Pietersen supplemented Kott''s field control Abjuration with a defensive one, forming a perpendicular, concentric ripple of repulsive energy that prevented the Djinns from moving further into their formation.

    In the split second that the Djinns and Mages exchanged spells, Gwen ensured that her attack struck true, forming four micro vortexes of all-devouring Void where the Djinns should be.

    "Kott!" Taylor called out. "From below! It''s the Greater Elemental!"

    "Got it!" Major Kott laid out a dozen invocations at once. "Wall of Force!"

    THUNK! THUNK! THUNK!

    Dull, heavy thuds rang out as spears of air punched the enormous, invisible pane conjured by the Abjurer, making Kott grimace at the unplanned expenditure.

    At the same time, Jean-Paul''s vortex opened up as a miniature black hole, swallowing the withered spire''s uppermost segment and drawing up all manner of detritus from the ruins below. Astonishingly, Gwen could also see hundreds of tiny, cowled silhouettes flying into the air, clinging onto the debris, or otherwise fleeing from the epicentre.

    "INSOLENT MORTALS!" a thundering bark from below fulminated as rolling waves of thunder. Seemingly unaffected by the vortex''s suction, the final Djinn, an enormous, four-meter male specimen bedecked from neck to wrist with golden bangles, tore itself from the diminishing form of Jean-Paul''s spell. "How dare you interrupt our sacred labour!"

    Bekker commanded her counterpart from the Shard.

    "Spencer, Winston, you''re up." Magister Taylor remained impassive, his ever-present halo of Divination scanning for additional enemies. "Suppress the Lesser Elementals. Kott, Mills, draw them away."

    "Gwen, Jean-Paul," Bekker said to her students at the same time. "As your first test, the Greater Djinn is yours. You have a minute to Purge the thing. Else we do it for you."

    "Yes, Ma''am!" The Void Mages obeyed.

    "Firestorm!"

    "Magma Cloud!"

    The Evoker and Transmuter Maguses from the Shard let loose their unique spell variants, lighting up the night sky with pyrotechnics, driving the shifting Djinns from the party''s air space through enviable displays of masterful spellshaping, aided by buffetting walls of energy that kept the Elementals from joining their superior.

    Jean-Paul dropped from the middle of the three-Flight array and met the incoming Djinn head-on with his signature spell. "Usurp!"

    The Djinn was far too fast for the Void user, but Jean-Paul never intended for the spell to connect. Instead, the imploding Usurp and its resultant burst smothered the Djinn''s approach with fine particles of corrosive, mana-devouring Void.

    Meanwhile, Gwen played it by the books by birthing both Ariel and Caliban in his Big Bird form, paying for the privilege with stowed vitality. With a wordless command, she sent her creatures forth, all the while fomenting a Chain Lightning of the Void variant.

    "You would dare!" The enormous Djinn disappeared, then reappeared almost on top of them, its locomotion practically impossible to follow without Essence-enhanced eyes. With an outreached hand, it swiped right on Gwen.

    "EE¡ªEE!" Ariel delivered a foresightful warning.

    Caliban dove, but was too late to act as a shield for its Master.

    "Shield!" Gwen felt the pressurised air before the Elemental''s gale struck. Her barrier instantly materialised, but unlike the Djinn, there was no way for her to anchor herself while in flight. Like a spiked netball struck by the equivalent of an empowered Bilby''s Hand, she violently jerked right from the invisible assault, her body displacing so rapidly that she could feel her spine and neck crack from the whiplash. Her Void Lightning fizzled, sending a wave of sickness through her rioting conduits.

    Jean-Paul let loose two more Usurp closer to the Djinn, aiming for the creature''s tail Core. Effortlessly, the Djinn performed a reverse summersault through the air, at the same time tugging free an enormous, two meter-long copper blade patterned with runic etchings reminiscent of Damascus steel.

    Before Jean-Paul''s spell struck, the Djinn once more winked out of existence. The Void Mage allowed the attacks to implode anyway, noting that a portion of the tenebrous ink spray seemed to have caught something engaging in sub-sonic translocation.

    Gwen used her Essence to banish the Void-sickness.

    "Void Orb!" She sent forth four Elemental-seeking balls of black ink.

    "Jean-Paul! Shield!" She then shouted from below, half choked with the effort of forcing down mana-feedback.

    Jean-Paul chose to Blink instead, disappearing and reappearing at a random location away from the Djinn''s trajectory.

    Much to her relief, the creature''s broad-bladed scimitar missed, though it did send a screaming crescent of high-velocity, volatile mana out in a vast, destructive arc.

    Caliban swooped in, as did her Void Orbs.

    But without Kott''s Dimension Anchor, the Djinn merely dispersed itself, avoiding the brunt of both attacks, re-emerging with the equivalent of mere scratches marring its bronze armour.

    "EE!" Ariel hoofed the air, lowered its head, then delivered a discharge of cobalt lightning.

    CRACK!

    This time, the solidified Djinn parried the blast with his copper sword.

    "SHAA¡ª!" Caliban''s Big Bird turned, its white fingers reaching to crush the blue body, its tentacles flailing for Elemental flesh. The Djinn grinned, then swung the crackling copper blade at Gwen''s Void Familiar.

    "¡­ Shit!" Gwen invoked her Shield once more. "Cali!"

    The double-charged Chain Lightning from the Djinn arced across the horizon, first crashing into Caliban, then leaping from her Familiar onto its closest target, herself. Gwen''s world turned white as her Shield distorted from the abjuring mana absorbing the electricity, after which the discharge leapt from her barrier onto Ariel.

    "EE-EE!" Ariel likewise consumed the Elemental Lightning, then howled in challenge and protest. "EE!"

    "Beast!" The Djinn howled. "Leave your mortal, obey me!"

    From their Empathic Link, Gwen understood that Ariel wanted to redeem itself. Concurrently, Caliban quickly reformed its singed and erupted flesh and was ready to strike once more.

    The Djinn quickly circled, reacquiring its attack path.

    She and Jean-Paul locked eyes.

    Jean-Paul''s every-situation Void speciality was great, but first, he had to connect.

    Her spells, as far she could tell, the Djinn could avoid with ease.

    Naturally, this was a test, and Kotts would not be helping with his Dimensional Anchor.

    Meanwhile, their minute was almost up.

    Very quickly, Gwen made up her mind.

    "Fine, you want to play silly buggers?" She taunted the Djinn by unleashing an unearthly volume of Elemental Lightning, unequivocally capturing the creature''s attention. "Cali! Jean-Paul! Get ready!"

    "Shaa!"

    "Got it!" her partners returned her silent message. Ready to catch her fuck up should the worst come to pass.

    "Lowly Elemental!" She blasted a Clarion Call at the Djinn. "Dare you to take on the might of my Lightning?"

    "HA!" The Air Djinn, one she figured must be composed of a hundred per cent unadulterated pride, rose to the challenge with gusto. "Bold claim, mortal female. I like you. If you survive, this one shall leash you both and feed only the male to the rats!"

    Ignoring the Djinn''s taunt to put her in a Princess Leia outfit, Gwen held off until the last second before she infused her next strike with Almudj''s Essence. With an audible grunt of effort, Gwen channelled her vivified mana through Ariel while separately squeezing out un-altered lightning as a feint.

    "Barbanginy!"

    Twin arcs of rip-roaring, air-igniting, reality-rending emerald emerged from Ariel''s sixteen-pointed horns, instantly linking the Familiar and the Djinn.

    The surprised Elemental expertly parried her bolt of blue, then twisted its torso in the manner of a contortionist so that it could meet Ariel''s emerald thunderbolt.

    CRA-CRACK¡ªBOOM! Half the peninsula lit up.

    The energies'' meeting manifested as a hysterical expansion of plasma, consuming not only the copper blade but the Djinn itself.

    "Usurp!" Jean-Paul reinforced the impact with his Signature Spell, rapidly depleting the diffusing mana until his Orb grew into the size of a car. With a visible strain on his ashen face, the Void Mage allowed the stolen energy to "Implode!"

    Not to be beaten, Caliban charged into the Void splatter, unaffected by the volatile element. When it emerged from the opposite side, it indicated the absence of a Djinn. Thankfully, her Familiar appeared to have recovered the creature''s receptacle, now smouldering and sizzling the bird''s eerie, white fingers.

    Gwen breathed out, glad that her hypothesis of overloading the Djinn with Almudj''s higher-order lightning worked out as anticipated instead of creating a super-Djinn cracking with emerald electricity to end them all.

    Huffing with relief, she looked up toward Jean-Paul''s Meister, fishing for approval.

    The Meister and her crew looked down on them with big smiles, their fight with the two lower-order Djinns long over through means Gwen was too preoccupied to see.

    "Well done," Meister Bekker congratulated them both as they floated up. "Now, let''s see what our Djinns were up to, then quickly get out of here. It''ll take no more than ten minutes before the next patrol arrives."

    Rapidly, the party descended upon Baudino.

    During their dogfight with the Djinns, the party''s earlier conversation had already forewarned Gwen of the presence of whatever the Elementals were fielding on the old base. Even so, a scene of horror unfurled below her like a dystopian Neill Blomkamp movie trailer.

    "Christ... are those... Rat¡ª PEOPLE?"

    Rats, or Rat-kin, to use a politically correct vernacular, were crowded neck-deep in an enormous, smoothed out pit where the old silo used to be. It was incredible to Gwen that even after Jean-Paul had cleansed the site''s crumbling structures with a Void Vortex, there were still so many of the damnable mammalians huddled together in such a state.

    What wretched creatures, a thought came to her mind.

    But that wasn''t right either. Never in Gwen''s life had she imagined that "wretched" could be so kind a word. Even in China, in District 109, Gwen had not considered that the Chinese NoMs lived in such dire straits to be beyond wretchedness. Yet here, in this town of no purpose on the coast of the Caspian, she once more gazed into an unfamiliar abyss.

    The scene below was like the shipwreck of the Medusa, only now, it wasn''t sailors scampering through the ghoulish painting, but thousands-upon-thousands of Rat-kin clambering over one another to escape. Whenever a dozen or so got close to the top of the wind-worn igneous "hole", the weight of their bodies would collapse, crushing those below, preventing escape.

    The ones strong enough to flee had already clambered out, she realised from the earlier scene. What''s left was the weak and the feeble, or merely the unlucky.

    All around her, her fellow Mages shared her horror.

    Their oppressive pressure seemed to agitate the Rat-kin even more, sending the darkling swarm into such a frenzy that to Gwen, it seemed like a riot of black bodies boiling over the side of an enormous crockpot.

    Presently, the breeze from the ocean changed directions.

    Ye Gods! Gwen almost swooned. The STENCH!

    Her hypersensitive olfactory organs jump-kicked her brain.

    Even with the Fire Sea''s sporadic wind washing over the pit, the smell did not disperse. There were all kinds of odours¡ª rat excreta, sticky body fluids, smouldering rotten meat, spoiled feed and water¡ª which was a stink in itself¡ª mixed in a heavy, dank miasma. Where she could see the ground, the floor was churned to a consistency of warm putty by the milling of feet across sloshing puddles of faeces and urine. That was why the pit was so damn slippery. That was why no rat could escape.

    Covering her mouth and nose, Gwen unhappily discerned that the Rat-folk were skeletons wearing skin, each one with gaunt faces and deeply set yellow eyes that glimmered from the light of the Mage''s descent.

    "What the hell is this?" She asked no one in particular. "I don''t understand."

    "The Steppes are famous for Centaurs, but it''s the Rat-kin who make up the bottom rung of the Grassland ecology," Taylor explained patiently. "These local vermin fled en mass during the Tide, destroying the upper Steppes with their tunnel warrens."

    The Mages from her team didn''t appear to have an answer either, except Meister Bekker. "Do recall that I said things had changed since we planned our outing¡ª this is what''s changed."

    "What''s changed?" Gwen remained befuddled.

    "Considering the context," the Meister said. "Are any of you familiar with the method of cultivating powerful quasi-magical ingredients used by the Indigenous witch women of Yunnan?"

    To the party''s wonder, Gwen''s quivering voice answered the Meister.

    "Yes¡ª the practice of putting poisonous quasi-magical insects into a single Gu pot, then allowing them to cannibalise one another until only the strongest remain. Due to the magical nature of these creatures, battling and consuming of one''s foes lead to powerful evolutions, assuming at least one combatant emerges victorious."

    "Yes, ''Gu Cultivation'' is a method that has existed since ancient times." Bekker glanced at the four Mages from Pretoria, who were each in their way, fascinated by the bubbling body-pit below. "You should understand better than most, Gwen, that same methodology is widely used by the Dragons. They would populate a mountain with their Essence-polluted kindred. After millennia, one being would consume enough others to emerge as a tyrant just below the power of a True Dragon. This being would then serve the Master of the mount until it either died, the Master ascends, or it was itself defeated and by a new guardian."

    "What are they possibly hoping to achieve with the Rat-folk?" Gwen furrowed her brows. "What about the Centaurs?"

    "This IS about the Centaurs." Bekker sighed. "I''ll explain as we fly. Jean-Paul, Gwen, you have five minutes to restock your expended vitality."

    Gwen gasped, her resistance to such a suggestion evident on her grimacing face.

    Jean-Paul spoke beside her. "If we let them go, they''ll be a plague. If Magus Spencer or one of the others cleanse them, it''ll be a grotesque waste of vitality."

    Gwen observed the still-churning bodies below.

    "So either way, we''re the good guys?" Her voice quivered with ambivalence. "What a convenient outlook."

    Jean-Paul shrugged. "Umzokwe!"

    An enormous white leech crash-landed into the pit, crushing a dozen rats attempting to scamper out of the way.

    Gwen gnashed her pearly whites but couldn''t find a way to refute Jean-Paul''s twisted logic. Forcing the syllables to her lips, she invoked her Conjuration Sigil and brought forth her most efficient vitality-harvesters, the Hydras of Elizabeth''s fame.

    As the sounds of screeching diminished below, she contemplated if there was another route for dealing with these Rat-kin. The problem was one of insufficient knowledge, and it was one she realised Bekker had forced upon her. She had no idea why the Elementals were running a Gu pot with the Rat-kin, nor did she know the Rat-kin''s natural place in the Steppe''s hierarchy. Without either elucidation, how could she act? To do so purely out of moral sentimentality would engender a far greater danger, such as an actual plague, considering the state of these filth-ridden Demi-humans.

    Gwen blinked as her final thought struck.

    Earlier, Bekker had the whole party buffed with Resistance to Disease.

    "Ma''am¡­" Gwen looked up at Meister Bekker. "Are¡­ the Elementals trying to create some kind of super disease to plague the centaurs? Is that why... THIS exists?"

    Bekker golf-clapped, evidently impressed by her deductive reasoning. "Excellent, Magus Song. That kind of intelligence will be beneficial when you''re a Tower Master."

    Gwen sucked in a mouthful of foetid air when Bekker affirmed her worst fears.

    "The Djinns know how to use... biological warfare? Holy Cowtaurs¡­" Her perceptions turned upside down and inside out. These Elementals and their ability to deliver a ploy were beyond incredible. Uncontrollably, she shivered, realising that their foes in the Fire Sea weren''t merely monsters, but a civilisation no less malicious than Humanity and just as exotically advanced as the Elves or Dwarves.

    Just as she marvelled at her self-induced epiphany, a hand tapped her shoulder.

    "What''s up?" She engaged the concerned face of Jean-Paul.

    "Gwen¡­" the Void Mage pointed a finger below. "The Rat-kin¡­"

    "Yes?" She looked down.

    Her pupils contracted.

    Her Hydras were gobbling up the Rat-kin by the mouthful, but concurrently, the opposite was also happening.

    "Yep¡­" Jean-Paul effortless inhaled a lungful of gut-churning miasma. "Gwen, I think they''re eating your Hydra¡­"

 Chapter 407 - The Meek and the Mighty

    Be swift.

    Be unseen.

    Be unheard.

    Be nothing.

    Strun, Shadow Runner of Clan Jildam, hid in the buried rubble, repeating the Pack Mantra taught by his elders. He was near-invisible and scentless, his small, malnourished body well dug into an excavated, breathable chamber he had spent weeks preparing. From a waxing moon to a waning one, he had subsisted on nothing but nuts and drips of water that fed through the ceiling, collected from the frosty dew that melted each morning when the Fire Sea grew warm.

    Branching from Strun''s burrow were paths, some natural, some excavated, that barely allowed his flexible body to pass. It was lucky then that Strun was skin wearing bones, for his elder would spit blood if their best scout became stuck between two plates of shale because he ate one too many fungi-balls in a single sitting.

    Weeks ago, Strun had arrived at the ruins known as Bautino to pursue his rat-napped kin. A moon cycle before that, the hated Djinns had come to the lowlands, rounding up the starving men and women of his tribe like cattle. Unable to escape their troops, their venerable elder had made a difficult decision¡ª to abandon the weak and feeble kin who could not survive hiding in the Murk.

    The MURK! Strun''s whiskers twitched with agitation. There was no food there and little water, and yet, there was an abundance of pale-skinned, eyeless monsters, flesh-eating fungi, carnivorous Weta, and rat-hating bewhiskered stouts.

    Damned Djinns! More than once, when his thoughts turned to his surviving kin, Strun''s teeth met so hard that they struck flint-sparks as his metallic enamel met in the dark.

    Usurpers and tyrants, these otherworldly demi-Gods had proven to be. Since the arrival of these "Elementals", as the Horse Lords called them, the grasslands had burned to cinders, whirlwinds ravaged the Rat-kin''s maise farms, and vast tracts of tableland became roving deserts. Worse yet, the wars with the Horse Lords had meant the Golden Pavilion''s taxes grew from crushing to impossible.

    Their Elders had pleaded with their Khans for compassion, but the Nayza?ay Qan? Shamans had accepted no excuses, only bales of fodder.

    Thus rebuked, the Rat-kin could only tighten their belts.

    As Tasm¨¹yiz, starvation and suffering was no stranger to his kin. Far from it, hunger had been a fact of life for the plains folk since before the time of Strun''s ancestors. What made the Elemental "Masters" different was that their Khans at least acknowledged his seed-bearers and grain-growers. In contrast, the Elementals showed no indication they saw the common folk as deserving of life, hearth and home. From what Strun had observed, his Clanmates were merely material to these immigrant usurpers.

    For a whole moon cycle, from all around the lower Steppes, from where the meadows met the Salt Sea, the Elementals herded their kind like chattel the season before the Shamans predicted a cold snap. From Ashbat and Nukus, Shival and Beynue, from every direction his kind had their homes, they were lead by leash and whip to this Bautino, thousands of them at first, then tens of thousands.

    Taking advantage of the chaos, Strun had fled from the group and hid, making sound his promise of surviving so that he may tell the soon to be forgotten stories of the damned and deserted.

    At first, Strun had imagined that the Elementals were sick deviants trying to breed his kind for some nefarious army to battle the Horse Lords. Within the week, when his kin was neither watered nor fed and began to perish by the hundreds, Strun realised his most wicked imaginings had been grossly naive.

    In this encampment, the Wind Elementals, these brass-bound creatures of unnatural air, had made boreholes in the ground, then drove in the starving survivors as a boiling torrent of bodies pleading for mercy. The survivors of that great fall then huddled in the dark, uncertain of their fate, not yet sick enough to eat each other but already tittering on the edge of insanity.

    Far from the hole, nestled in the night, Strun endured the slow insanity of the Elementals'' ploy, allowing the wails of his kin to slowly creep through the compacted dirt to reach his drooping, trembling ears.

    Then the larger of the Djinns arrived, bringing a Centaur Jagun who frothed yellow bile at the mouth. The captured Horse Lord was weak and sick, but still, he fought the Djinn with hoof and teeth, biting at their bangles, kicking at their ethereal bodies, expending the last of its life force.

    Strun recognised the illness afflicting the Horse Lord. Blood Sickness! A disease that the Horse Lords themselves always eradicated with extreme prejudice! It was an illness that Strun knew almost too well, for a decade ago when the same disease had ravaged the Great Khan''s herds, it was the Rat-kin who bore the blame for spreading the disease.

    His elders had told him that the Great Khan gave the command to exterminate every living Rat-kin within lands ravaged by the Blood Sickness. The Jildam scout knew not if this was true¡ª for Rat-kins served in every stratum of the Horse Lord''s Golden Pavilion from the fodder-gathers to the grain-growers¡ª but that''s what his elders had told. And so began the dark age of the Rat-Clan, whose numbers fell from the multi-million multitudes to the mere million that exist today across the endless plains, hidden out of sight, eeking out life as the Horse Lord''s unseen Tasm¨¹yiz.

    Then, to Strun''s confusion and horror, the laughing Djinns threw the Horse Lord into the pit.

    There must have been a moment of complete chaos as the Horse Lord landed in the borehole, his legs snapping like twigs, his monstrously large body crushing Rat-kin by the dozens. All around the Horse Lord, Strun imagined¡ª the starving rats and their bloodshot eyes must have glowed red with hunger while the Horse Lord attempted to stand on his shattered stumps.

    The sounds Strun had to endure that night, the whinnying, the chittering, the wet gnashing of teeth, first on flesh¡ª then on bone, made Strun dream of ending his life. He had covered his ears, but even so, the tremors transmuted through the compact dirt told him more than any Rat-kin should have the right to know.

    Yet, that wasn''t the end.

    It wasn''t even the beginning.

    As expected, the rats who feasted first grew sick.

    Then, his kin grew mad.

    They attacked their surviving kin and ate them.

    Most of his kin perished, or were eaten, or had themselves attacked others, fueling an endless cycle of rat-on-rat ultra-violence.

    Some of the rats fed well and grew strong enough to escape the pit. The Djinns did not pursue these but instead pushed back into the pit Rats who had refused to eat the tainted flesh. In this manner, day after day, more of Strun''s kin, other rats from Clan Jartas, Clan Qum, Clan S?p, arrived and joined the pit. Moonrise after moonrise, Strun endured until his senses grew numb, and his heart turned the consistency of stone. All Strun could think of was when this horror could end, and he could return to warn his Clan.

    Knowing what he had seen, he would advise the elder to take the Clan deep into the Murk.

    Damn the danger! The Rat-kin would learn to love the Murk!

    It was better to die a dignified rat in the darkness than die a monster, created from diseased horseflesh by these aberrant, arrogant Djinns! In the Murk, they could fight, they could forage, his Clan would die as Rat-kin, unlike here on the surface¡ª where they couldn''t even eke out a living as Tasm¨¹yiz!

    Paralysed by despair, Strun had hibernated in the crisp, damp dark, praying to whatever Gods that rode upon the stars that the Djinns would soon be satisfied with their morbid task. Strun had melded with the land while he endured, becoming nothing. He became entombed within the earth''s bowels, barely breathing, barely moving, conserving every mote of the meagre mana in his hollowed-out frame, bearing witness to the end of his people.

    Then, in between bouts of delirium and painful cognisance, came an earth-shaking burst of thunder.

    Strun had been crushed by the sudden fulmination until vertigo-inducing bursts of enervation stripped away the debris that had served as his cover, making it easy for Strun to raise his enfeeble head.

    Then, he saw it.

    Or more correctly, he saw "Her".

    A living demi-Goddess of flickering light and shadow, vivid with emerald viridescence, radiating life while encircled by a halo of death.

    She was battling the Djinn.

    And there, in the split-second between the jadeite lightning visiting judgement upon the hated Djinn, Strun''s glassy pupils captured the disintegration of a being that was to his people a living nature God.

    In the aftermath, the victors drifted closer to the pit, evidently dismayed by their discovery.

    There were two of them, a male and a female, accompanied by a shadowy bird and a white stag, both of whom made Strun''s reproductive organ shrivel up inside his belly.

    What were they discussing? Strun wondered. Perhaps, the Rat-kin prayed, these avatars of entropy and death would have the good grace to put an end to his wretched, disease-ridden kin.

    To Strun''s shock, the pair performed the mercy without being asked.

    From a dark slit in the sky, the male Mage conjured forth a white worm the likeness of the divine Afaa al-Halak that ruled the glittering Sand Sea of Sawahi; opposite, the Goddess summoned the same in obsidian.

    Be these emissaries of the great Deities of Death that dwelled in the desert? Strun''s heart filled with impromptu worship, thinking of the old world beyond the rolling knolls, of the badlands his folk once crossed in their Exodus from the frozen north. Who else could command the Lords of the endless sands, Masters of a domain with no horizon?

    Gathering his courage, the Rat-kin regarded the female Mage, whose visage and aura was entirely superior to the male beside her. There was something reverent about the female, an unspeakable presence that made Strun desire to kneel at her feet and humble himself. So strong was the impulse vivifying his cold blood that strength returned to his limbs, and he momentarily forgot his hunger.

    But before Strun could move, the Goddess acted once more.

    With a gesture, she beckoned her eagle of living grotesqueness. Her pet was a hideous thing, the exact opposite of the noble Sky-kin; a faceless fiend with a serpentine neck, while below its crow-black body, stark white fingers extended like pale, pretty blossoms of some midnight cacti flower.

    "Cali!" the sorceress gave the command. "Give these wretched beings peace."

    In the next moment, Strun''s enfeebled, sugar-starved mind rioted.

    O Lord of the Badlands! O Afaa al-Halak! The little voice inside his skull screamed. May the Old Ones forgive his doubt! Strun fervently prayed. How could he have known that the sorceress could command a Lord of the Sand in its entirety? His brain grew suddenly feverish with the legends and stories of his people, even as gut-wrenching vertigo delivered liver-blows to his innards with every inch of the Great Worm''s materialising body.

    With a wet thump, the Afaa al-Halak slithered into the pit, susurrant with purrs of "Shaa¡ª Shaa¡ª", its carapace clashing like tossed shekel-shells collected from the Capsian.

    Strun had no idea how many of his kin survived the crushing worm''s descent. He only knew that with the Afaa al-Halak''s appearance, the wailing of his kin, that incessant, unending chittering, that scratching and scribbling of claws against polished granite soon came to an end.

    Blessed silence! Strun wept freely, powerless to fathom the joy of hearing only the sound of shifting sand and sloshing sea. It was like someone had struck a red-hot scimitar into his brain and left it there for a month, and now by the grace of the Great Worm, its priestess withdrew said blade, brain and all, then quenched it in the blue-dark silence of the salty surf.

    "Jesus¡ª" the sorceress invoked a prayer to her companion. "Christ Almighty."

    Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!

    "Let''s go." The male appeared hesitant to lay hands on his companion, even as a gesture of comfort. Strun chuckled. So he was right; the inferior male was not her mate but a supplicant.

    Without another word, the two Human Mages ascended.

    Strun watched them go, then reached into his pockets and fed himself as much as three berry balls, instantly feeling energised as the densely packed mana dissolved on his parched tongue.

    Invariably, the Djinns would come again.

    Mayhap they would gather the Rat-kin once more. Maybe after this, they had given up. But that wasn''t something for a peon like Strun to identify.

    Gingerly, his chest full of delicate hope as fragile as sand-spun glass, Strun raised his nose to the air and tasted the breeze.

    The winds were changing.

    He had a feeling the priestess of Afaa al-Halak would soon arrive at the Golden Pavilion to discuss countermeasures with the Horse Lords.

    As for him, the humble witness, he must make haste to spread his tale across the hills and warrens.

    Too many of his diseased kin had fled into the dark, their minds inflamed with fever and their tongues hungry for horseflesh. What that meant for the war or the Horse Lords, Strun guessed, was that his fellow Tasm¨¹yiz''s lives would soon reach new depths of impossibility.

    "No way that was all the rats," Gwen flew half a meter behind Jean-Paul in deep thought. "If those Rat-kin prove to be plague bearers, we have to let someone know."

    "That''s why we''re headed for the Golden Pavilion now," Bekker''s voice echoed across Taylor''s Message relay. "Is your Divi-Orb''s course properly set for Aktau? We''ll need to rest and meditate, then set out for overland travel in the morning. Finding an encampment of Centaurs, even hundreds of thousands of them in a landscape as flat and vast as the Steppes is fishing for needles in the sea."

    "Orb''s active," Gwen concurred, reassuring the Meister. "I still can''t believe the Djinns did that to those poor Rat-kin. No one, no animal, no living being deserves a fate like that."

    "I am sure you can bring it up with the Khan," Bekker''s tone grew sardonic. "They say he''s a great listener, at least when he''s not out conquering."

    "Have you meet the Khan of the Centaurs?" Gwen replied. "I don''t suppose you''ve been to the Steppes before, Meister?"

    "Not me, but Taylor''s our resident expert¡ª he was assigned to the Steppes twice. Why not ask him since he seems to like you."

    Gwen turned to look at their Diviner, who needed no visual confirmation to ascertain her hunger for knowledge.

    "The Khan you refer to¡ª" Taylor confessed his deference for the young sorceress. "Isn''t just the Khan, but the ''Khan of Khans''. Tomorrow, when you address him, make sure to add the prefix ''Great'' or use his formal title, Temir Khan. His hoof-name, Temir Khitan Tengri, must never be mentioned in front of his lordship, lest you profess to be a member of his patrilineal line, or if you wish to be the Horse Lord''s foremost Consort¡ª"

    Bekker chortled. "Knowing Gwen''s history of charming Demi-human leaders, I wouldn''t be surprised at all if such an event was to occur. In merely a year, she was hand-in-pocket with Norfolk AND the Tree of Tryfan, and word has it that she and a Deepdowner have become famous chums."

    "Having charm is a curse sometimes," Gwen replied with a hint of sarcasm, unappreciative of Bekker''s suggestive presumptions. "But yes, Meister. I''ll do my best to refrain from ''charming'' the Khan."

    "All jokes aside, you should hold your horses," Taylor''s retort took on a more serious tone. "The Centaur Marauders under Temir number about a hundred thousand, with at least ten thousand trained warriors¡ª though the Beastkin Demi-humans are unique in that most of their population can arguably contribute to their combat potential. The Khan''s Nayza?ay Qan?, his Thunderblooded Shamans, empower his rule with fascinating sorcery. For example, when charging toward a foe, the stronger members of the tribe can draw vitality and strength from their lessers. How interesting is that?"

    "Just like vampiric Life-link," Gwen drily remarked.

    "Exactly!" the Diviner appeared delighted by her clarification. "Their magic makes for in-depth anthropological papers. For example, did you know that the pyramidal structure of their social stratum is the reason why the Golden Horde was untouchable before the advent of Spellcraft? Let me explain. Imagine a pyramid¡ª yes? Now the broad base is made up of basic calvary; free horsemen called the Nokud, ruled by an Arban, commanding ten Nokuds. Above that, a Jagun draws strength from ten Arbans. A Mingat reigns over ten Jagun, and beyond that, the lauded Tumen takes his power from the Jagun under his command. Finally, the leader of an Ordu, lead by an Orlok who draws strength from his Tumens. At that tier of power, an Orlok can challenge other Orloks for power and control of their Ordu. When several Ordus form into a Great Herd, their leader is called Khan..."

    "Nokud¡ª Arbanu¡ª Jagun¡ª Mingat¡ª Tumen¡ª Orkok¡ª" Gwen rapidly processed the nomenclature, understanding the general gist that Centaurs warriors grew exponentially more robust the more warriors they held under their control. With what she knew of Sympathetic Life-Link, or shamanistic Blood Bonds, a herd leader could arguably be near-immortal, provided his pyramidal base of "supply" remain unexhausted. If so, there was little wonder the Elementals had to raze the Centaur population from the ground up.

    "¡­ and when the Khans meet to deal with an external threat or go Marauding for resources¡ª you get a Great Khan or the Khan of Khans." Magister Taylor finished with a flourish. "Any other questions, Gwen?"

    A few of the others, also first-timers, thanked Taylor for the information.

    "Ask anything, don''t hold back," Major Kott, their hired Abjurer and her tutor, unexpectedly cut into the silence left by the others. "You and Jean-Paul are the only persons here for whom all information is freely given and without the burden of future favours. Opportunities like this will not exist after you graduate, so use this time wisely."

    Kott''s helpful prompt immediately put her back on track.

    "Yes, I do have a few more questions," Gwen confessed. As Kott said, she needed more anecdotes to digest the book learning she had carried out in London. "If you don''t mind, Magister Taylor¡ª Can you explain how the Tasm¨¹yiz, and the er¡­ ??pter factor into the hierarchy of the Golden Pavilion?"

    "Not at all; these are valid questions." Taylor''s tone remained patient as he continued. "Though there are no simple answers, I am afraid."

    "Sorry to be such a Neophyte," Gwen apologised. "I found scrolls on the Centaur of yore, but virtually nothing on contemporary Steppe states."

    "Nonsense." The Magister laughed. "You deserve to know if you''re going to be of use in our subsequent operations. Let''s begin with the Tasm¨¹yiz, shall we? There''s a curious word root for the Beastkin diction¡ª originally meaning ''leashed'' or ''bound''. The title is itself a corrupted maxim descended from ancient times, referring to the servant population living under the Horse Lords of the Steppes. During the apex of their history, all manner of races, Elves included, were subjugated by the Golden Horde and dubbed the ''Tasm¨¹yiz''. Most were conquest slaves, but some willingly positioned themselves to avoid destruction, such as the Han Chinese, who bore the brunt of the Horde''s conquest for a whole century. These days, Tasm¨¹yiz refer principally to the Demi-human serfs that gather under the Golden Pavilion¡ª such as the Rat-kin, the Kobolds, and occasional tribes of Greenskins. They''re all refugees of the Tide, races that fled from their original habit-zones, hoping for a slice of the Steppe''s grasslands."

    The Diviner paused while checking Gwen''s Orb for bearings against his mental map. Once satisfied, their guide continued.

    "Comparatively, the ??pter are, I suppose, as the Tr??lvor to the Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar or Svart¨¢lfar. Demi-human Beastkin to the Centaur nobility. These are bipedal Beastkin, whether the Goatmen of Aktobe, or the Ram-kin of Zabol, or the Fauns of Kokand. What unites them is their servility, I suppose. The ??pters share an existence that the Horse Lords have subjugated since the Old Dynasties rose from the Nile. They see their subjugation as natural, a part of their culture and history, something bred into their bones."

    "There''s an interesting saying in Khitani," the voice of Angela Hughes interrupted Magister Taylor''s. "If a Khan cannot trust his ??pters, then he has no allies at all. Sad, no? Imagine being born into slavery and never experiencing freedom or free will."

    "Angela isn''t wrong, but she''s misconstruing things as well. It isn''t as though the ??pter are without power," Taylor explained. "As you shall soon see, the vast majority of Temir Khan''s Thunderblooded Shamans are bipedal ??pter. I suppose the stranger thing is that each ??pter possesses little to no regard for their Clan or herd. Each individual, tasked with raising the young of the Horse Lords, follow their Masters for life and offer their entire existence in devotion. It isn''t unheard of for a Horse Lord to prefer the company of their ??pter servant over that of their wives or children. Therefore, within the Golden Pavilion, the more potent a Horse Lord''s achievements, the more significant his ??pter entourage. The ??pter servant of a well regarded Orlok could command Mingat without protest from the proud Horse Lord. At the same time, the ??pter of a Jagun would think nothing of maiming or butchering the ??pter of a Nokud for the slightest perceived insult."

    "It''s a horse-eat-sheep-eat-goat-eat-horse world?" Gwen felt her head had grown to twice its usual size. Social observations such as these were absent in the lore and statistics of her college''s prized scrolls.

    "It''s a world where pure power reigns," Bekker simplified the proceedings for her with a longing sigh. "An unsullied world without half the complications of politics, backstabbing and betrayal. Prove your mettle to the Khan as a War Mage, and you''ll fit right in."

    "But on that front, do refrain from incensing the Khan or his rank and file, or their ??pter followers," Taylor added.

    "I am to fight... but not fight hard enough to piss them off?" Gwen furrowed her brows.

    "No, not that," Taylor''s speech grew hesitant. "Let''s say you will see Humans in the Pavilion serving as a Tasm¨¹yiz or ??pter. Whether they serve willingly or otherwise, it''s not YOUR place to intercede."

    "My place?" Gwen cocked her head. "What does that mean?"

    "It means Magister Taylor''s mission, in addition to securing the alliance of the Golden Pavilion in our common suit against the Elementals, includes the possibility of extracting wayward Human labour unwittingly wrapped up in the war," Bekker said. "Assuredly, there''ll be Necromancers mixed in as well, appearing as they do in the manner of vultures and vermin. If Jean-Paul knows you half as well as I think he does, some of us are going to have to keep a scroll of Hold Monster handy and not for the Horse Lords."

    "Our War Mage is a pacifist?" Magister Pietersen, Bekker''s Abjurer, made his incredulity known. "You''re telling me, Meister, that the Devourer of Shenyang is a Humanitarian?"

    "That''s wonderful. Someone should have passed the Juche Necromancers that memo," Angela Hughes, their Fifth Cabal observer, provided a sliver of dark humour. "From what I''ve heard, what remains of Shenyang couldn''t even grow moss. Not even microbes remained where our War Mage''s anger passed."

    "That''s¡­" Gwen found that she didn''t have a retort¡ª at least not without giving away Shoggy''s mystique.

    "Look, rest assured you''re going to see some shit," Taylor emphasised the expletive to placate what Meister Bekker promoted as her impractical ethics. "BUT¡ª don''t lose your shit. Agreed?"

    "Okay," she said. "I''ll do right by the mission."

    "No¡ª you''ll do what''s best," Bekker reinforced the point with a hint of steel. "IF you''re incapable of staying cool-headed, do the bare minimum. Shut up, stay quiet, do nothing. The consequence of failure this time isn''t an issue of diplomacy¡ª it''s the collapse of the Kazakhstani Frontier and every flesh-and-blood being within it. On this mission, Magister Taylor and I alone determine what will be the best practice. Understand?"

    "Yes, ma''am!" Gwen assured her instructors with as much confidence as she could muster, glancing at her glum student-partner as they neared their destination; she saw an able role model. "I''ll be as quiet as Jean-Paul!"

    Aktau.

    Once upon a time, the City of White Cliffs possessed the name "Aq Jarlar Aktau", a name given by the wandering Faun bard, Kobzar Taras. Even during the heyday of the Mageocracy, Aktau was a city predominantly catering to the Horse Lords. In antiquity, it was founded by Scythian Demi-human Centaurs. In the aftermath of the Golden Horde, the town became a way station for the Steppe''s folk traders and a place of poetic beauty. Then, as with every region touched by the Elementals, it fell into ruin.

    Now, with the Fire Sea so close, its white cliffs grew scarred with the charred remains of its sister cities to the south, their carcasses washed up by warm currents to dash against Aktau''s abandoned shores.

    "Ladies and gentlemen, we''ve arrived," Magister Taylor announced with relief after following some localised Divination beacon only he could see.

    Gwen followed her superiors, landing atop a host of Soviet-era Brutalist structures that seemed to have defied the elements, resting now as skeletons of a once-thriving port, made desolate by the eternal dusk.

    As before, Mages stationed within the way-station received the august party of Maguses and Magisters, settling them into furnished rooms deep underground for a few hours of meditation before their journey continued.

    Their present residence was once billed as the jewel of Aktau, a bunker-cum-hotel built for the Mageocracy''s bureaucrats to socialise. The Grand Majestic Riviera Palace, it was called, once an ivory wonder of monolithic sandstone clad over a concrete skeleton¡ª six storeys tall and six deep, with thick, warded panes staring straight into the cobalt depth.

    Two storeys down past the basement, most of the Hotel''s amenities, such as the ocean rooms, the kitchens, bathrooms, filtration engines and boilers, remained intact.

    And it was in one of these rare rooms that Gwen found herself arrested by an unexpectedly awkward prospect¡ª listening in to her superiors'' magical equivalent of Netflix and chill.

    "Frank! Here? NOW? What would the others say? "

    The voices were barely audible, but Gwen''s hearing while meditating commanded Almudj''s bodily boons.

    "They''ll say nothing¡ª" The assurance of Frank Taylor quickly followed Angela Hughes'' protest. "Why do you think I put Gwen and Jean-Paul next door to us? Those youngsters must be tired to death, and with their rooms as buffers, the others won''t hear us."

    "You''ve been planning this¡ª"

    "I''ve set this ploy in motion the moment I saw your name on the list¡­"

    "You hand-picked the list, Frank¡­"

    "Such a smart songbird you are..."

    "You''re not interested in the girl-next-door? She seemed plenty interested in you."

    "Be careful, my dear¡ª I wouldn''t describe a tier VI War Mage as a girl, much less a woman, whereas you, my beautiful Angela..."

    "How do you even kiss your wife with that mou¡ªMmmnnn¡ª"

    Miss Hughes'' protest abruptly grew muffled.

    Gwen exhaled, clearing her mind and purged herself of all external thoughts. Heedless of the adulterous distractions playing out next door, she pictured in her head the Golden Pavilion, at the centre of which, Temir Khitan Tengri, Khan of Khans, a monstrously large Centaur with the strapping body of Conan the Barbarian and the lower half of a platinum-maned Percheron, dreamed atop a golden chaise. There in the Khan''s pleasure dome, beside the white waters of a sacred river gushing into an emerald chasm, sat the Khan''s favourite ??pter, a pretty Faun with Mithril-dipped horns, cradling an Elven dulcimer, her clawed fingers strumming the strings while wailing at a flaming sea.

    "Ah¡ª AH¡ª" the ??pter sang, her throat-song deep and long. "¡ªAh¡ª ahh¡ª AHHHHHH¡ª! "

 Chapter 408 - Just Deserts

    After daybreak, the party set out. Gwen could only marvel at the stamina of a fifty-year-old Diviner who must be either taking "vitality" pills or happen to be a Vessel like herself. She was ambivalent that the handy dandy with a radio host''s voice had outed himself. Knowing her inclination for suave father figures, she really wouldn''t have minded sharing a few drinks and a story or two with the cad.

    Her disdain was immature, she knew, but now that Doctor Monroe was dimensions away, there was no wrangling her aversions.

    On the one hand, as a modern woman, she understood that just as pigeons mucked in the fountain and rabbits bucked in the mountain, consenting adults bumped unmentionables. Likewise, had her Negative Energy not diminished particular appetites or the Void victualed her voracious cravings, she was sure that either sweet Evee or some square-jawed lad between her two universities would have become a local legend.

    On the other hand, her brain refused to unmount from her high horse, not when Magus Hughes had galloped Magister Taylor across half the Steppes. Yet, she couldn''t rationalise why she felt personally insulted. In neither of her lifetimes, it wasn''t as though her father or mother had an ounce of respect for the institution of marriage.

    In the end, she commanded her busybody-brain to swallow her sadness, rationalising that she needed Taylor for what was to come and that their affair was none of her business.

    And so¡ª like all good girls with Hai as their fatherly role model, she zoned out, then focused on the middle distance.

    Now that it was mid-morning and the party was a hundred kilometres inland, the endless horizon turned from an amber seascape into a flat prairie with an unending sameness that inspired madness. Unlike Gwen''s British compatriots, who marvelled at the vast expanse and remarked dourly on the rolling badlands, Gwen grew sentimental for the waterless vistas of Australia.

    "Which way is her Orb going now?" Bekker requested an update from below.

    "Excuse me." Magister Taylor drifted closer, handsome and amicable as ever. Gwen responded by smiling serenely while the man uttered his report. "¡ª South-South East. It looks like the Pavilion might be encamped somewhere between Kaplankyr and Urgench. The Great Herd requires a fresh source of water, so we''re aiming at either the Sarygamysh basin six hundred kilometres away or the Amu River that runs from the Dushanbe Highlands."

    "So, between eight hours and¡­?"

    "Eleven," the Magister apologised. "Even with Gwen pointing us the right way, the distance isn''t going to shrink. At best, we''ll find the Pavilion set up near the northern edge of the lake."

    Gwen had no idea what these places Magister Taylor mentioned were and so resigned herself to be held by the gentle hand of Ruxin''s Omni-Orb for the foreseeable future. Now reminded of her platinum-haired corporate partner, she couldn''t help but wonder if a distance of half-a-continent was an issue if she required aid from Russo''s big Draconic guns. Arguably, if Golos could be conjured via her Mandala to South America, surely, Ruxin could send his CFO a helping hand in the name of mutual profit.

    "That''s fine." Bekker motioned for silence. "Children, ready yourselves for deployment. We''re now officially in a Black Zone. Your skills are not going practice themselves."

    Gwen''s lips twitched. She felt Bekker''s euphemistic allusion to child soldiers was not a product of endearment but habit.

    Moving away from Taylor, she distracted herself by thinking of the Elven seed satchel burning a hole in her pocket, not to mention she was still in possession of a trans-dimensional Message device in the form of the Llais leaf. If shit hit the Elemental fan, she wondered, could she ask Eldrin to drop in and show her how Vessels from pre-history dealt with threats to the Prime Material?

    As for the supply in her Storage Rings, she was ready to deliver some significant infrastructural change to the region or contribute significantly to stabilising the status quo. According to Bekker and Taylor''s conversion, the Mageocracy''s official stance is for the Centaurs and the Elementals to butt heads for as long as possible. Even in its diminished, post-Tide era, the Golden Pavilion remained a formidable power bloc in the region, securing the Steppe''s planar thresholds in the manner of a marauding, militant lodestone. Ergo, a macro aspect of the Mageocracy''s objectives was to ease the path of the Khitani Khanate¡ª so that the Centaurs and the Elementals may expend their excess energies in a mutually exhausting war.

    Taylor''s Divination halo rapidly pulsed.

    "Heads up, eyes down," the Magister informed the party after an hour. "There''s a large assemblage of Centaurs congregated in between those plateaus, probably sheltering from Wyrms."

    The "plateaus" mentioned by Taylor were stunted sandstone formations worn down by wind and water. From the altitude preferred by the party, they appeared minuscule from a distance but then rapidly grew in size and scale, ranging from hills of twenty to thirty meters to monolithic ranges some half a kilometre high. In between the water-worn gorges, bursts of greenery added much-needed splashes of colour to the sun-washed Steppes.

    Half a kilometre out, the Mage Flights drifted into a meandering holding pattern. Landing would allow the Mages to regain mana, but as Taylor forewarned, God knew what lurked underneath the shifting sands of these badlands. Even as unchallenged rulers of the plains, the Centaurs had to contend with moisture-sucking Strangle Vines buried underground, while on a bad day, their hoof-falls would attract the apex predator of these parts, the world-famous "Mongolian Death Worm", or "Afaa al-Halak", as the Elementals called them.

    To Gwen''s knowledge, these once-worshipped "Land Gods" of antiquity were local variants of the Earthen Wyrm she had the pleasure of encountering in the Murk. Like their cousins in the Elemental Plane of Earth, these semi-terrestrial creatures grew anywhere from tens of meters to a kilometre long. In the eastern reaches of the Sawahi Desert, one regularly found "larval" variants in conic pits attempting to trap unsuspecting travellers in the manner of sand-based Bobbit Worms, dragging prey into their transmuted burrows. Conversely, adults "swam" through the Sand Sea, spinning their bodies like a titanic, self-propelled drill, breaching the surface only when their tremor-senses picked up herds of prey, at which time they would scoop up acres of sand, like giant whales sieving for krill.

    "They''ve become a menace, those Sand Wyrms¡­" Taylor''s lecture continued. "With the Fire Sea polluting the surrounding region with increased planar instability, they''ve become far more active. Where an Afaa Al-Halak ventures, destruction of the underground aquifer turns even oases into rolling dunes."

    "Weren''t the Wyrms always a part of the landscape here?" Jean-Paul was a man who liked his worms. "What''s the problem?"

    "They''re terrific terraformers, and there are now too many of them," Bekker clarified for her favourite. "If we get an opportunity, we should Purge one to gain the respect and favour of the Khan. That''s what the locals do as a part of their honour trials. A Mingat has to survive an Afaa Al-Halak''s visitation, while Orkoks'' must have at least one Wyrm-kill notched on their pelt."

    Gwen tried to imagine such a thing. How could a Horse Lord stab a Sand Wyrm four storeys tall? What would such an attack do? Tickle it?

    Once in range, Taylor and their Translocation Magister, Eli Hill, ventured atop the ridge to meet with the indigenous inhabitants, who had also sent out a representative.

    Gwen quickly circulated mana and Essence into her eyes; this was her first Centaur encounter, and she would not miss any details.

    Sure enough, bounding through the desolate plateau, the Horse Lord emerged, effortlessly leaping from precarious crag to impossible cliff. Once her eyes adjusted, Gwen noticed that the Centaur wasn''t a "horse" at all, but an enormous ibex.

    Her passion cooled, but that didn''t make the Ibex-kin any less impressive. Atop the sandstone plinths, the Goat-taur stood well over three meters, discounting the most macho pair of horns Gwen had ever seen. Earthen was the leather-wrapt warrior''s muscular frame, composed of an offensive lineman''s barrel-like torso atop the lower body of a long-limbed ibex. The Goat-taur''s fur, a two-toned burst of black and brown, was the same tone as his lower body''s colouring, making for a pleasing aesthetic. A dozen pilums sat on prominent display in the goat''s saddlebags, their dark-iron heads fanning out behind the goat-man like a pair of wings. Simultaneously, her eyes became drawn to the leather shield etched with indecipherable rune scripts on the man''s left arm, which made an impressive pairing with the stunted glaive the ibex wielded as a balancing aid.

    With a frame like that and those outrageous horns, Gwen conceded the "Ibex Lord" was very cool indeed.

    "Human Lords," the Goat-taur conversed through the dialect of the Beast-kin. "What marks your passage through our lands?"

    Gwen was glad their Diviner shared both sight and sound with their lesser members.

    "We are en route to grace the court of the peerless Thunderblood Khan." Taylor dipped his chin to demonstrate respect from a superior position. "May I ask if the Golden Pavilion lies this way?"

    "Your path lies true." The Beast-kin relaxed. "The Pavilion passed here the last moon cycle."

    "Be they resting at the vast expanse of Sarygamysh?"

    "Nay." The warrior pointed in a direction Gwen could not discern. "Venture northward toward the ever-flowing Amu. There, you will find the Khan of Khans, inuring his troops in preparation for the reclamation of our south lands."

    "Be they at Nukus?" Taylor summoned a topographic illusion with a wave of his hand.

    "Between Nukus and Turtkul, where the snowmelt is fiercest," the Goat Lord affirmed Taylor''s projections, impressed by the visualised landscape.

    "Thank you." Taylor nodded a Hill. "As a sign of our support and friendship, please take this. Have you experienced any incursions of late?"

    Hill materialised a bound crate of what Gwen recognised as self-expanding, self-heating food rations with a theatrical wave. These were the dessert variants, absurdly rich in calories and amazingly fortifying when the weather''s cold. Choco-banana was her favourite.

    "Only the unimportant loss of a few far-ranging Tasm¨¹yiz hosts." The goat warrior licked his lips at their gift of sugar and spice. "The Sons of §¡kk thank you for these gifts, may the Afaa Al-Halak spare your steps, outlanders."

    "May we meet again in the south-ward crusade," Taylor offered the Centaur a hand, simultaneously positioning himself to levitate at the right height to receive the Ibex-kin.

    The two shook, then parted without further sentimentality. Returning to the party, Bekker nodded in satisfaction at her colleagues from the Shard.

    "If that Ibex''s words hold, then we should be clear of Elementals from here," Bekker affirmed Taylor''s return. "The weather''s warmed, the wind''s down¡ª let us make haste."

    Nukus.

    The Heavenly Steppes.

    Beside the sacred waters of the roaring Amu, Temir Khitan Tengri, Khan of Khans, mustered his Thunderblooded riders to repel the latest visitation from the worshipful "worms" of the Sand Sea of Sawahi.

    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

    Khudu, Cherbi of the Khan''s elite Khesig Honour Guard, sat naked to his waist, his muscles oiled and gleaming, so defined as to be the envy of the Khanate. Upon a silver-adorned chaise, his well-honed lower body sat, flanked by his horn-headed ??pter servants.

    "Honoured Cherbi." The ??pters'' bleating voice irked Khudu. "Is the fitting of your barding to your liking?"

    "Leave it," Khudu grunted, his long mane bristling with undisguised impatience. "Where is Lady Saran? We must soon be away. Does the Shaman not know that a Cherbi must always ride in front of his Khan at all times?"

    His ??pters lowered their heads, too fearful of either party to comment.

    Khudu''s complaint was met by the sound of soft laughter from outside his yurt. A white hand pushed apart the leather veil, revealing an ageless and exquisite face alive with taunting mirth. Khudu''s brows furrowed further when the intruder soundlessly entered without his permission, parting the entrance so that her priestesses also entered, each bearing the ingredients of the Sanguine Rite.

    "You must forgive this lowly Saran, worshipful Khudu, champion of champions," the Faun who spoke had a voice like lifting silk, inspiring un-warrior-like instincts in the Cherbi that no respectful Centaur would wish to entertain. As she moved, the curve of her hips teetering forward, her jewel-laden horns refracted the light from the Daylight Globes. Around the ??pter Shaman''s neck, a string of Afaa Al-Halak teeth, each the size of a thumb, were dipped in Mithril then made ornate with Sanguine Scripture of the Thunderblooded Clan. In the uncertain light, the woman shone with a sheen of perspiration made refractive by the jasmine oil massaged into her skin and fur.

    The scent from the woman quickened Khudu''s heart. He felt an unbidden longing for the woman''s touch, a desire that even the lowest Nukud understood to be a shameful weakness.

    Cracking his neck, the Cherbi forced his mind to focus. This woman, the Lady Saran, had ceased being a ??pter slave long ago. To his knowledge, she was old enough to be his grandmother. Within the Golden Pavilion, few could afford to truly irk the Din? of the Shamans, for she had single-handedly raised the Khan from a colt. Even Khudu himself, brood-kin to Temir Tengri, had once drunk milk from the ??pter''s heavy bosoms. That was why the Great Khan treated his troop of Khesig Marauders as his brothers¡ª for all of them had passed by Saran''s hands in their youth. All of them were made siblings by their shared wet nurse. As for why the ancient ??pter would appear so youthful¡ª Khudu could only discern that the woman''s mastery over the Sanguine Rites must be unimaginable.

    "Is milord unwell?" ??pter asked.

    Khudu''s obsidian eyes averted the Shaman Woman''s sunlit-irises that pierced past his thoughts and stared into his soul. "Make it quick. This yurt is stifling. A warrior should always have one hoof on the grass, bow-in-hand and spear in the other, filling his mane with the wind."

    The woman laughed. "You''re forever the rash one, Khudu. You should learn from your brother, the Great Khan."

    "I am Temir''s Spear." Khudu deflated, unable to speak harshly to the Shaman. "And his Shield. Shame me not with tardiness, Din? Saran."

    "Altani, Alaqa." The ??pter appeared satisfied with his capitulation. With a wave of her jewelled hand, she commanded her handmaidens, who took up positions beside the Cherbi. "You may begin."

    "Yes, Matron." The girls obliged. From their sacred receptacles, the girls produced obsidian-bladed scalpels brimming with necrotic mana. "Lord Cherbi¡­"

    "Spare the milk of paradise." Khudu paid no heed to the women. "Anoint me. Take as much as you need."

    One woman packed away the milk skin while the other made quick incisions across Khudu''s chest, waited for his massive pectorals to relax, then collected the ruby-like drops of blood. In their mystic vessels of rare earth minerals, herbs and sacred alchemy, they then expertly formed the admixture into Sanguine Ink.

    "Leave me the smaller of the vessels," Saran commanded her Thunderblooded neophytes, then approached Khudu with the sacred container. Dipping a finger into the rusty ink, she began to reform the familiar Sanguine Scripts upon the Cherbi''s massive body, tracing the same patterns that had adorned his skin hundreds of times before.

    Khudu''s jaw clenched as the blood script kissed his dermis like glacial ice, then burned like True Fire plucked from the Fire Sea.

    "You''ll ruin your teeth like that." The ??pter woman paused so that Khudu could breathe. "Must you bear on so heavy a burden? The other Orkoks do not give half as you do to the Khan. And my Milk of Paradise leaves little to no side effects."

    "Temir is my brother and my kin," Khudu said as the script-writing continued. "As the heavens are wide and the plains without limits, so a Khan''s Cherbi shall perish before his Khan may falter. Besides, I need to set an example for the Khesig."

    "Sigh¡ª you''re all such giant fawns." The ??pter worked with a swiftness that was second to none. "But that''s a good thing. Temir''s father lacked that kind of camaraderie."

    "You will not speak ill of Grandsire Tengri," Khudu said. Saran was a unique existence, but she was still a ??pter.

    "Don''t waste your ire on me," the woman concluded by using her claws to frame the final script, that of entwined life¡ª known to Khudu as the Mark of Ulzii, on Khudu''s forehead. She then gingerly touched his lips, leaving a finishing dash of Sanguine Ink on his chin to mark the final touch. "There."

    In an act that would have sent the Cherbi into a rage like no other, the ??pter slapped Khudu on the buttocks, something only a mother-mare could affect on their colt or filly.

    Khudu rose, strongly desiring to be beside his brothers and be away from this female.

    ¡°Take care of Temir, Khudu.¡± The ??pter gathered her tools and ingredients.

    "I shall." The Cherbi''s mind turned from this woman for whom he felt an inexplicable and confusing longing and toward the outside world. "I am his brother, unto death and beyond."

    Saran turned and left.

    After several more minutes of meditation to absorb the agony, Khudu parted the leather threshold and entered into the world of light and sound. Already, an Ordu of the Thunderblooded Clan had mustered outside the camp and was awaiting their Orkok. Where the inside of his tent was a silent world of meditation, the clamour of iron-shod hooves, grinding mail, jingling pilums and rattling quivers of heartwood arrows adorned with Eagle-Harpy feathers became a solid wall of sound.

    In neighs and whinnies, Mingats Captains with their gold-braided manes kept order as Tumens in True Silver barked orders for the men to remain in their hundred-horse formations. Among these robust bodies of martial perfection chomping at the bit were the scuttling shadows of the Tasm¨¹yiz, doing their best to avoid being trampled as they dressed their Horse Lords, polished armour, sharpened the glaives and waxed the feather-shafts.

    Upstream, where the Great Khan''s Pleasure Dome touched the heavens, herds of young mares bid their budding Nokuds farewell with wreaths of wildflowers gathered at daybreak. These, Khudu''s daughters among them, were tended to by ??pter servants of the sara¨©, a veritable silk-clad army waiting on the fillies as they twisted their braids in excitement. The hunt for an Afaa Al-Halak of the Sea of Sawahi was no small feat of strength. At least some would not return¡ª but for those who would prove triumphant, the most beautiful, long-limbed girls with the most generous dowries would be theirs for the picking. Just as well, the most noble-blooded filly would have her pick of the next Mingat, Tumen or if they dared dream¡ª a future Orkok.

    "Hail!" A screech from the sky heralded the arrival of Cirina, Khudu''s chief scout. Folding her wings, the Eagle-Harpy skidded to a halt. "The Sand God is close. There are wyrm signs in the eastern reaches of the Sawahi. My eagles have reported seeing the drovers driving their fear-maddened herds back toward Nukus."

    "Has it breached the Sand Sea''s surface?"

    "Nothing that could be verified, though the wildlife has scattered as far as they''re able."

    "Good." Khudu made up his mind. "It must be formidable, then. Warn the Ordu! Inform the Great Khan! Tasm¨¹yizs¡ª bring me my armaments!"

    A dozen bipedal Tasm¨¹yiz, Rat-kin, Deer-kin, dog-faced Kobolds and few Rabbits among them appeared from around his yurt as though materialising from thin air. In a second, The Khesig Captain''s quiver bags grew gravid with the stoutest arrows crafted by Cirina''s Harpy-daughters. In pieces, the stronger Tasm¨¹yiz held his heavy mail in place while clambering, swift-fingered Rat-kin threaded the straps with buckles, locking Khudu into his Marauder''s plates. These would tap into the Sanguine sorcery tattooed into his skin, making the armour light as feathers and yet near-impenetrable.

    "Khesig¡ª!" He howled, his throat-song rising above the clamouring war camp. "Your Cherbi calls!"

    "HWAA¡ªOOOH¡ª!" Came the collective cry of his hundred-strong Marauders. Of his Khesig, most of the free riders were Jagun, while even the weakest were elite Arabanu whose blood sorcery drew from ten or more Nukud.

    "THE HUNT IS ON!" Khudu reared, shaking off the Tasm¨¹yiz that fell from him like snow off a stout oak. "WE ART THE GREAT KHAN''S SPEAR!"

    "WE ART THE GREAT KHAN''S SHIELD!" His men answered.

    Beside him, Mungke shot into the air with a screech and a single flap of his steel-plumed wings.

    "HWAA¡ªOOH!" Khudu hooted, turning to face the Pleasure Dome, where even now Temir Khan was being clad by Saran in his Golden Mail. "RIDE! WE WHO ART THE GREAT KHAN''S BLOOD!"

    "My God, it''s breathtaking¡­" Not even Jean-Paul was immune to the majesty of distance and scale when applied to a landscape so vast as to show the curvature of Terra in every direction.

    Conversely, Gwen was pleasantly surprised that the desolate tundra could possess such mutability in landscape and flora.

    After only two hours of maximum velocity Flight from the Goat Lord''s stone grot, the plinth-strewn badlands gave way to pools of snowmelt, then transformed as if by sorcery into endless acres of virginal wildflowers.

    "That''s good eating for the Centaurs and their army," Taylor remarked when his team audibly announced their appreciation. "After the grazers pass, there''ll only be roots left."

    "But it''ll all grow out again," Gwen said. "Renewable fodder, right?"

    "In better years perhaps¡ª" Taylor pointed to the endless rows of small bodies bent over a field of flowers nearer the horizon. "The roots can be very nutritious, and when dried, they keep well. In a bad year, between conserving their resources and preserving the lives of the Great Herd, the Khanate will always choose the latter."

    "But what will they do for food next year? Or the next?" Jean-Paul appeared confused. "Centaurs don''t engage in agriculture, right? And the rivers here are too unpredictable."

    "They raid. That''s the Horse Lords'' ancestral employment, after all," Bekker explained with patience to her Apprentice. "And also, the Rat-kin will always find ways to sow the fields¡ª else what use would they be to the Centaurs? The Khanate doesn''t exactly keep useless extra-mouths around. Resources, materials, and infrastructure are one thing, but there is nothing more pivotal than food security when maintaining a kingdom. In our diplomatic negotiations, we''ll be touting our ability to supply grain from central Europe. If you want to be of help, pay close attention to how the Khanate is dealing with food and water scarcity."

    "Food security is the first step to stabilising the region," Taylor said. "We should be glad the Centaurs lack it. Without it, there would be no leverage to our negotiations."

    Gwen agreed wholeheartedly with the serial adulterer. No matter the human endeavour, no matter the better intent of the First World, the struggle to maintain food security remained a sore point for all negotiations with the developing world. As much as the west touted tourism and sustainability, no foreign demands mattered when the locals struggled to eat¡ª conserving White Rhinos when malnutrition ran rampant in the local village? A first-world saviour could dream.

    In her alter-Earth, farmers in Belize did not have to worry about Shark-men raiding their fishing sheds, nor did the Caspian fishermen have to contend with fire-flinging Titans capable of melting a factory-freight ship to molten slag.

    In this world, before the arrivals of the Elementals, the Centaurs had thrived on the Steppes since before the dawn of human history. Humans empires rose and fell, as did Khanates, but both had endured. Now, Human habitation in what some had romantically dubbed the "Cradle of Empires" was all but extinguished by the Elemental Sultanate, and it seemed that the surviving neighbours of the Humans were next.

    Presently, the lynchpin of the Human-Centaur alliance was the changing climate in the immediate region north of the Fire Sea. Whether this was a stratagem laid out by the Elementals or if it was mere coincidence, the Mageocracy did not know. Either way, the spread of the Sand Sea of Sawahi in the Eastern Steppes summoned the Afaa Al-Halak, whose presence increased the rate of desertification¡ª which invited more Elemental imbalance and thus, perpetuated the life cycle of the Sand Wyrms. Therefore, the promise of food sustainability was the Sword of Damocles that the Mageocracy held over the Horse Lords of the Steppes.

    In the sombre silence that followed, the party continued their flight until the green vista met an abrupt end at the stark white edge of a blue-green lake.

    "Beautiful¡ª" Gwen breathed in the salty air. She had seen Lake Eyre, but this was a whole other kind of other-worldly beauty.

    "That''s a dead lake." Taylor shot down her worshipful tone in the next minute. "Portions of it can be transmuted with sorcery to produce freshwater, but on its own, its four thousand kilometre squares of liquid death."

    "How come?" Gwen squinted against the glare from the water. "¡­ Ah¡ª Salt?"

    "Yes," the Magister affirmed her observation. "After the Tide, the region''s weakened fabric collapsed. The lake had the unfortunate fate of playing host to several portals into the Quasi-Elemental Plane of Salt. The streams that feed the lake still contain untainted water, but the closer one ventures toward its centre¡­"

    "So nothing lives in it? What a waste."

    "I am sure there are adapted life-forms from the Quasi-Elemental Plane thriving out of sight, where the salt is densest¡ª but don''t anticipate anything from our world to live there."

    As the party approached, Gwen saw that there were roving herds of livestock. These were the mundane kind¡ª scattered cattle, horses, and copious, meandering flocks of Edilbay sheep, all non-magical fauna bred for food. These drank from the various estuaries flowing from the highlands or grazed on surviving patches of grass. Yet, impressive as the herds seemed, they were white specks against the monochromatic grey salt plains and the ochre badlands that hinted at the beginnings of the grasslands'' transformation into fine silica.

    She wondered if the folks here knew about topsoil erosion, or bio-diversity, or the need to maintain plant life even to begin to preserve the fertility of their tablelands. But then again, every endeavour in her old world, a place without portals into the Quasi-Elemental Planes of Salt or giant Sand Wyrms, had failed at reclaiming even the most meagre of habitats.

    Her hand unconsciously wandered to her waist.

    Once more, the Druidic Bag of Holding pulsed against her hand, its seeds throbbing with borrowed vitality from Tryfan.

    Had Solana foreseen all of this? She wondered. Or was this as well, merely ploys that stemmed from the Accord?

 Chapter 409 - Where the Wild Worm Roams

    Gwen tasted the tar-like Essences permeating the horizon as a metallic tang playing on her tongue.

    The sorcery empowering the Essence was familiar to her. It was arcanistry she owned thanks to Brown and Wen, through whom she had Frankensteined Greenskin Shamanism, contemporary Spellcraft, nouveau Void theory and Soul Flayer Necromancy to accomplish Essence sympathy through Essence Tap. By all logic, somebody should have died and the researchers arrested¡ª but thanks to the elasticity of her mana conduits and the pliant nature of her Void-abused body, her Frankensteined Signature Spell lurched to life.

    No doubt, Wen and Brown would shortly publish a paper on the matter, after which they would receive standing ovations from their British and European cabal-peers for pushing the boundaries of Spellcraft. As for herself, whatever the implications, she maintained her stance that her dalliance with Necromancy was a necessary pitfall. After all, the vitality she had managed to share with Gracie had enabled a way for less fortunate Void Mages to attain Affinity-parity and thus life. As for the cost, Gwen could only say that upright and Soul-tapped was better than dead and dusted.

    As for the Essence soup bubbling over the horizon¡ª she wetted her lips.

    How would it feel to tap Caliban into that? Assuming she didn''t pop like an overzealous gender-reveal balloon, would she wield power like an apocryphal angel visiting vengeance upon her enemies?

    "That must be Nukus¡ª I should also warn you there''s an active War Host ahead," Taylor''s voice came through the Divination halo, his tone wane from the constant travel. "From the density of their mana signatures, I''d say an Ordu. Likely the Khan is on the hunt. There''s a monstrous Earthen mana signature among them."

    Since leaving at daybreak, the party had flown for almost ten hours, with the only rests being Gwen and Jean-Paul practising on local fauna and stray Elemental monsters to stock up on vitality, and when they ran into an oasis too tempting to gloss over.

    Finally, in the afternoon, with the Amu in view, the Caspian behind them and the glittering sands of the Sawahi beyond, they reached the Divi-Orb''s final destination.

    "¡­ I do believe they''re hunting an Afaa Al-Halak, dangerous as they are; only prey of that size can feed a war host. But I digress¡ª" Taylor paused half-sentence, for there was no more need for clarification.

    Down below and near the horizon, some distance past the river Amu and what looked to be an enormous city of yurts and pavilions, a roving cloud of dust and sand blew past concentric circles of rolling cavalry. From their vantage, Gwen could see that the "riders" were fighting something in the dust cloud. The scene was astounding, not just because of the scale of the combat¡ª which must involve what looked like almost ten thousand Centaurs, but that the Horse Lords'' formation resembled an animated Mandala.

    "Gwen, Jean-Paul, holding pattern¡ª" Bekker halted the party. "Taylor, take Hill and present yourselves. Tell them we have arrived and that we shall await the Great Khan''s pleasure for an audience."

    "Understood." Taylor signalled to the Transmuter, who followed his flight path toward the largest structure in the yurt-city below, what Gwen assumed to be the Golden Pavilion.

    With their Ambassador gone, the rest of the party settled in to enjoy the show, proffering mana-rich rations and self-warming mugs of tea via cantrips of levitation.

    "Here." Jean-Paul handed Gwen a slathered piece of re-inflated curried-egg sandwich. Gwen noticed her friend''s irises were awash with obsidian mana, a testament to his excitement. "There it is, the Mongolian Deathworm¡ª they grow up to a kilometre long and use vibrations on their carapace to displace the sand. The largest of them are land Leviathans! They can tunnel between the Prime Material and the Murk. Some even say the Dwarves appropriate their passage tunnels to make the Dyar Mokk!"

    Gwen chewed on her sandwich; her buddy''s passion for worm-like things was expected but unsettling nonetheless.

    "Here it comes!" Jean-Paul shouted; in the next moment, a bone-throbbing drone drowned out the Void Mage''s voice.

    "ARUUUURNNNGH¡ª!"

    Emerging from the dust cloud like a breaching whale, the infamous "Mongolian Death Worm" made its debut.

    "STREWTH¡ª" Gwen near-choked on the reconstituted egg. Her brain could scarcely comprehend the monster''s scale. "That''s a bloody BIG worm!"

    In her mind, Gwen had envisioned a mega-fauna variant of the Earthen Wyrm she had consumed in the Dwarven Murk. She had even entertained the idea of subsuming one so that she could ride her Afaa Al-Cali through the sand, Fremen style.

    But this thing was a whole other tier.

    With her Essence-enhanced eyes, Gwen could see the Centaur warriors milling beneath it. These, she understood from her encounter with the Goat Lord to be three meters tall. Among the rush of brown-clad warriors, she could also see the Horse Lord''s officers, their mails flashing gold and silver, their huffing bodies clad in blood-dyed ink. Whether because of magic or breeding, these Centaur Centurions sat almost four meters tall, with great big hooves the size of car tires churning up great big clods as they passed.

    Yet, set against the emerging Afaa Al-Halak, these Centaurs appeared mere aphids trying to climb the stalk of a robust, sun-seeking serpent vine.

    Heedless of the Horse Lords'' harassment, the Sand Wyrm hunted, its skyscraper body twisting through the air with the force of a seismic eruption. As its great head roved, a three-part maw opened like the petals of a carnivorous flower, revealing undulating rows of teeth sieving sand between the gaps. Horrifically, she could see Centaurs and bipedal Beast-kin leaping from the lifting jaws.

    A football field-sized bite attack? Gwen trembled at the thought of trying to fight such a thing. Was this how Alesia felt when fighting Almudj in the Royal National? What would a Void Orb even do to a being of that scale? How did the Centaurs hope to fight it? Even if one survived the Sand Wyrm''s nip or avoided it, there was still the net mass of the worm''s body slam to take into account.

    As if in answer to her uncertainty, the Centaurs began their counterattack.

    "There!" Jean-Paul pointed to a spearhead formation emerging from the mass of horses below, his eyes alive with excitement. "That''s the Khan of Khans!"

    Gwen did not need her companion''s guidance, for she had sensed the gathering of Essence and vitality visibly forming a ripple across the battlefield, centring on a Centaur wrapt in the Thunderblooded Clan''s Sanguine scripture.

    Temir Khan, Khan of Khans, stood some four meters tall and clad from head to toe in golden mail, a heavy pilum in one hand hefted overhead. Like the vortex centre of an unfathomable maelstrom, the Essence taxed from his followers amassed upon his arching body, transforming his hair and fur into vivid hematite. Rearing on his hind legs, the Khan tensed every muscle, transferring every mote of power into the singing metal of his lance while scarlet mist fled from the gaps between his armour and barding.

    Above, as an impossible sand sculpture, the Afaa Al-Halak arched into the air, propelled by its titanic body, poised to roll over the Centaur herd.

    The Khan waited for the Sand Wyrm to reach the zenith, then launched his pilum.

    Gwen crushed the curried sandwich with one hand as the pilum made a resounding BOOM, tearing through the sound barrier, leaving ignited air in its wine-red wake.

    By this time, the Sand Wyrm had begun its descent. Turning downward, it aimed its colossal body at a troop of Centaurs who presently held its aggravation.

    The pilum struck.

    Something akin to thunder fulminated. As a Lightning Mage, Gwen knew all about thunderbursts¡ª but even so, she felt shaken by the sound of the pilum''s impact against the Afaa Al-Halak''s armoured side. To her dazzled brain, the result was like the unstoppable force meeting an immovable object.

    What manner of Newtonian exchange must be involved to shift the inertia of a falling skyscraper? Her organs rioted from the awe-inspired adrenaline. Just how much Essence was needed to turn awry the titan''s trajectory?

    "GUUUUAARRRRRR¡ª" The Sand Wyrm''s cry was like ten-thousand Oliphants trumpeting in disharmony.

    "Christ above," one of the Maguses swore beside her. "No wonder the Horse Lords can fight the Elementals to a standstill."

    "I don''t think any of us is going to abjure that." Major Kott made the exact observation that flashed through their heads.

    "How do we deal with it then?" Gwen asked her tutor.

    "By not dealing with it." Kott exhaled. "That attack harnessed strength from the entire Ordu. I don''t know how often it can be employed¡ª but when your opponent commits his entire force, don''t stand in the way."

    "¡­ So we cut our losses and then hope to attack back with enough power to return the favour?" Gwen gritted her teeth.

    "Allowing such an attack to occur is already enough of a misstep," Kott informed her, his blue eyes growing hard. "To then hope for the best would be the height of naivety. Not planning to soak up losses and return as good as they''ve given is then unforgivable stupidity."

    "Well said, Major." Schoeman, the Magister serving under Bekker, gave the Major a thumbs up.

    "I don''t see why it''s impossible¡ª" Magus Hughes, Taylor''s nightrider, disagreed. "Misdirecting the attack is your best bet. Just make the Centaur shoot anywhere you''re not, and they''ve wasted their efforts."

    "Unless you can manifest Illusions at the speed of sound, I would hope our Contingency Rings holds up." Pietersen, another crew member under Bekker''s domain, did not appear to think highly of their Fifth Cabal observer. "Besides, it is naive to think the Khan lacks countermeasure against Illusion. Elemental Marids are born weaving mirages, and their range and scale far exceed the limits of Spellcraft."

    The atmosphere grew tense, though Meister Bekker remained apathetic to the competition brewing between their two factions. Following her instructor''s example, Gwen kept her attention focused on the titanic struggle below.

    From the writhing body of the wyrm, Gwen could see that the attack had been strong enough to send organ-shattering shockwaves up and down the creature''s body. Where the wound had erupted like a volcano, an enormous hole had formed, a concave cavity within which she could see shattered entrails spurting gallons of purple blood¡ª a fact exacerbated by the worm''s crash landing. Even now, the stunned titan was projectile vomiting from its tri-petal maw, indicating that a significant section of its digestive tract was in revolt¡ª or in tatters.

    Around the Afaa Al-Halak, the Horse Lords continued their assault, peppering the Sand Wyrm''s head with arrows. Just as she wondered what good such small pin-pricks would do, the four cavalry circles split into separate Mandala-shaped formations. From each loop, a mighty Horse Lord emerged, carrying six-meter pilums that resembled vaulting poles.

    The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

    Gwen''s eagle-eyes spotted the barbed tip and the hooked weight at the haft. "Holy shit! Is that a harpoon?"

    The closest Horse Lord, his armour clad in Bronze, Gold and studded in coins of Mithril, usurped the Essence from his warrior circle.

    Gwen held her breath, anticipating the ultraviolence to come.

    Not to disappoint, the Horse Lord launched the missile with the force of an ICBM, breaking the sonic barrier at a hundred meters as the projectile became a booming, red-hot lance of destructive energy.

    ¡ªCLANG! Even from a few kilometres away, Gwen could hear the sound of the harpoon-spear penetrating what must be a meter-thick wall of chitin.

    Without stopping, the Horse Lord drew another pilum.

    Their audience collectively produced gasps of scalp-itching dismay. The damn Centaurs could rapid-fire these things?!

    "That settles that." Kott''s face blanched. "That said, there must be a limitation to their Shamanism¡ª"

    "Poor longevity," Jonke observed. "Vitality isn''t infinite, after all, even if it naturally regenerates."

    "What if we alpha-strike the leader?" Jonke proposed.

    "That or collapse the lower base of their vitality-pyramid," Bekker remarked, glancing at Gwen.

    Streaming companies of Horse Lords rode past the dazed Sand Wyrm.

    "What are they doing now?" Jean-Paul stared confusedly at the scene, his expression showing undisguised sympathy for the mighty worm bullied by an army of brutal, relentless ants.

    "They''re catching it, I think." Gwen could see that the other riders passing the wounded and dazed Wyrm was expertly throwing arm-thick ropes onto the hooked ends of the pilums, securing their barbs in the manner of bee-stings. She imagined the Horse Lords harnessing the Afaa Al-Halak, Fremen style, then riding the sand titans for thousands of kilometres through the Sand Sea. "I wonder how they''ll feed a pet that size."

    Within the minute, despite the imminent danger of the wyrm rolling over the roving calvary, the creature''s back became a criss-crossing mess of overlapping ropes that looked like spider-silk from above. These, Gwen supposed, both stopped the animal from twisting to dive back into the sand and to secure it so that the Horse Lords could continue to tame it without being pulverised by its whale-maw.

    "I don''t think¡­." Jean-Paul''s voice grew full of doubt.

    In the next moment, both of their mouths fell open.

    The Centaurs'' formation parted. The mightiest of them began to race away from the Sand Wyrm while pulling on the tethered harpoons.

    The Mages from both the Shard and Pretoria grimaced and cringed, gritting their teeth as a flower of unimaginable carnage blossomed into bloody life.

    Like tearing the shell off a hapless crayfish, the ropes grew taunt; then, with a mighty surge of Essence that manifested as a pink haze, the Horse Lords split off an entire section of the Sand Wyrm''s hide.

    Gwen''s balled palms had by now compressed her curried egg sandwich back into its satchel form.

    "SHREEEEEE¡ª" An unexpected and piercing shriek from above signalled Gwen and the Mages to a flock of Eagle-Harpies awaiting their turn.

    On cue, like a swarm of obsidian locust, the flock descended, aiming for the most vulnerable aspects of the Sand Wyrm''s exposed flesh, tearing at the visible tendons and vessels. At the same time, the lesser Centaurs converged, rapidly reforming into streams of pilum tossing strike teams.

    Gwen looked away, feeling physically ill. There was violence, and then there was the live degloving of a creature that only moments ago was full of majesty. Beneath the armoured sections of the flopping worm, she could see its glistening flesh growing paler with every pulse of purple ichor.

    Unfazed by their brutal labour, more of the horses engaged in the same gory act of glory, quickly turning the ochre sand of the badlands into a scarlet swamp. At each triumphant gallop, hooves churning the blood-stained sand transmuted the earth into bloody pudding.

    The wyrm''s vitals were failing. This much Gwen could tell without needing Caliban''s aid. Thanks to her ever-hungry Astral Body, her natural Divination could perceive the absurd volume of life seeping from the Afaa Al-Halak''s rapidly deflating body. It was a waste¡ª but the wyrm was the Centaur''s bounty, and even if the escaping Essence and life were to soak the sand, it was the Khan''s to waste.

    "HWAA¡ªOOOH¡ª!" Came a cry from the marauders from below, announcing their victory. The feasting Eagle-Harpies from above echoed the bellow below, their screeches like hysterical violin-strings.

    Gwen felt strangely shaken.

    Rarely since coming into her rightful talents had she felt so helpless in the face of overwhelming power. The hunt she had just witnessed demonstrated the prowess of a warrior culture millennia in the making. Mighty as the Mongolian Death Worm was, a creature of brute elemental strength was no match for a civilisation that had once reigned over the largest land empire on the Prime Material.

    A horn blew, its soulful drone touching every corner of the battlefield.

    From the direction of Nukus and the main camp, great caravans of bipedal Tasm¨¹yiz surged from the yurt-city. Urgent trains of carts pushed by Beast-kins tall, stout, large and miniscule made for the burping carcass of a worm almost a kilometre long.

    Gwen touched her face¡ª she was sweat-soaked from the collar of her combat suit to its interior.

    She inhaled deeply, then sighed deep and long.

    Who would have thought, the Devourer of Shenyang solemnly acknowledged, that Centaurs were harder to straddle than Necromancers?

    By the time Taylor and Hill returned to guide their party toward the Golden Pavilion, the colossal work of portioning the Afaa Al-Halak was well underway.

    Of the piles of ingredients harvested from the mighty carcass, chitin plates were stacked sky-high to one side, accompanied by a hill of translucent flesh, then an enormous pit of rendered, jade-white lard. A second crater meter deep and tennis-court sized was excavated by the Tasm¨¹yiz to dispose of the Wyrm''s shattered organs. Segment by segment the bipedal Beast-kin laboured, knee-deep in blood-silt, each worker transformed into abstract figurines of gore. Already, she had spotted a few Humans among the work slaves.

    "Gwen¡­" Jean-Paul nudged her as they slowly descended, watched by thousands of curious Centaurs and Beast-kin. "Check out that Core¡­"

    Gwen''s gaze drifted to a Creature Core the size of a cargo van, shaped like a fossilised heart.

    Titanic creatures like Mongolian Death Worms did not reach an extraordinary tier unless they acquired enough Draconic blood to supersede their base ancestry. Nonetheless, their Cores provided essential materials for Shielding Stations and other infrastructural installations. As the Centaurs had no use themselves for such a thing, the Creature Core would likely be exchanged for wheat and other supplies on the cheap. According to Taylor, the Khanate possessed scant patience for economic management, leaving most of the work to the ??pter servants, whose awkward social status made ergonomic trade arrangements near-impossible. Ironically, though Tasm¨¹yizs skilled at trade and barter existed, no member of the Khanate cared enough to gift the slave races the necessary autonomy to improve their economy.

    The Horse Lord that received them, "The Cherbi Khudu", was one of the praetorian specimens that lead the raid on the Afaa Al-Halak. Visually, the Horse Lord was an astounding spectacle of masculinity, his upper body twice the circumference and height of Andre the Giant, sporting the bullish neck of a pro wrestler wider than Gwen''s waist. Impressively, the Centaur''s lower body was that of a roan Clydesdale taller than Gwen even if she wore her most painful heels. Like his peers, the Khitani Centaurs'' face was chisel-jawed with an eagle-beaked nose and iris colours matching his elemental Affinity.

    After a final round of reminders from Taylor, the party landed. As Bekker had ordained, Gwen''s role was to play the pretty and silent doll until the moment Taylor brandished her as their War Mage. After the show and tell, she would then be excused to explore the compound with Jean-Paul.

    It was just as well that Gwen intended to heed her superiors, for else she would have already complained about the smell.

    Now that they were in the "thick" of it, fur-musk, sweat, and the sharp tang of tanned leather was omnipresent. There was also the sweet stink of melons and other vegetables, some fresh, some half-eaten and some rotting in carts waiting to be hauled away. Worse still, near every yurt clustered toward the "city" and its centre, roving herds of smouldering chattel made her eyes water.

    Understandably, a race that was always on the move had little use for infrastructures such as plumbing or trash management. Sans extra-large Storage Rings, there was no way to haul the refuse-disposing Magi-tech engines that serviced man''s NoM Districts. Though here and there she could see Tasm¨¹yiz sweeping the streets, there were far more sheep and pack animals than labouring Rat-folks. At the same time, it wasn''t as though the locals were bothered by the heady scent haze.

    Closer to the Khan''s tent, the streets grew broad enough for six Horse Lords to pass abreast. The structures that prefaced their approach¡ª Gwen noticed, grew more prominent the closer she got to the city''s epicentre. Likewise, their Centaur entourage grew in number until she felt positively sandwiched between flanking walls of oiled barding.

    At the entrance to the pavilion, two ??pters manservants with the heads of bulls opened the pavilion''s enormous drapes, revealing the perfumed world within.

    Unlike other members of her team, whose eyes were drawn straight away to the visage of the Khan of Khans in the centre of the pocket plane of the tent, Gwen''s eyes fell on the pillars holding up the entrance.

    Totem poles! She recognised the twin columns at once. In her study of her Masters'' sorcery, her curriculum reading included an outdated section on Totemic Shamanism of the Greenskins and Beast-kin. The footnotes had stated that the learning and teaching of Shamanistic mysticism was a verbal affair, with spells passed on as chants and songs. Simultaneously, as a companion art, the esoteric spiritualism that empowered ancestral sorcery was transmitted via ancestral Totem columns.

    From the looks of the Totems presented here¡ª two at the gate and six more in the further reaches of the yurt holding the superstructure together¡ª the history of Clan Khitan must be vast and long indeed.

    Gwen gulped.

    Taylor had said that Horse Lords tended to live fast and die young¡ª the Khan himself was barely past his forties and his father scarcely seventy when the Tide took his life¡ª but these Totems must be thousands of years old. If indeed the Khitani Centaurs predate human history, then these relics must precede Egypt''s First Dynasty.

    Gwen fought down an urge to touch the sacred wood.

    When her eyes finally lifted from the Sanguine Scripts that formed the basis of the Shamanism used by the Centaurs, her party was bowing before the big horse himself.

    "Welcome, Mage Lords from the north," came the voice from above. "You have come at a time of plenty, allies of the Khitan."

    Gwen lifted her eyes to steal a peek at the being who had earlier king punched an Afaa Al-Halak into kingdom come.

    "The Mageocracy thanks you for the welcome, Khan of Khans, Lord of the Steppes, Scion of the Tengri''s Thunder-threaded Golden Blood¡­"

    While her betters exercised boorish diplomacy, Gwen scanned the interior of the giant yurt. The most notable feature was the acres of carpet, some overlapping, some placed in patterned rows covering the ground. Compared to the red flooring, the yurt''s walls comprised patterned, criss-crossing beams adorned with intermittent drapes of spun wool.

    What was most impressive to her was the skylight, an enormous opening that allowed the sunlight to be gently filtered by shrouds of silk that resembled floating clouds. At the centre of the skylight array, a zodiac depicting a sun and moon constellation bathed Temir Khan in holy luminescence.

    The Great Khan himself, much to her surprise, was smaller in stature than his guards, chief of whom was his Cherbi. Seated upon the dais, the Horse King was a spectacle of gold-etched plate mail threaded with spun Mithril and engraved with True Silver. The most striking characteristic of Temir Khan Tengri was the inner light pooling in his depthless irises, a feature that immediately made Gwen think of Solana.

    A Vessel? She wondered¡ª then refuted her initial impression.

    There was Essence in the Khan, a great deal of it¡ª but it wasn''t Draconic.

    What the Khan possessed was the Essence of his Khitani Horse-kin and their slave legions.

    "Meister Bekker, your presence among us is an unexpected boon," the Khan''s diplomacy continued, his timbre deep, measured and confident. "With your aid, I am assured that our Elemental enemies to the south will soon retreat into their brass-bound fortress¡­"

    While her superiors conversed, Gwen''s gaze slid from the Khan once more.

    Beside the deified Horse Lord''s dais were three empty divans, likely indicating the positions occupied by his generals. Assuming these were seats usually laid out for his Orkoks, Gwen estimated the Khan''s military expedition at forty-thousand horses, excluding the auxiliary forces of bipedal foot troops and their Tasm¨¹yiz fodder.

    Curiously, Gwen noted, she had failed to spot a single mare or filly. Servants aside, the Khan''s pavilion was a raging stud fest.

    What did this mean? She wondered. Do Centaur women not have a place in the Golden Pavilion? There was certainly no shortage of long-legged, flax-maned mares on their way in, many of who wore rich and vibrant fabrics and had brigades of Tasm¨¹yiz servant scurrying underfoot.

    Gwen''s suspicion remained until her eyes landed on a dark corner behind the Khan, where she detected a well-endowed feminine figure.

    Instantly, she sensed a slight tingle in her Divination Sigil. It wasn''t a call for danger¡ª but rather the feeling of someone probing her with their mind.

    In response, Gwen sent out mental feelers of her own.

    Their thoughts soon touched.

    Besides the Great Khan, a pair of amber eyes stared into Gwen''s own.

    It was a ??pter Faun dressed in richly hued diaphanous silk, marking her as no mere servant. Around the woman''s neck, just covering her ample bosoms, sat a semi-circle necklace of threaded teeth¡ª the emblem of a senior Shaman. Unlike other ??pter slaves adorning the place like decor, her goat horns were polished and manicured, curving handsomely so that the Mithril-dipped tip and its hanging jewels framed her exquisite face.

    There was a familiar air about the woman.

    The ??pter was undeniably a bipedal Beast-kin. Yet, from the Faun''s confident shoulders, bright eyes, and sensual mouth, Gwen observed the same aura possessed by Lady Grey, Lucy Astor, and Elvia''s gentle Rectrix. Though she stood in the shadow of the Khan, power and influence came as naturally to her as the air she breathed.

    Committing to her hypothesis, Gwen smiled at the Faun, offering a premeditated olive branch.

    The ??pter smiled back, her expression amicable and inviting.

    Inexplicably, she felt as though the two of them stood alone and vis-a-vis in the throne room.

    Only when Gwen refocused could she once more hear the forced laughter from Bekker, Taylor and her sorcerous crew, inflating the fantastic yurt with flatulent puffs of diplomatic flattery.

 Chapter 410 - Grass Beneath the Hooves

    "¡­ Here is Gwen, Great Khan." Meister Bekker stood aside for Gwen, who shuffled forward with her eyes down, then made a curtsey.

    "Meekness ill-suits a razer of cities," the booming voice from above answered. "Gaze upon your Khan, Devourer of Shenyang, Most Valued Champion of the International Games!"

    Gwen briefly glanced at Bekker and Taylor. Simultaneously, her eyes passed over the ??pter with the Mithril-tipped horns, ensuring that there wasn''t some hidden undercurrent waylaying freshly arrived tourists at the Steppes. After a second of hesitation and receiving no overt orders from her instructors, she elected to be herself.

    Raising her eyes to face the Khan, Gwen willed Almudj''s Essence to circulate, giving her the imperious air for which she was famed in Fudan and then in Cambridge. Instantly, her demeanour assumed an arrogant regality, one buoyed by Essence older than the Centaur''s Totems.

    "Tis no meekness, O Great Khan." Gwen gazed up at the Horse Lord. "But discretion born out of diplomacy. This Devourer is full-ready to send our enemies into the abyssal Void, no less than Meister Bekker had earlier promised. If indeed we need call upon Yog, the all-in-one and one-in-all, my Void Fiend stands ready to consume our foes."

    Temir Khan''s golden eyes measured her prideful figure.

    With their Essences squaring off like two stallions jousting for mares, she now better understood the Khan''s prowess. In terms of Essence "volume", Temir Tengri was far her superior. Compared to her lonesome self, he was the sum of nine pavilions, totalling a hundred thousand Centaurs from the Sawahi Desert to the Northern Steppes. Of the quality of their Essences, Gwen felt that the sacred purity of her serpent juice was far superior.

    Still, she was impressed by the Khan of Khans, though more so for his political and physical stature than his state of being.

    The Khan appeared pleased by her poise. "No need to be so guarded. We Horse Lords are a simple and crude lot compared to you Humans. Tell this Khan, is it true you art the Apprentice of Henry Kilroy?"

    "That I am," Gwen affirmed the title without batting an eyelid, squaring her shoulder for effect. "Did you know of my Master, Great Khan?"

    The Khan appeared to consider her answer, after which his reply set not only Gwen''s brows to twitch but that of her colleagues as well.

    "My father did. As for myself¡ª know you of his wife, Elizabeth Sobel?"

    Gwen once more glanced at her mentors: not to appear fazed, both wore masks of stoic neutrality.

    "We''ve spoken precisely once," Gwen parried the unexpected question expertly. "She defenestrated me out of Sydney Tower to be consumed by her minion. I lived. Her pet died. My Master lost his life."

    Her two mentors visibly relaxed.

    "Your tale, though short, is pleasing to us." The Khan affirmed with solemnity. "My condolences, Magus Song. Your Master''s death is a loss for us all¡ª As for his spouse, the woman has been a thorn in our side."

    "Sobel was here?" Gwen gulped, her brows furrowing in surprise.

    It took her another glance at Bekker and Taylor''s rapidly blinking eyes to recall that indeed, Gunther had mentioned a year ago that Sobel''s "Cabal" or perhaps the woman herself had survived Sydney and was troubling the world once more. "The South of Kazahstan," her Brother-in-craft had noted with disdain, though at the time, the "Steppes" was nothing but a vague landscape in Gwen''s uneducated mind.

    "Milord Khan, has Sobel made her presence known?" Gwen asked carefully. If so, she might need to call Gun-Gun to bring the big guns.

    "Not the Arch-Witch herself." Temir Khan''s massive head shook. The Horse Lord lifted a heavy horn of velvety Airag, drank, then continued to speak. "Her Cabal¡ª ''Spectre'' is one of the reasons why the Horde has fallen into a precarious position. My scouts report that her Necromancers are working with the Efreet of the Fire Sea¡ª the same Humans sabotaging our Clan grounds this early Spring, mercenaries serving under Zodiam, the Prince of Sulphur."

    "If these Mages remain in your back garden." The timbre of Gwen''s voice grew low. She wasn''t confident of her present etiquette, though her immediate impulses required no discernment. "I shall hunt them down with extreme prejudice."

    "Hahaha¡ª" The Khan laughed, his mighty shoulders shaking as snorts burst from his great nostrils like thunderclaps. Around Temir Tengri, his fellow Horse Lords echoed the mirth. Behind them, Gwen caught a secretive smile tracing the lips of the ??pter Faun.

    "The Horde accepts your pledge." The Khan of Khan raised his horn of Airag.

    A ??pter presented Gwen with a mug bubbling with a considerable mass of fermented milk.

    "Sip it slowly, and don''t you dare throw the Khan''s toast back up." Taylor''s Silent Message bloomed beside her. "Also, don''t promise anything. The Centaurs take great care in pledges. Any horse who reneges on a promise may as well be a dishonourable Tasm¨¹yiz."

    The ??pter servant beside her, a doe-eyed Faun with the spiked horns of a goat, gingerly allowed the drink to rest in Gwen''s hand. The stein was heavier than she thought, though considering that the volume was fit for a Clysdale, the weight came as no surprise.

    "Besseha! To the Shard''s War Mage, to our friends from London¡ª" With an expression that hinted at an expectation of her fouling the drink, the Khan lifted his enormous mug, then drank heartily until the entire contents of the horn drained into his vast torso.

    "Cheers," Gwen returned without worry. "To your health, Great Khan."

    She took a deep breath, circulated both Essence and Void to fortify herself, then lifted the horn to her mouth. The Airag was a yogurty admixture with the kick of a mule. Luckily for her concerned companions, she wasn''t about to be defeated by something that couldn''t even knock out an Ironborn Golem pilot.

    Thirty seconds later, when she lowered the horn, the pavilion grew a little quiet. Gwen tossed the horn to the wide-eyed doe beside her and gave a little burp.

    Taylor nervously approached, ready to catch her should she fall. Meister Bekker as well, as staring at her as though she had just discovered a hitherto undiscovered property of Void sorcery. From memory, Gwen recalled that Jean-Paul was a beer boy.

    "I am fine." Gwen grinned, buzzed and happy.

    "You have brought the pavilion a jewel, Meister Bekker." The Horse Lord turned to their superior. "What an interesting Human she is."

    "She''s special, Temir Khan." Bekker shot Gwen a look of wariness. "But now that our introductions are out of the way, I would like to report on something we had uncovered en route from Astrakhan."

    "Indeed?" The Khan''s interest strayed from Gwen, who took the opportunity to return to their assigned seating.

    "Are you alright?" Jean-Paul''s eyes fell upon her pancake-flat abdomen. "Are you¡­ not full? That was a lot of milk."

    "I could eat." Gwen gazed over at the far side of the pavilion, where their future lunch heaped upon enormous plates. Their breakfast had been light, and the rations were hardly filling.

    Her companion shivered.

    Not far from them, Bekker began to regale the tale of Gwen''s defeat of the Djinns at Bautino.

    "¡­ We discovered diseased Rat-kin, Great Khan. Most of whom were too sick to escape, though I have no doubt those healthy enough are already among the Plain Folks."

    "Is that true, Magus Song?" The Khan called out in her direction.

    "Our Meister speaks true," Gwen assured the Khan. "The plague pit was beyond pale."

    The Khan''s good mood, which Gwen had earlier inspired, faded at once. "This must be the work of Sobel''s Plaguemancers! The foul fiends cannot defeat our Golden Horde head-on, and so they resort to these dishonourable, underhanded ploys!"

    "Great Khan, what ill might this bode?" Bekker''s tone remained collected. "Our joint-operational push of the Elementals won''t be affected, I hope. There''s a long and hard campaign in front of us yet."

    The Khan''s men murmured.

    The Meister upheld her demanding gaze.

    "Saran?" The Khan spoke, but not to his free riders.

    "Yes, Great Khan?" The voice that answered came from the petite body of a Faun in white. "How may this meek one be of service?"

    "Consult your Shamans, examine our troops for the Sickness. If there is an outbreak, snap its back."

    "I shall do as you command, Great Temir." The Faun dipped her chin. "Worry not, Meister Bekker of London, the Horde''s promised push shall not be stopped, just as the spread of the Sawahi waits for no¡ª"

    CLANG¡ª KWANNNG!

    The solemn ears of the listening Centaurs twitched from the unexpected aural assault.

    Gwen followed the noise, expecting some dire commotion. Instead, she found only the figure of a Rat-kin female, a Tasm¨¹yiz slave, hunched over a dropped metal plate of vegetables readied for lunch. Already, the woman was a blunder of loose fur splayed on the floor, her body a quivering puddle of fear.

    The Khan grunted in the manner of chortling horses. "Guards¡­"

    Two Horse Lords, each armed to the hoof with implements of death, split from the Honour Guards lining the pavilion''s flanks.

    "My Khan¡ª" the Faun called Saran interjected. "We are in the presence of esteemed guests."

    "Cleanse the filth." The Khan''s wrath wasn''t as explosive as Gwen had anticipated, certainly not for a stallion who had sucker-punched a titan worm in the liver. Without further drama, another team of servants quickly removed the offending Rat. "¡ª Make ready for lunch! Come, Meister Bekker, let us discuss your plans for our retaking of the Southern Steppes over a bountiful feast of wyrm flesh!"

    Lunch involved Mongolian stir-fry, feat Afaa Al-Halak.

    Where Gwen had wondered if the Centaurs were vegetarian or omnivorous, that query was now set aside by the mountains of Sand Wyrm meat sizzling on metal plates heated by Fire Stones repurposed from shattered Efreet cores.

    The smell, Gwen''s belly pronounced, was divine.

    The Human Mages'' party was seated to the right of the Great Khan, while the middle of the pavilion was repurposed to hold these giant disks of smouldering iron. Outside, carts laden with vegetables and still-quivering crystalline flesh arrived in rows into the backrooms, where teams of Tasm¨¹yiz servants sliced and diced both onto enormous plates for the ??pter chefs. These, Gwen marvelled as she watched, were a team of six Minotaurs armed with spatulas the size of shovels, tossing and turning handfuls of spice into the sizzling bed of meat and vegetables.

    While she ate, other Horse Lords approached to offer toasts.

    Undaunted, the Devourer of Shenyang demonstrated her namesake, delighting their hosts with her gluttony. Most of the colts were fresh-faced kids of the Tumen Captains and Mingat Generals, and all were fascinated by her booze-swilling arcanistry.

    Between the Airag and the scent of Almudj''s Essence she was giving off, the Demi-humans appeared awed. Comparatively, Jean-Paul fell to the wayside, both intimidated by the strapping horse-lads and feeling ill-at-ease in the company of eight-foot stallions.

    After an hour, when she grew full, Gwen''s sensitive hearing grew conscious of the fact that a great commotion was taking place outside the pavilion. The clamour indicated a sports game of sorts, something akin to polo.

    "What''s that I hear?" she asked a helpful Khan-er-dai.

    "Oh? That¡ª?" A stallion lounged by her side rose to his hoofs. "That, Miss Gwen, is the Great Game of our people, Buzkashi! Would you like to see?"

    The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    "What''s Buzkashi?" Gwen rose with the herd.

    "It''s the greatest sport in the Steppes!" Another son of someone important answered her. "It''s unfortunate that Besutei''s interest is more so in impressing the fillies."

    "Kepek!" The princeling grew red at the revelation from his friend. "Embarrass me again, and I''ll see you on the jousting field!"

    "Is that a threat or a jest?" Kepek snorted back, huffing so hard that Gwen''s hair went flying. "See what I mean, sorceress? That''s Besutei, always chasing tails, never practising Buzkashi."

    The fraternity-like atmosphere of the colts felt strangely familiar and endearing to Gwen, who laughed off Besutei''s awkwardness and put the young stallion at ease. "Alright, alright, let''s see this game of yours, shall we? Can we leave the pavilion?"

    "To watch Buzkashi?" Besutei chortled. "Of course! If it weren''t for your Meister, even Father would not miss a game. It''s how we elect our warriors¡ª and prove ourselves without bloodshed!"

    The sport of Khitani Buzkashi wasn''t very different to another fictive game played in the Wizarding world.

    There were seven riders on either side of an enormous field twice the size of an international duelling field, vying to drop the "Snitch" into a goal consisting of a leather basket, one on either side. During the game, the teams would form into individual roles, with "Beaters" on the flanks preventing the "Chasers" from scoring. The fastest Horsemen on the field, the "Seeker", would seek out an opportunity to break through the opponent''s formation¡ª while his foe was the "Keeper", a brute of a stallion whose job was to body-barge any attempts at scoring.

    Unfortunately for Gwen, two minutes into the blood-boiling clamour of the thundering game, multiple horns of Airag were about ready to abandon her sweet body.

    The reason for her nausea wasn''t overindulgence of diary, but rather the "Great Game" of Buzkashi. Or more precisely, it was the "Golden Snitch" the Centaurs employed.

    With each new roar, Gwen held down her meal with both hands over her lips, her unlearned eyes wide with disbelief.

    Down on the field, the Seeker Centaur galloped at full pace down the left lane, chased by a Beater with a cracking whip. Caught between the Centaur''s arm and torso was a squirming "Ball" crying out for dear life.

    It was the Rat-kin female¡ª the very one who had dropped the plate of food and disrupted the Khan''s conversation with her.

    At first, she had not noticed because the Tasm¨¹yiz wore what looked to be a layer of lambskin painted yellow with flecks of gold. Even so, Gwen couldn''t imagine that the token-type armour offered much protection.

    "ONOO¡ªOO¡ªONOO!" The colts beside her were a frenzy of galloping noise and raging pheromones screaming "Goal¡ªGoal!". Opposite, the whinnying of the fillies watching from the stands seemed to send the players into a tizzy.

    An enormous stallion approached from the goal line, first at a trot, then into a canter. As the colossal brute broke into a full gallop, the "Beater" from his team zeroed in on the opposing team''s "Seeker", forcing the stallion to run a line between the boundary and himself.

    The crowd rose, as did their voices.

    "Nonono¡ª" Gwen couldn''t breathe. If the point of the game was to snatch the "Snitch" From the opposing team, what forces were next involved in regaining possession of the Rat-kin female?

    "ONOO¡ªOO¡ªONOO!!!" The chants around her grew deafening.

    In the next split second, the three Centaurs met.

    The "Keeper" barged toward the Seeker, while the "Beater" and his merciless implement lashed the courser.

    "AZIZI! AZIZI! AZIZI!" Besides her, Besutei and Kepek had forgotten all about her presence and were shouting their lungs out. "ONOOOO¡ª"

    Impossibly, the "Seeker" called Azizi leapt into the air, forming an arch almost four meters at the apex as his body grew compact as a missile. Swinging the "Snitch" on the one hand, the wondrous rider even altered his trajectory, using his "Ball" to ward away a particular nasty whip-strike as his body contorted, narrowly missing the barging body of the "Keeper".

    The crowd exploded, filling every space with the sound of cheers, hoots and howls. In between the cries, the whinnying of fillies made a distinct and unmistakable trill, pulling at the heartstrings of the colts and stallions.

    With a thunderous THUNK, Azizi landed on his forelegs, buckling a little from the momentum; swinging the Rat-kin like a sack, the rider once again crushed the whimpering Tasm¨¹yiz between his arm and torso, making a bee-line for the net basket.

    "ONOO¡ªOO¡ªONOO!!!" All Gwen could hear was the screams of the men around her as the "Seeker" scored with bone-crunching violence, tossing the ragdoll body of the Rat-kin into the interior of the basket with the adrenaline-fuelled force of Yaoming slam-dunking a game-changer.

    "GLORY TO THE THUNDERBLOOD CLAN¡ª" the "Seeker" bellowed. Noticing her standing among the Khan''s favourite colts, Azizi even turned to salute her, driving the young stallions into renewed bouts of hooting.

    Half the court erupted, while the other half groaned in dejection. It wasn''t a scene unfamiliar to Gwen; only she couldn''t take her eyes off the mangled basket, where the Golden Snitch was no longer struggling.

    While her companions left to celebrate the victory of Azizi the Seeker, Gwen found herself moving toward the goal, her breath growing heavier with every step. It took some effort to divert and push past the rush of horse-bodies blocking her way.

    She looked into the basket.

    There were six used "Snitches" inside. The first to six wins the match.

    As Taylor had feared, Gwen lost her lunch.

    With the match over, the Centaurs returned to whatever business was under hoof. As for Gwen, she had repositioned herself near a running trough of water to clean her everything.

    "Here¡­" A horn of floral-smelling water appeared beside Gwen. "I had figured the Devourer of Shenyang would possess a stronger stomach."

    Gwen drank some, then washed out her mouth, then released the horn belonging to Saran, the woman now identified as the Khan''s Chief Shaman, the Clan''s "Dini", and a ??pter elder.

    "Mistress Saran," she apologised for her state. "If I may be so rude, what is this game? And why?"

    "A cultural relic." Saran''s presence was motherly as she gave her a gentle pat on the shoulder. "These days, the Tasm¨¹yiz are attached as a matter of survival, but in the days past, they were the object of raids. The Clan with the strongest warriors are able to bring back the largest number of Tasm¨¹yiz to tend the fields and serve as menial labour. Is the violence strange to you?"

    "Should it not be?" Gwen raised her head to regard the ??pter Shaman. "Forgive my forwardness, Mistress Saran, but this is horrid."

    "More horrid than your Districts? How you treat your powerless and the poor? The NoMs?" The ??pter tilted her head. "We have heard many tales from your cities, Magus Song. The number of your kind that perishes from violent deaths every single day is numberless, and according to Magister Taylor, their deaths are often without purpose."

    "The woman dropped a plate, for God''s sake." Gwen huffed. Her eyes darted to the goal basket once more. "Whip her, beat her, exile her from the camp¡ª but an execution via sport?"

    "A skilled Rat-kin could have survived, though that''s beside the point." Saran did not appear moved by her anger. "Just as we ??pter have our place, so do the Tasm¨¹yiz. The Rat-Clans chose this, you know¡ª there is always an alternative. Their tribes could remain on the plains south-east of the Sawahi Desert to contend with the Afaa Al-Halak instead. Here, the bulk of their people will survive or at least persist. No one is taking that choice away from them. We''re not keeping them here by through force of arms."

    Gwen''s lunch delivered another one-two to her gut.

    To survive in the pan or the fire¡ª what a fucked-up freedom.

    The Shaman regarded her with an unreadable expression. "If Magus Song would satisfy my curiosity, tell me, if you feel so strongly about these Tasm¨¹yiz, why did you inform the Khan of their spreading the Blood Sickness?"

    Gwen''s brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

    Now it was the ??pter Shaman who appeared puzzled. "This isn''t the first time we had Blood Sickness afflict the Horde. Do you know of it?"

    Gwen shook her head. It would not surprise her if Draconian quarantines were the Centaur''s next step. Assuming there are no field hospitals in Centaur city, the ancient epidemiological strategy was common sense.

    Saran grimaced, then sighed.

    Before Gwen could chase the Dini up on what she meant, a procession of junior Shamans converged upon the two. Most of the casters were bipedal Horned-folk like Saran, while a few were Centaurs. All the Shamans, Gwen noted, were female.

    A gender-split magic system? Gwen''s mind wandered back to the pavilion, where every warrior was a strapping stallion. Did this mean that in Khitani society, the mares were the child-bearing caretakers of home while the men hunted and fought? Likewise, was the management of the totems a uniquely feminine affair?

    It was an interesting arrangement that sharply juxtaposed the gender ambiguity of the Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar and the Dwarves'' genderless Protestant work ethic.

    In front of Saran, her huddle of Shamans collectively wore embroidered white cotton, signifying their status and position within the Horse Lord''s hierarchy. Most possessed the youth of younger women, though Gwen could see from their eyes and mannerisms that there were many a matron.

    "We bring dire winds, Dini," a deer-horned woman announced. "The Human Mages were correct. The Plaguemancers'' creations are among us. There''s two dozens sick from the Ironhoof Clan, as well as scattered cases in the outer pavilions. I''ve distilled their festered blood through the iron gourde and confirmed the affliction to be Blood Sickness, albeit a kind we haven''t seen before."

    "How did they contract the disease?"

    "From the Tasm¨¹yiz¡ª" The Faun''s voice grew low. "Rat-kin grain collectors. Lord Yesunege says he was out hunting when a crazed Tasm¨¹yiz bit him out of the blue. He executed the insolent slave where it stood, then returned to camp thinking nothing of it. Now his entire Arbanu is ill."

    "How long ago was this?" The "Dini" Saran''s expression grew dark.

    "About five days. I''ve soothed Yesunege''s fever, but his blood will burn for some time yet."

    "An incubation period of five days¡­" Saran said aloud. "Well-timed. That''s right in the middle of Temir Khan''s southern campaign and beyond."

    "You can''t use Cure Disease?" Gwen raised a hand, showing her rings. "I brought potions if you need it."

    "I''ve tried both the Rite of Sanguine Cleansing and the Human''s potion injectors," the same Shaman replied. "The disease can be weakened but not entirely removed. A Plaguemancer''s phage is not easily thwarted..."

    "If Magus Song''s recollection holds, the Elementals must have plotted this for some time..."

    "I''ve called for Master Litvak," the Shaman informed their leader. "Whatever happens, we will need his wisdom."

    While they waited, Saran turned to Gwen once more. "Forgive me for being dismissive, Magus Song. If you have Potions of Resist or Cure Disease, we are happy to receive your aid or trade for HDMs or Cores. That said, this is a dire matter¡ª if indeed the Blood Sickness has come again¡ª magically this time¡ª there will be thousands, if not tens of thousands of ill Nokud in a matter of weeks. How many potions did you prepare for your expedition?"

    "Forty?" Gwen reserved eight just in case.

    "An impressive and generous number." Saran nodded. "But what good would a hundred potions do? A thousand? A sorcerous phage tailored for the Khitani will infect and infect again. Given ten-thousand doses, we can prevent deaths, but as for the southward expedition your Masters have urged..."

    "So isolate the sick¡ª" Gwen said as a matter of fact. "Quarantine them and use the potions. Is there a way to detect the disease¡ª?"

    "There is¡ª and here he comes."

    Before Gwen could finish, her eyes fell upon the visage of an ash-blonde man wearing the robes of a monk, strolling toward them with the casual ease of a bloke in his backyard. From his stave¡ª an implement forged from melded bones, she recognised the mana signature at once.

    A Necromancer!

    Her breath caught in her chest. THE GALL OF THE BASTARD!

    The man looked up, noting her burning eyes. As with all of his kind, the man''s face was gaunt and his figure stick-like and wiry. His eyes may have at one point been blue, but now they were milky and cloudy.

    "Dini Saran." The Necromancer bowed. "I''ve heard¡ª and my arts are at your service."

    "Thank you, Master Lazarus." The Shaman bowed in turn. "I fear the matter might be already out of control. The Shard is unrelenting in its demand, meaning we must take immediate countermeasures."

    "Of course, Dini¡ª may I ask who this is?"

    From their expressions, both Saran and "Lazarus" clearly felt the murderous mana screaming inside the body of the lithe-figured sorceress in black.

    "This must be our august guest from the Shard," the Necromancer said, unfazed by her hostility. "Lazarus Litvak, Free Soul, at your service."

    Gwen stared at the outstretched hand, wondering if she should void the appendage. Or that if she took it, someone from the Shard would void her hand that touched the man''s appendage.

    A Necromancer? Here? In broad daylight? A thousand enigmas clouded her brain. Was he a guest of the Khan like she was? Did that mean they now fought shoulder to shoulder with Necromancers? Is that why no one batted an eye at Henry''s dabbles into Necromancy? Was "the only Necro is a voided Necro" a Chinese thing?

    The two Human Mages stood frozen in time until Gwen recalled from her earlier conversations with her instructors that "indeed" there may be Necromancers in the Khan''s employ¡ª along with human slaves¡ª along with any number of things she was known to despise.

    Her business, they had implied¡ª was to be "Jean-Paul".

    But would Jean-Paul void Lazarus Livtak with one look?

    "Magus Song," Saran''s voice rang beside her. "Is anything the matter?"

    Gwen forced a smile to her face. "Not at all. I was merely surprised. G''day, Master Litvak."

    She shook the hand the Necromancer presented. The man''s fingers were bony, and to her genuine surprise, warm.

    "I recall who you are now, Magus Song. How could any man forget a face like yours?" Lazarus'' smile was full of caution. "You''re the Devourer of Shenyang."

    "I am." Gwen straightened her body. "Though the moniker''s a bit too much. What is it that you do, Master Livtak?"

    "Myself? I am but a humble Enchanter." The Necromancer laughed with forced humour. "I ensure the deaths here don''t go to waste. I produce fodder troops to soften the Khan''s foes. By extension, I ensure that the Necromancers on the Elementals'' side don''t take advantage of the materials the Golden Pavilion leaves behind. It is very risky, as you know, to leave source matter littering a battlefield. Imagine if some rogue Necromancer raised a family member or a friend and held their soul hostage? Terrible stuff."

    Gwen understood only a few words of what the Necromancer said. "There are Necromancers on the side of the Elementals?"

    "Sure¡ª Spectres, or so I am told." Litvak shrugged. "You know how it is. Necromancers are natural mercenaries. Your talking heads at London know of my presence here, by the way. Better the Necromancer the Shard knows and all that. My servile state shouldn''t come as a surprise, I''d hope. You Tower Mages are the reason we scurry like Rat-kin, after all."

    While Gwen contemplated the Necromancer''s words, Livtak walked beside the Buzkashi goal net and peeked inside. "Six¡ª"

    "Three on the other side," Saran reminded him.

    "Not nearly enough, even for low-level Shards." Litvak shook his head. "I''ll wait. Senchen said you needed me to run diagnostics on the slaves?"

    Saran nodded.

    "The Khan''s will be done."

    Before Gwen could ask the man to clarify his intentions, a burst of horn blow and fanfare from the Golden Pavilion signalled the emergence of her fellow Tower Mages standing shoulder to rump besides the Khan. Beginning from the pavilion and spreading down hills like a cascade, Orkoks barked at Tumens, who then barked orders at the lower ranks, injecting order into the equestrian chaos.

    In no time at all, the colts and stallions formed into neat rows fit for a military parade. Adjacent and on either side of the golden tent, teams of prancing fillies returned to their private pavilions under the watchful count of their mare mothers.

    Gwen''s superiors noticed her beside the Necromancer and the Shaman at once. Seeing that she had yet to commit an atrocity, the group exhaled sighs of relief. Jean-Paul gave her a wave¡ª she waved back, indicating that she did her best.

    "Speaking of the Tasm¨¹yiz¡ª" Saran redirected Gwen''s gaze from the Buzkashi ball pit toward the row-upon-rows of Rat-kin and other Plain Folk now gathering far from the row of Centaurs. Unlike the horses, these columns lacked both discipline and haste.

    Gwen''s eyes swept over the neurotic estuaries of Tasm¨¹yiz, each streaming from the camp to form square lakes of muttering flesh, their meek and mousy bodies smouldering with the dank fetor of grilled Wyrm meat, onions, goat cheese and boiled cabbage.

    "At least they had a full meal," Saran remarked beside her.

    Gwen turned to look at the Great Khan''s Dini.

    "Magus Song, for the ''meekness'' to come," the Shaman said seriously. "Out of discretion and diplomacy¡­ the Devourer may wish to... turn a blind eye."

 Chapter 411 - At What Cost

    Gwen observed the Centaurs'' expressions grow from dark to dangerous.

    Despite their impending doom, the Tasm¨¹yiz took their time, though she was of the opinion their delay were blameless. To her knowledge, the Khanate did not possess a public education system. Whatever its men and women knew, they learned by observing their elders, peers, or Clansmen or by surviving punishment. Knowing that these Tasm¨¹yiz were free-range slaves¡ª why should their owners expect a raggedy band of menials to marshal with the efficiency of militants trained from birth?

    Thirty minutes later, with the Tasm¨¹yiz boxed in like agitated bees, the Khan spoke.

    "Cousins of the Plains! Your Khan is today the bearer of woe," Temir Tengri''s voice projected across his city without effort. "The Plague of winter past is upon the pavilion once more. Free Riders have fallen ill, their blood burning away their life force even as the Horde musters for war."

    A wilting hush overcame the squares of Tasm¨¹yiz; then, great groans erupted as the rats fell to their knees. From Gwen''s vantage, it looked like wheat being scythed.

    From the golden tent to the southern gate, there sat twenty legions of the pavilion''s slave hordes. These must be the regional Clans, Gwen figured from the slight variation in fur and colouring. Across a single square, she counted over a hundred individuals, with the same number stretching down the open corridor. Interestingly, there weren''t just Rat-kin, but also dog-headed Kobolds, droopy-eared Rabbit-kin and scattered mobs of low-tier Greenskins.

    "Dini Saran will now speak." Temir Khan was not one to waste breaths on slaves. "Cherbi¡ª ready the men."

    A billowing cry erupted from the enormous roan''s thick lips, imparting tinnitus in the Human Mages until they fought off the effect by circulating mana. In one breath, the Centaur troops lining either side drew from their saddle scabbards pilums, swords, clubs and all manner of personal weaponry.

    "You can''t be serious¡ª" Gwen turned to the closest source of viable information. "Magus... Lazarus, regarding what Dini Saran insinuated, they''re not going ahead with it, are they?"

    "Not yet. The Horse Lords are giving the Tasm¨¹yiz a choice," the Necromancer responded to her anxiety with perplexed curiosity.

    "Gwen looked on with confusion. "To do what?"

    Her answer came in the form of Saran taking her place in front of the blocks of Tasm¨¹yiz. "Clan Chiefs, come forward!"

    From each block, tittering old rats stumbled forward. Most dressed no better than their fellows. One or two, Gwen noted with distaste, were fat with luxury. These, she figured, must be the Chiefs with Clans directly serving the Golden Pavilion.

    In a semi-circle around their Dini, the Clan leaders performed kowtows.

    "My friends, we''ve had this conversation before." Saran''s motherly presence gave her sermon a paternal air. "This time, I hope your ilk will abide by what''s right and not disappoint Temir Khan."

    Before Saran had even finished, a few of the Elders flattened their bodies against the grass.

    "What you ask is impossible, Dini!"

    "Please, Dini!"

    "With all my soul, Dini, I would urge the kin to confess, but¡ª"

    The protests, Gwen could see, made the Centaurs'' miens meaner still. As for the Khan, if she squinted, Gwen could see the Essence steaming from his unhappy body.

    "What are they asking the Tasm¨¹yiz to do?" she once more asked the Necromancer.

    Against her expectation of a rebuke, Lazarus happily answered her question. "The last time this happened, Saran asked the Elders to give up the sick and the infected. The Elders agreed, though not all of the sick volunteered. After several weeks of rooting out an even bigger disease cluster, the contagion spread to the Southern tribes far from the Golden Pavilion. Thousands of Nokud lost their lives. In his displeasure, the Khan issued an Ustgakh¡ª an order of extermination."

    Gwen glanced at the Horse Lords gripping their armaments.

    "They''re asking people in a deadly pandemic to out themselves?" she protested a little too audibly for courtly decorum. The more she thought about the Tasm¨¹yizs'' grisly future, the more her chest constricted with repression. "Or what?"

    "Gwen, stay put." Magister Taylor''s Silent Message bloomed beside her. "Let the Centaurs deal with their internal troubles."

    "Let¡ª" The kindling of guilt from her earlier encounter with the "Golden Snitch" was now a torch burning inside her belly. She felt suddenly claustrophobic among the crowded, noisy herd of stallions. Overpowering the horse-musk, the stink from the Tasm¨¹yiz was to Gwen a miasmic admixture of fear and terror. Moreso than pleasing her peers, she wanted to call out "Bullshit!" at Saran''s gaslighting of the Rat-kin.

    Not too far from her embittered gall, the Dini''s interrogation continued.

    "Your... inability is no concern of mine, nor the Khan''s. The Horde''s fighting potential is paramount for our survival and your Clans'' survival by extension. For the sake of generosity, Temir Khan will gift you one more opportunity. If you should fail, we are in no worse circumstance than what the Khan initially intended."

    Visibly, the twenty or so Clan Chiefs fell into greater despair.

    "TUMENS! MINGATS!" Feeling that the Chiefs were insufficiently motivated, Khudu, the Cherbi of the Khan, bellowed orders. "READY ARMS."

    "For TEMIR KHAN!" the amassed herds of horses huffed.

    The sound of promised violence was enough to put steel back into the Elders'' liquid spines. Like bipedal maracas, the thoroughly shaken leaders of the various tribes returned to their respective quadrants to plead with their kin. Gwen closely observed the block closest to them. Like an undulating wave, throngs of Tasm¨¹yiz raggedly rose to meet their Elder. With solemnity, words exchanged, heads hung, and ears drooped.

    Unable to watch any longer, Gwen sent a Message to Meister Bekker, expressing that she wanted to intervene.

    "I figured you might," Bekker said. "But why?"

    "Stability and status quo," Gwen hastily presented her case, forcing her voice to remain distant. The real reason was primal and instinctual. "Longevity for the Horse Lords, guaranteed supply of foodstuffs. There are almost a hundred and fifty thousand of the poor sods out there. To me, that''s a skilled labour force too precious to waste. Surely, Meister, we can achieve mutual gain by extending a hand of mercy?"

    Meister Bekker''s reply bore a tone of amusement. "And help them thrive? Did you forget that the Centaurs are a temporary ally? We know this. They know this. Nither of our kind wants the balance disrupted."

    "Say you save them." Taylor, whom the party used as a conduit, butted in with his enquiry. "Where''s our benefit? You can''t expect us to consent just because you feel sorry for the rats."

    Gwen had an answer ready before the Diviner had finished complaining.

    "To subvert a cabal of militant autocrats," she spoke quickly but firmly, striking while the horseshoe''s hot. "One must first usurp their base. There is little hope that we''ll never get the Centaurs to recognise the old Protectorate, but what about the Tasm¨¹yiz? I don''t mean to have these Rat-kin rebel against the Horse Lords, but as you know, their kind is wholly responsible for hay, harvests and other menial labour. If so, what part of the Steppes could the Tasm¨¹yiz not reach? What news on the Steppes would escape them? Meek, they might be, but they are many! If we show them the Mageocracy''s magnanimity, what worshipful might take root in their little hearts? Under my thumb, these survivors and their descendants will be our eyes and ears."

    "What you said has been attempted before¡­" Taylor sounded unconvinced.

    "But NOT by yours truly!" Gwen quickly followed with a huff of indignation. "Jean-Paul¡ª Meister Bekker, tell Magister Taylor of what I''ve done to the Isle of Dogs! Is it not prime real estate? Am I not worshipped by its workers? Loved by the Dwarves? Held in the highest regard by Lord Ravenport, my old chum? I''ll muster the Tasm¨¹yiz, sick or otherwise, and we''ll soon have eyes and ears everywhere!"

    "You paint a splendid picture. But I shall withhold my opinion." Taylor appeared to give her words some thought. "Meister?"

    "Gwen''s here to learn, but she''s an independent agent. Besides, the Lady of Ely is her backer, not me." Meister Bekker''s tone remained likewise ambivalent. "Gwen, if you think this is an opportunity¡ª"

    "I do, and I''ll build a Magistership out of it!" Her heart was near bursting from her chest. Over yonder, the Tasm¨¹yiz looked ready to present themselves to the Khan and his ??pter Shaman corps. "After this, they''ll be updating the Magister-work-experience handbook with a new case study."

    "I like Gwen''s confidence, but we don''t have the resources to entertain her bluster," Taylor reminded his co-superior.

    "No need. I am self-sufficient," Gwen interrupted. "I won''t need a single field ration or HDM from your rings. I won''t even need any of your Mages. If you would recall, I''ve been promised field support from the Order of the Bath."

    "Neither our stock nor our personnel?" Taylor''s bottom line was unambiguous. "Then I have no objections. Do whatever you will, so long as you don''t bog down the campaign to come."

    "If Magister Taylor isn''t objecting, then neither shall I," Bekker replied cautiously. "To confirm, you''ll be handling this alone until we can spare the men. That''s my condition. Major Kotts?"

    "I''ll reserve judgement. It is a test, after all."

    "Of course." Gwen exhaled, circling Essence through her conduits so her fingers would stop shaking. The good thing about having a sterling reputation was that one''s superiors were at least happy to contemplating giving her a fair go, especially when the venture was low-risk and cost-free.

    Downfield, the Tasm¨¹yizs'' fate flatlined with the Cherbi''s patience.

    In front of her eyes, hundreds of Clan slaves, large and small, old and young, filed from among the ranks with grim expressions into a clique of the condemned. Some, Gwen could see, were visibly ill, with a few having to be carried by their fellow sufferers. Like hags, these poor sods were¡ª backs bent, knees buckling from the agony to come, coughing uncontrollably from despair.

    "Esteemed Litvak¡ª" The silver bells on the ??pter woman''s horns chimed as she swung her head toward the Human Mages. "If we may borrow your talents?"

    "Of course, your Grace." The Necromancer''s casual use of the Empire''s titles made the Shard Mages wrinkle their brows. Lazarus returned their disdain with a wane smile, then stepped out from their ranks towards the huddle of mangy Rat-kin.

    "Life Siphon." The Necromancer''s casting was textbook as he vocalised the invocations necessary for conjuring his distinct brand of Necromancy.

    To Gwen, seeing actual Necromancy up-close and undisguised was a nouveau experience, like someone rolling a fat joint in plain sight. The spell was simple¡ª she understood the Sigils, the Invocations, and the phrasing¡ª though she lacked the distilled Negative Energy and the will to inhale the knowledge.

    "You." Lazarus indicated to a sickly old rat barely holding on to life. "Remain where you are. Upon your body, I sense a Plaguemancer''s touch."

    The Rat-kin must have made his peace, for the old rat remained seated while his kin parted like the Red Sea.

    "Venerable one, how long have you been sick?" Lazarus sounded to Gwen like a hospice physician.

    "Almost ten days, milord."

    "Blood Fever?"

    "I don''t know," the Rat-kin wheezed. "My bones feel like they are on fire."

    The Necromancer nodded. "That''s a known symptom. I''ll make this painless. Are you ready to break free from the karmic cycle and become a Free Soul?"

    If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

    "I don''t know," the Rat-kin''s reply inferred he preferred living.

    Under Gwen''s watchful eyes, the rat chosen by Lazarus sagged like an emptied bag of root vegetables. After a second, the Necromancer raised his hand and regarded the green-yellow mass of mana in his palm while below, the Rat-kin withered into a desiccated corpse-husk.

    "This is the source-phage." The Necromancer indicted to his audience. "I have obtained a sequence of the original mana signature. Now, we may proceed with discerning the extent of the pandemic."

    Lazarus began a second invocation, one wrought from the School of Divination.

    "He can employ multiple Schools of Magic?" Gwen turned to Jean-Paul.

    "Modern Necromancers borrow from the IMS, but older followers of the Art studied it before the Imperial System buried that knowledge," Jean-Paul replied helpfully. "I suppose this Lazarus must be a witness of what the Vatican calls the Old Ways. Master says it''s a very versatile, if difficult, stream of traditional arcanistry."

    "The Old Ways¡­" Gwen kept her eyes peeled. "He''s using our Sigils and Invocations, though."

    "And you''re using the IMS to cast Greenskin Shamanism, Necromancy and even Svart¨¢lfar Soul Sorcery." Jean-Paul reminded her. "It isn''t as though we invented Sigils, that''s borrowed from ¨¢lfar Aranistry, just as Glyphs were originally Dwarven Runescripts."

    "So he''s an Old School Necromancer... just standing around casting spells." She glanced at her Magisters and Maguses from the Shard, who stood unmoved and unimpressed.

    "What of it?" Jean-Paul said. "Don''t you use Bone Shield? That''s similar."

    Gwen twisted her lips. Similar, sure, but her Master was Henry Kilroy. This guy¡ª who was his backer?

    "Identify Disease!"

    Lazarus Litvak interrupted her thoughts.

    Immediately, the group of sick and ill Tasm¨¹yiz lit up in hues of yellow and green. While the rats trembled and shook, the Necromancer walked among them, inspecting the findings. Lazarus singled out a few of the particular "well-lit" specimens for Life Siphon, then re-cast Identify to fine-tune his Divination.

    "You¡ª you¡ª and you¡ª" To Gwen''s surprise, Lazarus pointed to dozens of individuals "regularly sick" and told them to leave the group and return to their irrespective Clans.

    Compassion from a Corpse Conjurer?! Gwen suddenly saw Lazarus Litvak in a new light, shocked by the sympathy shown by the big-bad Death-for-hire.

    Once he collected enough "phage", Lazarus turned to the rest of the Tasm¨¹yiz in the original phalanxes. The unfortunate results furthermore affirmed her conviction.

    Lazarus'' spell did not stretch very far, barely fifty meters into the rag-tag cohort. Still, even covering a fraction of the gathered Rat-kin, he had gathered irrefutable evidence that even under the threat of death and the begging tones of their Elders, Rat-kin deserved eradication. There weren''t just yellow and green spots in the yet unsegregated crowd but whole swarths in the hundreds, mostly in clumps of a dozen or more.

    A great groan signalled the deflation of all hope.

    Gwen sighed for the invariability of "Human" nature.

    Saran''s gaslighting was a good strategy, she conceded. But that was also why she was inspired to save the Tasm¨¹yiz. She did not blame the poor sods who only now acknowledged that their elders were absolutely not joking when he asked them to out themselves even if they remotely suspected themselves of illness. That they didn''t was the accursed hope that one might live¡ª that one might escape persecution by remaining silent. After all, they were Tasm¨¹yiz. "Still and silent" was a part of their existential being. The cruelty here, Gwen concluded, belonged to the Khan and his lauded stratagem to separate the wheat from the chaff.

    Saran shrugged. The outcome was a forgone conclusion.

    Audibly, Saran asked Lazarus to venture among each of the blocks of Tasm¨¹yiz so that there was no doubt of their guilt.

    Gwen observed the Faun''s role-playing until her final verdict confirmed their worst suspicions¡ª that no camp of Rat-kin, Kobold, Gob or Rabbit-kin could supersede their worst natures.

    "Great Khan¡ª" Saran returned to the dais with Lazarus trailing behind her. "Your humble servant has failed. Please punish this one so your boundless anger may rest."

    The Horse Lord rose from his golden chaise, crushing the will of the shaking Tasm¨¹yiz with his presence alone.

    Gwen took a deep breath, then relaxed her over-tense muscles.

    The opportunity had ripened.

    Once the Great Khan delivered his decree, getting the Horse Lord to rescind his command would be an exercise in futility.

    "O MERCY¡ª GREAT KHAN¡ª"

    All eyes fell upon her.

    The masquerade was on.

    "I wish to be of service! Allow this meek one to take your sick and wounded so that all the Steppe will know of your boundless pity and compassion!"

    "War Mage!" The Khan''s mighty Cherbi stepped forward, one hand resting on the pommel of a short-handled glaive. "You overstep your boundary, even as a guest¡ª"

    "Forgive me, Honoured Cherbi¡ª" Gwen bowed from the waist until her hair traced the floor. "Lord Khan, I was MOVED by the majesty of your futile attempt at quenching treachery with compassion. Though these Tasm¨¹yiz who art but earth have soiled your trust with treason, their bodies yet possess the means to labour for your gain. The Great Horde would require supplies, Great Khan, one that will suffer if you were to visit the Clans with your rightful vengeance. Allow them to pay, O Lord, not through dusty death¡ª but with their life!"

    Khudu''s body imposed itself between her and the Khan. "You jest, Human."

    Gwen raised her head.

    Their gazes met: his dark and brutal, hers full of defiance.

    Essence Aura or Desolation? She wondered. What would impress the Khan while displacing his barbarian?

    "Temir Khan." It was Saran who broke the growing silence. "Though I am ignorant of her motives, I do not believe Magus Song speaks in jest. And Lord Cherbi, need I remind you that this young woman is the Devourer of Shenyang?"

    The unexpected assistance from the Shaman was enough to inspire a response from Temir Tengri. "You wish to claim these slaves, Magus Song?"

    "I wish to aid our cause, Great Khan, the Shard''s and the Horde''s." Gwen straightened her spine. "Leave their diseased bodies to me. I shall supply your citizens while keeping the illness from spreading, and in the process, spare the campaign from the grief of losing valuable labour."

    The Khan''s great head turned toward Gwen''s fellow Mages.

    "Gwen speaks true," Meister Bekker delivered as promised. "To my knowledge, she does possess the means to turn your dilemma into a boon."

    "Magus Song likewise has my support, though I know not how she will achieve her purpose," Magister Taylor gave his less optimistic opinion. "But know that even should she fail, so long as Magister Hill prepares our Translocation Mandalas and keep them safe, I can guarantee the campaign will have no shortage of feed and supply."

    Gwen made herself appear taller yet again as the Khan''s gaze swept over her body.

    "My Khan¡­" Khudu the Cherbi did not move from his spot. "I do not trust this one''s... ability."

    "Then trust this!" Gwen waved a hand.

    THUNK!

    THUNK!

    THUNK!

    A crate of HDMs displaced the dust, followed by a ton of rations and an ever-impressive pallet of SPAM.

    "Believe me, Great Khan, when I say that alone and without the need to tax provisions brought by Meister Bekker and Magister Taylor, I''ll be fine. The Cherbi may not trust me, but he cannot deny my inventory, my connections, and that I AM the Shoggoth''s Summoner."

    "Such generosity." Saran''s lips parted to reveal rows of ivory teeth. "Great Khan, if Magus Song wishes for this honour¡ª what reason do we have to deny her? The pavilion has yet to give a decree, meaning it now has an opportunity to shed itself of an undesired saddle. Why tax your coffers when Magus Song has bent her back to shoulder the burden?"

    Strangely, the Shaman''s support made her less confident.

    What did the ??pter see? Gwen wondered uneasily. What did Saran want? Undoubtedly, the Shaman''s purpose wasn''t to preserve food, fodder and rats.

    Gwen observed the makeshift court of the Khan''s advisors. To Temir''s left stood his disapproving Cherbi. To his right stood the smiling Saran. Curiously, the Khan''s disposition subconsciously shifted toward the ??pter Shaman standing on two hooves instead of his four-legged cousin.

    "Then we shall entertain Magus Song with the spared lives of these treasonous slaves." Temir Khan appeared to have reached a decision. "Esteemed Master Litvak. I ask that you separate the sick from the hale and persist in your labour until Magus Song''s generosity is satisfied."

    "I shall do as you command." The Necromancer bowed.

    "Magus Song," the Khan continued. "Certain conditions must be met if you wish our mercy entertained. Would you like to hear them?"

    "I am all ears, Khan of Khans." Gwen curtsied. To the left of the Khan''s court, her fellow Mages visibly relaxed.

    Like a dissipating thunder cloud, the murderous tension in the air had faded, leaving only the stink of soiled pants, moist loincloths and mangy fur, making thick the anxious air.

    "First¡ª" Temir Khan gestured to her new slaves. "The diseased cannot remain here; all who bear the phage seeds will part from Nukus for the Eastern Reaches. There is an oasis there, in a place called Shalkar. That will be your encampment."

    "As you command." Gwen had no idea where this place called Shalkar could be, but for now, the bluster must play on. To her dismay, Magister Taylor shook his head, after which the Ambassador engaged in a round of Silent Message with their Meister, who appeared amused.

    "Secondly¡ª" the Khan continued. "To show our generosity, we shall not task you with the survival of our slaves, only in keeping them away. Magus Song, you shall be the keeper of the ill ejected into the Eastern Reach for the duration of the Southern Campaign. We grant you the status of a Tumen and the privilege that comes with maintaining the Tasm¨¹yiz under your command. When we return victorious, you may return the survivors in exchange for rewards." The Khan''s eyes rested on her with interest. "Until then, or until the campaign ends, the Golden Pavilion will provide nothing. You alone shall shoulder the burden of restricting these Tasm¨¹yiz. If you should fail¡ª"

    "¡ª Magus Song will personally perform the duty your men had chosen to withhold today," Meister Bekker finished for their host. "Of that, Great Khan, you can be sure. Is that acceptable, Gwen?"

    "Wholly acceptable," Gwen affirmed her conviction. Now that she was over the hump of possibilities and into the realm of responsibility, she relaxed. Compared to the moral agony of doing nothing and watching a hundred thousand bodies piling into mass graves dug by orphans, the stress of getting down on her knees to do the dirty work was positively pleasant.

    In her mind, Gwen could already imagine Elvia''s cringing face.

    Help the Centaurs! Bring stability to the South! That''s what she had promised her Evee.

    Now?

    Now they had to trek through the Eastern Steppes to get to an oasis so she could set up a makeshift quarantine camp.

    It was just as well Elvia would support her two hundred per cent in this endeavour. If her friend even had an ounce of sentimentality left in her after all that Faith Magic training, she would chomp at the bits to save the blameless Tasm¨¹yiz, themselves victims of unsanctioned Necromancy from Spectre.

    "Then our paths align¡ª" the Khan''s booming voice rolled over the encampment. "In the interest of safety, Master Lazarus, make haste!"

    Gwen''s quest was in motion the moment Temir Tengri returned to the pavilion, meaning she had at best until nightfall to move the segregated rats. Griping that she had increased his work a hundred-fold, the Necromancer Lazarus Lavtik bemoaned his duty of separating the infected "phage bearers" from those merely ill or malnourished.

    After speaking with the Necromancer, her first stop was back to her companions, who now regarded her with expressions ranging from impressed to disgruntled. Whatever the case, all complaints died after Meister Bekker informed the crew that both their commanders supported Gwen''s self-elected actions and that as a Magister-in-waiting with her potential, her "Maverick" actions were within expectation.

    "How do you intend to move ''your people'' to Shalkar?" Magister Taylor motioned for their Translocation Specialist to join their consultation circle, then conjured forth a map. "That''s three hundred kilometres away across nothing but rolling badlands with deserts in-between."

    "¡­ slowly?" Gwen answered optimistically.

    "Do you intend to move all of them?"

    "Yes?"

    "I don''t think you understand, Magus Song." Eli Hill pointed to the map. "It might take you less than two hours to fly that distance, but on foot, a Transmuter can cover at most ten kilometres of moderate wilderness, assuming no Magical Creatures, per hour. Even with healthy Rat-kin, you''re looking at thirty, forty or fifty hours of non-stop travel. As your logistical advisor, I can inform you that HEALTHY civilians can endure a forced march of four-plus-four hours if you desire minimal loss of numbers. Realistically, you will be travelling for anywhere between five days to a week to reach Shalkar, do you understand?"

    Gwen''s eyes grew glazed when the hard facts struck her like a moist slab of thawing fish. Instantly, the skin under her figure-hugging suit grew clammy.

    "In addition, you''ll be heading a column of the sick and dying," Hill continued to deliver his opinion. "I shall inform you of some parallel statistics on when I was responsible for transporting refugees from the Algerian coast fleeing the Mermen. Even with three Mage Flights and mechanised transportation, our attrition rate for refugees with minor injuries and rationed supplies was forty-seven per cent."

    "F-forty seven per cent?!" Gwen felt her heart sink. She glanced at the groups now streaming out of the camp into the desert, where only a few hours ago, they had fought the Sand Wyrm. Now, the bloodstained sand served as their temporary holding cell, one from which any individual could seek to leave on pain of collective death. If half of the poor sods were going to die before they even reached Shalkar, Gwen shuddered, then her self-indulgent quest was merely an act of masochism. "That''s bloody terrible! Were you attacked?"

    "We were¡ª but we handled it," Hill explained. "Far from monsters, it was hunger, thirst and fatigue that struck down the weak. The sun killed the rest. Without cover, you can hardly expect urban folk to survive in a desert. That said, your wards have fur¡ª so who knows?"

    Gwen felt suddenly at a loss. She brought food and water¡ª arguably not enough food for what was shaping up to be something like almost ten thousand outcasts, but enough. Nonetheless, the journey to the oasis suddenly became far more complicated than going from A to B.

    "Gwen¡­ you anticipated the attrition, I hope. The Steppes isn''t a wine tour." Major Kott said with caution.

    Gwen smiled in such a way that made the Mages raise their brows.

    "Oh Lord¡­" Major Kott, the only Mage genuinely possessing an understanding of her impulsiveness, touched three fingers to his temple. "At this rate, you won''t even need to get to Shalkar. How about you pitch in something else to please the Khan, and Meister Bekker can try to convince him otherwise? Maybe set up a camp closer to Nukus?"

    "No." Bekker shook her head. "The Khan''s decree is final, as is my word. Gwen has to swallow her bitter pill. Besides, I thought her plan was perfectly sound."

    Kott looked at Gwen.

    At Meister Bekker''s prompt, Gwen rummaged through her mental and physical inventory. She had cases of Maotai, but not enough to infuse ten thousand or more individuals. Concurrently, there was nothing magical about her SPAM or her military rations. And even diluting her Remove Disease potions with Healing Potions, she would have a few hundred doses at best.

    The two Golem Suits? That''s not going to help, for now.

    Her Habitat? She could cram two hundred rats into the grey Astral Space, that''s it.

    Call for Golos? Unless Gogo spontaneously learned healing magic from Ruxin, he was at best a guard dog.

    Evee? She would soon ask Taylor to contact the Ordo''s chapel in Baku, but even if her friend were to leave London right away, she could only bring herself and Mathias and a few Storage Rings of supplies sourced from Walken.

    Finally, she could improve the health of the Rat-kin with Essence, but she wasn''t an endless fountain of youth.

    In short, many items would help.

    But she couldn''t think of a single way to help ten thousand refugees survive an Exodus through the desert, at least not without the heavens providing manna bread.

    Were sacrifices necessary then?

    Unbidden, she glanced at the Centaurs forming a bulwark to fence off the infected refugees. Saran''s Shamans were among the Horse Lords, applying mysterious blood-paste to the bodies of those singled out by Lazarus.

    The stray solutions inside her head finally entwined like the hook and loop of a velcro band. Through clouds of befuddlement, erudition struck like an Empowered Lightning Bolt.

    There WAS a simple way to keep the Tasm¨¹yiz hale.

    And orderly.

    And obedient.

    First in life.

    And in death.

 Chapter 412 - Of Rats and Mice

THUNK!

    THUNK!

 Chapter 413 - The Chosen

SPLAT!

 Chapter 414 - The Living Bread

    The badlands came to a flat and unenterprising conclusion after two days, leaving only ochre earth and blue horizon stretching over rolling dunes.

    A shapely silhouette, "The Calamity", hovered over her gathered mischief, with her guardians Caliban and Ariel floating on either side, awaiting the return of their third sibling.

    Compared to the stretch of sandy space ahead, the rock-strew valley had provided much-needed shelter against aerial and subterranean predators. Above the valley, very few flying creatures were a match for Golos. Below, her Familiars, Hounds and Centurions took care of business from terrestrial predators like the Goanna-shaped Basalt Basilisks.

    The Ascension of her Centurions had greatly lubricated the passage of her rat-tag stream of refugees through the twisting intestines of the gorge. By now, she had rewarded most of the worthy. And though she had Essence to spare, Gwen decided to save such opportunities for reinforcing positive behaviour, such as in the case of Ix, who finally received his just reward after throwing himself into "public service" with a zealous fervour.

    The extra caution meant the transit took more time than anticipated, unduly taxing her limited resources.

    First of all, day four marked the end of her Cure Disease potions.

    Her Healing Potions were also running low.

    Her supply of rations was at its last pallet, as was most of her SPAM.

    When they entered, there had been no visible means to provide food for the rats on the scale necessary, at least not during their slow meander through the badlands. That said, according to Strun, there were Bactrian camel herds in the hundreds of thousands meandering between Smarkland and Ashgabat. Likewise, in the rocky hills of Dushanbe, hundreds of thousands of rock goats scaled the basalt cliffs, while further out, innumerable Saiga ranged just outside the dunes.

    The problem, alas, was getting the food to her people, or vice versa.

    "Priestess. Once past the stone forest, we must tread lightly on the sand," the well-travelled Strun had supplied her with additional information for the journey beyond, including the lands surrounding Shalkar. Over the past few days, she had extensively relied on the whiskered Demi-human, whose title of "Shadow Runner" proved more than just a cool moniker. When she had inquired about its meaning, Strun''s grandfather had informed her that the title meant courier. Within their Clan, those who possessed the strength to fight, the agility to obfuscate their presence and the cunning to evade foes in the desert trained to be the bearer of messages between the settlements. The Runner''s fighting prowess, Strun had explained, was a necessity of the job rather than their primary function.

    "...Between the herds and us, the Sand Wyrms reign. None may pass peacefully without the means to fly, and even then, there are Rocs and Harpies reigning over the skies. Shalkar is a place with water and shelter¡ª but it is also a natural prison."

    Curious, Gwen asked the rats how the tribe had reigned in the Wildland''s past before they became Tasm¨¹yiz. Stian the Elder wistfully informed her that in the days before the Beast Tide, when their numbers were in the tens of millions and more, Clan-kin would swarm their enemies and pick them apart, each armed with the teeth-blades of the Afaa Al-Halak. Many would perish in such battles, but given enough bodies, their hunts were seldom unsuccessful. However, when the desert rapidly expanded after the descent of the Fire Sea, extensive droughts decimated the Rat-kins'' fields. Consequently, Clans warred among themselves, after which the survivors chose bondage.

    "Strength in numbers..." Gwen recalled feeling ill, coming to understand a small part of why the Centaurs were so keen on pruning the rats'' numbers, as well as why they saw death as utterly pedestrian.

    Thankfully, she had immediate endeavours to distract her.

    Her Wyvern was on its way back, communicating through thoughts imposed via Empathic Link.

    Unlike in their arboreal adventures or Shenyang, the Wyvern thoroughly enjoyed the open terrain. When her creature landed, she verified his enjoyment from the crimson gore around his mouth and on his hind claws.

    "What did you run into?" She inspected her Planar Ally for damage and was satisfied that the Wyvern was unharmed,

    "The rat speaks true." Her Wyvern dipped its head, blasting her with his foetid breath. "Camels, horses and deer range in the lands beyond the dunes."

    "How was the oasis itself?"

    "Hee," Golos snorted. "Occupied."

    Gwen raised both brows.

    "By Centaurs, naturally." Golos huffed. "And no, I didn''t eat them."

    Were these Centaurs a part of the Khanate? Gwen thought to herself. How would the residents treat her rats when they arrive en masse? Hopefully, the Khan had sent a message across via his eagles; else, things could get awkward.

    "How does our passage look?" Gwen continued. "Sand Wyrms?"

    "Lots of young ones with their sand pits here and there." The Wyvern drew a quick map with the tip of its wings. It didn''t take a stretch of the imagination for a flying creature to visualise what could be seen from above. "Just so you''re aware, Calamity. There must be a bastard somewhere either to the north or south, where the land turns to Dragon-teeth."

    Gwen took Golos'' meaning to infer that a lower-tier Dragon likely occupied the more mountainous regions. That much was within expectation, as the general rule applied to Wildlands everywhere. However, compared to the Yinglong, the desolation of the desert and the badlands spoke of their "bastard" cousin''s poverty, reinforced by the fact that the Sand Wyrms here were infinitely more "Worm" than "Wyrm", both pointing to the end-product of a multi-generational dilution of divinity.

    When Golos finally finished his etch-a-sketch map, Gwen turned to her crowd and invited her Prefects. "Gents, take a look. What do you think?"

    The Ascended rats shrunk their bodies as they huddled beside her, wary of Golos'' lean and hungry gaze. Now that they had taken on her aspect, their flesh was far more gratifying than ordinary rodents.

    "This isn''t good¡ª the Afaa al-Halak has multiplied," Stian remarked while Golos roughly marked where he had seen the enormous nests. Unlike its far-ranging adult form, a young Sand Wyrm remained in its nest-burrow until it had gained enough vitality or Essence to morph. These, according to Stian''s description, ranged from creatures a dozen segments in length to elder variants a century or older, with burrows thousands of meters in length and tremor-senses covering four to five kilometres. That the Sawahi was overpopulated was interesting as well, for it meant the ecological pyramid of the Eastern Steppes had essentially collapsed without the Rat-kin. "This will not be an easy trek, Priestess. It may take weeks if we wish to be safe."

    Strun''s job, together with other volunteer hunters, scouts and half-trained Shadow Runners, would be to fan out in front of the great column, using their survival skills to test the path before them. It was a selfless task, for a mishap would mean falling into the maw of a Sand Wyrm.

    Looking at the "map", Gwen had to concur.

    If Golos was even remotely correct, "avoiding the Afaa al-Halak nests" would involve crossing the Sawahi in great loops and swirls, like finger-painting a Van Gogh rendition of "Swirly Swirly Sawahi".

    In that time, how many would collapse from the extreme heat and cold?

    While the upper regions of the Caspian froze and the southern coast boiled, the desert''s climate meant that at noon, temperatures reached the mid-thirties, while at midnight, the surface could drop below zero. With the phage further weakening the stamina of her followers, she possessed scant confidence that they could dally in the desert for long. In the open Sawahi, the probability of running into an adult Sand Wyrm also multiplied. In that case, Gwen could only pray that their enemy was a younger Wyrm and not the ancient beast that the Khan had bested with the help of ten thousand Horse Lords.

    "Our best bet is to punch through," Gwen suggested. "Gogo, how strong are these larval Sand Wyrms?"

    "I could take them if they''re exposed," her Wyvern grunted. "If you can lure enough of it out, I''ll tear it from its hiding hole."

    "The young Afaa al-Halak will retreat at the first sign of danger, Lord Golos." Strun''s voice drifted toward them. "They''re quick¡ª very, very quick for their size. A few breaths, that''s all it takes for the larvae to retreat deep into its den."

    Golos scoffed.

    "I''ll have Cali provide backup," Gwen thanked the rat for this advice, then motioned to her salivating Big Bird. "His Afaa al-Halak form should be able to chase down injured specimens or flush them from the burrows."

    "As you wish, Priestess." The other rats joined Strun''s heartfelt supplication.

    "Shaa-Shaa!" Caliban extended a pair of twisted, lolling tongues in blue and red.

    Gwen received the gooey lick without flinching, wiping the slime off her bodysuit with no more bother than a nursing mother brushing milk from her sleeve.

    "EE-EE!" Not to be beaten, Ariel nudged her arm, demanding a pat.

    "Right, anything else?" Gwen obliged while addressing her thoroughly impressed Prefects.

    "We''re ready to march!" the gathered crowd of red-cloaked rats attempted to reply as one, though their timing made the spectacle more comical than grand. "Will us into the desert, Priestess!"

    "Right. Perform a head-count," Gwen gave the command, then took to the air once more. "Check equipment. Pack the camp. We leave as soon as the roll call concludes!"

    When the sun reached its zenith, Strun''s scouts encountered their first juvenile Afaa al-Halak.

    Her Void dogs sallied forth at Gwen''s command, "tumbling" and "stumbling" as the sand turned liquid, sending her creatures downward into the bottom of the bowl-shaped dunescape, which from the air resembled a hollowed-out circle.

    Mid-tumble, parasitic Shell Scarabs that lived within the Afaa al-Halak''s domain burst from the sand in an attempt to hijack their host''s prey. But, when her dogs snapped back and consumed the beetles, the swarm quickly discovered more amicable game in the mischief stickybeaking at the pit''s edge.

    The Shell Scarabs converged into a swarm to her relief, making it easy for her to disperse the buzzing spearhead with a Void Maelstrom. Together with the Centurions and her hounds, the Rat-kins escaped with many injuries but no deaths.

    Nearer the centre of the Sand Wyrm pit, the eye-less, larval monstrosity emerged as a pale-white stalk six meters across and covered in ghoulish chitin. If Gwen had to give the thing a terrestrial parallel, she would say it resembled a Sand Lion Bobbit Worm chimaera. Golos, who had been circling the whole while, instantly accelerated into a supersonic dive, striking with equal grace and power to harpoon the creature as a living bolt of Wyvern-shaped lightning.

    The sand shifted as Golos landed with outstretched claws gouging the crushed carapace. Then, with purple ichor spraying in every direction, the Sand Wyrm larvae lifted into the air.

    "Yee¡ªyee¡ªYEE¡ªYEEEE¡ª!" the larvae''s weeping was like a babe''s as Golos dragged out its prawn-like lower body, snapping cartilage and crushing exoskeleton as the Sand Wyrm rapidly ascended.

    The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    "Screee! Screee¡ª!" came the cries of worship and awe from below.

    With the whole hog exposed, Gwen could see that its entire lower half was without armour and semi-clear, like larvae in the middle of moulting. Evidently, the older the Sand Wyrm, the more segments it grew and the more armoured it became.

    Once her Wyvern reached a suitable height, it let loose a sadistic cackle, then allowed the creature ten seconds to learn flight.

    "THKREEEEEEE¡ª!" came the sound of a semi-trailer meeting a sudden stop on un-compacting sand. Though the larvae''s outer armour held, Gwen could see that its internal organs had ruptured from the impact, if not outright exploded by the shockwave of its landing.

    Gwen and her company of Centurions observed the gory results, then with a mightly "SCREEE¡ª!" from Stian, the swarm converged on the deceased holy beast.

    Above the Rat-kin, their Priestess suddenly realised she had made a terrible mistake.

    "Fuck!" Gwen howled with sand-stomping frustration. "Gogo! You need to kill it IN-RANGE! Farrrrrrk! My Afaa al-Halak CORE!¡±

    Strun walked among his assigned Centurion, followed by two of his Contubernium, each carrying hefty plates of steaming Wyrm meat.

    Following their successful hunt of the Afaa al-Halak larvae, the Elders made good use of the carcass, letting nought go to waste. The Priestess was happy to see her people acting industriously, encouraging the Rat-kin to recover the crystalline flesh she jokingly called "Manna".

    The carcass of a holy Afaa al-Halak was full of treasures. The meat would keep for weeks when dried. Its chitin could be bent and moulded into armour and tools, while its teeth and mandibles made primitive but deadly weapons.

    Watching his kin feast, Strun considered his preference for the rations and the salty, fatty cans of ambiguous flesh his Priestess bestowed. For his meek people, however, the steady stream of white-jade meat was something that happened only in the Rat-kins'' illustrious past.

    "If we survive." One of his Contubernium adjusted his grip on the enormous platter. "We''ll be telling this to our children for generations. The Great Trek from Nukus to Shalkar¡ª with our Priestess conjuring the flesh of the Afaa al-Halak from the air."

    "Manna," Strun corrected his officer. "She called it manna."

    "Ma-nuh." The Contubernium mouthed the word. "I like it. What does it mean?"

    Strun shrugged. "I do not know, Bizth, although I suspect we''ll be eating Manna for some time if she has her way."

    The crowd laughed, some nervously, others with fragile hope.

    "Eat up!" Strun commanded. "Eat until you''re bursting! The march ahead is long, and you will need all your strength when the time comes to flee."

    Dozens of dirty hands reached out and retrieved their share.

    The sound of slurping and gnawing filled the camp. Usually, the Rat-kin tasted flesh once a month, and that''s if they''re lucky to receive scraps from the Centaurs. In winters of great famine, tribes less civil than the Gold Pavilion straightaway saw their slaves as two-legged sheep to fortify a stew, turning mouths into food.

    Now, watching his fellow Rat-kins eat and laugh despite the fomenting illness brewing inside them, Strun wondered what would happen if his people, who were experts at growing grain and sowing wild seeds, could have a land to call their own. Would their children still die from milk-less mothers? Would their bones still be brittle and their arms and legs the likeness of stark branches washed up on the shore of the Caspian Sea?

    "Calamity!" Golos'' Empathic Link stirred Gwen from her meditation. "Get up. They''ve returned."

    Gwen forced her leaden lids to open, revealing bloodshot eyes.

    After six days of vigilance over her charges, even Almudj''s Essence struggled to keep up with her psychic fatigue. While she did attempt to take catnaps here and there, inevitably something would require her attention, such as yet another sick Rat-kin bursting like a virulent pustule, coughing and hacking until they expired.

    From observable evidence, the manifestation of the "phage seed" inside the Rat-kin progressed in stages. First, the seed took root in the rat''s starved bodies. Then, the incubation period brought on fatigue, weakness and mild hyperthermia. Finally, the last stage involved violent expulsion and an all-consuming fever.

    With the early sufferers, she had felt obligated to offset the illness with motes of her Essence.

    But on the second night, Strun and Stian had approached with the disheartening news that many in the lower ranks now looked forward to the ripening of their phage seed and had neglected hygiene in the hope of being unduly transformed.

    Gwen had felt dispirited by the news, though not surprised by the low ambition of the mischief''s entrepreneurial spirit.

    After that, she restricted herself to the hierarchy she had inadvertently created, dispensing Essence-infused Maotai through her network of Prefects, Centurions and Contuberniums. Her concoction wasn''t enough to Ascend the rats, though it did stave off the worst of the ripened phage, catalysing a robust recovery. That and Gwen prayed the bounty of Sand Wyrm protein she piled into the hungry swarm would keep their overall health buoyant.

    After Gwen''s priestly duties were delegated, she did her best to rest, entering deep meditation for no more than an hour when their next item of woe appeared on the horizon.

    Harpies.

    These weren''t the fair-faced birds of paradise like Gogo''s pretty Phalera, but vicious, vulture-feathered beasties in black and brown with mien the likeness of Troll-hags. By Strun''s confession, the Harpies were the Rat-kin''s principal predators from time immemorial, regularly picking off stragglers in the field or those too young or weak to hide in a burrow in time. Occasionally, when either sides'' numbers grew too great, all-out battles would break out, with either the Harpies emptying Clan warrens or the Rat-kin swarming up the badlands for bird roasts and omelettes. After the Tide, when the rats'' numbers fell, they became fodder.

    While crossing the Badlands, their first encounter with the Harpies had been brief. Golos had told the Harpy to "Flock off". They did not, to which Golos answered by reincarnating their Priestess with a single Dragon Breath.

    Now, the birds were back with a vengeance, both for blood and for the meals on legs under Gwen''s charge.

    "Calamity, I think they brought the whole tribe." Her Wyvern''s voice brimmed with anticipation.

    In the distance, where the red-rimmed sun struck the flat horizon, she could see a thin-black horizontal line growing larger.

    "¡­ That''s a damned bird Tide!" Gwen''s temple throbbed. This time, unlike with the Big Birds, it was her fault for not entertaining the idea of eradicating all witnesses. She had even chuckled when Golos dispersed their avian foe with a Draconic-flex. "The same shit we saw in Amazonia..."

    Gwen regarded her surroundings. "...Only now we''re exposed."

    What she meant was that they lacked the cover of the forest. Without the trees to block their foe, even Golos would eventually be taken to task like a Sand Wyrm brought down by wild Rat-kin.

    "How long until they get here?" Gwen decided they may as well prepare for the worst.

    "Another five minutes or so," Golos replied. Unlike the Harpies, the Wyvern flew at a much higher stratum of atmosphere to perform its favourite tactic¡ª barrel-rolling its whipping mace-tail into his enemies, crushing their bones and bodies and hearing the lamentation of their flesh.

    "Use Dragon Fear to delay them," Gwen commanded. "Buy me more time."

    Her Wyvern obeyed.

    "Prefects!" she commanded the chittering mischief with a word. "Your natural foes are upon us! Dig in as you''ve been taught! Protect your wards!"

    At once, the swarm burst into furious activity.

    The survivor''s kits Walken had procured came with military-spec spades enchanted with Minor Earth Moulding cantrips, allowing the user to expend an LDM to slice stone and shape the earth. In the hands of the Centurions and Contubernium, they served as weapon and tool for shelter and defence. Together with the Rat-kin''s natural tunnelling instincts, it was possible for most of the rats to hide in makeshift dens while the battle above took place.

    Once sheltered, each burrow would be guarded by an Ascended Centurion, whose newfound strength should rival that of a Vulture-kin.

    Without the need to worry her head over the rats, she could concentrate on dispersing the birds.

    "Alright." Gwen redoubled her attention on the approaching line of hungry avians. "Ariel, Cali, Gogo¡ª clump up those bloody bin-chickens. I want that flock nice and tight and ripe for a Maelstrom!"

    The terrible screeches of a tempest-tossed heaven strained the limits of Struns'' hearing.

    Hungrily huffing at the ozonised air, the Rat-kin wondered if the Old Ones in the lost annals of his people spoke of similar cataclysms when they carved the Tribal Totems of his people.

    Above his burrow, two swirling Maelstroms had transformed the golden dusk of dying day into bruised mauve. From the lightning layer, lashing bolts of fulminating emerald arced across the churning heavens, tossing Harpies like paper planes. Below, a second eye glared down, its pupils the very stuff of the abyss, sucking in anything that flew close enough to be touched by licking tendrils of Void-born wind.

    Bathed in alternating hues of light and darkness, Strun fought tooth and nail against the wayward Harpie raiding their borrow to make off with his helpless kin. Already, no less than three Vulture-kin lay by the entrance of his makeshift shelter.

    The first had been foolish, entering headfirst with its violence-maddened eyes. Strun had allowed the creature to pass; then, as it menaced his Contubernium, he had descended with his teeth-daggers, striking the Harpy near the collarbone, instantly disabling its serpentine neck.

    The next assailant attempted to dismantle the burrow itself, forcing him from his shelter. Strung had parried the Harpy''s claws, taking full advantage of his Essence-fed dexterity, then lopped off the bird''s feet from the ankles before proceeding to decapitate his foe.

    His latest kill was a Harpy Matron, a bird-woman capable of using innate sorcery. When the creature disabled an adjacent burrow with its screeching curse, he dove into the shadows then emerged from below the bird. To his dismay, his daggers proved ineffective against the steely feathers on the Matron''s wings and legs. The hen''s abdomen and lower organs, however, were a much softer story.

    When finally Strun returned to his burrow, he was crimson with gore and steaming with offal. Around him, hundreds of his kin perished, but ten times that number in Harpes had paid the price.

    With eyes dyed red with worship with reverence, his gaze swept upward for more prey.

    "Ariel! Empowered Chain Lightning!"

    "EE¡ªEE!" came the thrilling trill of death by electrocution.

    As a goddess of vengeance, his Priestess walked on air, directing the heavens to denounce the Vulture-kin, cooking the birds by the dozen as they sought to close in and strike her down.

    "SHAA¡ª!" Strun turned his gaze southward, where a giant bird half-melded into the uncertain light snatched Harpies from the air as though hapless mayflies, cramming its mouth with screaming bird-kin even as its slender finger-claws mutilated more victims. No matter how many instances the Harpies scored gouges deep enough to kill a Rat-kin outright, the dark falcon continued its flight, cutting a swarth through the panicked flock.

    Elsewhere, her Wyvern barged through the scattering bird-Tide as a flying battering ram, shedding down, bone and blood with every passage of its brutal body.

    In the past, Strun had seen the Khitani Horde do no less.

    But here was one Human female.

    His lone Priestess, against a Clan of Harpies!

    Such confidence flowed through Strun that his veins felt like conduits channelling her viridescent Essence.

    "SKREEEE¡ª" The Shadow Runner let loose a battle shout, the cry of the free Rat-kin, a cry of anguish and gladness with the pent-up frustration of three decades of abject misery.

    "SKREEEEE¡ª" another cry echoed from a burrow not far from Strun. Another victor emerged, missing an arm but munching on the wing of a splayed bird.

    "SKREEE¡ª!"

    "SKREEE¡ª!"

    "SKREEE¡ª!" More of his kin announced the end to Rat-kin''s humility.

    "Priestess!" Strun cried out.

    ¡°SKREEE¡ª!¡±

    ¡°SKREEE¡ª SKREEE¡ª!¡±

    ¡°SKREEE¡ª SKREEE¡ª! SKREEE¡ª!¡±

    More voices joined Strun, some buoyed by victory, others using the collective resonance to strengthen their body against mortal injuries.

    Louder and louder, the chittering of the Rat-kin swarm overcame the maddening song sang by the Harpy Tide, informing their foe that the Rat-kin had returned to reclaim the Sands of the Sawahi and that without terrible bloodshed and incalculable violence, they cannot be made meek ever again.

    "¡­ Calamity¡­" Golos'' warning came for the umpteenth time.

    "What is it now?" Gwen dispersed her Wall of hovering Void and retaliated with a fire-and-forget volley of Ball Lightning in the Void variant. Her eyes followed the trailing balls of hungering Void ink until they splashed against her intended targets. "Did the Harpies call for a Roc or something?"

    "No." Her Wyvern''s tone was curiously wary. "I think our battle has attracted the attention of the one I spoke about in the southeast."

    "What do you mean?" Gwen squinted her eyes, perceiving nothing on the southeasterly horizon.

    Clicking his tongue, Golos turned her in the right direction. "An old Wyrm. I can smell its bastardised Essence stink even from here."

    Gwen''s electrified fingers grew arrested at the news. "You''re shitting me. That the Dragon you talked about?"

    "No," Golos assured her. "This thing''s Essence is lower than mud¡ª know well, Calamity, that only dumb and hungry things will be attracted to our ancient Essences. Even a bastard would think twice about our Patriarchs before showing themselves."

    "Then why is it coming here?" Gwen furrowed her brows. Assuming Golos was correct, they were woefully equipped to deal with the Death Worm.

    "Probably the sound, the mana and the spilt Essence. We are causing quite the stir¡ª" Golos pointed a wingtip to her Warding Bolts, Thunder Storm, Maelstroms and her Familiars, each adding to her brilliance in the night. "How many times have you used the Ancient One''s power? I could probably sense your presence from a few mountain ranges away."

    Fighting off a wave of spell fatigue, Gwen doubled-checked the Harpy swarm, noting that, at the very least, the bird brains were scattering. Her present resources were unbalanced, for though her mana ran on fumes, her vitality was brimming, flushing her cheeks and making her insides all strange. To offset the distracting overflow, she had bled the excess into her Centurions via Death March. "So it''s smart enough to find us. Do you think we can frighten it away?"

    "That''s assuming it''s also smart enough to think." Golos'' thoughts transmuted into her mind. "More likely, if the bastard''s bastard is dumb and desperate enough, it''ll charge right past us."

    "Why past us?" Gwen willed her Familiars to return to her side. Below, her rats were emerging from their holes and chanting in as though communing with some netherworld power. "Are we not morsels that could hasten its evolution into a higher-order Draconoid? Help it shed its worm-like coil, that sort of thing?"

    "For one, we True Dragons fly." Golos laughed with undisguised arrogance. Then, observing Gwen''s confused consternation, his tone grew mocking. "Foolish Calamity! Have you forgotten? Your Essence isn''t just in you anymore."

    Gwen glanced down at her mischief. "My rats? There''s barely a hundred of them! Surely it''s got camel herds to devour?"

    "Ah¡ª but the Primordial One''s Essence is exquisite and nourishing," Golos reminded her, shaking the gore from his silvery scales. "And for an Essence starved bastard living in a place like this with no mountains and no patron, even a mosquito is meat!"

 Chapter 415 - Ballad of the Potter Wasp

    Without a second of hesitation, Gwen activated Death March, simultaneously delivering an unambiguous order for her Rat-kin to flee in four routes away from the incoming Afaa al-Halak. This way, even if one-quarter of her wards got caught up in the earth-churning battle to come, at least three-quarters should remain safe.

    Unlike the original Greenskin spell, she conducted no ceremony nor worship. Instead, with complete practicality, Gwen tethered her conduits to Caliban, then incanted the rites that would activate the Sigils necessary to mimic the effect of the Shamanistic enchantment. A second later, she became a living vitality transformer, her Astral and physical body substations to Caliban''s Consumption-powered generator.

    Fighting exhaustion, her irises sparked with vivid viridescence as the converted vitality of countless living beings Caliban had consumed empowered her favoured Rat-kins, concurrently saturating their scions with an emerald vibrancy.

    "Priestess!"

    "Goddess!"

    "Scree¡ª SCREEE¡ª"

    "Scree¡ª SCREEE¡ªSCREE¡ª"

    Her screeching Centurions transformed into shamrock beacons in the dying light of day, turning the rat horde an eerie shade of chartreuse.

    Through them, Gwen could feel her rats, their whereabouts, and the buoyant emotions of hope and worship and faith flowing through their minds like a mighty river.

    "GO!" she commanded them, instilling her rats with a silent command to work as one.

    Her Rat-kin fled, those hale and able carrying the sick, while the Ascended each bore three Rats, one on their back, one in each arm, bounding down the dunes for the safety of darkness and distance to Shalkar.

    Some may yet fall victim to the surviving Harpies or the desert cats that roamed the valley, but Gwen had no energy now to spare the unlucky few.

    "EE-ee?" Ariel nudged her side, sensing the resonating anxiety stemming from her Divination Sigil.

    "Shaa-Shaa!" Caliban remained keen on finding another source of vitality to replenish what its Master had removed via sorcerous coercion.

    After soothing her Familiars, Gwen materialised from her Storage Ring a Sand Wyrm larval Core, the largest they had recovered along the way. Then, shuddering as the Void Energy ravaged her overly-taxed conduits, she activated her latent, life-saving defences.

    "Reactive Bone Shield!" Her first insurance spell consumed the Creature Core, manifesting in the space surrounding her body as phantom scarab shells that would solidify into physical barriers should her health be threatened.

    "Lesser Sanguine Mantle!" The second spell was her true-preserver¡ª another layer of insurance on top of her Contingency Ring; as helpful as the storages were, it neither prevented mortal injury nor assured survival against the Land Leviathan.

    "Sympathetic Life-Link!" Concluding with her final insurance, Gwen felt her skin crawl as faint scarlet threads materialised in the direction of her Familiars and her Planar Ally.

    Caliban was a giant clump of aberrant vitality that manifested in the Astral Space of her mind like an enormous, tumorous growth. In comparison, its brother Ariel was a sleek sliver of condensed lifeforce brimming with Positive Energy, atypical of Lightning-imbued Magical Creatures. Golos, conversely, was a crystalline nucleus of unalloyed life, as befitting the scion of a True Dragon. So long as Life-Link remained active, Ariel and Golos should both benefit from Caliban''s future feast.

    Other lesser buffs followed. Everything from Resist Elements to Enhanced Ability, though these were now insignificant. If she took a full blow from something delivering the equivalent force of a rocket-propelled skyscraper, having a more robust constitution or the means to bench another fifty kilograms wasn''t going to help.

    Her current plan was simple. If the Sand Wyrm proved intelligent enough to negotiate, she would use Almudj''s Essence to bluff the beast. However, if the creature revealed itself to be dumb, she could only fight to delay its passage.

    As for wrangling the worm as though she were Lancelot of old...

    She had met and fought enough Magical Creatures now to know that the older the being, the more exponential the "force" required to best them. A genuinely ancient monster that had lived a millennium or more in the sands of the Sawahi weren''t something Caliban or herself could hope to consume without paying an equal cost.

    Mayhap Shoggy could give the Sand Wyrm a run for its money. For now¡ª the best she could hope to do was divert the creature long enough for her rats to flee for shelter.

    "I''ll attack first." Golos huffed, filling the frigid night air with motes of arcing electricity.

    "There''ll be a literal mountain of meat to dig through even if we do get through the carapace," Gwen projected the woe of her Divination Sigil. "Assuming Caliban manages to enter the Wyrm in the first place."

    "That''s assuming it can''t regenerate," the Wyvern said. "Earthen Drakes are tough bastards, even the bastards."

    ¡°Void prevents Regneration.¡± she reminded her half-arsed True Dragon.

    "Do I look like I have a problem growing back scales after our bouts?"

    Gwen had wondered about that.

    "Earth Drakes are ugly, can''t fly, and infinitely dumber, but they are far tougher and more robust than us upper world Dragons."

    Dumber than Gogo! Gwen felt a chill tingling her spine. Not much of a chance to negotiate then. She just hoped the creature was smart enough to know pain.

    "¡­ It''s coming toward us," the Wyvern announced after sniffing the air. "... and now it''s advancing southward."

    Gwen cursed internally. That was Strun and Stian''s group. Was it because they had received the most Essence? Out of all her Prefects, the grandfather-grandson duo had been the most useful by far and thus had gained the lion''s share of her blessings. Now it seemed her generosity had done her favourites the opposite of a favour.

    "Ariel, Cali, with me!"

    "I''ll go on ahead and give it a kick to see if anyone''s home." Golos dived, twisting so that his enormous head led the charge. "If you see it attacking, then negotiations have broken down!"

    At her best, Gwen could fly just under a hundred and twenty kilometres an hour, which was nothing compared to a sound barrier piercing Wyvern.

    Even though she had grown significantly in power, she wasn''t sure that their battle would be closely contested if she fought the Gogo of today. While the power-focused Wyvern remained a one-trick pony in many regards, his supersonic attacks, like Temir Khan''s "Pilum of the People", wasn''t something readily defendable within the realm of Spellcraft.

    If a Mage had to face Gogo headfirst, they would require prior knowledge and preparation; both luxuries only upper-tier Mage teams could afford.

    Sometimes, Gwen fantasised about the prospect of revisiting the Lich that had almost taken her for a roundtrip down to the underworld. She knew a little too much about Necromancy now and could keep the creature occupied until her Essence ran out. If so¡ª how would an Undead at that tier resist an alpha strike from Golos? Or would it explode into ribbons of necrotic flesh the moment Gogo reamed the skeletal bastard from behind?

    "Calamity!" On cue, her Wyvern''s guttural Draconic ricochetted around her skull. "The bastard''s tougher than I thought! Those rats of yours are worm fodder!"

    It took her another minute until Gogo and the Wyrm came into view. She was still a fair distance away, yet already, her heart sank like a Land Shark into quicksand.

    The elder Afaa al-Halak was a God-damned tunnel boring engine, a living Bertha blasting across the desert, with only its enormous head and the occasional segment dipping above the seemingly liquid sand. From the air, its scale boggled the mind, for the only other being which left such a wake was Almudj, whose aftermath she had witnessed a lifetime ago at the Royal National.

    Comparatively, her private jet sized Wyvern was a flying lizard harassing the back of a black Angus Auroch.

    Her mind struggled to conceive the prospect of fighting an elemental force of nature.

    Gliding on currents of air flying off the Sand Wyrm''s silica-polished carapace, Golos lifted into the air and met her mid-way.

    "You couldn''t push through the chitin?" Gwen''s grim lips were glum from the frigid, desert air.

    Her Wyvern pointed a claw-tip toward a chunk of armour lying somewhere half-buried in the sand the size of a car. "I think that''s the first of a few layers. Also, the damned thing can grow armour back quicker than I could peel it."

    "¡­ Fuck." Gwen felt her temple throb. The Sand Wyrm wasn''t fast, but it was tireless. If Golos couldn''t break the thing open, there was little chance she could do anything either. Monsters innately possessed magic resistance, meaning her sorcery could only do so much against a creature like Golos. For a brute at the scale of the Wyrm, she might eventually succeed with Void magic, but by then, Christmas may have come and gone, the war would be over, and Evee would need to go home to her Rectrix. "Does it talk?"

    "I tried. Watch." Golos sucked in a lungful of electrified air. "Haug Wux! Xideevdru! Renthisj Svern!"

    Her Wyvern''s Draconic insults visibly tore through the air, demonstrating that harsh words could indeed kill.

    The Sand Wyrm slowed for a fraction of a second.

    "I think it¡ª" Gwen spoke.

    The Sand Wyrm moved on.

    "¡ª Fuck. What does that mean?" She turned to her Wyvern for unlikely wisdom.

    Gogo shrugged mid-flight. "Maybe it''s slow?"

    "How about I''ll try." Gwen mulled over the possibilities for a few seconds, then made her decision. Gathering her Lightning mana, she willed herself to speak in faux-Draconic provided by her Translation Stone, then channelled the words into an Almudj-powered Thundering Shatter.

    "OI! FATHERLESS IMBECILE! DOTH THOU KNOW HOW TO SPEAK?"

    She wasn''t exactly sure of the etiquette when addressing lowly "bastards" and so had to follow her Planar Ally''s lead.

    The shockwaves of her Essence-enhanced spell, which was enough to overpower portable Walls of Force when concentrated, rippled across the interlocking chitin, sending huge chunks of old carapace flying into the distance while shattering others.

    The Sand Wyrm stopped, this time coming to a complete halt, piling up a new dune in the process. Its head dug into the sand, then the lower sections of its body began to form a coil.

    "See? Nothing like a bit of Charisma," Gwen scoffed at her scowling Wyvern, then thought of an off-colour joke the likes of Tao might make. "You know, Gogo, they don''t call me the Worm Handler of Fudan for no¡ª WHOOA!"

    The ground imploded.

    The Sawahi erupted.

    Her Divination Sigil screamed.

    A bullet-shaped head larger than an A380 Dreamliner burst from the rising dune with the pressure of a volcanic eruption, slowly rotating in place while its seams peeled back like a three-petalled flower. In slow-motion and with an insurmountable force, the Sand Wyrm gained altitude with a rapidness that bellied its size, reaching for Golos, Gwen and her Familiars.

    Gwen Dimension Doored, then Doored again for good measure. As an avowed worm handler, she dared not risk the rapidly distending Afaa al-Halak being a grower.

    A hundred-odd meters away, she observed her stoic Caliban.

    "Shaa-Shaa!" Her Big Bird cawed as the whale-like tripartite lips enclosed, locking her poison-pill creature into the Wyrm''s maw. In the aftermath, the interlocking chitin sealed the slits, showing nary a sliver of fault.

    "EE-EE!" Ariel reappeared by Gwen''s side, worried that its sibling might be in for more than it could handle.

    "Cheeky prick!" Golos circled after a sudden acceleration to escape the Wyrm''s un-sportsmen-like assault. "If it thinks it can take us because of its girth, it''s got another thing coming."

    Gwen double-checked the phantom sphere of Undead chitin surrounding her body, wondering how well the Bone Armour would hold out against a worm with a partiality for vorarephilia. "Well, Cali''s inside now."

    She winced as she switched to Link Sight. "Strewth, the tongues have teeth!"

    Though Caliban''s optics wasn''t helpful in the traditional sense, its life-sensing organ could create something akin to night vision while inside the Afaa al-Halak. Presently, Caliban was rolling its way down the palate and tongues, where every inch had evolved to grind flesh and crush stone. Thankfully, the Wyrm was a swallower and not a chewer, for she could sense the undulating maw rolling its walls of rat-swords, sending Caliban backwards into its gullet.

    As for Cali, it bounced to and fro as a ball of Da-peng feathers, using its borrowed resilience and anti-Draconic talent to preserve its vitality. Thankfully, its feather armour held, which affirmed Gwen''s confidence. Even with the Da-peng''s seemingly impressive wingspan, Caliban was half the size of Golos, while the inside of the Sand Wyrm''s maw could fit a whole Da-peng from wingtip to wingtip, and again from roof to tongue. Likewise, the crushing component of the Wyrm''s mouth did not possess the equivalent of molars, resembling more so a serpent'' oesophagus.

    "It''s coming again," Golos warned her. "The imbecile doesn''t give up easy."

    The dunes exploded, pouring silica down on the Sawahi.

    Gwen waited for the last moment before Dimension Dooring again to safety. By the third thrust, their phallic predator appeared to lose interest, or at least conceded that just as Golos and Gwen were short on firepower, it lacked in other ways.

    Meanwhile, Caliban had finally made it past the Iron Maiden section of the Sand Wyrm and was now home free in a pink oesophagus thick with digestive mucus.

    Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

    Outside, the Sand Wyrm once again resumed its bee-line for her fleeing Rat-kin, crushing the dunes like an arctic icebreaker as it sailed into the sand sea.

    "Barbanginy!"

    Gwen gave the great Wyrm another thump on the head, enticing the beast with her concentrated Almudj''s Essence.

    The Sand Wyrm ignored her.

    "I knew it! This bastard''s intelligent!" she surmised at once.

    Golos grumbled. "If Ayxin or Ruxin were here, this brat would know real pain!"

    And if Gunther was here, Gwen mused. He could probably slice and dice the Sand Wyrm like schoolboys sectioning a flatworm to see what parts would grow back and what would die.

    "Shaa!" Caliban had transformed itself into its serpent form and was now freely swimming through the digestive slime, replenishing its exterior as it went. Gwen had contemplated using the Earth Wyrm form, but the reality was that increased surface area would only mean Caliban got digested faster. Different to the life-seeking serpent, its Wyrm form was best for solid rock, not the slippery, mucus-lined digestive tract that resembled a Pocket Space of its own.

    Should she empower Caliban now and have it randomly wreak havoc? In her mind, Gwen had hoped that some distance into the Wyrm, there would be signs, such as segments closer to its heart or lungs ripe for exploitation. At best, a significant nerve cord could sever the creature''s movements; at worst, a spleen or a kidney could set the Wyrm to writhe.

    But it would seem her hypothesis was far too optimistic. Elemental creatures were terrestrial in their anatomy but hardly required to follow the natural laws her body followed. If the Sand Wyrm began life as a creature fed by an Earthen Core and digestive tracts came later due to acclimatising to the Prime Material, why should it follow the evolutionary boundaries of mortal creatures untouched by mystic energies?

    Whatever the case, the Sand Wyrm was now picking up speed. By her conjecture, she suspected it was going at fifty, maybe sixty kilometres an hour, meaning it would catch up to Strun''s pack within the next ten minutes, despite her rats fleeing with every ounce of energy afforded by Death March.

    Death March increased her Rat-kin''s stamina near-infinitely but had limited impact on speed, especially considering that they were sick to boot and hardly consistent in athleticism.

    As if sensing her growing paranoia, the Sand Wyrm sped up once more.

    "This fucker¡­" Gwen swore. "Ariel!"

    "EE-EE!" Her Kirin transformed into her hammer of chastisement.

    She gathered up her mana, then sent forth the Familiar to coast just above the Wyrm. Just as the creature crested a dune, Gwen loosened the reigns on her spell.

    BOOM¡ªCRACK!

    A triple-threat Babanginy in the form of Thundering Shatter struck the Sand Wyrm on its exposed carapace, lighting up the crevices where the chitin conjoined. As the compressed energy of the sonic spell rapidly discharged, purple ichor erupted from torn ligaments and burst veins. First, a destructive ripple rolled down the Sand Wyrm''s side like a Mexican Wave; then, a secondary eruption sent chunks of chitin flying in every direction.

    "YAAAARHGH¡ª!" Golos charged in at the opportunity, emerging with claws clinging to an enormous block of jelly-like fat. In his violent passing, the exposed flesh became scorched and blackened.

    Gwen huffed, happy at the result but exhausted by the expenditure.

    The Afaa al-Halak "shrugged", the wound sizzled shut, then it moved on.

    "SON OF A WORM!" she swore. That was the equivalent of ripping out a giant''s toenails! Was the Wyrm so dumb as to not feel pain?

    More so than the Wyrm''s unstoppable health, she could envision the damned thing slowly catching up to her Rat-kin like the proverbial tortoise, erasing all of her efforts with a steady and agonising pace.

    "Void Sphere!" Out of both frustration and curiosity, she let loose a tenebrous ball of Void-ink to splatter over the Wyrm.

    Its scales sizzled, chunks of chitin faded into nothingness, consumed by anti-matter. Yet, Gwen dug no deeper than arm''s reach into a layer of armour some meter-thick, not to mention there was another layer of insulating fat, and under that, far denser muscles.

    Picking up the pace, she, Golos and Ariel arrived at a space ahead and overhead of the Sand Wyrm''s trajectory.

    "Enervating Orb!" Her body grew rigid, this time not from the sympathy of Caliban running through a bed of daggers but from the arcane chill of Negative Energy licking her innards.

    After almost four days and five nights, her Almudj''s Essence was reduced to fumes, as was her mana pool, restricting her to emergency arcanistry like Dimension Door. The sorcery she performed now was raw Void Energy tapped without the protection of serpent juice. Like the Gwen of old, she would have to suffer, then recover, a process to which she had grown accustomed; a testament to the elasticity of the human psyche.

    When Petra had again labelled her a masochist, Gwen had rebuffed her cousin''s compassion with an analogy comparing Void Magic to chilli consumption, drawing on the Scoville gradient. In the beginning, Gwen had explained, even Jalapeno was capable of keeping her immobile with debilitating cramps. But, after consistent "Consumption", the litmus for becoming bedridden grew to a mouthful of Ghost Peppers; now, after years of substance abuse, she could toss a Trinidad Scorpion down her gullet and chase the fact with pickled Void poppers.

    Most importantly, akin to the sensation of overdosing on Capsaicin, once the life-threatening threshold of Void was surpassed, the complex agony transformed from unfathomable suffering into something of an acquired taste. In detail, there existed pleasure and pain in mixed-measure to each Void spell, distinctly possessed of unique sensations. For example, Void Sphere maintained a sharp Negative Drain like a sliver of ice between one''s ribs, accentuating the pleasure of restoration provided by her Essence-soaked body. Comparatively, spells with Necromantic bases such as Enervating Orb seized her lungs¡ª but when the life drain returned dividends, her torso grew soaked with invigorating warmth.

    Therefore, what should have been undesirable to the Core had transmuted over the years into an addiction that all chilli-fiends shared. Of course, there was the morning after when one contemplated, like Rodin''s Thinker, over the bathroom bowl, but the itch for hotter "heat" had to be scratched.

    Such was the slippery slope to which Sobel rode to the fiery end, sacrificing both mind and body. Such was now Gwen''s fate as well if she wasn''t careful.

    Below, the Sand Wyrm passed without incident.

    It was a shame that her Necromancy-empowered Enervating Orb was not a physical sphere that the Sand Wyrm could swallow.

    Feeling light-headed, Gwen reviewed her remaining resources.

    The answer was more despairing than not.

    What she needed was a way to inflict catastrophic damage.

    Shoggy?

    Even if she could set up the Planar horror, how would she put the jack back in the box without endangering her Rats? Besides, there were strict parameters in place for summoning the Shoggoth. If she conjured her trump card at a time and place where she was in no danger, and only to save "disposable" Rat-kin, how would the Mageocracy trust her "sterling" judgement ever again?

    Use Strun and Stian as bait? No. That was a lose-lose scenario.

    She didn''t want to lose her chittering worshippers.

    AND she loathed the idea of losing.

    "Bloody Petra..." Gwen sighed.

    Her spine straightened as her mind settled on a particular course of masochistic action. She had a reason, though. Without entering the tiger''s den, one couldn''t traffic in tiger cubs; without risk, how could she reap the rewards?

    "Cali!" She whispered through her Empathic Link. "Hydra-form! Give the bastard indigestion! Slow em down!"

    "Shaa¡ª Shaa¡ª!" First came the reply, then came the skull-numbing Negative Drain.

    The onward march of the Sand Wyrm grew suddenly erratic as a twenty-meter Hydra manifested inside its gut and began to furious imbibe every mote of vitality upon which it could get its slimy lamprey-heads latched. Like a seven-headed Potter Wasp larva, Caliban attaching itself into some uncertain anatomy of the Sand Wyrm, its seeking tentacle-tongues piercing the slime and the membranes to seek out the white-jade mutton flesh of the giant caterpillar.

    "How''s that?" Gwen shouted at the Afaa al-Halak, channelling the stolen vitality toward herself, balancing the output with Sympathetic Life-link to prevent a potentially orgiastic overdose. "If you know how to beg, now''s your last chance."

    The Wyrm''s body coiled and writhed, crashing through the dunes to simulate a spontaneous, localised quake. Dormant bursts of Earthen mana ruptured from its magical organs, turning the sand liquid or solid or creating crashing waves of rolling silica.

    "Bastard was hiding his talents!" Golos'' voice stabbed her teaming brain like a fistful of needles. "Good thing we didn''t fight it on the ground, eh? Calamity¡ª"

    Her skull buzzed like a knocked nest of hornets. From inside the Wyrm, Caliban''s hydra-heads dug in, boring into the flesh, seeking out the creature''s mana veins, trying to ascertain the whereabouts of its Core. At the same time, Gwen could feel her body tingling with overstimulation, particularly her sticky dermis, which shared some of Caliban''s senses. The concentration of the acid surrounding her creature had grown significantly more potent, and parts of her Hydra''s lower body were already failing to keep up with the dissolution rate. At the same time, the Sand Wyrm''s rapid regeneration kept Caliban from meaningful ingress.

    She needed to apply more pressure on the bastard.

    They were locked now in a deadly balance, and for her to triumph, one of them had to up the ante.

    "Gogo," she called to her Wyvern, instantly transferring her plans through a series of empathic impressions. "I am going to try and invade the worm."

    Golos dipped his enormous head. "Where?"

    "There, punch a hole big enough for me to land." She gestured to a section of the writhing Afaa al-Halak. "I can''t enter through its mouth, but if I can break into a part of its body where it can''t get me, I''ll gift it with enough of Cali''s mates to matter."

    The Wyvern''s arrogant mug grew strangely severe. "Calamity¡­ you disgust me."

    "I just hope this dumb-ass will give up before it''s too late." Gwen drew in a deep breath.

    "I''ll keep it distracted by insulting its lack of ancestors," Golos promised with a cruel smirk.

    "Ready?" Gwen shook out her body. Hopefully, what she had planned wasn''t going to hurt too much. "Start the fireworks, Big Guy."

    Her Wyvern responded by turning in a great arc until he drew enough distance for a supersonic approach. At an optimal range, the creature opened its maw, gathered its innate mana, then¡ª

    "LOREAT¡ª!" The lightning-charged Dragon Breath, empowered by Golos'' growing mastery of Dragon speech, beamed through the night, illuminating half the desert, turning dunes to shadowy mountains as it struck the carapace of the Sand Wyrm. The section afflicted by Golos'' best efforts glowed red hot as the extravagant energy obliterated the Wym''s magical resistance, cooking its flesh, then¡ª

    Her Wyvern struck, removing the crispy layers of armour entirely.

    "BLADE BARRIER!" Gwen''s follow-up was instant.

    Through stacked feats of Spellshaping, Gwen condensed the original wall of inky Void Blades into something resembling an inverse semi-sphere dome, manifesting just inside the wound.

    The spell fatigue that simultaneously struck felt like Golos clipping the side of her head with his tail club. If Magister Patil were present, the sorceress would have scoffed.

    "GUUUAAARRRRL¡ª" Finally, their stoic victim made a sound that indicated the limits of its pain tolerance. Before the Wyrm could halt its body, her Blade Barrier gauged out a lesion the size of a bi-lane swimming pool long enough to do laps. At the same time, even as the afflicted flesh stanched its bleeding, it grew tumorous with scabs spurting purple blood, signifying that her Void matter had corrupted the Wyrm''s regeneration.

    "Dimension Door!" Gwen executed the next stage of her plan, arriving inside the wound with a splash of Void as neighbouring interlocking plates began to converge, sealing off the open area to prevent further assault.

    Without delay, she activated all of her defences.

    Sanguine Mantle.

    Bone Armour.

    Gunther Shield.

    Her world instantly reduced to the darkened interior of a Void Egg.

    For what she was about to perform, she had no idea how the worm would counter, though she could imagine the creature leaping through the air to land on its "bedsore", attempt to bust her like a bloated tick.

    "Quickened Elemental Swarm!"

    The meta-magic for rapid manifestation of spells usually applied to sorcery with direct cause and effect. In the case of Elemental Swarm, "Quicken" maximised her rate of Conjuration from the get-go, averting the ramp-up but placing an ill-advised burden on her body.

    Multiple portals opened outside her shell, pouring forth her tiny minions, each the size of a River Lamprey, all possessing the potential to become Amazonian Pythons if given the opportunity.

    Within moments, she felt her creatures connect with the necrotised flesh of the Sand Wyrm. Though she couldn''t see, it took no feat of the fantastic to imagine her eel things instantly reaching a state of existential frenzy.

    She wasn''t done yet. "Hydra!"

    Sobel''s Signature Spell possessed an unusual feature. If the Void Conjurer was willing to yield control of the multi-pronged Void Worms she summoned, she could keep pumping them out until her vitality ran dry.

    Unlucky for the Sand Wyrm, all Gwen had left was excess vitality.

    As with her Elemental Swarm, the Hydra "Swarm" took to meat like maggots to gangrene, digging into the translucent inner flesh, gorging themselves full of Demi-divine vitality.

    Concurrently, Caliban Life-Linked the vital forces collected by its summoned siblings, repairing itself while simultaneously draining the Wyrm.

    For how long could the Sand Wyrm last? Gwen wondered as the first tremors came. The worm turned, attempting to nix the cancerous growth on its skin. Outside, she could feel the pressing of grinding plates gnashing her Void and bone barriers like a gigaton press.

    Yet, within the Void Egg, she was sans sight and sound. All she could feel was the icy sweat oozing from her pores, making slick her arrested body while the vitality flux taxed her with unimaginable fatigue. Her egg was being churned in the flesh-space like a tennis ball in the well of a front-loaded washing machine. Yet, within the dark interior of her weightless egg, the Devourer of Shenyang felt only the call of the slumbering dark.

    Would she hold out?

    Or would the Wyrm hold out?

    The walls cracked and crinkled, then began to close in.

    Her mind slipped on something slick, then suddenly, her consciousness began to spiral.

    "CALAMITY!" Golos'' voice tore Gwen from her chambered cocoon of sensory deprivation. "Calamity. You can come out now. Are you still sleeping?"

    Her leaden lids shot open.

    Holy fuck¡ª Her spine jolted her body with a shot of pure adrenaline. Christ! Had she dozed off?

    "Is the Sand Wyrm dead?" Gwen heard a voice speak. It was her voice. "How long was I out?"

    Now awake and paranoid, she inspected her Astral Body, then the state of her active invocations. To her surprise, her Elemental Swarm was gone, as were the Hydra swarm. Caliban remained materialised, nestled in a tunnel, while Ariel was some distance skyward, likely patrolling.

    "The bastard''s fled back to where ever desert it came from," Golos said. "But it''s left you a spoil of war."

    Gwen winced as she forced herself to sit, wincing when she saw the red-rimmed horizon.

    "Oh, Jesus¡­" She shielded her eyes from the reflected light. "It''s daytime?"

    "Daybreak, actually." Golos coiled around her protectively, spraying her with sand. "Well done, Calamity, you showed that bastard who is pure-blooded and who is Edar."

    In the warm light, Gwen inspected herself for potential damage. Her Sanguine Mantle had triggered. She could tell that much from the spell''s invocation and the expenditure of her blood reagent, not to mention the bloodstains covering her armour. Her Reactive Bone Armour had likewise been expended, which was something she had anticipated, considering the topsy-turvy tumbling she had to endure.

    She slid a hand inside her armour.

    Her fingers emerged covered in clotted blood.

    Something had broken, and then her Sanguine Mantle had stitched her together with glue. Along with the Balefire Golem, this was now the second time she was spared the Contingency Ring.

    For a second, she imagined herself with Bone Armour expended, Sanguine Mantle covering her body, bouncing like a rag-doll inside the Sand Wyrm.

    "Your injury was from later." Golos read her thoughts. "When the Wyrm split in half, I had to drag you from out under it..."

    "I see..." Gwen nodded. Her plan had worked, but she couldn''t sustain the aftermath.

    Five whole nights without deep sleep had proven the better of her resilience, and when she had delved into the darkness of the Void Egg, the womb-like warmth became the final Hydra that broke the Sand Wyrm''s back.

    Still, the Afaa al-Halak fled?

    Gwen bit her lips.

    For a tiny moment there, she had thought the Core of her future Tower ripe for collection.

    "EE-EE!" Ariel came drifting down from above.

    She placed a hand on her creature''s mane to steady herself, then gave the beastie a full-bodied hug, thanking it for the fluffy offering. To see what Golos meant for the Sand Wyrm, Gwen invoked a spell of Flight, then took to the air with Ariel''s aid.

    "You broke off its arse." Golos'' delight was boundless as he joined her. "Ha! I can''t wait until Ruxin hears of this! Worm handler, indeed, Puhahahaha¡ª"

    There, lying half-buried in the sand, was a length of Wyrm about four to five carriages long, with yet more segments still buried somewhere underground.

    "Caliban!" She called in the general direction of her Void monster. "Cali, come home!"

    Where the carcass of the Sand Wyrm''s lower half lay, a piece of carapace lifted, revealing her Caliban, or at least something that resembled Caliban. Her creature slithered from the carcass with difficulty, landing with a "Plop!" then rolled around with great comedy until it righted itself.

    "EE-EE!" Ariel''s mockery rang out.

    "Hue¡ªhue¡ªhue¡ª" Golos was no less amused by the indignant condition of his once-abuser.

    "Oh, Gods¡­" Gwen''s eyes watered. "Poor Cali¡­"

    Without her there to temper and portion away excessive vitality, her creature had grown not just bloated but positively corpulent. The Caliban that now inched forward wasn''t so much a sleek serpent with a thirty-inch waist the likeness of a nightmarish, Lovecraftian statue crafted by Surya, but a blob, a Void slug, wobbling with every inch.

    "It commanded, then consumed your other beasties," Golos explained. "Then it became like this."

    Gingerly, Gwen prodded the Vitality stored within Caliban with a very long and very delicate mental stick. As she suspected, her creature had reached the limits of what her tier 7 Conjuration could endure. Its Astral presence was so choked full of the mystical "life force" siphoned from the Great Afaa al-Halak that its physical manifestation had deformed.

    Observing her Void beast, she was reminded of what she had done to the Soul Flayer in Shenyang and how the Undead had reacted to her pouring every ounce of vitality into its withered conduits.

    Never had Gwen felt gladder that she could shut Caliban''s life-well through Life-Link. If this were the old days, and if this much vitality were to flood into her¡ª Gwen shuddered. No sorceress would want to experience a reckoning of that magnitude.

    For now, it was safest to leave Caliban out in the open. If need be, she could command it to transform into an Earthen Wyrm to blow off some steam.

    "Gogo, Ariel, can you round up the rats?" Gwen approached, then sat on the bloated body of Caliban. To her delight, Cali was bouncy, blubbery, blobby and warm. "I am going just to sit here and¡­ rest."

    "EE!" Ariel pawed the air, gaining altitude with every leap.

    Golos eyed the immobile Caliban. "Why is it still looking at the bastard?"

    "Shaa¡ª! Shaa¡ª!" Caliban''s Empathic Link entangled her mind once more, transmuting her creature''s latest report.

    "¡­ Are you for real?" Gwen fought off the sleepiness threatening to send her off to another catnap on Cali the Void-stuffed daybed.

    "What''s wrong?" Golos craned his neck close enough for his ridge feathers to brush Gwen''s cheeks. "What''s it saying?"

    "Cali says¡­" Gwen pushed the giant Wyvern''s snout away, then turned to regard the buried lower half of the Afaa al-Halak with hazel eyes brimming with uncertainty. "I don''t know how¡ª but Cali reckons... that thing''s still alive."

 Chapter 416 - How to Flog a Dead Wyrm

    It took just shy of two hours for the Rat-kin to gather once more, finding their Priestess in the middle of brushing the fine dust of spent HDMs from her all-black armour, looking regal atop her obsidian Afaa al-Halak.

    "¡­ You''re all injured¡ª" Gwen''s face twitched as her mind drank in her mischief''s vitality. "And your numbers are reduced. What happened? Strun? Stian? Ix?"

    It took a great deal of will to stop her face from showing her fatigue. She hadn''t even managed to find a solution to the "living" arse of the Sand Wyrm yet, and already the rats that she had risked her life for were diminished? Were it not for the image of an almighty, undaunted Priestess¡ª she would have transformed into Yue there and then.

    "We made it to Shalkar," Strun spoke in place of his grandfather, who wore his arm in a sling and was bandaged all over with filthy rags. "The Centaurs in the fortified encampment refused to let us enter. Then, when we tried to find shelter in the shrubbery outside the oasis, we were beset by the Qasqir Clan."

    Gwen refrained from biting her lips. That her Rats travelled directly to Shalkar had been her directive. By her count, they were only sixty kilometres from their goal, and if Strun knew the landscape well enough to lead his people through goat-trails and parts of the shallow-Murk, a single Death March was more than sufficient.

    "They refused to let your people enter?" Gwen asked as she searched her memory for mentions of this Qasqir Clan. Finding only vague memories, she motioned for Stian to come forward. "Before you answer, what are the Qasq?r Clan?"

    "Wolf-kin." Stian nursed his cracked lips.

    Gwen raised both brows as the name clicked, recalling the conversation with Bekker. Wolf-kin were not Lycanthropes, who lived closer to where the Vampires made their home as racial foes. Instead, these were Beast-men like the Rat-kin, a variant of the dog-headed Kobolds. "Don''t they range to the east and the north? Where Gora Boboiob rises and the deserts end?"

    "We do not know." The pair of rats shook their heads. "Much has changed since we last returned to the steps. From Karagandy to Almaty to Semey, all the flatlands were once the domain of our people. Many parts remained contested until we lost our numbers and had to flee west. By then, our options were to perish by the hand of the Elementals or seek the protection of the Horse Lords."

    Gwen grimaced. She could imagine the despair of a two-thousand kilometre Exodus ending at Nukus, only to realise that there was no Jerusalem nor salvation, only thirty years of slavery.

    "Tell me about what happened at Shalkar," she implored her band of rats, then slapped her Familiar on its shiny hinny.

    Surrounded by swirling motes of Void and with her eyes glowing vividly viridescent, the Devourer of Shenyang once more bestowed the boon of Death March. Now that the "Priestess" had recovered her wits, she once more possessed the mental fortitude to fine-tune the flow of Vitality from Cali to herself and the Rats. It was a necessary act, for Caliban''s stowed vitality felt like a dam threatening to spill. Thankfully, the mechanisms for the floodgates provided by Life-Link, combined with the mass of bodies offered by Death March, were enough to exercise the desired effect.

    On cue, Strun, Stian and her Centurions blazed with eerie emerald light, eventually passing the effect onto those with descending Essence-ties.

    Gwen cocked her head.

    Why did her mischief look so bleeding fiendish?

    Understandably, the effect should possess the aural and optic verisimilitude of Al''s genesis aura, considering the source of Gwen''s Essence was a primordial bringer of life in a land of death. However, with the Shamanistic sorcery and Necromantic Sigils working into the process, she felt like the Overlord of a Void-worshipping vermin tide.

    "Blessed Priestess!"

    "Hail the Priestess of the Afaa al-Halak!"

    Excess vitality did not equate to quick-healing, but it was enough to lift mood and add stamina, elevating the morale of her mischief to a reasonable standard.

    "So, Shalkar?" Gwen dispelled a prophetic vision of ten million rats swarming over the Steppes, hoisting glowing green banners and screeching for SPAM. Still, squaring her shoulders, she assumed an imperial air, then persisted in her query. "Tell me everything."

    With the new vitality burning in their bodies, her Centurions spoke at once.

    "Strun! "Gwen hand-waved the others into silence. Lacking the omniscience of a real God, she couldn''t understand the collective voice of her whiskery worshippers. "You first."

    "Beloved Pale Priestess." Strun fell to one knee. "Allow this one to speak of the injustices visited upon your flock..."

    Gwen listened wholeheartedly to the story while keeping half a mind on the "living" body of the Sand Wyrm that remained thus far dormant.

    According to the Centurion and his peers, her Rat-kins had taken a trail Strun used to traverse the desert safely in his occupation as a Shadow Runner, taking advantage of their endless stamina to cover the distance in just under three hours to reach Shalkar.

    There, with the oasis in sight, the rats had emerged into the light of the watchtowers, hailing the guards with peaceful intentions.

    What met them was a flurry of arrows that would have harvested a least a dozen rats if it not for their improved vitality.

    Choosing to give the guards another chance, Strun, Stian, Ix, and a few others lit the Day Light Globes from Gwen''s survival kits, then presented themselves once more, shouting that they have come at the order of the Khan.

    A second volley of arrows came from the dark, this time with far more intent, near-taking their lives were it not for Strun''s knack for danger.

    After that, the Rat-kin retreated a distance to discuss how they would proceed.

    The meeting never took place, for the three thousand rats huddled in the valley between two jutting plateaus, hungry, exhausted and tired, were ripe for raiding by the incoming Qasqiri wolf pack.

    "The Qasqir numbered about three-hundred," Stian spoke with a pained solemnity. "We fought them the best we could, but the Wolves are born warriors, more so than we. Us Centurions could match one or two alone, but their pack tactics were beyond our ability to defend against."

    "The Wolves slaughtered indiscriminately," Strun cut in with an expression of pain. "They will come back for the carcasses, but in a hunt, their prerogative is to kill as many as they''re able until the pack grows exhausted and has to retreat."

    Around them, the Rat-kin grew silent.

    "We realised there was no hope within the confined space of the valley, so we lured them into the open desert, where the Afaa al-Halak nests lay..."

    Strun then spoke of how the mischief retraced its steps, leaving behind a trail of bodies. It wasn''t until a pack of twenty-odd Qasqiri warriors misstepped into the larval trap of a Sand Wyrm and perished that the wolf pack relented, leaving the rest of the rats to escape, hiding in yet another badlands canyon until they saw Golos flying overhead.

    Gwen''s jaws grew grim. "How many did we lose?"

    "Two Centurions, Domi and Wex," Stian spoke before his grandson could. "And eight hundred and forty-two kin. The other mischiefs were luckier. Though harassed by surviving Harpy Vultures, their losses were within reason¡ª about four hundred among the three packs."

    Gwen''s self-congratulatory euphoria from besting the elder Sand Wyrm evaporated.

    Twelve hundred rats!

    Mother of Christ! Her bunched fists struck Caliban so hard a blurt of grey goo squirted onto the sand. After all that! After everything she did, she lost over one-tenth of her flock?

    And eight hundred of them! EIGHT HUNDRED!

    Lost for no good reason other than¡ª than what?

    She had no idea.

    Her rats had no idea.

    Albeit she had a good idea which Horse-headed bastard would pay the price.

    "I see." She dipped her chin at her rats. "Rest up. We will deal with matters here, and then I shall accompany you to Shalkar to air your grievances. There will be justice, mark my words; no horse shall go unpunished."

    Her creatures gave thanks. She walked through the camp, comforting her flock and offering manna in the form of rations and pallets of SPAM, then called Golos to her side. Now that she was recovered and her rats were convened, it was time to inspect the spoils.

    After "lunch", it took the healthiest of her rats another half-hour to excavate enough of the buried Sand Wyrm to reveal the portion that had escaped Caliban''s ravaging hunger. Its frontal facade had already scabbed over with pink flesh, though from what Gwen could see, there was no telling if the thing was capable of regrowing itself entirely like sliced Flat Worms she once saw on Youtube.

    Of course, the Afaa al-Halak was no minute flatworm; even the tail-end of the monster she had fought was forty-plus meters or just under the length of half a football field. Its circumference was likewise imposing, measuring some six to seven meters wide. Considering that this was where the Wyrm''s "waist" tapered off into a narrowing tip, Gwen could only imagine how the creature would have looked if laid head to tail in plain view.

    After a thorough inspection, Stian, the oldest of the Elders, stated that records existed which spoke of this particular strategy used by the Afaa al-Halak. In the days of yore, when "Big Birds" still ruled the skies and the Rat-kin and other predators were plentiful, a distressed Wyrm would break off segments of its lower body as a "tribute", allowing its head and torso to escape into the depth. It was a strategy that worked well, though this was the first time Stian had ever heard of a behemoth-sized Sand Wyrm performing such a feat, leaving behind at least two hundred years of segmental growth.

    "Stand aside, slaves!" Golos commanded the rats.

    The meek rodents obeyed without delay.

    "YARRR!" With Gwen and her Familiars watching, the Wyvern swung its tail-club, striking the shell with the sound of a hammer hitting a petrol tanker. The surface cracked, as did the layers beneath.

    The arse-end did not retaliate.

    However, undulating movements from the mutton-jade flesh beneath the shell visibly contorted, growing a new under-layer.

    "There''s no Wyrm inside." Her Wyvern sniffed the giant section that was almost as tall he was, then tapped the shell. "Here''s an idea, Calamity. Why don''t you claim it."

    "Can''t fit living things in the Rings." Gwen shook her head. "And it''s too big. I guess we''ll have to get the rats to dice it for Wyrm steak."

    "FOOL!" Her Wyvern huffed in her general direction, forcing her to dodge the globs of sparking spittle.

    "I said you must CLAIM its flesh, silly Calamity!" the Wyvern gave her the most disappointed look. "Have you not been usurping the bodies of others by polluting their Essence since your invasion of our mountain?"

    "You mean¡ª" Gwen put two and two together very quickly. "You want me to feed this thing Al''s Essence?"

    Golos'' feathers bristled. "If your Fiend is insufficient, then use your Soul-claiming sorcery while this segment''s Astral presence remains fragmented!"

    "Oh¡ª Soul Tap?" Gwen looked to her next victim.

    Though horny, a broken Gogo was right twice a day.

    If she wanted her ultra-rare loot to be anything other than meat, then the best course of action was to make use of it somehow. Earlier, it hadn''t occurred to her to claim the still-living arse because the butt, if revived, could be more dangerous than a livid Gogo.

    But what if she Soul Tapped it?

    The thing was alive, so it isn''t Necromancy.

    It also possessed no free will. Hence there was no ethical dilemma.

    Gwen wetted her lips.

    And if Soul Tap worked, then Hallelujah.

    If it didn''t, or if the body died outright from shock, then she still had a mountain of meat.

    The situation was win-win, and she was a girl who liked winning only a little less than she hated losing.

    This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

    "You don''t want to¡­ have a go?" Gwen eyed her Wyvern in case Golos was looking to use the tail for evolutionary purposes. "Is there a Core inside?"

    "I do not desire a minion that crawls," Golos declared with complete confidence. "And no, though it should generate one if you revive it. Else it will remain dormant until a new one forms."

    Gwen snorted. If Gogo got lonely enough, she wouldn''t put it past the Wyvern to start to take an interest in the perfectly cylindrical Sand Wyrm. "Alright, step back."

    Gwen drifted closer to the pink, puckering flesh, then placed a hand against the pulsing tumour.

    She spoke the invocations in a low, nefarious tone suitable for the dark purpose, flooding her eyes with obsidian mana so that her aura grew ghastly and her appearance gothic. Different to her usurpation of Snut, she shifted a significant portion of vitality from her bloated Caliban, maximising the potential of her spell''s penetrative invasion into the Sand Wyrm''s Astral Body.

    "SOUL TAP!"

    The final Svart¨¢lfar syllable of the Dark Elves'' unique sorcery left her tongue as a coil of shadow. The air around her formed a hollow depression, warping the space around her figure, drawing out that which was immaterial and quintessential.

    Gwen sensed something akin to a tendril of heat leech from the Sand Wyrm''s incorporeal existence into herself, flowing down into the well of her soul to mingle with her Astral Body. The Essence was muddy and possessed a wilful touch of the Draconic, though the moment its rebellious body sensed Almudj''s Essence, it grew pliant and placid.

    Was this the natural supplication of a lower Draconic Essence to a higher one?

    It was an interesting thought that belied the assumption of free will in Magical Creatures¡ª if so, was this a manifestation of existential "Chain of Being" unique to Elemental creatures? Or was anarchy distinct to Humanity?

    In the time it took for her to masticate her thoughts, the incomplete "Soul" ripped from the remaining half settled, becoming one of the many layers of sediments in the stratum of her Astral Body.

    "Okay." Gwen withdrew her hand. "Now what? It''s still a blob of meat."

    "Are you not the Calamity?" Golos directed her eyes to the taller of her rats, her dear Ascended. "The Kirin says you usurped a rainbow-hued feathered fiend while you were living in the Western Empire?"

    "Ah, Dede, yes." After so long, Brown had ceased questioning the fact, and Dede had settled down as a staple feature of Emmanuel''s College. From what she had gleaned, fighting the duck to gain access to the Old Court was now a part of the first year''s initiation ceremony. They had even given the practice the name "Slaying the Drake", though arguably, a more accurate title would be "How many first-years could Dede fleece if First Years did have fleece?"

    Grinning, the Thunder Wyvern patted the Sand Wyrm''s "butt" with a clawed wing.

    Observed by a ring of Centurions and their followers, Gwen gingerly laid a hand against the pink, puckered flesh wound there, where the Wyrm''s gut would have closed up in its bid to escape the Hydras and the lampreys.

    She closed her eyes, then worked what little Essence she had collected through her conduits before forcing the viridescent energy to gather on the palm of her hand.

    The flesh beneath her palm pulsed until it grew soft like a marshmallow, then enveloped her hand.

    Fighting the instinct to withdraw her limb, Gwen sent a warning to Ariel and Caliban to assist if necessary, then continued to release her Essence into the rotund segment of flesh.

    Slowly, her arm sunk to her elbows.

    Inside, she could feel the susurration of the Sand Wyrm''s flesh absorbing her Essence, kneading her fingers, gnashing her dainty digits. Perhaps Golos should have tamed this creature; an obscene thought came to mind as she gazed at her Wyvern, who was staring back with dumbfounded anticipation. When she refocused, her arm was down to her shoulder inside the Sand Wyrm; any more was undesirable. Any more, and she would have to feed it a Void Bolt.

    One because it had sucked her Essence drier than the Sawahi.

    Two because she was the "usurper", not the other way around.

    Abruptly, the nudging of her finger ceased.

    Could the thing read her thoughts? Gwen wondered. To test her hypothesis, she commanded it to eject her hand.

    To her fascinated horror, the mindless lump of meat did precisely that, pushing her hand outward until she could extricate her limb out of its limy, oozy orifice.

    For a few seconds, she stared at the calcifying goo, wondering how she should next proceed.

    Then, as the Sand Wyrm began to quiver, something in her Astral Body informed her of the transmutation at hand.

    "Out!" She commanded her rats. "Everyone! Get clear of the trench!"

    The Rat-kin were experts at traversing the sand with their lightweight bodies, successfully clearing the dig site as the Wyrm began to turn its body.

    Gwen, Golos, and her Familiars held their breaths as a plethora of gurgling, shifting flesh and re-organising organs resounded from inside the enormous sushi roll.

    Two minutes.

    Ten minutes.

    When close to twenty minutes passed and the flesh continued to churn, Gwen resolved to sit once more on Caliban and meditate. Meanwhile, her rats returned to their units, leaving only four of her favourite Centurions to attend to her questions and needs. Whatever the future held for the regenerating Wyrm, it would take time for nature to traverse its new course.

    In the interval, Gwen questioned Stian and Strun once more regarding matters at Shalkar, concluding that she would attend to the garrison in person. From their collective tale, she did not doubt that the Centaurs there were responsible for the loss of some eight hundred lives for no good reason. Despite the implied diplomatic alliance, she wasn''t opposed to teaching these arrogant colts that actions have consequences and that every slight against the Devourer of Shenyang would elicit an equal or greater reaction.

    It took eight hours for the Wyrm flesh to settle into its new form.

    At its conclusion, the peace of the impromptu Rat-kin encampment evaporated as the earth-shaking body of their Priestess'' new super heavy-duty earth-moving equipment came to life.

    Golos and Gwen, joined by Ariel and Caliban, watched their Wyrm take in its bearings, stretching its new form. Compared to the original Sand Wyrm, the creature''s nouveau appearance was very distinct.

    "¡­ It has¡­ two arse-ends?" Her Wyvern was impressed, mistaking that Gwen had remained displeased with the Sand Wyrm and so decided to create a creature that was an Ouroboros of butts. "Calamity, your cruelty knows no limits."

    "Thanks, Gogo." Gwen studied her new minion, recalling seeing such a creature in Australia when she had studied at Sydney Tower. In a continent inundated with deserts and badlands, the Down Under likewise possessed a facsimile of the Mongolian Death Worm. At any rate, considering that her Essence was arguably thrifted from Almudj, an Aussie Land God, it made sense that the "usurped" flesh with the mutated Essence would manifest as fauna from down under.

    Therefore, the double-arse ended Sand Wyrm wasn''t a practical joke taken too far, but rather a local species named the Shingleback Shale Wyrm. It was a creature that possessed the surreal means to traverse forward and backwards, with both ends capable of "tunnelling" with equal ease. Of course, it had only one head, and its butt-end still dispensed Elemental Ooze when required, but its unique physiology could indeed fool the casual observer.

    "Hello there!" Gwen raised a hand in greeting.

    "GUAARRRP!" The enormous tri-petal maw opened, made a sound like blowing raspberries, then shut seamlessly. Unlike the variant in Australia, her creature remained a Sand Wyrm, possessing no eyes.

    Was that a "Hi?" Gwen simultaneously spoke and thought aloud. "Can you understand me?"

    "GARP!" More splutters darkened globs of sand. In this regard, the Wyrm resembled an early Cali.

    Gwen floated closer.

    The overlapping scales of its mouth parted, distending a thigh-thick tentacle in pink, covered with thorny white growths that resembled the teeth-daggers she had seen in the mature parent of her "young" adult Sand Wyrm.

    As its Soul-linked Master, Gwen implicitly understood the Wyrm''s desire. Extending a white hand, she produced what little Essence she had managed in the last few hours, then allowed the tongue to wrap around her hand and fingers. Though her Wyrm remained immobile, its taste organ was fully mobile and wholly prehensile.

    "That looks like a¡ª" Golos'' voice possessed a tone she recognised.

    "¡ªGogo, shut it," Gwen warned her Wyvern, then turned back to the happy Wyrm. "What do you want, Wyrm?"

    "Garp!" The wriggling Wyrm barked.

    "It says it wants to follow you," Golos translated, affirming her imperfect, empathic understanding. "Well done, Calamity, you''ve tamed a Wyrm of the Sawahi."

    Then, for whatever reason, Golos'' last words were spoken so that her followers could also understand. Instantly, eruptions of "Priestess!" and "Wrangler of the Afaa al-Halak!" "Whisperer of the Black Worm" resounded from the crowd.

    The resulting tremor from thousands of rats was enough to send the Shingleback swinging for the dunes, where the Rat-kin fled before its cresting head, breaching the lip of the dune like a frigate.

    "Hey-hey¡ª Oi!" Gwen floated just out of range in case the sudden movement of the giant Shingleback swatted her like a gnat. "Wyrm! Obey me! Stop! Rats are friends."

    "GARP!" The eyeless Shingleback Wyrm barked with what she hoped was an affirmation. Below its belly, its scales bristled, sending its freight train body effortlessly up the trench to coil atop the sandhill.

    "Strun, Stian, get the mischief to stay at a safe distance," she shouted at her Centurions. Once the Shingleback settled, she drifted closer, feeling its amicable feelings transmuted through their soul bond. Calling the creature "You" "Oi", "Wyrm" was a hassle, Gwen decided, thereby offering to give the Wyrm a name.

    "How about¡ª" Golos said a rude word that inferred "brown log" in Draconic.

    Gwen glared at her Wyvern until he ceased his stupid "Hur-hur-hur¡ª"

    "How about Sandy?" she said to the Sand Wyrm. "Ariel. Gogo. Cali. Dede. Sandy."

    Gwen felt pleased with Sandy. She was, after all, terrific at naming things.

    Golos grimaced. "At least use Draconic, Calamity. I think it would prefer ''Turd'' at this rate."

    The Shingleback shook its head, steadfastly refusing both "Sandy" and "Turd".

    "GARP!"

    "How about Garp?" Golos informed her. "It''s low-Draconic for¡­ stone."

    "Garp¡ª According to Garp," Gwen cited a rather famous novel she was partial to from her old world. Garp the Sandworm was no John Irving, but if it wanted to name itself after a titular protagonist with a staunch feminist as a mother, who was she to fight fate? For a monster that looked the part of priapism personified, the name was apt. Indeed, if anything, Garp was a genius for choosing the name, even it didn''t know it. "Very well, your name is Garp."

    "GARP!" With her holding onto a literal portion of the creature''s soul, her Shingleback could only agree wholeheartedly.

    "Good, good." Gwen nodded, seriously pondering the PR potential of Gwen, Gogo and Garp, marauding across the sand, the "three Gees" of the Sawahi, legends sung by the bard Peaches.

    "Garp!"

    "EE-ee!"

    "Shaa¡ª Shaa¡ª!"

    "Another slave for the Calamity!"

    Her minions greeted the newest addition to her menagerie.

    After relaying the Shingleback to her Rat-kin, the Prefects managed to worshipfully beckon the Wyrm to dig a defensive trench around their encampment four meters across and three meters deep.

    The mischief prayed as the Afaa al-Halak passed. A few of the Elders wept bitter tears for a vision their progenitors could have seen.

    Gwen''s glee lasted until the following daybreak when she fully recovered her mana pool and some Essence. In the golden hour, watching the dull glow of a thousand Maxwell''s Camp Heaters suffuse the Rat-kin''s open camp, her mind once more shifted toward the betrayal at Shalkar.

    "Strun! Stian! Ix! Skaz! Prefects!" Once the camp broke fast, she motioned for the rats to ready themselves. "Pack the supplies! We make for Shalkar!"

    The Rat-kin hailed her with a mix of salutes, bows and kowtows, quickly reforming into ranks.

    "GARP!" In the distance, an armoured Tunneling Engine raised its eyeless head.

    "Garp! To the east!" she commanded her newest minion, growing pleased when it began to fluidly traverse the compacted sand with the ease of a carrack slicing through open water. Commanding Cali to follow and Ariel and Golos to scout, she cautiously landed on the Shingleback''s head.

    The Wyrm''s velocity couldn''t match her flight speed, but neither were her rats any faster. Besides, she had no reason to rush, for the Centaurs weren''t going anywhere.

    "Clamber up the sides," she permitted a few of her favourite Centurions to join her, naming those having exhibited the highest ardour for public service to mount her tamed worm. "Learn to work with Garp, for it shall be your guardian in the future; in my absence, it will protect our people from the Wildlands."

    And if things go well, Gwen surmised in silence, Garp held infinitely more untapped potentials.

    Her Prefects obeyed with misty eyes green with worship.

    Gwen turned her Essence-infused eyes to the fore, enjoying the iconic moment of a popular science-fiction made real by her sorcerous efforts, savouring the rare, meta-textual moment.

    Several hundred meters later, Golos circled back to intercept her sand-surfing Wyrm.

    "Calamity..." The Wyvern said without expression. "Shalkar is to your right."

    Shalkar.

    The Sawahi Desert.

    The oasis at Shalkar wasn''t large, but it had been a staple waystation for travellers through the Sawahi basin for aeons, possessing a deep and near-endless aquifer sheltered by a tiny opening no larger than a block of flats. Around the oasis, a dense wall of palms, olives, apricot and fig trees had been cultivated by Rat-kins from generations past, though all had been left to ruin by the Centaurs who used the oasis only as a walled watering hole.

    Around Shalkar, thanks to its uncharacteristic inundation of Elemental Water, shrubbery and scattered trees dotted the oasis''s surrounding for kilometres, providing shelter against the Afaa al-Halak, whose young shied away from such Elemental compositions, preferring the deep dunes of the inner desert.

    But Gwen did not have eyes for Shalkar''s rare beauty. Along the way, her resolve grew strengthened by the carcasses of her Rat-kin, scattered like rag dolls, strewn about the sand and the badlands like plastic cups in the aftermath of a frat party. The fallen she had ordered her Rat-kin to collect, consigning their remains to the Void, playing her part as their make-belief Priestess.

    Closer to Shalkar, Gwen sent out a dozen of her Centurions to find the Qasqir Clan''s dens, then floated atop the tallest of dunes overlooking the oasis to gain vantage over the low-lying "Billabong".

    Seeing the Centaurs milling about within their private paradise in their sheltered barriers, eating melons and drinking what passed for wine, her anger simmered like the summer heat on golden sand, distorting all thoughts with her undisguised bloodthirst.

    "Bastards..."

    Undoubtedly, she would get her Rat-kin the justice they deserved, but first, she would show the Khan one last respect, considering the Horse Lords and the Mageocracy''s alliance. Either way, those responsible would pay¡ª but as a collective, the unaware may yet survive.

    Making no show of hiding the rats now lined up as a sea of refugees westward of the oasis'' "fort", she took her time walking down the dune, Stain and Strun on either side, slowly approaching the twin watchtowers with their slanted platforms for the horsemen''s easy entry.

    At a distance from the entrance, she channelled mana into a Clarion Call to declare without ambiguity that she was the "Emissary from the Khan," in charge of these "Tasm¨¹yiz", victims of the Elementals'' devious, diseased designs. As the nominated Mingat of the Khan, she demanded immediate command of the outpost and that the Centaurs "vacate" lest they become vectors for the Blood Fever''s spread.

    PING! PAK¡ª!

    Arrows clattered against her invisible shield, turning the barriers milk-white.

    Gwen closed her eyes and took several deep breaths. In the next few moments, more arrows and even a pilum of "fifty people" made their purposes known, turning her complexion paler than the fat under Garp''s armour.

    "Mistress..."

    "Priestess..." Strun held a recording device in one hand. The Lumen Recorder Richard had argued she should keep in her Storage Ring always blinked as it took in the scene with its crystalline eyes.

    "Pack it away," Gwen commanded her Prefect.

    The footage was no longer of use, for she no longer anticipated witnesses. Simply put, there were insufficient Centaurs to match the losses suffered by her whiskered paw-pals.

    "Gogo," she commanded her Wyvern, who was already salivating over the prospect of horseflesh. "Go knock."

    TINK! Pak¡ªPING!

    With every other arrow bouncing off her shield, her resolve amplified. Her Babulya once said that she would walk the Path of Violent Reckoning. Unlucky for these Horse Lords, Klavdiya Song was a very, very foresightful woman.

 Chapter 417 - Noblesse Oblige

    Strun of Jildam hung by the tail in the shadow beneath the evergreen palms, camouflaged by the innate craft gifted by his grandfather''s training.

    A bowshot away, the Horse Lord''s fort burned blue with thundering spellfire.

    Lord Golos, a disciple to the Pale Priestess of the Dark Wyrm, was thoroughly enjoying himself at the expense of the Rat-kin''s former Masters.

    Uphill of the oasis, Strun''s kin watched the spectacle below. Half of the Centurions had offered to join the fray, but it was self-evident that there was no need¡ª for the difference in power was simply too great.

    How strange, Strun realised as he licked his cracked nose. For so long, he had thought the Horse Lords some higher, nobler existence¡ª insurmountable in their power and grand in their majesty. Ever since he was a pup, he had looked up to these magnificent specimens of Demi-human dominion, whose legacy stemmed from the Golden Khanate of yore.

    "FOR TEMIR KHA¡ª"

    Not far from Strun, a desperate cry for honour ended with a resounding splatter of meat and bones on apathetic sand.

    The Shaman Sigils protecting the gold-clad Jagun shattered from a single blow from Lord Golos'' tail, dissipating like a puddle of blood-tinged water. In the next moment, the Wyvern''s implement passed without impediment, as though the Centaur''s powerful body was air, sending up a cloud of pink mist, leaving only the horse-half.

    "HA!" With a swish, Lord Golos swiped his supper aside;

    poignantly, Strun recalled that the Wyvern had been grumbling for horse flesh since the Badlands.

    Pilums from the Jagun''s guards struck, leaving no more than white marks against the Wyvern''s brutal, lightning-charged armour that melted the iron spearheads.

    In retaliation, the Wyvern accelerated. The horses scattered too slowly, and with little to no effort, the top half of an unlucky Centaur lifted into the air, where Golos shook him like a doll, then toss the inert body at his despairing companions.

    Seeing that their efforts against the Wyvern were fruitless, the survivors refocused on the Pale Priestess, thinking that perhaps killing the Mage would banish her creature.

    Strun had to circulate vital energies to his abdomen to avoid bursting into laughter and falling off the palm frond.

    Drawing their curved blades, the Horse Lords charged the Priestess, who even now leisurely strolled with his grandfather with the air of an Elder inspecting a campsite. More pilums were lunched in flights of fanciful futility, clattering off her shield, then just as the Centaurs thought they were within reach¡ª

    Lord Caliban burst from the sand and transformed itself into a seven-headed Wyrm, the likes of which Strun had never before seen. In a flash, its bloated form snatched up the closest Centaurs, invading their screaming bodies with rope-thick tongues that penetrated the Shaman''s protective blood haze as effortlessly as poking through wet paper with a sharp claw.

    The rest attempted to flee, then was caught by an abruptly materialising wall of swirling, inky blades that reduced the riders to mince.

    At the horses'' renewed despair, Strun''s body flushed with spine-tingling thrills. As he swept the battlefield, he noted that another squadron sought to flee by abandoning their kin. If discovered by the Khan, it was an act that would warrant a slow and very public execution.

    "Lucky fools," Strun mouthed to himself.

    Not because the fleeing Centaurs could escape, but because it was infinitely better to die by Lord Garp than by Caliban.

    The Rat-kin held his breath, counting to ten. The fleeing riders made it just to the outskirt of the oasis when the ground turned to quicksand, miring their hooves before Garp''s enormous head burst from under the herd, taking the trapped patrol in a single swing. In its wake, a natural trench some seven meters across and half as deep ensured no other survivors could pass where the Sand Wyrm marked its territory.

    "SCREECH¡ª" Strun raised his head, perceiving in his Essence-fuelled vision that an Eagle-kin, the messengers of the Khanate, had chosen this precise moment where Lord Golos was distracted to flee.

    Strun did not cry foul, for the Priestess could not hear him amid the fulminating chaos of Lord Golos'' passing.

    "EE¡ªEE!" A piercing screech from the invisible Lord Ariel sounded, its watchful eyes keeping the foes below captive.

    No less than eight orbs of foe-seeking Lightning from the divine Kirin''s horns instantly surrounded the Golden Eagle-kin, reducing the scout to a cloud of flaming feathers burning the same blue flame as the fort below.

    Just as Strun fought down another urge to howl in triumph, something within him tingled, igniting the Essence within his wiry frame.

    The time had come.

    His Pale Priestess now called upon the great tide of her whiskery worshippers, turned the hills emerald with bubbling Essence, buoyed by sympathetic bloodlust.

    It was now the Rat-kins'' turn to vent.

    Such was the generosity of their Priestess.

    Such was the Rat-kins'' retribution.

    Gwen hovered above the oasis, watching her Rat-kins form into overlapping circles of raggedy fur, the mischief''s loci centred on the southern shore of the brightly burning billabong.

    The fort''s sole survivors sat in the inner ring, consisting of a stallion, a mare Shaman, and her entourage of three ??pter slaves. The stallion was the oasis'' administrator, a Centaur who had hid with the women instead of fighting. Now, the horseman knelt with the trembling women, his pale complexion and glossy fur oozing sweat, as though already in the late stages of the Blood Fever.

    Not far from the docile prisoners, Golos picked his way through a pile of horse carcasses, an act that turned Gwen''s stomach for reasons she self-censored. She had forbidden Ariel from taking part, offering her creature a generous pile of HDMs in place of the meaty spoils. As for Caliban, her serpent sat as a worshipped idol among the Rat-kin, enjoying their undisguised adoration.

    Immediately outside the ring of rats, Garp slumbered, digesting its meal of Centaurs as a dozen volunteer Rat-kin crawled over its body with trowels and picks, working the old and loose scales, harvesting materials for protective equipment while "massaging" her Wyrm. Between the water and the undulating Shingleback, the rest of the mischief busied themselves digging semi-permanent residences, knowing that in life or death, Shalkar was now their home.

    Flying here and there, Gwen set her Warding Glyphs, Alarm Barriers and Faithful Hounds at the edge of the oasis, then looked to the horizon, hoping to see a few familiar silhouettes.

    By her count, it was their eighth night since leaving Nukus.

    Assuming her Magisters did relay her Message, Elvia should have gotten her request for immediate aid. If she imagined that her Evee took a day or two to finish her Clerical duties, then another few days to prepare, she should be expecting her very soon. Likewise, as she and Golos had erased most of the aerial threats between Nukus and Shalkar, Elvia and her entourage should have met with no impediments.

    If so, where was her Evee?

    Gwen glanced at her gathered Prefects and the ring of Centurions sharpening their claws at the Centaurs and their ??pter slaves.

    She felt a little less sad that Evee was late.

    Though she missed Elvia, it was best that a Knight Companion of the Ordo Bath was not partner or witness to what she had next planned.

    Soundlessly, Gwen landed in the circle''s centre.

    As she descended, eight thousand pair of eyes converged on their black-clad deliverer.

    How had she wound up here? Gwen wondered as she activated her Desolation Aura''s lowest-tier domain. What happened to buying a beach house in Sydney and getting two cats? Ever since Hengsha Island and Tonglv, she had intermittently wondered about her endless tangent from her initial goal.

    Since when had a business consultant become so comfortable in donning the mantle of judge, jury and executioner?

    The Gwen of old felt a little horrified.

    But the true horror was that in her present world, her mentors and family had patted her back, applauded her decisiveness, and given her titles and accolades for the fact, a stark opposition to say, throwing her in an asylum for possessing megalomaniacal delusions of grandeur.

    Yet the script was sound, the costume fit, so the Gwen of now happily played her part.

    "You." The Pale Priestess of the Rat-kin stood on air, looking down upon the Horse Lords and the ??pter slaves, addressing the stallion draped in an embroidered administrator''s tunic. "What is your name?"

    ¡°Kokochu of the Kindum Clan, son of¡ª¡±

    "Why did you prevent our entry?" Gwen cut the horse''s sophistry with a wave. She had no interest in lineage, only answers.

    "These Tasm¨¹yiz are diseased." The Horse Lord faced her with admirable courage and stoicism. "My men are healthy and untainted."

    "Irrelevant." Gwen shook her head. "You knew that before we got here."

    "You''ve brought too many of the Tasm¨¹yiz." The Centaur''s eyes scanned the horizon full of furry bodies. "We''ll never be able to feed them."

    "I left Nukus with more than this." Gwen''s voice grew grim. "There would have been eight hundred more were it not for your foolishness."

    "The lives of my Nokud riders take precedence," the Centaur replied. Perhaps Kokochu could not read human expressions, or mayhap that''s how the Centaur thought; whatever the case, the candid words of the Horse Lord was enough to make Gwen grit her teeth until her jaws hurt. "Lord Mage¡ª Allow this one a chance to plea. Desiring the safety of my men is not a violation of our Khanate''s laws, nor is leaving the Tasm¨¹yiz to their fate."

    "Nor is their casual slaughter, so what?" Gwen took a deep breath before she could speak again, becoming reminded of Strun''s mother. When she found out that the Rat-kin''s mother was the one who had triggered her sympathy, she had felt overwhelmed by unfathomable repression. "These are eight hundred Tasm¨¹yiz, Kokochu, not eight hundred bales of hay."

    "Hay would be more precious. Even if we left, sorceress, how can we return when we might be infected? The filth would have left their diseased corpses at every watering hole and shelter between here and Nukus." The Centaur grew in confidence.

    "The Khan gave me the oasis, gave these Rat-kin the oasis." Gwen kept her voice level. "I was there when he gave the word. So you dare to contest Temir''s command?"

    "Never. That is why the Tasm¨¹yiz may rest around the oasis." Kokochu smiled cautiously. "But they may not approach the water, for they may contaminate it with their fever."

    "They are not safe around the oasis," Gwen retorted. "There are Wolf-kin hereabouts and other predators like Harpies in the skies. Besides, they need water."

    "The Tasm¨¹yiz''s weakness is not our concern." Kokochu''s attitude grew dismissive. "We are sons of the Great Khan; they are the Tasm¨¹yiz. Such is their lot in life, what they choose for themselves. As I have said, there is no law, nor lore, that prevents a Nokud from denying a Tasm¨¹yiz. If you would let us live, I shall inform the Khan that this is a great misunderstanding. With your prowess, great sorceress, the Khan will be forgiving and may not even demand compensation. Neigh, you may even receive a reward."

    Gwen pondered the Centaur''s words in simmering silence, feeling a little deflated that the Horse Lord wasn''t a raving, glaive wielding madman. In all honesty, she had not expected the dead horse she intended to flog to be an equestrian lawyer.

    Was it a mistake to question the horse?

    "WHAT A PILE OF HORSE DUNG¡ª!" The timely interjection came from Strun, once more affirming why the piebald Rat-kin was her favourite. "Priestess! Allow me the opportunity to duel this foul-mouthed conniver! I will show him the conviction of my people!"

    "You would dare?" the Horse Lord laughed. "A Tasm¨¹yiz cannot challenge a Nokud."

    "Refuse, and you shall die right here by our teeth and claws." Strun drew both his daggers. "A Horse Lord, murdered by the cowardly Tasm¨¹yiz, never knowing the limitless plains where the Immortal Khan wars for eternity with his Golden Horde."

    The Centaur ceased his mirth once. "And if I win?"

    "If I die. You leave with your mares." Strun stared down the disapproving eyes of his fellow Centurions. "My Grandfather will guarantee it."

    Both rat and horse turned to Gwen for confirmation.

    "I accept Strun''s proposal." Feeling the confidence radiating from Strun, she gave her consent, not because she didn''t want to outright murder the wily Horse Lord¡ª but because the theatre of the Rat-kin''s victory far better served her purpose. Already, her Rat-kin had gained enough spine to stand up to the Centaurs. Now, Strun would show his people that they were no weaker than the Centaurs via the birth of a new legend.

    "By Temir Khan''s Blessing, I accept this trial by combat." The Horse Lord stood, suddenly standing from his kneeling height of just under two meters to three. "Enbi, gift me with the Khan''s strength."

    In one pull, the Horse Lord tore the cotton tunic from his chest, revealing the scarred skin and chiselled physiology of a seasoned warrior. Then, on cue and without care for the chittering swarm, his mare Shaman began to prepare the runic ley-lines along Kokochu''s body, tracing the scars with her fingers.

    The rats broke into a low, angry clamour.

    "That''s cheating!"

    "Unfair!"

    "Foul Horse-kin!" Protest erupted from her Centurions as well.

    "I am fighting for my life and the lives of my Shaman, not to mention the honour of the Khan." Kokochu gazed up at Gwen. "Great Sorceress, if you deem fair competition excessive, extinguish us as we are¡ª leave us not for the rats."

    Gwen felt genuinely impressed, for the horses'' wit was wasted on the Centaurs. The silver-tongued fucker would have fitted right in if they were in London.

    If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    But she as well had a little something up her sleeve. "Strun, approach."

    Gwen descended from the air until she stood chest to nose beside her rat.

    "Strun." She touched a hand to the rat''s flickering ears, her fingers playing about the soft tufts of fur. "Can you win?"

    The Rat-kin nodded, then shook his head. "I can deliver a fatal blow, but I do not know what their Shaman may gift through her vital blessings. Fret not, I shall do my utmost, Priestess, even if it costs my life."

    Gwen nodded, welcoming the Rat-kin''s conviction.

    "I, too, have a blessing to offer," she said to the rat. "One that will cost you dearly and may yet cause you to perish if you cannot endure it. The reward, however, is palpable, for it shall link your vital forces to Garp."

    "I shall share a life with¡­" the Rat-kin gulped. "A Deity of the Sawahi?"

    "Indeed." Gwen nodded. "Do you accept?"

    Strun fell face-first into complete prostration. "My life is yours, now and until the Elementals transmute all the sand of the Sawahi to glass."

    "I''ll hold you to that." Gwen then turned to the thoughtful Centaur listening to their dialogue. "I hope that''s acceptable. After all, Strun is fighting for his life and the lives of his kin, not to mention the honour of his Clan."

    "¡ª And my Priestess!" The Rat-kin added.

    The Centaur spoke in solemn tones to his Shaman.

    At the mare''s behest, the three ??pter women bared their bosoms, allowing her to draw a smidgen of their heart''s blood with a Mithril implement. The Shaman likewise bled from a point below her breast into the concoction until Gwen could sense the vital energies pulsing within, then rapidly applying the burning paste. When she met the Centaur''s eyes once more, the creature''s gaze remained arrogant, for this was a being who saw the world from the lofty height of old Empire and history, possessing no remorse for their careless tyranny.

    Gwen riposted the glare with a smile, then returned to her nominated Champion, her rare rat with the gonads and the aggression to stand up to the Horse Lords.

    Circulating her Essence, she bid her rat partake in another dose of snake elixir to fortify their link, then rested her Essence-dripping palm atop her creature''s head, allowing the priceless excretions to dribble between his ears and down his furry cheeks.

    For the Rat-kin to find a new path, they needed a "Che".

    A representative who was young.

    And fearless.

    And angry.

    And possessed of boundless hope for the future.

    How else could a revolution take place? Any movement of any significance required a leader willing to part the Red Sea of status quo. Else, once the heat of the moment passed, the yoke of slavery without the counterbalance of Noblesse Oblige would return. That was the thing that ticked her off most about the Khanate. To have power is a fine thing, but what the fuck was the deal with Strun''s mother?

    The abuse of greatness was when it disjoins remorse from power.

    How strange that her commitment to Henry''s ideal world would manifest in the desolate sands of the Sawahi.

    "Relax," she comforted her Champion. "Dream now of tomorrow. When next you open your eyes, a new day for the Rat-kin will dawn."

    The aura of life and vitality around her grew dull as she switched Sigils to Svart¨¢lfar Soul Sorcery.

    Beneath her hand, Strun trembled as though a newborn pup, happy for his hardwon baptism.

    Strun realised as he toyed with his new Ring of Storage, just how much he and his people owed the Priestess.

    His match¡ª if a massacre could be termed so euphemistically, had lasted a minute.

    Kokochu had hidden his prowess well, for Strun could see that the Centaur warrior''s skill was on par with a Mingat, the leader of a thousand men. In hindsight, he should have suspected the "Administrator" who had remained, for there was no way for the Shaman mare to survive otherwise. In the Khanate, the loss of a small army was nothing compared to the death of a proficient Shaman.

    Though wreathed in victory, Strun felt no triumph. When the battle had opened, he had been too slow in evading the suddenly appearing pilum tossed by the Centaur from a Ring of Storage, the kind of item that only Mingat Officers possessed. As a reflexive response to prevent the rogue pilum from striking his Priestess, he recalled channelling the vital energies of his newborn body, feeling the intensity of Garp''s profound, limitless vitality oozing like molten magma into his Creature Core.

    To his and Kokochu''s shock, he had deflected the pilum without breaking his arm or wrist, going so far as to catch the spear by the weighted haft with a screeching scream of steel and sparks. The fur and skin of his dominant hand had sizzled like wildfire, then instantly cooled as though quenched by the life-giving waters of Shalkar''s oasis.

    Growling, his opponent then charged.

    Once more utilising the secretive arts of the Shadow Runner, Strun had met his foe head-on, finding his foe moving in slow motion, with the instance of their encounter dilating like the slow-moving orb of the sun just beginning to set.

    Reversing his grip, Strun clutched his dagger with his restored digits, ducked under the sweeping glaive of the Centaur, then stabbed at the creature''s abdomen and chest.

    He struck, though both weapons felt as though he''d stabbed mud. Kokochu was protected by his Shaman''s art and shared life with the healer.

    As the Centaur passed, Strun had struck three more times, once on the neck, once on the Centaur''s spine, and another around the horseman''s elbow.

    He drew blood, though the effect proved less than fatal, for Kokochu turned with a reverse strike, swinging the glaive to slice Strun in twain. But, just as with Strun, the Centaur''s wounds had also healed.

    Procuring more vitality from the limitless well that was Garp, Strun had parried the reverse blow, using the momentum to send his body into a wild spin, then landed with both daggers down, embedded into the Horse Lord''s flank.

    The Centaur screamed as the Afaa al-Halak''s teeth cut skin and sliced the soft cartilage holding the horses'' organs intact. Usually, magical barding would have protected the Mingat. However, in his bid to appear a scholarly administrator, the fool Centaur had forgone the heavy armour that made his kind near-impervious to most melee implements.

    Next, Kokochu had attempted to kick Strun with hooves the size of war hammers. Strun dodged by a millimetre, stabbed at the horses'' tendons with his blades, then whipped at the Centaur''s eyes with a crushing lash from his brass-bound tail, an implement inspired by Lord Golos.

    His sneak attack struck true. The horse howled, blinded by the Rat-kin''s fifth limb.

    Strun then slid under the horse, learning from his earlier lessons to strike where the flesh and sorcery were weakest. There, he tapped once more into the blessing, drawing such a boon of vitality that his veins felt on the verge of bursting. In contrast to the slow-moving body of the giant horse, his daggers diced at the Centaur''s underbelly as a bone-white blur.

    In horror, Kokochu fell into a mad stampede.

    Strun remained unmoved, even when a hoof crushed his chest, snapped his femur like a twig. Another blow broke his ribs and mashed his organs, bursting a lung. Shielding only his head, the sheltering seat of his indomitable will, he attacked with dagger and claws at the awful stuff that now fell from the horse.

    Two exchanges later, horse and rat parted.

    Strun had remained standing, covered in blood, shit and bits of minced offal, his eyes viridescent with vitality and burning Essence, hobbing on a leg and a tail.

    Kokochu stood as well, trailing guts and chopped intestines, his ruined underbelly and unmentionables scattered all over. The Horse Lord''s upper body was entirely untouched, but that was beside the point. The Shaman and her ??pter slaves were ashen white, their life force quickly draining with the depleting of Kokochu''s fleeing vitality.

    He won, but the Centaur was the better combatant. Their difference was in the league of their blessings. That was why Strun had felt ashamed.

    "Do you yield?" Strun croaked, his body rapidly restoring itself thanks to the blessing of limitless vitality, racial talent and gifted Essence.

    "Never." The Horse Lord''s pride, unlike his body, remained unbroken. "No Tasm¨¹yiz shall¡ª"

    The Horse Lord did not have another chance to speak, for Strun''s Priestess now approached him. Even as Strun''s heart palpitated with the undesired possibility of his mistress offering mercy, she placed a Void-tinged hand against the creature''s chest, then enacted the same spell that she had used to elevate Strun.

    "Soul Tap!"

    Strun''s body reflexively seized, recalling the exquisite agony he had earlier experienced.

    Behind her, the Shaman and the three ??pter slaves collapsed, holding their heads in silent moans, their eyes bulging with horror, their jaws gnashing so hard that specks of blood sprayed from cracked teeth.

    Strun gulped. Wasn''t this blessing how his Priestess had elevated the Afaa al-Halak? How she bound him to her person? Why was she trying to Ascend the horse-kin? Strun felt a sudden sense of shame. Was his mistress that generous?

    "Speak the truth, Kokochu." His Priestess'' voice was wintery ice on the Caspian shore. "Why did you deny my rats entry into Shalkar? The quicker you deliver, the quicker this agony ends."

    To Strun''s surprise and horror, the Horse Lord whose honour could not be touched, not even by disembowelment, could not resist her compulsion.

    "T-the Khan did not expect that a Mageling would s-succeed!" The Horse Lord spoke as though screaming into the abyss. "You were supposed to emerge with no more than a thousand Rat-kin!"

    "Why does the Khan think I would fail?" the Priestess demanded.

    "Temir had sent his Eagle-kin Emissaries to the harpies!" Kokochu continued to scream. "The Qasq?r as well serve the Great Khan. At any cost, we cannot allow the B-Blood Fever to spread!"

    "What else?"

    "H-he wants your meddling Mageocracy to lose honour. He tires of your arrogance! P-please, no more, Mistress¡ª banish the sand s-scorpions in my Core! Release me!"

    In Strun''s eyes, his Priestess watched the Centaur''s suffering as though a Rat-kin saving the last bite of nan for a desperate day.

    "Void Bolt!"

    The screaming neighs ceased.

    Four more bolts erased the convulsing Shaman and her slaves from existence, leaving only tufts of mane and a few hooves.

    There was a lesson here for his kin: live faithfully to her teachings, for the Pale Priestess giveth, and the Pale Priestess taketh.

    Strun mulled over his epiphany as his Priestess stared about her contemplatively, her bloodless complexion aglow in the nimbus of the Day Light Globes, gazing into the middle distance, searching for something only she could see.

    "Strun, Stian, I grow tired," she declared to no one and everyone. "Prefects, set sentries while I rest. First thing tomorrow, we shall plan for the rebuilding of the oasis and its fields."

    This time, without confusion, the Rat-kins prostrated as one, circle upon circles of kneeling bodies, expanding outward in concentric loops, moving as one rat, making only the sound of a single footfall.

    Sawahi.

    The Western Badlands.

    "Lord Chaplain, we really must be on our way." The sweet voice of Elvia Lindholm, Cleric and provisional Knight Companion, implored her armoured trio.

    "Peace¡ª for there is virtue in patience, Novitiate. Your War Mage companion, if her achievements hold weight, will not be bested so easily." Elvia''s senior officer spoke with a tone that made her uneasy. Arguably, anyone would be nervous when conversing with Chaplain Kent Hawkford, one of the three Inquisitors assigned to the Order of Bath and formerly Alpha Company''s Knight Commander, presently seeking information on Spectre''s activities in the Steppes.

    "You forget the sorceress'' age, Commander. Powerful she may be, the girl is no older than our Sister." The friendlier voice came from a smiling Knight with a middle-aged face that was beginning to sag. "When I was their age, I was still hunting Goblins and copying scripture at the Seminary. Besides, she''s a fair lass¡ª and we all know how the Tower can be."

    "Gwen is no ''lady'', Sir Smallwater." Their third companion, a Knight Protector of Saint Michael and Elvia''s sworn fellow, shook his head in refutation of his seniors. "We should not underestimate what Evee''s companion may do or dare to do. She has ambitions beyond our Ordo''s understanding. Like a Drake, Gwen traffics in Crystals and power, milords, in volumes no less than the crows who sit in parliament. Her Master, if you recall, was none other than the late Lord Kilroy, and her current sponsor is the Lady of Ely."

    "Thank you, Mathias, we know that you know her well," Sir Smallwater chuckled. Both of the men''s eyes laid on the Spellsword hanging from Mathias Rothwell''s waist. "As I said, she''s a pretty one, hmm?"

    Elvia stifled a giggle as Mathias'' face grew stark red. Rather than a warning, the men likely thought Mattie was smitten with Gwennie. After all, Mathias was a benefactor of Gwen''s connections. Unlike Hawkford''s inherited blade or Smallwater''s issued inventory, Sir Rothwell''s blade was new¡ª the first true Dwarf-blade in two decades to come out of Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth. If Mattie didn''t share a bond with the sorceress, why would she gift him so kindly?

    "Thank you, Ser Rothwell." Their Chaplain''s tone was indecipherable.

    Mathias lowered his head.

    Not even a full-fledged knight was immune to the judgemental glare from an Inquisitorial Knight of the Order.

    "Novitiate Lindholm, if you would perform the honours?" The Chaplain commanded.

    "Of course, your Grace." Even as she agreed with a sun-lit smile, Elvia felt the stinging agony of sinful impatience burning a hole in her chest.

    Thus far, they had stopped several times in their "rush" to reinforce Gwennie. Yet, they had been relentlessly delayed by what Elvia suspected was newfangled Spellcraft acquired via Gwen''s peculiar "abilities".

    Under her Chaplain''s watchful eye, Elvia found a good spot among the buried ash mounds where the Rat-kin must have camped, then produced her Faith Relic.

    She slowly released the Mithril tri-crown icon into the air with a gentle toss, chanting the prayer words of truth-seeking. The sun-token began to glow at once, first with a gradual radiance, then warmth, filling the air around them with illuminated threads of fading gold. Slowly, other "lines" began to appear, indistinct in their hues of lilac and black, representing the passage of various Elemental mana, Schools of Sorcery, and other crafts that had intruded upon the Prime Material.

    The trio of Knights gathered around the impromptu light show and studied the results of her augury.

    Looking at the lingering mana pollution, Elvia felt a strange little knot forming in her belly.

    Just what in the Nazarene''s name was Gwen doing?

    Four days ago, while still in the middle of her preparations and prayers to gather Faith into her Tri-Crowned Sun, a Message had arrived from a flustered Magister Walken, stating that Gwen had shouldered ten-thousand Demi-human lives onto herself and was now taking them across the desert in the manner an Old Testament pilgrimage¡ª alone.

    Walken''s worry wasn''t that Gwen might fail in her suit¡ª but rather feared the degree to which she might succeed and bring about some calamitous subversion of London Tower''s plans to push back both the Khitani Centaurs and the Elementals.

    Sensing a terrible premonition, Elvia had pledged to leave immediately, appealing to Theodora St. Claire to bless her with passage through the Ordo''s secret Teleportation Chapels to Baku.

    As promised, her Rectrix allowed the privilege, though unexpectedly, her entourage had increased from one Knight Protector in the form of Mattie to the addition of a Knight Inquisitor and his Senior Protector.

    But why?

    Elvia could only guess at the Rectrix''s purpose, for the Crown''s Ordo all moved with a measure of autonomy someone at her tier of authority could not fathom. Even though her achievements from the Ireland Campaign had gifted her Faith on par with a Knight Lieutenant''s, her limited seniority meant she laboured only for the surface layer of the Ordo''s objectives.

    "This domain stinks of old sorcery," Sir Smallwater said.

    "You seeing this? What does this mean?" the Knight walked around the projection. "Six Schools of Magic? Meta-magic? Some form of indigenous sorcery? And this..."

    Seeing her Knights remark at the dark threads of magic, Elvia adjusted the modest collar of her Clerical outfit.

    "Heretical-Class Necromancy..." the Knight Chaplain whistled. "How very Wildlands."

    "The Centaurs do have a pet Necromancer." Smallwater reminded them. "This looks more like the work of a party."

    "But not Lazarus. I have his signature memorised." Hawkford walked around the projection. "His Soul Sorcery is rudimentary at best. Also, Mister Latvik is a Re-animator by trade."

    Elvia touched a finger to her temple.

    Should she offer the Inquisitor a short Chronicle of Gwen? How much of Gwen''s ability was public, though? As a student in the Seminary, they rarely received news of the outside world, much less something with so much complexity.

    Her saving grace was what Rectrix had intimated, that her superiors had bigger fish to fry, such as the hunt for the Plaguemancers working under Spectre.

    "I see, but how do you explain this?" The Chaplain pointed into the admixture of mana threads, then pulled from the aether something resembling a golden spider thread, barely perceptible even to their Faith-trained eyes.

    "Karmic tethers?" Smallwater''s eyes widened. "Here?"

    "A local land god?" Mathias volunteered. "The briefing did say the indigenous population worshipped the Sand Wyrms."

    "This sort of concentration can''t be superstition." The Chaplain shook his head. "Nor is this ancestral tradition nor fear. This is unadulterated devotion. "

    "Mayhap the rats have found religion?" Smallwater laughed. "By our scriptures, we''re in the right area for that sort of thing."

    "What do you make of this, Lindholm?" Her Chaplain''s Faith-laced, golden irises bore into her skull. "What does St. Claire''s prodigy have to say?"

    Elvia''s hand came away from her neck, damp with cold sweat. Karmic threads? What did she know of it other than what''s taught? That belief was a psychic manifestation and that when enough of it gathered, it gave birth to imperceptible and intangible Astral energies?

    "I am unlearned, Lord Chaplain," Elvia told the truth. She did not think that any half-truths would escape the Ordo''s Eyes of the Truth Seeker. Elvia could guess as to why there were Necromantic Soul Sorcery, Shaman Blood Magic and meta-magic in the wake of Gwen''s rats, but why would there be Faith? She had no answers to that. Gwen can''t eat her way into Faith magic.

    "Sers, I don''t know why there are Karmic Threads, but I know who might be responsible." Mathias, who had been inspecting their surroundings, blasted apart a pile of buried refused to reveal a mass grave of spent SPAM cans. "I know only one sorceress who uses Void and Lightning, and most importantly, carries SPAM with her at all times and dispenses it to anyone and any creature she meets, including the True Scion of a Mythic Asiatic Dragon."

    "Mattie, by God''s Grace.¡­" Elvia''s words clammed in her throat. Mathias'' hunger for approval from his superiors rivalled only his feelings of insecurity toward Gwen. Still, with evidence like that, it was hard to refute Gwen''s involvement. Her only gladness was that Gwen''s smiling face wasn''t plastered over the cans as they had been after the IIUC.

    "I see. In that case, Novitiate Lindholm." The Knight Chaplain brushed the motes of muted mana from his gauntlets. "Though Sir Smallwater and I are here for another matter entirely, you are still our little Sister. For your sake and in the Rectrix''s interests, do you mind introducing us to this friend of yours?"

    For any other Noviciate, the politically correct answer would be, "Of course, Sir. But please note that we weren''t that close."

    For Elvia, Gwen''s booming visitations and her thunderous descents had made their dubious relationship famous across all of Battle, not to mention the reason she was the Ordo''s precious "Vessel" was because of Gwen.

    Whatever her personal opinions, bringing Hawkford to her long-awaited meeting was no longer avoidable.

    With that understanding, Elvia lifted her face and delivered her most endearing, heart-piercing smile, appearing so vital and youthful that petal-pink blossoms and a butt-ugly ginseng root appeared.

    "Kiki!"

    "Sen!"

    The men nodded with complete satisfaction, bathed in the warmth of her presence. Turning from them, Elvia collected her Faith relic, banishing the Light of Revelation.

    "Whatever you''ve got planned, Gwennie..." Elvia prayed to high heaven. "Please, PLEASE don''t be committing heresy when I arrive..."

 Chapter 418 - Blessed are the Meek

    Of all the coursework Gwen had undergone during her Magisters'' training, the one topic she had never thought to put into practice was city planning.

    It wasn''t that she was disinterested¡ª only that she couldn''t have imagined a situation where she alone had to make the educated guesses for how sanitation could be maintained while living space was maximised.

    When Kokochu had said the fort wasn''t enough for the rats, the Centaur had a point¡ª the existing infrastructure held two thousand rats at best, while the remaining six thousand were scattered as though she had sown seeds in a wide arc.

    To fit her whiskered people, what she needed was aid from the Dwarves, though the possibility of importing talent was close to zero. Curiously though, Strun had mentioned that there were entrances to the Murk hereabouts and that white-skinned fiends inhabited the gloom. Moreover, as Aberrants seldom ranged far from Dwarven settlements, she strongly suspected there should be an isolated Citadel somewhere below the low hills to the east and south of the Sawahi.

    If she could get the rats to build their cities underground as warrens and bunkers, it would absolve most imperilments from the Horse Lords, the Harpies, and at least three out of the four principal Elementals.

    Then, with basic safety absolved, the Rat-kin could engage in primary produce and commerce, both necessary to attain self-sufficiency.

    After that, the existing twelve Clans under her command could then take time to absorb the other tribes. According to Bekker, after the campaign, win or lose, there would be a period of equilibrium where both sides would need to recover. In that lull, she would have the Rat-kin repopulate the Eastern Steppes and treescape the landscape to halt the desertification. Assuming she was right, even the Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar could be roped into providing support, for Sanari did infer that biodiversity was central to maintaining the stability of the Prime Material.

    Hers was a viable, longitudinal plan, though, for the Rat-kin, it would be a challenging and blood-strewn Path for whom sacrifices would be unending, both before and after the fact.

    For now, all she could do was provide her rats with as many advantages as she was capable of giving.

    At first light, she had commanded Caliban to dive into the billabong to check its depth. Delightfully, the famed aquifer under the oasis was deep indeed, meaning there would be no shortage of fresh water for the Rat-kin, at least until she could import Elemental Water Generators and Filtration Engines to nix that particular problem in the bud.

    After that, so long as the rats could trade for enough HDMS to power and service the generators, they should have few issues withdrawing water for agriculture. Once the conflict stabilised, she would have to tinker with the economy in the region until profitability was reached¡ª though that was a problem for the future.

    And for that¡ª Gwen''s hand wandered to the Druidic Satchel and its Llais Leaf. Unless she completely misread Sanari, the seeds should provide the food she needed to sustain her plan for the Rat-kin. Simultaneously, the concurrence that made her wary was how much the Bloom in White had foreseen, and if she was playing right into the hands of some multi-dimensional "Accord" the Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar were laying out.

    "Strun," she called out via her Empathic Link. As a Soul Slave, the Rat-kin heeded her command, with her will diminished only by distance. The range was significant, for her link with Gracie only waned to the point of emotional ripples after the Teleportation Circle to Eastern Europe. Whatever the case, the nefarious sorcery maintained that a Master could induce suffering regardless of distance and that if Gwen''s soul were to perish, all of her Soul Slaves would suffer the backlash, heedless of time and place. "Get Garp to follow the lines Ariel marked out; keep an eye on the labourer teams. I want those aqueducts completed as soon as possible!"

    "YES! PRIESTESS!" came the earnest reply. "Your will be done!"

    Elvia Lindholm and her trio of Knights arrived at Shalkar at noon.

    More so than in Ireland, when she healed the Ordo''s Knights in their running retreat against Balor''s Wyld Hunt, her chest ached, and her head felt woozy.

    She had always suspected that Gwen would grow unscrupulous under the guidance of the Nobles of London. Even her Rectrix had spoken of her peers in disdain, issuing regular warnings for the members of the Ordo to remain vigilant against the temptations of wealth and power. The ORDO¡ª her Rectrix had declared, were the POOR soldiers of the Nazarene. What power and wealth the Ordo gathered was only for its missions and not for personal profit, and should any member feel otherwise; they were free to pursue the Path of secular authority.

    Thankfully, Elvia and her party did not arrive at the site of a tremendous Necromantic Ritual.

    But that didn''t mean Elvia felt any less troubled. After watching the activity in the distance, Elvia began to understand why Walken had been so anxious about what Gwen would get up to if left unchecked.

    "Lindholm, is that a Mandala?" Chaplain Hawkford inquired after his knowledge of Necromantic Rituals failed to satisfy his suspicions. "A Transmutation circle, perhaps, within which she could convert all life to Un-life?"

    "I don''t believe so, Lord Chaplain."

    "Elvia''s right. It doesn''t look magical to me." Smallwater gave his two cents. "That''s a lot of rats though, make them Skeletons, and this may as well be a tomb city in Asyut¡­ Rothwell, what''s your take on that thing digging the canals?"

    "Though I am unlearned," Mathias said his bit of nothing. "I do believe that''s a Sand Wyrm, Sir."

    "I thought they''re wild and uncontrollable?" Elvia noticed the Inquisitor watching her. That there''s a tame Sand Wyrm was indeed a strange phenomenon, though one right up Gwen''s ally.

    "Gwen often charms Magical Fauna," Elvia offered what she knew to be an unsatisfying explanation.

    "Magus Song had a moniker during the IIUC," Mathias suddenly reminded them of something profound. "They called her the Worm Handler, Sir."

    "A Wyrm Handler? What arrogance."

    Elvia felt her chest constrict, fighting to contain her despair over the misunderstanding. "I believe that''s what they call a double entendre, Sir¡ª during the broadcasts, Gwennie was exceptionally popular among the male members of the audience. That and her Familiar, Caliban, possessed means to penetrate its foes with its tongues, which are concurrently tentacles, with teeth."

    Inquisitor Hawkford''s expression was that of a man demanding to know if his juniors were fucking with him.

    "It''s true, Sir Hawkford." Mathias backed her up.

    "That''s her flying over yonder?"

    "Correct, Sir," Elvia said.

    "And underneath, that''s a Rat-kin, riding on the Sand Wyrm, steering it with what looks like ropes tied to either side of its head."

    "Indeed, Lord Chaplain." Elvia nodded. "I hope Wyrm husbandry isn''t heretical."

    "Smallwater?"

    "It''s not an Undead Wyrm, and there''s nothing in the manual against taming worms." The Senior Protector shrugged, grinning. "We should probably applaud Magus Song for bringing a Sand Wyrm into the Mageocracy''s fold."

    "What do you make of the Mandala she''s drawing then?" Elvia watched her Chaplain squint. Her brain throbbed in sympathy for the Lord Commander, a man so used to solving problems with hammers that anything sticking out looked like nails.

    She did sympathise, however¡ª why would an Inquisitor follow a trail of heretical sorcery only to arrive at landscaping?

    "I do believe, Inquisitor¡ª" Elvia had recognised the "strange pattern" at once. For one who knew little about Superstructural Mandalas used to Conjure the Undead, it was self-apparent what Gwen intended to build. "The ''Mandala'', Sir, is what folk in the secular world would call Urban Planning."

    The quiet that followed was thankfully interrupted by their Senior Knight Protector. "Well, Kent? Shall we meet our sorceress? I am burning with curiosity."

    "Indeed."

    "I am sure Gwen would be happy to see us." Elvia did not doubt that the moment Gwen saw her, all decorum would go out the Tower, and her friend''s affections would come on as thick as molasses, especially considering she''s had no one but rats to talk to for the last week. If she took advantage of Gwen''s rudeness¡ª then she could warn her of the pitfalls to come.

    The foursome drifted forward, picking up speed until they were close enough to be heard with a Clarion Call.

    "EVEEEEEEEE¡ª" The sound of booming thunder rolled across the heavens as the meteoric acceleration of Gwen''s infamously obnoxious Flight fulminated.

    In the next moment, the lithe-silhouetted sorceress Dimension Doored in-between them with both arms open, enveloping Elvia before she could introduce her companions.

    "YE GODS¡ª THE HUMAN TOUCH¡ª" Elvia became buried against the protrusions in Gwen''s rubbery armour. The eruption of affection had come so suddenly and with such force that her cheeks flared a bright crimson.

    "Gwennmmgnnn¡ª these are¡ª"

    Hugging her tight, the sorceress took Elvia for a twirl before finally letting go.

    "¡ª My seniors, Lord Inquisitor Kent Crawford and Sir Thomas Smallwater, both of the Ordo."

    Gwen greeted the two by shaking their hands.

    "We''ve heard many good things about you, Magus Song." Sir Hawkford''s eyes fell upon her friend. "But first, we are here to help. Elvia says that you had requested immediate aid."

    "Thank you, Lord Chaplain, though I fear there is no longer a need. I have rectified most of my problems for now," Gwen said. "Though at the cost of almost two thousand lives¡­"

    "Gwennie, if those are the Demi-humans you saved, then this is an incredible feat!" Elvia butted in, just in case Gwen meant she spent two thousand lives. Having worked with refugees in Northern Ireland and helped orchestrate evacuations in two separate campaigns, she knew precisely how impossible it was to organise a successful Exodus. "And you did it alone! You''re always doing the impossible."

    "Nothing''s impossible with enough HDMs and prep." Gwen flashed a hand with no less than FOUR shimmering bands, three of which were Rings of Storage. "The ordeal''s cost me a few crates, but the main thing is we made it."

    "Well, Mattie and I are here to help," Elvia said quickly. "Aren''t we, Mathias?"

    "I am at your service." Mathias made a mid-air bow. "I am truly grateful for the Spellsword, Magus Song. We''ve also brought the supplies you requested from Magister Walken, though I fear Evee''s and your armour was not ready by the time we left."

    Gwen handwaved Mathias'' apology like a diner refusing complimentary bread. "No worries, Matt. Don''t fret over a mere Spellsword¡ª that''s for you to protect Evee. If you want someone to thank, pay your respects to Nesatin Smeltshield. He decided to rush your order ahead of the ones commissioned by the Griffin Guards; I just asked."

    "Surely there''s something we can do?" Elvia surveyed the Rat-kin below, most of whom were now gazing up at the flying five. "Have you set up a Field Hospital? A triage shelter? I can sense a great illness, Gwennie¡ª something evil is brewing inside these Demi-humans of yours."

    "Ah, yes, about that¡ª" Gwen placed a hand on either side of her hips. "Evee, I need your medical knowledge."

    Elvia breathed out. Even if the infected were Demi-humans, healing the sick left a good impression on the Ordo, who often contended with races outside of Humanity, and whose mission of mercy did not usually suffer from racial prejudice. Gingerly, she touched a finger to the holy icon hanging by her neck. "Anything, Gwennie, just ask."

    "Very well." Her friend nodded amicably at her Chaplain and Senior Protector. By now, both of her superiors had relaxed somewhat. "What do you fellers know about Blood Plagues? Or how to ferment Necromantic phages? I need a hand propagating the one I''ve got, and I need to make sure its virulence remains at full capacity."

    Inquisitor Hawkford stiffened. To Elvia''s eyes, the man appeared relieved that his suspicions were right after all.

    Comparatively, Sir Smallwater seemed puzzled by Gwen''s complete nonplus confession, for her tone was no different to a housewife wanting help with an outbreak of garden snails.

    "¡­ Right." Elvia felt her insides grow weak. To think things were going SO well! "Before we take this further, Gwennie, could we get a PRIVATE moment to rest and clean up? I am all icky from flying."

    "Companion Lindholm," her Inquisitor interjected, likely to rebuke her audacious partisanship. "I don''t believe¡ª"

    "Of course!" As usual, Gwen was in no mind to refuse her requests. "This might be the Wildlands, but that doesn''t mean I need to be a terrible host. You must all be tired."

    "We''re fine." Inquisitor Hawkford once more attempted to intervene. "Can you tell us more about this¡ª"

    "Don''t be a stranger." Gwen laughed without guile then beckoned that they follow. Elvia ignored her superiors and Mattie''s alarmed expressions, following her friend like a kitten as she parted the Rat-kin tide like mouse-Moses parting the Rat Sea, revealing a path to a glimmering portal. "Come on, I''ve got the Portable Habitat set up with cold drinks and fresh fruit. Help yourselves."

    "Em¡­" Before Elvia could protest, her seniors followed them into the portal, with Gwen permitting her companions'' entry. Mathias hesitated but still entered the grey space with its three-bedroom bungalow, knowing that he may have to fight his superiors at her command.

    Inside the familiar room, Gwen directed them to the kitchen and fridge. While every strand of hair on Elvia''s flaxen head threatened rebellion, her friend played the perfect hostess by showing her the spacious bathroom and retrieving for her a fresh towel.

    LORD NAZARENE¡ª Elvia''s inner voice cried, begging the almighty for the necessary strength to guide her through this ordeal.

    Just as Gwen was about to leave to charm her Chaplain and his Knight, she reached out with a trembling hand and grabbed her companion by the wrist. Gwen tugged at her arm to no avail as Elvia had applied her Draconic strength.

    Gwen looked down, a little surprised. "Yes, Evee?"

    "Let''s¡­" Elvia gulped. She could feel her Draconic Essence reacting against the viridescent counter force flowing in Gwen''s body. "Let''s¡­"

    "Let us?"

    "Go to the bathroom together..."

    Gwen let loose a snort just as her cheeks took on the same beetroot colour as Elvia''s. Going together to the bathroom wasn''t uncommon back in high school, but since Blackwattle, the same occurrence had not happened again.

    Behind her, she could feel Mathia''s mana go haywire while her Chaplain and Sir Smallwater both stood from their seats.

    Gwen''s eyes flittered between the men and herself, then an understanding that could not be more mistaken dawned. "Right. Of course, Evee. I missed you dearly as well. Sorry, gents, please give us girls a moment to freshen up."

    Then, in mockery of her smouldering nerves and cramping insides, Gwen gave her superiors a wink, as if to challenge whatever opinions they might have on two ladies sharing a moment, then allowed Elvia to take her away.

    The door shut.

    Elvia''s mind raced. Would her superiors use the Eye of Providence? Or the Word of Revelation? She knew of only one way to ensure neither Sir Crawford nor Smallwater would attempt such a thing.

    "Goodness!" she shouted at the door. "Gwennie! You''ve gotten so much more beautiful! What a figure you have."

    Her surprised friend grew so scarlet she could have acquired a new moniker to rival Alesia. "Evee, I know we haven''t seen each other for a few days, but wasn''t our agreement that we would take a more natural course? Time, you know? Like we discussed?"

    Elvia walked straight to the bath and turned on both the shower tap and the bath''s spigot. She then turned to her friend with a look of complete seriousness.

    "Gwennie, we need to talk. It''s about the fellers outside." Knowing that time is of the Essence, Elvia incanted the keyword to undo her magical smock. Instantly, her garments loosened, transforming from a body-hugging combat robe into a loose cloak. Then, with a simple wave, she stowed her holy vestments into her Storage Ring. "They won''t look¡ª or listen¡ª if it isn''t¡ª chaste. Not on mere suspicion."

    "Right." This time, Gwen read her intentions. She unfastened several zips, then stepped out of her combat armour like she was peeling off a layer of skin.

    "GOOD GOD¡ª" This time, Elvia did not need to fake her emotional outpouring for the men outside. Though her friend''s body remained hale, she could see the remnants of bruises both large and small where various body-boosting contingencies had forcibly knitted otherwise dire injuries. Observing the combat armour''s inside-out shell, Elvia could see that its protective membranes had been shattered and that the twisted strands of magical fibre were rusty with what could only be dried blood. There was an odour as well, something between rust and the twain that unique to Negative Mana used to empower Necromancy, that spoke plainly of what Gwen had done to survive the past few nights.

    "I know, I know¡ª" Gwen escaped into the shower, then covered the door to affect some privacy. Once her other bleeding garments hung on the door, she stepped into the water, momentarily turning the tiled floor ochre. "I wanted to take a shower before you came, but it''s been one thing after another."

    Elvia fought the repression in her chest; holding the Tri-Crown icon hanging between her bosoms, she prayed for her friend with all her heart. "Heal thy faithful, Lord, and I will be healed¡ª Blessed Aid!"

    The white-tiled bathroom glowed golden for a brief moment.

    Gwen let loose an audible moan like she was stepping out of four-inch heels after a long day working retail. "Christ, Evee, you''re getting GOOD at this Faith business. I take it the chapel at the Isle of Dog is picking up believers by the container load?"

    "Yeah¡­" Elvia herself sat on the toilet seat, confident that Mathias would duel the Inquisitor should they use Scry or Clairvoyance in a situation like this.

    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

    "What did you want to tell me?" Gwen''s voice blossomed beside her ear. They were out of sight of one another but not out of Divination range.

    "Gwennie, did you employ unorthodox magic to save the Rat-kin?" Elvia chose to cut straight to the chase. "The entire way here, we''ve been picking up traces of Soul Sorcery and Necromancy, among other kinds of... unscrupulous magics."

    "Ah¡ª" Gwen''s tone, for some reason, sounded relaxed. "Yes, I''ve been using whatever means necessary to get my rats to Shalkar. Why? Is there a problem? The Tower has sanctioned everything."

    "But not sanctioned for unsupervised usage..."

    "Outside of London? The unspoken rule is don''t ask, don''t tell," Gwen''s reply was atypical of the secular powers.

    "Are the rules of the earthly world so¡­ flexible?"

    "Absolutely. It''s the bloody wild west out here, Evee." Gwen made a face that imitated Dede. "Tell you the truth¡ª I''ve been holding back. The Tower''s opinion, which is also Brown''s and Bekker''s advice, was that I should use whatever I deem necessary at every opportunity. Practice makes perfect, or so the adage goes..."

    The feeling of repression in Elvia''s chest did not change. "Oh, Gwennie, you worry me so. What did you want with the Necromantic phage?"

    "It''s a long story, longer than a shower at least," Gwen joked at her expense. She then elaborated on the situation of her Rat-kin, victims of the Plaguemancers from Spectre.

    "Spectre!" Elvia felt for a moment that the steam had become ice. "That''s who Sir Hawkford and Smallwater are hunting."

    "Damn righteous," Gwen said. "I''ll talk to them. Get them to help."

    "But... your ''magic''¡­ I don''t know how my superiors would react." Seeing that her friend felt no fear, Elvia self-medicated with a silent jolt of Calm Emotions, soothing her frayed nerves.

    "They won''t be a problem unless they desire to be." Her friend''s eerie confidence was more worrying than her Necromancy. "Look, Evee, I know you''re worried, but give me a chance to explain it in front of your peers. Trust me, the higher up they are, the more likely they''ll agree with me."

    Elvia couldn''t help but feel that maybe her friend didn''t understand just how high the matter could escalate. If Inquisitor Hawkford saw something he deemed excessive¡ª not even the Tower could contest his accusation. Of course, the powers behind her could then free her, but the procedure would be lengthy and costly.

    What Elvia feared then wasn''t the consequence of Gwen''s Necromancy-lite, but the fallout if she and her Chaplain came to blows. While Gwen''s battle potential was there for all to see, Faith Magic did possess an edge over Spellcraft in the distinct manner of its manifestation, something regular IMS users could not begin to fathom. When gathered in the hands of someone at the tier of Sir Hawkford, it would take Gwen''s Brother-in-craft, Gunther Shultz, to squeeze out a concession from the Fomorian-crushing Knight Commander.

    "Evee¡ª" Her friend addressed her silence. "We take any longer in here, and they''ll be reporting you for something else. Look¡ª don''t worry about the Ordo, alright? I got it covered. Lady Loftus gave me a very long and detailed rundown, and though I can''t say too much, let''s say The Order of the Bath and I are natural chums, okay? Your Knight and this Inquisitor are going to LOVE me."

    When her friend finally stepped from the shower, Elvia studied the synthetic orchid adorning the sink, hating the fact that she was in no mood for titillating encounters.

    Gwen quickly dried herself with an Incantation Cube, donned her intimates, then slipped on something entirely inappropriate for meeting with clergy. True to her word, her companion wasn''t troubled.

    But could men like Sir Hawkford be moved so easily?

    Comely and charismatic her counterpart might be, Elvia did not doubt that the Inquisitor had a mind like tempered iron and was immune to glamour, both magical and otherwise.

    "See you outside, Evee." her companion exited with a rush of cold air. "And thanks for the heads up. If it weren''t for you, I wouldn''t have even considered wrangling the Order of the Bath. When Shalkar gets going, you''re getting credit, too."

    Gwen felt disappointed that the Knights did not liquor up with her Dwarven lagers, although they did help themselves to the platter of fresh fruit she had laid out.

    Now freed of her bloodsoaked battlesuit, Gwen was feeling very pleased indeed. Not just because she and Elvia healed a little as a result of her Senior Knights, but also because she hadn''t gotten this close to Evee since Sydney, since before things had gone strange and their relationship grew more tangents than an Aberrant had limbs. The naive fluster that Evee had shown¡ª she loved that side of Elvia, especially her good-natured innocence and her well-meaning little acts of self-sacrifice. No doubt, if this Sir Hawkford did indeed have beef with her, then Evee by now would have left little doubt in the man''s mind that his doll-eyed acolyte wasn''t an obedient sister but a naughty, wilful minx.

    For what''s to come¡ª an unexpected setup she had Elvia to thank¡ª she wanted the Inquisitor on her side, which meant the Ordo would act as one of her Lightning Rods. If she could manage that, then another obstacle to the Rat-kin''s newfound freedom would be exchanged for a support pillar.

    After pausing at the doorway so her audience could take a good long gander, Gwen arrived in the midst of three stiffy silent Knights whose eyes couldn''t believe what they were seeing.

    Indeed, no Necromancer should look so vital.

    Gwen didn''t know what Soul Flayers looked like in casual, though she suspected heavy mascara, skinny jeans, and tour shirts for Cannibal Corpse might feature. Comparatively, her chosen battle outfit was white-on-white, a demure mini dress with a square window to show off her collarbones, completed by a teasing hem hidden by sheer chiffon. With her hair just dried and trailing the scent of floral shampoo, she thanked the men, then sat on the tub chair directly facing them, thighs crossed, feet bare, her dainty toenails red as rubies.

    Mathias stood with his body against the tall back of the chair left empty for Elvia, his eyes finding scripture in the ceiling.

    Sir Smallwater sat hunched forward with an appreciative grin, ready to participate in whatever game she invited them to play.

    Chaplain Hawkford''s gaze remained focused on her eyes. The man''s expression was unflappable, though Gwen could sense his uneasiness. Taking a sip from his cup to mask the awkwardness, the Inquisitor finally allowed his gaze to wander, then sighed like a tired Pastor.

    "Shall we wait for Companion Lindholm?"

    Gwen agreed, then made small talk about London''s high society.

    A few minutes later, Elvia emerged fully clothed in her battle smock, which is to say white tunic and pants, with the tri-crown logo of the order imprinted on either rigid shoulder. Against her bosom, a holy symbol dangled, diffusing a golden glow that matched the fairness of her flaxen hair.

    The Evee of now was also lovely, Gwen thought. Gone was the cluelessness of youth. Now her friend appeared efficacious and thoughtful, though a little tired.

    Elvia''s Inquisitor-Chaplain was the first to speak.

    "Novitiate Lindholm, for reasons you very well know, may I request that you observe a momentary vow of silence?" Hawkford opened without diplomacy. While the man spoke, Gwen noticed his irises glowed as though haloed by the golden hour. "Magus Song, may I ask you a few sensitive questions? Know that my enquiry is for both your benefit, as well as that of our future Knight Companion."

    "Of course." Gwen cocked her chin, then twirled a bit of hair about her collar bones. The more unbalanced her audience became, the better the latter impact of her words.

    "What sorcery did you use on your Rat-kin to enable their passage from Nukus?"

    "Potions, Potions, Potions, and Death March," she answered without pause.

    "Death March?" The Inquisitor made a note with a raised brow. "Same as what the Centaurs use?"

    "It''s a unique variant. We''ve replaced the Green-skin Essence Sympathy segment with scripts intended for Soul Necromancy originally pioneered during the Great War. The baseline Sigil''s Glyphs parallel the original. However, the hybrid Sigil scripts are my Master''s invention and are known only to myself and a few select Cambridge Faculty members. A record is available for those with the right clearance."

    Her candidness caught the Inquisitor by surprise, for the man had to take a few seconds to digest the fact before continuing.

    "We also detected another kind of Soul Sorcery, a kind that has seen questionable applications when used in the South American Wildlands. Is that also by your will?"

    "Soul Tap, yes," her candidness continued. "Very useful when you need the dirty truth in a hurry. I''ve been using this opportunity to test its elasticity and limitations. In the forefront of academia, Sir Hawkford, entire generations of Void Mages'' livelihoods now hinge on my proficiency. If successfully paired with Sympathetic Life-Link¡ª that''s the other Blood Thaumaturgy you''ll be accusing me of, we can stabilise the vital decay stemming from volatile Negative Awakenings. It''s all very miraculous."

    "You do not appear at all troubled by your descent into Necromancy, Magus Song." The Inquisitor''s brows knitted. "I would venture to say that you seem proud of it."

    "Should I not be?" Gwen looked to Elvia, smugly smiled, then looked back at the Inquisitor. "I was born in a backwater Frontier, but now I am the Devourer of Shenyang, the Liberator of Kachin, MVP of the IIUC, architect of the Tonglv Canal and the Isle of Dogs, co-Pioneer of common Void Sorcery, Ambassador to Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth and fellow to the Tree of Tryfan. At present, I am here for my Magister''s training, testing myself by liberating the Rat-kin and to bring a new balance to the Steppes. Did you think I achieved these accomplishments by studying Spell Books at the local library? Where would the Ordo be if its members lack the same conviction and ambition?"

    Gwen studied the Chaplain while her accumulative titles tightened the Inquisitor''s lips little by little like a tiny ratchet.

    "Hubris," the Inquisitor retorted. "... is a treacherous sin even for one so young, no matter the value you may bring."

    "You didn''t answer my question," Gwen replied with another beaming smile, shifting in her seat so that Mathias found renewed interest in the spotless ceiling.

    "No matter, you have answered mine."

    "Do I satisfy?" Gwen gestured to herself.

    Hawkford''s brows knitted.

    "Tell me, Inquisitor." Gwen decided she would move on. "Who does the Ordo serve?"

    "The Nazarene, for us whose blessed feet were nailed to the bitter cross."

    "Indeed." Gwen made the sign of the cross. "For he is the way, and the truth, and the life."

    The Inquisitor''s coolness cracked. "Magus Song, even for someone in your position, it is unwise to mock the Ordo."

    "Lord Commander Hawkford." She leaned forward aggressively so that a portion of her hair fell across her bare shoulders. "I meant no disrespect. Rather, I am frustrated. Did you know that almost nine days ago¡ª yours truly happened to a group of hapless Rat-kin living as slaves without dignity or means of escaping drudgery, enslaved by pagans who worship the old ways? Touched by their suffering, I took their sick and dying and displaced them from becoming hamburger mince under the Centaur''s iron hooves, then trekked across a desert filled with wolves, Harpies, Sand Wyrms, and Moses knows what else. I then fed them out of pocket and charity until we reached the promised land of their oasis, only to be shat on by the bloody Khan. As a learned Cleric of the almighty and all-merciful, are you seriously going to dismiss the parallels?"

    "I see it," the Inquisitor replied with ambivalence. "You have done an admirable thing, Magus Song, but¡ª"

    "Inquisitor! By Him that raised me to this careful height, I have done nought that would go against my God-given conscience!" Gwen carefully raised the frustration in her voice. "Dear Chaplain, you do me shameful injury when you presume my vileness, know you not that the all-knowing watches us, even here in this Pocket Plane?"

    "I shall not contest that." Hawkford appeared entered by her flurry of accusations. "Magus Song, I am not here to judge your merits¡ª"

    "JUDGE?! If the temple burning Mongols¡ª" Gwen parried the Knight''s counter, taking a mile when gifted an inch. "¡ª have not been smitten by Him, then why should the all-knowing damn ME, who sought to save the meek? Blessed are the Meek, Chaplain! You all knew of the Rat-kin''s plight! Yet no one helped them but me¡ª a meek woman who knew nothing of their suffering! Yet lo! Here we are, dearest Inquisitor! Their salvation is at hand! Will you damn them? Who can say this isn''t providence? YOU? Be you so mighty that you alone speak for the Lord of Lords?"

    Gwen watched as Mathias hung his head. Besides the Knight of St Michael, Patron Saint of the Meek, Sir Smallwater shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

    The Inquisitor raised both hands in protest.

    "Magus Song¡­ Your tongue is as wily as the thrice-damned serpent''s." Hawkford spoke after a prolonged pause. "Yet, I cannot contest that you have spoken only the truth. Yes, we have taken little care of the troubles here. However, for the sake of our world and to prevent the tragedy that is the Great War, there must be discourse and consequence. Your Path isn''t the first to cross ours, Gwen¡ª and you won''t be the last."

    "Our path isn''t crossed, Kent." Gwen fought back, her pupils aglow with supernatural confidence. "Nay, our Paths are parallel and supplementary, like the two rails of a track; one would falter without the other. For instance, Evee says that you are here for the Plaguemancers?"

    "That is correct."

    "Then you should know that the phage I am trying to preserve is the very one laid by your Plaguemancers. If you have means to track the plague, Kent, I''ll give you all the aid and samples I can."

    "Much obliged." Hawkford''s eyes softened. "But why have you not eradicated the phage?"

    "There was no need." Gwen moved on to the next phase of her subversion. "I need the phage to make a home for the Rat-kin and establish a haven. In the months to come, I will gather the scattered Rat-kin Clans of the Sawahi here."

    "Your humble Rat-kin are immune to a Plaguemancer''s crafted phage?" Hawkford raised both brows.

    "In a manner of speaking, thanks to certain improvements on my part, most can endure the worst, with only the weakest and the lame succumbing to the fever. As for those who are newly infected, the phage often lies dormant."

    "I hope this isn''t yet another sanctioned heretical Thaumaturgy." Hawkford''s judgemental eyes gleamed.

    "No. Tis a virtue of Essence. Free-range and free of Necromancy," Gwen said. "As to how? That''s Classified information. I urge you to petition London Tower if you wish to know more."

    "This might be strange, Magus Song, but I find your total honesty... disturbing." Hawkford''s truth-seeking glamour flickered as the man massaged one side of his temples. "I concede the point. Your disease is useful in what way?"

    "It sends the Centaurs fleeing in every other direction," Gwen delivered her punchline. "I am keeping this gift from the Plaguemancers so that the Centaurs would stay away from Shalkar."

    "And if they don''t?" This time, it was Sir Smallwater who asked the question. "Horse Lords are very, very aggressive when it comes to territory."

    "Then good luck to the Khan. A small force won''t make a dent, not with Garp here. Conversely, a large and victorious Horde will return to Nukus laden with casualties and plague. It would be lose-lose."

    "Of course, your tame Sand Wyrm." The Inquisitor grew contemplative. "And you¡­ foresaw this?"

    "Things happened." Gwen shrugged. "Life is full of ordeals."

    "Magus Song, if you don''t mind me playing the Devil''s Advocate. What''s the value in keeping Shalkar?" Sir Smallwater raised a hand, his tone now edging on respect. "And indeed, these bottom-feeding Demi-humans?"

    "I plan to terraform the local area into an agricultural primary produce centre." Gwen felt relieved that she could finally draw her pie in the sky for the Ordo Knights. "Did you know that the Rat-kin were originally responsible for the spreading of crops and other plants that prevented the desertification of the Sawahi? The process is reversible, so long as we can keep the Horses away."

    "You aim to establish plantations?" The Knight remained unconvinced. "What will you grow?"

    Knowing the Knight would ask this very question, Gwen casually reached for a pouch resting on the side table, then retrieved a leaf pulsing with vitality.

    "Good Lord." Sir Smallwater blinked rapidly. "Kent, she''s got a¡ª"

    "I know." The Inquisitor motioned for Gwen to speak. "Gwen, are you party to that which cannot be named?"

    Knowing that she had the men now dancing in the palm of her hands, Gwen smiled with teeth. "Maybe, are you, Kent? If so, we can speak more candidly."

    "The Ordo is not, and never will be." The ex-Knight Commander shook his head. "Do your orders come from up on ''high''?"

    "I shall not verify nor deny that fact." Gwen slipped a pair of fingers into the valve-like opening of the satchel to retrieve a few seeds for all to see. "Starling Tomatoes, Jade Cucumbers, Polar Beans and Sunburst Squash¡ª and to quote my Druid Hierophant¡ª ''These will thrive anywhere on the Prime Material, provided there''s sun, soil and water.'' Once we have a prolific supply of produce, precious food exports will bring a rapid expansion of the Rat-kin''s domain. I don''t know if you studied Planar Theory in the seminary, but when an eco-sphere recovers, the Prime Material''s fabric will increasingly disfavour Planar invaders, limiting the growth of the Fire Sea, if not outright turning the Elementals into natives. If I succeed¡ª and succeed I shall¡ª then Humanity, the Mageocracy, and the Rat-kin will see wins on every front. AND the Centaurs will have abundant food to sustain their war against the Elementals."

    To finish, Gwen willed a juicy apple to float from the fruit basket. Holding the fruit in the palm of her hand, she implored the Inquisitor by taking a bite out of the crisp flesh.

    "Thereby, Sir Hawkford. Will you nip this sinner in the bud, or will you aid the meek, and in the process, bring long-lasting peace, prosperity and mercy to the Steppes?"

    Opposite Gwen, Elvia''s trio of Knights stared as though the Devourer in a short dress had suddenly sprouted horns and a tail.

    "Oh, just one more thing." She had wanted to save her Ace-in-the-hole for a rainy day, but with Elvia here, she felt that the time was ripe for teaching her Evee just how tenable her position in the Ordo had become. "I say this with the utmost respect, Sir Hawkford, but after your victorious return to London, you should check in with your secular scribes as to why the Ordo''s budget has been so generous."

    Inquisitor Hawkford''s eyes grew suddenly alarmed.

    "Ah¡ª I see you had a hand in the audit duties as well." Gwen passed the bitten apple to her off-hand. "To alleviate your suspicions, I shall confirm your worries. Battle''s budget has indeed been generous of late, not only because the Lady of Ely had donated doubly handsomely, but because the Isle of Dogs also contributed. I shall say it here and now, Inquisitor Hawkford¡ª I promise you, in my capacity as the Isle''s CFO, that if the salvation of the Sawahi goes well, the Ordo''s budget will increase to a degree equating the degree of our success."

    "Ye Gods! May the Almighty have mercy on our souls..." Sir Smallwater made the sign of the cross with his Holy Symbol while facing her. "Damned succubus, tempt us not! Kent, what say you?"

    "As always, we will do what''s right." Inquisitor Hawkford disabled the Faith sorcery empowering his eyes, then pinched the bridge of his nose with a defeated sigh. "Magus Song speaks the truth¡ª We are mere ministers of His grace, Thomas. Aiding the Meek remains a core duty of us Poor Soldiers."

    Gwen happily stood from the couch, shook hands with her new conspirators, then sat beside Elvia with her arm around the Cleric''s neck.

    "What? How?" Her precious Evee appeared to be in pain after holding her promised silence. "If you could... Why did I even... ARRRGH¡ª"

    "Never mind that, Evee." Gwen rested her cheek on Elvia''s head as she massaged the young woman''s trembling shoulders. "Isn''t it nice that God works in mysterious ways?"

    Hyrcania.

    The Western Steppes.

    A mere hundred kilometres from the Fire Sea, the desert air burned even at dusk thanks to the planar tear, its breach of the Prime Material so violent as to be visibly distorting the landscape.

    Dini Saran, Chief Shaman, Speaker for the Nayza?ay Qani and its numberless ??pter servants, sought shelter from the heat under the Glyphs laid down by the Human Mages aiding the Horde.

    "??pters, leave me," she gave the command. Her followers obeyed without question, filing out of the cool tent and into the burning exterior to suffer the heat.

    Saran touched a finger to her temple, allowing her consciousness to rang out, affirming that her Khan, Khudu, his other Orkoks and their allied Arcanists were resting from the midday victory against the Dao''s Clay Golems.

    Thus far, the campaign had progressed at an alarming pace¡ª so exceedingly well that more than once, Saran had asked her Khan to halt his pursuit of the retreating Dao and Djinn for fear of needlessly losing their men to ambushes.

    The Khan had given chase heedless of her advice¡ª and against all expectation, emerged victorious with the help of the Human Meister Angela Bekker, besting the ambushes at every turn.

    It was incredible, but Hyrcania, the old bastion of the Centaurs under Seljuk Khan some millennia ago, was once more theirs. Through the loss of only an Orkok''s worth of Free Riders, they had pushed as far as it was physically possible to do so, leaving only the outer perimeter to cleanse and secure.

    Now, Saran felt a horrible disquiet.

    The Khitani Horde had bested the mirage-wielding Marids.

    Beaten back the deceitful Djinns and even pushed back the magma-hearted Dao.

    But where were the Efreeti Clan?

    The Fire Sea¡ª so-called because of the reigning authority of the prideful Princeling Zodiam, Son of Flames, that wanton, gluttonous bear of an Elemental, ancient bringer of firestorms and desolation, had amounted its defence sans its strongest soldiery¡ª the infamous Brass Legion.

    Their absence, Saran was sure, was the only reason for which Temir, so young and fearless in his courage, could penetrate this deep into the heart of the Fire Sea, a place where Elemental Fire ruled like a fierce tyrant over all other Elements.

    Yet, in this promised of land flame and brimstone, where had its sulfur-breathing champions gone?

    Again, Saran assured her privacy, then produced from her herb pouch a desiccated leaf. Promptly, she conjured mana and distilled Essence to the hand holding the leaf. The fibres hungrily absorbed what Saran made available, growing vibrant and plump as her figure appeared to wane in the aftermath like a wilted flower, her youthful face growing instantly old before beginning a slow recovery.

    Saran had not wanted to use the Llias Leaf, certainly not because of an unexpectedly decisive victory.

    Holding the leaf with both hands, she transmuted her thoughts and fears into the sympathetic fibres of the living leaf, calling upon one who had guided her since the time of Temir''s grandsire.

    "¡­ Saran?" a thought came, borne on the hot winds blowing from the portal.

    "¡­ O Eternal Bloom." Saran infused her thoughts with the leaf. "I require your boundless wisdom."

    "¡­ An unexpected request from one so capable, but we will oblige. What ails you, child? Have the Elementals proven more powerful than the Council anticipated?"

    "The opposite, your worshipfulness. We are at Hyrcania, our losses are acceptable, and morale remains high. We have pushed the Elementals far, but there has been no sight of Prince Zodiam, nor his brass-bound molten legions."

    "¡­ Most peculiar. How many Free Riders did you lose? Who did you face?"

    "We have slain a little over a thousand of the Elemental Folk, including six Primarches of Earth, Water and Air. Our losses number just over ten thousand, though we will lose more to the Blood Fever when we return. I am sorry to report that the Elementals have allied with Human Necromancers to spread disease and famine."

    "Famine?"

    "Without other nations to raid, the Sawahi struggles to sustain the Horde''s appetites, O Eternal Bloom. After the war, there will be many winters of long attrition. Though we have many Elemental Cores to trade, I know as well as your sagely self that the Mageocracy will not make good on its promises."

    "¡­ Saran." To Saran''s shock-horror, the all-knowing voice of her ageless sage sounded hesitant. "Has a visitor not appeared, bearing a Druidic seed-satchel by her side?"

    "I¡­" Saran''s thoughts flashed over the entourage of Human Mages. She had worked hand-in-hand with every Mage for the last ten days and recalled seeing no one with a Druidic satchel. "¡­ I do not know, O Eternal Bloom. Please instruct this ignorant one."

    "¡­ Have you not seen a Void-wielding sorceress?" the voice grew solemn.

    "I have, though the sorceress is far from the field, in Shalkar. We had expected to call upon her Creature¡ª though now it would appear there is no need."

    "¡­ Why is she not with her companions? With the Khan? She has a way with words..."

    "¡­ The girl wished to spare several Clans of diseased Tasm¨¹yiz. When her senior sorcerers humoured her wilfulness, the Khan thought it harmless to send her away and to teach her a lesson in futility so that we are in a better position to negotiate with the Mageocracy after the campaign."

    The silence that followed was like whispering silk.

    "O Eternal One." Despite the coolness of her yurt''s interior, Saran''s furry skin broke out in a terrific outbreak of oozy sweat, making the sheer fabric of her robes adhere like a second skin. "Has this one erred?"

    "For our ultimate purpose¡­" the voice that came through possessed an uncanny tone Saran could not read. "You may have achieved a better outcome than any other member of the Accord had achieved in years."

    "I thank thee, O¡ª"

    "¡­ Though for your people," the voice continued. "Who may know?"

    "Eternal Bloom?" Saran''s fingers shook. "Should this one retrieve the Void sorceress from Shalkar?"

    "I shall leave matters to you," the voice in her head said. "Fret not, Saran. While change itself may be unpleasant, that which endures must be endured, else boon will turn to bane, and the Khitani will join their ancestors in history."

    "Please teach your fool." Saran prostrated while holding the leaf, the golden bell of her horns lowering until they touched the carpeted floor. "Guide this one as you always have..."

    Saran prayed to the tree in the north.

    She prayed to her ancestors, then prayed to the spirit of Great Gengis.

    Unfortunately, no further elucidation came to Dini Saran, Chief Shaman of the Khitani Nayza?ay Qani.

    In the Llias Leaf''s silence of thought, there blew only the scalding winds from the Fire Sea, driving the dunes eastward, eternally expanding the Sawahi.

 Chapter 419 - O ye, of Little Faith

    When Gwen and Elvia''s retinue of Knights materialised in the world outside, Golos had returned, and she had redressed in safari khakis more suitable for sun and sand.

    "Father''s Vessel has arrived?" her Wyvern''s first act, after dropped off a pair of bloodied bodies, was to remark on the bewildered figure of Elvia. Even now, her friend was reeling from Gwen''s conversion of her Ordo''s Inquisitors.

    When the majestic Wyvern''s elongated snout reached the Inquisitor and his Senior Knight, the Wyvern''s usual arrogant Draconic gave way to English. "Greetings, Daoshi of the West."

    "We hail thee, Scion of the Yinglong." The Inquisitor bowed his head while Gwen introduced them, evidently impressed by so noble a creature.

    Her Wyvern appeared to struggle in placing the duo within his internal hierarchy of being. "Calamity, be these allies or foes?"

    "We''re all friends here," Gwen assured her Wyvern, then directed their attention to the two bleeding, mangled piles under Golos. "I assume those are not our friends."

    "Ha! That''s the Chief of the Qasqir and his child." Only now did Gwen notice her Wyvern''s entire lower half was covered in wet, as opposed to desiccated gore. From the looks of the carnage, Gogo must have had a lot of fun raiding the camp of the Sawahi''s hapless, terrestrial Demi-humans. "I thought they might be useful."

    "They certainly are!" Gwen patted her Wyvern on the snout. "Well done, Gogo! Your brother would be proud!"

    The Wyvern snorted with evident pleasure, then haughtily reared back a head that was as violent as it was handsome.

    "That said¡ª" Gwen stepped in front of Elvia almost unconsciously, then felt embarrassed after realising her friend was probably more resilient to Gogo''s carelessness than she was. "¡ª are they still alive?"

    Her Wyvern shrugged its shoulders, an act so human that both Elvia''s Seniors remarked at the Thunder Wyvern''s affability.

    "I''ll check," Elvia offered, conjuring forth Sen-sen without apparent need for an invocation.

    The bipedal Ginseng took a wide path around Gwen, then grew out its tendrils to nestle the potential wolf-kin corpses onto makeshift field beds formed of interwoven roots.

    The Knight Companion''s eyes took on the dim glow of Clerical Divination; after a quick inspection, she raised her Holy Symbol and proclaimed the all-compassing "Aid" of the Nazarene. Miraculously, Sen-sen took on the same illumination as conjured by her Prayer Cantrip, bolstering Elvia''s spell with its unique constitution.

    It took several minutes for the Aid to run its course. As the spell''s gentle suffusion took place, Rat-kin from all over the dig site came to see what their Lord Golos had brought and what their Priestess'' companion was capable of performing.

    Perhaps hoping that their death should have been the end of it, Gwen''s prisoners opened their despairing eyes. Interestingly, Elvia had only partially restored the Wolf-kin, a testament to how well she had read the situation.

    "Your names?" Gwen stood beside the scoundrels. If the wolves were to attack, they would instantly discover just how potent a Ginseng could be when reinforced with the Essence of a True Dragon.

    In front of the four humans, a Wyvern, an endless ring of rats, and two disorientated Wolf-kin raised their subdued eyes at their captors.

    Both Wolf-kin had seen better days, but there was still a savage majesty about the pair that made Gwen think of documentaries she had seen about the Wolves of Yellowstone. In the cold, sandstone pupils of these creatures, she saw cunning, malice, and the deep-set ego of alpha predators.

    "Kinsur of Qasqir," the larger of the two replied. "This is Tatatunga. I am chief of the Qasq?r."

    Gwen looked to her Wyvern.

    "If they''re lying." Golos grinned cruelly, revealing teeth that the Rat-kin could use for daggers. "I''ll raze their village and every other wolf settlement within an hour''s flight."

    "Thank you, Gogo. Wolf-kin of Qasq?r. Why did you attack my Rat-kin?" Gwen asked a loaded question, one she would use to gauge how the Wolves would pay.

    "¡­ Nourishment," the wolf calling himself Skinkur spat blood as he answered. "And orders."

    "From?" She activated her Desolation Aura.

    "From Temir Khan''s Eagle-kin." The wolf moaned with every stuttering word, struggling to deliver his rationale. "There''s no crime in it. We live on the Steppes. Strength is how things are. They''re welcome to raid us back if they''re able."

    "I see. Though I would be careful what you wish for." Gwen studied her mangy, mangled foe, then turned to Elvia. "Nourishment, you say? Evee, can you use Detect Disease on our guests?"

    "Of course." Elvia turned her diagnostic vision toward the Wolf-kin. Incanting a few words, she sent forth a ripple of Positive Energy that travelled through Sen-sen''s tendrils to pulse through the creatures'' bodies. A few seconds later, Gwen had her answer. "It''s a minute manifestation, but it''s there. They''re sick with the same Blood Fever that''s carried by your Rat-kin."

    Gwen''s lips formed a red line of mockery. "Ah¡ª karma can be a cruel mistress. Tell me, Kinsur, did you two know that the Rat-kin you''re attacking are the plague-ridden Tasm¨¹yiz I rescued from under the Khan''s hooves?"

    The two shook their heads. "Nay. Dini Saran''s advice was that these were fleeing the war."

    Dini Saran? Gwen scanned her recent memories, and a smiling ??pter Shaman''s face flashed across her mind''s eye, the very one who told her to chill out over Strun''s mother. If Saran had planned to "reward" the Qasq?r by offering them diseased rats, then the fathoms of the Dini''s twisted mind was depthless. In one act, the Shaman would have shamed her, killed the rats, then infected the Qasqir, the Centaur''s natural competitors.

    "I know of this Saran," Inquisitor Hawkford volunteered. "She has served as the ''nurse'' of three generations of Khans thus far, an exceedingly unusual prospect for a ??pter Shaman."

    Briefly, Gwen described her encounter with Saran to Elvia and her companions, then elaborated that these two and their Clan of hunters were responsible for the life of some eight hundred refugees.

    "Nonetheless, I would hope that your ''mercy'' is just." Inquisitor Hawkford appeared to have read her mind. "And without unnecessary Soul Sorcery."

    "I''ll give them the mercy they deserve," Gwen informed the Inquisitor, then stepped into the air to address her circle of rats. "Prefects! Your Priestess requires your presence!"

    A few of her Prefects were already close, while the few that had duties further afield delegated responsibilities to their fellow Centurions, then scampering to the fore.

    ¡°Priestess¡ª¡°

    ¡°Dear Priestess!¡±

    ¡°We are here, Priestess¡ª¡°

    The title was enough to raise the brows of her companions.

    "It''s what they''ve taken to call me." Gwen laughed off their concern, sensing that her new companions had taken on odd expressions in the rats'' presence. "It wasn''t easy getting this many folks you''ve met for a few days to work together without adequate theatrics."

    Hawkford gave Elvia a questioning look while her friend once more took on a consternated expression of guilt and concern.

    "Trust me, there''s nothing to it¡ª" Gwen turned to her rats. "This is Strun, a Centurion and grand scion of Stian. Beside him is the rat himself, Elder of Clan Jildam and a Prefect. Tell them, Stian, what am I the Priestess of, exactly?"

    "The Afaa al-Halak! Sovereigns of the Sawahi!" Stian replied at once. "And You are the tamer of the Wyrm, the Rat-kin''s salvation, O Priestess."

    "See?" She rewarded the Prefect by patting the rat on the head. "Evee, Mattie, you''ll be working with Strun in the coming days, together with Garp¡ª that''s the Sand Wyrm over yonder. Strun is my Wyrm Rider and Champion among the rats. If there are any problems, Strun will solve them for you."

    "Hello, Strun." Elvia waved at the rat. The Knights nodded, unconvinced of the authority bestowed upon so unassuming a Demi-human.

    "Welcome, Prefects," Gwen addressed her newly gathered audience. "Over there are the leaders responsible for that night of terror¡ª their Elder and his heir."

    The rats'' eyes informed Gwen and her fellow sorcerers that they had only one thing on their minds.

    "From the fact that they''re sick with the Blood Fever," Gwen continued. "I take it that they ATE your kin. Raw."

    The murderous aura grew thick enough to slice.

    Opposite Gwen, Elvia and her Knights silently waited for the carnage to come.

    "In their eyes, what they did was not a crime." Gwen eased the atmosphere of simmering rage by merely raising a hand. "Fortunately for our Qasq?r neighbours, I am not one to judge. THEREFORE, what I shall do is encourage the fruits of their labour¡ª Golos will take these two diseased murderers back to their Clan. There, they will inform their kin, or not, that the Khan has gifted them a Necromantic phage that would desolate their stronghold. That will be the karmic outcome of their choice to attack us like jackals in the night."

    Gwen waited for rats to digest her judgement. "Does that satisfy? If any should object, come forth now."

    Her Prefects were quick to prostrate themselves. "None, noble Priestess, your wisdom is faultless."

    "Inquisitor?" Gwen turned to Hawkford. "Can I get a professional opinion?"

    "Unorthodox, but apt." Inquisitor Hawkford nodded with solemnity. "As you said, the Qasq?r shall eat the fruit of their sins. Tis an admirable summation, Magus Song."

    "Thanks, Kent." Gwen gave the man nod. "Mathias, you said you brought supplies?"

    "A hundred Cure Disease Potions, and twenty Restoration Potions." Mathias made to remove one of his Storage Rings.

    Gwen tossed the ring to Stian, knowing that the rat could use simple items, then turned once more to their cowering prisoners.

    "I have given these potions of Cure Disease to the Rat-kin," Gwen informed the pair. "They are free to gift them to you if your people are sincere enough. If so, the penitent may be spared to perpetuate the Clan."

    "HA!" Golos snorted, understanding as well as she did that having the Wolf-kin beg at the Rat-kin would break their spines. "Calamity! Ruxin would be proud."

    "I know," Gwen stated the obvious. "Now, would you mind delivering these two back home?"

    "I shall do it at once!" The Wyvern''s innate sadism overflowed from the expression of pure pleasure. "You two! Hold still lest I crush you like Ryxi''s carp!"

    The Wolf-kin dared only to protest in silence, though they were gone in an instant, disappearing along with Golos'' gleeful laughter amid the flapping of great wings. Knowing her Wyvern, he would not only deliver the Wolf-kin''s leaders but inform their Clan and the Clans around them of the disease, then stay to watch the shit show like a kid poking at anthills.

    "An excellent finishing touch." Inquisitor Hawkford was the first to speak in the aftermath of her judgement, offering an opinion that juxtaposed Elvia''s consternation. "Mercy and judgement in equal degree¡ª but not without cost or consequence. Elvia, Mathias, you have much to learn from your friend here."

    "Yes, Inquisitor," both Juniors of their irrespective Ordo hailed the Inquisitor''s advice.

    "So, what will you have us do?" Hawkford indicated to himself and his Senior Protector. "Sir Smallwater and I can spare you a day at best. Companion Lindholm and Sir Rothwell will stay, of course, as per their original designs."

    "Please do as you will." Gwen turned to her Prefects. "Ix, Jarl, Bith, can you take these Masters to see Centurion Kuka? They''re interested in studying the illness. Give them whatever they need. Scour the mischief for the newly sick if you must."

    "YES! Priestess!"

    To her companions, she explained that Kuka was the old Shaman of Clan Jildam tasked with helping those suffering from the direst symptoms of the Blood Fever. In those victims, the mature phage and the phage seeds should gift the Inquisitor the means to trace the mana signature of Spectre''s Plaguemancer.

    "If there are enough samples and Miss Lindholm''s aid, we shouldn''t need more than a few hours," Hawkford assured her.

    "Gwennie, I brought a field clinic with me," Elvia showed off two rings on her off-hand, by which Gwen took to mean she brought tents, supplies and medical necessities for surgeries. If so, then the thousand or so injured rats relying on soiled bandages and splints would be thankful indeed. "Where can I set it up?"

    "Skaz," Gwen called on another familiar rat-face. "After they visit Kuka, show our friends where we''re situating the town centre, west of the oasis. If Evee needs more space, gather the men to clear out whatever she needs."

    "Yes, Priestess! I''ll inform the Contuberniums working the site!" The Rat-kin scurried away.

    "I''ll be back soon." Elvia and herself exchanged a hug, then left to perform her volunteered duty.

    While the rest of the rats returned to work, she called over Stian to continue what had been interrupted when Elvia and the Ordo had descended from the heavens.

    "Sorry about that unexpected detour, Stian. How are the fields looking?"

    "We completed the canals by hand after Lord Garp liquified the stubborn sediments," the Elder explained, gesturing with his clawed hands. "There was also clay which Lord Garp transported, that our artisans had used to fashion aqueducts for your Worshipfulness'' magical spigots. Likewise, the planting teams have done their best to enrich the sandy soil with Lord Garp''s blessed excrements. If you wish it, Priestess, the Rat-kin can begin seeding immediately."

    Gwen felt thoroughly impressed. Her Rat-kin''s protestant work ethic was downright admirable. Not even under the reward of bonuses, pay rise, and living quarter incentives had the collective workforce of the Isle of Dogs demonstrated remotely as much efficacy. In a way, the Rat-kin reminded her of the Dwarves, for they never stayed still and always seemed to be engaged with one thing or another. Was it because their natural life-spans were shorter? She wondered, or that Shalkar was now their home?

    Whatever the case, Gwen produced the Druidic pouch hanging from her belt.

    Just as she was about to hand over the seeds, a stray and daring thought suddenly struck.

    Almudj.

    Kiki and Sen-sen.

    Garp''s waste.

    And Golos'' poop, from which she would need to retrieve additional spoils anyway.

    Assuming her seeds were already soaked in the Essence of Tryfan''s Tree, what would happen if they were to receive additional boosts from Elvia''s plant Sprites and Draconic modifications?

    What "GM crops" could her "Ratsanto" then produce?

    What if the Rat-kin, who were natural experts, could build a shining farm on the hill producing quasi-magical crops for trading to the Mageocracy?

    Gwen''s Crystal senses chimed like a church bell.

    As a lass growing up eating "normal" food in the Frontier, she knew exactly how rare and costly "Wildland" produce could be. Now, she imagined a farm ploughed by innate Earthen talent from a Sand Wyrm, fertilised by refuse from a True Dragon''s Scion, and planted with seeds blessed by Tryfan, the Yinglong and Almudj¡ª Hell''s bells, what would grow? The beanstalk of legend? She had always maintained that Jack was an idiot to cut the stalk down when he could have become the Soy King of England.

    If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    "Jesus Lord Almighty¡­" Here was an opportunity, and she was the only one with the means and the "technology" to seize it. If indeed she could produce results from her little experiment, then in a month, she would have indisputable results to convince Meister Bekker and Magister Frank Taylor, assuming the Southern Campaign ended in their favour.

    "Priestess?" Stian carefully stood to one side, alarmed by the strange aura emanating from his cackling Priestess.

    "We''ll reconvene once the others return," Gwen rescinded her order. "For now, continue with the waterworks and the sand enrichment. There''s grain and SPAM in that ring as well, so inform the others, for tonight, we feast in celebration of a better, brighter tomorrow!"

    "Yes, Priestess!" Stian received his orders with a bow, nodded at Strun, then left to supervise the field.

    "What shall I do?" Strun was the last of the rats'' leadership left by her side.

    "You''re with me," Gwen said. "Do you remember when I asked about the Murk?"

    "Yes, Priestess," Strun answered eagerly. "There are entrances all over the Eastern Sawahi, especially in the Badlands."

    "Are there any near here?"

    "There is." Strun gestured toward the horizon. "At Muruntau, where the rocks pierce the sand to point at the heavens."

    "And that''s where you saw the white-fleshed fiends?"

    Strun nodded.

    "Have you seen any Dwarves? They''re kind of like humans, but stout, drinks a lot, relishes smithing, drives those¡ª" She pointed to the two Golem Suits she had brought. Unfortunately, she didn''t have time to teach the Rat-kin how to use the complex machines, though she could probably import human instructors in the future. With educated rodents, even sans Dwarves, it shouldn''t be impossible to create a warren-City underneath Shalkar.

    "I am ashamed for my lack of knowledge, Priestess." Strun hung his head.

    "That''s okay." Gwen rather enjoyed patting the Rat-kin''s head, Strun''s soft tufts of fur there, and the rat''s pink-fleshed ears were soothing on the soul and were on par with Ariel or Evee. "We''ll find out in time. For now, go to Garp. We''ll put together an expedition once Gogo returns. If Garp is coming, we''ll need another guard dog to look after our home."

    Shalkar.

    The oasis.

    It wasn''t until the evening that Elvia and her companions finally returned to the camp for supper.

    Golos returned at nightfall, giddily reporting that the Wolf-kin had murdered their ex-leader and his son, only to grow wide-eyed when Golos announced that they''re all sick and that the Rat-kin had the only cure¡ª and that a tiny obstacle lay between them and the Cure Disease potions¡ª Garp.

    The Familiars were out in full force as well, with Ariel, Caliban, Kiki and Sen-sen all running amok among the Rat-kin, whose pups played with the Sprites, unaware that a single one of them could wipe out a hamlet without so much as needing mana from their Master.

    Over scattered laughter and steaming plats of Afaa al-Halak both underdone and overcooked on Maxwell''s Convenient Camping Kits, the Human Mages shared food with the Rat-kin Prefects. Once again, Gwen re-introduced her officers one by one, sharing the origins of their Clans and the Rat-kin''s stories as the Tasm¨¹yiz.

    Of the numberless atrocities that gave birth to the Rat-kin''s current plight, it was Strun''s mother that triggered the Inquisitor, whose eyes grew dark with malice as she described the Centaurs playing carcass Quidditch with a living "Snitch".

    The Inquisitor, in turn, shared accounts of the Fomorians, whose cruelty was more deliberate than the Centaur''s casual holocaust of whatever civilisation they happened across.

    "They have a ritual," Hawkford spoke while drawing a vague figure of a wicker man in the sand. "The captured slaves are carefully selected, with a preference for the young and virginal, then herded into this contraption. In a bad year, some constructs could hold a thousand people; often, there are multitudes of constructs..."

    Their audience listened with horrified fascination.

    "¡­ at the climax of the Ritual, Balor himself has the honour of igniting the Wicker Man with his cyclopean eye, slow-roasting the victims over hours with his Faerie Fire."

    Gwen glanced at the delicious block of fatty Afaa al-Halak meat, slightly charred but sizzling famously as one of the rat-cooks re-applied the lard to retain in the moisture.

    "Their victims are not for eating." Hawkford caught her hesitation. "The Fomorians feed on the psychic energy of horror, pain and suffering. That''s what our Seminary Scholars proposed¡ª the more we fear them, the stronger they grow."

    "That''s one of the reasons why we had to move everyone we could when the Wyld Hunt broke through the Prime Material," Elvia added to her experience. "If a person is left behind or couldn''t be evacuated, suicide was infinitely more preferable."

    "Mages have a worse fate if captured," Hawkford said. "They can be made into Changelings who would murder their family, friends and loved ones. The Fomorians take great delight in that sort of thing because it foments even more belief in their capabilities."

    The camp quietly listened to the sizzling of fat on Wyrm meat. Gwen sat beside Elvia, hugging her knees in contemplation of why they started trading atrocities in the first place and why a happy dinner had degenerated into a "my atrocity is worse than yours" competition.

    "Magus Song." Hawkford broke the silence. "Your companion and I would like to verify a peculiar fact, if that is alright with you, pertaining a matter of Faith."

    "Faith?"

    "Do you know of it?" Hawkford asked.

    "Evee''s kept me updated, sort of," Gwen said. "Faith is a powerful and supplementary focus for IMS Spells, correct?"

    "Yes." The Inquisitor nodded. "Though that is an oversimplified analogy reserved for casters rooted in secular society. I speak of Faith, Gwen, because we detected significant manifestations while searching for the origins of the Plaguemancer''s phage. It''s something we verified again while working with the sick. Suffice it to say; your rats have put their ''Faith'' in you."

    "I see." Gwen had suspected that the Inquisitor had a few more citations up his sleeve. Though now that she''d wrangled the man onto the same venture, she was way past the foot-in-door needed to gain his sympathy. "It''s fine. It won''t be the first time I am treated like a specimen."

    "We would request that you perform a simple ritual." Hawkford motioned to Elvia, who produced what looked like a broach with a tri-crown logo. "This is a Holy Symbol, an unblessed one. Though it cannot gather Faith, the Glyph array within will reveal the presence of Karmic Tethers¡ª or what those studying the secular system denote as Faith Threads."

    Gwen took the Holy Symbol from Elvia. "Why do I have a bad feeling about this?"

    "The Inquisitor has the best of intentions," Elvia explained with complete earnestness. "If you''re a candidate, Gwennie, it''s better that your phenomenon is kept on record. If a judicatory Peer of the Ordo can vouch for your credibility, it will save you no ends of trouble."

    "That would be my suggestion as well." The Inquisitor nodded. "If you wish to raise the meek Rat-kin to rival the Centaurs and return Elemental balance to the Prime Material, then you cannot afford to leave glaring vulnerabilities for others to exploit."

    "Vulnerability?" Gwen cocked her head. "Folks having ''Faith'' in my ability to improve their lives can get me in trouble?"

    "You did exact a very peculiar narrative to bring them this far," Hawkford reminded Gwen of their conversation in the Habitat. "Whatever the outcome, I can send a report to the Ordo, and our Rectrix may inform your Patrons to be ready against subversions from the Factions."

    Gwen considered the Inquisitor''s gift of erudition.

    The man spoke true.

    Although Hawkford had no idea what she had planned between Golos'' poop, Sen-sen, Almudj juice and Garp soil¡ª she knew exactly how attractive Shalkar might shortly become to the Grey or Militant Factions.

    A food-producing region with a race of pliant ex-slaves smack in the middle of a potential trade route between Eastern Europe and the Indian subcontinent?

    Could a better place exist to plant a Tower and chase off the locals? Surely Humans in Golem Suits could do just as good a job as the Rat-kin, given the same resources?

    If Hawkford was willing to vouch for her¡ª not only could she leverage the Ordo to push Bekker and Taylor to her side, anyone challenging her for Shalkar in a legal sense would also have to measure their mettle before making an ancient Knight Order eat their words.

    Affirming her willing participation, Gwen carefully examined the Holy Symbol with its three crowns. The item was not complexly imbued¡ª albeit her Enchantment knowledge told her it was made from a composite of gold, Orichalcum and Mithril, making its material value well in the hundreds of HDMs.

    "I suspect there will be a fair volume of Faith Threads, assuming that''s how it works," Gwen said after a pause. "Is that going to be a problem?"

    "You''ve led these rats for just over a week, Magus Song," Sir Hawkford gently rebuked her pride. "Even if they''re fanatics, there''s less than ten thousand of them."

    "What''s a significant amount?" Gwen asked out of interest. "Evee, how many threads do you have?"

    "It''s not a number, Gwen. Mine is enough to rival senior members of the Ordo, all thanks to you." Elvia laid a proverbial wreath at her feet. "I can empower intermediate-tier Faith Prayers several times a day and supplementary-tier Prayers hundreds of times."

    Gwen looked to the Inquisitor for a better metric.

    "Us Knights walk a different path." The man raised a gloved hand. "Our icons must be nurtured through prayer, and its psychic energies are expended and restored much in the manner of a wand. Tis a limitation put in place for those who wield the Prayers of Judgement."

    "He who judge others are judged in turn," Gwen spoke from experience.

    "Well said, Magus Song." The Inquisitor nodded approvingly. "So sayeth the Scripture."

    "Hold the Holy Symbol like so," Elvia instructed her to keep the icon just above her forehead. "Now, close your eyes. I will invoke the Mandala in the Tri-Crown icon, and it will verify if there are Faith Threads directed toward you or an idol in your likeness."

    "You''ll find no idolatry here." Gwen gestured to herself. "Alright, Evee, light ''em up!"

    Gwen closed her eyes and turned her mind inward, observing her Astral Body, which appeared no different to its usual garish self. If she could tap a few strands of Faith, maybe she could also learn a few tricks to bolster some of her spells, or perhaps even dig through her Master''s collection to see if Henry had toyed with "Prayer Magic". But to whom would she direct her prayers? Gwen stifled a snort, cringing from the thought.

    Beside her, Elvia''s sweet voice began with a benediction, then moved into the main verse. "O Lord, Him who reveals deep and secret things; Him who knows what lurks in the darkness, let it be known that light dwells with Him."

    True to Elvia''s words, there was no impact on her Astral Body, nor did she feel any different.

    However, the world around her grew suddenly very quiet, and then without warning, a tremendous commotion stirred among her Rat-kin, growing into a deafening clamour.

    She opened her eyes.

    A solid pillar of light resembling that of a light sabre with her as the catalyst crystal blasted the heaven like an upside-down rocket, lighting up the oasis and causing her rats to hiss and howl.

    "IS THIS NORMAL?" Gwen shouted over the sound of the rats scampering away from the retina-searing brightness, every nerve in her body howling that this wasn''t normal. "EVEE, TURN IT OFF!"

    Elvia quickly withdrew her mana, disempowering the Glyph array in the holy icon.

    The light dimmed, fading until only the dull fireflies of Maxwell''s Camp Heaters remained around the stunned observers.

    "That was¡­" Inquisitor Hawkford appeared lost for words.

    "Excessive?" Sir Smallwater aided his Inquisitor.

    "Impossible." Mathias'' tone sounded like he had just seen her raise a man from the grave. "It can''t be right. Something''s wrong with the icon."

    "The icon is without fault," Sir Hawkford silenced the panicking Knight of St Michael with a rebuke. "Gwen, tell me true¡ª have you ever engaged in cultivations of cults, parishes or denominations in your likeness?"

    Gwen felt her heart shudder even as she forced herself to appear entirely in control. "Not to my knowledge. Was that Faith Threads?"

    "More like a Maximised Faith Strike..." Smallwater scratched his beard. "Lass, if you''re the Archdeacon of Canterbury, you should let us know. The Ordo and the Church, we are natural allies."

    "Calamity, what''s the catastrophe this time?" Even Golos thought it fit to give his input. "Should I tell Brother?"

    "Gogo, go away," she hissed at her Wyvern.

    The dread engendering in her chest grew direr the longer the Knights remained perplexed. As a student of British history, she knew better than anyone just how hot a stake could burn if a girl were to head-butt a state religion. Everything she had accomplished could vanish in an instant, like ash borne on the wind.

    "Look, there''s got to be a better reason for this," she denied any form of apostasy with complete, categorical vehemence. "I am not even baptised, certainly not to my knowledge. I''ve never received benedictions in a church unless it happened when Helena got married while I was unconscious because, you know, sex out of wedlock. Oh¡ª My father''s a Godless Communist womaniser."

    "But your good deeds..." the Inquisitor appeared unconvinced.

    "Maybe it''s the IIUC?" Elvia appeared to have recovered enough of her wits to come to her defence. "Gwen saved Kachin from a Naga, and they''re very religious over there. She''s also the IIUC''s MVP, which means she was on plenty of advertisement billboards for a year in China¡ª there are lots of NoMs in China and no religion¡ª maybe they''re sending her thoughts and prayers?"

    While Elvia tested the possibilities, Gwen refuted her hypothesis. Was Faith that easy? One "like" equalled one "thread"? A million "likes" for sainthood? Her mind raced at a mile a minute. Could it be the Mermen? But that was even more absurd! Considering the food piracy the fish performed, who the hell would start a religion around looted cans of SPAM?

    Or maybe it was Almudj; Gwen felt her scalp crawl. If she''s Al''s Vessel, and there''s some prominent tribe in Australia worshipping the Rainbow Serpent, would the Faith rub off?

    Or Mayuree¡ª Buddha above, would Mia go as far as to put her face on a Pagoda? Surely not. That would step on Ruxin''s tail, and besides, putting Ruxin''s mug on the Pagodas was far more likely to curry favour with their real boss.

    "... so I don''t know, truly." She reinforced her expression of earnestness. It was an act, but not of deception, for she honestly had no idea.

    "I see." Sir Hawkford indicated to his Knight Companion. "Elvia, try it again."

    Gwen quickly held the icon aloft.

    Elvia spoke the words with a trembling voice,

    When the spotlight once more struck, the Rat-kin raised their hands in worship. "Priestess! Priestess of the Pale Light!"

    "SHAA¡ª SHAA¡ª" Caliban joined the chorus of worship.

    "EE¡ªEE!" Ariel flew into the spontaneous stadium lighting because there wasn''t enough chaos.

    "Kiki!" The Alarune danced, sashaying from tendril to tendril.

    "Sen!" Sen-sen hid, as Ginseng roots disliked strong sources of light.

    "Ha! A new malady for the Calamity!" Golos was never one to miss a party. "Who is trying to murder her this time?"

    "SKAAARRRWWWAARRRGH¡ª" Somewhere outside the oasis, Garp burst into whale song.

    She tossed the icon back to Elvia like a hot potato. Though the light faded, her face remained as pale as the ivory nimbus. What had manifested wasn''t a Faith Thread but more of a fucking Faith "Pillar" the size of Temir''s prized Totems.

    Unbidden, her thoughts turned to her earlier haughtiness. Those who judge others are judged in turn! Karma is a harsh mistress! To think she had sent off the Wolves no more than eight hours ago!

    "Inquisitor." She could feel the cold sweat soaking through her safari outfit. "While I am happy to cooperate with an investigation. I am afraid this isn''t the best time for me to return to London."

    Hawkford appeared to study her once more.

    In truth, the Inquisitor''s coolness was as strange as the light shooting from her wherever. In her mind, Sir Smallwater should be readying the pillory and bonfire.

    "Magus Song, please do not overreact." Hawkford''s following words affirmed her suspicions. "Rather, I bring fair tidings¡ª for I may now affirm that you''re not a part of the pact that must not be named, which places you in a more trustworthy position."

    "Chaplain..." Elvia attempted to speak, only to be halted by her superior.

    "Give me a moment to gather my thoughts on the matter," Hawkford interrupted their interjections, then appeared to mumble a silent prayer for guidance.

    While waiting, Gwen delivered her most endearing simper.

    Untouched by her feminine wiles, Hawkford met her gaze head-on, then grinned lopsidedly. "Gwen, do you believe in providence?"

    "No?" Gwen stuck to the truth. Earlier, that had served her well.

    "I do, and I believe our meeting is no accident. But, let us return to my earlier claim, did you know that to those holier-than-thou symbionts of the World''s Pillars, Faith is anathema? The guardians of the Planar fabric hold great apprehension for little birds that cannot be controlled and which they cannot cage in their menagerie."

    Gwen mulled over the man''s words, but her uncertainty remained.

    "Then why would the Bloom in White feed me a satchel of seeds?"

    "Because you are a powerful adherent of the IMS, Magus Song, a prized Songbird, in a sense." Inquisitor Hawkford''s expression grew to encompass both benevolence and admiration. "But if you''ve garnered Faith¡ª no matter the means, that changes things. Those who dwell above are deeply suspicious of powers so uniquely mortal. For them, Faith is as unnatural as Necromancy."

    It took several more seconds for the Inquisitor''s cryptic speech to unknot itself in her head. "¡­ So, what you''re saying is that you believe me when I say that this Faith ordeal is a coincidence?"

    "That is correct."

    "And although I''ve been recruited to work with Tryfan, you deduce that I can''t be working with Tryfan because apparently, I have the potential to access Faith as a resource?"

    "Also correct."

    She turned to Elvia. "Evee. Does any of this make sense to you?"

    Besides her, Elvia had wrung a length of Sen-sen''s root so hard that green juices were leaking down between her strength-enhanced fingers. Not far, Sen-sen bore the torture, its old sage''s mien hiding the pain.

    Her Evee nodded, then shook her head. "All I know is that if that many people think of you fondly, Gwen, then it must mean you''ve helped them change their lives for the better. That''s something which the Ordos will respect."

    "To garner Faith, your actions, your ''tale'' must consistently occupy their thoughts as well." Sir Smallwater gave his opinion. "I do agree with the lass. You must have aided many a folk, Magus Song. It''s a commendable demonstration of how you''ve impacted our world, whatever your methods."

    "Faith" sounds eerily utilitarian. Gwen cautioned herself against taking credit lest a future outcome was counted against her favour.

    "From the concentration of those Tethers, you''ve helped far more people than me." Elvia''s eyes sparkled with affirmation and support as she caught her hand. "I am so proud of you, Gwennie. I bet all those people who got jobs and livelihoods at the Isle of Dogs and Greenwich think of you every day."

    "Thanks, Evee." Gwen squeezed the Healer''s fingers back. "I did it for my benefit, though..."

    Her gaze swept over her worshipful Rat-kin, then pointed a finger toward the heavens. "Sir Hawkford. To be clear, I have no intent on cutting into the Church''s share of its resources. My ambitions are and will forever be secular. Whatever the Ordo is offering, I wash my hands like the Pilate."

    "You''re very astute, Magus Song. And I agree," Inquisitor Hawkford said. "For now, my advice is to keep this between yourself, the Ordo, and those you trust in the Mageocracy. Of course, those invested in you should be notified lest they''re caught up in a future fallout. As for us, Companion Lindholm will not divulge your secrets, and Sir Smallwater, as well as Sir Rothwell, are well-sworn to secrecy. Likewise, your Rat-kin likely can''t communicate the details even if questioned. Whatever the case, I shall present the findings in the best light."

    Gwen felt her brain throb. "I agree. I''ll need some time to digest this. Where can I know more about Faith Magic?"

    "I do believe NOT knowing is in your interest," the Knight chuckled. "As matters stand, ignorance is truly bliss."

    "Now you''re the one tempting me," Gwen groaned, then sat beside Elvia to sort her newly acquired information into its respective mental categories. What Hawkford had stated about The Accord being allergic to Faith Magic was very interesting indeed. Considering the uncensored history she had managed to pick up from the Dragons, Elves, Dwarves and her Magisterial studies, she could feel a vague hypothesis taking place like a deep-diving Leviathan rising to the surface.

    Now that Sir Hawkford gave his word, the Mages stepped lightly around the topic for the duration of their dinner, choosing instead to unassuming banter about Shalkar''s future; around them, the rats eventually returned to their arduous labours in building their new home.

    "Gwen?" Elvia''s head rested against her shoulder. "Are you feeling alright?"

    "I still feel as lost as ever," Gwen confessed. "BUT¡ª Sir Hawkford is right. I''ve got work to do here, and I am far too committed in Shalkar to run off and deal with this. I mean, it is not like I''ll give up the rats or the Isle of Dogs as a result. Whatever comes will come; there is providence even in the fall of a sparrow¡ª the readiness is all."

    "That''s from the Book of Matthew, isn''t it?" Elvia exhaled with relish. "Have you been studying the Good Book, Gwennie?"

    "Goodness isn''t found in a book, Evee." Gwen plagiarised a line from The Bard for the benefit of leaving a final good impression for their Inquisitor. "If a person can open their hearts a little bit, they shall see that there are tongues in trees, books in the brooks, sermons in stones and goodness in everything. That''s all the teaching a devotee needs."

    "WONDERFUL!" Sir Smallwater slapped his thighs. "Well said, Magus Song, now''s that''s a quote for the Seminary!"

    Inquisitor Hawkford nodded with recognition, his conviction in her goodness once more affirmed.

    Elvia squeezed her guilty fingers to communicate her support, her delicate face aglow with adoration.

    Gwen gave herself a mental slap, then warned herself to refrain from furthermore misleading her Samaritan companions. However, what she had said was true, for she did feel like a sparrow caught in the guiding hand of some greater power. Faith? Who the hell could foresee that bringing economic prosperity could send her careening into the realm of theocracy?

    And what did Hawkford intimate?

    Providence?

    No. Fuck that second-rate Divination.

    She was no rat in a plague pit.

    A world where the NoMs lived in Districts and the Tasm¨¹yiz subsisted on grassroots could not co-exist with a good and all-knowing God.

    In this life, only herself, her companions, her family, her Crystals, her Sorcery, and the connections she forged mattered, the sum of which pointed to a single, cardinal truth¡ª that whatever winds directed her sails, she alone held the steerage of her course.

 Chapter 420 - The Fires of Wrath

    After a night of sleepless inaction coupled with the guilt of having put Good Samaritans to task, Gwen decided to face her moral infirmity by engaging in the sweet escapism of regimented labour.

    At daybreak, she invited Elvia and the Knights, post first prayer, to watch her and the rats ready the seeds gifted by her "Elf in the High Castle" for enrichment.

    The Druidic Satchel itself was a miraculous Magical Item, for it possessed the means to sort the seeds that were otherwise unpackaged and scattered in individual piles. After Gwen made the mistake of extracting more than one type, she returned the mixed-seed cereal to the bag, then grew awed when the bag re-sorted the mixed seeds through nought but a silent, mental command.

    Once she emptied the Druidic Satchel into mounds, Stian and a circle of ratty Elders learned in agriculture gathered around Solana''s gifts to scrutinise the spoils.

    Thus far, the land cleared of vegetation and mixed with waste from Garp amounted to some mid-forty acres, an area Gwen mentally tallied to equate just over a dozen football fields. It was a feat made possible only with thousands of Rat-kin and Garp, who not only consumed sediment but flora as a part of its daily intake, plus excreted soft, soil-like silica that, in Stian''s words, "brought spice to the Sawahi."

    As for the volume of seeds in the pouch, Gwen''s uninformed city girl eyes could only deduce that there was a "shitload".

    According to Stain, seeds meant for growing in the desert required soaking to activate rapid germination and growth, a phenomenon that only occurred during the rainy season.

    To simulate this process, the Rat-kin used clay tubs filled with water, within which they would rinse the seeds in a lime solution supplemented with what Gwen suspected were anti-fungal and bacterial herbs and minerals.

    Taking on knowledge learned from her old world, Gwen elected a Control Group of un-blessed seeds, then created two more groups, one solely blessed by her mixing Almudj''s juice into the solution, and another that was saturated in both Almudj''s and Sen-sen''s vital secretions.

    For the experiment, she modestly chose an acre for each, which Stian further split into rows of Starling Tomatoes sitting adjacent to Polar Beans. Every second field favoured cucumber vines beside and beneath which housed the Sunburst Squash.

    The unanticipated problem was that Shalkar lacked the lumber necessary to create the lattices that would hold the cucumbers, beans and tomatoes. As a result, Gwen recruited Mathias, who had been taught to pilot military Golems, to deploy the construction suits she bought from London, taking advantage of the utility Spellblade within the manipulator-arms to transmute temporary iron-wire lattices.

    Finally, when the time came for sowing, Elvia demonstrated why she was the undisputed queen of flowers and root vegetables by commanding her nature Sprites to do the work of a thousand rats, rapidly seeding each pit dug by the numberless, whiskery farmers. Once completed, stone slabs from the mud-hewn aqueducts were lifted, allowing the rats ease of access to the water needed to moisten the soil and encourage growth.

    Finally, to take advantage of Golos, whose excretions had contributed to Sen-sen''s wellbeing, the Rat-kin dug out a fertiliser pit especially for collecting the Wyvern''s enormous dung piles, from which they first extracted Gwen''s Creature Cores, then fermented the rest with cut grass. The residual Essence-Ginseng solution from soaking the seeds was then recycled in the septic pit with Garp''s gut-enriched "spice".

    In the future, Stian noted, if they could get livestock such as sheep owned by the Centaurs, then more fertiliser pits could be built.

    From morning to afternoon, Gwen chaperoned the Rat-kin, learning from the Elders even as she taught them modern urban planning. When she was finally done, the time had come for Inquisitor Hawkford and Sir Smallwater to leave in their quest to corral the Spectre agents working in the Elementals'' domain.

    "Fare thee well, ''Priestess of the Pale Light''. I shall inform the Ordo within the next few days of your present predicament."

    "Thank you." Gwen shook the man''s hand even as she whole-heartedly cringed at the jovial jab at her Faith collection. "Please keep the matter otherwise discreet."

    "Indeed," Hawkford agreed. "My part will be informing the Rectrix. She shall possess the better judgement of how you may leverage your newly founded resources."

    "I think what you mean," Gwen said. "Is how NOT to touch it with a ten-foot pole."

    The Inquisitor laughed, as did Sir Smallwater, who bid her venture profit and success, thereby restoring stability to the region in a myriad of ways.

    "Companion Lindholm, Protector Rothwell." The Inquisitor lastly turned to Elvia and Mathias. "You must keep our Saviour of the Rat-kin hale and out of harm''s way."

    "I shall, Chaplain." Elvia supplicated in the usual manner of the Ordo''s junior clergy to its senior leadership.

    "On my honour, Sirs," Mathias'' response addressed Sir Smallwater, a curious act which Gwen took as an insight into how the Ordo functioned. From what she could see, Elvia''s position would grow to encompass Hawkford''s lineage, while Mathias'' growth paralleled that of the Senior Protector.

    Once nods and bows were exchanged, the Knights lifted into the air, then thundered off into the distance without so much as a sentimental glance, leaving Gwen and her two companions levitating lonesomely above the just-finished farm.

    "Okay, let''s break for afternoon tea." Gwen mopped a smidgen of dust from her brow. "Afterward, Strun, Garp and I are going to check out the Murk to see if we can find some local Dwarves.

    "We''re coming as well," Elvia informed her. "You''re not ditching us a minute after we swore to keep you safe, are you?"

    Gwen had hoped that she could vent her pent-up frustrations in the Murk, which meant initially, at least, she had not planned on showing Elvia that particular facet of her current self.

    "Er¡­ of course not." She smiled at her companion. "Mathias?"

    "Where Elvia goes, I follow," Mathias concurred. "Whatever a Black Zone or the Murk."

    "Don''t be so melodramatic," Gwen snorted at the Knight. "It''s the Murk. Nothing too bad lives there. Just brain-eating squids the Library Citadel of Helzink dubbed the ''Sinneslukare'', leading hoards of white-fleshed Aberrant fiends created by unknown Masters from the Far Planes between dimensions, and poisonous fungi that walk by eating you from inside-out, that sort of thing."

    "Should I wear full plate armour?" Mathias said with complete seriousness, having heard the tales she told to Elvia. "Would that prevent the er¡­ brain squids?"

    "¡­ Yes," Gwen replied with complete seriousness. "Fair warning, to achieve the same protection, I''ll be wreathed in the unholy boon of Sanctioned Necromancy, so don''t be startled when we dive."

    Both Mathias and Elvia chuckled uncomfortably.

    "I am super serious," Gwen warned the pair again. "Well, you''ll see¡ª let''s do a gear check. Potions! Wands! Armour! Spell Reagents! Food and Supplies!"

    As a part of their inventory, Gwen packed the master-crafted Construction Golem suits, both as proof of her closeness with Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth and as a means to shape the earth while in the Murk. While she could ask Garp to clear the way mouth-first, Gwen suspected the inhabitants of the region she was about to visit would be displeased with a tunnel-borer creating six-meter wide passages where ever it ventured.

    "Gogo, you''re the Head of Security while I am gone." She chose the Wyvern to be her delegate. If anything, she could trust the drake to be territorial.

    "Have fun, Calamity." Golos'' sleepy voice returned from somewhere in the sky. As a Thunder Wyvern, Gogo feared no flora nor fauna in the region. Together with her ninety-strong Centurions armed with Afaa al-Halak derived weapons, even a Mingat''s raid would prove no threat.

    Gwen motioned for Strun. "Are you ready to depart?"

    "Yes. Priestess."

    "Call me Mistress from now onward, or Miss."

    "Yes, O worshipful Mistress."

    Gwen regarded the rat. "Are you acting cheeky with me, Strun?"

    The Rat-kin''s intelligent eyes gleamed. "Not at all, venerated Miss. You may change your title, O tamer of the Sawahi, but in the hearts of the Rat-kin, you will always be our Priestess of the Pale Light."

    "Right, though for the sake of my sanity," Gwen sternly addressed to the cheeky rat. "Spread the word of my decision. I''ll finish up here and see you on the eastern border in thirty minutes."

    Once the rats scattered, Elvia and Mathias closed in.

    "Gwennie?" Elvia''s imploring blue irises possessed such powers of purity that her heart grew sore. "Are you renouncing the Faith given to you by those you''ve saved? That''s not like you at all."

    "Is it? I didn''t... desire this," Gwen answered with ambivalence. She had never done her deeds out of a sense of responsibility to another. Instead, her quest for power and its resulting freedom was derived from a jaw-clenching appetite for personal agency. If so, how could she expend the Faith of those who looked up to her? Though now they were in a honeymoon period, what if she and her worshipper''s goals grew dissonant? If she must act out of goodness due to an unowed duty, then to her, Faith was no better than the golden wires of a birdcage. "I am sorry to disappoint, Evee, but I am¡­ not as good, principled or strong as you think."

    "You''d done right so far." Elvia appeared adamant in her infectious positivity. "I trust you."

    "Bloody oath, Evee." Gwen hugged her flaxen-haired Cleric about the shoulders, unsure of what to say, hoping that when the time came to disappoint Evee, the experience would not be beyond salvation. "What did I do to deserve you?"

    Gwen marvelled at Strun as the rat pulled on the leather lashes leashing either side of Garp''s eyeless head.

    With a start, the Elemental powers inherent to Garp''s divine flesh began to vibrate his lower scales, allowing the Sand Wyrm unimpeded transit through the Sawahi in a manner no different from Golos'' command of Elemental Air.

    "Are we the first Humans to do this?" Mathias looked like the lead singer of a boy band with the wind blowing through his hair. "Riding a Sand Wyrm, I mean. It''s incredible."

    "I don''t know if we''re the first in history," Gwen said. "But we''re probably the first in the Mageocracy''s records. Strun''s folks were the first to try it in the past."

    "I am truly honoured." The Knight''s face showed genuine thankfulness. Gwen figured the Knight Proctor might feel this way, for the everyday work of a Proctor meant boredom was a constant companion, and excitement was something a bodyguard should never desire.

    "There''ll be plenty of the world to see, Mathias," Gwen promised the Knight. "Evee and I will be going places, I assure you."

    Elvia herself was more interested in how Gwen''s Omni-directional Orb functioned, seeing that they had set out from Shalkar with no map and no indication of a specific objective. When Gwen told her that the Dragon-gifted Orb would find the Dwarves for her, the Cleric grew strangely mute.

    "Don''t worry, I''ve used it plenty of times," Gwen explained after a while. "What are you worried about?"

    "Gwennie, can ''Brother'' Ruxin access the Orb and control to what or where it acts as a guide?" her Cleric asked. "Its ability seems too nebulous."

    "It hasn''t failed me so far, not even when I wanted authentic braised pork belly."

    "Y-you used a True Dragon''s condensed gift of divining to find Chinese food?" The Vessel of the Yinglong appeared to swoon. "That thing should be in a museum!"

    "Look," Gwen raised an excellent point for her companion. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to find authentic Chinese food in the heart of the Mageocracy? It''s a miracle that the Orb not only located Chinese food but authentic Sichuan cuisine. If that isn''t a testament to its ability to act in my interest, then what is? You think Ruxin or the Yinglong is so bored as to scour London for al dente pork belly in garlic and chilli oil?"

    "Oh, Gwennie." Elvia puffed out her cheeks. "Please be careful."

    "I don''t use it when I am in the company of a party," she assured her friend. "It''s mostly for when I am lost."

    While Elvia looked away, likely wondering when Gwen wasn''t directionally challenged, Gwen squinted at her elfin companion. Wasn''t Elvia a bit hypocritical for choosing the Yinglong as her patron, then turning around to harp on about Ruxin''s business partner, a woman the Dragon has trusted with the Dragon''s share of his jade and crystal lodes? But it wasn''t Evee''s fault that she could only see the surface, for the girl was herself a recluse in the higher world of the Ordo''s abbey, where its merry band of Samaritans gave up nobility to live as the Poor Soldiers of Christ.

    Travelling coach on Garp, Gwen enjoyed the sight of the Sawahi''s many walks of life fleeing in every direction as they sailed from one territory to another. When they stopped by what looked like a Rat-kin village, Strun leapt from Garp and delivered a sermon of promise and prosperity, directed the Rat-kin toward Shalkar, then majestically sailed "Garp" into the setting sun.

    From Shalkar to their new destination, the journey took just over four hours.

    "Mistress, we''re here." Strun gestured toward a collection of jutting igneous spires thrown up by some violent, seismic significance into the above-ground world.

    While Elvia and Mathias buffed up, Gwen lifted into the air to inspect the curious-looking stones.

    "Does this look natural to you guys?" she asked her companions as Sen-sen''s blessed vitality saturated her skin with a nimbus of protective light. With the battlesuit she brought in tatters, Gwen had resolved to dress for comfort and rely on her Necromancy.

    "I would venture to say that it looks more like the manifestation of a Seismic Disjunction," Mathias drew from memory a spell candidate. "We should be careful, Gwen. There may be Dao about."

    "Garp, Strun, keep an eye out," Gwen commanded the others, simultaneously producing the Creature Core and blood vial necessary for her life-preserving Armour and Mantle. Now possessed of an abundance of mid-tier Afaa al-Halak Cores, she opted for the Sand Wyrm''s exoskeleton, all the while marvelling at the mitigating effect of Elvia''s "Guardian Spirit" in offsetting Necromancy''s vital drain.

    If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.

    "I know, I know." She hand waved away their suppressed consternation. "Save the lecture for when I get better Spells. Evee, Sir Hawkford mentioned you had a thing for revealing mana threads? Care for a show and tell?"

    "The Prayer''s full name is the Exalted Light of Holy Revelation." Elvia released her Holy Symbol into the air, where its gentle radiance suffused a region of dozen meters in diameter. "The more Faith we suffuse into the Tri-Crown, the more radiant its glow and thus, the greater the revelation."

    "Is it mobile?" Gwen floated around the levitating icon.

    "It can be," Elvia concurred, then walked the final fifty meters to the sunken entrance on foot while willing the Holy Symbol to hover like Gwen''s Omni Orb. "Gwennie, don''t use your spells¡ª you''ll disturb the mana residue."

    Under Elvia''s wide-area Detect Magic, their surroundings glowed a bright ochre and orange. Nearer the "entrance" to the caverns of the Murk was supposed to be, the residual mana burned as though the front row of a pyrotechnical concert. Further away, where the light fell near Garp, motes of freshly churning Elemental Earth formed a solid, opaque wall.

    "Is that all Elemental Fire?" Gwen''s lips made an O. "From the entrance, I mean. It''s A LOT of Elemental Fire. What''s the darker stuff?"

    "Magma, I think. Ash as well, and yes, it is thickest coming from underground," Mathias observed. "But if you look at the trail, it goes all the way into the desert."

    Gwen''s followed the orange glow until it faded in a direction she could not discern.

    "Alright." She chewed her lips in dismay. "You''re telling me something went IN, as opposed to something came OUT. You know, Elemental Fire HDMs can be used to fuel Golem Suits."

    Just as she delivered a hypothesis, her Rat-kin wandered through the hazy, phantasmagorical light. "There are many tracks here, Mistress. Large, heavy creatures with claws and enormous feet."

    "That doesn''t sound Dwarven," Mathias said.

    "Nor Aberrant," Gwen confessed. "Else, there would be Elemental Ooze."

    "Elementals?" Elvia asked. "But we''re a week on foot from the Fire Sea..."

    "Well, whatever this is, I guess we''ll find out." Gwen indicated to her Omni Orb''s downward trajectory. "Pack it up, Evee. Let''s bring out the Familiars and the spell fodder."

    As with her previous forays into the Murk, Gwen''s veritable army of Hounds, led by Ariel and Caliban, was ready to diminish the dangers of the unknown.

    Unfortunately, while their party had readied themselves for an action-packed delve into the dark, the passages that Strun had explored were discovered to be collapsed by some cataclysmic force, making progress all but impossible without a Dwarven Fabricator Engine.

    "It''s Garp time." Gwen resolved to straight away bring out her living tunnelling engine. As a natural sovereign of the upper Murk, the Shingleback Sand Wyrm could eat into the destroyed passage while also using its limitless earth-shaping stamina to strengthen the tunnels it left behind. Compared to Caliban''s costly mimicry, Garp literally fed itself while it dug downwards through the earth, gaining mana even as it spent it. It was this prodigious ability that lay at the heart of Gwen''s hopes for an underground warren city for her rats, at least until certified Dwarven engineers could install utilities, power, plumbing, sanitation and public transport.

    At her mental behest, the Sand Wyrm was happy to oblige, for the igneous rocks here were more "yummy" for its constitution than the silica of the middle badlands.

    As the tunnel made by the enormous living engine grew in length and depth, Gwen and her party remarked on how boring it was when an all-consuming mouth led the way of an underground adventure. Whatever encounters they had to fight were either avoided or swallowed with the swirling debris into Garp''s crushing, stone-dissolving interior.

    In this way, other than semi-precious sediment veins and the occasional geological curio, Garp left no prey nor monster in its wake, which was a tunnel some six meters across at chest height, and just over four meters from toe to crown. Now and then, rich deposits of sand and silica in rich, loamy sprays she chose to rename "Spice" ejected from what could only be Garp''s exhaust module, proving to Gwen once and for all why Stian had called the Afaa al-Halak the lifeblood of the desert''s ecology.

    Dodging the meter-long mud-turds of Elemental Earth, their company strode downward into the Murk with the ease of a guided tram tour. Gwen led the way through means of a great swarm of Dancing Lights, spellshaping globes of long-lasting Evocation to light the path behind.

    "Gwen, how long have we been walking?" Mathias flexed his fingers as he switched sword-hands. As she had advised the man show up in his best armour, the Knight had obliged by wearing tessellated plating complete with greaves, gauntlets and pauldrons inscribed with the Shield of St Michael. With his shiny Spellsword drawn, their personal Sir Gwain had expected to fight tooth and nail against a sea of bile-blooded Aberrants and their squid-brained masters. Instead, his only job had been diverting Elvia from walking in Wyrm turd.

    Strun continued to steer Garp via the leashes tied to Garp''s broad, fleshy tail. Even now, the Rat-kin observed Gwen''s Omni Orb while micromanaging Garp, filling the cavern with the vibration of the Shingleback''s digestive tracts at work.

    "I hope you won''t dig into their city," Elvia said after a while. "And fall through the ceiling."

    "Garp has amazing tremor sense," Gwen offhandedly explained her strange connection to the Wyrm with a chunk of soul that now resides within her Astral Body. "Besides, Strun''s still steering Garp even now. They''ll know when to stop if there''s a large cavern or a settlement. By then, we''ll figure something out."

    "Mistress." Strun chose this precise moment to leap off the wagging, fleshy tail of Garp. "We''re about to hit a great cavern. Garp says the earth ahead is harder to swim through."

    "Leave a safe distance and get Garp to run parallel with the cavern." Gwen tried to picture the earthen cavity in her head. For someone who struggled with two-dimensional maps, three-dimensional orienteering was a feat performed solely by her Orb. "Are we on top, bottom or alongside?"

    "I do not know, Mistress." Strun''s ears laid flat against his head. "In the future, I shall endeavour to learn Lord Garp''s communications better."

    "Take your time." Gwen gave the rat a satisfying pat, squishing Strun''s floppy years with her fingers while Elvia looked on with a look of longing. With a swipe of her hand, she summoned the two Golem Suits, each about twice the height of a man. "Garp will take us close. After that, we''ll dig our way through¡ª politely."

    "Yes, Ma''am." Elvia''s Knight obediently crammed himself into the driver''s seat, with the articulation of his armour coming as a surprise to Gwen, whose Bone Armour and Sanguine Mantle possessed no obstructions until triggered.

    Using only the bare minimum number of buttons and levellers made available to a skilled operator, she switched on the earth-shaping function of the Spellsword, then carved away at the smoothly bored rock wall left by Garp, rendering the igneous strata into silica. Behind her, Mathias reorganised the debris by creating ugly-looking ribs of pillars against the walls, more so clearing the space than forming meaningful supports.

    About twenty meters in, Gwen''s Spellsword struck something solid and resistant to area-transmutation. Clearing more of the surface revealed runic inscriptions of what could only be a Dwarf-made tunnel wall.

    "I hope this isn''t critical infrastructure," Gwen warned the others before clearing another space, simultaneously broadcasting a broad-spectrum repeater signal used by the Dwarves in working in tunnels. According to the instructions that came with the rotund Construction Golem, any other Golem Engine would be alerted to their presence within a sizeable vicinity. When no response came, Gwen gathered the others to make heads and tails of the runic markings, finding no luck between herself, the Vessel, and Evee''s Knight Protector.

    "I guess we''ll cut through and see," she told the others.

    "Wouldn''t our hosts be upset?" Elvia asked.

    "Sure, but I brought a lot of HDMs, just in case," Gwen replied, refraining from stating that she also bought Maotai and Sen-sen, both far more valuable in befriending the Dwarves. In the worst-case scenario, the Ginseng Sprite would have to sacrifice its body to pleasure an entire host of hairy men.

    Setting the Spellsword''s setting to Sonic Cutter, she fiddled with the armament until it began to slice away sheets of crumbling stone from the inscribed wall.

    "Those runes do not look to be empowered," Mathias remarked. "If this is indeed the shell of a tunnel, there''s no possibility we can cut through it so easily."

    "That''s good." Gwen persisted in hewing away portions of the wall. "Anything that''s turned off can''t be critical."

    Between her and Mathias, it took the better part of twenty minutes to create an opening large enough for the two of them to crawl through, a testament to the stoutness of Dwarven construction.

    "Buck, Astro," Gwen indicated to her dogs as she switched to Link Sight. "Cali, Ariel, go!"

    Her Hounds squeezed through the gap, willing their pack to follow.

    "Okay¡­" Gwen spoke as she stared into the middle distance. "Looks like¡­ a tunnel. My God, the inside is enormous. The surface looks damaged, erm¡ª there''s debris all over. Hmm¡ª I think it should be safe for us to pass. Oh wow¡ª there''s a lot of damage. I''ll use Dimension Door to take us through. I wouldn''t want to damage this section any further."

    Once the party was displaced across the wall and into the hollow interior, their surroundings grew clearer with Gwen''s dispersion of Dancing Lights. It was now clear that all around them lay what could only be the aftermath of some incredible battle, for the walls were cracked and burned, and here and there, under blocks of collapsed granite, she could see the remains of scorched Golem Suits.

    The air remained fresh enough to breathe, a clue to support Gwen''s guess that the battle had occurred weeks or months ago.

    "There''s nothing¡­ alive at all," Gwen reported after a few minutes of her Void Hounds scouring the surrounding area. "From the way the Dwarves have fallen back, there''s a larger cavern with something akin to a Citadel, I hope, up ahead."

    "What manner of Elementals you think they were fighting?" Mathias asked.

    "Evee?" Gwen turned to the only member of their party in possession of mid-tier Divination. "Can you shed some light on the matter?"

    Elvia presented her Holy Symbol once more, illuminating the path ahead and behind. Instantly, the Light of Revelation turned the colour of rust, blood and wine, so thick that it was impossible to see through the man-made miasma of residual mana.

    "Magma, Fire and Ash!" the Cleric yelped. "Goodness, Gwennie. It''s so dense!"

    Gwen could hardly see her companions over the swirling mana motes colourised by Elvia''s Divination. "Okay¡ª this isn''t helping. Shut it down for now."

    Elvia obliged, and the trio, together with Strun, paced beside a stone spire upon which a Golem Suit was skewered.

    "Holy fucksticks, look at this." Gwen touched a finger to the rusted interior of the suit, where the corrosive coolants had eaten away at the gears and oils. "Evee, can you lift this thing?"

    "Sen-sen!" Elvia did not use her Draconic strength but relied on Sen-sen to break down the spire and retrieve the suit. Once on the floor, Sen-sen then tore away the hinged panels that gave the battle armour their airtight seal. Inside, the charred skeleton of a Dwarf with all of his facial hair burnt to cinders strongly indicated how the man had died¡ª first injured by trauma and then cooked alive.

    "Strewth," Gwen swore. "I don''t think this is the work of Aberrants. Ariel, Cali, help the dogs scout."

    "Kiki, Sen-sen, establish a defensive perimeter," Mathias commanded Elvia''s creatures. "I''ll lead¡ª Gwen, stay with Elvia."

    "Right," Gwen concurred. "We''re not too far from the Citadel, according to Buck. You know what I am worried about?"

    "What power could so demolish the Dwarven defences?" Mathias poked at another Golem Suit.

    "Not as such. I could do this if I wished, so can Sen-sen, given the right conditions." Gwen regarded their Knight, wondering if Mathias could fight a mechanised Golem platoon by himself. "Have you noticed, Mattie, that there are no enemyremains?"

    Mathias'' expression grew suddenly grim.

    "Yeah." Gwen pointed to the carnage that was growing more gruesome with every step toward the Citadel. "We haven''t seen a single foe, bud. That means either whoever is hammering the Dwarves don''t leave behind remains, or the Dwarves weren''t able to kill a single besieger."

    Mathias gripped his sword a little tighter while Strun straightaway disappeared into the shadows, moving only through fleeting flickers of darkness barely visible even to Gwen''s enhanced vision.

    After Gwen''s unpleasant foreshadowing, the path ahead proved more gruesome than the scattered scenes of ultraviolence that came before her self-fulfilling prophecy.

    The group grimly advanced until finally, the Dwarven Kjangtoth came into view. Beneath its gates, the three quaking Human Mages and one shivering rat inhaled breaths of stale air stinking of old fuel, scarred metal and sulphur.

    The obliteration of the Citadel''s gate was total and complete.

    Unlike the gates of human castles, Dwarven construction utilised the weight of the earth itself to create impenetrable drop-barriers that could not be brute-forced, no matter the numbers or the size of the Beast Tide. Yet, the gate that lay in front of Gwen now was melted to slag, with its Rune-bound, composite surface reduced to shinning, crystallised shards, like the remains of an enormous dashed mirror.

    Inside, the carnage finally took a turn from the refuse of war to the grotesque.

    "Christ," Gwen couldn''t stop swearing, despite her rare and precious company. "Did Garp take us to Hell or Hades?"

    Elvia mimed the sign of the cross while Mathias incanted a spell of cleansing to ease the burden on their olfactory senses.

    "Mistress¡­" Strun emerged from the shadows, his ratty eyes bloodshot with shellshock. "What madness is this?"

    Gwen had no answers for her Rat-kin, for the horror threatening the sanity of her mind was conceivable only to one who had seen the aftermath of Pompeii.

    Dwarves, thousands of Dwarves and more, lay in postures of unspeakable agony, clawing at their faces and throats. Some knelt, still clad in their mechanised battle armour. Others had the look of civilians; their charred bodies burned clean of clothes and flesh, reduced to ash-preserved statues of their former selves. Deeper into the avenue, with every step leading up the path toward the Guild Hall at the Citadel''s centre, hunks of molten metal bespoke of ex-Golems of various shapes and sizes deformed by heat and blunt trauma. From Gwen''s knowledge of the machines, in the final, desperate hours of the battle, the Dwarves had even brought out their construction Engines, for she could see the enormous husks of what could only be Fabricators littering the final rise into the grand spire that served as the heart of a homestead Citadel.

    "Don''t touch anything," she delivered a command to her creatures, Familiars and her companions. Whatever happened here, other Dwarves would want to know, and their vengeance would bear a grudge unfathomable to the mind of man.

    "There''s nought left of them!" Elvia was in tears, her pale face marred with horror and sympathy for the final moments of the stout Demi-humans. "Not a soul! Not a sliver of their being! Even their Cores are reduced to cinders! Whoever did this is monstrous, Gwen! Monstrous! We¡ª we need to inform the Inquisitor! The Ordo has to get to the bottom of this!"

    Gwen''s Void Hounds, as well as Caliban, returned an equally disheartening report. Not only was there no "life", there lacked even motes of vitality to support luminescent fungi. However far her Hounds ranged, they couldn''t even locate a fucking Murk vole or abandoned star-nosed moles, which the Dwarves bred like underground porcine by the tens of thousands.

    "The Murk isn''t the Ordo''s domain, nor are Dwarven grudges." Mathias gently touched Elvia''s arm. Raising his Spellsword into the air, the Radiant Knight sent forth a Day Light globe that dispelled the darkness in the distance, revealing more horrors even as he banished the uncertainty of the echoing dark. "Gwen, are you¡­ you''re shaking¡ª"

    Gwen grunted, unable to find the mental strength for more than a guttural acknowledgement.

    "Mistress, we¡­ should not be in any danger." Strun scampered from the rooftop of a building, emerging from the shadows cast by the Knight''s light. "Everything''s covered in ash and char. It''s been some time since anything or anyone was here."

    Gwen looked up at the spire, within which sat the Guild Hall. The etched windows, railings, and the thousands of master-crafted adornments that made the building both resplendent and sophisticated was all melted so that they drooled down the side of the basalt monolith like blackened teardrops of a weeping wax sculpture.

    "Yeah-Nah, fuck that," Gwen said to her companions after Ariel took a gander through one of the multi-storey windows. The Linked Sight was enough to set her guts to gag and turn her Essence to boiling. "Christ, half the town was probably hiding in the Spire, hoping that their defenders could repel the invaders."

    "Hoping¡­" Elvia''s sobs grew more pronounced. "Oh, Gwennie, I- I am so upset! Is this the work of monsters?"

    "Yes. Elementals," Gwen spoke with a note of bitter vehemence, reframing from asking Elvia if her God cared at all for Dwarven lives. "Who else could have this much firepower? I fought with the Dwarves of Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth. I stood in line with their Fire Teams, and I''ve individually confirmed how well their Balefire Guardians fight. Whatever happened here isn''t something the Mageocracy is capable of doing without moving a Tower. It also isn''t anything any local power is capable of performing except for those fucking Elementals from the Fire Sea."

    "But why?" Mathias pointed to the utter desolation of the forge, the industrial Craft Hall, and the thoroughgoing demolition of the residential spire. The only remaining structure was the Citadel''s ley-line foci, the central spire, the node through which a fully functioning Citadel maintained its connection to Deepholm and Dyar Morkk. Nothing was taken, and from the look of it, no one had bothered taking prisoners.

    "I don''t know," Gwen said to no one in particular. Summoning Ariel to her side, she sought sanity and solace by gripping Ariel''s soft fur and kneading the Kirin''s pliant flesh.

    The party once more fell into silence.

    Once her Hounds reconvened at the Citadel''s central square, the three humans and a rat stood in stoic silence, unable to summon the courage to think about their next course of action.

    "Let''s go back," Gwen spoke for all of them after a few minutes of repressive pacing, uncovering yet more horrors of the ashen holocaust. "I don''t think we can handle this, whatever this is. We need to inform folk with the means and the manpower to do something more concrete than disturb the evidence."

    "Agreed." Mathias inclined his chin in agreement, looking to Elvia with sympathy and worry. "My head''s a buzz. Not even the prayers are helping."

    Gwen looked to her Evee as well. Unfortunately, Kiki''s wilted stem, Sen-sen''s floppy tendrils and Elvia''s swollen eyes spoke explicitly of the Cleric''s sensitive state of mind. Absent-mindedly, she summoned the Omni-Orb to her fingertips, then stowed her cursed tour guide. Earlier, she had will it to find the Dwarves. To her chagrin, Ruxin''s Orb did not disappoint.

    If the Elementals were to do this to her Rat-kin¡ª

    Gwen briefly contemplated the cost of bringing Shoggy to bear near the Fire Sea.

    The terrible things she could do to the perpetrators of this atrocity could likely make Elvia lose her religion.

    "Okay," she said quickly, willing Garp to wake up and make a loop so that they could follow the Shingleback Wyrm back up the tunnel by riding on its broad, flat tail. "Back we go. And when we get up there, I need someone to go and report our findings to Meister Bekker."

    "I''ll go." Mathias volunteered.

    "Thank you." Gwen understood just how reluctant the Knight was to leave Elvia. Still, the fact remained that she could not leave her rats, and Elvia was a poor candidate to travel alone through the Sawahi.

    "This is within my Code as well," the Knight said. "Someone has to know."

    "Yes." Gwen took one last glance at the grand spire with its blown-out windows and melted mountings. Even one more minute in this museum of horrors was eroding the sanity of her soul.

    Unbidden, she found her hand resting against the satchel with the Llais Leaf. "Someone has to know."

 Chapter 421 - Beneath the Beneath

    The Llias Leaf vibrated like an eco-friendly Nokia 3310.

    Gwen couldn''t speak for the device''s ergonomic usability, but its "signal" was certainly without fault, for even in the depth of the Murk, travelling in a tunnel dug by a Shingleback Wyrm, it worked.

    "Vessel of the Old Ones." Solana''s voice, or more accurately, The Bloom in White''s thoughts, invaded her mind via some intangible form of Elven witchcraft. "How may Tryfan be of aid?"

    "I have something to report," Gwen said. "Something so terrible I am going to struggle to put it into words, so you''ll have to bear with me."

    "Ah¡ª" Solana''s patience, transmitted as a mote of vitality from the Llias Leaf in conjunction with her words, felt both warm and infinite. "We have received word on the troubling winds blowing your way, Magus Song. Know that Tryfan''s generosity not only extends to you but to those you wish to speak for as well. If I may ask, how fares the Rat-kin of the Steppes?"

    "The Rat-kin?" Gwen furrowed her brows. To care about the rats now sounded a bit hypocritical, for when had the Elves in the High Tower ever cared about the Tasm¨¹yizs'' long-drawn suffering?

    "Are they fed? Have our seeds bloomed yet? The Essence of the Great Tree that has blessed our life-giving grain ensure that for several cycles, that which germinates will provide sustenance for the mortal races."

    There it is! Gwen welcomed the relieving hit of endorphins. If she weren''t in such a dour mood, she would have punched the air for guessing the objective of The Bloom in White''s creeping tendrils. The Elves must have known that she would need food for the Steppes¡ª if so, were the Rat-kin a part of their plan?

    "Oh, er¡­ I haven''t checked on the seeds yet." On the other hand, Gwen felt a stress-inducing suspicion that when she would returns to Shalkar in the evening of the new day, there might be some plus-sized and unanticipated surprises waiting for her. Hopefully, the beans would not have overgrown to the point where they''re eating her rats, rather than the other way around. "That said, Solana, I am not here to talk about the Rat-kin."

    There was a pause and a feeling of curiosity. "I see. What else can Tryfan do for the student of Kilroy?"

    "For now, you can listen." Gwen took a deep breath, then began to transmit her latent emotions. "To build the rats a home, I thought I would go and find some Dwarves. One of my scouts reported witnessing Aberrant activity in the Murk nearby, so I took my Sand Wyrm¡ª"

    "Your Sand Wyrm? Do you mean Caliban?" Solana''s transmission grew in intensity.

    "Naw, Garp''s new. He''s one of those Afaa al-Halak. Look, that''s not important. I rode the Wyrm¡ª"

    "You rode a primal¡ª"

    "¡ªAND we dug our way through the Murk until we hit a Dwarven tunnel of some kind. It was covered in runic scripts, though I think the Runes were dormant. The interior was enormous, taller and wider than any of the tunnels I saw in Eth Rjoth Kjangoth."

    There was a pause.

    "How fortunate. You have likely found a section of what the D?kk¨¢lfar call the Dyar Morkk, the Low-ways," Solana sounded impressed. "Disconnected they have been for thirty season-cycles at least, but sections of it still function under the great land masses unbroken by the Elemental of Mud and Water."

    So THAT''s the Dyar Morkk? Gwen made a mental note. Isn''t that what London''s trying to unearth in their alliance with Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth? Before she left, Ravenport and the Grey Faction were all gung ho for trying to find new ways of moving cargo and troops throughout England and the greater Commonwealth of her majesty''s "Ex-Colonies".

    "Right, so we found indications of combat, what looks like Fire, Magma and Ash Elementals fighting against Hammer Guards of the Golem Legions. From the appearances of the burned-out corpses, the retreating defences stretched for about a kilometre, probably longer since we breached it near the middle¡ª after which we were in there for an hour at least. When we got to the Citadel, it was a total shit show..."

    The Llias Leaf, as a miraculous device Gwen wished to emulate for her future Legion project, transmitted not only thoughts but empathy as well. While Solana appeared capable of controlling what she projected, Gwen possessed no such option. Consequently, she poured her horror into the leaf without reserve, closing her eyes to best picture the holocaust of the Dwarven Citadel.

    When she finally finished her descriptions and her suspicions of who might be responsible, the leaf-line on the other side of her box-and-cosmic-string magical telephone grew deathly silent.

    "This is grave news¡ª" the Bloom in White paused. The floral Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar''s voice was calm, and through the leaf, Gwen perceived nought to suggest the Elf was shocked by what she saw. Nonetheless, the absence of all emotion was itself a glaring clue that Gwen took to mean the High Priestess of the Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar was thoroughly rattled. In the interim, Solana fell so silent that Gwen began to wonder if their signal had dropped. When she finally spoke, it was with a tone of finality. "We thank you for the news, dearest student of Master Kilroy. Do keep the leaf against your skin. I shall contact you once I''ve made the enquiries."

    The pulse of life and Essence from Tryfan abruptly ceased. The artisanally inscribed Llias Leaf was once more a piece of mundane vegetation.

    "So that''s the Llias Leaf in action." Elvia''s eyes landed on the emerald foliage. "Gwennie, I am confused. Inquisitor Hawkford said the leaves are only given to the Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar''s prized agents, whose goal is to maintain the World Tree''s hold on the Prime Material. But he also said you couldn''t be a part of the Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar''s ploys."

    "Yeah-Nah." Gwen shook her head. "I am no Elven agent; we''re just using each other, that''s all. Not unlike me and Dickie."

    "Richard?" Elvia looked relieved to change the subject from their earlier journey through the ashen hell. "He''s such a dear, and he''s so loyal to you."

    "I mean Ravenport," Gwen remarked offhandedly, too distracted to change her thoughts and words. "The one with the Tower Ravens."

    "To the secular world, Magus Song, he is Lord Mycroft Ravenport, Marshall of the Kingdom, Protector of Albion," Mathias corrected her. "The seminary teaches us that if one wishes to be respected, they should always speak of others with respect, even in private."

    The Knight remained shaken from the sights in the Citadel, so Gwen forgave the young man''s stiffness, likely equally anxious that he had to leave Elva for a few days to report on their findings to the expeditionary force in the south-west. Now and then, herself included, she found it hard to believe that they were only a few years out of Sydney. Juxtaposed against every other atrocity in her Path of Violent Reckoning, she had to remind herself that even folk like Mathias, who had seen war plenty, had no immunity against PTSD and not yet enough weathered to become completely jaded.

    "Noted." Gwen patted Garp on its deck-sized bum, then scratched Strun about the ears to release the rats'' pent up tension. "Will you be travelling forthwith, Mathias? Can you navigate in the dark?"

    "I''ll make a stop at Nukus, then follow the supply stations southward," the Knight proclaimed, a feat Gwen could not begin to manage without her Omni-orb. "Please keep Elvia safe."

    "I will," Gwen promised. "Nothing will come close to harming her, I promise."

    "Mattie, our quest was to help and protect Gwennie." Elvia slid an arm around Gwen''s elbow to show her affirmation. "Besides, I''ve got Sen-sen and Kiki as well, and whatever happens, I can always heal myself."

    Feeling a little peculiar about Elvia''s superior physical prowesses, Gwen acknowledged the Cleric''s confidence. How strange it was that if her sweet little Evee assaulted her and Mathias with any seriousness, she could likely concave their chest and shatter their bones.

    Nodding, Mathias lifted into the air.

    "Stay safe, Mathias." Gwen gave her benediction. "Tell Bekker the occurrent here, no more, no less."

    "Come back soon!" Elvia did not appear particularly stricken with the idea of her companion of two years going for a stroll through a Black Zone.

    The girls watched as the Knight in the polished armour glowed like a miniature sun, then blasted off into the distance as a Radiance-infused aurora.

    "Well then." Gwen struck out a hand to invite her healer. "Shall we? Strun will drive Garp home. Meanwhile, we need to check on Stian and the fields."

    "You''ve only just planted the seeds a day ago." Elvia pointed out an obvious fact. "Even with Sen-sen and your Essence, I don''t think they''ll be growing that fast."

    "Yeah, er¡­" Gwen felt strangely thrilled now that their third wheel was gone, a welcome distraction to the horrors below. "I received some news that these were the giant beanstalk kind¡­ and that er¡­ they came imbued with swift-growth."

    Elvia understood her meaning at once. "Oh dear, we better get back."

    "Agreed. Ariel!" Gwen conjured her Kirin, then placed Elvia atop the purring Lightning Familiar. "Hold on, Evee. We''re going to go fast!"

    Mycroft Ravenport, Eighteenth Duke of Norfolk, Earl of Arundel and Surry, Lord Earl Marshall of England, just had a good day, a terrible occurrence for a man in his position.

    "It''s a rather quiet and relaxing evening, isn''t it, Morrigan?" Mycroft couldn''t help but tempt fate.

    Morrigan, Ravenport''s Keeper of the Kingdom''s secrets, cocked her avian head with a "Caw!"

    "Truly," the Duke said. "It''s worrying."

    "Caw!"

    At noon, Morrigan had laid out the reports for his review.

    Foremost of the post-new-year news was that revenue was up on all accounts, both for the London Metropolitan region and the Grey Market under Morrigan''s watchful obsidian eyes. The bulk of the city''s unusual income stemmed from the stamp duty offerings from the properties sold within the metropolis, almost a quarter of which took place on the Isle of Dogs. From the number of digits in a single accounting line Morrigan had pecked out, the volume of HDMs flowing through that once rural node of London not under the control of either three Factions both made Ravenport exhilarated and made him anxious for the lost benefits to him and his allies.

    If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    Apart from the passive property taxes and sky rocking land prices, infrastructure expansion and thus overall employment of the city was also at an all-time high. For this boon, he had the Dwarves to thank, who, after a long negotiation and a longitudinal trade arrangement for barley, hop, fresh fruit and Mage Flights, offered two Fabricator Engines and its crew on lease. The Royal Arsenal Commission''s Enchanters, as well, had taken the opportunity to section out vast swaths of Woolwich for the creation of joint-race Dwarven arms Manufactoriums.

    Another source of unanticipated income was the booming construction north of the Isle of Dogs. There, the Barlow Group''s full-throttled investment into Canary Wharf aimed to contest the development across the water, resulting in the rapid gentrification of Deptford. Consequently, unemployment for NoMs and low-tier Mages in the region neared one per cent as both sides scrambled to acquire labourers.

    Naturally, there were conflicts aplenty as a result, mostly involving arm-wrestling between the LoD Redevelopment Project and the Barlow Group''s attempt at cashing into the real estate surge. The girl''s cousin, an amicable young man with a brilliant, pragmatic mind Ravenport had his eyes on, was leading the crusade against the thuggish, underhanded work of the Militant Faction.

    It was a shame that the gifted one was the girl and not her cousin, for the young man had a mindset that meshed well with Mycrofts'' expectations of competence.

    The Grey Faction, thanks to the young man''s tipoffs and Morigan''s efforts, had amassed enough evidence on the Militants'' ham-fisted greed to demote a half-dozen Marquises into Earls and Viscounts to commoners. While he wouldn''t want to constrict the collar of the Mageocracy''s hunting hounds directly, he and the Crown''s mutual offices agreed that a stern reprimand, followed by a stark and hateful penalty, was best practice¡ª one that additionally allowed him to repay the girl''s favour.

    For now, he allowed the boy to borrow the tiger''s terror, hilariously wielding the Dwarves'' presence like a hammer whenever the Barlow group sought to usurp a portion of the yet-undeveloped property by taking advantage of the ongoing political honeymoon period. Whenever the Redevelopment Project''s construction met with sabotage, an angry Dwarven foreman would lead a team of Golems next door to protest with extreme prejudice, delaying the Barlow''s construction by weeks. Within the last month, London''s Metropolitan Arbitrators had been summoned so often to the Isle of Dogs that the Commissioner seriously began considering Magister Walken''s proposal of discounted office space for a new HQ.

    And on a Dwarven note, Morigan''s reports showed that investigations by The Shard into the Dyar Morkk were progressing well. Together with the Dwarve''s Golem Legions, the Tower''s elite Mage Flights had bulldozed Aberrant nests by the dozens, reclaiming one inactive node after another. Negotiations with the central continent, particularly with the German Councillor and the Bavarian Thanes, had also been catalysed by the hope of linking long-lost Citadels for the denizens below with the promise of practical transportation of troops and goods for the citizens above.

    Thinking of further negotiations to come, a voice in Mycroft''s head in the form of Morrigan''s "Caw!" reminded the Duke that there was a green-eyed Calamity who was responsible for all of the above. As a self-caution, the Duke reminded himself to remind the girl that she was merely a catalyst, while the men and women of London did the heavy lifting.

    On another fortuitous report, Dublin had indicated that the Wyld Hunt was officially spent and gone for ten months and would no longer harry the war budget. The Sixth Cabal''s report on the insurrection in the Niger Delta was comparatively ambivalent¡ª though that was a problem for the Militant Faction, whose greedy push via the Barlow Group was precisely for the recouping of lost revenue in the heart of Africa. Finally, the open-ended issue with the Fire Sea''s expansion appeared to be contained by Meister Bekker, at least on the surface.

    Worryingly, the Foreign and Commonwealth Office''s plans for the Steppes, involving the pruning of the Centaur''s potential and the containment of the Elemental incursion, had met with such a low body count that he felt confounded by its resolution.

    Likewise, that the girl wasn''t a part of the campaign and therefore did not take up precious moments of his limited attention was as relaxing as worrying, for he was confident the Shoggoth should have been necessary to distract the Brass Legion.

    On his home front, there was good news as well.

    Charlene would soon graduate Summa cumme laude from Cavendish in the fall semester and join the Foreign Office. Quinn, his oldest, should soon return from his Ambassadorial Office in Pretoria now that the new year had come and gone and the ides of January was upon them. His second wife, the lovely and air-headed Everleigh Eden of Avon, was also busy tending to her peer-gathering projects, which spared him the effort of facing her doubts.

    Thanks to the damned Sun''s baseless accusations of infidelity, both his wife and daughter had entertained the idea of meeting the girl responsible for his idiot son''s death¡ª Everleigh for baser reasons, and Charlene out of curiosity for a brother she''d rarely seen. Though Ravenport had explained that Edmund had effectively killed himself by working with Spectre, an instinctual part of him felt curiously keen to witness that meeting.

    Nonetheless, while Maxine''s darling hellion was away and out of Morigan''s feathers, life was quiet, and therefore good, and therefore had only one direction to go.

    "Caw! Caw!" Morigan chimed in.

    "Ah¡ª" Ravenport relaxed, exhaling his pent-up, formless anxiety. "Bad news? Excellent."

    "Milord, you''re going to love this." The Raven switched to common speech as it landed, transforming itself into the bloodless mien of a pale beauty with crow-black hair that reached her waist. In the woman''s hands, she held an emerald leaf glistening with the arrogant Essence of Tryfan''s Great Tree.

    "¡­ that bad, eh?" Ravenport received the Llias Leaf, took a deep breath, then allowed the Essence to infuse his mind. He was a man that believed in balance, for there was pleasantness in moderation.

    "Eternal Bloom." He willed away the innate empathic link built into the Llias Leaf. "How may my humble Office aid Tryfan?"

    "Our Dear Duke of the Accord," came the effortless and ageless voice of the High Priestess. Curiously, Mycroft felt that he had detected a certain breathlessness. "I do apologise for being the harbinger of very dire news. A situation has arisen involving our Outcasts and your Rogue Mages."

    Outcasts...

    Mycroft Ravenport unconsciously sat a little straighter.

    Elves cast out from the Eden of their Great Trees.

    Mortal¡ª but no less masterful than their ageless cousins.

    Refocusing his mind, Mycroft banished the girl, the Isle and the budget from his mind.

    "Dire, you say?" the Duke of Norfolk waited on the clarification. "To what degree?"

    "Uncertain as of yet, though the source is quite reliable," Solana said. "I received direct, empathic confirmation first-hand from your favourite. Are you surprised?"

    The girl''s smug face, in the most unwelcome sense, once more invaded Mycroft''s mind. Feeling a tender throb in his kidneys, Mycroft touched two fingers to his temple, scratched his brow, then sighed. "I am not surprised at all¡ª not at all."

    "We should thank the girl,'' Solana continued. "For if we mobilise now, we may yet discover the true intent behind their senseless act."

    "Right." Mycroft forcibly banished all stray thoughts. "Tell me what you''re willing to divulge, immortal Solana, then we''ll see how London may hold up its side of the Accord."

    As the Elder of Clan Jildam, Stian was no stranger to the quasi-magical flora of the Sawahi.

    For years, sometimes even decades, the seeds of drought-resistant flora in the desert would lay dormant, surviving even in the intestines of the Afaa al-Halak to await the coming of the wet season, soaking up the meagre mana in the sand.

    When the wet finally arrived, week-long torrential downpours would penetrate deep into the dry bedrock of the desert, refilling its deep aquifers and reshaping the dunes into momentary valleys with rivers of raging quicksand.

    The result of such a natural endeavour would tease forth the dormant energies stowed within the seed pods. Overnight, in a matter of hours, wildflowers of every kind would emerge in every corner. Fragrant zones of jade foliage, together with roving masses of suddenly appearing bees and other insects, would then assail the Sawahi to pollinate and procreate in an orgiastic explosion of life.

    That, in Stian''s long memory, was supposed to be the way of the world.

    Ever since the Tide and the emergence of the Fire Sea, however, the rain season had barely touched the desert. Even when it did fall, downpours reduced to sprinkles, and what water his Clan in its halcyon days could collect was insufficient in sustaining their pastoral wonders.

    In a matter of months, the moisture farms had failed.

    The crops withered.

    Stian recalled that the underground aquifers and their ownership became a matter of survival, turning Rat-kin on Rat-kin, Clan against Clan.

    The resulting wars in the days of Stian''s youth were as epic as they were senseless, accomplishing nothing other than feeding the ever-larger Afaa al-Halak with the bodies of millions of fallen Rat-kin, a sign that the land mother was reclaiming what it had once given.

    Later, as the Elder of the Tasm¨¹yiz living under Tamir Khan''s careless tyranny, he came to know that this was not the land mother''s displeasure with the Rat-kin, but the result of extra-planar conflicts far greater than what ratty farmers in a desolate part of the world could begin to fathom.

    Now, Stian once more saw a sight he had not seen since childhood.

    Of the fields, his Priestess¡ª or Mistress, as she now demanded to be called¡ª the smallest acreage was already blooming with vines a handspan in length, with hundreds of the saplings already flowering after a generous sprinkling of water.

    That was a miracle.

    And then there were the seeds blessed by the Priestess of the Pale light''s lifeblood¡ª the hallmark of a TRUE miracle.

    Foremost of the rapidly maturing plants were the beans and tomatoes. A variety the Priestess was said to have received from Demi-god protectors'' of a tree that held up the world''s fabric like a giant yurt-totem. Together with the beans, the thousand or so seeds planted by the Rat-kin with the help of a "Kiki" and a "Sen-sen" were already taller than the Priestess. All were now arm-thick and groaning as their length and girth visibly extended with every passing minute.

    The cucumbers, comparatively, required far too much water to properly propagate. They would have to be relocated closer to the oasis, or until the Priestess'' "Elemental Water Generators" could be brought from her homeland.

    Most impressive of the foursome gift of seeds was the pumpkin, which she had called the "Sunset Squash." These seemed most adaptable to the poor soil of the Sawahi and appeared to thrive in the "Spice" gifted by Lord Garp.

    In the fields where the "Spiced Pumpkins" had been planted, not only did they have to relocate crowded plants into the newly prepared areas, the hundred-odd remaining vines had already inundated the original plantation with a sea of broad green leaves each larger than a Rat-kin. By dusk, the field was exploding with fragrant bursts of yellow flowers, and Stian was considering getting his Rat-kin to pollinate the plants to speed the germination of fruit.

    By that speed and scale, Stian shivered; just how many pumpkins would they harvest?

    More importantly, at yield time, just how much fodder could they produce from the leaves, which were itself edible and delicious to the Rat-kin?

    With clean water, Stian thought, and hale produce whose tonnage brought hope by equal measure, just how much of the life Stian recalled could be restored, nay, exceeded?

    Yet, even as Stian''s heart filled with gladness and joy, he simultaneous shivered, fearful of the coveted bounty in front of him.

    Would Temir Khan come for their boon?

    Would the Horse-lords demand all their produce for "protection" once more?

    Would the Priestess'' Mageocracy honestly care, as she had proposed, for mere rats?

    Stian was wise and old enough to know that just as they could not trust Temir Khan in protecting the Rat-kin, their faith in the Priestess should remain one of spiritual gratitude instead of pragmatic reliance.

    If indeed the Priestess could provide them with water and food, then he and the Prefects must hurry to enact the next stage of the Clan''s restoration. They must make profits, as their prophet had foretold, acquire funds so that their walls could be built high and the warrens deep.

    The Rat-kin under the Priestess were twelve Clans, many with mixed blood, split among a hundred Centurions with transformed constitutions. If they could gather the scattered tribes who fled from the war, their numbers should swell close to two hundred thousand. And as many hands performed lighter work, they could then develop Shalkar in every direction, not just the east.

    As for the phage¡ª Stian had come to acknowledge their Priestess'' commandment that the disease was a blessing for the Rat-kin. However, in place of her boundless benevolence, he and the Prefects all agreed that the disease conjured by the Necromancers was lethal only to the infirm, frail, and starved Rat-kin. Even if a thousand died¡ª a million might live a decade from now¡ª that was a price acceptable to any slave. For they who lived under the Horse-lord''s hooves, they who were playthings slain out of boredom, or be sent out and worked until their death, any opportunity, at any cost of giving their scions a better life, was welcomed.

    AND, as the Elder of his tribe and a grandfather, Stian needed to remind Strun that as the Priestess'' foremost representative and the first Wyrm Rider in an incalculable number of generations, it was his role to procreate as often and produce as many scions as possible in the hope that many would inherit his traits. Garp, too, if they could capture a female Wyrm, would provide the Clans with a hopeful future. Many Rat-kin would die in the endeavour, but it would be worthwhile.

    Tomorrow, tomorrow and tomorrow, that was the Rat-kin''s meagre lot¡ª to seek salvation at any cost, that was the dirge song of the meek.

 Chapter 422 - Waiting for the Barbarians

    "Fuck." Gwen saw her emerald co-op farm from across the horizon. The sight was so conspicuous that anyone from any elevation would immediately recognise the unsheltered food source suddenly blooming in the desert.

    "Oh, Gwennie¡­" Her affected Evee reassured her from the back of a mewing Kirin. "I am sure the plants are safe. Look, there''s no fighting, and everyone looks to be busy around the fields."

    But the girl had misread her woe. In her anticipations, Gwen HAD desired that the seeds sprout like Jack''s beans, and that''s why she had bestowed them with the primal blessing of Almudj, whose will could turn the iron-dusted earth of central Australia pink with blushing lotuses in the wet season.

    "Golos!" she called for her guardian beast of the Rat-kin.

    With a splintering, wincing crash, the Wyvern emerged from among the pumpkin fields, expressing the power of a brutal body build for violence. The creature took a running leap, then joined the girls hovering above the foliage lake, worshipped by the fervent eyes of Gwen''s ratty citizens below.

    "This happened overnight?" Gwen stated the obvious. "Any trouble?"

    "I ate a few stickybeaks." The Wyvern grinned. "That and your slave-kin haven''t slept since you left. They''ve been moving the vines and saplings to new fields, working like Ryxi on his herb field. Speaking of which, how about we breed some carp? I''ll borrow a dozen from Ryxi''s pond, hee hee¡ª watching the snake protest to Ruxin should be fun."

    "Oi, no S-words in my house." Gwen protested even as she considered the potential of having Draconic Carp in the freshwater oasis. Indeed, it would make for a fantastic venture since Ryxi''s carp were predominantly herbivorous, and Shalkar looked to have an excess of greenery. "And yes, that''s an amazing idea if you can transport the things."

    "Ryxi''s Water Spheres should do it," Golos promised. "A few may perish though... in transit, hee hee hee..."

    "Gwennie. I think you should consult Stian," Elvia advised. "What if the Dragon Carp find Rat-kin to be the perfect fodder?"

    "True that." Gwen banished the idea for later. Nonetheless, she was reminded that there was such a thing as aquaculture in her old world. The combination was said to be ideal for conserving nutrients and water in a moisture-poor environment. "Let''s go down and have a look. It''s impressive, eh? I expect we should have food soon."

    "You have food now." Golos led the way, pointing a claw at the leaves. "Not even Ryxi''s herbs can grow at the same pace. That''s why they worship you. The delicious Eels in my domain showed no less worship than your furry ones."

    Gwen somehow doubted the Unagi-don living in Golos'' fiefdom of food honestly thought of the Wyvern that way.

    As the threesome landed, Gwen could see the potential her monstrous vital forces had allowed. Her plus-sized quasi-magical flora was positively Brobdingnagian because of Sen-sen''s aid, Garp''s poop, and Golos'' obscene excretions. The pumpkin patches, in particular, were so thick with leaves the size of umbrellas that the Rat-kin were already harvesting cartloads of the stuff as fodder to prevent future fruits from missing out on the sun''s blessing.

    Thankfully, her labourers were doing shifts, and her dumb Wyvern merely couldn''t tell them apart. While a group of rats worked, the others rested¡ª simultaneously performing what looked like acts of vegetation veneration.

    Gwen groaned.

    Beside her, the "Druidess" Elvia released Kiki and Sen-sen, who must have felt some kindred bond to the plants and thus fled into the field. As for why, Gwen assumed these Dryad-like Sprites probably liked to hug the trees or something, at least before they had to face the axe.

    "Mistress." Stian emerged from the thicket of deep green plants. Everywhere, she could near the droning moan of the vines'' growth, making the otherwise verdant Eden sound like it was haunted. "You have returned. How fare the Stout-kin''s lands?"

    "Massacred by Elementals," Gwen said. To Stian, at least, she felt no need for further elaboration. The Elder, out of all the surviving Elders of her rat-pack, had more than her share of Elementals razing rat-villages from the Eastern Sawahi to the Northern Steppes in his three decades of Exodus.

    "My¡­ condolences." The Rat-kin hung his head. "Mistress Elvia tells me you were close to the Stout-kin."

    "Not these." Gwen inhaled in the verdant scent of squash leaves to improve her mood. "But yes, my friends in the north will be beyond distraught. I do suspect we will get visitors soon. A fallen Citadel is a major incident."

    "Shall I ask the Centurions to prepare the guests'' burrows?"

    Gwen thought about the roughly hewn hovels the Rat-kin used for shelter. To house the future Mage or Dwarven delegation in hovels smelling of sand and wet fur with no windows and only holes for ventilation sounded like a recipe for catastrophe. "Any chance for huts?"

    Stian turned his head to regard the enormous vine plants. "After harvest, Mistress. We can cure the vine-wood, extract oil from their bark and excess seeds, then use that as material. For now, I fear we can only shape the earth."

    "Gwennie, I would think any higher-ups who show up would likely carry Portable Habitats," Elvia reminded her. "When do you suppose we can expect guests?"

    Gwen considered her conversation with the Bloom in White. "A week, likely two? I have no idea how the southern campaign is going though. Someone from the Shard would take a few days at least, assuming the Elves tell the Shard¡ª or we wait for Mathias, I would guess at least six days for a scouting party. There''s no Divination Towers to anchor Teleportation points that I know of, and Magister Taylor said the Fire Sea makes Teleportation outside of ley-lines extremely inexact."

    "What do we do now?" Elvia had an expression that said the last thing she wanted to do was sit around and do nothing while waiting for the plants to grow.

    "Evee, you keep working on stabilising the phage¡ª remember, we want a Remove Disease that reduces virulence but unimpedes infection rates for the Rat-kin. The best-case scenario is that any Centaurs will think twice about invading without crippling themselves in the aftermath."

    "Gwennie." Elvia leaned in closer and lowered her voice. "If we suceed. What if the Rat-kin want to invade the Centaur''s lands?"

    "It''s going to take major changes for even a chance of that to happen," Gwen stated the obvious. "Stian, even when the rat fellers dominated the eastern grasslands of the Sawahi, did you invade anyone?"

    The Elder shook his head. "We are not a war-like people, Mistress. Conflict isn''t in our nature. With the lives and the effort lost taking what belongs to others, we could cultivate more fields and restore more of the desert."

    Gwen considered her earnest Elder rat, who in his worn robes, greying piebald fur and hunched form appeared the very picture of a church mouse. As a student of history, though, she felt sceptical of Stian''s wisdom. That "our folk" weren''t naturally war-like was to her merely an excuse for weakness. Peaceful they may be, fight they must to the last tuft of fur. Would the forces that had aided the Rat-kin ever allow rats to live in their private Eden while war and death raged all around them? Even if she were to shepherd the Rat-kin to a new Renaissance of food security and sustainable development, wouldn''t they just become targets for every other foe lacking food, water and shelter?

    If so, what use were Stian''s hope they would remain Ratmaritan farmers?

    "Well said. Tend the plants well," Gwen answered Stain''s claim with a smile that didn''t reach her eyes. "Though let me say this. We, Stian, may not go forth and find war. But war... War will find us."

    Gwen found herself unable to sleep for the three days of lulling peace that passed without incident, suffering the calm like the oppressive heat before a storm.

    By day, she patrolled the emerging Rat-kin dens, visited Elvia and walked with Stian and the other Prefects, talking of matters to come.

    By night, she and Elvia spoke long and soundly about the past, about Sydney, about Evee''s experiences in the Ordo and Faith Magic and her feelings for Gwen''s Master''s thrifted, Demi-human Necromancy.

    For a while, Gwen almost felt as if she and Elvia had returned to a simpler time.

    In the Wildlands, there were no beeping Messages from Divination Towers and no subordinates needing her help on reports or Magisters studying her body for projects.

    Just her, Evee, the cool interior of the Portable Habitat, and life on the farm.

    It was an "escape to the country" experience Gwen had not anticipated, and as the days wore on, she realised just how desperately she had needed a wind-down of the pace she had set for herself.

    In the meantime, her farmhands expanded exponentially to almost six thousand able-bodied rats rolling up their desert smocks to heap "spice" into new fields even as the newly-returned Garp carved out channels in the desert.

    Of the labours at hand, it was Kiki, the floral Sprite that again wowed them all by using its innate powers to gather, then pollinate the flowering fields in the absence of insects, who would take weeks to arrive and to breed into sufficient numbers.

    On the morning of the fourth day, after breakfast made by Evee, there came a knock on the Alarm spell left outside the Portal Habitat.

    After the girls washed and dressed, Stian met them on the threshold.

    There was a problem.

    The "Control" field, with its mundane miracle of unimpressive growth, the rat explained, was developing in a suspicious direction.

    "Mistress, it''s trying to form a vine gate of some kind." Stian pointed to the beans. "We don''t know if something is controlling it or otherwise, so we kept cutting it down."

    Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

    Gwen first took stock that no rats were harmed, then she turned her attention to the unusual phenomenon.

    True to the Rat-kin''s words, she could see that two of the Centurions had teeth-axes in hand and were hewing away at what appeared to be fast-growing tendrils of prehensile vines attempting to form a structure of sorts.

    Feeling a deep suspicion, she produced the Llias Leaf once more, having chosen NOT to keep the thing against her skin while she and Elvia shared their private moments.

    Sure enough, her Llias 3310 was vibrating.

    "Hello, Gwen here," she answered the leaf by holding it against her face out of habit, drawing a quizzical look from Elvia.

    "Magus Song," the voice that spoke, much to Gwen''s surprise, wasn''t her demure and flawlessly beautiful friend, the Bloom in White, but the beetle-black Arch-Warden Eldrin. "Stop cutting down our gate."

    Gwen blinked at the field and its heap of hewn vines. "Your gate? What gate?"

    "The Trellis Portal." Eldrin did not nearly possess the patience of his counterpart. "What you have discovered is a matter of great significance, and we wish to send a representative to witness the fact first-hand. Without direct confirmation of the Elementals methods, Tryfan''s cooperation with the Mageocracy and the D?kk¨¢lfar will suffer."

    It took Gwen another few seconds to realise that Eldrin spoke of the beanstalks her Centurions were happily collecting for building materials.

    "Let me get this straight." Her mind grew instantly displeased as the realisation struck. "You gave me plants for food, and the bloody food can grow PORTALS for your goons to hop through?"

    "Correct." Eldrin sounded utterly unabashed by the fact. "Allow the gate to form, Magus Song."

    The bastard! Gwen felt an acerbic ire rise in her chest. The logical part of her knew already that the Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar gave nothing for free and that there would be a cost to receiving their help and aid. What she had not anticipated was that the food came with the means to enable an invasion.

    "No way, not without answers." she refuted at once. "What are your true intentions, Eldrin? What does our dearest Bloom want for Shalkar?"

    "What''s good for all." Eldrin''s voice made her think of a swinging, scything blade. "Food for your slaves, stability for the Prime Material, woe for our Planar usurpers."

    "They''re free folk!" Gwen snapped back, transmitting her annoyance. Why do all of these uppity existences speak so unabashed of the Rat-kin''s meekness like it''s some crime of nature? "You know nothing, Eldrin."

    "Do you think they''ll be free merely because of your assistance? Who do you think you are?" Eldrin''s arrogance was growing on her nerves. "Will they survive the Centaur''s iron-shod hooves without our aid?"

    "Our? No, I''ll deal with the horses," Gwen growled into the leaf, transmitting her displeasure.

    "Will you be their Queen and sovereign then? A human woman, the Devourer Queen of the Vermin! That would be a first even in your sordid history books!" Eldrin appeared unfazed by her confidence. "And for how many decades? Will your Mageocracy allow that liberty. Could our Bloom be humoured by such an act? Or¡ª"

    The Arch-Warden paused as if struck by epiphanic enlightenment.

    "I see now. You wish to exercise that which is the natural talent of your phage-like race¡ª you could prune the Centaurs from existence. Eradicate them once and for all¡ª a feat not even your mid-land ancestors could achieve seven centuries ago. Over their bones, with your mastery over the Sand Wyrms, the Steppes could be tamed and transformed into your personal property. Better yet, you could use your filthy Svart¨¢lfar sorcery to subsume their souls, empower your magic, and force them into servitude. Is that what you wish, Devourer Song?"

    Absorbing the abuse like a sponge, Gwen turned to her Rats.

    If The Bloom in White had asked and asked nicely, with a promise of giving her some secrets of the Llias Leaf, then she would have being satisfied with building infrastructure for the Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar. Eldrin, on the other hand, could eat a big black Caliban.

    Now that she knew what was going on, what''s interesting was that only the "Control" field appeared to be sprouting a Trellis Portal. At the same time, the seeds affected by her and the Yinglong''s Essence seemed to be unmoved by the trans-Planar command from Tryfan, which, when she thought about it, made a mystical but logical sense. If so, her accidental foresight to garner produce was doing her far more favours than just making food.

    That and Evee''s Inquisitor was right.

    Fucking Elves and their agendas.

    "Stian, uproot the Control field. Gogo. Burn all of it," she gave the command to send in the men and women with their teeth-tools.

    "Magus Song, you would show such insolence?" the voice from the Llias Leaf rose in volume and hostility.

    "Caliban! Ariel! Help out!"

    "Shaa!"

    "Ee¡ªEE!"

    Her creatures stood at the ready to return the plants to their senders.

    The Llias Leaf grew uncomfortably silent.

    After a dozen seconds, likely to see if she was tearing the vines apart, of which she was, another voice sounded on the Llias phone.

    "Magus Song?"

    It was her masseuse, Sanari.

    "Hierophant Sanari," she answered the pleasant, female voice. "How can I help?"

    "Allow me to apologise for Arch-Warden Eldrin." The Druid''s diplomacy was far more to her liking. "Matters have grown somewhat urgent, even for those of us for whom time does not flow. Although I fear we cannot bestow undue details without inviting you to join our communion of like-minded forces, I do beg for your patience and generosity. Tryfan requires access to the Steppes, and you are our closest Essence root to the source of our troubles."

    Gwen''s anger subsided at the apology.

    "I don''t particularly mind delivering this favour as repayment for the seeds," she said. "I should thank you for the food and the foresight. That said, I don''t like being surprised."

    "Again, we did not mean to be so abrupt. Warden Eldrin has been shocked, as we all have, by recent developments."

    "I''ll buy that," Gwen concurred. "So, what happens after you send an army? What happens to my rats?"

    "An army? Magus?"

    "That''s Eldrin''s job, isn''t it? Pruning folk like stems from a Bonzai? What''s going to happen to my freed rats?"

    "Nothing," Sanari explained. "They are yours, Magus Song. Tryfan merely wishes passage for its allies, nothing more. By the Bloom''s wisdom, I shall personally attend in place of Arch-Warden Eldrin. For now, please recognise the urgency of the matter."

    "Who are these allies?"

    "Common friends of circumstance," Sanari replied. "I promise that we shall minimally utilise the gate. In any case, its energies remain precious and limited."

    "Fine. That''s a promise then." Gwen did indeed recognise the urgency of the horror below despite the interval that must have passed since its inception. "Also, Eldrin mentioned that the Bloom could be convinced to be a patron of the operation I''ve established here?"

    "We shall be amicable to discussing your needs if it so pleases you."

    "¡­ good." Gwen accepted that a verbal agreement was as much as she could coax before things took a turn for the sour. Unlike Eldrin, she had no desire to slap the smiling Sanari, and The Bloom had been pretty good to her, and supposedly¡ª she was mates with her Master.

    And at worst, once she repaid the favour, she could pollute these plants from Tryfan with her and the Yinglong''s Essence, preventing further surprises.

    "Stian, tell the men to fall back," she commanded. "Let''s see what miracles our friends from the north can use to offset the impediments of space and time."

    "Okay, that''s a miracle, alright."

    It took the better part of a day for the vines to grow into a Trellis Portal four meters in height, wrought of intricate Elven Sigils and interwoven sorcerous structures hidden from view.

    Meanwhile, Gwen set about readying storage solutions for the rats'' future Sunset Squash harvest. While she planned out ways to maximise space and economy, Stian gave lectures teaching the others that pumpkins could be stored for close to six months if kept in cool and dry places, flipped upside down to divert seedy ambitions.

    When she returned to the field of interwoven beans and tomato vines, the Portal was in full bloom, likely because of the energies Tryfan was pouring into the structure from some unseen ley in the world.

    The sight, Gwen had to admit, was to her a worthy spectacle.

    The Trellis Portal was a four-meter, self-constructed arch in the middle of a field, under the ultramarine sky of the Sawahi, in a Black Zone. On its exterior, emerald foliage swayed with the wind as yellow, carmine, lilac and white blooms erupted in spontaneous bouquets.

    A poor man''s Star Gate? Gwen mused to herself. Just what was the limitation of distance on these things?

    At the promised hour, the space between the frame came alive with the unique magic of Druidic Tree Striding, something the Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar had not been shy to demonstrate during her visit.

    A white hand appeared, thin and elegant, elfin and a little alien as it pierced the veil of space.

    Sanari, Hierophant of Tryfan, strode through the gate, followed by a second elf in beetle-black plate mail, with a scimitar the thinness of insect wings hanging from one thigh. The planar membrane behind them swelled like a bubble, then popped as its latent energies fled.

    The thousand or so armed Rat-kin watching the entry turned their eyes from their Demi-divine visitors to their Priestess of the Pale Light. At her word, she could see, they would swarm the Elves with tooth and nail.

    "Welcome." Gwen extended a hand to shake the two-meter woman with the guise of a humanoid praying mantis.

    Sanari''s golden eyes, pearlescent like that of a jewelled scarab''s shell, swept across her rats, then lowered to regard her hosts¡ª first to Gwen, then to Elvia.

    "Thank you for your generosity." Sanari tilted her head, sending a lock of flaxen hair sliding past her ear. "I am among august presences, I see¡ª not one, but two Vessels of old ones. I now understand why you did not fear Eldrin''s ire, Magus Song. Thank you for receiving us. My companion is Elder-Warden Thiel, my instructor during my Cycle as a Warden."

    The Elf in armour gave them a curt nod.

    Gwen nodded back, choosing to refrain from formality. "To save time, I can show you where we found the Dwarves. Shall we?"

    "We shall await our allies," Sanari surprised her by rejecting her offer. "They should be arriving very soon to assess the extent of the threat."

    "The threat?" Gwen silently remarked that she had better not be the threat. "From who?"

    "Outsiders, outcasts from the Great Trees." Sanari remained as cryptic as ever. "The details, I cannot relate. However, I may inform you that our common foe, that cabal dubbed by your Mages as Spectre, is likewise working with the Elementals and that their designs extend far beyond a mere, Dwarven outpost."

    "Can you clarify?" Gwen asked.

    "Clarity is what we''re trying to discern," Sanari said. "Our Divinations thus far have been... impeded."

    "Right." Gwen considered the situation at hand. Her curiosity demanded answers, but she had far too much on her plate already. "Can you tell me who has been informed and who I should expect?"

    "I can." The softly spoken Elf considered her request. "To my knowledge, the Bloom has informed your Kingdoms'' Duke of War, who has promised to invite the Thane-King of the Dwarves under Red Peak. News will undoubtedly travel fast to the Middle Kingdoms of Humanity in what you call Central Europe and the Commonwealth of the Mageocracy. The forces you have fielded in this part of the world will soon return as well, your Mages and the Horse Lord''s horde. They shall soon convene where you''ve made the Rat-kin a home."

    "... That''s way too fucking soon." Gwen swore, then immediately regretted her reflexive vulgarity. "Sorry¡ª what I meant was that''s hardly good news for what I''ve got here. Any idea who will be the first to arrive?"

    "The D?kk¨¢lfar would have been the first, consideing their grudge¡ª but their low-ways have since been sundered, so they must now travel by borrowing the rudimentary sorcery of your Mageocracy. Thereby, assuming your young Knight Protector finds your southern expedition without fail, we should be expecting Meister Bekker first and foremost. The Khan''s representative shall arrive shortly after, though for a different reason than the others."

    Gwen noted the unconscious "rudimentary" slipped into the Elf''s words. Of the incoming folk, she could imagine the Dwarves doing their grim business, after which she might ask for a few favours to help her build the rat''s city. Bekker as well, once she saw the merits of Shalkar, should be taking the Rat-kin''s side.

    As for the Khan''s representative, who could that be?

    Saran? Or one of his generals? A scouting party lead by a Tumen could possess anywhere between a thousand and ten thousand horses¡ª enough to give Garp a fatal injury and overrun the rats.

    "Sanari." She considered the implications should the Centaurs prove less than diplomatic. "Can I trust you and the Bloom to support what''s been built here?"

    "We will always do what''s best for the Prime Material''s wellbeing," Sanari replied without commitment. "That is the design of the Great Tree and the purpose of our being."

    "Does the propagation of life back into the Sawahi serve that purpose?" Gwen changed her phrasing. "Does restoring the biodome of the eastern grasslands aid Tryfan''s cause?"

    "It does."

    "Would the destruction of Shalkar, its fields, and the eradication of Rat-kin move against The Bloom''s will and expectations?"

    Sanari paused as if listening to a voice borne on the wind. "It does."

    "Good," Gwen affirmed their common goal, understanding that so long as their mutual benefit exceeded what the Horse Lords could offer, her position remained unassailable. "In that case, stand behind me when I make my case to Meister Bekker and Ambassador Taylor. Together, Accord or otherwise, we''ll bring some stability back into the Sawahi!"

 Chapter 423 - Cold Pastoral

    Listening intently to Sanari''s guileless saleswomanship of the Trellis Portal, Gwen began to recognise why the Mageocracy sent out its scroll-smart pupils into the Wildlands.

    Where in Cambridge, even with all its Magisters and libraries, would a Magus get such a hands-on, in-person practicum other than in Black Zones via serendipitous solutions to unfolding crises?

    For instance, who in Cambridge could or would instruct her in the sorcery of the space-time magic of the immortal races?

    "¡­ The Tellis'' constraints, therefore, are meaningful for both ourselves and our allies. First, only a true servant of Tryfan, imbued with the Essence of the Great Tree, or as a vessel of Lord Tyfanevius, may utilise the leys that deliver its power across the Prime Material."

    Tyfanevius, Gwen recalled, being the Wyrm in the World Tree''s roots.

    A Snake.

    A Tree.

    A Woman.

    That was the triplicate Solana had decreed.

    What interested Gwen was the symbolic iconography¡ª that a phallocentric reptile was the Guardian of a life-bringing tree and that both were linked to a womb-bearer. If this were her old world, she would have written the matter off with a smile and a nod to Nordic-Grecian-Biblical mythoi. In this world¡ª she wouldn''t be so dismissive, as one never knew what lurked beneath the extra-Planar roots of the Axis Mundi and its network of pillars.

    As for the Trellis Gate, she was sorry to say there was no possibility of commercial viability.

    First, only Tryfan or another Elven commune could grow the gates through the powers of its Druids.

    Second, only those born of Tryfan and imbued with its blessing or are a Vessel to its Guardian may pass through the leys.

    While human agents could use the gates to travel around the world, utilising Storage Rings as transportation modules, these very agents would effectively be defectors whose very lives were held in the Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar''s unseen web.

    Thereby, the Dwarven low-ways remained the preferable option. Expensive and complex it may be, the Dyar Morkk was a tool, and tools could be lent, imitated, or usurped.

    Whatever the case, her guest offered her services, and as the Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar went about her business, Gwen studied Sanari''s interactions with the others.

    Golos, for one, appeared in awe of the Elf''s svelte figure. According to the Wyvern, there was something inside the Druid that was older than even the Yinglong. In conversing with the Hierophant, Gwen had never seen her Thunder Wyvern so polite in all their years of association, going so far as to use his humanoid form and wear pants. It was as though, she observed, her creature was secretly afraid of Sanari, much like how the Elf avoided Caliban, only Gogo seemed unable to discern why he felt so anxious beside the sunny Elf.

    Comparatively, her Rat-kin loved the Druidic Demi-goddess in pale gossamer and gold, so tall and lithe that most of her stooping rats reached her thighs, and even Strun only touched her shoulder with both ears erect.

    In the three torturous days that they then spent waiting for the arrival of the Rat-kin''s future fate, Gwen watched Stian take advice from the Druid and made a note of the Hierophant''s generosity in teaching her minions.

    To Elvia, whose mastery over her Familiars was self-taught, Sanari similarly withheld nothing about instructing Kiki and Sen-sen on their innate powers.

    Watching her peers reap the benefits, Gwen sincerely shared the temptation her Master had felt at Tryfan.

    The romanticism of Druidism! A proper Life Bringer!

    When Sanari saw the Rat-kin puzzle their heads over the notion of shelter, the Druid had walked among her ratfolk, a true goddess of the Prime Material, then coaxed vines from the fields so that they formed sturdy homes and abodes, plumbing-inclusive.

    The process was equally terrific and awe-inspiring for Gwen. In Sanari''s mastery, the Magus from Cambridge understood that in addition to magic, there was also quasi-magical engineering and sylvan architecture at play¡ª a synthesis achievable only by a very long life.

    Where Gwen and her council of twenty had been convening under the blue yonder like tribals, Sanari willed into place entwined vine-totems that met as a dome, then extended outwards like an umbrella twenty meters in height and thirty in diameter, forming a newly transmuted species of yurt-tree.

    A vine-wrought baobab! Gwen recognised the familiar shape at once.

    With patience, Sanari explained to the dazed Rat-kin that the interior would be a sheltered space for the Rat-kin to rest and hide from sun and sand. Outside, shade provided by the exterior foliage would cool their bodies and collect the morning moisture, storing water for emergencies.

    Watching her companions follow the Elf like curious kittens, Gwen could only marvel as the Druid made her rounds around Shalkar, encouraging aquatic plants to stifle evaporation from the open oasis and commanding deep-tapping hedges to form windbreaks around the various fields.

    At first, Gwen had half a mind to tell Sanari to cease her actions to prevent unnatural ambitions from Eldrin. Once she saw the literal improvement in quality of life, however, she changed her thinking to include Sanari as a part of her bargaining with Bekker and company¡ª for very quickly, Shalkar''s non-existent architecture was being transformed into a proper township.

    As for Sanari''s companion Warden, the male Elf appeared and disappeared, seemingly at will, speaking nothing and answering nothing, and so Gwen chose to banish Sanari''s shadow from her mind.

    By the fourth morning since Sanari''s arrival, three trees stood on the flat horizon, utterly changing the aerial vista of Shalkar.

    Gwen pondered her evolving perspective as she watched furry and naked rat-pups scamper up and down the tree with effortless ease. Could she have been wrong, and that true calling for Strun''s people was as arboreal species? Could it be that her plans for an underground city were unfounded after all?

    The disadvantage for both was that the Rat-kin were incapable of mimicking either architecture. However, the possibility of rats learning to use Golem Suits remained, while there was no hope for Druidic Rat-kins.

    It was a shame, for tree homes offered food, natural shelter and served The Bloom in White''s notion of stabilising the Planar fabric of the Prime Material. As for how well the trees would hold up to Centaur or Elemental assault in a desert¡ª she guessed only time would tell.

    For now, the practical thing to do was to take advantage of Garp in creating safety tunnels in every direction away from Shalkar.

    Her schedule proved short, for that same afternoon, Mathias returned with Meister Bekker''s entourage.

    Looking at the nervous Void Mage, Gwen found herself once more surprised by Jean-Paul''s Master.

    "Master says so long as your plans put the Mageocracy first, we''ll support it," Jean-Paul blabbed his orders like a man clearing a severe case of constipation. "We''re almost done in the south¡ª but Master says it was too easy and therefore deeply suspect and that if you''ve got something better suited for the incoming peace, then you may count on her support."

    "Magister Taylor has received directions to remain impartial," a second voice, Jean-Paul''s superior, notified Gwen with a gaze of ambivalence. Together with her Void Sorcerer, the Mage flight had arrived with the party''s Transportation Specialist, Eli Hill. "Thereby, you have command and responsibility for what''s to come. Should matters sour, I will transport us to somewhere safe."

    "Thank you, Magister Hill." Gwen bowed. "I''ll not disappoint the Ambassador."

    Gwen quickly introduced the party to her companions at Shalkar.

    Jean-Paul scratched his head, his complexion growing pink as he eyed Elvia, Mathias, the mountainous humanoid Wyvern, the giant rats, and the golden Elf among them.

    The Void Mage''s eyes fell upon their Elven Hierophant.

    "G-greetings, m-may your bloom be eternal!" Jean-Paul stammered forth fragmented phrases recalled from his lessons. "Glory to the er¡­ tree."

    "Relax." Gwen guided her comrade in Consume to shake the Elf''s hand.

    Sanari withdrew her digits, visibly fighting to ward away the stink of Void Mana oozing from Jean-Paul like sweat. Jean-Paul instantly mistook the gesture and visibly grew shrunken and dejected, appearing the very picture of pity.

    Magister Hill rescued the moment by taking the Elf aside and delivering a long-winded greeting in what Gwen suspected was perfect Elven.

    "Evee, Mattie, can you take Lady Sanari and the Magisters to the conference room?" Gwen gestured proudly to the largest of the baobab trees, the interior of which she had persuaded Sanari to populate with a circular table in the manner of Arthur''s and his knights of yore. "I''ll finish up here and meet you in half an hour."

    "Of course, Gwennie."

    "Don''t spare the Sen-sen Maotai."

    "Okay!"

    Somewhere in the green thicket, a Ginseng shuddered.

    Evee led the Mage Flight and Magister Hill away, trailed by a serene Sanari.

    "So, how goes the war?" Gwen asked Jean-Paul once the others were away. "Speak candidly, JP. If Meister Bekker''s happy to give me a hand here, then I am happy to look out for both our interests."

    "The campaign was successful, if unexpectedly so." Jean-Paul visibly relaxed without the company of the High Elf, Elvia, and the judgemental eyes of Hill and his compatriots. "The opening volley between the Elementals and the Horde were as one would expect¡ª a flesh grinder. Shapeshifted Dao, the size of hills rose from the sand as cyclopean golems to crush the Khan and his troops, aided by laughing Djinns willing the air into sandstorms that could strip the tissues from your bones."

    "Jesus Christ." Gwen tried to picture the war. "How did you deal with that?"

    "Master and the others took care of the elemental assault." Jean-Paul''s chest swelled with pride. "With prepared Mandalas, Master and the others disrupted the Planar ley used by the Elementals, transmuting the Dao''s bodies so that they couldn''t maintain their shapes or regenerate. Our Hunter Killer Flights then sought out the Djinns re-forming above and sealed their Cores while dog-fighting their conjured Sprites. At the same time, our supporting teams below buffed and maintained the Centaurs'' momentum. The seesaw went on for many days until, at the threshold to the Fire Sea, the Dao General, Shebeed The Silent, met Tamir Khan head-on, resulting in a titanic duel as he tried to halt the Horse Lords advance."

    "Can you describe the Dao General?" Gwen asked. "Was he humanoid or monstrous?"

    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    "Like an enormous fanged Dwarf with no lower body, armoured in sandstorms." Jean-Paul used both hands to illustrate the fact. "Holding a war hammer the size of a building, smashing at the ground to disrupt the Horde''s spearhead."

    "Holy shit!" Gwen exclaimed, awed by her imagination in place of Jean-Paul''s literary paucity. "And then?"

    "The Khan summoned the strength of his Horde to attack the giant''s weak spots," Jean-Paul replied with wonder. "He disarmed the Dao General with pilums to the fingers, then pressed on with the assault before the Dao could regenerate his limbs and retrieve the fallen mallet. Thankfully, the Dao never had the chance, for Khudu, Cherbi of the Khan''s elite Khesig, lead his Orkok to harass the Dao''s priests in the rear, breaking their sorcerous support, thereby allowing Master to divert the flow of Earthen mana."

    "Then the Elementals fell back?"

    Jean-Paul shook his head. "There was no retreat. We fought a war of extermination, Gwen. Our strategy was to prevent the Elementals from synthesising the Prime Material through sealing or dismissing their higher ranks back into their Planes. If we could achieve this without losing our ability to fight, then we''ve won."

    "Losing the ability to fight?" Gwen cocked her head. "Like OoM?"

    "It means having enough bodies remaining to halt the Elementals'' greater manifestations," Jean-Paul said without any particular emotion of note. "Higher Elementals can''t be destroyed but can be banished. The lower ones merely return to the primordial in their native elements. For both the Centaurs and the Mageocracy, if we survive with excess troops for the next conflict, the balance would tip, thereby we''ve succeeded."

    And so it is with a world where old men plot and young men die. Gwen shuddered, suddenly reminded of an adage of war.

    "So¡­" She felt deeply uncomfortable knowing her next question. "Did we win at a discounted cost?"

    "Exceedingly so." Jean-Paul exhaled with relief. "Our losses are just over twenty-thousand horses and about thirty Senior Mages and Maguses, including one Magister from London Imperial, despite his Contingency Ring. We nearly displaced Magister Hill as well, which is why he''s here to take a breather¡ª but thankfully, Major Kott was there to hold the line against the Efreeti Flame Dervishes."

    "T-TWENTY THOUSAND?" Gwen choked on her companion''s ironic relief. She had lost two thousand rats and thought it the end of the world. Twenty thousand? How high was the corpse pile? Lazarus, the Khan''s Necromancer, must be dancing on the mass graves. "What the fuck? That''s like, one in ten of every Free Rider we saw at Nukus!"

    Christ. Gwen cursed. To think she had cursed those young stallions playing rat-Quidditch, and now, many of them had given up their lives for a cause from which she would benefit.

    "It isn''t as bad for the Centaurs as it is for us," Jean-Paul parroted something his Master must have said. "A combat mage takes ten to twenty years to train. The Centaurs are born warriors in a culture of physical supremacy. Almost all male members of the tribe can fight, meaning they''ll replenish those numbers in four-five years, likely less."

    "I get it, but still¡ª" Even having seen the scale of destruction at Shenyang, Gwen still felt horrified by the prospect of commanding two hundred thousand men to charge toward the enemy, knowing that anywhere between one-tenth and half would not return. How can a living-breathing warm-blooded being gain enough hardiness? Gwen felt her skin crawl, knowing that she might need to make such a call. Even in victory, what would she even say to their families? To twenty-thousand familiar faces living in the same city?

    "Now, all eyes are on you. After the campaign comes the matter of recovery, which means food the Mageocracy owes the Horde." Jean-Paul looked to the verdant horizon, products of her labour. "Beware, Gwen. Considering the miracle here, the Khan should be coming for Shalkar. They were preparing even as we left..."

    The Centaurs arrived two days later.

    Gwen had toyed with the idea of delaying their meeting via Garp, who could cover every approach to Shalkar with walls and pitfalls but decided against using a tactic that would only incense the Horse Lords.

    Curiously, as the Horde emerged on the horizon, making an ominous silhouette from one hilltop to another, Gwen could not spot Temir but saw Khudu, Cherbi of the Khesig Guard, the Khan''s second. She was just about to comment on the fact when Sanari, who had joined her as she and the Mages exited the baobab trees, pointed to the richly dressed figure of a painted Shaman.

    It was Dini Saran¡ª the Khan''s ??pter advisor.

    Was Saran then the Khan''s nominated mouthpiece? Meaning, therefore, Khudu must the spear?

    But then again, the Khan''s absence made sense, for "Gwen Song" was merely a Magus of the Mageocracy, an administrator with land and slaves given to her by the Khan himself. To have the ruler of the Steppes personally address the matter would be akin to Ravenport personally confronting the head of a local labour union.

    Then again, Gwen considered the spontaneous Eden behind her¡ª having now seen what was at stake, would the Cherbi send for his Khan? Or would the General and the Dini seek to resolve matters as the Khan''s proxies?

    "While you and the Khan''s representative make your terms, I shall privately convene with the Faun," Sanari explained without elaboration, which Gwen read to infer that the suspiciously ageless Saran was likely a thrall of The Bloom, similar to their designs for herself. "I should remind you, Magus Song, so long as the Prime Material is maintained, Tryfan does not intervene in worldly affairs regarding resource or governance."

    "Of course," Gwen did not challenge whatever private "Accord" Sanari had planned. Either way, she would wield the Druid and Tryfan as her bargaining chip. If the Horse Lords did not do due diligence, that was their problem.

    Thereby, against the overwhelming might of Khudu''s Horde, Gwen brimmed with confidence. Even now, behind the vine-line, Strun and Garp''s Empathic Links informed her that her preparations were complete. In a total diplomatic breakdown, her rats would escape through a tunnel her Shingleback had dug under Shalkar.

    And in the case of a worse catastrophe, Strun had even plotted routes for the Rat-kin to escape to the destroyed Dwarven Citadel.

    With her worries gone, Gwen could now focus on dissuading the horses from war.

    First, there was the threat of contracting Blood Fever; then, she would intimate the danger of the Mageocracy refusing to provide food. As an addition, she would inference the hypothetical disapproval of the Demi-god Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar.

    And if the Centaurs would disregard all threats to wean themselves from relying on Shalkar for fodder and forcibly take the oasis¡ª then she would scorch the place with her Void Swarm and leave not even a slice of squash for the fuckers.

    Mutually Assured Destruction¡ª that would be her ace-in-the-hole.

    It was a madcap threat, but she suspected even Temir Khan should fold under such a circumstance, assuming the Horse Lord''s pride could stomach the fact.

    An hour later, likely proffering time for the victims to stew over their fate, the Horse Lords sent their representative¡ª a long-maned stallion who had been one of Gwen''s drinking companions. Compared to his pampered visage at the feast, the armoured youth was visibly scarred by rough healing, though he seemed hale and happy for having proved himself the better of their Elemental foes.

    At a hundred paces from the gates, the horse stopped. She recognised the bloke as Besutei, one of the Khan''s princelings.

    "Magus Song!" Besutei called out. "Our Cherbi seeks a meeting on the hill, away from the diseased Tasm¨¹yiz!"

    "Good! I shall attend the Cherbi!" Gwen shouted back via Clarion Call. "Likewise, send your Dini Saran. I have a guest here that wishes to commune with her in private. She should know who it is."

    She pointed to the shining Elf on the oasis'' edge, so out of place with her golden hair and ivory robes that it was impossible not to notice.

    The stallion seemed taken back by the fact that Gwen would request such an essential personage in their entourage attend to Shalkar but galloped back to return the message.

    Gwen turned to her companions.

    "Gogo, you''re with me. Evee, take Sen-sen and Kiki and make sure the horses don''t try anything funny. Mathias, stay with Evee, but we might need you to command the retreat if they start charging down the Hill. Use Strun and Garp as best as you can. Sanari?"

    "I shall meet Saran there, in full view." Sanari pointed to the forest-like fields of squash. "At that distance, we''ll have shelter and privacy."

    "Right." Gwen took to the air, having ensorceled herself with the necessary protections preemptively. If there was one aspect about the warding spells she loved, it was the subtlety of her alter-Bone Armour and Sanguine Mantle pre-manifestation. "Stian, I leave the city to you. Don''t bother defending the crops as there''s plenty more Sanari can provide if these get destroyed. Prioritise the lives of our folk and get them ready for evacuation."

    "We can fight, Mistress." Stian''s face was grim but determined; his ears erect with rage. "We''ll infect them all. Even a scratch or bite will do. Their wives and children will pay the cost of their arrogance in pus and boils."

    "For Shalkar!"

    "For pumpkins!"

    "For our Pale Priestess!"

    Her rats'' eyes glowed green.

    "Don''t fight for me, but home and hearth." Gwen applauded the Elder by parrying their fervour. "As always, fighting to the death is a terrible strategy. Trust me. The Horse Lords won''t persist, not like the way you imagine. If anything, get ready for peace¡ª a very-very expensive one."

    The Rat-kin and her Prefects nodded, understanding but not understanding.

    Golos arrived at her side in his human guise. A brute with a rough-hewn face just under three meters tall, with arms and legs the size of tree trunks, with teeth protruding from scaly, purple lips.

    "Let''s go," the Thunder Wyvern urged her. "I yearn to see you bring forth calamity."

    Midway, Gwen met Saran and her escort of elite Horse Lords and exchanged words on the southern campaign''s outcome. There, the Dini stared at her with such a complex expression that Gwen could cut the tension with a Void blade. If she had to guess, the matter likely involved her hijacking of the Tasm¨¹yiz from the Khan''s hooves and her undermining a foundation block from Temir''s unchallenged pyramid of power. That said, Gwen felt no guilt, given that Saran had presented her a task to fail. Either way, an understanding passed between the two women as they left¡ª hers cold and aloof, and Saran looking like she would use Consume if she could.

    "Magus Song, our troops at Shalkar. What have you done to them?" As soon as she landed on the Hill, the Khan''s Cherbi cut straight to business with an accusation, so rude as to not even offer a nod of respect. "Where is my cousin, Kokochu?"

    "Scattered like seeds to the wind," Gwen replied with complete seriousness. "I fear that Shalkar was empty of honourable Horse-folk when we arrived. Nary a shred of integrity remained."

    The Cherbi snorted, intimidating her with a battle-honed body that was to her more so eye candy. When she glared back sardonically, the Centaur''s eyes grew hard like peach pits. Below, she could see his steel-capped hooves, each the size of dinner plates, pawing the soft sand.

    The Cherbi had come with all the men the Khan could spare, in so far as she could see. If she discounted the potential of hidden reserves, there was at minimum two thousand riders at a glance, each with javelin quivers bulging with honed steel.

    "You test us, Magus Song. Those were our kin. Kokochu was my blood-kin."

    "You''re welcome to visit and investigate." Gwen pointed to Shalkar. "We have no gates, no fences even. You''re my guest, Lord Cherbi¡ª please make yourselves comfortable while your investigators seek out where your folk had fled. Walk among the rat falk, speak to them about the pumpkin spice, if you fear no fever..."

    Khudu stepped forward.

    "That''s close enough." Golos raised a massive hand, an enormous fang poking out from his twisted lips. "Shit if you must, mortal, or leave this place."

    "This ''place''." Khudu disregarded Golos'' warning, much to her Wyvern''s delight. "Belongs to Temir Khan."

    Gwen tsked. She had consulted with Hill prior and had anticipated the Cherbi''s naive claim to ownership. Shaking her sagacious head, she wagged a finger at the Cherbi like an offended kindergarten teacher. "Let''s not delve into legalities, Lord Cherbi. The Steppes is a freehold administered by Temir Khan''s government. Your folk have signed no agreements with your neighbouring nations in any direction, nor do you respect their sovereignty when you do. If I were you, I wouldn''t embarrass the Khan with such trivialities, least of all by claiming a system of laws you have no desire to recognise. Besides, I was given Shalkar to house the Rat-kin by your Khan. Has he since rescinded that order? Does Lord Temir do backsies?"

    "The Khan did not give the order..." The Cherbi appeared taken back by her legalise, though that didn''t prevent him from pointing to the food. "¡­ for you to do that¡ª"

    "What?" Gwen cocked her head with a sly, foxy smirk. "Is it illegal to bring prosperity to the Steppes? Is it a sin to grow food and shelter? What''s the punishment? Where is this law written or spoken? Point to the totem of convention in the Golden Pavillion, Khudu, and I''ll hand over Shalkar on a platinum platter."

    With her repeated goading, the Cherbi''s passion rose, along with the latent power of his overstrung body. Would the Cherbi be like this if Saran was here? Gwen wondered. Was Sanari thereby doing her a solid?

    Golos rebuffed what he saw was a mere warrior-class peon, drawing vis-a-vis with the giant horse. "Try me, lunch. Your kin was delicious."

    Heeding the ping from the Divination Sigil, Gwen stepped back and raised a Mage shield.

    Khudu and Golos moved at once, the Horse Lord swinging from the right while Golos lead with the same, both aiming at each other''s faces. For she who stood front row to the first Wildland World Boxing Championships, the meeting was no different to the collision of two meteoric objects.

    The clamour of fist meeting jaw, bone meeting meat fulminated. What was taking place between the Cherbi and Golos was the confluence of the Centaur''s Shaman magic against the Yinglong''s Essence in a Thunder Wyvern''s perfect body.

    The sand below the two exploded as their bodies swayed to either side, erupting as an impromptu flower of silica as the impact reverberated as a thunderclap.

    Golos was down on one knee when the sand settled, his head twisted in a fatal position.

    Comparatively, the Cherbi had skidded down the dune, using the slide to absorb the impact, and so appeared uninjured despite his shameful retreat from their contest of strength.

    If Golos had been a Human Transmuter specialist, he would have died. In that outcome, whatever loss of honour that might be perceived would have been buried by the death of Khudu''s opponent. Instead, her Wyvern cracked his neck back into place, stretched out his ligaments and muscles, spat out teeth, then mocked the retreating Horse Lord with a snarl.

    "I should have evaporated the slave with my breath," the Wyvern explained to her in case she thought he''d lost. Through their Empathic Link, she could tell the Wyvern was hurt¡ª though his rapid regeneration would resolve the matter in minutes. "I still can..."

    Patting the Wyvern on the arm, Gwen strode past her champion. With all the awed horses watching from below and with the Cherbi looking grim, she sensed the moment was ripe to hammer out an iron-bound guarantee.

    "I hope that''s worked out any kinks in your system, Lord Cherbi," she once more addressed the Horse Lord, more respectfully this time to save the horse his long face. "As Temir Khan and I are both busy people, I need you to speak up. Listen well, Old Master of the Steppes¡ª a new order has dawned, only this time, there''s bread for all willing to sit at the table."

 Chapter 424 - The Prophet of Profit

    Above his troops, Khudu, the Khan''s Spear and Shield, stood proud and erect as an unyielding lance. Beneath the Centaur''s leather armour, Gwen could see the welted scars glowing like little red ley-lines, channelling the vitality that fuelled the "Pilum of the People", the Centaur''s speciality.

    As the leader of up to ten thousand Free Riders, the Cherbi could utilise the Khan''s skill, which made him a dangerous presence even for one imbued with the foul sorcery of Bone Armour and Sanguine Mantle.

    "Fingers crossed," Gwen mumbled while maintaining an expression of self-importance, watching the stubborn body of the horse resist her Aura of Desolation without furrowing a brow.

    Taking a deep breath, she decided she should nip Khudu''s belligerence before rebellion could blossom.

    "Honoured Cherbi!" She called out with Clarion Call. "There is no shame in humility! The steel that bends is the steel that endures¡ª while the unyielding metal is that which shatters!"

    Informing Golos to tackle her from the air if the Cherbi should try his luck with a democratic assault, she continued her speech.

    Once again, she longed for Gunther''s Radiant aura, simultaneously pondering if Faith Magic and its myriad of empowered glamours would make convincing folk like Khudu less complicated.

    Though she had previously urged the Cherbi to speak, she could read from his tensing body that her responder wasn''t a man of words but action. Therefore, in his sullen defeat by Golos, she hoped that another round of demoralisation would thereby smooth the dying pillow over the Horse Lords'' opposition.

    "Look about you, Cherbi!" She swept her arm in a grand gesture. "I''ve turned Shalkar into a paradise of food and produce! Would you destroy it for pride and let the Sawahi starve? Do you think the Rat-kin who worked these fields, whose hearts are now filled with hope and their bellies full for the first time in generations, would return to slavery and deprivation at the behest of your crushing hooves? They''re ill with the phage, Horse Lord, but their hearts are now hale! To move them would wound the Golden Pavillion beyond repair, yet achieving nothing in return."

    She pointed to the three trees imprinted upon the low sky.

    "See there! Elf-made tree homes! Gifts from Sanari, Demi-goddess from Tryfan''s World Pillar and its immortal Wyrm! Would you raze it, Khudu? Would the Khan make so many enemies so readily? How many horses has he to spare? How far does he wish to stray from his dream of an all-conquering Golden Horde?"

    She could see the veins of Khudu''s scalp pulsing like pink caterpillars.

    To hammer the final nails on the coffin, she sent a command for Garp to make a show.

    The ground trembled, causing the line of Centaurs to pace restlessly.

    Khudu steadied himself, more so for the sake of his mental health than from being staggered by the shifting sand-scape. Just as the Cherbi howled for the nervous stallions to halt, the ground some hundred meters behind Gwen shifted, with the sand rapidly swirling into the teeth-lined interior of a sinkhole, exposing the immense form of Garp behind the Priestess of the Afaa al-Halak.

    The Centaurs fell into chaos, some absurdly with laughter and relief, perhaps thinking Gwen was ambushed. Others, more observant, knew that no Sand Wyrm that size would breach without striking its prey in an explosive eruption, and that combined with her earlier words, this was a demonstration of their worst fears.

    Slowly, Garp sailed closer to the dune while Gwen drifted toward her Shingleback until its cobra-like head was close enough to touch.

    Towering above the Centaurs and their bloodshot eyes, she patted the Wyrm on the snout¡ª

    Then she shielded up as a blast of affectionate sand ejaculated from its tip to rain down on the Chebi and his bodyguards.

    "GARP!" The Sand Wyrm burped.

    "Cheeky whelp!" Golos remarked, amused by the Horse Lords'' dismay as his wind-wrapped scales dispersed the sand blast.

    "You''re a Worm Tamer?" Khudu''s expression grew hard enough to whet blades. "If so, why did you not appeal to the Khan personally? Were you hiding your powers, and if so, why? You could reign over entire regions of the Sawahi with our support and the Khan''s blessing."

    "You speak as if taming the Sand Wyrm was a convenience." Gwen shook her head as Garp slithered away, retreating into the safety of its underground burrow. "Whatever the case, you know what the Khan had chosen for my Rat-kin in Shalkar. That''s a kindness I hope to repay, Khudu."

    "The Khan is too honourable for that," the Cherbi protested at once, his tanned face growing darker. "It was the deceitful Saran, a scheming woman and a ??pter slave whose sweet whispers clouded his judgement!"

    ¡°That ??pter SLAVE is your Dini!¡± Gwen snapped back, feeling a sudden annoyance. "Horse shit, Khudu! How dare you shift the blame onto¡ª"

    Gwen paused.

    She was about to say "woman". It was typical that a woman would be a scapegoat for a patrilineal Horse Clan dealing with a Faun, but that wasn''t right either. They weren''t blaming their Dini for her sex, but rather for the unusual position she had wrought for herself¡ª that of a female Major-domo and therefore, like Lady Macbeth, the Khan''s Thanes felt both slighted and jealous of the "??pter slave" who had young Temir''s ears. If things had gone well, the Free Riders and the Generals would remain silent¡ª but if their fate were to sour, then clearly the slave woman had disturbed the great Chain of Being and needed to be punished.

    In that regard, Gwen did feel for Saran¡ª though for now, their mutual positions did not allow for sisterly camaraderie.

    "Strewth¡ª for the love of the Khan, take some Gengis-damn responsibility, Khudu," she sighed with theatrical exasperation. "It''s not hard. Your Khan''s honour is better preserved by coming out with food security for the next decade or two, time to train your warriors and restore what you can of your livestock herds. During that time, I''ll tell the Rat-kin to give you whatever aid you require in exchange for protection and alliances, AND the Mageocracy won''t undermine your restoration of the Khanate, certainly not if the Demi-gods from Tryfan had anything to say. If all parties can uphold their dues and be RESPONSIBLE adults, then together, we''ll create a paradise out of the Sawahi."

    "Responsibility¡­" the Cherbi masticated the word as a cow over green fodder. "I shall not refute that you have put us between two precipices, Magus Song. You are wily for one so tender."

    Gwen felt the gallstone that''s been catching in her throat drop. "I am glad we agree. Have you thought of the terms yet? I have prepared plans that should be amicable to Temir Khan and your people. The Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar Demi-goddess with your Dini also has a hand in overseeing its fairness. That said, can you be responsible for this negotiation? Or does that fall to your Shaman?"

    "As the Khan''s close-kin and his general, my decision holds weight." The Cherbi came closer as she spoke, drawing another snarl from Golos. "And you are right, Magus Song. We all have to take responsibility for our actions."

    "We live and learn, now then¡ª"

    Khudu halted her before she could deliver the offers she had in mind. "But I am the Khan''s honour."

    Gwen fell silent at the nonsensical interjection, wondering if Golos had punched Khudu too hard in the head.

    "I am the Khan''s Cherbi."

    "So you are."

    "Then I shall take responsibility for our Dini and Temir''s tarnished faith."

    Gwen furrowed her brow at the Cherbi''s verbal Sodoku, feeling an unpleasant premonition.

    The Cherbi''s back grew suddenly straight. "Challenge me, Magus Song. We will negotiate through trial by combat. Win or lose¡ª the Golden Pavillion shall accept your suggestions¡ª though if you refrain from honouring our traditions, then you shall rally only the survivors of the Nayza?ay Qani'' to fight the Elemental Sea. You said we must all take responsibility, correct? To challenge you is my duty to Temir. I am an Orkok, Magus Song¡ª I was a fool to rely on words when the strength of my arm and legs would suffice."

    It took Gwen a few seconds to realise what Khudu was asking.

    Fuck. Gwen silently cursed her earlier grandstanding, realising her well-groomed high horse was now mounted by a bucking stallion.

    From the sound of Khudu''s words, there was no rescinding his demand to a honourable duel. The act did make sense, for the Horse Lord was trying to find martial logic in a rapidly emerging world that rejected the high romance of valour.

    Still¡ª to fight Khudu, even in an exhibition match, it was a bother.

    "Khudu." Gwen stepped back from the Centaur. "You imply that we fight for supremacy, correct? Not life or death?"

    "All duels of honour are a matter of life and death¡ª" Khudu''s expression remained solemn. "I need to feel your earnestness, Priestess of the Afaa al-Halak. Are you not toying with the lives of my kin? To put your life on the line is the least you can do."

    I already fought a fucking Sand Wyrm. Gwen wanted to protest but duly acknowledged that Khudu would retort by pointing out that he was freshly returned from charging a crack cabal of Dao Warlocks. She had no idea if Khudu was trying to kill her¡ª for without the "Pale Priestess", who would steer the Rat-kin? That said, the possibility certainly existed, and Taylor or Bekker could replace her if push came to shove.

    On the other finger¡ª did the Centaurs know of Contingency Rings? Did the Cherbi know that killing a Mage like her required complete and near-utter obliteration of her vital components?

    Was their duel merely the final, prideful harrumph of antiquated tradition? Still, she had no desire for her capitalist endeavours to be bludgeoned by the Pilum of the People. Could she use some Void-driven means to absorb the Centaur''s premier assault? Or perhaps, end the matter with Garp? No. She needed Khudu on her side to explain his surrender to the Khan and his Generals.

    "Very well," she replied quickly to demonstrate respect for the local custom. "Now?"

    "Yes." Khudu inclined his head at her Wyvern and the trench where Garp rested. "I will fight alone."

    "Then so shall I." Relieved, Gwen decided against bringing Dragons to a horse fight. Drawing on her prior experiences, she then decided on a strategy of high mobility and submission by a thousand Void-cuts. That and she knew precisely where to fight. "Gogo, don''t interfere."

    "Hehehe," her Wyvern snickered with sadistic wickedness, revelling its sadistic nature. "Whatever you wish, Calamity. Just promise to tell Brother not to blame me if your body''s broken in two."

    Saran, Dini of the Nayza?ay Qani, listened quietly as the holy Hierophant of Tryfan relayed the wishes of the ageless Queen, pondering the choices of her past and where she had misstepped, if at all.

    Though she was a mere ??pter, her life had been infinitely richer than most, for the ordeals that came with Cataclysms can be wildly inconsistent.

    Some thirty cycles ago, when the Fire Sea rent the landscape asunder, she had been a nameless ??pter Shaman serving the Pavilion, then ruled by Temir''s Grandfather, Kazahr Khan.

    Even before the great burning of the plains and the drought that followed, the lives of ??pter slaves were gruesome existences. When young, the Pavillion raised them beside the stallions and mares to breed loyalty and servitude, each assigned to a promising future Nokud, or if they were lucky, one of the Khan''s many children as playthings.

    As they matured, the ??pter slaves would learn very quickly that the will of their master was absolute and that their sole existence was in service to their lords or ladies. Their Elders taught them that they should apply every intrigue, act, and every mote of their being for the Horse Lords'' benefit¡ª else death may very well be preferable.

    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    Often, it wasn''t even the Horse Lords, who were seldom malicious, but often cruel in neglectful ways, that made a ??pter''s life impossible, but their fellow servants, who saw their kin only as competitors for the favour of a Jagun or Mingat. Saran''s mother, a pretty Faun, had been traded so often that it wasn''t until her expiration that the bruised woman recognised her child.

    Saran was luckier. Her burgeoning talent with the sorcery of the Clan''s Shamans was enough to elevate Saran from the rat pit of ??pter cannibalism. She did not starve, though frequent beatings, unwanted advances and neglectful injuries common to her kind remained plentiful.

    Then the cataclysm happened, and the hierarchy of things since the inception of the old empire under Gengis grew strange.

    Raiders returned from their grassland forays, but empty-handed, saying that the Rat-kin slaves of the east had gone to war with one another, resulting in fallow fields and a cessation to the trading of fodder for prisoners of war.

    To the east, the suddenly boiling sea brought strange new beasts wreathed in the lands'' Elements, indiscriminately razing tribe after tribe, driving boars, wolves, jackals, Kobolds and Greenskins westward to harass the Horse Lords'' vast domain.

    Likewise, the Humans with whom the Khanate always held an ambivalent relationship all but ceased contact as their cities burned and their empires shrank.

    For Saran, it was in a burning yurt, beside Kazahr Khan''s scorched body, that the nameless ??pter girl, a favourite of the Khan of Khans, met an ageless Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar for the first time. Crushed by the Brass Legion, the rest of the Clan had fled, abandoning their leader in a great rout. Saran could not leave because she was chained to the Khan''s golden throne, like a trapped Kobold.

    The Khan''s visitor was a beetle-black death God¡ª that was her recollection of the grim-faced, mantis-like Eldrin.

    The Elf proclaimed to have been in partnership with the Khan in what she would later know as the "Accord", and he asked the Khan if he had the strength to continue the fight against the Elementals.

    The Khan replied that he was spent¡ª and that he had seen the truth¡ª the Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar''s disregard for his people¡ª that generations upon generations of their kind had been the Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar''s tool, first against the appearing Human empires, now the Elementals. He was tired, the Khan said. He no longer cared for longevity.

    The Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar appeared perplexed.

    "You will give up the gift of Tryfan then?" he said. "You and your descendants."

    "I return everything." The Khan''s wound wasn''t mortal, but the scorched and bleeding mass that spoke must have been in exquisite agony. "I know now the curse of your kindred upon mine. Let me die, Warden. For my half-century of service¡ª"

    "The Bloom would be very disappointed," the beetle said.

    "DAMN THE BLOOM¡ª Give me peace!" Saran recalled that the Khan''s smouldering flesh had smelled like grilled ??pter, the ones they murdered for fodder in winter.

    "Long-earred God¡ª if the Khan doesn''t want it, I''ll do it!" Saran recalled the choice she had made that day, an act so bold that her very existence changed as a result. "I''ll perform his duties for your Accord. Give me the means and the power to move the Clan, and I''ll abide by whatever you or your Masters wishes."

    The Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar had regarded her as though seeing her for the first time.

    "An Interesting proposal."

    Eldrin''s Mithril irises were inhuman, almost insectile in their coldness.

    "Slave! Don''t you dare!" The Khan''s dying body suddenly filled with vigour. "Silence yourself, now! Rip out your tongue, or I''ll do it for you. You¡ª"

    There was no resistance, mental or otherwise, as Saran drew the scimitar from the Khan''s discarded saddle, then plunged the gleaming Mithril blade into Kazahr''s soot-encrusted belly.

    "CURSED SLA¡ª"

    Twisting the blade had been one of the most pleasurable acts Saran had performed in all her life.

    "I will inherit your will," she had said to the dying Khan. "Your children, and your children''s children, they will think themselves the lords of the Steppes, but in reality, they will fight the wars of the Gods, dying by the herd. Every generation will know only war. There will be no solace, no rest, only futility. That will be your legacy, Great Lord. I''ll record it on the Totems for all to see."

    She recalled Kazahr Khan''s horrified expression.

    If dicing her torturer''s guts had been a pleasure, watching the old horse''s eyes fill with despairing pearls of water had been a greater pleasure.

    "Tell me of the Accord," she had then demanded of the death god. "Gift me that which you had given the Khan, and I''ll give you his people."

    She would never forget Eldrin''s affirming approval.

    Three decades later, Tryfan''s goals remained consistent¡ª for the Steppes must be restored, and the elemental balance returned.

    In the intervening years, through subterfuge, subversion and the supplication of the Steppes'' grassland refugees into the Tasm¨¹yiz, Saran had performed admirably in bringing order to an otherwise unruly and bloody Khanate of chaos. With fingers as bloody as they were fair, she had hand-reared Temir''s father until he too outlived his purpose. Thankfully, the grandson was reliant and obedient to her counsel, perceiving her as a mother more so than the filly Saran had chosen to deliver him.

    The rest was history¡ª though watching Sanari speak, Saran realised something.

    Gwen Song, the subject of their conversation, was not a member of the Accord.

    Nor was she a servant.

    Instead, the girl was a Vessel of an Old One.

    One powerful enough to manifest the minute oasis of Shalkar into an emerald valley, terraforming the landscape in under a week.

    Listening to the Sanari speak of the "need" to find common ground with the sorceress, Saran couldn''t help but feel cheated by her years of service to the Accord.

    Was her ascension to the role of the Thunder Blood Dini merely a measure to stem the tide while the "True" instrument of Tryfan matured elsewhere?

    A quarter of a million horses had perished since the night Kazahr died. Since then, she had abided by the promise to keep the blooming Elementals from the Flame Tree pruned.

    Now, Sanari said that deliverance was at hand¡ª though it was up the Horse Lords and Saran if they wished to continue their marauding ways.

    "Was this always a part of The Bloom''s vision?" she asked the serene Druid. "To put us at the mercy of the Humans?"

    Was Humanity now the favourites of The Bloom in White? Unbidden, Saran recalled that the eastern Humans had an aphorism: the dog was stewed when the rabbits were hunted¡ª as the bow was unstrung when the pheasants are shot.

    A millennia ago, the Horse Lords were unrivalled instruments of the immortal Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar.

    How long would it take for Humanity to fall from favour?

    Before the Druid could answer with a non-committal response, an earth-shaking roar erupted not far from the thicket of squash vines. A battle had been joined, though, from the lack of war cries, the conflict had not gotten out of hand in her absence.

    "Come, Dini Saran." The Druid did not wait for Saran to give her approval. "We should move on. The Sawahi has remained fallow for too long."

    Saran followed.

    One could not compel Tryfan to intervene in the competing interests of the mortal world. For their present circumstance, whether the Horse Lords chose dignity or servitude, or the middle path of cooperation, that was "her" choice to make and her burden to bear. She was on her own, for even should Temir discard Saran, no Elf would materialise from between the grapevines to rescue their agent. More likely, in her absence, Saran scoffed, Eldrin would offer Temir the same boon he had given the grandfather.

    The pair cleared the squash patch.

    Outside the grove, Saran bore witness to why the Magister from Clan Taylor had boasted about the Mageocracy''s "Void Sorceress".

    She briefly recalled that there had been another as well, a double-edged blade that had returned as a revenant to bite at the Mageocracy''s plump flesh.

    What made this one any keener and less likely to slice off a thumb?

    Whatever the case, across an open field, the sorceress was proving her worth as she flittered about, stinking of Necromancy, with half her body covered in blood that may or may not be her own.

    Below the sorceress, Khudu steamed and stamped, his armour in tatters and his sculpted form covered with wounds, marking a trail of crimson from the dune to the battleground, painting the sand in the manner of scattered petals.

    At first glance, an uneducated observer would think that Khudu, who still burned with vitality, was the clear winner.

    But Saran instantly saw that the sorceress was trying to give the Khan''s Cherbi a platform from which to descend to diplomacy, for there was no Kirin, no Void Wyrm, and no Wyvern aiding the sorceress as she teleported every few seconds to whittle away the Cherbi''s Vital Haze.

    At a safe distance, Sanari stopped, then regarded Saran with one of her expectant smiles.

    Saran sighed, acknowledging the new and burgeoning world. Yet, unlike the lucky Kazahr Khan, she had many distances to go before she could sleep.

    Gwen chose the vast, flat expense directly adjacent to the field where Saran and Sanari held their scheming conference.

    Sure enough, after a dozen exchanges where she and the Cherbi both drew blood¡ª she by literally cutting the warrior with shaped Void Bolts and his by near-hits that triggered her armour and mantle¡ª the pair emerged.

    In the communion of their interchange, she empathised with Khudu''s death wish in challenging her as an individual and not through the power of his people, whose barrage of pilums would nail her to the sand lest she borrowed Garp or Golos'' power.

    Presently, she gritted her teeth and endured the thrilling pain of dodging fatal javelin tosses to preserve the possibility of perfect diplomacy with the Golden Pavilion. Even if the Khan had the wisdom to see that Khudu was on a path of suicide, she doubted the Rat-kin''s future would hold much kindness if she tossed Temir the honourable head of their Cherbi and cousin.

    Thankfully, as anticipated, Saran demanded a halt to the hostilities in the name of her Khan.

    Without waiting for Khudu''s protest, Gwen withdrew her Desolation Aura, simultaneously suppressing the manifestation of her Bone Shield, signalling an ambiguous end to the battle with the Cherbi still standing "on top".

    Khudu looked more demoralised than if he had suffered a crushing defeat, tempting her to send up Caliban from below the battlefield to deliver the warrior lest he later changed his mind.

    Heeding the Druid''s gestures, the foursome convened in the open.

    "We shall listen to what Magus Song has to say," Saran announced to the Cherbi. "I''ll take responsibility for relaying the loss of Shalkar to the Khan."

    The Cherbi shook his head. "No, I shall shoulder that burden."

    The Dini of the Centaurs appeared genuinely surprised. "The Khan will not be pleased."

    "I am his cousin. What can he do other than dismissal?" The Cherbi shrugged. "The war''s over, for now. There''s no need for an Orkok to serve as his honour guard anymore. I could use the rest. My sons are maimed or dead. My stables need refilling."

    The two exchanged a mutual look of puzzlement at one another''s amicability.

    "Right, so we''re ready to negotiate?" Gwen tested the waters. "Sanari?"

    "Make your case, Magus Song." Sanari nodded at her. "I am merely a witness to your agreements."

    Gwen nodded. "I would invite the Rat-kin''s Elders as well, but there''s no guarantee they may nor may not be carrying the phage, so I shall speak in their stead."

    She gestured to the fields. "I am no farmer, so you''ll have to trust Sanari in stating that a fully developed, one-hundred acre compound around Shalkar should be able to sustain the Golden Pavilion''s needs with about half of our produce, a feat made easier if the grassland''s elemental stability can be restored and the seasonal rain returned. To this end, I have two choices for Temir Khan. One, the Khanate becomes our business partner, part-owners of our enterprise. By the law of the Mageocracy, which all of its governors shall abide, the Khanate and us will engage in profit-sharing. Yes, PROFIT, not produce. The foodstuff shall be sent to auction. The resulting gross¡ª which should be substantial¡ª can be used by the Khanate to purchase seeds, livestock, rations or hired help. In this way, you have complete flexibility."

    Perhaps not knowing the importance of cash flow and liquidity, the Cherbi did not appear moved by her grand and generous gesture. "Our other option?"

    "The other is easier, though not one I would personally recommend." Gwen had initially not wanted to offer the more straightforward route for fear of the Centaurs screwing themselves. Still, looking at Khudu''s confusion, she realised she might have vastly overestimated the Horse Lords'' economic acumen. "A portion of the food here will be given to the Khanate as tithing for its alliance and the protection it offers. This portion will be enough to feed the Horde in its current scale and then some. It''s a healthy, symbiotic relationship in which, the more food the Rat-kin produce from Shalkar, the more your Horse Lords will receive."

    Gwen explained that the second offer lacked the flexibility and locked the Horse Lords into maintaining the status quo. Rather than having the means to develop their lands and culture, the Horse Lords would only grow more reliant on the Rat-kin¡ª and unless another rat holocaust occurs, that would eventually invert the rulership of the Sawahi and the Steppes. As with Tryfan''s stance, Gwen preferred a balance between the Horse Lords, the Mageocracy and her "Ratopia".

    "One more thing, I shall be taking one-hundredth of the proceeds, or one per cent of the net."

    Neither Saran nor Khudu appeared to care.

    "These are ambiguous choices beyond our ken, Magus Song." Khudu shook his head. "Dini?"

    "I would choose the first option," Saran appeared confident. "Mistress Sanari?"

    "Well done. I have witnessed the agreement. Magus Song, please proceed."

    Gwen readily agreed. "I''ll inform Magister Hill and Taylor as well as Meister Bekker. More than likely, someone from the Foreign Affairs department will be raking over trade agreements from the Shard. Rest assured, I''ll remain here to oversee the development of the agricultural hub. Will you be staying, Sanari?"

    "If you wish it." The Elf''s golden orbs lingered on her face.

    "I wish it very much." Gwen remembered that she knew next to nothing about farming, much less optimised horticulture in a desert setting, with Essence-enhanced plants fertilised with Wyrm spice. "Please inform The Bloom that for adopting me as your agent without consent, I''ll take the seeds as payment."

    Sanari appeared unmoved by her insolent remark. Beside the Elf, the Mithril-horned Dini of the Centaurs grew suddenly rigid.

    "Lord Cherbi." Gwen then turned to her challenger. "You''re still oozing. I regret to inform you that nothing short of Essence sorcery is going to heal the lesions entirely."

    Though their conversation had been quick, Khudu had refrained from drawing vitality from his kin, and as such, had been slowly bleeding out from his two-dozen Void wounds.

    "I''ll seek assistance from the Dini," the Cherbi acknowledgd the wise woman Faun. "Should your terms fail to deliver, Magus Song, such as treachery from the Tasm¨¹yiz, or the withholding of our fodder and supply, I shall personally ride with my Nokuds to raze your Rat-kin city to down to the last stone."

    "And so long as your people stay away from Shalkar and refrain from raiding east of the Sawahi, I will additionally supply the Golden Pavilion with healing medicines in the instance of an unforeseen outbreak." Gwen did Khudu one better. "The devil''s in the details, so have hope. If the Khanate can additionally provide escorts for supplies, border patrols and regular Purges of Elemental incursions, we shall be more than happy to accommodate in HDMs or fresh produce."

    "That does not sound¡­ disagreeable," the Horse Lord mulled over her words.

    Of course not. Gwen almost rolled her eyes. Given the choice of gainful employment versus mutual destruction, why would the former sound anywhere near disagreeable?

    She produced a bundle of towels, threw one to the Cherbi, then mopped up the blood from her face and neck.

    For Stian and his people, a careful agreement with the Centaurs was merely the beginning.

    Once the Dwarves can be consulted and the Rat-city and its satellite pseudo-citadels established, they can begin to absorb the Tasm¨¹yiz who would inevitably flee from the Khan''s tyranny into the Mageocracy''s Ratopian protectorate. Once the new status quo is established, that would be the beginning of their problems.

    What would Temir think then of their labour practices? Would Saran possess the means to stem the exodus? Could the horned wise woman summon enough clout to counsel Khan of Khan to choose cooperation and compassion? What would the other tribes under the Khan think? Would a civil war engender over differences in the opinion of enslaving those with a furrier nose or pointier ears or pinker tail?

    As Gwen was no desert prophetess, only time would tell.

    Whatever the Elves had planned for the region, her prerogative as an individual agent was only her Rat-kin, over whose suffering she had chosen the act of Noblesse Oblige.

    To this end, their Pale Priestess would not sing of psalms to love thy neighbour and turn the other cheek. Instead, she would do her people one better.

    Instead, she would bring profit.

 Chapter 425 - Interesting Times

    With how busy Gwen had been since arriving at the Steppes, two things that followed in the wake of her confrontation with Khudu and Saran came as a surprise.

    One was the continued delay in the arrival of the Dwarven delegation.

    The second was the sudden lull in everything, an eventless, week-long break so peaceful and pastoral that she felt as though running down a flight of stairs and then stepping into a pit of ??pter wool.

    But such was the irony of acute management. Once an executive officer ensured that valuable people were in place, there was less to micromanage, leading to the perception that most CEOs spent their time pursuing PR stunts, or in her case, adventuring hours.

    In Ratsanto, Stian and the Elders looked after the management of the settlement. Strun and Garp, together with Golos, took up the task of security around the oasis, recruiting, dispersing or eating the visitors. Sanari single-handedly taught the Rat-kin about the new plants and instructed those with talent in rudimentary quasi-magical plant husbandry for their tree homes. Eve and Mathias attended the clinic, taking care of the sick, injured and newly arrived.

    All of which left Gwen with nothing to do unless she wanted to join Gogo in harassing and bringing the Sand Wolves to heel.

    In the morning, she awoke to Elvia, who had already been up since daybreak, making breakfast for herself and Mattie. Occasionally, the Prefects most familiar to her, such as Strun or Stian or Skaz and Ix, would visit with news of newly cultivated fields or exciting bits of governance related to newly-arrived refugees. However, with repetition, her rat-feed news stream quickly faded into obscurity. The only fascinating event became that of Golos, who ventured out at dawn and returned at noon, depositing Creature Cores of mysterious things he had eaten along his patrol routes, like a Gatcha-machine that dispensed collectables through poop.

    After coaxing Sanari, she now had a viewing platform crossed with a cosy nook at the top of the tallest baobab tree from which to oversee her domain. To what she believed was the easterly direction, Elvia and Mathias had set up a clinic of sorts to process the ill, the injured, and the newly arrived. Strun, now the undisputed representative of the "Mistress", had been acquiring new bodies for Ratsanto by riding Garp to the local villages and making a show of the boons in Ratopia.

    Or at least that''s what the Rat-kin champion proclaimed. Gwen recalled but chose not to investigate that Strun had often lamented how the surviving villages had treated him when he was dying of thirst and starvation trying to warn them about the Necromantic Phage.

    The crops themselves were already bearing first fruit. Sanari had said that the plants would expend much of their vitality after the first batch and that after two generations, agricultural maintenance would take precedence. To this end, Gwen had persuaded Magister Hill to inform the distant Magister Taylor, requesting the latter to send out an urgent request to transport Filtration Engines and Elemental Generators. As this was a part of her venture, Gwen offered to pay for all related Teleportation costs, even if the Mages have to put out CC quests on the Tower''s Notice Boards. With a stable Shalkar, she explained in a letter, the Sawahi would stabilise, the Rat-kin could make their homes, and the Centaurs could recover.

    With her mornings done, Gwen would walk among the tree-like vines, marvelling at the fruits growing larger and riper by the day, speaking to the Rat-kin who came to pay homage. The new rats, in particular, had received a vision from the Prefects that her acts were nothing short of divine intervention. As a result, visitors occasionally appeared bearing food, fruit and dried nuts to curry the "Pale Priestess''" favour. One time, she reached the middle of a Sunset Squash field only to find a crude statue of her carved out of white stone, wreathed in yellow squash flowers and surrounded by offerings.

    What am I, a fertility idol? Gwen was amused that the statue not only had her likeness but added rat ears and a bump on the buttocks to suggest a hidden tail. Thanks to the inexpert hand of the anonymous sculptor, the visage looked like she''d visited Sawahi Disney Land and had bought one of those overpriced, made-in-China Mickey ears.

    In the afternoon, she picnicked with Elvia and the Centurions in informal meetings, working out their dues and teaching the rats basic logistics by taking advantage of the arithmetics the Elders possessed to instruct her subordinates.

    On the other hand, teaching the average Rat-kins turned out to be an ordeal.

    The frustration notified Gwen of the need to establish formalised schooling systems to dig for talent among the rats and filter her furry minions so that they weren''t just a grey-black mass of whiskered faces but individuals who could put their skills to the best use for Ratopia. To a certain degree, this was not difficult, as Gwen had done her portion of volunteer tourism in her old world in nations like Ghana and Tanzania. In the feel-good aftermath, she had admired the hybridity of profit-driven tourism and capitalist philanthropy, particularly when the volunteers couldn''t stomach the heat and had unanimously self-funded a solar-wind system "for the collective good of the people".

    Philanthropy and profit, in her opinion, thus made a fabulous pair¡ª provided the latter doesn''t override the "Non-Profit Organisation''s" core principals, like building multi-storey offices in multiple cities and spending eighty per cent of the budget on administration and "consultation". If that were to happen, she would have to come down with Golos to address the board.

    Evenings were equally quiet and romantic. Atop the tree, the ugliness of the excavated city-in-progress was hidden by the darkness, becoming spotlights of Daylight Globes and Maxwell''s Camp Heaters, turning the oasis into alien acreages full of blinking fireflies. Strangest of all was the moving mountain that was Garp just outside Shalkar''s approach, a literal dune that shook and quivered as the Shingleback dreamt, Gwen supposed, the same dream shared by Almudj.

    Finally, at night, she would retire to the treetop and set up her Portal Habitat. Elvia would return by then, and they would sit under the stars to watch what she hoped was the Milky Way and not a billion portals into the Quasi-Elemental Planes, worlds pure in their energies, inferring that the true anomaly was their Edenic Earth. If that were the case, she would much prefer that stars were the spirits of past Khans floating on an isometric Astral Plane, looking down on the masses and running general commentary like horse racing pundits.

    Then, thinking of the paperwork that awaited her once she got back to London in a month or three, Gwen would drift off into sleep, dreaming of the new income soon to fall into her future Tower''s coffers and of her Evee next door.

    It took a week more for the Dwarves to arrive, together with Temir Khan''s decree a day prior.

    The order was encased in a shell of elaborate gold and True Silver wrought into a scroll case. Its content was for the Mageocracy to oversee the region of Shalkar by nominating a Magister rank officer as its overseer, meaning, "not Gwen". The move, Gwen supposed, was to undermine what she had built¡ª albeit after the initial moment of displeasure, she could only scoff at the Khan''s lack of understanding of the Mageocracy''s entwined politics.

    If she had to guess, someone other than Saran probably proposed the ridiculous stumbling block. After their resolved conflict, the trio of Sanari, Saran and herself had spent some time outlining her wishes and desires for Shalkar, to which the Shaman had expressed no evidence of displeasure.

    Instead, Saran had nodded sagaciously while looking at her with mixed reverence and caution, then offered her full support on the condition that Shalkar''s spiced squash must flow.

    Assuming then that she was an "ally" in Saran''s corner within the Khanate, the trouble could only come from Khudu''s warrior ranks, who couldn''t have been happy when the Cherbi returned home to announce his temporary retirement, citing the reason that he had to replenish his stables.

    Unknowable to the Horse Lords¡ª that the Mageocracy would send an administrator had been within Gwen''s calculations regardless of their childish politicking, as she had to return to her regular classes within two months from the date. What was curious for her was that her foes remained in the stage of an economy that emphasised personal ownership rather than commonwealth, a particular prospect which foreshadowed much of why their management of the Sawahi had been so impoverished, even with Saran taking cues from her Elven overlords.

    There was, Gwen deduced, an uncomfortable parallel between the Mageocracy, Tryfan, the Steppes and her old world''s Western efforts in Afghanistan. Her only hope was that her Rat-kin oasis would not become yet another mausoleum in a place famous or burying empires.

    A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    With all things considered, she took the decree with both hands while observed by the deliverer¡ª a nobly dressed Eagle-kin, the couriers of the Khanate. She then dematerialised the priceless case into her Storage Ring to keep as a souvenir.

    The item would make a good conversation piece for Maxine, whose support she needed to count on for Shalkar''s produce to make it through London and beyond.

    She could imagine it. Visitors to Peterhouse could say, "My, what an interesting and masterfully wrought scroll case!"

    And Lady Grey would smile and say, "Indeed, it was from the year that Gwen Song, Henry''s protege, rat-fucked a whole host of horses!"

    Stifling her inner laughter, Gwen kept her mirth private to share with Elvia later.

    A day later, the Dwarves arrived.

    Welcoming the stouter delegation, Gwen was thrilled to see that the Mageocracy had her best interests at heart. It was because, whether by intent or by coincidence, the overseer to be stationed in Shalkar introduced himself as the long-faced and balding "Provisional Magister" Ollie Edwards.

    Together with Ollie came the familiar face of Hanmoul, who gave her a bodily, manly embrace as they met, crushing her against his plated flight suit.

    Before she could address her friends, however, her eyes were drawn to the reason why the Dwarves were so late.

    There was a sizable entourage of Striders and other mechanical units, including a dozen Golems¡ª then there was a pair of towering iron giants, each three storeys tall that strode across the Sawahi as iron-wrought Colossi compacting the sand with every footfall, transmuting the path upon which they trod. For Gwen, who had vividly shared a close encounter of the deadly kind with these Golems, she immediately recognised the Mana Signatures and unique Essence auras of the colossal Dwarves-in-a-box.

    Siege Class Balefire Golems.

    If the one she had fought was a powerhouse in itself, then these were akin to two city-scale elemental reactors on legs, making their way across the Himmseg¡ª the blighted lidless world of the tall men. To expose such venerable elders to the lidless world must have been an endeavour in itself, fully indicating how seriously the Dwarven community took the news of her finding.

    "Lassie, tis me pleasure ter introduce yer to some Elders O''mine. Feast yer eyes, Gwen, upon the eternal bodies of Engineseer Dhudreag of Clan K¨¹l, hailing from the deep city of Zugspitze." Hanmoul''s expression was locked into one of eternal reverence. "And this is Runemeister Skaghaem of Clan B¨¹rumm-dal, descendants of the Ancestors, an elder among Elders, a white beard among the numberless Grey Scribes of Watzmann."

    Gwen refrained from commenting that these Balefires possessed only stylistic beards carved into their articulated armour. From the sound of their names, it was safe to conclude that these were Germanic Dwarves from the central continent¡ª where the largest active Dwarven undercity and its satellite citadels outside of Deepholm had their seat.

    Straightening herself, she offered a learned greeting in Dwarven, introducing herself through a long string of titles that outlined her achievements, then asked the "Ancestors" for guidance. The act was longwinded, but it was necessary to show the proper respect¡ª in the world of the Dwarves, only those with accomplishments and pragmatic contributions to society could speak words that possessed "weight".

    "Greetings, Human Magus." The giant that spoke was Dhudreag, making him the elder of the two Balefire Dreadnaughts. The vox-box inside the Balefire roared as the sound rang out from its vibrating armour plates, visibly warping the air with heat and pressure. "Thou art the one who had aided the young ones and to whom the debt is owed."

    A statement, Gwen noted with some satisfaction.

    "Tis I," she said in what she hoped was old Dwarven from Deepholm. "Come ye for vengeance, wise old one as old as the stones?"

    "Aye," the acknowledgement was like a thunderclap. "The Great Grudge of Vjalth Agaeth Kjangtoth, if found true, shall sound the horns of war across every Kjangtoth that still stands in the Prime Material. Our kindred''s lost souls shall be avenged by every Dwarf whose heart still harkens for Deepholm. The Ancestor''s Halls demand it. Honour demands it. Our Cores demand it."

    Vjalth Agaeth Kjangtoth, Gwen gathered, must be the name of the destroyed outpost, something that translated to "citadel of molten sand" or "sand smelting city".

    "It is heartening to hear a voice so resolute," Gwen hailed the Balefire. "If this young one may ask. Come you bearing knowledge for the reasons of its fall? Were the Elements after the Dyar Morkk?"

    "Aye lass," Hanmoul answered for his elders, who nodded and went on their way. Shalkar to the Dwarves was never their destination but merely a waypoint, and for giants who needed no water, air, nor food, there was no reason to rest or delay. As for their mortal entourage¡ª Dwarves were a hardy people. After explaining the urgency of the matter, the Commander of the Iron Legion briefly lamented the difficulty of moving the Balefires through Human-made Teleportation Circles, which had to be rebuilt by their Enginseers. According to Hanmoul, the news of the destruction of the Citadel and the wholesale murder of its stout folk had sent shockwaves through the Dwarven community. Such horrors had happened during the Beast Tide when the Aberrants had caught the Dwarves off-guard, but never again since the Sundering had a Citadel been butchered in the dark¡ª until now.

    "I needs ter go, lass. We''ll talk more when we return¡ª" Hanmoul eyed his Strider, now modified for the desert. "Unless yer wants to come to Vjalth Agaeth Kjangtoth with us?"

    "I am afraid I must stay here and work things out with Ollie." Gwen glanced at her unwilling partner in conspiracy, recognising the futile frustration in his thinning hairline. "Right, Ed?"

    "Just so we''re clear." The provisional Magister instrumental for his role in the Dwarven alliance sighed. "Lady Grey originally asked me to bring you supplies, crystals, medicines, and to act as a guide for Hanmoul and his entourage from Bavaria."

    "Aww. that''s so kind of the Headmistress!" Gwen gushed.

    Ollie made a face. "When I got here, Magister Taylor said that he had a wonderful opportunity for me, and it was an offer only a fool with no ambition of becoming one of the youngest Magisters in the Mageocracy would refuse."

    "Oh no¡­" Gwen offered the young man a sympathetic smile.

    "I said I would do whatever was needed, and all he had to ask." Ollie paused. "That was out of courtesy, by the way."

    "Oh¡ª Ollie." Gwen winced, wondering if she should console the man with a perfumed hug.

    "He replied there''s a position in Shalkar, soon to be a trade hub of the region, among the Rat-kin, and that you were responsible for its inception. Ergo, as I am a part of your Faction, and that Lady Grey trusts me implicitly, and Lord Ravenport had mentioned me by name, I was the perfect candidate to be stationed here."

    "He''s right, you know." Gwen nodded in agreement. "That''s good money to be made here, accolades and wealth and reputation, all for the discerning individual."

    Ollie stared at her. "There''s no Vid-casts here, no Divination Towers. No pubs. I have no family, no friends¡ª I have no one here. I can''t watch the IIUC preliminaries or the competitions. There''s no take out food, no Tower of Tandori. There isn''t even an NoM on every corner crying, ''GET YER METRO! FREE NEWS FER WHAT AILS YA!'' There''s not even paved roads or sidewalks, or people..."

    "Rat-people are people..." Gwen couldn''t help but secretly smile at Ollie''s casual mention of her achievements. In the last few months, the METRO had been blanketing London and its surrounding shires, becoming a quintessential start to the day for NoMs. "Look, I can get you the METRO, delivered every fortnight..."

    Ollie gave her a withering look.

    "Don''t lose hope!" Gwen gestured to the milling furry bodies rolling about the place with industrial purposes. "How''s London, by the way?"

    "The same. Unless you mean how are your investments? On that front, Richard and Petra are keeping a tight lid on the problems with the aid of Magister Walken."

    "More problems from the Militants?"

    "From the Barlow Group, yes," Ollie confirmed her fears. "There''s a dockside region the IoDRP and Barlow are fighting over. Your group offers premium incentives, but your opposition uses coercion, bribes, and other dirty means. It''s quite the circus your family have gotten yourself into¡ª The Ely Group versus the Barlow Group."

    It took no fantastic feat for Gwen to imagine the tricks, turns and double-crosses happening all over the strip of industrial wasteland between Canary Wharf, Millwall and Cubitt Town. As her base of operations stemmed from Mudchute and Barlow from Billingsgate, the land in-between must have become a no man''s land of real estate intrigue. That said, she was right to be away from the situation, for her position as a War Mage and a future Magister made her active participation impracticable, not to mention that she had yet to proclaim a particular Faction as her backer.

    "Thanks for the heads up, Ollie." She took the provisional Magister''s fingers and patted the blushing Ollie on the back of his hand. "I''ll talk to you some more when we''re in private. We''ll be seeing each other lots. For now¡ª"

    She turned to the Dwarf, who had elected to delay his departure to inspect her agricultural operations, for his people likewise suffered from food insecurity.

    "¡ªHanmoul, when you return, can I ask you for some favours? It''s regarding developing this place for the Rat-kin. They helped me find the Citadel, you should know. Without Stian and Strun, none of us would be the wiser as to what had happened to Vjalth Agaeth Kjangtoth."

    "If yer needs it, just say it," the Dwarf happily concurred without any reserve or hesitation. "I don''t know how, lass, but the Debt of Hanzul between us grows with every meeting. How is it that yer running into such calamities with so much regularity?"

    "Maybe it''s fated to be?" Gwen said, turning her gaze to the bodies of the Balefire Golems walking into the distance. "Hanmoul, you ever feel that you are a node in the web of something greater like the low ways and that these seemingly random encounters¡ª the Murk Ogres you call Sinneslukare¡ª the Dyar Morkk¡ª the Elementals here¡ª and Hierophant Sanari yonder¡ª are all connected?"

    "Not the Horse Lords?" Ollie raised a good point. "Are they not the central players here?"

    Gwen shook her head. "Nor the Rat-kin, they''re all accessory to something¡­ bigger."

    "What der ya think that is?" Hanmoul said, perplexed by her sudden sentimentality for conspiracy.

    "I have no idea." The Pale Priestess and Worm Handler of the Sawahi shrugged.

    Ollie''s rapidly ageing face broke into a rare expression of merriment. "So there''s something Peterhouses'' MVP doesn''t know?"

    "I wouldn''t laugh." Gwen eyed the smiling scholar with a look of disapproval. "You think it''s funny now, Ollie, but guess who''s taking care of the aftermath once I am done solving the problem?"

    At her foreshadowing, Ollie grew instantly glum at his self-fulfilling prophecy.

    "We live in interesting times," Gwen said, feeling a slight shiver at her proposed premonition. Looking over her rats, she could only guess how long the peace could last. "Let''s hit some shots. We''ll pour one out for a future that''s more... boring."

 Chapter 426 - The Profitess Returns

    As with Morrigan''s woe, Gwen Song''s absence from London was suffered by many who perceived that three months was too short of an exile for a young woman so capable of stumbling from one calamity to another.

    A key reason for the ambivalent sentiment was because the green-eyed sorceress'' influence reigned over the METRO like an oppressive fever, forever pervading the thoughts of those whose interests ran parallel and yet could not benefit from her angel-invested profit ventures.

    When the Metro first put out the "Steppe" editions, the Sun and the Telegraph went so far as to lodge an official complaint to the Home Office that finally, the succubus'' phantasmagorical populism had strayed into the realm of unhinged fiction.

    Who the hell were these smiling Rat-kin? Where on the Prime Material did they even materialise? Why should Londoners be duly informed and made to care about these furry Demi-humans full of disease and filth? Khitani Centaurs? Cock! Creatures of myth and history! There were skeletons of dead Khans and other notable horses in the Museum of London should the average citizen feel so inclined; why should they read about the Horse Lords'' losses in the Southern Campaign? And Mongolian Death Worms? Mere legend! These monsters would never visit England''s tranquil shores, so why should the public be exposed to such sensationalist trash?

    Silence the witch!

    Outlaw the METRO!

    Down with the Westferry Press!

    The protests were many but under the penmanship of one Wyatt Bennett, a correspondent infamously sacked by the Sun and hounded into poverty by the Telegraph, riveting narratives of romantic dunes, handsome Horse Lords, furry ??pter slaves, and Wyrms the size of skyscrapers ploughing through a sea of sand flowered like pigfaces in the desert''s upcoming spring.

    In the aftermath of a week-long assignment all-expenses-paid by the METRO, every man, woman and child in London now knew that was a place called Shalkar in the distant, exotic Sawahi and that it would soon ship its rare produce to London, all of which Morrigan was keen to sample.

    Yet, without a second thought, the Metro''s rival papers had roused the local traders of Wildland produce to resist the newcomer.

    At first, the talk in town had been one of toxic scepticism, for who would desire to eat cucumbers or bake a squash that''s farmed by foreigners'' hands? Buy local! The Sun said, as did the Telegraph, albeit with tamer language. Support the Mageocracies'' neighbourhood farmers! Never mind that small family farms accounted for a negligible volume of the Noble-owned properties or conglomerate-acquired arable land¡ª how could one call themselves a loyal citizen of the Mageocracy if they put foreign-grown cabbages in their gullets or used turnips from some God-forsaken Black Zone? What was even in those legumes? Rat-phage! Pollutants! Mana miasma! Droppings? Everything and anything could be in those damned vegetables. FACT! The good people of London, said the Sun, should organise a protest at the docks to barricade the delivery ports so that no such filth could touch the Core tenet of "eat local" at the Mageocracy''s heart!

    Two weeks later, the METRO withdrew its statement that the vegetables coming in the next few months would be available to all. In the strongest terms, Dominic Lorenzo, Chief Editor at the METRO, strongly criticised his employer, the greedy Magus Gwen Song.

    Gwen''s great sin, the man stated with passion in a full-page editorial with the sorceress standing beside a literal circus of rats, Dwarfs, Dragons and more, was that she dared to restrain the supply of vegetables so that only the wealthy, the wise, and the well-connected could even think of purchasing her produce. What use¡ª Dominic composed in his fiery rhetoric, where DRACONIC-INFUSED, ELF-TENDERED, TRYFAN-WROUGHT tomatoes if all of London could not toss it in a salad? Just look at this picture of her smug face! What''s that? A Sand Wyrm? An ancient Thunder Wyvern? Was his boss, the self-proclaimed sorceress of the People, still a woman of philanthropy? Or had Gwen become another profit-seeking drake common to London''s upper circles, like those Militant Factionists?

    The following week''s METRO ran an image of a Wyvern sleeping among the bean-stakes as the Rat-kin toiled to prove his point. Additionally, the front page included a full spread of loveliness more eye-catching than any number of Magus Song-look-a-likes on Page Three of the Sun.

    "Her Grace, the High Hierophant Sanari of Tryfan teaches the Rat-kin how to enrich Sunset Squash."

    Westferry''s poor NoM paper sellers became mobbed by the Mages.

    Elves¡ª the people of London liked to read about Elves.

    Immortal beings of loveliness, eternal youth, ageless wisdom and limitless sagacity, the embodiment of grace! Benevolent quintessences of good, who had remained in their tree homes, without conflict with the world, lending an occasional hand to the lesser, younger races of the Prime Material!

    Lo! Read the article. Behold the Hv¨ªt¨¢lfars of Tryfan! Beings from living legends who had gifted man knowledge free of charge so that mortals may find their Path in a harsh and unforgiving world! Since the days of Pendragon, Elven mythoi had featured strongly in most of the Mageocracy''s founding fables. To the citizens of what was once the largest continent-spanning empire in the Prime Material, Elves were as staple a concept as the Nazarene.

    "The avarice-driven Magus Song", continued the METRO''s string of "Steppe Specials", was in cahoots with upper-tier elements of the Shard, as well as the immortals from Tryfan. The Rat-kin, the paper noted from its secure, confidential "sources", had affirmed without prejudice that the Magus had no desire to sell her blessed, jewel-like, sumptuous tomatoes to the common folk of London at all. Instead, sources close to the Void Sorceress had proclaimed that Magus Song was the one behind the negative press because there was no way she could meet demand, fearing that her favouritism would draw the rightful ire of London''s connoisseurs of Wildland cuisine!

    Week after week, with the paper plastering every surface in London''s Metro systems, obnoxiously hollered out by paperboys in every corner housing a crier, the city''s attitude toward the Rat-kin''s legumes shifted with the inevitable momentum of a glacier.

    Where can we buy the Elf-food?

    How much for a kilo of Draconic broad beans?

    Was it true that eating a whole Sanari Spiced Squash could prolong one''s life like a Vitae Fruit?

    Will consuming the Gogo Tomatoes cure constipation?

    Such were the rumours circulating London''s transport systems and its dreary country towns.

    And such were the reports clogging Mycroft Ravenport''s desk, much to the delight and salivation of a particular soul-bound Goddess, one not usually given to gluttonous desires.

    In an epoch before the Word Bearers of the Nazarene came upon the isle, when Morrigan could fully manifest her avatars, she had oft slaked her thirst at the bubbling brooks or dug her beak into the blood troths the Druids had raised in praise to the Mistress of Fatality.

    In the past, men had called her the Goddess of War and Fate, the prophetess of doom, death and the demise of monarchs, a verdant force of nature kept hale by wicker caged offerings from humble old Druids. Unlike now, the ways of the painted men were more straightforward, a time when violence served as the catch-all solution to most of Humanities'' and Demi-humanities'' problems, where ambushes and betrayals were the height of intrigue.

    And with the changing times, Morrigan had changed as well.

    Now, she was secrets, door tapping ravens, and invasion of privacy.

    Deprived of the offerings of ash, fire and flesh, she could only feast on the psychic energies in the building mortal men called Westminster, soaking herself in the icy effluence of conspiracy. Her Master, the Duke of Norfolk, was one such individual who was a reliable source of nourishment.

    Then, of course, Morrigan had discovered a new fount of replenishment¡ª one that escaped the restrictions of the Conditions placed upon her immaterial personage. Gwen Song, Apprentice and heir to an Arch Arcanist of old. The girl''s Master was a man buried with more mysteries than in Westminster''s catacombs, a sorcerer of the old ways who had dabbled in every conceivable form of mortal power. Interestingly, Kilroy''s student wasn''t an adherent of the arcane but preferred the psychic energy of greed, wants, dreams, and ambitions universally shared among the waking denizens of every Plane. It was a contrast that intrigued Morrigan as she perched over the Duke''s desk, delighting in the man''s growing exasperations over the sorceress'' successes. Each time, the Oliphant in the room grew larger¡ª was this the Sorceress'' way of straying from the Path walked by her Master''s wife?

    Whatever the case, Morrigan was in no rush to allow her newfound source of Essence to wilt. Within the parameters of her contractual obligations to the seat of the Lord Marshall, she would nudge the girl just a few degrees toward what was best for them both. For two beings who were potentially going to be around for a very, very long time¡ª she had no doubt there were more delicious secrets to be gleaned from the sorceress'' Crystal-teeming mind.

    Already, Gwen was paying dividends, for Morrigan was now privy to the delicious secret of the Dyar Morkk.

    A few weeks into the Dwarves'' arrival in Shalkar, after the Cores of the deceased were identified and numbered and consigned to the rebuilt Ancestor''s Halls, the Dyar Morkk was once more activated. Thanks to the data gathered by Meister Bekker, Chief Overseer of the Sawahi Campaign, the residue mana signatures had provided two critical clues for the Duke''s office.

    One was something the Mageocracy had suspected for some time but had not the chance to prove¡ª that a section of the Dwarven Low Ways was responsible for the mysterious theft of the Red Dragon Egg from Carrauntoohil as well as its transportation into London.

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    Until now, the illogical mechanics of that incident had been burning a hole in Ravenport''s desk. For years, the Dragon Egg''s appearance was a bigger mystery than the culprits responsible.

    Firstly, Sythinthimryr was an ancient Red with near-total dominion over anything tainted with her Essence, including the eggs of her sister-scions. That Sythinthimryr herself would lose track of an egg either meant the egg was utterly consumed and its energies absorbed or that it had to be moved through an alternate dimension. Yet, all knew that one could not stow living things in Storage Rings or Handy Haversacks, much less a sacred object the weight, size, and mana-density of a Dragon Egg.

    Secondly, while the Duke had suspected that the Elves could arguably use a Druidic Satchel to move the Red''s egg, the Essence clash between Elven and Dragon magic made such ventures impossible. And to Tryfan and the Shard''s knowledge, Sythinthimryr did not serve a Great Tree¡ª even if she did, a theft from within was doubly as dubious as those blessed with Essence could not lie to their patrons.

    Thirdly, an ancient being with the power of Sythinthimryr could slither between the Planes without too much trouble, meaning she could, if she would pay a small cost, access most of the Prime, Quasi and Para Elemental Planes, none of which would block the Essence sympathy of its kin-egg.

    Thereby, logical deduction inferred that either Spectre had invented whole new forms of translocation magic¡ª which meant the Mageocracy should now be sweating¡ª or that the secretive organisation of these "Others" had merely exercised an opportunity.

    A salvaged section of the Dyar Morkk, one made momentarily operable, was a logical culprit to the mystery of the suddenly appearing egg. With its subtle alteration of space, the Low Ways was naturally shielded from Planar disturbances and possessed a unique mana structure separate from Elven, or Draconic sorcery. That and the D?kk¨¢lfar had tunnelled beneath the shores of England since she was but a mote of divine desire in the days before Human Druids received the knowledge of sacrifice.

    The findings, though satisfactory, raised new questions as well.

    The Engineseer contingent in the Sawahi had reported that the route led north toward the mineral-rich tundras of Black Zones of mid-continental Russia. At its end, they found a second outpost¡ª a processing citadel-hub, with sub-routes leading forward toward the Sundered Cities of the Ural region. Thankfully, these were devoid of kin and abandoned after the Beast Tide.

    But where did the Elemental go from here?

    Assuming there were no Dwarven traitors among Spectre''s membership, how could the Brass Legions of the Fire Sea empower passageways that required Dwarven Runic magic, and indeed, the agile mind and living Cores of Dwarven Engineseers to maintain?

    And indeed, if the Elementals had gone somewhere, as the evidence indicates, were they coming back? Could the Dwarves then lay an ambush for the inbound Brass Legion? When would they return? What were the indicators? The Dwarves knew nothing, and if the knife-ears at Tryfan had anything to say; they were undoubtedly silent.

    The quiet was itself disquieting, for there were no disturbances anywhere in the Mageocracy''s Domain that reported a horizon to horizon Legion of Fire Elementals wearing brass bangles and wielding armaments of barely-contained plasma.

    The absence of trouble in Human lands had the Engineseer Assembly of Zugspitze paranoid with the direst possibility¡ª "Boulderdash! Wha der ya ken, Human Thane? What if the blasted fire beards are going after Deepholm? What if they aim to cut off Deepdowners from the Ancestor''s Halls as payback for our hard-won victory over the Sundering?"

    Morrigan agreed with the hypothesis.

    In the Himsegg, all roads led to Rome.

    For the Dwarves, all the Low Ways led to Deepholm.

    But her Master remained adamant that the Elementals were after something "more strategic". One Legion, Ravenport had argued, even one lead by an Elemental Prince as infamous as Zodiam, would not penetrate the adamantine walls of Deepholm. Unfortunately, as Morrigan''s Master had lacked an impressive beard and the clout, the Deepdowner''s worries remained unsatiated, catalysing the sleeping Citadels into deep-seated anticipations for a war they wanted to fight but didn''t know how nor where or when.

    To find a constructive outlet for the pent up tectonic forces fomenting below was now the woe troubling the Duke of Norfolk, who had promised their Dwarven allies full support for their grudge-driven coalition. It was good news for Morrigan, for the Duke''s mind had not the energy to spare to rebuke her peevish rebellions, nor for the sorceress soon to return.

    Therefore, Morrigan would gather her murder, then round up Cambridge''s inglorious Rainbow Drake of the Pond. After that, as a pair, they would waylay the girl at the port and put an end to the Essence drought!

    London.

    The Isle of Dogs.

    By the time she had visited Canary Wharf in her old life, the commercial hub had become one of the most impressive and desirable locales for transnationals. On the pier, everything was gleaming glass and polished concrete, and every conceivable brand and corporation had either set up headquarters or at least a token branch so as not to miss out on the opportunities for market expansion.

    Baltimore Tower, the Landmark Pinnacle, the Newfoundland, Canada Square, One Park Drive, what had once been an industrial wasteland had become a real estate Mecca.

    Comparatively, her much more modest Isle of Dogs remained a work in progress.

    Shamefully, despite her best efforts, there were only three "Towers" tier buildings nearing completion¡ª all between twenty to thirty storeys, albeit with deeper and busier basements than their alter-history counterparts. Ironically, as her transport barge sailed into Millwall''s inner dockland, the most prominent structure of the region remained "The Bunker" or the Westferry Print Works headquarters, whose cubic Dwarf-designed facade and teeming patrols of men in industrial Golem suits made for quite the spectacle.

    "Mistress," the aptly terrified voice of Strun rang out beside her. In the distance, the Shard floated like a sword staked into London''s Core. "Are we at the heart of the Human world? Your tree homes are forged from obsidian and steel, no less wondrous than Mistress Sanari''s stories of her home in Tryfan! And there are so many..."

    By habit, her hand found its way onto Strun''s ears, where her fingers dug through his luxurious, shampooed fur. Smelling no longer of sweat and Garp spice, the Rat-kin now had a softer look, one that spoke less harshly of what the young Demi-human had endured in becoming the "Herald of the Afaa al-Halak".

    Initially, Gwen had considered Stian as her envoy to the Shard. Compared to the others, the Rat-kin was incredibly wise, not to mention the old fur-ball had seen enough shit go down in the Steppes to speak authoritatively on every relevant topic.

    However, as she could only secure one Core-Shielding Enchantment from The Shard for an "ambassador" to London from the Rat-kin¡ª the Elder had left the opportunity to his grandson.

    "Go forth and see the true world, how large it is and what we must endure to eke out a living in its shadows." The Elder had entrusted his grandson with quite the mission. "You will be the Eldest one day, Strun, as you are the Whisperer of the Wyrm. If even YOU lack the eyes to see where our people must go, then the Rat-kin are truly doomed like the Horse Lords."

    The sagacity of Stian''s natural foresight almost made Gwen wish she could transport the old rat over to London to work under Walken as the Magister''s second.

    Patting the rat''s head some more, she regarded her other returning companions.

    Elvia and Mathias were now... tanned.

    Their accomplishments in establishing a foothold for the Order of the Bath in Shalkar was commendable, but what truly made Gwen chew her lower lip was the healthy, golden glow her Evee now exuded.

    A tanned, olive-complexioned Evee with skin the colour of royal honey that offset her baby-blue eyes? Not only that, the Cleric had spent so much time in the field and then again in the "field" with her Familiars that her flaxen locks were now bordering on platinum. Her allure was now criminal! A combination like that on a face as angelic as Elvia''s was the stuff of salvation! In her opinion, all Evee needed to harness Faith from the masses was to trot herself out in a daisy dress and sandals, a big old blooming Ki-ki on her shoulder, and her Tri-Crown icon would become a second sun!

    After three months, Gwen felt a little bit like she had fallen in love all over again. The surf, the Sun, the beach¡ª once upon a time, those were the stuff of her soul.

    Of course, there were no seas in Shalkar, but the oasis was no less blue, and its sands were just as blonde, and her Evee all tanned and golden like syrup.

    As for her vampiric self¡ª

    The Devourer of Shenyang sighed at the approaching gallery of reporters with their lumen recorders and hovering casters. Like Jean-Paul, her kind was forever doomed to be pale. Even if she withstood the Sawahi''s relentless sun, she could temporarily polymorph into Sebastian, the lobster¡ª but it took less than a day for her complexion to heal and the skin to shed like a snake''s, an analogy a terrified Ollie had remarked with great alarm the first time it happened.

    "Are those your servants?" Strun indicted the crowd on the pier. "They seem very eager to see you."

    "No¡­" Gwen said absentmindedly. "We don''t do servants and Masters here, Strun. In theory, everyone is ''equal''. Only hard cash, merits, and accomplishments can raise one above the masses, though I would take that with a pinch of Garp spice..."

    "I see." Strun gulped. "Will they understand me?"

    "I trust the Runesmiths knew what they''re doing." Gwen''s fingers brushed the device on Strun''s neck, hand-tuned by the Runesmiths that had later arrived in Shalkar to make good on their promise to reduce the burden of their "debt".

    Like her Ratopia, Vjalth Agaeth Kjangtoth was now undergoing a complete restoration and refit, with a coalition of Clans and kin to the original inhabitants gathered to replenish its numbers. The new Dwarves who arrived late were very quickly introduced to her by Hanmoul, who immediately inaugurated the newcomers through Sen-sen''s infused Maotai.

    For her Dwarven friends, Gwen opened not only her heart but also her Storage Ring.

    The results involved the partial destruction of one of Sanari''s baobab trees, the birth of a new legend, "the Lassie who inhales booze", and harsh reprimands from the Balefire Elders wondering if some unseen power had abducted their construction team in the Murk.

    Gods, has it been three months? Really? Her mind reeled just thinking about what she had built out of pure incidence.

    Without the evidence of Elvia''s taut, tanned skin taunting her with their sun-kissed warmth, she could hardly believe that she had been outside of London for almost a hundred days and that the snow had come and gone and the banks of The Thames were now in hues of olive and emerald. A part of her implicitly understood that she missed the city and her people within it, but the charm of having "gone wild to the Black Zone" had left its mark.

    Already, she longed for the limitless desert vista with its cloudless, ultramarine distance that stretched in every direction, with the sky feeling like a pair of big blue arms that could scoop her up and take her to a place without worries.

    Even the labour of instructing the Rat-kin, which was expectedly tedious and frustrating, was a joy that London''s bookkeeping could hardly compare. Every day, the concrete results of her work passed her by, hailing her as Mistress or Priestess as they loaded bales of foodstuffs onto the sand sleighs of the Horse Lords'' Drover Teams.

    Even Sanari had stayed for the better part of two months until one morning¡ª the Druid abruptly declared that she would be returning to Tryfan for reasons beyond their need to know.

    The Trellis Portal had shimmered, then the Druid was gone.

    Gwen lifted her hand from Strun''s ears.

    The press was waiting for her on the docks like a pack of Jackal Priests anticipating a human femur.

    She wanted to skip them and instead find Petra, Richard, and Walken, but her Ratopia needed obscene profits for its second and third phases to flourish.

    Thereby, Gwen straightened her spine and flattened her wind-tossed dress¡ª now was the time to put on a happy face.

 Chapter 427 - The Hound

    London.

    The Isle of Dogs.

    Richard Huang, General Manager under Executive Officer Eric Walken, carefully studied the city''s reporters as they piled toward Millwall''s old dock, one of the few industrial structures that survived Gwen''s remodelling for its utility in unloading construction materials.

    How like a gaggle of geese they seemed, Richard observed from behind his ensorceled spectacles, watching the men''s and womens'' anxious faces while around them, the hazy smog of spring lingered, clinging to the last vestiges of an unusually long winter.

    "Mister Huang. Miss Kuznetsova." A few of the journalists greeted him as he and Petra took their place near the front.

    Compared to the reporters from the Sun and the Telegraph, the folks from the METRO could make an appointment with their boss sorceress back at the Bunker, and so they stood about smoking and joking, huddling for warmth and coffee.

    "There they are!" someone called out from the left, an NoM dockhand who, like the hundreds of others, wanted to be the first to witness the Devourer of Shenyang''s return, as well as the rumoured Rat-kin that accompanied her.

    For the working NoMs of the city who were free from the intrigue and politics of sorcery, such a sighting would provide for many a conversation after dinner with the family and with their mates, told and retold with more fabulous embellishment each time until "Strun" was a nine-foot-tall demon rat with horns, holding a staff with a screaming bell, leaking emerald Void Essence as he befouled London''s holy ground with his vermin-phage.

    "Lea, let me borrow your eyes." Richard tapped into the Empathic Link between himself and his Undine, channelling the Spirit''s vision as she floated above the Thames'' placid channel. If indeed this Strun was as monstrous as the reports suggested, then he would have words with Gwen about picking up more strays on her adventures. In Shanghai, Lulu had thankfully turned out for the best, but Richard had always suspected Lulan''s transformation was a product of serendipity over choice. Later, when they picked up Golos out of the blue, Richard had felt equally impressed as he was alarmed, for the creature''s prowess came with the enormous baggage of a Mythic bloodline, one toward which Gwen favoured turning a blind eye. Even if her uncle Jun was ploughing Ayxin''s fields like Garp in Shalkar, until the unlikely event of a harvest, there was no guarantee that the Yinglong was on the same team as her family¡ª or China¡ª or Humanity for that matter.

    While he organised his thoughts, Lea obliged his request. Momentarily, Richard''s eyes became covered by a cataract-like pane as his Greater Empathic Link took over his senses.

    "I''ll never get used to that." Petra, tall and regal in her officious pants suit, remarked beside him. As agents of the LoDRP, they were Gwen''s second and Walken''s immediate subordinates; and whether because of trust, talent or nepotism, it was only natural that they were the ones to greet their returning CEO. "Didn''t your Lecturer warn you to use Possession sparingly? It''ll screw with your head if you''re not careful."

    Richard laughed, his voice hollow and unreal. "Lea knows her boundaries, as do I. Ah¡ª I see them now. Gwen''s looking presentable as always, dressed for business. I see Elvia and Mathias¡ª a little more coffee-coloured than when they left¡ª and there''s the rat."

    "Is it as monstrous as the papers say?" Petra also appeared anxious; despite seeing the images, they all knew Strun was no ordinary "Rat-kin".

    "Nothing like what those paper pushers are selling." Richard chuckled. "No, it''s a noble specimen if you ask my opinion. Ah, she''s stroking its head¡ª typical. And it looks like it''s enjoying it."

    He was not surprised because Gwen stroked everything from Caliban to Golos to Evee, a Knight Companion of the Bath.

    Petra shook her head. "We still haven''t figured out how that damned menace of a duck fits into all of this, and she''s picked up another one?"

    "It''s ugly¡ª" Richard spoke again, this time in the tone used by Lea. "Ariel''s cuter. It''s only marginally better than Cali."

    Petra shivered. Visibly, the Mind Mage''s skin broke out in goosebumps. "Christ, Lea¡ª"

    "Lea, don''t speak through me." Richard''s voice returned to his own. Aware of just how creepy it was for Lea''s sweet, seductive voice to emerge from his lips. "A pet it might be, but it''s Soul-linked to the Afaa al-Halak. Presumably, it''s near un-killable with conventional means. The report said it could perform Demi-human sorcery within the Conjuration and Transmutation domain. Shadow Teleport coupled with innate Haste¡ª Don''t you think that''s interesting? Besides, we both read up on Soul Tap. Suffice to say, we can trust the rat to have Gwen''s best interests at heart."

    "Yes, I supposed Strun could be worth befriending and studying." Petra puckered her unconsciously pouty lips, then signed. "On another note, I hope Gwen can put an end to the fiasco with the Barlow Group. It''s taking far too much time from my research with Master Vildrenbrandt. The Dwarven Runesmiths are around, but the Greybeards can''t stay away from the Citadel for long, especially with what Gwen found in Shalkar."

    "The Pale Priestess Giveth, and the Pale Priestess Taketh." Richard stole a line from the scriptures he''d been taught since his formative years at Prince''s. "Can you blame her for introducing you to the opportunity? Even if Yossari has to return, what''s not to say you could visit the Citadel next time as a Cambridge scholar? Didn''t you hear that even Dwarves from central Europe went to see her in Shalkar? All she has to do is ask. In Germany, the Ancestral Forge is supposed to rival the one in Deepholm in size, if not history."

    Petra nodded, appearing more considerate of the mess their cousin had left them. "I suppose when the Dyar Morkk is reconstructed, there''ll be new opportunities for contact with our allies in the Murk."

    "Assuming we don''t dredge up what the Dwarves are fighting and regret ever digging past the earth''s crust." Richard laughed, then turned once more to the arriving barge, willing Lea to float closer. On the forefront of the barge, their oblivious cousin appeared in deep thought, unaware that he and Petra had shouldered the work she had abandoned at the Isle of Dogs with unorthodox methodologies.

    For a man who fancied himself as the Majordomo of Gwen''s future Tower, his work in matching wits with the Barlow Group was good practice for prodding the elasticity of Gwen''s sphere of influence. As for the exercise of his talents, there had been many opportunities of late, as their opposition consisted of ex-Military Mages now living on civilian paychecks while lacking civilian understanding of Londons'' innate rules.

    After he had put a stern word to the first few instances of Barlow Mages coercing the locals into cheap sales or forcing them to "hold out" against the LoDRP''s land acquisitions for expansion, the Barlow''s "employees" actually approached him in person. As a civilised magic wielder, Richard recalled feeling floored by the audacity of the act. He knew from his father, a slum lord in Sydney, that there were dark dealings in real estate and that money made men lose their minds. Still, for him¡ª a Cambridge Magister candidate, one promoted to King''s College by Lord Mycroft Ravenport to receive a "personal visitation" was nothing short of astounding.

    Naturally, he persuaded the men to leave in the friendliest, most bedraggled terms.

    Ever since their initial discovery of Barlow''s thugs harassing Mister Dobson of his dubious sausages fame, matters had escalated to a degree even Richard had not anticipated.

    With Gwen gone, he one night found three men waiting for him just outside Millwall, where Gwen''s leased domain under the Marchioness of Ely ended and the privatised land bought by the Barlow Group began. He approached them, an innocent pedestrian following his weekly routine to return to Cambridge via the Shard''s underground Teleportation Circle, a simple man enjoying a simple stroll along the Thames.

    "There''s the villain," one of them said. "The torturer."

    "The fiend!" Another had the gall to badmouth Richard as they moved into formation to cover his escape routes.

    "How the tables have turned! Bastard."

    Richard had no idea what they were talking about, for all he had done was encourage the ex-service members to confess their sins in front of a Lumen-recorder of their own volition. Richard did not see himself as possessing the kindness of his cousin, but in his opinion, his lawful treatment of these unlawful folk was kindness in itself. Against some other Mage, say Lulan¡ª there''s no regenerating limbs from mince.

    "Hope you enjoyed making Joyce suffer, scum¡ª now it''s your turn." The men, Richard recalled, were very talkative.

    He recalled putting up both hands in protest because he wasn''t a man of senseless violence. Joyce might have pissed herself, but no harm came to her in the end, and the lass left with all her limbs and her health.

    "Gentlemen, before you protest¡ª You do realise this is Greater London¡ª" Richard was kind enough to offer a warning. "And that I am a member of Cambridge, while you fellows¡ª"

    He readied a spell as he feigned panic. In all likelihood, the men were not on any official employment rosters. Men who performed the rough deeds at the behest of more competent men in darker suits seldom had monthly salaries deposed into the Bank of England.

    "¡ª are Rogue Mages, drowned men walking."

    Then he gave the men his most convincing, brightest smile, something Gwen would do if she were in his shoes.

    The men¡ª one Conjurer, an Evoker and an Illusionist, were not happy. They attacked, evidently trained in pack tactics, meaning the Conjurer immediately attempted to ensnare Richard with Chains of Ice. At the same time, the Evoker unleashed a volley of meta-magically enhanced Aerial Missiles to disable his limbs. The true killer was the Illusionist, who stuck him immediately with what looked like a Nauseating Visage to prevent Richard from conjuring his Spirit.

    If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    They were trying to take him alive¡ª which to Richard was as stupid as skinny dipping in a lake with an Undine.

    Why hadn''t the men ambushed him without a word? Richard could guess at the psychology at play. The thing with these ex-Frontier soldiers, he self-remarked, was a particular emphasis on thuggery. Perhaps they were used to being better equipped, organised and planned than their foes, or mayhap they still thought they were dealing with a belligerent civilian¡ª but didn''t these men have superior officers to guide them? At the very least, they should research his magic. For a year now, Richard had spent no small amount of effort marketing them to the university, particularly to the Senior Chair in Conjuration at King''s, who then took on a personal interest in developing Richard''s skills as a Spirit Mage.

    Therefore, unfortunate for the men with nefarious intentions, their victim''s body had shuddered as if struck, then turned to water.

    Naturally, the men froze in their tracks.

    Elemental Avatar was upper-tier sorcery from the School of Transmutation. On paper, Richard was a dedicated Spirit Conjurer with a dash of Abjuration. Perhaps that was why the thugs had been so confident in carrying out their attack, knowing that Creature Mages were weak on their own if their Spirits were yet to manifest.

    What they didn''t know was that Richard''s Affinity had reached such a state of efficiency that, combined with the rare supplementary items he''d acquired through Mia''s trade channels, he could keep the Undine manifested at all times, so long as he wasn''t OoM or unconscious. That and his Affinity uniquely offered access to Elemental abilities specific to his Undine.

    Thereby, in a desert, Richard might have had some trouble with the thug trio, having to resort to fleeing from their assaults before he could find justified ways to squeeze out information from their lungs like water from a sieve.

    Unluckily for the thugs, Richard wasn''t one to bank on luck¡ª but the bank of the River Thames. And when beside a body of limitless water not already infested with Elemental beings, there was very little an Undine and a Spirit Conjurer with Affinity above the eighth tier could not do.

    Once freed, Richard firstly hailed for help using a panic device for the Shard''s VIPs, one that both provided his location to the Tower and the Municipal Police, while simultaneously alerting the Bunker of his whereabouts. It was a part of his thrifted loot from looking after the Dwarven delegation at Westferry, one in which he had put in two extra orders, one for himself and the other for Petra. He chose not to thrift one for Gwen, as anyone foolish enough to waylay a sixth tier War Mage of the Void Element could only hope that enough of their body was left for identification.

    The siren compounded his foes'' confusion, catching them flat-footed in a moment of paralytic indecision between fleeing for cover and continuing their assault¡ª leaving enough time for Richard to pump his liquid mana into Lea, instantly elevating the placid Undine into the fury of a suddenly-appearing summer squall.

    Reflexively, the Conjurer Dimension Doored away.

    The Evoker raised a Fire Shield that was instantly extinguished.

    And the Illusionist enacted an Expeditious Retreat while leaving behind several well-made Mirror Images to confuse Lea.

    Richard allowed the men time to reconsider their strategy as they scanned the area for his whereabouts. Little did the men know that he was now imbued with Lea''s Elemental Dispersion and that without a large scale Evocation from a Fire-based Element scorching a whole block of the city, he could not be ferreted forth. It was all a part of the stratagem he had set up before taking on the Barlow Group¡ª and if indeed he could bait them into burning a block of NoMs to root out a ratty Water Mage, then he was more than happy to send a recording of "Spectre" working for the Barlow Group to the Shard, or Dominic Lorenzo.

    While the men cursed and grumbled, Richard had bid his time by thinking about what was still left at the King''s cafeteria at this time of the night. More than likely, the Salisbury steak was gone, but he was on good terms with the maids and so could coax up a plate of SPAM-stuffed toasties if need be.

    After a few indecisive seconds, the men had made the wiser choice of a withdrawal, knowing that Arbitor Mages should be Teleporting into the area. In a way, Richard could guess why the Barlow Group chose to strike now, for Magister Walken had worked out a reduced rental deal in one of Gwen''s new skyscrapers for lease to the Greater London Metropolitan Police. It was offered at a loss¡ª but Gwen was more than happy to get on the side of the City Guard if it meant their uniformed presence could sit on the Barlow Group like an anvil on the canvas of their villainy.

    Besides, Walken had reasoned that there was nothing quite like having a secondary Police Headquarters in the local vicinity to encourage the remaining NoMs to sell their leaseholds and move to greener pastures. Though the adage went that the innocent had nothing to hide, there was something naturally oppressive about jackbooted Mages with Wand slung by their thighs that made even the most obedient NoM sweat like oven-roasted capsicums.

    Just as the last man rounded the corner, Richard had struck. Within a split second, the air around the man grew impossibly thick with moisture, catching the Conjurer off guard. Before his friends could help and the man could erect his Mage Shield, a Water Tomb enveloped the ex-serviceman and dragged him a dozen feet backwards.

    At the same time, a frazzle of silvery light on the other side of the docks indicated the arrival of Richard''s "rescuers," meaning the Mages could do little more than continue to flee.

    Richard applauded their quick decision. For now, the goons'' nightmare was over. Later, they would envy the fate of their happily arrested companion, for Lea had marked the men for a late-night visitation.

    When the Officers had arrived with their Wands drawn, they found Richard waving at them all friendly-like. Once he introduced himself as one of the executives of the LoDRP, he explained that he was walking home when "One" vagabond attacked him for his HDMs and Storage Ring. Though caught by surprise, he was undaunted by the ambush, which led to their present meeting.

    To the attentive officers, Richard voiced his fears that his assailant would unduly escalate to harm civilians in their attempt at daylight robbery; ergo, he had to entomb the villain for the safety of the NoMs in the area.

    Richard refused their apology and commended the Officers on their prompt arrival, informing them that their Commissioner of the Arbitrators, Magister Hollyhock, was his alumni. And that he would be delighted to read about their exemplary work in the METRO newspaper.

    The Officers thanked Richard, then took the speechless man away, sparing the Conjurer a lengthy date with the beautiful Lea.

    An hour later, he and Petra had paid one of the men a visit in their homes. As for which one¡ª Richard flipped a coin, a charity that surprised even himself.

    In the man''s run-down apartment, however, Richard felt astounded by the audacity of the bloke''s arrogance, for the men dared to work as mercenaries for the Barlow Group and still had the gall to return home after such a blunder. Was the Militant Faction that unaware of its position? Richard wondered. Or were these simply expendable bodies? Over the months, Lorenzo''s stories had reported more often than not on the dire straits of the Militant Faction, which was why the Barlow Group was so desperate for quick money¡ª but for their recruitment to be so lax and unselective? They must genuinely be short on HDMs.

    Thankfully, Petra had a quick chat with the man in a way that only a Mind Mage with her unearthly allure could achieve¡ª via veiled threats delivered with great diplomacy. If it were up to Richard, a simple Water Tomb, a loved one, and a kitchen timer would conclude matters in a manner of minutes.

    Once they received their confessions of who had given the order, for what purpose and at who''s behest, the pair left the man''s family some HDMs to leave the city until it was safe, then Richard made his way to Cambridge and Petra to the Bunker to report to Walken.

    The encounter was only one of the many incidents that occurred while his cousin was gone, but watching Gwennie''s pale face drifting into view, the incident stood out to Richard as a cute conversation he would share with Gwen¡ª once he edited a few bothersome details.

    In any case, their portfolio against the Barlow Group had grown significantly as the bidding war escalated from frowns to sneers to public shouting matches and finally to underhanded thuggery. Now that his cousin had returned, the other side would likely intensify their pressure. Their boss, Walken, wanted to put down their foot and close the chapter as soon as possible, even while the novel chugged on.

    Therefore, with a heart full of anticipation, Richard Huang, Magus of Prince''s College, looked toward the barge as it parted the misty morning. He enjoyed working for his cousin. He had always said that he would repay Gwen for all she had done, only that his achievements so far were merely interest and not principle.

    "CAW!"

    With Lea''s vantage, he was the first to see and hear the incoming flock.

    "CAW¡ª CAW¡ª CAW¡ª!"

    A murder of crows, over a hundred in number, was roving toward them like the glove of some unseen hand. Among them was a splendid drake¡ª a Mandarin Duck the size of a mini-sedan, sailing through the air with the arrogance of a miniature Golos.

    "Christ!" Richard swore in surprise while Lea cooed with delight. How is Dede not being shot down by the Griffin Knights patrolling London''s airspace? Dede was a harmless jester, but who in London would know that this duck who could peck through sheet metal and lift a hundred kilos of loot from the fish market was harmless?

    The crows?

    Richard suspected the crows. If Gwen''s information was correct, these weren''t the naturally occurring urbanite avians of the metropolis, but sorcery-tainted, Spirit-linked eyes from the Tower of London. Assuming Dede had managed to befriend such a flock, it was then reasonable to think that a line of communication to the Guards of the Royal Griffin Stables at least existed.

    "CAW¡ª CAW¡ª CAW¡ª!"

    "Look there!" Someone in the reports'' pit shouted, amazed by the sight of the approaching murder.

    "They''re not coming here¡ª are they?" Someone trembled, making Richard wonder if he had something to hide. "Why are the Tower''s eyes coming here?"

    On cue, the birds turned toward them.

    "CAW¡ª CAW¡ª!"

    "QUACK!"

    When the murder reached the space overhead, they swerved around the invisible body of Lea, leaving no doubt that these weren''t your everyday birds but ones imbued with the means to read the flow of mana and sense the invisible.

    Below, the concussed and confused dockhands aided the barge''s arrival, tossing ropes and catching lanyards.

    Gwen was the first to descend, appearing with a constipated expression of dismay at the enormous duck''s illicit appearance in London. All around the sorceress, the crows began to swarm overhead, creating the spectacle of a giant, black funnel.

    "CAW¡ª CAW¡ª CAW¡ª!"

    The ear-splitting sound of the crows'' cawing was like Petra casting a dozen Mind Spikes at once, making those weak to the noise cower while others covered their ears, grimacing and wincing and swearing under their breath.

    Still, the crows came, relentless in the bell beat of their fluttering wings. As they passed overhead like a thundercloud, Richard could see that these birds were enormous, each possessing wing-spans more akin to that of sea eagles. Round and round, they flew above his cousin, who appeared resigned to her fate as the press took their Lumen-recordings, a sorceress with a rat, standing on the lip of a cargo barge while a hundred crows aligned around her, alighting on every pole and canopy.

    "QUACK!" The duck landed with a metallic thud, thuggishly waddling toward her until it stood beside the rat.

    The rat, naturally sensing that the duck was its senior, stepped back.

    Nodding, the duck struck out its head to be stroked.

    Without words and still stunned by the crows, Gwen obliged.

    "CAW¡ª CAW¡ª CAW¡ª!"

    "CAW¡ª CAW¡ª CAW¡ª!"

    "CAW¡ª CAW¡ª CAW¡ª!"

    Richard ordered the Undine to mute the clamour as the inner dock of Millwall once more filled with the sound of crows and their crude, cruel laughter gleefully cramming every cranny and crevice.

    His cousin really did have a knack for making an entry. In fact, he could already see tomorrow''s headline¡ª

    "Kennel Mistress of the Dog Returns, Crows forwarn of Calamities to Come!"

 Chapter 428 - Bartering for Barlow

    London.

    The Isle of Dogs.

    Adjacent to the thrumming warehouse housing the multi-storey print-engine of West Ferry, a visiting Mage or a labourer seeking work would find the infamous and imposing visage of "The Bunker", a multi-tier building with six "meagre" storeys above the Thame''s waterline.

    Constructed by the Dwarves via the secretive means of their runic Fabricator Engine, The Bunker served as home to the IoDRP''s headquarters. From the entryway, one entered through its obsidian-glass foyer into a large, hundredth-scale display of the Isle of Dogs, constructed in minute detail and updated weekly to reflect the changes brought by the corporation to the ex-industrial region.

    Past the imposing frontal facade, the visitor was then imposed upon by the polished concrete ceiling meeting the reflective dark marble, cascading as a static waterfall. Further in, within aesthetic, art deco alcoves nested the Levitation Platforms, each with their irrespective tubes delving some ten storeys deep, descending into the shell and chalk stratum of London''s underground until it struck the igneous bedrock.

    Currently, of the sixteen tiers of office space, only seven levels were in active use. The foyer with the model and open room mimicking the Dwarven Guild Hall was one, while underground levels four and five were slated for Gwen''s small army of accountants. The sixth and seventh underground tiers initially had been empty. At Gwen''s behest, however, she had remodelled the linked-stratum to have artificial sunlight, plants and a mock-nature scape, creating a break room for her employees. She had conceived of the notion after observing Ruxin''s indentured servants, such as those from Tonglv who had wronged her in Shanghai, looking like they may prefer oblivion¡ª albeit not without Ruxin''s release. Once the sceptical Dwarves completed the section, both they and the Bunker''s employees found respite from their endless labour under their ever-burgeoning workload, opening Magister Walken''s mind to whole new levels of micromanagement, such as controlling how employees spent their leisure time to increase productivity.

    Of the upper storeys, the tallest section overlooking the docks served as a boardroom for general meetings. Expectantly, its floor to ceiling glass canopy offered an unobstructed view of Mudchute Farm to the left and Surry Quay to the right. The vista wasn''t a million HDMs, considering the scattered semi-urban industrial landscape, but the water view gave the observer a soothing sense of unobstructed space nonetheless.

    When asked if this was the foundation of her Tower by Yossari, Gwen replied that there was no way a second Tower could exist in London, considering that she had to compete with the original "Tower of London" and now on top of it, the "Shard".

    If and when she came into a personal floating, phallic-shaped fount of sorcery, it would likely be somewhere akin to Shalkar. In that instance, her first task would be to bring together the scattered communities of Humanity there to establish a foothold. In her Cambridge history classes, she had been informed that the first Towers, conceived none other by Magister Henry Kilroy before the Beast Tide, were built for that specific purpose. The fruition of Kilroy''s plan had been a lucky break for Humanity.

    Through the use of its strategic-class Planar Suppression and ley-line tapping Tower Cores, regions overrun by Elementals and Monsters were quickly quelled, and Humanity''s major population centres preserved.

    The notion of "Zones" was then established and written into Spellcraft and geopolitical canon. And in this way, the world had come together to salvage what remained of man''s civilisation from the brink of oblivion and even prosper.

    Meanwhile, the Wildlands continued to be bastions of unpredictable danger. Outside a Tower''s domain, safety was merely a question of divinable risk. Even Green Zones like the Royal National back in Sydney could turn, as Almudj had demonstrated, from a verdant source of HDMs and produce into a cataclysmic battlefield in a matter of days, assuming that a monster of sufficient tier and power could slip through the Shielding Stations.

    Ergo, the easiest and riskiest way for anyone to become a Tower Master was to strike out and mark one''s territory, sanctioned by their state and other stakeholders. Likewise, to encourage adventure over complacency, a "future Master" with sufficient clout and sorcery was expected to leave their Tower, as a young Dragon might the home of their Patriarch, unless they were the heir apparent, as Gunther was to Henry. Instead, they would strike out to pacify the region, then appeal to the Mageocracy or whoever was their governing body to erect a Tower and serve as its Master¡ª usually until they were dead or replaced.

    Such was the Mageocracy''s way¡ª and also a core reason why Walken had preferred schemes over actually founding a Tower of his own.

    When Gwen had reasonably asked about the Americans and how they went about their Tower building, her Empire-minded tutors had scoffed at the Capitalists and their notion of Manifest Destiny. They had explained that the "Wildland West" was excess, constrained anarchy, and unfettered capitalism transmuted into a nation of self-aggrandising entrepreneurs. Gwen took the hostility to mean that her tutors disapproved of the United States until one of them intimated that there were yearly expeditions of London''s triumvirate college Magisters been lured overseas with the promise of power and position¡ª only to face the reality that the USA was a place where one was "free" to succeed or fail.

    "A nation of individuals," one of Cambridge Magisters had duly informed her. "Take that however you will, but it''s certainly not a Commonwealth for ''common'' wealth."

    Gwen felt she understood the lesson better than her peers. London was a society built on the tried and true step ladder of classism called the Chain of Being. It was why the British Mageocracy found their cross-continental cousins'' buccaneering attitude bewildering and yet strangely thrilling. In London, there wasn''t anyone who acted like the industrial magnates in the States, not even the Queen, whose position was derived from the Church and was in service to the Crown, its people, and Noblesse Oblige.

    In the Commonwealth, men like Jonathan Gilt of the Ether Engine or Henry Ford of the assembly line did not become living mythoi but bookends with individual annotations in the appendices of history. In England, not even Gwen''s Master, the preserver of Humanity, had wielded a perverse amount of political influence. In the USA, however, such men transcended mortality to become living embodiments of human potential, inspiring countless others to create like-minded empires where the greatest profit for the greatest many was the greatest virtue in a nation where the free market was democracy distilled and the quintessence of personal freedom.

    For this reason, Gwen greatly desired to visit the continent, mindful that she had promised to take Tao when the opportunity next came about. For now, she had to secure her bases and establish the foundations of her empire. Therefore, with smiles and an air of triumph, she came into the top-level boardroom with her Rat-kin in tow to greet her staff and board members, most of whom were new faces recruited by Walken over the last year.

    "Ma''am¡ª"

    "Miss Song¡ª"

    "Madam¡ª"

    A chorus of greetings passed from every door and corridor as she strode by, inflating her ego and each praise stroking the Lightning Element inside her Astral Body, setting it to purr like a tickled Tom.

    In the open boardroom, Walken awaited her from the head of the long, oval table, on which Gwen could see scattered newspapers with headlines from her arrival a day ago. After feeding the birds with her body, she had felt compelled by Dede to take a quick jaunt with Richard back to Cambridge to speak to and report her findings to the Marchioness of Ely. At Peterhouse, Maxine had received her gift of the Khan''s Golden Scroll Case with the greatest joy, kissed her on the forehead, then thanked her for her service not only to the Mageocracy but to Humanity itself.

    "Gwen, you are Henry''s Apprentice. There is no doubt!"

    The matchless praise was one which Gwen had not at all expected, and it had set her face aflame until she had to introduce Strun to her Boss, and then Brown and Gracie, who came to greet her as soon as news of her arrival reached the college.

    Gracie and Strun appeared to instantly bond with a friendliness that bellied their differences in gender, language, culture and species, which Gwen suspected had something to do with the fact that both were Soul-linked to her Astral Body and thus, connected by a compulsive spiritual resonance.

    After a long supper regaling her tale and asking Strun to speak of his people to a wide-eyed crowd at Hall, the rat received a suite beside Gwen''s private abode for the night. Later, Petra and Richard had joined her for an extended late-night conversation. In detail, she had told them of her suspicions surrounding the Dyar Morkk and the wonders wrought by Tryfan and as a result of Sanari''s Druidic crafts. Petra especially demonstrated a hunger for the knowledge of the Elves that lit up her pale-crystal irises like a cat''s in the dark, with Gwen laughing and promising that the next time an opportunity arose, she would invite her cousin to share in the bounty. Richard then regaled her with an unusually morbid "funny story" about his investigations into West Ferry''s competition with Canary Wharf. The punchline was proof of the goons hired by the Barlow Group, backed by the Militant Faction and antagonists like the Exeters. As for the method of Richard''s discovery, though Gwen could see that her cousin was in the right, Dick''s casual cruelty continued to make her skin crawl. Even his reassurances like "No worries, there was no harm done, and everyone walked away in one piece" didn''t stop her from having a rash of goosebumps.

    In the morning, after signing paperwork and pre-filled forms written by Petra to report the success of her Magisterial expedition to the Steppes, she had left the rest of the bureaucracy to Magister Brown, then returned with haste to the Isle of Dogs.

    "Welcome back, Calamity." In the Bunker''s conference room, Walken''s face was full of fatherly warmth.

    The Magister and sorceress embraced, offering courtesy kisses to one another''s cheeks.

    This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

    "Boss." Lorenzo shook her hand.

    Gwen hugged the man anyway. "Thanks for the article."

    "It''s my pleasure to expose your corrupt self," Lorenzo smirked. "Did it have the intended effect?"

    "We won''t know until trouble comes calling." Gwen smiled sheepishly. For the sake of the METRO''s reputation, she had asked Lorenzo to do a few hit pieces on their owner and founder, doubly serving as an ironic humblebrag to bolster Shalkar''s reputation.

    With the amount of staff now involved in the upper management, the handshakes took some time. Afterwards, Gwen urged Strun to repeat the performance of his Desert Epic at Shalkar, this time for the starry-eyed crowd at the office. When finally all curiosities were satisfied, she laid out the new work arranging an import and export division for Shalkar for her fresh-faced managers. Without pause, all of them promised that Strun''s people would never starve again.

    Then, finally, it was time to settled down and discuss the "Executive" business at hand.

    With a sweeping gesture from Walken, the rest of the staff was politely cleared out, Strun included, leaving only Gwen, Walken, Lorenzo, Richard and Petra. In the future, Gwen wondered, would Mayuree, Marong, and perhaps Ruxin also join them in the chamber?

    Walken, who had by now mastered his version of her patented "PowerPoint" Illusion sorcery, hand-waved the room into darkness.

    "Right, let''s not beat around the bush." The Magister conjured into being a pyramid of cascading headshots, together with a map of their holdings. "I do believe the time has come to call in your favours, Gwen. We''re ready to push for Canary Wharf."

    "The acquisition of south dock is completed?" Gwen glanced at the vista outside, though it was the wrong side of the docklands. In her memory, acquisition and discovery of the Isle had run into a brick wall. "I thought it would take until June."

    "The timetable is no longer certain, despite our best efforts," Walken conjured up details of the development proposals. "As you can see, we need South Dock and the old Warehouse District to connect the Pinnacle building between Canary and Millwall and to provide underground access within walking distance to the Marsh Wall Underground. The alternative is to build the Pinnacle where we''ve already submitted plans for the Millennium Harbour. We can use the land south of the dock as well, but as you know¡ª we''ve promised the City of London that we would not impede onto Sir Magister McDougall''s Memorial Park. To move the monument would cost us goodwill and a great deal of political capital. Richard can tell you more."

    "Dick?" Gwen looked to her cousin.

    "The Barlow Group has succeeded in acquiring the suites here¡ª here¡ª and here¡ª and more." Richard nodded at the Magister, turning several annoyingly disjointed blocks scarlet. "Unlike the others, these were sealed and delivered, all legal and willing sales with no undercuts."

    "How?" Gwen furrowed her brows. "Did we not offer enough money?"

    "Not everyone''s eyes turn green when it comes to profit." Walken snorted at her remark. "These owners supported the Militants. That''s not so surprising, is it?"

    "That IS surprising, actually." Gwen signed. "I maintain that we didn''t offer enough. Everyone has a limit. Now it''s going to cost us more."

    The others pondered her train of thought in silence.

    "I see. Nonetheless," Walken said. "The Barlow Group now refuses to sell said suites. They''ll BUY our share, though¡ª even above the market value. Presumably, they''re trying to starve us out of Canary Wharf, but their management does not know our finances as well as we know their backers, so there''s that. Either way, the status quo is that we''re at a standstill."

    "Buy our land? They''re dreaming." Gwen puckered her lips in annoyance. Before Shalkar could turn a profit, a significant amount of HDMs had to be invested and passed around, which meant anything delaying the construction and the sale of her waterfront developments raised the risk of her business losing liquidity. "Alright, so what''s the plan?"

    "Richard, if you will elucidate our employer?"

    "We go for the jugular," Richard pointed to a few of the unfamiliar faces in the hierarchal pyramid of the Barlow Group''s Executives. "The Barlow wants to delay our projects, so we''ll pay them back likewise. That''s Wilbur Elliot Marriott, Ex-Magister and now renowned Hotel magnate. Beside him is Jonathan D. Nassar of the Hilton Group."

    "Marriott and Hilton Holdings?"

    "¡ª Yes, and the joint-holders of the Waldorf Astoria properties. Your friend, Lady Astor, has a sizable stake in the ownership as well."

    "Alright." Gwen studied the faces of the men in their late forties. "Elaborate."

    "They''re going to build hotels on Canary''s land holds or at least convert their new constructions into free-standing hotels. They''re quite determined, as we all know how hard it is to find land to build anything in central London. For both groups, the Isle of Dogs is a great opportunity for our American friends to make a foot hold."

    Gwen did indeed know, for the presence of both Westminster Chapel, Buckingham Palace, and other historical structures meant that the central CBD area forbade super-structural constructs that may "overshadow" these important historical and symbolic edifices. It was one of the reasons why Dwarven construction, with its underground emphasis, enjoyed such popularity among London''s developers.

    Yet, until "The Devourer of Shenyang" had transformed the industrial wasteland of the Isle of Dogs from trash to treasure, it had simply not occurred to London''s developers that a private enterprise with HDMs and foresight could convert cheap, affordable land into high-demand infrastructure. Of course, not all developers had Gwen''s accountants, a block of leasehold as grand as the Marchioness of Ely''s Millwall, Cubitt and Mudchute, or the means to materialise an additional subway line via Dwarven Magitech.

    "Over the last few months, Pats and I have collected more than enough material for the Old Bailey," Richard pointed to Walken''s Storage Ring. "There''s no doubt that these¡ª"

    The young man pointed to a few more faces Gwen had not seen before. "These are the ones giving orders."

    "You have proof?" Gwen asked. "Irrefutable proof? Did you steal the Barlow''s Mercenary ledger?"

    Richard laughed.

    "There''s more than enough correlation," Walken chided her scepticism. "When forty fingers and countless witnesses all pointed toward these men, a definite pattern emerges. We''ve been cautious, you know. We pressed charges when the opportunity arose, but we never pushed the envelope. As a result, I think the Barlow Group believes we either lack the evidence or are too afraid to challenge them openly. Whatever the case, we''ve stowed enough circumstantial and financial evidence. For this reason, we''re counting on you to make sure we get a favourable judge."

    "How am I going to do that?" Gwen snorted. "I am a Magus, not a Marchioness. I am not even a Magister yet."

    "Ravenport owes you, as do Astor," Walken replied with complete confidence, alluding to her accomplishments since arriving in London. "You said he wanted you to go pay lip service to the Elves, and you did. Not only that, you did the Elves at Tryfan a great favour, or so you say, which means you did our Duke of the Foreign Affairs an even bigger favour. He could refuse, of course, but what kind of precedence would that set? Is it not said that a Ravenport always pays his debts?"

    Gwen''s flawless brows furrowed.

    "You want me to talk to Dicky to repay a hypothetical favour¡ª and that favour is to appoint a biased Inquisitorial Arbitor of the High Court to investigate these claims?"

    "Yes," Walken nodded. "Problem?"

    "No," Gwen mockingly moved a few inches away from the old schemer. "You know, Eric, you''re downright nasty. What''s the end game?"

    Walken chuckled, his eyes glinting with sadistic malice. "My friends in the Grey Faction have been visiting me of late, now that there''s HDMs to be made. They''ve told me that the Militants have all but lost the land war in the Niger Delta against the Lycanthropes¡ª something about inability to discern between locals and the foe, not that they''re any different down there in the Black Zone. Within months, all their mining efforts are going to go up in smokes, meaning their loans will be due very soon."

    Gwen made an "o" of appreciation with her lips.

    "They''ve been paying the interest, but once the income ceases, their assets will be on the auction block by September. If they manage to buy our land and can thus build their hotels, it would mean both the Marriott and the Hilton Group would extend their golden fingers to prop up the facade of Barlow''s financial stability¡ª but if we were to mire them in a legal battle, and destroy their reputation¡ª and then leak their financial position through the METRO, accuse them of hiding their insolvency¡ª"

    Gwen winced at Dominic Lorenzo, her smiling Chief Editor. "I don''t think our METRO ought to be used like that."

    Unlike politics, a good business was built on a foundation of arithmatics. While businesses built on air could float, their failure would be no less catastrophic than the lofty heights they reached by means of rumours and heresay.

    "It''s fine if it''s the truth," Lorenzo interrupted her. "We''re not pretending to be anything we''re not. Nor are we being selective about what''s been reported. If the IoDRP were to sink to similar methods, you could prime a Void Bolt at my head, and I would still pen the editorial."

    "Of course, aren''t you the courier who delivers the truth that sets the masses free?" Gwen''s chest grew a little fuzzy with warmth at finally meeting a member of her cabal with the right moral compass.

    "Guilty as charged," Lorenzo roared with laughter. "Well said, Boss. Shall we go ahead?"

    Gwen''s lips formed a red line, woeful at the fact that this world had never really understood the allure of an open media, not that hers had been fair nor free. Still, she had to be wary because the Fourth Estate of public opinion was a powerhouse no single person should control, even if her METRO were doing its best to bring about a fairer view of the world for the uneducated. She also felt glad that her labours were now bearing fruit¡ª between West Ferry, the Isle of Dogs, and Shalkar, the gospel of profitable philanthropy she had birthed was now punching above its weight. That said, Gwen understood her venture as a balancing act on a tightrope between two precipices. One wrong move¡ª and one would fall below into the avaricious ocean of the free market, becoming feed for the glinting, pearly teeth of the golden-eyed, gilded Sirens below.

    "That said, the problem is Shalkar." Walken watched her face as he spoke. "We need those funds."

    "To acquire Barlow''s properties when they collapse? Isn''t this a bit too soon?"

    "Yes, wasn''t that your plan? To eventually strip our competitors and cannibalise their profitable divisions?" Walken affirmed her hypothesis. "I don''t think Shalkar will be as profitable as Canary Wharf. It''s folly to pursue the er, ''good will'' too deeply."

    Gwen understood her Executive''s concern. It was God-given that a Faery Dragon in hand was worth two in the Wildlands. However, there was a whole race of Rat-kin in Shalkar awaiting the deliverance of her angel investment. Their Centaur "allies" had also been promised a share in the profits to purchase food and fodder for their Golden Pavilion and replenish their numbers. Her Executive was correct that there weren''t immediate profits in Shalkar, but the man didn''t see the whole picture.

    "We need Shalkar, and not just for profit," she waited until Walken delivered his conjecture on the first quarterly report before speaking once more to refute her officer. "If anything, the true treasure isn''t the Barlow''s lands, but a favour from Tryfan for when we finally get to tap into our ''real'' business."

    She reached into the folds of her dress and removed what looked like a leaf the size of her palm. Then, with mock ceremony, she placed the thing before her peers.

    "This is mine," she announced with confidence. "Or at least, it is mine to use as I see fit¡ª until such time that I am not."

    Eric Walken, Magister, furrowed his brows. The man had left London early to seek his fortunes in Australia, the one place where trees and Elves were exceedingly rare, and so knew not what Gwen had presented.

    "Gwennie." Petra gulped, her clear irises aglow with diagnostic mana. "Is that what I think it is?"

    Walken blinked as puzzle pieces fell into place. "An Ilias Leaf? Did y-you take a Leaf from a WORLD TREE? And then you brought it here?"

    The unspoken question that followed, Gwen could see, was likely "Will the Elves burn down West Ferry to get it back?"

    "It''s not THAT special." She stepped back, wiggling her shoulders in glee at their reactions. "That said, THIS, ladies and gents, is a transdimensional, cross-Planar communication device! This¡ª if we can crack the code, will be the foundation of a new Magitech that will change commercial communication¡ª forever!"

 Chapter 429 - Wheeling and Dealing

    leaf down! No¡ªdon''t infuse it with mana!" Walken''s warning reverberated across the boardroom before Gwen''s sorcery-obsessed cousin tapped into the illicit herb. "That bloody thing is said to be an extension of Tryfan''s will! It doesn''t like strangers."

    immortal Druid Hierophant?" Walken''s voice rose an octave.

 Chapter 430 - Sharing is Caring

    The Ravenport''s London Compound sat three stations east from Westminister and two stops south in a prestigious corner of Chelsea adjoining the Ranelagh Gardens. In the past, the compound had encompassed the entirety of the southern courtyard from Chelsea Bridge to King Charles'' Court. Now, at Charlene Ravenport''s behest, most of its private land had been surrendered for a public park, leaving only a modest sixteen room "Manor" in service to the Earl Marshall of England.

    It was under its austere, Edwardian facade in rich red brick that Gwen now arrived, clacking from Sloane Square in her eye-watering heels for a few hundred meters until confronted by its brass-bound gates.

    There were three modes of transport which she could have chosen, and sore feet were her sufferance of choice.

    The rationale, at least according to her cabal of schemers at the Isle of Dogs, was well-founded. Firstly, unless she wished to ride to the compound in a Fabricator Engine or a Strider, there were no decorum-worthy vehicles to deliver someone of her class and station to visit a noble of a higher station. Buying one when the IoDRP was trying to gather funds was doubly untenable. As for flying, that particular convenience would break all manners of etiquette.

    As such, taking the public transit and making a public showing of her closeness to her employees made not only for an excellent front page¡ªit also cemented the difference between the haughty Militants and her IoDRP. Additionally, scant critique could be levelled toward her announcing her visit to the Ravenport''s compound, lest the Sun wanted to expose her for the "absurdity" of taking public transport.

    Secondly, the appearance of her visitation to the Ravenport mansion must be communicated to her stakeholders, regardless of the success of their alliance. Walken''s opinion was that such a showing would complete the despair of the Barlow Group, thoroughly demoralising their attempt to block the Pinnacle''s construction.

    Thirdly, House Ravenport was a stumbling block she had to cross sooner or later. Despite Dickie''s professed neutral feelings about the death of his son, "bad" blood doesn''t go away with fancy words. The only way to move on with peace of mind was to wed her interests to theirs and vice versa¡ªthrough mutual profit. Once that happened, both parties were bow-tied at the ankle by their joint stakeholders. Likewise, as a future Magister with a Tower on the horizon, diplomacy with enemies she had not chosen of her own free will would be best practice.

    "Caw¡ª" A pair of ravens flapping atop the anchor struts for the gates announced her arrival.

    As seen in Gothic horror films, the gates yawned open with a squeak of green brass, entirely of its own accord.

    The interior was the textbook definition of a manicured English garden, with every tree and hedge tamed and shaped into geometric perfection since the epoch of King George IV.

    There was also an explicit lack of entourage out to meet her.

    Gwen glanced at the riverbanks, where Lorenzo and his men awaited with dismay for the front page shot that would no longer appear.

    In a way, she felt relieved.

    It made sense that their success should be limited. Unless Dickie consented, there was no way the old ghoul didn''t see past her shallow ploy of the Kitsune borrowing the Manticore''s terror.

    Nonetheless, she walked in-between the gates, shook loose her hair, then struck a pose in the middle of the open gates embossed with the heraldry of ravens. Lorenzo took a low-angle cover shot from a suitably safe distance for his ostentatiously titled "Dog visits Raven" article, then farewelled the onlookers gawking at her dramatic narcissism.

    CLANG!

    Like a pair of gnashing incisors, the gates railed closed with a discordant tone of disapproval.

    The pebble stone path ahead was undoubtedly never made with stiletto heels in mind, nor was the distance to the "modest" manor, designed originally for war horses, suitable for walking.

    Thankfully, Gwen had a Flight Licence and so abused the fact to "glide" her graceful self toward the frontage of the three-story manor with its Gothic arches in wine and enormous, white-ribbed French windows.

    As she closed the final dozen meters, the door opened, revealing the absent figure of the majordomo, who bowed from the waist before hailing her countenance.

    "I can only presume Lady Ravenport is expecting me." She smiled at the butler. "Is Duke Ravenport in?"

    "He is not," the man offered a curt and unambiguous answer.

    "How about Lord Saville?"

    "Lord Saville is on business for the Duke. The young Mistress of the House is waiting for you inside." The moustachioed servant appeared ripped from a period film. "If you would follow my humble self, I shall take your august self to her."

    "Very well, lead the way." Gwen figured there wasn''t much point in squeezing clues from a man who was likely the hidden villain of Cluedo.

    The interior of the Ravenport''s London Manor was not the lavish Louis XIII style she had been anticipating, but rather a minimalist form that deviated from the ecliptic preference of the late Edwardians. Chief companion to the ridiculous space were the portraits, hundreds of them, row after row of gaunt Ravenports of the past going back centuries, all the way unto the rise of Henry V, the "Argent King", progenitor of England''s Arthurian legends. Gwen noted that common to the appearances were the hawkish nose, the calculating grey eyes, and the thin lips that gave Dickie the look of a Bond villain.

    Nearer the end of the upper corridor, Gwen received a preview of the hostess she was about to meet.

    It was a portrait of the Ravenport family with Dickie''s second wife, Everleigh, and her two children. The Mistress of the house was herself a vision of femininity perfected by good breeding, good food and unfettered access to Transmutation magic. From her perfect fair hair to her flawless poise, Dickie''s second wife should be in her thirties in the picture but had the mien of a girl-wife just making it past her second decade. To Everleigh''s right stood a girl with a regal frame and eyes that took after the Duke, though feminised and with lips kissed by rouge. The kids and the mother did not look at all alike, a testament to the strength of House Ravenport''s genes.

    Then there was the boy to the woman''s right, dressed in flamboyant doublet and hose, embroidered with the crest of House Avon and Ravenport. With a sinking feeling, Gwen recognised the psychopathic glint in the kid''s dead fish irises, becoming astounded by the skill of the portrait artist in framing Edmund''s hidden mania.

    The door to the room in which Charlene waited for her was already open. From the look of the doorframe, this was not a tea room but a bedroom.

    More mind games? Gwen frowned.

    Or did Charlene read too much into her widely known association with Elvia?

    That would be foolish. Firstly, she liked blondes. Secondly, thanks to Caliban, she had never been less thirsty in all her life.

    Whatever the play awaited her, Gwen tugged on her dress, patted down her blouse, then ventured past the threshold.

    "Welcome to our humble home, Magus Song." The voice that greeted her came from a young woman about Gwen''s age, though her severe features did make her look more mature than her mid-twenty-odd years. Her voice was controlled and measured, with an aristocratic air not unlike her father''s. "Please, call me Charlene."

    Charlene Avon Ravenport, of House Ravenport, stood from the arrested grains of an enormous armchair to greet her, dressed as one might expect, in form-fitted, crow-black sables. Compared to Gwen, Charlene was half-a-head shorter, though the girl carried herself with the poise of someone taller by a handspan. As she approached, her kitten heels announcing her arrival as she left the plush Persian rug to step onto the polished oaken floor. Charlene Ravenport, Gwen surmised, had the look of a handsome and confident predatory bird of prey.

    "Thank you, Magus Ravenport, for sparing the time." Gwen kept their meeting formal.

    "It''s provisional-Magister, as your title should soon be as well." Charlene extended a hand as the two women closed in on one another like duelling hens.

    They shook, her hand warm and soft, hers cold and skeletal.

    "They''re preparing the tea in the garden." Charlene nodded toward the back section of the compound. "Before we become partners, I would like to divine the Oliphants in the room, if you do not mind."

    Charlene sat but did not invite her to sit.

    "Of course¡ª" Gwen had a feeling the topic was unavoidable. She looked around the bedroom for a place to sit, eyed the bed, then a disturbing realisation crawled up her thigh, tickled her spine, then spread across her scalp.

    Here was not Charlene''s room, nor a guest-chamber¡ªbut a boy''s bedroom. Gwen had not noticed at first because the room was choked full of things; specimen jars, magical implements, scroll parchments, assorted magical ingredients, collectables, two globes of the world, as well as extensive landscape paintings that drew the eye away from the smaller lumen-pics hidden in brass frames among the dusty bric-a-brac.

    In one frame, she saw Edmund in his early teens, stoic and rigid, smiling disinterestedly at the lumen-recorder. Another picture showed an adolescent holding a wand and wearing a cape, pointing at something in the distance. A third vision showed him at a Duelling Arena sitting front-row with his mother beside him, looking like he''d stepped in shit.

    To her right, a picture that caught her eye involved a smiling kid with his hand on the Awakening Stone, both thrilled and happy. Beside it, there was a similar image of Edmund at what looked like Cambridge''s King''s College, with the distinct form of "Dusty", the Dust Devil, looking all kinds of harmless.

    That Edmund had a childhood, a life of his own, or that there was a boy before there was a man had never occurred to her. In Gwen''s memory, Edmund was merely a faceless bastard who had assaulted her, gotten inside her Astral Body and molested her after confounding her mind. The realisation now that a human being was inside the monster made her feel strange and angry.

    "Unpleasant memories?" Charlene was testing her.

    "I do not think that the passing of a bloke who tried to have a go with my body and mind is going to touch me as much as you think." Gwen switched tracks from diplomacy to sarcasm. "Besides, even as a victim, I hardly knew him."

    "What was he like in his final moments?"

    "I didn''t kill him," Gwen reiterated the fact, her emotions feeling as though caught in a crucible. "And I wasn''t there. I killed his compatriot, the one they called the Faceless Man."

    "What was he like when you met him?" Charlene put up both hands in defence. "I am not accusing you of anything, Magus Song. I am merely interested. Edmund and I weren''t close, but he was my brother. Could you tell me how you met? I''ve read the reports from Father but never met an actual person with whom he had¡ªinteracted."

    "A victim," Gwen corrected her. "We''re called victims. As far as I know, I am a rare survivor."

    "Of course," Charlene concurred. "My condolences. Could you humour me?"

    "I shall, but then we must talk business, else I''ve got uncomplicated deals elsewhere," Gwen declared her position.

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    Charlene inclined her head, wearing the expression of a sister rather than the young Mistress of the House. Gwen wondered whether the girl feigned sympathy or otherwise, then resolved not to care so long as they got to the business at hand.

    "Agreed." Charlene concurred.

    As she did not want to touch Edmund''s things, she remained standing.

    "We met at the Royal National," she began, feeling all kinds of strange, like delivering a victim''s testimonial at court. "This is not a happy story, so don''t expect any euphemisms..."

    Gwen told her opponent as much as she was able to divulge without giving herself away. She began with the killing of the teachers, then moved on to Debora while withholding the involvement of Faceless. She talked about Spectre, the cave, the "Land God" that Edmund had wrangled, then in meticulous detail, she relayed Edmund''s madness.

    "¡­ and if I had been a second late in Voiding him, I wouldn''t be here today."

    As she finished, Gwen noticed her fingers were trembling. She might be mentally over the bastard, but it seemed her body remembers.

    Charlene sighed. "I see. And the Mageocracy would be a poorer place for it."

    Gwen raised a brow.

    "Whatever Edmund''s faults, I thank you for the story," Charlene said. "I will relay his¡­ somewhat final moments to Mother."

    "Lady Avon is present as well?" Gwen realised that etiquette indicated she should greet the eldest Mistress first.

    "No, she''s away." Charlene absolved her consternation. "Mother''s merely unhappy at father''s pragmatism, as usual. She thinks it''s a slight to the Ravenport name to leave you unmolested."

    "I would reconsider your choice of diction." Gwen stared daggers. "Edmund didn''t exactly leave me in a caste state, as so to speak. Compared to what he did, a salacious grope wouldn''t even register on the scale of damnable offences. Tell me, how much do you care for Edmund? Is this conversation a task set by mummy dearest? Or did ''Daddy'' dear put you up to this?"

    "Now it is I who should commend you for your choice of words, ''Secret Sister'' dearest." Charlene''s lips curled. "That''s the true reason for my mother''s ire. It''s sickening, but she had considered owing up to the rumour that you might indeed be her daughter. Father rarely speaks to mother, so to see him in a rage was quite the unique experience."

    Gwen fought to keep her expression from twisting into a mask of cringe. "She dislikes Edmund THAT much, eh? He''s not a stepchild, is he? He sounds like he was adopted."

    Charlene''s reply came with a secretive smirk. "Gwen. I''ll gift you an open secret as thanks for Edmund''s story. Would you like to hear it?"

    "Sure." Gwen shrugged. Free was free.

    "We ARE stepchildren."

    Gwen blinked. "What?"

    Charlene laughed. "It''s well known that father''s marriage to Lady Avon was political. Our birth mother died delivering us. Edmund and I, we''re fraternal twins."

    Gwen stared at Charlene''s face before recalling that fraternal twins did not share identical DNA. "So Lady Avon¡­"

    "Might have given birth to you after all?" The girl laughed. "You have her colour¡ªand Mother is incredibly vain when it comes to the emerald lustre of her eyes."

    "Gods." The corner of Gwen''s lips twitched. "If I could tell my mother that, it might just be worth it to see Helena implode."

    The two women shared a private chuckle, each for reasons the other could not know.

    "But Lady Avon is your mother, isn''t she? Even Lady Maxine said so."

    "From birth, yes," Charlene clarified. "But we did not issue from her womb. Father never touched her, you know, on account that he''s an old romantic."

    "Who was your mother then?" Gwen struggled to imagine Dickie with roses and chocolate, serenading a woman under a Romanesque balcony, crying Caw¡ªCaw¡ª!

    "A far-removed relative and a childhood friend of my father." Charlene appeared to read her expression with great interest. "Father wanted to continue the Dust-talent of the Ravenport line in an unbroken manner¡ª his success can be seen in Quinn, Edmund and myself."

    "Yet, with all the healing magic in London at your disposal, your mother still died?" Gwen furrowed her brows. "Don''t tell me there was a conspiracy involved as well. Assassins plots and whatnot."

    "There isn''t," Charlene said. "But you are VERY astute. Of the twins, I was the older, and my delivery was already difficult for the body of a well-practised Dust Mage. Edmund was the weaker of the two of us, and his birth taxed mother to her breaking point. As a Void Mage, you should know the limitations of healing magic, Faith-charged or otherwise. If Astral Bodies could take healing, your kind wouldn''t all be dead."

    "You couldn''t call on Tryfan?" Gwen remained puzzled by the aftermath. "Summon the Bishop of Canterbury or something? Drops a dozen Vitae Fruits or use Regeneration laced with Faith from the knightly Ordos."

    "Father is in the wrong Faction to command the church''s aid for such a private matter," Charlene replied. "And yes, he should have called on Tryfan. I have no doubt the Bloom in White would have sent aid¡ªat a cost¡ªand then mother would have survived."

    "But she did not?"

    "Father did not call for aid. I think it is because of duty and his sense of honour to House Ravenport. Edmund thinks that father wanted mother to die."

    "Okay¡ª a bit extreme. Why?"

    "Father wedded Lady Avon while we were still nursing at our wet nurses'' breasts," Charlene said. "Thanks to the abrupt marriage, High Society readily accepted that we are her children. In truth, father needed an alliance at the time, and Lady Avon''s family was perfect for the precarious position he had found himself mired. If you look at who benefited in the end, as Edmund had¡ª"

    "Holy shit." Gwen sucked in a lungful of perfumed air from Charlene. "He got EVERYTHING he wanted! The kids with Dust Talent, the political alliance, AND his kids grew up with a mother as decorum demanded!"

    "That''s right," Charlene gushed with questionable authenticity. "Isn''t Daddy wonderful?"

    "Good grief¡ªyour Daddy''s a real piece of work! So I take it Edmund''s not good pals with Daddy-dearest?"

    "He was born tearing at his father''s throat." Charlene''s shoulders drooped. "They fought even before he could speak. Edmund blamed Father for forsaking his birth mother, even outright accused him of killing her for the favour of Lady Avon, the stepmother he hated with every ounce of his being. Father''s attitude toward him grew even more aloof when Edmund Awakened a tier lower than I had a year earlier. Once, Father even confided in me that had Edmund not taxed mother during labour¡ªshe might have survived the ordeal of a high-tier Dust Mage giving birth to two Dust-talented children. That Edmund''s talent was above average was an existential insult to my mother''s sacrifice. Of course, to my knowledge, Father loved our mother dearly, and to this day, he and Lady Avon sleep in different rooms. He was as good a father any noblewoman could ask and had rarely left me wanting. I never understood Edmund''s gripe."

    Daddy issues were the worst; Gwen shuddered as the thought crossed her mind. If Edmund wasn''t such a psychopath and had gone off the deep end, they might have even found common ground.

    Charlene picked up a photo of Edmund. "I understand why he joined Spectre. Father disliked Edmund''s attitude so much that he had Ed board at Eton from the earliest possible age, then threw him into College without even a semester break at home. Ed quit, of course, never completing his Magister training. He reappeared in Sydney, or so the reports say. I don''t know if Father knew the truth, but Lady Avon and I assumed he merely wanted to get away from Father by escaping to the other side of the world."

    Gwen felt her head throb. She also knew a guy who hated his father so much that he fled to a penal colony to escape the guy''s control. Holy fuck, was Edmund her father''s soulmate? No wonder the two of them ''found'' each other.

    "So you and Ed¡ª" Gwen paused. "Never mind. You said you were not close."

    "No, we''re not."

    "And you asked me all this out of curiosity?" She pointed to herself and then the Lumen-pics of Edmund. "Or is there another meaning to this ruse?"

    "Closure, perhaps?" Charlene stood from the lounge chair. "I don''t know. He WAS my brother, even if we never grew up together. Do you have siblings?"

    "I think you already know I do. Percy''s in China, and you''ve just made me miss him terribly." As expected, she felt a hot gush of tenderness engender from her diaphragm, coupled with the vision of her hugging a struggling, scowling Percy. Charlene''s apathy was impossible for her to understand. Baby brothers were the best, and she loved her brother dearly. Unlike Edmund, Percy was a good boy who didn''t care for Daddy and was on solid ground with grandad. What is Percy doing now? She wondered. Maybe she could Teleport back to Shanghai for a spell and give Percy a big, wet, slopping kiss on the cheeks while he squirmed and complained. That would be the best feeling.

    "I see." Charlene''s steely eyes, so like her father''s, studied her. "I should also confess that I wanted to see how you would react to the humanity Edmund had lost. I wanted to see if you''re as ruthless as the rumours say or if there''s still humanity in you. From our interactions, I sense you''re either a Magister-tier illusionist or an honest and sensitive individual, not at all like the picture of you painted by the SUN or your METRO. There''s little wonder you''re so sympathetic for the NoMs. In that regard, I don''t think our opinions diverge."

    "NoMs are people too. The IoDRP employs almost six thousand NoMs a month so that you know," Gwen said, impatient to be away from her uncomfortable feelings of empathy for a villain. "So, are we done? Here, I mean."

    "We''re done." Charlene opened the door. "And I apologise, Magus Song. Know that Father has put me in charge of the Norfolk Estate Fund, so please ease your mind. Now, let us retire to the garden for tea and talk of the real reason why you''re here."

    Gwen sensed that Charlene must be the kind of girl who always does her homework, for the newly minted Magister knew the details of her IoDRP almost to a minute scale. The knowledge meant that their negotiation spoke the same language and worked on the same plane, drastically reducing her wiggle room.

    "Five million for a fifteen per cent ownership in the second Phase IoDRP''s Millennium Wharf and the Pinnacle, and five per cent for ongoing ownership of the Millwall and Cubitt constructions."

    "Seventeen per cent for Phase II, fifteen per cent on future rental leaseholds, but no ownership of Phase I. We retain management rights." Gwen moved the illusory bar charts she had conjured. "The Dwarves are invested in West Ferry and the Bunker, meaning we won''t be able to sell, much less transfer ownership without say so from the City of London."

    "You think that''s an obstacle?" Charlene cocked her head haughtily, a bone china cup in one hand and a saucer in the other. "Four per cent. We''ll arrange the High Arbiter for the Barlow Case."

    "Am I to think you would buy a fifth of the Pinnacle, then ignore Barlow''s underhanded tricks?" Gwen made a thrust. "The judge comes with the territory, one would assume."

    "Judges don''t come cheap, neither does a future favour promised by House Ravenport," Charlene riposted. "How about the Print Works? Twenty per cent, and we''ve got an agreement."

    "The Print Works is inviolable." Gwen shook her head. "I''ll sell you a portion of my one per cent stake in the isle, how''s that? There''s boundless potential, even if it doesn''t come with voting rights. Ten per cent of my origin stocks, and thirteen per cent for Phase II. I reserve the right to re-purchase my share at a later date."

    "Twenty."

    "Now you''re just greedy." Gwen pointed to another floating chart. "Perform your duty, Magister Ravenport, and that point one per cent will gift a near-perpetual income to the Norfolk Fund rivalling its best investments."

    "Why does a girl as young as you need so many HDMs?" Charlene mocked her. "Ten million, five up front and five in assets for fifty-one per cent of your origin holdings, ten per cent of Phase II and five per cent of Phase I, and we''ll call it even."

    "Now you''re insulting my business acumen." Gwen smiled back with teeth. "I did say we could forgo the matter and simply delay development for a few years. I am sure another opportunity will come about, but how many IoDRPs are there for the Norfolk Fund? You''re not investing in lettuce."

    "We could take over Barlow." Charlene showed her teeth as well. "I''ll manage it personally with staff from the Gray Faction."

    "I am sure Lady Maxine would love that, and Daddy-dearest too," Gwen''s tone grew churlish. "Leap into bed with the Militants? Taking over a failing company propped up by loans and about to be cannibalised? I''ve no doubt someone with your talent would make it work, but Norfolk alone can''t stem the tide. You''ll need allies."

    "For us, allies are not in short supply."

    "I am your ally." Gwen smirked. "Sell me three per cent of the Norfolk Fund. "

    "You jest, surely?" Charlene retorted by biting into a scone.

    Gwen rebutted with a passive-aggressive scone-slathering.

    Both women had to pause for breath for the impasse they had reached.

    While Charlene pivoted to talk about their family, Gwen scanned her memories for parallel portfolios. She and Charlene were on the same page¡ª but their interests had yet to align. How is it then that they could meet in the middle? While her mouth filled with jam and cream, her sugared synapses fired up the recollection of a legendary deal made on a golf course in Hangzhou between developing "Alibaba" and a falling giant in Yahoo. One was a company with no cash and explosive revenue potential, and the other was a company with liquidity and an uncertain future. BOTH believed that their company was undervalued by the other.

    The solution, a stock swap, was a stroke of bloody genius.

    And though Alibaba rightly predicted its ascension and Yahoo did not, the latter''s double-digit stake in Ali emerged to encompass the entire marketable value of Yahoo in a post-Google, post-Facebook apocalypse, providing Yahoo with so much revenue that its stock had the tenacity of a Lich.

    "How about¡ª" Gwen remembered to swallow before speaking. "¡ªwe do an equity swap?"

    Charlene raised a carefully plucked, aristocratic brow.

    "We''ll settle on a fair evaluation of five per cent of the Norfolk Fund." Gwen conjured the charts from earlier with a swish of her hand. "Forget the cash. I''ll trade you fifteen per cent of the IoDRP as it is currently valued, give or take the difference. Once we are connected at the hip bone, your cash-stake is my cash-stake. If your investments fail and mine succeed, you still come out on top. Likewise, on the chance someone blocks our construction, we can count on the Norfolk fund to control the aftermath, which in turn minimises your risk. And if we BOTH do well, then the profits can only be said to be astronomical!"

    She extended a hand across the petite fours, her green eyes glinting with the distinctive sparkle of glimmering HDMs. "We work together, for mutual interest, in pursuit of mutual profit. We''ll combine the IoDRP and the Norfolk Fund to form the Isle of Dogs Norfolk Redevelopment Project and let the Duke''s name resonate across every sound and bay in the isle!"

    Charlene''s eyes said she agreed¡ªbut her hand teased Gwen''s fingers a little too long before meeting her palm in a firm handshake.

    "When shall we summon the accountants?" The bird-like woman''s grey irises did not betray the excitement Gwen assumed she should be feeling. In a way, she knew Charlene had agreed so readily because the equity swap was a bum deal for the IoDRP. On the surface, Gwen was paying for Norfolk''s social position, power and influence with cold hard currency while Norfolk took in assets on the cheap.

    Their hands parted¡ªCharlene''s rouged lips parted, exposing pearly white canines.

    It was a shame then, Gwen grinned back, that Legion, borne from the IoDRP proceeds funnelled into a separate investment account, would otherwise be an entirely independent entity the Norfolk would have to purchase all over again.

 Chapter 431 - Two can play that Game

    In the end, The METRO got the shot it wanted, though not in the form it initially wished.

    In the garden-estate of the Ravenport''s London manor, the Devourer of Shenyang, Handler of Worms, Mistress of Dog and Rats, stood beside the Lady of Ravens, one in white and tartan, the other in figure-hugging sable.

    The special edition''s cover page featured little else other than the two eye-catching young women smiling at the audience, embossed with the cryptic and yet self-explanatory title "Dog meets Raven".

    Within hours of the ink drying, the edition inundated every transit node in London, both land and water-bound, even flooding the Teleportation Station at Heathrow.

    Be it shoved by force into the idle hands of passersby, or picked up out of curiosity for the "twin" daughters of the Duke of Norfolk standing side-by-side, all of London knew by the day''s end that a project in the hundreds of millions of HDMs, inflated to over a billion, was happening in their city.

    What especially hooked the good folk of London was the scope and scale of the IoDRP in its transformation of a mud-swamp industrial bloc into a nouveau jewel of commerce. As customary, hyperboles like the "The Pearl of London''s Real Estate" and "A Hub for All" captured the interest of their readers. Then, to the pleasant surprise of the audience, the devil in the details surpassed the bait-worthy headline.

    For the genteel readers, the IoDRP was to change from a private enterprise into a partially state-funded cooperative. Four per cent of the Norfolk Sink Fund, possessing land and leaseholds second only to the Crown, would be traded to the IoDRP for sixteen per cent of its original shares. The eye-watering small print floated for the investors immediately glued their eyeballs to the page, enough to neglect the alluring headshot of the deal''s architects smiling at the viewer.

    Comparatively, the average NoM labourer, after their eyes had feasted upon the two young proprietresses, turned the page to find an article dedicated to London''s underclass. "Pinnacle and Millennium Wharf to add 3500 Jobs" implored the supplement on the third page, together with a pleasing pie-shaped chart. On the fourth page, the girls promised that in its completion, the next phase of the redevelopment would add five thousand jobs for NoMs to service the locale via catering, general service, cleaning, maintenance and other miscellaneous employs Mages disliked. Most of these jobs, the METRO explained, would be made available through the IoDRP, with management positions open on merit to the company''s existing NoM employees. In addition, small businesses such as cafes, restaurants, food stands and service amenities would account for another six to seven thousand positions. What''s more, the City of London''s public sector was due to announce another thousand-plus posts once the hub was running.

    Altogether, between the construction, which would take upward of thirty months, there should be ten thousand jobs soon to materialise, both long and short-term, with salaries promising to fall between liveable to lavish.

    In a week or so, the Isle of Dogs Redevelopment Project would be renamed the IoDNC, or Isle of Dogs-Norfolk Conglomerate, and its logo would change accordingly.

    "A triumphant return to the days of London''s explosive growth!" the METRO concluded. "A city for all, not just the powerful, sorcerous, and noble-born."

    In the Bunker, Eric Walken placed the paper brought by the girl on the boardroom table with a complex expression.

    Walken''s reaction to Gwen''s triumphant return was a bittersweet ambivalence¡ªone he expressed with profound sentimentalism. On the one hand, he had inadvertently risen from a senior member of the Grey Faction to one of its splendiferous stars, surpassing the position he had held even as one of the Magisters presiding over Oceania. On the other, he had spent almost a year working six days a week, carefully pruning every facet of the Isle of Dogs Redevelopment Project, and had made the Bunker his home. He had hand-raised its staff members and middle management and had even gotten to know the cleaning corps by name. Now, with a part of the future IoDNC co-owned by the powerful and influential Norfolk Fund, there was bound to be new members of the board who would disagree with his choices.

    "Like giving up a child for unwilling adoption" was how he explained his ambivalence to Gwen.

    To his chagrin, the girl''s annoying sense of empathic justice was absent when it came to HDMs.

    She explained that a part of the deal was that the original company would retain complete control¡ªthough, of course, Walken was correct in that snobbish folk with large titles would indeed be joining their board meetings. However, he shouldn''t worry about butting heads. Instead, Walken should anticipate the moment when their newcomers flexed their weight. Quietly, he could then explain that a small but significant portion of the company''s controlling stocks belonged to a Mythic-tier Dragonic Scion. To get Ruxin onside to go against Gwen''s decisions, and therefore Walken''s decisions, would be a truly epic and Lumen-caster worthy mini-series by the BBC.

    Besides, Gwen explained, even if Norfolk were to eventually usurp control of the IoDRP through the Gray Faction''s underhanded avenues, the subversion would work out for the better. The revenue she had apportioned for Project Legion could not be stymied without catastrophic contractural breaches. If so, then they should receive enough reparations to complete the first phase of Legion regardless.

    "Still, you won''t find anyone willing to work on the Llias Leaf in London, at least not publically," he reiterated his warning for his overconfident girl boss. "Besides, where are you going to find a Planar node like Tryfan?"

    "I have my ways," Gwen said with a wink. "Do you wish to know?"

    Walken shook his head. He had a wife and daughter and thus did not need to know how the girl was hoping to subvert the unspoken rules of reality.

    After patting his rigid hand, Gwen then softly explained that her Tower wouldn''t be in London anyway, meaning he had nothing to fear and that the IoDRP was never "theirs" in the first instance. Rather, they were custodians for the Lady of Ely, the Ravenports, and the Middle Faction members with their vested interests. In time, their little group would lack both the clout and the time to manage a project of such a size and would have to leave it in the hands of proxies. Taking that into account, Walken should enjoy his time in the limelight, solidify his connections, and get ready for the next stage of their mutually beneficial relationship.

    "We had thought you were raising a child." Richard tsked when she made her point. "Turns out, you were rearing cattle. You know how Pats and I took care of this place¡ª"

    "Whatever the case, we made lives for the NoMs better, even if Gwen made out like a bandit." Petra gawked at Richard in surprise. "Besides, sentimentality from Richard ''Drowner'' Huang? Now I''ve seen everything."

    "You did well on the Isle, Dick," Gwen comforted her cousin to reassure him that they weren''t abandoning the Isle of Dogs, only that they would lose complete jurisdiction and that their closely-knit team should prepare to move on. "It added the necessary laurels onto your graduation certificate, I assume?"

    "Oh yes, both me and my friends from King''s," Richard readily agreed. Meeting her eyes, he adjusted his ensorceled glasses. "Thank you, Cousin. You''ve done me another favour I cannot repay."

    "Don''t be like that." Gwen punched her cousin''s arm. "You''ve done me plenty of favours. You kept a tight lid on things while I was gone. That''s more than I deserve."

    Richard shook his head.

    Petra rolled her eyes. "For a Water Spiritualist, he''s stubborn as a Mineral Mage sometimes."

    The boardroom laughed, putting a gentle comma on the matters at hand, for the rest of the problems to come was now well out of their hands.

    Watching the kids, Walken laid back in his seat not to relax but to conserve his energy. At the velocity at which events were now transiting, there was bound to be a train wreck very soon.

    A week after, under the auspice of the "Dog-Meets-Raven" article, Gwen and Lady Ravenport visited the Museum of London together to cut ribbons for Charlene Ravenport''s "Life in London" Project featuring giant Lumen-stills of the everyday lives of the city''s NoMs.

    In the interview, they confirmed their companionship, concurrently teasing the Sun and the Telegraph about their supposed relationship and their "shared" connection to the Duke of Norfolk. Eventually, once their sisterhood was denied, both gave word that everything The METRO had reported was true and that London''s investors should ready their HDMs.

    A day later, the proverbial levy broke.

    Suddenly, it was as though fractures that had been building became magnified at once, leading to the complete structural collapse of the fatigued system the Militants had been undermining.

    Unexpectedly, it was the Telegraph that broke the silence by putting the Barlow Group to the roast. To her disbelief, the merciless headline "THE ISLE OF DOG FOOD" firmly placed the blame of its imminent collapse on the IoDRP, then went on to note that due to the untenable prospects of the company''s debts, they would no longer be able to hold onto their loan-purchased holdings in Canary Wharf and its surrounding government areas. The article itself, much to Gwen''s brow-twitching, continued its euphemism and idioms of "A dog''s breakfast," "A dog will have its day," "dogged by debt," and had even put up a picture of her from her high-heeled, summer-skirt days in London with the tag "The Hound Mistress puts the bite into Canary."

    If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    In short, whoever wrote the article deserved a damned raise for exhausting every dog-pun in the English language, concurrently communicating Barlow''s precarious position while placing all blame on the IoDNC and Gwen in particular.

    Was this a counterattack? Gwen wondered but couldn''t fathom why or how. Was the Barlow Group hoping to declare insolvency? As far as she knew, that''s not how bankruptcy worked in the Mageocracy.

    Whatever the case, the counterattack completely caught the METRO on the back foot, as they had at least six days until their next edition. Meanwhile, the Telegraph busied itself, simultaneously undermining her reputation while directing their opposition to visit the Isle of Dogs for redress. It was a stroke of genius, one she had no way of anticipating. What frustrated Gwen more than anything was that even using The METRO, there was no possibility of getting Barlow''s stakeholders to realise that theirs was a self-goal and not one instigated by the "top bitch of the IoD".

    Simply put, no laymen could understand that the Militant-Funded Barlow Group was a cluster-fuck of conflicting interest from its very inception. Even in her Magister''s classes, her teachers had stated without ambivalence that the Crown, unlike their continental cousins, looked poorly upon war for the sake of pure profit. According to the Commonwealth''s historical lessons, profit should be a byproduct of victory, and a loss-in-war did not mean the venture should be a loss-in-profit.

    Comparatively, the Militant Faction''s military-industrial greed was ravenous. They borrowed funds to fight wars and used their political clout to make the Shard turn a blind eye. When their members returned laden with magical loot, all remained happy and kept their bought mouths sewn shut. However, in the advent of the Niger Delta, early profitability quickly turned into Sunk Cost Fallacy, coalescing as a stubborn refusal to withdraw from a "tamed" region rich with magical flora and fauna. In six years, what had been regular principal payments then slowed to interest only, then more loans had to be taken out to pay the initial war bonds, which then forced them to turn their eyes toward the civilian market.

    Once more, Gwen could only marvel at the audacity of the Telegraph, who now accused her of single-handedly undermining the livelihoods of thousands of people who worked for the Barlow Group. Additionally, the unspoken word in the article had suggested that the collapse of the Militant''s pseudo-Ponzi Scheme should be laid at her feet and that Gwen wore the heel that broke the camel''s back.

    Whatever the case, her METRO printed its retort; then everything seemed to chill for a few days until unbidden, Charlene suddenly materialised to warn her about the shit storm coming her way.

    "You''re about to have a major problem, which is a problem for me," Charlene broke the news at Cambridge after finding Gwen blissfully feeding Dede. "Jesus, is that even a duck anymore? What tier is that monster?"

    Dede lumbered up the shore of the Duck Pond, a Goliath of a duck only a little smaller than a pony, putting an end once and for all to the debate of whether a Magus could fight a horse-sized duck or a hundred duck-sized horses.

    "If it walks like a duck, talks like a duck¡ª" Gwen joked.

    "QUACK¡ª" Dede roared, letting loose a sonic blast that would have Golos'' approval.

    "Caw¡ªCaw¡ª" Another greeting came from the nearby tree.

    "Mori?" Charlene looked to her for answers. "What''s she doing here?"

    "You know the Tower Crows?" Gwen felt impressed by just how connected Charlene was proving to be. "But of course, they''re your Dad''s goons. I know it is called Mori, though interestingly, different ones come around, all calling themselves the same name. What''s with that?"

    "Much like the secret of your duck, that''s not for me to tell," Charlene rebuffed her enquiry, then cut straight to the chase. "Anyway, let''s not divert from the issue at hand. The Militants are moving to pay their debts with the Veteran''s Pension Funds."

    "That''s both absurd and... illegal, I think?" Gwen blinked, suddenly making an unhappy connection with the suspicion that had plagued her for days. "Don''t tell me the Veterans are being told I am the one fleecing them of their livelihoods."

    "Of course they are." Charlene breathed out. "At a time like this, they need a villain, and you fit the bill better than most, being a famed NoM sympathiser, and one guilty of taking their jobs."

    "I took their jobs!" Gwen''s eyes widened. "Really! When?"

    "In their mind, you offered positions that Mages could have filled but gave it instead to NoMs who are doing them for cheaper."

    "So I should overpay Mages to stand on corners and deliver papers? Pay Mages to shovel mud from Mudchute? No Mage would work for the wage of an NoM!"

    "I think that''s obvious to you and me, but not so much to these Orc-headed spell heads. Your problem is that the Isle of Dogs employs more NoMs per Mage than any other corporation in London, the public works notwithstanding." Charlene''s scowling elfin face reminded Gwen of the displeased Elven Wardens when she flashed Sanari with Caliban. "At any rate, there''s going to be a protest aimed at the IoDNC."

    Gwen furrowed her brows. "Why? What are we to do? Pay their pensions?"

    Charlene rolled her eyes. "I say protest, but it''s an organised riot directed at ''us'' and ''you'' in particular. Maybe there''s a legitimate Mage''s work union behind it, or maybe the Militants are semi-mobilising their loyal adherents, but the results are the same. You''ve destroyed their reputation, and now they''re going to destroy yours¡ªwith mine caught up as well."

    "They''re the criminals!" Gwen fumed. "What the hell? Can''t you do something about this?"

    "The law takes time, and I''ve tasked High Arbitrator Illingworth to begin the Barlow corruption case immediately with the evidence you''ve provided. An official investigation cannot be rushed, as is the nature of the High Arbitor''s Office. Your present problem, however, is far more immediate."

    "¡­ Shit. When''s the protest happening?"

    "Between this week and the next."

    "So we can safely assume this is not a peaceful protest? And that it''s going to be at the IoDNC''s expense?"

    "I dare say there are no grassroots intentions to damage anything, but there will be forces instigating the protestors. I can guarantee that."

    "Who are the organisers?"

    "The Royal Veterans'' London Chapter is organising the march."

    "Could I go and talk to them?"

    "I doubt they will be listening to you unless you want to front up money for their soon to be missing pensions. These are frightened and unsure Mages who survived the Mageocracy''s wars¡ªthey know we won''t prosecute them harshly."

    "Come on. Surely the government can do something. What''s the Shard doing? The Metro Police?"

    "The Metropolitan police is on our side in this matter," Charlene sighed. "Thank God they have a headquarters on the Isle. That said, the inclusion of Veterans in any capacity always complicates matters. Most of the folk you should be expecting are spare bodies, but you never know who-saved-who and who had remained in the service of a Magister and a Magus of the Factions. Even if we assume the ones marching are all sympathetic to the Militants, there''s no reason to rough them up or provoke them to self-destruct. These are men and women who have given their youth and their bodies to the Mageocracy. To repel them without mercy would destroy our credibility."

    "Yeah, bad optics." Gwen dug her fingers through Dede''s down in frustration. "Okay. So who''s looking to benefit from all this? What are the Barlow Group getting? What are the Militants getting? So they shift the blame onto me, or the IoDNC, then what? As a private entity, we have no obligation to feed the Veterans or offer reparation. Likewise, if they damage our plant and equipment, it will only generate lawsuits they can''t afford or won''t pay. These folk aren''t walking away as the winners, so who are the beneficiaries?"

    Charlene considered her words. "That''s¡­ very astute. I do think¡ª"

    DING!

    The Magister-in-waiting paused when the Message from a serving Magister blossomed beside Gwen''s ear.

    "Gwen here," she answered the call with an apologetic nod to Charlene.

    "Gwen, your crows have come home to roost." The caller, unsurprisingly, was Magister Walken. With far less detail, Walken informed her that his sources had revealed an incoming revolution from the Veteran''s Association, who has falsely attributed the partial loss of their pension to the Devourer of Shenyang.

    "I know, and I am speaking to Charlene right now," Gwen informed her Executive Officer. "Either way, contact the Commissioner and see what he can do to cordon away the protestors in the next few days. Tell them we''ll supplement their building budget if they can muster more Arbiters to stand guard and pick out the belligerents. As thanks, there shall be two¡ªno, make that THREE Golem suits made by Master-tier Runesmiths on order for the Metropolitan office regardless of their help."

    "Right." Walken understood her intentions implicitly. "How do you want to resolve this? Any advice before I move forward?"

    Gwen looked at Charlene, then gave the matter a minute''s thought.

    "Ask Yossari if they can line up the Striders as a barrier. If there''s one thing the Shard cares about, it is continued diplomacy with our rune crafting neighbours in Wales. Likewise, the vets should understand how pivotal their relationship with the Dwarves need be, considering half of them fought under the shadow of the Cromwells. Likewise, park the Fabricators in the middle of the street. Tell our bearded friends to dig out a moat if they have to. We can''t have these protestors coming into the IoDNRP and getting slapped down by the Arbiters. If they refuse to be cowed, direct them towards Millwall. Yossari''s folk had clearance for two Rocksmashers, correct? Have the War Golems guard the chokepoint, Stone Shape the damn concrete into an impassable maze if you must. Record everything and hold the line even if they throw the first stone. We''ll rebuild once it''s all over."

    "Right, I''ll get that sorted," Walken replied. "Any advice for your companions?"

    "Get Richard and Petra to keep an eye out for agent provocateurs," Gwen gave the order. "Charlene says there''s bound to be agitators in and among the frustrated folk¡ª" She paused. "And tell Richard to exercise complete discreteness in his fact-finding."

    "Will do." The Message Glyph died.

    "You have a good team," Charlene observed with appreciation. "A Magister is never himself, but a collective. I have companions as well, though most were hand-picked for me by Father."

    "My folks have been through a lot since Sydney," Gwen vaguely explained. "What''s your take on this?"

    "Well." The heiress to the Ravenport Fund strolled around Dede with a learned eye. "I think you''re bound to receive a visit soon. As am I, in fact, so I came here to save us both some time."

    "A visit?" Gwen cocked her head. "From?"

    "From our mutual friends behind the Barlow Group." Charlene''s eyes grew hard as peach pits. "I still doubt that they''re committing to the wholesale denial of the Veteran''s Pension, meaning there''s bound to be a play happening very soon. Have you had tea? Shall we wait a while to see if my prophecy comes true?"

    Gwen stood from Dede''s lap. "Sure. Dede, you up for tea?"

    "QUACK!"

    "CAW¡ª!" The crow professed its desire to join them.

    Charlene stared at the crow with disapproval.

    The crow did not appear to give a toss about its boss'' daughter.

    "I''ll ask my guest from Shalkar to join us." Gwen watched Charlene''s interactions with the crow with interest. "Have you met Strun, Lady Ravenport? He''s a self-professed refugee rat, but once you get to experience his tack-sharp mind, the bloke''s an absolute hoot¡ª"

    DING! DING!

    The Glyphs that blossomed was red.

    "Gwen here." Gwen took the emergency call. This time, it was from Dominic Lorenzo.

    "Boss, we''ve got a Garp-sized problem," her Chief Editor''s voice came through. "It''s our NoMs."

    "Our NoMs?" Gwen looked to Charlene, who looked back with just as much uncertainty as herself. "What about them?"

    "Before I say anything, stay calm." Dominic''s reply sent chills up her spine. "Are you calm?"

    "I am calm."

    "Right." Dominic continued. "Gwen, there are folk attacking our paper handlers, accusing them of taking their jobs and working for the b¡ªfor you! Do you remember Ken Peterson?"

    "... The bloke from the train?" Gwen recalled the man''s terrified face with a sinking feeling.

    "Yeah." Lorenzo''s voice grew low. "We received him at Elvia''s Clinic with extensive injuries. If it wasn''t for a sympathetic Cleric who stopped the mob on the train..."

    "Alright." Gwen''s reply was calm indeed. Calm enough to charge the air with fizzling static. "Hold the fort, Dom. I''ll be right there."

 Chapter 432 - An Immodest Proposal

    Elvia''s Clinic and Soup Kitchen for the Poor Believers of Christ, "Evee''s" for short, was renowned across the docklands from Hackney to East Ham. According to the word on the Thames, it was the place to bum if a man or woman was down on their luck. Be they hungry, destitute or desperate; all were welcome at Elvia''s.

    Without disappointment, such generosity attracted abuse as naturally as gadflies were drawn to an Auroch''s arse. Once the news of its fulfilling free food drifted downstream, all manners of vagabonds had floated from the outskirt slums toward the Isle of Dogs. At first, the locals rose with homemade implements to keep order and protect their "Saint Evee". After an altercation with a gruff Mage broke out, Gwen had invited a private security firm to patrol the perimeter. Coincidentally, the same corporation also hired ex-Arbitrators from the retired Municipal Police ranks, thereby supplying law and order to Elvia''s open-handed generosity.

    When she stepped once more into the courtyard, Gwen thanked the Nazarene that she had made such a foresightful decision, for the moment she arrived at Elvia''s Clinic, already a dozen officers were interviewing victims and taking records of the injuries sustained by West Ferry Print Work''s paper handlers.

    Other members of their little cabal were likewise present, including Lorenzo and a few of the Dwarves. Walken was missing, likely putting out fires elsewhere that would later arrive at Gwen''s desk in the form of documents needing signatures and acknowledgements.

    "Sergeant Rhodes, McMahon." Her heels announced her approach.

    The officers turned. One was a stout man that looked right out of Blue Heelers; the other was a younger bloke more interested in her than in his investigation.

    "Magus Song."

    "Your Ladyship."

    "Please, just Gwen." Gwen shook their hands, then stood closer to the gurney where the NoM slept. "How''s our man?"

    "He''ll heal." Sergeant Rhodes breathed through his mouth. "They weren''t going to kill him anyway. That said, this was intimidation through and through."

    The man on the gurney was "Ken Peterson, Son of Peter Peterson of Unit 11, District 2, Bugsby''s Way, Greenwich," better known as the bloke on the cover of the METRO to his friends and family. She vaguely recalled the man''s name but recognised his face¡ª or what had been his face before the brutal beating had given him a new one.

    While Gwen soothed her tempestuous feelings into a semblance of calm, the officers studied the woman behind her with wary distance until the visage appeared to match the list of VIPs in their bank of notable personages.

    "Your Ladyship Ravenport!" The Arbitrators bowed their backs.

    "I am here as a guest and an observer." Charlene Ravenport raised a hand to stop the officers from offering bothersome platitudes. "Please, Sergeant, assume that I am not here and go about your business."

    "At once, your Ladyship!"

    The amusing sight of the officers obeying and actually "pretending" that Charlene was no longer present managed to cool a little bit of Gwen''s bubbling anger. From what she could see, a copper working alongside nobles and Magisters required a particular class of social awareness.

    "Ken?" She approached the bed.

    One of the Clerics Elvia hired from the local hospitals jolted the man with a carefully transfused mote of Positive Energy. Slowly, Ken''s eyes fluttered open.

    "Y-your Devourership!"

    "Yes, it is I." Gwen held the man''s hand. "Can you tell me what happened?"

    "The cost of¡­ fame." Ken managed to squeeze out a smile. "Your Devourership, I lost¡­ I lost the box."

    "The box?" Gwen looked to Lorenzo, wondering what was so important about this box.

    "They destroyed his storage box." Lorenzo exhaled in exasperation. "It''s not just a warning to you, but us as well, and to the NoMs working for us. They could have killed Ken with impunity so that you know, and I think your reputation prevented that¡ªno one wants a Shoggoth to manifest on top of their mansion one day."

    "Who did this?" Gwen looked back to Ken. "Ken, do you know?"

    "Mages¡ªfrom the Barlow Group!" Ken Peterson was adamant. "I know their faces! They''re always loitering near Canary, the lot of them. They came into our neighbourhood to try and intimidate us into selling our leases! We wouldn''t budge, but they dared not attack us there in our homes on account of Master Richard waiting for them outside."

    Or waiting for them inside their homes, Gwen figured. Sometimes, it took unconventional methods to deal with particular methodologies. Even so, what had changed to precipitate this specific shift in scope and strategy from the Barlow Group? The answer she could guess, though she wasn''t sure if her partner would agree.

    Behind her, Charlene audibly drew her attention with a soft cough.

    "You''re right. I think we both know what''s happening here," Charlene spoke as if reading her mind. "It doesn''t take a Cabal Agent to figure out that the catalyst was our equity exchange. You and I are now in an unassailable position¡ªat least one not movable by the Barlow Group. Ergo, the Militants have decided to move everything at their disposal to salvage the situation."

    "They won''t win!" Ken Peterson spat specks of blood from a mouth swollen with bruising. It was a miracle that after all that, the Brit had kept all of his teeth. "They won''t¡ªwill they? Bastards! We have it good here, and that''s too much for them!"

    Gwen assured the man by patting his hand once more. This time, her compassion was genuine and heartfelt, much like her guilt for putting the man in the limelight to be targeted by petty revenge. If Ken had died and not merely be injured¡ªor if Ken had been a Mage and his Astral Body disrupted or damaged¡ªher feelings right now would be a storm of rage only conceivable by Golos and Ruxin.

    Click-Click!

    Not to miss the chance, Dominic took another image, ensuring that her compatriot Ravenport was also in the frame. Charlene did not protest, attesting to the fact that their interests were indeed mutual.

    "And there are others?" Gwen asked the attending physician.

    "Yes, dozens, albeit in lesser states of trauma." the Cleric parted from Ken''s bed to steer them elsewhere. The officers stayed with the now lucid Ken Peters while Gwen and the management team at the Print Works ventured to the other beds.

    The other workers were indeed better off, even if roughly-rolled and in a state of shellshock. Some apologised for losing their devices; most were fearful they would lose their jobs, while a few carefully asked if they could switch to a different position.

    Gwen bit her lip.

    Whatever the case, she could sense the damage was done. Confidence in the company''s ability to protect its NoMs was faltering, and those in less desperate situations would no longer think that the West Ferry Press was a safe Eden.

    Ding!

    While she mulled over her next course of action, a Message Spell bloomed beside Charlene''s ear. The daughter of the Duke gave her a knowing nod, then left the Clinic''s compound to take the call. While the woman was gone, Gwen walked from bed to bed, reassuring her workers and fomenting a speech, wondering whether this world''s Churchill had any rhetoric to lend. Newly injured workers from further afield continued to arrive now and then, both a testament to the success and scale of the METRO Press, as well as the effort to which the Militants were asserting their dominance.

    Looking at the flustered Arbiters milling about the place, Gwen couldn''t help but wonder if there was a power up-on-high that was looking down on them. The Crown, well nestled behind its Griffins and gold-wrought gates, was probably as giddy as a kid watching the bees fight the hornets, breathless as it waved its sceptre-stick, waiting to poke fun at the losers.

    For what other reason, Gwen rationalised, should Charlene be caught flat-footed? It wasn''t easy to believe her father Duke could be waylaid as she had. Likewise, the Ravenport family cared, above all else, about their reputation. If their venture failed to achieve the lofty heights promised by the METRO and over-blown by the Sun and the Telegraph, then the Duke''s perchance for faultless schemes would lose its lustre. In a sense, London was a nest of Dragons, and the city''s competition, Gwen supposed, was something akin to a Magister-making "Gu" pot.

    A few minutes later, Charlene returned to her side with a knowing expression that suggested the next stage of Barlow''s ploy had arrived as she had anticipated.

    "Gwen." She willed the glowing Message toward her so that her Device made a resonating "Ding!"

    Gwen took the Message, not entirely sure what to expect.

    "Our Dearest Magus Song." The Message possessed a familiar voice. "We have missed you so much since Cliveden and have since been watching your performance with bated breath. As your friend and admirer, House Exeter cordially invites you to the negotiating table with the Barlow Group so that diplomacy can be achieved, one that is mutually beneficial to you, us, and our dearly cherished Charlene. A meeting has been arranged as noted. Meanwhile, we wish you all the luck in dealing with your woes.

    ¡ªYour ardent fans in waiting, Edward Poins and Benedict Thomas of House Holland."

    "¡­ the Exeters?" Gwen recalled her lesson from Le Guevel. "They want to help us negotiate with the Barlow Group?"

    Charlene nodded, then pointed in the direction of the Bunker. "I do hope this is the light at the end of the tunnel. In that regard, may we speak more privately?"

    "Of course, give me one second." Gwen motioned for Lorenzo, who attended her at once.

    "Yes, Boss?" The Chief Editor and presumably Ex-Cabal agent did not look amused by the state of his precious news sellers. "Your orders?"

    "We''ll make this right. Anyone injured can submit a verified Arbitrator''s report to receive one months'' wage, doubled, HDM-in-hand. For everyone else, one-week bonus wage. Additionally, tell the kitchen their budget is tripled for the next month. I want all the workers well-nourished and happy. Likewise, for anyone who is living in our properties or leaseholds, give them one month rent." She paused, looked at the envious faces of the Arbiters whistling at the smiling labourers, then once more upped the ante. "Put out a bounty with the Tower for the criminals who did this, set the cap at forty thousand HDMs and take it from my private account. Make it preferentially open to our local Arbiters and work with the inner-city Metropolitan Office to verify their capture. As soon as possible, I want their faces and confessions on the next edition of METRO."

    The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    "Great move and I''ll write up something in defence of our NoM employees," Lorenzo affirmed her order. "Anything else?"

    "Tell the Runesmiths and Engineseers we''ve got trouble coming¡ªpossibly an enormous protest and a potential riot. Walken will coordinate the Bunker''s movements with theirs so that we can minimise loss of life if they''re forced to ''defend their property'' against unlawful citizens seeking to loot the sovereign Magi-tech property of our allies. Once Richard''s back, get him and Lea on recording duty."

    Lorenzo took his orders and left.

    "Alright, let''s go." Gwen pointed the way to the Bunker so that Charlene could follow. "So, what do you think the Exeters want?"

    "The answer is straightforward enough, even if it is not to either of our likings." Now that they were walking alone, Charlene grimaced as though she had to swallow a live hornet. "You do know what the Exeters want¡ª and it''s you¡ªand I."

    Gwen cocked her chin with a scowl. "They''re after our funds? Bastards! That''s my money! I made the Isle of Dogs from nothing! And it took you years to gain the Duke''s confidence."

    "There''s that," Charlene responded to her intensity with a strange look. "That''s not what I meant." She raised a brow. "Do you need me to spell it out for you? We are in London, here, in the heart of the Mageocracy, the veins of the aristocracy bleed a bright blue."

    Further down the quay, realisation dawned upon Gwen like rotten soil dug out from the swampland surrounding Mudchute Farm.

    "They want to¡­ marry me?" Gwen almost gagged at the prospect.

    Charlene''s brows twitched. "ONE of them wants to marry you, although I''d wager both would want to have their bit of fun. Think about it, Gwen¡ªwhat do you think is the perfect resolution to our conflict of interest with the Barlow Group? What would resolve all of our problems and emerge in a way that all of us become winners?"

    "Christ¡­" Gwen searched her mind for a better way of expressing herself but fell to an old faithful expression of bewilderment from Forrestville. "Fuck me, are you serious?"

    "Indeed, that would be a part of the deal." Charlene illustrated suggestively with her fingers while wearing a secret smile. "Thoughts? Which one do you fancy? Poins or Benedict?"

    "No fucking way!" Gwen growled at her recollection of a grey-haired young man with his carrot-top brother, then groaned as the rational part of her mind put a stopper to her outrage.

    Whatever her feelings, Charlene made a sensible case.

    Matrimony among the nobility was never about love or even physical attraction. Instead, it was about the compatibility of Elemental Affinity, wealth, class, and prospects. Right now, the IoDNC was at war with the Barlow Group and the Militants. Classically, the most natural way to resolve the problem was through marriage¡ªnot of young bodies¡ªbut wealth and interests. Then, if they could make love and not war, new wonders would engender.

    Terrifyingly, now that Gwen knew the rules, the prospect was indeed enticing. According to Le Guevel, what belonged to her would remain hers alone as a part of her dowry and insurance. Concurrently, the Exeters would lose an enemy and gain an ally. The conjoining of the Barlow properties with the IoDNC would also resolve all major land disputes and pave the way for the most significant urban development in recent history.

    If that alone were not enough to catalyse a political and economic marriage, she could also consider that House Holland, with its golden lineage of Henry of Monmouth, would make her children distant heir to the Throne of England. Furthermore, her bloodline of Lightning and Void would mix with the Exeter''s Smoke and Steam to create genuinely astounding heirs who could be the envy of the world.

    For blood.

    For wealth.

    For prestige.

    For privilege.

    Logically, was there a reason to refuse?

    Of course, she would never entertain the matter under normal circumstances. Of the four above, she lacked nothing, and when she came into possession of her Tower, there would only be an excess. Besides, Evee would be sad.

    If so, what could compel the Exeters into possessing such confidence? The answer, Gwen found with some distress, was in Ken Peterson.

    "Are you implying." Gwen turned to Charlene; the more she thought about this, the more she wanted to murder something. "That all of this¡ªthe articles, the attack on the NoMs¡ªthe drama with the Veteran''s Pension Fund¡ªall of it was for me?"

    Charlene tilted her head at Gwen''s accusation, her eyes twin slits of scepticism. "Gwen, your ego is as legendary as your exploits. Do you think I am not caught up in this as well?"

    "They''re out to fuck you too?" Gwen blurted out, a flicker of spit narrowly missing her conversation partner.

    Charlene winced. "Please, Gwen, I know we''re comfortable in each other''s company, but I assure you I am not as comfortable as you might assume. We are business partners, compatriots, companions, perhaps, but we are not close enough to share bodily fluids or casual vulgarity, which is worse."

    Gwen stood a distance apart and studied the girl, her mind alive with new suspicions that her partner was playing chess in a dimension that she could not access. "Tell me truly, did you plan this? If so, what do you want?"

    The daughter of Mycroft Ravenport raised both hands in surrender. "I deny nothing, but don''t accuse me of ploys I did not put in to place. I merely went with the flow of events. Schemes, Gwen¡ªare not so simple as business deals. A supplier of ploys should be fluid. A good plot flows around the events, not become the event itself. My father taught me that."

    "Your Father''s a Duke," Gwen reminded her. "My father was sowing seeds in NoM single mothers while fighting my actual hellion of a mother."

    For once, Charlene appeared taken aback by Gwen''s briskness. "What? Despicable! No footman to cover his tracks and take the blame for his bastards?"

    "Maybe he IS the footman, you thought about that?"

    Unable to control her laughter, Charlene halted her then and there, waited for the awkwardness to pass, then returned to their former, more profitable topic. "I shall confess that yes¡ªI do have some knowledge of the Exeter''s plans. However, I am not a partner to said plans. In reality, I wish the two of us would remain as unattached and disconnected from the gentry as possible. As father already has Quinn to continue the line, the reins around my neck have been loosened, and I may pursue whatever I wish, be it politics or blood."

    "What does this have to do with the Exeters?"

    "Is it so hard?" Charlene asked. "To believe that the Exeters have you and me in their sights? They are twins, after all, and London''s laws do not allow one woman to have two husbands. Besides, is my share of the Norfolk Fund not many times the worth of your ownership of the IoDNC? Are we not both women carrying distinct and desirable bloodlines?"

    Gwen made a scowling face. "The cheap bastards!"

    "That''s God''s truth." Charlene laughed. "What a ploy, though, hmm? They put pressure on our respective investments, then offer a greasy olive branch. Of course, there''s merit as well. The blood that flows in the veins of House Holland is sacred without question. If our children¡ªdisgusting a concept as that may be¡ªshould yet engender a second Henry Dawn Star, who knows what the Mageocracy might look like in the next century. Likewise, you don''t need me to tell you of what the marriage can produce, both economically and in terms of London''s political scene."

    "Either way, I see it as a poisoned apple¡ª" Gwen shook her head with absolute adamance. The more she thought of the bastards'' smug faces, the more she felt that a stern point must be made to leave her and her investments well alone. If the Exeters wanted to push the envelope in this dire time, she would return their Message to the sender in the cruellest terms. "I only trust in my future, carved with my hands. Besides, I know you, Charlene¡ªyou and I¡ª we don''t marry Tower Masters. WE ARE the Tower Masters."

    "Well then." The self-professed schemer extended a hand. "Shall we teach them a lesson? I don''t think it will salvage the situation here at the Print Works, but it should keep undesirables from interfering with an already complicated situation."

    Gwen took the dainty, aristocratic hand and firmly shook the potential Duchess'' palm. "I am sold. So what''s the plan?"

    "Well." The Ravenport girl''s cold, hard eyes glimmered like black diamonds. "I hear, Gwen, that you''re awfully good at duels..."

    London.

    The Isle of Dogs.

    The Veterans'' protest promised at West Ferry materialised two days later in a manner as infuriating as it was futile.

    Around the fortifications the Dwarves had set up overnight, just over two thousand men and women gathered, excluding their friends and family. Likewise, joining the march via resonating sympathy or boredom were another thousand or more spectators caught up by the riotous atmosphere. Annoyingly, most of the protesters wore the colours of the union jack, adding to the impression of legitimacy, dissuading onlookers from thinking that this was merely a rioting mob.

    They were also organised, for just past Canary Wharf, near the inner dock, the protesters held up well-made signs, placards and banners made for a headline-worthy spectacle.

    "GIVE BACK OUR FUTURE"

    "GREEN-EYED GREED"

    "DON''T DEVOUR OUR LIVELIHOODS"

    From the Bunker, Magister Eric Walken stood over a battle map reconstruction of the protest, wishing with all his might that these were Mermen and that all he needed to resolve the matter was to unleash Gwen for fifteen minutes.

    "Those are some nice looking signage," his War Mage boss remarked. "Funny how a bunch of poor, penniless Veterans have access to industrial printing machines."

    "It would be funnier if we could trace those signs back to the warehouses where the Sun or the Telegraph prints their papers." His new Duchess von Boss, the daughter of Duke Ravenport, snickered in turn.

    The banter between the girls made Walken''s temple throb.

    For several hours now, they had been monitoring the protest. Charlene was confident that there should be agent provocateurs working among the Veterans. Merely from the fact that bystanders and family members had shown in force, he could already imagine the political fall should the elderly or the young be injured.

    Besides the trio and their scribes, several open channels of Message hovered, each in their distinct Divination spheres. One was to Petra, who was using her hidden talents in the field to canvas the protesters. Thanks to his unique Spiritual talents, Richard remained invisible and hidden above the crowd, keeping an eye out on the Sun and the Telegraph reporters, or at least those wearing their press badges. Finally, the dubious shadows of Strun, Dede and Mori lingered atop a construction crane, watching the events unfold with interest.

    To ensure that no betray came from their side, Walken withdrew all their Print Work''s workers from the front line in favour of Dwarven engines. Usually, this would incur severe penalties from the Municipal office, though the political fallout should hopefully be absolvable with Charlene onboard.

    "Christ, next week can''t come soon enough." Gwen appeared to split her attention between the vista outside the boardroom window and the illusory markers on the enormous table. "Are you sure the Exeters can put a stop to this?"

    "Nothing on earth is going to return their pensions unless the Militants can return to profitability and repay their debts," Charlene assured the girl. "But yes, they absolutely can stop this nonsense."

    Walken looked from one girl to the next, feeling distinctly old in his late age.

    "If you lose," he warned the girls. "You would have to marry either of them."

    "If I fail, I may as well be dead." Gwen grinned prettily, her fatalism as morbid as it was sardonic. "So, how could I lose?"

    Walken nodded in silence.

    To the Exeters, Gwen was game, and Charlene was a worthier prize. However, against a self-made woman who would fight as though her life hung in the balance, how could the Exeters hope to win unless they were also willing to put their life on the line?

    In Walken''s eyes, the riposte from the girls was a masterstroke in hitting your foes where they were most vulnerable while avoiding their strengths.

    In the reply sent to the invitation from the Exeters, both of the girls stood firm in their position that they would not allow themselves to be wooed by knock-kneed Mages too afraid to make genuine proposals without the threat of coercion.

    However, they were amiable to negotiations and would prefer to meet the Exeters on neutral ground, such as the Royal Goring Hotel directly opposite the Buckingham compound. Within, in a private suite joined by a few press members, Song, Ravenport and Holland could openly carve out the conditions necessary to meet the Barlow Group in the middle and put an end to this fiasco.

    Perhaps thinking of success, the Hollands agreed.

    In reality, Gwen would take Le Guevel''s lessons and strike the Exeters between the legs, where their honour lay by asking for a public duel. Such a development was unorthodox, but it wasn''t every day that an heiress was also a Class VI War Mage.

    To further entice the men, Charlene would offer confidence by offering herself as assurance that she and Gwen would follow through with specific promises should the Exeters be victorious. Of course, if Gwen and herself were the winners, they would ask the Exeters for a favour.

    To refuse the offer in public would bring such scandal and shame to the Militant Faction that the twins need not raise their heads for a decade¡ªan outcome that suited Charlene just fine, as she could finally cease responding to the continuous requests for marriage from undesirable partners. As for Gwen, the duel''s outcome would firmly establish her position among the nobility and catalyse an optimal end to the IoDNC''s protest problems.

    As for the planned spectacle¡ªthe scions of a Great House matching up against the Devourer of Shenyang in public would dominate every headline and put a stopper to the daily "bad news" spewed forth by The Telegraph.

    Once more studying the two ambitious young women, Walken thought about retirement.

    In many ways, he felt distinctly sorry for House Holland, who would undoubtedly underestimate Gwen''s growth after Shalkar and be woefully incapable of understanding the sheer grit needed for Gwen to be standing in her present position.

    As for the protest.

    He felt only sadness for the ruined lives of the men and women below, each a red-blooded personage and yet, not even worthy of being a chess piece in the hands of the city''s future twin Magisters.

 Chapter 433 - Thorny Flowers

    The Royal Goring, located opposite Buckingham Palace, was famous for its regular hostings of Royal Galas and high-class functions. To date, it also remained the only hotel owned by the founders'' direct line, having been built by Otto von Goring before the outbreak of the Great Undead War and now operated by Otto von Goring the Fourth, Great Grandson of the original proprietor.

    What surprised Gwen as she entered was how lovely the place looked despite its low ceiling, cramped space, and busy furnishings that appeared the world''s loot collated in an eclectic museum. Conversely, the quirksome decor with its paintings and herringbone tiles gave the suite a strangely welcoming atmosphere, one rich with the Empire''s history.

    At the lobby, a group of reporters from the Sun, Telegraph and the METRO were already swarming like Mermen around a struck whale. They were entertained by none other than Otto Von Goring the Fourth, who immediately broke from his polite engagement with the press pack to join the austere figures of the Devourer and the Duchess. Together with their METRO reporters, Gwen spotted Richard and Petra, who she deeply suspected had tagged along for the complimentary royal-class High Tea "shouted" by Charlene Ravenport. All the same, she had entertained the notion of bringing Strun and Dede, though Charlene''s almond-sized eyes and deathly glare proved rather more dissuasive than her impulse.

    They were, after all, here for business, a fact reinforced by their choice to forgo flamboyance.

    Gwen''s dress, now that she could afford a King-sized bed carved from a block of solid HDM crystal¡ªwas subfusc French-chic in black chiffon, adorned with aggressive ivory collars and cuffs that gave her the air of a domineering mistress. The designer was one of the dozen ambitious NoM graduates Gwen had on-call, and for the occasion, the young man had not disappointed.

    Comparatively, her partner took the seriousness a step further, showing up in crow-skin, four-inch heels that added to her bird-like visage, completed with a cubic jacket and tapered, stiffly-starched ankle-length suit-pants.

    Together, the clicking of their heels on the marble tiles communicated without ambiguity that they were witches of the same cabal¡ªand that the scions of House Holland who awaited within would be enjoying a rather unpleasant surprise.

    "Magus Song. And our dear Lady Ravenport!" Gwen stood aside while the general manager exchanged personal greetings with Charlene.

    Once their cheek to cheek was over, Otto bowed from the waist and mock-kissed Gwen''s offered fingers. "What an achievement in the Elemental Sea, Magus Song. You have been burdened with the affairs of our state unfairly, Milady. I do hope you are taking care of yourself."

    "I am, thank you." Gwen received the man with politeness.

    "Otto''s father spent a while serving Grandfather as his second," Charlene clarified the position Otto held. "He''s like an uncle to me."

    "You are too kind, Lady Ravenport," The proprietor cut short his genteel address to shake Gwen''s hand. "To think the cherished girl-child of yesteryear is now London''s bluest rose, one whose bloom puts this old man to shame."

    Charlene''s chuckled.

    "Well, it''s good to know we''re on home ground." Gwen withdrew from Otto. "Sir Goring, where are the Hollands?"

    "Inside." The man nodded in the direction of the garden suite. "I''ve set up the press gallery in the drawing-room adjoining the garden tea room. Our young lord Exeters are awaiting your arrival and has been for about thirty minutes."

    "Good, at least they know their decorum," Charlene nodded. "We should be glad that they''re taking this seriously."

    "Well, you did say they only get to marry once¡ªlest they wish to impersonate the infamous wizard Bluebeard," Gwen remarked. True to her words, the influence of the Church of England ensured that officially, there would only be one wife, both in sickness and in health, until death did the pair apart.

    Charlene laughed, then asked "Uncle" Otto to steer them toward the objects of their present ploy.

    While they followed and was in turn followed by the troop of reporters, Gwen pondered whether the Exeter honestly possessed the miraculous power to dissuade the protesters from the IoDNC''s compound. In the last few days, things had indeed reached a boiling point, going so far as to cause her pair of Dwarven Hammer Guards to ride out in their MKII Rock Smashers as a show of force.

    For now, the swaying Spellswords had dissuaded the passionate protestors from taking a step further past the barricade. The reasoning, Gwen figured, was that even a Mage-grunt was aware that dying at the hands of Dwarves "defending" their Fabricator Engines was an exercise in futility with no legal recourse for compensation. For both sides, having the lot of them dying would save the Faction money in terms of pensions and validate the Metropolitan Police''s promise that a "riot" would draw a response exercised with "great prudence".

    Nonetheless, the protesters'' passion had proved to be inflamed beyond the scope of diplomacy. Their continued harassment of the Print Works'' workers meant that circulation of the METRO was at an all-time low as advertisers deserted them in droves. Worse still, construction of the projects at the Isle of Dogs had ground to a halt due to protestors blocking the transit of garbage trucks and barges, going so far as throwing delivered construction materials into the River Thames.

    Gwen had to admit that what was happening was a good strategy for the Barlow Group and their Militant backers. Conversely, the Exeters taking the opportunity to push the envelope was right up her alley, even if it proved an unwelcome Hail Mary. In their bid to shame the Exeters, her greatest regret was that she couldn''t invite Ruxin to London to have a friendly chat with the Twins, who would certainly appreciate the time spent under a mythic millstone of living-lightning and Dragon Fear.

    Ahead, Otto waved away the footmen and personally opened the doors for them, revealing an empty garden view chamber with a walled-off illusory barrier so that they and the Hollands could have faux privacy.

    Within, the Exeter twins awaited under an ornate ceiling with its mural of Grecian bathers, dappled by the light from a row of two-storey French windows. As the girls entered, both rose from their seats.

    This time, away from the sordid atmosphere of Cliveden and its seedy history, Gwen saw the men for the first time in their natural habitat.

    Edward "Poins" Holland, the Smoke Mage, possessed dusky-platinum hair and charcoal eyes polluted by the purity of his Affinity. He wore the high-cheekbones of his Clan, a protruding, hawkish nose that reminded Gwen of Rowan Atkinson, and sported thin pale lips curled into an expression of frozen sardonicism.

    Comparatively, brother carrot-top was a sunnier fellow with fairer skin, a less stooping gait, and though he shared the same face, the Steam Mage appeared less hostile and arrogant. In stark contrast to his twin, Benedict "Thomas" Holland broke into a pleasant grin when his eyes landed on the girls and their choice of garments.

    Unlike the girls, the brothers wore matching, three-piece suits suitable for the April weather, with Poins in black and Thomas in light grey. Their ornate vests, comparatively, drew Gwen''s eyes toward its embossed heraldry, which were rune-like and interlaced in the manner of fine herringbone, leaving little doubt about the time and effort a Master Enchanter had spent making the vestment.

    The foursome met in the middle, framed by a marble arch overlooking enormous bay windows and the garden beyond. Where it not for the sizzling tension in the air, the vision of London''s tailored young folks standing shoulder to shoulder would have sent tongue wagging from John o'' Groats to South Sea.

    Once in position, all four turned to face the press pack.

    A flurry of Lumen-recorders exploded, filling the room with light. After this point, the press would reside behind the illusory curtain, giving the speakers relative privacy.

    Otto directed the dazzling pairs to the window seat, where already, he had set up three-tier tea sets, each positioned meticulously in front of a flurry of antique silverware from the epoch of Victoria.

    Feeling the pressure of the men''s searching eyes, Gwen turned her gaze directly to the twins who she hoped would meet her in the middle, ideally in an arena.

    The company of youths studied one another for a full minute, searching for a kink in their irrespective armours.

    "Your IoDNC," Poins began with undisguised displeasure. "It really is the most damaging thing to come to London since the Red Dragon."

    "Poins!" Thomas shot his brother a disapproving glance. "Be nice."

    Gwen looked from one face to the other, both identical but for their in-built colour scheme. From the looks of it, they were playing good and bad cop, just as she and Charlene were bitch and bitchier.

    Charlene motioned for Otto to pour her tea through a silver sieve to remove the sediments. Presumably, a trained butler was to be their man, but the owner had replaced his disappointed employee after becoming overcome by what Gwen read as second-hand fatherly affection.

    "Milords Holland," Ravenport''s voice was huskier for her two decades as a Dust Mage, a stark contrast to Gwen, who often lowered her voice to suppress her youthful vitality. "The true damage to the Mageocracy is the fiasco at the Niger Delta. When had our glorious estate ever suffered such a resounding loss? Not in recent memory¡ªnot since the Elemental Sea. Gwen returned from Shalkar with Demi-human allies. Your men, or so I''ve heard, returned with a thousand caskets."

    If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.

    The riposte should have come as expected, though Poins'' lower lips still grew tight, while Thomas laughed off the matter with a smile. It was an interesting insight into the brothers'' dynamic, one in which Gwen fancied a potential divider.

    "Speaking of the Elemental Sea." Gwen took over from Charlene, who had set her up beautifully for the boast. "I do believe that particular problem is resolved, at least for a decade, or until drastic changes come to the region. We expect profitability within three months, as soon as the imports clear the port."

    "You''ve done an unbelievable job," Thomas took a swipe by emphasising the "unbelievable" part of his statement. "You mean to tell me you''ve terraformed the place singlehandedly?"

    "Of course not¡ª though thank you for assuming so," Gwen thanked Otto as the man passed her the yearling Darjeeling. "I''ve had help from ten thousand Rat-folk and Tryfan. Do you know Tryfan, Milord Hollands? Immortal beings holding the secret of Spellcraft? Solana and I are on a first-name basis."

    That last part, Gwen amused herself, was genuine because Solana referred to her as "Gwen" on account of her Master.

    "Aye. We know of the Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar''s role," Poins interjected with a scowl. "We know of your association with them. When you are a part of House Holland, you should take care of with whom you associate. Of the undesirables, the Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar count among the few that we forbid."

    "When I become a part of Holland?" Gwen raised her chin and extended her elegant neck. "''Forbid?'' What a claim, Milord Poins. Tis a curious choker you''ve placed around my neck. Is that the courtly decorum they teach at London Imperial?"

    "Poins has been looking a little too forward to the diplomacy," Thomas chuckled. "I should confess that I was no less eager."

    "Grace begins with gratefulness," Poins continued his routine. "Look about you, Gwen. Poins and I, and Lady Ravenport yonder¡ªwe are the Mageocracy''s future. Yet, you have been invited to join our ranks. As someone from the Frontier, you should know just how rare an opportunity this may be."

    Gwen glanced at Charlene, finding her partner''s expression unreadable. She supposed that as a matter of breeding, she was the anomaly while Charlene and the Hollands were born on the same stratum.

    "Oh, I am no stranger to sharing regal company. I already had the pleasure of Edmund, even back in Sydney." Gwen prodded the trio a little. She rather disliked the idea that Charlene and the twins were werewolves of the same pack. Before they were nobles, Gwen had hoped she and Charlene should be witches of self-made means.

    "Ah yes, the untalented twerp." Poins smiled for the first time. "We were good friends, young Edmund and I¡ªweren''t we, Thomas?"

    "Edmund was a special kind of guy for sure," Thomas laughed as well. "I am sorry, Charlene. I know you did your best."

    "I would thank you not to mention my brother again," Charlene sighed at the threesome. "Have you all had enough banter? Our patriarch''s world has enough smoke and mirrors to last me a lifetime, so let us of the younger generations be more direct while we still have the time and convenience."

    At Charlene''s agitation, Gwen regretted her callous mention of Edmund.

    "That''s fine by me." Poins looked up at Gwen with expectant eyes equally hungry and desirous. "Brother''s Affinity is safest when coupled with the Void Mage. Charlene and I should make an equally well-matched pair."

    "How practical." Charlene nodded. "Although I heard that you often asked after Gwen. Is there no affection, Milord? No attraction, even? Her popularity on campus remains unrivalled."

    Even with foreshadowing and context, Gwen felt shocked by the straightforward nature of Poins'' statement and Charlene''s rebuttal. Were they merely bitches and bulls? Was this Crofts? The absurdity of what these men considered normal was on par with Swiftian satire. To air her unhappy thoughts, she lavishly jammed a scone with excessive cream, then rudely gestured to the hotel''s upper suites.

    "Say I agree. Then what?" She spat. "Shall we get a room or do it on the table here? After you finish, those poor protestors better get off of my property!"

    All three nobles, with the addition of a shell-shocked Otto, converged on her outrage.

    Somewhere, the muted sound of Lumen-recorders going off reminded Gwen that they were being recorded for posterity.

    "Milady Song." Thomas coughed to cover his awkwardness. "I applaud your eagerness, but there needs to be more to diplomacy than the horizontal variant."

    "Oh, sorry, I forgot we needed a ceremony as well," Gwen said sardonically. "For a minute, I thought Poins was intimating that we''re at a Mermen Flesh Market. Shall I summon the accountants and the Magisters then? Time is HDMs, you know?"

    More clicking came from the adjourning room.

    The twins appeared lost for words.

    "Gwen, calm yourself," Charlene stepped in. "Milord Holland, we''ve convened here today for reasons that need not be profaned¡ªhowever, need I remind you that we are not here under our own will? You''ve put us in a compromised position, Milords, and we have this way responded to your invitation. We have attended, but to dance the quadrille is an entirely different matter."

    "What do you propose?" Thomas halted his brother from rebutting to Gwen by muttering something about golden blood. "An equity exchange? Our Father is happy to up the ante if your Father obliges."

    "First of all, we don''t need your money," Gwen spoke before Charlene could continue. "Charlene and I¡ª We ARE money."

    "Thank you, Gwen." Charlene shoved a scone onto her plate. "For that perfect revelation. Now, Milords, please listen to our proposal."

    "We are listening," Thomas concurred. "Pray, tell."

    "I propose a trial of arms," Charlene said. "You are of the Militant Faction and should know the tradition well. Gwen and I wish to organise a Trial by Combat in the same vein as Henry Dawn Star''s wooing of Catherine of Argon. If your golden blood of the Plantagenets flows true, you would not deny us, or so I would hope."

    Behind the illusory veil, another flurry of Lumen-recorders erupted. By citing their proud ancestor, the twins could not deny her proposal without denying their "golden blood".

    "Tis true," Thomas replied after a moment''s thought. "I would not and cannot deny you this. A lack of confidence would go against our Credo."

    For the moment, Gwen withheld her mockery.

    "So you harken for a good whipping?" Poins looked at Gwen with an expression she once recognised in Charlene''s brother, possessing equal parts excitement and cruelty. "Will you participate this time?"

    "Gwen is an ordained and proven War Mage," Charlene reminded the man. "I would speak with care, Milord, lest she flays you alive in front of all of London."

    "Oh, she would, would she?" Poins voice grew gravely as Ravenport''s daughter pricked at his pride. He turned to Gwen once more. "Would you like that, my dear?"

    "Win or lose¡ªI''ll make a man out of you." Gwen thrust forward her best figure by arching her spine and raising her eyes defiantly.

    A flurry of lumen recorders shuddered.

    Thomas burst into an impolite snicker while his brother floundered at Gwen''s teasing outburst. "You''re a jewel, Magus Song. There''s no doubt about it. Very well¡ª we accept. What are our stakes? Officially and otherwise?"

    "If we are defeated in our suit," Charlene continued. "Then Gwen and I shall formally accept your proposals for the union of our Houses. Naturally, we reserve all rights gifted by etiquette and tradition, but we shall concede that you two are capable future spouses and will undertake your offer with complete sincerity. So long as you remain willing, we shall not refuse."

    "Maybe I''ll have the Void witch after all?" Poins said to his brother. "We do make a passionate pair."

    "And should we fare poorly in the arena?" Thomas halted his brother for the fourth time, then continued the parley, demonstrating a composure far exceeding his brother''s Affinity-driven frivolity.

    "Then House Holland will do its utmost to leave the Barlow Group and its interests, as well as perform a favour in the withdraw of the protests on the Isle by the Militant Faction," Charlene said. "After which, we are happy to conduct business with House Holland if you would have us."

    "All risk and no reward," the mocking voice of Poins rose from between them. "Why should we agree to such terms? When we have you by the neck?"

    "Bah! What a curious case of a fool and his advantage." Gwen held little patience for such economic illiteracy. "You have anaesthetised our profits, Milord Hollands. But the IoDNC will not be making a loss either way. And there are other means by which the IoDNC''s interests can be preserved and West Ferry continued. As the adage goes, don''t push your luck when you don''t have all the spells memorised. You have far more to lose, while we have only un-materialised gains to be lost. The IoDNC is the tide of change, Poins. Can you stop the tide? Can House Holland will away the ebb and flow of the Thames? What power Holland must wield to hold back the progress of a city!"

    "Magus Song." Thomas motioned for Otto to give her more sweeties before she could say something genuinely catastrophic. "Poins, you as well. Please control yourselves."

    Charlene assisted by offering Gwen a glimmering fruit tart and a lime-lemon profiterole. "To exercise fairness and tradition, we will use a three-crew bout, as per duelling jousts of old. Gwen will compete herself¡ª and I reserve the right to nominate a champion on my behalf. Milords may have the convenience of either option."

    Thomas appeared to consider the matter on his brother''s behalf.

    "Three-Mage bout?" He looked at Poins, whose thin lips curled. "I see. That is agreeable to us. Where should this take place?"

    "May I recommend the All England Duelling Club?" Charlene proposed a very public arena. In Gwen''s old world, this was where the Wimbledon Tennis Cup held its matches. In her present London, the All England Club hosted six arena-sized duelling rings and ten individual-match rings. It was the place where the International Duelling Grail, the national sport of the Mageocracy, took place every year.

    "Oxford rules?"

    "Of course," Charlene rejected the American''s love of flamboyance out of hand. As she had discussed with Gwen, pre-buffing before the battle was likely not in their favour, considering what House Holland had in its six-century history of conquest. "Elimination?"

    "I would vouch for none-other," Thomas agreed with a glint in his eye. "Likewise, if you choose these conditions, then I propose a blind match up."

    Gwen likewise favoured elimination rounds. Without incident, she could defeat both Thomas and Poins and end their ambitions once and for all. Comparatively, a round-based bout would imply that either they or the Hollands could use the three-horse strategy to skewer their odds, such as matching Gwen with fodder while they took on Charlene and whoever served as their third member.

    Meanwhile, a "blind" match implied that participants, or in this case their third participant, would remain a mystery. Together with the elimination rounds, the setup raised the tension and exponentially increased the bout''s entertainment value for the viewing public.

    As for who might be their third wheel, that was an additional layer of strategy and complications. If they or the Exeters chose a senior household member, it would draw wrath from the spectators and scorn from the adjudicators, effectively invalidating the victory. If they choose poorly, the choice may offer a complimentary match to one''s opponents. Ergo, a pre-ordained condition was to pick someone of the same age and pedigree as the original participants.

    What mattered then was the selection of a Mage that countered at least one opponent, such as selecting a high-tier Dust or Earthen Mage to deaden Gwen''s Void and Lightning. More creatively, picking a Cleric or a Faith-caster was likewise a viable option to offset the overwhelming popularity of Spellcraft sorcery with Faith Magic.

    Finally, an extreme option would be the choice of forgoing number three entirely and simply challenge the Exeters as a duo, or Gwen could choose to solo the threesome.

    "Very well. We shall agree on three-Mage bouts. And as I picked elimination as our format, I shall abide by your choice of blind matches," Charlene confirmed the conditions. "To minimise undesirable interferences, shall we set the date? All England has an opening on court number two as early as Saturday, three days from now.

    "If you have it all planned out," Thomas leaned back in his chair. "Than as gentlemen, we shall respond in kind. Is Magus Song amiable to the conditions?"

    "I am." Gwen inclined her chin. "And you as well?"

    "We are," Thomas spoke for his brother. "I assume you have no complaints, Poins?"

    "I eagerly await our wedding night." Poins, as advertised, appeared to have a particular obsession with her.

    "I am also eager, though for something else entirely," Gwen returned with a smile of her own.

    "Then we agree," Thomas turned to the illusory veil. "We shall reconvene on Saturday at the All England Duelling Club. There, we shall show the world what may yet be achieved when history and blood met in Raven and Exeter¡ª"

    The man paused to grin at Gwen.

    "¡ªadditionally garnished, of course, by our flower of the Frontier."

 Chapter 434 - A Fair Go

    With matters settled and the countdown begin, the paper pushers of the big three in London now returned to their machine caves of ink and mechanisms to hammer out tomorrow''s headlines. To counter the Sun and the Telegraph, the METRO made an exception to release a Special Edition, a run paid entirely at the expense of the METRO itself. The overt publicity was part of Charlene and Gwen''s stratagem, for the public hungered for the new and unusual, leaving no possibility that their rivals would not answer the call.

    The second the METRO''s men returned from the girls'' luncheon, the Dwarves were ready, the engine greased, and the rolls of paper primed. All around the isle, its NoM army had been fed, briefed, and injected full of vim and vigour by a passionate speech from Lorenzo. He had explained that their Mistress of Hounds was fighting on their behalf and that her victory or loss would determine their future livelihoods. The result was a resounding furore only the oppressed could enact when their daily bread was on the line.

    Two hours later, still-hot copies of the new editions reached the usual paper handlers and their friends and family as well, and anyone who held a stake in the development of the Isle of Dogs. Mages, NoMs, even Dwarves, Dede and a flock of idle Tower Crows took their share of the METRO, then disseminated the svelte visage of the girls and the smug Exeters across every transit node in London and beyond so that even in the misty town of Swansea, tongues soon wagged for the BBC to broadcast the duel.

    For the participants, the unintended impact of the operation was the spontaneous creation of camaraderie. For once, the Mages, NoMs, the skilled and unskilled, the professional and the working class on the Isle of Dogs grew united in a singular love for their Mistress.

    By the next edition of the Sun, all news of the continued protests at the Isle of Dogs had been erased from the frontal lobes of the forgetful public as every front page, willingly or otherwise, now lauded the Ravenport girls, with the Exeter Twins somewhere behind the pair with their heads half-cropped.

    As organised by Charlene, the national broadcaster then contacted the pair, who happily gave permission for the bout to be recorded for posterity and to be transmuted "live" through the Mageocracy''s Divination channels. As for their opponents, Gwen needed no foresight to guess that they would not turn down the opportunity even if they had the intent or means to do so for fear of appearing weak or unsure.

    What remained then was the settling of their third number.

    In observing the Lumen-casts of the Exeter''s prior bouts provided by Charlene, House Holland''s ability to match skill to boast was without doubt. "Poins" was a Smoke Mage with a wicked twist, for the boys excelled in the usage of the sorcery of "Force" or the telekinesis of "pure" mana. Force Cage¡ªWall of Force¡ªMissile Swarm¡ªBilby''s Hand¡ªMorden''s Blade¡ªthese were the arcanistry that served as the backbone to the usual arsenal of obfuscation utilised by a Smoke Mage. In a live bout, it was near-impossible to position "Poins"¡ªa noted Evoker-Illusionist, who Charlene suspected may also be a dabbler in Mind Magic.

    Comparatively, "Thomas" took after Gunther in his approach to arcanistry. The Illusion magic used by Thomas was a source of wonder, visually wreathing the young man in a nimbus of obfuscation, not through insidious shadows, but blaring, retina-searing light. The Force magic used by Thomas were likewise more potent and possessed of far more damage potential than the subtlety preferred by Poins.

    In viewing a rare recording acquired by Charlene, Gwen winced as she positioned herself as Thomas'' opponent, shrinking in horror as her mana rapidly drained from the endless assault from superheated steam and jabbing shards of Force, held immobile by an invisible Iron Maiden while waiting for her inevitable, impending demise.

    For the twins, Force Magic and Illusion was their privilege, one that shored up the weakness of the Smoke and Steam Elements, something Gwen had initially sought to overcome by inviting "Iron Slab" Lulu to London for an exchange program. However, from her research, Lulu versus Force Magic would result in a war of attrition. And if Gwen had to favour a victor, she had no doubt two boys born with True Silver spoons in their mouths would fair better than an abused Sword Mage from Huashang.

    "Nonetheless, you ARE suited to fight Thomas," Charlene observed over her Darjeeling. "Bone Armour for the Force Shards, and Void Shield for the Steam."

    Presently, the two sat on Emmanuel''s infamous Drake Pond lawn, joined by a duck, a crow and a rat. While Gwen had fancied a picnic, Charlene had her butler and a team materialise a table, chairs, and even sunshade in addition to the cakes, tea and ices.

    "I could take both, just not at the same time." Gwen touched a hand unconsciously to her chin. "Ariel is highly resistant to the miasma of Smoke and near-impervious to poison and debilitation. Cali is nigh-indestructible so long as I prime my vitality stores. Considering we last met in the arena a year ago, they probably think it''s possible to dismiss the Familiars and stun me into submission. What they don''t know is that since visiting Tryfan and surviving Shalkar, I''ve learned some extra things about Creature Magic from a very generous source."

    "Abjuration isn''t their strong suit, but they could have a true Abjurer as their number three," Charlene remarked. "And we''ve already discussed your weakness against Mind Magic."

    "Yes." Gwen nodded, her lips tight at the recollection of unhappier times. "We would still win, I think. You might have to pry Cali off the brothers, though, or the Mind Mage foolish enough to sever my Empathic Link. In that scenario, your Relations Officer is going to be working overtime."

    "Mistress! Please let me fight." Strun fell on all fours, causing Dede to quack in protest. "I''ll repay you with my life."

    "There''s no need," Gwen reminded the rat for the tenth time. "Strun, you''ll be not only fighting the Exeters but taking the glory from someone on our side who will be dying for the privilege. I don''t anticipate that I''ll lose by any means, so why should I risk your life?"

    "But I am your¡­ Kaglhesh," Strun muttered a word which Gwen understood to mean "One who shields," but really, considering the context of the Rat-kin''s warring traditions, "One who lived as fodder".

    "I''ll consider it," she relented. She wasn''t against having Strun fight, considering the Rat-kin shared her vital stores and had an excess of lifeforce from Garp. The problem was that without Garp in London, Strun''s limitless regeneration was severely handicapped, meaning she wasn''t about to risk her Rat-man without the surety of victory. Likewise, even if Strun won, she doubted London''s high society would very much like seeing one of their brightest disembowelled by the teeth of a Mongolian Death Worm via a "rat".

    "QUACK!" Dede flapped its wings.

    "I''ll consider your proposal too." Gwen gingerly placated the raging duck.

    "Mori," Charlene addressed the crow in their midst. "Any news?"

    "CAW¡ª"

    "I guess that''s to be expected." The girl shrugged. "I guess Father would have found out by now, but we''re not being given that privilege."

    "Daddy not helping?"

    "I am fighting to show my independence, after all," Charlene said. "Father''s right not to intervene. What if the Exeters chose to do the same? Neither of us wants to cross the unspoken line. If our Fathers were to fight, they certainly wouldn''t need us as fodder."

    "True that," Gwen concurred. "So, to surmise?"

    "I don''t mind Richard, though your cousin''s Sprit could range from absolutely crushing to completely useless. Remember, the fight order is randomised, hence the blind matches."

    "So, we can trust the organisers at the All England to make things truly random?"

    "If we can''t trust the Royal Accreditation League, then who can we trust?" Charlene''s reply held more sardonicism than truth. "The League has too much to lose to favour one side or the other."

    In the girls'' hypothesis, there were a few troublesome archetypes House Holland could easily access that made the pair wary. The first was a Faith Caster from the Order of St George, whose monster-hunting naturally positioned them as allies to the Militants and whose Knight-Captain was a close relative to House Holland. To bring one of the Clerical Battle Mages would wag tongues but wasn''t absurd enough to offset the bout''s credibility.

    In that case, Gwen would undoubtedly have something to worry about, for her Necromancy faired poorly against Faith Magic, and her Void Element performed just as poorly against Faith-laced Radiance.

    On their end, Charlene had her own "Knight" to call upon, one with an actual grievance against the Militants. Likewise, there was also Elvia to consider. Though she had not seen Elvia taken to a deadly bout, Gwen possessed enough knowledge of Draconic lineage and Faith Magic and enough understanding of Sen-sen and Kiki to know that her little Evee was now a legitimate contender. What Evee lacked more than anything, Gwen guessed, was viciousness.

    In her mind, Force Magic was strong, but could it best the strength of the Yinglong distilled into a root vegetable? Likewise, just as offensive Faith Magic possessed natural advantages against Spellcraft, Elvia''s defensive magic and vast vital and mana arrays made her Shield of Faith a bulwark against all danger. Additionally, it wasn''t as though a Cleric of the Ordo, even a junior one, could be poisoned or gassed, or even swayed by Mind Magic, as Gwen might. Besides, should anyone delve into a Vessel''s mind, Gwen was sure that a disgruntled snort from the Yinglong would explode the head of the Mind Mage like an overripe melon. In that regard, the Dragon''s possessiveness for its Vessel was far more potent than Almudj, who was more of an absent father.

    Barring a Faith Caster, whoever they picked, the possibility of fighting a legitimate Mind Mage was a significant concern. If Petra was anything to go by, Mind Mages were specially bred through Affinity and talent, and most would have achieved an early peak in their craft by their twenties. In addition to looking svelte or suave, they additionally possessed another form of sorcery as their "cover", just as Petra had her Enchantment. For all Gwen knew, she could be fighting an Abjurer in a battle of attrition, or in the worst case, a skilled Quasi-Elemental Illusionist, who could momentarily disable her with a Feeble Mind or Sensory Jolt.

    "I could requisition a capable Mind Mage of our own," Charlene noted over her sugared tea. "Then again, I don''t know how useful that would be. The Exeters possess excellent training against Mind Magic. You''ve been taught to shield against such attacks as well since your arrival, haven''t you?"

    "More or less." Gwen nodded. "Petra''s very helpful in that regard. That said, it''s not my forte."

    "It''s a shame Gracie met you so much later in life. A Void Mind Mage with Illusion? Now that, I wish to witness! Which is why I do think Jean-Paul can work," Charlene said. "If you can give him and his pet some of your Serpent Juice, his ''Usurp'' should be able to counter anything the Exeters pick on their end. At the same time, I would be astonished if the student-scion of Meister Bekker of Pretoria could even be influenced by spells not cast by the most senior of Mind Mages. Besides, the boy is chomping at the bits to help, not to mention his Meister will owe us a favour, win or lose."

    "I suppose," Gwen considered Charlene''s proposal. Firstly, a persistent goal of her work in London was to promote the "Void Cabal". Secondly, when she had asked Jean-Paul, the bloke was more than eager to have her back. Though Angela Bekker had shrugged, her silent consent nonetheless indicated the duel was a good way for Jean-Paul to shore up his "stud" credentials.

    Charlene replaced her cup. "Alas, that''s how things stand. Quite exciting, no? The thrill of the game is as riotous for us as it is for the spectators. So many variables and outcomes! Now you can see why Duelling is a favourite pastime from Avalon to the New World."

    Gwen concurred, for her fingers had been tingling with Elemental Lightning in anticipation.

    "What I find curious is that the most important thing is information security," she said. "You said we don''t have to settle until the day arrives?"

    The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    "Three hours before the match, according to the Duelling Association''s rules, yes," Charlene affirmed her understanding. "There''s an art to the process. I''ll take care of that, of course. Until then, we''ll have our numbers on standby."

    "Then I propose Jean-Paul, on my part. Elvia''s Ordo is never happy when she becomes involved in secular conflicts," Gwen said, fighting the urge to see Elvia kick-ass with the fear that she could be shamed or injured. "Jean-Paul will be happy to be on standby. What do you think? Should I recruit Lulan? As far as I know, she''s still training with the White Serpent of Huangshan and performs regular Purge Quests on behalf of Tonglv. I don''t know how you''re going to get her to London, though?"

    Charlene raises a brow. "Did you forget who I am? Who my Father is?"

    Gwen conceded that indeed, the Duke of Norfolk who looks over the Ministry of Foreign Affairs would not have trouble rubber-stamping a temporary Visitation Permit for one medium-tier Mage from China. For Gwen, whether Lulu fought or otherwise wasn''t so much the point as the prospect of seeing an old friend. The duel was an excellent excuse to get Lulan to come and see the world and open up her horizons, with the only shame being that Kuso would have to stay behind to continue his work with Tonglv.

    Still, she refrained from the impulse.

    Lulan was the type to fight to the death, and Gwen had no idea what she would do if that happened.

    "And on my end." Charlene pointed to the list she had earlier produced. "Make a choice, I suppose. Either way, I can provide both my Champion and our number three if I call for it. Likewise, if you''re worried, I can detour by Queen''s College and pick up our Mind Mage."

    On the list were rows of names Gwen had heard of only in passing, within which three made her shortlist.

    Glenn Roswell was the IIUC Captain of Charlene''s generation, a Mineral Mage Abjurer-Conjurer with a skillset similar to Lulan, except that the man used a Draconic-crystal Spirit that manifested "Dragon Glass".

    Alexis Perry, a woman in her twenties, was akin to Gwen possessing a Class V War Mage status. Dubbed the "Little Scarlet", she was a Radiant sorceress in possession of an Efreet Sprite she harvested from the Elemental Sea. If they were to employ Alexis, the strategy need not involve anything more than sitting back to watch the foe melt.

    Her eyes fell lower down the list, then stopped at a line Charlene had circled.

    Unlike the prior two, Aiden Rothwell was a name she had previously heard from Elvia. The young man was the grandson of Evee''s Rectrix, a direct descend serving at the Ordo of the Garter. The Word was that he recently returned from the Niger Delta with a big bone to pick. In the Delta, the Militants had absolved all operations and progress made by the Ordo in their Mission of "Mercy", then wrote them off as collateral. In the makeup of their team, Aiden would play a role opposite that of Jean-Paul, being a supporter, disruptor, Cleric, and damage soaker all-in-one. Unlike Elvia, Aiden was a Faith Caster through and through, capable of a variety of magic unique to his Order''s eldritch secrets.

    Usually, an ancient Ordo like The Garter would not allow their young Knights to participate in petty politics. Considering the circumstances, the connections, and the stakes in the case of Lady Charlene Ravenport, however, the Rectrix of the Order of the Garter had given consent.

    "Very well, I''ll ready myself and Jean-Paul on my part."

    "And I''ll bring Glen, Alexis, and Aiden to be finalised on the day." Charlene struck out a hand.

    The girls shook once more.

    "Do we need to coordinate anything else?" Gwen breathed out. Since the earliest morning, they had played out hundreds of scenarios, giving her the type of headache usually constrained to tax auditing.

    "No. But if you wish to know more, you know where to find me." Charlene rose from her chair and signalled for men to begin the cleanup. "See you on Saturday, Magus Song. Let''s hope that for all the effort we''ve committed¡ªthe outcome is both proportional and worthwhile."

    London.

    The All England.

    In the days of yore, the All England had been set up as a club for the Nobility to practice their duels without deadly injury to either spectators and contestants. Over the century, its practices had been borrowed, improved and adapted by Duelling Clubs worldwide to become the "Oxford" standard.

    After the Great War against the Masters of Unlife, the traditions saw further development in the New World, where the cities had not been ravaged by a decade of spellfire and decay. In their peculiar, extravagant way, the Americans added terrain transmutation, larger arenas, more robust spell allocations, and the allowance for pre-duel buffs to add to the spectacle.

    Many of these wonders adopted by the "Harvard" style of Duels ultimately flowed back into England, forcing the organisers to embrace the advent of randomised terrain, environmental conditions, and allowance for double barriers and, thereby, higher tiers of magic. Consumables remained taboo, while craftables were allowed if personally inscribed and designed by the duellist, except for personal defence items solely for self-preservation.

    On the day of fate, the spectators filled into the All England''s second Duelling Arena in droves, having waited at the gates since the earliest hour. Most were the well-to-do Mages here for their usual entertainment, though curiously, the bookies observed an inordinate number of NoMs compared to the All England''s usual demographic of patrons.

    Though Gwen herself would not know the totality of it, her and Charlene''s duel with the Exeters had been circulating among the NoMs under their employ as a sort of existential duel determining the future direction of their livelihoods. Far from caring about bloodlines or corporations, what the NoMs who read the METRO had garnered from Lorenzo''s craft was that here was the battle of the Progressives and Conservatives. One advocated for keeping the non-magically aligned folk in idle squalor. Conversely, the Gwen represented the forces that would see the NoMs have a "Fair Go".

    Thereby, for any who was able to save and spare a ticket for the All England, they did so, acting out a divine duty as witnesses to the making of history.

    The arena, therefore, possessed an unusual and boisterous mood, one that had not gone unnoticed by the powers that reside above the duelling ground, above the commentator''s podium, and even above even the private suites, where the Duke of Norfolk had cancelled his meetings for the day to attend.

    When Gwen and Charlene re-emerged from the registrar''s office to a shower of silvery lumen-bulbs, they were joined by Jean-Paul Bekker, scion and Apprentice to Meister Engela Bekker of Pretoria and London Imperial. Beside them stood another young man who appeared the Void Mage''s polar opposite, the sunny and blonde-haired Sir Aiden Rothwell. Unlike Jean-Paul''s all blacks, the man wore his signatory Garb of the Garter, consisting of a plumed hat, velvet cape and Christ''s Cross gules on an ivory shield, casting the Knight in a striking light beside his haughty-heeled mistresses.

    For the onlookers, however, it was the girls who truly stood out.

    Charlene took once more to the unconventional pants suit favoured by the continental female Magisters in Paris, appearing simultaneously severe and svelte with her smoky eyes and imperious aura of command. She would not be fighting and so had chosen to impose and impress with her presence instead.

    Moreso than Charlene, Gwen''s new garb had the tongues of the Magisters and Maguses wagging at once.

    Stepping into view, Gwen appeared in a form-fitted armoured battle suit forged from what appeared to be crowskin.

    The girls didn''t know it, but the eyes of her observers were already wandering from the girl to the upper observatory where the Duke of Norfolk surveyed the events below with a critical eye, their minds ripe with confirmed suspicions.

    Who else in London had access to magical feathers of such quality and in such rich blackness that when struck by the light, the feathers appeared to consume the motes of Radiance?

    For the girl to show up wearing a suit of enchanted feathers could only mean one thing¡ªthat the rumours were accurate and that at least once, Lord Ravenport had forgotten to send a Footman as a stand-in. To the crowds'' knowledge, there were only so many Tower Ravens of such magical quality in existence, and to harvest only the best feathers for the creation of such garb would require the sacrifice of more Ravens than their minds dared entertain.

    Meanwhile, Gwen bathed in their misunderstanding, well-pleased that she had upped the nobles in a game of items. According to the Runemasters at the Printworks, Yassari and a whole platoon of craftsmen had spent hundreds of hours working out a method to preserve the unique attributes of the Da-Peng feathers. As a result, her new suit possessed several logically improbably properties relating to the primordial foes of the Draconic races.

    The foremost was its imperviousness to damage, meaning Gwen need not worry about an attack perforating the suit to injure her innards. To this end, Yassari had delivered a warning that while the armour was impossibly sturdy, it did not defy the laws of energy conservation. Should Gwen be struck by Golos'' barbed tail, she would not become Swiss cheese, but her body would nonetheless suffer enough blunt-force trauma to induce organ failure. It was why MKII Dwarven Golems favoured disposable reactive shells more than the older stubborn, immovable Dark Iron variants.

    Secondly, the suit was well suited for agility, possessing incredible weight should she strike or charge an opponent while simultaneously being weightless in flight. The paradox was so strange that even now, Yossari''s folk could not reproduce its properties and could only mark it down as a chaotic, primordial trait of the Da-peng derived from the Age of Dragons, where the birds hunted lizards for food and sport at a time when the Seven Ancestors yet recorded the rules of the world.

    The third property of her new suit was gobsmacking, albeit useless in the duel. She was nigh "impervious" to the magic of common Dragons. As to the degree of her immunity, Yassari said that there was no way for the Dwarves to test the item without letting the crow out of the coop, but they were confident even Golos'' breath would slide off the feathers like Magic Missiles off Dede''s back.

    Finally, the fourth property was one to which Gwen felt rather proud. Her item was unique, for having the suit made involved both hunting the Da-peng that lived within the Wall of Woods in Amazonia AND having the connections to a Citadel''s Heart Forge. When Gwen had registered her ownership with the Shard, the Magister there informed her that she could loan the item out at an exorbitant price should she wished. Of course, she didn''t need the money¡ªwhich meant the only means to borrow the suit would be in CCs or through bartering favours.

    Therefore, dressed in her snazzy new suit, it was with buoyant confidence that Gwen looked forward to ripping the Exeters a new one, knowing that wardrobe malfunctions would now be a thing of the past.

    At the threshold of the Duelling Arena''s entrance, Gwen could already smell the excitement outside in the thousands of bodies eagerly awaiting the emergence of the contestants.

    Beside the foursome, the Assistant Adjudicator received the signal, then bowed toward Charlene and Gwen.

    "Miladies. The authority has been given, and you may commence at your leisure."

    Gwen took a deep breath, then inhaled the buzz of excitement now sweeping over the crowd like a droning mana thrum. "Charlene?"

    "I am ready." Her partner smiled. "Magus Bekker? Sir Rothwell? Are you ready?"

    "At your service, Milady." The Knight''s voice was bright and charged with anticipation. "Victory or death."

    "I will not fail." Jean-Paul''s expression was ashen, possibly from his pre-game preparations but more likely from stage fright.

    "Very well." Gwen took the first step forward. "ONWARDS!"

    Lord Mycroft Ravenport stood a perfect distance from the invisible Wall of Force acting as a fail-safe from potential debris, gazing downward at the arena where his daughter, his "love child", and their two camp-de-aides entered.

    That Charlene and Gwen were now Witches of the same Cabal had been well within his expectations, been that Charlene had taken NoMs as her political unicorn, while the girl had an obsession with NoMs since Australia. The cost of the union had been a portion of the Norfolk Fund, though Mycroft was happy to pay it, as tethering the girl to the Mageocracy''s interests had been his plan from the very beginning.

    What he had not anticipated was how quickly the girls would confront their natural enemies in the conservative Militant Faction, nor had he expected the girls to march forward with such momentum. A part of him felt relieved, for Charlene could then truly stand on her own and wash away the stain that Edmund had brought upon the family.  His second wife as well, could finally shut up and return to holding her head with haughtiness. Concurrently, another part of him, the invariable part that remained the father to a little girl in happier times, couldn''t help but feel like he should secretly snuff the idiotic twins like two fragile candles in the dark. To have designs on Charlene! The shamelessness was dizzying, for not even their father had dared broach the subject.

    But to shelter his Manticore cub meant Charlene would never come of age nor stand on her own. If Kilroy''s Apprentice could crawl from the Frontier to stand in the All England, then why shouldn''t his daughter, possessed of nobler blood and more significant resources, manage the same if not greater?

    Slowly, Mycroft''s eyes drifted across the Duelling Arena toward the west entrance, where already, the Exeters were cracking jokes and giddy with glee at the trap they had laid for the girls.

    Besides the men were their invitee from the New World, a young man who had demanded to come to London because he had heard that the Dwarves here were sharing their knowledge of Golem making Magi-tech.

    To his knowledge, the Militant Faction had arranged the man''s entry into London. However, the young man likely did not know that the woman responsible for the Dwarves coming out of the fold had no relations to the Militant Faction and were, in fact, a stalwart antagonist to the Faction''s interests.

    Beside the threesome on an enormous levitation platform sat the young man''s war engine, a murderous machine made for a singular purpose, designed from the Mana Core to its fibrous pseudo-sinews to hunt the most dastardly of Magical Beasts.

    Were he to disregard his role as a father, Mycroft would feel impressed by the Militants'' and their multi-pronged ploy.

    Foremostly, there were no Mages in London who knew how to fight an MK III Centurion Custom with its variable array of Spellswords, Wands and warding magic. Likewise, the number of Mages in London who could confess to having ever fought an American Golem Engine vis-a-vis and one-to-one could be counted on one hand.

    Yet, since the young man had "made" the suit himself and were its chief designer, the All England had grudgingly allowed it. Indeed, such inclusions were not uncommon in the International Inter-University Competition, though rarely did anyone other than the Americans field such outlandish items that were useless in cramped Dungeon and across the vast tracts of the Wildlands.

    Secondly¡ªMycroft licked his lips in mild frustration¡ªhad any Mage of the girl and her friend''s calibre ever fought an NoM? One that could potentially best them should they allow the slightest slip? If he were in Gwen''s position, he would protest and demand that the Exeters show their honour as scions of Spellcraft. To make a Norfolk duel an NoM? The very idea made his skin crawl. And in addition, there was a potential of loss? In that case, Mycroft would abide by nothing less than tearing the Golem apart and reducing the pilot to a screaming, shrivelling husk while he stared impassively at the twins who dared to insult him.

    But for his daughter, who purportedly supported NoMs?

    Or Gwen, whose softness was as infamous as her Void Sorcery?

    Indeed, Mycroft had to concede with a grudging, silent growl¡ªthat for once, not all the brains had been bred out of the Golden Blood of Henry.

 Chapter 435 - The Hour of the NoM

    When Gwen imagined the confrontation with the Exeters in the arena, she had envisioned the Hollands to emerge with a mysterious Mage in a cowl, ready to trounce her with Abjuring Mind Magic laced with Faith.

    What instead appeared not only gave her pause but made Charlene and her companions likewise open their mouths.

    ¡°A Centurion Golem Suit?¡± Jean-Paul looked toward her, astonished by the spectacle of a metallic, bipedal machine almost four of his Captain stacked stiletto to shoulder. "They''re fielding a War Golem against us? Is that legal?"

    "If the All England has allowed it." Charlene was quicker on the uptake. "Then it must be. Gwen, I think we''re going to have a problem, and the Centurion is only going to be a part of it."

    Gwen concurred, for her Divination had already illuminated both her eyes with a pale, shimmering nimbus. It wasn''t what she could see that was the problem¡ªbut what wasn''t there. "Christ Almighty. Their number three, he''s an NoM, isn''t he?"

    Charlene nodded. "As Non-Magical as they come, and I am fairly certain that''s ''Magus'' John C. Williams. He''s an NoM Golem Maker from the Massachusetts Institute of Thaumaturgy."

    Besides the pair, Sir Rothwell''s hand took on a tighter grip around the pommel of his Holy Sword. His weapon''s superior enchantments were disabled for the bout, though the Faith circuitry that enabled his magic remained active.

    Gwen both sensed the Knight''s apprehension and felt his displeasure. In the prideful Faith Mage''s eyes, going toe-to-toe with an NoM was a grave insult not only to himself but to his Ordo and his mistress.

    Or was it perhaps, Gwen noted the Knights'' grip, the sword on Aiden''s belt?

    Among the challengers, Rothwell''s signature Spellsword most logically resembled the NoM''s war engine¡ªthough such a conjecture would be disingenuous. When a Knight of the Garter graduates from his service as a Squire, he is given a Mithril Spellblade forged by the Dwarves, as per the grand narratives governing the Ordo''s mythoi. Flame quenched in the blood of drakes, this Relic of the Garter is then tempered by the Knight''s Faith and being, becoming a part of the Knight''s blood and flesh. The blade was a tool¡ªbut it was also a part of the Knight''s animus and tied irrevocably to his Astral Soul.

    Yet, even so, the rules forbade Aiden Rothwell from utilising the Holy Sword''s full potential, and therefore his full potential, despite the stakes in the credibility of his Ordo.

    Comparatively, the "tool" crafted by the Magi-tech scholar and NoM pilot was a tool in the simplest sense of a hammer or a wench. "John" could swap out ten suits and not break a sweat. Yet, because the rules had made allowances for artificers, he was nonetheless a legitimate contender.

    Across the field, the Golem roared into life in the manner of a living beast.

    Gwen had to remind herself to be alert but not alarmed. From the looks of the thing, it was a Centurion model, which wasn''t uncommon. However, other than the frame, any similarities between this and the machines she saw while fighting the Triffidus ended at the chassis.

    The main difference was the removal of the artillery Spellsword on the bipedal walker''s shoulders, vastly improving its agility and overall balance. In its place, both pauldrons sported what looked like anti-personnel Spellswords mounted on articulating pivot joints. Its armour was also thinner to account for the lack of recoil from the original Spellsword, having been transformed from the geometric cubism of the MKII design toward aesthetic curves with an organic semblance. The pilot''s cockpit, an upscaled version of the Dwarven Strider''s central capsule, was now vertical, allowing the pilot to be housed standing upright, simultaneously serving as a protective womb for its NoM passenger.

    Its main armaments, Gwen noted, were two variants of Spellswords she had never before seen on either Imperial or Dwarven Golems, placed just under the wrists of the machine, below three-clawed talon-fingers that looked to be equally dangerous in their cruel way. Finally, where the Centurions of the Royal Scots forsook a "head" for a Divination array, this particular model possessed a vicious, masked helmeted head that resembled an armoured, retro-styled CCTV camera. Judging from the Conjuration and Evocation motes leaking from the cyclopean ocular implant that formed its "eye", she also suspected that it was capable of ray-magic of sorts.

    The "tool" aside, she had to agree that the Exeters had pulled out the rug from under them.

    First, considering the optics they had arranged for the duel, neither she nor Charlene had any desire to fight an NoM, much less maim or slay the man outright in his cockpit. Likewise, she had no idea if indeed the Exeters had a better network than Charlene''s borrowed crows, but even if they won, there was only shame in besting an NoM. In that regard, they were already at a disadvantage.

    Then there was Jean-Paul, who had no qualm against fighting or killing NoMs, but whose spells were arguably diminished if he was incapable of triggering Astral feedback through his Usurp and Consume abilities.

    "The bastards¡­" Her partner bit her lip in frustration. "Not that I am doubting your abilities, Gwen, but¡ª"

    "Yeah," Gwen concurred. "This isn''t looking very good for us, nor is it going to look good, win or lose."

    "There''s that," Charlene sighed. "And then there''s something else. I fear my information security wasn''t up to snuff compared to the Militants. I mean, I had anticipated the fact, but for them to field an actual NoM in a Centurion engine?"

    "I''ll not falter," Sir Rothwell spoke up beside the women. "Even without harming the man, I shall endeavour to defeat them. Besides, I with the blessing of our Lord and Saviour, I may not face the man."

    "The Knights of the Garter have all sworn a Cardinal Oath weaved into their Faith Magic," Charlene explained to Gwen. "They''re hunters of monsters or Mages who are monsters. Against the innocent and in particular, powerless NoMs, they''re sworn to do no injury."

    "That''s admirable." Gwen nodded. "But yes, that''s going to be awkward."

    "Especially as there isn''t ''malicious harm'' as per the competition, and I don''t think competitive intent to injure accounts for the Oath."

    Sir Rothwell sighed at Charlene''s words.

    "And knowing your Lord and Saviour." Charlene twisted her lip. "This is likely your trial, Sir Rothwell."

    The Knight, perhaps acknowledging Murphy''s Law, inclined his chin in silence.

    "I have no qualms facing the man," Jean-Paul said helpfully. "Perhaps if I fought him first?"

    "We''re drawing straws," Charlene reminded the Void Mage. "But yes, I would prefer it if you fought the Golem, badly matched as you are."

    The foursome continued to watch as the crowd made gushing noises at the mechatronic wonder. From an upper dais where the commentator would soon be seated, the All England''s officious Adjudicator emerged with a black box armed with anti-magic, within which were slips of enchanted paper likewise enchanted with anti-Divination Glyphs.

    "But you know what? Our hope isn''t lost." Charlene willed a crow to descend on her shoulder while doing her best to ignore the pair of eyes staring down from somewhere in the VIP platform. Standing beside her, Gwen felt envy for Charlene, a daughter with a father who cared, even if that care was judgement.

    "CAW!"

    "Mori," Charlene informed the bird. "Find me information on this, John C. Williams. I want to know why he''s working for the Militants and what an American NoM hopes to achieve in England."

    "CAW!"

    "Give Mori ten minutes, and we''ll know what makes the NoM tick." Charlene turned to her with confidence, then gestured to the dais, where the Captain of the twin''s team, Thomas, awaited their representative. "Till then, shall we?"

    Bathed in the watchful gaze of some four thousand spectators and likely millions more on the BBC''s lumen-casts, The Devourer of Shenyang stepped up beside Benedict Thomas Holland to shake the man''s hand.

    "Ladies first, as always." Thomas bowed after the fact, inspiring smiles and laughter from the grandstands.

    Gwen bowed her head in turn, as per decorum, then reached out with an armoured glove into the box. As her hand passed the exterior, she felt the magic of her armour grow dull¡ªthough not annulled¡ª then quickly withdrew a mysterious Glyph of no particular meaning.

    Holding the lottery ticket aloft as though she was the heroine of a story about ripening corn, she showed her ticket to the cheering crowd.

    Thomas followed, withdrawing a different coloured Glyph.

    More slips soon followed, alternating between the two.

    The Adjudicator, a man with the face of a hawk and a nose worthy of a Royal Griffin''s beak, then held their slips aloft.

    "THE FIRST BOUT¡ª" The man''s voice effortlessly reached every inch of the stadium. "Sir Aiden Rothwell of the Order of the Garter will challenge our guest from the New World, the Artificer John Charles Williams!"

    Gwen felt her heart sink.

    Charlene was right in that God worked in mysterious ways, and that indeed, this would be a duel to test the Knight''s conviction in the most taxing ways.

    Across from her, Thomas Holland gave her a handsome smile that was neither mocking nor hostile. "Good luck," the man said. "Milady, I hope to meet you in the arena. There, we will communicate with our bodies and our lives on the line. Win or lose, I promise you that the best is yet to come."

    "Likewise." Gwen withdrew with a heavier step despite the innate Flight built into her new suit. She had hope for Sir Rothwell, but his Trial of Steel wasn''t a matter of skill, but a battle of the Knight''s existential Credo, that of honouring the promise he had made to Charlene and the very oaths powering his Credo. That¡ªand the fact that the Knight would be soloing a literal machine.

    "Indeed, the Nazarene works in mysterious ways." Sir Aiden Rothwell had just finished a short prayer when Gwen returned with confirmation of the worst-case scenario. For their team, the order was Sir Rothwell, Jean-Paul, and then herself. For the Exeters, it was the NoM, Thomas, then Poins.

    "I will endeavour to pass this trial, Magus Song, Milady Ravenport."

    "There''s no¡ª" Gwen was about to act on her feelings of pity for the Knight when Charlene cut her off with a smile.

    "¡ªgo forth, Sir Knight," the young Ravenport commanded her champion. "Perform what your heart and your Faith desires. Think nothing of win or loss, only what is right."

    With the guise of a Knight headed for his last duel, the Faith Caster relaxed his armour, bowed toward them both, the crowd, then briskly made his way onto the dais, where a whole section of the opposite Force Wall had been disabled to allow the entry of the Centurion MK Custom.

    The first battle would occur in a desert-scape, with half of the enormous duelling field transmuted into broken urban cover. Unfortunately, the Ordo of Garter had little interest in "cover", and neither did the towering Golem Suit.

    "Anything from the Crows?" Gwen sidled a bit closer to Charlene. She didn''t usually feel the butterflies, but now a whole host was nesting in her chest.

    "Soon." Her partner hid her agitation far better than Gwen herself. "Soon¡­"

    Mycroft Ravenport dismissed the specifications submitted by the twins to the All England and felt strangely conflicted by the practice of allowing NoMs to create such mechanisms of destruction.

    In the past, the Mageocracy had, as the Americans did, dallied in the possibility of arming their NoMs with magical weaponry so that a Beast Tide could be beaten with the same tactics of numerical superiority.

    If a Human city was to fall, the proponents of the Militant''s industrial complexes had argued, and a million would perish, wouldn''t a hundred thousand men and women armed with Wands sent to repeal the tide be a better option?

    The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    Logically and on a practical level, the arithmetic of the victor was undeniable¡ªbut the cost was still staggering to behold, and there were more significant complications as well.

    As a student of not just history but the hidden history of the Mageocracy, Mycroft knew very well the consequences of giving such armaments to NoMs, even if the NoMs were incapable of recharging the mechanisms of their mana-limited weaponry. Yet, even so, rebellions and revolts in the colonies spoke very loudly of what happened when a shepherd realised too late that his sheep now possessed sharpened horns long enough to gore and pin him to a tree.

    If nothing else, hadn''t the Mageocracy lost the New World by virtue of the Americans arming their NoMs? Hadn''t these same NoMs, together with the Mages who empowered them, then enslaved a continent and its native people?

    CLANG!

    Mycroft''s thoughts were punctuated by the sound of an unstoppable force meeting an immovable object somewhere in the arena, each blow buoyed by loud cries of appreciation from the jubilant crowd. When Mori had approached him earlier on Charlene''s behalf, he had given consent out of sheer curiosity to see what his daughter and Henry''s hellion would do with the information once the battle began.

    Whatever the case, the Knight from the Order of the Garter was no stranger to fighting giant monsters, though this had to be the man''s very first time fighting an active war machine. As a descendent of the Rothwells, the young man was an admirable specimen worthy of Charlene had he not been sworn to chastity¡ªand now that talent was on full display.

    Wreathed in a halo of Faith, the young Rothwell was an avenging Angel. His armaments of Faith, sword and shield, were each-endowed with the protective magic of his belief in the Nazarene, both shedding a retina-searing volume of Radiance.

    With each incandescent cry, the Knight showed the crowd the same despair the enemies of the Ordo and the Magical Creatures he hunted would face¡ªan unstoppable Sword of Holy Fire shedding enough mana per second to power a villa.

    It was unfortunate then that the NoM''s Magi-tech creation had been specced to withstand blows from Gwen''s monstrous minions, not to mention her hyper-tier lightning, the one she called "Barbanginy" in the tongues of the Australian natives. He knew not whether the All England had taken the machine''s fuel consumption into account. Still, from the looks of it, the bright-eyed young Williams had equipped the Centurion with enough HDMs to last an hour of hyperactive operation.

    For its defence, the Centurion used what looked like a double-layer of shielding formed from overlapping Walls of Force, the same used by the arena, creating a geometric "skin" over the machine''s exterior. Such a cover wasn''t perfect, of course, and there would indeed be gaps¡ªbut his opponent was a warrior of might and, as such, inherently failed at the necessary perception checks.

    After another dozen "Clangs!" that reduced the terrain to rubble and sand to silica, Sir Rothwell encircled the machine on angelic wings of Radiance and fire, testing the Golem''s weakness. So far, his attacks had kept the thing on the defensive, preventing the machine from acting. All around the stadium, the NoMs appeared delighted that one of their own was standing up against a Faith Caster¡ªbut Ravenport knew that the Knight was likely testing to see if he could disable the machine to avoid killing the pilot outright, an act that would go against Rothwell''s Sanctified Vows, the violation of which would disempower years of accumulated Faith.

    A few seconds after Sir Rothwell''s tactical retreat, the Golem''s Spellswords spontaneously burst into technicolour. If the Knight were fighting another Mage, their opponent would have recognised the act of compassion from the lowering of magical output and the non-lethal manner of the Knight''s assault¡ªbut John C. William was both an NoM and an academic, and therefore terribly suited to understanding the Knight''s true intentions.

    Without so much as the courtesy of announcing one''s spell, the weapons fired.

    From underneath the gauntlets emerged a dazzling array of colours, each a different element tied to a mixture of Evocation, Transmutation, and Conjuration magic. A "Prismatic Spray" was the name of the original spell, a Magister-tier, complex sorcery that applied multiple magics at once to one''s opponent, making it almost impossible to resist.

    Simultaneously, from the cyclopean eye atop the Golem came a green beam of Disintegration at full tilt, not at all diminished in its lethality, pulsing at twice the girth and output of what would be expected of a seventh-tier Transmuter.

    While the crowd burst into a riotous clamour, the two swivelling units on the machine''s pauldrons revealed themselves to be Greater Sonic Suppressors, upscaled from hand-held units into industrial variants capable of knocking out Manticores.

    In total, what Sir Rothwell''s underestimation had netted him was a greeting in the form of twin Prismatic Sprays, two Sonic Stuns set to the maximum setting and a Ray of Disintegration.

    Would the girl be able to withstand such a combination?

    Had Gwen not demonstrated her perfect Affinity for Kilroy''s Necromancy and bested a Balefire, Ravenport felt he would soon attend a wedding. Inherently, the very idea of pitting a singular Mage against a Golem Suit was an absurd idea only the Americans would consider fair. Though inflexible in its configuration and useless in certain terrains, even a regular Centurion could simultaneously release a cluster of three Firestorms at a range of a kilometre or more. At the same time, its close-range systems could simultaneously replicate the firepower of a dozen mid-tier or three upper-tier Mages.

    "SHIELD OF FAITH!" Without a split-second of delay, the signature Faith-burning shielding of the Clerical Ordo covered the entirety of Sir Rothwell''s body. Faith, unlike Spellcraft, was an ancient form of magic that differed significantly from the thieving of power from the Elemental Planes. With enough Faith, the very rules of reality itself could be suspended for a split-second, and that power was now what sustained Sir Rothwell from the combined onslaught of the Centurion''s brutal assault.

    Mycroft Ravenport shook his head.

    The Knight was a textbook example of why Mages should avoid fighting Golems.

    In his bravery, courage, and dauntless power, Sir Rothwell chose to "tank" the Golem while considering his next move.

    For a Faith Caster, it was the correct thing to do, as mana exhausted far quicker than Faith, and most Mages using tier six and seven spells would soon be OoM, or their mind would grow too taxed to continue without long periods of rest.

    What Sir Rothwell''s Prismatic-blasted head had forgotten was that he was fighting a machine. Unlike a Mage, the Centurion MK Custom was a murder engine

    fed on fuel that was good for another hour of total output and could be swapped out for spare tanks for as many hours as the metal remained intact.

    Unless the Knight could use his Faith Relic''s true power¡ªbut could not because he did not forge, design¡ªnor enchant the Spellblade, he would not penetrate the overlapping, mana-draining Force Carapace of the Centurion.

    Impressive as Aiden could be, the Exeter had checkmated Charlene''s champion both psychologically and in their liberal interpretation of the rules.

    His daughter''s suite, therefore, was certainly not off to a great start.

    "CAW¡ªCAW¡ª!"

    Charlene thanked the crow as she retrieved what looked like a data crystal in its grip and slotted the thing into her Magitech iPad. The illusory projections that lit up her worried eyes were offset only by the splendiferous blasts of rainbow light from the arena, cut with bursts of orange Radiance broiling the thrumming Walls of Force.

    Beside her, Gwen did her best to catch up with Charlene''s speed reading.

    "Gwen." Ravenport''s daughter finished the twenty-page document in a matter of moments. "Is Master Yossari, or someone of her rank here in the arena? Or can be freed to attend?"

    "Yes, why?" Gwen had to re-organise her thoughts from the scrolling mass of words messing up her eyes. Whatever was happening to Sir Rothwell on stage wasn''t at all helping her concentration; one entirely spent thinking about how she would overcome the Golem when it came to her turn. Unlike the Knight, there were means and methods available to her that were denied to Sir Rothwell that she hoped would beat the machine. Even so, the sheer volume of destructive spellfire filling the arena was at giving her goosebumps all over.

    "My father had decided to give us a hand from his Ivory Tower," Charlene spoke while glancing at the VIP viewing platform. "The report says that John C. Williams is the grandchild of Jonathan Charles William, originally from North Carolina. They are descended from famous Wand Makers holding hundreds of weapon patents in the US. John recently graduated with Honours from the Massachusetts Institute of Thaumaturgy. He''s in London because¡­"

    Gwen noted the triumph creeping up on Charlene''s otherwise expressionless face.

    "¡­ He''s here to seek access to Dwarven knowledge to complete his Thesis on the integration of Dwarven Golem Interface for Human Use. To my knowledge, Dwarves are rare in North America, something about having lost an ancient grudge with the Greenskins. Maybe that''s why he thought he would try his luck here?"

    While the stadium rocked with the sound of explosions, Gwen''s mind likewise made a complete revolution. "Okay, so why the hell is he fighting us? The Dwarves are our friends. They''re working with ME, with the IoDNC specifically! Not the Militants!"

    "Exactly," Charlene said. "I think the twins had the boy roped up by promising him access to you, and therefore the Dwarves."

    "So¡­" Gwen''s mind immediately swivelled toward the same conclusion as her partner. If the twins wanted to play silly buggers, then two could play that game.

    "This fight¡­" Charlene remained stoic. "Is likely over, despite Sir Rothwell''s best efforts. However, would you mind having a word with John? Perhaps ask Yossari to come along?"

    "Of course." Gwen raised her Message Device to her ears, then left a polite but immediate summon for her friend and ally, Master Yossari Vildrenbrandt of Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth, Master of Alchemy and the diplomatic attach¨¦ to the Dwarves currently serving out their "debt" in London. "Ten minutes enough? I''ll have Walken teleport them over."

    "More than enough" Charlene nodded. "Sir Rothwell''s sword might be neutered, but his Faith Armour has plenty of Radiance left before its OoM."

    The first bout, much to the delight of the audience, lasted well over thirty minutes.

    The pyrotechnical exchange that framed the contest between the Knight of the Garter and the NoM pilot in a suit of his forge and design was a genuine and satisfying opening for the escalating stakes to come.

    Comparatively, for the Duke of Norfolk, once the flow of the battle established, his interest waned. As a rule, Knights were powerful individual units, but their rigid doctrine, a necessary component of Faith Sorcery, seldom left room for wonderment and surprises. Ergo, try as the Rothwell boy might, the limitations placed on his items, together with the torturous vow of non-violence against NoMs, ensured that the man was mechanically incapable of overcoming the Centurion MK Custom.

    For those in the know, the spectacle was a gloomy one, for here was proof that the NoMs'' true lack was merely equipment and that should they be given capital, resource and time, the reign of the Mages may indeed be shaken off its foundations.

    Of course, the manufacturing process of Magi-tech items would ensure that no NoM could create such monstrous war engines in any volume. Even ten-thousand NoMs working together would have no means to best an Elemental Spirit old enough to produce a Core that could power the Aether Engine bringing life to the Golem, nor could NoMs harvest the thousands of rare ingredients and materials necessary to forge its Ferro-sinews, runic platings, mana-converters and actuators.

    Yet, just as Mycroft''s mind wandered toward the Mageocracy''s policies, his daughter and the girl made their move.

    Coupled with a trio of Dwarves Ravenport recognised as the Alchemist Yossari Vildrenbrandt, a Master Runesmith with the moniker of Danmurim the Glum, and a new Engineseer on exchange to the Shard, Gwen walked the distance between the two camps to approach the twins.

    Was this what his daughter had planned for the data on the NoM? Ravenport felt a smile touch the corner of his mouth. And to have Henry''s hellion carry out the dirty work? It was a very Charlene thing to do, an act within which he could find no fault.

    Below, all eyes were once more on Gwen. "Crossing the field" via its perimeter was permissible by All England''s rules, though such unorthodox disruptions were nonetheless perceived as unfavourable and impolite. If the combatants were influenced unduly by the interruption, the Adjudicator could force one side to forfeit the match.

    "Interesting," Mycroft heard himself murmur with satisfaction as the battle below slowed its hectic pace. As anticipated, with the Dwarves and Gwen in full view, the NoM''s sequential firing of his weapon systems lost its tempo, giving the Rothwell boy unexpected breathing room.

    The other guests elsewhere in the VIP, especially the posse surrounding the flamboyant Lady Astor, burst into speculation and clamour.

    Below, the Adjudicator, likely favouring Sir Rothwell, signalled that the match should continue even as the NoM grew infinitely distracted. Unfortunately for Gwen''s team, the Knight''s code prevented Aiden from taking advantage of a one-sided challenge, meaning he chose to wait out the curious distraction offered by their crow-clad Captain.

    "Mori." Mycroft motioned for one of his crows. "What are they saying?"

    "CAW¡ª CAW¡ª"

    Mycroft couldn''t help but broadly grin as the bird delivered the exchange verbatim.

    Gwen, in her unique way, had asked the Dwarves to deliver an ultimatum to the Exeters and the NoM in the Golem Suit, who had to be listening through his Magi-tech instruments.

    "We nay hold our debt ter the Mageocracy nor The Shard." the Dwarven Master was backing up Gwen''s assurance that only her allies, and those close to her, would gain any form of access to patented Dwarven Magitech, or had any hope of studying in Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth. "Mistake nothing, lads. Our wee Lassie here'' the holder of the Debt of Haj-Z¨¹l, she''s a friend to Hilda K¨¹l-Hildenbrandt, scion of Varekan-K¨¹l, Bringer of the Lumen and our venerated Deepdowner. If yer thinks ter bargain with our favour, forget it¡ªI declare it here and now that yer kin are Vadam!"

    "If you''ve trouble with Dwarven," the girl added with a subtle toss of her hair. "I can clarify."

    On the duelling field, the steaming Golem had all but grown silent, just as the twin had grown silent.

    Once more, the Adjudicator signalled for the fight to continue.

    "If you''ve nothing else to promise to Mister Williams, then I shall return to camp and meet you in the duelling arena with my Dwarves and our patented Magitech."

    The girl turned, exposing her back and the backs of her Dwarven partners to the Exeters. Would the twins retaliate? Mycroft had no doubt they were burning with shame, but the very idea of attacking a lady with her back turned, in public, and flanked by the Mageocracy''s Dwarven allies was unthinkable. If the twins did act, Mycroft felt, he would have burst into impolite laughter right here and now, spoiling his reputation.

    When no riposte came, the Duke of Norfolk counted the seconds it would take for the match to take a dramatic turn. Would the NoM possess the necessary honour to continue the fight now that his investment in the twins turned out to be lies and deception? Or would he turn as the British weather did in autumn? After all, Williams was in Britain to pursue the advancement of his craft¡ª honour? What was ''honour'' to an academic in pursuit of knowledge? Would such a thing weigh more than air?

    Within the span of a dozen breaths, the Golem grew inert, then with the hiss of escaping air, the cockpit opened, and Mycroft got his answer.

    "I forfeit." The sandy-haired Artificer within held up both hands as he dismissed the dizzying array of Glyphs hovering all around him. "I need to speak with Magus Song, now. If you would direct me, Sir Knight, er¡ª to the lady who handles worms¡ª"

    Opposite the inquisitive, red-faced NoM inventor, the Knight of the Garter appeared in physical agony.

    The humanity! Ravenport chuckled. The Knight wasn''t at all used to dealing with NoMs. If he had guessed, as Mycroft did, what the man was liable to do after Gwen dropped that Abjuring Circle of Clarity on the twins, then he would have forfeited first to preserve his honour. Now, the Knight would be given an undeserved victory, the dishonour of which would take months of penitence to absolve.

    While the confused crowd slowly caught on that the fight was over, the Adjudicator announced the victory in Charlene''s favour, then cleared the arena.

    Watching the agitated NoM, the dejected Knight, the haughty Gwen and his smiling Charlene, Mycroft could only say that while he was pleased, the proceedings were a right mess of spontaneity, poor planning, and on-the-cuff spell casting.

    What if the NoM could not heed or had not listened in to Gwen''s Dwarves?

    What if, God forbid, the NoM was honourable?

    What if the Exeters had retorted that, once Gwen was married to one of them, access to the Dwarves was merely a matter of time?

    What if Sir Rothwell denounced her here and then?

    If the girls wanted to be Tower Masters, the Lord Duke of Norfolk shook his head¡ª they still had a long way to go.

 Chapter 436 - Full Steam Ahead

    "Sir, are you sure certain ''doping'' is allowed?" Gwen remarked to the hawk-nosed Adjudicator, whose eyes glowed with equal parts regret and Divination at Umzokwe''s feeding habits. Behind the man, the crowd in the stadium shared the man''s fascinated horror. Beyond that, Gwen had no doubt wealthy viewers watching the scene at home were likewise having second thoughts about buying hi-resolution Lumen-projectors.

    "I''d like to have a stern word with anyone who would dare protest. I mean, New World John over yonder fielded a God-damned Centurion Custom." Charlene''s eyes stared daggers at their reserve bench, where the pilot, academic and Wand Smith simmered with agitation, waiting for the match to end so that he could apologise to Gwen for joining the "wrong side".

    Previously, the Exeters had allowed their man to go, possessing neither the spontaneous wit to rope their pilfered Magi-tech Smith back into the fold or the clout to detain a named Academic from MIT in public. Perhaps, Gwen thought, the Exeters hadn''t given up after all¡ªthough private vengeance had to be served with clandestine subtlety, for her METRO would report that the Hollands had cheated an NoM to waylay a Knight.

    Unfortunately for Charlene, the advantage Gwen had gained was lost when, upon his return, Sir Aiden Rothwell communicated without recourse his inability to continue the bout lest his Faith was despoiled by dishonour. For Gwen, who had not taken the man''s self-righteous Credo into account, Rothwell''s decision to "pull out" came as a disappointment. In her eyes, it was with great luck that they had snatched up a victory from the jaws of defeat, only now she was left with a half-hearted apology.

    Still playing the serene sorceress, Charlene steered her aside, then bid the Knight a job well-done and that House Ravenport would remember the Ordo''s favour. To save the man face, she then begged the Knight to speak to his duelling partner, explaining that they were both victims of the Exeters'' deceit. In conversing with the NoM, she assured the man, their mutual victimhood would absolve him of the guilt assailing his Faith.

    Afterwards, for their pre-game prep, Gwen helped Jean-Paul get ready by fattening Umzokwe. As for their opponents, Benedict Thomas prepared by suiting up in a grimly visaged padded cloth plate with the help of his aides.

    "Shuu¡ªshuu¡ªshuu¡ª" Besides Gwen, with visible susurrations from its undulating sinews, Jean-Paul''s Familiar convulsed with pleasure.

    From the silence that engendered, she could only wonder if the world was ready to face the debut of an albino Umzokwe the size of a horse, undulating and glistening with grey-tinged slime as its semi-translucent body pulsed with secret juices secreted from her ungloved hand.

    For Gwen, the feeding was no different from Ariel or Dede taking their daily vitality tax. For her observers, the uncanny sight of the dozen hot-pink tentacles slithering from Umzokwe''s maw with a life of their own to wrap Gwen''s hand and forearm was a sight many would never forget.

    Was it because Umzokwe made no other sound other than the sucking and slurping? Gwen pondered the optics while the tendrils massaged her hand, lapping up every mote of viridescence. Disparate to the sensual, Lovecraftian horror of Caliban, Umzokwe forced the observer to be inundated by an aversion that stemmed from carrion and rot, entropy and decay.

    Not far, a red-faced Jean-Paul shivered, likely benefitting just as much from her gift to Umzokwe.

    "Enough?" Gwen implored the giant leech while thinking of Garp and Strun, the latter being commanded to watch the match from the Bunker lest he "leapt in" to defend his Priestess. As much as she wanted to fill Jean-Paul, only her Soul Tapped sycophants could receive the total dose of her benediction. To Soul Tap Jean-Paul as she had done for Gracie, however, was out of the question.

    With the sound of a stubborn plunger unsticking from a bathroom bowl, she yanked her arm and hand from Umzokwe''s writhing, squirming interior, sending a splatter of semi-clear juices across the Adjudicator''s Oxfords.

    Jean-Paul wordlessly handed her a towel to mop up the excess while the leech cooed and rubbed up against the sorceress.

    The crowd collectively regained the ability to breathe.

    Then finally, with a word from the Adjudicator, the man professed that the spectacle was over, simultaneously announced their next bout¡ªthat of "Magus Jean-Paul Bekker" against "Lord Benedict Thomas Holland".

    Mycroft Ravenport waved away the guests who had approached him, then returned his attention to the match below.

    Unlike the bout with the Golem, the fight between Meister Bekker''s Apprentice and a member of the Exeter Clan drew the full attention of the VIP section in the upper viewing platform. For the upper crust observers of London, the matchup was an age-old debate between the "Power of the Old Blood" against the "Upstarts of Spellcraft."

    Mycroft himself did not subscribe to the prideful contest. However, as one of England''s oldest families, he knew well there was a time when Spellcraft was not the universal norm of magic. In the epochs before the Great War, generations of their Ancestors had coasted to victory and triumph through discoveries of blood that boiled with arcane power unique to humanity.

    To the spectators in the grandstand, the Exeters represented the preservation of old magic¡ªor at least a facsimile of that which was lost. Theirs was a talent that could seldom be reached by academic discovery. Instead, their power came from distilling the blue blood of nobility as an Alchemist might search for True Gold. Modern Spellcraft, to the Exeters, was not the foundation but bright plumes of feathers that adorned the knights'' helm, an essential catalyst, but hardly the base upon which the family had carved out its bloody fortune.

    Conversely, Jean-Paul Bekker was the quintessential representative of a Faustian arcanistry taken to its natural conclusion through experimentation. For those familiar with Bekker''s published work, Jean-Paul resulted from the Meister''s attempt at recreating the raw talent of Elizabeth Sobel, the champion-turned-villainess who made her mark during the Beast Tide. Jean-Paul''s powers did not begin with divine intervention, as per the scions of Henry Dawn Star, but in an orphanage of bastards. His was a talent that, like his carrion Familiar, was distilled rapidly from a systematic selection criterion of the survival of the fittest, moulded by the Meister in the manner of a Necromancer Flesh Grafter until he could stand toe-to-toe against the peerage.

    The irony did not escape Mycroft Ravenport. Nonetheless, for the spectators, theirs was a contest that differed significantly from the debate of whether NoMs could be given magical arms. What he saw instead was the ideological contest between the old families and the new scholars who vied for supremacy to see who was the advent of the Mageocracy''s magically-driven future. A conflict that was now played out in earnest.

    "Scald!" Thomas was the first to cast. There was no "Ladies first" against an opponent so visually unappealing.

    The crisp, final syllable erupting from between the Steam Mage''s lips spontaneously engendered a mass of superheated vapours to flood the transmuted battlefield, framed to resemble the interior of a "catacomb" type Dungeon.

    The randomly generated setting held both advantages and disadvantages for the contestants, a fact appreciated by the spectators, who could only grimace as the last bout all but smashed through the terrain with brutal disregard.

    On the Hollands'' side, Thomas proceeded with care, flooding his surroundings with the Element of his calling, not only obscuring his body but transforming bodily into an incorporeal form.

    Opposite, the audience bore witness to Umzokwe''s swiftness as it slithered through the gaps of the catacombs to discretely approach the Steam Mage, forcing its slimy body into impossible cracks too small even to fit a hand, much less a monstrous worm with the girth of a draft horse. Likewise, Jean-Paul himself wove together skins of protective sorcery, covering himself from head to toe in a dense membrane.

    Would Thomas'' Elemental Avatar survive a Void Usurp? Mycroft suspected the rest of the VIPs had just as much anticipation for the encounter, for Jean-Paul''s display had another purpose¡ªthe demonstration of "stable" Void Magic to the public.

    In recent years, even with Cambridge''s publications, Void-based Arcanistry still carried the baggage of its misunderstood reputation for self-destruction and instability.

    The bad reputation was because, during Sobel''s prime, her hound master had kept details of the Void Sorceress on a tight leash, offering little to no elucidation for the academic community. Conversely, thanks to Gwen, dozens of institutions among the three Factions now looked forward to the Second Renaissance of Void Arcanistry, hailing for a dire herald to correct the record.

    Momentarily, the two forces met.

    Starkly different to the brutal power of the Golem and the glimmering honesty of Faith Magic, both Void and Steam were subtler in their offence. To the stadium''s right, Jean-Paul wove into place a miasma of seemingly living Void particles, something of a Morden''s Living Shroud, to separate from his body. For the unlearned viewers, the sorcery was something akin to a conjured creature, likely in the form of a Nightshade or a Spectre.

    On the other hand, Thomas'' steam merely hinted at hiding a creature of sorts, which Mycroft knew to be the Steam Spirit Theranos, an acquisition that had cost the Militant Factions both lives and favours. As one who knew the history of the modern Mageocracy in its entirety, the Duke of Norfolk could only wonder at the cost of such vanity. Both Holland and Bekker were invariably not "self-made" as, say, Gwen or Kilroy had been, and both had spent excessive volumes of resources to develop their wards. If so, could the boys'' ascension even be considered a boon to the Mageocracy? Indeed, if the NoM had demonstrated anything, it was that the resources spent making his Centurion Custom a reality was a far cheaper alternative than the blood, time, effort and affront to nature paid to try and re-capture living lightning in a bottle.

    A shattering HISS¡ª! Interrupted Mycroft''s thoughts. Below, the conjured forces of Void and Steam had found one another.

    Jean-Paul''s miasma of jet instantly contracted in the form of a living thing, shrieking as Thomas'' steam rapidly expanded to envelop and annihilate the amorphous mass of animated ink. Yet, just when it appeared to be overwhelmed, the nebulous Void-form swirled onto a spontaneous vortex. The effect, Mycroft could guess, stemmed from an impressive remote casting of "Usurp", Bekker''s Signature Sorcery based upon the infamous Maelstrom utilised by Elizabeth Sobel.

    Instantly, the superheated steam was sucked into the swirling black mass, which then rapidly expanded as it made for the rough whereabouts of Benedict Thomas, ignoring the obfuscation of the Mage''s body within his sea of steam.

    Ravenport observed the others marvelling at the versatility of Void Matter as an element.

    Unfazed, the older Exeter twin waited until the mass came closer, congealing itself into a solid force once more in the manner of an Earthen Wyrm, coiling its body to strike¡ª

    Then Thomas uttered the final words to the masterful arcanistry of his Clan.

    "Force Cage!"

    No sooner had the final invocation materialised the magic did a contracting cage of force, perfectly crafted on each side with panes of pure kinetic energy, enclosed the tenebrous blob of Void ink. There was a rebellious thump from within the "Box", then a flash of dull silver as the Abjuring mana of an upper-tier Dismissal manifested.

    The crowd cheered. However, Ravenport could see that Jean-Paul Bekker''s actual assault had yet to begin. While Thomas busied himself with the remnants of the Void-ooze, the Void Mage was readying himself for a multi-pronged combination assault.

    Umzokwe, that horrid leech-creature from the Void, finally slithered into place, then burst from a loosened pile of transmuted stone, making a bee-line for Thomas. Simultaneously, it violently ejaculated a sizzling torrent of what looked like putrefied offal, the stench of which Mycroft could only begin to imagine from its eyeless face.

    Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

    "Infused Blast!" Came an instantaneous riposte from Thomas, wasting not a split-second before the sixth-tier artillery-class sorcery manifested in its "Quickened" form, waylaying the incoming leech with a superheated battering ram of scalding, rapidly expanding vapours.

    The sticky ejecta was the first to meet the column, instantly displacing into deadly splatters that sizzled the Walls of Force. The clash appeared surreal, but from what Mycroft knew, there were no less than three spells involved in the "Infused Blast". First, there was a ram of pure force giving the blast its battering prowess. Next, the dispersing ram sent shattered shards of force all over the body of Umzokwe, scoring, blistering and rupturing its skin, thirdly cooking the creature so spontaneously that the stadium collectively winced at the second-hand agony.

    Umzokwe landed with a thud, recovering even as liquified flesh slid from its body in sheets. What was more disturbing was that renewed flesh, glistening and unharmed, then instantly regrew as it continued its assault.

    The unnatural sturdiness of the supernatural creature, Mycroft could see, was likely a product of the girl''s handiwork, something of a boon associated with her Mythic-connection as a Vessel. After Shalkar, there had been significant interest in the girls'' latent talents. Were it not for his intervention and those in the Middle Factions who felt indebted to her Master, there would have been no peace for the possessor of such a power. That said, Mycroft did not doubt that like her Master, Gwen was someone whose predilection for morning dips meant they could not help but stir up the reposed mud.

    As with the earlier meeting of Elemental and Void, the leech now reached the Avatar-body of Thomas'' making.

    Knowing what''s to come, Mycroft steadied his breath, then counted to three.

    BUNG!

    On two¡ªthere came the discordant clamour of superheated steam filling Umzokwe, who was using its tentacles to envelop the Exeter''s scion¡ªwhat it received instead was a rapid expansion of compressed gasses so violent as to create a visible shockwave.

    The Walls of Force shook, taking the brunt of the explosion, instantly misting over as the barrier generators cranked their dynamos to overdrive. For a second, it felt as though the stadium had itself leapt into the air. In the commoner''s stands, the NoMs screamed, unused to such displays of power. Conversely, the Mages sighed with appreciation and awe, for the blast continued to expand for several seconds before the resultant pressure escaped into spatial vents connecting back into the Elemental Plane of Air.

    In a lesser duel, the pressurised air would have wounded or incapacitated Thomas'' opponent. Fortuitous for Gwen, Jean-Paul was no ordinary opponent, nor had his training been less gruesome than the trials of war which House Holland set for its young successors.

    When the steam cleared enough for the spectators to see, they saw that Jean-Paul remained standing, clad from head to toe in a shroud of Void Matter so that he resembled a humanoid, bipedal Umzokwe. Had the Creature Mage withdrawn his Familiar? Ravenport wondered with some surprise, or was this another form of magic that Bekker had recently developed for her boy?

    He had his answer in the next moment as Jean-Paul failed to manifest a renewed leech but instead leapt into thin air, dematerialising as though a slit through the Prime Material had swallowed him whole.

    An Astral Jaunt! Mycroft felt his heart stir for the first time since the battle began.

    Unlike Gwen and her peers'' Blink or the Dimensional Doors, Astral Jaunt was a wholly different form of transposition. Rather than drawing on existing theory from the School of Conjuration¡ªan Astral Jaunt directly created a spontaneous Pocket Plane around the user, transporting them through their Elemental Plane to appear where the user willed. It was a higher-tier form of Arcanistry that did not leave behind mana signatures or required Divination markers that would give one''s position away.

    Nearer the other side of the now shattered catacombs, Thomas condensed into enough of a humanoid form to inspect the work he had wrought. To his satisfaction, there wasn''t enough of Umzokwe to be found, having been wholly vaporised in the cataclysmic eruption of superheated air and water expanding from the Force Cube he had created to withhold its destructive glory. Thomas'' spell was one of the Steam Mage''s Signature sorcery¡ªalthough the arcane construction possessed no official name and was born from mechanical motion created from control and talent. Curiously, Mycroft recalled the rumour that Thomas had conceived of the notion while observing NoM Magi-tech crafters in America, when an Ether Engine exploded, unleashing enough compressed, liquid mana to flatten the garage and make "In-N-Out" of its engineers.

    To create the "bomb" that Thomas had used, a Mage in control of Elemental Steam only needed to compress their element into a pin-point form, then use Spatial Conjuration to create a "container" of force to constrain the power. The greater the compression, the more layered the "box", the more destructive power the bomb possessed.

    For this reason, though the secret of Thomas'' craft was an open one, only a hand of the Exeters specific to the line had managed to reproduce it. For most, the dearth of compatibility and skill meant they could not create a manifestation of sufficient destructive potential.

    Whatever his opinions on the Hollands, Mycroft had to admit that the result was an impressive form of controlled chaos, of anarchy in a box unleashed, worthy of a leader in the Mageocracy''s new generation. It was also a counter to "Usurp", the Signature Spell of the Void-School of Arcanistry, for the Void Mages'' corruption ability would run face-first into the panes of force, which would then trigger the explosion.

    Despite his pessimism, Mycroft stifled his anticipation, for he still wished his daughter luck.

    Meanwhile, from a slit below and beneath the Steam Mage, Jean-Paul''s retaliation emerged from a rent in space-time.

    The wonders of Astral Jaunt!

    With it, a Mage could remain hidden in his Pocket Dimension of Void, ignoring the chief limitations of barriers and even solid walls or floors, key weaknesses of Dimension Door and Blink!

    "USURP!"

    Not one, but two rents in the Prime Material materialised, dissipating the Elemental Steam inundating the space around Thomas. Within a split-second, the drained mana field bloated the orbs of tenebrous Void, then¡ª

    The next stage of the Usurp spell-line was the release of stolen mana in the form of a nova-type Void blast titled by Bekker as "Implosion".

    To counter the effect, Thomas likewise unleashed hell.

    The similarities between the ultimate effect of both Thomas and Jean-Paul''s spells did not escape Mycroft''s amusement. For the majority of the stadium''s audience, all they could see was the sudden meeting of twin forces, one dark and one light.

    Void and Steam. Two elements of extreme rarity, with Steam only marginally more common than its opponent. Within the protected barrier of the duelling area, the abstract phenomenon of a rapidly expanding force meeting its opposite.

    For the average Mage, there were no words to describe the jarring interaction other than a kind of tempest-tossed mutiny, a concurrent clashing of elemental chaos. The sound that engendered from the enclosed space, a chest-thrumming drone, was both the wail of a high-pressure system and the shrieking of air and water rapidly disappearing into the Void.

    How could mortal bodies sustain such injury? Survive such an assault? When the steam cleared, the crowd had their answer, and Mycroft had his prediction ascertained.

    Jean-Paul was a talented lad who cared little for his safety in completing a task he deemed sacred¡ªbut there were barriers that a Mage could not overcome with conviction alone. In that regard, Mycroft felt his daughter did possess rotten luck when it came to the ticket draw.

    Perhaps, pitted against Poins, Jean-Paul''s subversive sorcery would have had a natural advantage. Facing the overwhelming power of Thomas'' boxed Steam Eruptions, however, there wasn''t the concentrated mana of Fire, Earth or even Water to steal. Conversely, the naturally nebulous nature of Elemental Steam, especially in the hands of a true maestro, was an effective counter against the corrosive nature of Void.

    The clincher, Mycroft had anticipated, was a case of "if" Jean-Paul''s creature could survive the bomb and thereby regenerate to harry the Steam Mage while the Void caster fought at a distance. To then close the space and meet Thomas head-on was a move that took immense courage, or masochism, which Jean-Paul possessed in equal measure. In regular combat, no Mage worth their salt would dare to fight a Steam Mage vis-a-vis, considering their all-pervasive Element and its ability to negate hard-point defence and cook one''s opponents alive.

    Now, Meister Bekker''s ward lay on the floor, oozing viscous globs of Void from blurry burn-wounds that would require an upper-tier Regeneration. Amazingly, the man was still conscious, a true testament to his ability to withstand agony.

    Above the panting young man, Thomas was forced out of his Steam Avatar and floated a safe distance away from his opponent, with bits of his armour becoming corroded as he too tried to control his uneven breathing.

    All around the two, the transmuted landscape had nearly disappeared. In a real catacomb, both would have likely perished from the imminent collapse of the passageway.

    The close encounter of the deadly kind, Mycroft wagered, had possessed more intimacy than Benedict Thomas predicted. To underestimate Jean-Paul, whose deeds had been overshadowed by Gwen''s achievements in the IIUC and elsewhere like Shalkar, was a mistake the boy would not make again. In hindsight, Mycroft wondered if the Void Mage had intended Umzowke to be a sacrificial lamb so that the Steam Mage would let down his guard and allow the Void Mage to get closer. If Mycroft himself had entered the battle with perfect knowledge, he too would have needed the means to offset Thomas'' advantage, forcing an encounter so that, at the very least, there was a possibility of victory.

    Incredibly, Jean-Paul forced himself to stand.

    The stadium collectively winced, then inhaled agonised breaths as sheets of what appeared to be skin mixed with magical matter slid from Jean-Paul''s body.

    The resilience of a Void Mage! That vitality! The irony wasn''t beyond Mycroft''s understanding, but still, he felt impressed by the fact that Bekker''s ward was not only alive but fully functioning.

    "Finish me," the crow on his shoulder reported back as Jean-Paul''s saying. "Or we continue."

    All the while, the boy was regenerating with the likeness of a Mud Element Salamander. Visibly, the wet flesh hardened, the jelly-like flesh congealed, then little by little, mobility returned to the man''s body. At this display, the other nobles and Magisters around Mycroft expressed their approval. Usually, the flesh was weak, and the mind was strong, and that itself was praiseworthy. Now, the Void Mage had shown that both his flesh and mind possessed enough elasticity to survive this and a more significant crisis. Whatever Bekker had achieved, even if her creation did not reach the level of Sobel''s tier of destruction, she had nonetheless created something to rival the Noble Houses.

    Even if Jean-Paul could not best the Holland''s scion today, the nobles present would be reminded that the Void Mage had been picked from a runt''s litter. Unlike the Hollands'' Golden Blood, he was an urchin survivor, a bastard of no origin and history. Therefore, if enough energy and time were spent scouring the masses for men and women like Jean-Paul, and if Bekker could capture that lightning with a bit of aid from Henry''s hellion, then there should be good reasons for new funding among the Meisters'' circles.

    But there was another caveat as well.

    Jean-Paul wasn''t the only Void Mage.

    He wasn''t even the best Void Mage, for all knew that the greatest was behind.

    "Jean-Paul, return!"

    As Mycroft had anticipated, the girl did not abide by Jean-Paul''s sacrifice. Continuing would result in a tie¡ªsomething Jean-Paul had likely counted on by betting his life, for his maiming would directly provoke Meister Bekker, a figure of considerable influence in the Militant Faction. In that regard, the Void Mage''s misfortune was that their Captain was a creature prone to soft-hearted empathy and compassion.

    "No, I can keep fighting."

    "I wasn''t asking, JP. Get the hell back here, now."

    Mycroft felt an upwelling of disapproval in his chest.

    A compassion that inspired loyalty was an admirable quality in a leader but arguably limited when one aspired to be a Tower Master. As history foretold, those who survived the trials of serving a Tower Master would not look upon their leader with awe but with a gnawing sense of jealousy and loathing. If all had paid the price in blood to erect the Master''s Tower, then why should one woman stand at the apex, possessing all¡ªwhen themselves were left only with the dregs?

    Shalkar, it seemed, was perhaps kinder than Mycroft had anticipated. Like a good Spellsword, the girl needed further tempering to cleanse her pretty head of the remaining impurities.

    Didn''t Singapore say they had trouble with an emerging Mermen tribe that collected SPAM cans with Gwen''s likeness? Mycroft could only marvel at what comedy of errors could engender such an occurrence, but the Malaysian archipelago could teach a good lesson in necessity. There were other fires elsewhere as well that could do with a touch of Shalkar. The Adriatic Sea, for instance, had reported a resurgence of Mermen raids from the Seven Kingdoms, an occurrence echoed by reports from the Aegean. If history could be trusted as a marker, all of it pointed to the eventual resurgence of a Mermen Beast Tide: one that, with careful pruning and management, could be delayed for decades or absolved entirely through stirring up civil conflicts in the deep sea.

    Then there was the matter with the Dwarves and the Elemental Sea¡ªthough he would prefer to keep the girl out of the Murk for a time.

    While Mycroft pondered plans for the girl, the Adjudicator below announced the match in Thomas'' favour, then bid the contestants return to their corners. Despite a grilling from Gwen, Jean-Paul refused to yield to the infirmary and chose to stay as a wrapped mummy on the sidelines. Once more, with her characteristic indecision, the girl relented to the guilt trip.

    On the Hollands'' side, Benedict Thomas retreated to his corner to be stripped of his damaged armour for a new suit, all the while replenishing his reserves by taking the maximum allowance of mana potions in-between matches.

    Charlene glanced for the umpteenth time toward the grandstand, then approached the girl, at which point the two conspired for their final chance at victory. Through the eyes of Mori, Mycroft listened to their conversation.

    "What do you think? Can you handle Thomas?" Charlene was asking the girl.

    "He''s tired, and he''s shown his trump card, so yes." The girl nodded with confidence. "Jean-Paul''s done a good job."

    "He''s done no less than Sir Rothwell," Charlene agreed. "What''s your approach?"

    "I''ve got a plan to play it safe and wear him down," the girl said. "Whatever he''s doing uses an enormous amount of mana, while I''ve got Conjuration for days. Besides, I am not sure how Caliban or Ariel will take that bomb blast. I am sure Golos could tank it, but it isn''t as though I could ask for an hour or two to draw the Mandala."

    "Nor would London appreciate the sudden appearance of the Scion of the Yinglong." Charlene''s mood, it seemed to Mycroft, was more relaxed than he had anticipated, likely because of her confidence in Gwen, which Mycroft shared. For one, he knew for a fact that the Militants had not received the complete and unabridged report from Shalkar, for he was the one who had withheld details such as her relation to Tryfan and the full extent of her connection to Mythic beings like the "Snake" and the Yinglong, or her curios acquisition of "Faith".

    "So." The girl stretched her gauntlet-covered fingers, flexing the wonderous crowskin that made even Mycroft desirous. "Let''s get this show on the road, shall we?"

    Indeed, Mycroft mused as the girl signalled the Adjudicator to open the next match, giddy for the interesting times ahead for the Exeters of House Holland.

 Chapter 437 - Oh Brother, Why art thou

    "Did you know Sobel? Elizabeth Sobel?" The voice of Viscount Mowbray, overseer of the Crown''s fortunes in Hastings, remarked over the dull roar shaking the grandstand. "I met her once. I was a student. It was just after the Beast Tide, during the period Henry Kilroy ventured from baronage to baronage, persuading our parents to join the then Middle Coalition."

    "I met her aunt when the Sobel Estate still existed¡ªafter she left," replied another voice, this one older and a little dreamy from the recollection. "As for the sorceress, all I recall was that even as a young woman, Elizabeth was¡ª"

    The voice grew thoughtful.

    "Beautiful?" Lady Astor was quick to draw attention to the man''s recollection.

    "Ravishing," another voice agreed. "And dreadfully frightening."

    "I recall attending a function with Lord Kilroy once. I must confess that never had I felt such a desire for fresh linen than after a meet and greet with his bride-to-be," another voice, senior but jovial, remarked with a mixed tone. "Kilroy bid her show Father what a Void Sorceress may do¡ªor would do if we held out against her wishes. That said, for all the terror, the demonstration was¡ªstrikingly performed."

    "And now we''ve come full circle¡ª" A fourth gestured to the stadium with his flute of Pinot gris, all the while looking over the shoulder of his conversation partner, the ever-lovely widow of Astor. "Courtesy of the very same Henry Kilroy."

    "Lord knows the Mageocracy could use another Sobel," the first voice, that of the Viscount, remarked for the benefit of Lady Astor.

    "Gwen''s a good girl," Lady Astor assured the rest, her revealing attire sparking scandalously to catch the listening Mycroft. "She''s willfully obedient. Isn''t she, Dickie?"

    The Lady raised her glass.

    Mycroft returned the favour with a minute gesture of his own.

    Left to ponder the Lady''s oxymoronic riddle, the crowd''s gaze paused on the Duke but did not dare to linger lest he vented his displeasure. As the Mageocracy''s premier Lord, the Marshall of her Majesty''s forces and the keeper of the crows, every muttered syllable of his opinion mattered. Thereby, though Mycroft knew of his fellow nobles and their burgeoning curiosity, he chose silence.

    As for the "Sobel" in question, he could only guess her true purpose.

    Was the girl''s growing love of London calculated obedience?

    Or was it, perhaps, malicious compliance?

    Turning away from his audience, the Duke traced the edge of his glass with a vacant, wandering digit, then looked for the girl among the crowd. If nothing else, at least in his officious capacity, he could not fault Gwen''s performance.

    Without a doubt, the girl''s ability to transform the situation in Shalkar was a far better demonstration of her potential than her ability to devour a Chinese city. After all, any Tower worth its weight in HDMs could level any of humanities'' tier-II metropolises, as well as the warrens of Demi-human Gnolls, Greenskins, or the shoal-homes of Mermen. Yet, for all the Mageocracy''s potential power projection, Shalkar''s unprofitability had festered on the campaign map for three decades until the girl shattered the status quo and brought questionable change.

    The point then, Mycroft countered, was whether the "new" Shalkar boded well for the Mageocracy or if Gwen had merely set up the stage for a more significant, deadlier conflict a decade later.

    Below, the crowd grew abruptly silent.

    For the third match, the transmuted terrain was a northern peat bog, meaning the entire array of combat took place in a field of stunted, rotten trees and sticky silt that could swallow a Mage wholesale. Knowing Benedict Thomas'' skillset, Mycroft could say that Team Exeter''s streak of luck remained uncontested, an occurrence that was rapidly growing suspicious, for the heir''s powerful "bomb" spells worked wonders in open space, and his gaseous form performed similarly well. Comparatively, there were few advantages Thomas'' opponent could observe, owed to a skill set that favoured enclosed spaces.

    If so, by what craft would the girl slay the drake of Exeter? Mycroft amused himself with a dozen projections. What wild magics would she show the world?

    With a sharp chime from the Adjudicator, the battle began.

    For the first few opening seconds, both Thomas and Gwen warily sensed one another from opposite ends of the fields while subtly powering up their defences. For Holland''s heir, the defensive choice was because Thomas knew of the absurd offensive the girl could mount while possessing uncertain confidence he would suffer her Void-strikes as well as she in surviving one of his explosions. More than likely, the youthful Magus was betting on his superior knowledge in Spellcraft, likely anticipating an opportunity to Counter Spell the girl into submission.

    As for the girl, Mycroft understood as soon as she opened up with invocations made infamous by her predecessor, Elizabeth Sobel.

    Unsurprising to the Duke, the first and foremost of the girl''s protection spells was Bone Armour. It was an Abjuration sorcery that was sure to raise brows among the genteel class of Arcanists whose ancestors had perished fighting the same magic. The girl''s Signature Spell was a sanctioned variation modified by Kilroy for his wife, expending the Cores of monstrous creatures rather than drawing power from the negative energy emanated by the living dead. As the final syllable fell into place, a phantom ribcage appeared, then quickly faded into the aether, forming a protective scarab shell around the girl.

    The reagent, Mycroft chuckled, would be the Core of a Death Worm, a rare prize for many but hardly worthy of note for one who had cleared out a whole region''s worth of the Elemental vermin.

    From the way her audience reeled from the mute rings of enervating Void washing over the east side of the arena, Mycroft guessed the girl had spared no expense and was readily tapping her vital stores. As the Core''s energies grew depleted and Void-tainted mana enveloped the original Necromantic manifestation, NoMs too weak to expel extreme vertigo became ill or sick, dropping their overpriced sausages in a bun, which in the Duke''s opinions, was a blessing in disguise.

    After her first showcase, the girl''s Mage Shield shimmered brightly before abruptly turning the colour of jet, enveloping her body so wholly as to form a perfect, obsidian egg. From the surface, micro-portals to the Quasi-Elemental Plane of the Void bit into the Prime Material in the manner of teeth making rents in black silk, leaving gaping, gasping gashes that bled a thick, ebony ink.

    But it wasn''t ink that drooled from these axe-wounds in space-time.

    Instead, what emerged were the signature denizens of the Void, what Cambridge''s researchers had dubbed Abyssal Lampreys.

    Like a dark flood, torrents of the Void-things slithered into the deep mud of the swamp-scape, instantly disappearing as they made for the general direction of Benedict Thomas, whose Astral Soul burned with vitality and raw elemental energy.

    On the other side of the arena, Thomas'' face twitched as he lifted into the air, forgoing the cover offered by the shrubbery for fear of Gwen''s lampreys suddenly emerging underfoot as Umzokwe had done. With a wave of his hand, the signature crystals that housed his unstoppable offence materialised, all six of which were armed and compressed with enough power to crack Gwen''s egg.

    By now, it was clear the girl was not playing by the usual rules of Spellcraft, nor was her Spell List one knowable even by a Senior Scholar of the arts. This underestimation of Gwen''s unorthodox Arcanistry, Mycroft felt, would not be the first of Thomas'' mistakes.

    Had¡ªhe supposed, Jean-Paul provided the necessary fright for Holland''s heir to second-guess charging and attacking Gwen with an Alpha Strike?

    Perhaps if Thomas had searched deeply in the vaults for details of Sobel''s sorcery, both recent and in the past, he would have gained some insight into Gwen''s myriad tactics. Unfortunately, much like the reports from Shalkar, Ravenport also possessed the key to that particular chamber of knowledge, from which he allowed only the vaguest of details to escape.

    Nonetheless, once the Steam Mage realised the full implication of Gwen''s strategy, he immediately abandoned the "reactive" nature of his crystal arrays to move to the offensive. With a serpentine hiss of displaced steam, Thomas Holland slipped through the gaps of the Prime Material, then reappeared within two dozen meters of the girl, orchestrating a Dimension Door almost thrice the distance of an average Mage.

    "Don''t die, Magus Song," the heir delivered an audible and courteous warning, then invoked the translocation magic that would force upon Gwen the unbridled fury of Elemental Steam.

    The mud below Thomas exploded before he could finish his haughty exposition.

    Leading the way were eight lamprey heads, each the size of a compact sedan, faceless and featureless, slick of skin and utterly devoid of features but for their puckering, teeth-lined maws salivating for noble flesh.

    The ambush came as a surprise for many of the repulsed audience, but not for its studied magic users nor Gwen''s opponent.

    Changing his gestures midway, two of the crystals dematerialised, then reappeared among the Void Hydra''s heads.

    BUNG¡ªBUNG¡ª!

    Clouds of superheated steam rang out, followed by deadly waves of shattered shards composed of congealed force.

    The three heads closest to Thomas turned to dark mist as the vital forces holding together the stitched, stygian flesh of the Lovecraftian aberration failed, instantly liquifying into obscure splatters. The rest of the faceless appendages stayed the course, only to be caught up in the second explosion, sending shattered bits of mangled flesh flying in every direction to splatter the Walls of Force.

    BUNG¡ª! A third explosion erupted near Gwen''s Dark Egg, momentarily peeling back the obsidian layer of Void, but not enough to prevent the egg shell from regenerating near-instantaneously.

    A few finger twitches summoned the rest of Thomas'' cataclysmic crystals, bringing the remainder close to the abode built by Gwen to shield her body from Holland''s relentless assault.

    For a frozen second in time, the crowd collectively held their breath, hoping that the Void Sorceress would teleport out of harm''s way.

    She did not.

    Mycroft''s eyes widened by several millimetres.

    The finale was a staggered triple-blast, a walking barrage of unadulterated destruction that sent the Force Generators into agonised whinnies and the stadium to shake on its foundations. The super expansion of steam grew so enormous that a section of the upper wall released a panel to depressurise the battlefield''s interior, rocketing a sky-plume into the blue yonder.

    A few seconds passed, possessed only by the hiss of escaping steam from the self-repairing barrier. Two thousand pairs of questioning eyes turned to the All England''s matchmakers. Atop the arena''s cubic fence, the Chief Adjudicator remained mum as he conversed telepathically with his team in the Divination room.

    Then, in the obscured depth of the steam-filled arena, something moved.

    More explosions, smaller now and possessed of far less pent-up energy, erupted here and there, adding to the confusion felt by the spectators.

    Mycroft scanned the scene, contemplating if he should command a direct mind tap into the Divination Array in the control room when his thoughts grew suddenly disrupted by the sight of an enormous something slamming heavily against the barrier.

    "SHAA¡ª SHAA¡ª" came the ear-splitting, sphincter-clenching cry from Gwen''s netherworld fiend, now girthier than a semi-trailer.

    From the section pressed against the wall, the audience could see that it had been suppressed by an empowered and maximised Bilby''s Hand. For a creature without organs, however, the crushing constriction of the famous force spell did little in discouraging the monster from lashing out with dozens of pink tentacles. Before Mycroft could even scoff, the Hydra-thing tore itself in half from the waist, then launched itself back into the steam.

    Simultaneously, as the arena''s mechanisms did its best to vent the excess fog preventing the paying audience from seeing the titanic battle, those closest to the deadly theatre realised the mud and silt that formed the peat bog were now squirming with living, writhing masses of faceless lampreys.

    Another explosion engendered somewhere within, weaker than Thomas''s failed coup de grace moments earlier. As a tide of hungry mouths, the obsidian slosh of creatures moving toward the battlefield''s centre once more splashed against the Walls of Force, decimated but not defeated, dividing and regenerating even as the shards of force sliced and diced their bodies.

    A portion of these creatures, perhaps frenzied or confused by the chaos brought by the undulating battlefield, sensed the vitality outside and were actively trying to bypass the barriers to get at the spectators.

    "SHAA¡ª! SHAA¡ª!" A cry from their brood leader was enough to refocus the lampreys'' attention, making Mycroft marvel at just how intelligent the creature Kilroy had wrangled for the girl had grown.

    Above the battle, the arena''s whirling vortexes into the Elemental Plane of Air finally performed their duty, drawing the excess steam as remaining smidgens of doubt drained from Mycroft''s mind. Whatever Gwen''s faults may be, Charlene had cultivated a reliable partner to elevate her political debut into London''s circle of power, and soon, her crops would yield grain.

    "SHAA¡ª!" Another blood-curdling shriek from the singing Hydra revealed that it and its brood were now pursuing a hovering Holland across the battlefield with extreme prejudice. As a leaping, frolicking mass of faceless worms with lamprey mouths, the churning black swamp water rose as living tendrils to ensnare the skating Mage as he dodged the clumsy assaults.

    Not far, Gwen''s Elemental Swarm was shepherded by an enormous Hydra with all seven heads, each one flawlessly regenerated, working in tandem to swat Thomas from the air like a gnat.

    Now and then, Thomas would unleash a wave of superheated mist or erect a spontaneous Blade Barrier to dissuade his pursuers. Still, any such measures lasted only a few seconds before the creatures came on again with renewed force.

    Whenever Thomas attempted to close in with the girl, she would Dimension Door away, creating a deadly game of cat and mouse¡ªonly the cat was being chased by face-eating heartworms bigger than itself.

    When not dodging the diminished steam explosions, Gwen stood in the many corners of the arena, directing her conjured critters in the atypical manner of a Creature Mage. As for how she had survived Thomas'' killing blow¡ªMycroft''s ensorceled eyes gathered a few clues from her Crow Skin battle dress.

    The girl''s hair was matted and damp, and her face was streaked with the residue from the foetid swamp water. Her armour as well showed not only signs of having been covered in the silt and mud but also showed white streaks where the shards of force had scored her body.

    Correctly, Mycroft deduced that the girl was never in her "Dark Egg" but must have slid out with her swarm into the mud, thereby ratifying her bedraggled, beaten state.

    For sure, the cloudy, brackish water provided by the arena was a significant natural barrier against the force of Thomas'' explosions. There were risks as well, for the shallowness meant she had less luck against the force shards that accompanied the deadly eruptions.

    Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

    Thereby, Benedict Thomas Holland had not only failed to recognise the girl''s sorcery but also failed to account for the girl''s grit¡ªfor he could not have imagined that a sorceress of such infamous vanity would dive headfirst, without shielding or protection, into filth and decay without a second thought. Then, while hidden beneath the shielding mass of her Void-critters, she would direct her swarm while risking dire injury, possessing such confidence in her body and the craft of her Dwarven allies as to risk mortal injury.

    That was, Mycroft supposed, Gwen''s proposed tactic to Charlene. So long as she survived Thomas'' spearhead assault and kept him on the move, it was impossible for a Vessel recognised by Tryfan to run OoM against a thrice-expended opponent.

    While the crowd cooed at Thomas'' growing frustration and diminishing mana reserves, Mycroft observed his fellow VIPs in the grandstand.

    Lady Astor remained her haughty self, loudly informing the others that a "mere" Holland could not possibly defeat her chosen ally. The other nobles, the unhappy few with ties to the Militant Faction, no longer shared her amusement.

    In a way, Mycroft felt sympathetic. If Thomas, one of the best of their current generation, was to lose¡ªcould his inferior brother then secure a victory? Poins was always the lesser one, the shadow. A man of inferior charisma seldom upheld as the Houses'' heir apparent.

    If Poins were to lose, the loss in House Holland''s reputation, not to mention the loss of their planned portion of the IoDNC, would simultaneously place an unpleasant financial burden upon the Faction. To force the girls, and in particular, Charlene, into a corner, the Militants had tapped the forbidden fruit, the Veteran''s Pension. Though the understanding was that the IoDNC''s antagonism had brought the fund into ruin, the reality remained that all annuities had to be paid when the bills came due.

    To renege on the pension may publicly draw ire toward Gwen and Charlene''s investments, but no one holding the actual reigns of power could be similarly fooled by the Telegraph and the Sun. From the very outset, the Militant''s ploy had been allowed to play out simply because players like Ravenport had habitually stayed away from the money-grubbing politicking of the Factions.

    That said, the moment the Magecracy''s public trust eroded. The exact instant the Veteran''s Fund was to fail the Mageocracy''s ex-soldiers, as opposed to the political theatre of a delay and distraction, heads would roll, and estates liquidate¡ªbecause it was better to feed the culprits to the dogs than for the Crown to frown.

    But if Poins were to win, these men and women would also grow wary. For a decade or more, they had upheld Thomas and neglected Poins, and the reversal of the God-ordained hierarchy was no less desirable.

    "Shit¡ª" someone muttered, replacing his flute of wine and losing all appetite. "It''s over."

    While Mycroft amused himself with the possibilities, the battle below concluded in the only manner possible for a man unwilling to bet his life¡ªwith Thomas putting up both hands as Caliban intimated the possibility of a deep-tissue massage with its tentacles.

    Clearing his throat, the heir beckoned the lumen-recorders to capture his following words.

    "I must confess, good lady, that you have gotten the better of me."

    The concession was clear and precise, and the girl chose not to pursue the matter.

    With one hand, she swept back her matted hair, motioned her creatures to retreat, then turned from Thomas as though the man was no longer relevant. Holland''s response was to smile at the audience, shake his head with great seriousness, then exercise a loser''s right to solemn silence.

    Gwen, meanwhile, hovered toward the grim-faced Poins, who had been watching a few meters from the transparent panes.

    "Shall we continue while I am still winded and recovering?" she said to the remaining Holland, loud enough so that the stadium''s vox-casters could transmute her voice. "You won''t get an opportunity like this again."

    The remaining twin''s face visibly twitched.

    "I would not dream of taking such an advantage," Poins replied, half-hissing his retort, looking away from the Lumen-recorders pointed directly at his face. The BBC, however, would not allow such discretions to ruin their faultless broadcast. Both on the vid-caster in the stadium and piped into the Mageocracy''s homes, all bore witness to the irony of the man''s "honour".

    Mycroft suppressed a snort.

    Who would fight Gwen now? The Void Sorceress had found an unlikely affinity for the swampland, not to mention she had a nest of monsters slinking in the murk, awaiting their next victim. To refresh the battlefield would wipe away the proceeds of her vital and mana expenditure while fighting her immediately in her "winded" state would mean facing her already-conjured creatures. It was a fool''s choice to challenge her directly, but also an unmitigated confession that one could not meet the girl head-on.

    Only once she had established her superior position did Gwen turn to Thomas to shake the man''s hand with her muddy digits.

    "All the best with Poins," Thomas said with a measured voice. "He has always had a place in his heart for you."

    "I''ll be sure to answer him with all my heart." Gwen''s grin was serene like the smile of a Hammerhead Mermen. "I only hope Poins will appreciate my complete sincerity."

    Unsurprisingly, the conversation that followed in the grandstand was entirely dominated by the demonstration of Void Magic.

    A few of the older members who had been young men and women during Sobel''s reign might have recalled the Majesty of her craft, but few of the gathered had seen Void sorcery exercised in the degree of a sixth tier War Mage.

    For more than a year now, Cambridge had been unambiguous in their ambition of reviving a School of Magic thought lost when Elizabeth Sobel reappeared as a Rogue Mage of the Wildlands. And now, with the girl''s victory over House Holland Divi-casted across the Mageocracy''s domains, new interest in the previously abandoned endeavours would surely arise. Ironically, the Faction most inquisitive for Gwen''s unique craft, the Militants, had thus far received the least access to the university''s data. Comparatively, the Middle and Gray Factions possessed the data¡ªbut were proverbial Hydras, possessing too many heads to focus on effectively using the knowledge.

    A significant point of resistance from those with interest had been the fact that all such Void Mages would effectively be "God Mothered" by Gwen''s Soul Tap to "guarantee" their survival, a process that neither the Factions nor Gwen herself found agreeable.

    To have a contingent of Sobel-type soldiers under the thumb of the Factions had been a long and cherished Dream of the Mageocracy while it worked with Henry Kilroy. However, to have such a contingent beholden by Geas to one woman who wasn''t particularly tied to any House, family or Faction was an outcome no one desired.

    Presently, a crow alighted on his shoulder.

    "Well?" Mycroft''s mouth moved without sound.

    "The Exeters are not very creative," Mori''s sultry voice chittered from between the crow''s ensorceled beaks. "As you suspected, milord, one of the technicians has been skewering the odds for the Militants."

    "Is it obvious?"

    "He''s allowing the randomisation to go ahead," Mori spoke with disdain. "But has limited the choices to terrain favourable for the Exeters. That''s why the Adjudicators have yet to send their man downstairs."

    "I see." Mycroft watched the battle preparations below, with his daughter and the girl exchanging whispers. "What''s next?"

    "Volcanic, Tundra, Arboreal and Cloudscape."

    "All very good for a Smoke Mage," Ravenport agreed. "And not so convenient for our hellion."

    "Shall I inform Magister Jerribeth of the All England?" Mori''s tone grew vindictive. "Perhaps, after the match has begun so that the boy can be shamed and disqualified?"

    "Now, there''s a curious thought." Ravenport leaned closer toward the glass.

    After her prior performance, Gwen''s reentry ensured that both NoMs and Mages erupted into jubilant waves of witless cheering as their refreshed and radiant idol returned with Caliban singing its horrid jingle on her right and the magnificent Kirin cooing on her left.

    "Magus Song!"

    "Mistress of the Dogs!"

    "ARROOOO¡ª"

    The spittle-conjuring fervour, Mycroft supposed, was only to be expected. It had been so long since London played host to such a spectacle of rare magics, ensuring that win or lose, the matches will be the topic of a hundred debates for years to come, possibly even informing textbooks as exemplars of extraordinary sorcery.

    Many would also recall that she was a Frontier sorceress so that in the bout''s aftermath, eyes would turn to Sydney, now the domain of Gunther Shultz, with renewed vigour and hope. Likewise, other Tower Masters would look to their citizens in their tier-II cities and wonder if they had missed similar opportunities to raise a new Arch-Mage and colleague, furthermore altering the balance of power.

    Indeed, Mycroft conceded, Gwen was a girl who personified the winds of change, whether she willed it or otherwise, leaving no doubt that as an asset, she was equal parts wonder and danger.

    "Mori," Mycroft affirmed his unorthodox expectancies as Gwen''s opponent took to the stage, with the audience receiving the man with what can only be described as a silent sympathy. "Tell the Adjudicators to deploy Map Code 2351A. Explain that this is a favour from me to absolve them of troubles to come. Explain very clearly that they are absolutely within their right to refuse, just as I am completely confident in providing the evidence necessary for a change in their board members."

    Without delay, the crow fluttered past the door, zipped through the long corridor outside, then was gone.

    "Trouble, milord?" Lady Astor, who had been watching him, approached out of incurable curiosity.

    Ravenport smiled. "I have duties elsewhere," the Duke noted. "I shall leave congratulating Gwen to allies such as yourself."

    "You are not staying for the final match?" Lady Astor''s exquisite brows rose an inch.

    "Charlene is in good hands," Ravenport replied as he summoned the waiter to take his drained glass. "And you are too."

    Lady Astor''s eyes formed two mischievous half-moons. "I have just realised I should have placed another hundred thousand on Gwen."

    "You should have bet the bank." Mycroft fought down the desire to scold the American. Mixing business, pleasure, profit, and ego was a very unhealthy habit, a dire lesson he would one day teach Charlene and perhaps the girl as well. "I bid you good fortune, Lady Astor."

    "So long, Dickie." Lady Astor looked thoughtful, then added something unintelligible to her farewell. "Next outing, it''ll be my shout!"

    Edward Poins of House Holland, descendent of the Duke of Exeter, deeply suspected his brother had lost on purpose.

    When Thomas returned, his shoulders slouched and his gleaming armour caked with mud and scored of Void-scars, his forsaken sibling had given him one of his characteristic sunny smiles and bid Poins take on the courage of their ancestor.

    Thomas! Defeated! Poins tried to say something scathing, but his mind had gone blank.

    For one, he knew that if Thomas wished, the man could fight like the devil himself, possessing no remorse, mercy or control should he unleash the full potential of his power, which was enough to break down the Walls of Force and drown the stadium in blood-boiling steam. Being his brother, he knew for a fact that Thomas had better tricks up his sleeve, possessing more capabilities than the brute force demonstrated by his maiming of the Void Mage and his destruction of the girl''s "Caliban".

    Poins also knew, for instance, that like himself, Thomas had a unique skill, one involving polluting their steam or smoke with Spirit-tinged element energy imbued with their Astral Essence so that, should their opponents inhale even a little bit of their "motes of force", they could be incapacitated then and there. This secretive "Dire Haze" was a skill that few outside the inner circle of House Exeter knew, for every enemy that had fallen to the Signature Spell had either perished or were absorbed into House Exeter as a House Guard.

    The problem for Poins, alas, was that Thomas was supposed to be the one pushed to the brink! Thomas, who had only lost a handful of duels in his entire life, and never to a woman, and never to a Frontier Mage, was chosen by fate to expose their craft and draw their father''s ire!

    But then what did the thrice-blasted Thomas do?!

    He fought the damned girl as though she were some filly he had to impress, and not even down to the last mote of mana! Or to his death! Watching his brother''s smug retreat, Poins felt as though he should take a gamble and strangle his Steam-aligned sibling. How dare the man? How dare he put such a burden on his shoulders? Wasn''t Thomas the heir apparent? Wasn''t Thomas supposed to be the pillar of House Exeter? They were the inheritors of Henry''s Golden Blood! Scions of the Argent King! What would the world think? If Poins also lost, who would take the heaviest blame? Knowing their father, Thomas would receive a stern word and be sent to some forsaken Frontier, but for Poins¡ª

    Edward Poins felt goosebumps crawl up his forearms and neck.

    "Milord, your armour is ready." The House Armourer beside Poins informed him that his seals, straps and Enchantments were in peak condition to square off against Lightning and Void.

    Steeling his spine, Poins took a deep breath, then made his way up the dais toward the duelling platform.

    It was fine. Poins said to himself.

    Everything was going to be okay.

    The girl proved more potent than he had expected¡ªor could have imagined¡ªbut she was still just a Frontier sorceress. He would kite her around the battlefield, obfuscate himself to avoid the brunt of her power, then via the advantage of his incorporeal Avatar¡ªhe would make her suffer. Marriage? Poins acknowledged that there would be little chance for amicability after a battle of the degree he imagined. But that was fine, even if he maimed the girl, Thomas'' agreement with the Ravenport''s heir remained intact, and that should be able to secure the funds necessary to get his father''s Faction out of the foxhole. All he had to do was win.

    Opposite, the girl appeared, generating a tidal surge of cheers, hoots and howls, enough to shake the bleachers. Conversely, his arrival was supported only by a few ragged hurrahs from the Militants.

    Poins realised a split-second later that the betting odds must have swung to the girl''s favour. If so, how many of those in the crowd had engaged in horse betting against the Militants? If he recalled, the odds had begun in House Holland''s favour, meaning a good number of those cheering on his side were howling for her victory because of the tangible gains his loss entailed. As for those who had pinned their hopes on the Exeters¡ªthat would be yet another point of complication for their father.

    The arena shimmered.

    Transmutation modules buried into the struts and the arena''s stratum thrummed with flowering mana, altering the landscape underfoot. First came the igneous stones, growing in size until they arched overhead. Then came the slick moss and lichen that spontaneously grew into place as the light dimmed, forming a tightly packed subterranean tunnel like those in the Dwarven Murk.

    Poins felt the pit of his stomach drop.

    What the hell was this?

    What was this landscape even? A cave? A cavern?

    Where were the volcanic steppes? Where was his Cloudscape?

    It took a few minutes for the enormous transmutation to complete, settling into a long tunnel in the manner of a mining shaft or vein. The midsections, nested against the walls of force, allowed the audience views into the tunnel''s interior. As a whole, the tube consisted of seamless blocks of volcanic rock made slick by cavernous slime and subterranean growth.

    Poins turned his eyes to the Adjudicator but could not read the hawk-nosed man''s expression.

    An enclosed battlespace?

    He knew well that the roulette of the arena''s battle settings possessed such a setting.

    But why the fuck was he in it?

    Here in the smooth-bored tunnel, there was nowhere to hide! How could a Smoke Mage even begin to take advantage of their craft in such a space? Even if he flooded the tunnel with smoke, wasn''t the girl capable of kilometre-wide Maelstroms?

    "Contestants! Ready yourselves¡ª" The Adjudicator was relentless. "BEGIN!"

    The signal rang before Poins could think of a legitimate reason to protest.

    "God damn it!" Poins swore, then wove into place his Avatar of Smoke, transforming instantly into a slipstream of slinking fog to assail the girl at the other end of the tunnel. If he could make it to the girl in time¡ªif he could smog her and ensure that she inhaled a lungful of his motes of force, then he could subdue the bitch, bring her to heel¡ª

    Poins stopped.

    He fought off the wave of vertigo wash over him, then realised he could and should go no further.

    There was no longer the girl or the path in the direction that he needed to go.

    There was, however, a mouth¡ªa three-storey tall, circular mouth filled with teeth in concentric, diminishing rings, flexing and undulating as they invited him toward the hot-pink hole in the middle, one that regurgitated globs of Void-matter in viscous spurts. Poins felt his cheeks twitch once more. Both above and below, the creature''s slick body had crammed the cavern to its absolute capacity, making it impossible for him to pass.

    Or rather, he could choose to pass by entering the creature''s gullet, taking a tour through the Quasi-Elemental Plane of Void, then hopefully emerge through the creature''s colons to assault its owner in the manner of a treacherous fart. Unfortunately, impressive as that possibility may be, Poins dared not assume that the Void fiend even possessed a dietary tract, and he was not diving headfirst into oblivion. If anything, should the heir of the Golden Blood perish in such a comical way, Poins had a feeling the family mausoleum may spontaneously burst into flames.

    Once more, he studied the strange "setting" of the battlefield conjured by All England''s technicians. This blasted tunnel! If he were to find the prick responsible, he would wring the man''s corpse like a rag! Blood and oath! Didn''t Thomas pay off one of them?

    Poins felt a raging fury encompass his mind like hot, cinder-filled smoke.

    Who the hell was responsible for this travesty?

    Was it his brother?

    What would Thomas gain by his loss?

    Try as he might, Poins could not get his rage-addled mind to focus on the possibilities. He felt like a bear, a God damned, baited ursine on a spit! And the bitch, the bitch was the hound set loose so that he would be made a spectacle.

    But bear or bitch, as an Exeter, he would have to fight the cause.

    "CINDER STRIKE!" a little more loudly than he''d liked, Poins tested the waters, sending a shrieking torrent of howling smoke, imbued by this Cinder Elemental toward the gnashing maw that even now inched closer. Unusual for its archetype, the Elemental Blast unique to his Spirit was capable of physical and mental damage, owing to the Cinder Spirit''s relative closeness to Elemental Ash. Those struck by the blast would first suffer uncontrollable nausea, then become overwhelmed by despair, making his ray-attack an unmatched combination for sneak attacks.

    As expected, the cinder tore through the repulsive flesh of the "Caliban" creature with ease, punching a hole deep enough to hide a Mage who might be into that sort of thing. Despairingly, Gwen''s creature lacked the politeness even to feign agony, choosing to instead push ahead without flinching from an otherwise mortal injury.

    Drawing from the wealth of experience he had gained fighting Vermin Tides in the horn of Africa, Poins quickly wove together another spell, a more potent variation of Cinder Strike that consumed six times the mana. Very quickly, with fingers dancing like that of a fierce pianist, he wove the Mandalas into place, generation three focusing arrays that would elevate the Elemental Fire under his control.

    "Hellfire Bolt!"

    Three dazzling rays of jet black smoke, each the length and girth of a Hoplite''s spear, tore through the open space, shrieking like aggrieved banshees, their passage punctuated by phoenix trails of toxic Elemental Ash.

    His pride and joy connected with a wet squelch, instantly consuming the flesh of the Void beast. Unlike the Cinder Strike, the Hellfire Bolts struck, corroding the meat as their latent energies expended.

    Caliban howled, writhing and sending spittle spraying all over, though because the damned fiend had been doing that already, Poins had no idea if it suffered or if it cared at all for the supposedly mortal injury. Likewise, Poins had no idea how well the girl was connected to her Familiar. In his experience, any other Creature Mage of her calibre should be squirming in agony from the transmuted pain of Elemental Ash corroding one''s living flesh. But a Void Sorceress? Would a girl with Void Mana running in her conduits even care for the caress of Ash?

    Tapping deep into his reserves, he conjured a second set of Hellfire lances, each bearing his hope and dreams, smouldering the air as they smoked with malicious execution.

    In front of the huffing heir of House Holland, Caliban continued to advance, a living glacier of flesh with a puckering, tentacle-pink orifice in its centre, beckoning Poins with its sussurating, Siren''s wail.

    "Shaa¡ª"

    "Shaa¡ª Shaa¡ª"

    "SHAA¡ª SHAA¡ª SHAA¡ª!"

 Chapter 438 - Carry the Weight

    Gwen wondered if Elizabeth Sobel, her predecessor, would have looked more svelte, fabulous and in control if placed in the same predicament.

    When to her complete surprise, the final battlefield manifested as a sealed mining shaft commonly found in the Murk, her mind had instantly turned to the same tactic the Earthen Wyrms used to devour their prey¡ªto lead with one''s mouth and hope for the best.

    Without delay, she had relented an unearthly volume of her stowed vitality, tapped into Almudj''s blessing to supplement her needs, then near-emptied Caliban''s internal stores to make the match truly interesting for the last Holland.

    Her one regret was that contestants couldn''t see the lumen-projectors outside the arena, for she would have truly enjoyed the expression Poins must have made when he realised the only way through Caliban was via its puckering, salivating orifice.

    That was because Caliban''s Void-tinged slime formed a near-vacuum seal of the tunnel, so much that were it not for the various vents built into the complex Force Barrier Mandalas, she doubted her "Mongolian Death Worm" would have possessed any mobility.

    Her only inconvenience was that Caliban''s rapid expansion had quickly forced her into a hilariously compromised position against the wall had she not put up a double-glazed Shield to protect herself. However, once she had settled herself, Gwen had time to foment her next move, which was to put a conclusive exclamation mark to the question of what weight she wielded in London.

    "Ariel¡ª" She called forth her purring, furry Kirin, fully stocked up on her Almudj''s Essence over the last few days and choked full of the most vital Wildlands Creature Cores Charlene could provide. "You ready to impress?"

    "EE¡ªEE!" Ariel proved an eager participant, having spent the whole fight pent up in its Pocket Dimension, watching Caliban hog the spotlight. Now, its glowing horns of solidified lightning glowed with the power of a small power plant in semi-meltdown, ready to deliver its mistresses'' displeasure to the man cornered by the business-end of its sibling.

    With a dainty gauntlet resting on the head of her pet, Gwen willed forth the lion''s share of Almudj''s Essence, transforming Ariel wholly so that the crowd rose into wild whines of awe-inspired jubilation. Ariel, who was already an impressive chimaera before it took on Gwen''s Essence boost, reformed into a radiant demi-Dragon with unquestionable semi-divinity. From its eighteen-point stag horns to its slender, serpentine neck covered with fish-scale patterned fur, it was the closest thing many Londoners had ever seen of a "true'' Dragon-kind.

    "EE¡ªEE!" Ariel pawned the air with its immense mittens, all the while stomping the ground with its lightning-charged hooves, leaving behind horseshoe-shaped imprints of molten silica. The light of the plasma sparking off Ariel''s fur to sizzling the Walls of Force was such that the generators near the pane where girl and Kirin hid bulged and warped as the sheer volume of otherworldly mana radiating from Gwen''s Familiar seared their observer''s weeping retinas.

    Mid-transfusion, Gwen felt an invisible, empathetically driven bolt of Ash-tinged fire drilling into Caliban, growing until it felt like someone had pricked the inside of her skull with a needle. For a creature with no organs and arguably no nerve endings, Caliban was insensible to pain, which meant whatever Poins was doing had to be doing some real damage to tickle her insides.

    "Ouch¡ª" Gwen reflexively gritted her teeth as she touched a hand to her temple. A younger Gwen would have grown distracted, but an experienced masochist like herself managed to brush off the pain through sheer force of will. That said, there was nought she could do to dismiss the strange side effect of Elemental Ash, a feeling akin to injecting anaesthesia into her emotional centres.

    Activating her Link Sight, she saw the vital form of Poins, burning like a miniature sun with limbs, tossing bolt after bolt of dark energy from his hands into Cali''s maw like a man angrily feeding Dede breadsticks.

    With each blast, the numbing sensation intensified, permeating Caliban''s body, bleeding the accumulated effect into her Astral Soul.

    Gwen guessed that the Ash-tinged smoke spears must be one of those prized secretive magics of the Hollands, meaning it was probably a good idea to prevent her opponent from reaching the full potential of his rare art.

    "Bloody oath¡ª" She fought down her nausea. "Alright, Ariel, it''s time to lend Cali a horn or two."

    She gave Ariel one last pat on the head, then dematerialised her Kirin to recombobulate her Familiar closer to Caliban''s mouth, all the while ensuring that an eruption of tentacles from Caliban''s howling, angry maw would shield the suddenly-appearing Kirin.

    "Don''t die, Magus Holland." Feeling a little cheeky, she decided to echo the words Thomas had delivered only ten minutes earlier, then followed up with an exclamation that dwarfed anything the Steam Mage had thus far demonstrated.

    Then, Gwen began the famous invocations her audience had been waiting for in the grandstand, a phrase made infamous by her enthralling IIUC highlights.

    With deliberate emphasis, her lush lips formed the perfect syllable to begin her spell, followed a few seconds later by the sound of reverberating thunder from down under.

    Edward Poins Holland felt a buoyed sense of hope when, after six consecutive Hellfire Bolts that drained his Cinder Spirit and deadened his mind, the worm creature''s advance was halted, and its undulation dulled.

    To the observers, the young man was arguably deserving of the reputation attributed to his House, for Poins was a walking avatar of smog and ash, appearing and disappearing as his body displaced between the Prime Material and the Para-Plane of Smoke. Both of his hands, now imbued with the residue mana from his Hellfire Blasts, glowed with smouldering Elemental Ash, igniting the clambering particles surrounding his body as they dissipated, leaving phoenix trails of flaming embers.

    Had the fiend finally run out of vitality? Poins'' mind grew hot with visions of victory as he shook the corrosive particles of ash from his insensible fingers. The girl had fought his brother, and now she had conjured a full-sized Death Worm from Mongolia. Surely, her mana and vitality should have struck rock bottom? If he were to dispatch the worm, would the sorceress then appear? He wasn''t in peak condition himself, but he felt confident he had the necessary spells on hand to hinder the bumpkin the moment her pretty face showed herself.

    His plan was simple, for he would obfuscate her senses with phantoms conjured from Elemental Smoke¡ªthen he would Cinder Blast her defences to keep her on the back heel¡ªthen, as a masterstroke, he would permeate her Astral Body with enough Elemental Ash to render her senseless. At that point, she should be reduced to nought but a moist oyster on his plate!

    But what of her retaliation?

    There was a saying, Poins recalled, that one could not raise Manticore cubs without venturing into a Manticore''s lair.

    Elemental Smoke could not rival Dust for its absolute ability to withstand all forms of damage, but what he did have in abundance was the ability to warp and dodge incoming spellfire. Likewise, while Thomas, his brother, focused on offence, he possessed a more rounded suite of powers, including a Signature defence spell taught by Holland''s Captain of the Guard, Smoke Ward¡ªa form of Abjuration that emphasised diverting incoming attacks through a dispersed field of deflecting force shards. These were excellent against consumption-based powers like Void. Additionally, what gave Poins his absolute confidence was his House Armourer''s Enchantment of Greater Protection against Lightning, built especially into his suit for the occasion after two months of planning and foresight.

    And if his offence should fail?

    Poins had already polluted the surrounding air, or what''s left of it, with particles of his and his Spirit''s Essence, readying the battleground for a Dire Haze should events turn southward for the never-setting sunset of Exeter.

    To snatch victory from the jaws of seeming defeat! Could there be a sweeter moment for a heroic Scion of the Hollands? What would his brother do? What would his father say? And to have the girl confess to her willingness to be a marriage candidate? It was a delicious thought, even if the prospect made him a little afraid.

    "Hellfire Bolt!" The final bolt cratered the creature''s face deep enough for him to see its charred, pink interior.

    To his pleasure, "Caliban" then ceased its movement entirely, making victory feel so close he could almost taste it.

    Ding! The subtle chime of the Adjudicator''s message channel bloomed besides Poins'' ear. For a second, Poins wondered if enough Elemental Ash had permeated the girl to make her give up the fight.

    "Don''t die¡­ Magus Holland."

    Instead, what came across was a passed-on missive that was seductive, husky and sweet all at once, with implications no kinder than a hatchet to his ego. It took Poins another split-second to realise she had spoken the precise words used by Thomas before his failed alpha strike.

    Instantly, Poins'' mind filled with nagging doubt. He would have written off the mockery without his brother''s words, but now, he wasn''t so sure.

    What did the girl mean by it?

    Were Thomas and the Ravenport''s heiress in cahoots?

    They had, after all, known one another since he and his brother were at Eton and Charlene at Cheltenham. Compared to himself, his brother had always been the popular one, the one who the girls at Cheltenham had pined after, and the heir that caught their father''s and mother''s eyes.

    Taken as such, was the girl''s mockery a warning passed on by Thomas against his ambitions? Poins had been the one who suggested taking the girls on to usurp their wealth and gain their bloodline. Yet, hadn''t Thomas agreed to it? Hadn''t his brother put the measures in place to take advantage of the Barlow Group''s feud?

    The more he thought about it, the more he sensed a terrifying logic piecing together.

    Unfortunately for Poins, there existed only a split-second between Gwen''s warning and the miniature sun now blooming like an electric flower. More so than ever before, he felt like the baited Dire Bear their father had made them fight in their youth, trapped in a makeshift arena to be pommelled and pelted by Elemental Steam and Smoke, only to regenerate and be subject to the same torture the next day.

    But even the vividness of that recollection fell suddenly behind Poins as every memory muscle in his body activated to form a deflection field around his Avatar of Smoke.

    "EE¡ªEE!" Came a cry of dire cuteness inside the glowing halo of scintillating plasma.

    The Kirin! Poins refocused his thoughts at once. The Void fiend must be spent, meaning if he could defeat the Kirin, then the girl had no choice but to face him in person, exhausted and OoM.

    "Cinder Bolt!" Poins launched himself as a jet of smoke toward the back most section of the battle arena''s makeshift tunnel, all the while launching no less than three bolts at the iris-searing vision of the hazy Draconid. His attacks flew true, but just as his assault was about to connect, a flurry of flesh in the form of tentacles formed a wall of meat in front of his quarry, eating his attacks before falling apart in agonised sections of smouldering, ash-tingled chunks.

    Poins felt his spine freeze.

    "BARBANGINY¡ª"

    There was no need for an open broadcast, for Poins heard the sound as clearly as the ionising air near the Kirin as it lowered its head.

    There was a brief lull, two blinds of the eye as Poins shifted into defence, then his world turned irrevocably emerald and white.

    Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

    In the All England''s arenas, the barriers were bolstered by multi-core Aether Engines and imbued with anti-magical Mandalas should the battle Mages grow too passionate in their search for victory.

    When finally the spell the Adjudicators had been waiting for began to manifest, the All England''s technicians had readied every safety mechanism available to the century-old establishment as contingencies.

    However, when the living, forking emerald lightning struck out in ten-thousand filaments like a distended tree of life and the Divination department''s instruments swung past orange into the scarlet, Magister Yvonne Jerribeth knew the audience was in real danger.

    "Deploy the Anti-Magic field." Her voice cut through the alarms like a hot knife, stern and unquestionable. "Award the match."

    Her employees obeyed without delay, synchronising movements as they activated the intricate mana-draining Mandala built under the Transmutation layers. By Allenberg''s Theory of Planar conservation, it was impossible to eradicate mana itself¡ªthough it was entirely possible to deploy Arcanistry in such a way that undesired mana manifestations could be shunted elsewhere, such as into the limbo of the Astral Plane, or perhaps into the Elemental Plane of Air.

    The decision proved correct, for the Magister could visibly see the Walls of Force warping from the excess energy. Despite the contestant''s employment of what could only be an upper-tier Spirit, neither the beast nor the girl had considered mitigating their power output, conceivably because of their confidence in the All England, but more than likely out of neglect. Whatever the case, Magister Jerribeth breathed a sigh of relief when the walls re-established their structure, accompanied by the slow fall of indicators on the Aether Engines'' heat levels.

    "Make the announcement," she said to her staff as she teleported away, her mind still half-lingering on the "compassion" given by Lord Ravenport and full of fury for the Hollands that had compromised her perfect tenure. "I''ll personally certify the outcome."

    It took almost a minute for the mana from Ariel to thoroughly flush from the battle arena, leaving Gwen standing in a field of broken stone and molten debris beside a half-cooked Caliban quivering with delight and a Kirin mewing with haughty pleasure.

    When her eyes doubly scanned the battlefield and could not locate her opponent, the pit of her stomach dropped.

    FUCK¡ªwas the first thought in her head. Had she overdone it? Had the Devourer of Shenyang officially screwed the Royal Corgi?

    Just in case, her eyes scanned the arena once more, each pass engendering in her a growing degree of paranoia.

    FUCK¡ªFUCK¡ªFUCK¡ª

    Visions of all-out total war flashed across her frontal lobe.

    Had she atomised Poins? Reduced man into his primordial elements?

    Perhaps Poins was hiding in a pocket dimension like Jean-Paul?

    But that wasn''t possible either, for all it took was a persistent disturbance like a lightning field, and Poins would be ejected and disorientated¡ªand then doubly atomised.

    For assurance, she glanced at the sidelines, only to see a jubilant Charlene with both hands balled in a gesture of victory.

    Charlene''s lack of panic calmed her somewhat. After all, Poins wasn''t the true heir, or was he? The Exeters have got an heir and a spare, and the "spare" was the spare for a reason.

    "MAGUS SONG¡ªTHE VICTOR!" The declaration from above reverberated, likely hoping that she could acknowledge the fact. Gwen was vaguely aware that the Adjudicator had announced the outcome several times already, though her present worry was more so for the trouble at hand.

    At any rate, the crowd wasn''t clapping, and Gwen could only guess why.

    "Umm¡­" Gwen turned her face toward the Adjudicator awaiting her acknowledgement. "If I may ask, good Sir, where''s Magus Holland?"

    The hawk-nosed Adjudicator''s eyes locked onto Caliban.

    "Cali?" Gwen turned to her Familiar.

    The rapidly regenerating Caliban gave her a look only a half-cooked sausage regrowing its sheep-intestine exterior could manage.

    "EE¡ªEE!" Ariel protested loudly, pawing the air and stomping its feet. "EE¡ª!"

    "SHAA¡ª!"

    "EE¡ªEE¡ª!"

    Gwen''s eyes widened. "HE DID WHAT?"

    According to the impression from Ariel, the very brave and very decisive Poins knew instantly that he was in a world of hurt, at which point he realised there was only ONE place where he could shelter from utter annihilation.

    "CALI!" Gwen shrieked despite herself. "Spit it out!"

    "SHAA¡ª" Her creature refused to comply, or rather, its faceless mien was very expressive in insisting it had nothing in its maw.

    "God damn it," Gwen growled at her Familiar. "Cali¡ª not now! Spit it out! We need him alive! What if you get sick?"

    "SHAA¡ª" Caliban shook its head indignantly.

    Before Gwen could compel the creature with her will, a part of Caliban''s healed flesh began to bulge. Poins then thankfully erupted from her Familiar''s side and rolled onto the floor with the unpleasant pop of a suddenly rupturing pimple. The impromptu birth made Gwen wince, for the man was covered in Void-tinged slime, and were it for his full-cover armour, there would certainly be a layer of Poins that would remain mingled with her dearest Caliban.

    "Milord Poins." She gritted her teeth. "Are you..."

    Before she or the crowd could comment, the man leapt onto his feet and made a fighting stance. The Exeter was even halfway through a nasty sounding invocation when a female Adjudicator materialised in front of Edward Poins with a disapproving glare and a Wand of Nullification in hand that would focus the anti-magic Mandala''s power where she willed.

    Invariably, the crowd''s excited low rumble now grew from a quiet thrum to a thundering roar, then to shrieks and howls.

    Upon seeing the newly materialised Adjudicator, Poins popped his helmet and shrunk the thing behind his sweat-soaked hair to protest his loss. Meanwhile, Gwen could only feel supremely impressed by the man''s quick thinking. To hid in Caliban¡ªit was the same thing she had done to the Elder Sand Wyrm, only she had minutes of foresight and planning, while Poins had a fraction of a second. To dive with complete confidence into a creature composed of Void was a feat that no average Mage, even an experienced one, could begin to entertain.

    For this reason alone, Gwen felt enough respect for Poins to gift him the mercy of dignity.

    "No, Master Poins, withdraw now and accept your loss. I shall not ask twice."

    Whoever spoke had both power, authority and very little patience.

    "The victory is yours, Magus Song." The platinum-haired woman turned to her. From her bearing and a vague impression of her face, Gwen could guess that she must be Magister Yvonne Jerribeth, the Master of the Arena. "Even if Master Poins should defeat you now, I will not certify his victory. You have won. That result is both unequivocal and final."

    "Thank you." Gwen gave the woman a curt nod, then offered her hand to Poins, who stared at her extended digits as though they were Caliban''s beckoning, phallic tendrils.

    Several more seconds passed before the man could restore the full extent of his faculties, after which he moved with the grace of a struck Golem to take her palm and shake.

    "You¡­ tried to kill me," Poins intimated, his voice low and private. "I concede, but tell me¡ªwas it Thomas who put you up to this?"

    Gwen''s smile froze, more so from confusion than from shock. Had Caliban''s interior driven the man insane? Or had Ariel''s shock therapy reduced his IQ to the lower double digits? Whatever the case, with the crystalline eyes of the Lumen-casters gazing upon her, Gwen felt it best to ignore the man altogether and to stay away from this particular Exeter in all future interactions.

    "You''re alive, so I certainly wasn''t trying." She smiled back with a snarky glint of her pearly teeth. "Had I truly wished it, you''d be trying to find your way out from the Quasi-Plane of Caliban''s gullet."

    "I see," Poins answered cryptically, his face inexplicably relaxing. "Thank you for the honesty, Magus Song."

    "Sure." Gwen withdrew her hand, then gestured to the podium. "Shall we?"

    "My brother will take care of that." Poins gave her one last look, his gaze as hungry as it was wary. "Enjoy your victory, Magus Song. So long as you continue to refuse the Militant Faction, I am sure we''ll meet again under less happy circumstances."

    "Then I very much look forward to my future profits." Gwen parried with ease, then turned on her heels to join Magister Jerribeth, who concluded the post-match shit-talk by giving Poins a curt nod.

    She and the chief referee then rose into the air until they were surrounded by spectators on all sides, leaving Poins'' lonely self to retreat to the Exeter''s sidelines. When she looked down at her opponent, she felt suddenly struck by a strange sadness, for the Hollands had already withdrawn, leaving only a token House Guards to receive Edward Poins.

    Was this the intra-politics of these supersized families? Gwen wondered, hoping that she and her companions would never amount to such bitter bickerings, no matter her success.

    Closer to the grandstands, a platform was readied for the victors, where she reconvened with the mummified Jean-Paul, whose body and dignity was held in place by Aiden Rothwell''s Faith Magic, and Charlene Ravenport, whose eyes glanced more than once at the faces behind the panes. Perhaps a little mockingly, John Williams, the NoM pilot, was behind them, cheering on Gwen with big, hyperbolic waves of his hands.

    Her match, unfortunately, had no crystalline cup nor a platinum trophy to act as its proverbial cherry on top. Yet, Gwen felt as though she was levitating as the crowd undulated with their praises of "Magus Song!" and "Mistress of the Dogs!", together with a subset of spectators howling "Ariel!" and "Cali¡ªCali¡ªCali¡ª"

    Was Evee watching the show? She wondered as she gingerly exchanged hugs with the men, then clasped Charlene''s hand.

    Together, the girls raised their hands to the air, drawing another round of resounding cheers that would be broadcasted around the Mageocracy and its second-tier capitals.

    "As this isn''t the International Duelling Competition, there isn''t a speech prepared," the regal-looking Magister Jerribeth explained. She waited until the girls separated, then shook each of their hands as the officiating proprietor of the All England.

    Glancing at the side of the now absent Exeters, she gave a disapproving shake of her head, then returned her attention to the girls.

    "Just as well¡ª" The Magister sighed. "Your competitors have chosen a dignified and quiet withdrawal, so it''s now up to you. Please address your ardent fans, Magus Song and Milady Ravenport."

    In the distance, hovering Lumen-recorders focused on the girls.

    "I had complete faith in Gwen," Charlene gave the screen a rare grin, flashing her teeth and her steely grey eyes, showing the world that not all members of House Ravenport were born stern. "And that faith has been tested and proven sound. In my capacity as a Ravenport, I believe our partnership will continue to blossom for many years yet."

    The Senior Adjudicator gave an approving nod, then waited on Gwen to deliver her piece.

    Gwen took a deep breath.

    The defeat of the Exeters was something she could not have imagined a year and a half ago. Yet, here she was, standing on a podium while the Nobles fled with their pinions between their legs.

    Reflexively, she wanted to thank her Master, who even now slept the eternal sleep in Sufina''s abode, not to mention Alesia and Gunther. She also desired to credit her Babulya, Uncle Jun, Yeye, Richard, Petra and Opa, whose contributions were instrumental to where she stood today.

    She very much wanted, a little cheekily, to say hello to Percy to embarrass him on an international level.

    Then there were her mentors and seniors in England, her dearest Lady of Ely, her team of tutors, Magister Brown, and the men and women who made her progress in Void-craft possible.

    A tiny part of her even entertained the idea of embarrassing Dickie with a wink and a thank you to pay him back for the fright and fear.

    But to express such sentimentalities now would be a troubling confession, one that would give away her connections and those who were close to her. Instead, she had an image to maintain and a portfolio to cultivate; with the victory here, she would be freed from the desirous eyes of London''s high society, transforming herself into their equal, whether they admitted it or otherwise.

    Thereby, she knew well what to say at a junction as crucial as this.

    "Thank you, Magister Jerribeth." Gwen bowed her head before turning again toward the crowd and the audience with a similar show of humility, drawing coos of affirmation. "All I can say now¡ª"

    Gwen raised her voice by a dozen decibels.

    "¡ªIs that the Isle of Dogs will issue new Ordinary Shares in the coming weeks for Phase IV of our development! Be you NoM, Mage, Magus or Magister, join us today on the Isle as we rebuild London for a better, brighter future! Don''t miss this opportunity because it won''t come again, at least until our next project!"

    Understandably, the crowd broke into new waves of hysterical cheering, not unlike a ravenous beast biting the bait out of jaw-clenching reflex. For ones invested in the isle, the Mages were likely overjoyed that their stocks and properties would see a sudden growth spurt. As for the NoMs associated with the IoD, they had little idea what Gwen spoke of but understood that somewhere therein was the implication for more jobs, better employment, and open opportunities.

    Besides her, Magister Jerribeth stared at her with a dumbfounded expression of disbelief.

    When the crowd''s baying did not cease for another thirty seconds, Gwen turned to her companions with an awkward smirk. "Maybe I should have gone for a more traditional conclusion?"

    To her shock, it was Charlene who launched herself in the most un-Ravenport manner imaginable, closing the space between them until she embraced Gwen in a big hug with her spindly arms, then affected a smile that could only belong to a psychedelic purple cat from a Demi-Plane.

    "I wager you just doubled our earnings this quarter!" Charlene''s inspirited voice chimed with the jingle-jangle of HDMs. Ravenport''s daughter looked toward Gwen, then to the cameras, the toward her again before she spoke once more. "Thank you, Gwen. I know we''re mutual beneficiaries, but still, I wanted you to know that I fully appreciate what you''ve done for me. I struggle to think another aspirant would again manage a debut with so much... freedom."

    Shocked at her partner''s sudden display of sisterly affection, Gwen felt a little smothered by the unusual intimacy. Yet, when the young woman parted from her a few seconds later and resumed her usual, stoic self, she savoured the lingering scent of soft lilac blossoms.

    "Do you have anything else to say, Magus Song?" Magister Jerribeth gave a slight cough, her undisguised aggravation as cold as her frozen smile at the antics of Gwen and her upstart kin. "The All England is a busy venue, you understand, and there''s much to clean and prepare."

    "Then we shall take our leave, Magister Jerribeth." Gwen bowed toward the venue''s visitors once more, as did her fellow compatriots.

    As they descended to the sound of shattering applause, Gwen hovered backwards to address each of her companions in turn. "Alright, guys and dolls¡ªAre you ready?"

    "Ready for the future?" Charlene joked, her mind likely already thinking of her quarterly financial report for the Norfolk Fund.

    "For what?" Jean-Paul was his usual clueless self.

    Gwen nodded toward Ser Rothwell, who she hoped did not subscribe to a Vow of Alcoholic Temperance. She also nodded toward their new camp follower, the somewhat desperate looking John Williams, for she had questions for the man that only he could answer.

    "For the after-party, of course." Gwen flashed her Storage Ring, feeling with complete certainty that there could only be one way to conclude their day. "Tonight! Unlimited Essence-Maotai! We drink until we drop! Or burst! Or until Jean-Paul regrows his hair!"

 Chapter 439 - The Weight of the World

    "What are the chances the Barlow Group isn''t going to withdraw their bullshit?" Gwen asked the oval table and its assemblage of face-palming, head-aching folks recovering from Maotai. The night had been long, for Jean-Paul had not grown out his hair despite her best Essence and now resembled a naked mole-rat. At first, Gwen suggested that Jean-Paul would perhaps own the new "look", like a cute pug. Unfortunately, now as bald as Bezos, Jean-Paul appeared more reptilian than ever, so much that the casual observer would question his Demi-ancestry. "Charlene! What do you think?"

    "Gwen, for the love of Evee, lower your voice," Richard remarked with a wince. He and Petra had joined them shortly after they retired to the Bunker, where they had left early from their labours to celebrate the victory of their cousin over the Empire''s elites. "We can all hear you, but right now, your words are bouncing around inside my skull like Clarion Calls."

    "You could always put the twins'' incompetence in the METRO." Petra motioned with a casual wave. As one with principally Russian blood and trained to drink professionally instead of responsibly, her cousin was better fortified against magical booze than Richard. "Besides, these things take time, don''t they? I doubt the Veteran''s Association can ''order'' their protestors home like dogs."

    "I think it''ll take a few weeks, so have patience," Charlene''s answer emerged from a mound of silken black cloth wrapped around her head to block out the light. "Ooo¡ª my insides feel like a thousand crows taking flight at once."

    "You young people..." Walken, who had abstained from the drinking and left early for his family, shook his head disapprovingly. He Maged Handed across another jug of water from the hidden fridge, warmed it with a snap of his fingers, then refilled glasses for the sufferers. "Gwen, perhaps you should reconvene later? The Barlow Consortium will take time to collapse, by which time we''ll have the advantage in their fire sale."

    "Alright¡ª alright¡ª" Gwen relented, lamenting that her lightweight companions could not combine workaholic lifestyles with an alcoholic one. Unlike the Dwarves who drank until they blacked out and then returned to work as refreshed as a clear winter morning, her humans were ill-suited to hard-boozing life.

    Now forbidden from raising her voice, she turned her attention to the papers of the day, delivered by a hungover Lorenzo first thing in the morning before escaping to his office to "sleep off" the overtime. The latest METRO had been printing as early as midnight, having primed the print run prior, awaiting only the details of her victory. On its cover, an unsoiled Gwen stood beside Charlene, flanked by Aiden and Jean-Paul, while somewhere below in a separate panel, there sat the haggard images of the twins in their moment of defeat.

    Comparatively, there was an image of her in filthy battle armour on the Telegraph''s cover, being hugged by Charlene Ravenport and editorialised by the headline "BIRDS OF A FEATHER". On the Sun, there was a flattering but far more terrifying visage of her in full Void-mode, half-covered by her Dark Egg while hundreds of hungry mouths wept from her obsidian shell. This one, Gwen marvelled, had the gall to use the headline, "I AM BECOME DEATH". It was an apt and eye-catching front page, though Gwen wasn''t sure who the audience for such an allusion would or should be.

    Nearer the back pages, she scanned the Editorial section of the Sun, where a Magister by the name of Lawson Ashbridge of the Middle Faction delivered his lauded opinion on the matter of Void Mages.

    Seeing that her companions continued to resurrect their kidneys, she quickly scanned the article.

    The Legacy of the Void

    <blockquote>

    In 1979, one month after the Invasion of the Indonesian Peninsular and the harrowing victory of the Mageocracy at Singapore city, a Void Mage made history as the first sorceress to conduct a raid of extinction on a Coral Fortress.

    Though the Military had not kept records of the sorceress'' exact actions, eyewitness accounts considered the outcome optimum for Great Powers with the luck and resources to constrain a War Mage of the Void persuasion.

    The end to the Coral Sea War was so spectacular, the destruction so complete, that the Mermen Royals from the Seven Kingdoms who managed to flee withdrew their forces and sued for a ceasefire, putting a ten-year halt on the incursion of the Mageocracy''s territorial waters.

    Drunk on success and irrespective of the secrecy surrounding the Void Sorceress known as Elizabeth Sobel, the Tower Council of our yesteryears then grew adamant that the "War on Humanity" mandated the use of extreme military means. It was a hasty decision¡ªone advocated by Lord Henry Kilroy, architect of the Tower and its subsequent Councils, from which the Mageocracy had lacked the legal and conceptual legitimacy necessary to measure the methodology of Void users, thereby gifting Sobel far greater moral liberty than should have been allowed.

    As wars grew in human cost in the years to follow, Sobel quickly became an infamous stopgap measure for the Mageocracy''s stretched forces. By official counts, under the tutelage of Kilroy, his spouse conducted no less than four hundred separate operations throughout her tenure, all the while unquestioned by military tribunals.

    History has told us how Sobel faired, and now we stand at that same junction.

    Void Magic is not a modern invention. Documents on Void Mages, mainly surviving ones, had existed for aeons in the Mageocracy''s records. Sobel''s creatures, these "Hydras" that we have all witnessed on Magus Song''s Lumen-casted duel, are likewise not unknown knowledge. What differentiates the Void Arcanist from their fellow War Mages, who are often in the thick of battle, slinging spellfire and weathering a host of counterspells and returned artillery, is their unique constitution, one that had to be survived to be useful.

    However, this does not mean that the caster is indomitable. Of all Negative-aligned elements, there is none more prone to self-harm than Void, and this is a proven fact made evident by Elizabeth Sobel''s mental decline to madness. Sobel did not enjoy her victories in the post-war peace but had revelled so long in war and mass destruction that she was no longer capable of living in society. Her insatiable battle lust eventuated in her defection to the Others, to Spectre, and inevitably, her cold-blooded murder of Lord Kilroy, a man whose loss had invariably diminished the Mageocracy.

    Gwen Song has now demonstrated the same aptitude as her predecessor. However, in stark contrast to the case of her Master''s spouse, the sorceress has left no secret un-probed by Cambridge''s most remarkable minds. Thanks to Magus Song, new methods developed by the Mageocracy''s Magisters have ensured that almost all Void Mages willing to fall under the wing of the "Void Mage Union" would see their survival guaranteed, ushering in a new era of Spellcraft development. For those who still doubt the viability of Void Sorcery, I must say that¡­

    </blockquote>

    Gwen noted that the rest of the article gave enough facts to appease the public''s paranoia but wasn''t heavy on details. The Magister, a "Marshall", was a proponent of her craft, though a wary one, a perfect metaphor for the state of her current branding in the public eye.

    Inexplicably, as she replaced the paper on the table, a surge of tidal sentimentality struck like one of Caliban''s vital euphorias.

    Had she done it?

    Had she overturned the PR nightmare on Void Mages left by Sobel?

    According to the papers, she had.

    The abrupt realisation made Gwen''s chest constrict, and her fists tighten with crushing nostalgia. Back in Sydney, when she had first Awakened, the very notion that she could stand in public as a Void Mage was unthinkable. Back then, even a Master of Henry''s achievements had been diminished by Sobel''s fall from grace, swept up in a tsunami of atrocities into the shit creek of conspiracy.

    Even now, in her storage ring, she had stowed her little hand-written notebook her Master had made for her. In it, Henry had explained his grand plan to make her lauded, cherished, famous, then venerated by the Mageocracy to normalise her life as a wielder of the Void.

    And now¡ª she has succeeded¡ªand exceeded all of her Master''s benign designs. Not only were Void Mages once more in the public eye, but Caliban would soon be popular enough to warrant an action figure.

    But where was Henry to applaud her success?

    Gwen couldn''t help but feel as though she had crossed some threshold, only to turn her head and see that behind her were nought but emptiness.

    Despite living among trustworthy allies, holding enviable power, and possessing more wealth than two lifetimes, She would still wake up sweating at night, dreaming of that strange vision she had in her Yeye''s prison. There, in that alternate reality, she had not perished but instead grew into her Void powers as Elizabeth had, culminating in the destruction of Sydney, Blackwater, her Master, her family and her friends, all by her hand.

    She felt a sudden desire to speak to Elvia¡ªthough that longing too, now lost the simplicity it once possessed.

    "I won''t worry so much as to make a face like that¡ª" Charlene gently coughed, pulling Gwen from her internal revelry with a confident smile. "There is no possibility of Exeter the Senior to renege on the deal his sons made in public. If they''re truly unrepentant, we shall appeal to the Crown, which would diminish House Holland''s ethos so drastically that no amount of Golden Blood would matter. The aristocracy lives and dies by their word, Gwen. Take that away, and you''re left with two-bit landlords."

    "But do you think we can coax them to tackle their debt with more urgency?" Gwen distracted herself by returning to the matter at hand. "Our stock price isn''t going to float on magic alone. We need the protests to end so our employees can get back to work. That and sell off five per cent of our soaring float to fund our purchase of Barlow."

    "I am sure Lord Exeter is working out a deal right now," Charlene''s bloodshot eyes spoke with hungover confidence. "I mean, if I were him, I would want the matter resolved as soon as possible so we can all move on. Hell, he''s probably talking to the Barlow''s management right now, I hope."

    Gwen nodded. Indeed, once the dust settles and the IoDNC comes to possess Canary Wharf''s titles, there will be a significant remodelling of the final phase''s plans for London''s premier new CBD, the Mages'' dream and, as advertised, the "only place to be".

    London.

    Westminster.

    Morrigan observed the unusually gloomy room.

    Mycroft Ravenport, Marshall of England''s armed forces by hereditary right, sat brooding in his ancestor''s armchair, his jubilant mood despoiled by a report that had arrived with a set of unanticipated guests.

    Opposite, grim-faced and dour, sat the stern visage of Marshall Lawson Ashbridge, present and actual Marshall of the Mageocracy''s Special Aerial Divisions. Unlike Mycroft, the Marshall was an active military Mage, one whose facial scars were badges of pride, made poignant by a singular, magical eye that had replaced the original taken by the will of God.

    Adjacent to the pair, the present spokesperson for the Militant Faction, Lord Francis Holland of House Exeter, stood nursing a glass of Mycroft''s finest highland whiskey, awaiting his opinion on the matter.

    "Honoured Sirs." Her honeyed voice, sombre and subservient, materialised in the office of the Duke of Norfolk as a crow bearing a parchment.

    Gingerly, her Duke unfurled the fabric, revealing a radiant, singular leaf about the size of one''s palm, one with veins that glowed with an inner, eerie light. Mycroft cupped the leaf for a few moments, silently feeding it his mana until Mori sensed his mind joining with the trans-Planar link between London and the space-spanning tree at Tryfan.

    The others shifted uncomfortably.

    Though all three were adherents to the Accord, her Master''s role was far more involved than his compatriots.

    "Great Bloom," Mycroft audibly voiced his thoughts. "By the Accord, the Office of the Marshall answers thy summon. With me are Marshall Ashbridge and the Duke of Exeter. Together, we speak for the Factions."

    "Marshall Mycroft, Marshall Ashbridge, and Lord Holland," came a voice that was no longer inside her Master''s head but widely audible via some unknowable sorcery on the Llais Leaf. The tone was regal, but the ageless nature of the petal-pink voice inspired in the listeners a longing they had not known existed. "Indeed, Tryfan has dire need of your services."

    "By the Accord, we are at your service," Marshall Ashbridge returned with care, his magical eye swivelling to scan their surroundings. "Insofar as our duty demands it."

    "Dearest Bloom, is the matter regarding Shalkar?" Francis Holland, the Duke of Exeter, spoke with a hint of sardonicism. Her Master had scheduled the man for a meeting earlier to extend Charlene''s demands, which would explain the hot-headed Duke''s animosity. "Did the Elemental Sea boil over as a result of the girl''s irresponsible actions?"

    Her Master shot his lordly compatriot a disapproving look, as did their fellow Marshall.

    "On the contrary, your Magus Song has exceeded expectations," the rebuttal from the Llias Leaf left no uncertainty as to Tryfan''s opinions on the Gwen. "Though our Warden could be less kind about your failed efforts in the equator, Lord Holland. You have extracted the promised wealth, but the region''s Planar stability has fallen into utter disrepair."

    The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

    Her Duke did not bother to hide his smile, while Ashbridge merely shook his head.

    "We would have fixed it had someone not pulled out the rug from under us and absconded with our funds." Francis Holland amazed Morrigan by continuing to accuse him without a hint of embarrassment. "That said, how can I be of service?"

    "If my Lords would recall," the voice continued. "Many moon cycles ago, Magus Song found evidence of a mass exodus from the Elemental Sea. An entire Brass Legion had evaporated from our southward expedition, easing the Khitani''s passage as we sought to contain the elemental rifts."

    Mycroft and the others voiced their acknowledgement.

    "Once our Wardens had cleared the way through to the deep Murk, Arch-Warden Eldrin implemented means to track the Brass Legion through their cross-Planar jaunt. A few human days ago, Tryfan received its answer, uncovering the whereabouts and actions of the Emir''s Elemental Legion."

    Mycroft inclined his chin in thought while the other two voiced their enquiries.

    "This would be Zodiam the Ursine?" Holland furrowed both bush brows.

    "A dangerous existence to all mortal life," Marshall Ashbridge agreed. "Enlighten us, O Bloom. What did they do?"

    "The Legion under Prince Zodiam." The voice remained calm, though the Llias'' ability to enforce empathic emotions remained in place, giving even Morrigan a feeling of woe and worry. "Amassed an attack on the northern conjunction of elemental crossroads, in the First Seat of Frost."

    The Marshall and the Exeter gazed at her Duke, whose profession involved intimate knowledge of foreign titles for landmarks.

    "By which you infer the northern pole?" Mycroft clarified for his companions. "Where the Frost Flower of Lh?weth, may her Bloom be eternal, reigns over the White Reach?"

    The room grew suddenly silent.

    "Does the Frost Flower of Lh?weth still bloom? Are Tryfan''s cousins of the north safe?" Mycroft continued, his heart pounding so hard that Mori could feel her organs quicken.

    "We can mobilise within the week if need be," Marshall Ashbridge spoke. "Sixteen Battalions, half of which are Aerial Battle Wings."

    "You can try to mobilise, but the reality is that we''re taxed beyond belief." The Duke of Exeter rebuked the Marshall. "These will be sixteen very tired and incomplete Battalions."

    "Unfortunately, Emir Zodiam was only a part of the threat," the voice continued, softening as it solicited undue pity from the men. "His forces were joined by Dauphiness Nin Gak of the Seven Kingdoms and a Great Shoal of Mermen. Additionally, the aftermath indicates that the rogue Lich hiding in Siberia had also joined them."

    "A Shoal! At the pole?" Francis Holland''s eyes grew visibly wide. "That''s not possible. It''s too cold. The Undead I can envision, but a living, breathing Shoal?"

    "They''re there to invade, not to live," Ashbridge interrupted the unbelieving Holland. "Besides, maybe the Brass Legion warmed them up? The better question is, how in the Fire Sea are the Elementals surviving near the poles? They would expend Essence at a rate far higher than they can sustain."

    Morrigan licked her beaks.

    The secrets here were delicious beyond belief.

    "Hence the Lich¡ª" Mycroft said dryly. "The Mermen brings the bodies. And the Necromancers will have their troops¡ªthen I assume the Emir can burn the tree at his leisure. I can see it working, milady¡ªbut have our foes succeeded? This happened months ago, correct? you are merely surveying the aftermath?"

    "Correct. For now, I shall inform the Mageocracy that the Frost Flower of Lh?weth still lives and that the Great Oak of Lh?weth still stands," the voice said. "However, the Grove is severely destabilised, and the Frost Wyrm Laelitharian has perished¡ª"

    "¡ªBy the Nazarene!" Francis Holland could not appear to hold back the growing malice in his voice. "Great Lady, if you''re preparing us for the Third Beast Wave, please get to the point. Every minute matters if we need to mobilise the entirety of the Mageocracy. We live short and expendable Human lives, but lives nonetheless."

    "Francis! Hold your tongue!" Mycroft barked down the Duke Exeter. "Great Bloom, please forgive my unlearned companion. As you were saying¡ªthe Wyrm Laelitharian is defeated, but the Great Tree stands?"

    "Indeed," the voice returned. "From what our estranged cousins in the Seat of Forest were willing to divulge, the siege began with a great rush of frail bodies against the Rime Wardens of Lh?weth, an endless tide of flesh and bones that continued for days, exhausting its defenders and their sorcery and piling enough filth against the Great Tree to overwhelm its perimetry wards. In the aftermath, the Necromancers raised the dead, growing into their power with so much haste and vastness that the Lich among them raised a legion at his leisure. This second battle proved far more difficult than the first, utterly draining the Rime Wardens of their numbers¡ªat which point they then had to face Zodiam''s rested Brass Legion."

    The men listened to the simple words streaming from the leaf, doing their best to envision a battle that would have pulverised even the best defence the Mageocracy could mount¡ªa key reason why disruption and diplomacy was a core strategy for the Empire''s survival.

    "The Emir''s elemental Essence had only grown since the Fire Sea''s opening, and it was there and then that Zodiam expended the stowed power he had amassed for thirty sun-cycles. As with his previous success, a temporary portal into the Plane of Fire formed from the spent Essence of his Legion, momentarily dispelling the Planar Wards our cousins had perfected over millennia."

    There was a pause.

    "The concerted effort was enough to draw forth the Great Wyrm Laelitharian, upon whose wrath the Brass Legion was spent, and the Great Undead Shoal dispersed. Though it was neither Nin Gak nor Zodiam that brought low the Great Guardian of Lh?weth."

    "There''s yet another foe? One that can take down a Mythic Guardian Wyrm?" The Duke of Exeter''s expression was like a thunderstorm. "And you expect us to throw bodies at this thing?"

    Morrigan sensed her Duke''s mind sifted through the numerous reports he had received over the last six months to a year, perceiving that an answer that had been long-hidden now revealed itself.

    "Spectre?" he said at once. "Sobel?"

    Her Duke did not mention the Outcast, the Elf that had eluded Solana''s Arch-Warden since before the Empire had made its first colonies. In any case, if Sobel and Spectre were involved in an attempted murder of a World Tree, a rogue Elven mentor could not stray far from the plot.

    "Your wisdom serves you well," the voice approved of his conjecture. "Indeed, the Emir and the Dauphiness were aided by our old foes from Spectre, with our sorceress acting as the instrument by which they bypassed the Great Tree''s defences and thus, lured Laelitharian from the Wood Womb. Fed by the Great Shoal, she battled the exhausted Wyrm, then consumed enough of the Guardian to enforce its temporary retreat."

    Morrigan instantly thought of Gwen and the report of how she had devoured the Mongolian Death Worm. A Void Mage grew potent with every battle¡ªnot so strong as a fully functioning super-structural Tower¡ªbut enough to overwhelm a low-tier city. He would love for the Mageocracy to mount an expedition to hunt the woman down, but the cost in lives and materials for such a protracted jaunt into the Wildlands was unthinkable. The Mageocracy had too many fires everywhere and not nearly enough water.

    "This is all very overwhelming and mythical." The Duke Exeter took a deep breath, then annoyedly scratched his beard with one hand. "But let me confirm something¡ªwill there be a Third Beast Tide? I require a definitive answer, O Bloom."

    "I cannot profess to divine the forever shifting future¡ª" the voice said. "However, unlike the madness of Vynssarion, Laelitharian shall return to the Tree Womb to be reborn. It will take a century or more, but so long as Lh?weth stands, so Laelitharian shall remain sane."

    "Thank God for that." The Duke turned to Mycroft with an unamused grin. "Nonetheless, we all know that our Militant Faction has been humbled of late. Perhaps the Grey Faction would like to volunteer a portion of its obscene profits this time?"

    Morrigan could see from the Duke''s overt display that the man was very keen to change subjects from the matter of his sons'' debt and disgrace to something that would expend the lives and wealth of families other than the Exeters. Yet, despite the man''s loathing for the Accord and what the Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar might represent in the complex geopolitics of the Mageocracy, the Elves rarely raised the stick without presenting an overwhelmingly large carrot. As a result, the Accord was to the Militants like flames to a cloud of Moon Moths.

    "What would you have us do?" Her Duke spoke to the leaf. "If indeed the foes are beaten back, for now."

    "Tryfan lacks the means to pursue a protracted campaign." The voice grew stern and regal. "Regardless, we endeavour to aid our cousins in stabilising the region, and you would know the difficulty of such a task."

    Morrigan watched her Duke glance at his contemporaries. Ashbridge gave him an affirming nod from the Middle Faction, while Holland''s silence could arguably be taken as tacit agreement. Even without an actively maintained portal such as in the Fire Sea, the slow-healing of the World Tree would ensure that all manners of Elemental Creatures now flowed from the primordial chaos of their Planes into the Prime Material. "Pruning" of these creations would hasten the Tree''s ability to restore stability to the region while leaving them unchecked to breed and fight would prolong, or at worst, create a second Fire Sea, eventuating in a wholly preventable Beast Tide.

    "I will inform our allies in the central continent and commit the necessary troops from our end as a show of sincerity," Mycroft spoke for the trio present. "Will we see trouble from the Rime Guards?"

    "Our best Druids are already there¡ªthough you will find the Frost Flower of Lh?weth no friendlier than before. Thereby, please take the utmost care in the region and avoid incursions into the Seat of Frost at all costs."

    The Duke of Exeter scoffed.

    "Fairest Bloom. Though we are fully capable of reining our Mage Flights, we cannot be responsible for the actions of Rogue Mages." Ashbridge raised a point that her Duke would have brought up himself. "With the opening of so many Elemental Rifts at once, the absurd volume of Crystals growing in the region would reach an astronomical rate, drawing scum from all over the world."

    "Indeed, and though her Rime Guards are spent, the Frost Flower is fully capable of defending her realm¡ª" the voice returned. "Her wrath in this difficult time would additionally be multiplied by her grief. Her Grove burns, but our dearest cousin remains one of the Eldest, and as such, possess powers within the seat of her home unrivalled even by your Towers¡­"

    "That''s just great." Holland heavily placed his glass on the side table. "In addition to Spectre, we now need to hunt down and kill the looters. But if we get too close to the looters running after the loot, the Frost Flower will annihilate our troops. Meanwhile, we need to hold back a developing Beast Tide in a Black Zone with no supplies while arresting and killing our kind. All of this is very easy, I am sure, for a Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar to envision."

    "The Mageocracy will be amply rewarded." Her Duke refrained from shaking his head as the High Priestess of the Elves affirmed the statement the Holland''s patriarch hoped to hear. Thankfully, Morrigan bobbed her beak disapprovingly in his stead. "For the next year, your Mageocracy will receive the finest materials from Tryfan, magical instructors, and our craftsmen will be at your service in Trawsfynydd, and our Hierophant Druids be ready to assist your plantations. As a gesture of goodwill, we will also double the allotment for Rejuvenation treatments."

    "That''s very generous." Her Duke did sound happier upon hearing the seemingly overwhelming terms of trade. "Is there anything else, Dear Bloom, that you wish to inform us?"

    Against the men''s expectation, there was a long pause.

    "Until the rifts are repaired, and Lh?weth stabilises..." The voice replied evasively. "There will be changes to the challenges you already face, and through these trials, Humanity will learn first hand the importance of maintaining the Accord, more so for your sake than ours. Your commitment, composed of your will and your willing sacrifice, will dictate the conditions of your children and their children''s lives."

    "Is that a threat?" The Duke Exeter stood to address the Llias Leaf, an act that Morrigan found utterly ridiculous. "Should we clap and sing as we send our children to their death?"

    "Francis! Sit down!" Her Duke forced the man back into his chair with a wave of his hand before turning to the Bloom. "Speak out of turn again, and I''ll call in your Faction''s outstanding loans!"

    Mycroft''s warning didn''t matter, for the connection from the leaf waned, then faded, leaving the three men once more alone in his office, joined only by an eye-twinkling raven.

    "I assume," Marshall Ashbridge spoke after a minute of contemplative silence. "That the Bloom isn''t talking about war casualties? What''s going to happen then, Mycroft? Why did she mean by our children?"

    If Solana were Morrigan''s old self, Morrigan reasoned, she would have meant the children had to be offered up as tasty morsels.

    "When the Fire Sea first opened," Mycroft reminded his militant cousins. "We lost innumerable people and cities. We didn''t know at the time, but the portal''s emergence had also changed the climate in the region, desertifying the tablelands. You''ve never heard of the famine there because all of our colonies had been eradicated or evacuated. Every place from Baku to Ashgabat was abandoned."

    "So?" The Duke shrugged. "The Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar seemed fine with the Fire Sea wreaking havoc. What makes this any different? We have no colonies on Greenland."

    "According to Gwen''s reports," Mycroft spoke to the growling Duke, whose face turned even sourer as he mentioned the girl''s name. "The famine shifted the entire population of Centaurs northward, the Rat-kin southward, and was the key culprit responsible for the instabilities there. Tens of million Demi-human lives were lost and were they not, we would have experienced a localised Beast Tide. Either way, this is a problem that she had profitably resolved for the Mageocracy by opening up grains trade for the Khitani and facilitating Elven crops for the Rat-kin."

    Morrigan nodded her beaks. She liked Strun, who reminded her of the warriors of old that used to inhabit her isle.

    "What does the Middle Faction have to say about this?" The Duke of Exeter turned to their third companion. "Trading with monsters? Enriching rats? Building a vermin tide of her own? That''s not very Middle Faction, is it now? Lord Kilroy never condoned such a thing, not in my memory. Besides, did the Fire Sea change anything in our part of the world? It didn''t. I want to see Mycroft try to convince the public that their sons and daughters will die for the cause of some sprout, one without bearing on our colonies."

    Marshall Ashbridge appeared to give the matter some thought before he spoke. "Norfolk, you know as well as I that the girl has our support, but Francis is correct in that she may have gone too far. Did you know Gwen had cultivated a religion in her name? There are rumours from the Ordos that she had quite the Faith reading, which isn''t bad if we offer her that particular route. I am not going to stand in your way¡ªbut know that we in the Middle Faction have high hopes for Kilroy''s Apprentice, especially as Gunther refuses to return to Europe, and the alternative is Alesia. I must likewise agree with Francis on the matter of Tryfan''s request¡ªwe really can''t afford a longitudinal conflict, not without drastically taxing our coffers."

    "The girl is free to act as she chooses." Her Duke regarded the pair, his countenance so genuine Morrigan almost cawed with laughter. "Her friendship with Charlene has no input from me, nor am I in any way involved in Lord Holland''s scion''s self-sought consequences, humoured as I am at the outcome. And you know my position on the Accord. I am confident Tryfan speaks the truth, even if we''re unwilling to commit ourselves. As for the cost¡ª"

    "Maybe an arrangement can be reached." The Duke of Exeter straightened his jacket. "Mycroft, may we speak in private?"

    "We¡ª" Her Duke paused for a brief second, his mind branching out across a dozen scenarios and outcomes in a mere moment. Sensing Mycroft''s old tricks, Morrigan fluffed her feathers with delight. "¡ªmay not. Nor do I wish to waste time on your family, Francis. These are our children''s debt and gain, not yours nor mine. We have an impromptu, long-term campaign ahead of us, milords. Let''s not allow such trivialities to distract us from duty."

    As the voices moved from Gwen toward trivial matters of logistics, Morrigan transferred her consciousness from the room elsewhere to the Isle of Dogs, where her favourite Essence spigot was taking a walking with her cousins, soaking up the adoration of her employees.

    What had the High Priestess of the timeless ones meant, Morrigan wondered, by that Humanity would learn the true importance of the Accord? What would happen if Humanity failed to commit "voluntary" sacrifices to healing the Grove of Lh?weth? What had the weather to do with any of it, and why had the Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar intimated as such?

    It was a riddle, one that reeked of secrecy, her favourite treat. Perhaps, Morrigan wondered as her murder spread its wings and dove down toward the girl¡ªsomeone who had been to Shalkar and came back the Rat-kin''s saviour would be capable of providing an answer!

 Chapter 440 - The Crone of Crows

    Petra Kutznetsova, Human Rune Smith in training and soon to be Magus, carefully studied her cousin, the Devourer of Shenyang.

    Since Shanghai, she had known that her Void Mage cousin could not be expected to behave like an average Mage, though no theory and research had prepared Petra for what Gwen had now become¡ªa possibly unhinged person.

    Despite her academically-aligned mind, Petra felt compelled to make such a judgement because her cousin, the mistress of the Isle of Dogs, Apprentice to Henry Kilroy and future Tower Master, was now conducting a tea party with a gathering of talking animals in a scene reminiscent of her childhood picture books.

    Prior to Petra''s present predicament, Gwen had invited the crew to spend the afternoon relaxing at Mudchute Park, previously a mound of mud, though now transmuted through the power of HDMs into rolling lawns overlooking the Thames, flanked from behind by gleaming glass skyscrapers.

    The picnic was initially pleasant, with talk of work and their private lives¡ªuntil the animals arrived.

    Petra took another gander at her cousin, currently holding an animated conversation with her non-human "friends".

    Foremost of Gwen''s new companions was Dede the duck, an enormous brute of a drake, a born bully now fully capable of committing assault and battery on Cambridge''s Mages.

    Besides the duck, sipping tea and nibbling on biscuits, was a rat wearing jeans and a t-shirt, more capable of murdering Mages than even the duck.

    Opposite the two animals, Caliban coiled on the picnic bench, listening to the conversation, nodding and waving as it received bits of shortcake from the duck. Gwen''s other Familiar, Ariel, lounged beside them, yawning as it groomed itself.

    After the usual suspects, the sole humanoid member of Gwen''s entourage was Lea, who was more interested in the sweets and the freedom of manifesting in the Prime Material.

    Finally, there were the crows, a whole host of the damned things, each the eyes and ears of London Tower, weighing down the sycamore tree that made the park shady and cool. The murder''s representative, an enormous crow Gwen had been feeding, was delivering avian oratory in the middle of the table, conversing with the duck and presumably Gwen in a way only their Spirits could fully comprehend.

    What worried Petra now wasn''t the talking beasties but how their table had been arranged by default. Gwen sat at the head, surrounded by animals¡ªwhile she and Richard sat on a second bench, seemingly alienated from their cousin.

    Unlike Gwen''s other peers, Petra saw herself as the original "Gwen Researcher", one who had kept a longitudinal observational journal on her cousin. Therefore, Petra understood Gwen''s propensity for attracting the strangest beings to her side and her uncanny ability to attract trouble.

    Despite the endless drama in the Shanghai portion of Petra''s journal, Gwen had made friends and forged an unbreakable bond with her estranged family. For London, Petra had expected Gwen to perform likewise, instantly surround herself with a new social circle of high society Mages.

    Yet, here and now, in the aftermath of her triumph over London''s elites, Petra could only shake her head in disbelief that her cousin''s London posse possessed nought but a duck and a crow, reinforced with a rat from Shalkar.

    Where were the Lulans of London? Petra gazed questioningly at Richard, who appeared more amused by the spectacle than alarmed. Of course, Gwen had made many allies and found helpful colleagues like Charlene Ravenport, that balding fellow from Peterhouse, and new patrons like Lady Loftus of Ely. However, none of these connections was akin to Mayuree or Lulu, who would eat a Fireball for her cousin should the need arise.

    Perhaps, if Gwen''s present company were starry-eyed colleagues and superiors, Petra would have written the matter off as the perils of power. However, The Wonderful Adventures of Gwen of Looney Woods was nothing short of ridiculous.

    Should she release her Spirit to join them? Petra desired to know what the Spirits and Gwen were so heatedly discussing. But unlike Gwen''s Familiar or Richard''s Undine, her Naga Spirit was an acquisition, more so a tool than a companion. Not only was her Spirit''s Ego singularly shattered by the Thunder Dragon that tore it from its body¡ªit was utterly terrified of Ariel and Caliban.

    "What do you suppose they''re talking about?" Petra asked Richard, growing curious as the crow''s caws grew impassioned.

    "The weather? And something about water levels. Mermen, I think. You know Gwen and Mermen." Richard appeared baffled as well.

    "Gwen had spent the last hour talking about the weather over tea with a table of animals?" Petra affirmed her suspicions, feeling the pit of her stomach sink. Had Richard''s ears deceived her, or had she spent too much time studying the Dwarven Runescripts and had lost perspective of what constituted normality?

    The latter could be the cause, for according to her Magisters at Queen''s College, she had made excellent headway in her research. For her certification thesis in July, Petra had planned to unveil a revamped Spell Cube system, which allowed for long term storage and safe retrieval of the retained "spell" at eighty per cent of the original caster''s tier even after a year. Now advised by the best, she knew for sure that Magister Wen''s original designs would never supersede the ease of vellum scrolls. By the laws of mana conservation, a Spell Cube''s sub-optimal ergonomics would never replace scrolls. However, thanks to her work with Gwen''s Dwarves, her research could be re-classified as "magical batteries" slated for stationary spell storage and the craft of Golem-making.

    "And now they''re talking about the ice caps." Richard raised a brow, giving Petra a strange look she did not like. "When did Gwen become Cambridge''s resident Lecturer of Geomancy? How does she know all this?"

    "Know what?" Petra furrowed her brows as the crow continued to caw on the adjacent table, intermittently interjected by the duck.

    "Hold on¡ª" Richard closed his eyes. Petra felt the circulation of mana around her cousin as the air around him grew sodden, soaking his shirt. Richard, Petra acknowledged, was diving into the consciousness of his Undine. Like herself, Richard had come a long way from the ravages of Sydney to where they were now, the blue lawn of Mudchute, a demesne where her cousin was the top dog.

    "¡ªwell." Richard opened his eyes, though both of his pupils appeared clouded by a film of silvery Conjuration. "I''ll transcribe, and you try to make sense of it."

    Deep in her bones, "Mori" Morrigan sensed that Gwen was spilling forth secrets that few would otherwise know, for there was no other explanation for the thrill coursing through her immaterial psyche.

    "¡­It is rather more complicated than that because the Afaa Al-Halak is a symptom of the climate change and not the cause." Oblivious to Morrigan''s ecstasy, Gwen continued to explain for her ratty companion the cause behind the collapse of the Rat-kin''s homeland, a continuation of the explanation she had initially addressed for Morrigan. "It''s like a spider web. If even a single string is drawn, the whole thing deforms, changing weather patterns where the anomaly forms, but also impacting climates further away, albeit in declining magnitudes."

    Earlier, while Gwen relaxed with her cousins, Morrigan had arrived uninvited to attend afternoon tea, conveying a strange and unusual question about Gwen''s report on Shalkar. Her enquiry proved fortuitous, for Gwen was in the middle of teaching Strun the Rat-kin, who would return to Shalkar in a month, about the system she had put in place to maintain food security in his homeland.

    "Okay, let''s try this." The girl turned to the School of PowerPoint when Strun ashamedly professed his confusion once more. With some effort, she conjured a globe to represent Terra, the conjunction of Elemental Planes and Humanity''s native home, then willed forth a rudimentary map. "We all know the laws that the Dwarves have been touting since before man, right? That heat ascends, the chill descends, and that these thermodynamic forces are responsible for the wind and rain, yes?"

    "Caw¡ª!" Morrigan affirmed her understanding.

    Her non-human companions nodded. Strun listened as though Gwen was delivering a sermon first-hand from the horse''s mouth.

    "Okay." The sorceress added a layer of blue to the globe then overlayed the equatorial band with a dash of orange. "This is where you live, Strun, this dot over here. The orange part is the heat during summer¡ªand as the world spins on its axis, we can see the blue because it''s winter. The change of seasons, which we associate with the sun''s Radiance, brings the wet winter and the hot summer."

    Having never seen such an exhibit, Morrigan was thoroughly enthralled by Gwen''s simplification of Terra, where the sphere and the Elemental Planes conjoin. According to her recall, no one from the Mageocracy''s Geomancer Corps has ever given such a concise summation.

    "Before the Fire Sea, plentiful precipitation annually soaked the grasslands, then flows downstream into the Amu River, which feeds the Ural Lakes and the Caspian Sea. The humidity from the grasslands not only keeps the Khitani desert cool during the summer but also prevents erosion, thereby bringing trees, and thus shade¡ªdoes that make sense?"

    Strun nodded, as did Dede, Caliban and Ariel, who liked to copy the Rat-kin.

    "Good." Gwen used her fingers to add a dab of red, representing the Fire Sea, allowing the colour to pollute the surrounding blue and orange until the whole section appeared like a swelling bruise. "So, what would happen if there''s no more cold air here? What if the seasonal winter is negated?"

    "Caw?" Morrigan raised a wing.

    "No, not no more rain." Gwen shook her head. "Which is itself an imperfect answer. The correct answer should be that the rain which should have fallen here is now elsewhere, likely causing enormous floods or crazy snowstorms. All that moisture from the land and the mountains south of the Khitani heartlands is still flowing downstream, only that it''s all evaporated and gone before it can feed the plants. At the same time, the loss of all those florae would destabilise the planar balance of the region, making it more hospitable for creatures like the Afaa al-Halak, and less viable for folks who relied on the grain-grass, like Strun''s folk. Of course, the Afaa al-Halak would then consume the remaining tablelands to expand their territory, meaning the destruction of the aquifer, which means hotter summers¡ªwhich means?"

    "Caw!"

    "That''s right!" the girl patted Morrigan''s feathers, simultaneously awarding her a droplet of Essence. "More desert! More Elemental Earth and Fire as Elemental Water moves elsewhere. A bigger rift in the planar gash! Even FASTER deterioration of the region. At some point, there''s bound to be another flashpoint, meaning the place may become a new home for the Salamanders and the Elementals."

    "Caw?" Morrigan asked for the consequence.

    "I don''t know," the girl confessed. "I am not sure anyone would know, and if they do, they''re certainly not teaching it at Cambridge. I am pretty sure our Prime Material will be fine regardless, only it isn''t going to be anything like the one we''re enjoying right now. Can you imagine what the weather would be like in Europe if there''s a permanent balefire burning over in Russia? All that water from the mountain caps is going to enact some pretty big natural disasters."

    "Caw?" Morrigan wanted to know if the Fire Sea could expand once more.

    The girl shrugged. "Not now, not if we can help it unless a bigger Brass Legion breaks through the portal at the Fire Sea, but until the portal''s big enough, the region can only sustain so many Elementals. Isn''t that interesting? Do you see why your people are essential now, Strun? To Tryfan and the Prime Material. So long as you maintain the region with the gifts from the Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar, the threat from the Elementals can only grow so dire. And to mitigate that threat, you''ll feed the Centaurs with grain from the Mageocracy. Between Rat-kin and the Khitani and the Towers, you''ll be able to prune the Elementals, thereby keeping the portal and the weather in check. Hopefully, when the Fire Sea wanes in time, you''ll even get your homeland back."

    "Caw? Caw?" Morrigan brought their conversation back to her original proposal.

    "Caw? Naw¡ªIs that even possible?" Gwen cocked her head quizzically. "A Portal to the Elemental Plane of Fire where the Para-elemental Plane of Ice is strongest? Even if it is open, how long could it last?"

    "Caw! Caw¡ªCaw!" Morrigan could only say that it may very well happen.

    "Ha!" the girl laughed. "Do you have any idea how much ice is up there? Millions and millions of tons of ice, maybe billions, more than any of us can imagine! Even if a new Fire Sea opened up, how much of it could it possibly melt? Not to mention the amount of ice on Greenland isn''t even comparable to the sheer volume of water stored in Antarctica."

    "Caw?!" Morrigan wanted to know if warping the Elemental Nodes at the poles could be applied to Gwen''s theory on Shalkar''s decline.

    "Bloody oath it will!" Gwen gestured wildly with her hands, launching herself into a new frenzy of doomsaying. "But you contradict yourself¡ªisn''t Antarctica the blackest of Black Zones? Has anyone other than Magister Shackleton ever traversed it? If my history lessons are correct, he didn''t reach the centre until the Second Expedition. He had to make a fort and survive a year-long siege from the Ice Elementals when the Diviners in his first expedition got eaten, right? Besides, doesn''t the Bestiary state that whole broods of Mythics make their home there, including a White Dragon?"

    "Caw¡ª!" Morrigan not only knew that there was a Dragon there, she even knew the creature by name.

    "Anyway, I am not an expert on Astral Theory. Whatever the case, the energy required to subvert the polar junctions of the Planes of Water, Ice and Air would require magnitudes of power we can''t access with our current Magitech. Not that we would want to control that power anyway. Why do you ask?"

    "Caw¡ªCaw¡ª"

    "You''re a very curious bird with very strange questions." The girl''s striking eyes regarded Morrigan inquisitively. "Is there something you''re not telling me?"

    "Caw!"

    "The¡ªthe need to know?" The girl grew flustered. "You''d be far more convincing if you weren''t a bird¡ªOi! Where are you going?"

    Morrigan took flight.

    Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

    From the moment the Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar witch-queen made her offer, Morrigan had felt her feathers tingle, and now she knew where to find the answers. Though the girl knew nothing, her wild conjectures had ignited the root of Morrigan''s altar as though it was once more drenched in offerings of heart blood.

    Long ago, ancient men once whispered to the "Crone of Crows who wove the Secrets." And though Morrigan had since separated from the potent Faith of secrecy and war, she nonetheless instinctively understood that she was on the cusp of some great understanding.

    And for a being whose psyche was formed of such a thing, there was no ecstasy sweeter than possessing the knowledge that others did not.

    "What in St Augustine''s name is Gwen on about?" Petra asked her cousin, now more confused than before Richard had transcribed the conversation.

    "The weather. Seemed simple enough to me." Richard shrugged at her with infuriating nonchalance. "Whatever Gwen''s interest might be, our present problems are more immediate. Maybe we should resolve the Barlow problems first¡ªget the METRO back on track¡ªand then worry about terraforming a Black Zone, eh? Gwen''s not paying us for overtime, you know."

    "That''s not the problem here, Dick. I mean, why does she know this? Did the Elves teach her this¡ªwhat?" Petra stared at Richard when the man dared to roll his eyes.

    "Go ask her yourself," Richard smirked. "It''s not like she''s hiding anything."

    A moment later, rearranged so that her cousin no longer appeared the Princess of a Russian fable, Petra began the soft interrogation of what she suspected was yet another episode of her cousin putting herself into unfathomable peril. Trusting in the rapport built with Gwen over the years, Petra forwent the pleasantries directly asked what the crow called "Mori" had wanted from her.

    "It''s nothing serious," Gwen happily explained her hypothesis once more. The second time Petra better comprehended her cousin''s reasoning, even if the scope of Gwen''s proposal anchored firmly in the realm of fiction.

    "Just because we don''t think about it or know about something doesn''t mean it isn''t happening behind our backs, Pats." Gwen clarified with an air of conspiracy. "I am not a Diviner like the Oracle of Delphi, but you don''t need magic to see that a lot of the problems in the Mageocracy can be explained by the changing weather patterns in the Wildlands. Before Shalkar, I wasn''t aware of how impactful an Elemental incursion may be. Now I am."

    As she spoke, her cousin thoughtfully stroked the duck''s neck, eliciting something between a quack and a purr.

    "Pats, relax. I am not saying we should lose sleep over any of this. We have bigger problems, and besides, there''s not a lot the Mageocracy can do other than work with Tryfan''s directives."

    "Meaning, if you''re right, we''re at the mercy of Tryfan?" Petra recited after her cousin. As a committed adherent of Dwarven Runecraft, she was no longer clueless about the High Elves and their role on Terra. The Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar, whose Dwarven Masters labelled "knife-ears", had always perceived themselves as better than their Elementally estranged cousins and loved to meddle. Thereby, Petra felt great unease that Elves were beginning to feature more and more of late in Gwen''s dealings and not Dwarves.

    "I don''t mind them. Sanari was pretty chill, all things considered. Did you know she told me that even if I blocked that Eldrin fellow, she still would have left me the seeds and stayed to help? If you''re right, then it''s because their generosity can be downright creepy."

    "That''s because they are much more long-lived." Petra felt her anxiety soften. "Maybe we''re not seeing the scope of their plans from their perspective."

    "Maybe," Gwen said. "But you know what''s wild? Remember that time I went to Talwaenydd? I bought those dresses, right? I gave the Elf working the shop the money, and she just tossed it on a pile behind her in a basket. I know my shopping, and I am certain that the HDMs in there are from other Mages who had visited in the past, meaning they''ve got no interest even in the money they''ve collected. It was more of a ritual just so that we would pay and feel good."

    "I can see how that''s strange." Petra thought about Gwen''s gripe.

    "Right?" Gwen completed her thought. "They''re not interested in profit, Pats. Now that''s enough to give a girl the chills."

    As one who had undergone training in Moscow''s infamous Tower, Petra agreed with Gwen''s wariness. Indeed, the more an adversary desired, the more trustworthy they became when an agent monopolised the supply, be it sex, drugs, or authority. According to her erstwhile Master, no living being possessed of an Ego could be without desire. Therefore a party that presented itself as neutral meant two things.

    One, she was being deceived.

    And two¡ªshe had not done her due diligence.

    In the blink of an eye, Morrigan returned to the Raven Roost at Westminster, transferring her principle consciousness from one bird to another until she passed a visage of her likeness etched onto a wooden sarcophagus, alighting finally at the catacombs of knowledge.

    Now bathed by sterile light, her eyes opened once more, finding herself in a grand hall so vast that even the casual observer could guess at the spatial magic used to maintain its immenseness. Below her, as always, a thousand Diviners in drab tweed and leathery brown stomped through a maze of shelves, stocking its indexes with data collected from the Mageocracy''s domains.

    The room reeked of mana miasma, for in recent years, most of the incoming information had been transcribed onto data slates, allowing even mortal Diviners to aid in the great project of clarifying the going-on of the Mageocracy''s multi-continental realm.

    Morrigan refocused her mind.

    Materialised into a murky avian apparition, she flew past the magically cooled data-scape into the ancient vaults below, entirely indexed by hand, with tens of millions of scrolls, scripts, notes, files, memos and annotations going back to the time of the Argent King. Within its lightless crypt, Morrigan now traversed, wading through a sea of secrecy, relying only on the tatters of her eidetic recall to find her true north.

    Earlier, her favourite Essence Vessel had convinced her that the Elements were up to something¡ªand that something had to do with the Seats of Frost at the axis of Terra.

    For Morrigan, the clue wasn''t in Gwen''s untested proposals but the implication therein.

    In the present state of the Mageocracy''s policies regarding the Black Zones, Beast Tides were classified as the consequence of explicit and sudden actions, such as the Undead War, the emergence of the Fire Sea, or the spontaneous insanity of Vynssarion the Black. These were observable catastrophes, all of which forever altered the wind and rain.

    According to Gwen, Beast Tides, especially spontaneously occurring ones, may just as well result from changing climates.

    And according to what she had gleaned from Tryfan and her Duke, such subtle changes in climate could very well be the result of willful malice.

    However, unlike the mundane, short-lived members of the present Mageocracy, Morrigan''s memory was long and old, older than even the Empire''s most sagacious Magi.

    After delving through six storeys of catalogues, Morrigan stopped in front of a pigeon hole half-smothered with dust. Gingerly, she willed forth the records within, composed originally by a Nordic Mage before the time of the Towers by the name of Styrkar Arrhenius.

    Quickly, Morrigan confirmed the contents¡ªan annotation of the purged proposal made by Arrhenius, insisting that the Axis Mundi¡ªnodes where the Elements conjoin, could be coaxed through manipulating the most plentiful Element on Terra, "Water". It was an opinion that was well-regarded. However, for Arrhenius, his infamous doomsayings soon made his position untenable. Even as Humanity made its way around Terra plotting colonies and expanding territory, Arrhenius proposed that Terra was not meant for Humanity''s destiny manifest, but the Mermen. "The Elementals shall inherit the Earth!" was the famous saying that turned the Magisterial community against Arrhenius, leading to the censure of his research. Nonetheless, the Mage had left an impression in history, as well as the prophecy that should Humanity fall¡ª the remnants would survive in a "water" world. For this reason, Arrhenius argued, if he were one of the Seven Kingdom''s sovereigns, subversion of Terra''s planar balance would be his principal goal.

    With her first reference stowed safely away, Morrigan came upon the second piece of evidence two rooms above. Unlike Arrhenius'' unsanctioned opinions, Lord Stewart Collins of Reeds was a Geomancer of the Mageocracy''s heartland, a respected Magister, and a chief researcher of the Black Zones with tenure from before to after the Great War of Undeath. Lord Collins, taking advantage of the desolation sowed by the Undead Tide, recorded alterations to weather patterns in central and northern Europe due to the planar instability caused by Negative Energy. Interestingly, Lord Collin''s warning conflicted with that of Arrhenius, who was convinced the oceans would rise and the Mermen would reign. Instead, the Magister observed that unseasonal winters over the Seven Kingdoms would catastrophically impact food chain systems utilised by the Mermen, thereby triggering Beast Tides inspired by desperate Kingdoms looking to shed their excess citizens. Thereby, Collins warned that a "foe" with enough commitment could wipe out Humanity, not through direct combat, but by proxy against the natural world. Like Arrhenius, Collins'' words also fell on deaf ears. Then, for reasons unknown, his research was never again published.

    The final piece of information Morrigan possessed of note was from a New World Magister, a recently perished Charles H. Hansen, Senior Lecturer of Geomancy from Stanford University. Unlike his predecessors, Magister Hansen possessed the advantage of Spellcraft long since matured after the Beast Tide, supported by evidence collected over two decades fighting the global catastrophe. In the end, Hansen concluded after engaging in "meta-analysis" of the Beast Tide and the Coral Sea War that there must exist parties actively manipulating the Prime Material''s climate patterns.

    In yet another "phantom" publication that saw widespread censure outside of the New World, the researcher made the outlandish claim that Elves and their World Trees directly impacted the Prime Material and that alteration to these "nodes" of the Axis Mundi would see Humanity prosper over Terra''s Elemental denizens.

    Unlike his predecessors, Hansen, a resident of the New World, initially saw widespread support in his native nation. Yet, like his predecessors, Hansen quickly recused himself after publishing his work, disappearing entirely from academic life.

    Of the report Morrigan now possessed, the obituary stated that Hansen had wanted to reignite interest in his theory, only he grew obsessed enough to venture into the Wildlands alone. When finally a party stumbled upon his beacon, the only part of him that was not beyond Divination was his old dog tags.

    It came as no surprise for a being like Morrigan that the man''s narrow "truth" did not take on. In Europe, Elves and men had partnered from before the epoch of Anno Domini. Likewise, in regions like China and the Indian subcontinent, the very notion of uprooting Land Gods who in actual fact controlled the weather would see Hansen lynched and hung by a terrified mob.

    And as for the events that had occurred in Greenland, where Lh?weth burns and the Wyrm Laelitharian rots¡ªMorrigan was beginning to sense logic in what appeared to be a fruitless and costly campaign.

    As an appendix to her data dives, Morrigan concurrently collected reports of anomalies surrounding events of the last decade, pairing the spotty logs with piecemeal records of weather patterns in the affected regions.

    Her evidence remained insufficient, but for a collective consciousness wrought of secrecy such as herself, Morrigan knew she was on the orgiastic cusp of a forbidden discovery.

    All that remained was to barter her findings for her Duke''s flesh. The act was a ritual that restored the waning motes of her decaying power and fortified her psyche, buying her time.

    For so long as she survived the tyranny of time, one day, Ravenport''s mortal line will cease to be. Then, The Morrigan, Crone of Crows and Weaver of Secrets, shall once more fly free to wreak havoc and feast upon the offerings of her knowledge-starved sycophants.

    Deep in thought, Mycroft Ravenport, Duke of Norfolk, paced the perimetry of his office, balancing a dozen threats to the Mageocracy.

    Hours ago, Ashbridge had left for the Palace to report to her Majesty, who would then trust her Dukes and General to deal with the Mageocracy''s worldly affairs. The same applied to Holland, who retreated to rouse the Mageocracy''s reserves after leveraging his aid for a favour. After the fiasco at the Niger Delta, Mycroft wondered if it was even possible to persuade the Noble Houses that they should feed scions into another expedition¡ªthough this time, with Solana''s guarantee of profit and treasure, it was difficult to see why a Faction starved of currency would refuse.

    What''s left to Mycroft now was the question of leadership, for the head of the Northern Expedition into Greenland, a Black Zone without any infrastructure, would reign by martial law and be unchallenged until their hour of return.

    Usually, Mycroft possessed a small trove of candidates to draw upon¡ªbut their employer, Tryfan, had made the matter infinitely more complex.

    The Greenland Expedition, Mycroft suspected, was not one to send the men home by Christmas.

    By The Accord''s parameters, the war would not be over until the region was wholly stabilised, which meant the complete and total Purge of Fire Elementals, Undead, and Mermen from Lh?weth''s domain.

    Meanwhile, there was every possibility that Lh?weth may attack the very Human Mages who came to help them, and the Mageocracy not only had to grin and bear the loss but apologise should they damage the land surrounding the Great Tree. The situation itself was as absurd as they came, for Mycroft could imagine the uproar if he had hired gardeners to fight an infestation in the rose garden, only to have his wife execute them when they misstepped on the good turf.

    But what''s the alternative?

    Could they leave the infestation untreated?

    For his generation of Humanity, the consequence wasn''t so dire.

    Dead roses.

    A ravaged Eden.

    And arboreal anarchy where straight hedges and shaded lanes once reigned.

    But what of longitudinal neglect?

    The worrying thing was that neither Mycroft nor anyone else had an answer. In the days before Spellcraft, the Mageocracy held scant records going past the Victorian Epoch of Enlightenment. To add insult to ignorance, each war and Beast Tide invariably destroyed more volumes of journals or erased indexes so that knowledge, so that even if one existed, verification was impossible.

    "Caw¡ª Caw¡ª"

    There came the sound of a crow rapping on Mycroft''s door.

    "Come in," Mycroft spoke absentmindedly as the crow descended in a flurry of jet-hued feathers to assume the humanoid likeness of his supernatural aid¡ªThe Morrigan.

    "Dear Duke." The sultry voice of his bird sounded well-fed. "I come bearing delectable secrets."

    "You do?" Mycroft packaged away his present thoughts for a later hour. "This better not be another rumour attending to one of her Majesty''s wayward children."

    "Oh, this is far more delicious," Morrigan purred, her dark eyes sparkling with delight against her pale cheeks. "I spoke to the girl of her experiences from Shalkar, and she has told me of a correlation between Beast Tides and the weather."

    "Truly?" Mycroft decided he would rest his mind with an amusing distraction. "Tell me, what did the girl say this time? What secret did she inadvertently reveal?"

    "Tis not the lass but I who possess this secret," Morrigan informed her dear Duke. "Do you wish to know why the Elementals are assaulting the Great Tree of Lh?weth? If you would pay the price, then Morrigan would gift you with an answer."

    Mycroft regarded his Spirit with a critical eye.

    As per her contract, she could not deceive him with falsehoods, though Morrigan was free to present the truth with as much guile as she wished. If so, and if indeed the Spirit possessed the wisdom to see past the constraints of the Accord so at least he knew what his men were dying for, then he would gladly pay for her service.

    "Fine." Mycroft materialised a crystalline blade and slit the tip of his finger, allowing a bead of blood to swell forth.

    Morrigan approached, her eyes primal and wild and her pupils enlarged. Without ceremony, she placed his finger so that the string of blood that now escaped fell into the gap between her hot lips. A second passed, then Mycroft felt his vitals falter in the wake of their contractual obligations. With haste, he withdrew his hand, leaving a streak of crimson to run past Morrigan''s lower lip and across her chin.

    How like the goddess in the Celtic engravings she now looked, Mycroft observed. Morrigan''s was an Ego that had existed since the age of wild men, savages who sacrificed their flesh and blood to unnamed Spirits like Morrigan so that she could bless them with answers to questions they did not know existed. Calmly, Mycroft softened his breathing, reminding himself that though the woman no longer caked herself with offal offerings from Druidic supplicants, her very Essence continues to be constituted from the raw, unadulterated terror of a Humanity that cowered in crude forts and hid in caves from roaming Fomorians.

    "So tell me." Ravenport wiped his hand on a white, silken handkerchief. "What do you know?"

    "I know where Spectre will next strike, assuming they haven''t done so already¡ª" The Spirit spoke through teeth that were gory and bloody, her white bosoms rising and falling from the invigoration gifted by Mycroft''s blood. "I know what they wish to achieve and what they would engender."

    Mycroft''s heart grew strained with sudden paranoia. "Where?"

    "Antarctica!" The crow-Goddess of old war and death and secrets spat with triumph. "They seek to destabilise the Great Tree of Illh?weth in the same manner as Lh?weth! The Elemental Sovereigns cannot force their Legions into the Prime Material so long as the World Trees stand, but they can push each boundary to the extreme! And most importantly, they can push your kin toward destruction, even without war, thereby crippling The Accord and with it, Humanity''s tenuous hold on the Prime Material!"

 Chapter 441 - The Big Bang

    Rakiura Purple Zone.

    New Zealand.

    Unbeknownst to many, the little-known inlet of Oban sits on the southern tip of Aotearoa, on an island that the Demi-God M¨¡ui used as the anchor for fishing up the north island. The modern Geomancers of the Mageocracy, who deemed it necessary to rename the tongue-twisting island chain "New Zealand", did so while well aware that the north island may have been a Leviathan of unusual size. The Prime Material was, after all, where the flotsam and jetsom of the Elemental Planes naturally ended up. Therefore, a perishing Leviathan dying when it emerged into a plane with insufficient buoyancy to sustain its colossal body wasn''t impossible.

    Perhaps the tale of the islands being the carcasses of mythical Leviathans could explain why Te Waka a M¨¡ui, or "M¨¡ui''s Canoe" that made up the south island was prone to producing a greater variety of magical produce than any other colony under the Mageocracy''s reign and served as home to enormous hosts of Demi-human beings.

    Oban sat on the smallest isle, Rakiura, later renamed "Stewart Island", after the Victorian cartographer who mapped the region.

    In the present day, two significant Human settlements exist on New Zealand''s shores after the Beast Tide¡ªAuckland in the heart of the north island, and its sister city slightly south, Wellington.

    Its third settlement, the city of Christchurch, beautiful and wondrous it may have been, was unfortunately relegated to human history by the Beast Tide and now exists as a fortress serving races without amicable relationships to the Humans up north.

    It was from Oban, an inlet on Rakiura''s east, that Divination Station WETA1077 now sent its complex string of warnings towards its mother station in Wellington. For almost two days, its station Master, a Senior Geomancer of no import who had chosen a remote job because it allowed him to focus on his Ice Magic, could only watch in awe as the spectrometric readings of the South Sea shot from their usual range into the utmost extremes, then stayed there.

    At first, the Geomancer was confident the sudden surge of every reading meant his instruments required new calibrations. Though his Spectrometer was Dwarven-designed and German-made, the snow, wind and sleet so common to Oban were not kind by any measure, sparing not even the rocks that rolled down the escarpment under which the station hid.

    With his mind made up, the Geomancer had decided to see what would happen with his own eyes. After all, with every needle going haywire, he had no idea what he should even report.

    An hour later, he had his answer in the midst of making tea.

    First came the sound, a heavenly echo that rolled like solid thunder, moving as slow as molasses as it washed over Oban''s shores, so oppressive that the shielded station felt as though underwater.

    When the sound did hit, the transmuted concrete of Oban station shook as though a jar of fruit abused by a belligerent child, sending every item not bolted down to rain down on its sole inhabitant.

    In a daze, the Geomancer had dug himself from the debris to make his way back to the Spectrometric reading room. There, he no longer needed the readings to know that something terrible and terrific was occurring across the ocean.

    Immediately abandoning his tea, the Geomancer forced himself to record, then compose a Message to Wellington station, one that would warn them of the impending horror to come.

    Fifteen minutes later, from the vantage of his seaside office, the Geomancer saw a great plume begin to build on the horizon. Even from his privileged position, the curvature of Terra''s vast globular distance made the scale of the dust stack impossible to estimate¡ªbut for him to see it from Oban, there was no doubt as to the stratospheric pollution taking place.

    Then, the sea began to shimmy.

    Not surge.

    Nor crash.

    But recede.

    As the tide flowed impossibly backwards, it exposed the shallow denizens of the South Sea.

    Stricken fish, confused clams, suddenly exposed crustaceans the size of houses and bewildered Mermen who traded fish with the Geomancer for grain¡ªall were left exposed to the frigid air of Oban.

    The Geomancer knew then that the sea would return with the crushing wrath of ten Leviathans within minutes.

    It was there then that the Mage, whose name was known only to the Wondrous Energies Technical Academy based on the coast of Wellington, made a choice. In one scenario, he picked up the emergency Boots of Flight and legged it, likely making it a hundred kilometres before he could find a fishing vessel to take shelter.

    In the other scenario, he shepherded the Message device, calibrating its fluctuations in the Elemental Planes, then stayed with the station until the inevitable happened, praying to M¨¡ui that he had enough HDMs left for the Message to reach Wellington.

    The Geomancer chose the latter.

    When one''s home was the Purple Zone of Rakiura with its view of the limitless ocean and a backdrop of endless Roc nests, Wyvern hovels and other Elementals, the minuscule nature of his existence was never a matter of doubt.

    But now, having chosen to be the better man, the anonymous Mage felt that perhaps, this one time, he would have made a difference to Humanity, or at least, the lives of his forgetful colleagues in Wellington.

    A few minutes later, under his trembling fingers, the gauge showed the station''s mana reserves nearing depletion and that the Message, as far as he could know, was still sending.

    All that was left, the Geomancer supposed¡ªwas to be at peace and relish the sublime, unfathomable power of the natural world.

    WETA.

    Wellington.

    Magister Maka Kawhena, Academic Director and principal Geomancer at the Wondrous Energies Technical Academy, was woken up by his bright-faced assistants.

    "Something''s happening on Rakuira!" the youthful faces yammered, explaining that there was an immense elemental surge of sorts.

    Kawhena remained unfazed, for here was Aotearoa! A land of Halflings and Titans! A land where on Wednesday, one could experience a sudden surge of Elemental Fire so close to Auckland that the ground would shake¡ªafter which the faculty went back to lunch.

    Oban was their southernmost station, constructed in the unpopulated Purple Zone with a skeleton staff of one. The reports from Oban had rarely contained anything of interest, and over the years, Kawhena had near-forgot that the place even existed.

    "What''s the matter now?" Magister Kawhena broke the crust from his eyes, stowed his research papers with a swipe of his Storage Ring, then yawned to dispel his fatigue.

    "The readings are off the charts!" One of the students waved the script back and fro. "And I think¡­ Oban''s gone."

    "Gone?" Kawhena''s mind instantly grew clear at the unfortunate news. "Give it here."

    His eyes scanned the script.

    The readings, as it were, were "off the charts", not as a figure of speech. The Elemental Spectrometer readings from Oban Station''s final transmission was of such magnitude that the numbers were beyond the scope of its Divination Engines to compute. Had Oban itself not reported its destruction, the Magister would have foremostly considered the readings an error.

    "Anything else?" The Magister asked his students, despite knowing that the Divination Station was too isolated and weak to transmute vocal Messages or Lumen-casts. Nonetheless, if he took the readings to be accurate, then Wellington would very soon encounter an unfathomable trial.

    The students understandably shook their heads.

    "Sir?" One of them must have noted his facial expression. "Are you ill?"

    Kawhena touched a hand to his forehead.

    He was sweating, he realised. In mid-January, Wellington was prone to heatwaves, but as February marched in, the temperature usually peaked in the brisk twenties and dropped into the lower teens.

    "Come with me," Kawhena decided to inform Auckland Tower at once, true or otherwise, that was his duty as Chief Geomancer. "We''re going to the LR Message chamber. We need to¡ª"

    The building shook, as did their bones.

    A clash of raw, relentless thunder rolled across the sky over Wellington, so powerful that deep inside WETA''s reinforced academic building, dust from the ceiling fell across the Master and student like fine, powdered snow.

    "What was that?" One of the students said, perhaps finally realising things were about to get real.

    "Thunder?" Another remained optimistic.

    "No, not thunder," Kawhena said aloud. A scholar of his tenure knew very well the weather forecast for the next week. Likewise, his student should have known that no weather phenomenon manifested as a single thunderclap.

    Ding¡ªDING¡ªDING!

    Before the Kawhena could station his train of thought, a stylised chime for urgent notifications blossomed beside his ear as a burst of red mist. Putting the output on public, Kawhena activated the incoming Message.

    "Kawhena here." The Magister kept his voice level. "What''s happening?"

    "Sir." The voice from the other end was from his Apprentice, a Magus Geomancer from the Akaroa Outpost, sheltered in a volcanic inlet. "I just received pings from our buoys south of Oamaru. There''s a tsunami currently moving northward toward Timaru. It should reach our station in twenty minutes."

    "How bad?" Kawhena asked.

    "We''re getting ready to evacuate," the voice replied. "From our readings, it''s travelling at close to three hundred knots and moving at a depth of about a hundred meters to fifty meters. It should reach Wellington in the next eighty minutes."

    "Anticipated wave height?"

    "Uncertain. I''ll report as soon as the primary crest passes the outer rim of the station."

    "Anticipated damage to the substation?"

    "Catastrophic is my guess. Thankfully, the spontaneity and speed of the Tai ¨¡niwhaniwh indicate this to be a natural occurrence, likely from tectonic movements in the south. The fastest Leviathan we''ve recorded can barely manage fifty knots without its brigades of Mermen, so it can''t be an invasion."

    "Understood. Pass on the warning to Auckland. With preparation, the Tower should be able to minimise the damage and organise the city''s defence. Very well done, Magus Everett."

    "You''ve taught me well, Master."

    "I don''t recall teaching you flattery." Kawhena wanted to smile, but his facial muscles were too rigid for feigning hope. His Senior Apprentice was an experienced Geomancer. If the young man''s calculations remained true, then the sea wall and the reinforced Shield Barriers south of Wellington would not be nearly enough to stop a tsunami of this magnitude.

    "All of you, come with me to the observation room," he informed his students, then mentally punched in another Glyph into the active Message spell. "Ena, Ruhi, go inform the militia. Moki, confirm the bad news with the city guards. I''ll contact the Tower. Ahi, go help organise the evacuation."

    The call took half a minute to finally make its way through the rudimentary Divination Towers that snaked across the north island, past the Halfling settlement of Hamilton, then Auckland. The delay, frustrating as it was, was the best their Frontier could manage. Unlike the first-tier cities, having middle-tier Diviners manning Divination hubs was a luxury they could not afford.

    "Maka¡ª" The voice that answered him was calm. "It''s good that you''ve called. We''ve all heard the commotion. How bad is it?"

    "Paladin. I regret to inform you that Oban''s obliterated," Kawhena said. "There''s a Tai ¨¡niwhaniwh wrapping around the north coast in the next sixty to eighty minutes going three hundred knots. We''ll take the brunt of it, but enough of it will reach Auckland to make reinforcements... complicated."

    "The cause?"

    "The readings indicate a spontaneous natural event."

    "¡­ I see," the voice of Auckland Tower''s premier Battle Mage, Magister Te Wherowhero, sounded relieved. "Nonetheless, I suspect we shall require aid from Sydney and Melbourne. I''ll mobilise the Tower in the meanwhile and have Whetu organise the reserves. Master Hildenbrandt will officially request our Halflings allies at Hamilton to ready relief supplies for Wellington. Likewise, we''ll spare what we can for your defence. Stay safe, Maka."

    "You too, mate," Magister Kawhena allowed himself the luxury of speaking informally to his old friend and colleague. "I am confident Wellington will survive and rebuild, just like Sydney."

    In the lobby of WETA''s academic hall, the arriving Kawhena addressed the hundred or so of his colleagues who had by now emerged from their labs for the observation hall, the designated meeting place for emergencies.

    Altogether, there were only three Magisters and something south of forty Magus-tier casters in the entire city of Wellington. Kawhena''s saving grace, he supposed, was that only a hundred thousand NoMs serviced the port city, a stark contrast to the milling million Kiwis in Auckland.

    Nonetheless, with the sirens blaring and the population well-trained against natural disasters and Mermen incursions, he had no doubt any citizens with good sense should be able to find shelter, or at least escaped to higher ground by the time the Tai ¨¡niwhaniwh made landfall.

    All that was left was to defend Wellington from the residual tidal surges as best as they could, then hope to M¨¡ui that no Elder-tier Elementals had decided to take the opportunity to tour their hapless settlement.

    Within ten minutes, as had been drilled dozens of times before, Kawhena split WETA''s Mages as best as he could.

    Then, while making for the observation room, Kawhena took the readings from Oban and studied the numbers.

    Only a dozen pages managed to make the leap from Oban to Wellington, making the cause of the disaster woefully unclear.

    One graph, or whatever could be transmitted, indicated an overabundance of Elemental Fire in the hour prior, reaching a peak of some twenty-six thousand per cent of the yearly average. At the same time, Elemental Earth in the region showed growth of some fifteen thousand per cent. Likewise, Elemental Ash, Smoke, and an assortment of flame-aligned elements also inundated the chart, causing a depression in the spectrometric volume of Elemental Water, Air, and Ice that dominated the region. For an area possessing ninety-nine per cent water, ice and frigid air, Kawhena too would have doubted the validity of the instruments.

    In hindsight, the numbers matched a sudden volcanic eruption, though the total lack of build-up before the detonation was a matter of great suspect.

    Regardless, the origin of their present woe could only come from one source.

    Mount Erebus.

    For aeons, the dormant volcano had remained a bastion of Elemental Fire against the all-pervading cold. When it last erupted in ''97, Kawhena had been a Magus studying in Auckland and was lucky enough to be selected for an expedition to witness the eternal battles between the Magma and Ice Elementals that reigned in Antarctica''s northern Black Zone.

    Still, Kawhena felt an unwelcome queasiness.

    If the Tai ¨¡niwhaniwh caused by an eruption in or near Erebus was enough to wipe out Oban station, then how large must the blast be?

    With a heavy heart, Kawhena did his best to match the readings to a mental image of the sky-rending ash cloud now spreading over the white linen snow of the Antarctic¡ªtransforming the infamous seat of pristine frost into a wasteland of choking ash.

    This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

    What did such a thing portend for the days to come?

    Regrettably, as a Frontier Magister and administrator, Maka Hawhena could honestly say that he had no idea.

    Mycroft Ravenport received the report of the eruption of Mount Erebus no less than an hour after Auckland Tower''s mobilisation.

    His first reaction was to suppress the deeply felt suspicion that Morrigan''s conjecture was correct and that Spectre''s next target required an over-extension of the state''s forces. Already, he had sent forth agents from the Sixth Cabal into the Wildlands of the southern Frontiers.

    But that was a week ago.

    And despite the vigilance of his agents, there would be a few weeks before he received a full report. The delay was frustrating but necessary¡ªfor regardless of their zealotry for threats against the Mageocracy, no Human instruments existed to monitor the south pole beyond Spectrometric Stations on Falkland Island and Oban.

    And now, both were gone, and the Antarctic Black Zone was presumably on fire.

    In a less complicated time, were he to call upon Morrigan''s record-searching expertise, the crow would croak that magma bursts were a dozen-a-decade affair, and they occurred without rhyme or rhythm, or at least one that the Mageocracy could discern.

    Against such "known" tectonic anomalies, the Mageocracy had well-built insurances in place. Ironically, certain settlements existed solely to survey such regions. For a well-shielded Frontier, a volcano wasn''t just a source of danger but a source of immense resources, for whether caused by planar disjunctions or simply the natural flow of elemental energies in flux, every destructive aftermath left behind countless new HDM growths ripe for the picking. For this reason, regions like Auckland may lack in Mages and manpower but rarely lack infrastructural investments.

    Had Mycroft not received Morrigan''s warning, the eruption should have been a cause for celebration.

    Once Auckland and Wellington endured and was in the recovery process, Mages could be ferried from Singapore and the coastal cities of Australia to mine the newly exposed wealth. Though utterly inhospitable, a well-armed expedition on a fully equipped ice breaker barge could penetrate the South Sea, then serve as a temporary operating base.

    There or near Erebus, once the warring Elemental Monsters were "Purged", the acquired materials and HDMs would be split between the Mageocracy, its Commonwealth colony, and the mercenaries hired by the Tower to do its bidding. Unless something catastrophic occurred, such as a sustained Mermen Tide or the awakening of something ancient and opinionated, all parties walked away satisfied and laden with riches.

    However, the dangers were real, and so were his lack of men.

    Ashbridge had already summoned the available manpower the state could spare at a moment''s notice, meaning the Royal Docks were presently loading the HMS Argus with Golems, tents, supplies and materials for the temporary command centre off Greenland''s coast.

    To summon as many men again for a second Breaker Carrier, but this time for the underside of Terra, was not only improbable but potentially unprofitable. Thanks to a certain newspaper, the losses sustained in the Niger Delta had the Militant Faction blushing for shame, meaning the Grey and Middle Faction had to unsubtly encourage their privateering cousin utilising garish promises and upfront reinforcements, like tossing meat to a ravening Manticore to steer the end with three mouths toward one''s foes.

    Nonetheless, Mycroft''s appointment meant he MUST make a recommendation to parliament. At the same time, his suggestion had to attain rapport with all three Factions of the Tower¡ªand pass muster with the Crown.

    His only reprieve was that he needed not juggle Factional considerations to find a capable Commander, unlike the Fire Sea expedition. As the matter occurred nearest to Auckland, the Commonwealth''s treaties naturally left the organisation of relief and recovery to the closest Tower and its Master. London''s dispatches would operate under Auckland, even if in name only.

    In a simpler time, Mycroft may not have bothered sending Mages at all, not when HDMs and supplies were sufficient.

    The Paladin of Auckland and Gunther''s old contemporary was Magister Te Wherowhero, an Earthen specialist with a wealth of experience going back to the Beast Tide. Under his care, most of the north island''s terrestrial Demi-humans were allies of the Tower and could count on their aid. Likewise, Auckland would call for assistance from Sydney and Melbourne. On that front, Mycroft could predict with absolute confidence that The Morning Star would take the opportunity to repay the kindness Auckland had exhibited three years ago.

    Across the miasma-choked air of Westminster, the dull echoes of Big Ben''s mechanisms announced the time.

    Rubbing his eyes, Mycroft took a moment to vent his annoyance at the tyrannical march of Big Ben''s heartless tolls. His original plan a week ago had been to spare an evening for a toast with Charlene, or at least a gesture of congratulation over a luncheon¡ªbut now, he could barely recall when he last had tea without the interruption of reports.

    Once the discomfort in his eyes faded, Mycroft considered his options.

    Any work in Antarctica required the attention of a well-suited Magister from the Shard. One he did not have.

    There were candidates¡ªbut these were haughty men and women with little regard and even less respect for the sovereignty of their southernly Commonwealth compatriots. On the surface, they had no trouble processing the grand scale of the Mageocracy''s assumed fairness. Still, Mycroft knew these Magisters better than themselves, especially when given a fully-equipped research vessel equating a mobile mini-Tower.

    For a Magister to accrue accreditation and succeed in his assignments, help and favours were inevitable. A clean and uncomplicated Purge required complex networks borrowed from their sponsors. Correspondingly, to terraform a section of an Orange Zone into a pacified Green Zone, mountains of HDMs had to be poured into the building of Shielding Stations, roadways and to attract NoMs and labourers to settle into a newly "recovered" Frontier. Most importantly, failure almost always accompanied such successes, meaning political buffers had to be erected through gifting profits and favours to ensure that the Magister''s evaluation emerged favourably.

    Conversely, the "Down Under" region of Australia and New Zealand was just a little too far from the bountiful bosom of the green isle in the north to remain in its sphere of control. That was why Henry Kilroy had exiled himself after the violent ex-communication of his wife. Likewise, that the Towers of Europe had given the man a wide berth for almost three decades meant the Empire''s ex-penal colony had affected an assumed independence.

    That and the region''s war leaders were Wherowhero and Gunther Shultz.

    Paladin Wherowhero, a renounced "king" of the Maori and a shaman-turned-Magister, exhibited only ambivalence for the Mageocracy''s promise of "common" wealth.

    As for Shultz¡­

    Mycroft was sorry to say that a man whose prowess was used to categorise the War Mage tiers could arguably do whatever he wished. Around two decades ago, when Kilroy announced that he would take Gunther with him to reclaim the eastern coast of Australia, it was not outrage that the Mageocracy had expressed but a shared sense of relief. Thanks to Shultz''s bloodline, a dozen domains across both the Kingdom and the continent had felt threatened by his inevitable claim to power.

    Therefore, the making of Gunther Shultz into the Tower Master of a perpetually besieged mining colony was the most remarkable outcome anyone could have imagined, leaving many in awe of Kilroy''s generosity.

    That was why Shultz''s proposal to rebuild Sydney as a tier 1 city in the south had not only been met with applause, but every Faction had pitched in to keep the man busy and forgetful of his birthrights in Europe.

    "Morrigan," Mycroft called for his Spirit.

    The crow-woman manifested at once. Of late, Morrigan had rarely left Mycroft''s side as matters in the north continued to unfold.

    "What''s the girl doing?"

    "Making use of the NoM Artificer from MIT," Morrigan answered happily.

    "Trying to get her grubby mugs on Golems?" Mycroft furrowed his brows. If the girl started building Golems in her Print Works, the Fifth Cabal would be very interested. Once the girl had her Tower, she could manage it as she wished¡ªbut for now, for what possible "private" use could a War Mage have for Custom Golem casings?

    Morrigan looked up with a smug look of mischief. "No, Master. She''s working on the Llias Leaf. The NoM says he may be able to replicate some of its functions."

    "Good, as long as it isn''t Golems," Mycroft spoke on reflex, then slowly allowed his exhausted mind to catch up with the surprise and irritation suddenly swelling his temples. "¡­ Gwen''s doing what now?"

    "Our ''Mistress of the Dogs'' is trying to dissect the Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar magic associated with the Llias Leaf," Morrigan''s lips were so red with excitement that for a moment, Mycroft mistook the colour for blood. "She''s trying to glean its secrets by having the NoM approach the Elven Glyphs. Something about using similar Dwarven Glyphs as a medium."

    The Duke of Norfolk pictured his daughter standing next to Gwen at the All England.

    Charlene was such a good girl, he thought to himself. All his little bird desired was to overturn the old power pyramid to benefit more of the Mageocracy''s citizens¡ªand gain power for herself in the process. It was a very admirable goal. Why couldn''t Kilroy''s Apprentice also be a good girl like Charlene?

    A part of Mycroft wanted to teleport to the Isle of Dogs and slap the Llias Leaf from the girl''s hands, then strike her thrice on the head with his raven-headed cane.

    Another part of him, the logical portion he valued more than his health and life, told him that the Llias Leaf was a gift from Tryfan to Gwen and that Tryfan was more than capable of protecting its secrets if it so desired.

    Therefore, mindful of his feelings on the Accord, the Duke of Norfolk poured himself a cup of cold tea, swished the bitter liquid in his mouth, then swallowed.

    In all honesty, sending the girl down south felt absurd.

    She was too young, too inexperienced, and far too talented, a terrible combination when the desired outcome should be "predictable".

    If, by chance, the girl made "Shalkar" happen in the Antarctic Black Zone, would the Great Tree of Tryfan spontaneously combust?

    But that didn''t mean he had a better candidate in mind.

    If Antarctica turned out as Morrigan had suspected¡ªwould sending Gwen not be a stroke of genius?

    Mycroft reminded himself that the girl was indeed an Apprentice of Kilroy, a man instrumental in establishing the current Accord and that Kilroy''s history with the Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar was as thick as sheaves under the World Tree. Thereby, if she did make unhappy contact with Illh?weth, Tryfan should step in to prevent an escalation.

    As for the Mermen¡ªMycroft recalled the girl possessed a deft hand at dealing with Mermen.

    At worst, he was confident Gunther Shultz would personally attend to the girl''s blunders.

    With his confidence bolstered, the mindscape of England''s Lord Marshall began to entwine the strings of cause and consequence.

    The Shard MUST send an expedition, one that involved a Breaker Carrier, to the northern tip of Antarctica to observe the rapidly changing conditions there.

    At best, the discharge at Mount Erebus was a natural occurrence, meaning Auckland and the expedition could excavate a Dragon''s hoard of HDMs and Creature Cores, then retreat to the safety of the Shield Walls.

    At worst, if indeed Spectre was involved, then the girl would be wholly motivated to Void them, and should she prove insufficient, The Morning Star would teleport to her aid together with the Scarlet Sorceress without a second thought. Likewise, should the matter grow dire, the Tower Master of Sydney had already amassed enough HDMs from the sale of the Leviathan''s offals to move his renovated Tower across the South Ocean.

    When Mycroft tried to envision Gunther Shultz appearing as a blazing sphere of pure Radiance above the endless snow of Antarctica to rain down god rays of absolution upon Spectre''s agents, even he couldn''t help but affect a secret smile. Terrifying as Sobel could be, the Mageocracy never did lack in giving as good as it got.

    But of course, Kilroy''s youngest was still a student. She may not act like one, nor behave as such, or possess the same limitations as a regular Magister candidate, but Gwen was, without a doubt, an undergraduate of Cambridge.

    Yet, many Mages had distinguished themselves during the Beast Tide in his generation despite their status as juniors. Later, a great many of these ambitious men and women, Mycroft included, went on to reclaim Humanities waterlogged cities, settling themselves into the new political fabric of the Commonwealth.

    Thereby, it was thanks to a great many antecedences that The Shard possessed no problems bestowing the necessary titles¡ªand Mycroft doubted it would shy away from the same liberties today, so long as the girl performed.

    Presently, the girl already had Shalkar under her name.

    Should Antarctica prove more than a milk run, and assuming the girl succeeds¡ªMycroft sipped his cold tea.

    The transition from a Magus to Magister required certified contributions to the Tower, the Commonwealth, and Humanity itself. Two tours¡ªand the gains to show it¡ªwas more than enough to attain such a title, regardless of her academic achievements.

    An undergraduate Magister?

    An undergraduate Tower Master?

    The paradox made Mycroft''s temple throb¡ªbut at the same time, he couldn''t help but feel a tiny and expectant flutter of the heart.

    For now, he would ask the girl to volunteer with a coalition of the willing to Wellington.

    And as she accrued credits and continued her lessons, he would put the mechanisms in place for a second expedition to the south.

    As for the leader of the expedition...

    Now that Charlene had debuted into the political world. Wasn''t it natural for a good father to put his best daughter forward?

    Sydney.

    The Tower.

    Gunther Shultz, Morning Star and Tower Master, calmly ate his burnt eggs, crushing the charcoal between pearly teeth to ease its passing with bitter coffee.

    From his open kitchen, he could see the entirety of Sydney''s harbour, now ten times the size of its predecessor and entirely a man-made construct excavated from the bizarre formations of the Leviathan''s hollowed-out carcass.

    His wife, the always lovely, consistently fiery Alesia de Botton, readied herself for work, entirely forgetting the garlic bread in the oven and the spilt packets of raw bacon still sitting on the counter. There were spent eggshells as well, inexpertly cracked, still on the cooktop, and a burnt pan sat unwashed in the sink, crying out for redress.

    Many husbands would find the scene disheartening, perhaps even annoying enough to cause a minor scuffle or disagreement.

    Gunther did not feel any such need.

    For a man of his prowess and responsibilities, he felt that the minutes he would spend around the kitchen cleaning up after a wife who could not but insisted on cooking was a rare bliss.

    The one regret that assailed him when Gunther looked out over the peaceful harbour and ate Alesia''s half-cooked, over-cooked, or uncooked meals, was that his Master wasn''t here rolling his eyes and teasing Allie.

    The clock chimed.

    Another ten minutes, and he would teleport back to reality.

    Gunther knew with absolute certainty that such idle days of domestic bliss were merely a pacifying drug to will away the time while something direr brewed. If it pleased Alesia to play the housewife while she could, then he would play the role of a mortal husband, one who wasn''t responsible for the five million lives up and down the east coast.

    He quickly swallowed the last of his burnt egg-on-toast.

    Two days ago, the news had arrived in the form of a Tower-shaking boom with uncertain origins. Hours later, Gunther received an urgent message from the Tower Master of Auckland, hoping that Sydney and Melbourne might give them the necessary aid to repel the Mermen Tide now that the immediate threat of the tsunami had passed.

    Shortly after, Sydney and Melbourne had entered a state of emergency, activating coastal defences and powering up their Tower Cores to repel the tidal waters.

    Melbourne reported minimal disruptions and damage thanks to its inlet locale.

    Much to Gunther''s pleasure, Sydney reported a complete containment of the flood water thanks to its new infrastructure and Leviathan-powered Shielding Stations.

    As for the original victims of the unexpected disaster, Wellington''s collapse was sufficiently suppressed by overworking the Shielding Generators, sacrificing a few outlying engines to create localised maelstroms feeding the incoming tide into the Elemental Plane of Water.

    As a result, the city centre had been preserved at the cost of losing seventy-five per cent of its resonator capacity and thirty-three out of the forty-five Shielding Stations in the Cook Strait. The city''s sea wall had been overwhelmed, though not to such a degree that the harbour districts were unrepairable. Likewise, though the lower sections of the Wondrous Energies Technical Academy were flooded with debris, the recovery period still fell within the limitations of time and HDMs available to Auckland.

    What worried Te Wherowhero was what came next.

    A tsunami of this magnitude often travelled deep and long, meaning every Mermen Shoal between the South Ocean and the Tasman Sea would be alerted to the fact that the closest human settlements, Wellington and Auckland, would be understaffed and under defended and that the dreaded resonating crystals would likely be out of sync.

    For the Seven Kingdoms of Mermen, one of which lay northward in the Coral Sea and the other east of New Zealand''s coast in the South Pacific, there was no reason NOT to assail the weakened settlements.

    By mobilising its Tower, Auckland should be able to repel the Mermen Tide¡ªbut Wellington, with its breached defences and lack of manpower, would have the impossible tasks of a botched evacuation or an improbable city defence. To Gunther''s knowledge, a worse-still scenario was the usually amicable relationship the Maori shared with the coastal Mermen who freely traded with the city. Would the half-million of these former "allies" defend the city? Or would they flee? Or, more likely, would they join the "Great Shoal" making its way toward the inundated coastline?

    Wellington needed aid, and the support had to be swift.

    As the Tower Master of Sydney, he couldn''t just upend his work and leave for Wellington, not to mention the Auckland Frontier wasn''t his to govern. What he could spare was a Senior Mage Flight and Sydney Tower''s rising star¡ªAlesia''s "Little Scarlet", which, together with Melbourne Tower''s contributions, should significantly bolster Wellington''s military potential.

    "When are Yue and the boys leaving for Auckland?" Alesia caught his wandering gaze, then read his mind.

    "Tomorrow," Gunther recalled the girl who barged into his office demanding to be let in on the Mage Flight, explaining that she had to fight for her mates across the ocean. "Jonas is returning to Sydney as we speak. He should arrive tonight. Billy''s already reported to the barracks."

    His wife nodded. "Do you think it''s anything serious?"

    "A tsunami and a Mermen tide not serious enough?" Gunther joked.

    "You know what I mean."

    "I don''t know," Gunther confessed his ignorance, something he loathed. Of all the pitfalls of the Frontier, he hated the lack of LR Message devices and reliable Divination Towers the most. In that regard, the vast distances between Australia''s cities made the lack of readily accessible information exchange particularly painful. As for the continent''s interior, he currently possessed no hope of tapping its resources. "The report sent to London says that the eruption was spontaneous and without magical interference, though I don''t think it''s reliable. Oban was the closest Spectrometric outpost, and it''s so distant from Antarctica that we could fly for two days and not see a hint of the shoreline."

    "Alright. If all we have is ignorance¡ª" Alesia''s expression suggested she was trying and failing to imagine the distance. "¡ª then is the problem far enough from Sydney to ignore?"

    "We might not have a choice." Gunther''s voice held a rare trace of misery. "Erebus is almost four thousand kilometres away from us in a Black Zone with no shelter or supplies, inundated by Elementals from the primordial age. Short of burning every HDM we''ve squirrelled away and flying the Tower over the ocean, no presence Sydney can muster will make a difference. If Melbourne and Brisbane joined us, we could put together an expedition, but that would take almost a year, not to mention we lack the warships. Also, do you recall Master saying that the Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar has an outpost there? A Great Tree of rime and frost that extends from the Prime Material into the Astral? Maybe there''s even a Mythic Frost Guardian? Who knows? Without burning HDMs we can''t spare¡ªignorance is our only recourse."

    His wife shrugged. "Well, whatever. It''s not like Yue''s going deeper than Wellington. Will London be sending a team to Auckland? Our parochial rulers usually do, don''t they? We''re still a part of the Commonwealth, after all. They''ll have a meander, then loot the town in the name of aid."

    "I am sure London''s ''generosity'' is on its way." Gunther nodded. "They''ll pass through Sydney. Who do you think they''ll send?"

    "Some musty old dog who won''t even give me the time of day," Alesia predicted with a smile. "You won''t stand for it, right? Gunther?"

    "Absolutely." Gunther broke into a smile as well. "How dare these imperial hard heads not know of the Scarlet Sorceress?"

    Alesia''s laughter rang across the spacious living room. "Will Te stand for it? The Shard isn''t going to let matters go if there isn''t much to loot."

    "Then they''ll receive nothing," Gunther agreed with a grin. "Paladin Te Wherowhero has my full support. I''d love to see who dares to challenge our judgment. I''ll make it worth their while, but mark my words, London won''t receive a single HDM more than the effort they bring to Auckland."

 Chapter 442 - The Phantom Menace

    The Bunker.

    The Isle of Dogs.

    Gwen listened with utmost attentiveness to the torrent of jargon vomiting from the mind of Magus John C. Williams, catching the butt-ends of formulas she had picked up between her Enchantment, Conjuration and Transmutation classes.

    As far as she could make out, the young man had already convinced Petra that he was the genuine article. Comparatively, Pat''s Dwarven teachers, such as Danmurim the Glum, believed the sandy-haired American to be a Vadam New World Magitech heretic.

    "No-no-no, good Master¡ªAt the Massachusetts Institute of Thaumaturgy, my colleagues have already proven the existence of Eisenberg''s Cosmological Constant," the man was red-faced as he brayed on, unwilling to concede, yet wary of the Dwarf''s mace-like tankard. "With it, our arcanists have made enormous strides in unravelling the Linguistic Equilibrium, the Liminal Astral Dilemma and the Elemental ''Ouroboros'' Paradox. For this reason, I am confident Magus Song''s request has a real possibility of success."

    "I understand what yer saying." The Dwarven Runesmith turned the stein in his hands. "What I am saying is yer dreaming if yer thinks of our Runic Syntagms can be in anyway interchanged with ''em Paradigm Scripture of the knife-ears. Us paired with Human sorcery¡ªmaybe¡ªafter all yer stole enough to establish yer School of Enchantment, but the knife-ears'' Treant wash? Yer dreaming, lad."

    The ongoing debate had started a week ago after Gwen relented to allow Williams access to the Dwarves. Unfortunately, the result was a theoretical tug-of-war that had continued every evening at the Dwarven Bar just below the Bunker.

    For a bloke that had wanted to learn from the Dwarves, William was not at all shy about giving advice based on the latest and greatest from the "New World". Strangely enough, though the Dwarves grumbled and scoffed, they nonetheless accepted the youth human "Engineseer" into their midst.

    When she asked Petra, her cousin said Hanmoul''s kin saw the Golem-crafter as a "Craftsmen", which meant his racial credentials were no longer relevant. Comparatively, Pats herself was merely regarded as a "Journeyman", a fair dinkum assessment for a lass still perfecting her "Path".

    As a result, Gwen herself had decided to put Williams to the test.

    A day earlier in her office, the NoM from the Massachusetts Institute of Thaumaturgy had laid out his entire resume, citing that his extensive work on Golem interfaces could help her simplify the operation of Dwarven machinery for use by her non-magically aligned employees. To show his gratitude, the Artificer offered, he would aid Petra in creating a conduit device so that NoMs working in Golem Suits could also interface with her Alternative Spell-Storage Solution Cubes.

    Both of the man''s proposals were sound enough for Gwen to grant William''s dearly wished access to her Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth allies. That and her interest in John''s accreditation in creating "interfaces" for Magitech.

    As someone with comprehensive knowledge of how something seemingly innocuous like "User Interface" keyboard and mouse was singularly responsible for transforming the computing industry in her old world, she had to give the man the benefit of the doubt.

    Thinking of her next project, Gwen opted to entertain the possibility of showing Williams something for which she had yet to find a willing researcher¡ªthe Llias Leaf.

    To date, she still had no idea if the Llias Leaf could be dissected and studied, as even the Magisters in her immediate circle were of two minds. Most believed in leaving the damned thing alone¡ªwhile a vocal minority urged her to study the Elven device as much as possible before it was "confiscated".

    In Gwen''s view, if the Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar genuinely needed Humanity as valuable allies in "pruning" the Prime Material of every aphid and grub sucking out its nutrients, then they shouldn''t mind her grifting so long as the Promethean outcome was beneficial to all.

    When she passed the leaf to Williams and explained her theory behind the Llias Leaf''s functions, the Artificer had kicked into gear as though a crank-shaft had been forcibly joined to his spine. With trembling hands, the researcher had scratched out a dozen connotations and denotations she could barely comprehend, then assured her of his confidence that Elven Scripture, which was merely an alternative form of sorcery, could be deciphered.

    The catch, Williams appended after his heady enthusiasm passed¡ªwas that she would have to bring the Llias Leaf to Boston.

    According to the NoM, his colleagues in Cambridge, Massachusetts, had proposed a "Glyph" language akin to arithmetics which superseded cultural, racial and species-based boundaries. The study of this theory and its subsidiary outcomes was what bore fruit for William and his colleagues'' derivative "Semiotic User Interfaces", a design that allowed NoMs to understand better the functions of magic underpinning Magitech Items.

    Petra had then shown the man her Spellcubes, inferring that she too was in the process of simplifying spells for better utility¡ªto "share" spells across Schools of Magic. After that, Dwarven artisans were brought in, and the debate on the semantics of cross-species arcanistry ignited like the Engine Core of a Balefire.

    "Nonetheless, I believe we can help Magus Song." The NoM remained unswayed by her Dwarven engineers. "Break new ground¡ªthat''s what we do in the New World. If Jonathan Gilt had stopped his work on the Ether Engine because we tamed enough Magical Beasts, then there wouldn''t be Americas as we know it. The Institute''s pride rests in us sitting on the cutting edge of Magitech. Did I mention our motto?"

    "Aye, Mens et Manus, it''s a good one." The Runesmith grudgingly nodded. A Dwarf speaking Latin, Gwen inclined her chin. Now she''s seen it all. "It''s right proper Dwarven, lad. I give yer that. Yer sure there are no Dwarves in yer part of the world?"

    Mind and Hands, Gwen translated internally. Had Williams not boasted about his college every other conversation, she too would have thought the motto as thrifted from Dwarves. For a nation who chest thumped with pride whenever someone name-dropped Gilt or Ford, she was more so surprised the motto wasn''t Nummum et Manus¡ªcoins and men.

    "Maybe a few communities here and there," Williams said. "But no, nothing like undercities back home. The Murk in our part of the world is... hostile to habitation."

    Before Gwen could ask, her train of thought was disturbed by the flickering of a lumen-caster playing the news not far from the corner of the bar.

    "One second, fellers," she interrupted the conversationalists, then gestured for the barkeep to turn up the volume on the BBC report.

    A few days ago, she had been shaken by the report that a tsunami warning was issued for Wellington and Auckland.

    And now, just as her mind wondered if Yue might help their mates in New Zealand, a familiar figure appeared, then disappeared from the Lumen-caster''s projection. "Australia prepares to send aid to Wellington in preparation for the Mermen Tide," reported the scroll at the bottom of the screen, depicting a well-used vessel docked not far from the recently restored Opera House.

    "HMS Parramatta" was the name of the supply freighter, and it was through a long zoom of the military Mages boarding the ship that Gwen caught sight of Yue''s unmissable silhouette besides that of Paul, Taj, Jonas and Billy.

    According to the BBC presenter, the supply ships would rendezvous with the now airborne Auckland Tower. From the Tower, the reinforcements from Sydney will be assigned to the direst regions around Wellington. In addition, there was another ship from Melbourne, a joint-operations vessel with volunteers from Adelaide, though their mission emphasised reconstruction over recovery.

    Seeing her friend on the Lumen-caster was an almost surreal experience. Less than half a decade ago, they were just kids in Blackwattle. After their first camp, Yue had very proudly struck out her best features and announced that she would be a Battle Mage and an officer in Sydney''s Militia. Now, not only was Yue a central card in Gunther''s deck, she was quickly taking over the role Alesia used to occupy. Furthermore, according to Richard, the reason why Alesia never took over the part of "Paladin" after her husband was that Yue would occupy that role. For the "tier 1 Sydney" Gunther wished to rebuild, an ethnic-Australian Battle Mage with an NoM mother and no Clan or bloodline heritage was a perfect candidate.

    Gwen felt an instant and ardent desire to venture out and join Yue. With Yue''s barrages and her unrivalled ability to clean up an organic "Beast Tide", the "dynamic duo" could have the Mermen beat, and Wellington cleared within a month.

    But she had her projects here, from the Isle of Dogs to the acquisition of Barlow. And According to Brown, there would soon be a line of Gracies awaiting her Essence Tap¡ªonce the other universities finalised a roster and greased Cambridge''s leadership.

    "Thanks." She nodded to the Dwarven Barkeep. The Lumen-caster dimmed once more, its volume decreasing inversely to the rousing post-work relaxation of the Dwarves working in the Bunker.

    When Gwen returned to the conversation at hand, Petra and the NoM were again going hammer and tongs against an unconvinced Danmrium the Glum.

    Monday.

    Gwen returned to Cambridge to attend lectures and check notes with her tutors.

    She still had more to learn in Astral Theory and Spellcraft, meaning her brain was a hot mess of invocations and incantations by the afternoon.

    At the courtyard to Emmanuel, she sat with her duck and Familiars, meditating away the accumulated stress.

    It still puzzled her why Dede was ever-present in the duck pond whenever she returned, considering that the duck never missed a free meal in London. Then again, according to an eye-witness, Dede could fly fast enough to form an "umbrella" of air with its beak as the pin-point.

    Mid meditation, she was hailed down by Charlene, who invited her to tea at a local cafe with a private balcony overlooking the spring gardens.

    Charlene ordered a bottle of white from the cellar to pair with the afternoon tea; the girls made small talk, then poured out the amber liquid into generous bell glasses to air.

    After Gwen demolished both serves of sandwiches, her business partner moved from the topic of Mermen Downunder to the real reason behind her visit.

    "You''ve been tapped to reinforce Wellington." Charlene''s grey eyes glinted. "So have I for an associated mission. You''ll be going first, and I''ll need you to join me as soon as you''re able."

    Gwen''s surprise was genuine, but with her knowledge of "Dickie¡± and the Militant Faction, she quickly garnered the rationales behind Charlene''s helpful forewarning.

    "Is this my second trial?"

    "Yes, this will be for your Magisterial Application," Charlene affirmed her suspicions. "For the first portion, you''ll be responsible for how you wish to reinforce Wellington. I expect you''ll be given free rein. After Shalkar, you''ve more than proven yourself."

    "That was because I was going at it alone in Shalkar," Gwen pointed out.

    Charlene chuckled. "That was an unexpected development. This time, it''s all on you."

    "How so?"

    Charlene pursed her lips for a moment. "It''s a part of how the Magisterial evaluations function. In the first ''trial'', you''re tested for your ability to adapt and your ability to lead. Your resources are given to you, as are the men and women necessary to achieve your goal. Of course, you passed that trial with flying colours because you managed to achieve the impossible¡ªand without borrowing a single Mage from Meister Bekker''s retinue. Of course, there were the Rat-kin you tamed, and most importantly, both Tryfan and the Ordo Inquisitors had vouched for your actions. Whether that upped your evaluation or lowered the score, I wouldn''t know. Personally, I''d wager your baseline was so high that any penalties would be made redundant."

    The high praise from Charlene, someone Gwen genuinely respected as a business partner, was enough to make her blush.

    "As it stands, you''ve got another year and a bit until you have enough academic credits for graduation. Like myself, however, you''re expecting more than just a desk or battlefield job at the Shard, so our achievements need to possess more nuance."

    "Nuance?"

    "Yes. Even though I finished with the highest honours at Cavendish, I have no use for an unadorned Tyrian-ribbon Magistership. As a Ravenport following in my brother''s and Father''s footsteps, I need more than just recognition from the Shard. Does that make sense?"

    Gwen understood. She was already aware that Charlene had been building her "brand" with the Exeter incident. The Ravenport was using her, but both the process and the outcome had been one of mutual gain, particularly the NoM Golem-maker who was promising her the world.

    "So this time, I need your help, and I''ll give you as much help as I can manage¡ªif you are willing to help Wellington, then aid my mission."

    "Absolutely," Gwen concurred. "I do want to help Wellington. And I''ll lend you a hand."

    She did not mention that she couldn''t wait to see her old mates from Australia and New Zealand, either of which would be motivation enough to venture to Wellington.

    "Thank you," Charlene answered with relief. "You''re a charmed existence, Gwen, both to the Mageocracy and myself. At Shalkar, you''ve demonstrated something only a Tower Master could do¡ªthe transformation of a potential Black Zone into a food-producing region with the output of a Green Zone. When you do put on the mantle of Henry Kilroy, your exploits will have their place in the refreshed textbooks."

    "No need to keep buttering me up." She squirmed under Charlene''s unyielding gaze. These nobles may spend all day waffling, but they were damn good at making a girl feel a million HDMs. Still, the greater the flattery, the harder the request.

    Charlene laughed, masking her mouth with her dainty lady''s fingers. "Alright, I''ll get to the point. Do you know why your second trial affords the candidate free rein?"

    "I could guess, but please enlighten me," Gwen said seriously.

    "Very well. Let me give you an example of what I did for my second Questing Credit session. You''ve heard of the Strait of Gibraltar, yes?"

    "I have."

    "Good. So, about a year ago, our military base there had to intervene when the Gigantes Demi-humans of the mainland decided they no longer wished for French colonists from Tangier to fish along their coasts. God knows why, as the Elemental Giants don''t eat fish¡ªanyway, we have a base there¡ªthe infamous ''Tower of the Rock'' beside Gibraltar. When the Gigantes started an impromptu military action against the Tangier fishermen, we couldn''t just let it happen, not when Paris sent in three Mage Flights to ''negotiate''."

    "Wow." Gwen could only imagine the scene of giants lobbing Stone Missiles the size of semi-trailers at passing trawlers trying to take advantage of sardine shoals the size of islands.

    "When Father asked, I ''volunteered'' for a mission in the Strait. Though I was a part of the diplomatic corps, I was allowed to act alone, as you had in Shalkar. I had a few of my friends from Cavendish with me, but I also borrowed a contingent of the Raven Guard from Father, and I brought a Tower Raven as my advisor. When I got there, I managed to stave off the French Mage Flight by having the Raven Guard keep the peace as Mori helped me gather information on the locals. While the main Diplomatic Corps kept the negotiations going, I uncovered that the Gigantes'' displeasure was stirred by Rogue Mages who had made it to the mainland from Tangier and were raiding their settlements then escaping out to sea."

    Gwen listened.

    Charlene continued after a sip.

    "I asked Mori to send a Message back to London, requesting a means to track down these Rogue Mages. I figured they were trading the gems and metals they stole from the Gigantes in Tangier, and the Grey Faction has an unregistered market there. Folks owing favours to father got in contact with their Grey Faction counterparts working for Tour Montparnasse, and a few days later, Mori gave me the names, faces, and likely locations of these Rogue Mages."

    "Nice." Gwen''s awe was genuine.

    "I then arranged a trap for our Rogue Mages, inviting both the Gigantes representative and Tangier''s senior administrator to observe. As expected, the Rogue Mages fell into our laps¡ªrigorous questioning ensued, and both sides were satisfied that neither had intended the hostilities. What''s more, we even found links to Spectre, whose agents were purchasing these rare materials from the pirates in the region."

    "That''s amazing," Gwen replied. "But¡ª"

    "What does it have to do with you being assigned to Wellington?" Charlene grinned. "Well, here''s the thing. How much help do you suppose I managed to call in during that fiasco?"

    Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

    Gwen combed through her memory. "Mori¡ªyour Raven Guards¡ªand folks from the Grey Faction¡ª"

    "Yes," Charlene affirmed Gwen''s forebodings. "We''re not in Cambridge to be scholars, Gwen. For future Lords of Parliament and aspiring Tower Masters, we need to demonstrate our political, economic, and social connections as a part of the trials. These are not things the Shard can provide for you. Each Tower Master¡ªor Lord of an assigned demesne, MUST possess individual means to provide for their region."

    "I think I understand," Gwen said.

    "Do you?" Charlene tilted her head. "Alright, If you''re going to Wellington next week, what can you bring with you?"

    Gwen carefully considered her choices. Charlene sipped her tea, enjoying the private balcony''s floral ambience while nibbling on a sweet tart.

    "Right¡ª" Gwen replied somewhat sheepishly. "I can bring Richard and Petra. Golos, Ariel, Caliban..."

    "What? No Gracie? or Jean-Paul?" To her shame, Charlene snorted. "You need to start using your connections, Gwennie."

    "I couldn''t possibly ask Lady Maxine or Lady Astor or Meister Bekker." Gwen shook her head. When she saw Charlene roll her eyes, her irises lit up. "Maybe ''Daddy'' can help? He owes me one still."

    Charlene took ten good seconds to swallow her tart without choking in an unladylike manner.

    The future Duchess sighed.

    "Gwen. You''ve got folk that OWE you explicit favours they''re all too eager to pay back: folks who love to drink and sing and folks who live in immortal trees. Do you get me? I am already promising you help, so forget about my father for now. Besides, he has helped you by giving you this opportunity to carry out your trial in a familiar part of the world. Imagine if someone assigned you to the Niger Delta."

    "I should be thanking him?" Gwen raised a sceptical brow.

    The young Ravenport gave her a weighted stare. "Moving on. If you can only bring Richard and Petra, you may as well go at it alone. You alone have that privilege as a Void Mage. But then what? Will you be the ''lonesome'' Tower Master? The infamous one-woman-army as Sobel had demonstrated? The Shard isn''t going to like that."

    "Alright, what if I bought a Tower." Gwen made a sudden pivot. "Like they do in America. According to Williams, their Frontier has corporate-owned Towers clearing Orange Zones at all times. America is a big place, and so much of it awaits Humanities'' enrichment."

    Charlene made a sour face. "Firstly, you''re not THAT rich¡ªyet. Secondly, is your idea of a Tower of peers a profit-driven corporation with a revolving door membership? That''s how they do it in the New World. Thirdly, would you prefer to be beholden to the immeasurable greed of shareholders instead of a government with clear-cut boundaries? We''re old fashioned, but at least we''re guilty when putting profits over people."

    "It''s a joke." Gwen put up both hands to ward away Charlene''s criticism. "I think we both know I''ve laid down enough roots here. Just imagine how Gunther and Alesia would react if I told him I abandoned the Middle Faction and started a Corporate Tower in the New World."

    "Speaking of roots," the way Charlene repeated her metaphor made Gwen suspect the Ravenport was taking advantage of her innocence. "The Ordo Bath would probably lend you a hand if you asked."

    "We only have a passing acquaintance," Gwen confessed. "I mean, I could ask Elvia. Do you think the Ordo would send representatives to Wellington?"

    "Not unless you asked. The situation there isn''t catastrophic, at least not immediately," Charlene said. "I doubt your Brother-in-craft would send Yue Bai and The Scarlet Sorceress'' old squad if Wellington is collapsing under the weight of a Mermen tide. Geographically, Auckland and Wellington make for a great buffer against threats from the South Sea. Losing the cities would doubly burden Sydney''s battle lines."

    "That''s a bit cold-hearted." Gwen furrowed her brows.

    "Lord Shultz is the best of us." Charlene shrugged attractively. Gwen noted that the youthful Ravenport was her best when putting on a Godfather persona. "Now, back to you. Shall I be plain?"

    "Alright." Gwen supposed there was no harm in listening. "Be plain."

    "Before I begin, allow me to say that I always perform my due diligence," Charlene said. "So please take what I am about to tell you as a compliment instead."

    Gwen motioned for her fellow mistress of the isle to continue.

    "Firstly, you have reliable allies in My?ma in the form of the royal family there. Reports from the newly built Yangon Tower state that you''re also working with the local patron, Lord Ruxin, scion of the Winged Mythical Dragon. Your Planar Ally, Lord Golos, is the youngest pureblood child of the Mythic, correct?"

    Gwen nodded.

    "That''s one connection you can call upon¡ªfor instance, the assassin sect from Manipur, which serves the royal family and the Dragon. They''re no Raven Guard, but their utility should exceed the questionable loyalty of middle-tier mercenaries you may hire from the Shard. Is that good advice?"

    Gwen had to admit that Charlene had a point.

    "Good. Next, from China¡ª your grandfather is now the¡ª"

    "Forget China," Gwen interjected. "I don''t wish to bother Uncle Jun or Ayxin, or Grandfather¡­"

    Charlene studied her for a brief second, then moved on. "May I include Lulan Li? She''s graduated, and the Pudong Tower was clear in expressing her loyalty toward you."

    "Lulan is okay," Gwen conceded. "But she''s got circumstances within her Sect and the CCP."

    Charlene made a snort. "Ask Lord Ruxin to send her over. You think anyone in the CCP is going to contest a local land God who controls a major trading partner over a measly Sword Mage?"

    "Fair point," Gwen conceded Charlene''s acute observation once more. "Lulu could be extremely useful."

    "Right. Forgoing your other resources in China then, let''s talk about the Debt of Haj-Z¨¹l," Charlene smirked. "Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth may have paid back the Mageocracy''s debt in reopening the low-ways, but the debt remains. As someone who has studied Dwarven lore, I can tell you that their Deepdowner, Hilda K¨¹l-Hildenbrandt, scion of Varekan-K¨¹l, is thinking of you every time she raises a stein of beer. Until your debt is repaid in full, every member you''ve saved is going to be losing sleep."

    "It can''t be that bad?" Gwen raised both brows. "I''ve told them it''s repaid."

    "The Debt of Haj-Z¨¹l repaid when they FEEL it''s repaid," Charlene said. "You saved a Deepdowner''s life."

    "¡­Are you telling me she has to save mine?" Gwen said. "That''s a fair stretch."

    Charlene rested her chin on a knuckle. "Good God, Gwen. If I had saved Hilda''s life¡ªEth Rjoth Kjangtoth would probably be a new electorate added to Greater Wales."

    Gwen chose not to doubt the young Duchess.

    "Finally, ignoring the favour of Lady Astor and Lady Loftus, there''s Tryfan. I don''t know anything about Tryfan or your connection to them, as that''s beyond what Mori was willing to divulge. However, it doesn''t take a Magister to know that you''re connected with them in the same way your Master had been. They sent out a Hierophant of the Seventh Circle to help you in Shalkar. Do you know what that means?"

    "You mean Sanari?" Gwen asked. "Is this Seventh Circle a senior rank?"

    Charlene shook her head. "I don''t think we Humans have the necessary context to conceptualise the Druidic tiers accurately. However, I should remind you that Lady Sanari is older than the earliest existence of the Mageocracy. Her prowess as a Druid might not have the destructive potential of an Elementalist Warden¡ªbut she IS capable of feeding London¡ªor starving it¡ªwith the Great Tree''s aid."

    And she''s a goddess when it comes to foot massages; Gwen was almost tempted to add that tidbit but allowed Charlene to continue her grandstanding out of charity.

    "¡ªAnd she''s one of the select Hierophants in Tryfan''s Cabal who can travel far from the Great Tree," Charlene finished. "So yes, if you ask Tryfan for a favour, they''ll send someone. And if it just so happens the favour you''re asking is going to help the cause that must not be named¡ªthen all is in balance."

    Charlene reached for the petite fours in the top tray, then lined them up one by one on Gwen''s plate.

    "So let us recap¡ªThe royal family of My?ma, the Yinglong''s scions and this Lulan Li they''re teaching on your behalf, the Dwarves next door, and the Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar from Tryfan. Oh¡ªthe Ordo Bath, though you''re right in that it''s better if they came to you. Look, your collection of allies is making me jealous, Gwen Song."

    Gwen took a deep breath. "That''s quite the list, but you still haven''t told me why I need them. Wellington is just the beginning, correct?"

    "Yes." Charlene lowered her voice. "Between now and October, the Shard will mount a second polar expedition akin to the one currently leaving for Greenland. Due to staff and material constraints, ours will be a recon-in-force with the potential of escalating into a full-blown campaign. House Ravenport and the Grey Faction will be providing the manpower, and I will be tapped to be the head of the expedition to build my credentials."

    "The poles?" Gwen cocked her head. Why did Charlene''s mention of the "poles" sound so familiar?

    Charlene read her mind. "Yes, you''re partially to blame. You''ve been teaching Mori, or so I''ve been told, that Beast Tides can be caused by changing the weather. You said that the poles are the easiest way to amplify disaster events."

    "Er¡­" Gwen allowed a dollop of fresh cream to fall from her stunning lips. The sheer reality that someone in this world had believed in her borrowed climate change assumptions was gobsmacking. Also, there were folk in London who would consider the words of a talking crow?

    Holy fuck¡ªwas Mori secretly the Prime Minister of the United Kingdoms?

    "No, it''s not what you think. A while ago, we received a warning from Tryfan not to take any events happening in the poles lightly. Greenland, Father suspects, could very well be the opening volley of an attack similar to Sydney or London."

    "What''s in Greenland?" Gwen did not recall any such news.

    "You''re related to that as well," Charlene explained with patience. "Do you remember that massacre you found in the Murk under Shalkar? The missing Brass Legion? It seems they somehow made it to Greenland..."

    "Christ."

    "And your Master''s old mates were likely involved."

    "¡­ Spectre?" Gwen suddenly lost all appetite. Two earth-shattering realities had revealed themselves in between Charlene''s innocent suspicions, and now they were crushing her between both tectonic plates.

    Her first shock came from the assertion that both of Terra''s poles were undergoing some sort of traumatic Elemental event. The tsunami at Wellington had ruled the news of late, and though the Mageocracy did not publicise the source, there was no doubt that it had emitted from the South Sea.

    Her next skull-numbing horror came from the S-word, which came burdened with the understanding that the "revenge" that had weighed on her mind since Sydney had unexpectedly come knocking¡ªor rather, the expectation was that she would soon be actively pursuing it.

    A secret part of her felt thrilled¡ª

    Another part of her¡ªconsisting of the minute sensibilities remaining from her past life, was screaming at the insanity of it all.

    Revenge!

    And not just a moral or a fiscal one, but an opportunity to tear her foes limb from limb with her sweet little hands.

    And not just in defence¡ªbut to hound her foes down to the edge of the earth, then drive them face-first into the pale ice to see how well their life-blood froze.

    "There''s no guarantee of anything yet." Charlene had waited for her composure to return before speaking. "The anticipated scenario is that this is a natural event and that we''ll be hauling a Breaker Carrier''s worth of HDMs home from Erebus. The more ominous scenario is that the Elementals had anticipated the event and that we''ll have a long fight on our hands."

    Erebus¡ªGwen nodded. A volcano had gone off. That would explain the tsunami. If anything could move a good chunk of ice from Antarctica, it would be that.

    "And the worst scenario?" She asked.

    "That would be Spectre finding a way to unite our foes and that none of this is the natural ebb and flow of the Prime Material."

    And the unspeakable scenario, Gwen extrapolated internally, was that Spectre had figured out they could shift the Elemental composition near the poles to breed "general" chaos across the globe. If true, it was a plan worthy of Bond villains.

    By their very nature, her "Commonwealth", this world''s "United" Nations, and the "Coalitions" operated only on mutual gain. Compared to the grandness of a singular threat rising against Humanity, there was nothing Humanity could do if every nation must measure the threat to their interests against a global one.

    From what she knew of politics, dozens of nations might even see the event as an opportunity to finally best their betters or usurp their lessers.

    Her only solace was that for now, from the looks of how things are developing, the Lord Marshall of England was putting his HDMs where his suspicions are by funding a state-sanctioned expedition with crystals from the Norfolk coffer. Unfortunately, from the sheer fact that Charlene would be leading the tour, the Duke''s commitments were far from firm.

    If indeed the situation was as bad as she imagined, Gwen had no doubt the Mageocracy would bankrupt itself to send Sydney, Melbourne, Brisbane and Auckland''s Towers southward.

    However, the sheer political, financial and social capital required for such an endeavour was the kind that existed only in hindsight. Knowing the wilful ignorance of men, Gwen deeply suspected that even if she were her Royal Highness or the Bloom in White, she could not convince the Mageocracy to strike a phantom menace preemptively.

    But what else could she do other than her best?

    "I''ll go," Gwen said with a tone of finality. "You''re right. If there''s ever a time to call in all my favours, now is the time."

    If Charlene was wrong, then the worst that could happen was that she would have to rebuild the favours she had accrued for her future Tower.

    But if Ravenport''s hunch and her hypothesis were correct, no future profits would matter.

    Across the table, Charlene sipped her tea, presumably unaware of the tempest tossing through her head.

    Could Charlene understand just how crazy the consequence of inaction could be? Did Charlene, the "leader" of this expedition, even understand what she could be uncovering?

    What would Dickie do if Charlene were to return, not as the Nike, the goddess of victory, but as the pestilence-bearing raven of ill omen?

    Would Mycroft downplay the facts?

    Silence the truth?

    Or would he stew in Prufrockian agony while the Mageocracy debated about what to do, wasting away each crisis with endless cups of tea and ices?

    By St Evee, Gwen silently mouthed a blasphemous prayer. Let her be wrong.

    A crisis does not wait.

    As Charlene had anticipated, Gwen received her directive within forty-eight hours. Together with herself, Cambridge would be sending a contingent of Mages as her liaison and support staff, but she was otherwise left to ''arm'' herself.

    Comparatively, Charlene''s expedition could not leave until the Royal Dockyards could outfit another Carrier-class Ice Breaker and train its crew of Mages and NoMs.

    Six months¡ªor five at best, was the official timetable given to the participants of the South Sea Expedition in October. In that time, Charlene would use the influence of her House to gather capable, loyal Mage Flights, afford them all the necessary training and equipment, and readjust the fiscal outlook of the Norfolk Fund to suit the needs of a longitudinal mission.

    The timetable suited Gwen. Despite her secret agony, she knew it would take time for her allies to commit their forces.

    Within the last two days, she had visited her closest allies, Talwaenydd for Tryfan and the Guild Hall under Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth. At Talwaenydd, she was received by the familiar face of Sanari, who informed her that Tryfan does not war on behalf of mortals. Its Wardens, as the title implies, will only fight to defend "their" Great Tree.

    When Gwen vocally illustrated the potential disruption to the natural order Tryfan held dearly, Sanari patiently informed her that though Tryfan cannot offer troops, they could help in other ways.

    "More seeds?" Gwen felt the weight of the new pouch of seeds in her hand. There were only a few in the leaf-sewn purse, but they were heavy.

    "We have not asked you to return the Llias Leaf," Sanari had stated with her usual serenity. "And we are continuing to support Shalkar on your behalf. As well, when you arrive, we shall commune with the Great Tree of Illh?weth on your behalf via the Llias Leaf."

    The ambiguous reception wasn''t what Gwen had anticipated¡ªbut that may only mean that her and Tryfan''s mutual debts weren''t deep enough.

    Conversely, Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth was a fresh gulp of fire-ant mead.

    Abjuring all euphemisms, she had told Whurforl¨¹m Ironf?rge that she wished to collect on the Debt of Haj-Z¨¹l and that whatever forces the Dwarves could spare may face everything from upper-tier Elementals to agents of Spectre like Elizabeth Sobel.

    Without a second thought, the Guild Master relayed her request to the Hammer Guards'' barracks and the Ancestor''s Hall.

    That same night, Gwen received her Dwarven tally.

    Every Hammer Guard she had rescued during her expedition had volunteered, and Hilda had ordered to release their equipment, as well as blessing them with the permission to leave the Murk. Including Hanmoul, she would have forty-two Golem Engines canvassed from three Iron Legions at her beck and call¡ªas well as two Runesmiths and one Engineseer manning a Fabricator Crawler.

    Gwen''s feelings of gratitude made her throat sore. Thanks to her time among the Dwarves, she understood that it was more than lives she was asking from her allies¡ªshe was asking them to leave the Murk, to travel to a foreign place with alien strata of rocks¡ªand potentially die there.

    But great gratitude needed no words, so she merely promised to have Charlene arrange their transport when the time grew near.

    On Wednesday, she received from Lady Loftus the okay to contract her allies from Kachin, Manipur and Nagaland. The permission wasn''t so much for making the request but for the aftermath of transporting Frontier mercenaries on a Mageocracy military vessel.

    She then contacted Marong and Mayuree.

    Unlike with her Elven and Dwarven allies, Gwen took great patience in explaining her theory involving Beast Tides and the possibility that forces unseen were manipulating the weather. Marong listened with complete seriousness, then informed her that his Master, Lord Ruxin, would hear of her caution, assuming he wasn''t listening already.

    Mayuree, however, expressed her doubts.

    "Have you heard of the Oracle of Delphi, Gwennie?" the girl wreathed in gold asked over the LRM projector.

    Gwen indeed heard of the Oracle, whose title she now knew was Pythia.

    "If the threat is against humanity itself," Mayuree said with a tone of doubt. "Shouldn''t we be receiving an official notice from the Oracle?"

    In all honesty, Gwen did not have an answer for her friend.

    "Maybe the South Sea incident isn''t as dire as I proposed," she said after a moment. The Oracle had given plenty of warnings about other natural disasters, but apparently, the South Pacific was beyond the Temple of Apollo''s far-seeing Divination. "But it isn''t as though the Oracle warned London about a Red Dragon or had given my Master a heads up about Sobel. She might be a coal canary to some, but I don''t intend to put my stock in prophecy."

    An uncomfortable silence descended. Gwen could tell both of her friends were "climate sceptics".

    "Sorry." Mayuree lowered her eyes.

    "Don''t mind Mia," Marong interjected by placing a hand on his sister''s gold-wreathed shoulders. "You asked, we''ll deliver. That''s all that matters. We''ll have everything prepared within the month, and I''ll let Lord Ruxin know you''ve requested the aid of Lady Lulan and that Lord Golos may be away for an extended campaign."

    Gwen thanked the pair then terminated the Message device.

    Her recruitment drive had ended for now. Any more, and Charlene''s Breaker Carrier would struggle to justify the sheer volume of foreign troops. She had felt tempted to ask Elvia¡ª only Elvia was the last person she wanted on that ship if they managed to encounter Sobel.

    By the evening, Walken would prepare the bare necessities for her Storage Rings, and Dick and Petra would meet her at Heathrow once their inventory was ready.

    Finally, she entertained the idea of calling Gunther to tell him that she was coming¡ªthen decided she would prefer delighting her Siblings-in-craft, then sitting them down for a very long talk.

    Would her Brother-in-Craft take her seriously?

    Despite being flooded with overflowing evidence, her old world never took action against the looming spectre of Climate Change. If so, what could she, a mere War Mage, do to convince this world when Humanity was neither unified, nor the apex species on Terra?

 Chapter 443 - Only the Dead

    By Thursday morning, the Mageocracy''s token reinforcement of administrative and support Maguses took their positions in Heathrow to await the arrival of the Magister-in-waiting nominated by Cambridge.

    By all accounts from the Shard, Auckland would be fighting to keep the circling Mermen Shoal from landing, while Wellington would be mired in a battle of attrition until Auckland or its allies could spare the men and resources.

    Most of their team members were older students, elected by their professors from Oxbridge''s cohort to serve the Mageocracy''s interminable trials, some natural and most man-made. A few were graduates picking up their final Questing credits for the trimester. Others were Maguses looking to pad their resumes before officially leaving the university for a government position. Presently, their de facto foreman was an experienced Magus from House Ravenport, sent by her mistress to ensure the others remained helpful and subordinate to their leader.

    By her orders, the team had arrived fifteen minutes earlier to await the pleasure of the young lady who would lead the small group of nine.

    "Magus Campbell." One of the men standing to attention beside the pre-activated ISTC portal raised a hand. "May I ask a question."

    "Be at ease, Hughes," Magus Aria Ravenport-Campbell replied by raising, then lowering her hand as though she controlled the lever to their anxieties. "What is it?"

    Like others in her House, she possessed the classic bone structure of the Ravenport''s bloodline¡ªgrey eyes, dark hair, and a gaunt frame that accented her cheekbones. Like the Duke of Norfolk himself, her appearance gave observers the impression of inorganic geometry, particularly when paired with her rigidly starched pantsuit.

    She could sense that the men and women under her command were nervous¡ªand this was good.

    "When shall we expect ''Magister'' Song?"

    "There''s ten minutes yet. Even if Magus Song''s tardiness is as legendary as her prowess¡ªwe''re still ahead by an hour. If you''re bored, read the METRO¡ªthe Front Page will inform you that our leader is a busy woman."

    The young Magus chose to remain mum.

    Aria shared that silence, for she knew that the sword and shield to their fact-finding mission was none other than the Devourer of Shenyang. For years now, the Devourer''s infamy had been making the rounds, first through the Isle of Dogs, then through her Magisterial achievements on the Isle of Man, Wales, then Shalkar.

    Though the public initially knew Magus Gwen Song through a scandal involving her lord and House Master, they soon renewed their perception when the Devourer consumed the Barlow Group, created the IoDNC, then crushed the ambitions of House Exeter on national broadcast Vid-cast.

    Regardless of her age, Gwen''s achievements commanded respect, even by the standards of London''s haughty egos. The team''s apprehension and concern, Aria suspected, was also born from the habitual reading of the Telegraph and the Sun, insinuating that Magus Song was an inheritor of "Deathless Kilroy''s" Sanctioned Necromancy¡ªand that her Caliban creature consumed, then enslaved the souls of Mages crushed under her stiletto heels.

    Finally and absurdly, each student of Cambridge had been told that Magus Song would be guarded on this particular mission by the Terror of Emmanuel, "Dede" of the Pond.

    The odd Mage from London Imperial might find the scene comical, but of half of the Oxbridge alumni present, being waylaid by a duck and having to give up fistfuls of HDMs as the world watched in sympathetic mockery was a trauma tattooed onto their bones.

    Ding! A Message from House Ravenport bloomed beside Aria''s ear.

    "The Provisional Magister is here." The Magus nodded at her peers. "Mages! Look lively!"

    A flash of silvery Conjuration from an adjacent platform announced the arrival of their leader and her troops.

    The first to appear was a duck, the very same that made Cambridge''s Maguses quake in their oxfords.

    "Quack¡ª!" The duck toddled from the ISTC array, then waddled among the men with the air of a drill sergeant.

    Next came a svelte figure they would have mistaken for the Devourer but for the academic air and braided auburn hair. Aria recognised the woman as Magus Petra Kuznetsova, a scholar of Dwarven Glyphs with notable contributions hailing from Queens College.

    The third arrival was known to Aria and the others, and his familiarity manifested in the dozen first names he called out, including Aria''s own. The Spirit Mage was a frequenter of the College''s endless bars, one famous for his Spirit and his "Shouts". In both knowledge and deed, Richard Huang was a senior Magus in all but name, well-known and well-liked on the campus for offering jobs from the Isle of Dogs. To Aria''s knowledge, Richard "Dick" Huang could have graduated if he had taken up his professors'' commendations¡ªbut chose to remain at Cambridge until such time that his cousin, the Devourer, also graduated.

    The final figure to materialise was the Devourer herself.

    In life, Provisional Magister Gwen Song appeared less imposing than on the Vid-casts, younger and more youthful and without the oppressive bearing of a seasoned murderess. To Aria, her features were regal, an exotic mix when paired with the vivacious unruliness of the Downunder Frontier. She walked with guileless ease among the men, which, combined with her uncommon comeliness, made her observers want to lower their guard.

    Aria''s informal impression was aided by Gwen''s "costume", which consisted of a broad-brimmed summer hat, a maxi dress that bared her white shoulders, and what looked like sandals.

    "Goodness." The Devourer''s expression was mirthful as she slipped past Aria, then stepped onto the elevated platform. "Am I late? I did set the mustering at eleven-hundred, correct?"

    "Yes, ma''am," Aria replied. "By your request, we''re eager and ready to leave for Auckland."

    "I did explicitly state to wear suitable attire for summer," the sorceress spoke as her gaze swept through her peers, each with collars mounted firmly to the chain, asserted by ties and elegant pins.

    Aria quickly glanced at the Devourer''s companions, noting that Richard wore a sporting jacket over golfing polos, while under Petra''s laboratory coat, the scholar was wearing something suitable for springtime.

    The duck, without a doubt, was buck naked.

    "Where we''re going, it is the late Australian summer. If the heat doesn''t get you, the humidity will." Gwen reiterated. "And unlike London, our 80''s ISTCs have relay delays baked into the system. Past Shanghai, we''ll be at least an hour in Singapore, a few more in Darwin, then Cairns, then Brisbane, then finally, the Sydney to Auckland leg. You''ll be awake for the next twenty-four hours, so get comfortable. Consider these hours your final chance at leisure. Once we''re on the ground, it''s Mermen and field rations until the port is in the clear."

    "We have the necessary Enchantments, Ma''am," Aria informed her highness, partner to the future Duchess of Norfolk and, according to her mistress, a woman whose fame would resonate throughout the Mageocracy''s domains. She recalled that the Devourer did indeed recommend suitable weather wear. However, not one of them had wanted to meet their commanding officer while wearing shorts, sneakers and polos.

    The Devourer cocked her head with a half-grin. "Where we''re going, the HDMs you''ll be burning could keep a family safe from Mermen and do many things more helpful than running cooling Glyphs..." She paused. "...but then again, maybe that''s why you''ve all been tasked with this tour of snobbery to see how the other three-quarter lives. No matter. Carry on."

    Aria''s first instinct was to protest that she had served as a vanguard in Ireland and an assistant administrator in the Algiers for six months, unlike the novices behind her.

    But her new mistress'' sardonicism was valid.

    The men and women in front of her were all born with crystal spoons and bloodline blessings and had attended Eton or Cheltenham, then Oxbridge. Some had seen blood, a few had "seen things", but none would have had a fraction of the experiences the Devourer had imbibed in her rise to the top.

    "Anything to report before we sally forth? Aria?" The sorceress asked Aria by invoking her name. The intimacy told Aria that Gwen and Mistress Charlene had been in close contact.

    "All are accounted, Ma''am." Aria made a half-salute. "We''re ready to reinforce Wellington!"

    "Alright then¡ª" the Provisional Magister gave them all a beaming, confident grin. "Hold on to your guts. We''ve got a long way to go!"

    Wellington.

    Somes Island.

    Two kilometres from Fort Hinds, Yue Bai, "The Little Scarlet", coldly observed the spectacle of Wellington''s eastern coastline turn from ultramarine to dull algae.

    The last of the Shielding Stations, what''s left of the array, had taken first blood¡ªthen spontaneously imploded as the pseudo-Krakens crashed into the concrete installations, toppling both resonator and crystal.

    With the stations gone, the bizarre thrum that made her Astral Body tingle ceased, as did the shimmering ripples of mana warping the spotlights from Wellington''s inland harbour.

    Across the sound, flashes of spellfire from the Wondrous Energies Technical Academy erupted across the headland, landing just short of the shore. Where the long line of spinifexes ignited, her enhanced eyes could make out the long shadows cast by the first Mermen to land in Wellington in two decades. At the same time, parts of the landscape came alive, crushing, swallowing, and throwing the Mermen against the jagged shore.

    She recognised the assailants as the short, stunted locals, bodily akin to bipedal, four-foot mudskippers with bulging eyes and fat, humorous silhouettes. Without proper armaments, they were usually friendly and docile¡ªand had traded with the city. Now, whether by coercion or choice, they were the first wave leading the Mermen of the deep sea.

    "Poor bastards," Jonas remarked as the explosions rang out, sending bundles of scorched bodies flying every which way. "What a life, to win the lottery of surviving the spawning pool only to become spell fodder for the real spell fodder."

    Yue possessed no sympathy of any kind for an invader of mankind''s sacred cities, but she did agree that these mudskipper Mermen weren''t worth the mana in her veins. Even if they did reach Wellington, the damage these Mermen could do was near-negligible. Still, armed with what looked to be coral tridents and other implements from their deep-order cousins, they remained a threat to the NoMs hiding in the tunnel bunkers beneath Wrights Hill, as well as the Wand-wielding Wellington militia.

    "There¡ª" Billy bracketed a section of the incoming tide with a minor Illusion cantrip, drawing a square over Yue''s field of vision. "That''s the shock troops. They look organised, likely a splinter-Shoal from the main one near Auckland."

    "Shit," Paul joined the Diviner. "So it''s true then? A Prince is leading this particular Mermen Tide?"

    "What''s the bounty on one of those?" Yue smacked her lips. "I bet Master could find some uses for the Core."

    "I think even Lord Gunther will break a sweat taking down an Elemental Prince," Taj warned her. "We don''t even know what species it is. What if it''s a Kraken?"

    "Let''s hope this doesn''t turn out to be a ''Great Shoal'' once the fireworks start," Raj said with a sigh. "Not even burning all the HDMs in Auckland''s reserve will be enough to repel one of those."

    The group turned their eyes back to the boiling sea.

    By now, the half-hundred Sun Globes released from Wellington''s WETA peninsular was messing with the Mermen''s dark vision. For reasons of physiology, the Wave Witches that accompanied the Shoal almost always conjured forth fog and rain, which the globes then offset. In this way, non-offensive "Radiance" was itself a viable tactic against the Mermen, for many species of the more powerful bipedal aquatic folk were hypersensitive to both heat and light. That was why Mermen generally attacked at the dead of night, taking what positions they could to retreat with the tide, leaving behind hardened crustacean units as defenders.

    Yue wrinkled her nose. Already, her company could smell the scent of scorched fish wafting across the sound, smelling like mouldy wood mixed with seared slime and rancid fish oil.

    "I do love the smell of cooked seafood in the morning," Paul mimed an old saying of Alesia''s.

    "Stop wisecracking and focus on the Mandala," Yue gave the command, her dark eyes glimmering with the reflected light from Wellington bay. "As soon as the main bodies join the fight¡ªwe turn the damn bay into that place Gwennie visited on new year''s."

    "The Fire Sea?" Billy added helpfully.

    "Damned right." Yue crushed the ball of purple fire dancing in the palm of her hand. "We''ll make Allie proud."

    Alesia de Botton was not a happy woman.

    First thing in the morning, just after she had washed up after morning exercise with Gunther and was ready to attend to the task of setting fire to her husband''s problems, a Message had arrived from her hubby, asking that she receive the cabal from London.

    For several seconds, Gunther''s suite in the uppermost section of the Tower fell under an immediate threat of renovation until Alesia recalled that they would have to live outside the Tower in the event of such an inconvenience.

    To receive the snobs from the Shard? By herself?

    Had these knobs asked for her specifically?

    She had people to incinerate!

    Monsters to explode!

    Dens to ignite!

    What was Gunther thinking?

    And how could her hubby allow it?

    The mana inside her wanted to teleport into Gunther''s office and burn¡ªbut that wasn''t what a good partner would do¡ªand Alesia was meticulous in managing her temper around Gunther lest her whims cast a wedge between them. Her husband, she knew, was under enough pressure, and God forbid that she would add to his workload.

    Therefore, with fiery eye-shadows wreathed in angry hues of scarlet and her hair wore loose, Alesia awaited the bastards from London in her official garb, a scarlet dress jacket with gold collars.

    One by one, the Conjuration Glyphs lit up, spun into place, then connected with the Divination Glyphs in Brisbane. Sydney''s new equipment had been well-used by now, but it was still mint enough to give off a stink unique to newly inscribed Glyph-runes. Just the same, the stonework under her booties thrummed as the incredible energies required to displace matter through the Astral coursed, distorting the Dwarven Lores of distance and space.

    A flash later, the team from London arrived one by one in their arranged spearhead.

    First came a duck.

    A very pretty duck¡ªbut a duck nonetheless¡ª

    "Mother ducker¡­" Alesia did not immediately recognise the enormous duck as the one in her memory of LRM broadcasts with Gwen. All she could think of was that the Mageocracy had grown so arrogant that they couldn''t even be bothered sending Magisters.

    A cascade of sparks ignited from her flaming hair, setting the guards on edge.

    If that duck isn''t a Polymorphed Master Transmuter, then she would slow roast the damned thing over an open fire!

    "You there!" She called out to the waddling monstrosity. "Are you¡ª"

    Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

    Thankfully, Gwen grinning like a shot fox was the next thing she saw.

    This little hussy! Alesia''s head made the connection at once. No wonder her husband was being so secretive! Oh, how she would make him pay!

    "Alesia!" Gwen quickly broke ranks and ran down the dais toward her, as a Sister-in-craft ought.

    Only now did Alesia recall that Gwen had recruited a duck¡ªonly in her memory, Dede was sleek, graceful and cute.

    As Gwen came closer, Alesia''s expression turned from unmitigated anger to pleasant surprise, then happiness. She couldn''t help it¡ªfor such were the honesty of Alesia''s innate emotions spilling from her heart.

    "I''ve missed you!" Gwen drew around her, and Alesia reciprocated by hugging her sister tight.

    "I as well." Alesia breathed out. "You should have told me."

    "We were in a hurry¡ªand I thought you''d enjoy the surprise." Gwen laughed, then gestured to the rest of her team. "And here''s Richard. And you remember Petra, right?"

    "Alesia." Richard nodded.

    Petra bowed her head.

    Parting from Gwen, Alesia nodded back at the cousins, her hair still trailing tiny motes of ember. "Just to confirm, you''re the Magister from London, then?"

    "Provisional-Magister." Gwen flashed her pearly whites. "How''s that? I outrank you now, Magus De Botton. Where''s my greeting?"

    Alesia snorted. "You''re looking for a spanking, Magister Song. Anymore of your arrogance and your men shall witness a sight for history books."

    "Allie, you hurt me." Gwen touched a hand to her heart. "My one and only Sister-in-craft! How could you?"

    "You rascal! Come here and receive your punishment!" the Scarlet Sorceress commanded, and the Devourer obeyed.

    The two embraced once more, their arms entwining as their figures kissed. The pair remained entangled for a few seconds, just enough to allow reality to sink in, then parted with all misgivings forgiven.

    "There''s so much I have to tell you and Gunther," Gwen said, her expression quickly growing anxious. "I think we''ll need a night at least to go over the details, and then we have to digest and verify the facts¡ª"

    "That won''t be a problem," Alesia interrupted her as more Mages from London materialised behind her Sister-in-craft. "Are those yours?"

    "Technically, yes," Gwen introduced her to her Lieutenant, Magus Aria Campbell, appending that she was a member of House Ravenport. "Aria here will be in charge of the crew from Cambridge while I perform my duties as a War Mage. Half of them will go to Auckland, while the other half will come with me to Wellington."

    "You''re going to the Front then?" Alesia asked. She hadn''t expected much help from London, but if they sent Gwen¡ªthen Sydney''s sister cities had better fortunes than Sydney a few years ago.

    "Of course. Where''s Yue now? And how''s the situation?"

    Alesia recalled the reports. "The Shoal reached critical mass forty-odd hours ago. By now, the fighting should have started. If I know Yue, she''ll be in the thick of it."

    "Then I will leave immediately," Gwen said. "Stem the tide first, then I''ll portal back and discuss my findings with you and Gunther. Yue would probably want to know what she''s fighting as well, eventually, at least. The intelligence is urgent¡ª but it isn''t something we can resolve until equipment and transport arrive from London in the next few months."

    Alesia gave her sister a flattering look. "You''ve matured, Gwen. Those sound like some hefty weights on your shoulders, the kind our Master used to carry."

    "I am doing what I can." Gwen smiled.

    "Can you clue me in on what the problem is?" Alesia felt her curiosity burning a hole in her chest. "What are we fighting in reality?"

    "Later, Allie¡ªnow''s not a good time," Gwen insisted. "It''s a very complicated issue, and much of it I can''t verify."

    Alesia shrugged. "Right. Wellington it is. So, from our latest reports, a split Shoal of Mermen currently sits east of Wellington, where the shallows meet the deep blue. Presumably, attacks by stragglers separate from the Mermen Prince''s command structure are testing Auckland''s defence. As for the south, if the Mermen assault begins this evening, then I''d say Wellington could really use your brand of aid. As for Yue''s location¡ªlook for the Fireballs when you get there."

    "Right, I''ll head off then," Gwen confirmed her choice. "Magus Campbell will lead the Cambridge Mages to Auckland. I''ll open the path with Richard and Petra in Wellington."

    "A three-man team?" Alesia looked Gwen''s cousins up and down.

    "We should be alright," Gwen assured her.

    Alesia turned her eyes toward the smirking Richard. "Looking good there, Dick. You''ve done well in London. Specs?"

    "Abjuration Five, Conjuration, just Seven, and a few other tricks," Richard shameless boasted of his achievements. "Of course, it''s all thanks to Gwen."

    Alesia raised a brow at Petra, who relented under the Scarlet Sorceress'' gaze.

    "Enchantment Seven," Gwen''s cousin reported with a flush of embarrassment in her cheeks. "That said, I''ve brought along a full complement of Spellcubes."

    "You could do with a CQB Specialist and an Illusionist." Alesia thanked the two but preferred to give the kids plenty of warning. When she was their age, she had also thought herself invincible¡ªthough she had her Master to save her in place of modern-day comforts like Contingency Rings. "Was the Gracie girl too green? I guess you can crutch with Cali¡ª"

    "QUACK¡ª!" her praise of Caliban was interrupted by a forgotten member of the Cambridge posse who had wandered off in search of food.

    "Dede will help as well." Gwen patted the returned duck. "He''s one robust feller."

    "Quack!" The duck lifted an enormous, multi-hued wingspan.

    Alesia could tell the duck was strong¡ªand if indeed this was a duck fed on the stuff produced from Almudj, then even a five-man Questing team from London would have its hands full trying to contain its malice, much less kill it.

    "Fine, fine," the Scarlet Sorceress conceded that the duck was a troublesome customer. Her next remark was directed at her sister''s specific preference for fashion regardless of the occasion¡ªsomething for which Alesia herself was guilty. "Are you headed to war wearing that?"

    Gwen chuckled. "I''ve got the Big Bird suit, remember? I''ll change once we''re on the ground. Before we engage the Shoal, I''ll need to bring a siege engine, and he can''t be summoned while we''re in the vicinity of a Tower."

    "Ah¡ª" Alesia could picture the brute in Gwen''s imagery. Of all the strange creatures in Gwen''s circle, she liked the lizard the best. "Now that I''d like to see."

    "Hopefully, we''ll get a few vid-casts in." Gwen grinned with glee as she strolled toward the second ISTC array. "You know, Allie, I have quite the following in London. What do you think? A weekly battle report of Wellington with images and stories from the ground¡ªwouldn''t that get the blood boiling? Once things are less dire, I''ll transfer a few reporters over. Maybe Lorenzo would like a summer holiday."

    Alesia had almost forgotten that her sister now apparently owned a propaganda arm of the local media in London.

    "Maybe?" she said. Publicity was Gunther''s domain. Her job was to incinerate his problems.

    "When you get there, Magister Hildenbrandt is likely occupied," Alesia warned as Gwen''s team mounted the second dais. Unlike the rest of Australia, Sydney''s ISTC arrays were the latest imports from London and could be fired up within minutes. As for Auckland, the receiving end was currently burning a decade''s worth of HDMs. "You''ll be under the jurisdiction of Te Wherowhero, the Paladin of Auckland. He''s an old friend of Gunther, so be respectful of his wishes. If Te needs you somewhere, do that before linking up with Yue. My Apprentice can take care of herself."

    "Of course," Gwen assured her Sibling-in-craft. "Tell Gunther I said hey¡ªand when I return, to make time for us to have that long talk."

    Alesia''s gaze of motherly concern grew infinitely soft as the ISTC turned quicksilver, sending its collection of Mages once more across the Astral, leaping through space toward their final destination.

    Watching Gwen''s nonplus war-face disappear, She sighed inwardly. To think the terrified girl she picked up would now be the terror of the South Sea.

    When the history books mentioned this part of Auckland''s history, what would they say of Gwen?

    And indeed, what would the entry say about herself, who found Gwen in a party, trying not to get groped in Kirribilli?

    Wellington.

    Fort Ballance.

    Magister Maka Kawhena, Academic Director and principal Geomancer at the Wondrous Energies Technical Academy, was never a dedicated War Mage.

    Like other Magisters of his profession, his contributions had been in recovery, rebuilding, and stabilising Green Zones between Wellington and Auckland. Occasionally, he had been called out to assist in a Purge but never before had Kawhena been personally thrust into a scenario where he and his group of academics became personally responsible for the life of the fifty-thousand or so citizens now sheltering in Wrights Hill. Thanks to his designs, the city''s walls and defences have held, even if it wavered in tune with the undulating tide of bodies crawling up the coastline.

    A reasonable man would have fled.

    Kawhena instead swallowed the despair like the bile in his throat. Should Wellington fall entirely and its militia consumed by the Mermen Tide, there was little hope that the women and children would be able to hold off the crab-clawed shock troops or the Marid Wave Witches who would flash-flood and drown their loved ones, then feast on their brains and livers.

    A part of him hoped that Auckland would send a portion of its militias south or that the Halflings of Hamilton could offer their aid. That was wishful thinking. Compared to Wellington, even a partial collapse of Auckland would signal the death of more citizens and the destruction of far more critical infrastructure than his satellite port city. The Halflings were likewise peaceful, pastoral folk, unsuited for open warfare against a race that saw Humanity and each other as sources of nourishment. They would bring food, HDMs and medical supplies¡ªbut only in the case that Wellington held its ground and that their convoy didn''t become fish food.

    "Sir!" a cry from a colleague alerted the contemplative Magister to the dangers of excessive rumination in the middle of a battle. "B-27 reports surge of Mermen on the left flank! Crabmen and what looks like a Shell Priest! Sector B reports their Wands are low. Requesting recharging and refitting."

    "Received." The Magister placed both hands on to the console.

    From the vantage of the shielded WETA "Cave" overlooking the harbour, Kawhena activated his latent sorcery, allowing the motes of Earthen mana entrenched within his conduits to kiss the Mandala resting under his fingers.

    Though not a Tower, Wellington was nonetheless founded on a mana node¡ªmeaning until WETA was overrun, Kawhena had "earthly" control over what remained of the landscape surrounding the central port.

    That was the source of their confidence and why Auckland still delivered what help they could spare.

    "Earth Shape!" The syllables of invocation came hard and fast on his lips, concluding with a simple command.

    The projected map blinked into non-existence as the mana surge from the command station sunk into WETA''s sub-systems¡ªgiving life to the distant landscape.

    Not far from the newly risen walls separating the academy from the Mermen tide washing over Wellington''s shores, a spontaneous landslide erupted from atop Breaker Bay, bursting forth untold volumes of boulders between the size of busses and bungalows, casting down a violent cascade of concrete offices that once overlooked the sound.

    Within seconds, the collapsing cliff crashed into the clambering Shoal of Mermen, sending thousands, perhaps tens of thousands skittering into the dark, not only shedding the cliffside of its parasitic climbers but drastically narrowing the shipping canal.

    When finally the map blinked back, a winded Kawhena saw that the moment was ripe, and there would not be another opportunity to crowd so much confused fodder in one place.

    "Signal Magus Bai," he informed his aides. "Our militia needs time to adjust to the slaughter, and we need a moment of respite to replenish mana and catch our breath."

    "Aye, Magister!" his aide Messaged the militia below at once to clear the waterline.

    Across the bay, a signal flare blossomed over the cloudy water, casting a hundred thousand shadows over the half-submerged Mermen awaiting their turn to feast.

    Kawhena''s eyes turned northward toward Somes island.

    The burden now rested on the shoulder of Magus Yue Bai¡ªthe rising star of Sydney.

    Word had it from Auckland that Alesia de Botton''s only advantage on the girl was being hand-reared by Henry Kilroy himself, while Bai was a student of his students. However, with access to near-unlimited resources and the gift of a Nightmare Spirit, her prowess arguably exceeded the humble Scarlet Sorceress when she was just twenty.

    Now, Kawhena bore witness to the validity of those rumours.

    Ignited by the flare, a riotous Mandela bloomed like a crimson lotus, illuminating the dark bay with the eerie glare of a blood-soaked moon.

    The assault on Wellington''s shores ceased at once, for no creature whose ancestors once hailed from a domain of water could withstand the terrifying allure of cataclysmic Elemental Fire coalescing overhead.

    As the first Mandela wilted, a second came into being, more complex than the first, joined midway by a third, shedding squalls of fireflies, tearing the Prime Material to make way for the incoming catastrophe. To a learned scholar like Kawhena, each signalled the expenditure of a Creature Core Wellington could not afford and would never have the opportunity to stockpile, speaking of the generosity of the Master of Sydney.

    Below the strategic sorcery, Marid Wave Witches launched themselves from the quicksilver water, willing into being spontaneous water sprouts with the width of semi-trailers. Others Magical Monsters likewise turned their watery talents toward the radiant sunset, hoping to extinguish its caster.

    Most fell short.

    And those that reached were dashed by shields of stone or transposed elsewhere.

    Such was the advantage of Humanity as beings of elemental balance weaned on land, water and air. Comparatively, for most of the denizens of the deep, air was murder, and walking without buoyancy was pain itself¡ªmeaning they had no means to access the logistics of trajectory in a place without water.

    A dozen breathes later, a fourth Mandala appeared, instantly evaporating every ounce of moisture within a half-kilometre of the caster.

    "Remind the men to shield up," Kawhena reiterated the order. "Looks like Magus De Botton isn''t one to mince words¡­"

    The final Mandala faded.

    Flashes of scarlet lightning abruptly dashed across the moonless sky, followed by a crashing deluge of rolling thunder so close that WETA shivered on its foundations.

    A tail appeared from a crack in the heavens, showing the initial formation of a flaming tornado at least twice the size of the water sprouts willed into being by the Marids. As the column descended, Kawhena could sense the Elemental Water thinning rapidly, causing the Mermen to experience a sudden and inexplicable existential despair.

    Without hesitation, the Wave Witches fled.

    They could have countered the spell if they worked together¡ªbut nonetheless chose to abandon their allies.

    Kawhena quickly adjusted his expectations. As unified as the Shoal might look, it was never anything more than a coalition. A Wave Witch occupied the stratum of priests, with limited numbers and immense powers constrained to their watery domains. A dead witch would be reduced to the Essence of elemental energy, wasting centuries of work. In juxtaposition, Mermen shock troops pushing forward the original indigenous inhabitants were no more significant to a Mer-Kingdom than the Mudskippers. If given enough feed, entire legions could be spawned and armed within a decade, making the loss of even ten thousand Crustacean soldiers merely a matter of inconvenience.

    With the unimpeded progress of Magus Bai''s spell, a temporary Fire Sea rapidly began to form as multiple tornadoes of swirling volatile Elemental Fire touched down in the bay, heating the waters below and setting fire to abandoned portions of the coast.

    Within minutes, the rapidly retreating Mermen had trapped themselves against their fellow invaders, damming the receding tide of bodies panicking against the howling firestorm.

    "Shape Earth¡ª" Kawhena hardened his heart and collapsed the Fortifications at Hind''s Point, allowing a second landslide to flow down and encircle the Mermen invaders, wholly trapping the bulk of the invaders within the bubbling bay.

    From WETA''s top floor, he coldly observed that Wellington''s foes were being cooked, that their dark chitin was turning red as their bodies popped and cracked, growing inert even as frantic limbs clambered over friends and allies.

    But they would find no solace in the bay, for the deepest water lay closest to the port, and there the barrier wards and the militia with their electrified Wands was the most numerous.

    "Is¡­ is it over?" One of Kawhena''s Apprentices, his brow rich with excited sweat, asked with eyes begging for hope. "Have we won?"

    Kawhena could only discard his heartbreak as he gazed upon his group of youthful Maguses too used to the decade of relative peace.

    "The first wave is over," Kawhena confessed with a wry smile. "Here is where our battle starts."

    Even for Tandy, a creature that had once ruled a domain within the Plane of Fire, the four-layer Rite of Elemental Invocation was too much.

    While Jonas exorcised the Elemental Ash from her body, she panted and huffed, hoovering loose motes of Elemental Fire inundating the air, hoping to rapidly restore her Spirit before the Mermen returned with a vengeance.

    "I should ask Master Gunther for more Creature Cores," she spat, her spittle pink and viscous. "That was fucking awesome."

    "So awesome you almost went the way of Alesia," Jonas complained. "Why am I even healing you? I thought bullshit like this was behind me now."

    "Nah, I reckon you love it." Yue protested protrusively, punishing her tank top''s limits, causing Jonas to retract his protests with a series of rapid stutters. Unlike her peers, she was unarmored for the sake of the Ta moko adorning her exposed skin, which needed open air to absorb the ambient Elemental energies.

    "Ma''am," Billy dimmed his Arcane Eye as he faced her. "They''re regrouping past Red Rocks, about two kilometres out from the headland."

    "How''s the bay?"

    "Magister Kawhena has enclosed the inlet. He''s fusing Hind and Breaker Hill as we speak."

    "Good man." Yue smacked her lips. "That''ll give them time to clean up."

    Billy''s eyes swept the flaming bay. "This place is going to stink like bad soup very quickly. Wellington will have to pay for major purification rites."

    "Better than losing the port." Yue shrugged, evaporating beads of sweat from the glowing Ta moko on her neck and shoulders. "Alright, let''s land for the moment and rest up. Jonas, Taj, Paul¡ªhelp the locals. Billy and I will take up spotting over at Ataturk."

    "Yes, Ma''am!" The men obeyed as instructed.

    Yue lowered her eyes toward the turbulent, glowing bay as she descended, her nostrils taking in the sharp stench of misto de mare simmering below.

    Her spell was fading, and the survivors who had hidden beneath the bodies of their mates were now emerging from the floating carcasses like ghoulish Undead, clambering over scarlet shells and snapped limbs to avoid the still hot but non-lethal water.

    A few of them made clicking hurrahs.

    A few others howled and hooted, waving their limbs like gleeful schoolboys from Sydney High on a hilarious holiday to the Green Zones.

    As a Battle Mage, Yue felt strange respectful toward these viscous Mermen, who were, in her eyes, murderers, looters and invaders of the first degree. Yet, they were so adorably innocent and simple, these monsters who would eat their kind without judgement to survive, including the spawn of their rivals. For the Mermen, death was merely a lull in the monotony of enduring a merciless food chain, and therefore any chance at murdering land mammals was seen as generous, hearty, and whole-souled fun.

    And they would not retreat¡ªunlike Humanity, there was no return to prose-filled Halcyon days of peace and respite for the sea-folk, whose every day consisted of surviving the fish-eat-fish world of their Kingdoms, for whom the fight to consume another and grow strong was the only path forward.

    "Billy," she commanded her second.

    "Yes, Magus?"

    "Mark those targets." Yue circulated Tandy''s violent Essence, her Ta moko growing white-hot, then blue and ashen as her Nightmare awoke once more. "Get me close. I don''t intend to waste mana on extended range Fireballs."

 Chapter 444 - Breaking the Tide

    Following a token greeting from the swamped Tower Master of Auckland, Gwen was assigned to Te Wherowhero, who took his pick of seven Mages from Gwen''s entourage, including Aria. She was then left with Petra, Richard, and two of her seniors for Wellington¡ªCaleb Ross and Jaxon Reid, an Illusionist and a Transportation Specialist, both inexperienced in combat but promising in utility.

    After thanking the second team and leaving tasks for supply delivery with Aria, Gwen returned to the Auckland representative tasked with moving them out of the Tower''s resonance range.

    "Sis, I still can''t believe you''re a Magister. When we were in Sydney, you were an Acolyte."

    "Bro, I can''t believe you somehow got taller."

    The man she spoke to was none other than the boy once assigned to her school competition in Sydney, the larger-than-life Whetu Tikitiki O Taranga. In the years since, the giant had blown past seven feet and had the girth to match, becoming a veritable home-grown avatar of M¨¡ui.

    Like old times, the two embraced, giving Gwen the feeling of a kitten being hugged to death by a Greater Ursine.

    When they separated, Gwen extended a hand.

    "Provisional Magister Gwen Song of Cambridge, London, under orders of the Shard, reporting for Wellington."

    "Magus Whetu Tikitiki O Taranga, of Auckland, assigned to the defence of the Auckland Frontier."

    The two clasped by grasping each others'' wrists, then introduced their teams. To Gwen''s delight, she recognised the Ta Moko Enchanter, Opi Raharuhi in Whetu''s group, who greeted her with a heartfelt "Kia Ora!"

    "Shall we fly and talk?" Gwen gestured to the landing platform distending from the Tower''s interior.

    Compared to Gunther''s ambitious semi-superstructural Tower in Sydney, Auckland''s flying fortress remained firmly rooted in the frugal 80s, when Oceania first introduced Shielding Stations and ley-line Towers. With an overall shape akin to a ballistic missile with a hat-dome top, Auckland measured barely one-tenth the size of Sydney¡ªwhich was reasonable, considering that the entire Frontier''s population was scarcely one-fifth of Australia''s south coast.

    The ISTC array in Auckland was situated nearer the top, taking advantage of the height to broaden the clarity of Divination signals, meaning Gwen now stood in the outer circumference of a giant disc from which the defenders launched artillery-class sorcery, as well as sent and received Mage Flights.

    Whetu and his team accompanied Gwen''s small group to the staging zone.

    The fighting in Auckland had thus far remained skirmishes and ambushes, but the Mermen Shoal visible from the flight deck was no less a spontaneous geographic formation parked in the Tipaka Moana, the gulf separating Auckland from the South Pacific.

    "How''s Wellington?" Gwen asked as they approached the flight deck. There were facilities for herself and the crew to change into their battle garbs. "Have you heard from Yue?"

    "Yue saved the city, pushing back the Mermen there last night," Whetu informed her with a sigh. "As of this morning, the sea-saw along the city''s cliffs continue. During the day, the Mermen won''t launch an all-out assault. Are you disappointed?"

    The news of Yue''s arse-kicking undid the knot tightening in Gwen''s chest. As much confidence she possessed for Yue''s abilities and Alesia''s contingencies for her Apprentice, she knew the dangers of assaulting a Merman Shoal without her particular skill set.

    "With what?" Gwen said cooly, then cocked her head to regard her old companion. She had to cane her neck, for Whetu''s enormous face was at least a head and shoulder above her own. Now in his prime, the Punamu Abjurer was a gentle and sentimental giant whose bearing was made doubly more impressive by the snake-like Ta Moko covering his body from his lips to his wrists.

    "That I am not with Yue, and I need to leave yous as well," Whetu''s tone reminded Gwen of a scolded puppy. "I had promised to protect all of yous."

    "That was in high school, Whetu." Gwen laughed, slapping the man on the back only to feel like she''d just struck a wall of carved jade. Nursing her fingers, she gave the small of Whetu''s back a gentle rub instead. "Simpler times, eh?"

    "Yeah, those days were sweet as."

    "Well," Gwen reminded the man. "Other than the Sobel thing."

    "Keen." Whetu shook his head to agree.

    They soon arrived near the change rooms. Gwen would love nothing more than to eat a pot of mussels and catch up with Whetu¡ªbut alas, Wellington was on the verge of being overrun.

    "Righto¡ª" her gaze swept the open vista of Auckland spread out beyond the disk''s edge. The city was as hilly as she''d recalled from her past life, only here, each headland was illuminated with the brutalist visage of concrete-clad Shielding Stations. As Whetu followed her eyes, she pulled back her long hair and twirled the raven coils into a flat bun.

    "Just one more question," Whetu asked, his eyes moving across her shoulders to her side.

    "What is it?" Gwen asked, wondering if Whetu liked what he saw.

    "Is that..." The giant grew contemplative. "Is that a duck?"

    North Island.

    Twenty kilometres south of Auckland, the sound of rolling thunder across a cloudless sky gradually dimmed as Gwen and company came to a halt.

    Quickly, they landed on an empty hilltop on a secluded rise named P¨­keno. The selection was based on their inland route to Wellington, a sweet spot far enough away from the Halfing settlement of Hamilton and equal-distant from either coast to safely conjure Golos.

    Very quickly, Gwen marked the area, laid down her ingredients, then made the familiar Mandala with help from Richard and Petra, who were now old hands at supporting their cousin. Petra could complete the Mandala in record time thanks to her multi-headed Spirit, even working solo. With the Cambridge Mages and a duck standing guard, the three finished the Greater Planar Ally within three-quarters of an hour, then loaded the operant Glyphs with crates of HDM "offerings".

    Above, Dede''s eyes grew orange with envy. Following the rules of the pond, however, the drake understood its place in the pecking order.

    Therefore, without complication, once the passage of supernatural thunder and crashing lightning encircled the Mandala and turned the once-green hilltop into no man''s land, Golos, Scion of the Yinglong, descended upon ancient Aotearoa.

    Golos appeared larger than Gwen recalled, possibly reaching a good twenty meters from snout to clubbed tail. His growth only stood to reason, for the Wyvern had been bumming it at Ruxin''s bachelor pad and crashing in Huangshan with access to Ayxin and Ruxin''s old nesting haunts. With so much resource aiding in the Wyvern''s growth, Gwen could only blame his maternal bloodline for not providing her Gogo with forelimbs and innate Draconic sorcery.

    "Quack!"

    "Lord Golos," the others greeted her ally.

    "Gogo." Gwen patted her lizard''s chest, marvelling at the beauty of Golos'' blue-white scales. "You ready for some fun?"

    "Calamity¡ª" The lizard returned her greeting with a strange expression. "Step aside."

    Before Gwen could ask why Golos looked constipated, the Wyvern inwardly coiled its serpentine neck and assumed the pose of a cat hacking up a furball.

    "Christ, what¡ª"

    Gwen''s eyes widened into the size of hen''s eggs as the Wyvern flatted itself against the sizzling Mandala, planted both wing-claws against the ground, then began to regurgitate an enormous¡­ something.

    "Is Lord Golos alright?" Petra materialised a few Restoration Spellcubes, likely thinking that the Wyvern had damaged its internal organs mid-transit.

    "Indigestion?" Richard observed with sympathy. "It happens to the best of us."

    Cambridge''s Mages dutifully took notes.

    Gwen stumbled back as Draconic-acid washed over her Da-peng leather booties. Whatever made up Golos'' eye-watering breath could only be said to be magnified a hundred-fold by the gush of yellow liquid oozing from his feeding orifice.

    "Quack!" Their duck protested the sorry state of a creature it saw as a rare superior.

    The Wyvern ignored the duck and persisted in his masochistic act of unhinging his jaw, appearing like a snake regurgitating an egg in reverse.

    With a final grunt, what looked like a steel coffin emerged, its surface marred and scarred by his digestive acid.

    Clunk! The steel something landed, pulverising the charcoal landscape.

    "For you, Calamity." Golos nursed his neck.

    "For me?" Gwen could only guess that perhaps, Golos wanted to bring her a gift. If so, why not put the thing in his Storage Rings?

    Before she could ask, a series of taps came from the coffin, then¡ª

    CRUNK!

    The coffin''s lid flew open, struck from within by a shapely pair of emerging calves. A moment later, the doll-like figure inside dizzily pulled herself upward.

    Gwen''s jaw dropped.

    Richard whistled.

    Petra''s expression grew contemplative.

    Cambridge''s Mages took notes.

    "L-LULU?" Gwen could hardly catch her next breath. "LULAN? You were inside¡ªTHAT?"

    She looked toward Golos, her mind a riot of possibilities.

    Lulan was inside Golos?

    INSIDE A THUNDER WYVERN?

    WHAT THE FUCK?

    Could a Summon Planar Ally be used as an ISTC relay? Or was that merely because Ruxin willed it? At any rate, is it even possible that a Human Being could survive such an excursion through the Quasi-Elemental Plane of Lighting? It wasn''t as though Golos hadn''t sent her men before through the array.

    Or¡­ was that the purpose of the steel box?

    "A gift from brother." Golos'' voice transformed from a hoarse croak to his usual confidence as his torn throat rapidly healed. "He says to bring him gifts from the Seats of Frost to repay him."

    Rushing toward the steel coffin, Gwen grasped the calloused hand of the swordswoman and pulled her close. Lulan did not smell any better than the phlegm Golos projectile vomited, but Gwen couldn''t care about that now.

    "Lulu," she said softly. "Can you hear me?"

    The light of cognisance slowly returned to Lulan''s eyes.

    "Saviour¡ª" The swordswoman tried to smile. "I am sorry I stink."

    "Quack!"

    "Why..." The confusion returned to Lulan''s eyes. "Why is there a duck here?"

    Before Gwen could explain that ducks were for all occasions, the girl pushed herself abruptly from Gwen''s arms, forming a posture not too different from when Golos had first arrived.

    "Oh, Christ." Gwen mouthed. If there''s another fucking ¡°gift" inside Lulu. She and Ruxin would have words! Did the Dragon think her friends were Matryoshka Dolls?

    Thankfully, Lulan only evacuated the entire contents of her stomach over Gwen''s one of a kind battle armour.

    "Pats!" Gwen called for their medic.

    Petra produced both a healing injector and a Restoration cube, then after a second, a Cleansing cube as well. Richard and Lea helped with fresh water to wash off the gunk on Lulan, hosing down the surrounding area befouled by Golos. Eventually, Lulan was relieved from her coffin, cleaned up, then restored to relative health.

    Now that her Wyvern and swordswoman had established their bearings, Gwen stood between the two with a hand on Lulan''s shoulders and another against Golos'' knee.

    "It warms my heart that you''re both here," she said after a moments'' thought. "That said, I can''t advocate for Golos'' oesophagus as a means of transport in good conscience. Lulu, you could have just used the ISTC arrays, you know? What''s money if you travel safely? You know we have a lot of that these days, right? Couldn''t Ruxin just Glyph you up with Dragon magic? Who told you to use the Golos Express?"

    "ISTCs involved too many complications and paperwork." Lulan, still pale, gave her a look of pride. "Lord Ruxin said I needn''t follow the rules of mortals and that if I wanted to join you as soon as possible, simply ask Mistress Ayxin."

    "So, Ayxin put you up to this?" Gwen huffed.

    "She taught me how to construct that." Lulan pointed to the coffin. In Gwen''s eyes, the steel casket was what it resembled.

    "Are you sure Ayxin meant it literally?" Gwen asked. "I mean, she is a spatial sorcery user, but..."

    "Mistress Ayxin said that I''d be welding a coffin, yes," Lulan concurred. "I asked Lord Ruxin, and he said it was a brilliant idea, better than what he could manage."

    Gwen looked toward Golos with questions.

    A shrugging Wyvern was a sight to see, though Gwen was less than impressed.

    "Strewth." Gwen chose to banish the matter for now, for the day was wearing on and nearing noon. "Okay, let''s assume they meant well. How are you feeling, Lulu?"

    "Good enough to fight." Lulan grasped at a space beside them, then to Gwen''s wonder, materialised a gleaming blade of patterned steel. "I''ve learned a lot in the last few years. Lord Ryxi taught me everything from our Sect since before the Yuan Centaurs razed our temples. I''ve also picked up useful skills from the remaining four Sword Sects that he thought was useful. AND I''ve perfected the Panzerschreck you taught me¡ªalthough Lord Ryxi said the name sounded like Lord Golos choking on fishbones¡ªso he named it the Falling Star Sword. Oh, Ru¨¬ misses you too, though she''s crazy busy with Lord Ruxin''s appointments. We''ve expanded the Tonglv Holdings now, and the local government''s more or less falling in line thanks to Professor Ma..."

    As Lulan delivered her report, Gwen studied her illegally immigrated companion, perceiving that Lulan had grown a little taller, though not by much. From what Gwen could see with her Divination, Lulu''s Heart of Iron was wholly tamed by the uncorrupted Sect-magic Ryxi had gifted as a favour. On a more aesthetic level, Lulan had lost the puppy fat on her face, making her once youthful mien more mature and aggressive. Her hair was kept long and folded back in a ponytail¡ªpossibly as a tribute to when she, Lulu and Petra had enjoyed themselves visiting Peaches'' performances.

    "Gwen," Richard interrupted the stream of consciousness from Lulan with a polite cough. "Wellington awaits."

    The reminder restarted the engine of anxiety that had cooled with Lulan''s unconventional arrival.

    "Of course," she asked for Lulan to keep her updated while they flew, passing her one of the dozens of spare Message Devices made by her Dwarven artisans in the Bunker. "Do you know our mission, Lulan? Gogo? Did you inform Lulu?"

    "I know. We''re exterminating Mermen." Lulan''s face broke into a grin, echoing the very same on Golos'' face. "I''ll protect you."

    "And I am hungry for fish," Golos'' protest announced his perfect candidacy for unbridled mayhem. "You said there would be more fish to eat than I could count."

    "Oh, the buffet''s gathering southward as we speak," Gwen assured the Wyvern. "Richard, how far are we now from Wellington?"

    "Four hundred and twenty-four kilometres inland," her cousin replied. "But now that Lord Golos is here, shall we entertain a shortcut?"

    "Yes, we should take the coastal route," Petra concurred.

    "Magister Song?" One of the Cambridge Mages raised their hand. "Wouldn''t we be beset by random encounters if we go outside the Green Zones?"

    "We would," Gwen agreed, then gestured to the imposing form of her Wyvern stretching out its spines. Golos'' spiked-club tail was of especial interest, for its bristles contracted and expanded like a living thing. "Caleb, Jaxon, you fellers ever experienced Dragon Fear?"

    "I have." Caleb''s complexion paled. "I was in London during the er¡­ incident."

    "I have not," Jaxon confessed. "Is Lord Golos going to show us how it''s done?"

    "Indeed he is," Gwen confirmed their worst suspicions. "Don''t worry. The nausea isn''t so bad if the aura owner isn''t trying to eat you."

    "That way, we should be in Wellington before sundown," Richard confirmed their new coordinates on the map. "An hour to mana-up and pre-buff should be more than enough."

    "Quack!" Dede also gave his two LDMs.

    Having received her assurances, Gwen snapped her fingers, materialising another gift from her Draconic business partner, the Omni-orb.

    "Ho," Golos remarked with appreciation. "Brother''s gift."

    "We''re going to Welling to find Yue," she declared to the orb in translated Draconic. It wasn''t how its divination worked, but Gwen felt that vocalising her intentions seemed to bolster the orb''s accuracy. "Go!"

    With the agility of a Golden Snitch from a money-printing franchise, the Omni-directional Orb lifted into the air and began to drift southward.

    Gwen adjusted her orientation toward the direction indicated by the orb.

    "Ariel!"

    "EE¡ªEE!" Her Kirin materialised.

    "Caliban!"

    "SHAA¡ª!" A gruesome and faceless Da-peng birthed from a slit in space-time.

    "Dede!"

    "QUACK!" the duck quacked.

    "Gogo!"

    "Calamity. Get that thing away from me¡ª" Golos drifted a safe distance away from the Da-peng with every feather on his neck bristling.

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    "Dick, leave Lea on overwatch and put our beasties into formation," she said to her majordomo. "Pats, Jaxon, Caleb, you''re with me. Lulu will run rear guard. How''s your Flight magic, Lulu?"

    "I can keep up," Lulan replied without ambivalence. In the next moment, the Sword Mage materialised an enormous blade twice as long as herself, resembling the world''s most dangerous surfboard.

    She hopped on.

    Cooing, Cambridge''s Mages took notes.

    Under Richard''s directions, the Familiar, pet and Mage party organised itself into a spear point with Golos as the tip.

    Yunnie! We''re coming! Gwen told herself silently. Don''t Fireball us.

    "Alright!" she declared her intentions to the group with Clarion Call. "Let''s go save us a city!"

    Wellington.

    WETA.

    Magister Kawhena understood very well the Mermen were grinding them down.

    Since the early morning, the Mermen had renewed their harassment, sending troops of chitin-covered Crabmen and Fishmen buffed with air-breathing sorcery to scale the cliffs overlooking Lyall Bay, attempting to flank the city from the South Sea.

    With WETA burning HDMs, the Militia could abjure the foe from their shores with minimal losses by hiding behind spontaneous barriers, retreating to higher ground, and forcing the Mermen into kill-lanes.

    Without Kawhena transmuting the landscape around Wellington''s ley-node, entire patrols could be wiped out by the superior physicality of the armoured sea-soldiers, becoming vulnerable to the bolt-throwing hybrids who wielded anemones that shot bone-spines laced with nerve-toxin.

    And so, Kawhena''s team continued to work throughout the day, never resting, beset by one encounter after another.

    After more than twenty hours, their mana was untouched¡ªand the ley-node beneath WETA remained stable¡ªbut the spell fatigue assaulting their brains had grown significant enough to cause mana-feedback in the junior staff, incapacitating the poor sods for days, if not weeks.

    Therefore, he had fallen for the Mermen''s ploy. It was a cheap strategy, but a strategy nonetheless. That was the unsettling thing about a Mermen Tide led by notable personage from the Seven Kingdoms. The Sea Lords may not understand the extent of tactical limitations outside of the ocean''s three-dimensional scope¡ªbut their disregard for Mermen''s lives was more than made up for misconceptions.

    "Are our Militias holding their zones?" Kawhena asked an aid.

    "Magister Addison reports eighteen of twenty-four battlegroups are still in operation," the junior Magus reported, struggling to stay awake. "We lost contact with squads eight, fifteen and twenty-one entirely."

    Nodding, Kawhena hid his alarm from the young ones.

    "How''s Magus Bai''s team?"

    "They''re recovering mana after Purging hostiles near Miramar."

    "Where the Fairies live?" Kawhena pinched his brows. "The Wisps didn''t evacuate after all?"

    "I think they''d prefer to perish with their Grove."

    "Right." Kawhena pursed his lips. Far be it that he should worry about the Demi-humans. "Any news from Auckland?"

    Te had pledged help.

    But would that help arrive in time?

    Before the junior Mage could answer, a Message spell bloomed beside the Magister''s ear.

    "Te?" Kawhena felt the weight on his shoulders loom like a swinging guillotine. "Tell me there''s good news."

    The voice that came across was at once pleasant and relaxed. "Brother, there''s good news indeed! Of course, I had to confirm before informing you, lest our defences are misallocated. You''ve got your reinforcements! Guess what the Shard sent Wellington?"

    "A Combat Flight?" Kawhena wondered if he''d dare to hope. "Lead by a Magister? Dare I ask if they sent an Ordo Purge Team?"

    "HA¡ª!" The laughter from the other side of the Message Device was enough to relax the nerves of all the younger Mages present in the makeshift war room. "They sent us Magus Bai''s roommate!"

    "You''re taking the piss, Te," Kawhena protested. "This isn''t the time for jokes."

    "Before sunset¡ªlook to the horizon due north," the Paladin''s voice rose in volume. "You must tell me how quickly the Mermen flee!"

    "From who?"

    "From Master Shultz''s sister¡ª" The Paladin''s voice took on the cadence of a passion-fueled Haka. "¡ªThat''s right, brother! They sent us the Devourer of Shenyang!"

    Wellington.

    Titahi Bay.

    "I see the city," Gwen reported to the team, taking advantage of her Essence-tempered vision. "Any closer, and we''re bound to be discovered. How are our Divination signals? Can we get anything across?"

    "It''s spotty. I am shocked we''re not getting full signal even this close." Richard double-checked his Message Device. "I think we''ve been spoilt by living in London for so long. That said, Wellington knows we''re coming¡ªand it isn''t as though we could be mistaken for Mermen reinforcements. The main thing is Yue, ha. She''s not going to greet us with a Fireball, right?"

    "We''ll keep the broadcast going," Gwen affirmed her unequivocal desire to see Project Legion functional and put to use. "And yes, I''d love to surprise Yunnie, but let''s not surprise Yunnie."

    "Alright, as planned then." Richard nodded. "Lea, if you would?"

    "Sure thing!" The Undine appeared suddenly beside her, twirled, and split her ultramarine hair into four separate Lake Sprites with slim, petite figures and vaguely human faces.

    The plan was for Gwen''s bevvy of beasties to douse fires near Wellington''s struggling Militia. Before he had to leave, Whetu had left the group with a map of Wellington''s dugouts and battle lines, which for a city small enough to be observed from the air, should be easy enough to discern.

    Still, Gwen felt it best if Lea could direct her quintet of avatars to keep an eye on her creatures.

    Of her monstrous foursome, Golos would be fine alone.

    Caliban could fight until it was banished, though when pitted against "meat shields", the Void beast could likely riot until the last morsel.

    Comparatively, though Ariel''s lightning worked wonders on fish, she felt it best to assign Dede to protect her pseudo-Kirin from becoming swamped.

    Petra, Jaxon and Caleb had the task of contacting and coordinating combat with WETA, first informing Yue of her arrival, then aiding the construction of Teleportation Circles as a contingency.

    As for herself, she would form a Combat Team with Richard and Lulan playing interference while she performed what the London''s papers had dubbed "The Dark Womb", despite her METRO dubbing the spell combination as "The Dark Egg". For the battle to come, she hoped to sow enough chaos among the Mermen with her Void lampreys to disrupt the Shoal''s coherence while taking advantage of the fact that most Mermen were incapable of aerial combat.

    "Gogo? Dede?" Gwen turned to her pets for proof that they were ready.

    "Finally!" Golos'' scales crackled with lightning as visible ripples of Dragon Fear distorted the air. That was another of the Wyvern''s insurances. While Golos could be overwhelmed by numbers, that number first had to survive the crush of their fleeing friends'' armoured bodies. "Their Essence is junk, but Ruxin said that quantity is a quality."

    "Quack!" Gwen had no idea if ducks could salivate, but Dede sure as hell was making a good effort.

    "Watch out for the Mermen leader and their magic users," Richard warned against her and her pets against boisterous confidence. "You''re not fighting the Triffidus. These are creatures with complex societies and ancient civilisations. Pull their whiskers hard enough, and you''re bound to summon something capable of giving us trouble."

    "I wouldn''t worry until we can thin out the Shoal," Petra delivered a point of insight. "Remember what I told you? The Mermen fight like we Russians do in the Old Country. We send waves of conscripted NoMs to colonise the Wildlands while the Mages sit back and wait for our foe to exhaust their mana."

    "Ah yes, the Path of the Old Country, if only Humanity could spawn a thousand young a season, per female," Richard snorted. "But enough of that¡ªbecause we have Lord Golos! Milord Wyvern, if you could be kind enough to show us how it''s done?"

    Gwen''s impatient Wyvern needed no prompting to execute the ultraviolence to come. With a mighty blast of air that sent the Mages reeling, the Wyvern launched itself forward, forming its silhouette into that of a forward-pointing spearhead.

    As a breathing thunderclap, Gogo flew forward and downward, his neck framed by a suddenly appearing and disappearing cone of air, shrieking toward Wellington as a white-hot mote of Dragon Fear, giving Gwen the strangest sensation of controlling a fish-eating, Core-shitting living airstrike.

    Rongo Winiata, a native of Wellington and a one-time participant of the IIUC, put himself in the front lines to ensure that the NoMs could safely wield their Quasi-magical implements.

    A working battle group, he had explained to the hundred-odd men and women under his command, was a product of symbiosis. With the Mages alone, the casters would be quickly overwhelmed by the oncoming crush of shelled bodies. Likewise, without the Mages to break up the rank and file of the crustacean shock troops, the NoM Militia would be filling gaps with new bodies every few minutes.

    At a time like this, Rongo wished more than anything that their Frontier city could have invested in Golems like the ones he''d seen on the Chinese Undead Front.

    As a Mage, he could amass spells with far more complexity¡ªbut he was still one Mage in a team of five, while a well-protected Golem unit could be refitted and rearmed for firing by a couple of NoMs within the hour to wreak havoc to half of Wellington''s coastline.

    And if Wellington had two Golem units attached to each Militia? And if they had Magister Kawhena funnelling their foe into tight-quartered kill zones?

    Would they even need reinforcements?

    Rongo shook his head. He quickly banished his wishful daydream and checked that his mana had recovered. He was the most senior Mage in his unit, and he had to keep a clear head.

    He was on his second injector already, and there were three more hours until sunset, when Maka and Timoti Wikiriwhi, the Magma Brothers, would finish their meditation.

    "Erina¡ªRangi¡ªwith me! One more push! Keep them off the NoMs." Rongo''s Ta Moko flashed cobalt as he leapt into the air, kept afloat by a surge of water commanded by his Taniwha Spirit, the Great Whale Shark tied to his ocean-fairing ancestors. At his mental behest, clarified mana tore through his conduits, materialising the overabundance of Elemental Water brought by the Mermen.

    "Tidal Surge!"

    The Mermen soldiers clambering blindly up the escarpment were struck by a sudden wave of white water, tearing them from the transmuted concrete and dashing those with softer bodies against the spiked exteriors of the shock troops below.

    Erina followed with Fireball and Scorching Rays volleys, picking off the stragglers closest to the man-made wall on the harbour. At the same time, Rangi erected barriers of stone whenever their foes launched tridents, spikes, and sometimes fish at the Mages.

    Behind the seawall itself, Rongo''s support Healer mended groaning NoM militia members maimed by the barrier breach prior in the day. Not far, their final member, a Ta Moko Enchantress, maintained the dwindling array of Wand-implements used by the NoMs.

    Rongo''s crested wave reached an apex¡ªthen rapidly dwindled as his mana surge waned, unable to sustain the attack.

    When he landed, winded and dizzied from the continuous expenditure, he unhappily realised that most of the monstrous silhouettes had remained.

    Had his spell gotten weaker? Rongo wondered Or had the Mermen brought more substantial reinforcements?

    Either way, he was about to learn a lesson from his Master firsthand: never leave a gap for a foe to exploit. He hadn''t meant it, but he had been fighting since the morning, and he was bloody buggered.

    Thereby, he could only curse when a crustacean with a crested crown like a Roman Centurion tossed a subordinate toward Rongo, catapulting the akimbo crab toward him as a living, flailing cannon ball.

    Rangi was quick on his shielding, intercepting the crab.

    Unfortunately for Rongo, he knew exactly how much the damned things weighed and that the first crab would merely be one in a volley of dozens. What''s worse, despite the blue ichor prettily painting the semi-sphere barrier, the crustacean that clambered off Rangi''s shield was twice as mad.

    Before Rongo could activate a Jump or an Expeditious retreat, the creature had already taken a swipe at the Evoker, scoring a flesh-mangling gash across Rongo''s bared chest, bypassing his innate Water Shield with minimum effort.

    "Rongo!" Rangi''s voice called out. "Watch out!"

    Rongo couldn''t hear his mates over the sound of howling blood in his head and his own foul-mouthed explicative.

    He fell.

    A few seconds passed as slow as molasses before Rongo''s world returned to normal, realising that he had not activated his escape spell or triggered his Contingency Ring.

    Instead, he was on the floor, ass-down and face-up, staring at the sky.

    SHIT! Rongo tried to speak, but he could hardly catch his breath. The fucking crab was over him now, dripping blue blood and waving its M¨¡ui-damned limbs in some victory dance.

    Rangi!¡ªErina¡ª! he tried forcing his voice out. Get behind the NoMs! GET¡ª

    CRACK¡ª!

    Rongo''s world turned white.

    For a blooming second, Rongo was sure he had ascended into a higher Plane, for every muscle in his body had involuntarily tensed, and his bowels had threatened to release the Earthen Hounds.

    When he painfully turned his head, his muscles buoyed on pure adrenaline, Rongo saw past the fresh-gauged cavity in his pectorals to see...

    Rongo had no idea what he was seeing, though having fought the Crab-men for a day, he knew that they were capable of shitting.

    And now¡ªa whole legion of the bloody things had just shat themselves blue and brown.

    "RONGO!" Rangi reached his side. Together with Erina, they began to pull him bodily backwards, dragging him by the shoulders. Above Rongo, his clawed foe remained frozen, unable even to twitch.

    Fighting mortal injury and mental disorientation, it took Rongo a dozen meters to finally find out why the Crabmen were frozen like fish-dinners.

    "Is that ours?" Rangi asked. "Or are we bunged?"

    Erina was too terrified to speak, and Rongo knew the reason.

    There¡ªabove them¡ªhovering over the sudden descent of innumerable piles of reflexive faeces¡ªwas a Wyvern in blue and platinum.

    And the crazy thing¡ª

    And the craziest thing¡ª

    Was that he recognised the damned monster!

    "HMM¡­" came the rumbling of a familiar voice from the armoured flying fortress looming over a thousand Crabmen too terrified to shift limb or claw. "... a good appetiser."

    The Wyvern opened its mouth.

    Its sadistic, sunset pupils transformed into twin pools of molten plasma.

    There was a sound of sudden thunder.

    An abrupt blast of heat and light.

    A simultaneous singing of Rongo''s exposed body hair.

    Then Rongo''s world grew peaceful, blessedly knowing well that Wellington and his buggered body would see the dawn of a new day.

    Northward of Golos'' landing was Wellington Quay, once the crown jewel of the city''s economic zone, now a wasteland of overturned ships and freight equipment.

    When the Mermen came again, they emerged in the thousands, using the blasted ships from the tsunami for cover, climbing, clambering and scampering from shade to shade until they made landfall.

    Unlike the Crabmen assaulting the main harbour head-on, these were the surviving locals, lead by a true denizen of the deep¡ªa loyal attache to the Elemental Prince Shyvaphyr, seventeenth in line to the Coral Crown.

    Anarr was the name of the attache assigned to the fodder, and he possessed only one job¡ªto herd the cowardly Mudskippers to death or glory.

    Hailing from the rare and noble Clan Ocellatus, Anarr was equally capable underwater and in the murderous air. Blessed with a gift of Essence from his Prince, the Eel-kin neared eight-feet standing on his transmuted dorsal fins, not accounting for his enormous maw, which weighed down his upper body and gave him the likeness of a bunched-back, bipedal toad.

    "Faster! Attack more! Crush the air-suckers!" Anarr swung his serrated Coral Sword, sending ripples of Elemental Water outward to stimulate the Mudskippers, likewise informing them that should any flee or escape, he had them marked for feeding fodder.

    In the distance, beyond the crushed lines of bobbing boats, flashes of Human magic pushed his men backwards.

    Thus far, Anarr was thoroughly unimpressed with the progress of his coastal cousins.

    As their terrestrial kin called it, the prime Material was seen by Anarr''s lord and masters as a grand prize. To those in the deep, Terra existed as an inexplicable conjunction of the Elemental Planes, a place inundated by influences from the Plane of Water and, therefore, the Mermen''s natural second home. To Anarr''s superiors, here was a neutral world rich for colonisation and plunder, gifted by the Elders of the Deep.

    Yet, much to their chagrin, the other Elementals were also keen on taking a fragment of the whale fall. Furthermore, the indigenous population on Terra not only saw themselves as the watery globe''s rightful rulers but had the gall to nourish themselves by hunting the children of water!

    Of course, Anarr''s kinfolk ate one another¡ªsuch was life so long as one and one''s dinner weren''t too closely related¡ªbut to have finless creatures biting into the sumptuous flesh of a fish-folk? That was gobsmacking.

    And what was worse was that here existed land creatures that flew through the air¡ªand hunted kin in the sea! What an aberration! A travesty of existence!

    The first day he walked on the surface, Anarr had made his new sycophants retrieve these "Birds", as the Terrestrials call them. There was a plague of the fiends flying above the Shoal, meaning to bring them down required an effort.

    Unhappily, other than a vague saltiness, Anarr could only say that he was disappointed.

    He later tried the eggs of a creature dubbed an "Albatross" by the local kin and dozens of its screeching larvae. Those had been nourishing, and Anarr had immediately demanded a dozen be delivered into his gullet.

    "QUACK¡ªQUACK¡ªQUACK!" A series of orifice-quailing barks made Anarr physically recoil, stirring him from the succulent recollection.

    Anarr looked up at the sky.

    There was an Albatross approaching, one clothed with the splendiferous hues of the highly prized Mantis-kin.

    "Hah?" Anarr huffed, spraying spittle from his fanged maw as he hollered at the nasty thing. "Have you come for your children? Fish-eating fiend?! You''re too late! For they rest now in the merciless gullet of Anarr of Ocellatus!"

    "Quack?" The flying beast banked hard, descending in a rapid spiral.

    "I want to eat that thing!" Anarr gave the command. "Mudfins! Attack!"

    As his troops converged, the quacking fiend began a rapid descent, appearing larger and larger until Anarr''s throat felt parched by the dry air.

    This Albatross is a true Monster! Anarr thought. A Kraken-kin of the air! Anarr had eaten hundreds of "birds" by now, even a vicious "sea eagle" captured at the cost of a dozen Mudkin lives. Yet¡ªthis creature dwarfed them all in size, beauty, and sheer arrogance!

    Just before the Albatross struck the ruined shipyard and its graveyard of metal, it pulled back both wings, causing such a violent gust that the dozen or so Mudkin with their nets and serrated spears were blown about, losing their footing despite their sticky dermis.

    When Anarr''s eyes met the creature''s, he shuddered to discover that the creature''s irises'' were twin pools of pure pitch, depthless and without a hint of compassion.

    WHOMP¡ª

    The hungry bird landed, sending the half-shattered tanker ship to roll from the momentum of its descent.

    Instantly, a dozen Mudkins piled upon the Albatross, hooting, howling and stabbing with their poisoned spears, trying to bring the flying fiend low.

    "Quack, QUACK¡ª!" the creature let loose a battle cry.

    Anarr craned his neck. How would a limbless, armless imbecile fight? Could this airborne pathogen, this uncivilised low-order animal, even contest the Mudkin, who had been given magical implements from his Prince?

    Abruptly, the Albatross made its move.

    Anarr couldn''t follow its movements, but from the way it rapidly waddled, distended its neck to and fro, and swung its wing-limbs, he instantly banished all thoughts of underestimating the creature''s might.

    A second later, Anarr applauded his wisdom.

    The Mudkins who had made their move were all dead.

    Where the creature had pecked with its oral implement, the unarmored Mud-kin erupted, exploding into piles of grey flesh, rendered sinew and liberated offal.

    Those struck by the wings flew instantly away, shattering as though algae polyps dashed against a foamy cliff.

    The worst was the few that somehow ended up beneath the creature, becoming crushed so entirely that their innards ruptured forth like stuck seaweed from the orifice of an underwater geyser.

    But that was okay. Anarr had thousands of Mudkin and ten thousand more up the coastline.

    "Attack!" Anarr gave the command once more. He brandished his jewelled trident in one hand, a gift from his Master, the almighty Seventeenth, whose depth the likes of Anarr, a mere Wolf Eel, could never reach. Enchanted by the Wave Witches, with a core moulded from a thousand-year old growth of Crystal Coral uprooted from the King''s private hunting corral, his weapon would surely reach the fiend''s heart.

    "QUACK!"

    Anarr ignored the massacre of his kin and instead focused all of his internal mana on the trident.

    One strike¡ªthat that was all he needed. A single strike with the weight of the deep behind it, enough to demolish any foe, flying or otherwise.

    "Prince Shyvaphyr, give me strength," Anarr prayed to the being to whom he had pledged his being, calling upon his patron''s borrowed Essence. "May your reign¡ª"

    "EE¡ªEE¡ª!" A cacophonic cry, half-screech, half-thunderclap, resounded behind the eel.

    Had the bipedal, Essence-blessed Wolf Eel survived the eight Lighting Orbs blasting him into fried dace paste, he would have protested that his world had first turned brilliant white, the kind attributed to that horrid sphere from the Quasi-Elemental Plane of Radiance.

    Unfortunately for the Mermen lieutenant, a split-second wasn''t enough for Anarr to comprehend the source of the adorable mewing, after which his world turned suddenly dark.

    Southward of Golos'' landing sat Princess Bay, one of a dozen inlets with direct access to the South Sea possessing geography low enough for the Mermen to land and make their way inland.

    Presently, there were no Mermen.

    There was, instead, a raging fire.

    Evidence of destruction.

    Eye-watering volumes of charred and cooked fish.

    Exhausted Militia men, hiding in transmuted bunkers.

    A group of bemused Mages from Sydney.

    And a sulking Big Bird.

    "Shaa¡ª"Caliban moped. Its faceless mien was weeping large globs of grey goo. "Shaa¡ªShaa¡ª"

    Beside the sobbing monstrosity, Yue Bai, famous roommate of the Devourer, patted the soul-stealing reaper on its crow-black, feathery back.

    "It''s okay, Cali," she comforted the creature. "There''s plenty of fish in the sea. Aunty Yunnie will get you a big old school of nasty Mermen next time, okay?"

    "Shaa¡ª!" Caliban hollered. Through its empathic senses, it knew with absolute certainty that its mates were having the time of their lives. "SHAA!"

    In frustration, it lifted a dainty white hand-claw, picked up the body of a cooked King Crab, then tossed it toward the horizon, where it skidded across the surface of the serene surf, shedding limbs as it went.

    The scene was so surreal and unsettling that, save for Yue, the NoMs and her team members all agreed to keep their distance. They had earlier fought the damned Crab-kin and therefore knew well that the King Crab lieutenant weighed a fuck-ton.

    "SHAA¡ª?" the fiend demanded of their sorceress.

    "Alright, alright¡ª" Magus Bai motioned to her team. "Someone give me a fistful of HDMs. Until Gwennie calls back her pet, Cali''s one of us, alright?"

    As if making its appeal known, the monster opened up its head-carapace, revealing a tri-petal maw with a dozen tentacle-tongues, each tipped with disc-shaped mouths lined with pearly teeth-blades. With minds of their own, the mouthy appendages then solicited their audience''s sanity.

    The group regarded one another, from Mage to NoM to Mage. The perceived consensus was the rejection of Magus Bai''s proposal with extreme prejudice.

    Which naturally meant tithing was quickly collected in a hat and delivered forward.

    Then, overlooking a bean-green coastline, their leader sat beside the bird-thing, one hand holding one of its lady''s fingers, and began to feed the monstrosity its ill-gotten gains one by one.

 Chapter 445 - The Early Worm gets the Fish

    Despite her involvement in more conflicts than she could count, Gwen still had trouble processing the notion of an eternal war against the Mermen.

    The abstraction was simple but not one she could readily internalise. Even against the Undead, there was a perceivable "end game" where Liches turned to powder and regions like North Korea, Siberia, and the Balkans returned to man''s domain.

    But to wage war until the butt-end of the smoking ruins of human history?

    It was something Gwen chose not to think too deeply about lest her resolve waned.

    Therefore, her mind chose the present sanity of practical slaughter.

    In Humanity''s perpetual cycle of conflict against Mermen, a commonly agreed-upon reality was that Mermen were easy to kill on land¡ªbut bloody impossible to repel from the territorial waters.

    Even though humans were undeniably amphibious mammals, possessing an inborn diving reflex, their means to engage underwater was limited¡ªdespite the fact that common Transmutations like Aqua Lung, Water Breathing, Water Walking¡ªwere commonly used in construction.

    For reasons of efficiency, underwater warfare never came to pass¡ªamphibious Mage units could neither move like the fishes nor utilise the full complement of their magic. Likewise, Humanity found success only on the surface, where their Battle Barges and flying Towers could broadcast deadly waves of resonance to keep the Mermen at bay.

    Thereby, akin to a seasonal rash, the marauding Mermen rioted as they pleased, plundering at their leisure, keeping Humanity panting and salivating for the resources of the coastlines, each dotted with their densest cities, hoping that one day, man could conquer the final Frontier¡ªthe sea.

    For her present purpose, Major Kotts had long-ago assigned readings and research for his War Mage student, knowing that an encounter with the Mermen was inevitable.

    A compulsory reading was Meister Jacques-Yves Melchior of Paris, author of "Mage and the Forbidden Sea: A Treaties on Coastal Potential". Within were countless anecdotes of man''s failed ambitions to venture into the wide blue yonder, detailing the history and process by which the Oceanographer created the first Resonance Engine for aquatic use, ushering man into an unforeseen epoch of freight and colonisation.

    The book had been of great interest to Gwen because she recalled seeing the volume in Henry''s study.

    But compared to the version she had read, the "original" edition given to her by Magister Brown was a treasure trove of observations editorialised by the Oceanographer on the Mermen of the Seven Kingdoms, each guarding their rifts throughout the Atlantics and the Pacific.

    Mermen, the Meister had said, are fabulous sea creatures, man or woman or its likeness above, and fish below, an invasive species of Elemental humanoids from the Plane of Water. A commander must know that there is no possibility of peace between Man and Mer. Just as a kingdom may not have two monarchs, and no firmament shall play grace to twin Gates of Radiance.

    In a later chapter, in a section Henry''s copy lacked, Gwen had found a picture of a woman with crow-black hair and porcelain skin, with a mien more like a Lumen-cast celebrity than a War Mage.

    "Magister Elizabeth W. Sobel¡ª" The entry had read. "A case study on the Subjugation of the Coral Sea under Master Kilroy of Sydney."

    What shocked Gwen wasn''t the vivid accounts of Sobel''s conquest of the Coral Sea but the fact that a report was published. Thanks to Henry''s long shadow and innumerable favours, reliable recordings of Elizabeth''s military operations were inversely proportional to her infamy.

    Gwen had devoured the volume with hungry eyes, reading between the lines of Meister Melchior''s first-hand account to find the slimmest hint of Sobel''s vulnerabilities.

    To that end, she had found nothing.

    What she did learn was the Meister''s instruction in resolving the paradox of fighting an inaccessible foe, which read as such:

    Any commander wishing to battle with the Mermen should refer to Chapter III: The Shoals, surmising a hierarchal, pyramidal food chain with a dynamic relationship between predator and prey. A Crabman may be food today, but a thriving tribe may feast upon a weakened Shoal of Sharkmen tomorrow. Do not forget that unlike the world of men, in Mer''s world, society, politics, power and survival bisect. A tribe that grows weak becomes combat fodder, and should it grow weaker still, it becomes food. For this reason, an Ordo Knight or militia Wing Commander must tacitly acknowledge that whatever their feelings are for the present wave of a Mermen Tide, chances are they are battling the weakest member of a Shoal''s food chain at any given time.

    Think of the Shoal as an onion, the Meister advised; the outer layers of the Shoal are the weakest and the most brittle but also cover the largest surface area, consisting of the fodder troops. Strip it, and the Shoal gives way to expendable shock troops, core infantry, siege, freight, magical units, and the Elemental nobility at the centre.

    In the eternal battle against the Mer, we must never forget that the Demi-Humans of the sea consist of a hundred thousand conflicting interests cowed by a hierarchy of predation and violence. Should the widely feared Wave Witches or the shrimp-headed Coral Knights lose enough numbers to control their subordinate Clans, the instinctual desire of their next-of-kin is to usurp their betters and fill the vacuum of power. An Elemental noble may interfere with natural succession, but they cannot halt the ingrained credo tattooed into the Cores of the Sea Folk.

    In this manner, Lady Sobel''s unique talents enabled Lord Kilroy''s rapid pacification of the Coral Sea and the reclamation of the East Coast (diagram IV.ii). She directly challenged the core infantry, lured their magical and siege units to the surface, and disrupted the innate "hierarchy" of the Shoal...

    Which was why¡ªGwen supposed¡ªhere she was, reenacting Sobel''s gambit like a dutiful daughter playing at dress-up.

    "Ready," Richard levitated a dozen meters away, bobbing now and then like a dandelion as his Flight magic fought the wind. "Lulu?"

    Lulan hovered close, surrounded by seven gleaming blades, each as wide as her thighs and twice as long. Together with the thrumming claymore beneath her feet, she and her Naga Spirit controlled eight slabs of death-dealing iron.

    "Leave anything large and armoured to me." The Sword Mage scanned the brimming waters half a kilometre below them. "Assuming they could even fly this high."

    "I like Lulu''s confidence," Gwen''s cousin assured her. "Start whenever."

    Gwen, too, felt confident that between Richard''s soft barriers and Lulan''s ability to deflect the rest, she should have no fears of losing control of her grand summons. Therefore, she took a deep breath, ensured that Almudj''s Essence had well-tempered her vital conduits¡ªthen activated her tandem-layered Void Shield.

    In an eye-blink, her world grew dark and devoid of sight and sound, producing a sensory deprivation chamber. The experience wasn''t pleasant, but she needed total concentration for what was to come.

    That and she required privacy, for the euphoria that would soon flood her torso would tax her mind to its utter limits as she sought to balance the debit and credit of Void drain and vitality.

    "I am beginning," she informed the others through their Dwarven-forged Communication bangles, then sang the forbidden invocations thrifted from her Master''s belongings at Tryfan, spellshaping a spell she now knew almost by reflex.

    Wellington.

    WETA.

    Petra Kuznetsova, yet another "roommate" of the Devourer, stepped back from the Teleportation Circle with a face full of satisfaction.

    "Amazing." Magister Kawhena circled the complex, multi-layer Mandala with an expression of awe. "What was that, eight minutes?"

    "Just past seven," one of his aids could hardly keep his mouth closed. "Magus Kuznetsova, what were those¡­ tentacles?"

    "Naga heads," Petra clarified that, yes, she did indeed possess a multi-headed Draconic Mineral Spirit. Upon her arrival, she had decided to impose the full extent of her significant script-scribing powers because she wanted to examine the rest of WETA''s Glyph work. According to her briefing, the original inscriptions were personally composed by Gwen''s Master, which was then perfected by generations of Oceania''s best Transmuter-Enchanters. With it, she could help her cousin decipher more of Henry''s Elven library.

    "Activate!"

    With a final invocation, the Teleportation Circle triggered with a hum, meaning she could relax. Her Cambridge companion, Jaxon Reid, would maintain the central station here while she dove down below.

    "Master, is it prudent to allow an outsider into the Core Chamber?" a student indiscreetly whispered, perhaps forgetting that there were Mermen outside, and she had just ensured none of them would die.

    "As always, the Shard thinks they own the place," someone else remarked.

    All around Petra, she could sense the fluctuation of emotions like a rippling pond of summer insects. As a Mind Mage trained to detect such thoughts, she could empathise with their frustration at perceiving such a difference in skill and resource.

    Unlike in London, Teleportation Circles were a rare art in the Frontier for expenditure and security reasons, known only to very senior members of the magical hierarchy. Yet, here she was, not only inscribing a Mandala from scratch but doing so through a semi-autonomous Spirit capable of filling in the details while she inscribed the framework.

    Other than Magister Kawhena, she could smell the sour odour emitting from the mouths of these astonished Wellington Mages. They too had worked hard their whole lives. They too, were considered the best¡ªuntil they met Petra. And to add fuel to the fire, Petra was both young and beautiful, which, when combined, made Kawhena''s men lament the unfairness of life.

    That was why Petra loved her work among the Dwarves. She had felt most at home in the Bunker''s workshops, for the Engineseers ignored her looks, poked fun at her Enchantments, and put her through the same wringer as any Journeyman.

    Ding!

    A Message spell bloomed beside her ear.

    "Kuznetsova, I''ve finished the relay at Wright''s Hill Bunker. Do you copy?"

    "Copy, dissipation register only at level one." Petra confirmed the connection between the Divination Sigils carved into the Lesser Teleportation Mandalas.

    "Excellent. Mine says two. We can transfer the WETA team anytime. Do you have enough HDMs? Can we switch to WETA''s signal?"

    "Yes, and yes." Petra glanced at the knee-high latticed boxes of HDMs taken from her Dwarf-forged Storage Ring for Golem units. What would these men think if she told them she also had a utility Golem currently occupying half the space? That she had anticipated digging their cold corpses out of WETA''s ruins?

    "Good work, Jaxon. Ross will oversee the relay at WETA with Magister Kawhena''s men while I link our Divination Devices with the superstructural Mandala array."

    "How''s our leader?" the Translocation Specialist asked. "Good news? Since we''re not evacuating yet."

    "Gwen should soon be beginning her Purge on the main column," Petra replied. "We''ll know whether we''re defending Wrights Hill or celebrating by the hour. Can you set up our next waypoint?"

    "Leaving now," Jaxon announced the conclusion of his task. "Confirming Senior Apprentice Jones of WETA will oversee the waypoint at Wright''s Hill."

    "H-hello!" A voice said over the communication channel.

    "Confirmed," Petra looked to WETA''s Magister. Now, she needed access to the internal superstructure to patch their Divination Glyph array into the academy''s decades-old systems.

    "I can hardly believe it, but all battle stations are clear," Kawhena affirmed that they had a few hours of rest before the Shoal sent out more of its fishy feelers. "Magus Bai says she''s with something called ''The Caliban''. Does that sound right?"

    "That would be Gwen''s Familiar," Petra reassured the Magister. "I would like to begin on the Divination array. Magister, if you could?"

    "Of course." Kawhena willed away his Apprentices.

    Once more, Petra stood at the centre of the group''s loudly broadcasting emotions, suddenly self-conscious for wearing a pair of prohibitively priced Parisian boots of Flight, naturally a gift from Gwen. Besides her, WETA''s administrator completed the secret Glyph work near the Mandala module, allowing a section of it to slide apart, revealing a manhole just wide enough to fit a single Mage.

    "Be very careful," Kawhena warned her. "Divination Arrays begin at C-44-B8, touch nothing else."

    "I shall take the greatest care," she replied as she levitated downward, noting how comfortable and Dwarven the humble access tunnel looked.

    Plop!

    Plop¡ª!

    P-plop¡ª!

    The distinct sound of giant, goo-slathered Void Hydras hitting the water from five hundred meters up wouldn''t impress an Olympic dive judge¡ªbut was enough to arouse the attention of the Merman patrolling the exterior of the Shoal.

    One by twos, sometimes threes, her Hydras plopped into the water, happy as lampreys on a whalefall, swimming free as they pieced the bean-blue surface of the South Sea. Such was the method used by Sobel, one delivered from the shelter of her Dark Egg.

    The rationale behind Sobel''s "drone" warfare was that Human Mages fought terrible aquatic battles.

    Even Richard, whose Undine could call forth a tiny "Shoal" of her brackish cousins, was useless when pitted against water-breathing Elementals formed of the same Plane from which such monsters hailed.

    Gwen, however, had Hydras.

    First and foremost, her creatures need not draw breath. They were alive¡ªbut they lacked the physiology of mortal conjured beasts. When Magister Brown had dissected one of her summoned Hydras, they had found its interior to be more mana than meat, possessing only rudimentary organs, making it akin to primordial organisms.

    When attacking, a Hydra first latched onto its prey, dissolved the entry-point by regurgitating bile consisting of concentrated Void vomit, then injected an admixture of digestive enzymes to break down a prey''s interior.

    Once done, the Hydra''s contracting body would slurp back the admixture, taking everything its gastronomic juices could absorb, from vitality to mana to physical flesh. The whole process then repeated itself until there were only two outcomes.

    In the first scenario, the nourished Hydra, bloated on its new vitality, rapidly grew in size, producing more Void-enzyme and an unendingly voracious appetite.

    In the second scenario, the expenditure of the attack, together with the Hydra''s entropic decay, exceeded the vitality and mana it could absorb, thereby weakening the creature, eventuating in its exit from the Prime Material.

    As the chief researcher behind her aptly named Shoggoth, Brown had proposed a hypothesis that the Quasi-Elemental Plane of the Void might be home to a semi-sentient Mythic consisting of many parts. Brown furthermore hypothesised that Gwen and Sobel''s summons might be components of a being enormous beyond comprehension. The "Void ink" so commonly manifested with Void Magic might be its digestive juices and that Gwen and Sobel''s summons were otherworldly appendages living within its fleshy domain.

    Without evidence to counter the point, Gwen added to the idea, positing a "what if" in which the "manifestation"¡ªone she had negligently named Shub-Niggurath¡ªencompassed the entirety of the Quasi-Elemental Plane, leaving only endless hunger.

    This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    The room had grown silent at her remark, and further discovery was postponed for another meeting.

    But even without further discovery, Gwen deeply suspected that Sobel had used the Hydras, rather than the Dark Sun, on the Mermen Shoals.

    After all, Hydras were self-perpetuating mouths with no need for air, possessing no vulnerabilities to water pressure.

    Considering how a Shoal defended itself¡ªhow could it even begin to withstand Sobel without prescient knowledge to engage the flying sorceress with their elite Elemental units? Not to mention Henry was up there, waiting for the Mer to fall into Sulfina''s traps.

    By the time a Hydra had feasted on a hundred Mermen, what power would be needed to take one down? Her Master had once said that all things came in balance.

    Was her expedience also one of the world''s balancing acts?

    And should she take the thrifted vitality from her Hydras to keep reproducing them from her Dark Egg, what Shoal could stifle the progress of her Lovecraftian swarm?

    L?! Shub-Niggurath!

    May she be the mother of a thousand Dark Young!

    Hell, Gwen giggled in the dark, mindful of how insane she sounded; her milk could even mutate a duck into a Drake!

    But all self-fulfilling fan-fiction aside, Gwen knew that she had a long and brutal fight. Without risking life and limb to enter the depthless water of the South Sea, she and her company couldn''t comprehend that a Shoal wasn''t two dimensional¡ªbut a three dimensional, dynamic wall of foes.

    For all Gwen knew, the Shoal could just... fuck off and leave her hungry and hanging.

    From her vantage, the Shoal might look like a large reef buried a meter under the water, but in reality, it was over seven kilometres long, close to three kilometres across, and how deep?

    Not even Lea dared to risk an Elemental Princes'' domain.

    Nonetheless, in the liminal space of the Dark Egg, she formed a mind map from the synaptic feedback from her Hydras, constructing a distant vision only she could know by joining the dots.

    Plop! Plop¡ªPlop!

    Ignoring the onomatopoeic herald of her armageddon worms, Gwen focused on the first wave of Mermen to encounter her creatures. Through her use of Link-Sight, her Hydras possessed the grey-scale vision of Vital Sense, from which she could see a shimmering wall of multi-armed monsters. To her surprise, these were not the Mer-gobs so common in coastal waters but a solid wall of tentacled cephalopods.

    When her swarm of swimming mouths closed in on the wall, the whole school shifted as one, forming an indent as to draw her creatures inward¡ª

    Then as sudden as they had withdrawn, tentacles wielding coral lances emerged by the hundreds, spearing her Hydras, a sight that would make David Attenborough weep.

    Her Hydras made no sound as they became Julius Caesar spear holsters. Quantity, she acknowledged with renewed appreciation, was indeed a quality in itself.

    The Coral Spears used by the native Mermen were simple constructs, crafted, according to Meister Melchior, in the Reef Gardens of Wave Witches specialised in crafting armaments. The older the coral, the stronger its lattice-woven structure and the more potent its innate magic. The process was positive primitive compared to Dwarven Magi-tech, child-like when pitted against Sylvan Glyph-etching, but had an insurmountable advantage in one regard.

    Time and quantity.

    Reefs as old as time itself, existing near vents exposed to Elemental tears, were as common as marsh iron for the deep crafters. Therefore, even the most basic "Wand-like melee implements" wielded by the lowest footman of the Mer-armies were as powerful as uncommon Shock Wands crafted by mid-tier Enchanters. Sometimes, fishermen could accidentally recover tridents tipped with coral fragments from three different Elements, capable of delivering electric, fire and ice-based attacks simultaneously.

    Which meant the spears wielded by these Humboldt Squid-folk individually dealt inconsequential damage to Gwen''s Hydras¡ªyet nonetheless transformed her creatures into pin-cushions.

    It was a shame that her Hydras were veritable Honey Badgers, incapable of caring for mortal injury when their innards consisted of little more than collated cosmic hunger. With the school of squids so close, those capable of doing so simply arched their serpentine necks¡ªreleased its internal vomit of tentacle tongues, latched on¡ªthen began to grow.

    If the Void-aura inherent to her creatures had slowed the squids earlier, the inundation of Void-matter compelled by the influx of vitality was enough to slow the squids closest to her monsters.

    Like a squid and lamprey orgy, her monsters and their Mer-partners flayed and clawed at orifices, tearing with tooth and nail, tentacle and teeth-lined lips, one growing larger and stronger while the other quickly grew limp.

    More spears attacked her creatures, penetrating those busily mating stomachs to colour-changing flesh.

    It took six to twelve seconds to produce anywhere between one and three Void Hydras via the modified Conjure Elemental Swarm, meaning she was averaging twenty summons per minute. By her mental count, almost ten minutes had passed.

    And some two hundred Hydras were in those waters, feasting on Squids, with the rest of the Shoal merely spectating the chaos like gamblers in a terrier pit.

    The result was hungrier and larger Void fiends that instantly broke off from the attack, this time roping two squids a piece into their embrace.

    Very soon, here, there, and seemingly everywhere in the school of converging Squid-folk, her slug-like manifestations sought to fill a bottomless hunger, heedless of their injuries, caring only for the next morsel.

    With a grunt, Gwen took hold of the morbid pleasure from the incoming vitality and transmuted the euphoria into Void expenditure. Then, she Messaged her companions to be ready for retaliation.

    After the squids, there would be stronger Mermen, then after that, hopefully, something more substantial.

    According to Meister Melchior''s notes of the Coral Sea War, the Mermen''s command doctrine emphasised absolutes. A well-loved subordinate rarely received direct orders from a superior, for they who could anticipate their Master or Mistress'' desires with absolute clarity. In a Shoal, therefore, explicit orders were given and obeyed with disdain and loathing¡ªwith only details such as "attack here", "hold here", and "kill this creature". A good subordinate was expected to survive and succeed on initiative alone¡ªwhile the poor were right to perish, making way for more worthy attendants.

    Gwen only hoped she wouldn''t be stuck in this state for hours.

    The incoming vitality was now making her spell-weaving fingers unsteady and the interior of her Da-peng suit clammy. She instantly pacified her numbing body with a jolt of Almudj''s Essence, feeling as though someone had flooded her conduits with liquid peppermint.

    With a clearer head now, she began to feed the excess vitality into Caliban, concurrently informing her Familiar that once it was done chumming with Yue, she would very likely re-manifest it to fight whatever monster would soon rise from the Shoal''s deepest interior.

    Prince Shyvaphyr, Seventeenth in line to the Coral Throne, lounged in his whalebone settee, carved out from the skull of a long-term rival, listening to the bickering of his subordinates.

    A part of him told him he should be glad, for the chance to liven one''s life from the eternal trials of the Viridian Enclave was rare and a privilege many of his siblings fought over, often to the exhaustion of their Cores. Yet, Shyvaphyr felt comparatively ambivalent, for his task was a thankless objective compared to the prize his regal sister sought in the Human city called Auckland.

    But thankfully, entertainment had arrived.

    Presently, the Shoal was under siege.

    It was a prospect that stirred Shyvaphyr''s twin hearts, for his anticipation was that he would slowly doze away the light cycles while waiting for the city to be erased from the headland, then join his sister after she''s had her share of slaughter. The bipedal humanoids on the surface may only be food, but they were an industrious lot. The loot from Humanity always involved interesting gadgetry perfect for wasting time, and their Mages were an excellent sport. For that reason, those who returned with the most thralls, and the most unusual items, could enjoy long cycles of exaltation among the Seafolk''s upper circles.

    As for the attack on his Shoal, Shyvaphyr listened in wonder as the Wave Witches recounted the result of their Far Sight.

    "Otherworldly lampreys with scales the colour of jet!"

    "The foe numbers only in the hundreds, but they''re wreaking havoc!"

    "The Jabia Clan! Consumed by half, then fled!"

    "And the other half is dinner for the Mahi Marauders, I assume," Shyvaphyr blew a stream of bubbles. That was the way of the Shoal. In each layer, each species had to maintain their territory, or they would not receive their share of food or spoils and become food and spoils to their neighbours. "How are the Marauders fairing against this foreign Lamprey swarm?"

    "No fairer," a Siren Sea Witch reported in her sing-song manner of speech, both gills bristling with blushes of pink. "The Lamprey creatures appear indomitable."

    "Nonsense!" Shyvaphyr scoffed. The Dragon-kin were indomitable. His kingly father, the Deep Drake Miommiriorthyr, was indomitable. With their Dragon Turtles matron, he and his sister were somewhat indomitable.

    Human Mage fodder¡ªindomitable? Was the Witch drunk on the landmen''s fermented fruits?

    "How many Mages are there?" Shyvaphyr rolled all four of his eyes. "Two? Three Flights? Who would have thought this ''Wellington'' would be so well defended?"

    "Great Prince," the Siren constrained her hovering bubble of Far Sight, then drifted closer so Shyvaphyr could see without craning his serpentine neck. "There isn''t a Mage Flight. There''s just¡­"

    Shyvaphyr invaded the Sea Witches'' sorcery with a mere twitch from his regal whiskers, causing the Siren to shiver as his Dragon Fear caressed her splendiferous scales. With a hand on the female''s waist, Shyvaphyr penetrated her mind.

    There was an egg hovering somewhere above the Shoal.

    A dark egg that reminded Shyvaphyr of the floating spawn left behind by the Kraken-kin, drifting with the oceanic currents in the depth of the Plane of Water until the surviving few, chosen by fate and chance, spawned into ravenous, all-consuming monstrosities.

    From the egg, tiny lampreys no larger than Shyvaphyr''s fingers emerged from slits in the Prime Material, falling an uncertain distance until they struck the red-brown water below, dyed pink by the blood of his panicked Shoal.

    When he shifted his gaze outward, he saw a Human sorceress patrolling the egg, riding on what appeared to be an enormous melee implement.

    Another human, a male, laid barrier after barrier of veiled water, likely warding against the Marid Wave Witches under Shyvaphyr''s command.

    Elsewhere, nearer the coast, Shyvaphyr felt the shimmering Essence of a kindred being¡ªa Greater Draconid like himself, a curious existence, but not one that could measure up to the full might of his Shoal.

    And that was the extent of the Siren Witches'' clairvoyance.

    Of the suspects, the Mages were different to the usual foes Shyvaphyr encountered on his rare excursions to the surface¡ªthe Draconid he could negotiate with¡ªbut the squid-ink egg was something that made Shyvaphyr''s scaled brows furrow.

    As a near-immortal of the Shoreless Seas, Shyvaphyr and his ilk lived long lives and possessed extensive memories.

    Therefore, his pulsing frontal lobe told him that the "Dark Egg" was a known phenomenon¡ªhe was sure of it.

    Some cycles ago, there had a brief lull in the unending civil conflicts between the Seven Kingdoms when enormous rents in the Prime Material opened, allowing innumerable numbers of Sea Folk to pass. Salsabeel, the Supreme Seat of the First Swell, had issued a crusade to reclaim the coastal "farmlands" of the Prime Material. Shyvaphyr''s home reef, Manhal, had also taken part in the slaughter, laying waste to Humanities'' coastal cities.

    Somewhere within those dimmed and indistinct impressions, Shyvaphyr recalled the stories from the shallow reef. There had been a Human sorceress who possessed the same pale skin as the Deep Witches who had never seen sunlight, whose "Spellcraft" conjured flesh-eating blood worms that ate their way through entire Shoals.

    If Shyvaphyr''s memory served, the entire Eastern Shoal had collapsed because of the infamous sorceress, leaving legions of scattered warrior Mer to fend for themselves on the Prime Material. When finally the magic users found their way back to the Plane of Water, Manhal''s Coral Guards gleaned that six Shoals, including a Great Shoal, had perished to the wielder of worms. As the price for their retreat, several Wave Witches had their Coral Gardens given up for gladiatorial spoils and their Essences consumed by Shyvaphyr''s father. From these inherited insights of the survivors, Shyvaphyr now recollected the vague memory of this "dark egg".

    There was another memory of note¡ªthat the sorceress of the flesh worms was no longer a part of Humanity''s defence but fended for herself by working with Demi-humans such as his kinfolk from the Queendom of Gak.

    Of course, from the looks of what he was now witnessing¡ªhe could disregard that possibility entirely.

    "Her Lamprey-kin grow stronger through battle," Shyvaphyr''s slitted eyes narrowed with displeasure. "The ones nearer the surface aren''t nearly so fierce."

    Shyvaphyr could see the Mahi Lancers piercing the slow-moving lamprey within the Siren''s vision. On impact, a lamprey''s chitin lasted only a split-second before the rods of old coral tore through its innards, entering one side and exiting the others. There would be no blood, only a splatter of grey goo and organ fluids; then, the impaled creature would turn on its attacker, using its improved reach to grapple the Mahi Mermen.

    Most knew well enough to relieve their spear¡ªthose too slow to do so would grow suddenly rigid, then rapidly be consumed by the lamprey even as it received retaliation from others. To disable the black worms entirely, Shyvaphyr realised, would involve its total destruction. A feat the Mahi Lancers could not accomplish with their emphasis on melee and momentum.

    Should he call back the Mahi Marauders? They were a higher echelon troop than the expendable squids, slow-growing and difficult to tame but immensely powerful in the speed-based conflicts of the deep.

    But who should then battle the lampreys? Shyvaphyr knew he should not allow the swarm to penetrate any deeper, for past the Mahi were the giant mantas, beasts of burden used by the Shoal to transport food and supplies. These were themselves enormous food sources¡ªand should the lampreys find these as prey, what might they become?

    Shyvaphyr had no desire to reorganise the Shoal''s lower hierarchies, to re-examine who should fight, who should be fodder and who would be food. The strategy against the Humans was well-known, and he had no desire to be scolded by his sister.

    "There are only three Human Mages above us?" Shyvaphyr asked. "No Tower?"

    "You are astute, Sire," the Siren allowed Shyvaphyr''s fingers to wander, not daring to move a muscle. "Auckland''s Tower remains distant."

    "And these Mages have no mana signatures befitting a Magi?"

    "Not even a Meister, O Sire," the Siren confirmed.

    "And the Morning Star isn''t near?" Shyvaphyr had to be sure. Of all his inherited memories, survivors of the Human Mage called the Morning Star reigned supreme.

    "Sydney is thousands of currents away, Lord Shyvaphyr."

    Now reassured, Shyvaphyr''s lips grew cruel.

    "Then let us pay our challengers a visit, and my cousin of the air, even if the brute intends to feast on my kin," Shyvaphyr announced, simultaneously moving his armoured torso from the whalebone settee.

    Using only his will, Shyvaphyr gracefully slid through the water, his enormous body possessing the agility of a minnow. As his Dragon Fear rippled outward, the inner court cowered.

    "Summon your sisters," he commanded. "Keep the Shoal from infighting in my absence. Protect the manta lines at all costs!"

    "Yes, Great Prince," the Sirens sang praises to their Lord and Master. "Thy will be obeyed."

    "Zitusphyr, Sevphr," Shyvaphyr summoned his guards, younger cousins from his mother''s Clan who were dull of mind but suitably "indomitable" for the purpose of preventing harm from coming to Shyvaphyr.

    Twin titans lifted into the water, each some twelve meters from crowned ridge to barbed tail. Of the Shoal, only Shyvaphyr''s Clansmen and select members of the Wave Witches'' cabal had the confidence to fight in the air. Worse than land, the lack of water and friction made manoeuvring almost impossible for the untrained and untalented.

    Shyvaphyr addressed his men with a bark of Draconic, then banished the Siren''s shared vision, causing the female to stagger back with a delightful moan.

    Three Draconid true-bloods against a sorceress without a complete party and a juvenile blood-kin¡ª Shyvaphyr could not foresee why he still felt so uneasy.

    Momentarily, however, he felt great enlightenment.

    What rewards might his father give if he could capture the worm-wishing sorceress? What fame and glory would await him in the coral halls of Manhal if he should present its gladiatorial arena with an indomitable slave-witch?

    Wellington.

    East Coast.

    Golos bathed in the Haka-song of Wellington''s lowly mortals, snacking on a crab claw while sucking the marrow from a still-living length of Fish-folk. He was happy, very happy, and well-satisfied. A part of him cautioned his Draconic soul against singing the Calamity''s praise, but he was enjoying himself too much to care.

    Earlier, from the air, he saw the Crab-men menace the Calamity''s Mages. So he had landed with style, unleashed a forty-meter long line of life-extinguishing plasma, then inhaled the Essence and vitality of his slain foes by crashing into their lines, clearing the invasion through a counter-invasion.

    Drinking in their pitiful Essence, Golos made sure most of the Mermen would leave their worthless Cores, a matter of great importance to the Calamity''s kin.

    After that, he pounced through the scattered survivors, enjoying the sight of their blue blood splattering against the shattered concrete buildings of the humans, chasing the Mermen up and down his section of the coast until they were either dead or retreated.

    At the dock''s extreme north, he met the team''s mascot, Dede, and the Calamity''s false Kirin.

    He hailed the two with a grunt.

    One made its mewling noises while the other barked an affirmation that foes were subdued. Around the pair were hundreds of slimy Mudkin, each looking more traumatised than the next by their encounter with the duck.

    The mascot was a curious existence, more so an accidental experiment than an elevated minion, reminding Golos of his lesser cousins¡ªcreatures who gained his father''s Essence by fate or consumption, only with the Essence of an Old One. Golos felt a fondness for the multi-coloured duck for its adorable feathers. It is unfortunate then that Dede''s terrestrial body severely limited its Astral development, meaning it would grow obscene and robust¡ªbut would not transcend its earthly coil to become a being halfway between the Prime Material and the Unformed World, as Golos might one millennium, or as Ruxin now aspired to be.

    Comparatively, Ariel lay in the opposite spectrum, being wholly manifested from the Calamity''s psyche, existing most time in the Astral World, and occupying the Prime Material only when willed into being by its mistress. Of the two, Golos felt a kinship toward the Kirin, for its metamorphosis had come from the Yinglong''s stolen Essences, which had led to his meeting with the Calamity.

    His meeting with the Calamity had changed his fate, though as for bane or boon, he could not confirm. In Huangshan, his sire had slumbered since the day the Calamity was driven from the mount by Ayxin. Not even when Ruxin ascended to his new domain had their deified father awakened, leaving the entirety of his earthly realm to Golos and the soft-spined Ryxi.

    Nonetheless, as a divine scion of the Yinglong, Golos could feel in his marrow that some great calamity was coming and that his Calamity would be at the epicentre of the calamitous calamity.

    All in all, very much in style with the Calamity.

    "MABLIK¡ªSLATHALIN¡ª!" A great roar, audible for kilometres from its origin point and barked in Draconic, radiated from the whereabouts of the Calamity''s present battleground.

    "Hmm¡­?" Golos wasn''t for deep thinking and so grew immensely annoying when his rare moment of reflection was interrupted by the intrusion of a fellow Dragon-kin.

    "Quack!" The mascot lifted into the air, making for its Essence dispenser lest she became damaged.

    "EE¡ªEE!" Though the false Kirin could be summoned at a second''s notice, it also took to the air.

    How interesting! Golos sniffed the winds. A distant cousin with blood more diluted than his!

    It was very, very rare that Dragon-kin confronted one another in neutral domains, for there was nothing to be gained.

    A lesser Dragon-kin wants to usurp the Calamity?

    HA!

    Ignoring the gurgling of his guts, Golos felt it was his duty to see the beast bested! Only in witnessing the Void Fiend mangling his kin could Golos vicariously receive the schadenfreude necessary to heal the fissured scar in his Draconic heart, that terrible unmentionable memory that even now inspired week-long bouts of involuntary constipation.

 Chapter 446 - Tempering Steel

    "MABLIK¡ªSLATHALIN¡ª!"

    As the spontaneous sea spout erupted from the Shoal''s surface, a rippling wave of Dragon Fear tore through the firmament above, invisible yet more tactile than a sudden gale.

    Lulan Li, Sword Mage of Huashan¡ªand now the sole Disciple of the White Serpent of Fur Peak, felt the fear envelop her with a silken caress, causing the follicles on her exposed Iron Skin to goosebump until even the roots on her head stood alarmed and erect.

    Then that was it.

    Compared to what she''d suffered when she had first arrived at Huangshan, the fear wasn''t that impressive. Lulan had felt more so intimidated when gazing upon the misty peak of the Yinglong''s White-Jade palace. If she had to judge, Lulan would suggest that even Ryxi, her scripture-loving, art-obsessed White Serpent Master, had exuded a purer, if not older, aura.

    Beside her, Richard likewise shrugged off the Dragon Fear, a feat Lulan could only attest to Richard''s time spent with Gwen.

    Nonetheless, she had to resist her instinct as a trained Swordswoman to fire off all seven of her Falling Star fragments. She couldn''t¡ªfor even with her mana-tempered eyes, there was no seeing past the revolving column of water heralding the rise and arrival of their next foes.

    Knowing that a confrontation would follow before the possibility of diplomacy, she commanded her Naga Spirit to infuse the blades with thrumming mana, furthermore adding the property of Huashan''s Sonic Strike to Ryxi''s modified Panzerschreck.

    But before Lulan could kiss hot steel to cold scale, another team member had better plans.

    "QUACK¡ª!" came a very delayed reply to the Draconic demand, desiring a fight to the death.

    Lulan focused her vision, then grew mute as Gwen''s duck approached from the direction of the city, its neck white with a cone of pressure. With the same motion pushing forward, its rainbow body distorted the Elemental Air around it, supernaturally increasing its velocity.

    Fast!¡ªwas Lulan''s first impression¡ªcertainly much quicker than she could manage while riding on her sword.

    However, even beneath the veil of water, she could sense that their foes were far beyond human ken. Even masked, the central figure''s silhouette was more imposing than Lord Golos and twice as thick and heavy.

    Plop!

    Another Hydra broke free of the inky surface of the Void egg. Behind herself and Richard, her saviour continued her dark art of Consumption and would require uninterrupted spellcasting.

    Now closer and quickly ascending, the duck shrieked toward the sea spout pillar.

    "HOFIBA!!" came a retort from within the toiling cyclone.

    Lulan agreed with the Draconic riposte. In the next moment, the duck struck the wall of water, instantly forming a semi-sphere where it penetrated, splicing and parting the veil, creating an opening almost thirty meters from end to end.

    Within, Lulan caught sight of their foes for the first time.

    Dragon Turtles! Her heart rate shot to its utmost limits, blushing her Iron Skin a shade darker. Not quite Mythics, but close enough if stories from her childhood rang true. These, Lulan could see, were descendants from the legendary Bixi, the ninth scion of the Shenglong, historically sent to pacify the raging rivers of waterlogged Hangzhou. After the fall of the Jade Emperor, the Bixi was said to have fled from its duty and entered the China Sea, becoming one of the Warlords of the Four Seas, transforming its erstwhile guardian-self into a raging menace.

    Her knuckles grew bone-white.

    Not from the nerves of facing such a foe¡ªbut for the glory of battling, perhaps even slaying such a beast. If Ryxi''s tipsy musings were correct, then such a duty of subjugation was in the very foundation of her arts! Aeons ago, when Dynastic God-Kings reigned, the Daoshi Swordsmen''s foremost duty was to hunt down monsters in the guise of Gods such as these and bring prosperity and peace to a disquieted land!

    Of course, nowadays, the Communist Party executed such endeavours through fleets of Golem-mounted artillery travelling on NoM-crewed battle rails with Shielding Barriers. Still, the point remained that thanks to Gwen, she would hunt the scions of Mythics and subjugate legendary monsters, allowing her to live like the Swordswomen of the old world, just as Ryxi foretold!

    But before her spirit could soar¡ªLulan bore witness to a terrible sight.

    Dede the duck, that boisterous, arrogant thing waddling all over Gwen, was no match for the leading Dragon Turtle.

    A careless swipe had been enough to divert the duck.

    The strike wasn''t solid¡ªfor the duck was too quick, but the move was more than enough to break its momentum and then send it plunging toward the water like a meteor.

    With a crash of rolling thunder, the duck broke off at an angle and struck the surface below after a few seconds. When it impacted the sea, the collision left a streak of white water a kilometre long.

    Dede Duck! Lulan winced. Defeated! And hopefully not dead, lest Gwen declares total war.

    "To be perfectly honest," Richard remarked some distance drily away. "I am not sure what I expected."

    "Is Dede going to be okay?" Lulan asked in case.

    "Gwen would know," the Water Mage returned with a snicker. "It''ll take a while to heal, and Dede should be fine fairing against the Mermen below. At any rate, I think it best if Dede isn''t here to mess with our next battle."

    Lulan agreed. The duck was a good lad¡ªbut it was a duck after all, and these were Dragon Turtles. Just as with Lord Golos, if things got serious between the duck and the princeling, she was sure the Wyvern could render Dede into drumsticks in a matter of moments.

    Nonetheless, even if Dede had done nothing in terms of damage, what it did achieve was the dampening of the Dragon Turtle trio''s opening salvo.

    "Get ready," Richard warned her as he moved Lea into place. "If they want to talk, let them. The more time we burn, the more Lampreys Gwen controls."

    Lulan spun her blades in affirmation.

    Some distance away, the Dragon Turtles discarded the water spout column, which Lulan guessed was a form of mobility magic that empowered the oceanic creatures'' rapid ascent.

    The leading turtle was a brute of a beast, a bipedal mountain of keratin hammered by some undersea God-forge into a vaguely humanoid dreadnaught. Its head, Lulan could see, was indeed that of the legendary Dragon''s, consisting of a pair of stunted stag horns just above the eye-ridge, framing a crested neck shrunken into the shelled body. Unlike its compatriots, the leader possessed two pairs of eyes, one set closer to the armoured nostrils, the other more toward the brow-ridge of the head. Its beak was hooked like a Griffin''s, its interior lined with barbed, backward teeth for swallowing large prey wholesale.

    As it hovered closer, Lulan took note of the Dragon Turtles'' stumpy legs. Unlike the ever graceful Lord Golos, this creature possessed flippers for forelimbs and clawed elephant legs for its lower half, reminding her of the tortoise Ryxi kept as a pet brush holder.

    Less than a hundred meters away, the Dragon Turtle trio struck Richard''s first defence barrier, covered by a sheet of suddenly-materialising brackish water.

    "WUX BEV¨ªL!" The leading Dragonkin exploded with outrage, followed by a sharp gathering of multi-Elemental mana.

    As anticipated, these monsters firmly believed in martial diplomacy.

    "Richard¡ª!" Lulan shot forward, meeting the incoming Dragon Breath with four of her seven blades, crossing into the blast''s path to deflect the incoming blow. From the trajectory, she could see it was directed at her saviour, the source of the Void Hydras.

    Dissonant to Lord Golos'' instantaneous line of lightning, the leading turtle''s breath consisted of a vortex of swirling steam, combining superheated seawater with rapidly vaporising Elemental Air. On contact, Lulan felt something like a force of nature striking her metal blades, flash-smelting the unyielding slabs until her cold steel grew malleable.

    "BLADE SHATTER¡ª" she delivered the invocation, splitting the white-hot vortex with bisecting blasts of expanding metal.

    Despite her efforts, the conic blast shot forth, deflected but undeterred, punching through a dozen of Richard''s membranes until he redirected the final dozen meters with a pressurised jet blast as thick as Lea was tall.

    "Wocao!" Lulan swore, manifesting four spares behind her. Was this the power of a Dragon Turtle? She wasn''t sure how committed the thing was¡ªbut that single blast had Water, Positive Energy, and even Elemental Air. "Richard¡ª we need to stop that thing!"

    Perhaps surprised that its attack wasn''t enough to reach Gwen''s Dark Egg, the Dragon Turtle barked something at its lesser siblings.

    They opened their mouths.

    "No need to fret," Richard restored his multi-layered defence matrix even as he spoke. "Get ready to go on the offence. Our help is here!"

    Lulan''s eyes glanced to their right.

    "POL VHIRA!" The cry from Lord Golos arrived no sooner than his enormous head¡ªbodily crashing into one of the junior Dragon Turtles while his tail whipped at its sibling.

    Both Dragon Turtles moved instantly into defence mode, shrinking their softer body parts into their shells, allowing Golos only glancing blows against the exterior of their barnacle-caked shell.

    CRA¡ªCRACK!

    The snap of the horn and tail on jutting Draconic keratin was enough to ignite the air, sending down a shower of blue-white sparks, resulting from friction as much as Golos'' plasma-charged body.

    Both turtles reeled from the ambush, splitting from their formations like cue-broken balls breaking for either pocket of a billiard table.

    "Wuxh ornla symba mrith nomenoi mabliki?" The leading Dragon Turtle did not attack but coldly regarded the pleased-looking Golos, currently levitating without moving an inch, heedless of the whipping winds conjured by the Sea Dragons. Lulan''s Draconic was lacking, but she could make out something vaguely resembling a submission trial.

    "Ha! That''s no mortal you''re challenging," Golos retorted in the language of "mortals" so that Lulan and company could fully utilise their Translation Stones. "Stay around and keep fighting if you dare, cousin. Sooner or later, you''ll be begging for the sweet embrace of the Unformed Land."

    Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

    The Dragon Turtles barked back.

    Was that a signal to attack?

    Lulan once more charged her blades with sonic vibrations, wondering if direct strikes could penetrate a shell that had stopped Lord Golos'' attack cold.

    "O scion of the Tempest Torn," the Dragon Turtle halted its enraged siblings from retaliating. Perhaps to show respect to Golos, it was now also speaking a language her Stone could decipher. "Rare is the need for conflict among Dragon-kin. If we three must endure the dance of death, I wish to know the name of yours and her Sire."

    Lord Golos grunted. "Golos, fourth Scion of He who Answered, the Yinglong."

    Gwen, still in her egg, said nothing.

    Though Lulan knew Golos'' origins from Ryxi, hearing the Wyvern quote an exert from the Analects of the Mountains and the Seas made her Iron Skin prickle. Even now, her mind struggled to accept that she, a mere Sword Shaman from Huashan, was now standing shoulder-to-snout with mythical beings.

    "And I am Shyvaphyr, seventeenth scion of He who slumbers in the Crown of Corals, the great Miommiriorthyr," the Dragon Turtle professed a more impressive-sounding title than Golos'' father. ¡°These young ones are Zitusphyr and Sevphr, my kinsmen.¡±

    The two Dragon-kin measured one another. Golos was the scion of a true Mythic¡ªand though Lulan knew nothing of the Sea Dragons, she could only assume the oceanic descends of the Bixi was older still. As for the Yinglong, she knew that the Dragons of yore from Chinese creation legends were already ancient.

    Plop¡ªas if to punctuate their present circumstances, a volley of hungry and deadly things dropped from the bottom of Gwen''s egg-shell defence. The interruption was subtle, but the birth of yet another lamprey was enough to disrupt the respectful silence between Golos and Shyvaphyr.

    As validation for her troubles, Gwen had sown enough anarchy to validate the Dragon Turtles visiting in person.

    "Move aside, kindred of the tempest," the Dragon Turtle craned its neck in an attempt at intimidation, uncoiling another four or five meters of muscle and carapace from within the shell. As it spoke, steam rose from both its nostrils and the tooth-gaps of its enormous maw. "Our business is with the Conjurer behind you. Just as well, we are content to oblige if you wish compensation for your spoiled sport with your female."

    Golos'' response was to move between it and the Dark Egg behind them. At the same time, the Thunder Wyvern changed air currents around Gwen''s egg with only his will, sending her Void shelter adrift. "The Scion of the Yinglong bows to no one, not even ancient Miommiriorthyr."

    The Dragon Turtle was not surprised by Golos'' refusal.

    "A welcome insolence from our cousin of lightning¡ª!" In Lulan''s eyes, Shyvaphyr''s face possessed an amazing ability for expression, considering her foe was a lizard in a half-shell. Yet, the sadistic glee was palpable. "Than I shall take the witch prisoner, and your Lord Father can pay the Coral Crown a lair''s ransom to retrieve you and your pet!"

    Golos grinned in return¡ªwith Lulan recognising the secret thrill running through the Wyvern''s spine.

    Before the Dragon Turtle even took its next breath, Lulan raised the mana in her conduits to their utmost allowance.

    "VATAKA!" Shyvaphyr unleashed an aural assault in Draconic, warping the air as the power word rang out like a tolling bell. The command struck like a spark of electricity, triggering all the primal phantasms within Lulan''s complying body. Her knees bent only slightly before her Naga Spirit negated the rest.

    Not far, Richard''s face grew ripe as cherries as he forcibly resisted the mental compulsion.

    As for Gwen¡ªLulan felt confident that even if her saviour had heard the Draconic command, she couldn''t care less.

    The split second after Lulan felt her mind restored; everything happened everywhere simultaneously.

    SCHWING¡ª!

    "Falling Star Sword!" Lulan sent three blades shrieking toward Shyvaphyr, while two and two made for the bodies of Turtle Zi and Turtle Se, whose names she could not recall.

    Richard followed with the final syllables of a nursed invocation, causing the watery membranes to explode into mist, visually obfuscating his and Gwen''s whereabouts behind thick veils of shifting haze.

    Golos barged bodily into the leading Dragon Turtle, going for the throat.

    Below the wrestling drakes, the junior Dragon Turtles responded with their breaths attacks aimed at Gwen.

    Mid-tussle, Golos swept the smaller turtles with his Lightning Breath. Ignoring the Thunder Wyvern, Shyvaphyr turned his body, swinging his enormous shell so that he spun, head, tails, arms and all, propelled by gusts of superheated steam, transforming his body into a living disc of Draconic destruction.

    In the chaos, Lulan could only focus on foes she was confident of besting. Her sword connected at the same time as Golos'' attack. The blades on Turtle Zi struck only glancing blows, slicing off chunks of keratin before exploding into a thousand shards, embedding into the shell and the scaled-hide surrounding Zi''s left flank and limbs.

    Turtle Se had less luck, catching a sword in a gap between his armoured plating, allowing Lulan''s Sonic Blade to dig an arm''s length inward before it erupted, tearing out a gory chunk of scale and flesh about the size of her head.

    Much to Lulan''s alarm, Lord Golos'' breath of plasma did little more than singe and disorientate the turtles, serving as testaments to the futility of Dragons fighting one another with breath attacks¡ªratifying why Shyvaphyr had chosen a more direct approach.

    Lulan allowed herself to free fall, attempting to gain distance without drawing attention.

    Unlike herself, Lord Golos did not possess skills akin to Misty Step¡ªbut even so, the Thunder Wyvern had greater agility than the spinning turtle could match. With a twist of his enormous wings and serpentine body, Golos avoided the slicing body-barge of the Dragon Turtle, then gave the centre a resounding smack with his clubbed tail, sending another shower of electric sparks to dance across the still-accelerating Draconic-discus.

    Lulan''s mana pool dipped as she manifested seven more blades, charging each with more weight and rigidity than their expired siblings.

    "EE¡ªEE¡ª!" A clarion cry answered from somewhere below, less than a quarter-kilometre from the churning surface of the Shoal.

    Ariel, who must have been waiting in ambush, now let loose a double-volley of Lightning Orbs from its horns, violently vivifying the underside of Turtle Zi and Se. The attack wasn''t enough to damage the two¡ªbut was enough to paralyse both creatures for the second or two needed for Lulan to re-launch her blades.

    This time, she sent the lot toward where Shyvaphyr''s shell was weakest¡ªthe area near its rectum where several plates met.

    SCHWING¡ª!

    SCHWING¡ª!

    SCHWING¡ª!

    CLANG¡ª!

    To Lulan''s chagrin, the smaller turtles shrugged off Ariel''s attack, adopted the defensive spin used by Shyvaphyr, and then deflected her blades so that not a single one could lodge themselves.

    To get to the big one, Lulan accepted, she would have to hack through the small ones.

    With a titillating wail, she switched tactics, forming her blades into an overlapping pattern so that all seven combined into a circular saw-blade edged with gleaming steel for teeth. Using the same magic that propelled the blades, her spellshaped Falling Stars engaged, becoming a whirling disc of death.

    Fighting the strain on her mind, she sent the blade-circle wheeling for the wounded Dragon Turtle, the dubbed Se.

    "EE¡ªEE!" Twin volleys of Chain Lightning erupted from Ariel''s horns, connecting both their foes. Unfortunately, the third jump fell short as the Elemental Lightning died, repelled by Shyvaphyr''s absurd natural resistance.

    SCHW¡ªKREEEEEE¡ª

    Lulan''s makeshift sword wheel connected with Turtle Se, engendering a blaze of sparks. The instant her sword-wheel kissed the counter-spinning Dragon Turtle, she lost control of three implements, sending the metal to bounce into the uncertain distance.

    The momentum of her attack lasted only a few seconds, but it was enough, for Lulan felt the satisfying thunk of a blade crunching into soft flesh and striking bone.

    At last! The Sword Mage congratulated herself. She couldn''t see among the arcs of plasma, the screeching embers from the screaming metal and the rippling howls from Golos and Shyvaphyr''s deadly tango of teeth and claw, but it was enough.

    "BLADE SHATTER!"

    The Sword Mage pumped nearly one-tenth of her total mana pool into the blast, forcing the iron into complete disintegration, propelling a thousand razors of flesh-rending metal.

    From near Turtle Zi''s neck, a crimson flower of scale and flesh blossomed, the fragments of which made plinking sounds as they passed Lulan''s whistling air space, bouncing off her Iron Skin.

    "GUAWRRRK!" The Dragon Turtle roared in protest¡ªthough it remained uncowed. Perhaps because the wound was shallow or the Dragon Turtle was too vital, the wounded beast barged toward her, hell-bent on pounding her into mincemeat.

    Cursing, Lulan formed a sacred invocation using her off-hand digits, rapidly invoking the silent syllables of her next spell.

    The enormous claymore she had held underfoot finally rose to action.

    KRUNG!

    The charging Dragon Turtle struck her steel barrier. Lulan tasted something iron and hot in her mouth as the pressure in her chest mounted. Then, the beast began its death roll.

    Heavy! Lulan grunted in silence, swallowing the blood bubbling forth from her overcharged capillaries. These junior turtles may not be anything like the one Lord Golos was fighting. Yet, they still possessed the strength of industrial-sized Golems.

    "Parry!" she commanded her remaining blades to converge, shifting the weight of the turtle''s charge as its weight bore down on her lithe figure.

    Quickly, she glanced to see that Richard and Ariel were keeping Turtle Zi busy.

    For a few seconds, all she could hear was the sound of screeching metal-on-metal as her sword-forged net grew concave. Between her tortured grunts, Lulan heard Richard''s voice warning her to dodge.

    "Misty Step!" She evaded by reflex, then instantly regretted her unthinking action.

    Using her sword net as something akin to a springboard, the wounded Dragon Turtle Se ricocheted from her conjured implements to move straight toward Richard''s general direction somewhere in the mist.

    "Dick!" Lulan cried out, not even using her Message Device. "Watch out!"

    To her horror, the Dragon Turtle possessed the means to affect Elemental Water in a manner no less than Richard''s Lea. An enormous localised vortex formed as the creature passed, dispersing Richard''s visual obfuscation, revealing the levitating form of Gwen''s Dark Egg.

    "Cao!" Lulan swore, rapidly aligning each of her remaining blades. She had promised to protect her saviour! Even if it costs her life, she had to ensure that Gwen survived!

    "STAR CHASING SWORD!" The invocation on her lips finished within three seconds. A derivative of Ryxi''s Falling Star variant, the Star Chasing "spell shape" exchanged power for speed and was aimed at interception over that of destruction¡ªeven so, she feared it might be too late.

    Including her claymore, seven streaks of quicksilver launched their foe-seeking selves toward the escaping Dragon Turtle.

    Her spell struck.

    But Lulan''s heart sank.

    The junior Dragon Turtle had missed Richard, tore through his defence barriers, and arrested Gwen''s Dark Egg through manipulating the water even as her swords struck sparks against its shell, with only the claymore lodging into a damaged crack.

    "BLADE SHATTER!" Her mana fell instantly below half as the super-dense metals erupted, peppering Gwen''s Void Shield while sending forth pink specks of butchered turtle, shredded Dragon sinews, and shattered shell-fragments.

    "LOREAT!" Before her swords could re-manifest, a swirling vortex of superheated steam erupted from Golos'' whereabouts, making for Gwen''s barrier.

    Rapidly, the line-based Steam Breath expanded into a cone, enveloping both Turtle Se and saviour.

    "Gwen!" Lulan desperately conjured swords for a barrier so that Gwen could escape the brunt of the attack.

    CLANG¡ª!

    In her haste, she had failed to foresee that Turtle Se could distend its snake-like neck and waylay her implements. When she did see, the Dragon Turtle''s eagle beak had already bit down with a crunch, bending her newly-conjured tools into decommissioned trash. "Richard!"

    "Lulu¡ªhold!" Richard''s warning was not what Lulan wanted to hear. That, or she couldn''t hear Richard''s response, for the swirling steam now struck Gwen''s Dark Egg in full, instantly peeling back the Void layer to roast the double-glazed barriers behind.

    Gwen''s "Gunther" shield lasted a single spell exchange before it shattered.

    Lulan''s Iron Heart grow suddenly hot.

    Her skin took on the dull red hue of tempered steel, and her skull felt possessed by inexplicable tinnitus.

    If I Misty Stepped into the Dragon Turtle''s innermost reach, her mind informed her. Would it be enough to hack the creature down?

    Around her, fresh slabs of iron, each the size of claymores larger than her shaking body, slid forth from rents in the Elemental Plane of Earth.

    "Lulu!" Richard''s voice barked somewhere in the recess of her mindscape, like a man calling from a clifftop. "HOLD!"

    "CALAMITY!" Lord Golos'' Draconic exploded as a thunderclap, shaking her brain like a madman rocking a geranium. "DO IT NOW¡ªOR YOUR FEMALE IS GOING TO LOSE IT!"

 Chapter 447 - Deal with the Devil

    Though Gwen could not immediately participate, she was fully aware of the battle''s rapid developments, first through her Empathic Link with Golos'' spectrum of senses, then through her Sight Link with Ariel.

    When Dede charged in, she had to fight to keep her composure, for nothing had prepared her for the sight of a duck charging a Dragon Turtle, then getting bitch slapped to oblivion.

    Poor Dede! Her heart had leapt from her throat. Her devout defender! Her friend and companion in Cambridge! But despite Dede''s drake-like size and courage, it was still a duck.

    And its foe was a Dragon.

    Therefore, even if Gwen''s first thoughts had been to summon Caliban to avenge her fallen feathered friend, she reminded herself that it took a tastier lure than a duck to entrap a Dragon.

    Sensing her Almudj Essence kicked in, Gwen calmed herself by assuring her disquieted heart that the same power which had regenerated her extremities and her missing innards from Faceless'' assault was within her duck. Considering how much juice Dede had swiped from her since she started feeding the thing, the drake could forgo both wings and regrow spares.

    Therefore, redoubling her efforts, Gwen focused on sending her Hydras past the Sailfish Merfolk with the pretty scales, then persisted in her plot with Golos to entrap the arrogant Dragon Turtle.

    The duo had come up with the plan after Dede had revealed their foe as Golos had advertised, an arrogant princeling unused to tactics and ambushes, cruising only on its superior magics and Dragon Fear, drunk on the slaughter of lesser beings.

    "I''ll keep the bastard entertained." Golos appeared happy to neuter a fellow Dragon-kin. "Let him get his guard down, then Cali can hue-hee-hee¡ª"

    The Thunder Wyvern''s sadistic snicker had left her scalp crawling with ambivalent flushes of guilt and disdain. That her Wyvern murmured with delight and sympathy every time the duo double-teamed a foe was a mental knot only Doctor Monroe of Earth could mend. If Golos were to ascend one day, Gwen could only imagine what horrors a Dragon Golos might bring to the world.

    For now, as her companions fought, her main preoccupation was soothing the conflagration of Positive and Negative energies jostling for dominance within her Astral Body. Her focus was on digging her Hydras deeper, for below the zig-zagging bodies of her worm-skewering foes, she could sense the enormous blobs of vitality levitating below, each no less the magnitude of Garp, the Afaa al-Halak Gwen had tamed in Shalkar.

    However, though Gwen supposed her eventual victory was a given, the number of Hydras she could conjure was limited by her Affinity¡ªand how well her body balanced the parity of ecstasy and entropy incoming from her summoned beings. If left unchecked, Caliban would soon grow bloated¡ªand she would drift into fits of involuntary euphoria.

    "Calamity!" Golos burst through her hyperfocus with a grunt. "This bastard''s got quite the bloodline! Its breath attack is Fire, Positive and Water!"

    The Dragon Turtle, Gwen could see from Gogo''s interactions with the monster, exhaled a hybrid form of highly destructive Elemental Steam, knotted into a foe-broiling vortex.

    A blast that her Lulu deflected, and Richard quenched.

    Her heart warmed to see Lulan doing so well. While she waited for Shyvaphyr''s low cunning to manifest, Gwen gained a new appreciation for her re-acquired companion, her Sword Mage of Huashan. Having received tutelage from Ryxi, Lulu''s fight against the Dragon Turtles was simply spectacular. With every swing from Lulu, Gwen grew glad that she had saved the girl with a Regenerate, even if it were on a whim.

    It would have been nice to let Lulu in on Golos'' plan, but she deeply suspected Lulan was far too honest a combatant. Likewise, if she had told Lulu that her precious Gwen would risk tanking Dragon Breath face-first, the girl would have volunteered to play the lure, permission or otherwise.

    Compared to her companions, only in risking herself was Gwen confident the rewards outweighed the risk.

    To conduct a foe as old and cunning as a Dragon Turtle into an aerial Afaa al-Halak trap meant putting herself in dire danger, for no other member of her party could serve as a sweeter patsy. At the same time, her new armour, wrought from the feathers of aeon-old Dragon-killers, was promised by its Dwarven artisans to keep her safe¡ªthat or she would cook like a rock lobster from the Tasman Sea.

    Lulan''s battle against the two junior Dragon Turtles, Zitusphyr and Sevphr, was going well thanks to well-timed interrupts from Ariel. Richard was also proving annoying enough against poorly matched monsters to keep both herself and Lulu safe. As the battle drew onward, her highly intelligent foes grew impatient, undisguisedly waiting for a breakthrough moment, knowing that her Hydras would soon breach the protective dermis of the Shoal''s defenders.

    SCHWING¡ª!

    "Blade Shatter!" Unlike Richard, whose subtlety made for poor television, Lulan''s gleaming missile blades were made for prime time, making her nerves tingle each time a volley of swords shot forth.

    Even better, Lulan''s swords were now RPGs!

    With every strike, the renamed Falling Star Sword technique paid dividends, allowing Lulu to break armour¡ªthen make a complete mess of whatever she managed to crack open.

    It was Lulu''s bad luck that the Dragon Turtles had stolen the infamous tactic of Gamora, the shelled competitor of Godzilla. With their damned fart-powered Bayblade movements, there was little Lulan could do to make her swords bite, which was causing her and Ariel significant grief.

    "Calamity¡ª!" Golos'' warning came again as he tore himself from the rampaging Shyvaphyr. Against the Thunder Wyvern, the turtle was spinning so fast that Gwen was feeling the onset of a dizzying migraine. Thus far, the two monsters were evenly matched, though Gwen would argue that Golos lacked the grit and stamina of his seaside cousin and would lose without her support. As a Wyvern, Golos'' agility and strength could strike the Dragon Turtle a hundred times before he managed to tear off a chunk of the mythic monster, while Shyvaphyr could snap Golos'' tail or wings in half with one crunch from its snapping turtle beaks.

    "LOREAT!" A rippling wave of raw power made her ears buzz.

    The trap was sprung.

    In response, Gwen clenched her teeth, channelling herself so full of vitality that she was on the verge of losing control.

    "Caliban!" She conjured forth her Familiar just as the Dragon Turtle''s breath came on like an encroaching train wreck, sending bursts of Elemental Steam through every orifice on its face, including between the slits of its eyes, making Gwen wonder if Shyvaphyr boiled its eyeballs every time it attempted a breath attack.

    "Barbanginy!" Compared to Golos, the turtle was so slow that she followed up with a second attack, a Lightning Bolt from Ariel. In stark difference to the unhurried assault from the Dragon Turtle''s omega blast, her lower-tier spells could rapidly dissuade Shyvaphyr from evading Caliban.

    In the chaos, Golos shouted something about Lulan, though all Gwen could hear was the literal roar of death popping her eardrums.

    Her pupils blazed a rich emerald, but not before her furthermost Void shell dissolved, taking a sizeable chunk of her vitality, followed by sudden light¡ªand then the vivid shattering of her double-glazed Gunther barrier.

    A split second later, Gwen became enveloped in a world of pain.

    The agony was, in her mind, acceptable and still a tier or two away from, say, Astral Feedback from Soul Tapping a Balefire Golem. As for the heat, Gwen was a woman who never cooked and so had little to relate to the sensation of superheated water brushing over her armour. From her addled senses, the vortex of Elemental Steam appeared like a scalding stream of water striking a stubborn boulder, splattering in all directions as the energy dispersed, forcing both Richard and Lulan to deploy their defensive spells.

    Meanwhile, withholding its customary "SHAA¡ª!" Her Caliban slipped into the Prime Material just behind Shyvaphyr, her fiend''s body so bloated with stolen vitality that it appeared in the likeness of a crow wearing a fat chicken suit.

    Her Lightning Bolt struck, resolving most of its potential to penetrate Shyvaphyr''s enormous spell resistance. Thankfully, the damage that punctured its multi-layered armour remained rich with Almundj''s disapproval, causing Shyvaphyr to falter for a second longer than the Dragon Turtle could afford.

    Then, in between the chaos of splashing Steam blasts, emerald lightning, shattering sword blades, Bayblade turtles and deflecting water membranes from Lea, a pair of slender, feminine hands, each with six pale fingers sitting opposite to form grasping claws, took hold of Shyvaphyr''s arm and neck.

    Immediately, Gwen realised she''d screwed up.

    It was a miscalculation, for Gwen had imagined that Caliban in its present size would be able to pick up Shyvaphyr like a shoplifting perp. Much to her chagrin, her blunder meant that the Dragon Turtle had the bulk of its girth free to fight back Cali''s attempted death grip.

    Paying no heed to the storm of destruction abusing her body, she commanded Caliban to squeeze.

    "SHAA¡ª!" Caliban obeyed, choking Shyvaphyr so that its squirt of obscene steam was instantly cut short.

    Gwen took the opportunity to reform her shield. As incredible as her Da-peng armour was at repelling Draconic sorcery, a good knock from any of the Dragon Turtles would send her straight to Dede.

    After its moment of paralysis passed, Shyvaphyr slid its long neck forward, twisting so that Caliban tore off fistfuls of bloody scales as the Dragon Turtle forced its luck, attempting to snap off Caliban''s fingers.

    Once more belying Gwen''s expectations, Shyvaphyr succeeded¡ªand was promptly left enraged when three new fingers sprouted from Caliban''s underside, each digit sheathed in digestive goo, to wrangle its neck once more.

    "Beast! Unhand me!" Shyvaphyr commanded in Draconic. "I command¡ª!"

    Gwen gifted the turtle with another jolt of Barbanginy, though the effect appeared diminished.

    "Shut it¡ª!" Golos also swooped in, striking Shyvaphyr''s open maw with his tail club, hitting the Dragon Turtle so hard between the eyes that it instinctively clenched its jaw, almost snapping its tongue.

    By now, Gwen could see Lulan in the flesh. Her Sword Mage was a solid blaze of iron-clad Earthen mana¡ªshe was in her berserker meditation, but she had not lost control. Following Lulu''s trajectory, Gwen saw the reason for the Swordwoman''s use of the dangerous magic.

    To save its Master, the wounded turtle was making a suicide charge.

    "YEEEEE¡ªYAAAAH!" A shrieking expulsion of Qi erupted from Lulan while Gwen gifted Caliban with more vitality, urging it to tear the Dragon Turtle''s head from its body. The likeliness of such a thing happening wasn''t very probable¡ªbut Caliban didn''t know that, and it was bloody well making a good attempt.

    Several sword blasts intercepted the incoming junior Dragon Turtles, with Lulan adding mortal wounds to the one whose shell she had earlier breached.

    In response, Shyvaphyr made a half-choked howl. A solid ripple of Draconic sorcery rang out as an expanding halo. Then, to Gwen''s amazement, superheated steam escaped from every part of its body, not only from its orifices but from gaps between the shell. With a shudder, Gwen realised with awe that the damned thing was rupturing its conduits to cook Cali off its back! If she did that as a human, her body would explode like an overripe persimmon!

    Too bad Caliban didn''t give a shit.

    Smothered with steam, her Void fiend grew only more excited. With another "SHAA¡ª!" It reared its head upward, then opened its tri-petal maw, now the likeness of the Afaa al-Halak it had consumed back in the desert. The skin on Cali''s slender fingers melted, then regenerated, then melted again, melding the digits into the wounded Dragon Turtle''s flesh.

    "ROAR¡ª" Shyvaphyr let loose a Dragon Breath in Caliban''s face, forcing the menacing Golos to disengage rapidly.

    A portion of Caliban''s head turned into fine particles of Void.

    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

    SCHWING¡ª! Two swords flew into the breath, growing red-hot before the brutal metal jammed into Shyvaphyr''s cheeks. With a double Clang!¡ªexplosions kicked the Dragon Turtle''s armoured head with a violent jerk, diverting some of its breath away from Caliban.

    The save¡ªthough much appreciated¡ªwas unheeded. In its Da-peng form and thanks to its regeneration, Caliban''s resistance to Shyvaphyr''s elemental attacks was no less than his against Ariel''s bolts.

    Seeing that their boss was under duress, the twin turtles broke off from their distracted melee with Lulan and Richard, one hobbled and the other hale. Before either could pull into range to martyr her on their cartwheel bodies, Gwen took a second to cut herself from her Hydras, allowing them to roam free. The release meant that her swimming stomaches were free to ravage as they wished¡ªbut more likely, they would eventually become victims of brainless hunger.

    Now freed from her mental burden, Gwen''s fists clenched, sending a frigid jolt of Void mana through her conduits, guaranteeing that Caliban would soon birth a new upper jaw to menace Shyvaphyr.

    Below her, Lulan once more diverted the incoming Zitusphyr and Sevphr, breaking blades against their armoured hides to propel their momentous trajectory from their true path. Richard subtly aided her friend''s efforts, nudging and moving the Dragon Turtles through streaming currents of Elemental Water woven into the air.

    Deciding against wasting vitality and mana, Gwen took command of Caliban as Shyvaphyr attempted to break free by tearing her fiend neck from limb. Once more, the Da-peng form paid its dividends in full, appearing to resist the Dragon Turtle''s strength in true Big Bird fashion, supernaturally neutering Shyvaphyr''s gift of strength. Even where the Dragon Turtle''s claws managed to penetrate the flowing armour of jet-black feathers, Caliban, unlike a real Da-peng, was able to regrow new plumage within seconds, frustrating the enormous turtle drake to no end.

    "Cousin¡ªyou better yield before you break!" And, of course, it didn''t help Shyvaphyr''s ego that Golos had no sense of honour and would take every opportunity to hammer the gong-like belly of the Dragon Turtle with strikes from its lightning-charged mace tail, sending paralysing bolts of electricity into his distant cousin''s Core.

    Before the diverted Zitusphyr and Sevphr could return for another go, Caliban''s re-birthed head emerged with a wet, obscene thrust of its open mouth, clamping Shyvaphyr by the top half of his neck. The Dragon Turtle howled and hooted as jets of arterial blood squelched from around Caliban''s maw, painting the top half of the Big Bird scarlet.

    Gwen once more felt her Divination Sigil crank to overdrive, warning her of the incoming vitality. While she tuned her Astral balance, the anarchic dance of the Da-peng and the Dragon Turtle continued, with Caliban''s stark, feminine fingers growing streaked with gore as it wrestled the slippery sinews.

    Then, just as she began the slow and steady invocation to a Chain Void Bolt, the inconceivable happened.

    Caliban regurgitated a gut full of Void ink into the wound it had made, and like the severed limb of a giant tree, Shyvaphyr''s head clean snapped off at the base, allowing the body to be able to slip free while Caliban made off with the still howling head.

    "SHAA¡ª!" Caliban made a half-choked gurgle as it carried the eel-like neck and belligerent head of "Prince" Shyvaphyr, parading its prehensile prey like a trophy.

    The two junior Dragon Turtles began to panic but were pinned by Ariel''s Chain Lightning and Lulan taking off chunks of armour, sending bits of flayed flesh to splash into the ocean below.

    Before Gwen could command a pursuit of the falling body, the literal flesh wound atop Shyvaphyr''s shoulders mended with the likeness of a puckering something, then promptly shat forth a cream-slathered new head with white scales the likeness of mutton jade. Very quickly, newly grown eyes moved into position along the length of the expanding flesh, with each of the four orbs rolling into place as milky-white tennis balls before birthing slitted pupils within.

    From the fact that the junior Dragon Turtles could ignore wounds but not mend them, Gwen had not expected a self-regenerating Shyvaphyr.

    "Well, shit," she announced to her companions and Familiars. "Think it''ll fall for another trick?"

    "No. But Shyvaphyr is badly winded," Golos assured her, pointing to the turtle''s rear. "And his pride more so. See there! His meat is ripe for rapine! Send forth Caliban!"

    "SHAA¡ª!" Despite still trying to digest the struggle half of the neck-head, Caliban agreed. Below Cali''s murmuring maw, Shyvaphyr''s head complained by regurgitating blood.

    "Don''t waste that Dragon Blood!" Richard called out from within the haze.

    "Do we continue?" Gwen''s Sword Mage reached her side. Lulu''s face was flushed with the aftermath of extreme physical exertions, making Gwen''s heart grow sour.

    "By the way, I am on my first potion," Richard informed her through the Message Spell. "Lulu''s good until her berserker meditate wears off."

    "Then we continue¡ª"

    "HALT!" A burst of Draconic made her mind flatline for half a second.

    Before Gwen could conclude, the Dragon Turtle''s new head began to speak simultaneously with its old one, with two voices emerging at once.

    Most jarringly, the voice that spoke was not the aggressive bark Shyvaphyr had earlier demonstrated but a sultry, feminine voice that made Gwen instantly imagine Ayxin lounging in coral-clad undersea seraglio smothered with soft silks.

    "Do not make the mistake of pursuing this foolish one beyond the borders of the Unseen Realm. Thou wilt not wish to make a true foe of us, Human sorceress," the heads announced with a calmness that made her deeply uncomfortable.

    Gwen and her companions checked their surroundings to see if another Dragon Turtle hid in the non-existent bushes five hundred meters up in the air.

    "Who am I speaking with?" Gwen demanded, all the while constructing the necessary invocations for an instant Void Malestrom to cover their escape.

    "We are Nyrlesvinyr, ninth scion of He who Slumbers in the Crown of Corals, a true daughter of our lord, the ageless Miommiriorthyr. We art also the ashamed sister to this foolish brother thou hast bested," the voice declared without shame. "And as he is my responsibility, we ask that thou yield his body to us."

    Gwen looked at her companions.

    ¡°Gogo?¡± she made a quick psst at her Wyvern. "What''s the go here?"

    The Thunder Wyvern performed a graceful barrel roll so that it could hover while facing the Dragon Turtle.

    "I am Golos, fourth of He who Answered, son of the Yinglong," Golos spoke in high Draconic, making the Thunder Wyvern appear both wise and regal, though Gwen knew the creature better than to be fooled. "Ask you for parley of our prize?"

    "Aye," the Dragon Turtle concurred. "Though distant, I taste on thee the blessings of Old Ones. Name thy price, whelp."

    "SHAA¡ª" Caliban asked for the Dragon Turtle''s delicious vitality.

    "EE¡ª" Ariel reminded Gwen that there was bound to be Cores in that beautiful, bountiful body.

    "I think we should ask the female to show itself," Golos affected an expression that made Gwen blush with shame for associating with such a simple creature. "I want to see what powers the ninth scion of an Elder Drake may hold and why it would choose to be female."

    Ignoring her creatures, Gwen chose the original script.

    "I wish for the Shoal to disperse and retreat from Wellington and never return," Gwen said, doing the right thing by their hosts, thinking at once of Yue and Whetu. "And I wish you to leave Auckland and return home in peace."

    Shyvaphyr''s heads made a sound between a grunt of acknowledgement and a snort of dismissal. "Thou hast not bested us yet, sorceress. For Shyvaphyr''s failure, we concede that his Shoal shall leave thy city to join mine. As for the Human curio Auckland¡ªthat is between me and my foes here. Though¡ªthou art welcome to attempt to face MY Shoal in my domain if thou would dare."

    "Not good enough," Gwen protested, sensing in her gut that despite the Dragon Turtle''s swagger, there was room for wiggle. "If you think I''ll simply let you leave like that¡ª"

    "We shall leave you with the life of your pet Vessel¡ª" the voice of Nyrlesvinyr announced.

    "QUACK!" The faint cry of a familiar bark came from below. From their vantage, the rainbow spot was barely visible through the haze, though from what Gwen could see with her enhanced eyes, Dede was surrounded by a swirling pool of Mermen but very much alive.

    "I hardly think a duck is as precious as Shyvaphyr''s bodily ingredients." Gwen did her best to keep her gladness in check. "No deal. I''ll finish that damned Shoal eventually, one way or another."

    "Thou art a greedy whelp." The voice did not sound upset but rather curious and entertained. "Very well¡ª keep Shyvaphyr''s appendage as an offering. Within lies one of his Cores, a prize far more precious than thy pitiful mortal cities, a loss that will teach mine brother a long and hard lesson about underestimating one''s foes."

    "I''ll consider it." Gwen''s eyes fell upon the two junior Dragon Turtles. The war against the Mermen was eternal¡ªmeaning protocol for her Magisterial duty was merely to delay. Quickly, her lips made a smirk. "But, as a Magister of Shard in London, having travelled from Europe to the southern end of the Prime material, I am an expensive hire to dismiss, you know?"

    "What would thou wish?" Nyrlesvinyr demanded. "Think carefully, whelp, lest thou incur our immediate wrath."

    Despite their bestial-tiers of beastly intelligence, both Zitusphyr and Sevphr regarded Gwen with nervous eyes.

    "I want one of those as well." Gwen licked her lips to hide her nervousness, somewhat thrilled with the thought that she was openly negotiating with a Dragon Turtle Princess. "As the princely Core is for rebuilding our city, I shall need one of those as reparation for my forgiveness. Additionally, Shyvaphyr''s Shoal shall disperse, and you and your Shoal shall not venture near Wellington."

    Nyrlesvinyr snorted steam via her brother''s zombified body.

    Though her ransom seemed impertinent, Gwen still felt cheated. If the battle had continued without this "sisterly" interference, she had half a mind for Caliban to collect a new form for fighting in the sea and to give Ariel a long overdue Draconic Core to perfect its metamorphosis¡ªboth best achieved through Golos'' contemporary. As for Wellington, if Gwen could get the Shoal to go away for now¡ªthere were plenty more opportunities to deal with matters at Auckland when there''s a bleeding Tower hovering behind her. At worst, if Nyrlesvinyr would prove too much, she could call Gunther and tell him ancient Dragon Turtles were bullying his little sister.

    "Zitusphyr," the voice of Nyrlesvinyr called the wounded turtle by name. "For bringing shame to the Shoal and failing to protect Shyvaphyr, thou wilt remain to appease the Old One''s Vessel. Is that agreeable?"

    Gwen reminded herself to steel her heart against sympathy when the scar-slathered turtle barked that it would abide by the "Elder One''s" command.

    "Then we art agreed," the voice of Nyrlesvinyr affirmed her approval in high Draconic.

    Gwen''s body grew tense at the Dragon-speak, feeling her Astral Soul quake, akin to the Geas her Master had once placed upon her. There was no actual spell or compulsion, but Gwen felt the surety of a karmic power blessing their agreement.

    "Not bad, Calamity," Golos remarked, swinging its head so that the light played off his vibrant ridge feathers. "I didn''t think our seafaring cousins would be so rich as to spare kin and Core just to save face¡ªbut then again, if that Dragon Turtle is seventeenth, there''s certainly no shortage of ambitious princelings."

    The implication, Gwen realised, was that sibling rivalry was as much to thank for her victory as overwhelming efforts from her Familiars and her companions.

    The wounded turtle, Zitusphyr, remained inert as the final syllables of Nyrlesvinyr''s speech rang out. Almost instantly, the Shoal below began to disperse, leaving Gwen''s Hydras struggling to find new foes who were not fleeing at supernatural speeds in every direction.

    Even the giant mantas were swift beyond compare, leaving her fat, ungainly lampreys to wiggle like bloated mosquito larvae left floating in the sea.

    The Dragon Turtle princeling and its surviving bodyguard drifted a distance apart from Gwen and her party.

    "I do not know why thou wield the same power as the Void Witch," the voice announced once a safe distance away from Caliban. "Nor why thou hast appropriated the bodies of our age-old foes¡ª the K¨±n. Nonetheless, if thou choose to meet us, know that the K¨±n were once our favourite prey."

    Gwen did not know how to respond to the strange amicability of the Dragon Princess nor the bombastic revelations from the zombie brother''s mouth, so she chose to remain silent and mysterious.

    "We leave now. And if thou should next defend Auckland," the voice of Nyrlesvinyr said. "Seek us in our Shoal. As thou are the Vessel of an Old One, we shall refrain from shackling thee to perform in our Gladiatorial pits until our Scions have exchanged ransoms."

    "You should try," Golos retorted. "Gwen''s Old One has swallowed Sires bigger than yours, I would wager that on my Father''s name."

    "What he said." Gwen marvelled at her Thunder Wyvern''s ability to make even cool threats sound obscene.

    "Thine arrogance is pleasing, even as it is typical of our cousins of the Tempest." The tone of the presumed Dragon Turtle princess grew churlish. "Come with thy creatures of the Void if thou dare. We have met thy would-be Mistress in battle before. In the aftermath, we had parted as equals¡ªso do not presume that we would be as easy and foolish a prey as mine pup of a brother here."

    Another bombastic revelation. Once more, Gwen looked to Golos, knowing that she was in no position to suddenly state that my enemy''s enemy was my friend, for right now, Nyrlesvinyr was her foe.

    The Wyvern shrugged, indicating that it rarely considered the ramifications nor implications of its actions and wasn''t about to start for her sake. Around her, Gwen''s companions intimated that they placed the benefit of their faith firmly on her slight shoulders.

    Gwen inhaled deeply, conceding that heavy was the burden that bears the promise to the deepsea aristocracy. She relented her hostility, signalling for her priceless prize to go.

    Without a second more of lingering indecisiveness, Sevphr hovered close to its Master. The two then free-fell toward the bean green water, leaving the wounded Zitusphyr and the severed head of Shyvaphyr, which hung limply from Caliban''s mouth.

    Somewhere below where her team levitated, Gwen could hear Dede''s alarm as the Dragon Turtles dive-bombed back into the ocean.

    When Gwen turned her eyes upon the junior Dragon Turtle again, a wayward gust made her Da-peng suit come alive, singing as the Elemental Air flowed between its plated feathers.

    Beside her, Caliban began to shake the severed head of Shyvaphyr like a dog with an enormous elastic of obscene length, begging the world for a spontaneous mosaic to be implemented. Richard, undeterred, did his best to collect as much as the splattering Dragon blood as possible, knowing well the price such ingredients fetched in the Grey Market.

    Lulan remained on high alert, her usually pale dermis a dull sheen of iron, her dancer''s silhouette obscured by a platoon of humming blades.

    And though her remaining foe was an Elemental reptile, Gwen swore that the Dragon Turtle began to shake and shiver like a warm-blooded mammal.

    "Well, I am sorry to say, Zippy," she declared to her consolation prize, thinking of the ravaged city below her and the innocents who had perished. "You got three choices. Die with your Core intact¡ªBecome a pet¡ªor become food¡ª"

    "SHAA¡ª!" Caliban protested against Gwen''s compassion.

    "Two choices." Gwen did not find herself adverse to Caliban''s animalistic cruelty. But Cali was right in that she shouldn''t be wasting so good a resource as a living Dragon Turtle. "So, FOOD or PET, what''ll it be?"

 Chapter 448 - A Time gone By

    The moment the thrilling demand left Gwen''s lips, a part of her that wasn''t press-moulded by necessity in this world of monster and magic demanded to know if her request could be considered cruel and demented. Together with her chilling realisation, a vision of Evee''s disapproval cooled her head and quailed her purring pride.

    Not far, "Zippy" stared at the middle distance between itself and her Devourer self, as mute as a munted punter after a few too many coins at the local pokies.

    To cleanly butcher the creature was one thing.

    But to make it dig a grave, then lie in it, all the while demanding that it should thank her magnanimous display, was as damaging to its mental health as it was to her moral wellbeing.

    "Cali, Ariel," she commanded her creatures through her Empathic Link, realising that a part of her motivation had come from the shared emotions between herself and her hooting Familiars. "Shut up for a minute."

    "SHAA¡ª!" Caliban protested with the utmost stubbornness it could manage.

    "Ee¡­" Comparatively, Ariel digested her ethical dilemma and quietened itself.

    Gwen''s beasties then snapped and snipped at one another like disgruntled kittens until she demanded their silence.

    Eventually, despite the residual unwillingness from both, the mewling quelled.

    Golos mocked her with a snicker. If the Dragon Turtle''s senior was their prisoner, he might have shown some compassion for a near-equal. Gwen knew, however, that lesser Dragon-kin such as these were as to Golos fodder for his Essence growth, unworthy of taxing the Wyvern''s unenthused brain cells.

    "Gogo," she told the Thunder Wyvern, feeling that the brute was a bad influence on her measure of normality. "Go get Dede. Make sure he''s alright."

    The Wyvern swivelled away with a shrug.

    Gwen rested her eyes to recollect her wits, ensuring all excess mana had cleared from her conduits. Be it Lightning or Void, neither offered rapport for sanity.

    "Zippy." She hovered closer, but not close enough to negate a quick Dimension Door. Besides her, Lulan shadowed her movements, spreading her blades so that Gwen''s figure stood at the centre of a blooming iron lotus. "You will not be spared. I am without the illusion that as a guard to Shyvaphyr, you have eaten my kin and ravaged my home in the past¡ªthereby, my only mercy is that the end you choose shall be dignified¡ªassuming you cooperate. "

    Before she could finish, Richard floated into view.

    "¡ªGwen," her cousin interjected by hovering between the pair. "Not to protest your decision, but before you continue, may I have a word to share some thoughts?"

    In front of them, the Dragon Turtle possessed no discernable reactions.

    "Alright." She respected Richard''s uncanny scent for profiteering. "In private, or¡­?"

    "Here and now is fine." Richard gestured toward their battle spoil. "I thought since we''ve repelled the Shoal, we should carefully consider the rewards from our Quest. With Wellington safe, we are in a strong position to haggle. One is the Core in Shyvaphyr''s head, which would certainly be a boon to the city''s rebuilding efforts, and the other is Zitusphyr here, whose Core is less valuable. As a leased War Mage, you can mark a part of the spoils as your fee, with the better part going to the Tower, correct?"

    "Aye." Gwen glanced between the turtle and herself, wondering if live-auditing Zippy''s worth could be construed as cruel and unusual punishment.

    "I can see you''re in a mood." Richard''s lips curled into a smirk. "So why not let your cousin shoulder your burden, eh? How about this...?"

    The Water Mage pointed to the length of the still-twitching neck in Caliban''s claws.

    "We''ll organise for that Core to be auctioned at Mayuree''s¡ª maybe try to trade for a Lightning Draconic Core from the Chinese."

    "EE¡ª!" Ariel immediately snuggled up to Richard but was swatted away by a pouting Lea.

    "As for Zitusphyr. My first thought was likewise Soul Tapping the bugger and make him another Garp, but as Golos said, that might be more trouble than it''s worth. Essence Tap, in essence, is Necromancy¡ªwhen dealing with Draconic scions, let''s not pretend to be a Soul Flayer when you''re not. Still¡ªI think we can maximise benefits from Zippy''s body regardless. Would you mind if I asked you to keep him around for a while?"

    "Why?" Gwen cocked her head. "I can repay the cost of the Core out of my private funds if nothing else, AND I am sure we''ll find more Cores in the future, especially as this new South Sea conflict goes on. What''s the benefit of keeping a monster as dangerous as a Dragon Turtle around if I am not going to Tap it?"

    "Well." Richard rubbed his thumb and fingers together suggestively. "If we find the right buyer for Zitusphyr, not only does he get to live, which eases your conscience, but you''re going to get goodwill from whoever gets him as a Draconic Steam Spirit."

    Gwen raised both brows. "Goodwill, eh?"

    "A shitload of goodwill." Richard cleared his throat. "I know you''re not into the bloke, but for what''s to come¡ªthis global climate thing you''ve been telling us¡ªwouldn''t it be interesting if the Militant-Nobles owed you a favour they cannot refuse or readily repay?"

    Gwen pursed her lips to think. "You don''t mean?"

    "Well, you didn''t think Benny was such a bad bloke, no? The heir apparent is certainly heads and shoulders better than Poins. If you can sell brother eldest a favour as important as this, not only would your dispute with the Exeters be resolved, they wouldn''t have the face to oppose your future endeavours, especially if the seas start to warm up or cool down in unexpected but catastrophic ways, as you said."

    Benedict Thomas Holland, Gwen finally noted at which tree Richard was barking. As her cousin inferred, the lad was alright: a congenial, skilled, and polite heir apparent to Henry V''s Golden Blood. She recalled that the Steam Mage was running with an incorporeal Spirit, one more affiliated to mist than steam. Doubtlessly, Zitusphyr, if tameable, would be a substantial upgrade, reducing Thomas'' Affinity but gifting both Draconic resilience and "shell" attributes well-suited to Thomas'' unique magic of steam "bombs".

    Transporting the Dragon Turtle to London was out of the realm of possibilities¡ªbut a simple Long Range Message could probably compel her prior competitor to rush across international borders, even if the man was shipped halfway to Greenland.

    At the same time, she knew with certainty that the Militant Faction had significant footholds in Melbourne and Brisbane, not to mention parts of Auckland''s Mages were bound to fall under their sway. If she could hold them to terms, then the recovery of Wellington and the defence of Auckland itself should be much smoother.

    "That¡­" The calculations of the pros and cons flashed through her eyes instantly. "Is a wicked idea, Dick."

    "Thank you." Richard feigned a bow. "As you were, Duck."

    Gwen''s attention once more fell on the Dragon Turtle. Her mind was made up. "Well, that''s how it is, Zippy. I was going to Soul Tap your Core and make you my pet, but no more. Your choices are to remain here and submit to a future Master of my choosing¡ªmeaning you''ll be free to contest their will and not mine¡ªand if you win, it isn''t my problem. Or you can perish here and gift me your unshattered Core."

    "Great Kin¡­" the Dragon Turtle''s speech was slow and ponderous. "Zitusphyr obeys."

    Whatever Zitusphyr meant, Gwen knew that the turtle would abide by the superior Dragon''s whim. Lulu affirmed her suspicions, from whom she was reminded of Ruxin''s casual gift of the twin Naga Cores. Both had been perfectly preserved¡ªan impossible feat for human hunters. Only through existential dominion¡ªan evolutionary legacy from the primordial days when thunderous lizards stalked a young Terra ripe with elemental instabilities¡ªwas such an outcome possible.

    And if she should be defeated by a Dragon-kin, Gwen felt suddenly queasy; would she obey the same fate? If she should refuse, what would it mean? If she should expect obedience from her defeated foes, was it not fair that they too enjoyed the exact terms of the grand gambit?

    "Alright, stay with Golos and obey his command." Uncomfortable with her conjecture, she chooses not to dwell on the matter. Thankfully, in the next second, a Message spell visibly bloomed beside Richard.

    Ding! Hers activated a second later.

    "Gwen," Petra''s voice imprinted itself upon their minds. "The Divination Chamber reports that the Shoal has gone into the deep sea. Magister Kawhena wants to know what you''ve done and what to expect."

    "Ah, we''re doing alright." Gwen drily chuckled as she surveyed her Familiars and companions, feeling an unexpected tightness in her chest. Lulan was looking worse for wear but was otherwise fierce and fine. Richard was aglow with confidence thanks to her taking his advice, with his eyes forming two smiling slits of self-congratulation. "Let''s talk when we meet face to face, but you can begin cleanup Purges in Wellington. There won''t be anything else coming up from the Shoal for the foreseeable future, short of a new one branching off and swimming down from Auckland."

    There was a pause in the Message spell.

    "Kawhena of WETA here." The voice of the Magister bloomed orange and green beside their ears. "Magister Song, do you mean to say you''ve dispersed the Shoal?"

    Gwen made sure by double-checking the waters below.

    Her hundred-odd lampreys, each the size of oarfishes with the circumference of great whites, writhed and danced, snipping and nipping at one another in search of vitality. As before, there was no dismissing her summons, and nature would have to take its course by wearing them down through the entropic decay of Void Mana. It was a shame, for there was so much vitality she could not harvest for dire reasons¡ªone for the limitations of her human body and the other for Caliban, whose vital vessel was bursting at the seams.

    This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    "If you do not mind, Magister Song¡ªI would like to see for myself." Magister Kawhena was a very careful Magister. The man''s disbelief was entirely acceptable for Gwen, who could imagine her shock if she had sent Richard out on an errand for the day and her cousin returned within the hour with all boxes ticked. That and Petra had succeeded in tapping into Wellington''s Divination Array and linked up their Dwarf-tinkered communication devices with the ageing system used by WETA. Without knowing Petra''s skill, the probability that she might have confounded the spectrometric system was a likelier outcome than the Devourer eating her way through an entire Shoal.

    "Sending you our markers now." Gwen nodded to Richard, who faxed off their Divination signatures. "Petra should be able to Teleport you over in a jiffy."

    "¡­ Very well," Magister Kawhena answered. "Magus Kuznetsova? If you could?"

    "Gwen. Spread out and standby for transfer. I am inviting the Magister into the Teleportation Circle now. Three¡ªTwo¡ªOne¡ª"

    A flare of silvery Conjuration mana materialised not far from Gwen. The long-range Teleportation Circle could only function as an approximation without a circle on the receiving end. It was a method with rigid limitations, for a Mage being shunted by a poorly aimed spell would imply injury¡ªwhile an NoM might be reduced to giblets if shunted through solid rock.

    The Magister, as expected, was a Maori elder in his late forties, perhaps fifties. Sporting the usual Ta Moko of his people, the clean-shaven man was otherwise dressed in a battle garb of enchanted cloth made to look like a well-fitted suit.

    Still orientating his bearings, the Magister drifted toward Gwen and her trio.

    A second later, he saw the idling, defeated Dragon Turtle in the midst of questioning its future. Across several breaths, the Magister appeared to doubt himself until he saw Ariel and Caliban in the flesh.

    "¡­Are those both yours?" Kawhena was incredibly calm, Gwen noted, even after seeing a Kirin that could lay waste to half the harbour if left alone. Likewise, against Caliban''s gore-soaked Lovecraftian visage holding the severed end of a wheezing Dragon''s head, Zippy might as well appear a common Pok¨¦mon.

    "G''day, Sir." Gwen bowed from the waist. "Thank you for defending Wellington as well as you have."

    The man shook his head. "I was holed up in a fort, Magister Song. It''s you and the brave militia that''s responsible¡­"

    The Magister wanted to continue but grew silent again when, from below the party, an oppressive vision of Golos arrived, clutching a struggling Dede in one of its claws. Her duck, Gwen noted, was undoubtedly in the process of restoring itself. Unfortunately, its humble origins meant its ability to mend broken bones was nowhere near the fast healing demonstrated by the Dragon Turtles.

    Kawhena stared at Dede and Golos for several moments, trying to process a sight that made the Shoal seem routine.

    "Shall we head back?" Kawhena quickly grew accustomed to her aberrant band and appeared to possess no doubt that the Shoal had gone a merry way away from Wellington. As to whether that was because he could spy no Shoal or that Gwen''s collection of creatures had shaken the man''s sanity, she couldn''t guess.

    "Yes," Gwen spoke with sympathy for the flabbergasted Magister, her heart already fleeing from the thrill of the hunt toward the meeting of familiar faces. "Let us return. I am eager to see how Magus Yue has fared."

    "Jonas! Taj! Paul! Billy!" Gwen called out each of the crimson-faced figures as they emerged from the ruined harbour, her voice trembling from the electrifying nostalgia. "Miss me?"

    "Oh my God! It''s really her! It''s Gwen!" Billy was halfway out of formation before Jonas dragged him back.

    "Idiot! She''s Magister Song now!" The Healer snapped at the youthful Diviner; an observation Gwen immediately corrected when she saw Billy''s goatee.

    When they had first met, Billy was in his mid-twenties, meaning nowadays, her once-companion to Sufina''s island was likely in his late twenties or even thirty. Likewise, it was insane to think that Jonas, who she recalled to be in his late thirties, was now a forty-something oldie. From what she''d picked up from Yue, the feller never relented on his one-sided love for Alesia, meaning he was still a bachelor. Comparatively, Paul and Taj found spouses, with Taj already playing father to a boy and a girl.

    "Let''s not bother with titles." Gwen felt her face grow hot. After all, when they''d first met, she''d been butt-naked and had freshly escaped from Edmund, no more potent as a Mage than a newborn, mewling babe.

    "She''s right, you nitwits," an unmistakable voice next announced herself. "Why would Gwennie ever throw rank around us? We''re not her subordinates! Ha! At least not yet, anyway¡ªand if she does, I''ll knock some bloody sense into her!"

    "YUNNIE!" Gwen rushed forward to embrace her oldest friend.

    Behind her, Lulan and Richard took up positions on either side, one shocked to witness such a juvenile side of her commander, while the other appeared appreciative and relaxed.

    As for her menagerie of pets, Golos had wanted to keep feeding, so Gwen had sent away the Wyvern to keep an eye on Zippy. As for Dede, the Dragon Turtle''s natural superiority had shaken it so jarringly that it chose not to extort the Mages it met but instead flew around Wellington''s outskirts, going on a walkabout to digest its defeat.

    As the two friends embraced, Gwen felt her slim figure slotting into Yue''s grooves like a glove.

    "I know it hasn''t been that long," Gwen said with a sign, barely suppressing her riotous emotions. "But it feels like I haven''t seen you for a decade."

    "Nah-yeah, short partings are the worst," Yue agreed in iconic Aussie fashion. "Well, well, look at you, eh? Magister Song. Big Wig Song! And here I am, crawling my way to a mere Captaincy with the swiftness of a crippled Orc."

    "It''s provisional-Magister," Gwen joked. "We all know I''ve got a long way to go. There''s Auckland to come as well, and so much more to do before returning to London and wearing my new spell mantle. Did Alesia tell you about my suspicions regarding Mount Erebus? It''s a long slog from here on out, and the Shoal''s just the beginning."

    Yue patted her arms, giving Gwen''s cheek a pinch before pulling herself away. "How''s Evee?"

    Though off-topic, the question felt to Gwen as natural as she and Yue sharing a bowl of Mrs Bai''s dumplings.

    "Evee''s doing super well in her Ordo," Gwen confessed to as much knowledge of Elvia as she could. "We haven''t had a chance to catch up, but you know how busy she is after Shalkar. Her Ordo is taking the opportunity to set up a forward operating fortress, working closely with the Centaurs and my Rat-kin. As Evee''s one of the co-liberators of the region, she''ll be worked to the bone, I bet."

    "Strewth, Big Wig Evee too." Yue scratched the rank lapels of her military fatigues. "I should get Master to open some backdoors before your footmen accost me at the entrance."

    Gwen chuckled. "That won''t happen!"

    "Because you''ll slap them with your Magister''s mantle?" Yue mock-laughed.

    The girls shared another minute of small talk and then mutually introduced their team members. Reuniting with Richard and Petra, Yue shook their hands, bantered for a bit, then whistled when Richard told her that Gwen was marching ever closer to the goal of gaining her Tower and making Henry''s dream come true.

    "Jesus Christ. You really made it, eh?" The Fire Mage said to her cousin. "I remember when we first met. You said you''d stick to Gwen like a bad smell. That''s paid out well."

    "Yunnie!" Gwen pulled her friend back, aghast at Yue''s frankness. "Richard has been nothing but helpful."

    "Just stating the facts." Yue''s skin was hot to the touch, speaking loudly of her present Affinity for Elemental Fire. "No shame in being a practical bloke who knows what he wants. I am just awed that this guy managed to stick with you through thick and thin for five years across three countries. I am a bit jealous, considering Evee and I couldn''t do that, even though we promised in the gym, after the Royal National."

    Gwen wanted to say that those had been genuinely wishful words from children''s mouths but hadn''t the heart to stifle Yue''s recollection.

    "We''ll be together again in the future," Gwen hinted at one of her motivations. "This time, it''ll be in my Tower, and nothing will keep us apart."

    And that¡ªGwen noted for herself¡ªwas the promise from an adult and a Magister.

    "Ha!" her friend gave her shoulder a playful punch that jarred her Da-peng armour. Without the magic circuits active, the Peng-suit was merely stylish Big Bird cosplay. "I''ll hold you to that."

    "Alright¡ª" Gwen extended her finger, and the two made a pinky promise. "So, it''s over for now?"

    Below, the city''s initial recovery would take at least a month before rebuilding could occur. As useful as Magister Kawhena''s protective earth-shifting Mandala could be, the magic was not conducive to the continued function of mana-fed conduit lines, sewerage pipes, and the foundations the coastal city sat upon.

    "What''s your plan from here, Yunnie?"

    "Back to Auckland, of course. I am here until the capital''s safe or Master calls me back." Yue''s eyes measured her up and down as she spoke, making Gwen conscious of the promise she had just made. "You heading back to London or staying?"

    "We''ll be chumming for a long while this time," Gwen said with a happy smile. "Saving Wellington wasn''t even my main mission."

    "Is Auckland?"

    "Nah." Gwen took a deep breath. "It''s a long story."

    She tapped into her Message Device. "Pats, can we Teleport back to Auckland?"

    "Not safely, no. The Ley-line is not stable enough," Petra informed them. "We can get within three hundred kilometres, though."

    "That''s enough. I''ll drop off what supplies I can spare," Gwen gave the order. "Then we can move up. Are you coming with us, Yunnie? We should fly up together."

    "You''re flying up at night?" Yue directed her eyes upward toward a gloomy sky the colour of steel. "Auckland Tower is up and mobile, and we''ll be blind as a bat trying to find it unless you can see several kilometres in the dark."

    "I''ve got this." Gwen produced the Omni-orb for a moment. Without prompting, the orb drifted toward the direction of what she assumed to be Auckland Tower.

    Yue nodded. "Sure, we''ll fly and talk. Let''s see Magister Kawhena first. We need to leave behind equipment for the survivors as well."

    When the girls once more located the Magister of WETA, the man was knee-deep in the logistics of undoing what he had done to alter Wellington''s landscape. Unfortunately, a city wasn''t like a napkin that could be uncrinkled and flattened. Likewise, Mermen still lurked within the city''s underground utilities, parking garages, and the flooded sewers cut off by the Mandala.

    "Very well." Kawhena did not comment on their hasty exit but bowed from the waist. "Please give my thanks to the Shard, and for you, Magus Yue, please inform Magus De Botton and Lord Shultz that Wellington will forever remain their ally."

    "I shall," Yue replied.

    "And I''ll return when the rebuilding begins," Gwen promised. "I am happy to say that I''ve had a hand in several major reconstruction projects in the last few years."

    "We would very much like that." The Magister was so polite Gwen wondered if she should clarify that she oversaw both Tonglv and the Isle of Dogs and presumably knew more about the workflow of demolition and reconstruction than any Mage still residing in Wellington.

    Feeling her calling, however, she left the appropriate diplomacy to her companions from Cambridge, exiting via WETA''s storeroom, where she unloaded a dozen pallets of meal rations, medical supplies and diluted potions suitable for NoMs from her Storage Ring.

    In the spacious gloom of the warehouses, Gwen found herself greeted by the familiar face of Rongo Winiata, one of Yue and Whetu''s companions during the IIUC. Once more smitten with sentimentality, Gwen invited the man to take a quick coffee break. When she asked him how the others in the team had faired, Rongo gave her a weary sigh.

    "Rona, our Captain, has journeyed to Hawaiki, atop the great Pohutukawa Tree. Tua, as well, if you remember the man, is also gone from the Prime Material."

    "Christ." Gwen felt her throat grow sore.

    "Aye, there was an influx of Fire Elementals at Mount Ruapehu a month back. Rona and Tua''s Combat Flight went to extract the miners who couldn''t get out."

    Gwen recalled the Captain, the mix-blooded Halfling Mage. The bloke was a good leader and a strategist, an Illusionist by trade. As for Tua, she vaguely recalled the man being a Sand Mage of sorts. Unhappily, thanks to her prior trauma from Faceless, she had entirely avoided engaging with Tua.

    "I am¡­ sorry to hear that." She felt sympathy for Rongo but had nothing substantial to say other than wanting to satisfy her curiosity about this great tree Rongo had mentioned.

    "They died fighting," Rongo replied as a matter of fact.

    So they did, Gwen thought as she sipped her coffee, happy only in the selfish knowledge that thus far, no news had arrived that any of her teammates had died.

    When she mentioned the fact to Rongo, the man gave her a strange look.

    Gwen then felt suddenly cold, for finally, she recalled the spiteful, pleading eyes of Kitty Liang, dying without the dignity of peace, reduced to swiss cheese by her Void, and then rendered into nothing, not even a respectful memory.

 Chapter 449 - Paralysing Peace

    There were hungry, carnivorous reasons why Mages avoided travelling at night, even across Green Zones. Once past Humanity''s ordered lanes, the mana signature from a Mage''s delectable organs tingled the senses of the Core-bearing Wildland critters like honeycombs to sweet-toothed toddlers.

    Luckily for Gwen and Yue''s party, they had a bigger and badder bodyguard in the form of a foraging Golos, who stopped now and then to pluck sweetmeats from the screaming woods. And they were trailed by a tragic turtle, followed by a depressed duck looking to vent.

    Thereby, for the poor residents of the Wildland between Auckland and Wellington, the dozen or so Mages, plus Gwen''s pets, passed like a natural disaster, dog-bothering every existence under the sun until they reached the Halfling city of Hamilton.

    Gwen stowed her Familiars near the border to avoid inciting the city''s defenders. Likewise, in consideration of Auckland, she told Golos, Dede and Zippy to circle over the ocean, leaving only her human companions to follow Yue into town.

    In her old life, Hamilton had played home to the set of the Shire for the grandfather of all fantasy fiction. Therefore, in this world, it was only natural that its rolling hills, verdant brooks and golden rye fields would house the Demi-Elemental cousins of Humanity, the Halfling-race

    At first, hidden by distance, Hamilton looked no different to the one in her memories. However, as the crack of dawn peeped over the misty hills, Gwen sighed appreciatively for seeing the "Shire" from yore.

    As folk with a great affinity for nature and a natural Affinity for Elemental Earth and Water, the Halflings lived both above and beneath the tamed hill-scape of Hamilton, carving the tableland into asymmetrical farmlands dotted with sheep, cows, and other domesticated beasties. As an agricultural community, the city''s citizens were early risers, rousing from their labour to wave hats and pitchforks at the unusual Mage Flight frightening their barnyard animals.

    The Halflings themselves, Gwen observed, possessed the height of children but were closer to Dwarves with their stout lower bodies and stocky shoulders. She noted that the main difference in garb was a love of gumboots and suspenders over steel shoes and light armour. She also pondered the curious lack of heavy equipment on the farms, which bellied the enormous scope of the agricultural operations.

    "I can see the town hall," Yue reported. "Come on. I''ll shout us a cuppa of the best damn coffee on the island. Nothing like that brown water you shouted in Northern China. Christ, that stuff almost made me piss myself."

    Tea! Gwen wanted to shout at her friend. That was priceless, Fur-Peak tea!

    And it''s called Detox!

    Are "Yue" even Chinese, Yunnie?

    Hamilton''s town hall was a white sandstone building constructed to accommodate humans and the locals. Around it, the business district was more like an open market than a commercial centre, consisting of animal yards, warehouses, and loading hubs for lorries. Unlike human or Dwarven civil construction, the architecture was more practical than aesthetic, quietly declaring the Halfings'' humble, unassuming nature.

    The group descended from the air into an open square, watched by thousands.

    "This way." In these parts, Yue was an old dog, leading Gwen and company like horses to refreshments.

    The coffee shop owner was a Halfling with a face Gwen felt she had seen somewhere before, which Yue affirmed by introducing the half-bloke as Rona''s half-brother.

    "Roni," the Halfling presented himself, his face ambiguously young and wisened at the same time. "Strewth, the Devourer of Shenyang herself, in my shop!"

    Gwen exchanged greetings; the group ordered, then took up most of the outside seats, becoming instant topics of conversation among the meandering farmhands and farmers.

    "It''s a shame what happened to Wellington. I hope my niece made it out," the shopkeeper passed a dozen mugs from a tray twice his size, which he effortless arrested with one hand. "Yue, you fellers retreating to Auckland now? How deep inland do you think the Shoal will foray?"

    The group gave the man unexpected grins.

    "There''s no more Shoal to menace the city," Yue chuckled as she took a sip, watching the man''s expression transform from sorrow to surprise.

    "You don''t mean¡­" he looked toward Gwen.

    "You guessed it!" her friend resoundingly slapped Gwen''s leather-wrapped thigh like a butcher proudly presenting a prized cut. "Our Magister here took care of it all."

    While Gwen grew flustered, Roni took a careful step back from the woman who had devoured a thousand kilotons of living, talking, man-eating fish. From her waist, he bowed at her knees. "You have my utmost thanks, Magister Song."

    "It was well within my duty," Gwen said while giving her friend a disapproving stare. "And please, there''s no need for formalities."

    "The information isn''t privileged, I hope?" Roni glanced at his other customers, who were already gossiping like sheep in a hot barn.

    "Not at all. Tell the world if you care." Yue laughed.

    "Coffee is on the house!" Roni declared with a reddened face, shouting out the window as he clambered onto a stool. "EVERYONE! Wellington is now safe! The Shoal there is dispersed!"

    A resounding cheer roused from the space around them as the news spread, growing more and more riotous with each passing moment. Before Gwen could finish her coffee, a celebration had broken out in the town centre and rapidly spread through Hamilton.

    Like their Dwarven cousins, the Halflings were folk of great emotional honesty, which meant there was no stopping the impromptu festival. No longer at peace in an early morning inundated with crows, moos, baas and the sound of laughter, Gwen turned to her friend with deep suspicion.

    "Why do I feel the whole reason we''re here is cuz Roni would shout us coffees?" She demanded of Yue.

    "Hee." Yue shrugged, returning her accusation with a smug shake of her shoulders. "What of it, rich bitch? You think salaries grow on trees?"

    The party left after an hour, refreshed and stocked up on caffeine, with the Cambridge grads mightily impressed by the quality of farm to table morning tea offered by the too-generous Halflings.

    Perhaps as another one of Yue''s calculated ploys, dozens of folk she knew accosted them at the coffee shop, asking if they could ferry supplies of fresh foodstuff to Auckland Tower for friends and family, which Gwen could not refuse thanks to the free feed.

    When finally Auckland came into sight, they spied the Tower hovering north of Port Jackson, some fifty kilometres from its usual nest of criss-crossing ley-lines.

    As for the city itself, the damage caused by the deterred tsunami was self-evident. Auckland was a city that sat on a verdant headland, allowing access to the Tasman Sea to the south and the South Pacific to the north. From a dozen chimneys of smoke rising from the city''s edge where many sounds met the sea, Gwen saw that it had undergone a baptism of Mermen. The banks of the Tamaki River, which Gwen recognised from its half-moon entry into the city, had flooded over into the residential districts, drowning the low-lying apartments. Nearer the harbour, a few industrial zones were likewise was up to their rafters in ocean water, with seaweed visibly hanging from the street lamps, acting as bookmarks for the Mermen''s ingress.

    Nevertheless, the city marched on, for Gwen could also see the traffic jams, the workmen, the barges clearing the debris and the aldermen screaming at the labourers. The city kept its calm and carried on in an all too human manner, heedless of the multi-million predators lurking just outside its Shielding Barriers.

    As they passed a Barrier Station, the party broadcasted their mana signatures, attracting the attention of a Mage Flight on patrol. Once verified, the worshipful Mages guided Gwen and her party northward, passing a ten-storey sinkhole, once the home to Auckland''s "Sky Tower".

    Their guides soon arrived.

    The presiding Magister introduced himself as Wa M¨¡taatua. Gwen knew of the man, whom Aria had briefly noted as the Chief of a prominent Maori Clan and a rival to Te Wherowhero. He was one of the "Ten" in her Master''s old title as "Master of the Ten" and the presiding leader of Auckland''s Militant Faction.

    The two shook hands, Magister to Magister, dressing down one another with their eyes. M¨¡taatua was a short but stocky bloke, well-endowed with the ocean-fairing fortitude of the Maori folk. From the choking coverage of Ta Moko turning the man''s olive complexion into near-jet, she could feel an aura of Enchantment that exceeded Petra''s.

    M¨¡taatua informed her that he had been sent to await their arrival, as Tower Master Hildenbrandt had been more than keen to hear the good news of Wellington''s liberation from the horses'' mouth.

    Gwen knew she wasn''t on sound footing with the Militants and tried to break the ice by asking about the city''s fortifications.

    "The harbour would be our final stand," M¨¡taatua explained as they passed the buzzing centre of the city''s business district. "There aren''t enough ships in all of Auckland to evacuate everyone. Outside of the city, the Green Zone ends at Hamilton. Therefore, what you see is what we have."

    M¨¡taatua meant that even if the city evacuated en-mass inland, there wasn''t near enough infrastructure to keep the refugees housed safely. Likewise, without the port and its supply of materials from Oceania, the local manufacturing industry in Auckland could not keep up with the city''s complex upkeep.

    Presently, the port was stowing its tankers and freighters. Atop the gangways, construction Golems operated by NoMs were working with Mages to transform the ships into makeshift barriers against the entry of super-size Demi-humans. Considering what she had seen in Wellington, Gwen saw sense¡ªfor any vessels that failed to outrun the Shoal would only wash into the city and become a Mermen battering ram.

    "Where are the War Golems?" Gwen asked their guide. How could a city''s defence be complete without War Golems? If Sydney had not been ambushed, its harbour would be lined from San Sousi to Port Botany with patrolling Golem engines. They wouldn''t be new, but neither would they be few.

    "We''ll be seeing them soon," the Magister assured them. "Our party will be passing the inner islands in a few moments."

    As the harbour grew minuscule, the volcanic archipelago of Rangitoto, Motutapu and Waiheke grew in size. Gwen performed a double-take when she saw Rangitoto, for the island''s base was bare of all vegetation where the last pyroclastic flow had bubbled across its surface. Furthermore, energetic fumaroles between the capped vent and the ocean steamed and hissed, sending forth waves of wafting sulphur.

    "Is that active?" Gwen demanded of their guide. Considering what she''d seen in Shalkar, her faith in the volcano''s continued irrelevance in a time of crisis was non-existent.

    "Rangitoto will unleash the occasional high-tier Fire Elemental now and then," M¨¡taatua''s tone was possessed by frustration. "I understand your concern, Magister, though I am happy to say that the next eruption shouldn''t be for another six months. Besides, the Fire Elementals are existentially opposed to the Mermen, and they usually never leave the vicinity of Rangitoto''s mana-rich ash-layers."

    "Did your Diviners predict this?" Gwen''s mind turned to another suspicion.

    "Auckland is far too removed to have a Diviner of that magnitude," the Magister gave her a strange look. "Not even Master Gunther''s Sydney has such a boon, certainly not to our knowledge."

    "Sorry, I misspoke," she made up her mind to speak with the Tower Master regarding the island. There wasn''t too much that could be done¡ªbut even being mentally prepared for trouble was better than being surprised mid-siege.

    East of Rangitoto, its sibling islands reminded Gwen of two kicked over ants'' nests. The dense forests covering the lowland had been trimmed into barriers funnelling attacking Mermen into kill zones, taking advantage of the uphill slops and loose volcanic shale making up the jagged landscape. At the saddle, two dozen War Golems, Cromwell MK Is by the looks of their dated design, were fed into dugouts, behind which were hundreds of crates of HDMs for their mounted siege Spellswords.

    "That''s... not a lot of Golems," Gwen mentioned to Magister M¨¡taatua. "I can see long-range Spellswords, but where''s the artillery?"

    She focused her eyes. "And those Militia men, where are their Wands? There''s one between two at most?"

    Additionally, she could see that the troops were unused to whatever they were doing. Half were meandering here and there while the other half worked.

    "Perhaps it is best if you directed those questions to our supplies officers in the Grey Faction," M¨¡taatua half-answered her.

    As they passed the dugouts, she could see the shame in M¨¡taatua''s face. During the Purge of the Triffidus, the Shard and the Royal Marines had fielded twice as many second and third-generation units, each with higher rates of fire and overall suppression power than the MK Is.

    Already, she could see that the Mermen Tide had tested the inner island''s defences. Up north, corpses six-deep in pre-dug mass graves were being piled up and covered by crawler Golems with their scooped, shovel-like limbs.

    "Is Auckland holding up okay?" Gwen asked, suddenly worried about Wellington.

    "Better now, thanks to your team''s Purge of the Wellington Shaol," M¨¡taatua was forthright. "At the very least, you''ve dimmed the chaos in the council since those with relatives there are no longer clamouring for justice."

    "Justice?"

    "The Greys wished for Paladin Te to split the Mage Flights and save WETA''s Mages. They say that if WETA and our forces combined, we''ll stand a better chance at holding the Shoal at bay."

    Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.

    I don''t think that would have worked, Gwen wanted to say. Shyvaphyr would have ripped Wellington in half and taken a dump on WETA''s walls if not for herself.

    "Yeah-Nah, that wasn''t going to happen," Richard chimed in. "The Greys should leave the fighting to the ones doing it, eh?"

    "Thankfully, that''s what the Tower Master said," the gruff old Chief affirmed her cousin''s analysis. "Only there won''t be much fighting, not with that lot holding the purse strings."

    Heeding the Magister''s loaded words, Gwen''s attention returned to the defences. The stratagem of the city''s defence aside, she was reeling from a sudden realisation. Five years ago, she couldn''t walk around Sydney Tower without an escort¡ªnow¡ªMagisters who wouldn''t have given her the time the day was deferring to her. The difference was slowly putting her "Magisterhood" into perspective.

    But there was little good news to purr over.

    From Auckland''s bulwarks, she could smell the same stink as she had sensed back in Sydney. Something was rotten at the heart of its management. Something that reminded her of the paralytic infighting that culminated in Walken''s catastrophic error.

    After Sydney, Gunther had exorcised that rot with laser precision¡ªbut what of Auckland? To her knowledge, Auckland''s status quo had remained unchanged since the late 80s.

    Once they were past the trio of islands, the hovering silhouette of Auckland Tower became fully visible against the curved horizon of the South Pacific.

    She had a public duty here, compounded by her heartfelt desire to help Whetu''s hometown and Yue''s home away from home. She was Auckland''s consultant sent from London. And as any consultant worth their salt would know, the opposite of an organisation actively evolving to meet new changes is not paralysis but regression.

    "Auckland thanks Magister Song for her service to Wellington!"

    After yet another round of applause, Richard was positively sure the welcoming ceremony was dragging on.

    The converted ceremony room took up a modest section of the Tower''s upper decks. From the tapered gangway entry, the room gradually grew in size until it met an impressive pane of curved glass stretching from floor to ceiling. Plates of steaming food sat on heated dollies serviced by the low-level Mages while NoM attendees brought refreshments.

    Richard found ceremonies cumbersome, especially when pointlessly given to show gratitude. In his opinion, tangible rewards like HDMs for the recipients were superior.

    Still, he knew that Gwen was a sucker for the superficial and that the same knowledge had filtered into the ear of whoever had arranged the fanfare. Merely watching her expression, which resembled a cat being stroked from head to tail, was enough to inform any observant schemer that shallow praise was Magister Song''s guilty pleasure.

    Before they boarded the Tower, Gwen had expressed her worries for Auckland. And so, as Gwen''s second, it was his duty to navigate the masquerade while making a mental list of her foes and friends.

    While Gwen worked her charms, he had a Faction to bribe and resources to gather, just as Petra had Golems to inspect and Enchanters to visit. Unfortunately, to execute their intentions subtly, they needed the information collected by Aria Ravenport, Gwen''s aide from Cambridge.

    Yet, even with Aria close at hand, the Magisters and Maguses surrounding Gwen like Shark Mermen circling a bleeding porpoise had kept her politely and wholly occupied since their arrival.

    Lulan had expressed her willingness to make a scene on their behalf an hour earlier, but Gwen had vetoed the notion. Though not the organiser, the Tower Master was their host-in-name, and it would not do to embarrass Whetu and his Master before they could plumb the depth of Auckland''s half-hearted defence.

    Not wishing to waste more time, she had excused him from her circle, then distracted the others by regaling the tale of her defeat of the Shoal.

    Freed, Richard quickly found his target, one of the "Oceania Ten" Gwen''s Master used to toot on occasion, the Ta Moko Enchanter-Transmuter who was their guide from earlier. And who looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here during the ceremony.

    Wa M¨¡taatua was the Magister''s name, looking a little lost among his bevy of mates in the Militant Faction, all grumbling at the meddling members of the Tower''s peace-drunk pacifists.

    Though the truth had to be confirmed with Aria, Richard confidently suspected that the Militant Faction''s waning was an unintended consequence of Gwen''s meddling. A part of it had to do with the record profits posted by the Grey Factioneers riding off the coattails of Gwen''s port authority reforms or the investments on the Isle of Dogs. Another was likely tied to the bankruptcy of Militant backers in the wake of her victory over the Hollands.

    That Gwen''s greed in London could ripple across the Mageocracy like a tsunami was a sobering thought, a realisation that made Richard shiver.

    He emptied his flute of wine in a single gulp.

    "Magister M¨¡taatua," Richard projected a sense of total ease as the unfriendly gaze of the Militants swept over his unwelcomed body. "If I may borrow a minute of your time?"

    "Of course," the man broke from the group after glancing at his mates. "How can I not make time for the saviours of Wellington? Magus...?"

    "Huang," Richard replied. "From King''s College. Magister Chandra and Milford have often spoken of your time there, Magister M¨¡taatua."

    "Oh-ho?" the M¨¡taatua''s expression softened, relaxing the contours of the frightening Ta Moko around his chin and brows. "You''re an alumnus as well?"

    "Still enrolled," Richard laughed sheepishly, then bowed his head. "My good lecturers would be pleased to know that I''ve met an old friend from their adventuring days."

    "Would they? Even though I am a Frontiersmen?" The Magister snorted cynically in his direction. "I can read you like a book, boy. Alright¡ªwhat is it that you want?"

    "To render some much-needed aid, Sir." Richard was delighted that the Magister read him precisely as he intended to be written.

    In the straightforward manner of military men, the Magister directed Richard a curt distance from his crew.

    "Out of respect for Magister Song, I''ll bite," the man said. "What is it, Huang? Do you need a favour? Why not ask the Greys over there fawning over her?"

    "Sir, we''re here to gift you a favour. As you have heard, our party managed to defeat the Shoal of the Elemental Prince Shyvaphyr. Interestingly, Paladin Te Wherowhero did not mention that the retreating Elementals had gifted us a subdued Dragon Turtle among our winning spoils."

    The Magister''s eyes widened only a micron but could not help the slight dilation of his pupils.

    "As the presiding Element of the Dragon Turtle is Para-Elemental Steam," Richard continued with his guileless grin. "Our first thought was how useful its Spirit might become if bounded to the right Mage¡ªsuch as Lord Benedict Thomas of House Holland."

    "The inheritor of the Golden Blood," the Magister looked parched. "Yes. I could imagine he would be interested in such a thing."

    "I imagine he would be well pleased. Pleased enough to send a wealth of resources down to the antipodes," Richard addressed the Magister''s intense, demanding gaze with smiling eyes. "As you can tell from Gwen''s popularity, we can only hold onto our spoils for the short duration of Magister Song''s stay in Auckland. Would you be so kind as to contact Lord Holland and deliver my cousin''s goodwill gesture?"

    Following his rhetorical question, M¨¡taatua''s mien returned to its impassive, intimidating state. "We''re far from London, Magus Huang, but I still read the papers. Why should I trust you or your mistress in delivering this rare and undeserved prize? Have you not done enough for our Faction?"

    "Lord Thomas is but one of the many admirers of milady. Their grievance is no more serious than a lover''s spat¡ªnot that they''re lovers, despite what''s been widely circulating." Richard made up his mind to gift the man a few editions of the METRO. "Besides, a foe of only yesterday makes for easy friends when a common crisis lies in ambush, don''t you think so, Magister? The Frontier is a large and wealthy prize, and Magister Song is a Frontierswoman. Her friends and home lie here in Oceania. She holds privileged knowledge of the troubles to come. And as a survivor of Sydney, she understands very well her priorities."

    "A Dragon Turtle, you say?"

    "One that could rival Lord Golos," Richard lied with relish.

    "That''s one bully Spirit you''re selling, then." M¨¡taatua''s tone softened.

    "The bulliest," Richard assured the man. "And it fought our Mythic-Dragon trained Transmuter to a standstill."

    "Is that impressive?"

    "I was certainly impressed." Richard beamed with supernatural confidence. "And this is coming from me, who watched our Magister Song choke a Soul Flayer with her dainty little hands."

    There was a brief moment of silence; then, the Ta Moko Enchanter tensed up. "You''re very well-spoken," the Magister looked at him unhappily. "Has the Grey Faction offered you membership yet?"

    "I deemed myself unworthy of the offer," Richard confessed to his greatest sin, humility. "By my Astral Soul, this one is content as a Magus secretary under the sky-smothering wings of our Magister Song."

    The two men regarded one another.

    "Tell me, boy¡ªis she a good Chief?"

    "A boy from the Frontiers could not beg for better," Richard replied.

    "I see," the Maori Chief seemed satisfied with his answers. "Very well, I will deliver your message through our secure channels. Should Lord Thomas accept¡­"

    "We will have the Spirit ready for taming," Richard said. "The Lord will need to supply a retinue and the necessary resources. We''re only equipped for repelling the Shoal."

    "Understandable," the Magister said. "Leave me your Glyph. I will contact you as soon as we receive word."

    "Understood."

    "How would Magister Song like to be paid?" The Military man asked, then thought better of his curiosity. "¡ªNo, don''t have to answer that."

    "That would be between Lord Holland and Magister Song," Richard revealed nothing as he patted himself on the back for a job well done, simultaneously sending out his Empathic feelers for Lea''s mark, which he''d left on Gwen. "I dare say, Chief M¨¡taatua, that our Magister will have her work cut out for her."

    On the other side of the formal room, Gwen mulled over the second act of the Third South Sea Conflict.

    The soprano was Gwen herself, around whom the city''s brass encircled. She was joined by her aide-de-camp, Aria Ravenport, who introduced each of the Maguses and Magisters, ofttimes appending their names with juicy little details of which Faction her admirers belonged.

    Opposite and in opposition stood the leadership of Auckland Tower, headed by the silver-haired Tower Master Esther Hildebrandt, a contemporary of her Master''s for almost two decades, flanked by Te Wherowhero, Auckland''s Maori Paladin.

    Yue naturally represented Sydney, joined here and there by Melbourne and Brisbane Tower''s representatives.

    Over the last few hours, Gwen quickly realised that she had vastly underestimated the scope of Cambridge''s Magisterial trial. The naive part of her had anticipated something of a repeated Wellington involving a top-down attack on the Shoal, supported by the might of Auckland Tower.

    Instead, the atmosphere in the converted Officer''s Mess reminded her of the unpleasant disarray her Master had concocted in neglecting Sydney''s political infighting.

    Presently, the praise had dried up, and the discussion in the room had moved from the crystal clarity of victory at Wellington toward something mired in mud.

    "We''ve reached an acceptable parity," one of the Magisters Aria had attributed to the local Grey Faction was leading the charge. "Thankful as we are to Magister Song, let us not lose our heads. A Mermen Tide is something to be outlived, not repelled. Magister M¨¡taatua''s Magma Element might be boiling over at the prospect of harvesting more Core from the Shoal, but at what cost?"

    "Hori has a point," another voice affirmed the first. "The Shoal''s lost its momentum, and now we have Magister Song on our side. Auckland can and will survive this Shoal, just as its survived every other invasion. The Expedition from London will arrive in six months to relieve us even if the Mermen does not retreat."

    "Aye, Auckland isn''t Sydney¡ªeven if we win, the cost to our sorcerous resources will make our next stand against the next Shoal nigh-impossible," another voice echoed the sentiments of the first.

    Zero escalation, Aria had informed her, was the predominant view of the Grey Faction in Auckland. When properly repaired, a well-run defence war was a profitable venture in materials and experience, meaning many in Auckland held the fragile hope of coming out of the invasion stronger than before. Their longing, Gwen supposed, wasn''t without merit, for Gunther had proven beyond doubt that Sydney had emerged from "The Fall" stronger when it was under Henry''s stewardship. And Gunther was now Sydney''s sole benign dictator. If the same could be achieved for Auckland, what was not to like?

    To deploy herself into the Shoal¡ªand to have her fight with her back against the Tower, would absolutely constitute an escalation of the zenith degree, triggering the trickling tide into a sea sprout of fish flesh.

    Of course, the militants were adamant that repulsing the Shoal would ensure a decade of peace for Auckland, not to mention opening up enormous swaths of the South Sea to fishing and explorations.

    "Facing the Shoal is inevitable," the lonely voice of a Militant adherent had paid little heed to the Grey Faction Mages as he spoke with Gwen. "The South Sea Expedition will need to Purge the region from here to the pole regardless. It would serve your purpose better to conduct the Purge while the Tower is active."

    "Tua, need I remind you that the Tower is a defensive structure?" Te Wherowhero shot down the man''s suggestion that they should park the Tower atop the Shoal and let Gwen get to work.

    "You would expend the lives of our Mages to disperse a Shoal that would leave anyway?" The Greys weren''t having it insofar as the city''s warmongering went. "Give it two months from now, and it will starve. A Shoal of that size has to feed, and there''s only so much food between the coast and the Barrier Islands for Merman to forage."

    "Every Merman we let live today will return twenty-fold!" the Militant snarled at his contemporaries. "With Magister Song on lease to Auckland, we have only this opportunity."

    "Sure, we have Magister Song," a Grey Faction Magister mocked the man. "But who will pay for the Tower''s expenditure? That''s millions of HDMs, Tua. Millions. Will your Faction pay for it? Are you even able to? Even if you sold all the Cores you harvest, will it be enough? What about the damaged port? The ships we''ll lose? Who will pay for those? M¨¡taatua? Your bosses from Sandhurst? From the Shard? How will they compensate Magister Song for her time?"

    The party, Gwen sighed, was becoming bothersome. She understood very well that this too was a part of her training as a Magister, but she felt sickened by the redolence of fungi in the room. So many words were being spoken, and yet so little was done. It was a stark difference from her experiences in London, where the folk she had crossed wands with all possessed the power to make the changes they desired. Lord Ravenport was one such example; the Lady of Ely was another. The Chinese got their shit done, one way or another. Hell, the Dwarves she had met could commit to action within minutes or fist-fight for consensus. Even with the Elves, refutations were firm and final, allowing her to make alternate plans.

    But this was word vomit, conflict without resolve, kicking the can down the lane.

    I should take a trip up to Sydney. Her mind wandered in the midst of her polite silence. I should visit Almundj.

    When finally, the droning debate became something resembling white noise, Gwen looked around the room to see what her friends were doing.

    Yue was the wisest of them, for she was gone no sooner had the arguments started, immediately securing a place for her followers closest to the seafood buffet.

    Richard was floating beside M¨¡taatua, laying foundations, while Petra and Lulan stood by their lonesome selves, projecting such palpable auras of desired solitude that none dared to approach.

    "War is money," the representative from the Greys made his case. "We''re not rich enough to sink the current Shoal and afford the next one. No hard feelings, Tua."

    "Is that your opinion, Tower Master?" the Militant Factioneer scowled at Gwen''s host.

    Like herself, the Tower Master had remained silent while her subjects played out their parts. As the first among equals, her presumed neutrality was the correct position to assume. In many ways, Gwen was learning very shockingly just how peculiar and tyrannical her Master had been in his tenure as the "Master of the Ten".

    "Magister Song," Hildebrandt turned to Gwen for an answer. "What is the Shard''s preference?"

    It felt strange to Gwen that though she was Henry''s heir, her position beside Aria Ravenport acknowledged her as the voice of the Shard. By now, she was well aware that her default position in the eyes of Auckland was an expensive insurance policy¡ªone Auckland loathed to claim for fear of next year''s increased premium.

    She gave the room her best smile. If her only recourse were to wait for Nyrlesvinyr to come to her, she wouldn''t complain. However, she had plans of her own.

    If Auckland were anything like Sydney, there would be work here that only herself, as a London Magister in the Frontiers, could do. From what she had seen of the Golems and the conditions of the city''s Militia, somebody somewhere was making HDMs hand over fist. Thereby, for the success of her expedition in six months and to build enough trust in Auckland to deal with the fallout of what she might find on Mount Erebus, she must exercise a different kind of power.

    "Well¡ª" her voice bounced from the enormous pane of glass overlooking the bay and the Shoal below. "I am perfectly happy, whatever they may be. If not offence, then allow me to aid in every aspect of Auckland''s defence."

 Chapter 450 - Sooty Tidings

    For a Magister-tier practitioner of fiscal cultivation in London, the fact of the Tower allowing the Greys to leave the meeting to reconvene on a later date was tale-telling evidence the leadership was drunk on peace.

    Gwen wasn''t upset. After all, the same had applied to Sydney as well. Before the Mermen Tide, her home had been left alone to develop its enterprises for two decades without a major catastrophe. Henry Kilroy had never neglected the city''s defences or its economic development, but in hindsight, her Master had failed the secret courts of the human heart.

    On paper, the assumption was that the Militant Factions went to war with their urgency and disciplined adherence to duty and sacrifice during active campaigns.

    Assuming all survived, the Greys transmuted the spoils into profit, ushering forth rapid reconstruction and investment, replenishing the Militant''s reserve forces.

    And somewhere in between, the neutral parties of the Middle Faction ensured that neither Faction grew bloated with ambition, keeping the political status of a Tower in flux.

    In Auckland, that balance no longer existed, and from the looks of matters, the Greys had grown corpulent in recent years.

    Gwen found the imbalance curious, for even in London, where the Duke of Norfolk himself was both the capstone officer of her Majesty''s Royal Forces and the presumed voice of the Grey Faction, its members upheld a profound humility as state-sanctioned merchants. Comparatively, the Greys in Auckland wielded their HDMs like a gavel, bopping whoever dared to protest with the daring arrogance of landlord to lessees.

    As an outsider looking in, Gwen could see the imbalance as clear as day, but for the residents who had passively allowed the matter to transpire? She only hoped the Tower Master and her Paladin weren''t complicit.

    Whatever the case, for Auckland to survive the Shoal while remaining in the black, she would need to deploy her unique position as a London Magister and a loathsome hand of the Shard.

    At tea, she had proclaimed her duty to oversee every aspect of the war, including its logistics.

    The Magisters had gone silent, and the Tower Master had exhaled what she hoped was a sigh of relief. Paladin Te did not protest either, meaning the suddenly stifling atmosphere had been left to simmer until the jubilation of victory at Wellington had entirely evaporated.

    Then, in full public view and with the natural arrogance of a landed aristocrat, she had requested that a level in the Tower be made ready for her office, then demanded from Tower Master Hildenbrandt exclusive access to the Tower''s sanctioned records.

    "Absurd!"

    "She can''t do that! Can she?"

    "We''re a sovereign, federated state!" Protests had erupted like Clam-selling Mermen from the seashore. "Besides, she''s from the Shard!"

    "I see no reason we can''t trust the Saviour of Wellington," Paladin Te Wherowhero had quailed the protest with a deep and resonating grunt. "Tower Master?"

    "Magister Song is the sister of Lord Shultz." Esther Hildenbrandt had given a supporting verdict. "Lady Aria Ravenport has informed me that Gwen also has the support of the Duke of Norfolk and the Marchioness of Ely. Furthermore, Magister Song is the one who oversaw the Tonglv Canal in Shanghai and the restoration of the Kachin, Nagaland, Yangoon, and Manipur Frontiers. She turned around the failed finances of the Fire Sea at Shalkar, and she is also the mastermind behind the Isle of Dogs Redevelopment project¡­"

    The Tower Master had filled the room with her projected aura as she spoke. Esther Hildenbrandt was no Henry Kilroy or Gunther Shultz, which dulled her presence in Gwen''s eyes, but she was nonetheless an old Magister with decades of collated sorcery to back up her claims. As a renowned Abjurer and the teacher of Whetu, she possessed many merits others could not begin to match.

    "¡­ in my mind, none here can match her achievements in the field of civil service, nor her prowess as a War Mage. Besides, have you all forgotten Henry built this Tower? Why would his Apprentice mean us harm? As the Auckland Tower''s executive, I ask that Magister Song take on the role of a provisional Assistant Administrator for the duration of her stay in Auckland. Is that a possibility, Magister Song?"

    Gwen had done her best to feign humility.

    "I am young and inexperienced," she confessed to a sea of blank and worried faces, pausing for effect. "So I must abstain¡­"

    The faces grew hopeful.

    "¡­from my faults¡­ and listen to the counsel of Master Hildenbrandt. I can see from your hopeful faces that you''ve buckled this duty onto my back, so I will endure the load to lessen your burdens."

    The faces grew dour.

    "Worry not, friends. I am sure everyone here has done their very best for Auckland!" Gwen had given the crowd her biggest, brightest, most effervescent smile. "Trust me, and we''ll show you how we debit and credit in Cambridge! Rest assured, good folk, no waste will be left unaddressed!"

    The applause that followed had been resounding, though any auditor could tell there was no heart.

    Look at the grim faces behind the clapping palms meeting in prayer; Gwen wondered if anyone was dumb enough to have a go at her. Indeed, with enough HDMs as motivation, folks could be inspired to do anything. The same truth was valid for both this world and her old one.

    And that was why Gwen now paced through an empty quadrant of the Sky Tower''s sixty-fourth Pocket Space, organising workspaces with her team from Cambridge.

    Looking at the Mages borrowed from the Cambridge and the Ravenports going about their familiar business, Gwen was beginning to deeply suspect either Charlene or the Duke had expected this to happen. Somehow, despite their diverse skillsets, her team of alumni all had experiences in public service, whether at the Shard or Oxbridge, and most were familiar with account keeping to boot. Still, she had requested additional aid, as they would need more men and women than that to sift through Auckland''s receipts.

    WEEEEEEEEE¡ªEEEEM¡ª

    She was in the middle of setting up processing stations and drafting up additional personnel from London or Shanghai when a reverberating thrum travelled up the floor through her stilettos and gave her a mild migraine.

    The Tower''s Resonance Field was now active.

    "Magister Song," Aria called from the window, beyond which the party from Cambridge afforded a clear and uninterrupted view of the Shoal further out to sea. "Another skirmish has begun."

    Her team approached the floor to ceiling panes as one.

    Two streams of the froth-laced sea were slowly hugging the sheltered bay of Auckland like the writhing underside of a giant squid.

    When the tentacles came close to the Shielding Stations, a portion of the Mermen Tide disintegrated, boiling the blue sea until countless bodies floated to the top. At the same time, ripples of disturbed resonance flashed across invisible panes, spontaneously generating arcs of plasma to strike the bubbling surface.

    As more and more floating carcasses piled on top of their predecessors, the hazy shielding grew warped until, some five or six minutes since Aria first drew her attention, the stations closest to the Mermen fizzled.

    "Whoa-whoa-whoa," one of the Cambridge Mages muttered. "Is that normal? We don''t see that back in London."

    "They''re just overloaded," Petra assured them. "It''ll take a few hours for the core to cool¡ª"

    DING! The Message that bloomed beside Gwen and her combat team of Richard, Lulan and Petra was the red of catastrophe.

    "Gogo, it''s time for work. Let Dede know he''s up." Gwen announced to the air, informing her frolicking Wyvern and duck from their temporary abode in Coromandel, some fifty kilometres from the incursion. With Golos away, it was up to Dede to keep the turtle honest, and though her duck was no match for the Demi-Dragon, it spoke in her stead, thus ensuring obedience. "Petra, can you check up on the stations and see what you can do?"

    "Understood, Magister."

    "And Aria, keep an eye on the Factioneers while we''re gone." she laid out her orders. "Record everything. If anyone complains or dares refuse our request for receipts¡ªor BURNS them¡ª"

    "Tell them to complain to Caliban in person." Aria gave her an affirming nod.

    "¡­ and tell them the Duke of Norfolk is always watching," Gwen appended her aide''s conjecture. "Maybe gift them a small photo portrait of her majesty or something. Remind them that compliance and forgiveness go hand-in-hand, while each degree of obfuscation will only dig them deeper into bankruptcy¡­ and worse. The Frontlines are always hungry for more Mages."

    "Understood." Aria took notes. "Shall I pursue our staff requests from Shanghai and London?"

    "See what London can offer first, then Shanghai." Gwen glossed over her workload for the coming months. "Double the pay and guarantee their safety. If they''re wasting my time to help with an assault as lightweight as this, I feel we''ll be reclaiming a lot more than we can spend."

    The "invasion" of Auckland lasted two days and would have consumed a week were it not for Gwen and the firepower, firepower, and firepower of Yue Bai. Supported by the Sky Tower, Gwen and two Flights of Auckland''s Mages had taken up a Forward Operating Base on the northern Barrier Islands closest to the Shoal, which allowed them to create chaos in the flow of Mermen bodies cascading southward from both the east and west. Yue and her team had taken up the forts in Stony Batter on Waiheke, frying the Mermen as they crowded the shallows and made landfall en mass.

    During the lulls, Gwen teleported back to the Tower to check on the progress of her auditing team, deeply suspecting that the Greys were using her work with the Shoal to keep her busy and away from the transaction records. Of course, she was far too wily to be easily distracted, which meant Golos, Ariel and Caliban were given the lion''s share of her labours in reducing the advancing chattel to chowder.

    The closeness of their areas of operation also meant that she could meet up with Whetu and Yue, who never seemed put off by the endless massacre of Mermen, and could down seafood by the tray at lunchtime without a single hint of hesitation. As a testament to her fortitude, the Fire Sorceress often showed up bearing crab legs and lobster claws the size of people.

    When finally the Sky Tower''s Diviners had announced that the Shoal retracted its tendrils, the city''s defenders raised their burnt wands to the sky, exhaling ragged cheers of relief. Richard and Petra were exhausted, with Lulan fairing only a little better thanks to her unique style of mana cultivation. As for Gwen, the brimming vitality cramming her innards was more potent than drinking a dozen espresso shots.

    Within the last fifty hours, she had seen both Auckland''s glory and its failures. Doubtlessly, the city''s morale was well-groomed by Master Hildebrandt, for its militia was paradoxically both hopeful and desperate.

    And without a doubt, the militia manning her forward operating base was well supplied and provisioned. However, when she detoured to Yue''s battle station, she saw a clear and unequal display of either favouritism, incompetence, or outright kleptocracy.

    For instance, there were six "amplifiers-forts" on Waiheke, each housing a minimum of two platoons of men, forming a defensive line of fighting staff plus two squads of support personnel. However, the furtherer a Mage wandered from Yue''s home base in Stony Batter, the scantier their equipment became.

    For instance, Gwen''s NoM militia squads utilised a random assortment of elemental wands. Additionally, for every tenth man, an Evoker acolyte manned a portable Spellsword array capable of laying down rapid-firing Scorching Rays. Likewise, her men and women wore magically-enhanced body armour, and their bandoliers carried crystal cartridges for their weapons AND healing, antidote, and fortitude potions.

    When Gwen flew in to support the island''s middle region, an inlet called Onetangi, she was shocked to find the militia fending off the Mermen at melee range, using roughly-built, elevated palisades to afford the reach of Shock Spears wielded by unarmored soldiers. It was the sort of thing she had only seen in rural Shanghai, with the local "people''s militia" fighting the Frogmen, while here was the midst of a full-blown tide, with an active Tower overhead!

    When she found their squad leader, an Abjurer Sergeant, the man readily complained that the Tower had left them inadequate resources¡ªbut understood the shortage to be endemic and, therefore, "such is life".

    Gwen had left the man two crates of potions and a pair of her Lightning Hounds the size of horses, then Messaged Aria to affirm her findings.

    "Magister Song," her aides'' report was prompt and immediate. "You were right, and I''ve compiled some interesting data for your perusal. The manifests match, but the inventory outgoing shows symptoms of missing parts and plant equipment. There are also entire shipments on loan but never returned."

    As Gwen suspected, something had begun to rot at Auckland''s heart.

    Someone far less skilful and ambitious than Eric Walken was playing silly bugger politics in this time of crisis, believing that NOW of all times was the ripest moment to loot supplies and canvass power.

    Thankfully, due to her quick demoralisation of the Shoal''s assault, she had several days to spare, which she spent organising her staff and putting them to the task at hand. Unlike the monotonous career of Frontier Mages, the overeducated Cambridge graduates were multi-talented and overtly arrogant, making them excellent at collecting information and coercing documents and records from Auckland''s middle-level Maguses and Mages.

    Gwen watched the filing chamber grow day by day, filling her shelves with rows of data slates and manuscripts. As for the mood in the Sky Tower, the hot topic very quickly shifted from the "Saviour from the Shard" to the "Imperialist Dog-botherer."

    Not that Gwen particularly cared.

    Whatever goods these kleptomaniacs had hidden in their bellies, in front of the Devourer¡ªall shall regurgitate their share.

    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

    By the twelfth day since her arrival, the Shoal once more initiated an assault. That same morning, she received the news that her guest, the man with the Golden Blood, Lord Benedict Thomas of House Holland, had arrived to rouse morale on the "Front".

    Of the lord and the fishes, Gwen chose the latter, venturing out into the bay to dissuade the Shoal''s tentative tentacles from molesting Auckland''s shores.

    And so it was that the orange-haired heir of House Holland found the Devourer in the middle of a feeding frenzy, her Da-peng armour dripping with wasteful droplets of excess Void.

    "Magister Song." The lordly ginger was alone, though Gwen had no doubt the man had bodyguards who could appear in a split second at the slightest sign of danger. "You look ravishing as always."

    Gwen ceased conducting the carnage below and allowed Caliban to take over the swarm. "Lord Holland, how lovely to see you again. Lovely English weather we''re having here in Auckland. Doesn''t it make you feel right at home?"

    As was the preference for Mermen attacks, the sky was densely overcast and threatening to pour. When the actual downpour occurred, it would induce the full weight of the Shoal''s present attempt at breaching Auckland. Ergo, her job was to break the Shoal''s momentum before that happened.

    Gwen pulled back the cowl of her Da-peng garb to reveal her flushed face. The young lord''s eyes lingered a little longer than he would have liked before moving to take her hand.

    Now facing the lord, she offered a mid-air curtsy as instructed by Le Guevel. The young lord briefly passed his thin, bloodless lip over her gauntlet, concluding the exchange.

    "Though I have longed for another meeting, Magister Song, I must confess that my interest this time is the Dragon Turtle," Benedict Thomas carefully chose his words. "That said, to support your efforts, you have my full authority as gifted by the crown."

    Despite his elite upbringing, Thomas was curt, polite, and to the point, all points that scored well within Gwen''s expectations of a good LinkedIn profile.

    "Where are your men?" Gwen looked past the man to the space behind him. "The Lord of Holland doesn''t travel solo, does he?"

    "They''re making sure of the rumours." The young Lord inclined his chin. "Your aide reported discrepancies and that the Greys are to blame? To undermine the military in an active war zone¡ªthat''s a fatal offence. If true, I could skewer a few of the Greys on pikes, go home and still receive a medal."

    "Well, let''s not get ahead of ourselves," Gwen rectified the man''s bias. "Of course, numbers don''t lie. The Greys are doing very well, and the Militias with ties to the Grey Market have the least losses. Once we follow the paper trails to their natural conclusions¡ªor missing filings, as it were¡ªwe''ll know who to bring in for questioning."

    Thomas gave her a smirk. "Lovely. By the by, I brought the men you requisitioned as well. Nineteen volunteers from the Isle of Dogs. Charlene said you needed them in a hurry, so I arranged priority transfer at Heathrow."

    "That''s very nice of you." Gwen paused mid-sentence as a jolt of vitality hit, making Thomas gulp. "¡ªOne second. I''ve caught something."

    "As you were, Magister." Thomas retained his impeccable manners by drifting out of conversation range, just in case Gwen needed to shield up.

    "GURRRWARRRR¡ªRRRRGH¡ª!" Some hundred meters from the talking pair, the sea erupted, vomiting forth an enormous manta ray half the width of the Sky Tower''s circular flight deck. With a great flap of its hydrodynamic wings, the gargantuan manta took flight, making headway toward her general direction.

    Thomas whistled.

    SCHWIIIING¡ª!

    SCH¡ªSCHWIIIING¡ª!

    Without prompts from Gwen, seven swords, each larger than Gwen herself, whistled past herself and the space between her and Thomas, momentarily lighting up their faces with the passage of weighted steel polished to a mirror shine.

    The blades struck flesh some fifty meters away, burying themselves to the hilt in the meat of the advancing skyscraper.

    The manta''s combat prowess as a troop-carrying battering ram was formidable, but Gwen knew it was taking flight as an act of desperation. Already, there were no less than six Camry-sized lampreys attached to its fins and undersides, busily wearing down its vital regeneration to burrow past the cartilage and liquify the manta''s delicious organs.

    A second later, Metallic Sword Bursts erupted across the manta''s flanks, causing its trajectory to falter, raining down gory chunks of stringy white meat.

    Through her Empathic Link, Gwen commanded Golos to stay put, wondering if Thomas the Steam Mage would act the gentlemen and put himself in harm''s way to protect the "lady" on his lips.

    Forty meters...

    Thirty meters...

    "Magister¡­" Thomas gave her a gentle cough and a look of consternation. "The creature isn''t dead yet."

    Apparently, she was no lady¡ªand neither did Thomas feel like playing the gent.

    With another flap of its giant wings, the manta issued forth a dozen jets of water from its underside, propelling it upward and forward with the momentum of an otherworldly spaceship. There was no howl, no pain-fuelled battle cry, just the sound of whirling water buffeting the air as the manta hoped to swallow the Mages whole.

    "Golos!" At a distance of a dozen meters, Gwen gave the command.

    Her Wyvern appeared at once, abandoning the distant rumble of a sonic boom behind it as it struck the manta perpendicular to its gills. The spectacle was artful ultraviolence, for no sooner had the Draconic ball lightning exploded in a crimson blot of pink impressionism did Golos'' tail club concaved the building-sized manta''s gut into a sudden "U", causing the creature''s innards to erupt from its upper back like a burst water balloon.

    Stepping slightly ahead of Gwen, Thomas twiddled his fingers, instantly manifesting a wall of turbulent air to swirl away the incoming shower of scarlet sea spray.

    Now a limp blanket the size of a soccer field, the manta began its inevitable descent.

    Side by side, Gwen and her guest watched her Wyvern fly away with what was presumedly the Core. A few moments later, the airborne troop carrier fell into the Shoal, slicing the roving tendril of Mermen troops in twain with a wall of water a dozen meters tall.

    "Where were we?" The man offered no words of honeyed praise. "Oh yes, I''ve also brought the supplies Magister M¨¡taatua requested."

    "You have my thanks."

    "Might I ask a question?"

    "Sure," Gwen said as she swept her mind over her array of Lampreys. The Shoal was in a panic, meaning without interruptions or the command of a higher-order Mermen, a rout should soon be in the works. "Shoot."

    "Why are you helping us?" Thomas asked. "The Militants, I mean. I thought we were at odds."

    "I am helping Auckland." Gwen met the man''s eyes. "I am a Magister of Her Majesty''s Commonwealth, am I not? Are you not the same?"

    "I can''t fault that answer." Thomas'' smile grew wry. "But I can''t help but feel you''ve laid a trap for us. You''ve cultivated an impressive reputation after the collapse of the Barlow Group. The old families are dredging the household coffers to put up the Northern Expedition."

    "Ah, how is that going?" Gwen asked. "I know it''s been less than a month, and you don''t have to tell me if the information is privileged."

    "It is. But you possess that privilege as a leading Magister of the Southern Expedition." Thomas appeared thoughtful. "I can tell you that the Breaker Carrier has already arrived on Greenland and that we''ve settled into the old fortifications there, the ones build before the Beast Tide."

    "Any Fire Elementals?"

    "There''s always Fire Elementals," Thomas said. "But if you''re talking about that rumour of Elementals attempting to change the composition of the Prime Material, then we''re seeing some weight to your conjectures."

    "That''s not good news." Gwen was genuinely surprised the upper echelon of this world could be so accepting of something so unknown. Was it because of the Elves? Or was it that, in the absence of political culture wars, Climate Change could remain in its purest incarnation¡ªan arithmetic chain of factual cause and effects? "I am happy someone''s taking it seriously, though."

    "Yes, the Expedition is taking the claim seriously," Thomas assured her. "How could we not? We were immediately attacked the moment we made landfall. The dense southern shrublands had been reduced to ash, so there was no possibility of an ambush¡ªbut we were still damn surprised to be suddenly swarmed by Ember Sprites in an arctic Black Zone!"

    "They burned the trees?" Gwen felt her chest tighten. "All of it?"

    "A lot of it. I am guessing they used the old woods to enrich the lack of Elemental Fire" Thomas confirmed her fears. "There was soot as far as the eye could see. Even the snow was black slush. I don''t know how extensive the phenomenon was due to the smoke and smog obscuring reconnaissance, but it''s safe to say at least our quadrant was entirely consumed. We were in the middle of launching Recon-in-Force when your Message arrived. I burned a Contingency Ring to return to London. Father prepared the supplies for Auckland, and now, here I am."

    Gwen felt a ping of envy. Burning a Contingency Ring to avoid the week-long travel? When could she amass enough materials to exercise the Steam Mage''s sense of priorities? Still, the picture the man painted for her wasn''t looking very nice for the scenario she had in mind. From her Planar knowledge classes, she knew with absolute certainty that changing the elemental composition of a Prime Material region required a disproportional volume of mana on a scale unimaginable even to Elemental Monarchs. However, what if the heralds of the Fire Sea only wanted to crinkle the status quo? What shockwaves could a tsunami of such a scale engender? Would they even know, or were they merely poking the bear to see if it would swipe at the cages, gambling that it would break loose?

    "Did you find the Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar grove?" Gwen asked, recalling her final briefing before she left. "The one Tryfan dubbed the Frost Tree of Lh?weth."

    "No luck, not even close," Thomas spoke while admiring the carnage below. "Considering the resistance we are experiencing, even if we bulldoze forward with the Centurion MKIIs, it''ll take weeks."

    "You have Aerial Battle Wings with you, don''t you? They can''t fly out and check how things are faring at the tree?"

    "Battle Mages don''t make Forward Operating Bases or account for logistics for the eight thousand men and women surviving in a Black Zone," Thomas retorted with the tone of an instructor. "Even with aid from the Order of St George and the Knights of the Garter, we''re having trouble mopping up the Undead."

    Her heart grew still. "There''s what now?"

    "Undead Mermen." Thomas raised a brow. "They crawl forth from the slush and soot and ambush our patrols. That''s the reason why we''re thinking of pushing through a corridor with walking barrages. You weren''t told?"

    "I wasn''t privy to that detail." Gwen thought of Erebus and Antarctica. She had at least five months before the converted Battle Barge assigned to the Southern Expedition could make its way to New Zealand. If so, what did that mean for the Planar balance there? What if the changes in Antarctica weren''t the actions of natural forces but malicious actors? Would her Dwarves, the Mages from Manipur, and the troops assigned by the Shard be enough to deal with the Undead? Unlike Thomas'' Northern Expedition, her''s was a fact-finding mission. Even with her forces and the Raven Guards onboard, their expedition was two and a half thousand souls.

    "I am sure Charlene will make provisions. If she mentions the Undead, the Ordo Garter can be very generous in mobilising the Purifiers of the Chalice."

    Gwen could only nod.

    The South Pole, the unknown aftermath of a major volcanic eruption, suspicions of Spectre, the Great Tree of Illh?weth, and now the Undead...

    Her plate was feeling a little too full.

    Beside her, Thomas alternated between studying her contemplative face and the raging battle below.

    "The Mermen are routed," the man said after a while. "Between been eaten by your Void beasts and the Mermen-you-know, I''d prefer the latter."

    "Caliban, Ariel, Gogo, pursue and scatter, hunt down the ones on the shore," Gwen gave audible commands for the benefit of her guest. "If you run into any trouble, immediately retreat inland."

    Gwen mulled over the logistics of maximising her forces for when Charlene arrived on the carrier.

    While Thomas loudly marvelled at the autonomy of her creatures. The aftermath took just over an hour, which was enough time for Thomas'' men to clean up the Mermen that had made landfall and rejoin their Major-ranked noble.

    "Alright, thanks for waiting, Thomas," Gwen announced the conclusion of her operation, gathering Lulan and Richard to her side before finally addressing the patient Benedict Thomas of House Holland. "Let''s go see that Turtle of yours."

    The taming of a Wildland "Spirit" was no easy feat.

    For pedestrian creatures, a Mage could slaughter enough of them until the higher powers of arithmetic deemed them worthy of a Spirit-imbued Core. It was the most common manner by which Mages acquired Spirits, though such a tried and true method had a significant imperfection.

    The shattered Spirit would possess little to no Ego.

    Of course, common Mages, especially those in the Frontier, preferred such a Spirit, for Spirits without a robust Ego were obedient, pliant, and cheap.

    Higher-order Mages, especially Conjurers, harkened after the Holy Grail of Spirits with unblemished Egos. These were far more difficult to obtain, for no Elemental worth the trouble of befriending would prefer existential symbiosis over simple extinction. And if one added additional prefixes like "Draconic", even London''s Magisters would grow desperate for the opportunity.

    Therefore, Richard had devised that House Holland could not help but take up the offer and owe her a debt that arguably would take enormous endeavours to repay.

    "This is Zippy," Gwen introduced the monstrous Dragon-faced alligator snapping turtle of the South Sea with a casual gesture. "Zitusphyr was what the Turtle Prince called him, but I think Zippy suits him fine."

    Thomas flew around the turtle, tracing a spiral path as he inspected the goods. When he returned to her side, the man took a suspicious gander at Dede and then tossed the duck an enormous, fist-sized block of raw HDM. "He''s beautiful."

    "Damned, right." Gwen made a move, feigning a slap on the turtle''s top shell, feeling every inch like Mario trying to hawk Bowser Jr at a slave sale. "This bad boy can fit so many Steam Bombs inside his Spirit. You''ll be Purging Greenland of the Undead in no time."

    "This is the human?" Zitusphyr raised a tired eye to regard the young Lord Holland. It radiated Dragon Fear, not that Gwen and her companions cared for it. "A mortal?"

    "I art no mere Mortal," Thomas introduced himself in acceptable Draconic. "Our House has a pact with thine cousins of Elemental Fire, so I am no stranger to thy traditions or thine kind."

    Oh-ho? Gwen glanced at the man. Now that''s a juicy bit of information. Did that mean the Hollands had an alliance with Sythinthimryr? The ancient Red with her nest of kin in Carrauntoohil, the natural circuit breaker for the Wild Hunt''s yearly adventures? If so, what kind of Pact? A defence one? A Vessel? Whatever the case, it made sense that the noble families of the Mageocracy had those connections; else, Evee and herself would be true anomalies worthy of dissection.

    Zitusphyr wasn''t the most intelligent of Dragon-kin Gwen''d seen, but even so, the creature tilted its head with scepticism. "You would challenge this one for the Rite? For life or extinction?" The turtle growled.

    "For dominion and obedience," Thomas affirmed the turtle''s question. "Thou art mine now, young Zitusphyr¡ªbut let us not forsake the old ways. We shall entertain a contest with our Astral Souls. Should I yield or perish, Magister Song here shall free thee from bondage to return to thy kin. Should this mere mortal best thee¡ªthou wilt yield to me and be my shield and companion until mine end of days."

    The Dragon turtle turned to regard Gwen''s posse of menacing Mages and magical creatures. "The human speaks true?"

    So you want freedom. After all, Gwen held back from mocking the prideful turtle. "Yes. I will allow¡ªWHOA!!!"

    SNAP!

    A sonic clap from the Dragon Turtle''s suddenly distended tail struck Thomas¡ªor more accurately, a Steam Clone with the likeness of the Holland heir, exploding the mirage in a burst of pale mist.

    Gwen felt bedazzled, both by the speed of Thomas'' Dimension Door, which was a Specialist variation that left behind life-like visages in Steam¡ªand at Zitusphyr''s low, animal cunning. If it was herself, she would have bought into the belief of Draconic honour and may have even taken a hit, assuming Zippy had the gonads to sucker-punch an Old One''s Vessel.

    The re-materialising Thomas was not only unharmed but armoured and helmeted.

    "A low-blow, dear beast," the Mage''s body began to bleed streams of Elemental Steam as he spoke, his silhouette growing more obscured with every word. "Come, Zitusphyr! I''ll tame you if it''s the last thing I do!"

    As to what followed, Gwen held little interest.

    Her trade was done, her favour was called, the supplies were delivered, and what Thomas did with the turtle was wholly his business.

    As she drifted serenely from the unfolding war zone of Elemental Steam, Dragon Breathes and ricochetting shards of "Force" from Thomas'' Signature Magic, her mind once more turned to the Tower''s affairs.

    Richard re-materialised beside her, and Lulan Misty Stepped into view.

    "Gwen." Lulu licked her lips at the action below.

    "Are we returning to the Tower?" her cousin asked.

    "Yes," Gwen affirmed Richard''s suspicions. "Now that Lord Holland is here to shoulder the heat... it''s time to balance the accounts."

 Chapter 451 - Flight of the Kakapos

    Though Gwen possessed perfect faith in Thomas'' show of goodwill, she nonetheless detoured past the lesser defence nodes as her party returned to the Sky Tower. The young lord''s politicking was within expectations, which was to say she felt let down by the tunnel vision of the Faction-minded Mages.

    Is it because I am a stranger to the fact? She considered the conditions of the city besieged by bipedal fish. If she were a true native, would it be possible for her to feel so removed from the ingrained politics of the state?

    Whatever her feelings, Thomas had gifted potions, HDM cartridges and a wealth of Wands to the militia¡ªbut only to the ones whose commanders were closely aligned to the Militants. In the young lord''s mind, he was tipping the favour of the balance back to the "norm", which was good¡ªbut the act was hardly magnanimous nor served to counter Auckland''s deeper problems of unclean hands.

    If she were in Thomas'' position, she would have confiscated and re-balanced the sheets, giving each team equal treatment, bolstered with a resounding speech about fighting fish on the beaches. Then, with coercion from the Shard and a little help from either Caliban or Golos, she would have re-rostered the NCOs of each Militia platoon to disrupt the status quo of favouritism.

    Her first return stop was the Officer''s Mess, for the nourishment of vitality wasn''t the same as the full-bellied warmth of a hearty meal. In times of peace, the kitchen operated only at lunch and dinner. In their present state of war, the staff worked around the clock with rotating shifts. Richard was a staunch believer in Fish and Chips, Lulan''s was for fried rice, while Gwen herself was partial to the honest protein of Auroch Steak. As for Petra, she wholly organised her timetable around her team''s repair and maintenance of the Shielding Stations.

    Gwen studied the mess'' inhabitants as they ate, noting that her party was alternatively hailed, sidestepped, and glared at by nervous Mages coming and going from their duties. Perhaps it was the Da-peng suit, but Gwen felt like a bit of a bird being paraded for a captive audience.

    By now, her popularity was far from when they''d first drifted in from Wellington, but Gwen didn''t mind. Auditors, like their cousin tax collectors, had no friends except among colleagues. And to folk other than Te and the Tower Master of Auckland, she was both.

    "Petra," she faxed over a Message to her Enchanter. "We''re heading over soon. Shall I bring you something?"

    "I''ll be fine. I''ve got rations," Gwen''s Mind Mage replied through the pulsing orb. "I''ll need to return and finish once new supplies arrive via the ISTC. The Glyphs here are positively ancient."

    "In a good way?" Gwen asked. It was a bit hard to tell when it came to Glyphs whether older was better.

    "What do you think?" Petra sounded a bit frustrated.

    Gwen guessed her cousin''s impatience to mean that a great deal of jerry-rigging had been performed by any number of Enchanters on the original Glyph system over the years. A repair, therefore, wouldn''t even be possible without first untangling the cat''s cradle. Gwen possessed a similar system of magic in the beginning, with her Spellbook consisting of her Master''s magic, her high school''s teachings, Alesia''s modding, Gunther''s gifts, and various incantations she bought and found. However, since she had gained access to Henry''s notes, much of her theory work had been streamlined by her studies at Cambridge.

    "I''ll send someone down with fresh food later," Gwen promised. And a bottle of Maotai¡­ which should keep Petra''s Russian fortitude hail and satisfied. "See you at the factory?"

    "See you soon."

    "Alright." Richard pushed away his plate. The kitchen ladies always gave her cousin too much food. "Shall we?"

    Her first stop after lunch would be the Manufactorium for the Wands supply to the local militia. The visit would be wholly unplanned and a surprise to the suppliers, for not even Paladin Te could have expected that she would hop from mincing Mermen to splicing spreadsheets with only a lunch break between them.

    "Let''s go." She folded and replaced her napkin on the empty plate. "And tell Aria to send over some of the staff. I am curious to see who Walken volunteered for the antipodes."

    Auckland.

    Penrose Industrial Estate.

    Far south of the harbour district, Auckland''s urban sprawl thinned into housing for the NoMs before transforming into the square-and-rectangle blocks marked for industrial manufacturing. As a young Frontier city, Auckland enjoyed the benefits of civil planning more than most. Compared to her'' home'', the city''s ordered lanes were free of the chaos of London''s intermittently criss-crossing commerce, Spellcraft, industrial and agriculture zones.

    Atop the estate, Gwen and her principal staff of auditors arrived by Flight. The rest of her team, involving the staff with the equipment, continued to meander through Auckland''s congested war-time arteries.

    Black as a midnight raven, she hovered ominously above what looked to be the stocking yard, her claw-tipped Da-peng boots drinking in the feeble rays diffused by the cloudy sky above. Far in the grey yonder, she could hear arrhythmic thunderclaps, signalling that Thomas and his new turtle were still going at it, hammer and tongs.

    "Magister, they see us¡ª" Lulan twirled several metal slabs with the ease of fidgeting pens. "Some of them are running inside. Should I stop them?"

    "Not with those things." Gwen chuckled. "Well. At the very least, I am glad they know who I am."

    "Shouldn''t they be greeting us then?" Lulan cocked her head toward Gwen, confused at her delight.

    "If they welcomed us," Richard said. "Then I''d be worried. Running is a sign of guilt. I mean, do we look like Fishmen? Gwen''s bird suit has graced the Lumen-caster for weeks by now."

    "I see." Lulan''s sword thrummed. If Gwen squinted, she could just see the outline of Lulu''s bloodlust. "This is just like Tonglv."

    "Not exactly like that." Gwen gave the girl an affirming nod. "But we''ll see just how bad it gets. Don''t baulk at the greed of men, Lulu. We''re all greedy for something. The important thing to know is that there is a time and place for it. Utilised properly, Greed is Good."

    "Greed¡­ is Good?" Lulan appeared shocked.

    "It is¡­" Gwen gave the matter a moment of thought. "...a drug of sorts. Take, for example, the vivid poppy. Within its bulb, there are equal parts medicine and poison. Virtue, if misapplied, it''s a dire vice¡ªyet vice, if rationalised, can be dignified as painkillers. We''re doing that now, don''t you think? Back in Tonglv, all those people we sent to the Front, their associates, families and children. It''s not a good feeling. On a humanitarian level, I have no doubt it''s a flawed system. Yet, didn''t those who stole from Tonglv know this? They did so knowing the risks, understanding they''re taking rice from the bowls of the NoMs building that canal, and they did it anyway. If so, the greed we enable is merely the consequence of their free will. Greed is human nature¡ªa perfect motivator, but the intemperance of greed? In the absence of mutual profit, general good, and social advantage, I think there should always be consequences to greed."

    The Cambridge Mages behind her took notes.

    Richard clapped. "Well said, Magister Song."

    Gwen rolled her eyes at her cousin. "Thanks for coming to my TED talk."

    Richard laughed, shaking his head and muttering something about a Gwenism, then turned to their support officer. "What do you think, Magus Pats?"

    "I think we''ve got company." Petra motioned toward the commotion below. "I am sensing major movements of materials in the warehouses. Mana rich, high density. An underground chamber close to the forge? Do these people take us for fools?"

    "Well," Gwen regarded the gathered thong of Mages pooling into an expanding semi-circle. "We are here uninvited, Pats. Cut these guys some slack, will you?"

    Compared to the auditing of weasels on the Isle of Dogs, the folks in Auckland were little more than flightless Kakapos.

    It took the team half a minute to confirm that the contingent of Mages below was waiting for them to land. On Petra''s advice, Gwen lent her a manifested Ariel, then allowed her Enchanter to leave with the Kirin in tow. To prevent anyone from following Petra, Lulan, Richard, and five of their contemporaries from Cambridge landed near the entrance to confront the suspicious Mages, half of them holding wands.

    "You''re not supposed to be here, young lady," the leader of the Manufactorium spoke up at once. The abrasive speaker was a Maori Enchanter covered from chin to wrist with Ta Moko. The man was in his sixties at the minimum, as evidenced by the dried whisp of his remaining silvery hair. "This is a military installation."

    Gwen wasn''t sure if the man was genuinely stupid or if he was trolling her. For certain, a Magister in Da-peng armour, escorted by Mages from Cambridge, would not simply materialise without knowing their purpose.

    She flashed her Sigil Glyph from The Shard. "I beg to differ. Are you the Foreman of this operation? Magus¡ª?"

    "Waaka, Wa Waaka."

    "Well met, Magus Waaka. Now take me to your office or wherever you stow your accounts." Gwen took a few steps closer. "Spare the pleasantries, for the righteous has no shame."

    The array of wands grew hesitant.

    A few trembled dangerously, but the intent was clear for all to see. Just in case, Gwen readied her mana shield for instant invocation.

    She raised her brows. ¡°Is there a problem, Magus Waaka?¡±

    "You don''t have authorisation¡­" the old Mage declared without confidence. "We haven''t been told¡ª"

    "Magus Waaka." Gwen knew the type from her work across two lifetimes. "By the authority from the Tower Master and as her Majesty''s representative of the Auckland Frontier, I at this moment give myself the authority to inspect the Penrose Wands Manufactorium. Any Tower members who wish to obstruct me will answer to Paladin Te Wherowhero¡ªbut not before you answer to my aide¡ªLulu!"

    A discordant series of thrums made the gathering of Mage raise their heads.

    Above them, seven slabs of metal, each deadlier than its neighbour, slowly rotated like the platforms of a rotisserie chicken roaster awaiting to skewer a flock of avian barbeque.

    Gwen gave the group a moment to weigh their life choices against the shiny metal bludgeons before offering a sweet carrot. "No harm will come to those who fully cooperate. As for those who deliberately waste my precious time, the Sky Tower has only so many Stasis Pods, but it does indeed have them."

    The crowd murmured and parted, first by ones and twos, then as the Red Sea.

    "Hughes, Jackson, Caleb," she commanded her teammates. "See that those Wands are disarmed and stowed¡ªRichard, Spencer, Phillips, with me. Magus Waaka, lead the way. Lulu, stay out here and keep an eye out for disruptions."

    Gwen watched her Cambridge Mages go about removing the cartridges from the Wands. The models given to NoMs were always cartridge fed¡ªthat way, without Mages to make the ammunition, the Mageocracy need not fear the advent of quantity becoming a quality all on its own. She wanted to say that the crowd had allowed themselves to be disarmed but hadn''t the heart to fool herself.

    With this many Mages and NoMs here, had Gwen arrived to audit the place alone, she would give the unhappy-looking Waaka a fifty-fifty chance of having a go.

    As her team moved past the holding bay into the stockroom, she could feel her Divination sense swell with the excess volume of mana-fed stimulus from every common element. From its scale, Auckland''s local manufactorium was well-resourced, possessing a dozen stations making up three assembly lines. The Mages within were a gathering of common Evokers, Transmuters and Enchanters, with nary a Magus among them, working among piles of polished Cores and processed components sorted into boxes.

    At the furthermost end of the giant warehouse, two giga-forges filled every space with the chest-thumping hiss of liquid Mithril lacing into the aluminium wand alloy. Perched like a cat in one corner of the forges was Ariel, taking up the lion''s share of the worker''s horror, while on the pedestal with the controller, she saw the familiar figure of Petra.

    On her end, Waaka took his time, but eventually, her team arrived at an office the size of an inner-city studio. The filing cabinet was a quasi-magical device with a Pocket Dimension, no larger than a bedstand.

    Gwen reached for the draws, then paused when she felt Waaka''s fear whine like a kicked dog. Thanks to Caliban''s innate life-sense, she could taste the man''s dread like the tang of metal after licking a copper pipe.

    "Magus Waaka, before we commence," she asked. "Can you affirm that you''ve kept all records of all transactions and that inventory has been kept reasonably up to date? Do understand that the audit will go back some time, about a decade, usually."

    This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    "I¡­ can." The Maori''s face grew visibly cautious.

    "Good." She took a step back. In her mind, there must be excellent reasons why a Pocket Dimension played home to the files, as anything lost in the Astral Plane was effectively lost forever. As a consultant who often engaged in the auditing phase of an acquisition, she had heard all kinds of wondrous reasons why files were lost, from fires, floods, and malicious janitors, to shredders with a conscience. "Please retrieve all the files for my team. Whatever we see¡ªis whatever I''ll assume you''ve kept. As a friendly reminder, I''ll assume that anything we don''t see has been kept from us."

    Waaka''s expression grew rigid, making taut the fading Ta Moko on his chin.

    "Nor do we have all day," Gwen reinforced her point. "From the Enchantment on that thing, I believe the filer corresponds only to a specific Glyph, yes? I wonder what would happen if I tried to open it without the correct invocation."

    "What do you mean?" Waaka moved toward the cabinet with the fatalism of a man headed for a trench at the Northern Front. With a click, he unravelled the security Glyph, then quickly entered another set of Glyphs before either of Gwen''s assistants could stop the man.

    A disarming Glyph? Gwen recognised the Sigils.

    As it opened, a burst of spellfire flared from a point in space beside the draw. Then, in the next moment, more paper than anyone could have imagined gushed from the cabinet, flooding Gwen, Richard, and their aides from Cambridge, who responded with ungentlemanly remarks.

    "It''s an old system." Waaka smiled weakly at the mess. "We haven''t emptied it for a decade."

    Gwen quickly scanned the chaotic floor filled with manila folders and envelopes. Some closed, some bound, others opened with their white pages looking like splayed wings of spatchcocked hens. Despite the Magus'' best efforts, some semblance of chronology remained.

    So the man had too much self-preservation to destroy the files outright but not enough gonads to give over the data directly. No doubt, the time it would take to reorganise the floor would add days, perhaps a week, to the schedule of a regular audit¡ªenough to hide something or organise a countermand.

    But who was she?

    She was the custodian of the Isle of Dogs Redevelopment Project! Tonglv''s architect! Her Illusion School of PowerPoint? might not possess a fully automated Excel program, but the organisation was so good Charlene paid CCs for the privilege.

    Ten years of data from a mere Manufactorium? Her hounds from the isle, aided by Thinking Engines and data slates, would have the damn pile filed and calculated within the next twenty-four hours!

    "Thank you, Magus Waaka." She gave a smile worthy of the Devourer, accentuated by the eldritch menace of her dread-bird attire. "And please refrain from telling me you''re a busy man. You mustn''t go anywhere yet. There''ll be questions very soon, first from Magus Kuznetsova once she finishes her calculations¡ªand then more from me."

    Friday.

    The Sky Tower was in an uproar.

    Not because there was a Shoal out there threatening to engulf the city wholesale, but because two members of the Grey Faction had been stripped of their positions, and a third had faced Stasis.

    At the heart of the uproar was a problem within the Penrose Manufactorium, one of the largest in Auckland. According to the auditors from the Shard, materials had been going missing steadily over the first few years of the last decade. Then when an "efficiency" reform was applied, the raw material costs had steadily climbed until it was as much as three-quarters above The Shard''s market rates for the same period. Even so, an excessive volume of Wands had been retired to "defects". Yet, the materials were never recycled, nor were the Wands repaired and returned to service.

    And finally, even when the Wands made it to the hands of the militia, the Core quality, the HDM cartridges, and the number delivered did not match the manifests attached.

    It was a level of kleptocracy absurd enough to make Petra proud of Moscow.

    In a rage, Te Wherowhero had led a group of the Tower''s neutral Mages to raid one of the suspected Grey Warehouses, finding boxes upon boxes of mint-condition wands, the best Penrose could produce, kept in unassuming dusty storages.

    A second raid, organised by the Militant Faction, uncovered a half-hundred kilo of Mithril, collected from shavings and other waste material, inside the deep storage belonging to the compound of one of the aforementioned "Stasis" candidates.

    In the council sessions, the level of protest had reached decibels its vaulted roof never enjoyed, with Mages threatening one another with oblivion. Others demanded redress, splitting Auckland into two stanch factions of those who wished the city would cease its audits and focus on the Mer-threat against those who ordered a deep scouring of the rot that had taken root to survive the Mer-threat.

    And the culprit of all this, a certain Devourer, was enjoying her allotted rest and relaxation with a blue-blooded lord currently nursing his bruised ego atop the flight deck of the Sky Tower.

    "What''s the score today?" Gwen sipped her freshly mixed L&P feijoa soda with gin, allowing the refreshing beverage to linger a little too long on her tongue.

    "Quack!" Dede tossed a cucumber in the air, then chewed the thing in a most disturbing, un-duck-like manner.

    "Advantage to me as usual." Thomas sat opposite on a deck lounge, his uniform open to expose a proud chest of orange hairs, now matted with bloody bruises and a slight concavity where he had taken a hit that dented his armour. "I am getting close. I can feel Zippy''s will slipping when we duel. Maybe a week, maybe two. I want my dominion to be complete and total."

    Gwen snickered. "I bet. How''s the armour? Wyrm hide can''t be cheap to repair."

    "My Enchanter will source the materials from London. Rare mats are hard to auction for the likes of yourself, but we''ve got plenty of it in storage."

    "What else have you got in that vault of yours?" Gwen took another sip. "Is it as rich as the Norfolk''s?"

    "The Holland''s vault has items and materials you cannot even begin to comprehend." Thomas winced as he laughed. "Cough¡ªyou know, if you had played along, you could be taking whatever you wished from it right now. I can''t brag that we have the world''s loot, but our House has done its share of pillaging in the last five centuries. I am positive some ingredients there won''t be seen again unless certain species can regenerate from extinction."

    "Or travel here again from their home Elemental Planes," Gwen reminded the man. "That''s my main concern. The gods know what will come through for an excursion in the next decade."

    Hearing her prophesy, Gwen''s man relented in nursing his swollen abdomen. Earlier, when she had watched the young lord receive healing from his Cleric, she bore witness to the spectacle of a man howling at the high heavens while finger-sized shards of Wyrm scale were extracted. She had asked Tom why he refused to rest in the infirmary, and then Thomas told her that it was a psychic pact between him and the turtle, whatever that meant.

    "You really believe that eh?" Thomas belonged to the camp of the climate sceptics who could understand the dangers posed by Spectre but not the looming spectre of double-strength hurricanes with a quadruple incidence rate. "I''ve read your report, but London won''t have food issues either way."

    "London isn''t the world. London will be fine," Gwen reiterated her point. "Places like Shalkar will grow far more common if lakes start drying out, mudflats become rivers or lakes, or deserts expand into tablelands. The more Fire Seas start popping up where we can''t manage. The more Beast Tides will occur. That or Triffidus-infestations where only tundras had existed. When that happens, our cities will be sieged, supply lines will be disrupted, global trade will stifle, the economy will suffer, the poor will be jobless, and¡ª"

    "Alright, I get the picture." Thomas'' eyes linger on what she hoped was the middle-distance of her ideas rather than her teasing pair of white stalks scissored over the chair''s lip. "But you have to admit it''s a bit far-fetched."

    "Suit yourself." Gwen turned her chin up at the young lord. "If the Militant wants to miss the boat again and lose more money, that''s not on me."

    "You''re too cruel." Thomas swallowed a mouthful of bloody saliva. "I am hurt."

    Before Thomas could speak again, their banter was interrupted by the sound of heels kicking up a fuss against the galvanised metal of the sky deck. The intruder was Aria Campbell-Ravenport, whose presence Gwen had been expecting.

    If Ru¨¬ was a Mage, Gwen mused. Would she be in a similar position as Aria? China had its faults, but it certainly loved its NoMs. For the Ivory Tower she wished to construct, there would be significant resistance against the inclusion of NoM officers and managers ruling over rank and file Mages. But according to Lulan, the young woman she handpicked for the Tonglv account''s management took to power like a Drake to the heavens. Perhaps Ruxin could help? She entertained herself with a curious hypothesis. Could NoMs become Vessels? Hopefully, the recipient wouldn''t explode like an overripe cherry tomato.

    "Magister Song." Aria raised her voice a titter as she approached. "Your application for Sydney has been approved. You''re free to leave now, with an expected duration of a month."

    "Great." Gwen stood, halted Thomas when he tried to stand, then stowed her chair and belongings with a swish of her hand. "I am on call, correct?"

    "You are, Ma''am."

    "And the others?"

    "Mistress Lulan is free to come and go as she pleases as a free agent unattached to the Tower," Aria reminded her. "Magus Kuznetsova has vetoed her vacation and wishes to stay and study the Barrier Stones. Master Huang is happy to return with you to Australia."

    "I''ll stay close." Lulan emerged from thin air. Earlier, Gwen had invited Lulu to join her on the deck, but her Sword Mage was far too professional about roleplaying a bodyguard after the scare with the Dragon Turtles.

    "Of course, Lulu. What''s Yue doing?"

    "Magus Bai''s team will remain in Auckland until the threat of the tide is diminished."

    Gwen guessed that Yue''s attachment to Auckland and her pal Whetu dove far deeper than the casual sentimentality and duty she felt she owed.

    "And our men and women?"

    "They''ll be on a rotating roster."

    Gwen nodded, leaving the Cambridge Mages'' leave to Aria''s discretion. Compared to the table staff, her R&R was well-earned, for a War Mage had certain rights the Tower must respect. Since her arrival, Gwen had been on three sorties and had held back two Tides before they bloomed into full-forced land invasions. Considering her achievements, Auckland had no right to refuse her request. On the other hand, the Tower was happy to see her go while their internal accounts were balanced. Gwen''s auditors would take time to take names and seize assets, and the Greys were still in the process of fighting back tooth-and-nail for every HDM recovered. Rather than focusing all the fear and negativity toward her team with her presence, it was best to send Gwen away for the moment so that when she returned, a new wave of iron-fisted accounting could be conducted on the bruised and exhausted survivors.

    "I''ll make a call first. Cheers, Tom. Good luck." Gwen bowed her head at the waving lord as a goodbye. "And thank you, Aria. Don''t work yourself too hard, and if anything outside your scope of work happens, Message me immediately."

    "None would dare to interrupt the work of the Shard," Aria assured her. "The loss would far outweigh the gains. Besides, Lord Thomas is here for a while yet."

    "Indeed. Before we''re rivals, we''re the face of the Mageocracy," Thomas offered himself in what Gwen saw as a gesture of goodwill. "If anyone attacks your accountants, I''ll ensure the Stasis Chamber is the best thing they could wish for."

    Gwen thanked the man again, gathered Lulan, Messaged Richard, and then made her way toward the Divination Array. She notified Dede and Golos as well. Her duck Gwen could afford to fit into the ISTC, but Golos would have to make his way over or wait for her summons. Whatever their choices, she was happy to entertain them.

    As for herself, her mind quickly flew toward the horizon of the South Sea.

    Just what, she wondered, would a serpent of the Dreamtime, one that had existed since the epoch of the Thunder Lizards, know about the phantom menace of the climate crisis?

    There is another reason why Gwen''s company to Sydney did not include Yue or her team.

    The ISTC exchange between Auckland and Sydney was just over two thousand kilometres, costing a hefty chunk of HDMs that would make most Magisters'' eyes water. While Gwen could afford such a holiday, the cost for Yue and her team''s transportation would have to come out of someone''s pockets, and neither Sydney nor Auckland had HDMs to spare on whims and frivolities.

    As the Sydney interchange was embedded within the Tower, Gwen told Richard to prepare for her visit to her Opa in Hunter''s region. In the meanwhile, she paid a visit upstairs to Gunther and Alesia.

    Unfortunately, Alesia was away on duty, though she found Gunther in-between meetings.

    "I''ve been keeping a close eye on the reports. Well done on the Auckland front." Her brother-in-craft gave her a pat on the shoulder, then brought her in for a hug. "I feel Master would be very happy if he were to see you as you are now."

    Gwen aided the awkward German with a returned pat on the man''s broad back. "It''s nothing, brother. I was just doing my job."

    "Nonetheless, a pack of Dragon Turtles! And an Elemental Prince as well. Well done doesn''t cover the half of it." The man relaxed. "Our very own War Mage, I am almost tempted to bring you back to Sydney."

    "I''ll be happy to return." Gwen pulled herself away, finally finding the opportunity to introduce her shadow. "Gunther, this is Lulan Li. From Shanghai, if you recall?"

    "Master Shultz." Her Sword Mage bowed from the waist. "I have great admiration for your duty and prowess, Tower Master. It''s an honour to meet you."

    "It''s a pleasure to meet you as well, Lulan. Thank you for keeping an eye on our troublesome sister."

    Gunther extended a hand to shake the Sword Mage''s trembling digits. Lulan grew red as a beet, unused to such an expression from a man higher in status than her Sect Leader by order of magnitudes.

    Gwen amused herself with Lulan''s starstruck expression of child-like wonder and awe, glad that Lulu was still capable of such an expression. "So, should I file to return to Sydney?"

    "And leave your HDMs, your lord and ladies, your Isle of Dogs?" Gunther laughed, retracting his hand so that Lulan could relax. "Sydney''s too small of a city for someone of your talents, Gwen."

    "That isn''t very convincing, brother." Gwen snorted. "Coming from the Morning Star, Gunther von Shultz."

    The man shook his head. "So, you''ll be visiting the Serpent, then?"

    "I shall. Will you and Allie be coming this time? Remember what we discussed?"

    To her surprise, the man declined. "No, I prefer to let sleeping serpents lie."

    "But you''re my siblings," Gwen said. "And in China, Ayxin and Ruxin are pledged with the CCP or the other way around. I recently heard that Sythinthimryr from Carrauntoohil has a pact with the Hollands. You don''t think having Almudj aide you would help?"

    Gunther invited her to relax. "Gwen, if we wanted to contact Almudj, then your Master would have done it. Alesia and I aren''t very involved with the non-Australian period of Master''s life, but I still know he''s an acquaintance of Demi-god beings, like the Elves from Tryfan. Don''t you think they could help? Why do you think Master never asked about the Snake? What had he said?"

    "He said there''s no point because Almudj won''t see things in the limited perspective of mortals."

    "Correct, and that point hasn''t changed," Gunther said. "It''s been five years since you''ve met the Snake. Has it ever been interested in anything you''ve done?"

    "I guess not," Gwen confessed. Other than cleansing her Yinglong''s blessing, Al''s chill was glacial.

    "Go see your Patron." Gunther''s tone grew serious. "But keep us out of it, keep Sydney out of it. If it wants something, let us know immediately. Meanwhile, demand nothing, certainly not for me, Alesia, the city, or Oceania. We can''t¡­ afford the favour, nor can I imagine the cost of repaying it if it does feel generous."

    "Alright, I understand," Gwen relented. "So I''ll be taking just Richard and Lulu with me, then? Yes, I''ll take care."

    She did not believe it was a big deal for Al to dabble the pair with its love juice. Certainly, she would love to have a wonderful nephew or niece come next year.

    "Take extreme care," Gunther warned her while looking at Lulan. "The Snake is infamous for disliking¡­ strangers."

    "I''ll be careful," Gwen assured the Tower Master, suddenly feeling paranoid. Are Richard and co strangers? She hadn''t assumed so, but now, she suddenly wasn''t so sure.

 Chapter 452 - Almudj and Me

    Looking out at the wide blue yonder of the Tasman Sea, Gwen masticated her doubt like a hesitant calf working through a mouthful of stubborn cud.

    In her mind, a significant amount of time had passed since her last visit to Almudj. After a year, even a mythical hellion like Helena would have thawed.

    But could Helena be compared to Almudj?

    The more Gwen thought about it, the more she wondered if she was taking to Almudj with the wrong perspective. As a matter of reflex, she had the problem of seeing everything from an anthropomorphic viewpoint, a habit from her old world where Humanity sat atop the food chain uncontested. As a result, she had indulged in Al''s benevolence since the beginning, treating the Land God as a psychic double, like a Studio Ghibli mascot.

    Even as she sat through dinner with Gunther and a fired-up Alesia asking for details of Caliban''s Merman carnage, her mind worked non-stop to re-evaluate the Almudj-Stranger Hypothesis, a cousin of the reality-bending powers of the Sapir-Whorf Hypothesis, where validity was at the mercy of an imperfect medium of expression.

    Outside of linguistic exams, she hadn''t paid much attention to the theory as a college socialite. However, through her growth as a Mage-Magus-Magister, the notion of Spellcraft as a linguistic means to draw out mana from the Elemental Planes was a fact of life.

    Additionally, the Elves and the Dragons were living proof that Sapir-Whorf could be applied to the fabric of the Planes. From what she had seen, Dragons could "literally" alter the laws of the elements with their arcane syntax and grammar, compelling obedience from reality and making delusions real. The Elves, through their Sigil-scripts, could encourage growth and regeneration, life and death, from the smallest fungi to the tallest oak, and speak to both trees and magical beasts.

    Thus, to fully communicate with Almudj, she needed a means of communication that was in sync with a mind that lived in Tjukurpa katutja ngarantja, the Unformed Land. The Dreaming.

    But where was she going to learn such a skill?

    Even Old Goolagong had said that her people lacked the means, that their communication was expressionism through ritual, and that they performed Almudj''s whims without asking why.

    She was Almudj''s kin.

    But realistically, she was more like Almudj''s cat, a selfish Sphinx that had been bopped on the nose and was now back for more.

    Nonetheless¡ªshe had to inform Almudj of the changes to her plans to prevent unforeseen catastrophes.

    First and foremost, there was Sufina.

    The possibility of retrieving the Scale rested solely with Sufi, for whom she had two choices. The first was to enlist Almudj''s cooperation, preserve Sufina''s mind in the state her Master had left the Dryad, and then take the offer to make herself a Safe Zone for her Tower¡ªa triple-winner chicken dinner deluxe.

    The alternative...

    "Gwen?" Alesia''s face phased into view, her brows furrowed with concern. "Are you not well? You''re not eating."

    "She''s on her second serving," Gunther gently reminded his wife.

    "And there''s thirds and fourths." Alesia pointed to the spacious kitchen.

    "Gwen has Caliban under control these days," Gunther reminded them. "But I suppose Allie''s right. Are you okay, is jerk chicken not to your liking?"

    On the farther end of the table, she caught Lulan watching the three of them like a cafe patron finding herself seated beside Hollywood A-listers. Comparatively, Richard was his usual easeful self, helping himself to the salad and refilling Lulan''s cup whenever hers emptied.

    "I was just thinking about Almudj again¡­" Gwen confessed. "Al and Sufi, to be exact."

    "Are you realllllly¡ª?" Alesia glanced at Gwen''s companions.

    Gwen affirmed Richard and Lulan''s trustworthiness with a casual nod in their direction. Richard had known about Gwen''s various dealings since the beginning. As for Lulan, her knowledge was a pastiche of impressions from Gwen, Ryxi, and the very talkative Golos, who boasted of Gwen''s deeds at every opportunity to the White Serpent. If Gwen should wish for Op-Sec in the future, her Wyvern must be told nothing.

    "I am going to try and impress upon Almudj Sufi''s proposal," Gwen spoke with vagueness because she had no idea if such a clear line of communication was even possible. "Considering what happened with the Yinglong''s Essence loan, I don''t think it''s a good idea to work with Sufina without Al''s explicit knowledge."

    "That''s a good idea," Alesia concurred. "I mean, it isn''t as though either of you could just take Almudj''s Scale, the one Sufi holds dearer than her life."

    "We could test that." Gunther''s expression grimly contested his wife. "By his own arrangements, Master should have been interred under St Mary''s."

    To Gwen''s recollection, her Master had organised a resting place for his remains in the warded catacombs of Sydney''s most Faith-laced place of worship. That was something all of his students understood as Henry''s wish. It was a matter of prestige and respect, and, importantly, it prevented anything untoward from happening to his remains, such as Necromancy. The same Necromancy that was now keeping Henry''s husk hale and eternal.

    "No. I don''t want to do that to Sufi," Alesia''s reply had more emotion than logic, but it was final.

    "I know," Gunther placed down his fork. Seeing that neither of the girls was still interested in more, he pulled back from the table. "So¡­ dessert?"

    "Yes, please," Gwen was also glad not to consider such an outcome.

    The alternative option was to Purge Sufina. Gunther could ask for permission to cleanse Sufina''s island. The three of them would go and demand Henry''s body back from the Dryad and, in the worst-case scenario, rid the world of a dangerously sentimental, possibly deranged Demi-human possessing most of her Master''s knowledge and a "Scale" from which it leeched Mythic Essence.

    Certainly, leaving Sufina completely alone was no option at all. If Gwen, Gunther and Alesia perished one day, Sufina would likely become a disaster¡ªa danger the likes of which only Ryxin, with all the mustered powers of Nagaland, could match. Without deploying Singapore''s Tower, the Dryad "infestation" would rule every island chain of Micronesia. There would be no fertile men left within a hundred kilometres of Sufi''s wooden seraglio.

    Gunther returned from the kitchen with plates of honeyed poached pear. "Why don''t we talk about another snake? Lulan¡ªyou said that Huangshan has a snake as well? The White Serpent, if I recall? The Yinglong''s third or second scion? Why don''t you tell us about him or her?"

    "Me-me?" Lulan pointed a chopstick at herself and then looked at Gwen for help.

    "Good idea," Gwen gave the girl some encouragement. "Tell us about Ryxi! Tell us what it''s like to train and live with a fabled Land God?"

    "Umm¡­" Lulan appeared in a mild panic. "Master Ryxi¡­ er¡­ he likes¡­umm¡­ calligraphy?"

    ¡°O¡ªo¡ªo¡ª my cute Cucu Perempuan!¡± Surya Huang, Enchanter and now regional administrator of the Hunter''s Region, hugged Gwen so tight he lifted her from the floor despite his tiny frame.

    "Opa! Manners!" Gwen grew instantly flustered, for Richard was laughing, and Lulu''s eyes looked like they were about to pop from their sockets. "Of course, I''ve missed you as well. Please hug me like a normal relative."

    Surya did not.

    Much to Gwen''s delight, her gramps was hale and strong. A cynical part of her believed that five years away from a daughter like Helena could reverse-age any father, but deep down, she knew Evee was to blame.

    Or rather, Sen-sen''s tendrils combined with distilled Maotai, produced in limited amounts by Elvia''s occasional pruning of her ginseng, was why her Opa''s white hair had turned grey and his sunken cheeks now looked filled. Perhaps lacing Sen-sen sauce with Almudj''s juice allowed her Opa to benefit from living on Almudj''s land? Certainly, whenever she came back to Australia, her Astral Soul felt so at home that she sometimes wanted to fly into the curved horizon until nothing but a vague distance was left in every direction.

    While she complained, her Opa''s sculpture-moulding hands worked their way up her waist and onto her shoulders, then cupped her chin, stopping finally at her forehead.

    "Good¡ªgood!" Surya couldn''t stop smiling. "I''ll transmute a grand statue in your honour! Ten¡ªno¡ªtwenty meters tall! The Devourer will be the first thing anyone sees as soon as they enter the Hunter Valley!"

    In horror, Gwen glanced at the Caliban-inspired erotic sculptures in the estate that had made Lulan yelp, cover her eyes, and turn into molten slag. "A normal sculpture, I hope."

    "Nonsense!" Her Opa stepped back to examine her with a twinkle in his eye. "You''re perfect, my Cucu Perempuan. There is nothing in this world more beautiful, nothing greater than my granddaughter! Ha! A War Mage! The Saviour of everything, everywhere! Ahahaha¡ª"

    "¡­ thanks, Opa." Gwen hugged her Opa again, finding that only physical intimacy could shut her Opa up for more than a minute. As soon as she left him alone, he would start to loudly talk of her achievements like a foreman with a loudhailer. On the way in, he had stopped Tess in her tracks to regale something Gwen had done in the last few years. Then later, while showing Lulan the workshop, he had halted Melissa mid-enchant to inform her of something else Gwen had done in London.

    In only half a day, Gwen began to long for her workplace.

    Her Opa''s affection was food for the soul.

    But it was far too rich even for an affection-starved cynic.

    Once the day waned, she and her family sat in front of the infinity water feature that was once more filled, regaling the tales of her time in Shanghai, London, and other parts of the world she had visited during the IIUC. The summation of her experiences had taken so long that bottles lined the table when she finished, and the sun had set.

    "Ee¡ªee!" Ariel yawned from boredom.

    Somewhere in the churning water feature, Caliban''s faceless head emerged with the likeness of a Lovecraftian beluga without a face. "Shaa¡ª?"

    Surya tossed them each a raw chunk of HDM crystal.

    "Let''s call it a day," her grandfather gestured to the guest rooms. "And don''t worry. I had those renovated after all the refugees had left."

    "Thank you, Magus Huang." Lulan stood and bowed.

    "Cheers, gramps." Richard gave him two thumbs up.

    "Mel, Tess, show them where the bathrooms are." Surya was tired as well. Gwen could see that keeping up so much excitement at his age was a taxing affair, especially when booze was involved. "We''ll talk tomorrow. I''ll need Caliban to do some modelling. My sculptor''s hands are tingling!"

    Gwen could only agree, though she did not agree with Surya''s collection of Caliban-inspired erotica, which the old artist proclaimed to have a commission list in the hundreds.

    Once Lulan and Richard settled in, Gwen sat on her bed, unsettled by the familiar room. Here was a place where she had originally slept half a decade ago. She had experienced her first adventure with Yue and Elvia in this house.

    Here, she and Debora¡­

    Thankfully, nothing had happened.

    Thankfully, because Debs had been a faceless Void-stomach hell-bent on wearing her skin.

    With a surge of will, she banished the gut-clenching recollection, focusing instead on her closest crisis.

    Almudj.

    Sufina.

    And stranger danger.

    Her plan thus far was to stop at her Opa''s until he was satisfied, then move out to see Old Goolagong. There, she would ask for the means to enter the trance once more and "remotely" access Almudj before deciding if she could introduce her cousins as kin of Kin.

    Maybe Al would demand his Scale.

    Maybe the snake would scold her for her procrastination.

    Or maybe the Rainbow Serpent would entertain her proposal.

    Or merely asking could fry her brains like an omelette.

    The last part was rather unlikely, considering her patron''s benevolence. Cheeky, yes, but never malicious. Whatever happens in the future, she had no doubt there would be no Tower without the serpent''s aide, just as she would have gone the way of Sobel''s Void Element should Al withdraw the support of his snake oil.

    And should the world turn to shit because of Spectre, making an Eden of her own was critical.

    As for how¡ªSufina had already told her the answer.

    There is always a woman.

    There is always a snake.

    And there is always a tree.

    That was the ingredient for pacifying a region''s elemental instability, the key to the lock, the lock itself, and the door on which the lock and key existed.

    She needed a way to communicate with Almudj.

    But how?

    Is it impossible to say what she means?

    Her Prufrockian ordeal, Gwen acknowledged as she allowed the darkness to devour her consciousness, was only beginning.

    A day later, Gwen decided she would test the waters first rather than risking an encounter with stranger danger. Richard had been fine with the decision, while Lulan''s only desire was to stay as her bodyguard. And as she could not fight Almudj, the Sword Mage relented.

    At daybreak, Gwen flew alone across the tablelands, using her Omni-orb as her autopilot, craning the necks of farmers and fruit pickers with her silvery streak of wasteful Elemental Lightning, leaving wide wakes of rolling thunder.

    Before leaving the Huang estate, she had mediated at her Opa''s to see what her Wyvern and duck wished. Golos had expressed that he wouldn''t want to hang with the Old One without assurances, and Dede emphatically intimated that it was training with "brother" Gogo.

    Once past the winery region, New South Wale''s tablelands were a whole other hog compared to the farms north of Wellington. Firstly, the size of the land was obscene, with cultivated fields of barley and wheat so extensive that she would fly for an hour without seeing its end. After two hours north, she made a hard left for Dharug, the source of Sydney''s major waterways, following the Hawkesbury River and aggravating the Merfolk encamped on the many sandbanks of its estuaries. When she crossed into Yengo, all signs of human habitation ceased, leaving nought but endless ranges of eucalyptus dispensing mid-morning mist in darkening hues of pastel blue.

    Should she choose to land here and intrude the canopy, she would find the "native" Elementals of the Wildlands, with Snots and Goblins at the very bottom of the food chain, followed by loose tribes of Bush Orcs, and nearer the apex, the Drop Bears that ruled rising mounds of weathered outcroppings.

    Along the way, she had visitors. The curious ones were the local Wedge-tailed Wyverns, some as large as cars, who ventured close to see what the fuss had bought. Later, an Ebony Marauder Eagle kept pace with her for ten minutes before choosing the wiser option of leaving. When she neared the flatlands, a Lowland Craig Roc ambushed her.

    Its slightly mangled carcass, Gwen decided after Ariel and Caliban double-teamed it into submission, would make a good gift for her Tjukurpa''s mob.

    At midday, she arrived.

    Considering the nomadic nature of Goolagong''s people, she entertained the suspicion that Ruxin knew what he was doing in gifting her a magical Sat-Nav.

    "Oi! Migloo girl!" an old feller with skin as tanned as dark leather hailed her as she landed. "You are here, again!"

    "I am indeed here, again," Gwen recalled the old feller''s name as Jura. "How are you, Mister Jura?"

    "Pah! Old Jurangi is no ¡®Mister!¡¯¡± the bearded swagman doubled over with chuckles. "Alright, you wait here, Migloo girl. I go get me old woman."

    While she waited, the other members of Goolagong''s tribe wandered over. When they saw that it was her, they relaxed. Ten minutes later, she was knee-deep in young ones, begging her for puk Koman sweets from the city.

    "I don''t have any sweets," Gwen confessed to her unfortunate oversight. "But I have something better!"

    She had a dead Roc.

    And SPAM, several pallets of SPAM still left over from Auckland.

    She also had flour and rice but lacked the thick skin to give cute children bags of raw grain.

    Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

    "Missus Boss." One of the girls hugged the cans, while others poked the Roc, her luminous brown eyes studying the SPAM''s packaging with more questions than answers. "Why does this one have your face on it? Is this your meat?"

    "It''s not my meat!" Gwen wanted to say she was the face of SPAM but wasn''t sure how to break down the complex economic relationship with a tribe largely removed from the city. "The face is because I¡­ got paid."

    Before she could finish, the children ran away, howling that they had cans of the Migloo''s meat. Gwen studied the heavens, hoping that strange rumour would not spread due to her failed bluff check.

    "Gwen! You back!" came a familiar holler from the main encampment, closing the distance with the ease of a siren. "You''ve grown, Migloo girl!"

    Old Goolagong looked as old as the day they met five years ago. This time, it seems their meeting wasn''t expected. Unlike the other times they had met, the Tjukurpa wore an old hand-stitched shirt, and true to form, she came running in flip-flops.

    "Thanks for coming to see me on such short notice," Gwen bowed toward Goolagong. "I''ll get right to the point. I''ve been around since our last meeting, and I need to talk to Almudj."

    "You have the cheeky ''Scale'' of our cheeky snake?" Old Goolagong planted her hands on her heavy hips.

    "No¡ª"

    "¡ªOoo."

    "¡ªNo, wait!" Gwen flapped her arms, stopping the old woman from further misunderstanding. "I''ve found it. And technically, I can retrieve it whenever I wish. HOWEVER¡ªthere''s a complication that needs Almudj''s wisdom to resolve."

    "Not good enough¡ª! No Scale is no Scale! How cheeky!"

    "Cheeky is as cheeky does," Gwen retorted. "Goolagong, I seriously need to talk to Almudj. There are dangers afoot the likes of which you cannot imagine. For both my people and yours, neither of us will be ready for the coming changes."

    "Changes?" the old woman cocked her head. "Old Goolagong lived a long time, cheeky girl. What do you mean she cannot imagine? Do you take me for stupid?"

    "No, no, not at all," Gwen walked back her unintended insult. "I mean, okay¡ªglobalisation, we''re looking at the perils of globalisation. We''re looking at food shortages, trade deficits, increased cost of living, supply chain disruptions, and that''s just the start."

    "The what and what?" Old Goolagong''s eyes narrowed. "You trying ta yabba gammon, migloo girl? Globalisation? Frightening your old tidda with Yowie stories nowadays?"

    Gwen pondered if a PowerPoint presentation would send her message across without her warning being lost in translation.

    "Ha¡ª okay!" Goolagong winked at her. "Old Goolagong can be cheeky too, yes? Us mob don''t do globalisation, but I understand why you are worried. You want to sing to Almudj?"

    "I do." Gwen relaxed. "Can you arrange it?"

    "I can." Goolagong gave her a sly look. "No Scale?"

    "Is that going to be a problem?" Gwen refused to admit she was shaking in her booties because she would be meeting Almudj barefooted. "It''s been a while, after all. What would Almudj be expecting?"

    "Nothing? Something? Everything?" Goolagong shrugged. "Maybe a long time has passed for Almudj. Maybe no time for Almudj. In the place where all water began, there are no calendars. Where the seasons are one, no gumtree dies, and no gumtree grows, understand? Migloo girl?"

    Gwen suspected she understood Goolagong''s wisdom as much as a hermit might understand globalisation.

    "Goolagong," she paused to ponder the implications before making her request. "Is there any way I could communicate with Almudj¡­ like you and I are conversing?"

    As expected, the old Tjukurpa looked at her as though she had suddenly metamorphosed into a pale, crunchy witjuti grub.

    "Migloo girl," the woman sighed. "You and I speak the Queen''s English, and we can barely understand each other. We have known each other for many years now, yes? We have shared tucker. I painted your skin with the pigment of the bush. We sang the songs of the Dreamtime. Yet, do you know me? Know my mob? The story of the red earth under my feet? Our love of the land, like the touch of a child''s fingers to her mother''s lips?"

    The Tjukurpa looked at the cans of SPAM her people were roasting over the flaming charcoal. "Can your people, who see the Prime Material as the nesting place of your ambitions and wealth, ever understand?"

    Gwen lowered her eyes.

    "No, no, do not be sad, Migloo girl," old Goolagong''s matronly expression remained unchanged. "That is why many yearn for the Unformed Land, no? There is no loneliness there, no separation. No good, no evil, no nasty giving eye. To know the mind of the Unformed Land, to return to that womb of the world without separation, where all the world''s waters began, would allow you to speak to Almudj¡ªbut where would you be then?"

    "Where would I be?" Gwen cocked her head. I would be in the Unformed Land, wouldn''t I?

    "No! Migloo girl!" The old Walker laughed. "To enter the long dream of the bearded snake would be like this¡ª"

    Old Goolagong drew a semi-circle in the air, leaving behind traces of vibrant mana.

    "Even a rainbow has a beginning and an end, but in the Unformed Land¡ª"

    The woman drew the second half of the circle and then kept tracing until her mana dried up, completing something like a helix.

    "Would take away meaning itself. You would not be the Migloo Gwen. You would not even care about your Migloo friends or family because to leave a world where death has died is beyond your ken, even if you dabble in Necromancy."

    Gwen had no words to express Goolagong''s claim, for the Tjukurpa''s imperfect analogy gave her too much food for thought.

    "Confused? Good. Come!" the Spirit Walker arrested her fingers with a firm grasp. "Why hesitate? Unless you have decided to retrieve the Scale. For now, sing to Almudj. Maybe you get an answer? Maybe you get a Barbanginy."

    As though in a trance, Gwen walked with her guide to a more secluded part of the camp, where the old woman readied the ritual, placing rocks as if by chance, then stamped out something akin to a Mandala with her feet.

    "This should help," the Spirit Walker threw a fistful of leaves onto the embers, leaving a burst of low-lying haze. "Pituri¡ªit will help your sanity."

    When the fragrant smoke filled her lungs, Gwen began to feel weightless.

    On cue, the sound of didgeridoos filled the silence of the sunlit outback, so deep and resonant that the red earth felt as though alive beneath her feet. As the garbs of civilisation fell from her shoulders, Gwen did not feel the autumn cold. Instead, the sun''s heat seemed to soak into her skin, vivifying her Astral Body with the rich residual mana of the Prime Material.

    Kapi¡ª

    Kapi¡ª

    Kapi¡ª

    The bimla joined the didgeridoos as Old Goolagong carved her body with pigments formed of white ash, bone, sulfur and red earth.

    Gwen breathed in the hot air, her mind diving into the unformed thoughts of the endless music, becoming a warm, lush hum of rich, clean energy. Her breaths, which first came as pants, grew long and strange, becoming circular, her lungs the instruments and playthings of an unhurried timeless Om.

    Water.

    Her eyes misted over.

    The sun became a mere speck in the uncertain distance, its light flickering against a vast blue forever.

    Gwen''s body grew hunched, her painted buttocks comfortably nestled against the ochre earth. Around her, ancient ghost gums, each larger than skyscrapers, danced with their white bodies like mangled fingers. As she passed through the veil of places without names, she felt the hardness of their iron-like trunks, so rigid and indestructible. Yet, her fingers found homes as they nestled in the soft, paper-like bark, so pliant under her touch.

    Next, she walked on water. Not on the surface, as she had first suspected, for her white feet kissed the pink sand. No. Not sand, but salt. The pink salt of Hai, the same Salt of her brother, Percy, who she sorely missed.

    She enjoyed the sensation of each grain slipping through the gap between her toes. High above, the radiance felt like a pair of warm hands, first on her shoulders, then on her bosoms. The sensation ended at her waist, atop her hips, a heat with grips like fingers entwined, wringing the water from the young singing reeds, crushing out the fresh water to nourish her thirst.

    Her eyes fluttered open.

    A Rainbow Snake stared back a dozen meters away, its slitted pupils rich with every colour, its scales more scintillating than the wings of the rarest butterfly.

    "Almudj," she breathed out.

    A long tongue, forked at the tip, as thick as her thighs and pink like salmon, patted her head.

    Kin.

    "I''ve been faithful." Gwen indicated to her belly button. "No strange Essences, this time."

    The affirmation from the snake was the hot gold hush of lush afternoons.

    "I need to tell you something, Almudj." Gwen tried her best to imagine the scene as she explained the offer from Sufina.

    A woman.

    A snake.

    A tree.

    The way of the world, or at least, the one she presently inhabited. She recalled her memories of Tryfan¡ªof the World Tree there and the unity she had sensed between Solana and her home grot, the verdant crown atop Tryfan.

    Almudj stared back unblinkingly.

    Just as Gwen began to wonder whether a Barbanginy was about to be her answer, her serpent opened its mouth and flared its fangs, each ivory stalk the size of her trembling body.

    If the interior of the Rainbow Snake''s mouth had been a fairyland, she would not be so nearly as alarmed. Unfortunately, Al''s mouth showed her exactly what she would expect¡ªthe gullet of a giant snake.

    "Umm¡­" Gwen felt like she knew the answer. "Do I er.. walk inside? Shimmy in?"

    Don''t do it! Almudj isn''t Geppetto''s whale! The sane and logical part of her mind was ringing her Divination Sigil like a monkey with a gong.

    Luckily, or perhaps unluckily, her indecision was interrupted by Almudj''s advance, scooping her onto its lower jaw as its whole mouth unhinged, gnashing her suddenly supine figure against the slippery flesh, turning noon to midnight.

    Gwen tried to open her eyes.

    But there was no need, for an unknowable amount of time later, her eyelids had dissolved.

    Her present self stood in the shade of a great tree, one greater than any tree she had yet to witness, greater than even the World Tree of Tryfan. Around her swirled the cold breeze of wetness and fecundity, shrouding her with an explicable sense of familiarity.

    Where is this? Gwen made her mind wander, hoping she could control the vision as though in a dream.

    She could not.

    "Kalinda!" A familiar voice cried out, the voice of old Tjupurrula. "We should leave now. The way of the world is just that. There is no need to mourn."

    Kalinda? Gwen recalled the first vision she had shared with Almundj, that of the girl Walker with the same name. The present girl, she recognised by sight, was not that Kalinda.

    For one, this Kalinda had elongated ears like chefs'' knives.

    And the markings tattooed onto her olive skin looked suspiciously like the ones from Tryfan.

    And her eyes were those golden orbs from which the Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar looked down upon the world.

    And her limbs were elongated, her body more insectile than the Elves she knew.

    Perhaps, Gwen felt the strange spark of an alarming epiphany. She was a Kalinda as well.

    But her thoughts did not have time to bud and bloom, for in the next moment, the Great Tree was ablaze with all the garish glory of a cyclonic twister, snaking its way from the tree''s mountainous trunk toward its simmering crown.

    "No!" The girl in old Tjupurrula''s arms fought. To Gwen''s surprise, the man affected a token resistance and then allowed her to go.

    "Almudj! Stop! Please¡ª We just wanted to go home! Return to the woods that wend! For a thousand thousand years, we¡ª"

    Gwen barely heard the histrionics from the olive-skinned Kalinda-¨¢lfar, not even when the Elf plunged into the flames while hysterically howling about home and hearth, diving into the blazing ember like a moth to its happy demise.

    "Beautiful, is it not?" Old Tjupurrula spoke. It took Gwen a moment to realise he was talking to her Force Ghost. "Great Almudj is cheeky. The bearded one giveth and taketh. Who are we, the scions of morality and time, to impose upon its home?"

    Her gaze was drawn upward by his pointing finger.

    Up there, somewhere, was Almudj. She could feel her patron''s presence coiled around the tree, ending what it had once begun.

    She wasn''t sure how to feel about the destruction¡ªbut the scenery was beautiful.

    Almudj''s ire possessed a peculiar sort of aesthetic, unique perhaps, to the Australian continent, to the Rainbow Snake''s domain. The flames were summer red as they swallowed the greenery, turning the emerald to char. Now a great serpent of flame and not water, rainbow-coloured fires swam across its scales of matt jet. Somewhere in Gwen''s Astral Body, she felt her Essence ignite and burn, refracting the present cycle of Almudj''s being. As the burning continued, songs of crackling timber and exploding eucalyptus erupted, making a strange symphony of blasted bark and burning wood. The sky, which had been cool, was now bushfire bright. The stars were gone, replaced with a million-million flying embers, hungry fireflies of death and destruction, raining down forever and forever, from horizon to horizon.

    Fire Sprites of all shapes and sizes, common and exotic species, burst from the great gash in the Prime Material, willed into being by Almudj. With bell-like laughter, Efreeti maidens, flaming phoenixes, coiling newts, and swarming salamanders rolled down from the tree''s pinnacle, an endless orgy in every colour from cobalt to rose to retina-searing white.

    After a thousand years of burning, Gwen wondered. What would remain of the tree?

    Is that what Uluru was?

    A relic of a bygone epoch?

    A gargantuan stump, a bookmark leftover from another cycle of Almudj''s Dreaming?

    "You wish for a new tree?" Old Tjupurrula addressed her whereabouts. "Almudj does not mind. There had been many trees, many times, many years ago. But are you prepared to change the currents of your world? Do you fear change?"

    "Change? Do you mean¡­" Gwen plucked out her next words with care. "Consequence?"

    "Ha!" Old Tjupurrula howled with laughter, which wasn''t helped by the falling ash and embers. "Not consequence! But consequences for whom! Almudj, O child of lost time, has no changes or consequences. Even if your world blooms and burns, what does it matter to one who was born together with the heart of the Spiritus Mundi?"

    "I think¡­" Gwen''s mouth grew parched, realising the old Walker''s meaning, that her world might not continue to exist, but a world will always continue to exist, and within all those potential worlds, Almudj would be Almudj. "I think I understand."

    "Yes. Almudj will always be," Old Tjupurrula nodded with approval, seemingly reading her mind with the ease of flipping a picture book. "Go now, my wandering Kalinda. Fret over nothing. You are not special. Before you and after you, innumerable cheeky lost girls had dreamt of being Almudj''s bride!"

    The flames descended.

    Her lungs ignited as she inhaled.

    The answer of whether or not Almudj would accept Sufina had never been about affirmation or rejection. Rather, it was about what Gwen Song was willing to pay. To change the Prime Material or to let it continue its evolution was of no consequence to a serpent whose age was linked to the Prime Material itself.

    But for a meagre girl to disturb her only universe, what would be her penance?

    "MIGLOO GIRL! WAKE UP!"

    Large, calloused palms slapped her cheeks hard enough to engender a Barbanginy in her head.

    Groggily, Gwen rose on her elbows.

    "Drink," came the command from the old Spirit Walker. "By Almudj''s beard, you came close to the rainbow''s end."

    When the water bowl touched her lips, Gwen suddenly realised how dehydrated she had become. When she tried to lift her limb, it was as though all the energy from Almudj''s blessing had gone from her flesh.

    "Mmmmufgh¡ª" she made an obscene noise as the water went down like liquid ambrosia.

    She was in a pool of dirt and red mud, made from the sweat beading across every inch of her body. When she moved her hand across her thighs, she saw it come away with all the body paint Old Goolagong had prepared for her trance. Overall, she felt baked into the mud.

    "You''ve been dreaming for three days. Any longer, and I fear your magical Tower Ring might trigger. Then, we''ll lose you for real." Goolagong conjured another bowl of water for her. "Imagine that? Your body in your fancy Migloo Tower, your mind, still in the Unformed Land! Don''t move¡ªDrink slowly, and drink long. Don''t talk."

    Gwen took the time to down her second bowl before feeling the strength in her limbs. Almudj''s blessing quickly took over the rest.

    "So, since you are alive, what did you see?" the Spirit Walker asked as life returned to Gwen.

    "Fire," Gwen said, feeling overwhelmed. "A great big bushfire, burning the biggest bush you''ve ever seen for a thousand years."

    "Ah," Old Goolagong mumbled. "Lucky you. Almudj must not be angry with your lack of its Scale. Else you would be Kalinda. Not watching Kalinda."

    "What¡­" Gwen took her third bowl of water with gratitude. "Is Kalinda?"

    "No one knows," Old Goolagong shrugged. "Almudj cares not for names, only Kin. Maybe his first Vessel was a Kalinda. Who are we to trivially demand answers from Almudj? And how? Do you ask the air why the wind blows? Or the sky to be kind when there is no rain?"

    She pointed to the camp beyond the hill. "We have Kalinda here and there as well. The cheeky snake is fond of the sound."

    "There was something about¡­ returning to the Unformed Land," Gwen recalled the fragmented conversation. "I don''t know. There was so much fire."

    "I think you have a fever," Old Goolagong touched a palm to her forehead. "Do not trust in dreams so literally, Migloo girl. Almudj does not think nor speak as we do, remember? Our cheeky one can only show you what its other Vessels have seen or felt. No more."

    "And Tjupurrula!" Gwen suddenly recalled the old man¡ªstrangely, she could not recall a single detail about his face or likeness. "Old Tjupurrula. What is he?"

    "Ah¡ª" Goolagong scratched her bulbous nose, marring paint she had meticulous dabbed. "Old Tjupurrula is¡­"

    The old Walker''s face scrunched. "A very old, very wise Elder, I suppose. He was very cheeky¡ªcheeky enough to cross over into Tjukurpa katutja ngarantja."

    "The Unformed Land isn''t a utopia?" Gwen felt the shock like a hammer blow. The whole time, she had imagined it to mean the afterlife. Or, in the case of Dragons like the Yinglong, a return to the equally nebulous idea of the Spiritus Mundi, something akin to the Astral Plane but associated with a contented state of oblivion. Even within Elvia''s discussions about the quasi-sorcerous Christian afterlife, the celestial "Heaven" manifested as a legend, not fact. "It''s a real place?"

    "You misunderstand," Goolagong appeared to study her face. "The meaning, I mean. Tjukurpa katutja ngarantja, is not a place. It is the past, the future, and the present. It is a map to tell us where we are and where to go. It is how we relate¡ªto you¡ªto my mob¡ªto your mob¡ªto Almudj. It is the story and the Dreamtime, the foundation of the Dream, the threshold to the Unformed Land."

    "A map?" Gwen tried to think. "To where?"

    "Not to where. It is the map itself, one with directions which cannot be said or written down. Only when you are there will you know that you have followed it your whole life."

    Gwen nodded out of habit.

    Unfortunately, her mind felt like thrashed wool. Though she loathed the fact, her present, worldly self was far too removed from the Om necessary to begin absorbing the secret, privileged knowledge of the realm Almudj inhabited. To think otherwise would be sheer arrogance, no different to Helena thinking she could control her wayward daughter.

    "Crap. I forgot to ask about strangers," she said after a few moments of recollection. "But¡­ I think I get it. It''s not my choice to make, but theirs. We must be responsible for our choices and the change we wish to bring to the world. I''d thought I had learned that lesson with Evee¡ªapparently not¡ªI think all those Mermen from the last month has been getting to my head, making me arrogant."

    "You have grown wise, Migloo girl," Old Goolagong showed her a painted pinky white with pigment. "Though just this much. What will you do now?"

    "Well," Gwen gave a heartfelt, soul-searched answer. "First, I would like to sleep for another ten hours, and then..."

    A portion of her brain finally kicked into gear.

    "Did you say three days?" Gwen''s eyes focused on the inert Message device she had removed before her trance. "I was out of contact for THREE days?"

    "Four, including the day you came," Goolagong shrugged, revealing pearly teeth unmarred by a lack of access to dentistry. "Why have you gone paler, Migloo girl? Do you do big job in your Migloo world? You big-wig missus-boss? Relax¡ªwill the world not turn without you?"

 Chapter 453 - Premeditated Harvest

    Gwen slipped her Dwarven-made, German-designed Message Bangle back onto her wrist. A custom order, the multi-function device had cost a Dede-sized mound of HDMs, for its Core had come from a rare species of telepathic Mushroom Mites deep in the damp darkness of the Murk.

    In addition to an unparalleled ability to latch onto the pulse of notoriously unreliable Divination signals, the bangle served to amplify her Divination broadcasts. In times of conflict, together with the hierarchal Glyphs of a Magister, the unit doubled as a command module capable of piercing the fog of Spellfire.

    Click. Gwen drew the unlocking Glyph with a finger, then synched her Divination Sigil with the Core. In the next few seconds, she fully expected dozens of blooming Messages to dazzle her field of vision.

    Instead, her device remained mum.

    "Oh yeah." She recognised the problem at once. The signal was absent. She was outside of the range of even the most far-ranging Divination Tower. Sydney was not London, and its countryside was more accurately described as Wildlands.

    From memory, the closest Divi-Tower was in Wiseman''s Ferry, a hundred kilometres as the crow flies from her present whereabouts.

    However, location tracking should still be possible, even if Messages are not. On Gwen''s middle finger, her slim digits toyed with her Contingency Ring. After all, this was Australia''s open landscape, not Amazonia''s arboreal abodes or the Murk''s abstract dimensions.

    "Goolagong." Gwen forced herself up. She was weak, though physical fatigue was nothing alchemy couldn''t fix. Comparatively, her mental fatigue made her ill with exhaustion, making her thoughts feel like a tumbling percussion set. "I need to go."

    "Of course you do. You come, and you go." Goolagong did not offer words of sympathy nor aid on flying with fatigue. "Bushwacking half-asleep¡ªThat''s the Migloo way, yes? You decided what to do with Almudj?"

    "Yes, the choice is mine." Gwen nodded as the old woman held her upright. A quick Prestidigitation ensured she was clean enough to put on tights and a jacket suitable for flying, both mid-tier magical garbs she had picked up in the UK from an Enchanter.

    The smiling Goolagong regarded her form-fitting outfit with a critical eye. "Too skinny, Migloo girl. Almudj likes a bit more meat on his meals."

    "Of course, Al does." Gwen rolled her eyes, amused by the assertion. "No wonder Elf-Kalinda''s tree burned. She should have worked on her glutes."

    "Ha!" Old Goolagon roared with laughter, shaking her fertility goddess figure. "Cheeky girl, you need more cheek to please the cheeky snake! The three sisters who Almudj visited at night in the Dreaming? They are much-much more cheeky than you!"

    On reflex, Gwen knew she had to retort with the right words. "Oh, right. Naturally. My Mythic don''t want-want none unless Kalinda''s got buns, huh?"

    While Goolagong grew confused, Gwen smugly adjusted her top.

    "You say the strangest things, Migloo Gwen." The Spirit Walker chose to certify her advice by sending Gwen on her way. "Go! You make no sense!"

    Oh yeah¡ªI am the strange one, Gwen retaliated in silence. As if an anaconda with a preference isn''t weird. Because in that eternal bedlam of Space and Time, the Rainbow Snake dreamt of ass. That makes perfect sense.

    At a suitable altitude, she waved goodbye to the kids below who had come begging for more SPAM before summoning Ariel to be her guard and mount. Once mounted, she zoomed toward what she presumed to be Wiseman''s Ferry with her Omni-orb.

    Twenty minutes later, she saw Lulan and Richard.

    The Orb took her to her "heart''s desire"¡ªin this case, her desire to see family outweighed the loading dock at Wiseman''s. It was a quirk of the Orb, something that Professor Brown had warned her against, least it mislead her at a critical junction, or if the Yinglong could manipulate her direction-blindness without her knowing. That or one day, she might visit Evee instead of a battlefield awaiting salvation from a War Mage.

    Still, the Orb had done its job thus far, from late-night Chinese takeout to destinations with names she can''t pronounce. Whatever magic used to empower its Divination was far better at reading context than Human-orientated magic, proving why the Omni-Orb was considered an invaluable artefact.

    "Gwen!"

    "Saviour!"

    Her companions look relieved, with Lulan more so than Richard.

    "Lord Gunther said we''d find you sooner or later if we loitered around here listening for thunder and looking for emerald lightning." Lulan allowed the tension to fall visibly from her shoulders. "Gwen, were you attacked? You don''t look alright."

    "She looks fine." Richard disarmed their companion with a casual wave over Gwen''s new clothes. "Look at her outfit, Lulu. Why would Gwen be anything other than fine if she''s wearing fashion? Besides, Ariel looks to be in a good mood."

    "EEE¡ªEEE!" The Kirin purred.

    Lulan appeared to absorb Richard''s advice as the three locked into flight formation.

    "A lot has happened." Gwen kept the news vague for now. "Anything else happened while I was gone?"

    "Many things," Richard spoke while keeping an eye on his Message device. "Auckland survived a two-day siege without you, and they''re already missing your presence. However, rumours say that they don''t want you back! Ha! Imagine that! Our auditing must have hit the Greys in the kidneys. They told Gunther Auckland can''t afford the wage commanded by the Mageocracy! Gunther told them he''ll do them a solid, and you''ll take payment in war loot."

    "Whoever suggested that deserves to die," Lulan snarled in a low voice. "To put profit over the safety of the city? Of the folk they''ve sworn to protect? That''s ridiculous."

    "Now, now, Lulu. Let''s not be harsh. You think that''s how officials work, but in reality, self-interest is the norm," Richard continued to stain the lily-white Lulu in the tenebrous ink of his wily ways. "And when it comes to personal prejudices, you''re no different when our dear cousin is involved. Would you have Gwen suffer a disfiguring danger to save a hundred NoMs? A thousand, even? Having the gall to make that call and defend the cause, that''s the making of a Magister."

    The Sword Mage grew reticent.

    "Dick! Stop teasing her!" Gwen chided her cousin with a playful elbow before hovering closer to her bodyguard. "Don''t dwell on it, Lulu. That''s not going to happen. Economic reform, contingencies and vertical-integrated strategies are the goals of our future ''economic'' Tower. We''ll do everything we can for those we owe responsibility and warranty. For others, only due diligence may apply."

    "Well said." Richard''s smarmy smile never left his lips. "So, what did Al say? I can see a Barbanginy had not happened."

    "Thankfully," Gwen vaguely answered, thinking about the vision of the burning tree. She could still feel the heat scorching her Astral Body, sensing that great cathedral of blazing and burning within the emerald hue of Almudj''s Essence. "But I did find an answer for Sufina, and thus our future Tower."

    Now it was Richard''s turn to assume a contemplative silence.

    With her Orb leading the way, the trio re-adjusted their headings for Sydney Tower. Thanks to Ariel, an enormous chemtrail of Quasi-Elemental Mana followed, trailing from the tablelands toward the state''s glimmering coastal city.

    *****

    Sydney.

    The Tower.

    PHSSSSSST¡ª

    "Ah¡ªsugars¡­" Gunther Shultz, Lord Master of the Sydney Frontier, garnished his apple strudel with more whipped cream than intended. "That changes everything."

    "It certainly does." Alesia crushed her pie with a fork before mixing the mess into an amalgamation of textures. Happily, she spooned the offending admixture between her sensual lips. "I am glad Sufi shall have her wish."

    Gunther looked like he wanted to retort but instead said nothing. "Yes. You girls do as you please. I am just a humble Frontier lord, one doing his job."

    Gwen studied the two. That her siblings would be so divided on the matter of Sufina was still something she had not expected. What was more shocking was that Alesia, who always gave Gunther room to live large, did not give an inch regarding her make-belief surrogate mother figure.

    It was a situation that made Gwen the perfect mediator to the couple''s rare unhappy conflict, as she both had feelings for Sufina and possessed the advantage of a cooler head.

    Therefore, the question left on her plate of strudel was when to make good on Sufina''s offer.

    It was a weighty word, considering the implication of what she''d seen in Kalinda''s dreaming.

    Now was without question the incorrect time.

    Foremostly, a bloody Shoal was knocking on Auckland.

    Surviving that, she had an expedition to Erebus, following the footsteps of Shackleton across the Antarctic to find the culprit Elementals responsible for the eruption.

    Then¡­

    She had no idea what else was to follow.

    In her old world, climate change''s impacts would take decades to manifest. In her present convergence of the Spiritus Mundi, the consequences could be near-immediate or be so subtle that none would believe her until the world saw its first cataclysm.

    One like the Fire Sea, a cataclysm that Gwen felt had been a practicum used to prove a point, a demonstration to rally the Elementals behind a tangible outcome.

    Whatever the case, not even the Oracle of Delphi had forewarned the world of the great disturbance in the force, which meant there was nothing to do but wait.

    If only she had a crystal ball!

    If only Diviners SAW the future and weren''t just information specialists pigeon-holed into a convenient-sounding School of Magic!

    "I should make a detour to see Sufina," Gwen announced. "Do I have the time to spare?"

    "You don''t." Gunther began the process of packing away the plates. "Richard, Lulan, would you like more?"

    Lulan obediently collected the rest of the cutlery and plates, meek as a kitten, leaving only Gwen and Alesia with their second and third helpings.

    "Thank you," Gunther continued. "The Shoal is still growing¡ªa direr prospect for Auckland, one I''ve advised Paladin Te to resolve actively, rather than waiting for fate to take its shot."

    "It''s still growing?" Gwen envisioned the multiple layers of swirling fish forming into something of Dante''s nine layers of a seafood buffet. "Are they eating themselves?"

    This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    "Where there''s a Grand Shoal, the fabric between the Planes grow thin," Gunther clarified by drawing apart the layers of his strudel. "The Elemental Princes can ferry the enormous, continent-spanning swarms of bait fish from the Plane of Water into the Prime Material by taking advantage of the natural rents that occur when such a density of Elemental beings congregate. It''s another reason why we can''t attack them that deep. Imagine finding yourself shunted into the Mer''s home Plane. Now that would be a disaster."

    Gwen pushed away her final serving of strudel. "I guess the Shoal I fought wasn''t that big."

    "During the Coral War," Alesia wrapped up as well. "The Grand Shoal of the Seven Kingdoms spanned from Byron Bay to Rockhampton, turning the sea a dark green as far as the eye could see. We had planar anomalies occur as an everyday event, sometimes a dozen times during the peak of the invasion. At some point, even the Shoal struggled with its structure."

    "Where the Prime Material''s fabric grows threadbare," Gunther explained. "There''s a propensity for other things to sneak across. To the Mer, the horrid beasts living in the Far Planes'' broken spaces are no less strange and potentially hostile. Sometimes, there''s nudging from the other side. Other times, forces of the spectral variety could take advantage and invite strange guests into our home."

    "Like the Triffidus?" Gwen asked. "The batch I scoured in the UK?"

    "Indeed." The Tower Master nodded. "We know this. The Lords of Mer know this. Without a sufficiently powerful Prince in charge, the Shoal can only gain so much mass before it begins to collapse the folds of Prime Material."

    "Meaning you should probably head back to Auckland soon," Alesia concurred with her husband. "I fear there''ll be a real attack soon¡ª"

    "A final assault?"

    "Ha!" Alesia sternly patted Gwen''s knee. "If you think a Shoal is that easy to defeat, you''re dreaming, Gwennie. Once the Shoal reaches critical mass, it''ll send as many Mer as it wishes to lose to attack the city and defences. Even if you annihilate the assault, the Shoal remains largely uncontested and may continue to build up its forces. In the aftermath, you''ve done their leadership a favour, for the survivors will be promoted, AND there''s no longer an excess of fish to cause undue instability."

    "Right." Gwen sighed. "Hence a Shoal is to be endured, not bested. The Grey Faction has been whining about that since May."

    "The only real alternative is for you to challenge the Elemental Prince," Gunther suggested. "That was Master''s method in his book."

    "I did that with the Dragon Turtles," Gwen reminded her siblings. "It was a tough fight. Dede almost died."

    "Aww, the poor thing," Alesia cooed.

    "Nyrlesvinyr''s the one to best," Gwen recalled the name without trouble. "And considering she saved her brother, what are the chances Shyvaphyr''s sibling fall for the same bait twice?"

    "Nyrlesvinyr." Gunther moved from the kitchen table to the dining. A Glyph flashed, and then a Long-Range Message Device materialised. "I''ve done some homework for you and Te while you were away. Asked for information to be delivered from the Shard. One moment."

    The activated device began to make that horrible, line-modem screech while the occupants of Gunther''s penthouse suite at the Tower sat in enduring silence.

    "I know of this Nyrlesvinyr. I believe Alesia and I had encountered one of its... spawns during our epoch of the Coral Sea War. It''s a Hydra-like creature, very unique," Gunther spoke over the noise.

    DING!

    The LRM Device secured its connection to London.

    "Gwen, my dear! How are you?" The face of Maxwell Brown, Gwen Song researcher extraordinaire, made an appearance. "Excellent timing, Lord Shultz. We''ve just finished tea and arrived at the lab."

    "Professor Brown!" Gwen broke into a grin. It was always nice to see a familiar face. "My, it feels like a lifetime. How are things in London?"

    "Without you, my dear, everything has been without colour," the academic flattered without so much as a blush. "Did you enjoy the butchery?"

    "It''s okay. How''s Gracie getting along?" Gwen asked, mindful of the follower she had left behind with plentiful doses of Essence-infused Maotai.

    "I am here!" A second voice answered her. "I am helping Professor Brown with organising the material you wanted."

    "Aww... thanks, Gracie. You didn''t have to do that." Gwen gave the Lumen projector a big bright smile. "How''s JP doing¡ª"

    Gunther coughed. "I know you''re rich, Gwen, but LRM time is money for a Frontier like ours, especially a channel with this much Abjuration weaved within the signal."

    "Right," Gwen settled herself. "So, what information do we have on Nyrlesvinyr?"

    "Lord Gunther? If you could?" Maxwell Brown spoke past her toward her sibling-in-craft.

    The former Coral War vet muttered a few power words of Illusion, then materialised the scale model of what looked like an island swimming on four paddle-like legs. The external shell of the Dragon Turtle in question was roughly disc-shaped, conic and resembling a giant screw. The most distinctive thing about the creature, Gwen noted, was its noodle-like appendages. Upon closer inspection, these were segmented heads with enormous, multi-layered jaws.

    "That''s Nyrlesvinyr?" Gwen pointed to the floating fortress covered with kelp and seagrass. "Or is one of its heads Nyrlesvinyr? What is it? A multi-headed Dragon-Turtle?"

    "Don''t be fooled. Nyrlesvinyr is a Dragon-Worm." Gunther made the image larger. "That island is not a turtle shell. That''s the fortress lair within which it makes its home. Nyrlesvinyr''s core element is Ooze, though it can shift to Earth and Water with equal ease. From its roost, Nyrlesvinyr sends out itself¡ªor more accurately, its Spawn."

    "Or Avatars?" Alesia tossed in her two cents. "Clones, perhaps? Kind of like Greater Simulacrums."

    "Yes," the Tower Master agreed. "They''re quite a handful, considering that they fear no death and act as such. Its Ooze powers add a corrosive poison to its skin secretions and bite. It''s a skill reserved for fighting its siblings and other ancient horrors of the deep, though you can imagine the havoc it might wreck if one of the appendages makes it to shore."

    "How large is this thing exactly?" Gwen pursed her lips, pondering how she might topple such a thing and disperse the Shoal.

    "About the size of Muttonbird Island," her brother-in-craft said with a smile.

    Muttonbird Island, Gwen knew, was one of the famous pilgrimage sites for those worshipping the Lord Master of Sydney. A decade ago, Gunther had turned the Mer-Tide with a phantasmagorical display, raining shards of Radiance across the eastern seaboard of Byron until the sea steamed with erupting seafood fighting to escape the unquenchable crystals boiling the water. Now, the barren island was a bee-hive of tiny, long-cooled craters, which made perfect roosts for the benign seabirds.

    "It''s a kilometre long?" Gwen stared at the Wyrm fortress. "Are you serious?"

    "About five hundred meters diametre, but at least a kilometres deep." Gunther pointed at the sloped end, then gestured to the front. "It can move the undersea island by manipulating the currents surrounding the landscape. That said, I think its real body is about a kilometre long, coiled up inside that roost."

    "Nyrlesvinyr''s base life form should be the semi-divine worms that inhabit the Para-Elemental Plane of Ooze," Alesia informed her. "Both indestructible and without natural enemies. Its parent would be akin to Almudj, a being that slumbers in the Murk Mud, moving like living glaciers through the immense pressures of the Para-Plane, consuming everything in its path."

    "Miommiriorthyr the Deep put his who in a what?" Gwen tried her best to imagine the act, then immediately regretted her internet-fuelled imagination. "That''s amazing."

    "Perhaps a symbiosis of Essences might prove a better explanation." The voice of Maxwell Brown banished her horrible thoughts. With a wave of his hand, the island grew transparent, revealing the body of what looked like¡­

    "A Bristle Worm?" Gwen stared hard at the ugliest creature she had ever seen. Sure, the scales were a pleasant rainbow colour, but its tiny eyes were utterly alien¡ªand those jaws looked like they could do serious damage. And those noodle-like legs that looked like a thousand independent slugs jostling for space¡ªdisgusting! And to think Nyrlesvinyr had possessed a buttery bedroom voice! "From her voice¡­ I had imagined a Mer-woman."

    Or Ursula the Sea Witch.

    "I am sure he, or it, or she could assume many forms if it pleased her." Brown laughed. "We''re talking about a creature that could replicate by slicing itself in half."

    "Why am I always up against worms?" Gwen furrowed her brows. "Sand Wyrms, Earthen Wyrms, and now this water worm-wyrm."

    "Are you not the Worm-handler of Fudan?" Alesia chortled.

    "What plans do you have to fight it?" Gunther politely interrupted the mirth. "If it were me, I would set up a task force for dealing with its offshoots. In the crudest sense, they are portions of Nyrlesvinyr''s living flesh, possessed of all the perks of a Planar Draconic species. Your problem, I think, would be the impossibility of preventing the Shoal''s mistress from making personal attacks on Auckland. Consider your roster of Mages. Yue might manage. A few of Auckland''s elite Flights might manage. After that, you''ll have more problems than you have men. Auckland''s Tower, likewise, can''t be everywhere. Once a push is made in earnest, who can hold back the many-bodied might of Nyrlesvinyr?"

    "I could handle one." Lulan raised her hand. "I''ll wrangle Gwen''s worm."

    Richard quickly lowered the girl''s hand for her.

    Alesia looked at Lulan with approval. "You might. But I wouldn''t recommend splitting up your team, especially if Nyrlesvinyr knows who you are from your fight with her brother."

    "She might know a few of my tricks," Gwen recalled something the worm had said in their previous encounter. "It watched me fight the Dragon Turtles. Then she mentioned she fought Sobel once and that it was not afraid of me."

    "Many of the Seven Kingdom''s upper echelons have survived Sobel. I would imagine," Gunther replied, untouched by her conjecture. "Master was responsible for reclaiming most of the East Coast after he got his hands on his future wife. That''s a half-decade of Purges going head-to-head with the Mer''s elites. It''s also the reason Sobel''s so slippery. Now that she''s a professed foe of Humanity at large, there''s a great number of presumed havens her and Spectre''s Rogue Mages could occupy in the Wildlands. Barr the Dragon-kind, memories are short in the Wildlands, and raw power commands a currency higher than any other."

    Gwen studied the holographic projection.

    "Professor Brown? I assume you have advice for me?"

    "Indeed I do. First, if you must fight it in the water, forget about it." Brown nodded with satisfaction. "Your advantage is on land or in the air. The same applies to your foe, who must, but is reluctant to enter the shallows to send its tendrils onto the shore. I''ll let Gracie explain the next part."

    "Hi, Gracie!" Gwen waved at the pale face coming into view.

    Gracie waved back. "From our records on Nyrlesvinyr, I think the crux of the matter lies with its Draconic pride. Whether Nyrlesvinyr will remain within the Shoal or if it is willing to lead from the front. Here''s what Lord Brown and I suspect. In time, when the moment is ripe, the island fortress Nyrlesvinyr carries with her can serve as a battering ram to break the siege, allowing the Shoal entry into Auckland Tower''s defence lines. Regular brutes won''t be capable of meaningfully penetrating the lines, as they''ll be severely injured by resonance. Not so for an old Draconid like Nyrlesvinyr. Once the Shielding Generators are overheated, Nyrlesvinyr can unleash the Shoal''s Elites, the Wave Riders and the Water Witches from her roost. While chaos ensues, she can use them to disrupt the ley-line stations, disabling the protections feeding the Shoal into Auckland''s kill zones."

    "I see. What do you suggest other than brute-force defence?" Gwen pursed her lips. "Unless this is the strategy."

    "You could drop the Shoggoth on the Shoal. It had certainly done wonders in the Chinese catacombs," Brown added. "But that would be a pyrrhic victory. This close to the city, we''ll likely have to sacrifice the entire barrier islands and the region''s ecology for the next decade. And as a precaution, a general evacuation of Auckland should be carried out. That''s hardly a break-even."

    "So we''re between a worm and a hard place, eh?" Gwen sighed.

    "Don''t fret." Brown sent away his Void-aide. "Do you recall when you defeated the Balefire Golem with Soul Tap? Or when you took in Garp? I think there''s a play here. From the scant details revealed by Nyrlesvinyr, we can deduce that it never fought Sobel vis-a-vis. Else it would have developed a healthy avoidance of Gwen. I think it''s likely unaware of your ability to Essence Tap its Draconic blessings."

    "I am sure I threatened the Dragon Turtles with it, and I Soul Tapped Zippy."

    "Then it will have incomplete knowledge. Not to mention Sobel couldn''t do what you can," Brown added. "She can''t Essence Drain higher-order beings. You''re different. Are you not a Vessel of Almudj? What Essence will dare to vie for dominion with yours? Wouldn''t that simply incur Almudj''s ire? If the Rainbow Snake can swallow Sobel''s Black Sun with only mild indigestion, it can erase Nyrlesvinyr from Auckland without so much a yawn. We only need to be wary of whether your patron will be upset at you."

    "Not if I digest the Essence for parts and not use it as I did with the Yinglong," Gwen confirmed with confidence. "I see. Once drained of Draconic Essence, the appendages will no longer be a threat."

    "And you will drive Nyrlesvinyr up the sea wall, I guarantee it." Brown chuckled. "Maybe capture it for us? We could use a precious specimen that cannot be exhausted. Even as a food supply, the value of such a near-immortal body is invaluable."

    "What if I beat the young one and yet another older one comes out?" Gwen asked. "I don''t want to start a real war."

    "I''ll have your back," Gunther assured her. "Besides, you are besting Nyrlesvinyr in a fair fight. For Miommiriorthyr to cross the Planar boundary would first uproot the Seven Kingdoms. For him to send another scion is a real possibility, but another Great Shoal isn''t something that occurs overnight. It''ll be decades before we see a reprisal, though to allow the danger of the present to dictate an unknown future would be foolhardy."

    "Not to mention if the old one comes, your Old One might just make a showing as well. That''s never happened before and shouldn''t now. In our recorded history, the Mageocracy has never seen Mythics fight with their true bodies in the Prime Material. If you recall such a thing from Tryfan, there should be an unspoken agreement in place, and not tearing apart the stability of the Spiritus Mundi should be a core tenet."

    "So." Gwen sat back in her chair. "We organise a lure and an ambush?"

    "The details, you''ll have to work it out with Paladin Te," Gunther said. "Brown, I''ll end the call here."

    Before Gwen could waste more HDMs with goodbyes, the channel blinked out.

    "Do you know what to do now?" Her brother asked.

    "Yes." Gwen felt the clarity of purpose wash over her and a strange nostalgia involving a wayward memory of Hai at the beach, hitting on young women while she and Percy played in the rockpools. "You know, it''s been years since I last caught bait worms at the beach."

    "You''re confident the fish will bite?"

    "She''ll bite." Gwen gave her sibling a thumbs up. "Assuming she fancies herself a Wyrm and not a worm, answering a challenge is an itch a Draconid cannot help but scratch."

 Chapter 454 - A Worms Life

    Auckland.

    On a cold morning in early May, the most remote Frontier on the furthermost end of Humanity''s antipodean outpost saw its first true assault from the South Sea Shoal.

    In future textbooks, scholars would ascertain that the attack must have been the original plan of Nyrlesvinyr, the ninth scion to He who slumbers in the Crown of Corals, the ageless Miommiriorthyr, since the siege''s inception.

    For those living in the present, it was the day Auckland learned a stern lesson on "Longitudinal Defence against Shoals".

    The notion that a Shaol could "surprise attack" was absurd. Nyrlesvinyr''s Shoal was at least six kilometres, easily visible on the surface. Every move it made was monitored by the Divination Stations and their staff of tired but dedicated Diviners.

    What had caused Paladin Te Wherowhero to be struck unaware, therefore, was the endless repetition of the attacks, the mind-numbing casualties the Mer suffered, and the consequent complacency.

    Almost a month and a half had passed since the Shoal began to amass on the coast. Auckland had called in every available favour, including Tower Master Shultz of Sydney. As a result, the city received the aid of both Yue Bai, Apprentice to the Scarlet Sorceress, and her contemporary, the infamous devouring War Mage.

    After the early victories of Magister Gwen Song, Auckland was joined by the future Master of Arms of the Tower of London, Thomas Benedict Holland, who had arrived to tame a Steam Spirit.

    With the unexpected influx of manpower and the balance of power momentarily restored by Gwen Song''s auditing of the Grey Faction, the situation appeared positively rosy for Auckland. For the first time since the original Coral Sea War, Auckland''s provisions were bursting at the seams with Wands, body armour, mana cartridges, food and medical supplies. The only essential defence components they were missing were Golems and upper-tier Mages, though, with Gwen Song on call and a Lord of Exeter visiting, few felt apprehensive for the future.

    The high morale, combined with a month of ceaseless victories, had drugged the city''s Militia with hopeful optimism that bellied the reality of their precarious position. The city''s leadership had again turned from yet another assault to feud among themselves, perceiving the Shoal as an enormous, near-inexhaustible harvest of HDMs and Creature Cores that must be fully tapped before the war was over and the status quo of peace was restored.

    Therefore, when the assault began, six-tenth of the Militia were on reserve or were convalescing within the city. Furthermore, the once-grim defenders had lost the razor-edged mindset of perishing with the foe, their wits blunted by the propaganda of victory. The mood swing was an important distinction, for men willing to fight to the end could hold back a Shoal for a long time¡ªwhile a company and its commanders who hope to survive would only lose ground.

    Ground which, for a month and more, Auckland did not think it could close.

    When the sirens blared their death-wail and the Shielding Stations thrummed with palpable agony, the Tower knew immediately that the fate of the city had taken a mortal turn.

    The giant Manta beasts from the South Sea, no longer gliding under the water but leaping through the air, sailed as suicide barges to crash upon the beach or flap just far enough to flatten the trenches. The collective sacrifice of their ruptured Cores was enough to overheat the Resonance shielding, spilling ten-thousand hard-shelled, multi-limbed Mer to slither from the pocket-folds of the Manta''s folded flesh.

    The remaining defenders had instantly taken to their positions. Nonetheless, as a shimmering battle tide of fins and scales, the Mer swarmed the Greater Barrier island of Aotea, breaking upon the Shielding Stations on the peak of the island''s volcanic mass.

    The Tower responded as well as it could, incinerating enormous, house-sized blocks of HDMs as it hovered into range, pulsing with disruptive resonance. With the aid of the Tower''s lower amplifiers, a hundred Evokers and Transmuters rained down hyper-tier spellfire onto the moving molasses of shell and scale, painting the northern section of the island swarths of cobalt and vermillion.

    For an hour stretched into what seemed like an eternity, the Tower watched the tide invade like the growth of stubborn slime into a tidal pool.

    And then the ground grew fangs.

    Without discrimination, near the nodes used by the Maguses to apportion men and supplies to the front lines, the volcanically formed igneous strata turned to mush and mud, changing solid slate into sucking quicksand.

    Those caught by panic and surprise became swallowed immediately as a bristle-clad worm emerged, falling feet-first into a tooth vortex where six pairs of mandibles laid in wait. As the soft bodies of the men struck the enormous mouth, the snap-jaws did not close¡ªinstead, dozens of tiny tendrils, each tipped with corrosive motes of penetrative fangs, pierced their steel body plates as easily as slivers of molten lead through linen snow.

    For the unlucky survivors, the erupting flames from the worm''s hairy exterior turned out not to be fire, but poisonous bristles tipped with toxins strong enough to impair Draconids. Against these, a gentle brush was enough to shatter a Mage''s barrier, while the most minute of prickles was enough to turn an NoM militiaman into an instant pustule of eruptive slime.

    Worse still, parallel reports of flaming bristle worms the size and length of inter-city trains had spontaneously erupted in every node of Auckland''s perimeter defences, paralysing the command centre with the sudden ferocity of the Shoal''s simultaneous assault.

    "Where''s Magister Song?" the Paladin''s demands tore through the Tower''s command centre like a whip at the ashen-faced Grey Faction Maguses. "I''ll personally strangle the lot of you if she''s delayed because of your antics!"

    "You accuse us of air!" came a protest without confidence, for the Greys knew as well as anyone else in the amphitheatre that they had lodged objections, bribed officials, and moved nothing short of heaven and earth to keep the Auditor of Auckland on ice in Sydney.

    "Then where is she now?" The Paladin''s Ta Moko glowed the same vivid blue as the Bristle Worms wreaking havoc within the lumen projector''s clairvoyance.

    "She should be teleporting through within the hour," an aide reported. "We''re still priming the ISTC Relay."

    There was a pause.

    "That is...Magus Kuznetsova is priming the ISTC Relay."

    "The platform was NOT primed for Sydney?" The Paladin''s scowl could have stopped hearts. "Who is responsible for this lack of preparation?"

    "Magus Lane and Billywort." The sweat-drenched aide glanced at his indignant Grey Faction managers. "They were readying the ISTC relay for Lord Thomas of Holland''s trip to Melbourne."

    "How convenient for you shonky bastards¡ª" Paladin Te''s tone grew dangerously low. With an indignant digit, he pointed at one of the displays. "Does that look like a man on route to Melbourne?"

    "Te. Spare your wrath for the Shoal," the voice that answered the Paladin came from the door. Turning their heads, the council saw Wa M¨¡taatua, the presiding Magister of the Militant, still trailing embers of Elemental Fire from his tattoos. Behind the man were two Flights of Mage fresh from the fight, including the unmistakable figure of Yue Bai, covered from arm to chin with her unique ashen Ta Moko. "What else needs to be said? Even our guest from the Shard is fighting the Shoal, and here, our brothers from the Greys are abetting the foe."

    "Be wary of your words, M¨¡taatua!" The protest from the Greys rose several decibels. "Are you foolish enough to believe Lord Holland''s generosity will last the war?"

    "I don''t know about that¡ª" the retort, to their surprise, came from the young Asian woman next to the Magister. "What I do know is that you''re all bark. But you know what? This bitch bites. If the city falls because of Gwennie''s delay, all of you will fight to the death. I guarantee it by the reputation of my Master, Alesia De Botton. I''ll hunt down anyone in your damned Faction above the rank of Senior Mage who dares to be absent from the final beachhead at Rangitoto."

    The threat was so unorthodox that, for a moment, there was only silence in the amphitheatre war room.

    For reasons known to all, none doubted the young woman''s promise.

    "Enough!" Te Wherowhero''s bark brought an end to the barbed exchange. "Mills, Henry, retrieve Lane and Billywort. Send them to the front lines and tell them to stay there until the Shoal is turned. M¨¡taatua, how fares your Combat Flights?"

    "Minor injuries. We''re licking our wounds and recovering our mana, so we''ll be back in the fight soon."

    "Good. Then you take sectors six and eight, where that Thunder Wyvern has taken roost. Minimise casualties until Magister Song can assess the situation and decide if her strategic-class Conjuration should be deployed. Waitiki, Marama, Smith, take your Greys and reinforce sectors one to five. Keep those Barrier Engines running, preserve the Shielding Stations, or else."

    "Yes, Paladin." The Greys hastily made their exit.

    "He means or die trying!" The voice of Yue Bai chided the retreating figures doing their best to ignore her.

    After an exaggerated horse laugh, M¨¡taatua left for the Flight Deck, taking Alesia''s matchless Apprentice along to avoid miscommunication with the Wyvern.

    "How''s the Tower Master holding up?" Te turned to his aide with a sigh. "Tell her I''ll be leaving with Whetu''s team for the Barrier Islands. Until Magister Song arrives, I''ll hold the Shoal at Aotea."

    "Master Hildenbrandt says her spell fatigue is being maintained," the junior administrator replied after examining the logs on his Divination slate. "That and we have another two months of nominal operating power, sixteen days at full combat capacity. Is that going to be enough, Sir?"

    "Not without committing Magister Song." The Paladin of Auckland studied the war map with its illusion-empowered blips. Without Gwen Song, Auckland''s core focus would have shifted toward a general evacuation of the city into the inland regions held by Halflings. Their home would fall¡ªbut it could also be rebuilt if Auckland preserved its personnel.

    For a brief moment, Te recalled the lumen-recording he had seen of Magister Song''s Planar Ally erasing the peninsular of Triffidus from existence.

    Should they come to that...

    Auckland and the Shoal would be reduced to blank slates, resetting the power balance in the region. If that came to pass, would the Seven Kingdoms raise an even larger Shoal? Or, would the loss of so many mouths leave enough of a resource vacuum to calm the Mermen for a decade or more, as proven by Kilroy''s victory in the Coral Sea War?

    Auckland.

    Port Jackson Shielding Station.

    The Jackson station was one of two relays of Auckland, a concrete fortress of Abjuration that withstood everything from natural disasters to Mer-made catastrophes. Together with the headland of Pahi and the interceding Barrier Islands, the twin stations formed the "gate" into Auckland''s sheltered bay waters, where the city''s maritime fleets had fled into the city''s coves and sounds.

    Presently, Thomas Benedict Holland hovered over Jackson. Opposite, his contemporaries, a duck from Emmanuel''s and a Thunder Wyvern lighting up the trenches with liquid lightning, oversaw Pahi.

    In truth, Thomas wasn''t supposed to be here. He did not trust his newly acquired Dragon Turtle Spirit to butt heads with its superior brethren, and his orders had been to tame the Spirit¡ªthen immediately leave Auckland.

    But Thomas had stayed.

    Within his field of vision, he saw millions of skittering limbs crawling over the Shielding Station''s pyramidal, obsidian facade, attempting to crack the fortress to get at the flesh militiamen within. Thus far, the Glyph-enhanced exterior held, striking up cobalt sparks that numbed the assailants'' limbs.

    The localised Walls of Force were a marvel of Spellcraft engineering¡ªbut they were also ancient, inefficient, and ravenous for resources.

    It took him a few minutes to exorcise the footsoldiers, conjuring a Maximised Maelstrom with the aid of an implement, drawing upon the new strength of his Steam Spirit to cascade the rolling banks of boiling death across the unsuspecting Mer.

    To the cheers of the militiamen, red-shelled seafood peeled like ripe persimmons from the Shielding Station, exploding as they fell, cooked so thoroughly that the slightest impact catalysed pressurised gasses to erupt from the Mer''s blue blood.

    Next, Thomas and his aides traversed northward to the edge of the sea, where fresh Mer clambered over the steaming bodies with a grim determination.

    Nearer the water, an array of spine-throwing Mer that resembled prehistoric frog-men slathered with muck and mud blew themselves up like bell-blows¡ªthen launched toward Thomas a hailstorm of barbed spears.

    "Force Carapace!" Thomas manifested the spell before the spines came close enough to hurt. Six barriers, three in an open array and three closer to his body, glimmered as a freshly blooming flower of force.

    The spines haplessly pinged away from the first layer while wayward and luckier projectiles were stifled by the second or warded away by his bodyguards.

    "Transmute Force!" Thomas transformed the geometric shields with a simple invocation, then sent the newly formed battering balls to ram the slick swarms of Fishmen scrambling for land.

    To the Mermen''s confusion, the geometric spheres were hardly deadly. Each orb seemed to possess nought but air. Unfortunately, as the rough decahedrons sat among the thrashing bodies, something within seemed to build, catalysing an alarming crinkle as cracks fissured across its surface.

    Thomas'' grin grew cruel. "Steam Blast!"

    Those closest to the explosions didn''t even have time to scream as the force-shards shattered, shredding through their mortal bodies with the astrophysical energy of solidified, meta-magical force. The initial blast threw the closest Mer-soldiers a hundred meters into the air, sundered limbs from ligaments, or snapped the heavy upper bodies of the fish-headed varmints in twain.

    From the epicentres, concentric rings of scalding steam washed over the survivors, superheating their mucus so that even if they didn''t perish, they steamed and stamped, screaming as insane children as body fluids cooked the life from their searing innards.

    "Lord Holland!" A warning came from his minders. Not far¡ªthough far enough for Holland to have at least a dozen options, a giant Manta was making one of its suicide rushes toward the Shielding Station.

    Thomas spent a few seconds watching the thing launch from the sea, pondering the best way to minimise the creature''s threat while conserving his mana.

    His choice manifested as a "Wedge of Force", an invisible pane barring the way of the incoming Manta.

    Fifty.

    Twenty.

    Ten meters...

    Thomas fortified his Astral Body.

    With both his Abjurer and Transporter by his side, Thomas focused his whole being on maintaining the shape of his transmuted Walls of Force.

    THWACK¨C!

    Never had anyone imagined that tearing flesh could make so sick a sound.

    Still, the gash that suddenly appeared on the Manta''s underside was enough to rupture organs and spill its guts. Unlike in its ocean home, there was no way for the Manta to steer itself with only the pressure of forcibly commissioned Elemental Air.

    A few seconds after the impact, Thomas felt something salty hit the back of his throat.

    When he spat out the offending taste, the spittle was bright red.

    "Hmm¡­" He swallowed the urge to cough uncontrollably, as that would be ungentlemanly. "My new Spirit has room to grow."

    "You''ve had it for less than twenty-four hours, Sir," his Abjurer reminded him. "Even for someone of your talent, it would take at least a year before the virtues of Draconic bloodlines may be manifested¡ª"

    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

    Before his bodyguard could finish, the beach behind them split in twain, revealing the hideous form of an enormous worm slithering toward the Shielding Barrier. Despite its size, the creature moved like a hasted serpent, swimming across the abandoned trenches with ease, its bright blue bristles flaring with Elemental Ooze, leaving caustic excretions in its wake.

    Thomas felt the resolve of his Spirit shrink. Their present foe wasn''t just from the same familial tree of Essences but sat on a thicker bower closer to the root.

    "And now, my disobedience is at an end," Thomas quietened the shivering Astral form of Zitusphyr, whose moniker of "Zippy" he had decided to keep. To the English noblemen, a turtle called "Zippy" had just the right amount of twisted, nonsensical humour to tickle his particular fancies.

    As for the Shield Station¡ªeither the girl would get here in time, or she would not. His duty as the Lord of Exeter was to his assigned demesne and its properties, not to a Commonwealth Frontier little more than a resource outpost. That the heir of an ancient house was here, taking pressure off the local Militia, was enough to set tongues wagging in London.

    Anymore fighting outside protocol that risked the resources of the gentry without consent from the House of Lords would tarnish the reputation of House Holland, itself the vanguard of these very traditions.

    Tapping into the rest of his mana reserves, Thomas decided he would be wilful for another ten-to-fifteen minutes.

    Two more spell-crafted Maelstrom with a Delay operant, followed by a half-kilometre semi-circle of Wall of Steam, was enough to secure Port Jackson from the mundane foe.

    As for the Draconic Worm¡ªhe was content with gifting Auckland''s Mages a memorial monument.

    "Lord Holland." Thomas'' Abjurer casually moved between the spell-casting Lord and the rapidly approaching worm. "I believe even Magister Song should be appreciative of our efforts here. I will now ask Magus Gilbert to activate the Teleportation Circle."

    "Agreed. I should be on my way back," Thomas spoke between his spells. "God knows what Poins will make of this."

    A few seconds later, their bodies grew immaterial, leaving the baffled Militiamen in the Port Jackson bunker to gawk in confusion and horror at the now-coiling Draconic Bristle Worm, barely able to comprehend why they had descended inexplicably from heaven to hell.

    The atmosphere in the Sky Tower''s ISTC relay was akin to a sulphuric flue on Ringatoto as the Devourer of Shenyang descended on the platform. When the burning embers of Conjuration faded, a single figure moved amongst the rigid statues of guilty men and women to greet her.

    "Pats." Gwen breathed out as her cousin approached. Petra Kuznetsova crossed the floor with the grace of a dancer. Her white lab coat was stained a hue of rainbows by the quasi-magical ingredients used to retune the ISTC platform. "Is everything okay? How''s the city?"

    "The outer shielding has gone to nahui, blyat!" Petra clicked her tongue as she swore. "Gwen¡ªI mean, Magister Song, accept my apologies. I didn''t think these fools would decouple the Divination Array''s preset Mandala to delay your arrival."

    "Why the hell would anyone do that?" Gwen scanned the room, knowing that some of the staff here were responsible. She was furious not at them, knowing that "grunts" had no choice but to follow their superior''s orders. As for those superiors¡­ her eyes grew dark with Void. "Who was in charge?"

    "I am. Paladin Te has put our erstwhile Enchanters to use on the Front," Petra informed her before Gwen''s mood further soured. "He promised the trash would be recycled."

    "Magister Song! Thank M¨¡ui, you''re here." Their conversation was interrupted by Auckland''s sheepish locals, who finally dared to inform her of the Tower Master''s orders. "The Shoal has broken through the Barrier Islands and is currently assaulting the Shielding Stations at Pahi and Jackson! We''re taking significant losses among the NoMs and the rank and file Mages."

    Nodding, Gwen took a second to reinvigorate her Empathic Links. Not too far, she could sense Dede and Gogo on the northernmost headland of Auckland''s interior bay, battling another Draconid that was only a little weaker than Golos. Considering what Gunther had told her, she guessed the thing to be the promised appendage-avatar of Nyrlesvinyr.

    If she wanted to implement Gunther''s advice, she would have to hurry. With Nyrlesvinyr wholly unaware of her delayed arrival, she had the perfect opportunity to test the superiority of Almudj''s Essence.

    "Take us to the deck," Gwen gave the command. "We leave immediately."

    At the outer ring, on the far side of the combat deck, she met the figure of Thomas Benedict Holland with his Mage Flight. The young Duke wore a white-and-navy bomber jacket reinforced with bulging attachments she assumed to be portable arrays for various enhancement magics. His men wore similarly themed outfits belonging to the Royal Air Force, though theirs were a drab mustard. Seeing the grime and slime splattered all over, they looked to have seen plenty of action.

    "Pats, how''re your fatigue levels?" Gwen walked toward them while the others followed. "Can you join us? I''ve got a plan, but it''s risky. We''ll need Resist Elements, Protection against Poison, and Restoration if any of us gets swiped by those bristles. And Extended Haste for the whole party."

    "Aye. I''ll buff Salamander Skin and Water Form if needed," Richard added. "Both will impact mobility, though. We''ll observe the worm first-hand before we commit."

    Petra kept up beside Richard and Lulan. "You''re planning to wrangle those Draconic worms?"

    "Aye." Gwen nodded. "According to Brother-in-craft, they''re clones of the Elemental Prince called Nyrlesvinyr. If we don''t destroy one in its entirety, it''ll simply regenerate and keep on rampaging. If we cut one in half or into smaller segments, they''ll become miniature Nyrlesvinyr-clones. Until its Essence runs dry, there''s no stopping it."

    Petra''s intelligent blue orbs grew flustered. "Maybe Caliban can use his Wyrm form and slurp it up like a stubborn noodle?"

    "There''s that." Gwen held her cousin''s advice in reserve. However, even if Nyrlesvinyr''s clones were paralysed, swallowing one wholesale would take too long, inadvertently indulging its duplicates. "Thankfully, we''ll be trying a more efficient method. One that should inspire Nyrlesvinyr to be careful where to stick her tongues."

    Petra paused for only a dozen steps before she looked up with a face full of expectation. "Are you hoping to recreate the Balefire phenomenon? Or perhaps tame the appendage like with Garp?"

    "The former," Gwen informed her cousin. "I don''t think taming a living part of a fully-conscious Elemental Prince with a Draconic lineage is possible."

    Continuing forward, she raised a hand to hail the incoming Lord Holland.

    "Magister Song! Fashionably late!" Thomas hollered as he approached. "I am sorry to leave you a mess, my dear, but against this Nyrlesvinyr of yours, Zippy simply wasn''t having it."

    The two of them briefly exchanged nods. "How''s Jackson?" Gwen asked.

    "All three nodes await your arrival with bated breath," the Lord left her with a hopeful euphemism, then passed her. "The Barrier Islands more than the others. As you know, there''s no stopping a determined worm."

    "Acknowledge. Thank you, Lord Holland." Gwen half-bowed while Petra explained Thomas'' summation of the present combat conditions. "Will you be returning to London now?"

    "No. I still have a Northern Expedition to lead!" Thomas reminded her with a twinkle in his eye. "To think that we''ll soon be worlds apart fills me with longing. Nonetheless, assuming we both survive our ordeals, I''ll see you at Christmas Mass at King''s or perhaps at Lady Aston''s afterparty. Promise?"

    "I promise. Live long and prosper, Thomas." Gwen gave the man a cryptic sign of good faith to ward away his flag-raising promise of pudding by Christmas. "Don''t die in the cold, Milord Holland¡ªWe''ve still got accounts to balance!"

    The exchange passed, and the smiling Steam Mage instantly evaporated from Gwen''s mind.

    Now, she had worms to wrangle, risks to take, and an exceedingly primordial Essence to flaunt.

    Aotea.

    "Living Punamu!" The roar of hollering invocation could barely be heard over the crash of trashing Mermen overruling the already disorderly retreat. At Whetu Tikitiki O Taranga''s behest, an expanding wall of jade-green Punamu erupted from the earth in jagged crests, forming the open ground into an instant maze. Any Mermen unfortunate enough to be caught within the sharp-edged barriers soon found themselves trapped by an ever-moving vice, exhausting their muscular energy against the tectonic momentum of Mineral mana spilling from the Quasi-Elemental Plane.

    Though effective, the impact of Whetu''s offensive Abjuration was short-lived. As a newly minted Magus, he lacked the vast mana stores of his seniors to maintain the exhaustive spell, meaning he had to make a choice between size and duration, of which he chose the prior.

    As soon as the punamu crumbled, the disabled Mermen were overrun by fresh ones clambering for space.

    Unlike Whetu''s earlier experience, the mass slaughter did not diminish their assailants'' morale. This time, a Draconic overseer sat in the rear, driving the waves of fish and crab-headed Mer inland, whipping them into a frothing frenzy with its concentric waves of Dragon Fear.

    Would my Punamu hold against the Dragon Worm? Whetu knew to ponder was futile. There were forty Mages here on Barrier Island, and each Mage he and Te''s Flights managed to save would add weight to Auckland''s continued existence.

    On the right flank, Paladin Te had already activated his signature spell, raising from the earth a Punamu idol twice the size and ten times the weight of a Centurion MKI man-operated Golem Engine. With one swipe of its arms, a dozen Mer turned to mush, sending a deadly spray of shell and carapace toward their allies like a Spellsword''s Shrapnel Blast.

    With the tide so close, it was now his turn.

    Invoking the Spirits of the old Maori ancestors, Whetu activated the latent Ta Moko tattooed on his body. For several days now, the runic scripts had been soaking up mana from his Astral Soul, and now he called upon them to fuel his next spells.

    "Rongo! Cover me!" Whetu gave the command. "I''ll bring up my guardian. Then we make for the Teleportation Circles!"

    Ringo''s Ta Moko burned bright blue as the man compelled a Tidal Surge from the watery mana in the atmosphere. Having survived Wellington, Whetu''s old IIUC teammate had become savvier and deadlier.

    Though the surge split to avoid Whetu, it drove the Mer back even as they swam against the white rush of blue-green water.

    Ten seconds later, the Punamu Abjurer invoked the lesser parallel of his Paladin''s spell.

    "Guardian Totem!" Whetu''s Clan magic was exhaustive and allowed no missteps when used by a novice such as himself. The instant he felt his mana run dry, he tapped into another Ta Moko, then swiftly injected himself with a mana potion.

    The combination was enough to provide the mana necessary for a temporarily conjured Earthen Spirit to take command of the mass of Punamu spilling from the Mineral Plane, roughly forming the matt emerald into the shape of a bipedal colossus.

    With only the sound of mass meeting mass, the totem idol moved forward, battering away Mer through the power of raw, unstoppable physics. Even against a King Crab Mer who could render apart concrete and steel, the weight of the Abjuration-conjured avatar was enough to drive the beast six feet into the earth, first swatting it against the cracked asphalt, then stepping on its hunched back to catalyse a sudden ejaculation of blue-white ichor from every orifice.

    "Retreat! Retreat!" Rongo continued to sweep aside Mermen from the flanks as the Mages fled the general chaos. Whetu willed his Boots of Flying to drive him backwards, gliding gracefully over the sodden earth. A part of him wanted to tear the magical implements from his feet and gift them to the fleeing defenders of the now-ravaged Shielding Station. Still, the Tower Master''s Apprentice knew better than anyone that a dead Abjurer was the worst fate the retreat could face.

    As for the NoM Militia, somewhere still in that hell of frolicking mass of teeth and claws¡­

    Not even Paladin Te, a man famous for his sympathies, could spare the compassion necessary to secure their non-magical brethren. It was a reality that filled Whetu with intolerable guilt and helplessness.

    Ding! A Message spell bloomed beside Whetu''s ear.

    "Paladin?" Whetu kept his calm. "Your orders?"

    "Reinforcements are on route." Paladin Te''s voice was a mixture of relief and annoyance. Relief that help had finally arrived, but also frustrated and angered by the unnecessary delay. "Look to the west! Stay out of her way¡ª SHIT!"

    The Message was cut short.

    Whetu rose into the air, flanked by his Flight.

    A Dragon Worm, one with bristles the likeness of living fire, had entangled Te''s Punamu Idol. Even with all the mana the Paladin fed into his autonomous guardian, its exterior rapidly eroded, and cracks were forming all over its enormous green body. A conjured idol of that size would have cost the Paladin most of his mana¡ªand the expectation was twenty-four hours of operation, more if the Paladin could rest. For the Totem Spirit to be disabled soon into the fight would have dire consequences for the battle''s longitudinal tally.

    "Rush for the southern beach!" Te gave the command. "I''ll take that thing with me!"

    Before the Paladin even began to finish, his idol started to run, pumping its stumpy legs with uncharacteristic haste. In its path, Mermen were stomped into fishpaste while its waving arm continued to carve out an open swarth of seafood carnage.

    Whetu erected several more barriers while counting the seconds.

    On the count of sixty, the idol erupted.

    For a Mineral Mage''s avatar, the sound of erupting crystals was dull, lacking the pyroclastic fantasy of Fire casters. Instead, what made up for light and sound was the glacial force of the kinetic energies unleashed, aided by the mass and weight of inevitable displacement.

    The Idol splintered¡ªas did the Dragon Worm, which was torn segment-from segment, leaving behind a mess of buried sinew and shattered carapace.

    Ancestors. Had Uncle Te done it? Whetu''s hope felt as fragile as a sheet of clear Punamu without the reinforcing honeycomb lattice. That was the best Paladin Te could manage without direct interference from the Tower, for the Tower''s mana reserves must be preserved. So long as the Tower hovered, Auckland possessed an un-assailable Shielding Station. Even if every ground station were to fail, they could still evacuate the city''s thousands of magic users and rebuild.

    A half-minute later, Whetu had his answer.

    The recovering Dragon Worm slithered through the carpet of Punamu, its inner flesh seemingly formed of a multitude of smaller creepy-crawling things from the deep. Within a minute, its flesh stitched anew, and it was making a beeline for Whetu''s Totem Idol.

    Unlike Paladin Te, Whetu did not possess the means to destabilise the Spirit within the idol. Once the worm finished his abjuring avatar¡­

    Whetu turned to his exhausted charges, the survivors from the shattered station.

    They were still minutes from the beachhead with the Teleportation Circles. In a few moments, sacrifices would have to be made.

    SCHWING¡ª! A shrill whine of mental sliced his dilemma in twain.

    A strangely familiar orison sung by thrumming steel resounded overhead. A split-second later, a slab of gleaming metal struck the still-damaged carapace of the Bristle Worm, penetrating it just behind the head with its multitudes of beady, malicious eyes, pinning the indignant creature to the floor.

    SCHWING¡ª!

    SCHWING¡ª! SCHWING¡ª!

    More followed, stabbing with incredible precision, turning the twenty-meter worm into an instant specimen.

    Undeterred, the worm began to thrash.

    "EE¡ª!"

    CRACK! A green bolt of electricity, channelled through the instantly red-hot lightning rods, was enough to teach it momentary calm.

    In the same instance, a sanity-splitting "SHAA¡ª!" tore through the fabric of space and time, landing just behind the head, gripping both maw and torso with hands akin to a woman''s delicate digits.

    Caliban! Whetu felt the tension drain from his chest like puss from a swollen abscess. Their reinforcements were here, and it was none other than a woman specialising in wrangling dragons.

    Incredibly, the worm''s labours could not overcome the Big Bird''s death-grip, nor could its bristles penetrate past the dark, ink-like feathers covering its lower body. With another "SHAA¡ª!" Caliban opened its enormous tri-petal maw, then frenched the worm head-first.

    Elsewhere, the Mer''s advance had ground to a halt.

    Appearing above, darkening the landscape, was the radiant visage of Gwen''s Thunder Wyvern, emitting a thick haze of invisible Dragon Fear, preventing the lesser Mer from attacking or fleeing.

    Below, the air crackled with excess mana as the monsters fought, spraying salted mud in every direction. The worm was now headless, but it still tore itself from the confines of the steel sword pins to wrap its bristle-clad body against the bird, hoping to squeeze from it whatever life the fiend might possess in its unholy torso. Within seconds, the Big Bird wore a shroud of envenomed, corrosive bristles, appearing comically as a faceless bird wearing a too-long scarf.

    Gwen¡ªno, the Devourer of Shenyang, then materialised behind the pair.

    Whetu wasn''t sure why his friend would risk mortal injury, but Gwen did just that. Dimension Dooring into place, the Void sorceress launched a dozen Void Bolts against the Dragon Worm''s rear, clearing the carapace of bristles and exposing the crystalline prawn flesh.

    "Lulu!" Her command was a clarion call to action.

    SCHWING¡ª!

    Six enormous, distended skewers penetrated Caliban and the worm, keeping the confused mass in one place. With the likeness of a thieving cat, Gwen then landed on the still quivering "tail".

    The sorceress began an invocation.

    Inexplicably, Whetu felt his hairs stand on end.

    He recognised but could not identify the spell Gwen now used¡ªbut knew well the gut-wrenching, soul-shivering reflux of Negative Energy polluting the very existence of the world. Was this a new Void Magic? His mind banished his optimistic ignorance at once. No¡ªhe knew the type of magic well. He had suffered from it during the IIUC. Additionally, a few of his elders possessed the right to practice the old ways, the ancient Faith Magic of the Clans, using it to venerate the ancestors and commune with the past.

    Gwen''s spell was unequivocally Necromancy.

    And not just any type, but the usurping kind, the worst of the worst. Inspirations for the anecdotes of woe the Purge Teams studied in the Tower, spells that enriched the host at the existential cost of the victim.

    Within seconds, the Devourer''s nursed invocation manifested, kindling her dominant hand with ethereal flames, the very same that ignited the skull sockets of Soul Wraiths.

    Beneath her, the Dragon Worm must have sensed something as well, for its main body now exerted every inch of force against Caliban, who seemed perfectly content with its ceaseless parrying of the strangling worm''s best efforts, laughing with soundless sadism.

    In one smooth movement, the Void Sorceress stamped the spell onto the Dragon Worm''s mutton-jade flesh.

    Whetu felt his Astral Soul shiver.

    The worm grew limp on the skewers.

    Then suddenly, it freed itself, dancing like an insane living whip, bouncing from Caliban, sending its assailants to scatter in every direction. From its movements, Whetu was certain the creature appeared on fire¡ªonly there were no flames, neither tenebrous and inky or electric and cobalt. As though a hysterical musical note dancing over invisible staves, the Dragon Worm leapt into the air, made delirious pirouettes, fought the air itself, and then death-rolled against an invisible foe.

    His intended retreat, or what was left of it, seemed no longer a priority.

    All the Flights responsible now watched the Shoal''s leading combat unit perform an existential tango of anthropomorphic agony, dancing a solo quadrille, coiling, twisting, contorting itself into abstract pretzels.

    A minute.

    Two minutes.

    When finally a third, eternal minute passed, the Dragon Worm collapsed from exhaustion, then sat there as a docile, confused mass. Milky ichor bled from every crack and gash, it wasn''t dead, but it wasn''t regenerating either.

    Thunk! Thunk! Thunk!

    Whetu''s surviving idol approached the Dragon Worm.

    He kicked it.

    The creature did nothing, not even when his idol picked up the worm by the mid-section and lifted it from the floor. Curiously, the bristles appeared to have lost all potency, becoming so inert that they failed to penetrate even Whetu''s Punamu.

    "GHWARRRRRGH¡ª!" The thunder rolling overhead announced the descent of the Thunder Wyvern and, as such, the routing of the surviving Shoal that once threatened to overrun the island.

    With the carefulness of a blooming Maori flower, Whetu hovered closer to the Devourer of Shenyang. His Paladin had taken over reorganising the Mages, freeing up Whetu to satiate the death-desiring curiosity threatening his continued sanity.

    "Is it over?" he asked as he came close. In Gwen''s ink-clad crow-skin with its claw-tipped boots, her second-skin dripping with Void, his old teammate appeared more monster than a woman. "That was sweet-as Gwen, but what did you do to it?"

    Whetu''s companion studied the unenthused worm in the Punamu giant''s hands, now completely flaccid, murmuring to herself.

    "Gwen?"

    The girl looked up, her face as heart-achingly beautiful as he recalled, her paleness accentuated by the jet-hued battle suit.

    "Was that... Necromancy?" Whetu asked for confirmation.

    "Not by the Tower''s definition," Gwen explained, her face aglow with the thrill of a successful hunt. "That was... the experimental application of Sanctioned¡­ sorcery, as for why Nyrlesvinyr decided to do that..."

    The recently minted Magister pursed her lips.

    She drew his eyes to the northern shoreline, where something very large and exceedingly rocky angrily rose from the shallows.

    Following her eyes toward the hovering landmass radiating menace, Whetu wished he had forgotten what he saw and focused on retreating.

    "Besides," Gwen decided to answer after all. "It''s not the spell that''s culpable¡ªbut the practical application of Stranger Danger."

 Chapter 455 - A Worms Death

    Watching Almudj''s Strange Danger at work, Gwen felt like a catfishing hussy whose Big Daddy was taking her unsuspecting chump to town like Rocky to a side of beef.

    The outcome was coincidental, for Henry''s censured repertoire of magic was beyond the ken of her Cambridge lecturers, who gained data by abetting her experiments and sweeping regulatory mishaps under the rug.

    The same could be said of Almudj''s magic, for which her knowledge was an estuary meeting a vast Essence Sea.

    Therefore, her "Offensive Essence Tap Field Test" was akin to the pre-Spellcraft transmutation of phosphorous by Meister Hennig Brandt, lighting up new possibilities of monster hunting like a retina-searing Lumen Globe.

    When her group first encountered the avatar of Nyrlesvinyr at Jackson, it was waist-deep in steamed seafood piled two storeys high against Force Barrier. The creature had snarled at her¡ªbut wasn''t content with abandoning the last few thousand HDMs worth of shielding before facing its foe.

    That was her victim''s last mistake, for Lulan instantly pinned it to the granite with her stone-shaping sword nails while Gwen rushed its rear, her body buffed with every form of defence Richard and Petra could muster.

    Her crow armour made light of the bristles'' acid and venom. However, Gwen still found it almost impossible to penetrate the mechanical defence of the porcupine spikes. A flood of Void Bolts solved the problem, with Lea sweeping her landing before she fired up Essence Tap and stabbed the worm with gut-churning necrotic energy.

    The first few seconds of paralysis had been within her expectations. As with the Balefire, she and the worm entered a state of Astral shock while their Essences mingled like oil and vinegar in a cocktail shaker.

    The next part was the opening act to a brave new world.

    With the Balefire, the feedback had been instant.

    With Garp, she had usurped the creature''s will while her superior, sapient blessings dominated its dull hypo-Essence.

    Compared to the Enginseer and Garp, Nyrlesvinyr''s offshoot possessed an ancient and rare Essence, imprinted with the prideful psyche of a Mythic Dragon Turtle. Rather than cowering and allowing itself to either be absorbed or contained, its jaw-clenching reflex was to attack, usurp, and consume.

    Therefore, before Gwen''s sanctioned Necromancy could run its course¡ªher inner Almudj decided it would take no piss from an upstart turtle worm.

    And perhaps to remind her of her fidelity, it delivered a flashback as brilliant as white phosphorous.

    Cracking timber

    Burning eucalyptus

    Blasted bark

    Burning wood

    A million-million flying embers

    Kalinda''s crystalline tears as her olive skin turned to char

    And the smug laughter of old, cheeky Tjupurrula, cackling like an insane kookaburra.

    Before Gwen could gasp, the ire of Almudj had grown to admonish Nyrlesvinyr with a literal baptism of cleansing fire. If the stranger''s Essence would not assimilate, it need not exist.

    The result, therefore, was the manifestation of an ancient rite of the primordial universe, with the only difference being that both Nyrlesvinyr and herself were Vessels of their irrespective patrons¡ªa pair of sly foxes borrowing the terror of their tiger mothers.

    And in their case, both patrons were asleep, meaning their respective Essences were left to duke it out¡ªonly her lineage was superior, even if her body was mortal.

    And so, Nyrlesvinyr burned.

    The fortunate discovery came with a caveat¡ªwith Barbanginy, she could control the Essence through Ariel''s feedback loop.

    But within herself, how could she command Almudj''s flaming ire?

    To redirect Al''s will was no different from wrangling lightning with her bare hands¡ªand should her wilfulness grow excessive, would the flame turn her into Kalinda?

    Watching Nyrlesvinyr''s Draconic Essence ignite like an expensive cocktail was an experience. The psychic stab must feel like a wasp sting to the nerve centre.

    After Big Bird Caliban had pecked clean the worm at Port Jackson, she recalled Golos, who finished up his hard-won meal and then told Dede to stay as a defender. With the usurped Essence from Nyrlesvinyr, Golos was hale as ever. As a caution, Gwen had her Wyvern acknowledge that they had defeated an appendage, not the Mud Wyrm itself.

    When she and her entourage finally arrived to nix her next target, the battle of Barrier Island was at its conclusion.

    The Shielding Station was now a ruin, meaning the centre-dot connecting the outer barrier''s connect-a-three had completely extinguished. The moment Auckland''s Tower left the vicinity, Barrier Island would have no shielding, opening up the city''s inner sea to the invading Mermen, meaning that as of this moment, all of Nyrlesvinyr''s presumed objectives had been met.

    Gwen woefully conceded that battle strategy was a shortfall she should address.

    The Mermen''s grand gesture of Soviet-era tactics using waves of fodder to shatter the psychic and then the physical defence of the defenders was not something that she, a finance broker, could begin to imagine. After all, if she had told London that she gleefully sacrificed two hundred of the thousand Mages assigned to her so that her foe would grow complacent, there would be an Integrity Commission, followed by her immediate imprisonment in the deepest dungeons of London Tower. Thankfully, a good manager delegates, so in the future, she would need someone on her roster capable of planning war games, someone used to the command of armies: a Militant Officer well-versed in tactics and the management of the involved logistics. That way, she could focus on her strengths, such as her role in the Tower''s promise of mutually assured destruction.

    But for now, she should contend with the consequence of her catfishing for Dragon Worms.

    In the distance, the "landmass" approaching the Barrier Islands appeared to be moved by pure menace.

    When Gunther had shown her a mock-up of Nyrlesvinyr''s abode, it had looked like an asteroid with an embedded Exogorth emerging to take a bite out of the Millennium Falcon. In life, however, the asteroid wasn''t bare rock but an entire ecosystem of vibrant coral overgrowths in every shape and colour. From its crags and caverns, hundreds of streams of water issued forth, some as propulsion, others merely flowing the way of gravity. The magic that compelled the island to move could only be Draconic, utilising the same reality-altering power as Ayxin''s space-sorcery or Ruxin''s verbal commands that compelled obedience from inanimate objects. The result was a living-breathing battle barge dredged from the deepest depth of man''s limitless imagination.

    DING! The Message from Paladin Wherowhero bloomed a rich scarlet. "To all personnel on the Barrier Islands, get to the way station NOW! All non-Aerial Mage Flight operations will be conducted from the Tower! Magister Song, are you present?"

    "I am. Paladin Te, this is Magister Song," Gwen returned the response with a Divining gesture. "Where do you want me?"

    "Return to the deck. You''ve saved my men, Magister, but also crossed us over the Rubicon. The Shoal is coming, and there will be no stopping them with Barrier Island now extinguished. After consulting with Tower Master Hildrenbrandt, we have decided to escalate to the Planar Ally summoning."

    "Understood," Gwen looked once more at the island. From the disturbance in the sea, it didn''t take a Tower to divine what was following the spearhead.

    She had hoped to avoid the cost of utilising an all-hungering planar monstrosity held in check only by the metaphysical forces of the Prime Material. In the aftermath, would a Void-swept seascape improve Auckland''s chances?

    "Whetu, will you be alright here?" She asked their erstwhile companion, who was still reeling from the sight of the jumping-jack Dragon Worm.

    "We''ll be sweet-ass." Whetu forced a smile that was betrayed by the distance kept between himself and her. "Go with Paladin Te, Magister Song. I''ll round up the survivors in the rear and take them to the Teleportation Circles."

    "Okay. Caliban¡ªgather the rest of the food!" Gwen commanded her creature toward the flaccid worm with the sundered sinews. At the same time, she readied the opening invocations to Elemental Swarm. The was an enormous amount of vitality here, dead or dying or living, none of which she could waste. "We''ll be leaving first. Cali, stock up while we prepare. Eat everything. Shoggy will need every drop..."

    Nyrlesvinyr, ninth of He who Slumbers in the Crown of Corals, felt an unfamiliar feeling.

    Doubt.

    It wasn''t that a Dragon-kin such as herself was incapable of doubt, but that doubt was a psychic affliction felt by prey, while Nyrlesvinyr was a born predator.

    Her Shoal had been reduced, but her most prized troops and elite Mermen remained hidden, feasting upon the flesh of the fallen and the inept, awaiting her call to sweep across the Human city to raze the hated land-kin to the ground.

    Unfortunately, these prideful cohorts were not so easily cajoled into combat as the fodder from the shallow seas. Behind each Elemental General and their microcosmic Shoals stood an infinitely entwined food chain of favours, betrayals and alliances by blood and circumstance stretching into the murky depth of the Elemental Plane of Water.

    As the Shoal''s sovereign, Nyrlesvinyr had been certain that a slow victory was assured¡ªuntil she lost not one but two appendages.

    Slumbering Miommiriorthyr! If a single fraction of her Essence had imploded for a single instance, she could have stomached the loss. Yet, not only had two fractions of her Astral Essence been lost, they had been eradicated with such totality that Nyrlesvinyr could no longer feel whole.

    Hence, her aloof confidence turned to disturbed rage.

    She knew not what happened to her Essence¡ªfor she had severed the threads when the flaring pain shocked her Astral Soul¡ªbut Nyrlesvinyr knew who was responsible.

    Her Core had cautioned its many heads against an open confrontation with the Mageocracy''s newly minted Void Mage. Some thirty ocean cycles prior, she and her Kin had encountered the girl''s predecessor, Elizabeth Sobel, in the Coral Sea War. The Great Shoals had been larger in those days, the Seven Kings more united.

    In her memory, Sobel had been terrifying to the mundane Mermen¡ªbut posed only a marginal threat to true-blooded Dragon-kin.

    So why, Nyrlesvinyr wondered, was she¡­ feeling doubt?

    But be it suspicion or premonition, Nyrlesvinyr knew she could not retreat. A true Scion, one born from the Para-Elemental Plane of Ooze with its primordial womb as her birthplace, possessed Draconic pride not as a quirk but as a metaphysical manifestation of her being.

    There were arrogant Dragon-kin.

    Wrathful Dragon-kin.

    Dead Dragon-kin.

    Usurped Dragon-kin.

    But among her siblings, a cowardly Dragon-kin had never existed, or if there were, she and her siblings would tear them apart.

    Besides, why should she be cowed? She had not underestimated the foe, having spent more than two moon cycles testing the city''s defences, drawing out the Void Sorceress, testing her abilities, expending almost a million Mermen lives to guarantee victory for Shoal, going so far as to risk her true-blooded brother.

    Thereby, driven by jaw-clenching credo and buoyed by confidence, Nyrlesvinyr allowed her Dragon Fear to take root in the heart of her Shoal.

    Only then, with her Shoal ashore, the sorceress fled and the human city dashed, would her hearts have satisfaction.

    Snug on the sky deck of Auckland''s floating Tower, Gwen seriously considered if she should make her Tower the likeness of an Imperial Star Destroyer (?). Granted, they were not in outer space or pursuing rebels through an asteroid field. Still, the d¨¦j¨¤ vu generated by the thrumming of the mana engine, the running crewmen and the field of view was as close as it got.

    In the looming distance, the coral island of Nyrlesvinyr approached as a bio-organic spaceship, closing the gap with the pace and determination of a strike cruiser. For the moment, Nyrlesvinyr''s abode posed no danger, though there was no doubt that a hovering landmass covered in seafood could unleash a horde the likes of which only a Leviathan-class sea beast could muster.

    That and the Shoal was legitimately on the move, pushing forward as a tidal cohort of coral and spines, fins, teeth and claws, swarming around and over the island for the inner bay of Auckland cove.

    It''s alright, no pressure. Gwen double-checked her Mandala. By now, her Enchantment tier had significantly improved, but a year had also passed since she conjured her last Shoggoth.

    What preoccupied her was not the menace on the horizon but rather the lack of proton torpedoes or pew-pew lasers from the Tower.

    Once the inner Mandala was completed, she turned to her aide, Aria Campbell-Ravenport. For the moment, her staff from Cambridge had packed away their work, for the Pocket Plane that housed their auditing office was far too dangerous a place to be in the middle of a direct Tower-to-Monster battle. As a result, the London Mages insinuated themselves into the various departments in the Tower, offering their first-tier expertise wherever they could.

    To deploy the Shoggoth, authorisation was required from herself, the Tower Master and Auckland''s Paladin. Aria''s role was to act as London''s observer, returning in the aftermath with a treasure trove of data.

    "Aria... pardon my ignorance, but where''s our Ray of Disintegration?"

    When she fought the Lich in China, Gwen recalled that the PLA had been exceptionally liberal in using hyper-range spells of mass destruction. A nice death ray, lasting a few minutes and a half-million HDMs, should be able to slice Nyrlesvinyr''s home in twain or at least give it caution that the Tower was out of bounds.

    Aria remained politely mum while directing her gaze toward the tattooed giant on the rails overlooking the Mandala.

    Te Wherowhero, who had joined them in person to oversee the deployment of her Shoggoth, looked sheepish. "Magister Song, Auckland is a tier 2 Tower¡­ We have no Ray of Disintegration Mandalas."

    "Hmm..." Gwen racked her brain for something that could give Nyrlesvinyr food for thought. "Surely, a super-charged Fire Storm isn''t out of the question. Wasn''t Yue just here?"

    "Magister Song, Towers like Auckland are built for Abjuration," Aria reminded her of a long-ago lesson on the logistics of the Mageocracy. "Of course, there are offensive Towers in the Frontier¡ªGunther''s, for example. And the Melbourne Tower. But this is Auckland¡ªeven if Paladin Te had a Disintegration module installed, which Frontier will they attack? The South Island that belongs to benign Demi-humans? Those Mandalas cost millions of HDMs and months to construct, and the maintenance material cost alone will unbalance Auckland''s budget."

    "Right¡­" Gwen gazed at the approaching island. "I guess you guys will do this the old-fashioned way, eh? Paladin Te, I saw Mages using the amplification Mandala earlier. We can use that, yes?"

    "You and your team have priority, Sis," Wherowhero assured them. "However, Lord Gunther has advised that we do not tax you with this burden."

    "That''s because while the Mandala amplifies the spells'' range, damage and overall draw-strength¡ª" their interlocutor was Petra, currently working on the outer circles of her Mandala. "¡ªwe have limited data on the amplification of Void Magic or Barbanginy. If you remember our work with Magister Brown, the Mandala cannot lend Essence or vitality."

    "And even if Magister Song does have enough," Aria raised her voice. "She would be left with nothing to summon the Strategic-class Planar Ally."

    "It was just a thought," Gwen calmed her two guardians, assuring them she wasn''t about to put her curiosity to the test.

    After a year-long study as Brown''s lab rat, she knew better than to drain her Essence to the last drop. As with Gracy and those other Void Mages she had signed up to help, a high-tier Affinity meant the need for an equal or greater offset. To drain herself completely of vitality and Essence could have dire consequences.

    Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

    "Lulu!" Gwen willed forth her bodyguard. "As discussed. Could you help the Tower with rebuffing the island? I don''t believe Paladin Te has any offensive material-casters on his roster."

    Lulan dipped her chin obediently. "I won''t be able to control the swords with Ki."

    "I don''t think you''ll need precision," Gwen said. "Just fire away and let the metal work their magic. The Shoggoth summoning requires a distraction, and I can''t think of anyone better than you and Yue to keep a Mud Princess occupied."

    "Understood." Lulan looked to Paladin Te, who nodded appreciatively, then told an aide to lead the Sword Mage down the gangway to the Tower''s amplification batteries.

    Gwen continued to lay down the concentric runic circles with her inscription wand. On launch, the deck section could be detached and teleported by the Tower to its desired location mid-air. There, she would summon the Shoggoth and allow it to descend, free from the interference of the water-born Mermen, who had no idea what was coming.

    As always, the tiny part of her that remained unused to the moral pragmatism of her new world reared its head and whispered words of doubt.

    Mermen¡­

    It wasn''t as though she didn''t know any Mermen. There was that funny feller, Lei-bup, whom she met on Chicken Shit Island back in Pudong. She had also seen and met others on her journey through the coastal regions of the UK, where the Mer "folk" of the lakes and streams co-existed and thrived beside humanity.

    These were sapient beings, capable of love¡ªcapable of sorrow.

    These were not the alien mind of the Triffidus or the unfathomable malice of the Undead hordes.

    To consign the milling millions in that Shoal to the Shoggoth¡­

    "Magister Song¡ª" Petra''s criticism drifted through the air. "Your lower-right inscription is one stroke away from connecting to the wrong circuit."

    "Whoops¡ªsorry," heeding the admonition, Gwen redoubled her focus, making provisions for the expression of lesser woes. "Say, do you think the Mermen will accept a loss by Shoggoth? Or are we setting ourselves up for something more sinister later down the track?"

    "The full impact of something like this is impossible to predict," Richard butted in. He would be her bodyguard in place of Lulan while on the platform, using Lea''s supernatural invisibility to disguise their presence and mask their mana signature. "And it''s above our pay grade. For now, we are merely the Mageocracy''s implements."

    On cue, the floor began to tremble. The Magnification Mandala was active, meaning Worm Island had hovered over the Barrier Island''s northern lip and was now close enough to take damage.

    "Look, if you''re worried about using the Shoggoth on people," Richard''s next words seemed to have read her mind. "It isn''t as though you''re preventing the Mer from fleeing. Any that doesn''t wish to perish by Shoggoth merely needs to turn tail and swim as deep and far as they can. When we make the decisions, you can give them a warning and a Lumen-caster Trailer to watch. For now, we''re just doing our job."

    "Likely, Magister Song, this needs to happen only once," Aria was also an excellent mind reader. "After Auckland, every Shoal between here and the Seven Kingdoms of the Deep will think twice before committing a force of that size."

    "That," Richard added with his usual sardonicism. "Or they would hail Auckland as the perfect garbage disposal for their excess citizens."

    "Ah, of course," Gwen didn''t know whether to laugh or cry. "Thank you, Dick. The prospect of an annual Shoal has put me completely at ease. I¡ªwhoa¡ª"

    Her words were cut short by an ear-splitting, teeth-grating, onomatopoeic SCHWING splitting the air, joined by a chorus of suddenly manifesting metal projectiles.

    From their vantage, Gwen and her company saw the parabolic curve of Lulan''s blades shrieking through the cloudy yonder, trailing white streaks of chemtrails as they flew.

    The first blade, much to their disappointment, fell short.

    As the trail behind it grew dense, it failed to maintain the momentum of its flight and began to dip about three-quarters into its two-kilometre flight.

    "A shield?"

    "Looks like a Vapour Barrier, an enormous one," Richard remarked as Lea manifested beside his ear, delivering a string of whispers in Elemental. "It''s not much up-close, but if it''s a kilometre thick, it''ll work."

    Lulan must have adjusted, for the rest of the blades came closer. One was enough to float past the island, where a second command word from Lulan was enough to deploy a Blade Shatter, pelting the coral surface with metal shards. In the aftermath, living bits of bone, rock and aquarium interiors splattered upon the abandoned installations on Barrier Island. From the looks of the collateral, these were very dense and heavy debris, compressed by the immense pressures of the sea.

    The other swords, which now dotted the general vicinity, erupted in sequence, harvesting great semi-circles of sea fodder.

    At the same time, a spiral began forming from the coral island''s misty surface, creating something akin to a lance.

    "Brace for impact," her Water Mage cousin notified Gwen before the mud missile materialised. A dozen breaths later, a battering mud ram leapt in an arc across the distance between the two flying structures, making for the Tower''s sky deck.

    Gwen was already afloat, though she had underestimated the true forte of Auckland''s Tower Master. Esther Hildenbrandt might be a wizened old Abjurer from Henry''s epoch¡ªbut she remained the famed inventor of the honeycomb lattice employed by many a Mineral Mage.

    As the projectile mud-slide approached, deflecting panes of hexagonal force began to shave away at its trajectory, eventuating in the beam striking at the lower, slender segment of the Tower, where a multitude of panes deflected the blow.

    Several breaths later, the landscape behind the Tower erupted, uprooting ancient trees, turning stone to spontaneous mud, resulting in a landslide beginning from the cape''s tip to the disturbed ocean below.

    "Holy shit." Gwen''s brows twitched.

    "Good thing we didn''t fight it head-on, hey?" Richard whistled. "I''d done a few lair Purges, but this is the first time a lair itself has attacked. It''s kind of surreal, don''t you think?"

    Gwen nodded. There was no possibility of her personally dealing with the mud sprout.

    It was one thing to fight a Magical Beast on its own and a whole other thing to fight it in its lair. She had felt incredibly powerful after besting the Dragon Turtle¡ªbut now, not so much. A part of her wanted to give Gunther a call so she could grumble¡ªand her Brother-in-craft would likely arrive to help. Should such a thing come to pass, the spoils of victory would be tithed to Sydney, leaving Auckland with a ravaged city and no means of re-investing. That and the Factions would implode, leaving her and Gunther up shit creek.

    Heedless of her thoughts, the two flying fortresses continued to close in upon one another, reaching the span of a half-kilometre. With her Essence-enhanced eyes, Gwen could see every detail, including the beady eyes of the numerous heads lurking in the caverns of Nyrlesvinyr''s abode.

    At once, each head manifested separate magics to attack the Tower.

    The floor thrummed.

    Gwen gripped her inscription wand and continued her work.

    A minute later, Auckland began its return volley.

    SCHWING¡ª

    Cruise Missiles in the shape of iron slabs sallied forth from the Plane of Earth. This time, the swords reached their target, embedding themselves into the craggy surface of the coral island.

    An invocation later, the upper surface of the landmass erupted, tearing out chunks of fossilised stone, exposing the underlayer of Nyrlesvinyr''s home.

    "SKY Metal!" Petra recognised the composition at once. "That''s no coral! That''s a hollowed-out celestial ore!"

    Like Petra, Gwen paused her work to stare.

    This world, like her own, had a dire need of rare metals for Enchantments and assorted circuitry for Mandalas. A rare source of these hyper-dense materials that had soaked up the elemental energies of the cosmos was celestial ore¡ªknown to her as meteorites.

    To think that Nyrlesvinyr made her home in the largest deposit of rare Elemental Earth metals she had ever seen!

    But that made perfect sense, for Nyrlesvinyr was a true-scion Dragon. It needed to be surrounded by dense mana similar to its Elements to sleep and grow. What better bed-cum-nest than a meteor fallen into the ocean, sent adrift into the Elemental Plane of Water?

    Her money-making senses tingled.

    If they got their hands on the worm''s home, Auckland might have ninety-nine problems, but finance wasn''t going to be one.

    Shrugging off Lulan''s best, the island continued its forward trajectory at ramming speed.

    In response, the Tower''s creep ground to a halt as it readied itself either for Teleportation or to pull its gravitational arrays for a quick reverse.

    "ELEFA-MUNTHREKI¡ª" a blast of loud-hailing Draconic reverberated from the island, triggering a visually confirmable pulse of Dragon Fear that turned the Tower''s defence matrix momentarily white-hot.

    When her vision returned, Gwen confirmed Nyrlesvinyr''s commitment.

    Where the invasion wave was making steady progress, it was now surging forward at full tilt, swamping the island from east to west. From her vantage, she could see the Human stragglers¡ªeither Militia who were left behind or the stubborn inhabitants who had refused to leave, disappear under a tidal wave of roving, clambering, slithering bodies.

    Once the main mass of the Shoal reached the inner sea, Auckland as they knew it would cease to exist. And so, any doubts about the Shoggoth''s deployment perished.

    The floor jolted.

    The Tower began to move backwards, maximising its chances of avoiding a direct impact from Nyrlesvinyr.

    Focus. Gwen told herself. Focus on the Mandala.

    She had another section to finish, and then Petra would need to check and double-check the inscriptions while she lay down the HDMs necessary to invoke the gate for her fictive "Old Ones".

    Turning her mind from the battle of the titans merely an eggshell''s Wall of Force away, Gwen continued her work.

    Six arrays later, the atmosphere outside glowed a sudden amber, turning the interior of the sky decks vibrant autumn, mirroring every surface with flame.

    That would be Yue working her magic below in the Amplification Mandala. Her heart grew sore for her companions, for Gwen knew from her academic studies that any connection with the Tower''s sub-systems was extremely taxing on the mind and that consecutive uses of magic would render a Mage''s brain into jello. Lacking a super-human like Gunther, it was why a Tower had a Paladin and a Master, for one controlled the battle, while the other managed the Tower''s complex resources through its array of support Mages.

    Gwen lifted her hand each time the Tower shook and waited for a lull to continue. The process persisted for an uncertain number of exchanges between the Tower and Nyrlesvinyr, with Mages swapping in and out of the Amplification Mandala.

    "It''s done!" Gwen stepped back as Petra stepped in to double-check her work, making minute corrections here and there. "Paladin Te, we''re ready to proceed."

    "Thank Old Yog for that," her cousin replied cheekily.

    Te instantly began the process of shielding and teleporting the platform.

    Looking outside once more, Gwen noted that the floating island was now below the Tower and out of her line of sight. Up close, the island looked more beautiful than ever¡ªand the "true" bodies of Nyrlesvinyr were as menacing as they were colourful.

    Switching to Golos'' Link Sight, she saw from its flyby that Nyrlesvinyr and the Tower were engaged in a deadly, tentacle-themed tango.

    Nyrlesvinyr''s abode had lost much of its mobility out of the water, staggering toward Auckland Tower like a drunk, persistent admirer. A dozen "worms" distended from its caverns, each a living hose of mud and acid, spraying down the Tower''s exterior with all manners of ejecta, trying to latch on and bore a hole into its interior.

    The Tower was playing hard-to-get, equally lacking in mobility but still better than a worm-island out of water. From its lower batteries, it was hammering Nyrlesvinyr with everything from Punamu, Lulan''s iron, Yue''s Fire, Lightning and every other magic its Mages could muster. Golos assisted with lines of lightning, but the Thunder Wyvern had to rest between each attack, and Elemental Lightning was itself mud when used against¡­ mud.

    A missing element, Gwen supposed, would be Steam¡ªbut Thomas and his team had earlier teleported out, having already overstayed and fought in a battle they were not authorised to participate. If one were to put Thomas in a twenty-magnitude amplifier¡ªand if Thomas were to manifest a Steam Bomb...

    "Paladin Te has authorised the Mandala to be deployed," Petra stepped back with both hands raised, like a surgeon stepping away from a sutured wound. "Magister Song, you may proceed."

    Gwen took a deep breath. She stepped into the centre of the Mandala.

    "Paladin Te, Magister Hildenbrandt?¡± She dropped the Message to the control centre. "Let''s end this war."

    As an oceanic Elemental Princess, Nyrlesvinyr knew every advantage offered by her "shell", one stout enough to withstand attacks from her sibling rivals.

    Yet, bathed in the shadow of an existence she could not comprehend, Nyrlesvinyr felt seized by the all-consuming riptide of a Leviathan''s sea-swallowing gulp.

    The Thing that emerged from the heavens, rending the Prime Material apart like a ragged cloth as it came, was living hunger from the Unformed Land.

    As it descended, the Elemental Princess became reminded of an absurd rumour she had heard from traders in the North Pacific: that a great cult had arisen near the Yellow Sea, one disassociated from the Seven Kingdoms. In battle, the Shoals of these fanatic cultists would perform suicidal rushes, eating and devouring everything in their way, howling the name of an unnamed "Pale Fleshed Priestess". If left alone¡ªand if enough Mermen were to perish, or so the stories went, a great Kraken of the Void would emerge, with tentacles studded with eyes, consuming cultists and foes alike.

    Nyrlesvinyr had no idea if that rumour was genuine¡ªbut the cloud-Kraken currently being regurgitated downward certainly matched the description.

    Immediately, Nyrlesvinyr had ordered her troops to turn the creature back into the aether from which it came.

    Elite Mermen calvary riding on spirited seahorse Undines surged forth on high-rising crests to blast beams of ice and water toward the draping tendrils.

    These were successful¡ªuntil they were not. The fallen segments of the Kraken merely took on a new life. Where the tendrils fell, they began to consume her Shoal en masse, rapidly expanding into floating drapes of oily film that dissolved scale and shell alike. As for her Wave Riders, those who charged into the lumbering tendrils soon joined the wailing chorus of existential agony.

    Nyrlesvinyr redoubled her efforts against the Tower¡ªbut knew that a breach would take several moon cycles while her Shoal had already entered a state of severe shock. Without her below to compel order with her Dragon Fear, the Shoal would soon disperse into the deep. Even now, only a short distance away from the loci of her presence, she could feel the hysteria brewing below, touching the sanity of the lowest prawn to the highest Shark-kin.

    An enormous tendril, dark and tenebrous and studded with unblinking eyes in every shade and colour, dipped into the water.

    When it struck the churning surface, its split tendrils erupted into an oily dragnet, each teeth-covered tentacle holding the screaming, howling form of a semi-paralysed Mermen, each singing insane orisons, pleading for death.

    Nyrlesvinyr fought the desire to look up¡ªfor she could not withstand the hungering gaze of that singular ocular orb staring down at the feast of fish below, devoid of feeling yet full of malicious intent.

    The Summoner! Nyrlesvinyr knew the solution.

    She tasted the air for the sorceress'' Essence.

    Then felt despair.

    The Vessel with the ancient Essence had fled inside the Tower, near the top, where the panes of force were thickest¡ªwhere Nyrlesvinyr could not reach without first breaching its defences.

    Despite her growing chagrin, the volleys of spellfire pounding her shell continued unabated.

    After a moment of indecision, Nyrlesvinyr lifted herself from the Tower.

    Auckland''s floating battle station pulled away from Nyrlesvinyr like a fleeing dance partner. It began to beat a retreat back to the human city, withdrawing the dragnet of echoing resonance as it went, abandoning every landmass of the islands below, including both stations on either headland.

    So that''s what it was. Nyrlesvinyr read the tactical retreat at once. So not even the Land-kin could control this unnamable beast from the Void. Her adversary might appear magnitudes more powerful than the Coral Sea''s Void Witch, but the whelp possessed no control over that which she unleashed into the world.

    However, that didn''t change the fact that her Shoal, having been caught unaware, was rapidly disintegrating.

    For a while, her synaptic organs had been bleating Dragon Fear non-stop to no avail. Only those of her Essence and blood managed to respond, though, by their meagre numbers, they were subsumed by the dangling tendrils, becoming nutrients to its exponential growth.

    Deep Miommiriorthyr! Nyrlesvinyr involuntarily turned her dozen eyes upon the unformed monstrosity. The bloated fiend was already a hundred times the size from whence it emerged!

    She should have fought it as soon as it manifested.

    Perhaps then, she could have caught the summoner.

    Or at least expend enough of her vital force to force it back into the devouring Void.

    Should I flee? The self-imposed question shook all three of her Cores.

    Nyrlesvinyr felt a sudden and unwelcome sympathy for Shyvaphyr.

    Somewhere in the Shoal''s depth, her headless brother remained unconscious, his Essence busy at work re-knitting his sundered sub-Core.

    Soon, he would be nourishment for the great eye.

    To fight the creature now, as it continues to absorb her Shoal, portended no victory.

    But to flee from the creature without her Shoal¡ªto return to the deep without Shyvaphyr¡ªwould entail shame and mockery from her siblings, torture from those who coveted her domain, and then¡ª her Essence would be parcelled out to others.

    Following her anagnorisis, Nyrlesvinyr felt a sudden weight lifted from her dozen heads.

    To become blissfully extinct in glorious battle against the appendage of an Old God of the Planes.

    Or to die a worm''s death.

    For one as old as Nyrlesvinyr, a Prince''s death was far worthier than a pauper''s.

    Besides, what if the beyond wasn''t oblivion but the Unformed Land?

    The Yellow Sea.

    Deep below the surface, the Great Shoal was once more on the move.

    ¡°GWEEE¡ªGWEEEN¡ª GWEEENGH¡ª GWEEENGH¡ª¡°

    With each echoing cry, a sea shanty of psychic madness polluted the waters of what human sailors dubbed the gateway to northern China, driving any Mer caught in its mental net into a frenzy of indiscriminate feasting.

    "PRAISE!" Came the echoing cry of a singular voice from within the swirling vortex of the roving Shoal. "FEAST UPON THY FOES, THAT WE MAY PRAISE THE PALE PRIESTESS!"

    "WEEE¡ª WEEE¡ª" sang the Shoal in response, surging forward and in every way, rolling like a grinding mill wheel into the necrotic waves of lumbering Mer-carcasses making up the opposing Shoal. "WEEE¡ªWEEE¡ªWEEE¡ª"

    The year-long battle for the dominion of the East China Sea had been at a stalemate for months, but today¡ªbut now!¡ªLei-bup, Archpriest of her Paleness the Priestess of White Flesh, was truly confident they would win!

    As early as the morning, when the first rays pierced the blue yonder, his un-healable void-wounds began to ooze, putting him in such exquisite agony that only the soothing songs of a dozen Mermaid Priestesses could prevent him from seeking eternal union with the Pale Priestess.

    Then, after a meal of SPAM and an hour''s supplication at the alter of her likeness, Lei-bup knew that the time had come.

    Today¡ªno¡ªthis hour!¡ªThe Old Ones would descend! Unlike the dozens of failures that saw the death of a hundred thousand faithful to the zombified Shoal, their current crusade would succeed.

    All the Shoal needed was faith and belief in the great egalitarian dream that no fish was unworthy of her Paleness'' all-devouring consumption.

    And those zealots of Undeath! Those mad kings and princes who dared to hound his Shoal and put an end to Priestess'' wild dreaming¡ª

    All would be punished!

    All shall be consumed!

    ALL¡ªMADE¡ªEQUAL by the great devouring eye!

 Chapter 456 - Shadows of the Shoggoth

    London.

    The Royal Docks.

    Lord Mycroft Ravenport, Marshall of the Kingdom, Protector of Albion, stood in the dreary drizzle, browsing newspapers held up by his Mage Hands, shielded by a barely visible umbrella of mana.

    To his left levitated the Sun and the Telegraph, each with purposeful images of the girl, not in her crow-skin combat suit but eye-catching casuals, out and about on the Isle of Dogs. The Sun had a paparazzi shot from January, with the girl showing far more leg than necessary for winter. The Telegraph sported a headshot of her mid-speech to the dock workers, with her mouth contorted mid-syllable. Behind both cut-outs loomed the latest images from Auckland¡ªthat of an all-consuming, ocean-devouring, Mermen mangling Shoggoth shucking a worm from what looked like a floating oyster shell.

    "USURPER OF THE SOUTH SEA," the Sun prophesied in garish red¡ªthough the implication was firmly set on the girl rather than the monstrous worm. Besides, in bold black, "AUCKLAND DEVOURED" was the Telegraph''s fighting words. Both ran enough truths to remain within the good graces of the Middle Factions, but the implications invited the reader with pretty flesh, then foretold doom and gloom.

    Comparatively, the truth-promising METRO had produced a six-page special on the "AUCKLAND''S TRIUMPH" celebration special, together with a picture of the girl standing in the centre of a group photo with Auckland''s Te Wherowhero, Esther Hildenbrandt, and much to Ravenport''s surprise, the Militants'' highest-ranking representatives.

    Mycroft rested his eyes briefly to conjure a vision of the Shoggoth as he had witnessed through Morrigan''s secretive parcels.

    That the Shoggoth might be deployed was within the expectations of Gwen Song''s Magisterial trials, even if Mycroft had anticipated a better resolution. After all, Shalkar had been such a successful demonstration of skill and subversion that the Imperial College seriously considered its inclusion in future textbooks.

    "Lord Father!" came a vibrant Message from the general direction of the enormous Ice Breaker Barge in the No.2 wet dock. "We''re ready to receive The Lord Marshall. Please come to the forecastle."

    Quickly, Mycroft stowed away the newspaper by passing the enfolded broadsheets back to the aide who had purchased it from an urchin at the dock''s entrance. He had no wish for Charlene to witness his curiosity, for a good father would never allow his child to suspect a greater interest in someone else''s child, worse if that child was her contemporary.

    Stepping into the air, the Duke of Norfolk cast a grim silhouette as he stepped into the dock''s highly-restricted airspace. Though the weather had warmed, his signature winter coat, gunmetal-grey but for the embossed orichalcum buttons, remained the Duke''s unchanging uniform.

    Below his perfectly polished boots, the three hundred-meter Breaker Carrier, the HMS Royal Raven, sat like a splayed bird, with all its side ports open for loading and renovation. Among the milling masses of men and machines, Mycroft could spot the figure of one of his contemporaries, the disgraced-then-redeemed Eric Walken, the Grey''s factional pawn in Oceania, being worked to the bone in a high-visibility vest. The Conjurer was dutifully going over the manifests, six Mage Hands holding data slates while shouting a mixture of Dwarven and common, back-hunched like a hag who hadn''t slept for days.

    Was Walken''s appointment a reward or penance? The man had failed his Faction and enraged the Kilroy loyalists¡ªand yet, had weaselled his way back so that he now stood on the node of power that was the Isle of Dogs. Few Factions now trusted the Magister, yet, he was living as large as ever, more intimately involved in London than he had ever been in his career as one of Oceania''s Ten.

    His eyes followed the line of rails encircling his old subordinate. Across from the Bunker''s warehouses, the stand-alone Invincible-Class Carrier was a floating city converted for traversing the Black Zones of the Arctic Circle. However, this time, its mission would be in the Antarctic. Of the stout crewmen and the squat Construction Golems milling about the ship''s vicinity, there was one sight that Ravenport had not expected to see in his lifetime.

    Dwarves on a boat.

    The idea was absurd, yet the Dwarven Battle Golems being loaded into the hull were an undeniable reality of a new world unfolding before his eyes.

    Shamefully, Mycroft''s thoughts once more wandered to the girl, one indirectly responsible for the loss of his child.

    The Norfolk part of him applauded the fortunate outcome that Edgar had failed and died. The fatherly part of him proved a little more sentimental. Thankfully, the thought of Charlene, a motherly raven commanding flocks of the lesser families'' chicks among the crew, quickly extinguished his doubts.

    Nevertheless, he did not hurry. He was here as the Lord Marshall of England, auditor and inspector of the budget assigned to the Royal Raven.

    Turning his attention back towards the Dwarven Golems, the Duke passed his learned eyes over the machines tuned for what the Dwarves called the Himmseg. In readiness, the combat units were remodelled for ice and snow, conditions to which the armies of Red Peak were well accustomed.

    His attention rested on the mat-wrapped arms of the Golems. The Spellswords mounted on the Dwarven machines were smaller, more compact¡ªyet more efficient and powerful. Unlike man-made Wands, Dwarven weaponry was limited to Elemental Earth and its various Elemental Shifts like Mineral, Mud and Magma. However, their unique architecture meant each machine held at least two under each arm-manipulator, while the artillery variants held up to four additional modules on their backs and shoulders.

    What also drew Ravenport''s jealous admiration was the Elemental Exo-Plating, more casually known as Golem Suits by the rank and file of the Militia. These were personal armours owned by individual pilots, akin to a Mage Knight''s heirloom plate mail. These could be worn inside the Golem Units while piloting the war machines and, in typical Dwarven fashion, came armed with individual Spellswords.

    Compared to the Mageocracy''s colonial Militias, a Hammer Guard Battle Group with a full complement of war machines possessed the firepower of six similarly-manned Mage Flights plus their hundred-strong Militias¡ªand did not tire so long as the supporting Fabricator could drop anchor and draw mana from the Plane of Earth.

    From Charlene''s manifest, he knew that somewhere in the Royal Raven''s belly sat the Fabricator Crawler, the pulsing Cores of a Dwarven city, loaned from Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth to grace the interior of a floating castle.

    Anything was possible with the Fabricator and its crew of Runesmiths and master Engineseers. If the expedition ran short on fuel and supplies, the engine could produce small amounts of HDM fuel from ley-lines nodes. Should they require metal and parts, the same machine could cannibalise broken Golems or even the Royal Raven to fabricate what its Engineseer desired.

    The latter was why the ship was undergoing extensive renovations, converting its Kraken-Core Ether Engine into one that meshed with Dwarven Runic Magic, vastly increasing its power output and reliability in a Black Zone without dry docks or supply lines.

    Likewise, the Breaker Carrier''s exterior was being remodelled to hold and deploy Dwarven Golems en masse. Additionally, the hammer-bow had been re-clad in Dwarven Cold Iron, the surface reworked with Runic Glyphs to shatter the thickest ice in a single blow.

    On paper, though the HMS Royal Raven was an "unarmed" carrier ship, it may eventually possess more firepower than any other ship in Her Majesty''s Royal Navy.

    What would Gwen¡ªno¡ªCharlene encounter on that stark continent of snow to need so much firepower? Would the combat potential of a multi-Flight, Magister-class Expedition field-lead by a Void-empowered War Mage be enough to resolve the obstacles in their way? The Northern Expedition had already confirmed that Spectre and the Elemental Princes of Fire and Water were in cahoots against the Elves¡ª

    But what had given the girl enough confidence to move heaven and earth to invest so much, and was she expecting to profit, or was this all a haphazard gamble?

    Or¡ªwas her confidence a product of her Patron, the Mythic Serpent of Australis?

    Or was the girl''s paranoia of what she called "Climate Change" a secretive legacy left by Kilroy to his Apprentices? The old Mage had cast a long shadow, one with too many unresolved secrets.

    For this reason, it made the Duke uncomfortable to know that he had to allow events to play out to gain hindsight rather than face the future with foresight.

    "Lord Father! Welcome to my home for the next few months." Now that he was close enough, the emerging Charlene was exuberant. "Ask us anything, go where you please. All is laid bare for the Kingdom''s Lord Marshall."

    Ravenport chuckled. His daughter had been very happy of late, especially after her marriage had been indefinitely put on hold. For this, Mycroft was of two minds, for more heirs meant more alliances, but he also wanted his daughter to fulfil her potential and be happy.

    Unlike his miserable ingrate, an Icarian boy spoilt by Everleigh unto death.

    "You have been busy." He made a show of inspecting her work. The Duke nodded at the awe-struck dockworkers and addressed the junior officers assigned to her cause. Once done, he returned to his child. "Is the Royal Raven on schedule?"

    "Ahead of schedule." His daughter walked him down the inner gangway beside the forecastle until they entered the ship''s interior. Inside, long tunnels pierced the dividing bulkheads. "It''s all thanks to Master Bronzeborn."

    Charlene rattled off a list of statistics while Mycroft counted the steps within the ship''s lengthwise bulkhead. Closer to the mid-ship, the Duke''s nose wrinkled instantly at the heavy scent of industrial-strength alcohol, which after a moment, he recognised as the thick, oat-coloured dregs the Dwarves drank as a part of their lunch meals.

    Inside the cargo bay, the stratum bulkheads had been removed to create a vast space capable of housing the Fabricator Crawler and its support Golems. Among constant showers of sparks, Dwarves in their personal Golem Suits were manhandling molten sheets of steel or carrying materials by the ton like dockhands with crates of fresh fruit. To Mycroft''s senses, it was a chaos of noise, Dwarven swearing, and judgemental accusations from Masters to Journeymen. Still, the learned part of him saw an order to the anarchy that no human workforce could replicate.

    "Hi-ho¡­hi-ho¡­" there were also the strange mutterings of a work-song among the Transmutation magic.

    "You''ve made extensive modifications..." The Duke remarked. "It''s just as well our House paid for the ship in full. Her Dwarves seem well motivated."

    "They''ve been at it for two months since installing the Fabricator Crawler in March." Charlene''s face contorted with uncharacteristic compassion. "Some of them work around the clock, stopping to get plastered on beer, after which they''re rested. Originally, we had planned our schedule around human hours. Until the Dwarves complained that too much time off was unsafe for their mental wellbeing."

    "An admirable and Protestant work ethic." The Duke sighed with appreciation. "They must be keen to repay their Debt of Haj-Z¨¹l."

    The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    "Aye, such an opportunity would not present itself so easily," Charlene agreed. "I wonder. Gwen is very confident that we shall be pushed to our limits. She even acquired seeds from Tryfan. And then there are those gentlemen from South East Asia. We were supposed to pick them up on-route¡ªbut they came to us instead."

    "Oh yes. Have those Frontier Mages from Manipur settled in?" Mycroft asked.

    "Yes, they''re extremely obedient, almost to a fault." Charlene furrowed her thin brows. "I told them to rest¡ªand they did that for two days until I went in to check up on them. They hadn''t eaten or drank in that time, just meditated..."

    Mycroft recalled the reports provided by Morrigan.

    "Is that so? I believe troops under the Geas-dominion of a Dragon tend to do that," he advised his child, glad to be of aid before her feathers were fully grown. "They will die for Gwen without question. They have been forbidden from overt individual needs and will attend to every order with absolute conviction. So take care with their use¡ªif they should perish, it shouldn''t be by your command, but hers."

    "Understood." His daughter was quick on the uptake. "Still, I have a question for our Lord Marshall. Three Mage Flights of Magus-class assassins, half of which are aligned with Elemental Smoke. Isn''t that dangerous for anyone to possess so... casually?"

    "No more dangerous than her shadow-hopping Rat-kin," Mycroft smirked. "Curious, no? Gwen''s putting together quite the strange force for her future Tower. Her Master, the late Lord Kilroy, was comparatively a purist. It''s an interesting dynamic, don''t you think?"

    "And unpredictable, if you ask me." Charlene invited Mycroft to land among the workmen, slipping around the Golem suits to direct the attention of an indistinguishable Dwarven labourer. Once the helmet retracted with a hiss, the uplifted visor revealed the fierce face of Hanmoul Bronzeborn, whose facial profile Mycroft knew well.

    "Boss Ravenport. Yer art here. Will yer be giving us ter authority ter get floating?" the Dwarf also recognised him from their initial meeting when the Dwarven delegation first arrived. "Yer also here earlier than expected. Does the lassie need us?"

    "Not exactly, not yet¡ª" Mycroft looked around the chaotic cargo space. Finding no papers from the morning, he used a Silent Message to beckon an aide to Dimension Door beside him. "But your lassie has been doing God''s work down south, paving the way with Mermen bodies. Here¡ªallow my aide to produce a copy of the METRO, Master Bronzeborn¡ªthere''s a great deal to know about Gwen''s present whereabouts and a great deal to discuss regarding your month-long voyage, first to Auckland¡ªthen south to the Seat of Frost."

    Auckland.

    The Sky Tower.

    Behind stacks of folders taller than her head, the Devourer of Shoals worked hard at balancing the financial affairs of a near-fallen city. Her liver-busting dedication was to Auckland and herself, for though Pyrrhic victories were acceptable, Gwen had no desire for Auckland''s aftermath to mar her impeccable resume as an up-and-coming Tower Master-in-waiting.

    Outside her team''s private Pocket Dimension window, the city was a buzzing hive of demolition and construction, with ships arriving from every port from Brisbane to Melbourne, encircling the whole span of the inner bay. Unlike before, each new boat slowed as they passed what was once the Great Barrier Islands of Aotea because an eerie silence now haunted the uncertain sea between the island and the headland of Leigh.

    It wasn''t so much that a million or more Mermen had perished here¡ªbut that the island and the headland had been reduced to an extraterrestrial landscape resembling wind-swept crags on the Elemental Planes of Dust, devoid of all life.

    Once, the Barrier Islands had held a host of ten million sea birds of every form and size.

    Once, the isle''s shores were dense with seals and other quasi-magical mammals basking in the sun.

    Once, its shores were home to countless tonnages of coral and a kelp forest so vast as to contain a unique ecosystem.

    Now, each seafaring Captain had only their memory to remind them that this was once a vibrant Frontier rich with life. Now, bare rock devoid of even lichen lay in shambles, collapsing and falling to the impact of the ocean waves, crumbling in the absence of roots that formed natural nettings.

    The sea itself was also a strange matt hue. Perhaps, long ago, the kelp forest had given it a particular shade, capturing light and releasing nutrients to its residents. That was no longer what the seafarers witnessed, for even mindless, floating floatsams avoided the patch of absolute erasure conjured by the Shoggoth''s passing, creating a new and undesirable landmark for the recovering city.

    The result was a lesson for London''s Mages, who had furiously transcribed the spectrometric readings for their respective Magisters of the Colleges. All had wondered how the Shoggoth would fare in its first foray¡ªmany felt that if the Shoggoth had fought Nyrlesvinyr alone, it might have been banished. The titanic contest, lasting half a day, was a testament to Nyrlesvinyr''s Draconic vigour. However, with several million victims feeding it from below, Nyrlesvinyr grew eventually exhausted, allowing the Shoggoth to penetrate, enter, and hollow out its main body from its meteorite home.

    And once the Shoggoth was done with Nyrlesvinyr, it allowed the shiny, pitted shell of the island to fall into the sea.

    After that, it began to move toward Auckland.

    As with her earlier experiment, Gwen had admonished it, compelling the creature through the contracts formed via the Planar Ally spell, threatening its very existence. When it got too close, the Tower opened fire, burning another hundred-thousand HDMs through Yue, Lulu and its supporting Mages. The Shoggoth¡­ understood, or at least, it chose to halt. However, it had continued to feed, wiping every mote of algae from the sea, distending its tendrils dozens of kilometres from the Aotea until parts of it had mounted Auckland''s northern-most headlands.

    The Tower once more admonished Gwen''s pet.

    Unfazed, the Shoggoth''s patience-testing plundering had continued for several more hours, with the city''s leadership grimly observing the consequence of their choice.

    Thankfully, Mid-morning the next day, Gwen notified the others that her Shoggoth had begun to recede.

    Three days later, she compelled the skyscraper-sized creature to return to its Elemental Plane, slipping into the crack from which it had arrived like an octopus sliding between the gaps of a ship''s gunwale. Golos made unhelpful remarks of mockery toward his colleague, boasting that "The Mighty Golos" could play as long as it wanted¡ªto which Gwen acknowledged by sending the bored Wyvern back to its brother''s bachelor pad.

    Dede had offered its sympathies with a quack.

    What''s left was a workload no less taxing than the Shoggoth.

    Within the month, trade between the city and Australia''s east coast had to be resumed.

    The shattered Militia had to be replenished and reorganised.

    The shipping lanes had to be remapped as safe passages.

    The Mermen who invariably made it to shore had to be banished or put down.

    The rebellious Mer-folk native to Auckland''s coast was another diplomatic can of worms only Caliban could wrangle.

    That and Auckland''s dire financial straits had to be addressed.

    For the latter, Gwen''s position as the Director of the Isle of Dogs was more precious than all her capacity as a War Mage. In her time split between IoDNC and Tonglv, she had filled her Pok¨¦dex with power-holding managers connected to many of Mageocracy''s infrastructural institutions.

    Of her top picks, she knew several corporations that would go ham at the news that a small island of precious metals had fallen into Auckland''s lap¡ªeven if Auckland lacked the means to retrieve it from the bottom of the Firth of Thames. As a guarantee, she had Te''s Divination department produce certified readings consisting of Mithril, Orichalcum, assorted Cores and most importantly¡ªa collected mass of raw Adamantine. From the unusual composition, it would appear that one of Nyrlesvinyr''s abilities was to consume, purify, and then add these mineral compositions to her home¡ªwhich in hindsight, made perfect sense for a primordial scion from the Para-Elemental Plane of Mud.

    Therefore, forsaking her signature percentile stake out of the unimaginable goodness of her heart, Gwen had sent out feelers to her choice of England''s BHP Billiton, Shanghai''s Sheng-Hua Minerals, and The Hong Kong Shanghai Banking Corporation, a key stakeholder in GlenCORE, the American mining giant. In this world, where money "grew on the ground", few corporations were as obscenely wealthy and in possession of liquid capital as the mining conglomerates.

    Her message was simple¡ªshe was looking for a partner corporation to purchase "more than your competitor" a volume of Reconstruction Bonds offered by Auckland''s government, either through themselves or their network of financial institutions, to boost the Bond''s stock value.

    Once accomplished, she would give up her "spoils of war" so that "a" lucky companies might turn a super profit through mining the mineral island. Should no buyers invest to her liking, she would wait out her Dwarves and pay for the island to be dredged. Then¡ªwith the help of her Dwarven allies, who can refabricate the mineral island into ingots, the IoDNC alone would profit from the city''s reconstruction profits.

    Together with the carrot and stick, she also offered a nailed bat. With great politeness, she had explained in her letter that having herself transmute and sell the ores would be a calamity. In her haste to help Auckland, there would be no choice but to undercut the market with a flood of precious metals, unwittingly impacting the bottom lines of everyone involved.

    To the awe-struck Wherowhero, she had then rationalised that the mining corporations were only boosters for Auckland''s "initial IPO offer".

    From London and beyond, Lady Astor, The Marchioness of Ely, the Norfolk Fund, and her Dragon-partner at the House of M would guarantee another twenty-five per cent purchase of Auckland''s released bonds.

    After their friends make the initial purchase, the mineral corporations would make theirs, and thereby, new Bond Stocks would inflate¡ªdrawing investors from the true chopping block¡ªLondon''s greedy nobles and others from around the Commonwealth.

    And once Auckland''s futures began to circulate, it would stabilise the city''s credit strategy, meaning they could borrow more HDMs and resources from London.

    Thereby, her allies would profit.

    The mining corporations would eventually profit.

    And with careful management, Auckland would not only rebuild¡ªbut turn a profit from the act of borrowing money itself.

    The illustrious image her Illusion School of PowerPoint illustrated was shocking enough for both Te and the Tower Master to inhale breaths of frigid air¡ªand regard the "Profitess" with more fear than they had felt for the Shoggoth.

    Concurrently, Gwen had also offered Auckland the possibility of Chinese investment¡ªthough both Te and Hildenbrandt grew wary at the prospect of a regional power buying up their debt. No matter how much she explained the irrelevance of debt ownership in a multi-national, globalised human world¡ªher clients remained unconvinced.

    And so, with the equivalent work of a dozen Shalkars piled on top of her desk, Gwen had immersed herself in the sorcerous act of financing the rebuilding of a sundered city''s coastline, breaking only to stretch her limbs and Purge wayward Mermen.

    For weeks on end, never had Auckland''s ISTC burned so hot, nor had its three-decade-old systems required so much maintenance from Petra and the Tower''s resident Enchanters.

    Working six days a week, Gwen held enough meetings with creditors for Auckland to ease the Tower into expending whatever funds it had left, rapidly establishing a supply chain from Sydney and Melbourne, attracting talent of all stripes. The winner of her Bond-selling competition, GenCORE, went as far as sending in a team of Magisters specialising in retrieving shipwrecks to slowly displace Nyrlesvinyr''s island onto the barren shores of Aotea.

    On advice from Eric Walken, she then extended a gesture to Elvia''s folk, the Ordos responsible for the Mageocracy''s wellbeing. The Ordos did not refuse¡ªnor did they send Elvia as Gwen had hoped. Instead, the powers behind the Knightly orders sent her manpower in the form of migrants and refugees with magical abilities, retired men from the military, and other bodies that would rapidly refill Auckland''s depleted Militia. When she did ask for her Evee, Elvia''s Abbess kindly informed her that Elvia, like Gwen herself, was occupied saving the world in insignificant but important ways.

    Unable to unify the trio in her spare time, Gwen spent her Sundays picnicking with Yue, which meant the pair and their bodyguards went about looking for Yue''s favourite trouble, Crab-kin in butter and garlic. It wasn''t how she had imagined her future with Yue while studying in Blackwater, but it was close enough to temporarily fill the gap of her five-month separation from the absence of their cherished No.3.

    Day after day, week after week, even as Nyrlesvinyr''s home became a Commonwealth-famous attraction that drew national debate on privatising public wealth¡ªGwen worked tirelessly in what she deemed the "true" work of a Magister.

    Auckland''s Greys, on order from their superiors across the sea, swallowed the wand tip and stood down their stubbornness, opening their relations to facilitate trade openly. The Militants, on orders from a stock-tipped Thomas Benedict Holland, likewise suspended their competition and focused on protecting the shipping lanes and clearing Auckland''s surroundings. Outside Wellington, the Halflings of Hamilton emerged in force, piling Auckland''s warehouses with countless volumes of preserved and fresh produce, even venturing from their copy-righted hole-homes to aid the survivors of Wellington in their reconstruction.

    For almost a month and more, Gwen played the shepherd to Auckland''s reconstruction, guiding that rare honeymoon of congeniality in which cooperation overshadowed grudges, allowing hope to flow unmolested.

    Then, on a cold day in the ide of July, forewarned but still, a shocking sight¡ªThe Royal Raven sailed into Auckland''s port, signalling the next chapter¡ªMount Erebus.

 Chapter 457 - Brave New Day

    Auckland.

    Port Fitzroy.

    "BY THE SJU DORFRAN¡ªLADS, WE''VE MADE IT ALIVE!"

    Gwen''s WELCOME TO AUCKLAND banner, and the Mages who stood by the docks, were completely ignored by a deluge of suddenly appearing Dwarves who spilt from the lowered loading bay to kiss the ground, weeping bitter tears of uncontrollable, existential joy.

    Taking a sudden interest in their shoes, her company of Mages from the Shard, together with Te Whereowhero and other representatives from Auckland''s Factions, collectively ignored the howling public spectacle until Charlene Ravenport emerged, red-faced and looking like she''d been in a long hangover.

    "Is Hanmoul somewhere in there?" Gwen asked as they shook hands, hers warm and Charlene''s like a sack of bones. Behind Gwen, ten thousand spectators were lined up, hoping to catch a glimpse of the Dwarves. Instead, they saw bearded men, or women, drunk off their rocks and bawling, kissing concrete and weeping in Dwarven.

    "He''s making himself sober." Charlene''s expression appeared covered by a cloud. "They drank¡­ the entire way."

    "Christ¡­" Gwen grimaced. "Did you run into trouble? Could the ship defend itself?"

    "We fended off the remnants from the Shoal you dispersed, I think," Charlene affirmed her worries. "Curiously, alcohol does not impede the Dwarven capacity for war. In fact, the drunker they became, the more fearless and less seasick they were. It''s a physiological miracle."

    Ah¡ªseasickness¡­ Gwen suspected that was why the entire ship was sloshed. Somehow, the dis-coordination caused by inebriation likely offset the induced nausea.

    "I''ll enquire no further. Welcome to Auckland, Charlene. It''s good to see you." Gwen embraced her partner Ravenport. Once they parted, her nose wrinkled. "In anticipation, I have prepared accommodations and showers¡­ and fresh food."

    "It''s amazing, isn''t it¡­" Charlene''s face grew slightly brighter and hotter when she heard the word shower. "We have the best Filtration Engines money can buy, and still, the potable water reeked of alcohol. It''s the Dwarven Beer, I think. It even soaks into the metal, bonds with it."

    Gwen nodded solemnly as the second loading bay opened, noisily falling flat against the dock.

    This time, the crowd was properly wowed, for what emerged to crack the concrete was a handsome Golem Engine of immense size, as squat as it was wide, with brilliant spellswords under both fore-limbs, while on a platform held aloft by four crab-legs, an array of foursome artillery swords refracted the light.

    "We could have used some of those for sure." Te sighed with appreciation, golf-clapping along with the jubilant crowd. "One of those could fill in for four of ours."

    More Golems emerged until the Hammer Guards formed a wedge facing Gwen.

    With a hiss, the cockpit popped, revealing the deep-diving helm of Hanmoul Bronzeborn, son of Dwomrul, grandson of Handrek, Captain of the Iron Guards. Following his lead, the other cockpits also opened, revealing many familiar faces, such as the Engineseer Signerlig Bronzeborn, the Runesmiths Thulgig Flinthide and Danmurim the Glum, as well as the woman responsible for the Fabricator Engine, the Alchemist Yossari Vildrenbrandt.

    With great ceremony, the group dismounted and met Gwen upon the city''s threshold, placing their gauntlets against the Core seated in their chest, which the Tower had to accommodate by fine-tuning their remaining resonance barriers.

    "Esteemed guests from Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth," Gwen spoke in perfect Dwarven. "It is with great pleasure that I welcome you to our tiny corner of the Himmseg. Captain Hanmoul. Master Yossari. And my very good and honourable friends of the Citadel¡ªWelcome to Auckland!"

    The crowd that lined the harbour from one side to the next burst into cheers, throwing hats into the air, an act that confused the Dwarves, for a stout mining helmet from a good height could easily crack a young digger''s skull.

    But OSHA aside, as the Royal Raven was the only distraction from the endless toil of the future, the passions shown by Auckland''s people were far too exuberant. After ten minutes, with the applause, whistles, cheers and "Good on yer, mates!" refusing to cease, Gwen had to escort the Dwarves past the crowd with the help of the local Militia.

    As communicated by Charlene, the Dwarves had little interest in Auckland, but they were keen on visiting their local cousins¡ªthe Halflings of Hamilton. Though their races were thinly related, the popular myth among Hanmoul''s folk was that Halflings were Dwarves who were cut off from Deepholm by some unforeseen tectonic shift a hundred generations ago. Lacking access to a Deepdowner and the Hall of the Ancestors, they evolved on their own into a wholly different breed of Elemental Demi-humans, adapting to the Himmseg by changing their innate magic for overland survival.

    As one of the rare groups of Dwarves to come into contact with the Halflings of Hamilton in the last century, Hamoul''s people were interested in exports. In particular, they wanted to know if their cousin race had developed better food stock capable of thriving in the Murk, with higher yields than the legumes and fungi the Citadel cultivated in the tunnels. That and Yossari would gift Hamilton a marker beacon, useful in an uncertain future where the Dyar Morkk re-opened.

    "I''ll leave the handover to you and Aria." Reading her friend''s desire for refreshments, Gwen held Charlene''s hand to affirm her continued support for the Ravenport. "Rest up. Once we return, Hanmoul''s folk will need their drinks."

    "I''ll leave it to Aria." Charlene allowed her hand to be held, affirming their working relationship and continued cooperation. "My organs almost atrophied trying to be polite with their invitations to drink. We Dust Mages and our constitution¡ªbut you know how that is. One more thing. Are our supplies ready?"

    "Yes, it''s ready." Gwen parted from her partner. There was a special pleasure in working with competence, and both of them knew it. "We can sail in three days. Once the Dwarves return."

    "Lovely. I''ll see you in the Tower then?"

    "Aye," Gwen affirmed her friend''s anticipations. "Don''t forget, you have dinner with the Paladin and the Tower Master tonight. And the Faction dinner is tomorrow. Then we''re off."

    "You''ll introduce me to the Apprentice of the Scarlet Sorceress? Won''t you?" Charlene smiled. "I''ve heard a lot about Sydney''s future War Mage."

    "Of course." Gwen smiled, even knowing that Charlene likely thought of Yue as a useful cog in the Mageocracy''s gears; her gesture was something to appreciate. "Take it easy for a few days. Don''t say I didn''t warn you, but there''s soon to be five thousand kilometres of quaffing between Mt Erebus and us."

    Hamilton.

    Evening.

    After drinking their Halfling cousins under the barn house table, the proud Dwarves of the Red Citadel''s promised encounter with their Himmegg cousins concluded with many incidents¡ªbut no fatalities.

    One such happening involved Sydney''s famed "Little Scarlet", who, in her excited, inebriated state, got into an argument with Thulgig Flinthide about the firepower-firepower-FIREPOWER of an Engineseer tuned Spellsword versus a traditional Fire Mage''s maximised magics.

    A spontaneous contest then broke out, presided by the Halfling''s impassioned Headman, which resulted in the loss of an enormous warehouse when the stowed goods a hundred meters away spontaneously combusted.

    Once that was under control, the drinking moved to another section of the pastoral municipality, where Lulan fell into a berserker rage after being taunted by "Rori" Vildrenbrandt, cousin to Hanmoul, that Gwen would be safer if nestled within a custom Golem Suit, then Matryoshka-dolled into a Golem Engine, than being protected by a lassie with "twigs for arms". Without the aid of alcohol, Gwen was sure Lulan would have held her tongue¡ªbut one swig of the Firewater was enough to activate some terrible talent within her, giving her skin an oxide-like sheen of rust.

    To prove that she could best any Golem Engine, she challenged Hanmoul''s Cousin. Rori promptly materialised her suit and an intermediate armour from her Storage Ring, and the two duked it out in the middle of the new dining area, unshielded by any Walls of Force.

    The second barn was soon lost among cheers and laughter and much quaffing, with Lulan emerging the winner when she managed to drive a Sonic Blade between the leg-joints of the Golem while surviving a gut-punch to the side that left her bruised and bent but smiling wickedly.

    After that, Gwen decided it was best the Dwarves leave Hamilton before they burn it to the ground and that any future visits should be in small delegations.

    She left the mayor of Hamilton, Ruari Littlefoot, with a generous promise to rebuild the lost infrastructure, then asked Hanmoul to gather his Iron Guards, leaving only Yossari and a squad of Honour Guards to finalise trade with the Halflings.

    Upon their return, when the new day dawned, she found Charlene bedridden with ill health from overwork. Though seemingly counter-intuitive, she left her partner with a generous bottle of infused Maotai to improve her delicate constitution, then returned to the docks to oversee final preparations.

    At the harbour, she was joined by Aria, who asked Gwen if she would like to address her Shadow Mages.

    "My what?" was Gwen''s immediate reaction¡ªuntil her Dwarf-addled brain informed her these were the "help" promised by the House of M, or more precisely, by Ruxin.

    Immediately moving to meet her "troops" on the ship''s deck, she felt a slight chill upon seeing her new allies. The leader of the Shadow Flight was a middle-aged woman with a jaded, thousand-yard stare called Astha, with no last name to speak of and no expression.

    "Seven¡ªwould be my preferred title." Her new employee informed her. "And these are Sixteen, Eight, Twenty-Nine, Seventy-Two¡­"

    Numbers for which Gwen later gleaned from Astha, to be their assigned number while undergoing the trials, intended as such so that their "user" won''t form attachments. In Manipur, home of the Shadows, only a small portion of candidates can join the austere group, with the competition being a Hunger Games celebrated by the local lords. Against expectation, selected families were very proud of those who survived, and entire Clans built the foundations of their lives upon it.

    Of the fifteen odd Mages sent to her, "Seven" was close to the prowess of a Magister, while the rest were Senior Mages or at the tiers of Frontier Maguses capable of hybrid magic. What made them special was that the principle Flight was entirely composed of Smoke Mages specialising in stealth. Comparatively, their second Magus Flight was more balanced in their specialities, while the final Flight consisted of support, with a Diviner, Abjurer, an Enchanter and two Healers.

    "I would like to roster you all under my company, the IoDNC," Gwen announced after speaking at length to each member and learning their names and call signs. "You will be paid the same wage as a Mage in the Shard. You will be given time off, and Danger Pay during operations."

    "We do not need payment," Astha protested without emotion. "Tell us to die for you, and we shall."

    "Nonsense." Gwen sighed after a few more minutes of futile back and forth. After glancing at her ticking Message Device, she realised the futility of further debate. "Whatever Ruxin says, you''re now my employees, and you now have rights. That''s an order."

    "Understood." Astha glanced at her kin. Looking at the younger Mages, Gwen hoped she had spied a secret relief of sorts and that the others weren''t simply reacting to Astha''s mental command to please their eccentric mistress.

    "Here''s some money." Gwen passed over a Storage Ring. "Go into the city, buy whatever food and drink you fancy. Eat at a restaurant. Go to a park and relax. See how the folk here do things. Come back before tomorrow morning. Oh, and buy something warm, for Ruxin''s sake, if not mine. We''re going to the Seat of Frost. You''re dressed for the tropics."

    Astha''s face finally seemed to crack. As suspected, monk shawls used to wrap the shoulders and left to trail the floors were NOT the right garb for the southern cold. Charlene had cold-weather magical garments on board, but Astha wasn''t one to ask for equipment.

    "Go now," Gwen commanded, wondering if Richard could talk some sense into these esoteric warriors. "Auckland may not have too much to offer right now, but by God, we have a wealth of seafood.."

    On the promised third day since the arrival of the Royal Raven, the city of Auckland turned out to see its saviour and destructor leave.

    Te Wherowhero had originally requested a parade. However, Gwen wasn''t sure her pride could survive the event of a whole city turning out to throw rotten vegetables at the woman who took them to heaven, then hell, then heaven, then the uncertainty of a decade of rebuilding.

    What she did appreciate was the time the city''s stakeholders had taken to meet her at the docklands. From the Middle Faction, the Tower Master made a rare appearance to shake her hand and offer her METRO the corresponding front page photos. The Greys also had sent Magisters who did not completely loath her guts or had recovered enough of their opinions to at least bow and simper in public. The Militants, unsurprisingly, took the opportunity to hail her as one of their own, heaped her with praise, and then promised hot air should she return.

    Her most sentimental moment came when finally, she had to say goodbye to Yue and Whetu. For many months and a long-long while, she and her old friend had bonded again over Mermen Purges and seafood, enjoying one another''s near-constant company. Comparatively, though her friendship with the gentle giant had grown cool, she knew well why the young man had kept his distance, asking only that time would make the Abjurer more mellow to his PTSD over her taming of Nyrlesvinyr.

    Leaving Yue''s bombastic, hot-bodied embrace behind, Gwen inwardly sighed.

    Her friend would continue a familiar life in Auckland, returning later to Sydney for promotion to more senior roles in Gunther''s expanding Militia.

    But she was once more off to be a stranger in a strange land.

    By the late morning, the inspections were done, and Aria and her crew had embarked or were returning to London via the ISTC. Richard had done his due diligence with Astha, becoming a trusted companion to the Shadow Mages of Manipur after acting as their tour guide. Comparatively, Petra had spent her days snubbing the young nobles who came with Charlene, rebuking their advances by confining herself to the ship''s Enchantments.

    Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

    When finally, at noon, the "face" of each stakeholder party separated, Gwen swallowed the slow simmering sentiment eating away at her chest, then waved goodbye at the folk who had worked with her for what had felt like a small, microcosmic lifetime.

    Kalimantan.

    Samarinda.

    Bambang, head Foreman of his canoe, was in the process of gaining a new "religion".

    For untold millennia, his tribe of Humanity who had survived the paradise island''s shores had ascribed to a simple narrative¡ªthat everything belonged to their God King, the fabled Bali aka Balli¡ªDewa Cawu. Unlike their distant neighbours in Singapore, theirs were a life of endless agrarian toil, producing food they rarely ate, gifting every joule of energy from their sun-beaten bodies to their lord and master, a true friend of the Dragon Bedawangiwiwi.

    For the tired men and women of Bambang''s fertile basin, their lives were the hard-won prize of their lord and saviour. Legend had it that aeons ago, the Rakshasa, preservers of the Elemental world, had sought to turn Samarinda into a sea of fire. To gain help, the original Dewa Cawu sought aid from the great volcanic Land God, the Magma Drake Bedawangiwiwi, a greedy and untamed being of hunger and lust. Being an intelligent and wise ruler, Dewa Cawu observed the Dragon for many years, coming to know its preference for a rare delicacy¡ªbeautiful young girls, especially virgins.

    Cawu then approached Bedawangiwiwi with an offer it could not refuse¡ªthat he would give the Dragon a hundred virgin daughters of his tribe for the monster''s patronage and promise that he would keep the Rakshasa at bay, allowing Samarinda to prosper.

    After much blood, toil, and a vow of blood and magma, an agreement was made.

    And thus, for hundreds of years, the simple folk of Samarinda had sent their young men into the fields and their prettiest daughters into the palace of Dewa Cawu to serve as the king''s adopted children, Bambang''s included.

    And every decade, on the first hint of the monsoonal season, Dewa Cawu would take his troop of flower-wrapped young women up the hill, watched by their tearful loved ones, so that Bedawangiwiwi would be appeased.

    This season, however, an unwitting change had come to an unchanging land.

    In February, a great deluge of water had swept Bambang''s home, bringing unimaginable misery.

    In March, the arrival of Undead Fishmen had polluted the estuaries and ruined the harvest.

    In April, the plague which had come with the flood and the Undead had brought an already stricken city to its knees.

    Throughout the months, their Dewa had promised salvation¡ªbut their bamboo-city could not gather enough healthy young women for his pilgrimage.

    Then, uninvited strangers had sailed up the river in a metal city-raft.

    Strangers who refused to yield to their Dewa Cawu.

    Strangers speaking the trader''s tongue, with unfamiliar titles like the Dragon Slayers of St George.

    Bambang was not a stranger to foreigners, for their Dewa Cawu often sold his slaves to the dark-skinned Sea Captains who came to bid for crew and supplies at the city''s markets. These men were frightful fellows with uncouth manners and insatiable appetites for the city''s simple fisher folk. They harassed fishers'' wives, carelessly murdered the young men who defended their kin and seemed to pay respect only to the Dewa and his royal Mages.

    Thus, the fishing folk of Samarinda were greatly surprised when the Dewa''s war skiffs failed to stop the entry of these new foreigners with their enormous foreign ships. They became yet more confused when, after landing, fair-skinned Mages with hair the colour of sunbeams emerged, clad in blue or red or white robes and resplendent amour, to deploy not weapons of war but tents with large red crosses.

    Healing Stations, the foreigners called them.

    And they were free.

    "Free"¡ªthe very word made no sense to the simple fisher folk of Samarinda, whose lives were not free even in the simplest sense of the word. Their bodies were not theirs, nor their homes, nor their children.

    Yet, without demanding barter, these foreigners incanted sorcery with the warm light of the morning sun, banished illness from the stricken, and brought new vitality to the sallow cheeks of their stricken kin.

    On the first day, barely a hundred attended the tents.

    On the second, a thousand souls received new benedictions.

    By the first moon cycle, half the city had felt the blessing of the "Ordo", and the local street artisans had sold countless wooden idols of their newly minted Pantang Mayag, the fair-haired Goddess residing within the cross-marked, canvas walls, Dewa Elvia.

    By the second moon cycle, Dewa Cawu''s palace had been all but abandoned by the people, with the city now operating to and from the giant pavilions set up by the foreign folk.

    And so it was that finally, on the first day of July, their erstwhile Dewa Cawu''s patience had run short¡ªheralding the cataclysmic arrival of his true friend, Bedawangiwiwi.

    Like a rolling lava burst, great Bedawangiwiwi had descended the mountain, its bullish neck as thick as its waist, its eight-limbs dripping ash and sulphur, its fish-like tail sweeping aside giant like charred tinder. Down the hills, the great beast slid, a living engine of ultra-violence, transmuting Bambang''s family''s huts into smouldering coal as it made its way through the abrupt chaos.

    From their pavillions, fair-skinned Mages with their crimson cloaks had emerged, their cloaks as red as the setting sun on a hot summer''s eve, painting the shallow sea the hue of blood.

    Presently, safe in his hiding place behind the pallets of metal-tinned supplies, Bambang heard his new employers speak in the tongue of the traders, their tones cool and unimpressed.

    "So that''s the Dragon. An ancient Magma Basilisk, and not even an intelligent one at that, "the tall one who spoke had his hand on the pommel of the largest sword Bambang had ever seen, an implement almost as tall as the man''s shoulder, slung on reinforced, brass-bound straps from his waist. "There''s as much Draconic Essence in that thing as a fist-sized newt from the Ying-long''s mountain."

    "I know it isn''t the promised Naga, Mathias, but it is a good accolade for your Knight Companion, don''t you think?" The second Knight, whose shield-crest wore a large "X" over a cross in embossed gold, comforted the first.

    "You warmongers always say that." The blonder of the knights glanced in Bambang''s direction as he spoke.

    Bambang instantly transformed into a part of the inanimate drapes covering the supply crates.

    "Foreman," the ash-blonde Knight called Mathias and addressed him directly. "It''s a bit late to run, so stay here where it''s safe. Don''t come crawling to Elvia later when we''re inundated with the injured."

    Bambang nodded furiously.

    By now, more knights had sauntered forth from their stations, each bearing spellswords with markings from their "Ordo".

    When the Goddess finally emerged, Bambang felt a sign of sudden and inexplicable courage fill his heart. There was an aura about the fair-haired Cleric, something like an invisible halo, immaterial and yet, so substantial that Bambang felt its weight on his Astral Soul.

    Unconsciously, his hand slipped toward the idol hanging from his chest, with its rough-hew cutout of her likeness. There was a warmth from the still-green wood, dispelling fear and doubt and filling him with indescribable optimism.

    A hope that was oppressed only by the stench of rotten egg-sulphur from Bedawangiwiwi, who was now only a few hundred meters away.

    With the knights who emerged, an older man with the look of a scholar made his presence known.

    "Elvia," the old man in the regal red robes spoke with a tone of kindness, like a grandfather revealing his child at the Dewa''s ceremonies, not knowing that the smiling Dewa was far worse than any Rakshasa. "You may begin."

    "Yes, Seneschal Ashburn." The Goddess did not step into the air but instead dropped to one knee. With a flip of her hand, she produced a golden implement inscribed with a rune Bambang could not recognise. At the same time, what looked like a trio of bells began to trail incense smoke, shrouding her petite figure.

    Next, she began a prayer.

    Strangely, with his hand on the idol, Bambang understood her words.

    "O Living Lord

    We art thy unworthy lambs

    I ask to be their shepherd

    To carry a shield of faith

    And bear the sword of your words

    O, Gracious Lord.

    Allow me the praise to be

    Thy Minister of Chastisement

    That in our victory

    Your name be sung¡­"

    The idol in Bambang''s hand grew so unbearably hot that, for a moment, he wondered if the young sapling wood might burst into flame.

    Then, just as the rampaging Bedawangiwiwi reached the bottom of the valley, the semi-circle of Knights drew their blades.

    "BY THE NAZARENE''S WILL!" The resounding echo from the Goddess'' knights filled the valley like a thunderclap.

    Bambang''s Goddess gave the final word. "MURDER FIEND¡ªBE CONDEMNED!"

    The air distorted overhead. Something akin to an enormous glowing cross began to manifest from the havens¡ªfrom thin air¡ªmaterialising from nothing, causing no elemental ripple.

    A shield? A barrier to halt the charge of Bedawangiwiwi? Bambang''s heart was caught in his throat, a faithful hope reciprocated by the hundreds of thousands of his fellow fisher folk in the valley, a captive audience to their doom or salvation.

    Soundlessly, as a spontaneously manifesting shooting star, the sky-scraper stake descended, moving to intercept the incoming body of the smouldering eight-legged magma flow. Just before it struck, Bedawangiwiwi moved its torso just so¡ªand managed to avoid the pin-point of the stabbing implement.

    Had the Goddess'' protectors misjudged? Bambang''s doubt stung him like a wasp and filled him with shame.

    "GUARRRRRAWK¡ª?!" As if in mockery of Bambang''s lack of faith, a howl of agonised surprise escaped from the monstrously-legged viper, loud enough to shake the valley.

    The cross had continued its penetration into the earth until its left arm caught the creature by the mid-section, driving the monster deep into the ground until Bedawangiwiwi was wholly pinned. The force of the impact was such that an eruption of magma¡ªor whatever an ancient Elemental had for body fluids, splattered in every direction, creating such a heat wave that buildings near the impact burst into brilliant flames.

    Try as it might, even tearing its charcoal scales and cracking bone, Bedawangiwiwi managed only to extricate a single limb.

    "Kiki!" came a call to arms from Bambang''s Goddess, her voice far colder than Bambang had heard. At her bidding, a thousand tendrils suddenly erupted from where Bedawangiwiwi had fallen, each as thick as a sail ship''s riggings. And like riggings, these prehensile tentacle-ropes threw themselves into a frenzy, then snared the sizzling Bedawangiwiwi like a carp in a hemp net.

    "GUWWWAARRK¡ª!" The tempestuous Bedawangiwiwi roared, transforming the ground into magma to loosen its bindings. Its aura flickered as some latent, innate ability triggered, transmuting the closest ropes to stone¡ªonly for the stone to crack and new vines to form within split seconds. Still, thanks to the momentary loss of tension, it slipped one foot free¡ªpulled itself up by the claw of another¡ªthen¡ª

    "SEN-SEN!" The Goddess glowed like the golden sunrise, her aura so rich with intangible energy that the air began to drip with resplendent dew.

    From Bedawangiwiwi''s blindspot¡ªa fact made possible because of the creature''s blind panic, a Goliath grew from the ground, a faceless humanoid that looked to be comprised of knotted old ropes and roots.

    A Rakshasa of the Man-eating Potato? Bambang''s mind flashed to those terrifying moments when he had to hide from the men-eating Mandrakes. Just when he thought the tree would punch Bedawangiwiwi into submission, a dozen and more tendrils split from the root-man, joining the floral vines already enmeshing the Basilisk.

    "Proceed, Knight Companion." The ash-haired old Mage''s confidence cooled Bambang''s panic. "Three is the number of your trials. Make haste to complete your last. Let it not suffer, lest more innocents are caught the Dewa''s immorality."

    "Yes, Seneschal. Sen-sen! Kiki!" Bambang''s Goddess nodded adorably, her face as grim as it was heart-achingly beautiful. A few seconds later, following the opening of what sounded like a benediction of compassion, her aura grew momentarily solid.

    Nearer Bedawangiwiwi, the Goliath released arresting tendrils the likeness of golden ropes of molten metal, but these did not burn the Basilisk,

    Instead, the creature''s injury began to mend.

    Bambang''s eyes grew wide. Were these foreign Mages hoping to tame the Rakshasa like their Dewa? Did this mean that his people would soon have a new master?

    Bedawangiwiwi, like Bambang, grew confused by the warmth suffusing its body. It even ceased its struggles to gauge what its opponents had in mind.

    Bambang held his breath and waited, one hand clutching the idol of the Goddess.

    Not far, the knights who had stood guard shifted into battle stances.

    "Guwrr¡ªGWARARRK?!" As the arresting golden cross began to dematerialise, Bedawangiwiwi''s aura of magma grew suddenly unstable. The golden ropes, which had held it immobile, were suddenly sinking into the scales of its flesh.

    Bambang quickly rubbed the ashen dust from his clouded eyes. It wasn''t that the ropes were biting into the creature¡ªbut that the beast was rapidly enlarging! It was expanding unnaturally, like a frog that the village''s naughty children had cruelly bloated with a pump.

    And like those unfortunate amphibians, even as the creature grew increasingly confused by its fate, its flesh continued to engorge, cracking its previously impervious armour of shale-like scales, making it once sleek and predatory figure so rotund that its eight legs could no longer properly catch the ground.

    With a guttural howl, a part of it began to shift¡ªfor Bedawangiwiwi could change its shape when it willed¡ªbut the golden energy infusing its body seemed to ignore the commands from the monster''s body.

    Now in a renewed panic, Bedawangiwiwi began to roll and thrash, becoming comical as the tragedy of its ballooning belly continued.

    "KNIGHTS! LOCK BARRIERS!" came the command from the ashen-haired old scribe, his voice rolling across the valley as lowering thunder. "CONJUGATION OF FAITH!"

    The different uniformed Knights moved in as one, manifesting a multi-shield array that formed a semi-dome over the top of the mewling stone lizard. Below the creature, molten magma was oozing from every orifice on the Basilisk, forcing it to gag and cough. Its burning eyes glowed so vividly in pain that they resembled a pair of mercury beads in clay kilns.

    Then¡ªas anticipated, something gave from within the Basilisk''s body. As the root-Goliath and the floral vines dimmed, a stream of bright orange magma, mixed with what looked like flesh and offal, jetted from Bedawangiwiwi''s flank. After the initial spurt, the pressure release quickened like the pressurised deluge from a newly opened dam.

    A dozen breaths later, even as Bedawangiwiwi''s orbs rolled into its skull, the stream continued, turning a whole portion of the shielded arena into a magma pool with an explosive gust of sulphur and heat¡ªone thankfully impeded by the Mage Knights'' efforts.

    Bambang wasn''t sure if he had breathed the whole while, though he was aware of the idol in his hands pulsing with warmth.

    When he recovered, Bedawangiwiwi''s inert body had cooled, transforming from magma into brilliant boulders that, when cracked, would consist of priceless Dragon Glass.

    The semi-circle of Knights sheathed their swords as though they had practised the rite a thousand times.

    "Check the surroundings for survivors, bring them to the triage tents," Senechal Ashburn commanded the others. After a pause, the man stepped beside the Goddess. "Elvia, do you have enough Faith to continue your work at the clinic?"

    "I do," the Goddess exhaled, tired but in high spirits. "Please don''t turn anyone away."

    "You''re as tireless as always." The man appeared to study her. "Well done on your third trial, child, though none of us had doubted your faith."

    "Thank you, Seneschal." The Goddess bowed her head. One of the knights, the ash-blonde, reached her side. "To have found so much support from the Ordos¡­ Mathias and I could not have prayed for more compassion from better members of the Mageocracy."

    "You still speak as if we are not Companion and Commander." The old man, incredibly, laid a hand on the Goddess'' head, then patted her in the same way Bambang would comfort a crying fisherwoman''s lost child. "Don''t push yourself so hard. When we reach Tianjin¡­ you will have our support. The Ordo isn''t what it used to be in the epoch of Victoriana, but the CCP and a corrupted Mythic¡ªwe can still chastise."

    "It''s not the Mythic that worries us, Seneschal." the Goddess'' smile was as sweet as it was disquieting. "In this Brave New World, we must ensure there will never be another Elizabeth Sobel."

    "Brave New World?" the old man shook his head as he seemed to ponder the worlds, seemingly enjoying how the sound rolled off the tongue. "Another one of her Gwenisms?"

    "She''s full of them." The Goddess'' laughter was like pealing bells on a clear cold morning.

    "The cost will be high¡­" the old man''s melancholy was palpable. "You may yet pay the dearest of prices. And if you survive, her hatred shall be a fate worse than a clean death. As your elder, I must question your wisdom in exercising your passion. Her pride and misjudgement is, after all, not your cross to bear."

    "Seneschal.. are our Ordo not the Poor Soldiers of Christ?" The Goddess appeared unyielding in her conviction. "Isn''t dying for others'' sins our motto?"

    The old scholar laughed, shaking his head as he did so. "You''re worldly, child, too wise for one so young and sheltered. Had the Yinglong''s famed Divinations seeded those words? Or are they your own?"

    The Goddess said nothing, but her eyes seemed to drift toward the sky as her mood grew reticent. With a finger placed on the golden broach that fastened her cloak, she spoke as though to someone far and distant. "There will be an end. And I know there will be agony¡ªbut for her goodness to remain, Seneschal¡ªI shall be glad of another death."

 Chapter 458 - Erebus

    "Magister Song¡ª"

    "Good morning, Magister."

    "A moment of your time, Magister¡­."

    "May God''s grace be with you, Magister Song."

    Strangely, in the microcosm of the ship and its crew of youthful Mages, the oldest of whom was in their thirties and the youngest just twenty, Gwen finally felt less like a cuckoo egg.

    Charlene was their official leader, respected for her charisma and her associations. Comparatively, the respect she commanded was different, for hers were based on the promise that her Shoggoth possessed more destructive potential than all the Mages on the ship, rivalled only by Hanmoul''s mechanised infantry.

    On the sea map, the voyage to Ross Island, the seat of Mount Erebus, would take ten days, nine if the seas are fair, and twelve should the weather encourage detours. Charlene had taken great care of the voyage''s potential misadventures, however, and had brought along one of the aspiring "genius" Diviners from the Queen''s College, skilled in clairvoyance and steering the Royal Raven away from mishaps.

    When Gwen asked about the paradox that Mayuree had prescribed, the Diviner intimated that she divined minor aspects of the journey, such as the conditions of the ship''s parts as canary objects, as well as the health of certain members of the crew who loved or hated certain weather conditions¡ªthen pieced together something akin to a data field to plot the ship''s course.

    For a "foretelling" Diviner, the young woman had explained, talent in foresight wasn''t necessarily a good thing¡ªfor the details of progress were far more important than the end itself. This "Big Data" approach was a genius form of circumvention Gwen had not at all expected¡ªand thus, could only nod and marvel at the methodologies of Cambridge University''s elites.

    On the first night out of port, she, Charlene and the young nobles, together with the Dwarven leadership, convened at the castle to discuss matters moving forward. Together with her new favourite, the Diviner Magus Marley Dixon, they mapped out the threats ahead.

    The first and foremost threat to any shipping into the Black Zones was the giant sea monsters that made their home in the cold waters of the South Sea. Krakens, despite their reputation for being homely lair monsters, often ventured from their Pocket Dimension sea homes to attack ships, arguably out of beak-clenching reflex. Ningen, the whale-monsters with wing-like arms and operable digits, also made their home in the Antarctic, though these were known to be docile, with the rare "Priest" capable of reason and communication. The worst-case scenario was an encounter with a young Leviathan, one exiled from the Elemental Plane of Water by competition or curiosity. These simple-minded island-fishes are usually enslaved by the upper-class Elementals of the Seven Kingdoms, becoming living pleasure barges or siege beasts for their underwater wars.

    "The region is sectioned to the Sixth Swell," Charlene explained, appending that a "Swell" was the corrupted translation of what the Mermen termed the tears into the Elemental Plane. Each of the Seven Kingdoms, dotted in unknown depths in the North and South Pacific, was home to such a "Swell". Some Magisters argued that the Swells were moving, living entities tied to their Ancient Mythics. Others compared them to the World Trees of the Elves. The current conjecture, however, was that none of that mattered as no human being had seen one, much less studied a "Swell".

    What was known was that the reigning monarchs of these Swells were old beings of the Elemental Planes who had chosen to stake their claim in the "New World". A monarch now well-known to Gwen was Miommiriorthyr, the ever-slumbering Dragon Turtle of yore, tagged by Charlene as the lord of the Fourth Swell, controlling the regions from Fiji to the Coral Sea east of the eastern Australian coastline.

    The South Ocean was the domain of Odidi Vel, the Supreme Seat of the Sixth Swell, a title that sounded as intimidating as it was alliterative.

    "And?" Gwen asked, sipping her Maotai in contemplation.

    "There is no and." Charlene''s grey eyes remained puffed and watery from the wafting alcohol permeating the ship. "We only know of him or her from the traders who traffic Mermen through the Grey Market. There''s nothing this far south for us to be interested in, and the Sixth Swell rarely gets involved in the war with the Commonwealth, unlike the First, Second and Fourth Seats."

    "Hmm¡­" Gwen sat back. She was a classic landlubber, and her maritime knowledge consisted only of lessons taught by conscripted instructors in Auckland, not personal experience.

    "Don''t yer worry, lassie." Hanmoul was optimistic as always, trusting only in firepower. "We''ll blast ''em right back into the Elemental Plane of Water, come squall, Kraken or maelstrom."

    Gwen nodded. Of that, she was confident. With the Dwarven mercenaries on her side, their ship temporarily possessed a repulsion Core that could rival a Tower for several days. Additionally, her Diviner had already predicted that no catastrophic danger would threaten the integrity of the Core''s functions. And should a creature brave the destruction of its Core to assail the ship, the barrage of the Mages and the Golems on deck would transmute it into grilled calamari.

    The concern that remained, therefore, was their limited information on their destination¡ªthe southernmost volcano and one of the largest on Terra, Mount Erebus.

    When Charlene had promised to bring every shred of data the Mageocracy possessed on the volcanic island-peninsular, Gwen had anticipated topographical maps with illusion-empowered overlays, information on the beasts and monsters, as well as routes and lanes for both sea and land.

    What Charlene instead showed the crew were reproductions of hand-drawn maps from 1909.

    "The last harrumph of Ex-Meister Shackleton," the Ravenport heir spoke with reverence, her grey eyes twinkling with remembrance. "According to his biography, Sir Shackleton survived there, in that sunless Black Zone, for six months while waiting for rescue, battling Frost Howlers, hunting the Ivory Seals for meals, wearing their skin and eating their gut-linings to keep his surviving crew fed."

    "Final harrumph?" Gwen remarked. "The biography didn''t sell well?"

    "The expedition ruined him." Charlene sighed wistfully, fingers caressing the running writing that Gwen could read through her Translation Stone. "If I were born a century earlier, I would have funded him personally, but the Royal Geographical Society wasn''t so keen after he lost the most expensive sail ship ever equipped to an Ice Elemental maelstrom. After which, over the next six months, he lost five Mage Flights in a time when a single Flight could hold down a regional colony."

    Gwen felt a twitch from her right eye, hoping their expedition would fare better.

    "It didn''t help that several of those Mages who died were the second-sons of their households, who went with Shackleton out of love and respect for his spirit of adventure and discovery. In that disaster, almost a dozen bloodlines were diminished, and an Earldom was entirely extinguished once the heir was forced to participate in the Great War in place of the spare."

    "And all this¡ª"Gwen swept a hand over the maps. "Is what remains of his legacy?"

    "Yes." Charlene gazed over the replicated parchments printed on enchanted linen indestructible by water or fire. Gingerly, her fingers brushed by what looked to Gwen to be a family crest. "This is all that remains of House Shackleton. Nonetheless, By Endurance, we Conquer."

    "Endurance," Gwen said drily, taking from her parallel history. "The name of Shackleton''s ship."

    "Yes. I wanted to call the Royal Raven that." Charlene laughed. "But father said it was an ill omen."

    "As opposed to ravens?" Gwen scoffed. Did this world have Coffin Ships?

    "What''s wrong with ravens?" Charlene raised a brow.

    Gwen said nothing. Instead, the group refocused their attention on the maps.

    "Holy hells." Her eyes fell on the topography. "I knew Erebus was big¡ªbut is that for real?"

    "Fret-not, lassie. Tis a wee-little hill." Hanmoul, who had seen his share of mountains, was only mildly impressed. "Four thousand human metric units? We''ll scale it no problem."

    "With luck, I don''t think that would be necessary." Gwen quickly performed her best PowerPoint(?) sorcery to transform the map into a three-dimensional projection plotting the points on the hand-map through her mind. As a Lightning Mage, her spatial awareness was already leagues above the average sorceress. Dimension Door, with its higher demand for cognitive analytics, was a very stern teacher.

    A few minutes later, a crude map of Mt Erebus, or more accurately, the island peninsular formed by the lava from its dome, made itself evident.

    Their navigator, a Viscount-in-waiting named Able Burton, helpfully adjusted her misreadings.

    "We will cut through the ice sheets. Here and here." Charlene pointed to an alcove just below the mountain''s saddle, where the slope was steepest. "Our journey inward isn''t so bad, according to the Meister''s notes. September is the period of peril. If we cannot leave by mid-August, we''ll be locked in until the spring melt¡ªaround January."

    "We might just do that." Gwen slowly turned the map. "I don''t know what we''ll find, but if we are to beat back the Fire Elementals, I don''t think it''ll be a single battle. Add in logistics. It''ll take time."

    "You''re confident about that, I see." Charlene motioned for their navigator. "Bertie, if you could?"

    Bertie could indeed. With great gusto, the man added to Gwen''s geographic details, such as a four-kilometre lava lake called the "Hole of Terror."

    Unfazed by the name, Gwen continued to plot the dangers.

    "And here, we have the Saddle of Ice Horror¡ªand this would be the Valley of A Thousand Cuts¡ª"

    "Hold up." Gwen waved her hand through the illusion, halting Bertie. "Who came up with this stuff?"

    "Sir Shackleton''s cartographer, ma''am," the young man replied. "These are quite literal, I fear. The saddle, we can assume, would still be home to Frost Horrors¡ªdegenerate Frost Giants more beast than man, cannibals who hunt and kill anything that moves, while themselves are hunted by the Lava Wyrms from the Hole... and so on."

    "I see." Gwen allowed her imagination to do the leg work. Certainly, Auckland Tower''s library hadn''t prepared her for such a literal and dynamic Black Zone. "Carry on."

    Bertie continued, slicing their destination into six major sectors. Taking up bits of the journal, he explained that Shackleton''s landing, a relatively newer portion of the peninsular, was an uncontested beachhead with a sheltered cove of breakable ice to the northwest. This location would be their sector one, where they aim to land. Sectors five and six were the mountain itself, one for the ever-smoking peak and the other for the lava lake to the peak''s northeast.

    Sector three, east of their landing and west of the peak, would be their presumed goal¡ªfor that was where Shackleton had recorded his encounter with the fabled Rime Wardens of Illh?weth.

    Bertie cleared his throat, then read the exert attached to the paper map.

    "We met strange and alien Elves, with faces of delicate beauty, each an ice sculpture from a master''s hands. These sported an upper body both lithe and regal, akin to their cousins from Tryfan. Their lower bodies, conversely, distinctly deviate from the norm. The Frost Wardens were the strangest of all, sporting arachnid limbs from a sleek hip, gliding over snow and air with a grace that would put the Royal Ballet''s prima donna to shame. The priestesses, conversely, were humanoids, though their complexion would appear near-transparent as if the clearest glacial ice."

    Shackleton''s stricken crew had lost several Mages to the Frost Wardens before the Frost Flower of Illh?weth, a Demi-Goddess Shackleton named Illh?wenthiel, spared them. Later, on the plains overshadowed by the eternal plume from Erebus, the Meister witnessed the Frost Wyrm Illaelitharian''s grand battle against the encroachment of a Lava Drake.

    The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

    After the titanic, mythic-class conflict, the hapless adventurer had begged for aid from the Elves. Perhaps his presence had caught the interest of the Lady or her Wyrm, or maybe the effort of helping the lost Humans was lesser than the effort of slaughtering them¡ªShackleton was able to safely return to base, after which his subsequent treks no longer violated the sacred region he dubbed the Pillar Grove of Illh?weth. As for the grove, the explorer wrote thus:

    "Different to the brutalism of Erebus, the Grove of Illh?weth stands as a forest of fumaroles, as the Society would label them¡ªbut each a pocket dimension upon itself. The smallest of these ice trees stood taller than our tallest buildings¡ªsome kilometre high, while in the distance, my men and I spied such a structure as human eyes could not conceive. A TRUNK of Ice that seemed to hold up the heavens itself and lend support to the very reality of Elemental Space in its surrounds! So enormous was this construct¡ªso immeasurable that we chose to give it the name of ''The Pillar''."

    After Bertie finished the reading, the meeting room took on an atmosphere of contemplation.

    "So... yes. We are following the steps of Meister Shackleton himself," Charlene broke the silence. "We''re making history, Gwen, Master Hanmoul. In more ways than one. We''ll be the first Dwarves and Humans to set foot on Erebus and Ross for almost a century."

    "Officially." Gwen decided to douse Charlene''s fire a little. "But I reckon some enterprising fellows would have come here or drifted here by chance or purpose. If I know my Humans as well as you, I wouldn''t doubt that."

    "It doesn''t count." Charlene''s smile grew crooked. "Unless you bring back a map and a trade route. Most, I''d imagined, died here."

    "Well." Gwen returned her attention to the map and its notes. "I sure as hell hope we live to tell the tale¡­"

    On the third day, the crew spotted their first bit of self-fulfilling prophecy.

    A Kraken, its burning-orange elongated shape just visible under the noble-green waters near freezing temperature, could be seen pulling alongside the ship, staying just far from starboard that the gung-ho Dwarven artillery could not purchase a formidable impact.

    For hours, the Kraken and the Royal Raven sized one another while Gwen, Lulan, Richard and their best Mage Flight circled the ship from forecastle to poop, anticipating the Kraken to make a move.

    By evening, with the Dwarves blasting lumen flairs that lit up a kilometre of the sea, the Kraken and its Shoal thought better of antagonising the Royal Raven, electing to return to the depth. Their path, their Diviner, had later explained, had been a Goldilock''s zone inspiring indecisiveness, straying somewhere between two Kraken''s lairs.

    On the fifth day, the ship side-swiped a storm and detoured by sailing perpendicular to the weather phenomenon.

    As the torrential pour blasted the ocean, turning the bean-green waters white, they saw a flock of Thunder Birds frolic in the kilometre-thick clouds. At once, sensing its desires, Gwen released her Ariel, who sailed into the heavens to join the joyous flight with gleeful cries of "EE-EE!"

    A few minutes later, Ariel returned with a dead bird the size of a horse, its limp neck still bleeding liquid electricity from her Kirin''s bite-holes.

    Immediately, Charlene ordered the Resonance Chamber to be set to a seventy-five per cent threshold¡ªthough there was no need. Sensing Ariel''s Draconic lineage, the birds dispersed, ending the thunderstorm and the detour.

    Were the birds the cause of the storm?

    Or did the storm summon the birds?

    That was a phenomenon the Cambridge scholars debated but lacked the evidence to ascertain. Away from the familiar climes of the northern hemisphere, the South Ocean was a place with unpredictable everything, at least by the standards of Human Magecraft.

    On day six, an albatross joined the ship.

    Immediately, Richard and Lulan began to salivate, boasting that the lone bird was great practice and a source of income.

    Knowing her Romantic Poetry, Gwen grew instantly wary. For one, this was no Albatross that a simple bolt could strike down. With her spatial perception, Gwen guessed the creature to be somewhere between twenty to twenty-two meters from wingtip to wingtip, making it a contender for Golos. On that account, Gogo''s absence made great foresight, for she recollected how easily the Wyvern attracted the Da-peng in Amazonia. Had Gwen brought her ally, Golos would have attacked and eaten the Albatross without a word.

    And if such a noble bird died, Gwen was sure that some otherworldly God would make the Royal Raven pay a tax in suffering.

    "A Chasm Chaser Albatross," one of Charlene''s lackeys, a zoologist Conjurer by trade, named the bird after filming the thing for several hours. "Extra-planar beasts that hail from the Elemental Plane of Air. It''s likely looking for a way home. They''re related to the Big Birds of yore, the ones your Magistership met during the IIUC."

    By the late afternoon, the Albatross had attempted to come closer to the ship several times. In response, one of the Magus nobles asked if they could open a "path" to the Elemental Plane of Air with a Maelstrom.

    Charlene gave an affirmative order, and an impressive, dozen-meter wide hole was made manifest into some unknowable portion of the Elemental Plane of Air.

    With a shriek, the Chasm Chaser transformed into a shrieking arrow, shot through the vortex, and then was gone, leaving only giant feathers as souvenirs for the Mages.

    "These make excellent ingredients for implements of Flight." The zoologist Dimension Doored from the sea just as Gwen wondered if the man had signalled a death flag and was about to be eaten by a giant fish. Charlene berated her junior officer, though the happy scholar was happy to compose a ten-thousand-word reflection.

    "Do you think it knew?" Gwen asked her crew.

    "It seemed to know what it was doing." Richard stared coldly at the door where the happy Conjurer had gone, eyeing the enormous feathers cradled in the man''s arm. "It knew too well."

    "I''ll be down below." Lulan walked away with a bored expression. Charlene''s nobles, who could not at all penetrate Petra''s crystalline coldness, had elected to pursue the exotic Sword Mage with praise and gifts. As an answer, she offered them one path to getting horizontal¡ªharrowing Mage Duels.

    When she had asked for the same, all politely declined.

    Gwen watched her companions go, then returned her attention to her Omni Orb. Intelligently, Ruxin''s priceless gift sparkled in the sun''s dying light. Her miraculous device was as much of a navigator as their collection of Diviners. The furtherer they travelled, the scarcer the sun became. By the eighth day, the Diviners had anticipated that there would be no more light and that the crew would have to utilise their low-light vision implements and enchantments to avoid the ship becoming a beacon of disturbance. In August, the Diviners had said, the Royal Raven may not see the Plane of Radiance at all.

    This far south, the air had also grown frosty. Were it not for the strange conversions the Dwarves made to the ship, there would be hoar frost covering the barge''s decks.

    At the same time, the giant icebergs passing by were making her Cameron-inspired PTSD flare. However, Gwen had been assured that there would be no "Titanic", certainly not with Mages like Richard aboard who could drain a dozen freight holds of water without breaking a sweat.

    Together with their Dwarven companions, who could repair the ship so long as it remained in a single piece, their only worry would be that which was unknown.

    Day Eight.

    The unknown.

    First came the clouds, so dense as to have substance.

    Then came the darkness, an absence of light so total that even low-light vision, perfect for starlight, had reached its limits. The arrival of the Antarctic winds had likewise defeated the mechanism put in place by the Dwarves to radiate the residual heat from the Fabricator Engine, forming slippery ice deposited by clattering squalls of sleet. After that, the drift ice, the long-promised menace of the South Ocean, made its presence known in the form of screeching scraps and crunching groans against the barge''s side.

    Progress, which had seemed fair for the last seven days, slowed instantly to a halt. The Walls of Force that reinforced the hull flickered, offering hysterical bursts of light as the heavy-duty Ether engines thrummed, adding to the effect of Shatter spells used for deep excavation. In addition to the weight of the ice, the Royal Raven''s Militant Faction Captain had to keep the ship in perpetual motion, for the ice became living things of constant dynamism. Though the Raven could arguably free itself, a moored Breaker Barge more than likely found itself ensnared by ice up the sides of its hull, which, if significant enough, would make them sitting ducks for predators from the Elemental Plane of Ice.

    Once the weather fouled, the Mage Flights scouts were wholly withdrawn, as the darkness made anything other than clairvoyance futile. Even the Diviners unhappily reported that Elemental Ice and Air were so thick in these parts that any monster of these Elements would be undetectable as long as the weather continued, making the ship arguably blind.

    Ergo, they were up against the unknowable, undetectable, and unseeable.

    Of course, Gwen still had the Omni Orb to correlate with the Diviners, meaning they couldn''t be lost for long. Ergo, focusing only on avoiding dense ice, the Royal Raven barged its way south, negotiating for Humanity''s re-entry into the South Pole.

    Day nine.

    Gwen saw nothing but snow, glimmering in the perpetual twilight from bow to stern. White as linen and limitless as the horizon, the snow spread in every direction, with only the trail of broken ice left by the Royal Raven as evidence that they were in motion. Then, to the steam-exhaling crew''s amazement, their Magister opened the double-sealed doorway¡ªthen stepped into the fresh morning ice, her hair billowing in the cross breeze.

    And while the others wore magical garments of warmth like armour against the chill, she wore only her crow-suit.

    After a moment of circulating her Almudj-blessed mana, Gwen affirmed a hypothesis.

    As suspected, she was impervious to cold, at least in terms of climate. She acknowledged the bone chill, but the adverse sensation was temporary. Instead, she felt akin to Bondi in autumn, where the first few minutes spent in the sea made one''s teeth chatter, but quickly, after dozen waves, the wetsuit voided the cold, and activity only made one cosy.

    "You''re insane." Charlene arrived beside her, wearing an attractively silhouetted armour built for the extreme cold, shivering despite the HDMs invested. "Your armour has only a Tier II Weather Seal."

    As the young woman spoke, her breaths turned to mist, making her criticism comical.

    "I''ll be fine." Gwen smiled back, seeing that she was joined by Richard, Petra and Lulan, who had all come to observe the spectacle. "But let''s inform the teams. We''ll start our acclimatisation training now, and let''s see if we can find some locals to test our mettle."

    Day Twelve.

    Hours before arrival, the crew gathered to survey their future landing.

    The leadership of the Royal Raven stood on the forecastle, forming a reverse V, each with grim expressions as they surveyed the path ahead.

    Their ship had yet to arrive at the destined cove, though it was now close enough for the Mages to marvel at the glowing furnace of a mountain dispelling the fingerless dark.

    No longer did they rely on their low-light vision, for only in the brilliance of a thousand Day Light orbs fired from Dwarven Spellswords could the scope of the catastrophe be ascertained.

    "What the hell is this?" Richard half-leaned against the rails with Lea hanging overhead, arms wrapped against his body to keep her Master warm. "That doesn''t look like soil."

    "It''s Soot." Gwen touched a clawed finger to Ariel''s fur after her Familiar retrieved a paw full of mushy snow. From the looks of things, there was more ash than powder, with the slush-pack instantly melting in her hands, staining the boat''s grey dock and her dark gauntlet with the stink of old sulphur.

    "Weather''s not particularly frigid." Charlene opened the collar of her protective suit. "I can even feel my fingers."

    The Ravenport''s observation was answered only by the moaning of the unseen wind, carrying a scent that was both rotten and foetid, dredging up memories of Shenyang.

    "It''s winter," Gwen murmured, her blood cooling more than the others, knowing that the implications of what she saw held a far larger impact than volcanic pollution. "It''s dark as well. Yet, it isn''t freezing here, and everything is covered in soot. The weather¡ªthe Elemental Balance is completely off the charts."

    "SHAA¡ª!" Caliban, playing the role of an impromptu measuring stick, slithered up the ship''s side.

    A few of the Mages, joined by Hanmoul, ran to her mewling fiend and ran what looked to be a measuring implement across its lower body.

    "Himmseg above, lassie. It ain''t looking good." The Dwarf returned with the bad news. "The Elemental Ash reading is over twenty times what yer Meister recorded on his visit."

    Her Cambridge staff confirmed the Dwarf''s finding.

    Gwen gulped. But even as she tried to digest the direness of Hanmoul''s words and read the writing on the wall, her Divination Senses gave no quarter.

    DING! Several Message spells bloomed at once.

    "SHAA¡ªSHAA¡ª!" Caliban contorted itself, pointing its faceless head toward the distance.

    A few pinpoints of light, bright orange and with the likeness of fireflies, appeared and disappeared like air traffic signals on top of desolate skyscrapers.

    Gwen focused both mana and essence on her eyes, forcing her vision into a strained state of hyper-clarity.

    She saw¡­ long necks, a hound''s jaws, wings¡­ no tail, culminating in a flock¡­ of fiery things, half the size of Golos, but more than making up for the loss with quantity.

    "Charlene, tell the crew to prepare for battle," she gave her recommendation at once. Whatever these flying lizards were, they were not approaching the ship to trade or demand tea. "Wyverns, likely Chimeras of sorts. They look like bats, but with a protracted torso."

    "Ashworld Wyrmbats, your Magistership." The zoologist interrupted her flow of consciousness, holding a magical looking-glass in one hand. "We should be careful. The ash they spread is highly corrosive, and burn wounds cannot be cured with non-magical means."

    "ALL HANDS¡ªBATTLE STATIONS!" Hanmoul was suit-clad and clattering down the ship''s metal deck before Charlene had finished giving her human crew the orders to crack up the shielding and the Resonators. With a roar, a dozen War Golems on the foredeck began to steam and thrum, their backs opening to reveal the receptacle for their Golem-suited pilots. Elsewhere, the sides of the ship, heavily modified by the Dwarven crew, began to blossom like an iron flower, revealing gunning platforms, each housing the Iron Guard''s artillery units.

    Gwen shouted into her Message device, telling her Shadow Mages to protect the ship and crew in the instance of an unlikely boarding, advising that they leave the ranged fighting to the war machines.

    "Master Hanmoul!" Charlene''s voice came over the shared intercom channel for the commanding officers. "Do we hold our position?"

    "Nay¡ªlassie!" Hanmoul''s gruff voice was aflame with battle passion, mixed with the distinct clang of cranking shafts slotting mana crystals into micro-furnace chambers. With a hiss, the Spellswords on the backs of his artillery squad grew erect. "FULL STEAM AHEAD, lassie! Let ter Iron Guards show yer how us Dwarves defend a Citadel!"

 Chapter 459 - From Fire and Ash

    Between the firing of the mortal instruments and the first blossoms of death, Gwen bathed in the glowing caress of the phantasmal spellfire.

    Beneath her claw-tipped boots, attended by the stench of hot ozone and the stink of Undeath permeating every inch of the soot-clad snowscape, the Royal Raven''s surface-to-air batteries made the ship a carnival float celebrating obliteration. At the foredeck of her battle barge, her Void and Lightning Dogs awaited, each horse-sized beast commanded to act as living shielding for the Golem units.

    Superior to the range and scope of the Mageocracy''s Spellsword units, her Dwarven crew wielded Runic sorcery, which delivered physical payloads with relative accuracy to almost two kilometres away. Once the shells struck the flock, these aerodynamic carvings manifested into localised Runic Mandalas. From these, latent energies from the "spell shells" were released, transforming into concussive, explosive force, simultaneously creating shards of red-hot metal and obsidian, piercing leather and armour alike with ease.

    Each runic "firework" took artisans hours to compile. However, with the Protestant work ethic of the Dwarves, Gwen had been assured that there would be no longitudinal shortage of munitions so long as the Fabricator Engine remained operational.

    With thunderous applause, the flaming flowers bloomed.

    The first volley took the Wyrmbats entirely by surprise, for few dodged or dived, trusting their toughed exteriors of tempered scales.

    Their arrogance was a costly mistake, for a direct hit was enough to shred a car-sized bat-creature wing-from-body, while a side impact could snap bones or break their finger-wings, sending them tumbling into the soot-clad snowmelt.

    "Six¡­ Eight¡­ Ten¡­" Gwen heard the body count from her Message Device as she readied her crew for close encounters of the ashen kind. Lulan was already firing away, her flying swords pealing as a choir of death-dealing shards from their innate sonic vibrations.

    To the aft, Richard, together with Petra and a half-dozen Abjurers and Enchanters from Charlene''s retinue, reinforced protections around the ship. Somewhere above, Ariel and Caliban perched near the ship''s elevated bridge with instructions to keep the Captain, Charlene, and the ship''s navigational instruments clear of Wyrmbats.

    "Rear defences have been deployed¡­ Resonator at eighty per cent." Charlene''s commanding voice pierced through the comm channels. "All forward defences deployed. Gwen, you have command of your Flights. I will support your needs from the bridge as much as possible."

    "Roger that, Commander. Engaging in thirty seconds." She replied in kind.

    For assurance, Gwen touched a hand to a thickly padded section of her battle suit, where the Ilias Leaf sat snug against her bosom.

    Sensing its inertness, Gwen reminded herself of the promise from Tryfan that there would be means to contact the Frost Elves once they were deep inside Erebus'' shadow¡ªthen redoubled her focus for the battle ahead.

    The survivors of the minute-long barrage were now emerging. Much to her chagrin, there was little to indicate that the slaughter of their vanguard cowed the Wyrmbat "Tide".

    "Ariel, get ready." She called to mind the invocations for a Maelstrom. "Cali, don''t stray from the bridge."

    "EE¡ªEE!"

    "Shaa¡ª!"

    BOOM¡ª! Gwen''s sides lit up; her silhouette made silver by hysterical spellfire as the volleys closed in for the last few hundred meters.

    BUNG¡ª! BU-BUNG¡ªBOOM¡ª!

    Cobalt and phosphorus flowers, the former possessed of purifying plasma of the smelting caskets, the latter the purifying heat of the Heart Forge, ate into the bone and sinew of the lanky Wyrmbats. As creatures of Negative Energy, they were paradoxically weak toward, yet resilient to heat, meaning a certain threshold had to be crossed.

    "SKAARRRRRK!" The returned cries from the victims of Dwarven artillery were shrill threats tugging at Gwen''s Astral Body, promising a measure of agony far worse than death.

    Lulan skewered the largest bat without blinking¡ªonly for the bat to continue its course without the slightest hint of discomfort until she expended the mana to "Shatter" her projectiles.

    Still, Gwen remained patient, forcing her molten-lead adrenaline to cool. She was a veteran now, and a veteran either acted with foresight or reacted with wisdom.

    Now wary, the flock that descended invaded the ship''s resonating barrier, slowing their ascent as their cores shuddered under the influence of invisible arcane wavelengths. Those closest to the ship''s bow coughed white ash as their Cores lost control of the latent energies, erupting into fantastic bursts of necrotic cloudbursts. Others, slipping through the expended barrier, opened up their throats to unleash torrents of what looked to be white-hot, corrosive flames.

    Richard and Petra immediately invoked their abjuring sorcery, diverting the destructive spray to the ship''s side to eat into the dark slush. The ship''s crew also opened up with Wands of various Elements, adding to the pyrotechnical display raging over the shimmering shell of the Royal Raven.

    Gwen watched the swirling cloud of bats, feeling the time was ripe.

    "Ariel¡ª Maelstrom!" She allowed her conduits to conduct their magnificent choir, feeling more powerful than her pre-Auckland self. Bolstered by lightning and Almudj''s Blessing, she tore the heavens asunder, inviting into the world a swirling vortex of blue-green lightning that quickly transformed into a kilometre-wide pancake hurricane.

    Those closest to the Maelstrom were sucked almost instantly into the Quasi-Elemental Plane of Lightning. Others who fought to get away were castigated by lashing bolts of destructive electricity, whipped into submission and stunned by the sudden Positive Energy so that they could only be obediently carried off into the gaping gash Gwen made in the Prime Material.

    Yet, despite their incredible effort, the fortitude of the Wyrmbats, their red-hot charcoal eyes livid with madness, still pierced the ship''s perimetre. Fighting off both resonance and destructive wards, dozens landed on the ship''s deck or came close enough to scale the Royal Raven''s tower and turrets to wreak havoc.

    There, they met Gwen''s Faithful Hounds, together Commonwealth Mages armed with some of the most exorbitant implements HDMs could afford, and well-fed Shadow Mages from Manipur who threw themselves upon the creatures without fear.

    "Cali! Keep the Alpha away from the bridge castle!" Gwen called out, both eyes rapidly scanning her surroundings while her mind''s eye drew a topographic map from Ariel''s Link Sight. Her Familiar responded by bodily mounting the Alpha Wyrmbat. Compared to its brethren, this was a magnificent beastie with a white mane the colour of superheated flame with more Draconic features adorning its face than a bat''s. Caliban''s Big Bird guise crushed it against the castle''s Wall of Force and clamped its maw around the creature''s neck. The Wyrmbat''s response was to crane its neck at an impossible angle to gnash Caliban''s belly¡ªonly to be met with a maw-full of corrosive secretions. As both were Negatively-aligned beings, neither bat nor fiend seemed to show agony or passion, resulting in the strange spectacle of two beasts methodologically picking each other apart even as they fell from the ten-storey bridge.

    With a fantastic furore, the pair crashed, with the bat fighting through immunity to pain while Caliban''s Big Bird fingers tore out its guts and innards.

    Compared to their leader, the other Wyrmbats had better luck. Having survived the shielding and the wards, they lunged at the artillery Golems, stopped only by the combined force of shadowy sinews from the Manipuri Mages and the bodily blockade of Gwen''s Hounds. Where the Wyrmbats penetrated both, enormous destruction ensued, with the destroyed machinery burnt white by the smouldering ash.

    Even in the chaos, Gwen heard her over-inquisitive mind cry out in woe. For creatures of such absurd elemental purity to survive for long in the Prime Material, there was little doubt that the Elemental balance was shattered, and various portals akin to the Sea of Flames now dominated the landscape around Erebus'' howling, flame-spewing lava lakes.

    "Zengraff Unit! Ejecting!" An orange Message spell blossomed.

    A Golem too close to the fray was caught by a Wyrmbat, who tore through the upper armour with brute strength and corrosive ash-tipped claws, leaving the pilot no choice but to pop the rear and make a haste retreat.

    Victorious, the Wyrmbat made a half-howl before Buck, Gwen''s leading Familiar Hound, took it by the neck, holding it down for the six-odd seconds necessary for the skeletal bat to become engulfed by spellfire from a dozen Mages and surviving Golems.

    Each mature Wyrmbat, Gwen acknowledged, would have possessed enough of a challenge rating for the Mageocracy to field a Flight of seasoned Mages. Only thanks to their floating fortress¡ªand the power of her Dwarven Iron Guards¡ªcould they repel the onslaught of these ashen monstrosities to achieve their next objective.

    Ding! Ding! Ding!

    Blood red blossoms from her Message spells exploded beside her ear.

    "Magister Song! Captain Hanmoul! Hostile readings in the water! We may be surrounded! Prepare for maximum repulsion!"

    "Roger! Evaluating a breakthrough!" With her confirmation, Gwen sent a silent message to Lulan, informing her that her bodyguard should prioritise their Dwarven allies.

    Gwen took flight even as her torrent of spells continued, wielding Lightning Bolts on her right while her left hand completed the invocations for Void Bolt. With the ardour of a blazing Yue Bai, she leapt into the air to levitate above the Royal Raven.

    Unconsciously, she focused her Essence upon her eyes to compensate for the flashing light and dark.

    Below, where the ship was grinding through the soot ice, the black masses building up against the ship''s exterior had come alive, sprouting limbs to scale the Royal Raven. Upon closer inspection, Gwen realised that it wasn''t the soot that was alive.

    These were Mermen¡ªdead ones with grey eyes and mouths full of green bile and brown scum, using their suctioned feet and slimy limbs to clamber up the smooth sides of the ship.

    VREEEEEE¡ª

    The thrum of the Dwarven-made Runes lit up the darkness with the pale glow of Abjuration, building to a brief crescendo.

    With a resounding TWHACK¡ª, the Walls of Force shuddered, retracting before expanding rapidly, throwing off the stowaways with such a violent force that they instantly disintegrated. Others were thrown dozens of meters from the ship to land back in the water or to roll across the choking wet soot.

    "Be wary, men! These are no ordinary Undead Mermen!" Charlene''s warning blasted across the comms. "Earlier, we couldn''t detect them because of the noise from the Elemental Ash! By her Grace. I haven''t heard of the Ashen Undead in living memory! That category of Necromancy was a relic of the Great War!"

    As usual, Charlene was right. The Ash Wrights, Gwen recalled from her history lessons from Cambridge, involved rare Ash-aligned Mages who, in an attempt to stave away the death-apathy of Ash, steered their path of Spellcraft toward Necromancy. Assuming the caster could even survive the double burden of possessing both Ash and using magic derived from Negative Energy, these Flesh Grafters could create hordes of ravenous Undead with high resistance to Elemental Fire¡ªthe fundamental offensive magic in the war against Undeath.

    Buoyed by the flow of mana bloating her conduits, the same train of thought also brought the familiar face of her Uncle Jun to mind, filling her chest with sudden, desperate yearning. Uncle Jun, the father she wished she had, a man whose back was broad enough for her to rest all her burdens, who also dabbled in Necromancy¡ªor whatever the Song family''s secretive magic could afford under the Communists. His was the creation of a Soul Well using the Kirin Amulet as a medium, acting as both filter and storage to stave away the worst aspects of Elemental Ash. With its blessing, he had survived the apathy of high-Affinity Ash, and those who benefited from her uncle''s sacrifice had remained willingly ignorant. For a while, Gwen had been afraid that the other shoe would drop and "Captain Jun, Hero of the North", would suddenly become a pariah¡ªthough now, there was Ayxin to ensure that the CCP had nothing but praise for Jun.

    If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    And then there''s Percy. How was her brother doing? Would he, too, learn the Song''s secretive art?

    Her sentimentality lasted only a few more seconds¡ªenough to conjure Ayxin''s flawless face mocking her mental weakness¡ªthen she was back in the heat and frigidity of lightning, ice, Void and the moaning Undead.

    "I''ll purge the starboard flank!" She informed her troops as she looped to the right, cutting the cross-wind. "Keep an eye on the port!"

    Fracturing arches of electricity danced from her fingertips. Her mastery over the basic Lighting Bolt was now so complete that a token syllable was enough to complete both invocation and the circuit. With Ariel''s growth, her Affinity for Lightning had also grown, allowing the power to flow from her hands with the natural ease of the conductor of an electric orchestra.

    The other Mages soon joined her efforts. Like old rust oxidised by raw plasma, sheets of Undead, roasted to cinders by lightning, fire and assorted arcanistry, fell from the Royal Raven''s sides.

    The battle was going well¡ªbut Gwen knew as a veteran of an Undead campaign that longevity marked the measure of success against the un-living horde, not spell power.

    "Charlene, rest our men if able," she informed the crew, mindfully filling the power gap for those commanded to ease their use of high-tier spells. Taking a deep breath, she drew upon Caliban''s stowed vitality, then opened up a new Maelstrom nearer the ship''s forward passage.

    With the sound of shifting snow and soot, a two-hundred-meter-wide vortex opened, drawing all movable mass toward its all-consuming centre even as something tentacled and hungry sought to escape the tear to enter the Prime Material.

    A moment later, Gwen regretted the move.

    As a result of her spell, a revelation was made for what lay beneath the black snow. There weren''t just thousands of the Undead Mermen, but hundreds of thousands, thick enough to form a blockade of bodies which would have impeded the passage of any ship lesser than a Cruiser Class breaker barge.

    To make matters worse, the island upon which the Undead rested was also moving.

    "KRAKEN!" Gwen gave the warning as soon as she spotted the lazily writhing limbs. Unlike the slick red of the Krakens from their voyage, these were stark and sickly, with mangled bits of rubbery meat and randomly placed sucker mouthes lining the tendrils.

    Quickly doing the maths in her head, Gwen chose to conserve her vitality.

    "Hanmoul! How are we looking?" She requested heavy artillery. "Charlene, I need help with the squid."

    "The flyers are THINNING, Lassie! Give us another cog-cycle, and we aught ta bring the big guns to bear soon!"

    "Not soon enough! HARD TO STARBOARD!" To coordinate, Charlene gave the command. "Hanmoul¡ªbring our reserve batteries online. Bertie¡ªroute the mana to the Golems! Don''t let that thing grapple the ship!"

    The Royal Raven''s internal mechanisms whirled, though Gwen was only vaguely aware of the mechanical changes below her. She instead rose into the air with a brilliant challenge for the Kraken and its murk-eyed Shoal of carcasses.

    Caught between the whirling bats going into a frenzy and the swarming Undead below, she was beginning to wonder if fighting further was a matter of the frying pan and the fire.

    "Ariel!" She gave her command the less, materialising her Kirin from its invisibility as Ariel''s horns grew white-hot with Essence.

    The pair waited until the Kraken had turned enough of its body to bring its limbs to bear, revealing an eye as large as Gwen and Ariel stacked head to paw. If such a colossus could grab hold of the battle barge, the Royal Raven may ground to a halt¡ªa fatal consequence, considering the sheer volume of rotten fish inundating the waters.

    Hardening her senses against the cognitive torment of borrowing the Rainbow Serpent''s otherwordly power, she unleashed the castigation of one who did not like strangers.

    "BARBAGINY!"

    Twin streaks of Chain Lightning, her strongest spell, connected the distance between herself and the Kraken some two hundred meters away, turning the polluted ice-scape a brilliant emerald.

    Just as the bolts were about to strike, Gwen felt the incredible sensation of her attack slowing¡ªseeing the light becoming warped by the innate resistance of the Kraken''s magical Core.

    Then, like twin needles piercing through a veil, her spells slipped past the creature''s Sea God-given protection against invasive elemental assaults, surging forward until both became volatile balls of trapped lightning.

    "Oh, dear¡­" Gwen instantly confirmed that the spell lacked the energy to jump to its secondary targets¡ªbut was attempting to expel its collated energies. Unsurprisingly, her anxious anticipation was backed by pings and needles from her Divination Sigil.

    "EVERYONE¡ªBRACE!" She howled out her warning with a Clarion Call, knowing what happened the last time a Barbanginy was confined in a tiny space.

    The trapped spell on the Undead Kraken grew momentarily brilliant¡ªand then burst with a thunderous roar, expelling its energies so violently that it drove the giant squid''s body into a U shape, punching it back under the sea. The rippling shockwaves and superheated air were enough to dispel the soot and ice, shatter the ice sheets within several hundred meters and rock the Royal Raven as its gyroscopic stabilisers thrummed.

    As the shockwave passed, the shielding erected by the ship''s Abjurers grew instantly white, then rapidly dimmed to reveal an enormous crater, around the edges of which decaying squid flesh by the tonnage lay splayed and spread like an exit wound.

    Still, the Kraken came on.

    "Alright, lads! Let ''em have it!" Hanmoul''s fire order came without delay, sending a hundred streams of spellfire from the Royal Raven''s starboard.

    Compared to the bustling Flights of Mages, the Dwarves had been focused almost entirely on keeping the circling swarm of Wyrmbats at bay. By now, the bats strong enough to penetrate the resonance shielding had already perished, while those who remained¡ªsome hundred or more¡ªwere either biding their opportunity or too wary of risking their Cores. Compared to the wholesale Purge of the Undead, their battle was a tug-of-war, see-sawing between the ranged assault of the Dwarven guns and the gobs of flaming ash that rained from the white-skinned skeleton bats.

    Using the momentary window, Hanmoul''s Golems adjusted their Spellwords, with the lower implements sweeping the sea for Undead while their upper mounts continued to harass the darting Wyrmbats.

    Hundreds of eruptions exploded across the Kraken, driving it further into the water and leaving enormous tendrils, now severed, to linger on the surface like huge sea snakes.

    But as the creature was already "dead", it would be back. Even in victory, the Royal Raven had to keep its shield, speed, and breaker capabilities at certain expenditure rates to avoid the squid''s death grapple.

    "How long has it been?" Wiping the sooty snow from her Raven mask, Gwen asked the aide from Charlene''s command bridge. After that Barbanginy, even the Devourer had to take a breather.

    "Almost thirty minutes, Magister." Came the reply.

    "How are our men?" Gwen had felt like they were fighting for hours.

    "Lord Hanmoul reports sixteen disabled units, no fatalities. Our forces have twenty-four casualties, six with serious conditions. No fatalities. Mana levels are holding steady."

    "SHAA¡ª!"

    "EE-EE!" Her Familiars also reported that they were in good condition, though without victims brimming with vitality, Caliban''s long-term capability was of significant concern.

    "Continue pushing to our base camp, and keep our Diviners on the lookout for the Kraken." Charlene''s command concurred with Gwen''s anticipations.

    "Yes, Ma''am."

    "Gwen?" Chalene enquired. "How about you?"

    "I am fine." Gwen narrowly deflected a glob of ash fire with a double-glazed shield, then glided back into the thick of battle as Lulan took care of the offending Wyrmbat with three pairs of skewering Falling Star Swords.

    "Lulu, conserve your energy!" she scolded her bodyguard even as the sword blossomed into metal flowers, sending the bat plummeting downwards like a rock. "Keep your cool. I said I am fine."

    Her guard nodded, though Gwen suspected the battle-hardened Sword Mage might still fall under the spell of the berserker that came with her sorcery. Even with Ryxi''s restoration of the lost arts, the fact that the magic was made for men¡ªand that women were forbidden from its practice, did not change. The main difference now was that Lulan had access to the best healthcare HDMs could afford and a genuine instructor, a far cry from her battered past as a notched blade left to rust.

    The dead sea grew bright, and the starboard roared again, clearing whole swathes of slimy things from the deep.

    "The ice sheets are thinning. We''re increasing our speed," Charlene told them through the communication device. "Our Diviners report that the Undead Mermen have limited mobility. We should be able to outrun the Shoal and wear them down from range."

    Gwen checked on her followers from Manipur, then checked in again with Hanmoul, Richard and Petra.

    "Then we hold the line!" She encouraged the others by releasing dozens of highly visible Ball Lightning to bombard their foe, tearing a literal hole in the cloud of swarming bats. "FORWARD UNTO EREBUS!"

    Six hours.

    Gwen was seriously beginning to see why mechanisation was such an explicit focus of the United States compared to the Mageocracy''s preference for talented manpower. By the end of the second hour, even the rested veteran Mages were reporting to be on their alchemical limits, and even the noblemen officers from Charlene''s corps lost their appetites.

    Richard had done marginally better thanks to Lea taking the brunt of the work, while Petra had been drawing energy from the Royal Raven''s Core, supplemented by Dwarven Runes. Amazingly, Lulan''s breathing techniques and Affinity were enough to keep up with Gwen. This fact made the Sword Mage even more worshipped among the starry-eyed Brits, who had already considered the Draconic Disciple exotic beyond comprehension.

    Then there were the tireless Dwarves, whose bodies and machines tired only when their Spellswords grew too hot. Even then, a maintenance crew in Golem Suits would emerge from the ship''s belly, clank toward the units demanding replacements, and then mount and dismount their crystal matrix within minutes, allowing a refreshed rate of continuous fire for several more hours.

    True to Charlene''s anticipations, the Undead were numerous, but the ice sheets around Erebus''s island shelf were also vast beyond comprehension.

    In theory, the Ashen Undead drew sustenance from the Negative Energy of Ash¡ªmeaning there was a limitation to the range and scope of their operations. The furtherer way from Erebus'' burning ash lakes, the Elemental Flame gave way to water and ice, growing increasingly hostile to creatures "out of their Element".

    Thankfully, true to the textbooks, the Wyrmbats gave up their pursuit once the Royal Raven fled some twenty nautical miles from where they first encountered resistance, skirting around the lava side of Erebus for the western fringe of the mountain''s slope.

    As soon as the Wyrmbats lost sufficient motivation to pursue, the Undead rapidly thinned, leaving only the Kraken to trail them for the next dozen nautical mile until it grew too languished to continue its harassment of the Royal Raven.

    When finally, only the plinking of hot mana engines rapidly cooling against the dark, sooty ice remained, the ship entered a fatigued calm.

    "How long until we reach our waypoint in Sector Three?" Gwen, still on patrol, enquired from their Navigator, the kudos-accruing Viscount Able Burton. "And any signs of the Grove of Illh?weth? If it''s anything like Tryfan, it should have a signature like a perpetually falling meteor."

    "Nothing on the Divination charts, Magister," the man replied through the comms. "We''re adjusting our course according to your Divination Orb."

    Gwen once again touched a finger to the Ilias Leaf, affirming her singular desire to meet and speak with the Frost Flower of Illh?weth. Ever since the Fire Sea, she had deeply suspected the Elementals had something substantial planned, with or without the help of Spectre¡ªand now her suspicion was affirmed by what she saw.

    At the same time, Gwen didn''t know how grand such an "elemental shift of the Planes " really was. On paper, the unreliable map of Meister Shackleton boasted that Antarctica was five thousand kilometres across, meaning that the ice sheets exceeded an albatross'' flight from Santiago to Nova Scotia.

    Even if Erebus painted five hundred kilometres of ice black with soot¡ªwould that truly destabilise the Planar Pillars of the Spiritus Mundi? That was the scepticism almost every scholar of her present world shared.

    But then again, she was a child from a world where even the tiniest degree of change had sown unfathomable destruction, from hurricanes to floods to droughts to super-sized forest fires.

    For this world¡ªa freakish hurricane on the Florida coast might knock out enough Shielding Stations for the trading stations to fall to the reptilian Theocracies of the Everglades.

    A longer and stronger Moonsoon might awaken more Elemental monstrosities than Human cities like Bangkok or Kolkata were equipped to handle.

    Long-standing alliances built on balance, such as the Israelites and their precarious neighbours, might fall into sudden chaos if crops fail and the Jackal tribes'' numbers swell or burst with the ensuing civil wars.

    Humanity, the Mageocracy, and their Kingdoms were like fragile porcelain, full of cracks constantly mended by hand, stopping just enough water from seeping that the entire vessel remained filled and whole.

    And finally, another dread loomed over her with the weight of the perpetual dusk hanging over the Royal Raven''s bow.

    As an accountant, her wonderment at what they''ve accomplished as explorers and saviours was compromised by the grim knowledge that the Dwarves were firing solid chunks of HDMs and that the ship was burning HDMs.

    They had used enough funds in six hours to offer Blackwattle full scholarships for every student for the next hundred years. There were enough materials expended, both precious and mundane, to build a skyscraper to rival her best on the Isle of Dogs. Their expenditure was enough for Auckland Tower to defend itself against the Shoal for a week.

    She knew the costs well before the trip, but a reflexive, cynical part of her had to ask.

    Where was the profit?

    And without profit¡ªeven if she were to rescue the world today¡ªhow could she motivate the world to save itself tomorrow?

 Chapter 460 - Forward Unto Dusk

    "LAND AHOY¡ª!"

    Gwen rested her arms on the poop''s rails, flanked by their reticent officers, a contemplative Hamoul, and her patient companions. After a moment''s thought, she requested clarification from the very embarrassed Marley, their talented Diviner, inexperienced sailor. "Do you mean land-ho? But we''re surrounded by soot, slush and darkness. What''s there to ho?"

    "It isn''t visible in this eternal dusk, but there''s solid ground yonder," Bertie, their navigator, spoke while holding a handkerchief to his nose, one enchanted to dispel loathsome smells, such as the stink of perpetual death lingering over every inch of the once-snowscape. "The cove we''re in now is Shackleton''s Rest, where presumably the Endurance was trapped. We''ll suffer the same once the dead of winter arrives, though we''re far better provisioned, and our ship, not the wilderness, will be our supply base."

    Gwen reassuringly allowed her memory to sweep over the multi-ton rations of SPAM in the cargo hold and knew that her crewmen were spared from finding food in this land of fresh Undeath.

    Presently, she was overseeing the landing itself. Charlene, who had left them earlier to check the manifests, was far too busy a woman to make talk with the combat crew. As the expedition''s commander, her duties were tiresome and unending, making Gwen glad for the delegation of responsibility.

    "Marley, how''s it looking out there?" Gwen asked after their Diviner again. Beside her, as an eager bumble bee, Ruxin''s Omniscient Orb hovered toward the east, egging her onward.

    "The mana signature is extremely polluted," their Diviner replied after drawing a series of mid-air incantations visible only to herself. "However, the orb seems to have the right direction, as triangulating my predictions against Bertie''s chart, I''d confidently say that way lies woe¡ªand thus the Pillar Grove of Illh?weth."

    "Good enough." Gwen nodded. "Alright then. Per our discussion on the bridge, I shall take Magus Huang and Lulu and venture out to find Illh?weth. We need to make contact as soon as possible."

    "Acknowledged, Magister. Meanwhile, Commander Ravenport and our allies will set up a beachhead and initiate a deep probe of the region," the Diviner replied, mindful that their Dwarven ally was also surveying the land with a critical eye. "I''ll send Kuznetsova and Harrington to man the Divination Tower. We will need to test the effective range of our mobile towers and where to deploy them if we are to create a viable defence matrix. Master Hanmoul, is there anything I''ve missed?"

    "Aye, the lads will need ta build the base ON the bedrock fer the Fabricator to draw mana," the Dwarven Iron Guard reminded the humans. "Bring her a-ground, Mister Navigator. We''ll break the ice and nest her right and proper, then offload the Golems and establish a perimeter."

    "Right you are, Master Hanmoul," Bertie promised with a bow of his head. "Will you leave now?"

    "I shall."

    "And a final reminder for your Flight, Magister." Marley tapped her rings to remind Gwen and the others. "This far from the Commonwealth Towers, your Contingency Rings will only bring you back to the ship. Until we can safely broadcast the Divination signals, there will likely be delays or an outright failure if you are caught in a Pocket Dimension. So please be very careful."

    "We will," Gwen assured them by lifting into the air. "Lulu? Richard? Are your mana levels sufficiently recovered?"

    "Yes, Magister!" Lulan snapped to attention. After discarding her Ash-eaten combat robe, her new garb was one of Charlene''s gifts, a light combat garb that marked the best London''s Enchanters had to offer.

    Her cousin also responded with a snappy salute, with Lea mirroring her Summoner''s action.

    "Marley, inform Magus Kutznetsova that we''re ready and that I would like her assistance in bringing Golos," Gwen finalised another minute the crew had marked on their final meeting. If they were to intrude upon the land of both the Dragon Illaelitharian and Illh?wenthiel''s Enclave, it was probably safer to have representatives that could speak for both. Golos was close enough to Draconic royalty that the Frost Wyrm would give six seconds of consideration before nixing the Yinglong''s toddler, enough for her to whip out the Ilias Leaf. "After that¡­ then let''s hope there''s an end to this ash and dust..."

    East of Erebus, Gwen''s team meandered in the limbless dark with only sparks shed from Golos'' passage lighting up the perpetual dusk like a prison''s searchlight.

    "Should I be worried," Richard asked while trailing behind the wind-breaking Wyvern. "That the air is temperate here? Quite nice for early winter in the Antarctic."

    "We are travelling TOWARD the dome of Erebus." Lulan gave her two yuan. "So it goes to reason that it''s warmer, yes? The close we get to the fire, the hotter it becomes."

    "I don''t think that''s how it works if we''re also flying toward the Seat of Frost, my dearest bludgeon." Richard''s perchance for turning to humour to hide his dismay was on full display. "The Grove is meant to keep the Elemental Fire subdued and repressed, so we are undoubtedly travelling into interesting times."

    "Yeah, there was nothing like this in the journals of Shackleton," Gwen informed them. "Erebus is a naturally occurring phenomenon, a balancing force of the Prime Material. Usually, it''s a node of flame set against an entire region of Elemental Ice. Assuming it''s been like this for months or more, this climate is unquestionably out of season and out of the norm. Usually, there should be permafrost."

    "Permafrost?" Lulan drifted closer.

    "Permanently frozen ground," Gwen pointed out the obvious by sweeping her hand over the darkness, where they could spy strange rockeries and slushy streams. "Nothing here is natural. All of this shouldn''t be visible if ice is filling the gaps and snow is capping the ice. I mean, do you think it''s supposed to be this dark? Even Gogo is feeling the challenge."

    "Calamity, cease speaking in tongues," Golos complained from below. "Why is it so dark? Is it sorcery? I can see very well even when it''s lightless and stormy."

    "Usually, Radiance reflects from snow," Gwen explained simply so that the avatar of brute strength could understand. "Even a smidgen of light, once refracted, makes the perpetual dusk possible for low-light navigation. With the snow gone, and the soot we see everywhere, there''s no refraction or reflection. That''s why we''re travelling through this blackness, even though there''s starlight¡ª"

    "¡ªHush! We''ve foes!" Golos hissed, banking to the right so sharply that Gwen and her crew almost ran into the turning Wyvern. "I smell birds¡­"

    Compared to their compromised vision, Golos'' mana-scenting nose proved a far more capable radar. Within a minute, the slow hovering crew saw the approach of a trio of flaming avians, first as embers, then as flapping fireflies tossed against a matt black screen.

    Gwen squinted. "Looks like Ember Rocs, the pure fire variant. Patrols, you think? Or would this be a genuinely random encounter?"

    "Either way, we can''t hide." Richard cocked a thumb toward Golos. "There''s no cover and hardly enough Elemental Ice for me to form a membrane that''ll convincingly camouflage all of us. Even if we detour, neither you nor Golo can achieve velocity AND subtlety."

    Six swords materialised beside Lulan, each an enormous, rotating skewer.

    "No need for subtlety¡ªI shall lure them toward us." Golos grinned cruelly, likely drooling at the prospect of pruning the pretty feathers from the Roc''s breasts. Though her understanding remained vague, Gwen knew that most Big Birds and the Dragonkin were competitors from before Men, hence her Wyvern''s eagerness. "We can''t let them escape or return to their nests."

    "Agreed¡­ Caliban!" Gwen called forth her lightless fiend in its Da-peng form. As for Ariel, the Kirin was far too conspicuous a creature for an ambush. "Cali, hide¡­ and strike when Golos gives the signal."

    "SHAA¡ª!" Caliban dutifully tucked its white-fingered claws back into its feathered underbody, making it near-invisible thanks to Golos'' eye-catching juxtaposition.

    "And remember, Gogo," Gwen gave another piece of advice in case Golos lost himself in the passion. "We need their Cores intact."

    With three Roc Cores safely nestled in the bellies of Golos and Caliban, the group travelled east for another hour, following the directions of the Omni-orb before it slowed to a halt¡ªthen steered northward.

    "Are we too late?" Richard''s eyes followed the orb. "It would be a shame if we arrived to find a stump."

    "Not to worry, Dick," Gwen mentally commanded Golos to adjust his course. "From what I''ve seen from Almudj, a Great Tree can be felled, but the effort and time required are usually measured in centuries. Likewise, since Illh?weth is well-rooted and native to the Seat of Frost, our invaders require immense volumes of mana to thrive against the push from its role as a Planar Pillar."

    "Meaning¡ª" Richard followed without question but not without curiosity. "The thing you proposed back in March?"

    "Yes, I truly believe our allies¡ªeither the Dragon Illaelitharian or Lady Illh?wenthiel¡ªare suffering but safe. Back in Cambridge, the faculty and I theorised that the battles for Elemental preeminence in both the north and south should have reached an existential equilibrium¡ªassuming my suspicions of a dual-pole Elemental invasion are correct. Tipping said scales further would require magnitudes more power and mana than unfriendly Elementals can afford to bring to the south. That''s the rationale behind our expedition and its overabundance of firepower¡ªto tip that balance in the right direction."

    "I don''t understand," her soldierly Swordmage confessed to her incomprehension of the macrocosmic consequences of exploding birds with metal shards. "But I know that whenever Dragons are involved, the landscape changes."

    "And in our case, a Dragon is likely soaking up the damage to both itself AND the landscape," Gwen hypothesised. "But we''ll find out soon, I wager¡­ Yes, Gogo? What''s wrong?"

    "Calamity, I think we have arrived¡­ I can smell it." Golos slowed to a crawl. "The stench has grown. AND I dare say it''s alive."

    "What''s alive?" Gwen touched the tips of her fingers to her rebreather. The Dwarven design was extremely robust in dispelling the various gasses and stenches of the underground caverns, equally viable for sulphurous lava as it was for toxic methane.

    "Can you not smell our foe''s hostility?" The Wyvern mocked her. "How foolish to abandon one of the five senses to your Magitech! Do you not know that our Draconic body is impervious to mortal perils?"

    Seeing sense in her Wyvern''s unusual wisdom, Gwen depressed a button on her head unit and allowed one of the filtration capsules to pop. In the next moment, she was nearly balled over by something akin to concentrated Surstr?mming collated in a pot and slowly simmered by warming weather until every microbe and bacteria participated in an orgy of stench.

    "DON''T¡ªDear God¡ªDon''t REMOVE your masks!" She quickly replaced the filtration tablet, then sternly admonished her Wyvern. "Gogo, that was deliberate, wasn''t it?"

    The Wyvern''s cackle indicated it knew what it had done. Ignoring her admonition, her Wyvern replied by condensing the circulating lightning around itself into a Daylight Orb.

    Gwen saw and knew then that they did indeed arrive.

    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

    Thanks to Golos'' disembodied, frazzling bulb, they could now make out the landscape below and a little more in the distance.

    Only a few hundred meters away, a shadowy forest of fumaroles began.

    Without the snow cover, Gwen found it difficult to encapsulate what she saw. From the ghostly silhouettes in the dark, the Grove seemed an utterly alien landscape, constructed not of trees but enormous calcite deposits, some hundreds of meters tall and so wide that the skyscrapers she had financed on the Isle of Dogs felt miniscule.

    A forest of ice?

    Or perhaps, a stone forest, now uncovered?

    But where were the trees? The famous Rime Oaks promised by Shackleton?

    Whatever had once thrived was now at the mercy of the Negative Energy oil slick that permeated the base of every "construct".

    "Golos, can you sense Illh?weth?" she asked her Wyvern as they glided closer. "Also, is anything down there¡­ alive in the animated sense?"

    What Gwen referred to, now that they were close enough to feel the clammy cling of rot and decay like wet fingers clambering upon their Positively-aligned souls, was the liquified bodies.

    A hundred thousand carcasses? A million cadavers?

    It was impossible to tell, for the warming air had stripped scale from skin and flesh from bone, creating something of a dark, putrid soup congealed into a dead-fish jelly lake. Countless eyes, their glassy membranes still intact but their pupils white or vomit-green, refracted the pulsing light from Golos'' light sphere, animating the dead.

    "I sense hostility." Golos'' perception navigated the impossible mass with ease, making Gwen glad. "I could Lightning Breath a path and see what hails us."

    "No, no." Gwen swallowed. "Don''t do that. Knowing our encounters on the sea, I have a good inkling there''s probably something large and tentacled hiding in all that muck."

    "There must be a whole Shoal here¡­" Lulan repositioned her iron slabs to act as shield and sword.

    "A GREAT SHOAL," Richard considered the scene. Lea, a creature of water and life, hugged her Master tightly, loathing the death below but unwilling to leave her Summoner alone. "Assuming the thickness of a single storey¡ªlikely more¡ªthere are as many Mermen down there as there were in Auckland, if not more."

    "How did they all get here?" Lulan asked. "Mermen can''t travel far from the water. Nor survive the ice."

    "Necromancy, of course." Richard pointed toward what seemed like a small island making up the upper body of a mountainous turtle creature. "Someone transported them here¡­ Maybe an ancient Juche Summoner?"

    "According to my Master''s notes." Gwen had been pondering the same thing. "Even Lich-like Necromancers muster no more than a dozen elite companions, paired with a hundred or more disposable troops and thousands of temporary fodder. What''s here looks like the work of a conspiracy of Necromancers, with the sole purpose of polluting the land with Negative Energy."

    "Aye, it''s not easy¡ªbut it IS a common enough tactic," Richard explained to their vanguard, whose education of history under the CCP was limited by magnitudes. "The fallow land fuels the generation of more powerful Undead. During the Great War, the first sign of an Undead incursion was the zombie waves, whose remains would turn the land into putrid fields of Undeath to support the awaiting army of skeletons and Death Knights. The "No-Man''s Land," as the popular vernacular went, both demoralised us and made our ground operations impossible, while Undead forces were both energised and bolstered. It was a perfect stratagem."

    "How did the Mageocracy win against such a force?" Lulan enquired, likely pondering what her swords could do against such a wall of unfeeling flesh.

    "The Mageocracy hunted the Necromancers with Hunter Killer Flights." Richard grinned.

    "I am not sure these isolated Elves know to clean up after every battle..." Gwen pointed out a presumed naivety of the Frost Elves. "Which could be why this disquieting aftermath is still here and why it''s so¡­ richly laid out."

    "True enough," Richard concurred with a smirk. "Necromancy is, after all, the most capable of magics. Don''t you agree?"

    Rather than replying, Gwen urged her Wyvern forward, ignoring the slithering something below, trying to bait their curiosity.

    "How much further do you think this stone forest will go?" Lulan asked a little timidly.

    "No idea." Gwen pondered with some seriousness. "Which is why we need to keep Ruxin''s Orb handy. Once we''re in deep, it''s safe to assume we''ll be no longer entirely in the Prime Material."

    It wasn''t often that Gwen felt validated¡ªthough this time, she would have preferred to err.

    There was a reason why the atmosphere outside was so supernaturally calm, and that was because, like Tryfan, the true Grove of Illh?weth did not begin until an hour''s flight into a Planar Distortion.

    At first, Gwen was sure they were trapped within the spatial folds of some strange dimension, for their Message devices were all dead, and her Divination clued nothing to indicate weal or woe. Even Golos, who could navigate by instinct, felt disorientated and confused.

    Yet, Ruxin''s orb triumphed¡ªconceivably, its operations fed on principles far more mystical than instinct and thus directed them in zig-zags until, like a pin piercing a veil, the foursome emerged into the fable snowscape of Illh?weth.

    "My god¡­" Gwen held her breath as the fabrics aligning the Planar tapestry unwrinkled, turning dusk to dawn.

    "Lea, cover us with a refraction barrier. Make sure we''re invisible," Richard instructed Lea to shield the party as they adjusted to their shaken mental state. "Well, well. You''ve found your tree, Boss. It is happening just as you predicted. How about that, eh?"

    The that which Richard referred to with feigned nonchalance was the very thing stealing the hope from Gwen''s gaping lips.

    Ahead, in the uncertain, immeasurable distance, rose the gnarly visage of the Great Tree of Illh?weth, an enormous fumarole enchased in crystalline ice, branching out at the highest peak into a semi-dome display of sparkling, translucent, surreal magnificence.

    And around the base of this immeasurable pillar of Para-Elemental Ice slept the great serpent Illaelitharian, the Ice Wyrm of Illh?weth, its body somehow coiling around the circumference of the tree, forming a protective barrier against the putrid forces laying siege.

    A besieged World Tree¡ªGwen''s heart shuddered with horror.

    As a Mage of tenure, Gwen had seen plenty of spectacles by her twentieth year. Yet, the notion that something akin to a Pillar of the Spiritus Mundi could be sieged was as novel a notion as seeing Illh?weth itself.

    With her Essence-enhanced eyes, she could make out the milling-millions¡ªwhole cohorts of half-frozen bodies, some moving, some still as statues, roving across the disturbed fumarole pillars to clamber upon the torso of the Great Wyrm, which laid still as the landscape.

    Great gashes were visible upon the magnificent creature''s elongated length, for many of its sleek segments were besotted with craters of smoking flesh like dormant volcanos, around which the ice-white scales had turned green-black with disease and rot. From these festering sores, Gwen''s learned eyes saw the seeping signs of a Necromancy that drained not only vitality but diminished the Dragon''s Essence.

    It wasn''t her Master''s sorcery¡ªbut she had seen it performed first hand, many years ago, in a more innocent time when all she wanted was to escape poverty and mediocrity. It was the Necromancy used on Almudj''s Egg, or at least, possessed the same potent purpose and design.

    Below the unmoving Wyrm, she could spy with her eyes the marshalled Rime Wardens of the tree, few in number but superior in prowess, sweeping away the encroaching tide with Elemental sorcery beyond the ken of Humanity. True to Shackleton''s memoirs, the majority were the male spider-Centaurs exercising destruction through their upper arms and fore-limbs, slashing and tearing through the Undead Tide, perhaps searching for the Masters of the foetid horde. As for their tools of war, Gwen noted that many wielded complex sculptures of ice that were half-glaive, half-bow, capable of both close and ranged combat¡ªwith a capability no less than Hanmoul''s Golems.

    Comparatively, the female Elves were few and dispersed, hovering over their glaive-wielding guardians. These Rime Witches reminded Gwen of Solana, for they shared the same air of effortless grace, their svelte figures stark white and wreathed with frost as they hindered the tide. Whatever assailed these maidens of frost were instantly slowed and frozen solid or were blown apart by unseens tendrils of wind that seemed to fill their surroundings, visible only by the dark ichor.

    From their vantage near the edge of the Pocket Plane, Gwen could see tracts¡ªenormous furrows and burrows carved by some unknown arcane force, criss-crossing the root-scape of the World Tree as valley-sized scars. Cobalt sap froze into jiggered shards of eldritch ice where the cuts were still fresh. Other sections, long worn or repeatedly assailed, had turned dark and sodden, with the trunk becoming spongy, puffed like stubborn mould.

    Closer to where the Frost Wyrm Illh?wenthiel laid, a solid carpet of diced Mermen spread in every direction. In the parlance of Gwen''s urban-minded observation, if the Great Tree itself were a city''s glimmering Tower and Illh?wenthiel its glittering suburbia, then the Undead were a solid, multi-kilometre band of slums, abandoned and neglected until the sewers overflowed and streets turned to rot.

    "By the Nazarene, for how long have they been fighting?" Richard inhaled a breath of frigid air.

    "Weeks, perhaps a month or more, from the looks of those wounds in the tree. The worst of it seems over, though." Gwen took in their new circumstances with a learned eye from the Fire Sea. "Whatever made Illaelitharian into that state is thankfully spent¡ªelse they would have toppled the tree''s defences long ago and invaded its inner roots. What we''re seeing, I am guessing, would be the equilibrium¡ªmeant to keep the tree from recovering and the weather patterns of the Prime Material off-skelter for the next phase of their operations."

    "Gwen, are we going to help them?" Lulan''s voice came across their localised Comm-devices. "Without support from Master Hanmoul, I cannot condone committing our limited forces."

    Below them, a deeply disgruntled Wyvern made a disapproving snort.

    "Nonsense! Calamity, as a fellow Drake, we ought to attack!" Much to Gwen''s surprise, Golos''s tone lacked its usual flippancy. "What''s happening here isn''t fighting among ourselves to strengthen our flights. We need to put an end to this calamity. As Ryxi''s pet, you should know better."

    For a few brief breaths, all felt Lulan''s Elemental Iron flare red-hot.

    "I concur¡ªBUT¡ª" Richard cut in before Lulan proved herself by dashing forward with a berserker howl. "But let''s also acknowledge that we''re in no rush. The Necromancers down there are human. We''re human. They''re Mages, more or less. We''re Mages¡ªif we rush into to aid the Elves, how do we present ourselves as allies? Gwen''s magic is hardly... aesthetic. Nor is Caliban. Did you see that Warden with four arms? That damned thing burst a Corpse Hulk at a thousand paces with his centaur bow. And those Rime Wardens are throwing Hail Strikes like Magic Missiles!"

    Gwen could not deny that, as wondrous as it would be to ride into the siege like the Riders of Rohan, carving their way through the Necromancer''s blockade of the tree, this wasn''t Gondor, and they were not the Elves'' friends, and she wasn''t Gandalf.

    But she also knew what to do. With an understanding as natural as photosynthesis, prompted by the flawless face of Solana nodding in approval from a Plane away, Gwen''s fingers wandered to her breast.

    Deftly, she retrieved the Ilias Leaf, removed both her gauntlets and then held the eternally vibrant Elven device against the flesh of her palm. With all her concentration, she bathed the leaf with Almudj''s Essence while focusing her mind on transmitting the scene below, relaying every ounce of horror and every mote of urgency.

    Before she had even finished, the Ilias Leaf pulsed in turn, speaking clearly and with utter clarity as though it knew it precise second she would call.

    "Take the seeds¡­" the declaration came. "¡­Plant them where the land still thrives. The woes of the Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar... should be solved by the Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar."

    In her hands, the Ilias Leaf grew bulbous, as though the hundreds of seeds within were sorting themselves into regimented order. When she tipped the leaf pocket''s opening against her palm, two pods, each bulging at the seams with seed, slid from the slick folds.

    "This time, My dearest Child of Kilroy." the impressionistic vision of the Bloom in White flashed against her frontal lobe, making Gwen feel as though the woman was a Force Ghost. She also sensed a smidgen of mischievousness in Solana''s tone, even if the overall message had an air of command. "Do not impede the tree''s growth, else you would truly upset our rarely impatient Arch-Warden Eldrin."

    "I shall," Gwen acknowledged her next task. She wondered at Solana''s prophesy but also knew that this much interference was already beyond the scope of Tryfan''s Credo, the consequences of which were only acceptable because to do nothing would be more catastrophic. "And just you know, it was neither cheap nor easy getting here..."

    What answered her was Solana''s emotionless, polite mirth, then silence.

    The leaf was replaced.

    The gauntlets were slipped back on.

    The seeds sat in the palm of her glove.

    She met Richard''s smirk with dignity.

    "So¡­ The Elves simply lacked the means to migrate from Tryfan to The Grove of Illh?weth." Richard touched a thoughtful finger to his chin. "I guess they knew we would get here?"

    "You guessed correctly." Gwen felt used, but to stymy whatever the Necromancers, Spectre and the Elements planned, she was willing to fund a multi-million HDM blackhole. Whatever the case, she hoped the world would be a little more united after news of it hits The METRO''s front page. "You''re right, of course. We''re merely couriers of Tryfan''s will. But¡­ you know what?"

    "Go on?" Her cousin appeared keen to see how she''d react to her latest indignity.

    "International freight, my dear Dick," Gwen spoke as she rolled the seeds back and forth between her fingers, calmer now that the solution to her sunk cost AND the Great Tree was on hand. "Is calculated by weight and distance! After which, compounded with labour costs, shall make for an extensive invoice."

 Chapter 461 - Underneath the Coolabah Tree

    True to her promise to the Bloom in White, Gwen allowed no rats to gnaw Tryfan''s magical beanstalk.

    Under the shelter of Lea''s invisibility membrane, the foursome landed away from their entry point, found a fumarole where snow and ice remained clear, and then dug into what was left of the permafrost. Ten seconds later, tired of the almost impossible progress, Golos tore the earth a new one with his mace-tail, excavating the icy calcite until finally, something akin to soil emerged.

    Gwen tossed a pod in each ditch.

    The seedlings proved beyond eager, for the second they kissed the virgin soil, roots as thick as Gwen''s arms sprouted from seeds no larger than her thumbnail, growing so fast that she and the other had to vacate the vicinity.

    Up and up, the trellises climbed, effortlessly finding purchase in the air, forming the foundation, inscription and gate in a long-drawn, spontaneous burst of fecundity.

    The Trellis Portal, the same phenomenon she had witnessed in the Fire Sea, soon built a monolith in the linen snow. One by one, the vine-wrought inscriptions thrummed with vital mana, flooding the surrounding space with a sudden onset of spring, melting the slush and cleansing the foetid air. Like the spiral shell of a snail, the entwining bowers unfurled, rending geometry and space as they blossomed outwards, reaching higher as ambitious brown fingers until, from every knot and cuticle, white flowers burst into being.

    "Gardenias?" Gwen''s nose wrinkled as she decoupled her mask to take in the thankful scent of life. "How very English countryside."

    "I am hungry." Golos, whose element was bolstered by Positive Energy, eyed the dew-dripping Trellis Gate. "Is Hierophant Sanari joining us? I like her scent. Hee-hee."

    Lulan, seeing that Golos was her Master-Uncle, said nothing of their Drake''s impertinence.

    Richard, however, cracked an off-colour joke to steer the Wyvern''s interest.

    A dozen breaths later, a humanoid warrior emerged from the shade of the flowering bower.

    Arch-Warden Eldrin, beetle-black since the dawn of the World Tree''s first blush, hovered across the muddy snowmelt, held aloft by currents of unseen mana. Without regard, the man pierced Lea''s veil, his golden eyes drinking in the traumatic scene of Illh?weth''s abuse.

    "Necromancy¡­" the Warden spoke the Elven word for Humanity''s unique magic in the same tone Gwen would swear after a bad day of stock trades. "Will the blight brought by your kind never end?"

    "¡­ Is he talking to me?" Gwen spoke to Richard, who was closest to her.

    "I don''t see any other Necromancers around here¡­" her cousin joked.

    "A true Calamity." Golos, as usual, delighted in Gwen''s awkward self-awareness.

    The next row of Wardens to emerge from the Trellis portal were more akin to the army Gwen had in mind. Row upon rows of Elves, each clad in their scarab-shell carapaces, looking near identical in their shimmer garbs. These came on quickly. Within minutes, she counted seventy-odd of the professed pruners of the World Tree.

    Curiously, despite the petrol-sheen colouration of their plates, Gwen could distinctly feel the unique mana of the Prime and Para Elementals among the men.

    "Elementalists." Richard''s face was pink from the excitement of seeing a scene recorded only in history books. "They''re all Elementalists¡­"

    "And their mana is at least at the tier of Magisters." Lulan, as well, was enjoying the stickybeaking. "Seventy-two Magisters through a single Portal¡­ that''ll drive the CCP up the wall."

    "Oh, they''re far more capable than our so-called Magisters." Richard pointed to the implements strapped to the Warden''s bodies. Some had wands carved from the branches of Tryfan''s World Tree. Others had insectile implements that resembled glaives and curved swords, many as long as their already elongated bodies. "What''s the chance one of our Magisters could take on one of theirs in ranged or close combat?"

    "I want to fight one," Lulan professed.

    "You can ask Eldrin to spare a body to satiate our curiosity," the Water Mage joked. "Call it a cultural exchange program."

    "Oh¡ª There''s Sanari!" Gwen interjected when finally, another familiar face emerged. Unlike her usual, gossamer-attired self, the Druidic Hierophant wore a dour leather mantle with highlights in the colours of autumn. Two more women followed, their long limbs aesthetic and svelte, their faces serene, until one''s gaze met the unfeeling reflection of their jewel-scarab pupils, looking upon the world with haughty apathy.

    Sanari¡­ as the junior of the trio? Gwen''s mind mulled over the scene of the emerging women in what must be Tryfan''s druidic battledress. If her friend followed the others as a Hierophant of the Sixth Circle under Arch-Druid Isilynor, what marked the others'' seniority? With Elves, it was never as simple as looking for the wrinkles of experience¡ªfor all were ageless and expressionless. Nor did their uniforms offer distinctions of rank since all Elves cycled their duties over the aeons. An Inscriber might have been an Arch Warden; a Hierophant of yesteryear might be a senior cultivator of Ilias Leaves.

    Whatever the case, the Elves were wasting no time in making good their promise of a resolution.

    Even as the elemental commotion of spring in their corner of Illh?weth exposed their position, Sanari and her triplet sisters strode on sprouting carpets of flowering clover, turning the land underfoot into the same biome Gwen had experienced in Wales.

    As she passed, the Druid nodded an acknowledgement of thanks, to which Gwen answered with a wave.

    "How do you think they''ll fight the Undead?" Richard pssst to her. "Regular magic isn''t going to fare much better than what the Snow Elves are doing."

    "Not sure¡­" Lulan appeared torn between awe and jealousy as the ageless women glided past. "But we''ll be seeing it first hand in a moment."

    In the distance, dozens of black silhouettes rose into the air, wreathed in viscous miasma, some skeletal, others dripping flesh from bone. These, Gwen could see, would be the recently "risen" Draconids spawned originally by the Frost Wyrm Illaelitharian, now converted by the sword to the forces of Undeath. Their prowess, Gwen suspected, was likely bolstered by the necrotic river swamping the space outside Illh?wenthiel''s Pocket Plane domain, the source of the Necromancers'' confidence against the Southern Seat of Frost.

    The cabal of Druids paid no need to the approaching threats, allowing their Wardens to fan out into arcane positions in a wide semi-circle radius.

    Sanari, the "youngest," coaxed an elongated root from the Trellis portal to distend around her feet, penetrate the weakened permafrost, and expand into a mystic-looking vessel akin to a Grecian urn.

    The Wardens, meanwhile, casually took up positions both on the ground and in the air, seemingly preoccupied only with their secret work and not the impending threat of what looked like a mishmash of Wyverns and Drakes, including one specimen as large as Golos itself.

    ¡°Calamity¡­ should we¡­¡± Golos'' battle blood was up.

    "Hold your position," Gwen gave her command. "If Eldrin wanted our help, they would have asked for a quote. Let''s hang back and look for where the Necromancers might be holed up. If anything¡­ I have an idea of how we will deal with those pits of necrotic energy the Undead are swarming around..."

    From the fight given by the Frost Elves, Gwen had deduced that the Rime Wardens weren''t at all experienced in fighting the Undead. Their main focus was on rebuffing¡ªor incapacitating the Mermen, which eventually allowed the battlefield miasma to revive the bits and pieces still glued enough to crawl, creep, or slither back to the trench pits dug by the Undead.

    These "Corpse Pits", Gwen could see, were something akin to battlefield waypoints for the Necromancers, nodes where their sorcery could be channelled, where their minions could recombobulate. Assailing one was both tedious and hard-won, for the density of collated Undeath was magnitudes higher than on the open field, reminding Gwen of Shielding Stations both in their tenacity and near-imperviousness.

    Closer to home, the battle between the intercepting aerial forces of the Necromancers and the scions of Tryfan erupted as spectacularly as Erebus. With a cohesion that would make the Royal Griffin Knights blush for shame, the Wardens drew their bows, woven into place strings of elemental sorcery, then unleashed their rebuke of Undeath. From a range of over two kilometres, Eldrin''s warrior-peers wove spells of Elemental Air, Ice and Lightning, some even tapping into the pure force of Positive Energy, to discharge a barrage that would make Hanmoul quake in his armoured boots.

    As an uninterrupted orison, the released bolts from the Tryfanian bows materialised a hailing cloud of shrieking, screaming spell bolts, each racing its neighbour as their heading magically adjusted to the will of the caster.

    When the volley reached the climax of their crested arch, the Frost Arrows erupted, transforming into seeking streams of elemental destruction. These were followed by the thunderous howling of rapidly discharging Lightning, scattering among the Undead Drakes as rampaging masses of ball lightning.

    Those that survived suffered the most indignant defeat, for the invisible Gale Arrows, capable of puncturing Golem Plating, were one of Tryfan''s more infamous exports. Caught unaware, spontaneous orifices with exit wounds the size of car tires opened up where chitin had fallen away or where the membranes of wings and sinew were unprotected.

    Lulan''s blood was boiling. "Damn¡­ they tore them to shreds."

    Golos nodded, nudging the girl''s shoulder thoughtfully with his spikey chin, perhaps putting himself in the Undead''s place. "¡­To shreds."

    Gwen, comparatively, was more cognisant of the magic now brought to life by Sanari and her sisters. Utilising Tryfan''s lifeforce, the trio concocted something unimaginable to mortal eyes, detectable only by those who had experienced the majesty of a Land God like Almudj.

    Sensing the raw, vital elixir pool in the vine-wrought receptacle the Druids had coaxed into place, Gwen felt goosebumps all over her skin.

    Surely they''re not thinking of conjuring Tyfanevius? Her mind reeled at seeing an ancient Wyrm, potentially as ancient as Almudj, manifest on the other side of the world. She wasn''t sure what consequences such an occurrence might bring, though the Beast Tide of the Seventies, attributed to Vynssarion the Black, came to mind.

    Whatever was brewing inside that vessel¡ªGwen understood instinctively¡ªwas something anathema to her particular constitution, especially toward Caliban.

    "Timeless Tyfanevius!" the deep, resonant voice of Eldrin addressed the vessel held between the three Druids. "Unnatural befoulment, O''Lord protector of the Waking Realm, has pervaded these sacred Groves of Illh?weth. We who art the Tree''s children beseech thee, bring back balance!"

    Eldrin''s ceremonial request was answered by an empathic "wrath" so volatile that the three women had to step back from the now levitating vessel.

    "Sanari¡ª"

    "Yes, Lord Warden¡­" The Hierophant bowed her head.

    "Ilyana¡ª"

    "Yes, Lord Warden¡­" Another answered the mystic rite.

    "Seldanari¡ª"

    "Yes, Lord Warden¡­" The final Druid bowed her head.

    "As Arch-Warden under her eternal white bloom, I release the Elxir of our Lord Protector to thee." Eldrin stepped up as he spoke, his body brimming with what could only be the Essence of Tyfanevius, the "Serpent" of Tryfan.

    With an unseen stroke of a blade Gwen could not see, the Arch-Warden allowed the shallow wound on his palm to drip an admixture of semi-clear, ichorous blood and the golden-sap Essence of Tyfanevius to infuse the strange cocktail laying dormant in the wooden vessel.

    The conservative part of Gwen desired to watch as an audience¡ªthough her inner cat soon sought suicide.

    Like a charmed feline, she edged a bit closer to see the true contents of the vessel. Inside the man-sized jug, she saw not a seed pod but¡­

    "¡­ IS THAT MOULD?" Every strand of her lovely hair stood on end even as she retreated, feeling as though the black specs were already invading her nostrils and nesting in her lungs. "Er¡­ we''re not going to summon an army of Treants to stomp down Isengard¡ªer¡­ I mean, the Necromancers?"

    "Treants? I suppose this is a Treant of sorts. Yes, child, these are spores of the Great Shambler, our Lady''s Moss Beast of Saelethil." Eldrin did not rebuke her Gwenism, for he appeared no fonder of the furry mass of rotting wool than she did. "The Moss Beast is a strange kin, even for Treants. Once energised, it feeds on Necrotic energy and perpetuates with the single-mindedness of a Void-conjured glutton like yourself¡ªuntil exhaustion, where it perishes, completing the cycle of life by becoming an enriching nourishment for the fallow lands."

    "Does er..." Gwen kept herself at a respectful distance, for her Divination Sigil was screaming like Edward Munch''s infamous masterpiece. "Does Mossy identify friend and foe?"

    "Without recourse." Eldrin grinned, inviting her to come closer. "The Moss Shambler knows its Necrotic foe."

    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

    "Of course." Gwen willed Golos closer to provide her with some surety while she circulated Almudj''s blessing through her conduits.

    The Warden wiped his hands with a suddenly appearing silk cloth, erasing his palm wound like a whiteboard checkmark. A slight susurration followed, re-gloving his exposed hand with a new carapace.

    "Behold the Wrath of Tryfan, Lost Child. Let the Shambler of Saelethil cleanse the Grove where Illaelitharian has been wounded, and the Undead Hordes lie thickest." Eldrin said seriously. "But recall our Bloom''s request¡ªthat your employment is not yet ending. In the aftermath, you must commune with the Rime Wardens and Illaelitharian."

    "Me? I am not familiar with these Frost Elves," Gwen clarified. "And why should the Wyrm, or its Mistress, listen to us and you? Are you not their kin?"

    "It is no secret that Tryfan is unlike the other Groves." Eldrin gave her an impatient look. "Merely accept that The Rime Flower Illh?wenthiel does not bow her haughty head to the Bloom in White, though it does nod when saviours of a neutral Faction come to their aid, especially the Vessel of a Primordial lineage."

    "Aye." Golos bobbed his chin sagely as he sniffed the vessel, his neck feathers flaring in eye-catching colours. "This ''Moss'' isn''t so bad, Calamity. Looks almost edible, like the black mushrooms Ryxi cultivates for Father."

    Eldrin gave the Wyvern an expression that unquestioningly questioned its intelligence quotient.

    Gwen pushed Golos'' thunder-breath mouth away from her face. "So, how does Mossy work?" She gestured to the vessel, thinking of Michelin Man''s march through Manhattan, which would be tremendous. "Shall we be expecting a colossal mushroom?"

    "Work?" Eldrin''s gaze swept across the vast planes sprinkled with white snow and a plague of Undeath. "The Shambler is working as we speak..."

    In Gwen''s mind, the Elven Column should have moved forward with the mechanical precision of a Roman Legion, erasing swaths of fishy carcasses as they approached the unmoving Undead Corps, pun intended.

    Instead, Eldrin''s revelation that they would not be marching any closer to the Grove of Illh?weth provided an unwelcome insight into Druidic biological warfare.

    As three separate "Shoals", the Undead horde making up the masses had sent its despoiled tendrils toward the newly arrived Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar, slithering across the blasted landscape like the tentacles of some oily, ink-stained Kraken.

    Armoured shock troops in the form of white-eyed crustaceans formed the frontal column, tirelessly barging through the snow, skittering on limbs no longer sensible to fear or fatigue.

    But unlike the flying monsters, these were not repelled by spellfire.

    Instead, the approaching Undead grew more languished the closer they came until about two football fields from Tryfan''s phalanx¡­. they fell apart like mud idols caught by a sudden squall.

    Gwen immediately upped the Essence residing in her ocular organs. Unlike Human-oriented Zombies or Skeleton Soldiers, the seafood Undead were a mishmash of strange beings from oozing jellies to van-sized crabs, slithering, flopping, walking or hopping their way across the darkened snow.

    Yet, where the horde now halted, Gwen saw a brilliant garden of fungi¡ªsome pink, some blue, others vibrant and green, looking exactly like the aftermath of one of her lazy weekends where the rice cooker was left unattended.

    Colonies¡ªcountless colonies of mould¡ªand what looked like sinuous strands of mushrooms were rapidly taking over the Undead, feasting upon the Necrotic energies that drove them mindlessly onward. A good portion of the Undead collapsed where they stood, becoming masses of soil-like substance interlaced by strands of living slime.

    "That''s¡­" Gwen licked her lips nervously, pondering what Dystopian horror might emerge should such a spore cloud be unleashed in a human city. "Highly efficient¡­"

    "It was no easy feat to gift your kind a time to pant during its darkest hour." Eldrin''s tone remained characteristically arrogant. "Though many judged that your kind should have been left to wipe itself off the Prime Material, the Bloom had felt great compassion for the mortal races. For her mercy to strangers, Tryfan''s distance from our kin had grown immeasurably. Were it not for her obligations to Kilroy¡­"

    Eldrin, perhaps noting his lack of stoicism, said nothing more.

    "Master sure liked to meddle, eh?" Gwen tried to map the chronology of the Great War and what she now knew of Henry Kilroy''s pre-industrial origins. "Did Master¡ªWhoa! They''re moving?! Did you animate them?"

    Her thoughts of Henry were instantly banished when, against all expectation, the spore-smothered Undead made a gangly about-face, then started to march back from wherever they emerged.

    "That''s incredible," she voiced her wonder. "Is this a variant of Necromancy?"

    "That would be Biomancy," Richard, who had been keeping an eye on her and the Warden, cut in from beside them. "Very different to our Faith Magic. True Biomancy¡­ the type your Master wielded if I had to guess."

    "He coined it as Prime Magic," Gwen concurred. "Had my Master mastered such a trick, Warden?"

    Eldrin paid no heed to his mortal wards, gesturing only to the trio of Druids behind them who appeared in a trance. In the distance, the roving bands of fungi-infested Undead grew from hundreds to thousands until a counter tide of shambling formations began to surge back toward the darkened plains with its oil fields of foetid fish.

    From what she could see, unless the Necromancers hidden within that horizon-to-horizon battlefield made a personal appearance and began to lay down direct damage to the spore-zombies, their forces would eventually¡ªbe it days, weeks or a month, be converted unto fertiliser.

    After a dozen more clashes, more Undead tendrils stopped in their tracks, turned to fungi¡ªthen began a slow-motion counter-revolution.

    Be it might or magic, there was no stopping the slow spread of spores. From the near-silent chants of the Elven Wardens, Gwen could feel the flow of Elemental Air altering where they stood, falling into a depression so that the wind bore more and more of Sanari''s fungi spores toward the awaiting lines of moaning Undead.

    Meanwhile, the distraction was enough of a disturbance for the skittering Rime Wardens to regroup and retreat, closing enough of their ranks to begin clearing a no-dead land between the resting body of Illaelitharian and the sieging horde.

    "Scion of Kilroy." Eldrin''s voice once more sounded amid the droning chants. Following the Warden''s extended finger, she saw the bulging, festering node of one of the Corpse Pits regurgitating more Undead, reconstituted from the ichorous soup of Necrotic energy at its centre, a pulsing, revolting gash of Negative Energy. "It is not our duty nor our will to punish the transgressors of your race. There you will find your foe."

    "That specific pit?" Gwen followed the man''s directions. "You''re saying the Necromancers are there? Under that unassuming spot? Really?"

    "The spores are drawn to the source. The Shambler''s hunt is instinctual and primordial and cannot be fooled or perplexed." Eldrin''s golden gaze could chill cocktails. "As for your prize, the practitioners of unsanctioned Necromancy are the object of bounties within your Queendom and your Central Continents. Before you accost our soft-petalled Bloom out of jaw-clenching greed, would it not be proper for Kilroy''s child to engage in honest labour?"

    The corner of Gwen''s lips twitched. "I suppose that be proper and within my duty."

    "Then sally forth." Eldrin looked down on her stiletto-heeled self from the lofty height of his arrogant nostrils. "Go, Lost Child of Kilroy. Be as your Master''s design. Purge the Unclean, as you were made to do."

    "If that''s the case." Gwen gathered her trio of cousins and Drake, already having a general notion of how she would like to resolve Illh?weth''s infestation. "I''ll do my dues, Warden. But promise me, Ed. If a Lich pops out of that box, I''ll be right back here, and you better payout..."

    Though Gwen had made her promise, she possessed no interest in risking another IIUC exchange with the Soul Reaver and the Lich. She already knew that a Cabal of Necromancers had to be responsible for an Undead Tide of this size¡ªwhat she couldn''t know was their exact makeup.

    As she had previously observed, the pits were arguably unassailable so long as the Necrotic mana supplying them did not fail.

    Much like a Shielding Station, these world wounds connecting the Negative Energy Plane drew power from energies far more powerful than any individual Mage could muster. Thereby, Richard''s localised tsunami would not move such a structure, Lulan''s swords could not demolish such a blight, and neither could her Lightning pierce deep enough to disperse its core Enchantments.

    But who was she? The Saviour of Shalkar! Faced with such a dilemma, she could only respond with a devious ploy, one unorthodox enough that few would ever plan to ward against such an underhanded method.

    As soon as they landed south of Erebus, Hanmoul had informed her that the land of the Frost Wyrm Illaelitharian lay on permafrost as old as the formation of Terra.

    The Dwarve''s confidence in establishing a Royal Raven Fortress lay in the fact that tunnelling through hardened igneous stone was an impossible feat for beings not native to the Plane of Earth, be it a fiery prince of Elemental Primacy or an eldritch Lich-fiend of Undeath. Once past the surface layer with its broken snow, not even Golos could brute-force aeon-old mudbanks compressed by stratum of ice into impervious deposits. Perhaps if they were outside the Pocket Dimension, there would be Purple Wyrms, half-centipede, half-Draconids, that plague the Murk¡ªbut no such aberrant monsters could exist in the sacred soil housing the Frost Tree, neither as a scion of Illaelitharian nor a carcass for the Necromancers to raise.

    Thereby, Gwen hypothesised with confidence that the Necromancers would not have provisioned for an underground assault¡ªand even if they did¡ªthey would not be ready for one at the scale she envisioned.

    Caliban, whom she had withheld from expanding too much of the vital forces stowed since Auckland, was promptly sent underground to slowly and silently transformed into a void-empowered Garp.

    Then silently, over several hours, it slithered toward the particular Corpse Pit Eldrin had hand-picked.

    Mayhap there was a Shrodinger''s Lich in there.

    Or not.

    But there would certainly be a run-of-the-mill cadre of senior Necromancers and their Apprentices.

    And if a Lich popped out, pissed as a trodden cat, she could bolt back to Eldrin. In any case, Her un-voidable vantage lay in that Caliban was remotely operated and required no need for herself to step in harm''s way¡­

    Yes... Gwen persuaded herself and then the others as the Moss Shambler fed. The plan should work.

    Visually, the slow corrosion of the Undead army was going slowly but swimmingly. Nonetheless, she could see that the Necromancers had drawn more energy into their pits to counter the effect with varying degrees of success.

    With or without her aid, Tryfan will eventually breach the equilibrium, and Illh?weth shall free itself from the Undead mire¡ªonly as Eldrin had said, Solana had gifted her an opportunity for profit¡ªand it was up to her to make good of it.

    And so, Gwen readied herself and her peers.

    With the Necromancers lacking in flying forces, her Flight had complete initiative¡ªa testament to the importance of aerial superiority.

    "Shaa¡ªShaa¡ª" Caliban informed her that it was close. In addition to the hardness of the ice and mud, the coldness would have also killed any mortal tunneler¡ªthough that was no problem for Caliban.

    Gwen filled her lungs with frigid air¡ªwhispered a prayer to St Evee¡ªthen began her one-sided ploy.

    "MAELSTROM!"

    Her opening volley was an enormous whirlpool, unfurling as an indifferent lightning vortex, sucking from the ground any Undead not anchored enough to the soot and slush. From Ariel''s position above the Maelstrom, bolts of unending electricity randomly rained down upon the Corpse Pit and its defences, causing its semi-dome of dark matter to glow white and emerald.

    Together with Lulan''s bombardments, Gwen channelled elemental destruction onto the pit¡ªappearing to give their all even as the umbral powers of the pit''s shielding took their assault in stride.

    As her mana slowly drained, Gwen sought hypothetical empathy with her trapped victims.

    Would the acolytes now be begrudging their Masters?

    Would there be a possibility of surrender?

    Or were they already abandoned by the command of a higher being? Of that, she was certain. Eventually, ageless Illaelitharian would recover, after which its foes would eat their words.

    Or was extinction something the adherents of Juche had already made peace with?

    Were there, perhaps, an agent of Spectre watching over the pawns? Someone like Ravenport''s youngest roped or fooled into a thankless task?

    And if there indeed was a Lich, would it perish here, only to be reborn near its phylactery?

    Whatever the case, the bombardment she affected was drawing Undead by the tens of thousands toward the pit, shambling and rolling their fishy forms to supplement the depleting energy.

    While she worked her magic, Richard remained on high alert, having created dozens of layers of protection in every direction so that the slightest disturbance would trigger Lea''s Watery Tombs¡ªwhich was expected to achieve only the half-seconds necessary for Eldrin to answer.

    "Get ready..." Gwen redoubled her focus.

    A moment of weakness would soon come upon them when Caliban displaced the ice and stones, taking its pound of flesh from her. She would recover, but there would be no more Void sorcery until Almudj''s Blessing restored itself.

    Thankfully, even as the group counted down Caliban''s arrival, no retaliation came. When a battle force had remained bogged down for months, a change of strategy was an intellectual impossibility.

    At the two-minute mark, Caliban''s Life Sense ascertained that the space below the pit was a target-rich environment that showed faint signs of life some twenty-odd meters deep.

    Eldrin had not lied¡ªor Solana had divined their foes with sorcery beyond mortal ken, and now her fiend was ready.

    "BARBANGINY!" Gwen released her final spell, a Thundering Shatter worthy of the wrath of Almudj''s disdain for strangers.

    Like the supersonic CRACK of a stockman''s bullwhip, her spell struck.

    The Corpse Pit, its swollen dome of miasma shuddering and shaking, shook on its foundations, its magic circles cracking the ground as the Undead perished by the droves, first glowing white-hot, then disappearing with the flashing lightning as though snowmelt meeting the new dawn.

    Then, amid the cacophonic din, Caliban surged upward, and Gwen''s senses grew deathly numb.

    "SHAAAAAAAA¡ª"

    A grotesque maw, lined from edge to interior with a hundred thousand upon a thousand tiny teeth made for rapid excavation, opened below the Corpse Pit, stretching until it appeared like an inverted, circular swimming pool swallowing the land. The air momentarily filled with the distinct drone of a Sand Wyrm''s whale breach over the sands of the Fire Sea, and then the entirety of the pit suddenly buckled as the ground underneath gave way, falling rapidly into the indistinct space of Caliban''s gullet.

    With a shivering, shaking grunt of effort, Gwen closed her fists.

    Below, the circular lamprey mouth of Caliban shifted to a close, forming its featherless face like the closing aperture of a camera lens.

    "CALI!" the shrill voice of the triumphant girl-Magister pierced the air like a clarion. "RETURN TO THE VOID¡ªNOW!"

    A second of uncertainty passed¡ªone in which Gwen anticipated a dozen angry Necromancers to displace from Caliban''s gullet to pepper her with Bone Spears¡ªthen Caliban winked out of existence¡ªshunted by her will into the hungering Void.

    For several more seconds, Gwen doubted they had achieved anything, even knowing she had commanded Caliban to digest its spoils and not "share".

    Then¡ªthe Undead horde began to meander¡ªnot in the orderly, purposeful fashion they had demonstrated only seconds ago¡ªbut moving as demented geriatrics, no longer possessing purpose or intent.

    From her lofty height, Gwen stumbled, only to be caught by her cousin and Lulan, who held her arms to keep her afloat. Despite her best efforts, her indigestion would keep her occupied for some time.

    "Ryxi''s beard¡­ you did it!" Lulan was in a state of shock. "The Necromancers, where did they go?"

    Richard rudely rubbed Gwen''s taut tummy by hovering a hand above her stomach, winking at a blushing Lulan.

    Lulan''s eyes flittered between the giant hole bored into the space where the Corpse Pit used to be and the hyperbolic eight-pack some Dwarf had engraved onto the feathered carapace framing Gwen''s abdomen. "So¡­ Do we keep fighting?"

    Gwen shook her head, still too winded to speak.

    She wasn''t sure exactly what would happen when she once more conjured Caliban back into the Prime Material¡ªonly that she should wait to be in good company, preferably Elvia and Sen-sen, and Inquisitors, in case something angry survived.

    "Naw, now we wait, Lulu." Richard thankfully read her mind. "And after Gwen can stand... I guess we have a meeting with the Frost Flower of Illh?weth."

 Chapter 462 - A Favour for an Uncertain Future

    Without permission from the Arch-Warden of Tryfan, the Cambridge-trained Magister Song instructed her lieutenant-Magus Huang to take sneaky crystal-core lumen recordings of the biohazard below.

    Curiously, though the fungi conversion had come on like a tidal swell, it was nonetheless subject to the ebb and flow of life, constrained by a natural rhythm that starkly juxtaposed the mechanical motions of Human Spellcraft.

    After the bloom of colours turned the pitiable, white-eyed fish and crustaceans into blocks of sod, the pods erupted. These spores then begin new reactions, finding new hosts¡ªuntil the lingering miasma of death lost its dominance, leaving only the shambling mounds of un-living hosts.

    The process took hours¡ªperhaps longer, as there were no daylight shifts in the Pocket Plane of Illh?weth to tell the time reliably. Just as well, Gwen did not trust the clock on her Communication device, lest time flowed differently, as it did in Sufina''s Grot.

    But time did pass, and sometime after the Necromancers'' eviction into the Void, there was no sound but the swirling wind.

    Visibly, coalescing in cotton candy strands of rime, the air grew cold.

    The swirling, spontaneous aurora offered a strange, synergetic phenomenon, informing Gwen that, without doubt, the Elemental Ice was returning rapidly to the region and that whatever clime that had once inundated the Grove of Illh?weth was being restored to the status quo.

    Flanked by her cousin and Lulan, guarded by Golos and Ariel overhead, Gwen descended from the air to a space made for her by the gathering Rime Wardens, forming a semi-circle of glittering ice with their scything bow-glaives and long, elongated limbs.

    The time it took for the fungi to do its work had given her time to pant, though she was in no condition to conjure Caliban.

    Below, the Frost Wardens formed a semi-circle barrier, creating a ring of bodies a hundred deep from lip to wall.

    Behind the blade barrier, the giant tree-root body of Illaelitharian rose like a living Great Wall of China, towering above its guardians.

    And sheltered within the coiled frame of the Frost Wyrm, the Pillar of Frost, that metaphysical node anchoring the elemental Planes of the South Pole, rose into the vague dimensions of the World Tree''s Pocket Plane.

    Though Lulan''s palm on the small of her back was firm and Richard''s presence was assuring, even with her creatures watching above, she felt incredibly minuscule and vulnerable, like that first night she had stepped into the Blackheath.

    The trio landed, followed by Ariel, whom she kissed and un-conjured, and Golos, who took on his humanoid form.

    The warrior Wardens and the Rime Witches remained stoic as sentinels while Gwen bowed, rose, and then unveiled her face by unlatching her beak-like mask.

    She studied the Elves in turn, noting that the Frost Elves possessed brilliant blue irises of metallic cobalt and that these crystalline chambers reflected no more emotion than Eldrin''s golden orbs.

    "Hail," Gwen spoke in High Elven, or at least, her Master''s Ioun Stone did. "I am Magister Gwen Song of London Tower. I speak for my employer, the Commonwealth of the Britannic Mageocracy. May I speak with your leader?"

    The warrior Wardens'' forest of sword limbs parted, followed by the Rime Witches with their glacial skin and pale-blue lips, soundlessly drifting apart, forming an archway framed by weaponry and sorcery. The leader, a silver-maned female taller than the rest and possessing a marginally more human bearing, coaxed Gwen forward with slender fingers tipped by what Gwen hoped were an armoured gauntlet and not natural, insectile digits.

    "Do not fear, Child," the Rime Witch spoke in a way that even her Translation Stone struggled to transmute, a fact exasperated by what looked like mandibles curled up within the recess of the Witch''s petite mouth. "Release the tongue of Tryfan so that the Frost Maiden may commune with our lost brethren."

    After a moment''s pause over the wording of "tongue", Gwen retrieved the Ilias Leaf that had previously returned to her breast pocket.

    The leaf shimmered as it caught the frigid light of the Pocket Plane, then began to pulse.

    At the same time, Gwen felt a presence coalesce, or descend, as it were, travelling through the nodes and veins represented by the warrior Wardens and Witches until the vague silhouette of something akin to an ice sculpture began to materialise in the space cleared by the Elves.

    A dozen breaths later, a super-dense cluster of Elemental Ice materialised, striding into the world from the aether with a regal bearing greater than any being she had yet beheld, more than even The Bloom in White, who felt to Gwen to be a homebody.

    Gwen bowed, as did her companions, the Wyvern included.

    "Thou may address this one as Illh?wenthiel," the being spoke with a tone tinged with just enough humanity to convey a smidgen of acknowledgement. "We know of thee. Thou art the present Vessel of the Rainbow who sleeps in the Well of the World. And thou art Kilroy''s vessel of hope. Well met, child. Thy Master''s extinction was a rare shock, even for one such as we, for whom cessation has lost all meaning."

    "Well met." Gwen wasn''t sure how to continue, as her mind was torn between the loaded adjective of present and the implication that her Master was someone who had trafficked with Erebus'' Elves. "I come to represent the interests of the Mageocracy¡ªwhich is the restoration of the natural balance here¡ªand the erasure of foreign agents from Spectre."

    "Lift thine face, child," the voice said. "I wish to see thine eyes."

    Lifting her chin confidently, Gwen met the Frost Flower''s all-seeing, cobalt pupils, trying her best not to shudder.

    The inhumanity of the immortal Demi-Goddess was self-evident.

    Gwen wondered if it was possible for a "being" like Illh?wenthiel to find empathy for mortals with temporal existences no more permanent than a season of snow.

    "Thou has performed thy duties to satisfaction." The Frost Flower nodded mechanically, almost akin to a pilot testing the unfamiliar limits of a Golem chassis. "And rewards are a given, though I shall not be the one to dispense it¡ªNow, allow me to commune with the heretic."

    "The¡­" Gwen paused at the word, wondering if her Translation Stone had been working correctly. "Your Grace, do you mean this Leaf?"

    The Frost Flower nodded.

    Two Rime Witches approached and dropped to their knees, supplicating not to Gwen but to the glowing leaf.

    Gingerly, Gwen allowed their talon-like fingers to pick Tryfan''s gift from her hands with an Elven Mage Hand spell, moving the Ilias Leaf until it hovered in front of Illh?wenthiel.

    "Sister¡­" The High Elven from Illh?wenthiel made her Translation Stone grow hot as it unravelled the unfamiliar codex, warming the base of Gwen''s neck with the excessive mana it now drew from her body.

    "Sister¡­" came an audible response, the voice of Tryfan''s Bloom in White. "As forewarned, even if the Groves of Illh?weth and Lh?weth seek no interest in the Prime Material''s conflict¡ªconflict has a way of becoming interested in thee."

    "And how would these mortal blasphemers know of our seasons? Of when Illaelitharian slumber and wakes?" The Frost Elf''s tone radiated so much chill that Gwen had to circulate mana to prevent her extremities from growing numb. "Is it not thine scion, the wayward Warden, who gave hope to these blasphemers of the Great Tree?"

    Gwen''s ears perked up.

    Unfortunately, the retort emitted from the lips of The Bloom in White could no longer be deciphered by her stone. Instead, they sounded like insectile clicks and snips, with lisps and swirls that were primordial and alien.

    "No. Nothing is proven, Sister, not even if we were to fall." Illh?wenthiel''s side of the conversation, for some reason, remained comprehensible. "As always, neither the Frost Tree of Lh?weth nor Illh?weth shall join thine futile mutiny."

    With a tone of The Bloom''s characteristic imposition, more protest blasted back at the Frost Flower. Gwen listened, standing a dozen meters away with utmost concentration, soaking up every clue and inference like a sponge.

    After a few minutes, the Frost Flower''s eyes moved from the leaf toward Gwen.

    Gwen looked away, finding a sudden interest in the snow underfoot.

    "Child." The vocal cords of Illh?wenthiel were a rare melody, even if Gwen could not ascertain if the Elf possessed such an organ as the larynx.

    "Yes?" Gwen faced the Frost Flower.

    "Our and our Sister''s bickerings art not for thee." Gwen could swear she saw a smirk on the Frost Elf''s marble-statue face. "But fret not¡ªwe shall now deliver thee to Ancient Illaelitharian. Come past us, child. Move to Illaelitharian''s side, where he shall invite thee into his abode."

    Gwen swallowed her nerves, walked a half-meter ahead of Richard, the stone-faced Lulu and Golos with his flaring nostrils, then approached as was told.

    Past the quarrelling "Blooms" once more conversing in machine gun Italian, she faced the wall, which was the torso of Illaelitharian, the great Frost Wyrm guardian of the Grove.

    "There''s no... door here," Gwen said to her companions. "Your advice?"

    "Touch the Great Wyrm''s scales." The Thunder Wyvern was in awe. "In this Pocket Space, we are already within his domain, but by his invitation, we may speak to Lord Illaelitharian directly."

    "Within his belly?" Gwen said seriously.

    The Wyvern returned her scepticism with a judgemental stare.

    Gwen touched a palm to the wall of overlapping scales, noting that each head-sized block was worth a thousand times its weight in HDMs.

    She fell inward.

    Or perhaps it was outwards.

    Her internal compass informed her that she had fallen. However, her vertigo possessed no momentum, transforming her from standing to free fall in a split-second.

    And then she was not falling, but standing in the middle of a grove of evergreens, only the needle leaves were not waxy green spines, but needles of crystalline ice.

    Underfoot, the ground was blanked in the same ice needles so fine that the furry carpet felt springy and strange.

    In the middle of the enormous grot-arch, a male silhouette stood with his back to them. Gwen, who had long seen the humanoid guise of Golos, Ruxin and Ayxin, instantly recognised the aura and the unnaturally Polymorphed form.

    This being¡ª this Illaelitharian¡ªwas the Great Frost Wyrm of the South Seat of Frost, and not only that, one of the oldest Dragons she had witnessed to date. Though she had no way of knowing if the Wyrm she now faced had any relations to the Yinglong, she innately understood from the trembling of her Essence that it was the Master of Huangshan''s elder by a significant margin.

    At first, she thought she was alone, for such was the overwhelming presence of the Frost Wyrm. A moment later, when placidity returned to her mind, she smelled the hulking odour of Golos, now in his human form, standing behind her.

    It would seem that only "Dragons" had invitations.

    Thankfully, her armour was untouched, even the parts stained or damaged, informing her that their present space was at least metaphysical.

    Reflexively, Gwen straightened her body, putting her best face forward. She had no idea if aesthetics mattered to a lizard that might have eaten dinosaurs in the past, but the show of deference, she imagined, was what mattered.

    With no less melodrama than Morpheus'' slow reveal to Neo, Illaelitharian turned to face the pair.

    "I do apologise," the Frost Drake spoke from a face that did not move a muscle, with its Draconic thoughts seemingly injecting themselves into their brains. "Do humanoids still make use of implements such as these?"

    At the Wyrm''s behest, an enormous oval table of ice materialised, crafted with a design which Gwen assumed to predate the Greeks. A second later, chairs unfolded from the air, forming stone lawn ornaments more suitable for museum displays.

    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    "Thank you, Great Illaelitharian," Gwen answered with reverence. "We still use chairs and tables, yes."

    The chairs slid from the table.

    "Sit," the Frost Wyrm commanded.

    Gwen sat like an obedient cat.

    The chair-stool-throne, if it could be called such a thing, was bone-chillingly cold, penetrating her armour so completely that she remained smiling only on account of her Draconic Essence. Golos followed suit, perfectly unaffected by the cold.

    Illaelitharian regarded the chair he made with suspicion, then also sat.

    While the polite silence endured, Gwen studied the Ancient Frost Wyrm, likely Almudj''s cousin, removed only by a few aeons. Like Golos, Illaelitharian did not care for perfection, crafting a handsome guise that remained reptilian in its impassivity. In a mildly comical sense, the Dragon''s mane began too close to his brows so that its full head of flowing, silvery hair framed the top half of his face in the likeness of a Wookie. The lower half was overtly virile, with a powerful, jutting jaw, sharp cheekbones, and a broad chin, all wrapped up in an unkept lumberjack beard. For clothes, the Ancient Drake wore the largest pelt of Polar Bear fur she had ever seen, wrapped around his shoulder and waist and covering his lower body like a kilt.

    The more she thought about it, the more Gwen felt that Illaelitharian had a Hanmoul-likeness to him, incongruent with the pointy ears protruding through the nimbus of his metallic-silver fur.

    "Lord Illaelitharian," Gwen made to speak after the silence wore on too long for politeness. "How is it that we may serve you in this trying time?"

    The Frost Wyrm''s eyes were two motes of glowing coal burning blue with frost-fire. "A trying time? What aid from your ilk might you infer?"

    Gwen felt her chest clench.

    "Pardon my youthful bluntness," she spoke up when Golos did not. Dragons, by nature, are assertive, and too much deference would only lower her worth in the eyes of the ancient Wyrm. "I know not how else I may infer our timely arrival with reinforcements from Tryfan."

    "Tryfan¡­" Illaelitharian''s gaze swept over her like an icy tide. "Is the concern of Elves. Between thyself and I, tis the business of kin."

    "I see the distinction. Please enlighten Sir Golos and me." Gwen''s tone masked her ambivalence. She had been wondering why the Frost Elves had been so frosty in their reception, and now she confirmed that her reward¡ªif there ever was one, sat with Illaelitharian and not the Lady of the Grove. "We young drakes are inexperienced in the matter¡­ of Planar Politics."

    Illaelitharian gave her a curt nod, which she took to mean approval.

    "Your aid," the Dragon said slowly and meticulously as if assembling the words from a scrabble pile. "Is welcome, though not required. You have not saved Illh?weth, as Illh?weth requires no salvation to return to its former glory. What you have done is spared me grief and time, worthless as the latter might be, and relieved the World Tree of a disease."

    Golos made a low, demure rumble to express his dissatisfied agreement.

    Gwen, conversely, could sense the pride tickling away at Illaelitharian''s tonsils, like an itch the Dragon could not scratch. As the sponsored representative of Almudj and the deliverer of its emerald lightning, she understood the Wyrm''s point. After all, even if Almudj were to burn down its World Tree over a thousand years and turn the centre of Terra Australis into a Black Zone, it persisted, and there was no "cost" to itself. If someone had intervened, did they then "save" the Serpent? The "Tree" might be saved¡ªbut its guardian''s gratitude was far more uncertain.

    Weighing her chips, she gave Illaelitharian a brilliant smile of supreme confidence. "That goes without saying, Lord Illaelitharian. We are merely the incessant motes of destiny sent adrift into the great Planar aether. It just so happens that Illh?weth is where our spores landed. I would not take credit for fortune, O Ancient One, nor for the aid given to our long-eared brethren."

    "You are a wily Coatl." Illaelitharian''s voice seemed to relax now that its debt was no longer in danger of being used as a bargaining chip. "However, credit or otherwise, let it not be said that Illaelitharian is a miser among our noble assembly..."

    The face of Illaelitharian appeared to ponder its next thoughts.

    "You," Illaelitharian spoke past Gwen to the nervous Drake sweating beside her. "Child of the Tempest."

    "Lord?" Golos stood. Then sat. Then made a move to stand again before Gwen settled her Wyvern with a pat on the shoulder.

    "What do you wish as a reward?"

    Gwen secretly punched the air at the confirmation of a "Quest Reward" but otherwise held her reins on Golos'' Astral Soul in case the Wyvern said something outrageous.

    Feeling the tugging from their entwined souls, the adolescent Dragon-kin looked to her for assurance.

    For all of Golos'' ruthless absurdities, Gwen had to admit that she had grown soft for the Wyvern that once attempted to murder her and do unspeakable things should she have survived. Since Huangshan, the two of them had gone through more "Calamities" than she could count, licking each other''s wounds hundreds of times in the aftermath of embroiling battles. The Wyvern''s eyes, inhuman as they were, were now as alive as any of her other companions, rich with emotion, desire, and well-rooted companionship.

    And somewhere within that entwined ball of loyalty and rebellion was her Planar Ally contract, compelling Golos'' obedience¡ªbut the number of times she had to invoke its ball and chain were few and far.

    Do not ask for food. Gwen jolted her Empathic Link.

    AND DO NOT ASK FOR SEX. She had to save Golos from himself if nothing else.

    "I wish to be closer in kind¡ª" Golos said firmly, modulating the yearning in his voice with her mental support. "¡ªto my brother, Ruxin."

    The Ancient Wyrm appeared pleased by her Thunder Wyvern''s response. "An admirable ambition, young Drake."

    Illaelitharian''s hands disappeared inside its enormous robe of polar fur. When it emerged, he materialised on the table a Creature Core about the size of Gwen''s torso resembling a massive shard of citrine. As the surface of the Core kissed the air, it suddenly came alive with sparking electricity, frazzling Gwen''s hair and making her skin numb.

    Somewhere within her Astral Soul, Ariel drooled and whined at the Thunder Wyvern''s good fortune, imploring its Master to snatch the treasure before the stupid Wyvern could take its prize.

    "From an old friend and an ancestor of yours." the Frost Wyrm allowed the Core to drift across the table, past Gwen''s eyes, illuminated by the golden electricity into the colour of money. "Her name has not been spoken for aeons, and her Spirit has long since melded with the Unformed Land. What remains of her, I gift to you whose Essence Pool has grown impressive for one so young¡ª"

    To Gwen''s shock, Golos left his seat, dropped to his knees, then made a gesture of supplication, first to the Creature Core, then to Illaelitharian.

    Then, with undisguised greediness, the Wyvern cradled the Core to his chest, meeting her eyes with a clear demand that he alone take full advantage of his prize.

    It''s yours. Gwen assured the childish Thunder Wyvern even as she calmed her Kirin, promising she would find something just as delicious in time for her Familiar. After all, once embroiled in this matter of Trees and Maidens and Snakes, there would be no return to the ignorant status quo of happy Purges and profits. Upon her return to the Mageocracy, a great upheaval would be afoot, and she, Charlene, the Mageocracy, and the Trees and Drakes that tent-poled the Prime Material would all be seeing a Brave New World.

    Once Golos managed to hide the Core in what Gwen hoped was his Ayxin-enhanced Storage Ring, the weight of the conversation shifted to herself and the Frost Wyrm.

    "And now for our Vessel." Illaelitharian''s voice was deep and resonant. "Your part is greater, and therefore, your reward as well. However, allow this Old One to ramble before you make your choice."

    "Please." Gwen hoped the Frost Wyrm wasn''t fishing for a discount on its debt.

    "You are here to withhold a Calamity from your world." Illaelitharian''s emphasis on the C-word was particularly grating, for it felt like the Wyrm was reading her mind. "And for that, your triumph here is debatable. Through the ravages of these Elemental defilers and their allies, that rogue of Tryfan and his minions, I can perceive their designs and what this assault upon Lh?weth and Illh?weth aims to achieve. Yet, such an assault is nothing to us who dream only of the Unformed Land, and our Tree and its Guardians will recover over time¡ªa resource immaterial to our concern. But for your ilk, O''Apostle of the Rainbow, there shall be many Calamities that plague the Prime Material."

    "Right," Gwen concurred. It was good to receive assurance that an anthropomorphic climate could confirm the impacts of Climate Change.

    "As an existential matter of principle and being," Illaelitharian continued. "We do not meddle in the matters of the Prime Material. We are its guardians, and so long as it stands, what races occupy its sacred spaces is of no value to us. Through the aeons, be it the Green-skinned hosts of the plains, the Horse-Lords of the desert, or your amphibious selves or the Sea-folk, each would have their time¡ªjust as the tide ebbs and flows, and the seasons change."

    The Frost Wyrm''s tone then grew suddenly cold.

    "But¡ªfor kin of the Wardens to draw themselves into the cyclic conflicts of the mortal races by assailing a Tree itself, much less our Seats of Frost, is a Calamity too far for our patience. Thereby, I shall offer you the gift of intervention..."

    Gwen swallowed as Illaelitharian produced what looked like a pair of bulbous seeds. Ones she was very much familiar with, thanks to Tryfan''s ploys.

    "In a dire time. I shall allow the Frost Wardens of Illh?weth to visit the Prime Material. What they may achieve, or how they may serve your cause, I cannot control nor say¡ªbut they will defend you¡ªor they will perish, after which your aid in our unpleasant hour is repaid."

    Gwen waited on Frost Wyrm''s unfinished words.

    "Conversely, you may ask me for other forms of intervention. Perhaps, you would like to know about your allies in Tryfan or your patron who slumbers in the Well of the World, or perhaps, you would like to elevate that mewling creature within your Astral Soul. Beyond that, my trove isn''t the largest of our kind, but it is old. I am willing to part with a portion, should you wish that instead. And should that dissatisfy, ask what else you will."

    Upon Frost Wyrm''s awaiting words, Gwen noted that here was the most difficult decision she had ever made as a sorceress.

    First¡ªto have someone like Eldrin showing up through a Trellis Portal and wreck havoc on one''s foes in a time of need was amazing as a bargaining chip, one that needed not to be truly actualised because she could always pop out the seedlings and inform her opponents of her intentions. For this reason, the mere "favour" was worth far more than the actuality of what she might be able to conjure.

    Then, there was the option of insight.

    To understand the Accord of the Elves and the goals of Tryfan, to know their motives and desires, was a priceless boon.

    Alternatively, the actual means to understand Almudj, to beg Illaelitharian for a way to communicate with Mythic beings, was itself amazingly priceless.

    Likewise, the gift of wealth might seem a poor choice to many¡ªbut who was she? Give her an LDM, and she''ll show them an HDM! If the Dragon could give her ten million or more in materials and Cores, she may be able to produce a billion''s worth of effects and outcomes in her new Tower.

    And there were MORE options?

    What if she asked Illaelitharian to hook the Dwarves back up with their Dyar Morkk?

    Christ! Give it a decade, and Dwarves and Humans would have an infrastructure network more useful and total than oceanic shipping!

    Just the tariffs alone¡­ were worth the Ancient Wyrm''s horde.

    Compared to that, adding Dragon-parts to Ariel could wait.

    And yet¡ªGwen gulped greedily¡ªshe had greater ambitions than that.

    "I have¡­ a question." Gwen calmed herself before she could blurt forth her direst, most profitable desires. "Regarding the nature of Guardians and Trees, if that''s alright. If the answer is not free, please give me a moment to ponder my reward."

    "Ask." Illaelitharian inclined his chin with interest.

    "Let''s say I wanted to plant a World Tree," Gwen asked as she suppressed her internal trembling. "With Al¡ª with the Slumberer in the Well of the World. Would the other Guardians of the existing World Trees oppose such an act?"

    The air grew frigid.

    For the first time since their conversation, Illaelitharian''s facial expressions moved, transforming from passivity to incredulity.

    "Not to fell a Grove¡ª" Illaelitharian''s voice sounded different as well. "¡ªBut to grow one? A new Grove? Not follow the cycle of decay and regrowth, entropy and life, but the creation of that which is wholly new?"

    "Well, I don''t know if it''s NEW," Gwen said carefully. "As I said, we''ll be taking aid from my patron, the Rainbow Serpent. The Tree is new, but it isn''t... new."

    "A tree, from a source as ancient as the Well of the World..." Illaelitharian grew contemplative. When the Dragon looked up, it somehow appeared guilty. "I¡­ do not have an answer."

    "You don''t?" Gwen was taken aback by the Frost Wyrm''s sudden bashfulness. "Is growing a tree taboo?"

    "No." The Wyrm shook his great head. "It hasn''t happened in recent memory, and we have long memories."

    "So I can do it?" Gwen felt her optimism blossom.

    "Only time may answer that question," Illaelitharian answered with ambivalence. "With absolute certainty, some will be opposed, just as some may support you, while many will remain indifferent. However, if you wish it, I will advocate on your behalf when your hour arrives."

    "And that would be repaying my favour?" Gwen had to make sure she and Illaelitharian were on the same page. After witnessing Erebus, the Undead, and seeing the vandalism done to a primordial World Tree, she was very much for the idea that her Tower and Sufina''s World Tree should be close neighbours, if not a singular structure¡ªespecially in the tumultuous future that would soon come upon them. Perhaps, she imagined, this was the only chance she had to restore a few motes of sanity to a global stage on the verge of mass hysteria.

    It was a nebulous wish, one full of risk and uncertainties.

    But it could also be an unexpectedly vital investment.

    "To grow a tree is no simple wish..." the Ancient Wyrm reminded her. "Even one as old as the Rainbow is not without... opposition."

    Unhurriedly, Gwen took her time to ponder the immediacy of present gifts and militant guarantees against future promises.

    There were many temptations, but she could not shake the thought of Erebus on fire, the Undead tide sweeping across the Grove, and that this should happen to her domain, her Tower, her people. There was also the stark reminder that her expedition to Erebus was, after all, her final Magisterial trial.

    When she returned with Charlene with the worst news possible for Humanity, the Mageocracy would carve out a little plot for her to govern.

    After which, the next chapter of her life will begin.

    "I wish it," Gwen said, feeling the weight of the dilemma slide from her shoulders like a glacier as she clarified her intentions. Today, she would gain the support of Illaelitharian, and later, there would be another, and hopefully another and another. "This is my choice, Great Illaelitharian. I wish for your advocacy."

    The Ancient Wyrm gave her a final look that seemed full of strange sympathy, then sealed the deal with a nod.

    But Gwen was now beyond doubt. TO have a host of Ancient Wyrms golf clap as she snipped the ribbon to her golden city was an effective signal to geopolitical powers with designs on her future Tower and a call for unbridled investment unequalled by any other.

    And in time, Sufina''s limbs would stretch and yawn until she kissed the firmament, while around her roots, a living rainbow would lie, repelling all that dared to disrupt the peace of Tower Master Song''s demesne.

    If Force Ghosts should exist in this world¡ªshe comforted herself with a Gwenism¡ªthen surely, Henry must be smiling and nodding, with a twinkling tear of joy clouding his eyes.

 Chapter 463 - Blowing in the Wind

    "Magister! You''re back!" Lulan''s tone was one of palpable relief when Gwen re-materialised outside Laelitharian''s lair. Though her guard and cousin were safe, they had been left out in the cold while the Elven Blooms aired their secret grievances. And since neither Richard nor Lulan could understand the "High Gothic" Elven, they had no choice but to play the part of ice statues while discussions that would shake the Prime Material took place.

    "Thank God for that." Richard''s relief was equally genuine. "So, did you get your loot?"

    "I bartered for a promise," Gwen confirmed with a thumbs up. "Compared to me, Gogo got amazing loot. We''ll be expecting great things from him in the future."

    Their eyes turned to Golos, who managed to look abashed.

    After a moment more to document that everyone had their bits and wits in the right place, the group awaited their turn to be addressed by the Llias Leaf holding Illh?wenthiel.

    "Child of Kilroy." The Elf appeared done with her communication device. Gingerly, the Maiden of Frost placed the precious specimen in the palm of a Frost Witch''s hand, who then hand-delivered it to Gwen.

    "Great Lady, it has been my pleasure." Gwen bowed her head before returning the leaf to her breast pocket. "Is our business here concluded?"

    As one, the Frost Elves turned their cobalt orbs toward her, turning two hundred and more craning heads to converge their gaze upon her impertinent lips.

    "How else may we be of service?" Gwen quickly changed her tune. Bloody Dragon... Gwen swore internally as her back grew damp with cold sweat. The business of the Elves is that of Elves, my ass.

    "Child." Thankfully, the Bloom of Frost did not appear upset, not that Gwen could read her expression. "Your duty is not yet concluded. Our Grove will regenerate, but our reach does not extend beyond the Great Tree''s roots. To restore the depression in the Prime Material, you have yet more labour outside the Grove."

    Starkly, Gwen''s mind meandered toward that dark, dense sea of offal and fish oil outside. She doubted that Eldrin would be willing to channel the power of Tryfan and lend her a solution that was equal parts frugal and "fungal".

    Illh?weth and Tryfan''s limited mobility implied long labours for her Mages, Charlene''s ship, and Hanmoul''s men. The Undead, though mindless and confused, still possessed enough hostility that they had to be carefully pruned. Their only advantage was that, unlike Amazonia, the tundra and the snow drifts contained Elementals with scant biomass and could not contribute to the perpetuation of Undead.

    Of course, the Fire Elementals were still spewing from Erebus. These eruptions would eventually return to their unusual incidence, though she deeply suspected the creatures of flame would be a continuous disruption during the Royal Raven''s clean-up operations.

    In the worst scenario¡­

    A Shoggoth might be necessary.

    "I acknowledge our duty, Lady of Frost." Gwen bowed from the waist. "We will restore the exterior of the Grove to its original condition to the best of our abilities."

    Without sentiment, Illh?wenthiel retreated with a curt nod, immediately after which her Frost Witches closed ranks, indicating that their conversation was at an end. Though the Lady had been cordial, Gwen suspected their interaction was closer to a tired mother coaxing a greedy toddler into cleaning her room.

    "Gwen, shall we?" Richard pointed to the rising landscape that housed the Elves of Tryfan.

    "Calamity, I want to return to the ship," Golos announced rudely. "I need to¡­ absorb my gift."

    "Right." Gwen toned down the protest from Ariel, who continued to blast her with resounding calls of "EE-EE!" Gimme-Gimee.

    With no one else to fare her well, Gwen and her group picked themselves from the floor and flew back toward the rent from which they had entered the Grove of Illh?weth. Awaiting for them were the rows of Tryfanian Elves, headed by a beetle-black Arch Warden.

    "Lord Eldrin," Gwen greeted the phalanx of Magister-tier Elementalists standing like shiny statues in the newly fallen snow. "Is there any other way Tryfan may require our aid?"

    Eldrin''s impassive gaze remained as stoic as it was critical. After a too-long pause, the Arch Warden appeared to force his mouth to move. "Do you wish to return with us?"

    Gwen raised both brows. "Return?"

    "To Tryfan." The Elf indicated to the Trellis Portal. "Then¡­ to your home, I would presume. The Bloom has offered you a kindness rarely afforded by any other, as¡­ interest¡­ in the befouling tongue of your mortal greed."

    At the Warden''s words, Gwen felt the sharp temptation of running home to Evee tugging on her heart like a pair of kittens pulling a yarn string. However, she knew very well that there was no abandoning the men and women she had brought to Erebus.

    "I will remain here," addressed Eldrin by turning to Lulan and Richard.

    Her companions returned her assurance by squaring their confident shoulders.

    "However, may I trouble the Bloom to deliver a report to Cambridge? I shall seal it in a storage ring¡ª" Gwen raised her gauntlet. "Please gift it to Magister Brown of the Advanced Arcane Studies Faculty."

    The Warden did not immediately respond, although Eldrin''s jaws moved a little as he listened to what Gwen assumed was the disembodied voice of his queen bee.

    "You¡­ may." The Warden extended a hand.

    "In that case, I''ll need¡­ three hours." Gwen smiled sweetly with a wicked, confident air. "After all, I hadn''t planned for this. We need to sort out data and crystals, and I need to compile a preliminary report of our findings here. Would that be alright?"

    If Eldrin''s golden orbs were capable of shedding Radiance, she would have cooked in her crow skin like a Thanks Giving turkey.

    With no protest from the Arch Warden, Gwen moved her crew a safe distance away, then produced from her rings a coffee table, several lawn chairs for her team, and implements for inscribing her report on the data slate. Richard hastily prepared the recordings crystals so that Cambridge received the original while she held the spares.

    The Storage Ring she would use to transport the goods was of Dwarven make. Though Gwen doubted the robust design could withstand Elven prying, her confidence lay in that the Bloom would not care or resort to such underhanded methods at gaining information. For the same reason, she had full confidence there was nothing to be achieved by altering the news she would submit to Cambridge, who would then present the findings to the Shard and the Mageocracy''s stakeholders.

    Thanks to Richard''s expert aid, the report took only two hours. Her Storage Ring was unlocked, packed with goods and information, and then sealed again with a cypher only her Magister would know.

    The Elves stood as still as plants the whole time, seemingly soaking up the mana as though they were armoured asparagus. Some appeared to be meditating, while others merely stared ahead, demonstrating an inhuman discipline.

    "There we are, Milord." Gwen allowed the ring to fall from her palm into Eldrin''s gauntlet. "Please thank your Bloom for all she has done for Tryfan''s interests. May the Bloom''s bloom, bloom Eternal."

    The Warden''s fingers coiled upon his courier package. "Perform your labour well, Child of Kilroy. There will not be another opportunity to gain the favour of the Frost Flower of Illh?weth. If you wish to harness the power of the Serpent who dwells in the Well of the World, you shall need many favours like it."

    Gwen sighed in defeat. "Those long ears aren''t just for show, eh? Fare thee well, Arch-Warden Eldrin. I have an inkling we''ll be partnering lots in the future."

    The exposed pointy bit of Eldrin''s ears, protruding through his beetle helm like a pair of fleshy antennae, twitched a little.

    "Farewell." The Arch Warden turned on his heels. At once, Tryfan''s Wardens followed suit, coalescing until they formed a rank four abreast to enter the wormhole created by the Trellis Gate.

    A few minutes later, Gwen and her crew were left to watch the withering form of the Trellis Gate rapidly turn yellow, then frost over from the impending cold.

    "Calamity..." Golos'' patience was wearing thin.

    "Alright, alright. Come on, Gogo." Gwen''s mind was already consumed by the logistical planning of the Herculean labour outside. "What''s the rush, Drake? We''re going to be here for a long-long while..."

    According to Charlene, Gwen and her party were gone for a week.

    That time dilated within the Pocket Plane was a known phenomenon. As such, the Royal Raven had patiently bided by its time, with the Dwarves digging into Erebus'' foundations to draw upon the magma below. Within days, a glimmering multi-layered barrier was erected, sheltering the ley-tapping Fabricator Engine at the ship''s centre. Outside its walls, patrols of Golems, aided by the recognisance-in-force of Cambridge Maguses and Gwen''s Shadow Mages, had cleared a perimeter of about twenty kilometres in readiness for an extended stay.

    On the sixth day, the ship''s Diviners had recorded a great disturbance in the formation of necrotic energy inundating the polar region, which Charlene took to mean that Gwen and her company had succeeded in their negotiations with the Frost Elves.

    When Gwen finally returned, her crew appeared confident and eager to take on the next stage of their assignment.

    "This means we''ll be here for¡­ six months." Charlene''s brows knitted at first but then quickly accepted the role they would play on the chessboard of Planar politics. "Three months in the frost, then three months in the thaw."

    "And many clashes against the Undead and the Fire Elementals, assuming they''re just as stranded as us." Now comfortably dressed in the ship''s official casual clothing, Gwen followed their navigator''s fingers as she updated the landmarks.

    "And Erebus?" Charlene''s fingers paced back and forth as the numbers fell into place. "I don''t think we can push them back, even with Lord Hanmoul''s barrage. What do you think, Petra?"

    "A continuous expedition to clear out the Undead will have taxed our crystal fabrication." The Enchanter threw up a few graphs from Gwen''s PowerPoint School of Illusion. "We won''t be able to engage on both fronts, even if we have the manpower."

    "True. Me lads are keen," Hanmoul grunted. "But aye, the Golems are a thirsty lot if yer needs to keep the Spellswords HOT fer aeons."

    "Worry not; the Elemental Fire will ebb rapidly," Gwen promised. "And if it doesn''t, we can always unleash a Shoggy. There''s nothing here other than us¡­ it can be happy and free and run rampant¡ªas long as we keep it away from the Elven Grove."

    Charlene pondered the matter with a pinch of her knitted brows, massaging her worries until her forehead was once more smooth and unblemished.

    "Alright," their Expedition leader said after a moment more to review the space between a rock and a hard place. "Ladies and Lords, take your places¡­ here is our home for the foreseeable months ahead. Assuming everything works out, we''ll be back before¡ª"

    "Don''t say Christmas," Gwen butted in with a Gwenism.

    "¡ªWhy?" Charlene bit back her next words.

    "Bad juju¡­" Gwen said ominously.

    "Fine¡­ we''ll be leaving around the Summer Bank Holiday. After that, it''ll be three weeks of full steam to return to London."

    Gwen relaxed after turning Charlene away from a premonition of destruction. For her Christmas, her thoughts were of Elvia''s choir, which she would have to organise for Evee''s charity. This year, they should put on a big show to harness influence for the future troubles of the Mageocracy. She could hire some popular Illusionists and celebrities. Maybe call it "Live-Aid" to harness Faith and donations for uplifting those impacted by the change in the climate. Hopefully, they would arrive in time for the holiday snow.

    Kalimantan.

    Samarinda.

    Bambang, minted in recent months as "Father Bambang" watched the "Exodus" of his kin-folk from the only home they had ever known.

    The distance from the mountain villages to the port was only a short jaunt¡ªbut the trouble of moving some fifty thousand faithful followers was no simple feat. Around his neck hung the wooden idol likeness of his Goddess¡ªtogether with a sanctified cross. Compared to before, Father Bambang was now illuminated, at least enough to know that Knight Companion Elvia Lindholm was a member of the Order of the Poor Soldiers of Christ, an instrument of intervention rather than the all-watching benevolence itself.

    In the distance, where the men from the land of light had originally cleared a space for the new port¡ªthe newly developed lower city had undergone yet another metamorphosis.

    From ruins, it had been rebuilt.

    Now, it was once more ruins.

    Though their Goddess could do many things: heal the sick, mend broken limbs, and breathe life into those half-ravaged by the Rakshasa, she could not predict the future. Therefore, no member of her Ordo had prepared the village for the torrential rain and its accompaniment of flattening hail. A month ago, Father Bambang was sure that the whole of Samarinda would perish, for palm trees taller than the tallest building on the island were sailing through the air like ensorceled spears, toppling houses and punching holes in the side of the metal ships used by the clergymen.

    Even with the Goddess'' powers, there was little she could do other than cover the prayer hall, where thousands of the faithful had gathered, in thick vine-netting conjured by her Ginseng. Against the brutal battery of the wet season''s unexpected arrival, even the Knights had to find shelter or rely on their golden barriers to remain standing.

    In the aftermath, almost twenty thousand of Father Bambang''s island flock perished. Most were the ones without faith who had wanted to retain the old ways, hoping that another Dewa Cawu would bring salvation.

    Even for these heretics, their golden Priestess had toiled with tears in her eyes, excavating collapsed buildings and uprooting entire trees so that they might reveal the buried below, praying with all her might for their recovery.

    Father Bambang had announced that these, who had been given months to covert, did not wish to be saved¡ªbut the Knight Companion instead urged him to have compassion, saying that God loved all equally, regardless of their faith.

    Father Bambang could not understand her kindness, at least not before a week of tuition from Knight Chaplain Adam, but he nodded and smiled and told the Goddess that he would do his best.

    And he did.

    And now, the village would be no more.

    Samarinda, home to Bambang and his father''s father, would lie buried. Like the Rakshasa Bedawangiwiwi, their village and its lore would be consigned to the landscape.

    According to the Goddess'' teacher, the always wise Lord Ashburn, there would be another hurricane¡ªand then another¡ªand another until the island''s vegetation was stripped to a fleshless carcass, and new Rakshasas acclimatised to the wind and water would take soon take over. When publically, the news was broken by a tearful Knight Companion Lindholm, all had been stunned.

    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

    Once their wits recovered, some began to cry, and others stood up in rage.

    Comparatively, the faithful found reason in that their Exodus was a trial. They calmed the others, and implored silence, first with words, then with stronger words. In the end, most agreed to the relocation. Seneschal Ashburn had then informed them that many of the islands in their archipelago were similarly on the move, with the local region fast becoming inhospitable to man. Only under the sheltering shields of Singapore''s inner islands would his people be safe¡ªfor in the wisdom of the Seneschal, a fate of flying from the frying pan into the fire was still better than becoming fodder. Mayhap this way¡ªone day, the sons and daughters of Samarinda will return to reclaim the island, as their Knights had done for their cities three decades ago.

    The alternative¡­ would be extinction.

    Northern China.

    The Yantai coast.

    Mei felt her heart flutter as Provisional Magus Percy Song, his lapel bright with the gold stripes of a Second Lieutenant, ran a salt-encrusted hand through his dark, voluminous hair. Her fianc¨¦ and his Mage Flight were currently above the eastern rim of Taozi Harbour. Here, the latest incursion from the newly appeared Undead Mermen had taken its toll on the harbour city responsible for the Dalian supply line.

    "Is that the last of them?" Officer Cadet Mei observed the smoking vista below her fianc¨¦''s combat boots. She and Percy''s team had been assigned to Yantai since January, and the task had been gruelling and thankless.

    Which was fine, for that was the general purpose of their exile from the Green Zones.

    The "Long March" was a test of leadership and skill, one which the high command of the CCP expected its young talents to pass without complaint. By design, in the Orange Zone facing the North Korean peninsula, there would be no comfort nor rest for the progenies of power. Here was where the CCP''s future blades were whetted, and should they grow dull or break, they would be discarded.

    The latter was a worry that did not apply to the genius Percy Song.

    Even though Mei''s Yang family was well-provisioned in the "Guan-xi" central to promotion within the People''s Liberation Army, Percy''s talent and connections were on a different scale entirely.

    In only a few years, her senior school sweetheart had mastered Conjuration, Evocation and Abjuration, becoming an unmatched existence within his generation. Many in the PLA were already labelling him the next Jun Song, though Percy''s powers were less destructive and, by that same measure, less self-destructive.

    Her fianc¨¦''s fame and accolades also meant that Percy gained innumerable enemies throughout his rise. Within the PLA''s power progenies, egos ran high, and the notion of household honour inferred death was preferable to disgrace.

    And then there was the stereotype that defeating a young master almost always summoned cousins, siblings, and sometimes fathers and uncles like woodlice from a rotten beam.

    What surprised Mei was how happily Percy accepted such hostilities, especially considering the myriad ways he would be accosted mid-mission. Most of these encounters, at least the ones that Mei knew of, became "food" for her fianc¨¦. It was a very peculiar expression that Mei took to mean that Percy grew through gambits of life-or-death combat. When Percy seriously maimed his opponents a few times, his Grandfather or Uncle Jun had to step in¡ªthough neither appeared opposed to his prideful upholding of House Song''s growing reputation. The ordeals had earned him the moniker of a battle maniac who grew more famous with every duel.

    "Yes, we''re done here." Percy''s face, more handsome than when he was in his adolescence, now resembled his square-jawed uncle, an existence Mei admired with all her heart. "Let''s move to our next location, Cadet Yang?"

    "Yessir!" Mei saluted before turning to the tired faces of the young men and women behind them, making up the other two Mage Flights. "Five minutes for potions and restoration! Bandage if you need to. Meditate and recover your mana else we will leave you behind. We move to the next node at 1300!"

    Without overt complaints, the rest of the young elites fell into place.

    Percy''s ruthless invitations for combat, paired with Jun''s role as the unassailable "consort" of Ayxin, scion to the Yinglong, had created an insurmountable barrier for any who wished to challenge her fianc¨¦ through overt means. With a grandfather who kept a watchful eye over the PLA''s secretive communications and an Uncle who even the Secretariat fawned over, Percy''s career had been nothing but cloudy steps of jadeite leading to the high heavens.

    But of course, the higher the privilege, the greater the expectations. In every engagement, the nephew of the Ashbringer was the spear tip, crashing into walls of Undead with cleansing wedges of sanctified powder, spreading purification through the Elemental synergy of Salt.

    Following in the footsteps of his Uncle, Percy likewise seemed impervious to the Negative Energy emanated by the Undead Casters'' curses and debuffs. It was a part of her fianc¨¦''s mystique, one neither the PLA nor their teammates dared to pry¡ªthough Percy had confided in Mei, revealing that his gift was a part of the Song''s heirloom.

    When they were on R&R, she had laid on Percy''s chest after a long night of passion and sensed the pulsing vitality from the mutton-jade necklace. In a moment of tenderness, her fianc¨¦ had told Mei that this was his greatest secret and treasure¡ªa birthright initially falsely given to his sister until she generously bestowed it back upon himself.

    When Mei pried further, allowing the Kirin Amulet to rest against the palm of her hand, Percy''s skin had grown suddenly clammy, startling Mei so profoundly that she immediately allowed the pendent to relax against his chest. When she looked up to see why Percy had gone cold, the boy''s face was such a mask of repressed rage and internal agony that every mote of passion drained from Mei as though she had been dumped unclothed into the northern snow.

    "Don''t tug." Percy''s voice trembled. "And don''t¡­ don''t tell anyone about my pendant."

    There was no mistaking Percy''s tone, and Mei knew enough of the older families to understand that Percy had broken a taboo of sorts.

    "I promise on my life¡­" she had sworn on the honour of her ancestors and the existence of her Astral Soul. She had felt frightened by the unexpected threat, but a part of Mei grew warm and liquid at the thought of Percy sharing with her his greatest treasure¡ªone that may have mortal consequences should it escape either of their mouths. In this way, they were one, more so than in body, for an heirloom secret bound two families far closer than the mere intimacy of flesh¡­

    "Mei!" Percy''s voice pieced through the gloom. "Where''s our next target?"

    Mei returned her consciousness to the smoky battlefield below, quickly triangulating their whereabouts. Like her favourite sister, Percy had a difficult time with directions¡­ another secret only she and her fianc¨¦ shared.

    Another chain in the link that wound around their souls, binding them for life.

    Old Tjupurrula, standing on one withered leg, raised a hand to the sky to taste the unexpected moisture.

    He did not have to wait long, for what answered him was a cacophonic rumble of thunder so loud that the earth shook, and red dust cascaded from the crags and nooks scarring the sacred rise of Uluru.

    In the far distance, a thousand flocks from the sand-coloured zebra finch to the red-plumed kingfisher, accompanied by cabals of iron-feather buzzards and the shrill opera of Emu-Wrens, fled from the incoming change in pressure.

    The red earth, usually so dry that the slightest breeze might whip the particles into a dust devil, now lay dormant, shivering at the sight of the incoming storm.

    CRACK!

    The sky split asunder.

    Where the tender fabric of the Prime Material had long been weakened by Almudj''s rage, it now opened into the space between Planes, unleashing gales the likes of which the land had not seen for centuries.

    Old Tjupurrula inhaled the ozone-heavy air, enjoying every sensation of new vigour, breathing into the husk of life resting at the centre of the ancient continent. His skin, long since petrified by slow time, cracked and bled as his limbs moved for the first time in centuries.

    From beyond the highest firmament, it began to pour.

    Uluru, awash with rain and rumbling under the perpetual thunder, took on the colour of blood. A hundred white serpents, spontaneously bursting from the Well of the World, gushed forth with the force of tsunamis, turning the ochre surface of the World Tree''s stump from oxide red into fertile loam in the span of a dozen breaths.

    Droplets as large as a Mage''s Water Missiles hammered the suddenly-forming inland sea, stirring up such a frenzy that its turbulence resembled tomato soup returned to an indignant deli chef.

    Above the once-sacred stump, frothing water bucketed outwards, crashing against Old Tjupurrula''s feet, ankles, knees, then waist. For a being less attuned than Old Tjupurrula, the force would have torn them limb from limb, but for an old Spirit Walker, it was a much-desired shower, a rare sensation of the Elemental Planes in flux.

    Hours passed, and the rain continued, quenching the thirst of a land without water since time immemorial.

    Already, Old Tjupurrula could feel the ancient seeds, some from species unseen since the chaotic reign of Dragons, absorb the unexpected fecundity.

    Beyond the horizon, a chain of lakes large and small, long dead and turned into dust bowls, likewise heard the clarion call of life, for underneath their caked soil slept the dormant eggs of ancient Mer older than the Mageocracy''s first cities.

    Old Tjupurrula pulled one foot from the soggy mud, now sucking him downwards as the water nourished the cracked earth, filling its ancient aquifers for the next century.

    "No Tree, No Snake¡­" The ancient Spirit Walker looked to the unrelenting skies. "And no Kalinda. What is an old ghost to make of this cheekiness?"

    He scratched his head. Then, the torrent swallowed him wholesale, leaving no trace but a pair of prints, fast disappearing under the suck of the inland sea.

    Shalkar.

    The Fire Sea.

    New Shalkar, now officially mapped by the cartographers as Shalkaryah since the Priestess'' departure, was a paradise for pups and fawns of all breeds and species.

    To the south, the Brass Legion had all but retreated deep into the portal boiling the southern coast of the Caspian. Their missing presence, punctuated by the absence of Zordiam, the Efreeti Prince of Fire, had resulted in the gradual shrinkage of the gash itself, which, according to the Magisters who remained behind to shepherd the Khanate, saw a reduction for the first time in three decades.

    Additionally, sudden influxes of torrential downpours made the desert plains from Ashgabat to Bukhara awash with little streams, bringing forth long dormant growths of wildflowers fields that once made the region famous for its fertility.

    The River Darya, together with the dozens of lakes it fed, grew rich with loam and life, with fish stocks almost appearing overnight as the eternal drought ended. Borders between Demi-human Clans, shaped by access to the oasis and estuaries, vanished. The raging fires of resource wars, fought so bloodily by the Khanate, were extinguished by unprecedented fecundity.

    The Sand Worms, long since a decor of the upper desert, drank long and deep¡ªthen retreated into the Murk where they would moult and slumber, awaiting a more hospitable climate to return. For ones too young to slink back to their Demi-Planes, their mildew-drenched bodies grew sluggish, becoming easy prey for the resurgent Tasm¨¹yiz tribes, particularly the Rat-kin under Strun J?ldam of Shalkaryah.

    It had not even been a year¡ªbut the swelling growth of Clan J?ldam made up for a decade or more by absorbing any who would convert to the faith of the Priestess into its namesake, branding them with the unquestionable belief that here was the promised land, the final bastion of the long-suffering, and that there would be no second chance for the Rat-folk beyond this fragile gift from the heavens.

    When furthermore the Prophet Strun had returned from the Human cities with tales of gleaming spires and friendly scholars, the Clans of the Tasm¨¹yiz who gathered¡ªThe Rat-kin, the Kobold, the Goat-kin and even scattered tribes of lizard men, came together at Shalkar to marvel at its sky-grasping baobab pillars, said to be created by Demi-gods of the Prime Material to aid Clan J?ldam.

    Then there were the trade routes.

    With the Darya once more filled to the banks, the fabled barges of the old Silk Road once more appeared, now transporting the foodstuffs of Shalkar southward and northward to be traded at way stations established by the Priestess'' kin-folk.

    The immense thirst for labour and the abundance of bartered goods, together with the security established by the Horse Lords in this time of plenty, created such a wonder the desert had not seen since the century before the Great War.

    Between land and water, there was no rest for the Centaur folk who had grown numb from the sudden abundance and whose new duties as guards, transporters, traders and enforcers had stretched the Khan''s yurts to their limits.

    Even as the Tasm¨¹yiz broke off into their little regions, the Horse-Lords paid them no mind¡ªfor they could always reap the wheat after the fertile autumn, as they had always done since the Golden reign of the first Khanate.

    For both the Horse Lords and their no longer starving slaves, now was an unexpected respite.

    And all of this, proclaimed Regional Executor Strun, was the gift of their Pale Priestess, Her Officership of the Shalkaryah Trading Corporation, a subsidiary of the Isle of Dog-Norfolk Conglomerate, the one and only Magister Gwen Song, CEO.

    Cuzco.

    The Temple of Inti.

    In Sacsahuam¨¢n, the navel of the world, the nation''s Living Sun, the undisputed Master of the four Suyus, held court with his Chiefs.

    As a part of his growing pains, Inti would take over state affairs while his father toured the Suyus to hear the people''s grievances, dispensing justice as he saw fit.

    And in recent months, there have been many instances of unhappiness indeed.

    The Sun God had been moody.

    Inexplicably, the summer rains did not fall into the sky-lakes, preventing the refilling of lagoons and, therefore, the harvest in fall.

    And then there were floods where the clouds were so low that they banked as thick as molasses against the cliffs of La Rinconada, drowning the Mana mines there and paralysing the entire region''s economy.

    And there were other flash-fires of trouble as well, sprouting like seedings after a great tree falls in Amazonia, exposing the rich undersoil to the exploitation of its neighbours.

    "Tika," the gold-slathered Inti, his bronze skin radiating the vitality of his nation''s faith, implored his wife to continue her report from the Temple of Mama Cuna. "How fares our letter runners from the south lands?"

    "There is stirring chaos in lower Amazonia," his young bride reported. The Temple has received many messenger birds of late, all speaking of roaming monstrosities in the forest. The lack of rain there has continued into September, meaning the forest''s inhabitants are now in a state of all-out territorial conflict over the estuaries of the undergrowth."

    Inti sighed. Tika agreed. A stirring Amazonia meant dire trouble for the nation''s borders.

    For his Kingdom of the Sun, their side of the Andes rose above the emergent layer of Amazonia, meaning what happened within the forest stopped beyond the canopy. However, if a section were to collapse, it would instantly disrupt the balance of predator and prey that held the forest''s dangers in check.

    At worst, a tide of "refugee" Greenskin Demi-humans would emerge, hungry and desperate, to wreak havoc upon the agricultural regions of Sapa Inti''s empire.

    "The Temple has also received requests for aid." Tica rose from her kneeling position, making the sign of the sun as her spritely figure stretched out like a youthful sapling. On her shoulder, her Sundew Familiar cooed, relaying the minutes of the report to its mistress in the secretive tongue of plants. "From our cousins to the north, whose holy war is yet unended."

    "Our kin of the Feathered Serpent requires OUR aid?" Inti appeared genuinely surprised. "With what?"

    "Sir Tupac will explain." Tika stepped aside to reveal the kneeling form of Inti''s friend, the Shifter-warrior Tupac.

    The gentle giant stood, making the sign of the risen sun.

    "Their runners have arrived with Creature Cores, trading for skins, grains for sowing, metal and magical materials," Tupac read off the report in his hand. "The reaping winds of Quetzalcoatl have not been kind of late. Since the middle of the imperial calendar, their trading cities in the lowlands have all suffered the displeasure of the Winged God. From what we''ve gathered from our traders, sacrifices have been offered by the tens of thousands. The Puma Warriors are even capturing the fair-skinned folk from the New World, hoping that their aberrant hearts would allow Quetzalcoatl to feel appeased."

    Knowing full well the zealousness of their theocratic and thankfully distant cousins, the court permitted several moments of silence.

    Tika made a gentle cough.

    "It is not our cousins who are upsetting Lord Quetzalcoatl. Something is making the Winged Serpent very unhappy." Inti read his wife''s intentions at once. "I think we shouldn''t get involved, lest it turns its all-seeing eye upon our Kingdom."

    "How shall we deal with the traders?" Tika poised the question the four rulers of the Suyus were keen to answer.

    Inti turned his head toward his uncle, Amaru, Administrator of Cuzco and Inti''s tutor in governance matters.

    The old snake smiled and said nothing.

    "Release a sizeable stock of maise and corn," Inti gave the best command he could. "Suspend any shipments of magical metal and HDMs beyond our original agreements. However, allow up to fifty per cent more medicinal purchases."

    "Sapa Inti is wise," Tupac replied with a bow.

    Tika arrived by her husband''s side. "My Inti¡­ as our friends from the Mageocracy like to say. I fear that the Four Suyu shall soon live in interesting times."

    Beside her, the Living Sun frowned, contorting the flawless visage of his peerless face, said to be identical to the nation''s first God-King, the great Manco C¨¢pac.

    Touching her collarbone with a tender finger, Inti slouched ever-so-slightly on his throne, immediately attracting a nasty nip from the cane of Amaru, his uncle-advisor.

    Tika suppressed a hiss.

    Inti rubbed his shoulder without regarding his uncle.

    "Yes¡­" the young man appeared tired despite the Faith of his people permeating his body. "Interesting times indeed..."

    Northern Ireland.

    Carrauntoohil.

    High above the foggy shrouds of Corr¨¢n Tuathail, the Ancient Red Dragon Sythinthimryr allowed her colossal body to stretch over the scree of Fire-aligned Mana Crystals, bathing her blood-red scales in mana so thick as to resemble wine.

    Slowly, with the meticulousness of a chef savouring the aroma of a rare dish, her nostrils drew in the mist, sending the entirety of the cloudscape into a swirling, tectonic metamorphosis.

    "Dask¡­" the face of a Drake, just old enough to resemble a Dragon but lacking the dignity of its mother-sire, emerged from the depthless blanket of red steam. "The Kin of Danu have come to deliver a warning. The one-eyed King stirs before his time."

    "They¡­ dare?" Sythinthimryr''s nostrils flared as blue as her displeasure. "Mere manifests of the Elemental Planes, believing that they can pierce the veil between places outside the Accord?"

    "Yes, Mother, the fabric of spaces grows threadbare. Great changes are happening everywhere." The wyrmling''s voice was sharp and eager.

    "Nonsense, child." Sythinthimryr''s tone was enough to send her son''s frills flattening against his skull. "Change is change¡ªwhat you observe now is merely a disturbance."

    "But the Human empire to the south¡ª" her pup sulked.

    "Will titter, child¡­" Sythinthimryr''s voice once more grew serene.

    "Will it fall?" Her boy asked in a sulky voice. Her child''s curiosity, the Ancient Red sighed, had always been acute. Was it because he had once been abducted and placed in the heart of the Human city? Was that why he would abscond every other season to play "Mages" with the unsuspecting humans fighting the Fomori?

    "The humans have a saying." The Ancient Red swirled her thoughts through her vast memory. "The dead Oliphant is still taller than a horse."

    "I don''t think they say that, Dask¡­" her boy appeared unconvinced.

    "¡­ but it will still bring the Scythian Vultures."

    The young Drake grew silent.

    "That''s¡­ that''s not a saying¡­" the boy was adamant. "Unless they said that in the time before their cities..."

    Sythinthimryr eyed the heavens.

    "I want to meet the Vessel..." her boy mumbled. "The one who has the favour of Lord Illaelitharian, who ignored me."

    "Go back to sleep, Slylth." the Red Queen nuzzled her child until the boy was smothered back into the enormous bed of Fire-tinged crystals. "You''ve much growing yet¡­ before you dream of meddling in the planar politics of the Accord. At least earn your true form..."

 Chapter 464 - When September Ends

    October.

    The Royal Docklands.

    Mycroft Ravenport, Lord Marshall of her Majesty''s men at arms, stood stoic as a Gargoyle sentinel on the battlements of the Royal Docks as blanketing mist drifted over the placid steel waters.

    He was a picture of fatigue, and though the Good Lord had himself rested on the Day of Sabbath, there was no such solace for a father who had dearly missed his youngest child.

    Therefore, Mycroft Ravenport, Patriarch of the Ducal House, stood in the rain, sorting data in his weary mind as the tugboats took their time to coast the Royal Raven into its assigned dockyard.

    The past half a year had taken a toll on himself and the Office of the Lord Marshall. In the manner the girl had prescribed, inexplicable planar disasters were unfolding all over the Mageocracy''s domains, stretching their resources as fine as gold beaten to airy thinness, so much that certain sectors had to be foregone entirely.

    For example, the Militants'' ambitions in the Nigerian Delta were now entirely abandoned to disorderly climate change, with all reserves rerouted instead to shore up essential infrastructure in Port Sa¨©d, the Suez Canal, and most importantly, Gibraltar. The loss of new Frontiers was difficult but inevitable, and without the Mageocracy''s tacit support, allies who wished to remain could only fend for themselves¡ªarguably an impossible endeavour. Many gentries had to sell property¡ªand in direr instances, auction daughters to industrialists to repay their debts.

    Comparatively, the softening of the Greys'' attitudes toward House Holland meant that their particular branch of the Militant families had returned to respectable profitability, especially with the Isle of Dogs Norfolk Conglomerate transporting the Houses'' goods.

    More recently, the Mageocracy''s official stance had been to condense its armed forces from the Horn of Africa to the Coral Sea east of Australia, buying itself time to adjust to what the girl had foretold to be a decade of uncertainty¡ªassuming optimal management of the Elemental incursions throughout the Prime Material. With the data from both Polar nodes now officialised by the Shard, little doubt remained as to what Humanity faced, even if they knew not what awaited them. Still, their allied nations took to the revelation with the typical Human impassivity of denial, opportunism and learned apathy.

    Thankfully, the rulers of Albion knew not to take the matter lightly¡­ and that inaction would invite calamity on a scale the naysayers could scarcely begin to imagine. They were lucky, for dissonance to the other Empires of the Prime Material, a rare nod and a word from House Winsor was all it took for Westminster to make plans and pass budgets.

    From the mist, with ponderous slowness, the thrum of the tug boats bringing home the Royal Raven emerged, bringing with it the enormous silhouette of the battle barge.

    "Miles," the Duke of Norfolk addressed an aide as the swirling mist meandered. "Does our ship look haggard to you? Moreso than anticipated?"

    "If you would recall, milord." The aide with a name leaned in closer. "Milady had reported from Singapore that they''ve been rescuing distressed ships from Mermen Tides. The Dwarves have been cannibalising the ship''s materials to mobilise their impromptu flotilla. There had been four fleets since Antarctica, first from the Coral Sea, then the Bay of Bengal, and finally through the Red Sea. In Eritrea, the Royal Raven was delayed by the September insurgency in Asmara and had to defend the Shielding Station on the coast."

    "The lycanthropic rebels have spread to the cotton coast?" Ravenport recollected the foreshadowing reports. "Hmm... yes, I do recall. Charlene did say they were investigating a gate into the Dyar Morkk there on behalf of Lord Hanmoul''s crew. The results were¡­?"

    "Sound. The Dwarven Transit node has been recovered, milord. Likewise, Cotton exports have been partially restored thanks to the young Miss'' intervention. Though for how long, we''re unable to estimate. Last week, our Diviners documented that the Demi-human tribes are currently in a continent-wide mass migration, following the shifting wet band in central Africa."

    Mycroft considered his aide''s studied information. The Royal Raven''s state of disrepair was one of necessity and choice, having spared much of its materials for the rehabilitation and construction of sites and ships during its long journey from the Antarctic to the East Coast of Australia, then threading through the Bay of Bengal until finally, it squeezed through the Suez Canal to sail past the Tyrrhenian Sea. At the Rock of Gibraltar, the Royal Raven had restocked and resupplied just enough for the final leg of the arch through the North Atlantic.

    "I see. I''ll take it from here, Miles."

    "Yes, milord." His team of crow-black suited aides retreated far enough to remain un-intrusive.

    Though Ravenport had told Charlene that he would personally receive her, the arrival of a Carrier Class Cruiser was nonetheless attended by thousand-odd workers, dozens of Golem units, various military officers of the Royal Navy, and reporters from the city''s major papers. Behind the official thong were the crew members'' family and companions, including the impatient faces from the girl''s Isle of Dogs.

    The foremost of the news rags was the METRO, owned by the ship''s infamous War Mage, now triumphantly returned from her trial, leaving no doubt about her credentials. By now, the METRO''s circulation, though not its profitability, has far exceeded the Sun and the Telegraph, making many in the House of Lords nervous about its influence among the unlearned masses.

    Almost a year ago, Shalkar had been a test, and the girl had proven resourceful beyond doubt.

    The Southern Expedition had been a different test: one that stressed the girl''s resources to their utmost limits.

    From the report released by the Oxbridge Magisterial Committee to the Shard, the girl''s connexions had been revealed as both transcontinental and trans-Planar, far beyond the means of even London''s most well-connected Magisters. Her''s were different to the Shard''s most senior Magisters, whose ties were tethered to Humanity and its cities.

    How did the girl reach this point? The Duke knew, of course, but the results remained astounding.

    The girl had trafficked with not one but TWO of the Blooms who governed the Axis Mundi and was on speaking terms with at least THREE Mythics, two of whom predated the civilisation of Humanity. Even on paper, the print stretched the imaginations of the common Tower Mage.

    And, according to Charlene''s transmissions, the Scion of the Yinglong who "hung out" with the girl as her Planar Ally had now taken on the form of a true-blooded, four-legged Draconid. In the Bay of Bengal, when the girl had sent her Shadow Mages home to My?ma, the newly minted Thunder Dragon had decimated a Shoal of Mermen before the Royal Raven could bring its Dwarven artillery to bear. By his daughter''s accounts, the Wyvern-turned-Dragon would now be in "Isolation Training" with its elder brother, the Thunder Dragon Ruxin, ruler and partner to the Mageocracy''s efforts in Nagaland.

    What the girl''s newly revealed circumstance entailed, therefore, was the acknowledgement that mere favours and promises of influence and wealth were no longer enough to keep her lashed to the Shard. Like the Tower''s Meisters and its rare Magi, the leash that held the reigns of men and women like Gwen must be woven with Mithril and Orichalcum, then custom-fitted to be comfortably flexible.

    Which meant the Mageocracy would soon need an escalation.

    For any other, a tried tactic would involve the uncomplicated application of matrimony. To be wedded to the family of an influential Duke or Marquess, or in the most ardent of circumstances, an off-shoot of the royal House itself, was the norm.

    However, for a child of Kilroy, and considering the girl''s ties to the Lindholm lass, that option was so far into the aether as to never return. Coercing the girl was also not an option, considering her connections to Gunther Shultz, now Master of the Mageocracy''s most resource-rich and stable Frontier.

    And in thinking of Shultz, Mycroft was forced to remind himself that the girl had claimed responsibility for the erasure of a Cabal of Necromancers that may or may not have had a Lich among them. Sydney Tower''s Morning Star had verified the bounty. According to Gunther, there was a Lich¡ªthough its phylactery was not recovered. However, as none thought it wise to question the Lord Master of Sydney, they agreed to his terms.

    The reward was almost a quarter of a million HDMs.

    But the money was no object. What worried Mycroft was the girl''s ability to subsume her victim''s innate "Affinity" for certain genres of arcanistry. Sooner than anticipated, he feared, the Towers may very well be welcoming its next Master, a sorceress capable of wielding Omni-Magic, furthermore complicated by her "unnatural" Affinity for Humanity''s oldest original Spellcraft¡ªNecromancy.

    Even with certain details omitted, the report had shaken the upper echelons of the Shard. To address their concerns, Mycroft Ravenport had informed them that any hope of stifling the girl''s growth was a ship that had set sail with the Royal Raven. Now, like the matter of the changing climate itself, they were in a position to steer the gunport away and toward their foes. Should they truly feel threatened, scuttling the ship would first involve the Hollands, who now stood firmly in her court¡ªwith success meaning, at best, the offender would face the Morning Star; at worst, the ire of Tryfan and thereby, infringe upon The Accord.

    When questioned, Mycroft''s advice for settling the girl had been to offer a term similar to that of her erstwhile Master; the same Gunther Shultz had been provided. While retaining her services, she must be given a land to rule¡ªan ideal Frontier that was both pivotal and far away enough from the centre of power to keep her fruitfully employed. A place that was both out of reach of the conspiring power brokers of the Mageocracy and yet close enough to obliterate should the necessity arise.

    A place like the newly established Orange Zone of Shalkar al-Jadeedah, a Frontier burgeoning with potential, bordering no significant bases of power, with no Human cities, with Black Zones to the south, Orange Zones to the north, and Purple Zones to the West, was perfect. As a location forged from elemental instability, does it not make the ideal home for one whose professed ambition was to establish a Tower and whose work would invariably be tied to the Accord?

    Morrigan had reported that most of the Lords were in favour, while a minority ardently opposed the rise of a second Henry Kilroy.

    The Duke of Norfolk would have liked more time to mull over the situation, though the ship''s noisy docking procedures now took precedence over the recollection.

    As the transforming hulls slid apart, then unpacked themselves like intricate origami into loading bays, a miasma of smells flooded the shipyard. Old oils, alcohol, engine grease, the outpouring of excess mana from HDMs slabs, spirits, unwashed Dwarves, thrumming Golems, liquor, and what could only be evaporating firewater poured over the Royal Docklands, making the shore crew recoil.

    "Father!" the nightingale voice from the gangway was enough to dispel Mycroft''s desire to vacate the dockland for the odour-controlled air of Westminster.

    Charlene Ravenport, looking like a half-wilted flower, her once luminous hair matted and dull, drifted ashore, striding through the air to land in his open arms. She had not used her Dust sorcery much, though their family''s Spellcraft had been used, meaning months of rehabilitation would be required to restore her health.

    Behind his daughter, he could see the rest of her crew, including the girl in question, her cousins, the Chinese Daoshi, and the various children of his contemporaries who had chosen to follow Charlene on what had initially seemed tomfoolery. According to Charlene''s reports, seventeen of those children would not return¡ªthough that number was more optimistic than Mycroft could have hoped.

    After allowing his daughter to soil his heirloom Draconic-cashmere coat with the unmistakable stench of Dwarven quaffing, he kissed her oily cheeks. A moment later, he allowed her to slide from his embrace before facing their pet War Mage.

    "Magister Song." Ravenport extended a hand. "You are truly worthy of that title now, Magister. Cambridge has informed me that your official inauguration will be in a few days."

    The girl shook his hand with a firm grasp.

    How strange it was, Ravenport pondered, that only a few years ago, when the girl first arrived, he had taken her into his car to speak to her. She had seemed so frightened then, like a lamb staring in horror at an abattoir. Now, the young woman not only shook his hand but appeared no more impressed by the gesture than if she had purchased a club sandwich.

    Others would deem the inoffensive nonchalance offensive in itself¡ªthough Ravenport understood all too well. When one has met Dragons and Blooms aplenty, mortal relations and titles just felt so¡­ temporal. When one''s mind dwelled upon the fabric of the Prime Material itself, competition among the Peerage felt as bland as a cup of poorly brewed English Breakfast.

    Still, it was good to remain grounded.

    The Axis Mundi was a big-big thing. To move it alone was futility, be it Gwen Song, Spectre, the Elemental Princes or even the Blooms and their Dragons.

    Around them, the lumen bulbs of the recorders flashed and flashed again, taking stock of the moment in which the Duke of Norfolk personally received the Royal Raven''s crew. As a result of the image, Mycroft was sure: stock prices would rise, others would fall, and backroom deals would bisect like criss-crossing fungi.

    Mycroft exchanged cursory words with the girl, and the two parted for their businesses. He would return with Charlene to the manor, where his child could clean up, dine, and then relate the tale of their return from the Antarctic.

    As for the girl, Mycroft imagined that she would be burdened by her bid to return the Dwarves to their homes, simultaneously transporting the Golems and the Fabricator Engine back to the Isle of Dogs. Also, the Royal Raven had to be unloaded of its loot of the world, though that would be the duty of lesser men and women in service to either Charlene or the girl.

    The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    With a casual wave of his hand, Mycroft dismissed the reporters. Those who disobeyed were sternly reminded by his aides that the Duke of Norfolk did not ask twice. With another gesture from a signet ring, he opened a portal¡ªone that directly led to the Teleportation Circle under Westminster, from where he would immediately access home. It was a privilege few could afford and rarely exercised, though this much was the least he could do for Charlene. Later, in the wake of her triumphant return, her career as a Ravenport would begin in earnest.

    Before he stepped through, with one foot in the aether, he watched the girl command her men, at which point his thoughts inadvertently strayed a little to his youngest.

    The fatherly part of Mycroft swallowed the hollow void in his heart.

    As for the Duke, the Lord Marshall was already kilometres away, thinking of how he might broach to the Shard the subject of the girl''s next assignment.

    Unlike the privileged daughter of the Duke of Norfolk, the orphaned War Mage Gwen Song had only herself to work to an early death upon her return to Albion''s shores.

    First and foremost, naval transportation of the Golem units she had loaned with Hanmoul''s Iron Guards had to be safely extracted and delivered to the Isle of Dogs. Her rationale dwelled on the newly built Dyar Morkk Node Station the Dwarves had established for the Isle, a part of the evolving negotiations The Shard and Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth had hammered out as a result of the increased dangers in sea-ferrying goods.

    As for her nest egg, the Isle''s development had reached the fourth phase, with new skyscrapers and shopping complexes rising all over the old docklands.

    Eric Walken, who was himself worked to the bone, had a small mountain of papers for her to review and stamp. His core grievance was from developers jealous of Elvia''s soup kitchen and orphanage, which remained a part of the Isle''s core complexes sectioned out for charitable works, now bisected by an enormous riverside park Gwen jokingly labelled "Mansfield", charitably free for all to visit.

    However, even with Walken''s memo minutes droning on like a hive of angry bees, Gwen understood her priorities.

    As soon as the Dwarves were on their merry way and Lorenzo''s folk had taken over, she lifted into the air with her Omni-orb aloft, willing it to guide her to her heart''s desire. Against a dreary, windy sky, her crow skin flapped, slicing through the air with effortless grace.

    "Young WOMAN!" Eric Walken''s voice howled from below. "Return at once! The Marquess of Ely is waiting for you to attend her welcome-back party tonight! The Shard has requested your presence to verify your reports! I need you to sign off on the audit forms!"

    "I''ll be back!" Gwen called to the milling forms of the folks below, some still taking pictures, others waving to catch her attention.

    "You''re expected at Cambridge!" Walken''s hollering continued. "Seven PM at the latest! The whole faculty is expecting you! Including Gracie and Brown!"

    "I''ll do my best," Gwen promised through her Message device. "But I make no promises."

    "Where the hell is she going?" Walken''s open Message growled, barely controlling himself from setting the documents in his hands to ride the wind.

    Gwen felt sorry for her old foe and instructor, for the bloke looked like he wanted to fly up and drag her back to the Bunker. Before her ground crew drifted out of view, she saw Petra give the old Magister a pat on the shoulder to calm his farm and explain why their boss was in such a hurry.

    As to where Gwen was going¡ªthat was for her to know alone, for she had sent off a Message the moment they came within Divination Tower range, and only an hour ago had the response returned.

    To those who were not family, she felt no need to disclose her heartfelt desire. After so long in the Antarctic and a month and more at sea murdering seafood, she was sick to the core of the life she had inadvertently chosen. To keep herself sane, she needed solace, and only one place could provide the serenity she sought to feel less like a mirrored Sobel.

    Battle.

    East Sussex.

    Though the world was in flux, the millennia-old Monastery Fortress of the Order of the Bath remained untouched by change.

    Belying the world''s chaos, its Knights and Companions walked through green lawns carpeted by scarlet leaves, with windows swathed by flaming foliage, turning the cloisters a rich amber. East of Sussex, Battle was a world away from the world itself, sheltered by Faith thanks to the Ordo''s most precious relics, maintaining a serenity that had remained uncontested since the victory of William the Conqueror in the eleventh century.

    This year, like every other year in which their lauded Knight Companion had called the Abbey home, Battle''s avenues were punctuated by endless floral blooms, some cultivated, others wild, which dressed the orderly rows of gardens in flamboyance. Additional flowers lined the stone pavements, usually bone-white and ivory, meandering through the grounds like rainbow serpents, adding colour to the otherwise sombre setting.

    For those who were here to convalesce and study, the season of autumn was a rare joy before the onset of desolate winter, where snow would smother every living thing, and the trees would wear gothic.

    And it was here that Magister Gwen Song, a recent returnee from the Southern Expedition, landed in her crow skins, turning eyes and raising brows from every avenue, window and battlement.

    "We''ve been expecting you, Magister Song," the meek voice from an acolyte soon greeted her, emerging with a strained huff from tall corridors. "Our Abbotess has gifted you and Companion Lindholm privacy in the East Garden."

    "Thank you." Gwen retrieved her Omni-orb, which even now was roving eastward. "I know the way."

    Her guide said nothing, happy to follow the orders she''d been given regardless of Gwen''s willingness to obey. Out of deference, Gwen chose patience, allowing herself to be led by the demure nun until she arrived at an entrance east of the Edenic central courtyard.

    Though not a Pocket Plane, she nonetheless pierced a veil of magic before arriving at the garden''s enormous interior.

    Past the threshold of a pair of trellis gates, Gwen immediately caught the drifting notes of an aria, its lifting notes hanging long and lovingly through the air. Piercing the garden''s row of eye-level hedges, she found her Evee in the middle of a song, addressing her Familiars in a Disney-patented manner.

    Resisting the little worms bloody masticating her heart, Gwen took a deep breath and counted to ten. On her second repetition, the object of her dearest desire noted her arrival.

    Evee.

    Evee.

    Evee¡ªGolden and glorious, kind and wonderful, walked from the wooded shelter of the gazebo with a smile that could melt all the frost that had invaded Gwen''s body from her six-month stint in the Antarctic.

    Having been apart for so long, Elvia appeared more mature than she recalled, for her face had lost some of that puppy-dog cuteness. Gwen, herself provisioned by the Essence of an immortal being, knew that Elvia''s maturity was not due to the tyranny of a clock hand''s leaden circles. Rather, it was the stress, the woe, and the worries of the world that had taxed her dearest friend.

    On route past Singapore, Gwen had visited the refugee camps in Pulau Ubin, where the islander asylum seekers had been dispossessed. From the caretaker, she had learned of Elvia''s failed mission and walked among the folk her dearest Elvia had sought to save.

    Within weeks, the talented few among the refugees had been plucked by Singapore''s industrious Tower from the shelters, leaving only the mediocre and the NoMs to fend for themselves in a camp that made Shanghai''s Districts look like five-star hotels. When the refugees had left their homes, the promise had been that they would find shelter and security from monsters¡ªand this the city had delivered¡ªonly now, the men and women there were at the mercy of monsters wearing human skin. Some of the camps had taken on work from the city and had established a semi-autonomous council of foremen and peacekeepers. The majority, however, had descended into a crucible of vice, becoming the playthings of gangs and strongmen or officials who saw their bitter labour as tedium and insult.

    For the "Faithful" who had followed Elvia, Gwen had made arrangements with the local government to ease their eventual passage into the city''s economy. As for the rest¡ªher time and charity were bankrupt¡ªfor she owed them nothing. Her only motivation was that, should Elvia return someday to witness the end of her Ordo''s goodwill, she would be less sad knowing that most had lived hard, if fruitful, lives.

    "Gwennie¡­" The instant their gazes crossed, her Knight Companion blossomed like an unfurling rose, her cheeks growing as pink as pippins and just as adorable.

    From behind her dearest friend, Kiki and Sen-sen''s inhuman faces peek out from the underbrush, still too wary of Caliban''s scent to approach too close.

    Gwen responded kindly, sending Ariel forth to frolic so Elvia''s Familiar and Spirit could be at ease.

    As for Caliban¡ªher Void fiend had grown lethargic of late, meaning more precise instruments were needed to exactly ascertain the effects of consuming a very confused and unsuspecting Lich. One that, according to Gunther, did indeed escape Caliban''s Pocket Plane gullet, only to find itself in a Quasi-Elemental Plane of all-consuming life, one that was equally partial to the digestion of Un-life. Consequently, her command over the Sanctioned Magic left by her Master had grown¡­ an alarming prospect, but one she welcomed, especially considering what was to come.

    Thankfully, it took less than a split-second for her mind to return to the sublime vision of Evee striding through the unnatural floral garden as though Alphonse Mucha had brought a secret epic to life.

    "Practicing for Christmas already?" Gwen couldn''t stop grinning, for her mouth had acquired a separate, happy sentience. "Evee, I''ve missed you so¡­"

    "I heard¡­" Elvia shimmied close, then closer, until her forehead was almost at Gwen''s chin.

    Gwen inhaled. The scent of jasmines from Elvia''s hair, likely a product of Kiki''s making, made her want to confess her greatest sins.

    "¡­ that you helped Father Bambang and the others at Singapore¡­ thank you, Gwen, truly."

    "It was nothing," Gwen replied without hesitation, for the effort was truly nothing. For she who had returned successfully from the Antarctic Black Zone, uplifting NoMs was barely considered a favour by Singapore Tower. "There''s going to be far more chaos to come. More refugees will soon flood into the Frontiers¡­ I can''t even begin to imagine."

    "They''ll need a lot of help and aid." Evee took her hand and began to guide her deeper into the garden until they were inside the dainty gazebo, within which was a nice little picnic basket, as well as plates and glasses.

    "So that''s why you weren''t out there to greet me." Gwen felt her chest flutter. "What''s the occasion?"

    "To thank you." Elvia''s hand squeeze her fingers. "You''ve done so much for us¡­ for me, the Ordo, and the people¡ªeverywhere."

    "I am doing this out of necessity." Gwen still wasn''t sure whether her venture was going to be a profitable one or if she was going to be out of pocket. The Bloom in White''s reward had yet to materialise. And even if it did, she wasn''t sure if an Elven Monarch''s payment could be meaningfully liquidated into currency. "It''s just as much for myself as it is for anyone. After all, don''t I live in the Prime Material? Doesn''t Gunther and Alesia? You and Yue?"

    "You''re too modest." Elvia invited her to sit.

    Together, the two made themselves comfortable. Elvia filled their glasses with wine from the abbey''s private collection, and they sipped on fermented grape juice while Gwen regaled her tale of Antarctica, the Blooms, the Elementals and the Undead.

    Her story drew laughter, tears, and awe and fear from her listener, who seemed very much invested in Gwen''s hypothesis regarding the nature of The Accord and the role played by the Blooms and their lizards in sustaining the Great Trees of the Axis Mundi.

    By the time Gwen''s tale had returned to Sydney''s shores with Yue''s promotion, the sun was sinking into the English horizon, staining Albion''s firmament a darkly brewed Earl Grey. The sweetmeats, cheeses and biscuits Elvia had brought were also depleted, signalling that they were near the end of their recess.

    "I wish I could be as strong as you, Gwennie.." her soulmate stared into the depth of her oversized wine glass, her cheeks now the colour of ripe peaches. "I try, and I try¡­ and still couldn''t do it. I couldn''t save them, Gwen. I took them away from the Elementals feeding on their children, only to have them abandon their homes, then leave them in Singapore."

    Before Gwen could move to soothe her companion''s trauma, Elvia suddenly looked up.

    "I wrote a song in our time apart," her soulmate said suddenly. "It''s meant to be for the Carols by Candlelight, but I want you to hear it first. Will you hear it, Gwennie?"

    "Is there any doubt I would kill for the privilege?" Gwen raised both brows in defiance of Elvia''s accusation that she might not be fully attentive to a song written by an angel. "Let''s hear it!"

    A little embarrassed, Elvia started to hum, then corrected herself a few times before finally launching into song. A few bars in, Gwen recognised it as the one the girl was practising earlier.

    Calming herself, she allowed the lyrics to flow through her mind.

    May I wake you before morning?

    When the trees are painted amber

    To a breakfast of our making

    Of forgotten feelings, few remember¡ª

    Outside, the mayflies are many

    Outside, the brightest blossoms unfold

    Swayed by the bell beat of companionable swans

    Whose hearts will never grow old

    Then a cold wind blows

    Winter strips the yews

    A cold wind blows

    Though I am warm by you

    Why frets if the day was lost or won?

    Or if our hours grow lean and few?

    The sea may rise, and the whole world drown

    Care not¡ª for my world is here with you¡ª

    As Elvia sang, Kiki and Sen-sen came to sit beside them, as did Ariel. Like a child wondering at her finest picture book, Gwen sat entranced, enjoying the private, impromptu concert. The chorus repeated itself twice, stumbling here and there. When finally, Evee''s humming drew to an end, her lips moved as though she wanted to say something truly profound.

    After a few false starts, the girl shook her flaxen head.

    "I¡­I can''t¡­ It''s too hard." Evee''s head hung low, moving to avert Gwen''s gaze. "I can''t do it. Gwennie."

    "Don''t be sad, Evee." Gwen replaced her wine glass. "Don''t be like that. You did what you could. The Ordo did as much as it was willing. That''s the fact of life. That''s all we can do and all we need to do."

    "You don''t know, Gwennie. There''s so much more I need to do." Elvia appeared to be talking to herself, or at least, to the wine. "Sometimes, I wish I hadn''t chosen this path¡ªbut then I remind myself, this is what I wanted. All of this is what I had chosen for myself. Here is my sovereignty; I must lie in it."

    Gwen brought the girl''s head closer to her own, then kissed the soft hair, feeling the warmth transmute through her lips like a spark to tingle her insides. "Don''t overthink it, Evee. Whatever it is that you need, I''ll help you. As your God is my witness, I can be very helpful."

    For a moment, she daringly wondered if Elvia would tilt her head back, their eyes would meet like in those old Hollywood classics, and then¡­ everything would be alright.

    But Elvia instead leaned forward, slipping from her grasp.

    Elvia wiped away the excess moisture from her eyes. Her face again restored to its adorable self. "Let''s finished up. Didn''t you say that you had a dinner party to attend? It''s almost dark. All those important people want to see you, speak to you, and seek your guidance and blessing. Wouldn''t they be upset? It''s an important party, right? You need to save the world."

    Gwen felt the beckoning call of the Message Device on her wrist. Had she not disabled it before coming to see her Evee, the "Dings" would resemble a street percussion performance.

    "O Evee¡­" She wanted more time with Elvia before returning to her unhappy reality. And if she was as influential as Elvia said, then she had time. "As long as you''re here, the party¡­ doesn''t matter."

 Chapter 465 -A Brief Spell of the Future

    October was heating up for the folk of Oxbridge''s Academic Board, whose august members possessed three opinions on the matter of "Magister Gwen Song" and her rise to prominence.

    The first was the working crew of academics responsible for the university''s certification examination, honest in their opinion that Provisional Magister Song had demonstrated ample ability to bring prosperity to a small dominion.

    The second faction had ties to the IoDNC''s balance sheets and demanded to know if any other Magisterial candidate had accrued as much credit as Magister Gwen Song. Their argument held that Gwen was the one who motivated the report, "A Hypothesis on Elemental Flux on regional Climates, Change and its Consequences," an achievement enough to elevate her title to that of provisional Meisterhood. They likewise pointed out that Magister Song was already the author of no less than twenty-seven papers on Void Magic, co-authored by Magister Maxwell Brown of Emmanuel''s College and others in Peterhouse. Her Author Citation Index: cited the pro-Gwen faction, matched scholars like Meister Petrie Higgs, responsible for the Conjuration formulae employed in the spatial magic that enabled Humanity''s partnership with Dwarven low-ways. For that reason, there was no sense that Oxbridge should gift Gwen a mere Black Gown and not the Scarlet Sash, signalling one whose contributions outstripped her contemporaries.

    The final faction opposed awarding provisional Magister Song anything other than the non-hooded Magus Gown for basic graduation. In their eyes, the young War Mage was just that¡ªa loose canon. She was not an academic. She did not contribute personally to the human body knowledge of Spellcraft, and her recent achievements were more suited to civil service than academia. Even if the girl was capable of a plethora of sorcery, her craft was taught or inherited rather than discovered. Ergo, a Meisterhood was absurd, and a Magisterhood was already the limit of the committee''s greatest allowances.

    Additionally, the conservatives complained loudly¡ªthe girl had missed her welcoming party and its impromptu viva voce. The entire panel had awaited her arrival, hoping to hear from the horses'' mouth its defence of the events presented by Maxwell Brown on her behalf, only to be left out in the cold. Worse still, a rumour even had it that she had spent the night at an abbey in Battle with the Ordo Bath! Such zealot-like behaviour was the antithesis of Oxbridge''s academic and pragmatic-minded modernity. If the girl wanted to dabble in Faith Magic, let her join an Ordo. Then, the academic circles could wash their hands clean of her corruptive, money-grubbing influence and return to business as usual.

    The debate was well-argued until the point of Gwen''s economic clout, framed as the "stink of HDMs that wreath her like a crown..." was brought up for the third time.

    At this point, a member of the audience, Lady Grey, the Marchioness of Ely, reminded the genteel committee that she remained Cambridge''s largest landlord and was also a major shareholder of Magister Song''s IoDNC. She informed them that the forgiving rent on Cambridge''s enormous grounds was a rude subject for a refined audience. That and she was not pleased by the politics involved in confirming her prot¨¨g¨¨. With the voice of a stern nanny, she informed the grumpy men that no Magisterial confirmation may be impromptu and that all merit, in the eyes of the university, is apolitical. She did not wish to impact their decision, though the county''s outgoings had been increasing of late.

    After that, even without a body being present, Magister Gwen Song''s provisional confirmation concluded with a supermajority.

    What was left to confirm was the official confirmation itself and the candidate''s final biometrics, for her Mastery of the different schools of magic would determine the number of silks she wore over her all-blacks, such as azure for Conjuration, crimson for Evocation, Tyrian for Transmutation, and so on.

    At any rate, what had been a stunt remained just that¡ªfor the girl had already missed the June graduation ceremony, and her moment of publicity would have to wait until the middle of ''07, even if Gwen were to assume official duties on the morrow.

    Indifferent to the board''s turmoil, the soon-to-be officialised Magister Song was far too busy to worry about the misguided politics of a college.

    Once Gwen had recharged her sanity, she returned to the Isle of Dogs to oversee the paperwork taxing Eric Walken''s sanity. Thankfully, the lion''s share of her catch-up labour required her signature rather than judgement, a formality Walken had left for her to shoulder, possibly out of spite. Concurrently, she concluded an interview with the METRO, giving Lorenzo the rest of her lumen captures Richard and Petra had taken of the refugees around the various places she had visited, delivering stern remarks for the troubles to come. After that, she checked in on her Dwarven allies, most of whom had now returned home via the fully functional Dyar Morkk transit station below the Isle of Dogs, now overseen by "Station Master" Hanmoul.

    As far as Gwen could discern, the station was the sort of Brutalist engineering marvel seen only in old-world fantasy epics. Separated into three sectors and almost twenty levels, the ant city "node" connected London''s ley-lines with that of re-activated Dwarven Low-ways throughout Wales and Scotland, creating a series of Pocket Planes that compressed space. To travel from London to Merthyr Tydfil in Wales was four hours by crow-flight and almost seven hours by land transit. Now, twenty minutes was all it took for a "Low-way Tram" to navigate the same distance. While the process remained incomparable to Teleportation, the core premise of the Dyar Morkk was the ease of transporting heavy materials without additional cost in mana¡ªan arcane secret Humanity had yet to unlock.

    For this reason, the "Dwarven Subway Station" conjoining Canary Wharf and the London Underground was undoubtedly the most important infrastructural addition to London since its original transit routes were constructed.

    As a result, employment at all levels on the Isle of Dogs had grown almost ten-fold, as had the land price of the surrounding suburbs, as well as the interest expressed by the Mageocracy and its allies'' corporations in establishing a base of operations on the Isle.

    Quite literally, what had begun as a farm and a slag swamp only years ago, was now the most sort-after commercial real estate in recent years.

    All who had initially invested in the Isle of Dog, or were given principle shares during its inception, were now speechless. Some, such as the Marchioness of Ely and the American Lady Astor, cooly accepted that their wealth had increased by degrees and margins that were generational in scale. Early investors like Richard Huang, who had been paid in shares and salary, now looked into purchasing manors in Knightsbridge or Mayfair¡ªareas with unexpected vacancies thanks to the troubles of the Militant nobilities'' finances. Others, such as the Isle''s initial Mage employees, could repay their tuition ten times over. Even the humble NoM folk who had opted for limited shares from the Isle''s first phase offering were now poised to hold enough capital to make a Senior Magus weep¡ªa dangerous circumstance for those untethered to power.

    Conversely, three days after her arrival, the architect of London''s wealth left the city to finally grace herself in front of Oxbridge''s Magisterial panel, who had burning questions on their plate to serve her. Like a choir, her proctors'' inquiries boomed across the vaulted ceilings in the great hall of Peterhouse.

    "Do you mean that¡­ it is by your connection to¡­ the Elder One¡­ that you hypothesised the climate changes brought about by the Elementals?"

    Their questions were ones which Maxwell Brown, her lecturer, co-author and ally, had already answered over and over without satisfaction¡ªthe question of why a Frontier sorceress knew of Climate Change when all the Queen''s Mages and Magisters could not construct a whole picture. After all, all of Gwen''s predictions came true. The Fire Sea was an experiment of sorts in changing the climate of the Caspian. The assault on the poles was an extension of the same principle¡ªnow ratified by Zordiam''s Legions. The Elves had been blindsided by the prospect of what Spectre was willing to sacrifice to accomplish¡ªand in their limited success, the world was now thrown into an inexplicable, unpredictable chaos, making it ripe for subversive anarchy.

    Again, all of this was predicted by a Frontier sorceress with only a few years of university education.

    Even if Meister Engela Bekker had proposed the outcome, the pioneering Eugenicist would have still been scrutinised by her peers.

    Yet, an un-titled Gwen Song had delivered a ludicrous warning¡ª

    Then, a bank-breaking military Expedition had set sail for the North Pole.

    Then somehow, House Ravenport funded yet another Expedition for the South Pole.

    AND THEN¡ªboth had returned with the news that INDEED, there was Elemental interference in the Axis Mundi and that what could be fixed had been repaired. But still, the lax security would precipitate a tough decade of global chaos.

    If one could trace Gwen''s involvement throughout the events, they would have thought that perhaps, Magister Gwen Song was a member of Delphi''s Oracles. Even the Oracle herself, a known prophetess, had not come to nearly foresee as much detail as a twenty-something Void Mage from Sydney.

    Hence, many were curious to know even the vaguest answers from their soon-to-be-minted Magister.

    To her credit, Gwen had already prepared several misdirections to rationalise her otherworldly insight: from the works of old Magisters and Meister who had studied the Axis Mundi to citing the unconfirmed labours of her Master, Henry Kilroy, to finally heaping credit on Almudj the Rainbow Mythic.

    Though stern, the session was not intended to pry¡ªnor coerce. In all likelihood, the sitting Magisters knew her form-fitting ankle-length jeggings were on fire¡ªnot that it mattered. According to Brown, her confirmation was all but concluded, and the process was merely a formality.

    As pragmatic men, the panel accepted the casualty of truth for the gift of her service. Thereby, she and the committee danced the quadrille until the questions were exhausted, and the final lines of her service to the Greater Good of Humanity were customarily asked.

    "Do you, candidate Gwen Song, concur that your advancement of Spellcraft shall benefit Humanity in the years of your service as a Sanctioned Magister of the Commonwealth Mageocracy?"

    As a tradition, the basic expectation was that a candidate would uphold Humanity''s interests in a just and moral manner. The open nature of the question was deliberate, as both qualities were malleable and highly contextual.

    "I shall," the soon-to-be ratified Magister Gwen Song verified her best intentions. "I shall always endeavour to achieve the greater good, that all parties may profit from cooperation."

    The committee murmured their agreement. "There is one more addition. What shall be your coda to your juniors, Magister Song?"

    The final formality was for the books. Over the centuries, many Magisters have left timeless mottos recited by subsequent generations. Brown had forewarned Gwen that such a flair would be added to her records at Cambridge and that though inconsequential, it should be done with style. Considering that her Magisterhood was based upon the proof of the necessity of intervention in matters of the Axis Mundi, Gwen had only one particular phrase in mind¡ªone as arrogant as it was truthful.

    ¡°Quod Erat Demonstrandum.¡± Her reply must have raised every brow in the theatre.

    Her Magisters in question nodded their agreement. QED, the conclusion of the Polar incident was as she had predicted, and so was the rapidly evolving matter of the refugees and the disruption of the Mageocracy''s economic framework of colonial Frontiers and first-tier cities.

    After her hour-long viva, Gwen was escorted by Magister Brown back to Peterhouse''s working section, where her spectrometric reading was to take place.

    For the common Magus or Magister in a lesser institution, the readings would have been presented to the committee as a measure of their worthiness. For a Magister graduate from Oxbridge, achievements were deemed worthier than mere prowess in magic, as candidates with meaningful research were rarer than Battle Mages. Conversely, Gwen was an odd egg within Cambridge''s walls. She was an import and a Combat Mage more fitting for the alumni of London Imperial, whose graduates were well noted for possessing some of the highest combat prowess in the Mageocracy.

    If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    Thereby, as the scion of Kilroy and a War Mage of the Shard, her true biometrics was a subject of classification, known only to the highest members of the military order and the Tower.

    When the door to the familiar lab slid open soundlessly, she was greeted by the pleasant face of Gracie Hillbrook.

    "QUACK!" Before Gwen could react, a massive yellow-billed face instantly snuggled up to her and wrapped its enormous neck around her waist, transforming her into a Carnival float-girl.

    "Dede!" Gwen kissed the duck on the bill. "My, you''ve grown smaller! Did you learn a new trick?"

    "Quack!" The duck made its intentions known.

    "Alright¡ªalright!" Gwen slathered a palmful of Essence down the duck''s reciprocating bill, then conjured forth a happy Ariel, who began running circles around the colourful drake.

    After several bouts of "Quack!" and "EE¡ªEE!" The Familiar and duck were ushered from the laboratory into Peterhouse''s gardens.

    Finally, Gwen was able to address her friend of two years.

    "Magister Song!" Gracie clutched her data pad while wearing an expression of a star-struck rock fan. "Y-you''re finally back!"

    "Gracie! My goodness¡­ you look¡­" Gwen could not help but feel a warm gush of gladness infuse her mana conduits, for it had taken her several seconds to ascertain that, indeed, this was the same Void Mage. "Amazing! And don''t you start! It''s Gwen to you, Magus Hillbrook!"

    When Gwen had left, Gracie was nearing the breaking point of her Affinity for Conjuration to use the Conjure Familiar spell to find herself something akin to Caliban or Jean-Paul''s Umzokwe. She had left the girl plenty of Essence-infused Maotai as backup, and Brown was acting as the overseer of his and Gwen''s great experiment to "stabilise" the health of a growing Void Mage. Still, Gracie had appeared like a lost cousin to The Addams Family, both ghastly in her complexion and dour in her introverted fatalism.

    Now, the girl was the most hale she had ever seen, with rosy cheeks adorning a woman the bloom of her college days.

    "It''s all thanks to you." Gracie curtsied at first, then stopped and bowed. "We found a suitable Familiar for me! I can source my vitality now, Gwen. Thank you so much."

    "Quod Erat Demonstrandum." Brown chuckled. "I did promise that reconstitution was possible with your Master''s Method, the very same he did for Sobel and yourself. So, what do you think, Magister Song? Pleased with your research? I did submit the papers with you and me as principal authors."

    Gwen couldn''t help but walk a circle around the white-robed Gracie. After her depression at sea, Gracie''s happiness was amazing news that delivered a jolt of Radiance to dispel her lightless months in the Antarctic.

    "There''s no biting fish yet¡ª" Her former tutor spoke again after she and Gracie burned a few minutes to catch up. "But we are expecting others like Gracie shortly. Once we stabilise Gracie''s condition in a longitudinal sense, I suspect the universities of the central continent will grow desperate, that and I wouldn''t put it past Meister Bekker to possess another stock of students like Jean-Paul, only without JP''s luck."

    What Brown meant, Gwen knew well, was something she had entirely overlooked for Gracie''s sake, the use of Soul Tap on her peers to save them from themselves, enslaving their Astral Souls to gift them a portion of vitality via Sympathetic Soul-Link. In Brown''s research, the breaking point of Void-vitality equilibrium could not be reached without explicit design. All naturally occurring Void Mages would invariably perish unless they possess a high Affinity for Conjuration from birth. Even so, they must achieve a sufficient tier to use the Conjure Familiar spell. Then, they must cycle through Familiars until a suitable creature could be farmed or found, with the caveat that each instance a new Familiar was conjured or abandoned, the caster suffered enough feedback to self-destruct.

    Gracie''s new best friend, the girl had summoned, was a Void-subtype Gastropoda dubbed the "Abyssal Conch", something between a land snail and a carrion crawler. The Familiar was purchased at the Grey Faction''s Auction thanks to Lady Astor''s many-talented tentacles. And Gracie was lucky enough to find compatibility with the creature, who felt enough Affinity to fall into her service.

    Thus far, the Void-slime-secreting snail was the size of a house cat. It fed ravenously on high-vitality ingredients and was principally a nocturnal hunter that silently "grazed" on prey by oozing paralysing digestive juices over its sleeping victims. As per her usual greeting, Gwen gave the creature a helping boost by sharing some of her Essence, making its owner shudder and flush a healthy scarlet.

    Gwen wanted Caliban to meet its cousin and see if the two might build a friendship, but her Familiar remained unattentive. Even conjured, Cali presented itself as an inert black mass.

    A few minutes later, with Gracie''s aide, Gwen stood dutifully in her gown and channelled her various Schools of Magic into the sterile instruments. At the same time, Brown made his recordings known, reading them out once for himself and again for Gracie to punch into the records.

    "Evocation¡­ 6.99."

    "Conjuration¡­ 6.99."

    ¡°Transmutation¡­5.99.¡±

    The already silent room grew quieter somehow.

    "Your Affinity is better than mine by a tier," Brown read the scripts, looked up at Gwen with an awkward grimace, and then read the white slips again. "Just how much did you fight over the six months?"

    "There was a small continent of Undead Mermen." Gwen did not wish to recollect her six months too vividly. Less pleasant memories were best kept buried if she cared about her mental health. "Did you read the report?"

    "Three Month inland, two months breaking through the blockade?" Brown nodded. "Daily fighting?"

    "We fought like Dwarves. Sometimes up to sixty or more hours." Gwen felt her chest grow cold as muscle memories reflexively re-lived those moments. "The Undead Kraken took us a month, one tentacle at a time. Luring it out, fighting its Shoal, thinning its vanguards, flank guards, royal guards, strewth, give me a live Kraken any day. Thank God it couldn''t regenerate well enough to keep fighting or was intelligent enough to abandon its post."

    "And that it had no Lich to support or command it," Brown reminded Gwen of her world-famous achievement. "What a stroke of genius it was to use Caliban on the Ziggurat."

    "It was. As for the aftermath..." Gwen made a genuine gagging motion. "You cannot believe the smell. It seeps into everything. Even now, I am sure there are residue strands of Necrotic mana in my Astral Soul. You know, I burned everything replaceable that I took with me on the expedition."

    "Of course," Brown continued. "Abjuration¡­ 5.22."

    "Wow." Gracie''s fingers were white with tension. "Gwen, you''re amazing."

    "Divination¡­ 2.50."

    "Illusion¡­ 4.01."

    "Enchantment¡­ 4.45."

    "Gwen.. you''re a bonafide Omni-Mage!" If Gracie''s pupils could glow, they would have lit up like Faith relics.

    "I am relieved your other magics remain within the realm of mortals," Magister Brown joked. "In that combination, however, I am not sure if you''re still Human, Gwen."

    "I feel¡­ Human," Gwen assured them.

    "Well, we''ll know if your ears start to elongate." Brown made sure to glance at her ears, making Gwen conscious enough to touch them. "And your¡­ other Affinity, the one gifted by your unusual diet¡ª"

    Gwen''s ears perked up.

    "Do you wish to know?"

    "What''s not to like?" Gwen shrugged. "At this point, I am invested."

    "6.99." Brown read out the number. "I shall refrain from commenting on your private relationship with your Master''s designs, so let''s move on. Now¡­ your Affinity for the Elements. Let''s see¡ª"

    The machine quickly spat out a new script as if equally eager to move on.

    "Lightning is at 7.99¡­ inclusive of Ariel''s current supplementation, its reading¡­ is 8.54. A bit on the low side."

    "Yes. That''s less than I imagined." To the horror of the examiners, Gwen had the gall to complain.

    "You need to advance your Kirin''s purity," Brown noted her dissatisfaction. "Higher order Cores, perhaps import a few from your Draconic connections?"

    Gwen quickly thought of Golos'' gift from the Frost Wyrm, then dismissed it promptly lest she grew tempted to take a friend''s existential prospect to evolve her pet. "How about Caliban?"

    "Assuming its dormancy does not impact its Affinity boost¡­" Brown pulled the script through his fingers. "Ah, there it is¡ª6.33 for your base Affinity, and Caliban is adding¡­ my God¡­ a whopping 1.3¡ªfor a total of 7.63. That''s an ENORMOUS growth, Gwen. Since your Lightning is already there, you should know that the difference between tier 6 and 7 are magnitudes apart."

    Gwen exhaled. With Caliban in its current state, she had suspected that there would be significant growth on the part of her partner. After all, the Necromancy Cabal was the single largest "feast" Caliban had the pleasure of imbibing.

    "We''ll have to run tests¡­ a lot of tests¡­" Brown appeared like a giddy child on Boxing Day. "And finally¡­ yes, I did suspect this. Your VMI, young Magister, is now registering over 500. Five hundred and three, to be precise. Congratulations, Gwen. At the ripe old age of twenty-one, you are now counted within the top ten percentile of all Magisters in the Mageocracy. How does that make you feel?"

    "Good?" Gwen answered from the changing room, switching back to her jean-blouse combo. Her clothes, one of her remaining innocent passions, were now a year out of date and potentially polluted. When she had the opportunity again, she would have to take Petra, Lulan and Gracie to raid Harrods for the latest and the greatest. Arguably, a woman of largesse like herself could take the ISTC down to Le Bon March¨¦ Rive Gauche in Paris, though having Military Police escort her shopping spree was excessive even for Magister Song.

    "Would you wish to know why your readings are ending with .99?" Brown asked when she emerged, one hand dexterously tying her voluminous hair and the other browsing through a spare data slate held with a Mage Hand.

    "I do." She had wondered about that.

    "You lack the Spellcraft to push past the meniscus of Affinity growth." Brown tapped the top of the data slate. "Are we on the same page?"

    "My spells are too simple to facilitate a breakthrough?"

    Brown raised his hands to make the sign for six. "At its most complex, you''ve got Maelstrom and Blade Barrier for Evocation. You have no spells at the sixth tier for Conjuration beyond Planar Ally. What of Transmutation? The highest order of spells you''ve mastered is Sympathetic Life-Link at the fourth tier. Your... Necromancy is ironically doing better than five other Schools of Magic thanks to Soul Fire..."

    "I see¡­"

    "It''s a little incredible and also insulting to know that you''re knocking on the door of the Seventh-Tier, and you don''t have a single Seventh-tier spell." Brown pinched the bridge of his nose, then extended a hand to count by the fingers as if labelling fruits for a toddler. "Elemental Eruption, Dimensional Jaunt, Force Cage, Prismatic Spray, Elemental Avatar, Adaptation, the options are almost limitless. Between your three principal Schools of Magic, I can scarcely imagine what the future holds."

    "I see¡­" Gwen gulped. "Keep in mind my Affinity is a condition, not a natural talent. Let''s take it slow. I don''t envy a misfire or mana feedback from the seventh tier."

    "Fine. Even so, new spells like Elemental Examiner and Hellfire Scorcher at the upper sixth tier would augment your current firepower against the type of foes you regularly challenge." Brown shook his head. "Yes, I know, the spells beyond the sixth tier are rare, of course, and expensive, but so are you."

    "Yes," Gwen conceded that her tutor was right. "I need new spells. And more lessons."

    "That you do." Brown sighed. "This brings up our next problem. The world is burning as we speak¡ªaccording to you. Do you have time for more lessons? "

    Gwen sighed as well. "No."

    Brown looked her up and down, then cocked his head. "Then we must maximise your time before you''re sent off on another assignment. Evocation, Transmutation and Conjuration, hmm¡ªsay, have you ever heard of Morden''s Blade?"

    Gwen nodded. She had not only heard of the spell but had seen it employed first-hand by none other than her Master''s wife.

    "Considering your lack of specialised giant slaying spells, I would look toward Scotland and see if you can solicit the spell from the Greyhawk Citadels of Suilven. For the foes you had faced¡ªDragon Turtles and whatnot, there''s nothing more efficient than a non-strategic Tier 7 slaying spell. Unfortunately, those Fomorian-slaying Scotsmen are not very friendly toward us, considering their stance on independence¡ª"

    Morden¡­ It was still a moment of wonder to Gwen that The Bloom herself had confided in her of her Master''s true origin as the direct descendent of Archmage Morden. According to the ageless Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar, the current IMS, or Imperial Magic System, was born from Henry forcibly donating his grandfather''s legacy to the Mageocracy, erecting its Towers and instructing its future generations. If a scion of Kilroy was to approach the scions of Morden to ask for Signature magic¡­

    Gwen drew a deep, uncertain breath.

    She wanted the spell that Sobel used and had lamented its absence in her Master''s treasure trove of Necromancy notes. To swing the same blade to cut down Elizabeth''s Spectre allies and gut her plans from chest to groin...would be sublime. Nothing short o that could absolve the limitless misery she had been forced to witness¡ªforced to triage.

    In that case, what was the harm if she wished to purchase a copy of a spell her Master would have one day taught?

    At best¡­ she deeply suspected there wouldn''t be a discount. At worst... what could Henry''s family do other than deny her?

 Chapter 466 - A Beckettian Dilemma

    Scotland.

    Suilven.

    The Greyhawk Citadels.

    Within the grand hall of the Tower of Elements hung the world''s first and largest man-made orrery.

    It was here, in the heart of Spellcraft, that Arch-Mage Morden pierced the Astral Planes'' veils to fathom the Prime Material''s stratum. For the citadel''s students, the orrery has always been the centre of its quasi-magical decor, a wonder that, through overexposure, had grown mundane.

    It was also a wholly accurate depiction of the present state of Astrophysical cartography, a fact of pride for the Greyhawkian students, who would regale every visitor with the fact that their orrery was handcrafted by Morden centuries ago.

    Arch-Mage Morden!

    A being of legend whose achievements brought about modern Spellcraft. Yet, if one questioned the college''s custodians on Morden''s contemporary relevance, the speakers'' tones would grow reticent.

    Situated atop the heart of Assynt''s cnoc-and-loch landscape, the citadel''s history was as complicated as its encircling cliffs, bluffs and lakes.

    The first was the press-printed truth, in which Morden''s descendants opened Morden''s theorems to the rest of the western world, ushering in the age of the Imperial Spellcraft System. Thanks to it, the Magic of Industries came to be, first revitalising the wayward empires of Humanity, then leading them into the pitfall of Necromancy. Yet, despite setbacks, the net gain of the IMS was self-evident, as Humanity had clawed its way to the top of the food chain and established the most widespread race of terrestrial beings to inhabit terra''s continents.

    The second was a tale known only to its direct inheritors¡ªthat Morden did produce an heir with his aptitude¡ªonly to have the heir sell out the Tower''s secrets for some fantastical dream of utopia. From this heretic¡ªthis traitor of blood¡ªcame the Towers, each an inexact copy of Morden''s peerless citadel, tethered together by terra''s ley lines like ramshackle ships huddling in the face of an eternal storm.

    Within these rare halls of the Greyhawk Tower, its Magisters, the custodians of Morden''s knowledge, now debated.

    The matter was regarding the heretic''s Apprentice, a young woman named Magister Gwen Song of Sydney, whose home Tower was The Shard. Her origins made her British in their eyes, and no true Scotsmen would allow a British Magister the easy luxury of plucking an upper-tier sorcery of Morden''s make like cabbage from a market.

    Dean Ross McKay, Master of the Tower of Elements, believed that the girl was an investment which could mend the unhappy politics between the the "Free City" of Suilven and The Shard.

    Magister Sebastian Moore, of the Morden purists, led the coalition which opposed having any association with the Scion of the Heretic, lest more of the Tower''s hearth treasures be embezzled from its vaults.

    Magister Cora Hogg, responsible for modernising the Tower''s interests in the epoch of the Mageocracy, argued that the spells requested by the heretic''s Apprentice should be delivered¡ªbut the costs should be paid both by its user and in concessions from The Shard. After all, they were sharpening a sword that would never directly benefit Suilven, while their spells could only be given away once.

    The recently appointed Student Council President¡ªSlylth McAllister Morden, was the final member of note who observed the paralysed debate.

    With great deliberation, the young man slowly leaned toward the Dean''s ear and whispered his wishes.

    Visibly, the dispassionate Dean, who had grown tired of the ceaseless dissension, straightened his ancient spine.

    The others ceased their minutes and waited for the Dean to speak.

    Their gaze also fell upon the youthful Slylth, a boy of sixteen summers.

    That the Dean would give weight to a child''s words was a bit ridiculous for an institution as steeped in tradition as Suilven, but the boy was a Morden. A Morden who appeared as if from thin air, but one verified by the surviving members of the bloodline and given ethos by the word of a Demi-God.

    The "Demi-God" in question was Alexander Morden, the sixth generation of his line, the last Magi of the Citadel. Since the Pan-European War, the century-old Magi had slumbered in his domain deep within the Dungeon-Citadel of Greyhawk, seldom sensible to the mortal matters of the real world.

    Four years ago, with the boy''s arrival, the citadel''s administrative staff had received a rare edict from the citadel''s Dungeon depth.

    "This is my Scion. Pay heed to him as you would a fruit of mine loins."

    There was no doubt where the proposal came from, though the message was both cryptic and nonsensical. However, none in the citadel questioned it, for the Divination had come straight from the horse''s mouth.

    Thankfully, the boy was as advertised. As would be expected of one from Morden''s line, Slylth was a natural Mage, talented beyond comprehension, possessing no barriers to any particular Schools of Magic except for a genuine dislike for Illusion and Divination.

    A Fire Mage, the boy also possessed Affinity for Elemental Magma and Radiance. Without a doubt, this particular "Morden" was a triple-talented genius of the century that any institution would jealously guard with militant zealousness.

    Additionally, while one would expect the young man to be aloof and uninterested in the college''s business like many of Morden''s research-obsessed scions, the lad proved charismatic and ambitious.

    Within months, he had won the support of the student body. His studies had grown just as quickly. Having begun elementary magic in the first year, the boy mastered multiple tiers of sorcery in Evocation, Transmutation and Abjuration within the first two trimesters, allowing him to graduate from the role of an Acolyte within six-month of his admission.

    By his second year, Slylth was ready to quest with his seniors, providing his party with greater firepower than a military Mage Flight.

    Now in his fourth year, there was little doubt the college was grooming Slylth for leadership, envisioning a future where, once more, a "Morden" shall lead the Greyhawk Citadel''s attempts at finding independence from the Commonwealth.

    The Dean spoke once more. "The heretic has been judged by his sins¡ªand so ends our grievance with him. Be it weal or woe, we cannot alienate his young Apprentice as we did the heretic'' first. That was a regret we never rectified. Magister Song has done great things and brought fortuitous warnings for future tidings. Though we cannot accept her as our own, her service should be rewarded."

    Magister Sebastian Moore, his white beard bristling with unhappiness, appeared unmoved. "She is a Void Mage. We''ve seen how the heretic''s pet has impacted the world. Who can say it was for the better? Humanity may appear powerful, but this front of power is a Japanese screen¡ªas thin as the Mageocracy''s overstretched resources, which shrink as we speak. Now, we no longer share the land with the other races¡ªthe Mageocracy, be it here or in the New World, are festering sores on a weak, dying king."

    "Again, Sebastian, you speak as if our home is afloat on the aether streams of the Ethereal Plane, untethered to the Prime Material. Whatever feelings our people possess for the theft of our craft and knowledge, we are loci to the Axis Mundi. The growth of the outside world has benefited us well. When was the last time we suffered a great defeat against The Wild Hunt? How many students of yours have perished against the Fomori in the last decade? A dozen? No more than you can count on both hands. How many of our generation are left, in comparison? Do you realise we can count that number with both hands as well? Why is that, I wonder?" The retort from Magister Cora Hogg was enough to keep the conservative Magister''s bile contained.

    "Well said." The Dean motioned for the speakers to rest. "On another note. I think this is a matter best dealt with by the next generation. Slylth suggests we meet the girl to gauge her mind and mettle. Our Slylth is a prodigy, and by all accounts, so is their young War Mage. Perhaps they will have a more meaningful conversation than we old men and women, hmm?"

    The two Magisters regarded the smiling young man with the ruffled, rusted hair. There was very little likeness to Morden there. For one, the man wasn''t losing a single strand of his hair, while the Arch-Mage was as powerful as he was bald.

    The young man gave them a pleasant smile. Having seen the boy grow into a young man over the last half-decade, his lecturers found themselves unable to disappoint the sunny fellow, feeling like a refusal was akin to kicking a grinning wolfhound.

    "That''s settled, then." The Dean clapped, signalling the end of their emergency meeting. "I leave the matter of Magister Song in the capable hands of our young Magus."

    London.

    The Isle of Dogs.

    In an epoch few still recall, the Isle of Dogs docklands once played home to a great influx, and then exodus, of refugees. When the Kingdom''s domains in the west fell to the Wild Hunt in the Beast Tide brought on by Vynssarion Coal Eyes, a quarter of Dublin had to be evacuated lest the city fell in its entirety. The operation, dubbed the Dublin Exodus, took the effort of every merchant, naval and private vessel the nation could muster.

    For Magister Gwen Song, now hovering mid-air, she was reminded of another time, another world, of Syrian refugees traversing the Mediterranean in the hundreds of thousands, of the lone boy whose body washed up in the surf.

    But the city was no longer willing to cut these ships the necessary slack.

    In July, the nation''s attitude toward these Frontiersmen and women had been sympathy and sorrow. These were, at their core, citizens of the Mageocracy. They had worked their meagre lives in their mundane ways to provide the resources necessary to keep the Mageocracy''s great gears oiled and turning, and now it was time for the citizens to open their hearts and wallets.

    Gwen understood very well that the attitude was buoyed in part by a misunderstanding caused by Gunther. When Sydney fell, many refugees came to London and other European cities willing to take their quota. When Gunther reclaimed Sydney, eradicated the Mermen, made peace of a kind and began to transform Sydney into a tier 1 capital, the displaced Australians returned to their homeland and brought relatives and friends.

    Ergo, when the climate-related catastrophe began, even the conservative papers fielded the narrative that these refugees would be settled somewhere in the Kingdom and then happily return to their homelands once the fires died down.

    Come October, when the promise of the un-intrusive de-materialising refugees failed to occur and, in fact, resulted in MORE ships than formerly predicted, the Sun Herald and the Telegraph found their audience.

    Refugees and soaring crime!

    Rogue Mages assault the NoMs locals!

    Low-skilled Sorcerers from the Frontier are taking the honest jobs of our home-grown lads!

    Perhaps it was because she had experienced it all before.

    Perhaps it was the power, wealth and influence she now wielded as a sanctioned Magister.

    She was supposed to be an objective observer, but Gwen felt mired by the scene below.

    In her old world, the same sights had seemed so removed. She was in Sydney, the beach was hot, and the azure ocean was cool. The "boat people" of the world were far away, existing as phantasms on the daytime telly.

    Now, they were underfoot, the marching, milling thongs of miserable faces from the Mageocracy''s everywhere, each worse worn than the next. The splendour of London was blinding to most of them; this idea that a utopia existed so close when their whole lives had been toil and survival.

    "Richard," Gwen asked the stoic figure beside her, equally drinking the sight below in silence. "How many more placements do we have left?"

    "The IoDNC prepared Fifteen thousand spaces, mostly for women and children, on the Isle of Sheppey. Beyond that, I do believe the Marchioness'' generosity will reach its end. Currently, there are twenty thousand plus refugees taking shelter."

    It took Gwen several seconds to realise she''d been gritting her teeth. "How''s Elvia''s sanctuary?"

    Her poor Evee had thrown herself into the crisis like a martyr to a pyre. They were not a kilometre separated, yet she hadn''t seen Elvia other than in mass-blessing ceremonies.

    "Overcapacity by half." Richard''s tone remained unaffected. "We can manage with our resources, but it isn''t a long-term solution. The Ordo''s additional manpower won''t last past the next shipment."

    Her cousin''s words were a harsh reality and a new experience for Gwen. In business, in a successful acquisition, she rarely worried about the dispossessed workers. Those with marketable skills would take their severance and find better work within weeks. Those with outdated abilities would take a pay cut. As for those without the means, they were never meant to be a part of a lean, operational corporation with thirsty shareholders.

    Unfortunately for all, these sad boatloads were not companies, stocks, or parcels of profitability. They were losses in the most drastic and obscene manner imaginable.

    Having studied her share of NGO documentaries, Gwen knew her "dock" side of the catastrophe was already a model effort in sifting the refugees from London''s shores. Taking her experience from Shalkar, she immediately summoned the Mage-power necessary to process the merchant vessels whose protocol had been to save all stricken ships at sea.

    At the docks, a small platoon of Ordo Clerics had energised the tired mobs with "Bless" and "Mass Healing Word", affording them the health and morale to line up and be registered by the government clerks sent to record the influx. Elvia''s soup kitchen had tripled its temporary hires, paying premium wages to local bodies to mass-produce soup, rice and bread batches, further fortifying the survivors'' patience.

    After the new arrivals were sorted into NoMs and Mages, each group went their separate ways. The Shard had a special holding area where the Mages would be given further testing, questions, and jobs and placements. The remaining NoMs were given to fate¡ªmeaning understaffed government agencies¡ªor were abandoned to the designs of privateer charities like Elvia''s religious entity or Gwen''s pragmatic camps.

    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    Somewhere within the city''s myriad power brokers, she was certain that Humanity''s more destructive instincts, like in Blackheath, were on full display¡ªthough that was not her duty or jurisdiction, at least for now.

    "Should we land among the new arrivals?" Richard asked.

    Gwen shook her head. Even if she did land for a photo-op, what would that prove? The METRO was already doing its utmost to garner charity and support, fighting the Telegraph tooth-and-nail to paint a brighter picture than the Sun Herald could conceive.

    But she could not promise these folk a brighter future.

    Here in this dark valley, there is only loss.

    The loss of social and economic capital.

    The loss of political capital.

    And the loss of human dignity.

    These folk, who had homes and futures months ago, now crowded upon the merchant ships like humanoid snails, carrying their life''s proceeds in a new place that imagined them akin to a temporary rash that would go away with a soothing balm.

    A day earlier, when desperation had overthrown hope and unrest was at hand, she had sent Lulan with her leftover contingent of Shadow Mages to keep the peace. The idea of a private militia did not sit well with her, but nothing quite inspired discipline like Lulan standing on the upper dock, shading the agitators with floating slabs of humming iron.

    For now, the new refugees obeyed the curfews put in place.

    But like their predecessors from July, boredom will take root.

    Then desperation.

    Followed by anger.

    In economics, the situation was a death spiral.

    Jobs required industry.

    Work required homes.

    Homes require space.

    Spaces had to be secure.

    Security required costs.

    Costs required jobs.

    And every process must generate profit to create a cycle of sustainability. And an uncertain volume of refugees must be abandoned out of the unempathetic, statistical logos of resource limitations.

    And despite all of this, she had other interests that must be pursued, lovely distractions that would take her away from the headache below as easily as her Flight.

    Food, opportunity, home, none are luxuries, not even for the NoMs of London. With time, the meagre kindness of the nation would appear as cruelty, ignorance, and neglect.

    DING!

    Her rumination was disrupted by the timely arrival of a golden Message chime, implying that a reply had come from an application submitted to The Shard.

    "Magister Song. My name is Magus Slylth Morden of Suilven Tower. We have received your application for the instruction of our signature magic, Morden''s Blade, and the elemental-shifted variation of Force Cage. Your application is a welcome sight. However, due to the sensitive nature of the spells requested, we would require you to attend in person at the college so that we may assess the eligibility of our gift to its new wielder. Additionally¡ª"

    Gwen stopped the message right there.

    "Fuck that noise," Gwen said to Richard with a sigh. "The damned application already wasted three hours of my time, and they''re charging almost four hundred Contribution Credits for the baseline variation, a thousand for the real deal. That''s a decade''s worth of CCs for the average Magus. Now they want to waste more of my time."

    Her time, considering the physical manifestation of human misery below was at an absolute premium.

    Her CCs were plentiful after Shalkar¡ªand there remained a great deal to do.

    "Perhaps your reputation precedes you," Richard smirked. "After all, you told me there''s beef between Morden''s folk and your Master."

    "The price was clearly marked. This reeks of politics." Gwen growled. She performed mental math and concluded that her next few weeks would be hellish enough without tomfoolery from her Master''s long-lost relos in Scotland. "Well, if they''re not keen to receive CCs to keep their Tower afloat, screw ''em. Give Magister Brown a buzz. I''ll prepare for Mass Flight."

    The Mass Flight she desired wasn''t the variety used to buff a Mage''s party with the ability to ride Elemental air. Her application, processed by Maxwell, was for the genuine article, a mass-expenditure Transmutation that drained an upper-tier caster''s mana pool to bring Lesser Flight to as many users as possible for up to twenty-four hours. Whatever her future might hold¡ªGwen deeply suspected that London''s immediate concerns would be stabilising the anarchy in its far Frontiers, which meant the mass mobilisation of men and women, both magical and mundane.

    As a War Mage more than likely leading the charge, she had a very important takeaway from her six months fighting the Undead: aerial mobility.

    So long as air superiority could be maintained¡ªit was the singularly most useful effect any campaign commander could muster. Be it attack, defence, or retreat, nothing else trumped the means to engage or disengage at will.

    Most Mages distrusted the viability of air transport due to Magical Creatures interfering, but who was she? Magister Song was a privileged arcanist waiting on her new mini Yinglong! And her Ariel could equally dominate the skies! From experience, she was confident very few magical creatures would dare challenge her Draconic posse if they asked nicely.

    And on that front, she had placed an open order for a Draconic Core for Ariel, making a wink and a nudge at Ruxin through Mayuree''s House of M. There was no small volume of guilt involved there as well, for the price which a nine to tenth level Core from a pure-blooded Lightning Elemental of the Draconic persuasion could field enough HDMS to keep ten thousand refugees fed for three months.

    She was rich¡ªbut her means were a late-stage capitalist''s, not the self-sacrificing poor soldier ethos of Elvia''s brethren. Her hypocrisy was self-evidently Beckettian, but luckily, Gwen possessed enough awareness to choose the modern man''s method of boxing the absurdity and throwing away the box.

    "I think we''ve spent enough time here. Eric has the overflow under control, and there''s enough in the coffers for contingencies." Gwen felt tired despite her wealth of Essence. "What''s next?"

    "You have a meeting with Magus Williams of Massachusetts Institute of Thaumaturgy. His appointments have been pushed back, though you said you wanted to visit the matter vis-a-vis. It''s regarding the Ilias Leaf?"

    "Ah." Gwen recalled that she had left a sizeable volume of HDMs with the young man at the beginning of the year. Banking on his expertise in interfacing with Dwarven magi-tech, the research fellow from the US had promised a report on the viability of interfacing with the leaf. "I almost forgot he existed."

    "It isn''t urgent, I hope." Richard looked for a place to land. Gwen followed. She could fly as she pleased, but that was paid for with CCs and prestige. "Magus Williams is often absent. I hear he has thrown himself body and soul to the Dyar Morkk project."

    "Maybe Gracie can pick up the report. We''re keeping the research confined to Cambridge for now..." Gwen mulled the matter. As much as she wanted Project Legion off the ground, she doubted a wealth of investors would exist when the market remained so volatile.

    The two had not touched the week-old asphalt for more than two seconds when another Message, this time in the form of a familiar face, made a low dive over the crowd, carried by Aria Ravenport.

    In her gunmetal House uniform, the Mage reminded Gwen of a woman wearing a movie prop used for a Bond villain''s lair.

    "Magister Song¡ª!" the woman cried out before she was even close, perhaps fearing that Gwen would teleport away. "I bring a Summons from the Office of the Lord Marshall. Milord has consulted with The Shard, and your official posting has been organised!"

    "Hi, Aria." Gwen waited until the woman was close enough for them to shake hands. They had been co-workers, Aria had been her secretary in Auckland, and the two shared enough history to use their first names. "You''ve come straight from Westminster, then? No crow-mail? That would have sufficed."

    "It''s a formality to hand-deliver important requests." Aria''s intelligent eyes hesitated. "Gwen. The House Master wishes to speak to you regarding your placement personally."

    "I hope it''s a good one." Gwen had a good feeling that any politeness from Ravenport meant a worse outcome.

    "Sorry, Gwen. I am not privy to that information." The young woman barely stopped herself from habitually bowing her head. "Are you able to attend to the Master now?"

    Could she? Gwen wanted to say no.

    She had a scientist to see.

    Duties at Cambridge.

    A charity to facilitate.

    Spells to route learn.

    And her own NGO to mould into shape before it collapsed under its weight.

    Should she? Gwen considered the cost of leaving the Lord Marshall of The Britannic Mageocracy waiting. She and this Mycroft were on curious terms, one neither of them had expected. She was good mates with the daughter¡ªbut there was no denying she compelled the son''s technical suicide.

    Life...Gwen determined...could be very strange.

    Westminister.

    The Office of the Lord Marshall.

    In perhaps, the most unusual greeting Mycroft had ever seen, his guest entered with a prim bow and a loud "Milord Mycroft", then instantly turned to feed his bird something deeply suspicious.

    "Caw-caw!" Morrigan''s avatar performed what could only be described as a jig and a dance before settling down on the backrest of the guest chair, perched over the girl as though they were partners, not he and his blood-bound Celtic Mythic.

    "Aria, you may leave now." The Lord Marshall willed away his aide before allowing himself several seconds to recompose a professional demeanour. The informality of their meetings was fine in private but not something he wanted others to witness. As an afterthought, he sent his aide another Message. "Aria, do tell Millie to prepare a generous tea. Our Void Sorceress does not take well to meetings without refreshments."

    Across the table, his guest smiled at his hospitality, masking her acute mind behind a facade of guileless youth. Looking at the vibrancy dripping from the girl''s carefully crafted mien, he wasn''t surprised that Holland''s heir was now under her thumb.

    "Magister. Thank you for coming on such short notice," Mycroft began. "Though the notice was short, the decision had been deliberated since before your present stay in London. We have designated a post that we believe is as beneficial to you as it is to the Mageocracy, meaning you have our full support in logistics and resources."

    "Thank you." The girl placed her hands on her thighs. Unlike the first few times they had met, her attire was finally prim and professional, though it still bothered Mycroft''s fatherly endorsement for subfusc. Comparatively, in vid-casts of her operation, he had thoroughly applauded her choice of the crow-skin battle amour. "So, where would the Mageocracy want me?"

    "Before we delve too deeply." Mycroft placed both hands on the table. "Allow me to thank you on behalf of the City of London. Taking the overflow of refugees from our hands has given the Royal Navy significant breathing room to reorganise. As you know, the Northern Expedition is ongoing, as are our Frontier efforts to withdraw our battle lines."

    "Think nothing of it." The girl waved a hand, then tickled his crow. "From your hesitance, shall I conceive that I am receiving a Tower in the next few weeks? Something stout and small for beginners, perhaps?"

    Ravenport could not help but raise both eyebrows.

    "Magister. Do you possess yet another Core the likes of which your Brother-in-craft harvested?"

    "Did the Tower manage to do anything with the Kraken Core we recovered?" the girl retorted. "That could work, for a regional Tower, surely. It was the size of a Dwarven Dust MK II unit."

    "The Core was polluted beyond recovery," Ravenport replied without batting an eye. "We purchased it out of academic interest, and the barter price has been paid. If you wish it back, will you return the HDMs and other rare materials the Tower has provided?"

    "Ha." The girl shrugged. "I am using those HDMs to blunt the attack on your coffers. If anything, I should apply for a tax rebate."

    The two sat smiling at one another for a bit more, then the tea arrived, and both took on more serious manners.

    After the secretary retreated, Mycroft felt the moment was ripe. "We''re sending you back to Shalkar." He cut straight to the chase.

    The girl grew incredibly silent.

    For Mycroft, this was not a good sign, for he associated the girl Mage with pretentious verbosity and nonsensical sayings. The Foreign Affairs Ministry and the Internal Affairs bureau had both signed off on the girl''s appointment¡ªand for a graduate Magister, there was no refusing their placement, especially their first.

    However, few Magisters began their careers as a War Mage returning from the South Pole, bearing a badge of approval from an ancient Mythic and receiving an acknowledgement of praise from the tree-side of The Accord. The girl was also rich beyond compare, which naturally attracted political clout from the hungry nobility who wanted a piece of her pecan pie. She had also circumvented the impassable barriers between the Factions so that certain members of the Militants, Greys and Middle Factions saw her as one of their own.

    If a Magister like that decided she didn''t want to be away from the centre of power, who could teleport them against their will? The Shard would not renounce her credentials, nor would it simply leave her to rot¡ªin a time of chaos and need, politics was an expensive and foolish waste of resources.

    Shamefully, Mycroft felt his palms sweat a little.

    "You have an established base in the region," Mycroft continued as if unaffected by her silence. "Magister Oliver Edwards has been struggling with the political situation there. However, the Shard could not fathom a better Regional Administrator than yourself, as you command the respect of the Khanate and have significant control over the Rat-men tribes. Now that the region is experiencing a genesis, we require a capable hand with logistical and commercial acumen to extract as many resources as possible before the seasonal boon is concluded."

    The girl''s eyes remained fixed on the floor.

    Mycroft quickly shot his raven a telepathic request for clarification.

    "Don''t look to me," came Morrigan''s reply. "Her actions are as comprehensible as those Necromantic Glyphs from Egypt."

    "There is also the matter of the Dyar Morkk you discovered near Shalkar," Mycroft continued, keeping his momentum. "The Dwarves hope to connect to that particular network section within the next two months. The Dwarven city there¡ªhollowed and burnt as it is¡ªneeds to be recovered, its dead consigned to the Hall of the Ancestors, and its vaults reopened. The ones responsible will be the Germanic tribes from the Central Continent, though I am confident your alcohol-based virtues should readily tame any confrontations. As a down payment, Berlin has contributed significantly to the endeavour despite the region being a Mageocracy Protectorate. If and when the Dyar Morkk beside Shalkar is connected to central Europe, the trade and development possibilities are endless."

    Mycroft concluded by leaning back in his chair. He had said enough. Anymore, and he would begin to feel like a used Wand salesman.

    Finally, the girl spoke. "¡­ Ollie is in Shalkar?"

    "Magister Edwards never left."

    "Wasn''t he a provisional one?"

    "We authorised his Magistership and gave him an assignment."

    The girl winced sympathetically. "How''s his hairline?"

    Bewildered, Mycroft looked to his raven.

    "Caw?" The raven shrugged. "Why would I know?"

    The room fell silent. Mycroft hoped Magus Edwards'' hair wouldn''t be a point of contention.

    The girl sighed.

    Mycroft sighed. He had hoped to avoid their next step, which was the slow coercion of the girl through her relations, applying gradual pressure until she bent enough to touch base with The Shard''s demands. In his opinion, such a waste of goodwill and capital was a loss for both parties.

    He studied the girl, searching her body language for a point of hesitation or weakness.

    Suddenly, the girl looked up.

    Strikingly, her eyes were twin jewels that sparkled with what Mycroft swore were glittering HDMs.

    "I want¡­" the girl spoke with certainty, making his arm hairs bristle. "I want the Dyar Morkk operational in under two months. After that¡­ I want you to send me the overflow of refugees from London, with transit and provisions and a promise to return home if their homeland can be recovered. The first allotment must be skilled labourers and Mages. After that, the others. I also need a continuation on loaning the Fabricator Engine. The city will pay."

    "What¡­" Mycroft instinctively sensed an enormous pitfall in the girl''s suggestions. Refugees? What was the girl hoping to do? What could a multitude of vagrants, all displaced from the Frontiers, hope to accomplish in an Orange Zone? "What are you proposing?"

    "A city¡­" the girl''s grin was Draconic.

    "A city?" Mycroft''s mind sowed only doubt¡ªbut he was then reminded of Shalkar, the Isle of Dogs, and the Antarctic.

    "Yes, a new city!" The girl''s confidence was infectious. "We''ll build it! A Shinning City in the Sand, a new Silk Road''s trade hub, where Demi-humans and Humans all work together for the golden pursuit of prosperity and profit!"

 Chapter 467 - All for One

    Gwen left the meeting with the Lord Marshall of England with a spring in her step.

    Her good mood was well-deserved, for the solution to the refugee problem had presented itself on a silver platter, with partial funding and additional concessions to be plated on a later date.

    She also counted herself as incredibly lucky¡ªfor she had not expected that The Shard would be so generous as to regift the juicy jujube that was Shalkar al-Jadeedah to herself. In her books, the region was at least within the top thirty of the Mageocracy''s better-known Frontiers for exporting exotic produce and one of the five regions to produce Elf-blessed Wildland fruits.

    The pessimistic Gwen wanted to know why no one else wanted a slice of the recovering region''s sweet meat.

    The optimistic Gwen chose to be more logical. The region''s "Speciality" was established by her efforts¡ªespecially through the bond she had established with the indigenous Demi-humans in the Horse Lords and the Rat-kin. Furthermore, the lynchpin holding the flywheel together was the Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar, and she had also been responsible for that.

    To govern, one must hold the reigns. While the Horse Lords could be coerced and the Rat-kin intimidated, the Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar made plans and moved events at their leisure. What would happen to Shalkar if the Elves suddenly withdrew their support? What if someone angered the Elves? Profits were profits, but who would want to test the mettle of the mysterious agreement known as The Accord?

    Ruling the region would be akin to dancing on Warding Glyphs.

    But she was different.

    Tryfan shared history with her Master, Henry Kilroy. She was also known, for lack of a better term, to the ancient beings whose bodies weighted down the World Trees.

    If the Saviour of Shalkar stepped on the Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar''s toes¡ªshe could receive a stern admonition.

    But if a Faction-aligned Magister misstepped, the fallout could obliterate the very existence of their careers.

    She knew what she had to do to kickstart the region. Unfortunately, the manpower she had on hand was now at a steep premium.

    Walken''s Bunker crew, including the Chinese administrators gifted by Ruxin, were inhumanely overworked. Elvia''s Ordo members were also swamped to their necks by the influx of refugees needing aid and support. The IoDNC''s staff also had both hands, and Mage Hands full of work generating profit to keep her operations lubricated. The METRO was short-staffed from the beginning and remains as such even now.

    Usually, she could borrow men from her mentor, the Lady of Ely, but the Marchioness had also rolled up her sleeves to help with efforts on the Isle of Sheppey. Lady Astor, likewise, had taken off her expensive slippers to venture knee-deep in Humanitarian efforts, offering up the lower estate of Cliveden to families with only women and children.

    The Dwarves had been far less impacted by the changes in climate on the surface¡ªbut their utility was elsewhere. The loan of the Fabricator Engine alone would require three dozen of their number, including the guards. As such, until the repopulation of the Dwarven Citadel swelled that number to the tens of thousands, she would have no spare hands.

    Her thoughts had weighed in so heavily that she had completely missed the polite presence of a young man with his signature Roman nose who had split from his party to accost her at the Old Palace Yard.

    "Magister Song!" her fellow Magister finally gave up on polite patience when she was almost close enough to touch.

    Gwen looked up, meeting the smiling face of Thomas Holland. "Oh¡­ Oh my God. Sir Thomas! I didn''t see you there."

    "Yes, I am not usually very noticeable." The orange-haired, lanky heir to the Golden Blood gave her an awkward laugh. "Do you have a moment?"

    Gwen''s immediate reaction was to decline, but she had enjoyed her stint with Thomas Benedict Holland and felt safe speaking to a nobleman who was indebted to her. Besides, she wasn''t much looking forward to informing Walken that Christmas was cancelled. Hopefully, the Magister''s stiff upper lip would remain firm, and he wouldn''t return home to bawl out his eyes to his wife and child regarding his bosses'' ruthless abuse.

    Before she could answer, their encounter was interrupted by the navy-haired mirror image of Thomas, led by a sour-faced Poins.

    "Tom." The lesser brother did not feel the need to address Gwen, which was just as well. "We''re on our way to a meeting. What is this?"

    "It''s my business. You go ahead." Thomas gave his brother a smirk that made Gwen suppress her smile. When Poins did not go away, Thomas tiled his head disapprovingly. "Why the gloom, Poins? Think of it as a rare opportunity. Take care of matters without me looking over your shoulder for once."

    The twin appeared lost for words. From Thomas'' tone, which left no quarter, Gwen took it to mean things had not gone down so well since the pair returned from the Northern Expedition. After all, one now possessed a Draconic Steam Spirit, and the other still had his ice Sprite. Their performance metrics would have been incomparable.

    The ire on Poin''s face immediately transferred from his brother to herself. The predictability was like the London weather.

    If Poins had been a young lady, Gwen felt "she" would have slapped her for seducing her brother in public. Alas, a brotherly love built on the inheritance of generational wealth was both more intimate and far more complicated.

    "I know a place nearby." Thomas guided her past his indignant brother. "Shall we?"

    "Let''s." Gwen allowed herself to be led a safe distance, then gifted Poin''s party with a quasi-curtsy more flippant than courteous. She could imagine the upset even as she left, though Poin''s opinion mattered so little that as soon as they exited the Old Courtyard, she forgave his offensive existence.

    Outside, dull clouds and condensation made the Thames as depressing as the crisis faced by the Mageocracy''s administrators. Thomas remained true to his promise, leading her with small talk until they arrived at the embankment, where he commanded a private corner of an open-air cafe through a sizeable HDM crystalline chip.

    For the first time in a long while, a man pulled out her chair and bid her to sit.

    Gwen sat.

    Thomas ordered for the both of them, then sat opposite, enjoying the view.

    "Something on my face?" Gwen didn''t feel her tartan skirt and cream blouse was anything the Sun Herald might position for publication on the third page.

    "Your face is indeed in my thoughts, for I am considering how thankful I feel," Thomas spoke through his pearly whites. "For the Dragon Turtle. As you might have heard, our Expedition breached the World Tree''s Pocket Plane in the north, where we had the unthankful task of dislodging Zodiam''s Brass Legion shock troops."

    "I know of it." Gwen grimaced with sympathy. "I am sorry, Tom. That couldn''t have been easy."

    The man nodded. "We lost good men and women there, fighting on behalf of Tryfan. Friends I''ve known since my university days. One of them, Lord Everton, attended the IIUC with me. Lord Mycroft tells me they came to your aid?"

    "They did." Gwen sensed Thomas'' unease. "Our knife-eared friends did not come to yours?"

    Thomas shook his head.

    Gwen had no comfort to give. From her conversation with The Bloom in White, she had gathered that this Accord was an agreement in which Humanity committed its resources¡ªincluding Humanity itself¡ªto perform mutually beneficial biddings. From the viewpoint of a hegemonic power broker, having the Humans expend lives and resources in servicing the Axis Mundi was itself a process as important as the maintenance itself.

    That Thomas'' Northern Expedition succeeded at a cost was the intended outcome.

    Thankfully, the tea and coffee arrived with a two-tier selection of shortcakes.

    "Again. I am sorry," Gwen said, the only thing that was thoughtfully appropriate.

    "We did our duties." Thomas helped her with the dessert. "Sorry. I wasn''t expecting to ask you about that. I just wanted to thank you for the timely gift of the Dragon Turtle. Thanks to Zippy, we managed to break through the Fire Elemental''s blockade without catastrophic losses. With my original Spirit, I could not begin to imagine whose faces I wouldn''t see again."

    Sensing the strands of Draconic Essence encircling the Steam Mage''s aura, Gwen reached over and gave the man a pat on the back of his hand. "Don''t be. We''re comrades in a war zone. I did what I imagined was best. I should be glad it turned out so well. Imagine if Zippy had been a dud. Where would we be now?"

    Thomas returned her modesty with a wry spot of laughter. "A weight has lifted from my shoulder now that we''ve spoken."

    There was a pause.

    The Steam Mage met her eyes with a familiar intensity.

    "Magister Song. Would you mind if we met some other time? For leisure, if you will."

    Gwen had gone on enough dates in her past life to know what was coming. Still, the confession from Thomas elevated her heart rate. The last time someone had been so bold and brazen had been the unfortunate Jackaroo Tako back in Sydney.

    And though she had a rather unhappy feeling Saint Evee might egg her onward, Gwen felt nary a ripple in her heart of hearts.

    "I''d love to." She prepared her poker face to deliver the gentlest of letdowns. "Ever since Auckland, I''ve known we''ll be good friends, so there''s no need to be so formal."

    Thomas'' uptake was instant. With natural nonchalance, the young man withdrew his presence back into his chair. "That warms my heart, Gwen. In all honesty, I merely wished to make a case. Given it a year, we shall forever be politely acquainted, and whatever distance that might grow intimate would forever remain remote."

    "Oh? And why is that?" Gwen asked out of curiosity. Thomas Benedict Holland appealed to her. He was, thus far, a solid choice¡ªeven if he wasn''t hers. Nobility was nice, but she hated its restrictions. For some of Tom''s stature, a spouse as capable and well-provisioned in politics as himself wasn''t a wife, but a business partner, with a marriage akin to a merger.

    "I''ve several partners prepared for me by the House." The young man hid nothing. "I could find a spouse¡ªor one will be provided. An heir must be produced, as¡ª"

    "¡ªThe Golden Blood of Henry must flow," Gwen finished for the young man. "I genuinely appreciate the sentiment, Thomas. Sorry I had to disappoint you. Besides, would your father accept a wildcat if it came to it? You''re not Poins the spare, you know. Charlene is far more suitable for you."

    "A part of the appeal is to see the old man squirm." Thomas laughed. "The Expedition has opened my eyes somewhat to the you-know-what with Tryfan. The world no longer seemed as bright and promising as it did in my youth."

    "Your youth?" Gwen burst into laughter. "You''re twenty¡ª?"

    "¡ªfour," Thomas replied.

    "A bit young for the future to be dull, don''t you think?"

    "Duller, now."

    Gwen felt a blush coming on. "Now you''re teasing me."

    ¡°I am.¡± Thomas¡¯ eyes lingered.

    Gwen sipped her tea.

    The two made some other inconsequential small talk to dispel the unexpectedly cosy atmosphere.

    "I should attend to business." Thomas politely drained his cup, then returned his fine china to its matching plate. "Poins might be signing the House way, for all I know. If father complains, you''re to blame."

    "I take full responsibility," Gwen stood as the Steam Mage rose.

    The two shook hands.

    "Good luck in Shalkar," Thomas said. "When I am able, I''ll visit. Give our Faction a good deal on the food stock."

    "You''re welcome." Gwen allowed their handshake to linger. "But do wait a few months while I set things up."

    Watching the young noblemen go, Gwen steeled her heart.

    Then, her hardened heart abruptly reminded her befuddled brain that she did have another enquiry. A part of her wanted to give the man his peace, but a woman''s needs had to be met.

    "Thomas¡ª!" She called out, cringing that she had not remembered her need earlier.

    With a face full of hope, the young lord abruptly turned, twisting his body so that he faced her with all the dramatic poise of an Austenian climax.

    "Milady?" Thomas came striding back. There was a bit of steam that leaked through the aether.

    Gwen felt terrible, but she had to ask. The Militants were the only Faction with decades of experience colonising new Frontiers. That meant they had access to some of the most experienced administrators for regions having undergone pacification.

    The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

    "I need men," she began.

    Thomas froze in his tracks with an expression of horror.

    ...and women¡­" Gwen pushed through, not allowing her Freudian slip to lubricate further misunderstandings. "Thomas, I am in dire need of administrative staff with experience in building Forward Operating bases, as well as managing logistics of Frontier construction. I''ll be starting up a new settlement near Shalkar, either on top or close to the Dwarven Citadel there¡­ and for that, I need men and women."

    Thomas appeared¡­ to deflate.

    There was a moment where the man stared into the middle distance as if seeing through her into the aether.

    And then he snorted, and his angular features softened.

    "Will they be fighting?" he asked.

    "Not to my knowledge," Gwen said. "And not if I can help it."

    "Then I will ask our Veteran''s Unions if any are willing to work as expatriates," the Steam Mage promised with a nod. "Will that satisfy?"

    "There''s a signing bonus of one-tenth of their negotiable wage, paid once they arrive," Gwen immediately followed up. "The new entity, once set up, will also offer stock and land options to any employees who remain after three months. Healthcare will cover all on-site injuries, with additional care packages for long-term employees. Assuming a large number of the Veteran''s Union joins the new city''s construction and management, I''ll allocate a portion of profits to the Veteran''s Fund, the same which the Barlow Group depleted. Prospective members can apply at the Bunker. I''ll have the staff set up a registry."

    The sudden switch to business Gwen must have given Thomas whiplash, for the Steam Mage merely nodded like a shellshocked soldier emerging from an Undead trench.

    "I''ll be¡­ going, now?" the man muttered. "May I?"

    "See you around, Thomas." Gwen could only repay the chap by giving him her best smile. Something more tactile, like a kiss on the cheeks, would only further a futile hope.

    From the heart of the Bunker, Eric Walken, Central Operating Officer of the IoDNC, threatened to quit, muttered, mumbled, then called for a dozen impromptu meetings to meet their CEO''s demands.

    Gwen quietly closed the door to her COO''s spacious office, originally a multi-storey work and rest space for herself, now gifted to her chief wage slave.

    As she proceeded down the long corridor with its abstract art pieces, she wondered how her Master might measure the state of Eric Walken today. Would Henry laugh and be amused? Or would the old dreamer berate her for trapping his old rival in a salt mine?

    Secretly, Gwen suspected Walken loved the work.

    The man had dreamed of a position such as this all his life, with various Factions begging for funds or investments, where his pen stroke brought smiles or tears. Within the IoDNC, Walken enjoyed far more freedom than Factioneers. Whenever a conglomerate''s interests were offended, he pointed the finger at herself, then announced that he was merely a paper pusher, pushing the will of the Devourer of corporations.

    From an isle with a few pups, the Norfolk-Dog conglomerate was now a snarling Dire Wolf, eyeing the wild dogs ranging its docklands for its next meal.

    Of course, that was merely the facade Gwen had wanted to establish. In truth, she saw little merit in subsuming the locals. The real money, as it had always been in this world, was buried in the Frontiers.

    Primary agriculture.

    HDM mining.

    Rare materials.

    And the value of the people themselves.

    Across the Atlantic, the New World proved that old empires were either paralysed or in decline. In its place, a pragmatic, more ruthless breed of Humanity grew fat on the narrative of destiny manifest. Comparatively, her city in the sand would be a grand experiment¡ªone with a simmering pot lid of tensions kept in place by the threat of the Shoggoth. Would the newly arrived refugees labour with the Rat-kin? Would the Horse Lords, who saw anything with two legs as food or spoils, acclimatise to a decade without rampant war and destruction?

    More importantly, how long would the boon of life in the region last?

    When she thought about it, Gwen suspected not even the Elves fully understood the dynamic of the Axis Mundi, much less their foes. Did the hands of Spectre even understand the consequences of their prodding? Could they conceive that the chaos they sowed in the regions of interest would counteractively create hospitality and wealth for areas previously barren?

    She had no answers, though the long corridors of the Bunker offered an excellent ambience for self-reflection. When she finally breached the lobby''s upper deck, her Essence-infused mind had already constructed a general framework for the many labours in the coming months.

    "Magister Song."

    "Ma''am."

    "Good afternoon, boss."

    Greetings arrived as she passed her employees, dressed in formal work attire as Walken had demanded. They did not find offence in their CEO''s fashion, for such was the culture of the Bunker subscribed at orientation.

    Below the encircling cubic balcony, the multi-storey, Brutalist lobby split into the Bunker''s various sections, with the central structural pillar acting as the arrival place of a dozen levitation platforms, besides which the Teleportation Circles flared and crackled. The Bunker was her building¡ªall of it, from the lobby to the depth that connected the Dyar Morkk, was an extension of the efforts she had heaped upon the Isle of Dogs.

    If a house by the bay was the Australian Dream, then what was this?

    It was a dizzying realisation, one the Gwen of the past would have struggled to conceive.

    Thankfully, she was a busy woman.

    With style, Gwen willed her Message device into being.

    "Richard," she spoke into the Glyph. "Ask if Magus Williams is willing to spend some time in Shalkar al-Jadeedah. A Dwarven Citadel needs restoring, meaning unlimited access to the Fabricator, assuming he can snuggle up to Petra and the Dwarven posse. If he can rope more alumni into aiding our city-building from the States, I''ll work on placing him in the same team as our Fabricator Engine."

    "No worries. I guess you''re done with the meeting? And the date?"

    "What date?"

    ¡°A hidden garden rendezvous vis-a-vis, involving a steamy noblemen¡±

    "Very funny, Dick," Gwen berated her cousin, smiling at passersby even as her cousin stoked her paranoia. "Do restrain yourself, especially around Elvia. When Caliban wakes up, you''ll be my first sparring partner."

    "I quake," the teasing voice returned with a laugh. "But of course. Our CEO''s indiscretions are safe with me."

    "One of these days¡ª" She waved at another batch of workers as she made for the exit. "What did Magister Brown say about those spells I requested?"

    "Good tidings," Richard replied. "Mass Flight has been booked at The Shard for tomorrow. He''s also found an Oxbridge instructor willing to part with a unique variant of Force Cage capable of cladding its surface with attuned elements. Both will be undertaken in Greater Cognisance Chambers for convenience and cost. The Magisters will attend your tuition thrice a week for two weeks."

    "That''s fine," Gwen found the outcome agreeable to her timetable. Having her teachers come to her was an additional cost, but she had the CCs to spare, especially if Morden''s crew wasn''t keen on making her life easy. "I am going to see Lady Maxwell and Lady Astor about our new project. I''ll elaborate later, but I''ve been assigned to Shalkar, and we''ll be building a new city with the Dwarves returning there. Our logistical preparations have between two to three months to mature."

    Richard whistled, then took a deep breath. "Whoa¡ªYou''re thinking of housing the refugees there?"

    "Hypothetically," Gwen affirmed. "Can you arrange a work dinner with the others? Once I gauge the investors and stakeholders better, we''ll start on the preliminary reports."

    "Of course," her cousin''s voice reverberated through the glowing Glyph. "Milord Governor¡ªyour wish is my command."

    Scotland.

    Suilven.

    Slylth Alexander Morden sat brooding in his Dragon-wood study chair, scanning the letter from The Shard like a lizard obsessed.

    He had sliced the Mithril-laced letter open with a transmogrified claw, expecting a simpering response as to why their applicant deserved to study for several weeks in the Tower of Elements.

    When he had opened the letter and read the first line, however, Slylth felt a strange emptiness, like the void had invaded the interior of his Astral Body.

    "Application Withdrawn" was the immediate phrase he noted in the paragraph of pasted niceties. The text wasn''t even addressed to him.

    The designation had been a cursory "To whom it may concern," and the signature wasn''t even from the girl, but some random Magister from her office.

    Confused, Slylth had turned the letter upside down, then back to front, wondering if something else might fall out.

    When it became clear that his Draconic ability to comprehend all languages did not fail him, Slylth grew silent.

    Only two beings have criticised, ignored, and instructed Slylth in all his centuries as an egg-consciousness and his years in the Prime Material. One was his mother, Sythinthimryr, the greatest of the Ancient Reds, the Flame of Life that burns eternal in the heart of Carrauntoohil.

    The other was the Magi Morden, who rolled his eyes, humoured him, or put an end to his tantrums in the early years of his adventure with a stern Power Word.

    A part of him wanted to know who this damned Gwen Song was to deny him¡ªbut Slylth was too wise a wyrm to throw a tantrum. After all, he had seen the lumen casts of the female''s Shoggoth, and he did not wish to invoke his mother''s aid nor her annoyance.

    A fight with a Shoggoth was likely to bring both.

    Another part of him grew more intrigued than ever, forming within his Draconic soul a deep-seated desire congealed from curiosity, impulse and jealousy.

    Why had Ancient Illaelitharian praised this female? What was her true connection to the Old One? The more his mother cautioned Slylth, the more he wanted to raid the Death Hornest''s nest for their sweet honey.

    With a glare, the letter from the Shard turned to cinders.

    Perhaps, it was time for Slylth Alexander Morden to venture out into the world and make himself known.

    His only hope was that his mother had better things to do than to keep tabs on a wayward boy.

    London.

    The Isle of Dogs.

    Elvia Lindholm, Knight Companion of the Order of the Bath, was taking a bath.

    The bath house was a communal one, and though she had access to a private Pocket Dimension similar to Gwen''s pocket house, the Ordo taught its members to exercise humility whenever possible and to set an example for their juniors.

    The weather was beyond humid, and the communal hall set up for the members of the Ordo to cleanse their bodies and souls of impurities was sanctified only by the generous incense from the blessed sandalwood. Through this act of communion, the sisters of the Ordo mime the humility of the Nazarene, who had bathed the feet of his apostles to foster brotherhood.

    The act of absolution served another purpose¡ªfor it was the condition through which a believer may fully immerse themselves into the canonical prayers, a necessary ritual that unlocked a Faith-Caster''s access to the collated mythical energies of their order.

    "Kiki¡ª" Elvia''s floral Sprite did the work of her Master''s hands, ensuring that every evidence of sin was erased.

    Within the same chamber, Elvia''s Ordo companions, both the lesser acolytes and the Senior sisters, observed one of their youngest with an awe that bordered on reverence.

    A part of their admiration was spiritual, for Companion Lindholm was a perfect Poor Soldier of Christ, an exemplar of their Ordo.

    The other was a sense of pity, for their sister was painfully captivating. Hers was not a fairness that spurred men into launch ships; rather, Elvia had come to possess a heart-breaking demureness, a constant sorrow that, paired with her seemingly infinite charity, made their chests sore with unbidden longing to see her smile a little more.

    Not that they hadn''t seen Companion Lindholm smile.

    When Elvia''s secular friend-for-life would come to visit, the girl would bloom like a vivified Kiki, her face suddenly coming alive. That was the Elvia they had all hoped to see, though perhaps, the rareness of her happiness made those moments all the more precious.

    "Mother Superior, please excuse me." Elvia bowed her head toward a silver-haired healer meticulously working the grime from her nails. Rationally, the bathing was meant to be purposeful, meticulous, and not aided by floral Sprites. "My absolution is complete. I shall now seek the lord''s guidance."

    Mother Superior Francis Fitzroy was the leader of the men and women the Ordo had leased to Gwen as a part of her charitable works on the Isle. As the chief acolyte under Rectress St Claire, the senior Cleric had been sent as a sign of goodwill. As a sister on the cusp of Sainthood, the Mother Superior''s presence alone was enough to quell all dissent from the local parish''s ranks, thereby gifting the Isle of Dogs unfettered access to a large body of volunteers hoping to bath in her good graces.

    "Go." The senior Cleric did not comment on Elvia''s hasty ritual. Instead, she delivered a soothing benediction in Latin, praying that Elvia would find peace.

    Alone, Elvia dressed, choosing her surgeon''s garb in case an emergency interrupted her meeting.

    Once her hair had been netted and bundled, she exited the prayer baths built into their dockland Chapter House, now sitting among pre-fabricated houses and camps, and made for the chapel. When the Ordo had sent its men and women, her Gwen had been very accommodating in asking her Dwarven allies to construct a modest chapel out of sandstone in the gothic style of the Ordo. When the Ordo''s Master had arrived to inspect the progress of their work on the Isle, he had been both dismayed and delighted by the unexpected sight of a three-storey, permanent Chapter House with his Ordo''s emblem beside the ubiquitous logo of the IoDNC with its hound and raven heraldry.

    Elvia shuffled past the prayer hall, now almost always full of believers displaced from the Frontiers. Her goal was not the hall, though she was scheduled to lead the choir in the evening.

    Outside, Mathias would follow on her heels like a shadow. Within the Chapter House, the Knight chose the gift of privacy, instead retreating to the barracks to wait on her call.

    Her object was the confessional, a claustrophobic chamber ensorceled with Faith Magic and contained within a Seal of the Confessional. There would be no Divination here, not without shattering the Seal and toppling the chapel.

    As a result of the Chapter House''s limited space, the confessional was a modest specimen, one frequented by the Ordo''s many Clerics to vent their frustrations and indiscretions after their administration of the refugee tide.

    Tucking her locks behind her ears, Elvia ducked inside, pulling the heavy drapes around them so that only light from the stained glass above made their faces visible.

    The presence awaiting her gave off a fatherly and sympathetic aura.

    "Knight Companion Elvia Lindholm greets the Seneschal."

    "In this sanctified place, I am a mere priest," her Seneschal sounded serious as always. "And you may unburden yourself onto me. How fares the visions, child?"

    "They are frequent, Father."

    "Are they troubling the sweet balm of sleep?"

    "Somewhat," Elvia replied. "But it is not the visions that disturb me."

    "I see... so the moment of reckoning draws nigh?"

    "The Lord of the Mount is stirring from his slumber," Elvia''s voice quaked even as she suppressed the near-religious recollection of awe she had felt for her Patron''s true form. "His youngest now bears his mark as well as the others. Lord Ayxin will soon be blessed with fruit. What has been foretold has come to pass."

    "The ancient one has expressed his readiness?"

    "For the Unformed Land, yes..."

    "And are you, our dear daughter¡­ ready?"

    The Seneschal''s question was delivered with the tenderness of a Healing Word.

    Opposite, Elvia felt her Seneschal''s kindness as a physical blow to her diaphragm. "Tis a cross only I can bear. I am not opposed to it."

    "Child." Ashburn''s plea turned melancholic. "I am not one to question the Faith of a Knight Companion. However, I, as well as the Rectress, Mother Superior Fitzroy and a plethora of others in the Ordo, have grown very fond of our little Saintess. With enough Faith, we can divert the course or at least turn its purpose awry. Is that not acceptable to you?"

    Elvia felt the temptation. Faith Magic was powerful. It was the origin of magic, tempered by will and desire. From its very inception, it was different to the sorcery of destruction wielded by Gwen, made consume so that win or lose, the gainful produce of the living were diminished. Unlike Spellcraft, Faith Magic was an equilibrium where life and death bisect. What the Seneschal was offering was a solution¡ªbut one she feared more than any other.

    For one to be saved, another must pay the price.

    But how could she ask another to pay?

 Chapter 468 - Riptide

    In her early twenties, Gwen had been extremely popular with middle-aged managers. Thankfully, the men that now came to see her were future employees and not suitors.

    Even better, when the veterans of the Militant Faction arrived, Gwen was happy to discover that her candidates were of sound mind and skill, as opposed to the frayed folk found in Sydney''s infamous slot machine farms.

    It was a spectacular sight that instantly conjured the Chief Editor of the Sun Herald, who had assumed that a new protest was in the works. When his bleached blonde reporter asked questions like: "What foul grievances have Magister Song committed this time?" promising that "The Sun will be your voice!" The hopeful veterans were ready to drown the witch in the dockland''s polluted waters before the Bunker''s Dwarven sentries intervened.

    Their anger was understandable; over the yesteryear, the collapse and subsequent restoration of the Veteran''s Pension had left many Militant patrons greatly dissatisfied with the outcome. It wasn''t so much that they had lost capital¡ªrather, it was the case of their friends and families in the Grey and Middle Factions seeing their pension double due to investments in the IoDNC. The disgruntlement was further aggravated by veterans in the Norfolk Fund having boasted that their nest eggs were magnitudes larger than their peers.

    Therefore, the news spread like wildfire when Thomas brokered her offer under House Lancaster''s authority. The lower rank and files heeded the call, and a perfect cocktail of envy and greed grew their ambitions far beyond vague promises of loyalty.

    Her unforeseen popularity empowered Gwen to warrant full-page spreads in the METRO, offering the same terms to civil employees looking to fortify their pensions. The same offer had also been delivered to the refugee camps. However, quantifying qualifications in the absence of degrees and documents made the discovery of "authentic" talent a long-term affair.

    Nonetheless, she could relax a little, thanks to the influx of human bodies. As an upper-tier consultant, Gwen knew that a city''s administration was not something a paper general like herself could handle.

    She would be the Viceroy of the Mageocracy''s authority¡ªbut the true actors of her municipality would be her Assistant City Managers, hand-reared by Walken and then delivered to Shalkar. She would also have to borrow a handful of experienced administrators from Gunther''s Sydney Tower so that her city would have its triumvirate of Factions.

    The Militants would handle communication, police, fire and rescue.

    The Middle Faction would manage the permits, inspections, planning and developments.

    And finally, the Greys would regulate general services, commerce, and trade.

    She would head the Administration Bureau and, most importantly, keep a claw on the budget.

    As for the city''s auditing, she was thinking of handing over her Flights of Shadow Mages to Richard, creating a "Chief of Staff''s Office" to oversee a cross-sectional evaluation of the various departments. Combined with the light of the London auditor''s office, the shadowy use of the Manipuri Mages'' unique talents and their Ruxin-inspired loyalty would leave no account unmolested.

    As a pragmatist, Gwen welcomed corruption, theft and exploitation in constructing her new city. Such liberties were necessary to keep the gears of progress oiled and moving forward. That said, she would also make a public spectacle of those who overstep the boundaries of greed into willful destruction. For these men and women, be they Rat, Horse or Men, she possessed means to make them confess to every sin.

    Sincerely, Gwen hoped she would never come to the use of that.

    The reality, Gwen knew, was seldom so hopeful.

    That was why she would have the city''s mission statements contracted in bold black fonts. All participants would express consent and willingness to follow agreeable tenets of mutual profit before they embark upon the journey.

    For those whose greed would not produce even an iota of public good¡ªmay Yog-Sothoth savour their souls.

    Despite the promises of grandeur sold by Magister Song to the three Factions of the Commonwealth Mageocracy, London''s refugee crisis continued to decay. By October''s end, the House of Commons could no longer keep a lid on the simmering sentiments of the nation''s citizens. At every level of society, from the Lords and Ladies sick of seeing the refugees to the common man fearful of having their work snatched up by itinerate labourers, all vagrants were relocated from the Mageocracy''s capital.

    Even the Isle of Dogs, singularly responsible for handling the majority of resettlements, had to shut down its charity operations as all non-Magically gifted refugees were exorcised from London proper into camps on the rural east coast. To Gwen''s knowledge, the Tories'' only charity was that the region was long pacified, with monsters few and far and the Magical Creatures long domesticated.

    As for herself, the stress was giving her split ends.

    Between Elvia''s operation leaving the city for Suffolk and her catching snatches of sleep between magical lessons and preparation audits, her sanity was growing threadbare. Yet, rather than fighting the local authorities or trying to bribe the administrators, she channelled her growing irritation into organising the legal logistics of the Commonwealth''s displaced citizens. As Walken had advised, whatever feelings the capital might possess for the diaspora of their Frontier folk, the duties of dominion had to be demonstrated to its citizens and their critics looking from the outside.

    Between her myriad errands, she took out a few hours to luncheon with the work-worn body of Magus Williams, the American Technomancer, a title that was as good as official nomenclature.

    Gwen had read the man''s report¡ªor rather Gracie had¡ªbut the results were positive enough for her to want to hear it from the horse''s mouth.

    With a glazed and greedy look, the academic poured over the Ilias Leaf like a father over a sick child, tracing his fingers along every vein and node.

    "We can make the photosynthetic Essence work." The NoM erudite turned the leaf repeatedly as if every flip offered new bouts of inspiration. "We can use Dwarven Runecraft to construct artificial thylakoids by forming micro-pillars of chloroplasts, but the framework still requires Essence to activate. Mana, or what we have of it, is far too rude an energy source."

    "Please don''t speak in tongues." Gwen dug into her beef Wellington. "In layman''s terms, what does that mean?"

    "We can make the conduits, but we don''t have the fuel source," the American explained. "Magister Brown tells me you can produce Essence yourself as a Vessel? There are other Vessels as well¡ªand I am sure the New World will have its share¡ªbut the energy you''re looking for, Magister Song, is on a magnitude unimaginable to any individual, even Dragons."

    "Would it be imaginable for a World Tree?" Gwen asked. She fondly thought of Sufina, who would probably wink at William, driving him wild with longing.

    Williams gave her words some thought.

    "I am sorry." The Technomancer''s brows furrowed. "I don''t have access to that branch of classified data."

    Gwen''s fork stopped halfway to her mouth. She had worked so often with so many others with knowledge on the subject matter for so long that she had forgotten that everything associated with the Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar was shrouded in mystique.

    "But it IS possible to mimic the Ilias Leaf''s design?" She asked. "On paper."

    "I know we can, but it is neither cheap nor convenient," Williams had barely touched his food lest he spent a few minutes away from the priceless specimen. "We can reduce the size, cost and scale over time if you choose to industrialise the process, but for now, we''re looking at something the size of a building."

    "How big of a building?" Gwen asked.

    "The exchange unit is at least the size of a hay barn." The man illustrated the size with his hands. "Excluding service buildings, parts storage, tooling sheds. The receiver unit will be barely man-portable¡ªbut that''s beside the point. We have nothing to power the pair, even if we make it. The nodes cannot work with mana. For all we know, the whole thing will shatter, instantly vaporising the porter of the receiver unit. If the exchange unit blows up well, it could do real damage¡ª"

    "I see." Gwen acknowledged the future lawsuit. She took a bite and a sip. For Soho, the Beef Wellington was quite good.

    "Well?" William met her eyes. "Do you still want to sink¡­ HDMs into this?"

    "I do." Gwen was already glad the idea was possible. "Essence-wise, I can spare a dozen cubes now and then, though these will be Essence mixed with my mana. The next stage would be exploring the possibility of utilising this type of hybrid fuel. Am I correct to assume you will be coming with us to Shalkar?"

    "I am." the Magus nodded eagerly. "I''ve contacted a few interested parties from home as well. My colleagues from MIT also wish to see your work first-hand and speak to you regarding the communication network. As you are aware, high-sorcery Demi-humans are far and in between in the New World. The absence of the Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar and the rarity of D?kk¨¢lfar constitutes a significant gap in our access to ancient magic."

    The man finally took a bite of his Beef Wellington. The American frowned. "What a waste of a perfect cut. Give me charcoal and good basting any day."

    Gwen waited for the Bostonian to continue.

    "Do you wish me to continue the work even in Shalkar?"

    "I do," Gwen replied. "Working proofs of concept are an important part of my forecasts."

    "You should take these blueprints to the Boston," Williams said seriously. "There are better scholars there than I. Since our nation''s founding away from the Mageocracy, our Magisters have worked with workarounds so much that it''s become an institution unto itself. What you''ve asked of me can become an amazing magitech, Magister Song, for Mages and NoMs everywhere. However, in London at least, I don''t believe building a proof-of-concept model is possible."

    Gwen raised a brow. "Not here in London? The heart of Spellcraft?"

    "Not to disparage our cousins of the far green isle." William looked sheepish. "But did you notice that they''re very¡­ traditional?"

    "Not at all," Gwen smiled sardonically. "But do go on."

    "There''s a certain¡­ rigidity? Something baked into the formulae of the sorcery and the way it''s taught here. Especially at the tertiary institutes, there''s a reverence for the craft of the Demi-humans, whose theories they had inherited while neglecting Human potential. Likewise, there''s a parallel rigidity regarding Mages and NoMs. If your Essence Repeater would work, would the Tower help or impede its implementation? I would guess the latter."

    "Is that an official statement from Magus John C. Williams of MIT?" Gwen teased the man, making his cheeks bloom a dark scarlet. "I am a Magister of The Shard, you know? And a research fellow at Cambridge University."

    Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

    "Tis the ramblings of a drunk." The American pointed a fork at the untouched red wine. "I am sure London has the capabilities to do what you wish, though the New World could do it faster, better, and at a fraction of the cost and complications. Our Magitech manufacturing is second to none, and you''ll need far more than the Dwarves are willing to spare for the coverage you envision."

    Gwen considered the man''s limited hypothesis of what she had in mind. John was a good investment, though the man gave outlandish advice. Things might be harder in London, but here was her base. Here, she had tentacles across the Mageocracy''s various estates. The New World might offer incredible opportunities, but she would have to pay a steep price to pinpoint the cost of business. If she were to build a base in the New World, it would manifest as a Direct Foreign Investment, a direct acquisition of a local Magitech firm.

    The two exchanged more hypothesises. Luncheon ended, and William received orders to gather his research to be ready for transportation via the ISTC in a month or two.

    As for the new Viceroy, she returned to her labours. For a freshly assigned demesne, the Shard would provide the lion''s share of the budget through a bond. The volume of resources the Mageocracy dedicated to a Magister depended on their clout. The more a regent of the state loaned from the nation, the less profitable their venture became for their backers. Comparatively, the more profit a Magister sought for their Factional allies, the greater the resources they would have to pull from private pockets.

    Success, meaning profitability, was a precarious balance designed to minimise the Mageocracy''s budgetary burdens during periods of expansion, using the Mageocracy''s political authorisation as a mediator between competing interests. According to Williams, the New World had done away with such restraints from the government, having corporatised the colonial process, leaving the reigns of power in the hands of the "people". Gwen could guess what the man meant by the "people", though she held little faith that these noble-minded folk Williams extolled were different from the nobles of the Mageocracy.

    But that was for the future. In the present, Gwen had to organise inventory and conduct interviews. She also had her magic to learn, and in the spare moments after that, she would have to pick apart the cat''s cradle that is Shalkar al-Jadeedah''s multi-racial diplomacy.

    Two months.

    Her many labours were a good distraction while she waited for her milestones to arrive, one in the form of Golos, who should soon be ready, and the other in the womb of her Astral Body, within which Caliban stirred.

    There was also the matter of Ariel''s newest nourishments, assuming that the House of M was successful in its procurement. Even so, until she had a handle on Cali and Gogo, she could not afford also having her Lightning Familiar fall into Draconic slumber.

    Hopefully, before a fresh calamity struck the construction of her shining city on the hill, all her deterrents would be ready.

    The dreary days of October gave way to the frigid mornings of November, then invariably invited the unwelcome winter to ravage the Mageocracy''s shivering holdings.

    In the middle of December, following a solar eclipse that saw an upswell of Mermen incursions and a meteor shower that shook skies over Carrauntoohil and sent the Fomorians flooding into the foothills, a rare and unusual guest arrived at The Shard''s VIP ISTC array.

    Magus Slylth McAllister Morden, by invitation but not really, was met by his contemporaries from the Imperial College. As he materialised, the young Mage''s patience was at an all-time low, for he had applied to visit The Shard in October, only to be held up by his duties in Suilven.

    Another Mage of his influence and talent could have rescinded their participation in the Purge of the Fomori raids, but not so Slylth. As a part of his promise to Mother, he had certain duties which he had to fulfil, chief of which was the duty of his Clan and kind, the stabilisation of the Axis Mundi in Carrauntoohil.

    Once the Fomori lay smoking and crispy on the hillside, Slylth waited until his mother returned to her slumber, then answered the affirmative invitation from London Imperial. His only concern had been the viability of the Glyph placed upon his Core for what mother had called his "live-action role-playing", though his safe arrival at Heathrow had disproven his paranoia.

    According to mother dearest, London was the heart of the Mageocracy, and its security was second to none in the human world. Now that he was here, Slylth could only huff at the ignorance of the Humans. Presently, his combat potential as a Human Mage exceeded what his true but youthful body could accomplish. Even so, the chaos he could sow could be nothing short of catastrophic, especially as the Human Queen would not dare to take Slylth''s life. Of course, Slylth would never do such a thing, for he had grown fond of these mortal beings with their interesting, fleeting lives. Nonetheless, the knowledge that he "could" ignite the city made Slylth''s heart a little happy.

    "Lord Morden." The Magister leading the contingent bowed deeply, drawing eyes from around the ISTC station. The attention was pleasing to Slylth, who nodded at the man and allowed the others to introduce themselves. "Welcome to London."

    "I am welcomed," Slylth announced. Here in the Human city, he could almost smell the scent of the female that had preyed upon his mind for months. He even felt his Draconic heart quicken, for it could hardly wait.

    "Shall we begin our tour with The Shard itself?" The Magister announced with a face full of smiles. "We have prepared a banquet as well, though I am sure an academic like yourself would be foremostly interested in The Shard''s many projects. If Suilven could guide us on anything that may interest you, we would be honoured."

    "You''re far too humble," Slylth dismissed the man''s obvious lies. "Though there is something you can help me with which will bring this Morden great joy."

    The Magister and his colleagues stood to attention. By now, a crowd had gathered to witness the spectacle that was Slylth''s casual regard for the azure-robed Magisters and Maguses. Slylth, who considered his human form the epitome of perfection, possessed no doubt his noble visage had ignited the curiosity of his onlookers.

    "Ask, and you shall receive." The Magister laughed, clearing a path for Slylth. "Walk with us, Master Morden. Be literal in your desires."

    Slylth held his patience for a second more before finally delivering the line he''d been waiting on for two months. "Then I shan''t be a stranger, Magister Clyde. Bring me Gwen Song. I have an interest in her."

    The Magister almost appeared to stumble before he restored himself. "Sorry? Master Morden, did you say Gwen Song?"

    "Yes," Slylth affirmed his request. "She is a female favoured by Lord Ill¡ªby the er¡­ Frost Lord of the South Seat. You know her, surely? She is a Vessel. Bring her here to me."

    The Mages footsteps slowly came to a halt. Looking at their expressions, the Magister and Maguses seemed as troubled as he was confused.

    "Bring¡­ Magister Song?" The man squinted. "To your lordship?"

    "Yes." Slylth was growing a little annoyed. "Use teleportation if you must."

    The men looked at one another.

    "I don''t think¡­ anyone can do that except maybe Lord Ravenport or our most esteemed eternal rose of the House of Winsor," Magister Clyde explained. "I can put in a petition for your lordship, though I do not believe it will be heeded for some time."

    Slylth felt a strange emptiness in his chest, like someone had scooped something out and tossed it away. "Why not?"

    "She''s not here in London," the Magister said. "Magister Song has long since left London for Shalkar, her new domain. To recall her would take a feat far beyond what we can manage at London Imperial¡ªI fear it would have to be a true emergency."

    Slylth felt like he was about to give Magister Clyde a true emergency.

    "She''s not here?" he repeated.

    "Nor can we compel her if she was." The Magister''s bewilderment was palpable. "Is something the matter?"

    "Yes." it was all Slylth could do to keep the Glyph on his Dragon Heart stable. "I want her. I am going to Shalkar."

    The Mages around him fell silent.

    "Is that a problem?" Slylth demanded, his voice growing sulky. To have his prize snatched away by something as trivial as distance was beyond infuriating. His Flight spells were mediocre at best, and the velocity of his true body was likely unimpressive compared to their cousins of Lightning. "Where is Shalkar, anyhow? Is it near the Fire Sea?"

    "Shalkar is... far. And there is also an issue." The Magister''s tone stiffened. "Shalkar is a special operations zone overseen by Magister Song. Without her consent, a Mage of your prestige and calibre will be unable to set foot in her domain. We will do our best to grant you privileges befitting your station, Magus, but you''re an esteemed guest¡ªnot one of The Shard''s preeminent operatives¡­ Umm...are you quite alright, Magus Morden?"

    Slylth circulated his mana until his irate temper cooled. For a second, all he could see was flaming hellfire, volcanic eruptions, and his sleek red body tearing through those reflective buildings outside The Shard. The most difficult aspect of his self-control was to keep his Dragon Fear from leaking¡ªan act of such supreme effort that his human physique almost peed.

    "I NEED to be in Shalkar," he announced to his hosts, his face almost the colour of his scales. "Please, make it so."

    "We¡­ can put in a request." Magister Clyde and the others did not appear to relax even as Slylth''s aura dimmed. "And the final say¡­ will need to be affirmed by Magister Song. However, meanwhile, there''s plenty to do and see in London. Many in the college are anticipating your arrival as well. It has, after all, been decades since a demand had come from his lordship, the esteemed Magi of Suilven."

    As the party exited into the snow-slathered exterior of The Shard, Slylth felt as though he had accidentally shunted himself into the realm of Lord Illaelitharian.

    "How long?" Slylth croaked, unused to so much Elemental ice in the air. It was calming, though. At least there was the discomfort to chill his Dragon heart.

    "We''ll submit a request now." Magister Clyde immediately sent off two of his Magus-tier aides. "Though from what I''ve heard¡­ Magister Song is a very busy woman.."

    Magister Gwen Song, Viceroy of the Britannic Mageocracy, was pouring over zoning charts and proposed city designs when her aide-de-camp, Chief Officer Richard Huang, came in with a strange expression and a desire to interrupt the long meeting.

    "I am very sorry," Gwen apologised to the table of esteemed personages she had gathered from London and beyond. Of her audience, half were Dwarves, shared between her Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth allies and the new Germanic Clans seeking to repopulate the city. The larger part of the enormous pavilion tent was occupied by Centaurs and their ??pters war priestesses, all serving under Khudu, the Khan''s Cherbi. Besides her, the Rat-men occupied the smallest quadrant, with each of the twelve Clans having dispatched their elders to support Strun. Finally, Gwen and the representatives of Humanity took up a sliver of the oval planning table. "Milords and eminences, please excuse me."

    She left her PowerPoint(?) sorcery operation and squeezed past the Horse Lords. Once outside, Richard led her to the camp''s forecourt.

    "What''s the news? Is Evee coming over for a stint?" She asked with anticipation. Christmas was soon upon them, and Elvia''s Ordo would be having their carols concert to raise money for the refugee resettlement. She desperately wanted to be there to support Elvia and donate in person to raise the bar¡ªbut her duties here, like Walls of Force, were keeping her caged.

    "Yeah-nah," Richard shot her down without mercy. "Golos wants to talk to you about something important. He says it is urgent."

    The middle of the forecourt housed an enormous yurt, within which her Planar Ally made his abode. The front flap was left open, allowing Gwen direct access to the giant who rested within.

    Golos, the scion of the Yinglong, now improved by the Frost Wyrm''s gift, was no longer so brutish. His humanoid form was akin to Ruxin''s favourite guise, though far inferior in regality. Her Wyvern¡ªor, more accurately, new Dragon, paced endlessly over the velvety carpets provided by the Khan and gifted by the Khudu.

    "Calamity! You''re here," Golos approached, all three meters of him bristling with discomfort. Gogo''s mien was now ruggedly handsome, with an aggressive masculinity that pleased Gwen''s sense of aesthetics.

    Gwen arrived by the former Thunder Wyvern''s side. "Alright, I am here. What is it, Gogo?"

    Golos took a deep breath. "I just received a vision from Father..."

    "Christ." Her heart quickened. "Go on."

    "Yeah. A Vision." Golo''s expression remained strange. "So¡­ you ready?"

    "Ready for what?"

    "The vision."

    "Just say it," Gwen discerned a dark and unhappy suspicion. "I have work. And if this is a problem, we''ll solve it."

    "Alright." Golos'' smouldering eyes sizzled. The Dragon-kin took a deep breath, then made the delivery. "Calamity¡­ we''ll soon have a new niece or nephew."

    Gwen''s frontal lobe flashed white. She scrolled through all the possibilities, eventually reaching the only conclusion. "HE DID IT? UNCLE finally did it? Ayxin''s pregnant? Does Babulya know? HOLY SHIT, Richard! Uncle knocked up a Dragon!"

    "Hahaha¡­" Richard shook his head. "Now that''s the true measure of a man. How will Hai ever live up to that?"

    Gwen''s brain throbbed. Her uncle, the Dragon layer, was now a Dragon daddy.

    Richard patted her shoulder. "Perhaps it''s time¡­ to call Uncle Jun and congratulate him, eh? Imagine, cousin, our youngest cousin, a Dragon-kin!"

    Gwen agreed. She should call and congratulate them, maybe send them a pallet of the finest milk powder from Australia.

    Still, looking at Golos, she had to agree with a certain something.

    Now was a joyous occasion, so why were their hearts so agitated? If she were to go by instinct... the news almost felt like... the opening act... to some unknown, long-conceived calamity.

 Chapter 469 - A Balancing Act

    Gwen wasted an uncertain number of minutes doing the equivalent of standing next to the ocean and having a smoko to tether her feelings to the correct pylons.

    In Huangshan, she had fancied Jun as a supplementary father figure, and that had given her a rare happiness she hadn''t known in either of her lives.

    Her cynical consciousness also knew without a doubt that her feelings were no more particular than the pharmaceutical euphoria Dr Monroe had prescribed and that any fulfilling joy of daughterhood was merely a fleeting Ryxi among the Huangshan fog.

    Instead, she should be happy.

    Uncle Jun had given her a kickstart to success that the dickhead Hai never managed.

    And now that Jun was a father, the responsible thing to do was to be a good aunt.

    Or so Gwen narrated to herself.

    After a while, Golos joined her.

    "Calamity, you look pale." The newly evolved Dragon-kin''s voice was more mellow than his previous self. As a being with whom she had shared more mortal moments than a daring cartoon mouse, she knew Golos was now different. Still, to have an empathetic Gogo was stranger than fiction. Incredibly, upon his arrival, her Planar Ally had even suggested bringing his brood, meaning Phelara and the chicks, over to Shalkar.

    Her future city, Golos had explained, sat on a significant node of the Axis Mundi. Beneath it, her Dwarves had little use for the crystallised Air and Water within their craftsmen''s furnaces, which were separated for trade. And considering the geo-political landscape here, she needed a guardian to keep an eye on the Demi-humans.

    Her Dragon''s suspicious proposal had sounded like Ruxin talking. That said, she wanted to believe in Golo''s new bloodline. Certainly, Ruxin''s demesne was profitable, Ryxi''s was bountiful, and Ayxin had made Huangshan verdant and rich when she stood in for the Yinglong.

    It was only Golos'' domain that stood out as Blackheath.

    Logically, there was only Golos'' inferior bloodline to blame, for it wasn''t as though Dragons attended Civil Service classes. QED, Gwen deeply suspected that genetic knowledge tied to the "Essence" of Dragons had much to do with their innate wisdom and knowledge.

    "I am fine, Gogo," she replied. "Thanks for asking."

    "Heehee, just thought I''d ask," Golos cackled. "A quick query, Calamity, would you mind if I sowed my seeds around here? Some of those ??pters have been throwing themselves at me and the mares as well¡­"

    Gwen instantly rescinded all of her praise for Golos.

    She gave a hard, critical stare at the homeless vagabond.

    "¡­ How about the rats? I know you favour egalitarianism. I don''t discriminate, Calamity. I am the fairest of them all, heeheehee¡­¡±

    "Golos," Gwen said seriously. "Let''s build the city first, shall we? After things settle down and we have a home for the refugees, you can work on nesting. I''ll even commission a building for you and your¡­ brood if you''re serious about settling down."

    "Hee, alright." Her Dragon-kin scratched his head with a claw. "When are the knife ears coming? This place has no trees at all. I don''t think Phalera and the chicks will like that. As their aunty, you should do something."

    A very human part of Gwen wanted to shout that she was in no way an "aunt" to what must be several hundred colourfully feathered nieces. If that many Harpies surrounded their "aunt", some unknowledgeable observer would immediately consider Gwen to be the greatest betrayer in the history of humanity.

    On the other hand, that Golos was a better dad than Hai was so profoundly gut-wrenching that Gwen felt obligated to play her part.

    "Alright, I''ll chase them up," she promised. "Let''s head back. Richard must be antsy by now."

    She also promised herself that she had to call Shanghai and congratulate Golos'' sister and her uncle. However, that would have to wait until she set up the Divination Towers or teleported somewhere with an existing exchange.

    When she returned to the giant pavilion the Dwarves had helped erect, the adjourned meeting had broken up.

    That was no surprise, for the Horse Lords did not see any value in the opinions of the ??pters nor the Rat-kins. They respected the Dwarves, but that was because the Germanic Dwarves had brought an Ancestor in the form of a Balefire Golem to insure their interests were maintained.

    When the Khan had met the Balefire, he was so impressed by the display of potential destruction radiating from the expressionless metal casket that he took off his helmet and poured out his best kumis personally, hand-delivering it to the glowing furnace of the Golem. The Golem had incinerated the helm, booze and all, in a blue-blaze of ultramarine fire, sending Gwen''s heart to her throat before the Khan declared the Dwarven Golem pilots honourable horses.

    As for Humanity, Gwen could only say that Ollie''s hair loss was not in vain.

    She had given her fellow Magister a week off to nurse his scalp and catch up in London. She understood perfectly that the Horse Lords, the premier "war band" in the region, fundamentally saw little difference between the bipedal ??pter and the non-magical Humans. A month ago, Ollie''s proposal of introducing "weak" refugees to the area had utterly confused the Centaurs and made the Khan fume.

    With her return to the region, the Khan''s tone had instantly changed, for he respected the Afaa Al-Halak Garp, which meant he rightly held concerns for its priestess, Magister Gwen Song of the Shard. As for the humans under Magister Song''s rule, they were ??pter sycophants, at best chattel, at worst parasites, which deserved no respect from the haughty Horse Lord Warrior castes.

    Or, as Richard had elucidated, "You can shake the hand of the dog belonging to the woman who can swallow your yurt, but you don''t sit her dog with your daughter at the banquet."

    Which was, Gwen guessed, why Golo''s suggestion made incredible sense¡ªassuming Golos himself could be at all trusted to "rule" a coalition of competing interests.

    Within the pavilion, her attention was redirected by the waving hand of Richard, who stood head and shoulders above the Germanic Dwarven ambassador.

    The homogeny of the Dwarves was, for Gwen, another source of wonderment, one offset by her latent knowledge that Dwarves were not so much like Humans, who belonged to continental homes and cultures, but hailed originally from a single mega-metropolis¡ªDeepholm.

    Thereby, to call them "German Dwarves" was a misnomer, for the correct breakdown was closer to that of Brethren lost on the Himsegg, now living in the mountains the Humans called Bavaria. If she had to draw an analogy, Dwarven homogeny was best captured in the classic Aussie anthem by Men at Work. Be it Bombay, Brussels or a fried-out Kombi¡ªthe D?kk¨¢lfar lived down under, ran forges that glower, pubs where men chunder, factories where Golems thunder, in mines with minerals to plunder. And no matter where under the crust the Dwarves may find themselves, they all ate sausage on Stone Bread, drank copious amounts of beer, and knew a cousin or nephew living in another Citadel.

    She could almost hear the song playing as she hailed the thickly bearded ambassador, Stone Lord Yossock Axenhoff, son of Nossal Axenhoff.

    "Milord Axehoff." She slightly bowed when speaking to the ancient Greybeard. The venerable Engineseer was the Forge Master of Vethr Hjodlik Kjangtoth, the White Citadel under Zugspitze, known in Dwarven as the Sword Spire. The master crafter, according to their earlier meeting, had blood relatives within the now hollowed-out Mimm Agaeth Kjangtoth, the Citadel below Shalkar. "How fares your talks with The Cherbi?"

    "Poorly, I fear." The ambassador shrugged, nesting both hands in the folds of his enormous braided beard, the length and weight of which had made Hanmoul green with envy. "A proud lot, but young¡ªtoo young a race to have as much arrogance as they put on."

    The ambassador''s dismissal of the Horse Lords was within Gwen''s calculations, for Axenhoff''s concern was an existential conflict between a local civilisation a thousand years in the making against the considerations of a culture whose Balefire Ancients were a thousand years old.

    "We''ll mill them down with kindness," Gwen promised with a smile. Her confidence lay in the Shaman Saran, teacher to Temir, Khan of Khans, a priestess who held her Elven allies in total and complete reverence. She knew not what horns the ??pter held the Khan with, but the giant Centaur seemed to put great faith in the woman''s advice. She had few good guesses as to why a Wyrm-chopping Horse King would listen to a smiling sheep, but she was thankful. "Of course, the Horse Lords are no threat to Mimm Agaeth. They''re wary of any space without the blue sky overhead, much less the impossibility of breaking a Citadel."

    "That may be true." Axenhoff stroked his beard. "But our fortunes, at least until the deep granaries are established, will be tied to the supply of produce provided by the Mageocracy. Those, to my understanding, are grown under the Himsegg, yes?"

    "With the blessing of our Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar allies, food and fodder should fall in line," Gwen assured the ambassador. "Although our knife-eared friends are not my only insurance for Shalkar Al-jadeedah. In the outskirts lie our Afaa al-Halak guardian of the city, and in the future, Lord Golos may very well nest among the city''s highest Tower. Between the two of them, there shall be peace."

    "Peace by the might of arms?" The ambassador gave her a sideways glance. "Is that wise for a region so infamous for Elemental incursions?"

    Gwen redirected the ambassador''s gaze toward the table, where her PowerPoint (?) presentation had remained frozen in time.

    "Might is temporary, but peace by profit lasts as long as there is money to be made," Gwen reminded the Greybeard. "The world is in chaos, venerable Engineseer, and we are here to provide the grain, the grease, and the motivation to see the chains reforged. We need your Dyar Morkk. You need our support."

    "The richness of the Steppes is temporary. That was the last point of our discussion." Axenhoff raised a stubby, thickly-skinned finger. "My point remains. Our Citadel would outlast your stability. In my opinion, conjoining our cities is a poor choice. Our Deepdowners have grown liberal, thanks to our work with the Germanic peoples¡ªbut they won''t stand for such varadam."

    "Human lives are short," Gwen did not refute the man''s criticism of the more mortal races. "However, longitudinal goals have only marginal correlations to immediate opportunities, which, once lost, shall not come again. When will Mimm Agaeth see another opportunity as we have now? How much longer will it take to transfer a hundred thousand Dwarves overland to repopulate the shattered Citadel and reopen the clogged veins of the Dyar Morkk? The longer your people wait, the longer the low ways remain lost and crumbling, perhaps forever to the Sinneslukare."

    The Dwarven Greybeard appeared to be physically assaulted by her sibilance.

    "The Mind Eaters do not wait a hundred years," Gwen continued. "The longer the Citadels of the Deep remain disconnected from Deephelm, the greater the chance that Aberrants have taken over. Following our investigations in Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth, did Vethr Hjodlik not also find these saboteurs in your midst? The news from Deepholm¡ªif they can be trustworthy, was a bit of a quake, no?"

    "Aye." The Dwarves, as always, were categorically against the notion of weaselling around the truth.

    Gwen''s tone turned sympathetic.

    "You are not alone. Dwarven participation and investment are essential. As I said, a percentage of all products created by the Rat-kin will be made available at wholesale price to your people. The city, once built, will supply this entire region and its restoration operations. Once the Dyar Morkk underneath is live and active, you can connect this entire webwork of the lost citadels back into the European low-ways. The benefit for your folk is existential, while for us, the economic and logistical boons are immeasurable. We both profit. Our foes have only woe."

    Gwen indicated the reports she had produced on the projected production of goods in the region, which rested with the Engineer''s aides. She understood very well the position of the Dwarves. They were already invested in expanding the Dyar Morkk into Shalkar Al-jadeedah, the last hurdle to be crossed was merely the stubbornness to create an inverse "Himsegg" city. Thankfully, her "Bunker" on the Isle of Dogs was already a concrete example that such a design could work¡ªalbeit their planned project was on a far larger scale.

    "There will be trouble. We will have clashes. I have no doubt my people''s conflict with the Horse Lords will be pre-eminent. However, I would like you to think of such inconveniences as merely the cost of business. These are not situations to be resolved¡ªMilord, but tinkered over time, tempered by unceasing hammer blows."

    The ambassadors'' expression softened.

    The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

    "We will deliberate on this," the Greybeard promised.

    "Please do, and do continue to attend our council meetings. Richard, can you see to our guests?" Gwen bowed her head. "Also, tell Pats we''ll be having dinner together. She and Williams have been wielded to that Fabricator for weeks."

    Richard obliged.

    Gwen then took the opportunity to retreat toward the enormous round table, where her Rat-kin allies demurely waited their turn.

    "Strun." She arrived with an air of authority, but could not help patting the fury, piebald head of her Champion.

    The Rat-kin allowed her fingers to glide through his luxurious fur. A little over a year since their meeting, Strun was now a father of several hundred Ratlings. Her Rat-kin had promised to raise them as an elite guard in her service that would eclipse the Shadow Mages. The man was serious, for his children, each bearing minute motes of Almudj''s blessed Essence, was already twice the size of regular rat babies.

    Gwen had explained that proper nutrition, rather than starvation and slavery, was likely the cause, but the Rat-kin were adamant that the "Priestess of the Afaa-al-Halak" had elevated the fur-balls and they should gift her their life in turn.

    "You didn''t have to wait for me." Gwen greeted the hunchbacked Rat-kin elders in their sand-coloured cloaks. There were a few broad-shouldered youths among them¡ªbut most of the tribes preferred to have the longest-surviving members as leaders. "The meeting''s done, as you can see. We''ll have to hash things out another time."

    Three of the Elders, Rat-kins from the Clan Chuluu, Plithf, and Kalk, dropped to their knees. "O Great Priestess, please gift our Clan with obedience, that we may also prosper from the gift of Lord Garp''s Essence."

    Strun caught the old fellows before they could perform a full-bodied kowtow. Gwen had clearly expressed her dislike for such displays, though Strun''s growing success was an irresistible advertisement.

    With time, the Soul link between Garp and Strun had been strengthened, particularly by Strun''s ability to communicate with the Earthen Wyrm. The result of such a connection was a Rat-kin who stood as tall as a Human, with the vitality and strength of a Centaur Tumen. Even the Khan''s Cherbi, Khudu, gave word that Strun was a formidable warrior and that in sharing a helm of brewed goat''s curd with the Rat-kin, the rat should no longer be considered a Tasm¨¹yiz but a "warrior".

    And when Strun rode Garp on patrols of the region, uprooting the infestations of Afaa-al-Halak larvae and bursting Sand Wolve dens like a grown man kicking a termite mound¡ªobserving eyes had grown rounder and rounder.

    The other Clans had already sent their daughters to Strun¡ªbut the Rat-kin''s growing political power worried them all.

    Very soon, Strun would not be a Rat-kin but a Rat-KING.

    Of this, Gwen was of two minds.

    Strun, as well as the others she had blessed during their exodus, was bound to her. They could not disobey her will if she exercised her Necromancy. It meant that Strun as "King" would bring absolute pacification to the Rat-related issues in Shaklka Al-jadeedah. At the same time, she knew human nature too well to know that tyranny was not the way forward.

    Eventually, she would be tempted to rule rather than govern¡ªfor subtle applications of Soul Tap could easily subdue the Centaurs, control the Rats, and bring the surrounding Demi-human tribes into the fold.

    It would be a catastrophic success¡ªparticularly if the Shard then categorically decided they did not fancy a prospective Soul Reaver pacifying the region for profit.

    "I shall gift your most talented warriors with the blessing of Essence, that they may grow hale and defend your homes," she promised something she knew was agreeable to the elders but would not challenge Strun''s unique position. "Rise now. All within our council chambers are equal¡ª I do not wish to see such displays again."

    After another outrageous display, the Elders stood around with nothing to say.

    Gwen smiled and sighed. She knew it would take time for the Rat-kin, who were still used to their existence as Tasm¨¹yiz, to speak their minds, so she left instructions with Strun to oversee the development of the new fields around New Shalkar.

    The sooner the Dwarven delegating could see the green shoots of the potato fields arching around the horizon, the less passion their resistance would possess, especially if mountainous truckloads were being moved onto barges for export, away from thirsty distilleries.

    Her next stop was with the Horse Lords, who had taken the opportunity to leave the insufferable indoors for a game of Buzkashi outdoors. With Strun keeping watch, there was no Tasm¨¹yiz used as a ball.

    Many of her allied folks had gathered to observe the Horse Lords. The Dwarves, in particular, were already discussing if pilots could reenact such a blood-boiling sport in Golem suits, played with a magnetic oval ball, on rolling skates. The Rat-kin looked on with a strange fascination, their macabre interest caught between their passion for the sport''s history and their prior, passive involvement.

    Only a week ago, the newly arrived Golos had participated. With so much testosterone on sale, it was almost impossible for the Dragon not to be embroiled in the egotistical combat of physical prowess.

    As expected, the newly minted drake was sufficiently "dominating" in power and agility, even in his bipedal form.

    To praise the victor, the Horse Lords had come from all over to drink with the Dragon, and Golos had made new pals by promising not to eat the studs he liked.

    "Milord Cherbi." Gwen found the sweating Centaur dripping wet under the blistering sun. The tall gent, his body alive with vivid tattoos and inscriptions from Saran''s crafty hand, was pouring chilled buckets of water over himself while a pair of mares brushed his hair and tidied the fur of his muscular rump. Every muscle, oiled and gleaming, was on display. "I see you''ve made a home for yourself. It makes me glad."

    "Magister Song." The Centaur''s bony face grinned, revealing teeth well-stained by betel nut tea, looking like he chewed blood. "This is a good place you are building. Many strong warriors are here, from these stout iron smiths to your cousin Dragon..."

    The Cherbi habitually talked about fighters like blokes discussing MMA at a water cooler.

    One of the reasons the Horsemen and the Dwarves got along like a Yurt on fire, Gwen suspected, was that both had a laconic culture that respected mastery¡ªwhether its mastery of war or the knowledge of the craft. When two competing tribes of Horse-kin met on the Steppes, contests and skirmishes opened the negotiations, followed by Buzkashi or all-out war. Afterwards, the survivors got smashed on fermented cud, made merry, and came to an accord. On the other hand, Dwarven entanglements began with intoxication, leading to brawls and grudge matches, until they sobered up and returned to their serious, stoic selves.

    Unexpectedly, the Centaurs shrugged at the prospect of her city being erected on their grazing grounds. A part of it might be that they''ve successfully razed anything anyone had ever constructed since the inception of the Khanate¡ªthat or deeper plots and ploys were a-hoof¡ªwhich Gwen felt could be attributed to the Shaman Saran.

    "...The Tasm¨¹yiz have only the rat¡ªbut he is very strong indeed. As for your female swordswoman, the Horse God should have made her a mare!"

    Gwen laughed politely.

    "I digress. The steppes have become interesting, a good outcome."

    "I am glad to hear you say that, Lord Cherbi." Gwen bowed her head, but not too much lest the Cherbi thought lowly of her respect. "As discussed, shall I count upon your support for the outer region''s security?"

    The Centaur snorted, blowing back a few locks of her sun-tossed hair.

    In the early days of their proposal, the Cherbi had hinted at his desire for a duel¡ªthough Golo''s arrival, reaffirmed by Garp''s labours in literally flattening the surrounding landscape, had since put that desire to rest. Gwen suspected the challenge had initially arisen from the incompatibility of cross-cultural expectations of gender. For the Horse Lords, respect for their females was based upon wisdom and lineage, with a strong emphasis on fertility¡ªa mare matron with many warrior children, for instance, the Cherbi''s mother-mare, held momentous sway within the S¨¡rai.

    On the other hand, Gwen was a locus of power but also a childless female, which made Khudu''s role as a subordination existentially uncomfortable.

    A subordinate¡ªfor that was how the Horse Lords thought of each other and all other existences. Superiors and subordinates, within the kin, between tribes, and between the Khanates.

    "There is little profit but great labour to come." The Cherbi did not shy away from confronting her with his muscular form. "Don''t you agree?"

    "We pay very well." Gwen allowed the muscles to confront her. In her opinion, the sunny smell of horse sweat was more intimidating than the towering Horse Lord.

    "We are the only mercenaries on the Steppes who can guard your caravans and barges." the Cherbi reminded her as a mare braided his tail. "Should we not command a better price?"

    "Ours are the only employees hiring." Gwen threw the retort back unflinchingly. "Who else has the grains to keep the Khanate flourishing? The Fire Sea still looms, milord. It is not extinguished."

    "A starving Khanate is like a starving wolf," the Horse Lord reminded her.

    "Why do you think we''re building granaries underground?" Gwen motioned to the Dwarves in the distance.

    As they spoke, the Fabricator Engine, towering above the pavilion, rumbled past, leaving enormous foundation trenches for assembling the gated entrance into the Dyarr Morkk below. Its gait resembled a colossal Salamander: in front, manipulators and Spellswords tore at the land¡ªbehind, perfect units of construction material and a geometrically aligned trench were left in its wake.

    "Mmm¡­" the Cherbi wasn''t sure how to respond to the logos of supply and demand. There was a solution¡ªto raid the Rat-kin as always, though the Horse Lord would be reluctant to threaten such a thing without first besting Golos or Garp.

    "Dwell not too deeply on it," Gwen assured her ambiguous ally. One of the mares came close, offering to braid her hair. Gwen waved the girl away. "Shaman Saran said the seasons will remain rich for some years, did she not? Think of what we can gain now¡ªas for the future, why not let the might of our arms speak their mutual terms? With the Khanate at its full strength, a glorious conflict awaits us all."

    Her final announcement was enough to bring the grin back to the Horse Lord''s face.

    "You have a way with wisdom for one with no fawns from the loin." The Horse Lord gave her flat belly a nod of acknowledgement. "I shall not deny more of your time, then. You have a city to plan and build. Ours is the entirety of the northwest region. Do not forget."

    "I shall supervise it well," Gwen answered in turn. "Do visit Lord Golos when you are free, Khudu. Gogo is often bored and in need of a competitive companion. My mind can be at ease with your prowess keeping his mischief caged."

    Her humble-bragging flattery was enough to disengage the Cherbi, who laughed heartily, drank deeply from a horn flagon, and then focused on the mares.

    Gwen retreated. When she was far enough, she took deep breaths, already tired even though the sun was not past midday.

    Her mind was on her uncle and Ayxin, though she had one more stop.

    On the outskirts of the FoB laid a small tent beside a larger one, with the modest yurt used for housing and the other as a laboratory.

    The two yurts were also set up in the middle of New Shalkar''s only cemetery. A Frontier city had many deaths, and real estate for the deceased was necessary.

    Of concern was that she was now in a region with known Spectre activities, Necromantic ones at that. Only five hundred kilometres toward the direction of Petra''s old Tower was a hotspot of Undead infestation, Ufa. On the other end, less than a thousand kilometres into Siberia laid the Undead Wildlands, worse than Pyongyang because it was a Necromancer''s free-for-all. These were the regions where the Great War had banished the milling millions of the dark craft, with Moscow as its great gatekeeper and China as its long-abused neighbour.

    On the other hand, after her six-month campaign against the Undead at sea, her feelings toward land-based hordes were nothing like her dread of the Mermen. As long as her city did not "turn", she was confident the threat could be managed.

    Which was why Gwen now came to the cemetery.

    When her refugees arrived, she had no wish to mediate a debate between the Horse Lords and the Humans, with the former advocating for the bodies to be left as carrion to nourish the plains, then stomped into the earth to prevent reanimation.

    "Master Litvak," she greeted the robed figure emerging from the larger of the two yurts, casually wiping his bile-soured hands upon profaned towels. "How fares your research? Will our people be safe when they arrive?"

    "No mutations, nor increased potency, thank her Majesty''s Grace," the Necromancer replied with visible relief. In Gwen''s mind, his skeletal skull always seemed to rattle as he spoke. "For now, whomever''s forces that had harassed our settlements no longer has the means to modify their necrophage."

    When he spoke, the Necromancer''s eyes glistened. Though the bloke''s dabble in the craft was far older than hers, the untitled Magus was in awe of her achievements in the "forbidden" avenues of spellcraft. After all, sorcery to do with Essence, particularly the subjugation of living beings, was magnitudes worse than raising Undead. The rationale was simple, for Soul Reaving was the gateway to the creation of intelligent Undead with thoughts and agendas of their own. According to her access to sanctioned knowledge, it was also the principal path to Lichdom.

    "How''s our vaccination programs progressing?" She peeked into the man''s laboratory. The interior was dark, but her enhanced eyes could still discern the gruesome collection of flasks, samples, and offensive energies.

    "Your Rat-kin has been using up everything I''ve made." The Necromancer looked at her amusedly. "They call it the Priestess'' Blessing and urge all their relatives and children to participate. Those who do not are publically shamed and ostracised¡ªsometimes cast from their burrow homes¡­"

    "Right¡­" Gwen could imagine that.

    "The bad news is that your Horse Lords are less inclined to prevention. Their mares have been spreading rumours that the inoculation solution will weaken their studs in the long run or are responsible for infirmities, whatever that means. The men say it affects their erections. The updated dose has been very poorly distributed."

    "What does Mistress Saran have to say about this?"

    "She says to leave the Khan''s men to their demise."

    "She said what?" Gwen blinked. "Demise?"

    "That was what Mistress Saran inferred," the Necromancer confessed with a lopsided grin. "An interesting ally we have found, Magister Song."

    "Indeed."

    "If I may. Has the matter of our discussion from last time¡­ settled?" Litvak asked, his dull-blue eyes unsettlingly milky.

    "No dice." Gwen shook her head. "The Dwarves will not work on constructing a Necropolis, no matter the reason. They did offer to build you a furnace for cremations and such. We won''t be getting help from the Horse Lords for obvious reasons. The Rat-kin will help¡ªbut only if I tell them to¡ªwhich I wish to avoid."

    "I see. Then I shall deal with the influx of¡­ Faiths¡­ as best as I can," Litvak replied with a shrug, then opened the flap to his tent. "Please shield my labour, Mistress. If you do, no Undead will rise, or you may subjugate my soul. Shall we?"

    "I trust that they shall not," Gwen concluded, deciding that she didn''t want to inspect Litvak''s laboratory anyway. If the man said he''s ready to deal with an enormous influx of bodies from natural or unnatural sources, that''s good enough for herself. So long as the unique circumstances of a Frontier fringing an Undead Front were accounted for, that''s the best any regional administrator can do. ¡°Thank you, Magus Litvak. I still have paperwork to do, planning zones to establish."

    The Necromancer lowered the flaps, bowing deeply as one might to a superior in the craft.

    As for Gwen, her mind turned once more to her office.

    From under her shawl, she withdrew the Ilas leaf. Golos wanted trees, the rats wanted shelter, and the Dwarves needed convincing.

    In Shalkar Al-jadeedah, there was no rest for the wicked.

 Chapter 470 - The Best Man

    Shanghai.

    As a cultural custom of the People''s Liberation Army of the Communist Party, weddings were seldom publicised and never celebrated in public. Even when someone as august as a Regional Secretariat, foremost of the Party''s members, welcomed their spouses, the media had been instructed to stay clear with their lumen captures. As a tradition, announcements were modestly pronounced by the national paper, written in the "People''s Daily" in a small box, stating that "Wang Citizen married Jin Citizen on this day."

    That was how Jun Song, the People''s Hero and renowned Dragon Layer, a man Elementally opposed to romantic thoughts, had imagined his union with Ayxin.

    Now, Secretary-General Miao Yang-B¨°, Master of the Central Commission for Discipline and Inspection and the man closest to inheriting the chairmanship, stood two feet away, loudly criticising the frugality of the PLA.

    "We are not a poor nation anymore." The Secretary-General was almost choking from the emotions running through his voice. "Ah-Jun, you can''t do this to your wife. I won''t allow it. We haven''t used you so much that the Ash has burned away your sensibility! We didn''t!"

    Jun had a feeling that if Ayxin were here, she would have hissed at the man, and the matter would be done with it. Unfortunately, his wife was asleep. The conception of their child, according to the wisdom of his father-in-law, the all-knowing Yinglong, had exhausted Ayxin mentally, physically, and in "Essence". A Dragon usually borne, then nested their eggs for centuries¡ªbut Ayxin had wanted their child to grow with Jun so that they might share, if only for a century or two, the joy she had seen on the Lumen-casters.

    The news was shocking to Jun. Not so much as the child itself, but that Ayxin would split her Essence-gift from the Yinglong between herself and the child in her womb to hasten its maturation. Before Huangshan, he had expected to retire in his sixties¡ª but was now provisioned by her ladyship to remain youthful for a century and more.

    It was a prospect that immediately made him think of Gwen. His niece had also inadvertently partaken in the blessing of a Mythic, becoming its Vessel, and she would also live far longer than her mortal peers.

    The boon in years was to Jun a terrifying prospect. Perhaps in a century or more, only Gwen, himself, Ayxin and a half-dragon child might be around, while their friends and contemporaries might not. For someone bred on the duties of filial piety, to see his parents peacefully pass away was his duty¡ªbut to see Hai? Nen? Even the little nephews and nieces grow into old men and women, then waste away with time?

    He had to derail the freight train of his thoughts immediately¡ªand focus instead on the present.

    The present was the wedding.

    It wasn''t so much that Jun hadn''t given thought to marrying Ayxin. Instead, he was under the impression that he was a son-in-law of the Yinglong and that the Dragon would stipulate the terms. And in terms of men marrying into their spouse''s households, the thing to do was to smile and keep silent.

    In front of him, Secretary-General Miao had been pacing back and forth excitedly for some time, growing more excited with every chorus of "it must be grand!" and "fit for an Emperor!"

    Of course, modern China had no Emperors, and anyone proclaiming so would be sent to the Stasis Chambers to reevaluate their ambitions. However, the Secretary-General saw this as a new opportunity to reach parity with their direct competitors in the Mageocracy, whose nobility has known ties to the Great Red on Carrauntoohil. The alliance had been instrumental in holding back the Wild Hunt, a war band of Elementals inhabiting a Demi-plane to the far north of the isles. What the CCP desired from the Yinglong isn''t so nearly taxing¡ªonly the guarantee of rain in the nation''s largest rice bowl, the Su-Huang region.

    "Ayxin would want something private and intimate," Jun protested even as his military-trained body stood to attention. "You know how much she despises crowds."

    He paused. "...Retail therapy notwithstanding. I guess Ayxin learned that from someone."

    "She is also exceedingly¡­ accommodating to your needs, Ah-Jun," the Secretary-General was firm in his decision. As the man had said during the induction speech to new Grey Ghosts, their bodies were not their own but the country''s. Their will was not their own but the state''s. "I know what I am asking. I know it might be unreasonable. Our country needs Ayxin to smile for the Lumen-casters, if only for a few hours."

    Of that last point, Jun had no doubt.

    Like every other nation in the world, their government was being rocked by unforeseen changes, ones with ties, or so the winds whispered, to Gwen.

    Within the last six months, the Yellow River''s flow had lowered to a level not seen since the mythical droughts of the dynastic era.

    Conversely, the entirety of the Qinhai province was awash with floods and landslides, cutting off the Frontier from the PLA and leaving it to the ravages of the Elementals.

    In Yulin, a catastrophic earthquake ravaged the Frontier''s defences, ushering a deluge of newly homeless Goblinoids like a living landslide from the secluded mountainscape.

    The nation''s metropolises lived on the edge, fearing for food and the safety of their sons and daughters as drafts drew men by the millions to the Frontiers to alleviate the new threats.

    The country needed a hopeful signal, an auspicious one, and there was nothing better than the politicisation of a mythic union not seen since the dynasties of yore. That the marriage was furthermore between a Party faithful, a known hero who had sacrificed his body and health for the good of the masses, was a fairytale of propaganda too good to miss. Jun knew all this because he had already seen the immensely popular picture books of himself and Ayxin.

    To have the Central Planning Committee declare that the nation''s food security shall remain abundant for the foreseeable future was vital for putting the minds of hundreds of millions of citizens at ease.

    "I will personally ensure there will be no interviews, disruptions, or any interruption to your spouse''s privacy beyond the single day of public affairs," Miao promised, his voice grim with the determination of the Internal Security Bureau. "Any outlets that break the agreement, even if it''s a direct affiliate of the Central Communications Bureau, will cease to exist in short order. You and Ayxin shall have my word on that."

    Jun chose not to show his dissatisfaction, knowing he would relent sooner than later. On a personal level, Secretary-General Miao Yang-B¨° had been good to him and his family, using personal guan-xi to ensure that a soon-retiring Guo Song received his full honours while suffering no repercussions or retributions from the delinquent Party bosses he had gifted Stasis vacations.

    For Gwen, the man had also put his foot down when necessary, freeing his niece from the CCP''s paranoia and building an amicable trade relationship with her allies in Myanmar.

    Lastly, Jun was certain that the privacy they had enjoyed since Hai''s wedding would have been impossible were it not for the Miao''s constant and gentle reminder of the Party''s various public and private appendages to leave the pair well alone.

    "I''ll speak to her," Jun promised. "And explain the necessity."

    "Thank you, Ah-Jun." The Secretary-General gave him a half-salute. "And please reiterate my promise to your spouse that so long as I live, the two of you shall raise your child as you see fit, with no interference from the Party."

    Jun could only appear grateful.

    Miao extended a hand. "And, of course, we''ll take good care of your nephew. Once he''s proven a capable administrator, we''ll induct him into the Party''s inner circles. That young man, mark my words, will have a brilliant future ahead of him.''

    "I''ll make the case, Secretary-General." Jun shook the man''s hand.

    "Uncle Miao," the Secretary-General insisted. "When you first came under my wing, you refused to call me that, citing that you were a subordinate. It may very well be that I am now no longer your equal, Ah-Jun, so humour this old man."

    "Uncle Miao." Jun shook his head helplessly. "I''ll relay the good news. Soon."

    "Will you be inviting our newly appointed Imperial Viceroy of the Mageocracy to the wedding?" The old man''s smile was crooked.

    "I don''t dare not to," Jun felt a little uneasy at the thought of Gwen finding out she wasn''t invited. "She''s quite the personage these days."

    "Will you be..." the Secretary-General''s smile remained. "Having her as Ayxin''s maid?"

    Momentarily, Jun recalled his brother''s wedding, with his niece in that dress, and the men she left whimpering under her heels. That and Ayxin''s Draconic irises turning into twin murder slits if he ever suggested such a thing.

    "I wouldn''t dare..." he confessed. "Yes. I think it''s best if Gwen''s a guest of honour. Maybe a state invite. Put her somewhere close, but not as a part of the procession."

    "Then, may I make a suggestion?" The Secretary-General''s expression remained puzzlingly amused.

    "Sir¡ªUncle Miao, speak your mind."

    "The Yinglong¡ªbelieve it or not, has another Vessel¡ª and it''s a foreign girl."

    Jun nodded. He knew, and he knew of her connection to Gwen. The pair shared a bond of sometimes sister, sometimes more, though he wasn''t sure what to make of it.

    "Would you mind if... she was the bride''s maid? Her Ordo had contacted us to request a visitation permit. And for your best man, how about your nephew? The committee believes this would appease our Viceroy while also having her on the sidelines."

    Jun felt his chest constrict. "I don''t think we should do that to Mr Wang. Tao is his only son..."

    "I meant Percy..."

    Jun looked at his Secretary-General. The old man looked back.

    "My father..." Jun understood. His father had thin skin when it came to the family. He couldn''t ask Gwen to stay, and he couldn''t ask this of Jun now.

    "Yes, he desired it. The young man needs to show his face, be known to the nation. The wedding is a rare opportunity. Of course, if you are unwilling..."

    Jun did not disagree.

    It was true what his now-dead comrades in the Grey Ghosts had said. In a Party-organised wedding, the bride and groom were the least important component.

    Tianjin.

    The witching hour.

    Percy Song, the heir to the House of Song, hovered over the crashing waves of the coast, while behind him, the sparkling coastal port painted the rolling city fruit shop bright.

    The midnight flight was his ritual, exercised like the Lantern Men of the distant dynasties; only he was a Flaneur from the future.

    The lustre of the port, however, was nothing compared to its urban sprawl, home to six million souls.

    When he and Mei had visited the city during their rest and relaxation, he was shocked to learn that Shanghai was not the largest port in China. Rather, it was Tianjin that took the crown, possessing a coastal network of docklands and ports that spanned fifth kilometres of deep water, further developed by man-made canals that interconnected the central infrastructure of the city.

    Over forty percent of the food that southern China produced was transported to the north through Tianjin¡ªmaking it the pivotal arterial highway necessary for feeding the fifteen million residents of China''s administrative capital, Beijing.

    But Percy wasn''t just seeing a city.

    He had been shocked to learn that a long, long time ago, there existed a China that his history books had erased.

    It was a nation called Xia.

    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

    A nation that worshipped Kirins.

    Looking at the light pollution turning the sky a brilliant azure, Percy struggled to imagine a China ruled by Magical Creatures, each a Mythic, each with their tribe of camp followers providing their Demi-gods with the nourishing power of Faith.

    The greatest and most legitimate of these was a proto-Emperor named Sh?n, a descendent of the Kirin Tribe.

    At first, Percy could not even begin to comprehend the Jade Kirin''s visions. His understanding changed when he had finally arrived at the place of its birthright, and the Kirin invited Percy into the miasma of time to part the shrouds of befuddled history.

    As he glided over the landscape, his cerebral senses pierced the veils of time, spying on titanic battles between the Mythics. The Kirins, Masters of Humanity, had sought to control the flow of the rivers, damming, guiding, and draining a four-decade flood to carve out a nation for their people.

    Their opponents were the tribes who worshipped the Mythics of water, the invasive Dragons of the sea, who desired dominion of the ley-nodes on the mainland. In their contest, mountains toppled, rivers overflowed, entire cities were drowned, and millions of men and animals died, giving rise to intermittent reigns of Undeath.

    Nightly, as he and his pendent traced the city''s ley-lines, making laps around its Tower, Percy had felt the hot breath of the Kirin''s phantasms kiss the interior of his skull, filling his frontal lobe with fantastic visions of power beyond the wildest imaginations of Spellcraft. The voice of his patron was deep and resonant, like the rumbling of the earth itself, injecting its memories of the past directly into Percy, unfiltered and unreserved.

    And like a toddler, his eyes slowly growing into focus, Percy saw the world as it was and should have been.

    In those days of antiquity, the Kirin tribe, born from these jade-rich seams, was banished from the Prime Material. In their defeat, the hearts of mortal men turned. The Kirin King of Xia, the Shang-Di Gods of northern China, was supplanted by the great, all-encompassing heavens of the Jade Emperor, pronouncing the first "Tian", the kingdom under heaven.

    The Han people, as the imperial analects recollected, now only knew themselves as the Descendants of Dragons. Gone were the Kirins, becoming mythology to frighten or delight children, made into belligerent fools or loyal subordinates of the heaven-traversing drakes.

    And his sister was one such Vessel of a usurper, He who Heeds in the south: The Yinglong, the lapdog of the Jade Emperor.

    She was more than that as well.

    A long time ago, when she still wore the pendant in Sydney, his Kirin had saved her life. When his sister had been toyed, played with, and abused by a dark magician, the Kirin had reached out of its amulet to grasp a loose strand of Essence her assailants had neglected.

    It was a local land God: an old one called Almudj, an existence akin to the Kirin, born of the Prime Material itself.

    From that singular mote of Essence, his sister had begun her transformation, beginning with seducing the land serpent, a being with the mind of an infant but the wrath of a stratospheric tempest. She was a conduit, therefore, of two consciouses, one old, the other scheming, a creature of cunning creatures beyond her ken.

    The vision Percy knew to be true, for he had seen Gwen''s metamorphosis. And his patron had wholeheartedly displayed the befuddled recollection of his sister''s desperation, coming across as flashes of abject terror and mewling submission. That was the Gwen he knew, the true Gwen¡ªnot this headstrong stranger walking in her skin, wielding Necromancy.

    Percy took a deep, cold breath, allowing the frigid northern air to fill his lungs.

    Tianjin was so vast.

    To think that all of this and beyond belonged to the Kirin.

    Each time the visions faded, Percy would feel a stark sympathy for his patron, whose Core now nourished his ambitions. In his absence, Humanity had carved the mountains and river into the artifice of their own making¡ªbut his patron''s connection to the land that nourished his kin had remained. All that was required was the return of the rightful king¡ªthen the land and its leys would sing to its originator.

    And they would nourish him as well.

    That was a promise he well-cherished, for the power and influence wielded by the possessor of Tianjin''s ley-lines was beyond his youthful comprehension.

    What his sister had achieved¡ªher wealth and status¡ªwhat good was it compared to the city that fed the north of the world''s most populous nation?

    His nose wrinkled, his spirit soured by the darkness to the northeast.

    Even here, with all the distance between Yantai and the blasted peninsula of Pyongyang, he could scent the entropic energies of Undeath.

    A calamity was coming. The Jade Kirin was sure of it.

    The land trembled in anticipation of the ravages to come.

    The Kirin had told him that this was divine will.

    After all, with the exile of his people, the Heaven of Shang-Di had been shattered.

    Now, the usurpers hold sway.

    And mortal men syphon away the land''s energies to power lumen bulbs, horse-laughing at the banal comedy displayed upon their lumen casters.

    Percy Song, the rising star of the Liberation Army, would also perish here, leaving his dues for his sister, who would recover the pendant and exorcise the Kirin forever at the behest of her Draconic Masters.

    For a long while, he had been unable to sleep, and Mei had to send for the Yang''s sleeping herbs from home to aid his nightly rest.

    Then suddenly, inexplicably, his circumstances had changed as if driven by fate.

    His uncle, against all expectations of reality, had impregnated a Dragon.

    That Dragon, a true descendent of the Yinglong, possessed the potent blood of the Imperial lines.

    According to his patron, Jun''s child was collated from Essence and will, put in place by the Yinglong, a phantasmal desire made manifest into reality by the will of a Demi-divine being.

    An impossible conception.

    An impossible child.

    An impossible birth.

    The cost in causality, the Kirin had explained, would be dire, hence the calamity to come.

    However¡ªwhat if Percy were to benefit from the trespass of heaven''s will? What if, by tapping into the alteration of reality willed by the Yinglong, they could save the city and emerge as its benefactor?

    The child, his patron had informed Percy, was a font of Draconic Essence, a Dragon''s share of which belonged to the Kirin tribe.

    The child in Ayxin''s womb was a hundredfold richer than the "Egg" that had held the wayward mote of primordial Essence, a bounty a thousandfold richer than his sister''s transformative gift.

    One mote!

    Just a single mote was all that was needed.

    He must find an opportunity to awaken his patron with the borrowed Essence. The Kirin knew not how, when, or if it was possible, but his message had been clear.

    Succeed.

    Or, like the Kirin tribe, it would be best for Percy to enjoy his remaining weeks with Mei, then send her away, leaving behind an heir for his Grandfather.

    Shalkar.

    While hairs fell from heads on the east Asian coast, the gaze of Shalkar Al-jadeedah''s Pantene(?) perfect protagonist washed over the Barsakelmes low-lands, the largest body of water for hundreds of kilometres.

    Before the Fire Sea''s emergence, the region was a verdant wetland, an Eden where rolling desert and sandstone plateaus overlooked a vast shallow lake, fed by an unfathomable underground reservoir known far and wide by the Rat-folk as the Jewel Sea.

    After the Beast Tide, the lake dried up, becoming parched sand, with only the December rains bringing relief to the temporary watering holes.

    Now, in the aftermath of the Fire Sea''s retraction, together with the verdant boon of water over the region, Gwen was looking at a vast blue yonder some hundreds of kilometres from edge to edge, swallowing every landmark that had emerged in the three decades since Vynssarion left its imprint across the central continents.

    Her present predicament as Lord Viceroy of the region was establishing the water supply to her new city, meaning installing an Elemental Water processing plant on or near the deepest part of the "Jewel Lake".

    Her obstacle was imperialism.

    The original inhabitants of the Jewel Lake were, without a doubt, the Ix, one of her Rat tribes who took up fishing and aquaculture as a means of living. When the lake shrank to nothing, they were forced to move north, where the Horse Lords enslaved them as the Tasm¨¹yiz.

    Since that exodus, almost three decades had passed, and during those dry seasons, other Demi-humans native to the region had thrived in place of the agricultural Rat-kin.

    Foremost were creatures capable of evading the Horse Lord''s wrath¡ªcollectively known as the Kobold Clans of Barsakelmes.

    Before today, Gwen had only known of the Clans on paper, for they were seldom seen on the surface. That is until the Dwarves began their spiderweb expansion of the Dyar Morkk underneath Shalkar Al-jadeedah. Before that, there had been no significant conflicts between their interests and the Kobolds.

    Now, there was.

    A day ago, Garp finally bore through the granite bedrock of the region to come close to the water-rich aquifer core of Barsakelmes. It then turned in disgust, returning to the rich Elemental earth of the open steppes. What was left was for the Dwarven excavation team to set up a Forward Operating Base, preparing the area for the arrival of the Fabricator Engine.

    Instead of progress reports, Gwen received news that Kobolds, as a tide, had spilt into the tunnels, overwhelming the Dwarven survey teams. Consequently, four Golems were lost, including their pilots and one Engineseer, now prisoners of the tribesmen.

    As expected, a Message device pinged her from the Ambassador''s office, and here she was, putting out fires.

    Below, the entrance to the "township" of the Kobold Clans was a modest fort, no more than twenty meters in height, cylindrical, with small windows that gave it the impression of a dangerous, clay-coloured pineapple.

    Beside her, Golos hovered in his human form, mumbling about the ease by which he could barrel through the fort and make a meteor crater capable of accessing their inner sanctum.

    Behind them, Lulan sat on one of her infamous iron slabs, advising about the ease by which she could send down a hail of iron to penetrate the Kobold''s inner sanctum.

    "You know," Richard, her advisor who decided he needed some air from the paperwork, was critical of their path forward. "¡­ you could probably drop a Maelstrom and crack that thing open so far that we''ll be in their inner sanctum before you know it."

    "Please do it," the elder of the Ix, a Rat-kin named Jubibi, was having the time of his life with her Mass Flight. The same could be applied to the troop of shivering, flying rats behind him, all hopeful of returning to their occupied burrows.

    "Christ, we have a hostage situation," Gwen growled at her followers. "What''s wrong with talking to them? They look¡­ cute enough."

    Much to her surprise, the Kobolds were not the mangled goblin folk so common to the underground. Instead, these were furred and mammalian, with long, serpentine bodies clad in leather, sporting vicious little faces that resembled the Marbled-Cat ferrets. They reminded her of her cats on old Earth. And she was naturally opposed to the outright oppression of the locals.

    According to Ix, their neighbours were hardly innocent. They were merely one of the many mortal foes of the Rat-kin of the Steppes. In times of plenty, granary raids seldom resulted in deaths. In desperate times, they ate the farmers.

    With such a history in mind, Gwen lowered herself until she was well within the range of the poisoned implements these Kobolds wielded, something between a crossbow and a stave with rudimentary magic. Stake Darts was what the Dwarves had called them¡ªhighly penetrative projectiles made for fighting underground monsters of the Murk rather than the overground creatures, nothing like the man-portable Spellswords used by the Dwarves, but numerous and deadly to the unarmored victim.

    "CLAN GANNRK! I AM LORD VICEROY OF NEW SHALKAR! I WISH TO PARLEY WITH YOUR ELDERS!" her Clarion Call boomed over the fort. "I come in pea¡ª"

    SPRACK¡ª! A dart pinged off her double-glazed shield.

    At any rate, a lucky hit would not penetrate her crowskin unless it aimed for her face¡ªand even so, she doubted the poison would be fatal.

    "CEASE YOUR FIRE!" She commanded, her voice stern and without quarter. "WE WISH TO PARLEY!"

    SPAK¡ª! SPAK¡ª

    SPAK¡ªPING

    SPAK¡ª SPAK¡ªPin-PING¡ª

    The bottom of her shield remained clear, for it was Lulan who had blocked the incoming stakes.

    "Lulu! Hold!" Gwen stopped the imminent launch of a dozen tungsten projectiles from Elemental Earth, each self-sharpened by the velocity of their pressure-induced launch.

    She drifted upward. Lulan followed.

    That said, the ammo holds for the Stake Throwers were impressive, with the deterring volley lasting almost half a minute. Each attack chipped away a micron of her pity and sympathy until her brows furrowed un-prettily.

    "Calamity! Your Human diplomacy won''t work here," Golos'' laughter was grating on her nerves. "If you believe they will simply return those stout-men pilots and their priest, you''re surely mistaken."

    "And you have a better plan?" Gwen indicated to the fort below. "Our foremost priority is to secure the Dwarves. After that¡­"

    "Let me show you how to speak through strength," Golos cracked his neck. "Then, you will know if I can govern your franchise."

    As the last words left the Dragon''s mouth, his body shifted and transformed, growing elongated and large while radiating so much Dragon Fear that their Rat-kin guides spontaneously suffered a colon cleanse.

    Richard strategically moved behind her while Lulan impassively took the brunt of the Wyvern-turned-Dragon''s prideful metamorphosis.

    The Thunder Dragon''s body stretched out, its wings opening like the proverbial butterfly tearing through an Astral cocoon, turning the skies dark as the region''s elements reacted to the oppressive presence upon its ley lines. When finally Golo shook out the static discharge from its neck, he was a vision of malevolent dignity.

    Besides Gwen, her Planar Ally was almost twenty meters from snout to tail, still possessed of his Wyvern heritage''s spiked club. His wings were deep blue, semi-transparent where the membranes stretched over the protrusive shoulder joints. Two forearms, large and muscular, extended from where his wings used to be, each possessed three clawed digits clad in azure. With each breath, the plating on his chest rose and fell, discharging static so that it looked like the Thunder Dragon possessed a living Core of lightning.

    A Western Dragon.

    An adult "Blue", albeit an immature one.

    The Core given by Illaelitharian, unsurprisingly, was not an Asiatic Thunder Dragon.

    ¡°Watch¡ª¡° Golos descended.

    As expected, there were no attacks, only watchful silence as the shit-stained Kobolds stood their ground, dumbstruck by the sight.

    Like deer in the path of a slow-flying Fireball, they stared at the Thunder Dragon, unable to move, their expressions one of blank incomprehension.

    When he was close enough, Golo craned his neck to magnify his arrogance tenfold.

    "INSECTS OF THE EARTH!" The Dragon spoke in the universal tongue of the mortal creatures so that the meaning entered their brains and made itself known. "You filth have my property! Return them to me unharmed and thereby LIVE, or else, ALL SHALL PERISH."

 Chapter 471 - Judge, Jury, Caliban

    New Shalkar.

    The Barsakelmes low-lands.

    After the Blue Dragon''s thunder, there was silence.

    Not true silence, but the tinnitus calm that followed the wake of absolute chaos and destruction, a lull born from shock when nothing more could be broken.

    Despite her Dragon''s "wisdom", Gwen''s brows twitched.

    She did not like the direction their negotiations were barrelling toward but intrinsically understood that politics on the Steppes were a one-way track of escalating violence.

    The Dwarves would have words about the "property" business¡ª but that''s assuming the hostages emerged alive to complain. If their Engineseer and pilots did not...

    In the womb of her Astral Body, Caliban purred.

    Outside, while Golos loomed large, the world awaited the Kobold Clan''s answer with bated breath.

    Her internal metronome swayed from left to right.

    Gwen counted about ten more seconds before Golos began to draw breath, puffing out his chest so that the scales under his neck and between his collarbones grew sapphire bright with cascading energy.

    "Golos, hold." She halted the Dragon Breath by touching the Dragon''s wing tip. "Ten more seconds¡­"

    The world resumed its waiting.

    God knows she wanted to give the Kobolds a chance.

    At the count of eighteen, a sleek-furred figure wearing robes, looking like a Shaman, spilt from the iron-wrought gate to prostrate at the looming shadow of the Blue Dragon.

    "O LORD of the vast blue sky¡ª!" Came a voice that was half-yelp, half meow. "Clan Gannrk greets your greatness with every¡ªGARRROK¡ª"

    "SSEJINW¡ª!"

    The left side of Gwen''s face grew suddenly brilliant from the fusion reaction plasma pouring from her Planar Ally. The Draconic admonition delivered by Golos was a bright, retina-searing beam of lurid lightning that drew a line from the bottom of the fort to the top, exploding a section of its masonry while erasing the speaker from the Prime Material.

    Before Gwen could react, the electrified door fell inward, no longer being supported by its melted hinges. As the heavy, red-hot metal fell, more screams came from inside the Kobold fort, punctuated with curses and cries of dismay.

    "BRING ME MY PROPERTY¡ª!" Golos demanded once more. "NOW!"

    Gwen wasn''t sure if the Dragon''s threats worked, only that the survivors scrambled inside.

    When another ten seconds passed, and no Kobold made themselves seen, Golos was ready to reduce the fort to molten slag.

    "Gogo!" Gwen intervened, this time applying her will to the command. The Dragon was here to dominate, but she needed her Dwarves alive, even if it meant blunting Golos'' ego.

    The Dragon growled, straining against her mental admonishment.

    "Clan Gannrk!" Her voice tunnelled into the fort like Garp. "The displeasure of the Azure Godling can be held back only so long¡ª release our Dwarven friends, else there won''t be a hovel left!"

    This time, the holdup was worthwhile.

    The shapes exiting the smoking hole were stout and bearded, although bruised and stripped of their precious armour. Of the four Golems lost, one was a precious Fabricator-Excavator¡ªbetween the pilots and its operators, the total tally was a sacred score. Seven Dwarves, Gwen had been told, and she counted each emerging head with growing relief until there wasn''t.

    Six.

    SIX fucking Dwarves.

    Thankfully, their Engineseer Greybeard was among that number, but the outcome did not bold well for the weight of the decisions that now bore down on her shoulders.

    "Ariel." She conjured her Kirin.

    "EE¡ªEE!" Her Kirin somersaulted through the air, landing upon the slagged battlements beside the Dwarves'' ragged cheers.

    Demanding that Golos remained in place, she hovered closer until she landed beside her creature, who stood with its torso against the entrance in case a sneaking Kobold attempted to spike her from the shadows.

    "Gentle brothers," she spoke in high Dwarven, bowing her head toward the Greybeard. "I see that you have not enjoyed Clan Gannark''s hospitality. If I may enquire, where is your seventh?"

    The Dwarves, as expected, appeared ashamed by the question. Their culture had nothing against being taken prisoner¡ªbut losing a junior and their ancestral armour was a deep grudge to bear.

    "Our youngest¡­ refused to un-don his Golem plates," the Greybeard''s jaws were clenched. "He fought¡­ killed one of the Kobold guards. They staked him until he bled out, his armour was torn apart, and he returned to the ancestors."

    Gwen fought the desire to pinch her brows with each revelation.

    "Where is his body?" She asked finally, throwing her internal levers into contingency mode. "That we may return his flesh of stone to the Ancestors."

    "Within their citadel," one of the Golem pilots gruffly answered, then mumbled, "I have the layout memorised," under his breath.

    The pilots, Gwen noted, were bruised and wounded, though the Iron Guards, selected for their grit and stamina, healed fast and had little patience for pain. The removal of their armours, she understood, would have left scars on their psyche as deep as the canals excavated by the Fabricator Engine. In their overtly rational minds, the survivors had allowed such a disgrace because they were not officially in conflict with the Kobolds. That and their Greybeard wasn''t a Deepdowner and could therefore value life over honour.

    "They''re keeping his Ancestor''s Golem Plates as a trophy," another said between bruised lips. "We knew we would be rescued¡­ but Torkirk was too young, too hot-headed¡­"

    Gwen exhaled a deeply disturbed breath of repressed air.

    As expected, Magister Murphy''s Law was in full force.

    She had to be responsible here.

    But responsible to whom?

    Her allies here in Shalkar?

    Her foes who would impede her city?

    Or altruism?

    "I will ensorcel all of you with flight," she said after considering her next steps. "Ariel here will guide your path toward our FOB."

    The Dwarves expected a good answer from her, but the patience she wished to afford her foes was not a display Gwen wished the Dwarves to know.

    The Greybeard waited for her to continue.

    "You have my word, venerable Greybeard. I shall recover your looted armours, the tools, AND the Golem parts. Every recoverable component shall be returned to the Craftmen''s Guild."

    Her thoughts guided her audience toward the entrance to the underground warrens.

    "An attack of this magnitude cannot be by accident or on a whim. It was premeditated and planned. If the Kobolds are merciful on themselves, I will extract the leader responsible, and your Ambassador may decide what to do with him."

    The atmosphere softened.

    "A wide judgement," the Greybeard concurred. "Clan Nodstromme shall repay this debt one day, Regent Song."

    Gwen did not refute the Engineseer''s claim of yet another Debt of Haj-Z¨¹l. Instead, she materialised healing potions for each of them.

    "I shall return Torkirk''s blessed Core to the Ancestor''s Halls, regardless of the costs," she declared. "Please advise the Ambassador that I shall return shortly¡­"

    She glanced at Golos, who drifted closer, making his purpose known.

    The Greybeard wrung his beard. "We await your arrival at the base, Regent."

    With the Engineseer''s permission, Gwen drew the Sigils for the rune of Mass Flight, imprinting her sorcery on each of the stout Earthen men. As non-Mages, they would have little control over their "Flight", which was why Ariel, through its command of Elemental Air, would see that they smoothly made it home with minimal trauma from navigating the Himsegg.

    "EE¡ªEE!" Ariel lifted off, not unlike a single Rodolph with a string of six Santas.

    She watched the men drift across the horizon.

    The ordeal had taken a good ten minutes. Yet, there had been no response from the culprits.

    Thud! With the sound of crumbling stones, Golos landed behind her, dislodging a cascade of loose shale and mortar.

    Lulan alighted as silently as a bobcat. Besides her, Richard drifted into being with the help of Lea.

    "Shall we?" The Dragon licked his enormous, tooth-lined upper jaw. "I could eat."

    Gwen regarded the entrance once more.

    Futile as her chances of a resolution, she felt obligated to make one last attempt. After that, they would resolve matters in the only language of the Steppes.

    "Elders of Clan Gannrk," she threw her voice into the gaping earthen orifice through her mastery of Illusion. "I offer your people a chance for repentance. Here are the conditions given by me, the Regent of the Mageocracy. FIRSTLY, deliver the Kobold Chief responsible for the assault on our tunnels. SECONDLY, collect and return all looted Golems components, including our men''s armour. THIRDLY, bring me the remains of the young Dwarf you murdered, and I shall temper my mercy."

    Holding the eager Golos at bay, she afforded the Kobold Clan five more generous minutes of life.

    No reply came, nor Kobolds.

    "I think¡­" Lulan, sensing tremors with her Affinity for Elemental Earth, met her eyes with great expectations for the violence to come. "They''ve fled deeper into their warrens. These will be well fortified, I imagine, by their best warriors. I do not believe we should delay further, for we do not know how speedily their main population may evacuate nor how far."

    "Gwen," Richard cleared his throat. "...Regent, I do believe our usurpers of Clan Ix''s domains have made a conscious choice. Not a good choice, mind you, but we should respect their¡­ free will."

    Somewhere above, Gwen could imagine the still-hovering forms of Jubibi and his kin nodding furiously.

    Her temples throbbed.

    Conflict, when it came to hearth and home, was inevitable. It was drama as old as antiquity, a cascading history of human strife harkening from a primordial Terra when Dragons still vied for ley-line nodes to nourish their beings.

    Civilisation had changed the terms of engagement, but the crux of the matter had remained immutable since the dawn of Humanity and all the species that preceded it. Maybe that was why the Elves were so revered. They had their home. They remained within its confines, nurtured it, and expanded its spaces when needed through the infinite possibilities of the World Tree.

    Meanwhile, here they were, the mortal races, children on an island, bickering over the conch, setting fire to each other''s camps, worshipping rotting pig heads.

    When she finally allowed her shoulders to sag, a quarter of an hour had passed since the Dwarves departed.

    Without warning, her aura changed, drinking in the light of midday.

    "Caliban."

    The space around Gwen violently rippled as her Familiar emerged, fresh from its long slumber within her mind womb, fattened by the dire bodies of foes who had feasted upon the world, only to serve as her Caliban''s feed.

    Lulan took a step backwards, as did her cousin.

    Golos took off, his wings beating the air. Below, a monstrous form birthed itself, squeezing through a sieve to negate the fabric between the Planes.

    A coalescing fog emerged, vaguely humanoid but hunched and hungering, so uncanny that even Gwen felt a distinct wariness for Caliban''s new likeness.

    The dark, Void-rich fog condensed, its acidic vapour taking shape with every passing second. As Caliban inexpertly collected itself, the viscous goo dripping from its solidifying form sizzled the sandstone pavement, making deep, weeping trenches of bubbling silica.

    The result, though incomplete, was vaguely humanoid enough to be called feminine. However, Gwen knew its simulacrum nature was because Caliban fed off the psychic energies of her deep psyche.

    "Shaa¡­" The fog shifted, its final shell metamorphosing as it moved.

    This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

    Gwen guided her Familiar with her mind until its exterior finally settled into place.

    Caliban stood a head shorter than herself in its docile form, with a silhouette that could have been mistaken for a malicious midnight Sufina. Its body was congealed ferrofluid, though each micro-movement seemed to displace motes of Void matter, intermingled with Negative Energy, from its being.

    "Strewth," Richard remarked beside her. "I infinitely prefer Cali''s Spider Form. At least that made sense."

    "Shaa¡ª!" The Familiar purred, its faceless mien warping to reveal a depthless, jagged orifice.

    "Caliban," Gwen raised a tender, un-gauntleted hand. "Are you hungry?"

    Tendrils, forming from the immaterial into thick ropes of slime, wrapped themselves against her digits. Another distended from the Void-mist to lick her face.

    Gwen allowed the gesture, stroking the tentacles as they withdrew.

    The vague, featureless face nodded.

    The newly reborn Caliban understood her words and intentions. That fact alone had infinitely renewed the fascination of her London compatriots.

    A month before, Magister Brown consulted the rarest Bestiaries in Cambridge to ascertain what might have caused Caliban''s change.

    The scholar had suggested that a formidable Death Knight was serving as the Necromancer''s guardian, a monster sutured together from the parts of Magical Creatures into a chimaera Core. In war, at least one always served as the sword and shield of the offending Lich, the supreme leader of a Cabal, a nasty, malicious creature tied to the soul of its deathless Master.

    This particular "Death Knight" had been a resident of the Negative Energy Plane.

    Ergo, her fellow Magisters pointed their wands at the possibility of a Nightwalker.

    Also known as Death Stalkers.

    Apex hunters that haunt the Negative Energy Plane.

    The Major General of an Undead Legion.

    The conjecture made sense¡ªNightwalkers were siege breakers, ancient allies of the eternal night that existed only to consume the light of the living. They possessed powerful auras of undeath that bolstered the Undead minions of the Lich and his Necromancers. When fully fed, the calamity-tier giants could grow taller than three storeys. They leapt into the armies of the living without trepidation, shedding necrotic shadows and driving allies into frenzies of undeath until nothing alive was left to feast upon.

    Against a World Tree¡ªthere would be no better final hand to play than a Nightwalker, a parasitic being that grew stronger with each assault until the Elves committed enough resources to finally extinguish its Core¡ªa cost so great as to wound the tree for centuries.

    But Caliban was no Nightwalker, at least not yet.

    For one, her Cali was having enormous trouble condensing its'' loose strands of Void energies, making it more akin to a toddler with tremendous strengths it could not control.

    Her monster needed nourishment and practice to grow¡ªand here lay both.

    "Caliban," she informed her scarcely corporeal Familiar, running a gauntleted hand down the back of her creature, her fingers dancing over the bumpy ridges of a spine. Acutely, she shared Caliban''s hunger as it drooled through the flooring.

    "Prune the fort," Gwen gave the command with a hardened heart. "Feast."

    Her Familiar opened its non-existent mouth.

    "SHAAAAAAA¡ª"

    It was like a horrid hymn of undeath filled every inch of the fort''s cathedral tunnels.

    Richard and Lulan''s mana shields sprang into place while Golos growled, shielding itself with a leathery wing.

    As an obscene arrow loosened from a taut bowstring, Caliban shot into the tunnel''s darkness, skittering on all fours, clawing at the wall''s sides to accelerate its downward spiral. As it descended, the wail continued as an unceasing shriek emerging from breathless organs. It was a wail of extinction, a paralytic, panic-inducing song of undeath distinctly possessed by upper-tier Undead.

    The party from New Shalkar listened to the siren song of Caliban''s newfound ability as the sound grew thankfully distant.

    "That¡ª" Richard unstoppered two bolts of water from his ears. "¡ªis God damned terrifying."

    SHAAAAAAAA¡ª

    Lulan nodded in complete agreement, her shoulder-cropped hair bobbing to and fro. "I wouldn''t want to fight Caliban¡­"

    SHAAAAA¡ª

    "I prefer the Screamer¡­" Golos delivered his sincere opinion with great solemnity. "better than the snake."

    SHAA¡ª

    Finally, the howling grew faint.

    The party regarded one another.

    "Is he¡­" Richard pointed at the hole. "Or she¡­ gone?"

    "No. Alive and securing a beachhead." Gwens spoke while looking into the middle distance; both eyes glazed with Link Sight from her Familiar. "Did you know it can shed little Calibans now?"

    "It sheds¡­ Calibans?" Richard raised both brows. "Like birthing them as she¡­ it goes?"

    "It''s a peculiarity of the Nightwalker form," Gwen explained. "They''re just Hydras, although I am currently the battery empowering Caliban''s ability. On the plus side, the fingerling Calibans are highly necrotic, and the Aura of Desolation I am empowering through Cali empowered them to frenzy."

    "Do we go in?" Lulan drifted closer to the entrance, from which the unending Shaa¡ª could still be heard. "Caliban doesn''t need support?"

    "It''s a field test." Gwen could feel the warmth infusing her icy fingers as the feedback from Caliban began. The Kobolds could fight many things¡ªbut a Nightwalker, even the mimicry of one, was beyond their ken. Steadying herself, she walked to the edge of the fort''s battlement, then sat in the lotus pose. "Dick, call me if something happens. While Caliban continues the labour, I shall be¡­ overseeing its education."

    Richard wove the Water Barriers into place.

    Lulan extracted her swords, then drifted into formation.

    The screams of Caliban''s victims echoed in her mind while silhouettes of fleeing victims filled her vision.

    "Oi, what about me?" Golos'' thundering voice washed over them, sounding both hurt and cheated. "This was my idea! The prize¡­ the prize was mine¡ª!"

    Shalkar Al-jadeedah.

    The Dwarven contingent had already gathered in the courtyard before the Regent of the new city even arrived.

    When she appeared over the newly erected walls, all but the Greybeards made the close-fisted Sign of the Ancestor''s Cog to welcome their regional administrator.

    Gwen landed on shale pavement with a click of her crow skin heels, rasping the metal like a nail on sheet metal. With a wave of her hand here and there, she materialised the Golem components piecemeal, allowing them to land in resonating thunks and clanks.

    Once done, she deposited the Deep Plates of the Golem pilots: re-looted from the shared treasury of the Kobold Clans.

    Finally, in front of the white-bearded Ambassador, she cradled the immobile body of Torkirk Thrumkrik, a little mangled and bruised all over but still in a single piece.

    "Stone Lord Yossock Axenhoff, I return your kin to the Ancestors," Gwen bowed her head deeply. "We are truly sorry for the loss."

    "We thank you for returning our friends and cousins." The Ambassador received the rag-doll carcass with both arms, then rested it reverently on a levitating ceremonial slab. A metallic keening followed, shrouding the body in a thin metal layer. "Torkirk, his dishonour is avenged?"

    "I have pacified the region," Gwen spoke without displaying any overt emotions. "Clan Ix will bring its warriors to occupy the fort in the next few weeks. The area is now safe to continue with the construction. Lord Golos has also volunteered to remain in the area for a few days to feed... to oversee the clean-up operation."

    "Then we are well satisfied," the Stone Lord sent the floating tomb slab adrift before turning his attention back toward her. "For Torkirk''s Clan and kin, all of Bavaria''s craftsmen brotherhood thanks you."

    "It was my duty," Gwen did not shy away from the crushing handshakes the Dwarves used as a form of trust and confidence. "My only fear is that the incident will not remain¡­ isolated."

    "Those who seek fortune in the Murk know its dangers," Axenhoff gave her a grin of acknowledgement. "The Clans are not strangers to such necessities, Regent."

    "That''s not very OSHA¡­" Gwen remarked, falling back to some light-hearted private comedy to blur the heavy toll of what had transgressed. "I think, Ambassador¡­ that it''s time we sat down and discussed risk management. I know there will be dangers¡ªbut let''s walk in the dark with our eyes wide open. If you open the Murk to us, the Rat-kin are more than capable of fielding Purge teams, especially if supported by Golem units."

    The Ambassador stroked his beard, but then his gaze wandered.

    Their discussion was interrupted by the return of Lulan, whose facial control was not made for poker playing.

    "Lulu?" Gwen nodded at the Ambassador before separating herself. "I can see something''s up. What''s the news?"

    The Sword Mage shyly drew closer before leaning against her ear.

    "Master-aunty¡­ er¡­ requests your presence at her wedding." The student of Ryxi whispered. "An official message just arrived, with an official invitation from the CCP to follow within the week. You''ve been asked to represent the Mageocracy, Regent, at the Wedding of Jun Song and Mistress Ayxin in Shanghai."

    Tianjin.

    China.

    "They want ME to be their best man?" The voice of Percy Song, astounded by the Message from the device attached to his wrist, quivered as a plucked zither string.

    While his grandfather''s voice continued to drone, Percy looked to the blue yonder beyond the windows, his chest expanding with such rapturous joy that he could barely control the desire to lift the Kirin pendant from his chest and toast the heavens.

    Not far, Mei laughed at his theatrics, chortling so violently she almost spat out the breakfast congee she was nursing.

    Percy smiled back, though internally, he scoffed at her ignorance. How could his fiancee even begin to understand his ecstasy?

    He¡ªPercy Song¡ªwas to be in Uncle Song and Aunt Axyin''s bridal party, not his sister!

    What a fortunate opportunity! What a heaven-blessed fruit to be plucked! If this was not the divine will of some higher, unseen power from the Kirin tribe, Percy knew not what else to say. His father''s wedding had catapulted his sister into the orbit of influence and infamy¡ªand his uncle''s wedding will perform no less for Percy Song!

    "You are agreeable?" The gruff voice of his grandfather sounded happier than his usual judgemental self. Percy empathised with Guo''s barely disguised joy, for his good son was finally getting married, and there was a new grandchild to add to the family roster. A literal Dragon-child, an heir to the Yinglong and, thus, the nation''s longevity.

    All that, and most importantly, a threat to the centrality of Percy''s career and his future trajectory!

    "I''LL DO IT! I agree! Thank you, Yeye!" Percy affirmed his involvement with all the sincerity he could muster.

    It wasn''t all good news.

    "¡­ There will also be another in attendance¡ª a woman called Elvia Lindholm, a Vessel of the Yinglong. I did not wish you to be paired with her. As you know, there is no doubt your sister will attend, this time as a guest of the Party. To pair you with Miss Lindholm would be a calamity...."

    Percy looked at Mei.

    The girl looked back expectantly.

    Percy smiled. Of course, his fiancee would contribute to his future.

    "Yeye, I would be overjoyed if Mei could partner with me as a maid. I would choose no one else as a partner to care for Aunty Ayxin."

    His fiancee blossomed like a flower at his declaration.

    As for Elvia Lindholm, a vision of loveliness was all Percy recalled. The girl, Elvia, had been his sister''s friend¡ªthough she had never visited their home. He had seen her occasionally in those rare instances of his sister''s attendance. The girl-child possessed a beauty that made the heart sore¡ªthough Percy hated the sanctimonious altruism Elvia seemed to exude.

    At the same time, he recalled the tale of her unlikely ascension, that his obsessed sister had foolishly introduced the western Cleric to the Yinglong to share her favour, and that the Dragon had taken a liking to the blonde. The Party had considered the act a cardinal sin, an affront against its interests, and were it not for his grandfather and the efforts of Secretary-General Miao, his sister would have never left the country intact.

    Either way, a Vessel of the Yinglong rightfully deserved a place at the banquet¡ªfor it wasn''t as though Ayxin had girlfriends to serve as her bridesmaids.

    From behind, Mei embraced him. Her body was warm and soft, and the mounds of her sumptuous flesh pressing against his back made his smile even wider.

    There was a great danger in Lindholm''s unexpected invitation¡ªthough Percy understood very well that an opportunity to be alone with a fatigued Ayxin could not and would not rise again.

    "When will the wedding take place?"

    "During November," his grandfather replied. "There will be a week-long national celebration during the Mid-Autumn Festival. The wedding will take place on the night of the full moon¡­"

    A schedule that made perfect sense to Percy.

    The Mid-Autumn Festival was known for its mooncakes, poetry competitions, coinciding with the national harvests. There wasn''t another time as auspicious and filled with good cheer as the season mulberry trees turned to flame.

    "The main wedding will take place in Hangzhou, and we will hold a flowing water banquet for all the Party faithful." His grandfather continued. "We shall be expecting you and Mei?"

    "I''ll be there! I''ll do everything I can to make it perfect!" Percy''s feelings were wholly genuine. He still had several weeks to prepare matters here in Nanjing. All the Kirin Amulet needed was a moment to approach his aunty¡ªall the better if, as the rumours said, she was constantly tired and sleeping from the exertion of childbearing. Of that certainty, Percy knew a little more than his family members, for he alone understood that Ayxin was weaving the Essence from the Yinglong into that bundle of improbability in her womb.

    And if Uncle Jun were to be away with a rare guest¡­ such as his sister¡­

    And if his sister could be preoccupied with her blonde¡­

    And if he could be trusted to look after Aunty Ayxin for only a few interrupted moments¡­

    "Hahaha..." His grandfather allowed an uncharacteristic display of emotions. "Good lad!"

    "Hahahaha¡­" Percy couldn''t help but laugh as well.

    The Kirin pendant on his chest pulsed warmly.

    His patron was laughing too.

    "Oh¡ªPercy..." Mei giggled beside him, tittering innocently at the prospect of being presented as his fiancee to the public.

    Percy knew he must now hasten his plans in Tianjin¡ªfor when the moon grows round, both bane and boon will calamitously collide!

    The Yellow Sea.

    Lei-bup, the High Priest of She who Devours, ran a clawed finger up and down the numerous lesions scarring his torso.

    He lounged on a throne of coral-wreathed bones¡ªthough he was not its possessor. As he had professed, the divan was not his seat of power, for the crown surely belonged to the Pale Priestess of the Great Devourer herself.

    Presently, his Shoal was housed in the interior of a fledgling Leviathan, one they had rescued from the unhappy fate of being devoured by the aberrant Shoals of rot and decay. The battle was costly¡ªthough Lei-bup was glad to acquire a comrade in arms who was both shelter and siege engine.

    A mermaid gently directed his hand from his flaking scales, then continued to apply the salve made by his court apothecary. The constant agony of the self-devouring flesh beneath his silken robes was a reminder of the Priestess'' blessing, urging Lei-bup to continue to gather up comrades and to lead the Great Shoal Forward with humility.

    "Comrade High Priest..." A Turtle-kin, one of his many advisors, presented the reports from their outer Shoal. "The Deathless Shaols are on the move. They have left the sheltered coves of the domain of undeath and are marauding toward the Human city."

    Lei-bup furrowed his fishy brows. Fishes don''t blink, though his eyes flashed with a dark intelligence.

    "A rising tide?"

    "They grow through forage, yes," the Turtle-kin stroked his chin beard, a prized symbol of his wisdom. Rapping three armoured fingers against his shell, his advisor made the final calculations. "There are six Shoals in all, converging into a Great Shoal. Our adversaries are marching for war¡ªthough we are not its objective."

    "An assault on what then?" Lei-bup growled. Since that strange ripple that had shaken the seven seas some month ago, strange occurrences plagued the deep like scale rot.

    Monstrosities of the Elemental Plane of Water, such as Oonerie, their rescue Leviathan, inexplicitly roamed the Prime Material, not knowing why or how they had left the abode of infinite water.

    At the same time, since their first appearance a dozen moon cycles ago, the Undead Shoals had grown into an obscene, tentacled Kraken, pushing back the Seven Kingdoms'' domains and erasing entire underwater citadels from existence.

    The events had driven Lei-bup''s Shoal into roaming the shallower depth of the Yellow Sea, always avoiding the northern depth, where the Undead grew ever more numerous. More urgently, the Shoal was short on supplies from the shore, namely their dwindling pallets of SPAM, used to induct new members into the priesthood of the Pale Priestess.

    The pragmatic part of Lei-bup dreaded the prospect of becoming the leader of the only living Shoal soon to grace the Yellow Sea''s once-rich domain.

    Yet, a part of Lei-bup informed him that perhaps, this was the precise purpose of his being¡ªwhy he, of all the fishes in the sea, had been chosen by the Pale Priestess.

    "So... not an assault on the mainland. Not yet... currently, I see it as an amassment," the Turtle-kin answered Lei-bup. "Shall we move the Shoal?"

    Lei-bup considered his purpose.

    "No. Comrade Secretary." Lei-bup shifted his burdened body. He felt much older than his actual age, even with the aid of his Faith and the precious elixirs from the various guests of his Shoal. To kiss the appendage of a God of the Void... was to be changed forever. "We wait and see what these desecrators are up to. If they indeed instigate chaos... then we shall use this opening to raid the shipping lanes of Tianjin¡ª"

    His hands made two balled fists.

    "¡ªAnd liberate their cache of holy SPAM!"

    London.

    The Imperial College.

    Slylth Alexander Morden, his patience at wit''s end, snatched the paper from his host''s hand. For the past few weeks, he had been teaching, preaching, and living life to the utmost boredom a Red Dragon could imagine. Anymore, and he was seriously weighing the possibility of burning down a portion of the city.

    Very quickly, his eyes scanned the invitation.

    "Mid-November?" He looked up, his scarlet orbs flashing. "I must wait until November before I can enter the Shalkar Protectorate?"

    "Our colleagues at Oxbridge were very particular about Magister Song''s schedule." Magister Clyde''s fatigued countenance informed Slylth that there was no more recourse and that this was the best the London Imperial College could manage. "Nonetheless, we have secured the permission. Will you attend, Master Morden?"

    Against his nature and instinct, Slylth controlled the better half of his existence.

    "Push it forward," he demanded of the weary Magister in front of him. "Offer them something! Tell them¡ª I''ll personally teach the girl the craft she needs! Just... no more! No more of this damned lull in London!"

 Chapter 472 - The Advocate

    In modern times, Dragons tended to sleep, sometimes for centuries. This peculiarity was the basis for grand narratives of cataclysm where peaceful settlements would "happen" upon a Dragon den while mining rich seams of HDMs or harvesting countless rare herbs. In all cases, the mortals would invariably awaken the calamity and then cry foul.

    Conversely, a Dragon could also choose not to sleep, arguably for as long as they wished, for such had been the circumstances of survival in the Primordial World.

    Therefore, riding on Dragon juice, the Lord Regent of New Shalkar now abused this feature to level a mountain of paperwork. Together with her eidetic recall, she performed the work of a dozen executives, planning, signing, proofing, and projecting every major aspect of the city''s construction for months ahead of schedule.

    Of course, Regent Song was no Oracle of Delphi¡ªand her projections are not of the future¡ªbut rather the budgetary concerns of cash flow, inventory and materials. A line of credit had also been established with the Germanic Dwarves, who would continue building their partnership, and her city, even in her absence.

    Within the week, refugees would also flood into Shalkar. Before then, residences, public transportation, security checkpoints and healthcare facilities had to be constructed and skeleton staffed¡ªwith the missing roles to be assumed by the refugees.

    As a responsible Regent, she had to ensure her future citizens felt the state''s tender care. There would be dissidents, naturally¡ªfor the paradox of the human mind made them unique among the denizens of Terra. As The Bloom in White had intimated, the strange dimensions of human desire were unfathomable. For instance, even among the refugees driven from their homes, exorcised from the summer of their lives into a desolate winter of bureaucratic apathy, a non-small volume fought tooth and nail against having new lives in Shalkar Al-jadeedah.

    To be saved, given a new home, employment and a future with their family wasn''t enough! They desired to be rescued¡ªbut only on their terms!

    But that was a fish Regent Song would have to fry another day. Her immediate concern was the October wedding. In a world without the internet, she would have to teleport to Paris and drop some serious HDMs. After that, she had to pick up the gifts she had sourced. With great foresight, Gwen had discerned that for a Dragon princess who lacked nothing and a military hero who wanted nothing, the only worthwhile bundle was the most outrageous baby and toddler''s clothes, cribs, playsets and strollers magic could afford. Uniquely, hers would range from Elf-woven masterpieces to Dwarven-tinkered perambulators. All of which would drive Axyin''s future play date parents to bouts of insane jealousy!

    After consultation with her city''s stakeholders, she, Richard, Petra and Lulan would attend the wedding as a group¡ªwith Lulu filling in for Ayxin''s side of the family. Gwen''s role would not be the niece of Jun nor the grandchild of the Songs. At Secretary-General Miao''s behest, she was to be the Regent of Shalkar Al-jadeedah, a high-level Magister, a diplomat of the Commonwealth Mageocracy.

    When she asked Richard to unpuzzle the politics, her smiling cousin had explained that the Secretary-General did not wish any unpleasantness to ruin her enjoyment of a state wedding. With the diplomatic immunity bestowed to her, she had the freedom to do as she wanted¡ªbut would also be bound by the role to answer to her diplomat-superior, the Duke of Norfolk. Gwen had identified the arrangement as a gilded cage, and she, an exotic Magical Beast. She was disgruntled¡ªuntil Richard reminded her that if anyone, Ayxin was the exhibit.

    A pregnant exhibit.

    Gwen then felt truly sorry for her "Aunty".

    She discerned that if her spouse had asked her to parade a swelling belly on national television, she would have asked if they also wanted a Shoggoth. However, Gwen knew her uncle, and she understood the desperation of the Communist Party''s need to throw an auspicious bash to undo a time of general anxiety.

    Since Erebus, every nation on earth, whether because of catastrophes of destruction, or conflict catalysed by unseasonal boons, sat on geopolitical pincushions. The same applied to the Demi-Humans, be it old civilisations like the Dwarves, who jostled against the horrors of the Murk, or the Kobold residents of Shalkar, who recently "vacated" their homes for Clan Ix.

    In the darkness of a long Dungeon, even a small torch was worth its weight in HDMs.

    Shanghai.

    Putong Tower.

    The ISTC Mandala flared quicksilver, depositing its cargo of transmuted individuals hailing from the ancient Abbey of Battle.

    "Putong Tower welcomes our friends from England..." The presiding Magister, Wei-Wei Xing, bowed, instructing his fellow to perform likewise. "We greet our most honourable guests from the Ordo St George and Bath."

    The newly arrived entourage involved three Knights and a Companion. Two were Knight Lieutenants, sporting the dark officer''s uniform of the Ordo Bath and cloaked in rich velvet and ivory Moon Moth silk. Both made a half-bow, their white gloves pressed upon the crest of the radiant sun.

    Their descent was followed by a young man with ash-blonde hair and intelligent blue eyes, richly dressed in the uniform of the Ordo St George, attired in a double-breasted carmine jacket embossed with gold buttons and cut with a crested ivory sash.

    Elvia Lindholm was the last to step from the raised dais of the ISTC. Compared to her companions, she appeared meek of stature but grand in the air of her presence, for she was fully cloaked in the pale blue regalia of the Knight Companion, additionally wreathed with rare mink, which made her flaxen hair all the more vivid.

    As the Chinese Mages approached, it became obvious to her that the Magister''s deference was not for her Knights but for her alone.

    "O Anointed One." Elvia saw the man beam as he met her searching gaze. "Hosting the Yinglong''s Vessel in our city is a great honour. I have made the best accommodations ready for your inspection. Would you like to rest now, or is there another pleasure I may first fulfil?"

    "There is, Sir Xing. I would like to know..." Elvia spoke softly, for her mood had been grave of late, and their final arrival at the destination of everything she had worked toward had made her reticent. "If Magister Song has arrived in Shanghai."

    "Magister Song?" It took the Chinese Magister a few moments to process the request, likely via Message channels. "Ah¡ªThe Regent of Shalkar has not. We are five days away from Mid-Autumn, and the Regent has informed us that she will arrive the night prior."

    "Very well. Has my itinerary been modified since our last communication?" Besides her, Mathias pulled out a data slate. "We have not received an update since Monday."

    "I must check with the Central Planning Bureau for Public Affairs." The Chinese Magister appeared apologetic. Though Pudong Tower was equal to the PLA Tower on paper, the PLA''s big wigs comprehensively controlled every detail.

    "Are we restricted to the Tower for the wedding''s duration?" She asked. Awaiting their answer, Mathias casually placed a hand on the hilt of his Dwarven-made Spellsword.

    "No¡ª" the Magister quickly answered. "You have been granted total freedom, per negotiations with our counterparts in the PLA Tower. Is there anywhere you would like to go?"

    "Yes." Elvia nodded. Shanghai was Gwen''s city. Gwen had spent two and a half years here, knowing its nooks and crannies. "First, I would like to go to Fenbo Village."

    "Fengbo... village?" The Chinese Magister appeared to be gently sweating. He quickly scanned his fellow Maguses and guards. "I''ve not heard of such a provincial region..."

    "It''s a restaurant near Fudan," Elvia explained, realising that perhaps, the place wasn''t nearly as famous as Gwen had raved.

    The Magister absorbed her request with every iota of his Astral Soul. "Are you meeting someone there? Milady?"

    "I want to eat Beggar''s Chicken."

    "Beggar''s... chicken?" The pause, Elvia felt, had lingered a little longer than could be considered diplomatic.

    "Of course! We have prepared a limousine," the Magister recovered well enough. A few of his men immediately left, their arms raised to indicate the use of their Message Devices. "This way, Companion Lindholm¡ª"

    "Oh, and while we luncheon," Elvia swallowed the bile in her throat even as she recited the names. "Please arrange an appointment with Lord Ayxin. Likewise, before the wedding, I wish to meet Grandfather and Grandmother Song¡ªand most importantly, I would like to commune with my fellow bridal party members, namely Magus Percy... for... reasons."

    After a sumptuous meal of Beggar Chicken, Elvia and the crew were bundled into the limousine for the Yu Gardens.

    "It''s a historical manor that survived the Ming Dynasty," Magister Xing explained to the Knights and their Companion. "Central wanted Mistress Ayxin within the protection of the PLA Tower, and we wanted her within range of our Tower in case disagreements arouse¡ªso we figured a garden complex with rockeries and ponds similar to Hangzhou would give her privacy and peace of mind. It''s an extensive palace¡ªone I hope would satisfy Lord Yinglong. Yu Garden sits at the heart of The Bund, close to every conceivable pleasure Mistress Ayxin may desire."

    "Privacy is expensive in a city such as this," Elvia spoke in the stead of her sponsor, though she knew the Yinglong could not care less about the comforts Humans may provide. "I am well-pleased that the Party cherishes my Mistress. How fares our groom? Is he just as well?"

    "Master Jun is very busy, considering Mistress Ayxin''s need for rest," Magister Xing affirmed her knowledge of Jun''s actions. "He''s keeping a close eye on the wedding''s preparations to ensure Mistress Ayxin has minimal exposure¡ªthe very picture of a model husband. Once you review the program, Companion Lindholm, you may consult Master Jun regarding additional concerns."

    "I shall, once I have examined Mistress Ayxin''s health," Elvia answered as politely as she could. Ayxin, as expected, had rejected all offers of health-check ups from the CCP''s Healers. Elvia knew there would be nothing wrong with the child in her womb, but she still needed to ascertain the condition of her Patron''s daughter before going forward with plans of her own.

    After half an hour, the car pulled into an enormous gate beset by two stone Kirins each a storey tall. Kirins were the traditional guardians of China''s east coast.

    While disembarking, her three knights formed a vague triangle around her as the local Mage garrison assumed defensive positions.

    Magister Xing flashed a jade trinket that indicated his rank and position within Pudong Tower. Messages were divined, and the guards returned to their posts, allowing Elvia''s group entry into the central courtyard.

    Within, serpentine corridors were built over a blue lake brimming with koi, its surface refracting the mana haze in the atmosphere. The walkways led to a series of multi-storey pagodas, themselves interconnecting nodes that pointed toward the enormous residences within the Yu Garden.

    "Mistress Ayxin is expecting you, Miss Lindholm. Your companions will remain here." At the second set of meandering walkways, female Military Mages uncomfortably dressed as servants in modest qipao accosted the group, allowing only herself to proceed. Elvia accepted the conditions, diverting her companions to a pagoda with prepared plates of dim sim desserts and a Mage trained in tea brewing.

    "Mathias, Sir Reginal, Sir Kass," Elvia bowed her head. "Please wait for my return."

    The men relented without complaint. All of them had by now seen her¡ªor rather¡ªher pets, Sen-sen and Kiki, in the throes of combat.

    Elvia crossed the final threshold alone, feeling like a bureaucratic scholar parting the last paper door to an empress'' chamber.

    Within, the rich scent of sandalwood incense aromatised the air. Elvia proceeded as one might in a Dungeon until she finally saw the reclined form of Ayxin, daughter to her Patron, half-lounged on a divan, looking down from the ceiling.

    Elvia raised her head.

    Ayxin was not in her Human form. Instead, the pearlescent Dragon took up almost a quarter of the enormous four-storey interior, an extensively modified space for accommodating its new Mistress.

    Though she had often seen her Patron in her dream visions, the cut of Ayxin''s Draconic true body still held Elvia captive. The demi-divinity was an aesthetic that made her heart ache: from Ayxin''s mother-of-pearl scales to the brilliant feathers that crested its neck frills, the female Dragon was breathtaking.

    Elvia curtsied as one before a monarch. "Mistress Axyin. As promised. I am here to accompany your ceremony and to examine your health."

    Ayxin''s head made a fatigued arch before resting a meter above her. "Father slumbers... he too is exhausted by my stubbornness."

    "The Lord is aware," Elvia relayed what information she felt could be forwarded. "Of the events to come."

    This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    "Not events¡ªbut Calamities that shall soon come to pass," Ayxin''s slitted eyes narrowed. Perhaps because of their mutual connection, Elvia could feel Ayxin''s uncertainty¡ªan emotion she had never imagined a Dragon could express. "But not what of. Will Father allow me the pleasure of knowing? Or shall I meekly endure like your Nazarene?"

    "Lord Yinglong has made preparations," Elvia knew better than to decide for her Patron. "Milady should worry about the wedding and what comes after. The child will be months more asleep¡ªbut hungrier for Essence."

    The enormous head drifted closer. Elvia comforted herself with a mote of her Patron''s blessing as Ayxin''s presence washed over her like the pressure from a forceful waterfall.

    "Unlike Ruxin, I dislike plots," Ayxin protested in Draconic.

    Elvia said nothing. The Essence in her body affirmed her silence wholeheartedly, resisting Ayxin''s probing.

    "Will... my child be safe?" Ayxin asked, half-sighing, half-resigned to fate. "Can you tell me that?"

    "The young Master will be safe," Elvia promised.

    "Will... Jun be safe?"

    "Yes." Elvia''s tone remained unmoved. Jun would be safe. The war hero would survive for Gwen''s sake and Ayxin''s.

    "Then all is well." Ayxin released her Dragon Fear. "What else might matter? We each have our roles to play. Vessel. I hope Father has disbursed you well."

    Elvia breathed once more.

    Indeed. All had roles to play.

    "Mistress," she allowed Ki-ki and Sen-sen to sneak out from her broad-brimmed robes. "I need to examine your well-being if you will allow me. It needs to be in your human form since that will be the form you will present yourself during Mid-Autumn. And I am only familiar with humanoid physiology..."

    Ayxin''s body glimmered, forcing Elvia to shield her eyes.

    When the Dragon-wife of Jun Song was done, Elvia stood only a head shorter than the diaphanously robed Ayxin, looking every inch like a fairy from the Chinese wood-cut tales of the heavenly Jade Palace. Her hair was now a mixture of blues, with eclectic strands of silver-white or pale cobalt, making her exotic beyond belief. Ayxin''s eyes were Draconic, no longer mimicking Gwen''s but truer to her noble blood.

    When Ayxin tried to shift her body, the Dragon woman stumbled, disorientated by the complex polymorph.

    Sen-sen quickly caught its grand Mistress, infusing her limbs with a generous dose of Faith-infused vitality.

    "Human bodies." Ayxin''s brow was shiny with a fresh sheen of sweat as she re-orientated herself on the Dragon-sized armrest. "Are so frail."

    "You needn''t have to transform yourself now..." Elvia regretted informing the woman of her father''s wishes so soon.

    "Jun will be home soon." Ayxin shook her head. "He''s not often at the Garden of late and won''t be until all this is over. When he is home, I want to be in this form."

    The tone of love and adoration in Ayxin''s voice made Elvia stiffen her spine. She as well, for love and devotion, had taken on certain forms.

    "Please don''t push yourself." She touched a finger to Ayxin''s wrist, allowing their Essences to conjoin. As the motes circulated through their Astral Bodies, she could feel the pulsing life within Axyin''s transmogrified womb.

    Within Ayxin''s Astral Soul, her child of impossibilities slumbered, insensible to the cost of its existence. A total innocent, bearing no sin but the hopes and dreams of its parents.

    Was the young prince a being of virgin birth?

    According to Gwen, Ayxin was no virgin.

    But regardless, the hypothetical dilemma had caused no end of dissent and debate at Elvia''s Ordo seminary.

    But virgin or not, Elvia affirmed the quickening of her convictions¡ªshe would shelter the sinless child¡ªand by that good¡ªa greater good shall beget.

    Shanghai.

    The Song Compound.

    With three days left until the fated wedding, the entire city and the country had stirred to joyful action. China''s east and south coasts, consisting of its most populous cities, had readied themselves for the greatest "party" since the fiftieth anniversary of the Party''s founding. Red Lanterns with pictograms for prosperity and happiness were issued to all citizens and all Districts. Some cities had gone the full length of funding pyrotechnical displays, paralleling the mass Propaganda of "We Chinese, The Descendents of Dragons". Across its vast landholdings, even in the remote Frontiers, children sang full-throated limericks praising the Party and its alliance with the Yinglong while on lumen-casters, cartoons and dramas glorifying the banishment of mythical Drought Gods played back-to-back on every channel.

    This year, Percy needn''t pull strings to receive his Golden Week vacation, usually a metric to test a cadet''s Guan-xi.

    While the consensus was that there would be no exceptions for individuals missing families, mooncakes, or loved ones, those with connections in the Party almost always appeared just in time for banquets before sneaking back to the barracks. While penalties were harsh, they were often watered down by sympathetic superiors who themselves had done no less in times of peace. It was a humanised loophole in an unforgiving system that Percy had manipulated innumerable times in Tianjin, taking advantage of his role as the "Best Man" to the Dragon Princess to free up his duties.

    For the last two weeks, he had religiously toured the old city''s remnants, rediscovering the ancient wells of power left behind by the Kirin tribe. Some were easy to find, such as a mana-rich lode of jadeite hidden beneath a Confucian Temple of Piety. Others were problematic, having been built over a dozen times. Thankfully, the Ming Dynasty had only repurposed the sites, and the Manchurians who had arrived later knew nothing of their history. As a result, except for two nodes now made into shopping malls, Percy could transmute, tunnel, and ensorcel his way into six of the eight tetragram Mandalas.

    Unfortunately, the "Eye" node was where Tianjin''s regional Tower sat, rising from the riverside as a monolithic concrete atrocity of Communist Brutalism that stabbed into the sky like an inverted lance. From the deep ley-node beneath it, the Tower drank deep the mana meant for the upkeep of the Kirin''s domain, using it to project the semi-sphere shield sheltering the deep-water harbour from oceanic threats.

    With each successful excavation, Percy had become more convinced of his Patron''s past usurped destiny, one that mirrored his own. After the wedding, once the mote of its original Essence had reinvigorated the Kirin, Percy could return to the city and "cultivate", as his Patron had so archaically prescribed, into an existence rivalling the Sea Dragons.

    What Percy Song had not expected was that the moment he stepped into his home, a visitor was already waiting on his pleasure.

    "Percy, do you know of this Elvia Lindholm?" Mei asked beside him of the reported guest. "That''s who they''re talking about, right? The Vessel to the Yinglong?"

    Percy shrugged. Like Mei, he had no idea why Elvia was here, though the rationale for her presence was sound and logical. If they were both going to be on Lumen-casts in two days, it would be natural to be acquainted before final rehearsals, especially if his sister, Gwen Song, wanted in on the action.

    Steeling his nerves, Percy buttoned his uniform, covering the Kirin pendant.

    With Mei in tow, he made his way through the crimson-lit courtyard with its blazing lanterns to arrive at the main hall.

    Inside, his babulya and grandfather were having tea, smiling gently at a richly robed Cleric who looked younger than Mei, sitting demurely in the guest''s parlour.

    "Percy, my boy! You''ve arrived!" his Yeye was kind enough to rise from his seat. Astutely, Percy Dimension Doored inward, bowing as he went, forcing his grandfather to return to his redwood chair.

    Once the oldies were appropriately satisfied by the show of filial piety, not to mention the supernatural smoothness of his Spellcraft, they returned to nursing their teas.

    "Good evening, Companion Lindholm." Percy bowed from the waist. "We''re not strangers, but you are the Yinglong''s Vessel."

    "Percy." Elvia stood, then curtsied. "My word, it has been a long time. The last time we met, you were just a boy! Now look at you! So handsome! Gwen would be so proud."

    It was only now that Percy noticed that others were in the room, seated deeper into the rows of spaces provided for guests. One was a blonde-hair youth studying him with a solemn intensity.

    The other two were older, and their gazes were less devoted to peeling him like a banana.

    Their uniforms were nothing short of outrageous.

    Knights of the infamous English Ordos! Percy''s mind registered the emblems. The English Empire''s oldest surviving militants with a history that traced back to the Faith Wars of the Holy Crusades.

    Could he take one on? Percy wondered. His craft had grown more significant than anyone in the PLA could have imagined¡ªbut he had also never fought a Faith Magic user. If indeed their sorcery exceeded the practical understanding of Spellcraft, he had little desire to find out.

    "You look the same as always." Percy grinned at the Healer currently inspecting him like a side of char-siu. "Not a day over... sixteen? Was that how old you were that time we met in the city? Sister was taking you out for lunch¡ªI think¡ªthat or you were shouting her¡ª"

    "I was shouting." Elvia''s countenance blossomed like a flower at the recollection. "Your sister wasn''t always so wealthy, you know. I dearly miss those days."

    The two of them shared a well-earned smile, breaking the ice.

    "This is Mei," he introduced his future spouse. "She''s my fiance¨¨ and partner for Aunty Ayxin''s wedding. Do you have a partner, Miss Lindholm?"

    Mei waved.

    "Mathias will accompany me," The girl indicated to the Knight. Percy gave the man a nod and a sunny smile; the man nodded back, withholding all expressions. The laconicism, Percy guessed, probably made the man more attractive to the ladies, for he looked exactly like those picture books Knights of the Ordo that he had read at Prince''s.

    "Did you have time to sight-see?" Percy asked, sitting beside Elvia while Mei sat further away to give them space to converse. "Shanghai is a changing city, very metropolitan."

    "We visited a restaurant already," the Healer explained, describing the Beggar Chickens she and the Knights had demolished. "They have a picture of Gwen by the door, endorsing the chicken..."

    Percy attempted to imagine the scene¡ªthree Knights of the Ordo and a sweet saintess Vessel¡ªfour gweilos eating clay chicken with their hands shoulder-to-shoulder at a stall, attired in dress garbs.

    The vision was... amazing.

    "Will you stay after the wedding?" Percy asked, unsure of how to proceed. "I am not sure if Gwen will be staying, but if you are..."

    "I will. I suspect there will be a great deal to do after the wedding," as Elvia spoke, Percy found her utterly unreadable. Knowing that Elvia was not a Radiant Mage, he could only assume that this was the effect of her absurd Affinity for Positive Energy.

    Against the pale flesh of his collarbones, the Kirin Amulet throbbed.

    He sensed a deep yearning¡ªnot just for the Yinglong''s Essence, but the rich seam of Positive Energy the girl exuded. Of all the Mages he had thus encountered, the Kirin Pendant had never acted so enthused, indicating just how much of an elixir the girl would be for his "cultivation".

    But draining the friend of his sister, a Vessel, and a Knight Companion of the Ordo was so ludicrous that even Percy felt a shuddering of the soul.

    Quietly, he drank his tea, made a show of despairing at the lukewarm temperature, and then heated the water with a showy cantrip.

    "Are you looking forward to the wedding?" He asked. "There''s a lot for us to discuss, for sure."

    The Cleric, to his surprise, sighed. "Mistress Ayxin is very tired from her exertions," Elvia explained. "I''ll be taking care of her, but even then, I would advise Secretary Miao against asking my Mistress to maintain the form the Chinese public desires for the duration of the entire celebration."

    "I hear Aunt Ayxin is very... sleepy of late?" Percy felt his heart palpitate. Against his chest, the Kirin Amulet performed likewise.

    "She''s extremely lethargic," Elvia confirmed. "I met with her earlier. For the day Wedding, we will be retreating directly to the Yu Gardens after the show and tell. Your uncle will be very busy once that happens, considering the speeches and the public praises to come. I hear the Lumen-cast program is almost ten-hours long, from midday to midnight?"

    "We can appeal," their Babulya replied with genuine concern. "Our daughter-in-law will be the top priority."

    "We have Secretary Miao''s full support," Guo added confidently. "Miss Lindholm, if there''s a medical rationale for Ayxin to retire early, do not hesitate to let us know."

    "I''ll help," Percy offered himself selflessly. "I''ll carry my Aunt back to the Yu Gardens alone if Uncle Jun isn''t there... assuming I am strong enough."

    The gathering laughed, including his grandfather, who rarely shared their delight in anything.

    "Then, in my Patron''s name, I shall thank you all." The Cleric stood and bowed, which made them all rise to return the courtesy, lest the Dragon felt insulted.

    All lowered their heads while Elvia remained bowed, awaiting the Vessel to be seated before they could lift their heads.

    "Master Percy." The cordial atmosphere was cut short by the unusual tone of the pale blonde priestess. There was no Dragon Fear, Percy was sure of it, but still, his heart skipped a beat. "Would it be too much to ask if I wished to speak to you alone?"

    The Kirin Amulet flared hot under his t-shirt, matching the palpitations of his heart.

    Unwise. His Patron warned. Tread with care. Prepare to shelter.

    His little finger tingled. A man in his position must have preparations, and Percy had two Contingency Rings prepared. One to the PLA Tower in Shanghai, gifted by his Yeye, and the other to Tianjin, bestowed by his Regional Secretariat. If the Yinglong were to attempt something untoward, his first rule of thumb was to retreat to the shelter of unknowing allies and then observe how the crisis may play out.

    "Of course." Percy made sure not to falter. With a nod at his grandparents and then Mei, the pair left the banquet hall for his Yeye''s study, where he knew Guo had protective Mandalas embedded.

    The Cleric followed, unperturbed by his choice of location.

    Once inside, Percy shut the double doors, then bid the Yinglong''s Vessel take a seat while he took up the chair usually used by his grandfather.

    Unhappily, the girl sat next to him in his babulya''s chair.

    "What would you like to speak to me about?" Percy asked, fighting the strain in his facial muscles.

    "Your sister." The Cleric was uncommonly forthright.

    "Oh." Percy maintained his guard, his hands growing clammy. "What of Gwen?"

    "She loves you," came a reply he had neither inquired nor expected.

    He forced himself to raise his head. From the tone of Elvia''s voice, Percy suspected that this wasn''t one of those lectures from Yeye where he could hang his head and think of Sydney until it was over.

    The Kirin Amulet pulsed. A meter away, the young woman''s eyes were two pools of limitless ultramarine, so pure and clear that he felt consumed by their sincerity.

    "Gwen can be a bit difficult." The Cleric reached out with a gentle gesture. When her fingers made contact with his icy hand, he felt the invasion of a warmth that possessed depthless compassion and empathy. "She has had a hard life. Yet, each time she and I are together, she speaks about her family in Shanghai, how happy they made her, her babulya, her uncle, her cousins, and her little brother."

    "Not Yeye?" Percy chuckled. He subtly attempted to remove her hand, but the girl''s fingers had somehow arrested his own.

    Elvia chuckled in turn. "Less so, I''ll admit. Percy. I know from Petra that you and Gwen have had some differences due to your mutual inheritance, but I can vouch for her unconditional love for you. Are you willing to believe me? A Faith Cleric of the cloth?"

    The girl, Percy could swear, wore a fucking golden halo.

    However, since his Mind Magic devices had not triggered, his vision could only be contributed to being dazzled by an earnestness that could be metaphysically manifested. A part of him wanted to suddenly cry, to utter his sister''s name and confess.

    On his chest, the Kirin Amulet throbbed.

    His heart rate slowed, restoring the clarity of his emotions. Quickly and thankfully, the rush of heat and colour left his cheeks.

    "I love her as well," the white-gold vision that was his sister''s companion confessed to something amazing. "So much that sometimes, I find it hard to be myself. But I don''t think I''ll ever possess what she feels for you. And that makes me incredibly jealous."

    This time, Percy successfully withdrew his hand from those dangerously soft digits.

    "She saved us, you know. All of us," the girl continued as though in a trance. "During the Royal National, she saved me and Yue. Then again, when Sydney was attacked. From the IIUC to Shalkar, your sister''s calling card is to save the desperate and downtrodden... then give them gainful employment and a pension."

    Percy attempted to read between the lines of the Cleric''s words. All he could recall was those sermons from Prince''s¡ªthe psalms about the Nazarene¡ªabout salvation and saviours. Was his sister one of those? The notion was simply absurd.

    "I... see," he muttered. At least now, he knew this wasn''t a ploy from the Yinglong but a kind-hearted wish fulfilment attempted by one of his sister''s stooges. "That''s nice of her."

    "Gwen saves." Elvia''s eyes once more pierced his soul, forcing sweat to ooze from his neck and back. Thankfully, his quasi-magical clothing showed no sign of his discomfort. "One day, she could save you too, Percy."

    Percy caught the weighed words like a brick wall receiving a Catapult from a high-tier Transmuter.

    But it wasn''t gladness that he felt.

    He discerned no need for his sister to save him. Hadn''t he communed with the Kirin on his own? In the last three years, Percy Song, alone, had navigated the paranoia of the PLA, plucked the talents from those Rogue Mages, and uncovered the secret places of the Xia, all without the aid of others. He had trained day and night, abused his body to exhaustion, and threw himself into mortal danger in every engagement with the Undead. These were his achievements. Not Gwen''s, not anyone else''s.

    She might "Save him?"

    Was he a damsel in distress?

    Was he like this mewling Vessel of the Yinglong, begging him to be nicer?

    To say that the simmering irritation inside him was igniting into something of a rage would be an understatement.

    "Thank you for your concern." His facade faltered, but he held on. "My sister''s affection is something I''ve always cherished. You''re right. I should be more thankful for it, considering the power she now wields."

    The girl''s warmth waned.

    It was a mere flicker, but Percy caught the subtle signs of a sad sigh before Elvia''s blazing flames of affirmation and boundless compassion continued their retina-searing brightness.

    He felt a bit thrilled by her dimming confidence. He knew very well the position this blonde Vessel held for his peers in the PLA. He also knew of his sister''s obsession with her. Seeing Elvia like this was a strange pleasure and a gentle affirmation that he had confidently walked the right path.

    They talked a little more about their past, their mutual lives in Sydney, Lilith''s and Prince''s, and then the ritual was done.

    "Shall we return?" Percy gestured toward the direction of the hall.

    Wordlessly, the pair reentered the hall, where his family entertained the Knights.

    DING¡ª

    A Message chime chose this precise junction to blossom beside them, simultaneously filling their ears with the capsuled voice of its originator.

    "It''s from Gwen!" His babulya was the first to address the returnees. "How fortunate!"

    Percy silently played the Message, as did they all. It was indeed from his sister. As Gwen''s sultry, husky arrogance filtered through his Divination Sigil, he once more felt the Kirin stir, this time from the excitement of what would soon come to pass.

    His attention, however, was arrested by a bonfire of positivity erupting beside him.

    The ever-lovely Elvia Lindholm seemed to grow more beautiful than he could imagine, becoming so blissfully happy that a flora Sprite accompanied by a root-vegetable leapt from the folds of her clothing and began to dance a jig.

    "She''ll be here¡ªtomorrow?" Percy repeated the only part of the Message that mattered. For some reason, his scalp crawled. "To watch the rehearsal?"

    "Yes," came an affirming cry, not from his babulya but from the Vessel of the Yinglong. "Aren''t you excited, Percy? Your sister, the Regent of Shalkar Al-jadeedah, shall be personally overseeing your performance!"

 Chapter 473-475 - If it were to Perish Twice

    Shanghai.

    Fudan Tower.

    Much to the surprise of all involved, Gwen Song, Cambridge Magister, Mistress of the Isle of Dogs, War Mage of the Commonwealth Mageocracy and preeminent Lord Regent of Shalkar, did not forget that once, she was the Worm Handler of Fudan.

    To the chagrin of Pudong Tower''s dignitaries, their rare guest did not choose to arrive at the VIP lounge of Pudong Tower but at the ancient, three-decade-old ISTC of Fudan University''s student Towers.

    After an initial surge of hesitant mana, the ISTC array flared into life, materialising a trio of guests into the humble, local array used by the students.

    "Honoured Regent!" Dean Lou, the first to receive the announcement two nights prior, was dressed in his best Mage robes, something between a changshan and a battle garb. To prepare for this moment, he had not slept for a day, having personally led the Conjuration Research Committee and the Enchantment School''s best members to retool the ancient receiver. "Welcome!"

    "WELCOME TO FUDAN!" The dozen Magisters and Maguses behind him also bowed, lowering their heads but not their eyes.

    "Dean Luo¡ª" came a voice both sultry and sweet, with a tone akin to a niece chiding a childish uncle. "¡ªYou honour us too well. After all, isn''t my return to Fudan more like a homecoming?"

    The speaker possessed the same youthful face Luo had etched into his memory, barely touched by the passage of years. Her infamous coming-of-age, however, had robbed the girl of the doe-eyed doubt that he recalled being so prominent.

    ¡°Magister Song¡ª¡°

    ¡°GWENNIE¡ª!¡±

    The Dean''s speech was interrupted by a shout of pure jubilance from another rare guest he dared not interrupt.

    Elvia Lindholm, Knight Companion of the Ordo Bath¡ªthe Vessel of the Immortal Yinglong, launched herself up the stairs, then latched onto his guest.

    To have two such visitors meet in Fudan was to bring more attention to the school than when they received a handful of Cambridge Magisters as instructors in exchange for delivering Magister Wen, their resident Void Specialist, to England.

    The visit had been, Luo knew, Gwen''s way of paying back the school that had gifted her a stepping stone in reaching the upper stratum of Spellcraft. Together with the national attention they invited into the campus grounds, their alumna would also announce an Isle of Dogs Scholarship, one with a potential pathway to exchange programs in Oxbridge.

    Lumen recorders flashed, bathing the room like a lightbox.

    Watching the smaller girl hang onto the neck of her taller companion, the Dean felt suddenly nostalgic for the "Flashbang" custom Evocation his ex-student once wielded with such pride.

    "Magus Kutznetsova¡­" The Dean bowed his head again, greeting the girl''s entourage. "And Miss Li and Magus Huang. It''s good that you''ve all returned to the motherland."

    Richard and Petra were Mages with impeccable grades, model university students that quickly became widely known throughout the campus. Many of the Maguses gathered today had been their instructors, which made their presence all the more pride-inducing.

    "Dean! How are ya, mate?" Richard was the first to reach out and shake his hand, dispelling the awkwardness of Gwen''s occupied state.

    "Sir." Petra bowed, making Luo feel an inch taller. "It''s good to see that you are well. Is Ellen''s training coming along?"

    "She''s doing well, though she did decline to be here, haha..." Luo made a glance at Gwen.

    Petra delivered an understanding nod.

    Luo inwardly signed. Seeing one''s student take on roles that had tangible impacts on events and lives worldwide was something even he had not dreamed of coming so soon. Yet, here they were¡ªa pair of Maguses under the wings of Magister Gwen Song, making waves in the Black Zones, carving out new niches of living space for their fellow man.

    As for their last member, Luo wasn''t sure how to exactly receive the girl.

    Lulan Li had been the mad dog of the university, a student for sure, but one who had brought more trouble than merit. Yet, through Gwen''s guidance, the girl somehow recovered from her mana deviation, made a name for herself in the IIUC, and then¡­ disappeared.

    Luo had even received requests from the Tower asking if she should be stricken from the student register for failing to attend even a quarter of the lessons and submitting no credited assignments or Dungeon Quests for her final third-year grading.

    Luo had instantly rejected the request¡ªand looking at the girl now, he felt only relief for his informed choice.

    Lulan Li, the disciple of Ryxi, is known to those in high places as a Yinglong household Faction member. A girl as sharp as her jade blades, carrying herself with the air of a dynastic swordswoman, like those narrated by popular novelists of the old ways before the Clans succumbed to the ease of Spellcraft.

    No matter what the regulations say¡ªLuo shall always think of Lulan as a "student'' of Fudan.

    "Dean." The girl tilted her head slightly, her eyes scanning the room for what Luo hoped wasn''t anything dangerous enough to cause her to act. With the press corp here, should anything happen to the Regent of Shalkar, Pudong and the PLA may raze Guanghua Towers to its foundations.

    It took a dozen more breaths for the Vessel of the Yinglong to peel herself from the Regent, who then held the Vessel''s hand even as they spoke to the press about how gracious they were to be received by Fudan.

    More Hands were shaken. Lumen-pics recorded and Messaged.

    The scholarship was announced to general applause.

    Then Luo gave a prompt speech about cooperation between Oxbridge and Fudan.

    After that, he stepped from the podium, knowing his part in the play was done.

    A long time ago, against the ignorance of others, he had given a girl a scholarship.

    Before those naysayers had even finished their tenure, that girl had returned to gift the university with a hundred scholarships, recognition and connections.

    Once the rare hour of his old student''s apportioned time was spent, she would be off to grander accomplishments.

    As for Luo, he would have to return to the mortal duty of organising the largest celebration the university had ever held since its inception: an extravaganza extolling the marriage between a mortal man and an immortal Dragon.

    With Elvia clinging to her arm like a lost koala joey, Gwen felt no impatience as their limousine glided soundlessly through the orbital highways of the city. She felt content, for Elvia''s face was warm against the skin of her shoulder. Outside, the mana smog was only mildly obscuring her view of the city, and her nostalgia was thicker than a bowl of shark-fin soup.

    She wasn''t sure why her friend was so impassioned by their three months of separation, though she could hazard a few guesses.

    Ahead, a few spaces away, Richard and Petra made small talk with Mathias, Elvia''s Knight Protector. Lulan sat behind the driver, keeping a keen eye on the nervous NoM''s manipulation of the luxury vehicle. Their limo was also escorted by police on rumbling motorcycles, clearing the traffic with flashing batons.

    "The traffic is almost impossible," Elvia explained, having been in Shanghai for a few days already. "You should have applied for a Teleportation permit."

    The traffic was impossible because half of the small roads had been blocked by banners, banquet tables, lanterns strung across the buildings, and people already packing the city''s spaces, readying to get unbelievably drunk at the Central government''s expense. To ensure that no citizen felt a shred of ill will toward Ayxin, the Planning Committee of Shanghai had spared no expense, releasing a budget so generous that the next governor would likely lose a full head of hair just paying back the interests.

    "I spoke to your brother," Elvia said.

    "You did?" Gwen smiled at the thought of Percy. "Isn''t he so handsome now? And he only has one girlfriend this entire time. Could this be the end of the curse of Hai Song? I should thank Mei for keeping him in line, hahaha."

    "His opinion of you hasn''t changed much." Her Cleric''s tone was sad and discouraged. "From when we were in high school."

    "He IS a Salt Mage." Gwen made a poor joke. "He''ll grow into it, I am sure. No doubt he''s seeing Shalkar and feeling a bit¡­ overwhelmed."

    Her soul mate did not offer a counterpoint, which was, in Gwen''s opinion, what made her love Elvia so much.

    "They say the city will be a sea of firecrackers and lanterns in twelve hours." Elvia pivoted as she sunk into the folds of her well-glamoured Parisian dress. "The jubilation of China''s cities will be heard from the Yellow to the Eastern Sea."

    "If it''s as amazing as you say," Gwen answered dreamily. "We should go for a fly around later, after the wedding. I can request Flight privileges for this region as a part of my entry permit. Seeing the fireworks from the top of a pyrotechnic city would be incredible."

    "I would like that," the girl on her shoulder whispered. "I hope the wedding''s aftermath isn''t too taxing."

    With Elvia so docile, Gwen silently mulled a recollection of Auckland as their palatial vehicle snail crawled through the diverted traffic. They were both older now, wiser, and worldlier. Their friendship-not-friendship, for the lack of a better word, had been the right choice to buy the both of them time so that the fruit would be sweeter, the wine richer.

    Not knowing why, she reached out and patted the girl''s hand.

    "Your fingers are a bit stiff," Gwen remarked. "Nervous? You weren''t even nervous when you performed for that enormous crowd at Christmas Mass. You should know that my men on the isle are still raving about that like it happened yesterday."

    "The wedding is¡­ in front of a nation of almost a billion people." The Cleric squeezed her hand in turn. "Imagine if something were to go wrong."

    "Ha!" Gwen thought of the man who had invited her, the stern-faced Secretary General Miao, and the hypertension-fuelled meticulousness of her grandfather. Not to mention, somewhere near Hangzhou, a mythic would be watching the telly with eyes glued to whatever Dragons used for lumen-casters. With such an arrangement in a city with TWO Towers and, reasonably, at least ONE Magi sitting in the PLA Tower, how pear-shaped could events become? "Relax, Evee¡ªif the collected force of China''s best Mage Flights cannot put out a few fires, then you''ve got me, right?"

    "Yes." The Cleric''s hair smelled amazing against her chin. "If anything, Gwennie, I''ll have you."

    "PEACHES!"

    ¡°Mah Gwennabi¡ªArrrgh¡ªMina! Stop it!"

    The cousins embraced, or at least Gwen embraced Tao while Mina twisted the man''s flesh like a slow juicer, extracting moisture from his eyes. Of her two cousins in Shanghai, Mina had completely transformed, shedding the cocoon of her rich girl party days to become a respected young professional at the Second PLA Army Hospital, an apprentice Healer under the care of their grandmother. Conversely, besides the pant-suit-attired Mina, Tao''s Adidas tracksuit was forever a branded metaphor for the man''s commitment to his fruity persona.

    "That''s Regent Song to you!" Mina''s hands appeared to be fighting themselves from strangling her brother.

    "We''re cool!" Tao attempted to throw down something with his talkative hands, only to be interrupted by Mina. "Yeah, dawg?¡ªSTOP IT!"

    "We''re cool." Gwen laughed, patting them both on the back. "Seriously though, Tao. Don''t let the cameras catch you saying it. Yeye will skin you, ask Babulya to heal you, then skin you again."

    At her behest, her cousin settled.

    Their current whereabouts were the interior space of a refurbished Shanghai Stadium, usually reserved for mass sporting events and propaganda parades. An area of around ten thousand seats was arranged into a sea of carmine, with scarlet drapes hanging like waterfalls from every ledge. The stage itself, where they now stood, was almost four storeys tall from the base, accessed by a long flight of stairs.

    What was most impressive was the stage backdrop itself, an enormous mural of the Yinglong dancing over the sky of the Forbidden City. It was crafted entirely from shades of precious stones like Jadeite, additionally punctuated by pearlescent shells of Magical creatures. From Mina''s introduction, the Mayor of Shanghai had taken donations from individuals and corporations, meaning behind those jadeite plates were logos, inscriptions, messages and well-wishes.

    The itinerary of the ceremony started with a twelve-kilometre motorcade from the Yu Gardens to the stadium, with Jun waving and playing the part of the national hero with his military mates from the Northern Campaign while Ayxin rested in a carnival float bus that was fully enchanted and shielded from the outside world, recreating her room in the Yu Gardens.

    Once begun, speeches and performances would be put on for the people while the pair prepared for the tea ceremony.

    The latter would take place on the transmuted stage, after which Party officials would preside over the wedding.

    The wedding party would then retreat to the bottom of the dais to the enormous banquet table to eat and watch several hours of music and dance numbers by the Cultural Committee''s best appointees.

    Once the core performances praising the Yinglong and congratulating the newlyweds finished, Axyin would be escorted back to the Yu Gardens. Jun, as tradition, would have to remain behind to toast the Party''s august power brokers and his friends and family. Traditionally, the groom was expected to pass out¡ªthough with Babulya''s help, Jun could return before midnight to comfort his new bride.

    "So you''re telling me¡­" Gwen pointed at the row upon rows of seats forming a near-oval around the stage. "They''re going to have Illusionists in every row, projecting spectacles as a part of the show?"

    "Yeah!" Tao was beside himself, for he had also snagged a role in one of the more modernised performances, one performed by him and his mates. Of course, the performance would be one of the LATE NIGHT ones to grace the Lunen-screen, many hours away from the officious showcases.

    Gwen admired the "Jumbotron" Mandalas set up around the stadium. To imagine Tao throwing his gangster signs on national television was truly a sign of the times.

    "We''re doing a number on the bitch-slapping of the Drought Gods," Tao beat-boxed a little as he spoke. "But like, Westside style, you know?"

    "Oh, I know¡­" Gwen couldn''t help but laugh again. She laughed a little too much for a Regent of a Protectorate, but how could she help herself when she felt so happy?

    Her eyes continued to scan the stadium with its milling multitudes of labourers. At the underground entrance, she saw a sight that instantly made her eyes glimmer. "Sorry, Peaches. I need to go. Richard, Pats, Lulu, could you look after things here for me?"

    Before her companions could reply, she became lightning.

    A flash later, she was beside her benefactor, the bloke who had gifted her new hope.

    "Uncle Jun!"

    Her arms were around the surprised Jun before the Ash Mage could react. The bodyguards around her uncle shouted profanities, though it was too late to prevent her from wholeheartedly showing affection.

    "Whoa¡ª" Her uncle''s arms moved from pushing her away to giving her a returning embrace. "Mao, Gwen! That was fast! Your Spellcraft might even be better than mine now!"

    "Ma''am." One of the bodyguards wasn''t having it. "Please step away from Master Song."

    "Captain Li, it''s fine." Her uncle waved away his men. "Give me a moment."

    PAP¡ª! A Lumen-caster popped somewhere from the stands. One of the other guards growled, then Dimensioned Doored away in a puff of smoke.

    The two separated.

    "Let me look at you now." Her Uncle''s smile was infectious. While he measured her, Gwen also studied her uncle. Compared to when they had travelled, her uncle appeared far haler, possessing a vitality that Gwen knew well. It was the blessing of Essence¡ªthe very same Essence that had flowed through her Astral conduits years ago. Her uncle was no Vessel, but he had reaped the benefits of being the son-in-law of a domain rich in Draconic produce.

    "You look older," her uncle joked. "Your aura does, anyway. Do you have a boyfriend yet?"

    "I have Evee." Gwen threw her uncle''s all-too-Asian question back at his feet like a wet fish. "What would I need from a boy? I have Caliban. Have you seen how big Cali gets?"

    "I suppose when you''re Draconic enough, there''s always a way to have children." Jun appeared unfazed by her retort and even threw in some new knowledge. "I hope her Ordo doesn''t mind."

    "They''d have to consider their budget going forward if they do," Gwen snickered. "Nothing is free, after all, especially my charity."

    Jun lifted his head and laughed out loud.

    Gwen shared the joy, drunk on her uncle''s unbridled happiness.

    Who would have thought that poaching Draconic Essence and trying to find Caliban a new form would result in this event, this day? To say that the Yinglong''s claws stirred the pot mysteriously was an understatement.

    "When shall I expect a Dragon nephew or niece?" she asked. "You know I am very generous with gifts. Here''s the first allotment."

    She reached into her pocket and pulled out the Dwarven-made Storage Ring. "This is for Ayxin and my cute nephew. Everything here is either Elven or Dwarven-made. The cot was hand-woven by Sanari, a Hierophant of Tryfan from the root vines of the World Tree itself."

    "That''s¡­" Her uncle appeared taken back, an expression engendering great pleasure in her chest. "I don''t even know what to think. A cot¡ªmade from the what?"

    "The World Tree of Tryfan." Gwen grinned, repeating herself. "From the long vines that hang down the sides of it. It''s not a big deal."

    "Not a big deal?!" Jun shook his head as though seeing the God of a new religion. "Gwen, are we living in the same world still? I''ve never seen a World Tree with my eyes. Perhaps only our Magi know the Elves. I don''t think anyone in our nation could order custom furniture from a race of immortals living in their unassailable Demi-Plane."

    "Then I hope Ayxin and my new nephew will like it."

    "She will." Jun looked like he wanted to pet her head but then stopped himself. Instead, he thumbed the Storage Ring, then placed it upon his pinky. "Thank you, Gwen."

    Gwen accepted the thanks, knowing her uncle was far too humble for a man of his station. She wanted to continue their conversation, but her uncle''s bodyguards and event planners were waiting to get on with the day''s events.

    "We''ll speak later." She allowed the others a chance to breathe. "After the wedding."

    "Without doubt," her uncle replied, gazing past her. "I''ll leave you to your friend."

    Gwen turned to see her Evee approach, escorted by a bodyguard as was protocol. The Vessel of the Yinglong curtsied at Jun, who nodded, and then the two groups parted.

    "You have no more rehearsals?" Gwen asked her friend.

    "My part isn''t that complicated." Elvia smiled. "Secretary Miao has set up a penthouse suite for us at the newly built Hyatt Pudong. Do you want to remain here and look over the planning? Or would you like to retire from the long-range Teleport?"

    Gwen didn''t need to think twice about Elvia''s loaded proposal.

    They would sit on the lounge, wine glasses in hand, and the hotel''s staff would have delivered a banquet spread to the kitchen table. Below them, the vista of Shanghai on fire would ignite from one horizon to the next, with the city''s arterial highways lighting up like flaring strings of red-paper prosperity poppers.

    They would talk of the memories of yesteryear; they would savour the then and now like the absurdly priced Bordeaux vintage she would order, and then¡ªthey would make plans for tomorrow.

    PA-PA¡ªBANG¡ª!

    BA-B-ANG-BA-BANG¡ª!

    Confetti in the form of explosive red ribbons set off by powdered mana stones erupted in every nook and alley of the trade city of Shanghai, beginning from the city centre and spreading like wildfire, racing from Shanghai to Suzhou and Hangzhou to the west, with the joy infectiously racing from Fuzhou to Beijing.

    Before the wedding ceremony could kick-off, the long-repressed public had revolted, disobeying the public announcement to wait, setting off a chain reaction of celebrations that spanned the nation''s east coast.

    Joining the sound of miniature artillery was the clash of drums and cymbals, wielded by rogue street performers, with dozens to hundreds of men hoisting Dragon banners some a kilometre long, dancing in praise of the Yinglong.

    In both China and the nations lucky enough to have a Divination infrastructure capable of transmuting localised images, billions of eyes turned to the Lumen screens, counting down the minutes until the man of the hour emerged from the red-clad gates of the Yu Gardens.

    An hour later, the officious gong, together with thick ropes of firecrackers dubbed the "Dragon''s tail", set off the ceremony''s opening, ensorceled so that every corner of every city in China heard the sound of the nation''s assurance of prosperity.

    The gates to the Yu Gardens opened, revealing the impeccable sight of the Ash Bringer, now Dragon Layer, in a fitted, bright red changshan, punctuated by golden embroidery of Dragons in perfect symmetry adorning both sides of the parallel knot buttons in mithril.

    Waving to the reporters and, thus, the nation, Jun Song stepped into the open-top parade vehicle and assumed his place, ready to maintain his most genuine affability for the next twelve hours.

    But the man was hardly the object of worship and desire for people born and fed on the mythos of Dragons. It was only when a silhouetted figure, heavily veiled and attired in blood-red silks embroidered with inter-woven Dragon and Phoenix motifs, entered the two-storey palanquin that the viewers'' emotions boiled over.

    The city shook. The Districts erupted. The orbital highways trembled from the weight of the people.

    All of China''s east coast was aflame with jubilation.

    The parade began.

    First came the Mage Flights, armed to the teeth despite their festive garbs, bristling with Wands and magical implements as they opened the path.

    Next came the musicians, a half-kilometre-long line of cymbals, gongs, flutes, shengs, string instruments and finally, the unmistakable, soul-rending screech of the suona, blasting with every ounce of breath, ensuring that multiple generations of Chinese would have hearing loss. Children waved Dragon flags, men raised babies to the skies for blessings, women grew hysterical as Ayxin''s palanquin passed, and the elderly bowed or fell to their knees to beg for a prosperous future for their kin.

    At precisely noon, the parade arrived.

    The ocean of faces surrounding the stadium in every direction rose and fell as Jun stood beside the palanquin float.

    He was soon joined by his groomsmen, a bevvy of his friends from the Military, lined up behind the upright figure of Percy Song, Jun''s nephew, all attired in dark navy changshans with a rose-gold lapel of flying drakes.

    The crowd roared, and the mechanisms lifted, opening the palanquin like a blooming flower, revealing the veiled figure of Ayxin, daughter of the Yinglong, the bride of the nation. Beside her were her handmaids, a dozen at least, headed by a pale blond girl in a pale peach qipao.

    "That''s the Vessel of the Yinglong!" some shouted at the giant lumen projector. That''s Elvia Lindholm!"

    "And there''s Mei Yang!" other voices echoed the first.

    "Who is that beauty?" Another asked his peers. Not many recognised the girl in the midst, the former Mad Dog of Fudan, though the rest possessed the well-known faces of the Party''s guan-er-dai.

    Pair by pair, the groomsmen led their partners away, until finally, in tune with the hoarse throats of the nation''s people, Jun led his bride from the palanquin and into the well-lit belly of the stadium.

    Sixty-Four Mage Flights, the best men and women in the nation, took up their positions around the stadium.

    In the distance, The PLA Tower thrummed, its mana Core whirring up its protective Mandalas as a precaution, setting the city''s budget balance aflame.

    The PLA and its leaders knew that there were too many important men and women at the stadium banquet for even a smidgen of danger to be acceptable. Today and tonight, for the next twelve hours, careers would be made or unmade.

    The Vice-Chairman of the Party, Secretary Yang Wu-Lei, took to the stage to address the nation.

    As he spoke, a thousand of the Nation''s best Illusionists projected the subjects of his speech around the stadium, playing Lumen-recording of the Party''s struggles, the Party''s rise to power, and finally, this moment of glory and wonder.

    A masque followed, performed by the hand-picked Mages of the Cultural Committee, commemorating the memory of Magi Mao and his unification of a shattered nation picked apart by imperialists. Considering its international audience, the show was sensitively performed, shrouded by euphemisms and symbols, such as the Dragon''s defeat of a flock of Da-peng eagles aided by children dressed as doll-eyed Kirins.

    With the dance number concluded, the Illusionists encircled the stage in clouds, parting a minute later to reveal a mock-up of a traditional Dynastic home. On the right sat the unknown faces and figures of Jun Song''s parents, a lovely grandmother who looked younger than her years, and a happy but gruff-looking Secretary Song who looked ten years older than his wife. Both were humbly dressed, sitting on pincushions while waiting for events to unfold.

    On the right, in place of Ayxin''s parents, was a huge tapestry of the Yinglong, announced to be a work by the late Chen Chun, an artist-documentarian of the Ming Dynasty who had faithfully captured the likeness of the Dragon through an unexpected meeting.

    The tea ceremony began, and once more, the nation held its breath as the stadium transmuted its interior to allow the bridal Party''s entry.

    The men and women arrived like companionable birds of paradise.

    The musicians soared, and the nation cried tears of joy as Ayxin, in resplendent view, ascended the stairs into the mock relief of the manor interior.

    Tea, prepared by the staff, materialised for the newlyweds.

    Each held out a cup for the Yinglong.

    Inexplicably, the tea evaporated. The entirety of the stadium gasped, then launched into a cacophonic roar that had to be quietened by sonic sorcery.

    Next, without bending on her knees but still bowed and respectable, Ayxin presented the cups poured by her husband to the two mortals seated on the left.

    "Mother¡­" her words reverberated around the nation. "Father."

    With trembling hands, the elderly pair drank their tea.

    Gifts were given. Priceless pieces of dynastic jewellery from the nation''s vaults were added to the weight of the Phoenix headdress on Ayxin''s head, shackling her wrists with bangles from China''s weighted history.

    Finally, the moment was upon them.

    For months, the nation had waited for this moment.

    Jun Song turned to face his bride.

    His bride adjusted her position, needing no aid like a moral bride disorientated by the head shawl.

    "ONE BOW FOR THE HIGH HEAVENS AND THE EARTH THAT DOTH GIVE."

    "ONE BOW FOR ANCESTORS AND HE WHO ANSWERS."

    "ONE BOW FOR THE ETERNITY THAT IS HUSBAND AND WIFE."

    The pair lifted their heads.

    With his emotions written unhidden on his face, Jun Song lifted the veil.

    Ayxin, the granddaughter of an Emperor, the daughter of the Yinglong, a woman whose blood was the noblest in all of China, gazed upon her husband, her face finally known by the nation.

    The audience fell silent, for they had never beheld anything so incomprehensibly beautiful, even across the sheltered shielding of the Lumen-casters'' delayed seconds. The Dragon in her human form was flawless, timeless, domineeringly beautiful, a sculpture in mutton-white jade. She had no make-up, for nothing could be improved, from her long lashes to the angles of her face, the rouge on her cheeks or the fullness of her sensual lips.

    Maotai, a major sponsor of the event, was poured into ivory cups, one presented by Percy Song, the other by Elvia Lindholm.

    The couple''s wrists entwined.

    Then¡ªthey each drank from one another''s cup.

    The stadium shook.

    For an unending while, it continued to shake.

    Even the muting devices implanted by the PLA shuddered under the raw emotions. Everywhere, everywhere, impassioned celebrations flowed out, forming a tidal wave of psychic energies that enveloped the cities from coast to coast.

    In the middle of the banquet, seated just beside the bridal table, a camera caught the Regent of Shalkar crying what they hoped were tears of joy.

    Tianjin.

    The city shook.

    Then the city began to shake.

    For the first ten seconds, the shaking was accompanied by laughter.

    "A party for the ages!" affirming cries of the Party''s faithful citizens proclaimed from their lounges or the public squares of the Districts. "A toast to our new Dragon bride!"

    Their smiles faltered when frames began to fall from the walls, dishes from their racks, and the lights of every household from Tangshan to Tianjin began to displace violently.

    When the Lumen-casters winked out at the sixteen-second mark, and a sudden, limbless dark pervaded the provinces, the joy turned to panic.

    At the twentieth second, the city''s Soviet-era buildings began to collapse en mass, accompanied by an orchestra of terror as Districts fell in upon themselves and the hillside of the mountainous escarpments started to slip into the city below.

    At the thirtieth second, the quaking ceased, and the fires began. Great spurts of supernatural magma coursing through long dormant nodes of Elemental low-way once used by the Dwarven civilisations erupted, spewing unfathomable volumes of Elemental Fire into the valley below. At their fore, visible from the observation windows of the Tianjin Tower, was a giant with the skin of crackling magma, riding upon the back of a hellish ursine carved from the core of the molten earth itself. Behind the howling horror, the final battalion of the Brass Legion burned and fumed, ready to upturn the hated order enforced by the Axis Mundi.

    While the city reeled, the deep recesses of the China Sea to its east began to boil. Far from the reach of its disturbed Divination Towers, the begrudged masters of the pale-eyed Great Shoal began to whip its mass of dead flesh toward their new domain. For the disgrace of Shenyang, they would pay back the Human nation ten-fold! For the loss of a Demi-divine God of the Juche doctrine in the Antarctic, they and their allies would expand their flesh farms a hundred-fold!

    Shanghai Stadium.

    The crowd roared.

    The music bounced from wall to wall.

    The banquet''s endless flow of exotic dishes was shaken by the rumbling of the building, spilling wine and unearthly sauces of culinary delight, engendering laughter by all.

    DING¡ª! A scarlet Message ping, plainly visible, blossomed beside the high-ranking party members, beginning with Secretary-General Miao Yang Bo.

    DING-! DING-! DING-! DING-!

    DING-! DING-! DING-!

    A second later, the Generals of the PLA and the Committee Chairs and Vice-Chairs received their summons and warnings, each clamouring with the hysterical voice of subordinates they had left in charge of their departments.

    Like a wildfire, a sea of scarlet began to cascade from the highest, most regal point of the escarpment, adding to the fiery lantern-glow atmosphere below.

    DING-! DING-! DING-! DING-! DING-! DING-! DING-! DING-! DING-! DING-! DING-! DING-! DING-!

    DING-! DING-! DING-! DING-! DING-! DING-! DING-! DING-! DING-! DING-! DING-! DING-! DING-!

    DING-! DING-! DING-! DING-! DING-! DING-! DING-! DING-! DING-! DING-! DING-! DING-! DING-!

    DING-! DING-! DING-! DING-! DING-! DING-! DING-! DING-! DING-! DING-! DING-! DING-! DING-!

    DING-! DING-! DING-! DING-! DING-! DING-! DING-! DING-! DING-! DING-! DING-! DING-! DING-!

    DING-! DING-! DING-! DING-! DING-! DING-! DING-! DING-! DING-! DING-! DING-! DING-! DING-!

    DING-! DING-! DING-! DING-! DING-! DING-! DING-! DING-! DING-! DING-! DING-! DING-! DING-!

    DING-! DING-! DING-! DING-! DING-! DING-! DING-! DING-! DING-! DING-! DING-! DING-! DING-!

    The stadium of guests, each admitted for their contributions, connections, wealth or privilege, now received their irrespective warnings.

    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

    At the head banquet table, seated beside her cousins and her recently returned grandparents, the Regent of Shalkar''s Message blooms were a technicolour of warnings and requests from the Tower to the Consular of the Commonwealth Mageocracy.

    Quickly, Gwen flicked through her priorities.

    "DISASTER WARNING: NATURAL EVENT IN TIANJIN. ELEMENTAL ASSAULT TO CITY EAST. REQUESTING IMMEDIATE DEFENCE ASSISTANCE AND DEPLOYMENT. TOWER AIRBORNE IN 15:21."

    The next was from her consular.

    "REGENT SONG. RETREAT WITH YOUR PARTY TO THE PUDONG ISTC FOR IMMEDIATE EXTRACTION. DO NOT TARRY. POTENTIAL BLACK ZONE. ASSUME SPECTRE. RE: BLACK SEA EVENT ¡ªMAGISTER O. EDWARDS"

    A part of Gwen''s mind caught up immediately. However, the temporal lobe of her brain was still warm with the fever of the roaring ecstasy.

    Around her, those with enough clout to receive the Messages were rapidly sobering.

    On an adjacent table, someone vomited.

    Nonetheless, the show continued, the food remained fragrant, and the flowing streams of waiters, waitresses, dancers and singers on the stage did not cease.

    The surreality of it all made Gwen feel like she was caught in a dream sequence, pursuing something just out of sight, unable to be reached.

    Tao and Mina, lucky individuals spared from the impending crisis, looked at her in confusion.

    "Cousin, what''s wrong?" Tao swallowed a mouthful of Swallow''s Nest, then replaced his chopsticks. "Those Messages from Yeye?"

    "We''re in a crisis, Peaches." Petra, who had not been spared, was ready to tear off her qipao and change into something combat worthy. "Tianjin is under attack. There''s a real possibility it might fall."

    "I don''t know if Grandfather''s friends in Central should have expected this, but surely there are contingencies in place." Richard was his usual collected self despite the glowing Glyph. "Tianjin is almost a tier 1 city. Its Tower lies on a major ley-node, and Beijing can send the Zun Tower to reinforce."

    Her cousin''s words managed to lower Gwen''s heart rate enough to catch her breath¡ªuntil she recalled the guest list presented to her as a Regent of the Mageocracy. "Richard, I don''t think anything can be that simple. If this has the involvement of Spectre, as our consulate has suggested, Tianjin could be a distraction."

    "A distraction?" Tao and Mina both raised their brows.

    "In Australia, they tried to create a distraction in the Royal National to attack Sydney. In the South Pole, they used a natural disaster to open the sanctum of the Forest Elves for assault by the Undead." Gwen said. "If the attack on Tianjin is the goal, potentially, we can focus on our defences. But what if the attack is itself a diversion? Do you know who is here right now?"

    ¡°Secretary-General Miao Yang Bo?¡± Richard stirred his shark fin soup. Is that important?"

    "Party Secretary Yang is here as well." Gwen pointed to the VIP table not far from them. "And over there is First Secretary Qi. Behind us is Deputy General Ding. If Secretary Miao is seventh in the line of succession, then numbers two to five are all here."

    "¡­ and number one and six are in Beijing." Richard crunched the numbers. "If Shanghai diverters its Towers northward, they may be in danger?"

    "And even if these Party heads are willing to put their safety second, China cannot ever afford to lose Shanghai," Petra concurred. "Even a remote incursion of the Undead into Shanghai would be catastrophic. To have Undead overrunning Beijing would be the end of the Party as it currently exists. If this is Spectre, as you say, Gwen¡ªthey''ve been planning this for a long time. It has their modus operandi written all over it."

    "Then what?" Mina''s voice quivered. "Let Tianjin burn? There are millions of people there. Do we go there and help? What if it falls?"

    "Who says Tianjin would fall? Did you forget who you''re with?" Richard directed their attention first to herself and then to the wedding table. "Gwen¡­ I think it''s time for you to make a call as our Regent and War Mage¡ªone that will obliterate every strand of hair from Ollie''s body¡­."

    As a Mage with a foreshadowed life span, Jun Song was a very pragmatic man with a pessimistic outlook.

    He had been gifted with a rare talent.

    And for filial piety, duty, and the loss of his brother, he had exercised that talent until the Party grew wary of losing its Golden Goose.

    His retirement from the Front had been an unexpected reprieve, a rare display of compassion from his superiors, and one he had thought was the turning point of his life¡ªuntil he met with an unknown niece whose tragic circumstances had made the ashen monotony of his life smoulder with new expectations.

    But he was wrong. Helping Gwen was only the beginning.

    On the mount, he met Ayxin.

    They fought.

    He had given her a Hello Kitty shirt intended for a teen girl.

    Then Ayxin had found him.

    After that, the next three years spent in the gilded cage of the perfect world created for them by the Party was a surreal second life.

    A life that culminated in the form of all his hopes and dreams.

    A child.

    A child of his flesh and blood.

    But all dreams had to come to an end. As a man who had known only the ultraviolence of treacherous war for the entirety of his life, his expectations were dipped in the smouldering ash of cynicism.

    When the warning erupted across the wedding banquet, Jun''s first reaction, much to his shame, was a sigh of relief. As he read the brief, he knew with absolute certainty that the attack was framed with the celebration of his wife and the child in her belly in mind.

    As Secretary Miao has stated, their union was the guarantee to China''s rice bowl for the foreseeable future.

    China was a rising drake compared to the decaying Dragon that was the Commonwealth''s prime. But power aside, it was the most populous civilisation of "Humanity" with the least Demi-human admixture on their globular home of Terra.

    In his endless meetings with the CCDI, they had thwarted innumerable disruptions to the wedding and the peace of Ayxin''s childbearing. Assassins featured prominently, which was why Jun had accepted their residence in the Yu Gardens. Terrorism against the celebration also loomed, so Shanghai was put into total lockdown.

    But an invasion of Tianjin?

    If true, this was no attempt at disrupting China''s peace but an act of territorial war, the opening act to another decade of total strife.

    Jun''s eyes fell upon his wife.

    Ayxin''s eyes were hard. His Dragon bride was deeply unhappy about the disruption. Even so, she kept her temper in check for the hundreds of Lumen recorders broadcasting her flawless disposition.

    Their eyes locked. Jun forced a smile.

    Husband¡­the voice in his head reverberated. If you have a duty¡­

    Jun fought the impulse to kiss his wife then and there.

    He glanced at another Message: one targeted at active service members of a particular tier.

    "RECALLING ALL ACTIVE WAR MAGES CURRENTLY NOT ROSTERED: DISASTER EVENT IN TIANJIN. ELEMENTAL ASSAULT TO CITY EAST. CATASTROPHIC DAMAGE. UNDEAD MERMEN LANDFALL IMMINENT. REQUESTING IMMEDIATE ASSISTANCE AND DEPLOYMENT. MAGE FLIGHTS AND PERSONNEL CURRENTLY INSUFFICIENT FOR REPEL. TOWER AIRBORNE 13:11. NON-COMPLIANCE WILL BE MET WITH DISCIPLINARY ACTION."

    Tianjin! Jun felt his teeth grind.

    The same Front where he had once made his name in the north. His men, the soldiers who had served under him, the Mage Flights that had not been promoted and shipped around the country, were all still there.

    Now more than ever, they needed their Ashbringer.

    With their victory, millions had built their lives thanks to the death of entire companies, platoons, Mage Flights, comrades and friends¡­ If the city were to fall now, was it all meant to mean nothing?

    "Axyin¡­" He took his wife''s cold fingers, wishing he was a Healer and could warm up her trembling digits. He could sense the flow of Essence within her noble form. He also felt the flow of the Essence pool within her womb. Gently, as if responding to his thoughts, the oblong sphere of pure mana stirred.

    For his child, Jun felt he could do the impossible.

    His profundity was interrupted by a pale blonde in pastel pink, now kneeling beside his wife. Taking Ayxin''s hands into her own, the Vessel of the Yinglong began the process of soothing his wife''s Essence flow.

    "Lord Ayxin needs a quiet place to return to deep slumber," the Cleric informed him. "Do not make her worry more than you need."

    "Husband." Ayxin''s eyes were twin pools of liquid. "Go."

    "JUN!" Several figures materialised beside the wedding table.

    His father, mother, and "uncle" Miao were upon him.

    "Ah-Jun, take Ayxin to the Yu Gardens and remain there," Miao''s words were delivered as a command. "We''ll put the gardens on lockdown until this is all over. As for the broadcast, the Cultural Committee will fill the spaces somehow."

    "Jun, listen to Secretary-General Miao," his mother agreed.

    Jun looked at his father.

    Guo''s mouth moved¡ªbut it was evident to Jun that the old soldier could not bring himself to command his son to hide with his wife, at least not while countless others died in their stead.

    Jun''s jaws clenched.

    "Mother, Father¡­" Axyin''s voice flowed like cool water over the hot coals in Jun''s head. "If Jun needs to go¡­ then he should go."

    The trio of elders stared at their Dragon-bride.

    "Is this¡­" The Secretary was the first to speak. "The will of the Yinglong?"

    "I do not presume to know my Father''s mind," Ayxin spoke with the regal bearing of her usual self. "But I know that if Jun does not go, he will regret this moment for the rest of a very long life."

    Perhaps it was the implication of the final words Ayxin used, but Jun felt the tension in the air grow slack.

    "Son." Guo bowed at Ayxin before turning to Jun. "Do you wish to go to Tianjin?"

    "My old Mage Flight members, the surviving ones, are here at the wedding." Jun indicated to the banquet tables in the middle of the stadium. "They will all leave shortly, as soon as the PLA Tower can secure the ISTC Arrays for rapid transit. I do not wish for them to leave like this from a wedding I invited them to¡­ only to have them thrown into the maws of war."

    "I see. I have no objections." His father stepped back. "Klavdiya, as I''ve said before, Jun is his person. All we can do is support him."

    His mother''s expression said it all, but Jun knew he had to disappoint her.

    "I will allow it." Secretary-General Miao made an audible sigh. "The wedding cannot continue, but so long as you emerge triumphant, even if Tianjin is destroyed¡ªwe can Purge, recover, and rebuild¡­ Ah-Jun. You must survive. For Lord Ayxin''s sake and the nation''s sake. Only if you promise me that will I let you go."

    "Lord Song will return," the Cleric beside his Dragon Princess declared. "This is also his will. Besides..."

    BZZZZACK¡ª! The air around them sizzled before the Cleric could deliver a line for the history books. Miao''s bodyguards drew their wands but were waved off by the Secretary-General as a trio of familiar faces appeared.

    "Without doubt, Uncle Jun will live to see his child and return!" The interjecting voice was haughty enough to draw Jun''s tight lips into a broad, self-depreciative grin. "After all, with the Regent of Shalkar by his side, what''s a mere Elemental Invasion and a Greater Shoal of Undead?"

    The cocky figure of his niece, prideful as a peacock, stood resplendently in her midnight-blue sleeveless qipao. In her heels, the girl positively towered over them, making even Jun feel diminutive in the nesting recess of his throne-like chair.

    "Gwen. You''re not one of us anymore," Jun reminded the girl, just in case. "Do you not speak for the Mageocracy?"

    "I do, and if they deny it, then I speak for myself. As the highest authority in Shalkar, I am an autonomous agent, don''t you know?" His niece flashed her pearly teeth at her audience. "Secretary Miao, I''ve fought these Mermen for six months in the Arctic. I know their tactics and how they work their overlapping assaults. I''ve also fought the Fire Elementals, Ash Elementals, and UNDEAD Elemental Magical Creatures, the lot. Allow us to accompany Uncle Jun, and I''ll ensure he returns as soon as the fire is put out."

    "Gwen¡­" Jun was still wondering if he should risk his niece when his superior decided for him.

    "Regent Song. As the representative of the Central Committee, I thank you and shall say no more. You have my blessing and authority to be a part of Ah-Jun''s Party. I will ensure that Tianjin Tower''s Friend-Foe systems and the Chain of Command are subordinate with minimal limitations."

    "Gwen, you have a whole life outside of China now." Jun could not displace the acute feeling of guilt in his chest. "You don''t have to do this. Tianjin''s defences¡ªChina''s Mages¡ªour nation isn''t so weak as to be defeated by a counter-offensive."

    "Husband¡ª" Once more, Ayxin''s voice quelled the disquiet in his heart. "Allow the Vessel of the Old One to go with you. It is¡­"

    "¡­A part of your Father''s will?" Jun asked.

    "¡­ her obligation to a benefactor," Ayxin concluded, then turned to Gwen. "Calamity, I don''t know what my Father told the Vessel of his will, but you must bring back Jun."

    "To Elvia?" His niece looked straight at the Cleric beside his wife. "Evee?"

    "I have a duty as well." Elvia''s positivity was enough to warm Jun''s blood.

    "Perhaps my father knew that these two would one day preserve my husband and child," Ayxin confirmed his suspicions and wonderment.

    The more Jun thought about it, the more he felt terrified at the prospect of his Dragon-in-law''s multi-dimensional chess mastery.

    Elvia Lindholm, a Knight Companion with the sorcery of Faith and the blessing of the Yinglong, was also from the Order of the Bath, an existential antithesis to the Undead hordes that once ravaged Europe.

    For such a girl to be chosen for a Vessel had to be intentional.

    As for Gwen... Had the Yinglong allowed them to leave Huangshan with her stolen Draconic Essence, having foreseen this day?

    As for the others...

    His parents appeared satisfied.

    Conversely, on the Secretary-General''s aggrieved mien, he saw the unhappiness of a man who wanted to blame an immortal being for not giving them forewarnings.

    The Party had planned for the wedding for months and, in the final weeks, significantly shifted its military assets to ensure its capital''s security and its Dragon Princess''s safety. Now, one of their principal ports was left understaffed. In the Secretary''s place, Jun could almost wonder if the Dragon was giving the CCP a demonstration of its power.

    Again, Jun steeled his resolve to attend to the city''s defence. With Gwen and Elvia there...

    "¡­ Tell Golos that if Jun loses a single strand of hair¡­ I''ll cut off his manhood and auction it as fertility medicine." His wife was very adamant as she spoke to the Regent of Shalkar.

    "I''ll let Gogo know. So¡ªHow long until we can leave?" Gwen interrupted the conversation regarding Ayxin''s sibling, her voice cutting through the ding of the growing chaos as the general public ponderously grew aware of the events up north. Already, the broadcasters were scrambling to shift the focus of the wedding into contingency mode, for the nation''s Towers had to be powered up, their ISTC arrays Glyphed and entire regiments and platoons had to be moved northward to reinforce Beijing and contain Tianjin.

    "I can get you to an ISTC array in the next five minutes." the Secretary-General brushed away a cascade of fading Message Glyphs. "Is that too quick?"

    "Every minute we''re present is a family saved from the fire and waters of Undeath." Gwen raised her Storage Rings. "I have here everything my team might need, as well as supplies for a small volume of refugees. But before we go¡­"

    Jun''s niece walked across the gathered power brokers to arrive at a space a few meters from Jun.

    "Percy!"

    The young man being addressed almost jumped. For the whole while, Jun recalled, his nephew had been wholly silent, arrested by a world of internal thoughts. The young man''s paralysis, he supposed, was completely natural. The boy was only a year into his military service. He was probably just as torn between the safety of Shanghai and the utter chaos of his service region, Tianjin. To go there now, especially as a novice Magus between the fourth and fifth tier, did not mean he would make a difference. After a dozen sorties, without any achievement of note, he would likely be sent back to the Tower, or in the worst case, return wounded but alive by his Contingency Ring.

    "Gwen." his Salt Mage nephew looked up to his looming sister.

    "Thinking of going to the Front?"

    "I am stationed in Tianjin. You should know," Percy answered adamantly. "I''ve friends there, platoons of them."

    "That''s a good mindset," his niece said. "But you must trust me when I say you must stay in Shanghai."

    "WHAT¡ª?" Percys stood up, as did Mei. "NO!"

    "You will," Gwen continued. "You should stay here; keep Ayxin and the others safe. As for why, let me tell you¡­"

    With hands on the young man''s shoulders, Gwen pushed her brother back into his seat. "There will be an extreme level of danger. I am told that Spectre is likely the culprit, which means Elemental Princes¡­ maybe even¡­ Elizabeth Sobel¡­ if Sydney was an indicator of what''s to come."

    As expected, the young man''s face blanched to the colour of boiled eggs.

    Sobel... Jun recalled the name. Assuming Gwen''s intelligence on Spectre was right, there would be a hell of a fight.

    "And if I have to fight Sobel, and if I were to unleash Caliban to its full potential, or perhaps, even call upon Shoggy to level the Eastern Seabed, then I WON''T have you in the crossfire. Understand? There''s no profit for you to be there. On the contrary, if you are in any danger¡­"

    Jun, ashamedly, felt his face burn. To think that only a few years ago, he was the one to shelter Gwen. Now he felt like a wayward sibling looking to a sister to shield him from a scary Magical Beast.

    "Gwen is right," Guo gave the final word, un-ironically, with an immense tone of relief. "Percy, stay home and look after Aunt Ayxin with Mei and the others. You''ll go to the Yu Gardens. Your babulya and I are going to Tianjin as well."

    "Father¡­" Jun felt his heart leap to his throat.

    "I''ll be working the triage centre," his mother said. "Your father will be with the auxiliary forces, helping to arrange the evacuation. We''re too old to fight, Jun. We''ll leave that to the young folks."

    "Then all is settled!" his niece concluded the impromptu meeting with a clap. "Let''s get ready. It''s a catastrophe; we must save as many people as possible. Now, if everyone''s on the same page¡­ let''s get to it!"

    His niece raised a fist toward them.

    Jun couldn''t help but give her fist a bump.

    Elvia joined in, then Richard and Petra.

    Sheepishly, the grandparents joined, followed by Percy and Mei.

    The Song family group then looked to Secretary-General Miao.

    Flustered, the man checked his Messages.

    "TWO MINUTES!" he declared. "Ah-Jun, for all our sakes, for Lord Ayxin''s sake, you must return in one piece!"

    Percy Song nursed his ice-cold fur-peak tea. The Kirin Amulet was as hot as a bead of white coal against his chest.

    His mind was torn clean in half, a schism no less than Luther''s sundering of Christendom, taught by his professors in Prince''s as a simple student in Sydney.

    But he was no student now.

    He was the rising star of the CCP''s next generation.

    And he was the promised Vessel of the Kirin tribe.

    When the warnings rang out, including on his own Message Device, his Divination Sigil had rang like a gong, electrifying every nerve in his body. Cold sweat had instantly oozed from every pore, drawing the attention of Mei, who was yet to recover from the news of Tianjin''s crisis.

    His eyes had scanned the Message, reading the lines repeatedly as if the power of his will could change the implication.

    A part of him felt a natural concern for the citizens of Tianjin. The city had been his haunt for the past six months. He had visited its sacred places, patrolled its borders, and gotten to know the folk at the fair and the markets whenever he and Mei rested there.

    The better part of him cared nothing for the human fodder that fed the capital with its sea trade¡ªif the city falls, it falls. Its perishing millions was no skin off Percy''s nose. However¡ªhe was extremely concerned with a very important part of the city central to his plans for the future.

    The Octogramic Mandala of the old dynasty.

    The Jade Core hidden in the heart of the Tianjin Tower''s ley-node.

    The Kirin had made it doubtlessly clear that the old empire''s resources were needed to cultivate his role as a Vessel.

    But if Tianjin were to become a wasteland.

    Or if Tianjin were to fall into the hands of the Undead Masters of Juche.

    Then what?

    The reflexive question was not rhetorical, for Percy Song had no idea what would happen if either happened. Should he give up on the role of a Vessel for the foreseeable future? How long had it taken for Shenyang to be recovered? A decade? What had remained in Shenyang after his sister was done with it. Nothing!

    His woe was why he desperately looked inward, thinking of the Vessel of the Yinglong sitting only a few meters away. For his plans, stealing the Essence spark from Ayxin was only the first step. After that, he had to infiltrate Tianjin Tower, find his way under the Mana Furnaces, and rediscover the Jade Foci the Kirin Tribe had hidden.

    Lord Kirin! He pleaded internally, transmuting every mote of his mental strength inward toward that burning mote of conflagration on his chest. Answer me!

    His mind grew suddenly cloudy.

    Vessel. Came the unbidden thoughts, the voice in his head that was his own but not his own.

    Retrieve the Jade Lode. Usurp the Essence before the city falls to the defilers.

    HOW? His frustrations rang out like the gong at the beginning of Ayxin''s wedding. What am I to do?

    Find the Node.

    The fucking Node under the goddamned Tower of Tianjin? While it''s on maximum alert? Percy had to fight the impulse to shout at the amulet. How simple and ridiculous could the Kirin¡­

    Suddenly, a puzzle piece fell into place.

    He read the summons to war once more.

    "DISASTER WARNING: NATURAL EVENT IN TIANJIN. ELEMENTAL ASSAULT TO CITY EAST. REQUESTING IMMEDIATE DEFENCE ASSISTANCE AND DEPLOYMENT. TOWER AIRBORNE IN 9:11."

    His wet swollen eyes blinked.

    TOWER AIRBORNE IN 9:11.

    Tianjin Tower would be fighting at the port.

    A floating battle Tower no longer connected to the base plate.

    His mind furiously turned.

    He looked up.

    His uncle was fighting with the older generation, desiring that he should be present at the Front. Knowing his uncle, the man would get his way, one way or another.

    Thankfully, Jun''s absence meant aunt Ayxin would be quickly transported back to the Yu Gardens.

    She would be unguarded in her chamber, not alone but isolated enough for an opportunity to present itself.

    Once he could steal the spark, he would need to return to Tianjin before the city''s siege was on full lockdown.

    There, he would do what he could.

    Either to defend the city and then enable the discovery of the Mandala.

    Or to retrieve what he could while the city burned.

    Master Kirin, if I do manage to arrive at the location of the Jade Lode¡­ are you able to retrieve it? Or recover its power?

    His question received no answers, though Percy no longer needed one.

    For some reason, Percy recalled one of his sister''s Gwenisms.

    A pessimist sees the difficulty in every opportunity; an optimist sees the opportunity in every difficulty.

    Unhappily, he had to admit that his sister was right. After all, hadn''t she gone poaching on the Yinglong''s mountain? Didn''t she venture into the Murk to fight for the Dwarves? They say that she even spent six months in the Antarctic, accruing accolades to solidify her position in the Mageocracy.

    All of which had paid well enough to make her important enough to attend a national wedding as a state invitee.

    With his plans drawn and his paranoias quelled Percy felt the return of his spatial awareness. Carefully, he looked to his right.

    Elvia Lindholm, as expected, paid no attention to him, for the girl was busy circulating the Yinglong''s Essence into the weary body of his aunt, all the while partaking in the debate of Jun''s role in the upcoming evacuation.

    His mind brushed over the pulsing amulet.

    Would the girl go with Jun? Or would she stay with Ayxin?

    And if the Vessel remained¡­ how could he approach his aunt?

    "Percy, are you alright?" Mei''s voice was barely audible.

    Percy looked at his fiancee. In her pastel pink qipao, Mei was lovely as the day he had met her, a debt owed to his appearance-obsessed sister, who had sent the daughter of the Yang family a bounty of Elven fruits and infused Maotai on her birthdays.

    His mind churned.

    Tianjin.

    The Jade Lode.

    Ayxin,

    The Essence Mote.

    "PERCY!"

    Percy jumped, near-swearing that his soul had left his body and he had perished alongside all his dreams and ambitions.

    "Gwen," he replied.

    "Thinking of going to the Front?" his sister''s face was full of mockery.

    "I am stationed in Tianjin. You should know." Percy forced his mouth to move. "I''ve friends there, platoons of them."

    His sister did not like that answer. "¡­You have to trust me when I say you must stay in Shanghai."

    Percy felt his spine tingle.

    The Kirin Amulet might as well be twisting off a chunk of his flesh.

    "WHAT¡ª?" He stood up, as did Mei, still hanging from his arm. "NO!"

    The next moment, his sister''s command came down like a high-tier spell. "You should stay here; keep Ayxin and the others safe. As for why¡­"

    With her enviable eloquence, she spoke of dangers, excuses, fears and duty.

    Percy''s gaze, however, glanced past the imposing visage of his sister. Ayxin was in a daze. The Vessel was helping her, but the distress of Jun''s desires was taking a toll.

    From their conversation, his sister would leave for the Front to protect Jun.

    And from the tone of their discussion, the Vessel and their Knights of the Ordo shall also participate in protecting his uncle.

    The amulet on his chest pulsed and flared, flooding his mind with potential possibilities. Within the pain, Percy felt the engendering of an idea not unlike reaching the threshold of a new tier of Spellcraft.

    Somewhere, Guo''s voice drifted across like fog in a dream. "Percy, stay home and look after Aunt Ayxin with Mei and the others. You''ll all go to the Yu Gardens. Your babulya and I are going to Tianjin as well.."

    "Yes, Yeye," he answered¡ªor perhaps he did not.

    His train of thought had been derailed by the weight of the opportunity the heavens bestowed upon him, its intention implicit and without ambivalence.

    He watched as Ayxin said her farewells to the departing Party, though it would appear the Vessel would remain for a while longer.

    On his left, Mei''s hands gripped his own, their fates entwined and inseparable.

    "Mei..." he whispered into the Silent Message Glyph pulsing besides his ear. "I need your help."

    Elvia Lindholm, Knight Companion, Vessel of the Yinglong, thought of her soul mate who had left to attend a higher calling. Unlike the cherished moment between Axyin and Jun, hers had been a brief goodbye, a fare-thee-well sealed with a casual promise of future meetings, a moment so weightless that Elvia felt hollowed by its unimportance.

    How many men and women would her friend save this time? Tens of thousands? Hundreds? A million or more?

    And how many millions of souls might have been saved if she, Elvia Lindholm, had not selfishly chosen to save her friend?

    A hundred thousand? A million or more?

    In the confessional, under the benevolent gaze of the Nazarene whose blessed feet had been nailed to the cross for mortal man''s salvation, she had been long haunted by fantasies of agency and choice.

    Even now, she wanted to tear herself in twain to send her simulacrum to aid Gwen in the impending calamity. In the events that should have come to pass, her place was beside her friend, wielding the powers bestowed by the Ordo, repelling the howling Mermen hordes until the moment of the calamity.

    But now that she had chosen to remain behind, Elvia knew the Yinglong''s vision was no more real than the mental apparitions of her cloistered prayers.

    The instance she had boarded the carnival float taking Ayxin back to the Yu Gardens, her trial was nigh¡ªand whether weal or woe, she must now stay the course.

    Outside the shelter of their moving carriage, she could still hear the ragged cheers of hopeful people. For those who cared, the celebratory mood had long fizzled. Nonetheless, for most of Shanghai''s citizens, the plundering of Tianjin was as far a reality as the hope that their lives would grow fruitful.

    In this timeline of her creation, only herself, Mathias, Percy and Mei sat within the enormous two-storey carriage, the only family with sufficient clearance to accompany the Dragon Princess in person. Her Knight Protectors, Sir Reginal and Sir Kass, flew with the Mage Flight assigned to them, keeping a wary eye for outside forces that might intervene with the coalescence of events taking place.

    As for Ayxin, she could see why her Patron''s daughter had been helpless to defend herself, for the pallid young woman rested on her divan like an ivory statue, her mutton-white skin wet with a snail-sheen of perspiration, doing her utmost to maintain the swirling possibilities within her womb.

    In a reality that was no longer, the PLA physician would know nothing of the young man beside him and his unnatural ambitions¡ªand that a young man''s ascension would lead to two decades of death and destruction so total that Humanity may never again possess the means to balance the Axis Mundi against the Elemental world.

    So how should she proceed?

    A part of her, long fostered by the horrors of the Wildlands and the Humanity her Ordo had aided, imagined herself suddenly launching an assault with Kiki and Sen-sen, drugging then strangling Percy Song to total oblivion.

    Another part of her wanted Mathias to lob off the young man''s limbs while she kept him healed and sedated. That foresight had seemed the best¡ªbut if the promised Kirin were as vile as her visions, the only surety would be Percy''s death and the amulet''s destruction.

    As each paralytic possibility and its infinite array of consequences spread out before her, Elvia lamented Yinglong''s wisdom. There was a reason why Diviners were often distant, deranged or delirious. To pluck and choose the threads of fate was indeed an impossibility.

    To slay the young man for a precognitive crime would be the cleanest means of averting her vision¡ªbut there were no guarantees as to what Jun''s half of the Kirin Amulet might perform.

    To catch the young man red-handed? At least she could salvage her relationship with Gwen, though such selfishness would surely blossom into darker tidings.

    Or perhaps there was still good in the boy¡ªfor Elvia could not imagine that there was not. She had heard the confessions of innumerable sinners as she healed them, and all had lamented a slippery slope moment, one that might have been diverted.

    Or she would proceed as planned, with her body in the way of Percy''s chosen Path of Sorcery, and shoulder the sins of the mortal men and their mortal ambitions.

    She turned from Ayxin''s meditative slumber.

    Elvia took a long, deep breath.

    She was ready.

    Having read her moods in the years of their partnership, Mathias took up the middle distance between herself and the subject of their interrogation.

    "Percy." Elvia compressed her will into folded iron as she faced the pleasant young man, so lamb-like in his filial piety. "Do you remember our talk the other night?"

    "The one where Gwen saves?" the young man chuckled, his eyes averting her burning orbs of sincerity.

    "She''s in Tianjin right now, saving the folks trapped between the cascading Fire Elementals and the Undead-infested waters," Elvia continued, reading off a defunct script of the future.

    "That''s my sister for you." Percy''s tone grew irritated, with both hands in his tailored mandarin jacket. Unhappily, the young man turned to face her. "Miss Lindholm, you''ve been at this for days now. However, we''re now in a crisis time. Why don''t you say your piece, and I''ll promise to think about it?"

    Elvia swallowed. Her throat hurt. She had never been sick in her life, though she felt now the feverish pounding of blood in her head.

    "Then let us be plain, Percy Song. I want you to recant your use of the Kirin Amulet. I want you to return the unholy artefact of your family so that your sister can focus on saving the innocent and the helpless and not see them as pawns in her long war against Spectre."

    There was silence, once made more audible by the muffled sound of the partying "innocent and the helpless" outside the moving carriage.

    "I see." The calmness of Percy''s reply, Elvia noted, was the opposite of the vitriol she had expected. "Did Gwen put you up to this?"

    "That possibility does not exist, Percy." Elvia shook her head at the misguided delusions of her friend''s precious brother. "I am asking you to do this for the greater good. You have a bright future ahead of you, Percy. The Masters of the PLA have their eye on you. Gwen will give you far more than¡­ whatever you think you may gain from the path of a deviant."

    "Deviant!" The young man''s tone finally grew restless and combative. "Is that the words of a Vessel of the Yinglong?"

    Percy''s outburst, Elvia felt, was soothing. The facade they had both upheld had been grinding down their patience, and now it was finally time to give the festering wounds a scorching redress. "We humans are given free will by the Almighty, Percy. We have the freedom to choose. Thus, please choose wisely."

    "FREEDOM? You mean the Yinglong chooses, and we are all pawns in the grasp of his claws!" The young man stood. The atmosphere changed. Elvia tasted a hint of salt in the atmosphere of the carriage. "You, free will? You''re a Dragon''s pawn!"

    "MAGUS SONG!" Mathias''s eyes glowed golden with the invocation of faith from his Relic crest. "Do not leave your seat. Do not approach the Dragon Princess. I will give this warning exactly once."

    Gwen''s brother did not immediately sit.

    "Give me the Amulet, Percy." Elvia extended a white hand. "There is too much chaos in the world already. We do not need an old evil to add to it."

    Elvia expected the young man to protest in a rage, after which Mathias would strike, and the matter would erupt into a dire but momentary struggle.

    "So your Yinglong, it knew?" The young man laughed instead and then sat. He sat with both legs apart, then pointed at his chest with a free hand. "Does the Yinglong know what this is? Did Uncle Jun tell you Dragons everything he discovered at the ancestral home?"

    "I cannot speak for what my Patron knows," Elvia said. "I only know that I must save you and by association¡ªGwen. Will you relent the amulet, Percy? Or¡­¡±

    "I don''t need you to save me." The young man raised an accusatory hand as if to place a finger on her lips. "If you want my Kirin Amulet, come and take it."

    "Elvia¡­" Mathias drew his sword an inch from its sheath.

    Elvia implored the Knight to pause. "This my choice, Mathias. I am the Vessel. I''ll see it to the end."

    She leaned closer to the Salt Mage, her mind full of offensive and defensive incantations that could manifest in the blink of an eye. In the likeness of a youthful lover''s longing, her arms breached the distance between the table and took command of the young man''s collar.

    "You won''t regret this, Percy..." her voice was calm and sympathetic. "Gwen will save you."

    Somewhere under that fabric was the conclusion she sought. Once the Percy half of the amulet was in her possession, she could petition her Patron or use the Ordo''s Faith Sorcery to aid Jun in weaning him from the use of his half.

    Then, with both stones separated, she would cast the damned Relic into holy fire or leave it imprisoned by the Yinglong.

    It would mean the destruction of the Song''s legacy and a portion of Gwen''s ordained future, but her shouldering the blame was better than any other alternative.

    Her fingers undid the first button on Percy''s collar.

    Percy''s mouth moved. His churlish frown softened, turning ever slightly upward in the sign of a grin.

    Her fingers touched the second button.

    A flash of sudden quicksilver filled the room, followed by a second flash of Faith-fuelled gold a split-second later, slicing the chair and floor, striking with such force that the Walls of Force shielding the walls sparked and sizzled as the empty chair shattered.

    There was blood.

    A long line of blood, barely visible in the damage, traced upward onto the edge of Mathias'' blade.

    Nonetheless, Percy Song was gone.

    "CHRIST!" Mathias swore. "How in the nine hells is this possible? We asked for both of his Contingency Rings to be disabled!"

    Elvia had no answers for Mathias. Her mind was writing blank checks she could not cash. Regret, horror, and guilt gushed into her head like the torrential flooding of a cyclone.

    Mathias, ever reliable, was upon the shell-shocked girl beside them like an Iron Golem against a wayward intruder. With one hand, he lifted the Lightning Mage and slammed her against the cracking panes of Wall of Force. "MEI YANG! WHERE DID HE GO?"

    "I don''t know!" The girl trembled, her feet kicking in the air. "Percy, he¡ª"

    Mathias caught the girl''s hand with his gauntlets. His eyes flared with diagnostic magic. "¡ªWhere is your¡ªJESUS, Elvia! They swapped Contingency Rings! She''s wearing his ring!"

    "I don''t know, I¡­" The girl was pale and flushed at once; her face contorted in agony.

    "Where does your ring lead?!" Mathias crushed the girl''s hand, causing her to whimper. Crackling lightning erupted as the girl''s mana shield kicked into place¡ªbut was instantly extinguished by the Conjugation of Light flaring from Mathias'' protective Relic. "

    "T¡ªTianjin!" Percy''s fiancee wailed. "We both have a pair¡­ the Tianjin Tower gave us the rings when we were P-purging the Undead at Yantai! It takes you into the Triage Bay within the Tower!"

    TIANJIN!

    A quake erupted in Elvia''s mind¡ªbut then the flow of the Yinglong''s Essence rapidly pacified the panic that prevented her from thinking.

    "Give me your ring!" Mathias growled. "Unbind it now! Or you''ll roast in the Fires of Faith!"

    Sobbing, the girl undid the binding magic surrounding the Contingency Ring.

    "Elvia?" Mathias held his prize. "I''ll inform Pudong Tower now. We need to go and reinforce Master Jun and Regent Song. And hunt down this additional calamity."

    Elvia lifted her head.

    Her Knight was right. They had to go.

    The room was ruined, and explaining to the PLA underlings at Yu Gardens would only aid Percy, for Lord knew what Percy Song would do in Tianjin to revive her vision. Walking past the crumbled girl, she bestowed a Cure Moderate Wounds, immediately followed by a tendril from Kiki that impaled the squirming Lightning Mage in the neck, delivering enough euphoria for her to remain blissfully asleep for a day.

    Beside her, Mathias informed Sir Reginal and Sir Kass that they would attend to Tianjin''s developing situation.

    As added insurance, Elvia added a Binding Ward used for Magic Creatures, one that made the victims bereft of sight, sound and smell, all the while inhibiting their mana conduits with the power of Faith.

    Once Percy met his fate, Elvia had no doubt the PLA would have plans for his oblivious accomplice at the prison Gwen had horridly narrated. The Song family, conversely, would remain unscathed but for their one wayward grandchild and continue to prosper. That would be her Patron''s promise and the will of Ayxin, at least if the Party wanted its rice bowl intact.

    Percy Song.

    Elvia steeled herself.

    Her charity was spent.

    Even if Gwen had to watch, her next meeting with Gwen''s brother would be the final nail fastening a man''s palm against blood-soaked oak.

    Calmer now, she turned to Ayxin, who seemed oblivious to the going on in front of them. Deep in her dream of impossibility, Elvia suspected that her mistress was watching¡ªthough her physical manifestation was now helpless.

    Her heart felt glad. She had not failed here.

    Ayxin was safe.

    The child of impossibilities was safe.

    "Elvia," Mathias reported beside her. "Sir Reginal and Sir Kass have reported that we have received Pudong''s authorisations. Our rings will activate in five seconds for Tianjin Tower. Their Magisters at the Yu Gardens take care of the PLA... and see to the young woman."

    Elvia knelt before the crimson mass that was Axyin''s slumbering form.

    Did the daughter of the Yinglong place that much trust in her Father?

    Was Ayxin''s Faith, like her belief in the ethos of the Nazarene, what sustained her through the agony of bringing forth an immaculate life?

    "Rest well, Lord Ayxin," she delivered the Message in Dragon Tongue so that the sentiment would linger long after she was gone. "Your child is now safe, and I shall do my utmost to ensure Lord Jun returns to you."

    The Dragon Princess''s passivity was a reply in itself.

    The room flashed quicksilver, leaving only the gentle thrum of the Walls of Force.

    Mei Yang was in pain.

    She had been in pain the whole while since they boarded the carriage of the Dragon Princess, though she had borne her agony well.

    Now, she was bound by darkness, afraid and alone, with the unimaginable pain impaling her diaphragm.

    She was drugged and glamoured, but the pain in her body was worse than molten magma, disobeying the promised rest of the Floral Sprite''s intoxicating poison.

    Though her body was healed, hers was a distress of the soul¡ªone that extended from the Kirin Amulet pressed against her quivering flesh, boring into her Astral Body to sap up her life force.

    Percy had said she had to trust him.

    And Mei did, implicitly and without question.

    As they waited to board Ayxin''s carriage, her husband had said that Gwen would desire his Kirin Amulet and that she was the only one he could trust.

    In secret, they had swapped rings, and he had pressed the most important thing in his life into the palm of her sweet little hand.

    And true to Percy''s word, Mei had witnessed the tyranny of the Yinglong''s Vessel. Percy''s sister was kind¡ªbut she was also a Dragon¡ªand Mei now knew their ruthlessness.

    For Percy''s sake, she had to protect his heirloom.

    She had to hide it from the Dragons.

    She had to preserve the Kirin Amulet.

    It was Percy''s future.

    Their future.

    And whatever agony she must endure, no matter for how long, none shall take it away from her.

    Slowly, a tendril of Essence, untouched by magic, untethered to the Material Plane, leaked from the unmoving silhouette of Mei Yang.

    Like it had done before for a prior mistress half a world away, the Kirin Amulet now sought the closest Essence of the Dragon kind to sustain its host.

    Many years ago, the wandering tendril had been unconscious, instinctual.

    Now, it moved with purpose, snaking along the floor for the protective barrier surrounding the sleeping princess.

    Though it possessed no means of scent, taste, sight, or hearing, it perceived the roar of life in the womb of the Dragon child like a sailor drawn to the howling gales of a frothing sea.

    With the spark of impossibility¡­ it would become whole again.

    With the Yinglong''s Essence usurped¡­ they would be together...

    SCHWWWWWING¡ª!!!

    The sudden protrusion of a vibrating blade cut short the tendril''s progress, instantly breaking the tendril''s reach, only ending when the opposing Walls of Force consumed the momentum of the jadeite slab twice the height of its conjurer and dozens of times her weight, too immense to be called a sword.

    Shouts of protest, horror, and the blasting of spells erupted outside, together with cries of "ASSASSIN!" And "PROTECT THE PRINCESS" filled the surrounding perimeter like fleeing crabs from an overturned bucket.

    The Kirin Amulet, its dire glow fading as its residue energies were spent, lay submerged in a pool of rapidly cooling offal, buried in a mess of shattered bones and rendered skin and muscle.

    Above the offending carcass, the Bodhisattva serenity of Ayxin continued her slumber, a mother at peace, blissfully nurturing a child of impossibility.

 Chapter 476 - 479 - Where Ignorant Armies Clash by Night

    Tianjin Tower.

    Launch bay.

    Strands of shivering energy, barely visible to the mortal eye but bright as lumens to the trained Diviner, tethered the hovering mass of Tianjin''s Tower to the city''s two-dozen Shielding Stations.

    Shaped like a horse-hair calligraphic pen, the Tower was the final symbol of the cooperation between China and a yet-to-collapse USSR, a last harrumph before the gradual decay and loss of greater Russia to the Undead hordes.

    Shimmering with mana, the Tower now played its part as envisioned by its creators, an insurmountable barrier against the city''s northern invaders.

    "Anyone seen Lulu?" Gwen asked while her war party underwent final preparations.

    Her immediate enterprise, aided by Petra, was drawing a Summoning Mandala that would bring Golos from Shalkar.

    "She''ll be along shortly, I imagine," Richard spoke as he invoked the incantations to change the leather armour from loose to form-fitting. After six months of fighting the Undead daily, the Dwarven artisans of the Royal Raven had enchanted specific sets of equipment for its human crew, a dozen of which was kept by Gwen for private use. "After all, she''s a student of Ryxi. Ayxin''s safety is far more important to her than the folks here. I am more surprised she isn''t fussing over your safety for once."

    "Or maybe she''s gone to find Kusu?" Petra shrugged. "He''s the overseer of one of Shanghai''s militia groups now, right? Here isn''t Shalka. She''s got family here."

    "Maybe. Either way, I am sure she''ll be along shortly." Gwen then allowed her thoughts to slip from their Sword Mage companion.

    Below their privately walled changing station, her Uncle Jun had also finished donning the suits she provided, together with three Mage Flights of his old comrades who had been given the same rare equipment. With the Positive Energy conduits for self-healing, fortification, and innate shielding provided by Dwarven Runescript, even a regular Magus could fight toe-to-toe with the oceanic zombies.

    "You think the local militia can hold out?" Petra glanced over at the vista of the city below. Parts of supply had been restored to the city''s nerve centres, and more were coming online every minute. "They''re trained to fight zombies, but this is something else entirely."

    The problem, Gwen understood very well, was the same as Auckland''s Militia. While Mermen and Undead were the most common foes, the combination of the two brought new challenges in the form of size and numbers, ranging from the un-killable humanoid Cephalopod-kin to cruiser-sized Krakens made fearless by a supernatural thirst for the living.

    Not to mention, the Mermen were merely a problem she would help to divert¡ªthe immediate, white-hot threat was the Fire Elementals, whose responsibility fell upon her uncle''s matching elemental attribute.

    "If the shielding holds up," Richard reminded them. "There won''t be that many to fight at once. We''re focusing on keeping those that slip through at bay¡ªnot fighting the entire Shoal through head-hunting tactics. In a week or so, once the city is largely evacuated, maybe one of the PLA''s Magi will conjure a Meteor Shower over the bay."

    "Agreed, it''s only now that the crisis is at its worst," Gwen concurred. "Once the capital cities can shore up their forces and return the citizens to their homes, we''ll be golden."

    "Do you think this is aimed at you?" Petra''s trained paranoia raised a point her cousin had previously intimated. "You''re the one who cleansed Shenyang. And you took care of a Lich. That''s halfway to having a Magi as KIA. If the Mageocracy had lost a Magi in a foreign campaign like Pyongyang, they would start a full-scale war."

    "I am not discounting the possibility." Gwen felt her head throb. "And if this is Spectre, as Ollie said, they must hate my guts something serious, considering our involvement with Tryfan."

    "Or maybe it''s a two-for-one?" Richard snickered. "Aunt Ayxin''s wedding, Uncle Jun, and you. That''s a good deal, no matter how you look at it. Keep your Contingency Rings primed, Gwen. No telling if Sobel is waiting out there, sharpening a Morden''s Blade."

    Gwen looked at her cousin. Her cousin smiled back, revealing a set of perfectly pearly teeth.

    Ding¡ª

    "Gwen¡ª" The Message was from her uncle below. "You ready?"

    "I''ll be done in a dozen," She replied. "Where are you headed?"

    "Northward to Tangshan," her uncle replied. "You should reinforce Bohai Bay, where the Undead will slip through the Laochaowan desalination Reservoir. The Tower''s main forces will focus on evacuation while we keep the leaders of the incursion distracted."

    "Understood¡ªbut don''t stray too far, Uncle," she warned her saviour. "And don''t push yourself. You''re not in your thirties anymore."

    "Ha! I''ll be in contact," her uncle replied, then stepped into the regional teleportation circles that would shoot them northward some thirty kilometres to the outer Districts.

    "Think he''ll be alright?" Gwen worriedly asked her cousins, her hands working as fast as she could keep her mana conduits steady.

    "Why would he not be?" Petra finished an inscription without breaking concentration. "Uncle Jun is, by all measurements, a better Battle Mage than you, merely without the artillery capacity of Master Shultz. Besides, if you consider Lady Ayxin''s blessings and the PLA''s focus on keeping him alive, he''s more liable to survive than any of us¡ª"

    "That''s¡­ reassuring." Gwen soothed herself with Petra''s comforting words, then turned her mind to her new duty. Despite the Shielding Station''s shimmering efforts, Mermen were slipping through the barriers. In the instance of "living" Mermen, the disruption of their Core would imply a reduced threat. Comparatively, even with cracked Cores, the Undead would not relent in their mindless assault on living beings until their Negative Energies were drained or released.

    BOOM¡ªBOOM¡ªBOOM¡ª

    The roar of Golem artillery from the Shen-Zhang MK III''s man-made spell blades roared, though possessing only a fraction of the power offered by the genuine Dwarven article. In an organised defence, the infamous mass brought to bear by the Chinese military would be a sight to behold. Unfortunately, what Golems could be brought out of storage and armed in an hour was wildly insufficient.

    Gwen stepped back, materialising crates of HDMs into the feeder Glyph of the enormous Mandala. For a creature like Golos to be attuned to the Tower''s Divination, such a ritual and its cost in precious materials had to be repeated every time her Planar Ally was summoned.

    Momentarily, the platform flared a brilliant silver, drawing every eye from the launch deck as its cargo materialised into the majestic form of a western Thunder Dragon with overlapping cobalt scales and a scintillating crest of vibrant feathers from the base of its enormous skull.

    "O Dragon!"

    "Aid us, Lord Dragon!"

    "The Yinglong be praised!"

    Someone applauded, and then inexplicably, the rest of the crew joined in a communal display of praise for the descended Dragon amongst them.

    "Calamity!" Golos, the scion of the Yinglong, shook off the excess mana cascading down his flank like snow dust. "How dare these blasphemous cultists to disrupt Ayxin''s wedding! I was watching the show with Phalera and the kids!"

    "This isn''t your regular cultists, it''s Spectre, or so I am told," Gwen transmitted what information she possessed through the Empathic Link. "I don''t need you here, Golos¡ªinstead, I have a much more important job for you?"

    The Dragon craned his neck.

    "Protect Uncle Jun with every bone in your body, as much mana as you need to spend, spare no expense other than to stay alive. You know how important he is to Ayxin."

    The Dragon bobbed its enormous head. "I know. Ruxin told me of this long ago."

    "Ruxin?" Gwen looked the Dragon up and down as she searched her memories. "He predicted this?"

    "He said that it was Father''s will." Her creature huffed. "He said that I would receive an opportunity if I served as your Planar Ally."

    The ex-Wyvern looked smug.

    "Wow, that was a long time ago¡ª" Gwen patted the enormous chest of her Dragon, feeling the numbness in her fingers as electricity arced between them, linking her Astral Soul to her tyrannical, talking lizard. "And now''s the time to put that boon to work. Can you find Uncle Jun?"

    "I can smell his Ash from here."

    "Good." Gwen gave the Dragon a push. "Hop along and keep Jun safe. We''ll all share a Dwarven pint once this is over, eh? Gogo?"

    The Dragon lowered its majestic head until it was eye-level with her face.

    "It''s Uncle Golos¡­"

    "What?" Gwen reeled from the Dragon''s rotten-meat breath.

    "I am Ayxin''s brother. She''s your Aunt¡­" Golos huffed in her face until her eyes watered. "I am now your Uncle Golos, Calamity."

    Gwen stifled an urge to kick the slitted iris with her claw heel. Try as she might, her lips refused to make the necessary sound.

    Chuckling with the deep rumble of distant thunder, the Dragon slid from the platform, causing the metal to creak and spark before slipping into the air like liquid mercury.

    "Right¡ª" Gwen allowed the tailwind to lift her crow-skinned self into the air. She waved to the audience below, hoping to lend them some of her optimism. "Richard, Petra, with me. Same as always, folks. Let''s start with a nice long trench along the city''s north where our fishy friends can all gather.

    Percy Song materialised in the Tianjin Tower, holding a gash deep enough in his sides to reveal a stick of rib.

    What he acutely felt, however, was not the sharp, stinging pain of sliced flesh burning with the Faith-fuelled aura of Sir Mathias'' wrath¡ªbut the emptiness of that which had laid against his chest since the day his sister gave up her claim.

    "Magus Song!" the Tower''s healers were upon him before he had struck the floor, their wands already expending the Healing Words used to stifle his bleeding.

    "Patch me up! Give me the maximum alchemical dosage." He coughed a mouthful of ruby blood as his lungs cleared of fluids. Seeing the other nurses and physicians approach, he waved them away. "Enough. I need to return to the fight."

    "Is it that bad out there?" One of the healers, a young woman, did not think twice before overruling her supervisor and materialising an upper-tier injector. Percy did not know the woman, but from her overt familiarity, he could tell she likely recognised him from the Lumen-caster.

    "There''s far worse than just Undead and Mermen out there." Percy winced as the healing took place. The senior Healer glanced at the injector but said nothing. Percy nodded back. After all, he was the nephew of Jun Song and now the Dragon Princess Ayxin. Who were they to deny a mere upper-tier injector, especially when he was fighting on their behalf? "I am on a mission for Aunt Ayxin. Though I doubt anyone would enquire, please keep my presence discrete. And another thing. If Cadet Mei Yang should ask for me, inform them I have joined the fight outside."

    "Yessir!" The two healers saluted as he stood, then stumbled past the infirmary into the belly of Tianjin Tower''s pocket-space interior.

    Having served almost six-months in the city, he knew the Tower''s layout well enough to meander his way through the network of tunnels and corridors for the exterior exit.

    Ding! Ding! Ding! Red hot Glyphs continued to ping for his attention.

    As he passed a communal corridor, he carefully removed the Message Band from his wrist and deposited it into a change room used by the crew, ensuring its broadcasts were still alive. Deeper, when he reached the lower belly of the Tower''s tree trunk structure, he removed his spent Contingency Ring, depositing it into a garbage chute.

    His final destination was a breaching chamber used to escape the Tower in a catastrophic failure of its levitation systems. Here, the Mandala provided would wormhole back into the reality of space-time outside.

    Self-assured of his safety, Percy Song took a long, deep breath to calm his trembling fingers.

    The FAITH WITCH. He could not believe that she was after his amulet this entire time. To think that he had imagined himself acting in secrecy, only for the Dragon tribe to be watching him¡ªwatching his heirloom all along.

    But his Yeye had explicitly stated that their family had always had access to the amulet¡ªthat dozens of generations of Songs had pulled the family through every crisis through its boon. When Uncle Jun returned from investigating their ancestral home, he had also informed Percy that it was safe to use the amulet, though its other half, when his life ended, would go to Gwen.

    He had felt rather strongly about that.

    So why were the Dragons after the amulet now?

    Why were they after him, specifically?

    The answer¡ªhe knew, was beyond obvious.

    His sister was the Dragon''s Vessel.

    She was the one who invited the Yinglong to sit among them, to introduce Ayxin to Jun, and to reveal the secrecy of the Kirin''s revival. Naturally, Gwen had asked the Faith Witch to be the Yinglong''s Vessel.

    It was all for his sister''s ascension¡ªand now he was again paying the consequence.

    Well, she must be happy now.

    His amulet was gone, gifted temporarily to Mei in the small chance that borrowing his unborn nephew''s Essence may still be possible.

    Without the amulet, he felt wrong, like a man with a missing organ, haunted by the nagging doubt that his stolen kidney was more important than he was led to believe.

    Vessel...

    The voice of the Kirin Amulet, now no longer against his chest, was like a fading echo. But he was the Vessel now, just like his sister, and that blasted blonde Cleric, Vessel to the Yinglong.

    "What is it?" Percy felt the chill from the Kirin Soul''s necrotic presence like a sliver of ice buried in his spine.

    Mei Yang is dead. My flesh is now inert.

    Percy''s hand halted on the activation-Glyph.

    "They¡­" his breath suddenly came in rags. "They did what?"

    The Dragons murdered her in cold blood, the voice reported without emotion, as though he was talking about the unusually cold autumn.

    "Jesus alive¡­ Mei¡­¡± Percy felt as though suddenly underwater. He had imagined they would arrest Mei, but to kill her outright? "She''s dead?"

    Mei. His Mei. His dear Mei. His high school sweetheart. His future wife. He didn''t know if he truly loved her¡ªhe was a young man and did not know what it meant to love a woman, at least not like in the novels. Mei was beautiful, resourceful, useful and obedient, but was that love?

    Percy could taste iron in his mouth. He wanted to teleport back. He desired to smash the Cleric''s face and drain her vitality until she was an empty husk.

    Stop. The iron voice from the Kirin Soul commanded. There is much more you must do.

    "I know," Percy spoke to the shadows, his emotions rapidly cooling from boiling point to lukewarm alarm as Elemental Salt circulated through his conduits. Unlike Ash or Dust, he could not use the Negative Energy to tame his rioting emotions, but the exercise helped keep his mind collected while facing dire dangers.

    With an audible force that announced his frustration, he placed his hand against the security Glyph of the breaching chamber, feeding it the counter Glyphs only important individuals highly trusted by the Tower would know. Of course, he was such a trusted one. By his request, Tianjin''s Tower Master had granted him an upper-rank privilege, believing that one day, the nephew of the Dragon Princess would do wonders for his late-life career in the Party''s inner circles.

    He did not know how much the Kirin Soul had foreseen, but this was his ordeal and opportunity to ascend. His plan had originally been to slowly work his way into the Party''s circles of Mages in Tianjin so that he would one day come to govern the city as his Magister''s assignment.

    Now, he must harness the Essence, or what''s left of it, from the Kirin tribe''s ancient devices before the Undead could dig in their claws, tentacles or flippers.

    As for the siege¡ªit was a strange feeling¡ªto relive Sydney so vividly, only this time, he was not a faceless, nameless being caught in the undertow, but one seeking his destiny in the throes of mortal danger.

    Would saviour Gwen save the day again? He pondered the battle outside, now roaring with the sound of fire and water clashing in cataclysmic meetings. He could feel the presence of a Dragon named Golos, whose thunderous mana could be felt through the tremors of the Tower''s spatial shielding.

    How pleased she must feel. Percy felt his mouth mutter the words. How easy it must have been for the Dragon''s Vessels to slay Mei even as she lay helpless.

    The Glyph unlocked.

    Percy Song''s upright figure shimmered silver¡ªthen he was out.

    By the time Elvia and her Knights arrived at Tianjin Tower''s ISTC node, there was no longer enough fanfare present to lick the boot of the Yinglong''s blonde-haired Vessel.

    In place of the usual Magister and Magus, or perhaps Tower Master Wong himself, Acolytes with freshly awed faces ushered Knight Protectors and their ward toward the launch bays where the Tower''s forces oversaw the city''s defence.

    At the bustling launch bay, she was greeted by the familiar sound of pure panic intermingled with bravado, chorused by the shouts of sergeants kicking men into line for the feeders. She needed to find Percy¡ªbut the chaos of the Tower''s interior left little doubt that Percy was taking full advantage of the anarchy.

    In the direction of a higher platform, she sensed the lingering mana presence of Golos, whose Lightning motes permeated the walls like a stench.

    "I''ll fetch someone useful," Mathias remarked at the organised chaos below the entry deck.

    Thankfully, despite the turmoil, a Magister at the rank of Major was there to question their presence in this time of the city''s great need.

    "Lord Vessel." The impatient Magister''s face noted he had somewhere else to be. "What is your desire?"

    "I am looking for Percy Song, nephew to Lord Jun." Elvia bowed her head slightly. "He may have snuck out against the Lord Regent and his grandfather''s wishes to participate in the combat below. We''re all worried for his safety."

    The lie stung like a swollen abscess. Unlike Elvia''s Knight Protectors, the Companion was not sworn to the Oath of Truth, a peculiarity of their profession as medical practitioners, whose care for patients and families necessitated false hope and feigned empathy.

    "Oh¡­" The man appeared confused by their request. "I''ll ask the Divination Tower. One moment."

    The gruelling seconds passed like the waiting anticipation of a needle resting against one''s vein.

    "He''s in the subbasement infirmary¡­ oh no." The Magister raised both brows as he read the invisible Message. "He''s¡­ wounded? Received healing¡­, and he''s now somewhere in the Tower''s internal chambers. His Message Device reads subbasement G-12-44¡­ although He is not answering the Message."

    Elvia and the Knights regarded one another.

    "Do we find him?" Sir Kass volunteered. "If he is in the Tower¡­ we should not leave him unattended."

    "You and Mathias should observe from outside the Tower, over the city," Sir Reginal offered his sword pommel. "Kass and I will track down his signal here in the Tower, and if we find him..."

    "Umm¡­" the Magister raised a hand. "Is Magus Song in trouble?"

    "Not at all." Elvia forced a smile that she hoped was sweet enough to convince. "It''s just that Mistress Ayxin is not very happy with his absence."

    "Ah¡ª" The Magister gave her a bow. "My condolences."

    "We can only obey the Yinglong''s will," Elvia assured the man. "Can you assign aides to my men?"

    The Magister summoned a few of the Acolytes, additionally gifting them a jade Glyph that would allow access to the Tower''s lower levels.

    "Right, then we''ll be off," her Knight Protectors delivered a half salute. "Take care, Companion Lindholm. Mathias, we leave her in your hands."

    "She''ll be safe with me." Her Knight Protector clanged his gauntlet against his ceremonial breastplate; one ornate enough to impress a national Lumen broadcast. "On my life."

    With her two Protectors gone on their separate duties, Elvia invoked the Flight magic sewn into her Genymade''s Winged Boots, a part of the preparations she had readied for this day. Together with Mathias, they dropped from the Tower''s bay and fell half the length of its spire before allowing the wind to take them toward the well-lit bay, where spellfire intermittently revealed the progress of the battlefront.

    To the northeast, in the direction of Tangshan, the mountain was a flaming heap of smoke-choked rubble and soot. Above, with its lightning-charged body bright as a beacon, a Thunder Dragon patrolled the skies. At a distance of almost thirty kilometres away, Elvia could not see the participants engaged in the dance of destruction¡ªyet the wind was hot with violence, textured with the unique stench of volcanic sulphur.

    "The smoke is thick with Elemental Fire," Mathias remarked. "What''s over there?"

    "The Elemental Prince Zodiam, an old foe of our Order," she said to Mathias. "And Lord Jun is battling him, as in my visions."

    "The Worshippers of Juche has found an unfortunate confluence of unlikely allies." her Knight Protector gritted his teeth. "Perhaps, the Ordo should have done more to prevent this."

    "We''ve already done so much," Elvia smoothed her Knight''s anxiety with an affirming gloved hand against his shoulder pauldron. "But not even the Ordo St George can fight the Mermen in their underwater homes, nor the Juche Cult in their Necropolis. To defend is the way of things, the balance Mother Superior spoke of¡ª the Accord."

    "I should have..." Mathias sighed. "I am¡­ very sorry, Companion Lindholm. I should have slain the boy where he sat."

    "I am the one to bear that blame, Mathias." Elvia shook her head. "I am beginning to wonder if blind faith, even if it lies in an entity like the Yinglong, would have uncomplicated our quest."

    "The Father of the Nazarene gave us faculty and capacity," her Protector reminded her, perhaps to ease her buzzing conscience. "It is a sin to neglect God''s greatest gift."

    Elvia agreed with a murmur, her attention wandering from the flaming mountain toward the shimmering coast.

    There, a mere distance of a dozen kilometres away, her eyes bore witness to the impossible sight of an Afaa al-halak, the great Sand Worm of the Sawahi Sand Sea, busily interconnecting the city''s canals and estuaries by creating an enormous zig-zag of waterlogged trenches.

    The Undead Mermen that had penetrated the Shielding Stations seemed naturally drawn to these enormous billabongs of churning dark water, only to be lit up by thundering spellfire from the Militia and the Golems hidden in the nooks of the city''s avenues and boulevards.

    Before she could remark on Gwen''s expertise, an enormous maelstrom almost a kilometre wide erupted over the salt marshes, drawing up the scattered minions of the Juche cult.

    "Uncle and niece, both fighting for the lives of the city," Elvia said to the turbulent air. "In another life, we would be there beside them, repealing the Undead."

    "I wish to be among the combatants as well," Mathias confessed. "Though we have a duty here. Is that not your purpose and mine?"

    Elvia observed the city once more. There was chaos, and there was horror. There were massacres to the north, homes and Districts on fire as the milling millions of China''s populous port city fled for the inland shelters. Militiamen were swarming the dockside, both organised and disorganised, and multitudes of Mage Flights roared over the city, zipping from the humming Tower like frenzied hornets from a kicked nest.

    The battle, to Elvia''s ambivalence, was holding steady. It was strange to say that she felt more worried for the city''s success, for unlike her vision, Tianjin was not a brimming sea of fire and water, living and un-living, engaged in an existential toil.

    What was the missing catalyst?

    She knew the answer¡ªbut she dared to hope as well, for the saving of Ayxin''s child should have prevented the worst.

    "Percy Song..." she asked the flickering city below, for there were no answers from her Patron. "Where are you now?"

    "Transmute Earth!"

    Percy Song, no longer the richly attired, handsome youth worshipped by his fiancee, slipped through the warped stratum of granite and sandstone to finally arrive as a mud-man into the crypt of what was once a grand temple to the Mythics of yore.

    His wedding clothes were torn and soiled, his face and hands layered with dust and dull motes of Transmutation, but he had done it. He was here, in the sanctum of the Kirin Tribe, the last depository of his Patron''s people.

    When he had caught view of the baseplate of the Tianjin Tower, he had been dismayed but not surprised to see that the earthquake had indeed damaged its exterior¡ªand that the PLA had stationed an entire Militia''s worth of men and their attached Mage Flights to ensure the city remained supplied with power.

    The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    Though the Tower was now in the air and drawing upon its reserve of HDMs, the Shielding Stations themselves would have exhausted their supplies during the initial hour of the assault and would need to be sustained by the city''s network of ley-lines.

    Thankfully, he had long provisioned for the Tower''s zealous protection of even an un-nested base plate.

    The Octogramic Mandala used by the Xia Dynasty was hidden by secret tunnels that made accessing the Jade Lode possible, acting as both conduit and maintenance. In a time of peace, however, with the Tower tapped into the lay node, entering the chamber of whatever the Kirin Kings of the Xia had left for its descendants would be suicide. Without a temporary shut-down of the Tower''s mana engines, such as for maintenance, or the Tower being aloft, such as for military exercises, the concentration of mana drawn from the ley node would burst a Mage''s Astral Soul like a Creature Core.

    Percy released a dozen floating lumen globes from his Storage Ring, each the size of a ping pong ball. Though his dark vision was sufficient, he did not trust the magically infused Divination more than his eyes of flesh and blood.

    Slowly, his vision adjusted, revealing the interior of the Xia''s lost domain.

    The air, what''s left, possessed insufficient oxygen to sustain a human visitor.

    Swiftly, he donned an enchanted mask intended for underwater adventures, then breathed deep as he took in the sight he had harkened after since the Kirin Soul''s revelations.

    Above his head, he saw a plaque composed in the old languages of the Xia, each character more cryptic than the last. Around him, jade murals of Kirin-kin showed a prosperous city that spanned the horizon of each vista in the octagonal tomb chamber, with Stoney vector lines coalescing toward the middle.

    And in the epicentre of the chamber, the root of the Jade Lode sat, a glorious emerald trunk of some stone-forged tree. Since immemorial, it had been appropriated by the Han Dynasty, built upon by the Tang, destroyed by the Yuan, and rebuilt by the Ming¡ªan edifice sandwiched between a thousand narratives of upheaval and destruction, reconstruction and repurpose. From his tour of Tianjin Tower, he knew that the PLA had never excavated beyond what they presumed to be the Lode''s capstone, somewhere between the bedrock laid by the Han and the Tang Dynasties, for the ley grew less stable the deeper they dug.

    Gingerly, feeling the call of destiny tingling in his fingers, Percy approached the Jade Lode''s trunk-like root.

    Closer, he could see that the base did not consist of rough and unpolished jade but scripts akin to Dwarven Runes, composed by the ancient Daoshi of the Xia, a lost system of Shamanism written in "Bone Script". In archaeology, such samples were usually found etched into the bones of slain Magical Creatures. Years ago, there had been immense interest in the script. However, to Percy''s knowledge, no Party research had yet succeeded in replicating "China''s" Dwarven Rune language.

    Slowly, with his heart pounding, Percy placed a hand upon the Jade Lode, first allowing his fingers to caress the runes, then imprinting his hand upon its sandpaper surface so that the odd shapes pulsed against his palm.

    The stone was warm.

    And it pulsed with¡­ life?

    "This¡­" he gulped, his state of being suddenly elevated as the realisation struck. "Is this an egg?"

    It is the legacy of the Kirin Tribe. The voice at the back of his skull echoed. It is the quintessence of that which formed the Kirin, the only vestige of their existence that remains untainted by the lustful Dragon-kin.

    Percy''s mouth felt dry despite the Water Breathing mask.

    "What¡­ what do I do with it?" He felt dizzy from the prospect. Hadn''t his sister found such an egg? Hadn''t she become the Vessel of an Old One due to her contract with its parent? And this¡ªthis sole Kirin egg. What did it mean for him? For his ascension?

    "Mei¡­" The bitterness in his mouth tasted like old tobacco cud. The cost he had to pay to get to this point was surely greater than Gwen''s.

    "What must I do?" Percy Song asked the darkness.

    Do as I instruct. The Kirin Soul''s hollow echo reverberated in his mind, banishing all doubt. This way, our rebirth lies.

    Jun Song, Hero of the Northern Campaign, spat a mouthful of Ashen Mana at the smouldering mass howling in frustration below.

    With the nation''s best Mage Flight still in Shanghai or Beijing, he knew that only he could overpower the "Named Beast" called Zodiam, a known Elemental Prince of the Brass Legion, the expeditionary force of the unknowable Mythics that made their home in the Elemental Plane of Fire.

    Zodiam was a formidable creature fortified by its possession of armaments. However, even without his weaponry, the Elemental noble was a Colossal Class monstrosity known as the Elder Fire Giant¡ªa race who made their home in the molten mountains within the Para-Elemental Plane of Magma.

    The problem was that the four-meter Giant wasn''t a footman but rode upon a Magma Ursine taller than the Fire Giant, possessing the girth and strength of a quadrupedal Dwarven Balefire.

    Furthermore, as the commander of his forces, Zodiam did not battle "alone". His cavalry was followed by its flaming, fervent supporters, the infamous Brass Legion from the Mageocracy''s Fire Sea, consisting of humanoid Salamander-kin equipped to the teeth with armaments and sorcery.

    From their enchanted pilums of brass, arrays of focused fire pounded the city''s defenders, keeping Jun''s Mage Flights from harassing them with sleet and hail, snow and ice.

    Without a doubt, the Fire Giant and its kin were the culprits behind the "volcanic" eruption at Tangshan, the emergence of which had induced the enormous quake prior. Hundreds of villages once existed in Tangshan, and two Districts lived beside its estuaries and gullies, all of which now fed the flames behind the Brass Legion''s advance, perishing in flame or suffocating from the burnt-up oxygen as the flocks of Ember Imps and Flame Mephits ran amok.

    To prevent a greater tragedy, Jun knew he had to stop Zodiam before he could penetrate the Resonance Barriers and destroy the Shielding Stations'' nodes.

    Therefore, he had recklessly descended, tapping not only into the Soul Well in his Kirin Amulet but the Essence gift of his father-in-law, the Yinglong.

    Unlike the first time he had risked his being in the north, he brought forth the full might of the Ashbringer, tearing the Material Plane asunder as his Avatar of Ash glowed white-hot, calling forth shrieking fragments of necrotic phosphorus upon his foes below.

    For the large part, his adversaries had not anticipated such a retaliation, for they closely clumped even as the incendiary Blizzard descended on the length of the city''s northern boundary. Mephits touched by the ashen assault instantly had withered and turned to soot. Salamanders who survived the attack grew insensible and dispassionate.

    Mighty Zodiam, his armour sizzling from the dissipating Ash corroding his skin and armour, had turned his enormous face upward to gaze at his attacker.

    And that was when Jun spat to clear his throat.

    "ZODIAM THE BUTCHER!" Jun''s Clarion Call echoed across the firmament. "COME AND MEET YOUR END!"

    "MORTAL!" The creature spat back. "DARE YOU CHALLENGE A PRINCE OF¡ª"

    CLANNNNG¡ª!

    Before the creature even realised, the sweet gong of an unstoppable force striking an immovable object acknowledged the rumour that his niece never fought with honour, that her underhanded methods had permeated the thinking of her underlings, and that she was something akin to a devil''s advocate, the whispering seductress of Capitalism.

    The Fire Giant grew suddenly airborne when a living line of lightning met Zodiam''s open mouth, followed by an eye-wincing headshot from a morning star tail so swift as to race the lightning itself.

    Zodiam fell¡ªor rather, rotated from his saddle, only to be snagged by the enchanted leather, dragging his Magma Ursine with him as he rolled over his whimpering minions.

    Just as Jun planned out his next act, the Thunder Dragon returned.

    Mao alive! He felt as impressed as he was horrified by the total lack of honour demonstrated by the lizard. Is this how Dragons fought?

    Indeed, the Thunder Dragon rolled its Dragon Fear over the cowering, silenced crowd of confused Elementals, then laid down another line of lighting as wide and far as a boulevard in Fudan, spontaneously inducing the volatile Salamander battalions to erupt into explosions of molten Magma.

    "ROAARRRR¡ªGURRK¡ª!" Zodiam protested, but was again cut short.

    CLANNNNG¡ª!

    The Giant attempted to rise but was unsuccessful, for Golos'' tail was leaving no quarter.

    Twice, the Fire Giant failed to untangle itself from the Ursine''s harness, only to be clobbered senseless.

    Over and over, the Ursine and Giant were routed by a passing trail of cobalt lightning that sent chunks of brass armour flying in every direction, cratering the pair further into the charred, sooty earth of their making.

    "Captain Jun." Jun''s Lieutenant drifted closer, his face clammy from the heat. "Do we attack as well? How about the Militia?"

    "Wait a bit.." Jun held off his men. Attired as they were in Gwen''s gifts of rare battle suits, the flames radiating from the howling Giant was no joke. "If this continues until Zodiam gives up, we''ll clean up. If not¡­"

    "GUAARRRRGHHH¡ª!"

    A volcano, or the closest thing to a localised geothermal ruption, concaved the battlefront.

    Tianjin''s long night turned briefly to day.

    First came the hysterical, retina-searing light, then the roaring BOOM¡ªa ring of total annihilation rang out with the shockwave, obliterating the urban landscape for kilometres in every direction.

    Jun and the men reeled from the blast, their Mage shields flaring into being as they fought the violent gale accompanying Zodiam''s anger. A few of his men were blown away, but Gwen''s armour reinforced their protective barriers, burning through its internal stores.

    Behind them, the shattering glass of the city''s skyscrapers was interrupted only by the sirens of evacuation vehicles and the clamour of human misery. The Shielding Stations were, even for an important Frontier like Tianjin, resonance barriers to stop Magical Creatures, not localised Force Domes projected by the superstructural Towers.

    A three-storey tall, bipedal bear made of honey-gold Magma stood in place of the Elemental Prince''s vanguard. Upon its back, finally freed of his constraints, was Zodiam, his brass armour now liquid and free-flowing, forming rune-imbued defences that levitated around his smouldering being. His only sign of injury was the broken ringlet around his head, made conspicuous by a line of yellow sulphur running down the side of his pitted, crag-cliff face.

    "INSOLENT WYRM!" The Giant roared from the back of his unshackled beast. "I''ll use your hide for a cushion!"

    Jun felt the approach of Golo as he returned to their lines. In its battle form, the familiar Essence radiating from the electricity-dripping Dragon reminded him of Ayxin, marking their familial bond as siblings.

    "Sir." His Lieutenant rubbed a thoughtful hand against his chin stubble. "Perhaps you should ride Lord Golos. We shouldn''t be outdone by a mere bear that''s not even a panda."

    The rest of his soot-faced men murmured agreement.

    Ahead, the Fire Giant raised both hands to the heavens as if in violent protest. His hands descended, pulling in a dramatic move resembling the tearing of metaphysical curtains from the fabric of space and time. Enormous rents materialised above the city''s northern quarter, followed by downward eruptions that spurt forth gouts of dark Magma and ruinous sulphur.

    His men groaned, their despair spreading like wildfire.

    As for the Militia below them¡ªJun doubted there were enough men or Golems left to make a difference.

    "I''ll take the Giant." His eyes were twin beads of glowering coal. "Golos, can you handle the bear?"

    "It''s Brother-in-law¡­" the Thunder Dragon grumbled. "And yes¡­ I''ll have the Ursine''s Core for siu yeh."

    Tianjin.

    Bohai Bay.

    As night briefly turned to day, the crew from Shalkar allowed themselves a few seconds of distraction.

    "Jun''s fine," Gwen reported to her cousins from her Empathic Link with Golos. "Gogo managed to trigger a transformation in the Fire Giant. I am glad it happened now rather than later, assuming we''re fighting Zod in the CBD itself."

    "Do you think Uncle Jun will halt the Elemental Prince?" Richard remarked as he refreshed his array of Water Shields, negating the necrosis-inducing slime slick that would have bogged down a lesser Abjurer.

    "For a few days, but not beyond that," Gwen confirmed. "Remember, we''re holding out to prolong the evacuation. Unless Shanghai and Beijing are willing to relent on their defences and come to our aid, it''s unlikely we''ll be able to repeal the Tide."

    "Will they come?" Richard asked.

    "I am expecting it." Gwen nodded as she repositioned her invisible Familiars for their tactic in the icy south. "The question, however, is when. How long would it take for the capital to organise a strike force capable of dealing with Zodiam? Or the Shoal? And will they overcome their paranoia?"

    "I hate it when we wait on others," Richard spat. "Why can''t the PLA be punctual, like the Elves? My God, Sanari would end this Shoal before sunrise."

    "Gwen. Necromancy Node, six O''clock, between the cluster of Crab-men and that Siege Breaker." Petra''s voice cut through the chaos of Gwen and Richard''s dodging of unmentionable projectiles.

    "Not inside the Kraken?" Gwen asked for confirmation as her eyes scanned the dark mass of oily, ichor-slick fish below. "They''re not that stupid, are they?"

    "The Tower reports the signature as reading Juche cultists," Petra''s voice kissed her ears. "And yes, not a Lich if they''re not hiding inside the Siege Beasts. I am anticipating the rank and file, albeit senior ones."

    "Fuck¡ª" Richard offered one last distraction as they dived downward. "They''re bombarding the city now that they can''t push past the Shielding Barriers. How Soviet of them."

    Gwen''s eyes were now focused on the space between the tentacles'' boiling mass and the hooded Necromancers'' Cabal between them. The months spent in the Antarctic had given her an insight into the operation of Necromantic Mermen hordes few possessed, particularly the regimented arrangement of control nodes and troop assignments, which were, as Richard remarked, almost Soviet in their consistency.

    "Ariel!" She gave the command, her hands rapidly forming the chained Glyphs for an upper-tier crowd-pleaser. "Barbanginy!"

    "EE-EE!"

    Twin bolts of emerald Chain Lightning, wicked as heavenly serpents, were joined by a third that emanated from herself, striking the pustule shielding of the Necromancer''s Cabal with such force that everything around it, including the coiled Kraken tentacle, was obliterated into atomic ash.

    Inside the shaded shielding, Gwen saw the Necromancers reel and fall like rag dolls, protected from instant vapourisation but not from the shock of tanking a rebuke from the Rainbow Serpent itself.

    "Caliban!"

    "SHAA¡ªSHAA¡ª!"

    Caliban descended, manipulating its internal stores of immense vitality to transform into an Afaa Al-Halak with its rotating circular maw.

    "Consume!"

    In one gulp, it wholesale swallowed the un-living platform of flesh the Necromancers used to make themselves near-invulnerable to external assaults.

    "Richard! We''re heading back!" She informed her cousin.

    ¡°Lea! Casading Barrier!¡± Richard''s invocation manifested near-instantly, though the magic took several seconds to materialise. From rents into the Elemental Plane of Water, a vertical waterfall, warped by his Undine, created a barrier a dozen meters thick and half-a-kilometre across between them and the shrieking Kraken below, catching its fire-hose jet of necrotic ink. The tail end of the waterfall struck the Kraken''s upper carapace, sending it sliding back into the sea.

    Gwen took a second to recollect herself as Caliban wrenched itself from the Kraken''s body, transforming into its Big-bird likeness as it took to the air, each delicate claw hand clutching a fistful of mangled squid. She quickly calculated the spatial distance between their present assault on the Shoal''s siege troops and the safety of their air space, then willed a Dimension Door into place.

    Flawlessly punctual, Richard arrived just in time to catch a ride on her coattails, borrowing her enormous mass of internal mana to teleport back with his cousin and employer.

    Without their controllers, the Undead began to disperse, their wills subject to their basest desires.

    "Alright, that''s three groups down." She circulated Essence and Mana while commanding Caliban to withhold its cargo for eventual expulsion into the Void. "Petra, what''s our next target?"

    "Eight kilometres, North-East, just off the shipping yard," Petra confirmed her readings from the Divination crew within the PLA''s Tower. "This one looks like a control node. No confirmation of a Lich, but the concentration of Necromantic mana is more significant. I''d hazard it''s one of those converted Sea Witches."

    Gwen nodded, circulating Almudj''s Essence to rid herself of the invasion of Negative Energy that always accompanied the abuse of her many talented Caliban.

    Beside her, Ariel arrived, purring but exhausted from the repeated use of its talent.

    "EE-ee¡­" Her creature nuzzled her sides.

    "I am fine," Gwen assured her Familiar, scratching the tuft of beard-fur under its lion-like jaws. She''d been feeding her creature rare Cores, but acquiring a true Dragon Core remained elusive. After all, it wasn''t as if Ruxin could ask his Dad if any up-and-coming bastards were as pure-blooded as expendable. "Rest up; it''s going to be a long night."

    Their eyes swept past the city below, once a glimmering tide of Human civilisation, now a glowering wasteland of volcanic ash, buried under the smokey fog of the Elemental siege. The lights in the city flickered, and the hot winds of war threatened from the north and east. Above the smoke haze, the Tower shone like a lighthouse beacon, keeping the tides of darkness at bay and the hounds of flame baying at its sheltered sanctum.

    "Whoa..." Gwen couldn''t help but remark as the sky lit up.

    From a distance almost too far to see, from uncertain rents in the sky, a meteor rain of Elemental Magma, each ore the size of a house, descended.

    "That''s a big rock," Richard remarked while sipping an Elf-brewed anti-Fatigue Potion, a peach-flavoured luxury afforded by Gwen''s connection to Tryfan. "The folks in the Divination Tower will feel that."

    The magma blast struck the corner of a projected Wall of Force, splitting in twain as its smaller breakages broke over the Tower''s invisible exterior barrier, cascading down the Tower''s flanks into the port below.

    The group collectively felt their hearts shudder as warehouses burst into flames, ships sunk from the impromptu rock fall, and priceless heavy equipment began to smoke and combust. From its place in the shadow of the Tower, Tianjin''s prized deep water dock was now a blazing bonfire growing larger with every minute.

    "Too risky to send in a fire crew." Richard''s brows twitched. "Petra, ask the Tower. Perhaps I could¡­"

    Her cousin''s sentence never finished, for he was now staring at an adjacent grid, where one of the port''s Shielding Station nodes sat upon its cylindrical concrete foundations.

    Gwen followed her cousin''s eyes. Richard''s spectacles were alive with micro-Runes of the Dwarven kind, an upgrade he had cashed through friendship with the foremen in the Bunker.

    "What''s wrong?"

    "I could swear that thing just winked on and off." Her cousin adjusted his glasses. "I hope it''s not too¡ª"

    The city winked out.

    The crew stared, their brains struggling to process the nature of the unnatural darkness, lit only by the fires of destruction, winding back the ancient city to the days of the Horse Lord''s long siege.

    The tide beyond the city''s limits churned with Undead.

    Above, a hazy moon loomed, barely visible from the frothing bay, full of the turbid ebb and flow of roaring surf and wailing war, clouded by the moaning groan of hungry mouths clambering for human flesh.

    The oppressive thrum was gone.

    "The Shielding Stations¡­" Gwen gulped.

    CALAMITY! The voice of Golos echoed inside her head. COME NOW! SOMETHING IS HAPPENING TO JUN! His body is flooded with Negative Energy! We''re abandoning the Front and returning to the Tower!

    In the temple that was her body, her heart rate blew through the ceiling, filling her vision with debris.

    DING¡ª! DING!

    DING¡ª! DING!

    Scarlet Blossoms announced a new emergency.

    The darkness below lasted only a few seconds, perhaps a dozen; it was impossible to tell. The confusion, alarm, struggle and flight that must have flooded every nook and cranny of the city''s glass and steel interior dispelled as backup generators kicked in, birthing hotspots of light in a vast and shadowy inland sea.

    Richard pinched his brows. "Jesus Christ¡­ here we go again."

    While Gwen insensibly tried to make sense of Golo''s warning and map out the best way to reach her uncle, Richard''s answer arrived in the form of shrieking thrums from the Shielding Stations nearest to the shore, suddenly made to compensate for the lost resonance of the past ten seconds: a pause that gave their gathered foes the necessary space to invade the regions in-between.

    The whining grew louder and louder as more and more Undead Mermen flooded inland, breaking through the bay, headed at the fore by Krakens, brutish and colossal, using their bodies as battle barges to soak up the struggling resonance waves seeking to disrupt their Creature Cores.

    In time, they would reach the Shielding Stations, heralding the city''s end.

    "Now we know it''s Spectre for sure." Her cousin''s voice cut through the cascading cacophony, affirming Gwen''s worst fears. "This is just like Sydney. Did they buy someone in the Tower? Maybe they''ve got a Walken problem too."

    Their gazes wandered to the Tower.

    Would it fall? Gwen felt her stomach lurch.

    But the Tower remained its stoic sentinel self. It did not titter nor falter, nor did the blackout impact its shielding as it continued to withstand the heavenly assault from the Fire Elemental legions to the north.

    "Do we¡­" Richard''s shock was brief. Cool as a refrigerated cucumber, he gestured to the roving mass of bodies moving into the city''s outer Districts like the dark water of an invading tsunami. "Should we defend the Shielding Stations?"

    Gwen forced herself to remain in control of her faculties.

    She had promised her uncle Jun that she would save the city with him.

    And she had promised Ayxin that she would bring back Uncle Jun no matter the cost.

    And then there was Evee. Where was she now? Had she come to help, and was she in the city? There was no better physician for Jun than the Yinglong''s Vessel.

    "Pats." Her mind moved once it attained its affirmations. "Find out where Elvia and her Knights are and bring her to Uncle Jun. I''ll also join her."

    "Uncle Jun is in trouble?" Petra''s eyes widened.

    "I don''t know¡ª" Gwen left the rest of her conversation to the Message device.

    The Tower was twelve kilometres away. With her current Elemental Affinity, she could manage over four hundred meters at the extreme of her Dimension Door.

    Her eyes scanned the invading Mermen Tide, led foremost by the colossal, death-rolling sea-beasts, polluting their advance with a carpet of tenebrous water that stank to high heaven.

    There was no chance the dockland''s Militia would survive without her aid.

    Her uncle or Tianjin?

    The answer couldn''t be more obvious.

    Elvia Lindholm, Knight Companion, felt her world fall into purgatory the instant Tianjin''s lights winked out.

    Her vision, against all her hopes, was coming true.

    Darkness, that terrifying edifice of nature, unfurled its great canvas and smothered the city from the dockland to the centre, stopping at the Districts with their independent generators, a dim barricade girdled around a darkling shore.

    Very soon, nearer to dawn, there would be fire and flood.

    Was the future immutable? She wondered. Was she an instrument of its creation? Is the will of the creator beyond Human knowledge?

    She waited for the depleted lights of the city to return¡ªfor in her vision, Tianjin still hung by a thread. The militias would throw themselves against the Undead horde, attempting to evacuate as many men and women as possible. Above them, an ashen Kirin would battle Gwen''s Thunder Dragon, raining death and desolation.

    Sir Kass and Reginald had reported that they could not find the boy within the Tower¡ªthough from what Elvia could see and recall, the Tower itself had remained unimpacted. In her vision, it was from its bays that Gwen would call upon the Shoggoth to cleanse the city¡ªand consign its survivors to sweet oblivion.

    And after that, her friend''s mental decline would begin.

    Elvia counted ten breaths. The lights winked on.

    "THERE! AT THE BASE PLATE!" Mathias steered her eyes with a drawn sword. "Something''s emerging!"

    Indeed, the already-fractured baseplate that once housed the Tianjin Tower was shuddering and groaning.

    With a supreme effort, a ripening body emerged, a broad-tipped spear covered with rich runes she could not discern. In a single thrust, it pierced through the steel-plated earth to appear on the surface like an obscene jadeite oyster mushroom.

    Essence¡ªnot the Essence of life, as characterised by the Yinglong and her Dragon children, but the Essence of one who usurps, that of Elemental Ash, poured forth as a fount of un-life.

    "What in the name of the Nazarene¡­" Mathias paused in his Messaging of their fellow Protectors. "Is this Percy Song''s doing?"

    Elvia did not know, for her mind was focused on the energy flow within the Ley-lines powering the city. This jade artefact¡ªwhatever it was, was creating a new locus, diverting the ebb and flow of what had been the baseplate unto itself, harnessing the land''s energy to feed its ravenous interior.

    In rapid succession, its Glyphs pulsed thrice.

    A fourth pulse rang out, invisible to the mortal eye, felt only by those trained to recognise ancient Necromancy.

    A circular halo of visible entropy spread from the jade lode''s centre, consuming everything in its path, wilting trees and grass, and when it passed over the confused soldiers still milling about the exterior of the base, they too were turned into powdery, ashen husks.

    Life¡ªvitality¡ªEssence¡ªall of it then fed back into the jade lode.

    Elvia baulked at the familiarity of the sensation¡ªfor she had seen this in the past.

    Gwen''s Kirin Amulet.

    Her friend''s amulet had performed the same thing: only it had passively drawn inward the Essence of the creatures Gwen had slain. In the past, she had thought the process wonderous and magical¡ªnow she knew its true purpose.

    Even though she was over a dozen kilometres away, Elvia felt the tug-of-war on her Astral Soul initiated by the obscene artefact''s hunger¡ªafter which her Draconic Essence boiled like heated mercury.

    Realisation dawned like a fresh morning at Bondi.

    An EGG!

    An epiphany¡ªElvia knew what she had to do.

    Everything that had happened so far.

    Gwen''s amulet. Percy''s escape.

    All of her choices were not misguided after all.

    Thanks to her premature intervention, the egg was not yet hatched! Its cargo of Ashen Kirin remained in its ancient womb¡ªand she, the Yinglong''s Vessel, would snuff the infant before it could breathe the air of the living!

    "Mathias! With me! Recall the Senior Knight Protectors!" She kicked her flying gear into maximum output. "We''re going to destroy that¡ª"

    DING¡ª!

    A Message spell bloomed, its gold-laced scarlet hue indicating the highest possible priority, with no option for silence.

    "Evee! Come to me!" The voice of Gwen resounded in her ear. "Something''s happened to Uncle Jun! The amulet is draining his vitality! I don''t have the means to remove it, and I can''t sustain Jun for long! I am sending you the coordinates! Come immediately!"

    Elvia froze in her tracks.

    ACCURSED PROPHECY! Her mind roared, her thoughts no less turbulent than the molten gale from the rampaging Elemental Prince in the north.

    The Egg!

    Or Jun?

    Which was her duty?

    What would require her sacrifice?

    Or would a momentary indecision spell the failure of both choices?

    If only she could tear herself in twain!

    "Lady Lindholm?" Mathias drifted to a stop just ahead. "What''s is your will?"

    Elvia regarded her Knight.

    An idea¡­ a dire, terrible idea came to her mind.

    "Mathias, we must save Captain Jun¡­" She pointed toward Gwen''s Message, where the Tower shuddered against the pounding of catapulted Magma. Holding up both hands, she materialised her Ginseng Spirit. "Matt. Take Sen-sen. Sen-sen will be able to sustain Lord Jun."

    "What about you?" Mathias¡¯ brows knitted. "What are you intending to do?"

    "I shall stifle the egg." Elvia gave him a stiff smile. "Tell Sir Reginal and Kass to meet me as soon as possible."

    "Impossible!" Mathias protested, his hands moving to prevent her from flying forward. "I cannot allow that."

    "Mathias." Elvia''s faith-laced garb glowed as the Yinglong''s Dragon Fear radiated from every pore of her skin, freezing her Knight in place. Gently, she placed Sen-sen in his arms, draping the tendrils around his shoulders. "Take Sen-sen and deliver it to Gwen. I shall not ask again."

    Mathias'' Icon of the Shield-Sun of St Michael grew suddenly bright. A brief halo appeared overhead as the Dragon Fear was broken. "Elvia! You can''t!"

    "I shall." Elvia felt infused by what could either be the Yinglong''s approval or the will of a higher power. Her blue irises glowed golden as her Faith-fuelled Relic filled her conduits with Humanity''s original magic. "And I will. Go now, Mathias; if Jun perishes because Sen-sen did not arrive in time, I shall never forgive you."

    Her Knight Protector gritted his teeth, but Elvia knew the man could only obey.

    "Sen!" her Ginseng affirmed her will, evidently understanding its sacred duty. Elvia did not doubt Sen-sen''s awareness, for it was through the Ginseng that the Yinglong had found her. Sen-sen, across distance and time, could expend her life force for her patients, aided by the boundless vitality stored within Sen-sen''s bearded body.

    "I can''t fly back in time," Mathias gave a final protest. "And our rings are attuned to Pudong Tower."

    Unperturbed, Elvia handed her Knight the ring they had recovered from the girl Mei¡ªPercy''s original Contingency Ring for Tianjin Tower. Though it was made null for Percy, any other user with the right clearance and mana signature could still activate its dumb-fire magic circuitry.

    "See?" She smiled at her Knight. "The Nazarene instructs us in mysterious ways. Have Faith, Mathias. It''s all we have."

    Mathias took the ring from her hands, then slipped the hoop over his armoured gauntlet.

    "Evee¡­ Take care."

    A blink later, the Knight was gone in a streak of sublime light, gone to the belly of the Tower with Sen-sen, ready to administer aid to Gwen''s uncle.

    Ahead below, the Kirin Egg''s ashen-Essence slowly gathered, ready for another pulse of life-stealing, Essence drinking conflagration.

    Senechal Ashburn''s gifted Relic glowed warmly in her hand.

    How nice it is, Elvia thought as her body plummeted toward the pulsing egg of the unborn Kirin. To finally know one''s destiny.

    Across his two decades of life, Percy Song had never felt so close to death than in the moment of his literal ascension.

    When he had activated the jade egg with the ancient Necromancy taught to him by Guo Song from the family''s hidden manuals, the Vessel of the Kirin''s will suddenly began to expand, activating a mechanism he had not anticipated nor understood.

    Even as ashen Essence spilt out from the jade lode, numbing his senses and turning his body insensible, he saw the ceiling rapidly approach as the platform that housed the egg ascended, tearing upward with no heed for the two thousand years of construction that had occurred since it was laid.

    A hastened Stone Shape, interwoven with his Mage shielding, was thankfully activated by the Kirin Soul housed in his Astral Body, giving Percy enough time to regain his footing.

    Once the initial chaos ended, Percy found himself in darkness, suddenly alone and inexplicably afraid.

    Slowly, carefully, he orientated himself in his tomb.

    He had done it.

    He had done everything the Kirin Soul asked.

    The problem was¡­ he wasn''t sure if he had gained anything.

    His Astral Body remained as it was before.

    There was no spark, no emerald mote of Essence.

    No changes to speak of, nothing akin to what he had heard from Gwen in speaking of her experiments with Magister Wen.

    Nothing.

    But that was impossible.

    It was impossible because he felt the un-life radiate from the jade egg''s root, leaving him untouched. If the Kirin was insensible and indiscriminate, why would he have lived?

    It took him a few minutes, but finally, his Stone Shape moved by sheer memory into what remained of the access tunnel. The interior was full of choking dust, but the ancient walkway had yet to collapse, much to his relief.

    Carefully melting the rubble as he flew, he navigated by the dim lilac glow of his Transmutation.

    Cloistered on all sides by claustrophobia, he felt a new paranoia.

    What if the Yinglong''s slaves were to find his Kirin egg?

    What would the PLA think of the suddenly emerging egg? Should he claim it? Or should he claim innocence?

    To leave the egg unattended was like slicing off a layer of his flesh.

    He was its discoverer. He was its saviour and was owed a debt of its gratitude. Wasn''t that why the Old One had founded an accord with his sister? He, Percy Song, had freed this creature from near-eternal slumber!

    His progress hastened. He could crawl on all fours now in the walkway. This far, the exit would take him away from the epicentre,

    As his upward traverse took him past the concrete and rebar of the man-made structure, a voice of reason intruded into his clouded mind, asking important questions like, what am I going to do now? Will the Yinglong relent in its influence on the PLA''s upper members? Even if the Kirin egg hatches, what good would it do for me?

    "Mighty Kirin," he spoke to the darkness ahead. "What will become of the Egg?"

    And what will become of me? He thought intently.

    Peace, young one. The voice answered, as distant as it was wise. Escape, and I will show you what must be done.

    Percy, his heart no more glad nor full of surety, stumbled forward into the darkness, his eyes scanning for the sliver of light that signalled the tunnels'' exit into the industrial district of the city''s western quarter.

    It was a terrible and empty feeling, he thought. To suddenly not know the destination of one''s destiny.

    But trudge on he must, and he followed the tunnel doggedly until he arrived at the slightly ajar stone slab that would take him into a catacomb, above which was the lonesome temple, the sole reminder of the city''s vibrant past in an industrial wasteland of factory yards and warehouses.

    With some effort, he moved the stone slab, then crawled on all fours through the narrow, muddy gap stinking of mildew and mould until he caught the heavy stone panel he had originally removed to access the tunnels.

    "Enhanced Strength." Percy heaved, moving the enormous block of stone against the slippery moss until he could squeeze through.

    Outside, the air stank of ozone and sulphur, making every breath laborious and unpleasant.

    He reached for his mask.

    DODGE! The command from the Kirin soul came as sudden as the magic it activated. Risking permanent damage to his body, Percy Dimension Doored just as an ear-splitting SCHWIIIIING¡ª roared past his head, narrowly missing him by an inch.

    He reappeared above the temple and dodged another zinging SCHWIIIIING¡ª that almost split him in twain, finally landing on the roof. The implement that attacked him continued to fly, striking the factory wall behind him with such force that the galvanised iron wall imploded as though crunched by a displeased giant.

    "Fortification of Salt¡ª! Diamond Chitin! Crystalline Barrier!" His best defensive spells manifested one after another, one by himself and the others by the Kirin soul. His body turned milk-white as empowered, compressed salt grew into place, one against his skin, another as armour, and the other as a disposable shell around him.

    "Who goes there!" He shouted to the night, noting the female figure hovering mid-air.

    More acutely, he noted the six-other slabs of pale jade rotating around her, waiting to be launched.

    "Lu¡ªLulan Li?!" His eyes widened. "What the hell are you doing here?"

    The girl did not answer.

    But her blades answered in song.

    SCHWIIIIING¡ª!

    SCHWIIIIING¡ª! SCHWIIIIING¡ª! SCHWIIIIING¡ª!

    "Blink!" Percy knew he had to open the distance and find cover, for the girl''s close combat was her first and foremost profession. Rapidly dodging the crashing sword slabs, he zig-zagged across the factory yard, using the heavy machinery as crumpling shields to prolong his life.

    Kirin Spirit! His mind furiously searched for an answer to his new crisis. "Do something!"

    "Dimension Door!" His body winked out of existence, sparing an eye blink for the kissing slabs. A split-second slower, only minced meat would have reappeared on the roof.

    Unbidden, he raised a hand toward the horizon. The Negative Energy inside his body raged and boiled; the Elemental Salt coursed through every conduit¡ªthen burst forth from his palm to strike at the heavens.

    A flare flew out.

    "What the hell are you doing?" Percy retracted his hand, his Divination senses flashing in response to the girl''s newly manifested blades. Behind the silhouette of her rust-armoured combat suit, they hovered like the heads of serpents, forming the visage of an eight-headed Naga.

    Above him, his released mana exploded, forming a strange firework in an irregular Rune-like pattern he had never seen.

    Did the Kirin Soul call for the Kirin? Percy wondered, a sudden hope alive in his chest. It better have... How else am I going to survive Gwen''s mad dog?

    "Did Gwen send you?" He shouted at the woman. "Tell her to see me! Grandfather will never stand for it!"

    Lulan Li twirled her blades.

    They began to vibrant and thrum.

    Percy understood that the girl had merely taken his question time to reapply penetration magic on her swords.

    "I don''t HAVE the Amulet!" Percy shouted at the woman. "Why are you doing this?"

    BANG!

    SCHWIIIIING¡ª!

    The sound of a launching sword and its passage past him was almost one sound. Percy dodged¡ªor thought he did, for the eruption of Salt around him meant the Kirin Spirit had used its supernatural senses to command his armoured shell to expend itself.

    His world briefly erupted in powder.

    His chest felt like it was on fire. His mana conduits felt clogged.

    All seven remaining blades twirled.

    "LULAN!" Percy howled, begged, putting up both hands. "STOP¡ªI SURRENDER! "

    The swords launched, the explosion propelling them so loud as to fill Percy''s head with white noise.

    For a brief moment, Percy''s life flashed before his eyes like a montage carousel reel. He thought of the Kirin Egg, his future, and the life he should have had under the PLA. He thought of his grandparents, his doting Yeye and his forever gentle Babulya. He thought of Mei, whom he would never meet again¡­ and Hai¡­ and Gwen.

    He had wanted more from life.

    A heartbeat later, his vision cleared.

    He was not dead. His head was not split nor severed, nor was his body turned to burger meat.

    Instead, his eyes focused on a woman.

    A woman in black, wearing what might be a funeral dress, but elaborate beyond compare, a hugging gown that conformed to her flawless figure, exposing only her frail white face, set against a full head of dark hair that fell like an obsidian waterfall.

    She was tall like Gwen, and her aura reminded him of his sister.

    Ahead of the woman, he saw the opening of a dozen slits. From these rents in space, tentacles tipped with lamprey maws held onto or had caught in their rubbery flesh, the projectiles launched by Lulan Li.

    As for his assailant, only a sudden burst of Mythril-hued Conjuration mana remained to mark her last location.

    The woman, his sudden saviour, slowly turned, her head half-cocked to inspect her prize.

    Percy gulped, then gasped.

    The woman''s immaculate complexion was as fair as mutton jade. Her eyes were twin pools of baby blues, so blue that they made his heartache. What was most alluring, however, were her lips, ruby red they were¡ªand full and sensual and wet with what he hoped wasn''t fresh blood.

    "How interesting," the woman spoke to herself as their eyes met. "You''re not one of us, and yet, how did you know about the Mythic cache? How did you know how to activate our hidden Ace? Besides, you''re a bit young¡­ and far too feeble to factor into our Accord¡­ so who, or indeed, what are you?"

    The familiarity of the woman''s face was arresting enough to prevent Percy from speaking. His mind stuttered and shook, shuddered and scraped his frontal lobe for recollection until he finally found the most undesirable answer in the world.

    "S¡ªSOBEL!" The syllables burst from his lips like a gutful of sickness.

    The woman smiled, revealing pearly teeth that made her lips shine like polished hematite.

    "So you do know me." She took a step forward. "I would hope so, for you had used my personal Sigil. Yet, we''ve never met in any of the organisation''s meetings, have we?"

    Percy wanted to flee. Knowing the purposelessness of such an act, he remained frozen in place.

    Elizabeth Sobel, the butcher of Sydney, the killer of Gwen''s Master, leaned in until she was close enough to kiss.

    "There is something about you, child," her eyes were two pools of bottomless water. "Why are you so familiar to me? Why is your scent so¡­ endearing?"

    Before he could answer, the horizon grew bright with unnatural light.

    A tremendous shard of light the size of a multi-storey building and roughly sword-shaped had manifested in the direction of the Kirin Egg and was now descending toward its unseen target below.

    "Hmm¡­" Elizabeth Sobel straightened herself. "That is most definitely not Zodiam."

    Percy''s eyes followed the woman''s hands as they drew a strange Glyph in the air. In the next few seconds, smaller lampreys of the Void variety slithered from the aether to arrest his unmoving, uncomplaining limbs.

    Percy whimpered. He had seen what Gwen had made hers do to her foes.

    "Ah, I wondered why her mana was so familiar. I think I know the girl¡ªunlike you¡ªmy strange little curio. No matter. Let''s visit our cute little Faith User," she gave him a gentle smile before willing a dark portal into being. "Such busy little bees, these priests and nuns of the Ordo Bath."

    S-SPATIAL TRAVERSE! Percy recognised the spell. A tier eight personal movement spell noted to be extremely dangerous. Unlike Teleportation, it tore the space between the Prime Material and stitched a wormhole through the Mage''s Plane of Affinity.

    As the shockwaves of his discovery wore off, his trained mind informed him in a far more objective manner than he preferred that Elizabeth Sobel was now abducting him.

    Kirin Soul! Where are you?! His inner voice called into the void.

    There was no answer from the darkness.

    "Don''t fret, and don''t look so confused," the woman''s laughter was like tinkling bells. "Come, my dear. If you''ve gone so far as to unbox the Mythic''s Egg, the least I could do is see it through, for all our sakes..."

 Chapter 480 - 483 - I shall be Glad of Another Death

    Tianjin.

    The Tower.

    Gwen Song, Regent of Shalkar and preeminent guest of the city''s defenders, sat in the lotus pose behind her uncle, channelling her immense cargo of vitality into Jun Song''s rapidly depleting Astral Body.

    She dared not use Almudj''s Essence, for the serpent would not know of Jun nor her feelings for the great man and would perceive her uncle as a "stranger" to be rebuked.

    "Uncle, please wake up..." She spoke to the back of Jun''s broad back. Her temple throbbed, her frontal lobe blissfully unburdened by the carnage in the city below. Her only desire now was to see her uncle healed, for which she was willing to pay any price.

    "Gwen." Her Babulya''s voice was calm and soothing. "Keep your flow of vital energies consistent."

    Only Klavduya had the clearance to join the private recuperation chamber provided by the Tower. There was foremostly the matter of skill¡ªand then there was the issue of the Song''s family secret, which the Tower chose to respect. As for her Yeye, the Patriarch had confidently declared that he trusted them to pull Jun through and would remain firm in his service to the "people" in this dire time.

    Her grandfather''s trust was welcome, but unlike her professionally trained Babulya, she felt ten thousand Fire Ants eating away at her innards, simultaneously invading her lungs and arteries. That Jun''s Mother could be so calm was a testament to the enormity of her grit, for Gwen wanted nothing less than to scream and shout for her Clerical companion to arrive at this precise instant.

    Her Babulya''s fingers wove another pattern in the air, forming incantation after incantation, each aided by the complex tools the machine nurses had set up to infuse Jun with as many injectors as his alchemical limits could sustain.

    On her uncle''s chest, the usually benign Kirin Amulet was the colour of pale bone, its semi-opaque surface pulsing with what appeared to be tiny veins. From what she could see, the amulet''s jade flesh had fused into Jun''s skin, nesting violently and bloodily into the space between his collarbones.

    "He''s not getting better¡­" Gwen mumbled.

    "No, he is not," her grandmother muttered, a sickening utterance as profane as her uncle''s comatose body when Golos had arrived in the Tower as a winged fury. "Its Necromantic drain is not aimed at his body."

    "What is it, then?" Gwen asked, feeling her vitality being pulled into the Kirin Amulet, something like a reversal of when she had used the Core to absorb the Essence of her newly slain foes.

    "It''s attempting to replenish¡­" Her Babulya mopped the sweat from Jun''s brow with her fingers, evaporating the perspiration as she maintained the vitality of her son''s mana organs. "The Soul Well, I assume. For reasons we all know, the Songs never did investigate their heirloom on an academic level."

    "Gogo says that the jade protrusion outside might have something to do with it." Gwen maintained the vitality flow, not even considering that she might eventually exhaust herself. "I saw something similar in Burma that was used by Ruxin. It''s a node anchor concerning the city''s ley lines. It likely has something to do with that power failure we saw."

    And if the Jade Pillar was similar to Ruxin''s device, then was the Yinglong involved? Her mind steered close to an unlikely conspiracy. But the paranoia was improbable, for the Yinglong would never harm Ayxin''s husband, at least according to her new aunt.

    DING¡ª! A Message bloomed.

    The door to the circular operating chamber opened.

    "SEN¡ª!" The sound of the Ginseng''s incoherent speech was sweet music to Gwen''s ears.

    "Evee¡ª!" She called out, fully expecting to see her saviour, her blonde-haired goddess, appear and make everything alright.

    "Companion Lindholm is preoccupied." The face that answered her was not that of sweet Evee but the grim visage of Sir Mathias Rothwell.

    The Knight clunked into the sterile chamber in full battle armour, both arms cupping the fibrous Ginseng saviour.

    "Matty?" Gwen peeked behind the man just in case. "Why are you here? Where''s Evee?"

    "She''s dealing with the Kirin Egg." Mathias dropped a bomb with a word. "But she hopes to join you soon."

    Her body threatened to jump up and holler, "A WHAT?" However, her present duty was to her uncle. From Mathias'' arm, Sen-sen climbed from the Knight''s armour, skirted around her entirely, and then arrived in the lap of her Babulya.

    "Are you here to help, little one?" Her grandmother was no stranger to Elvia''s Flora Sprites.

    "Sen¡ª!" The Ginseng nestled itself, then distended its arms until its root network invaded and entwined around Jun''s torso. "Sen¡ªSen¡ªSEN¡ª!" It waved at the Knight.

    "With that, I shall be on my way back to Companion Lindholm." Having delivered his cargo, the Knight Protector excused himself for the door.

    "Is Elvia in danger?" Gwen felt her chest tighten.

    "Not when I left," the Knight replied. "And hopefully not when I return."

    Gwen nodded. Right now, she had to see that her uncle was safe.

    At the edge of her vision, the Knight paused at the chamber''s threshold. "Magister Song?"

    "Yes, Matty?"

    "Even now, Elvia is thinking of you," Mathias said. "Please do not forget that."

    For some reason, the man''s reassurance only served to rekindle her paranoia. Should she go and see Elvia? Was her uncle alright now, with the help from Sen-sen?

    "Gwen," her babulya interrupted her dithering. "Extricate yourself. Go to your friend if you have to. Sen-sen and I shall take it from here."

    Gwen waited until she could feel the flow of vitality from the root vegetable before she withdrew her arms. Suddenly, a wave of dizziness struck, one dispelled a breath later by the recirculation of her Almudj''s Essence.

    On the operating bed, Sen-sen''s tendrils began to crackle with a faint blue tint, signalling the channelling of the Yinglong''s Essence into Jun''s body.

    Almost immediately, Jun''s deathly-pale face took on a healthier hue. The Yinglong''s Essence was counteracting the parasitic invasion of the Kirin Amulet.

    "Thank Sen-sen for that." Gwen relaxed a little. "Mathias?" She searched for the Knight.

    Evee''s Knight Protector was gone.

    "Don''t tell me he just left¡­"

    "Rushing to your friend, as his oath dictates." Her grandmother''s words were wise as always. "Elvia is fine, at least right now. She is on the other end of Sen-sen''s healing, vigorously channelling the Yinglong''s Essence."

    "Righto." Gwen felt a warm wave of relief wash over her. Tilting her head, she leaned in closer to the Ginseng. "Evee, can you hear me? Where are you now?"

    "Sen!" The Ginseng recoiled from the butcher of its limbs.

    "Stop intimidating Sen-sen," her Babulya shooed her away with her eyes. "It''s said that its mistress is busy or something like it."

    Making an internal promise to never de-limb Sen-sen again, Gwen''s gaze landed on the amulet still adhered to her uncle''s chest. Though still lodged within Jun''s flesh, the horrible veins had somewhat retracted. "Babulya, when and how will you remove that?"

    "Let Jun stabilise first." Her grandmother also appeared haler after seeing Jun''s markedly improved health. "I can feel the Yinglong''s mana forming a barrier around it, nullifying¡­ whatever the Song''s shamanistic sorcery had failed to dislodge."

    Her Babulya mopped more sweat from her son''s forehead. "I should have asked Jun to remove it long ago. We could have given it to you after the wedding if we just upset your grandfather a little. I doubt this could have happened with your blessing from Almuldj."

    "But Percy..." Gwen''s recollection landed upon the promise her uncle had made in Huangshan.

    "Of course, there also exists the probability Percy would be wearing both pieces," her Babulya told her an unfortunate truth.

    "I see¡­ wait¡­P-Percy!" Gwen jumped at the name. "Is he alright? What''s happening with his piece?"

    "He should be too far away to be affected by whatever is occurring here," her grandmother assured her. "I hope he''s doing his job of looking after Ayxin. If something happened, we''d know about it by now."

    Now that her uncle''s health was improving, Gwen tasted a very unpleasant bitterness in her mouth, a foulness she recognised as guilt. She had withdrawn from the heat of the battle to ensure her uncle was alright, leaving the Undead free reign to frolic within the city''s inner Districts.

    How many men and women who had initially cheered for her were still alive? And if so, were they still fighting? When she withdrew, so had Golos, leaving no Flight nor Mage capable of pushing back the Brass Legion.

    SHIEEEEEEK¡ª The theatre''s doors opened without warning.

    A man with an entourage stood at the entryway. From his regal attire and rank slip, she recognised the Magister to be Tianjin''s Tower Master.

    "Magister Song. Regent."

    "Tower Master."

    All slightly bowed their heads.

    Gwen bowed slightly, her palms sweaty as the suspicion of an admonishment for leaving the PLA''s men grew.

    "How''s Captain Jun?" the man asked her grandmother.

    "Recovering, though not out of danger yet," her grandmother replied. "What''s the matter, Secretary Wong?"

    "Percy Song is your grandchild and the Regent''s brother, correct?" The Tower Master, his face as guilty-looking as her own, did not correspond to her expectations. "If so, I fear I bring dire news."

    "About¡­?" Gwen did not need her Divination Sigil to know that shit was about to hit the fan.

    "There was a thwarted attack on Lord Ayxin''s pavilion. The details are unclear, but mother and child are unharmed, and the CCDI is investigating."

    "WHAT¡ª?!" Gwen had to fight her Australian instincts from unleashing a string of vibrant expletives. "Then, is Percy alright?"

    "About that. My men just told me about receiving Magus Percy Song an hour ago. He had arrived in the infirmary with a sword wound, received healing, then disappeared."

    "The little shithead! He came here?"

    Her babulya''s fingers paused, though the old woman quickly regained focus. "Gwen, speak with the Secretary outside."

    Nodding, Gwen and the Tower Master stepped out and shut the glass barrier.

    "You don''t know where he''s gone?" she continued her inquiry on her wayward brother.

    "Worry not. Percy was fully healed before he left." The Tower Master waited on her before speaking again. "Magister Song. Not to dismiss your worries, but please listen. I''ve spoken to Secretary-General Miao Yang-B¨°, and we have decided that we need your help and discretion with the developing events in Tianjin."

    "The Shoggoth?" Gwen guessed the man''s thoughts at once.

    The Tower Master lowered his head. "It is best to cut our losses where possible. We''re willing to forgo the northern port, the greater inlet, and the surrounding Districts. The members of the Inner Party have already delivered their consent, as has Central."

    How typical. Old men talk, and young men die, Gwen mouthed silently to herself as she studied the stooped figure of the Tower Master, a man who usually bowed to no one. However, neither the Shoggoth nor the city was her concern right now.

    If Uncle Jun''s Kirin Amulet had gone cannibalistic, what did that portend for her brother?

    "Can you find Percy now?" She asked.

    "Perhaps." The Tower Master opened both hands to communicate his lack of knowledge. "Mao knows why he left his devices in the Tower. We''ve since recovered them¡­ but your brother was gone."

    FUCK! Gwen felt her brain swell against her skull. What the fuck was Percy thinking? Playing hero? Did the boy want to outshine their Uncle Jun or what?

    "Then find him." Her tone grew less accommodating and kind. "Pardon my frustration, Tower Master, but you want me to land a Shoggoth in the city''s limits without finding my brother, who might be among them? Do you think I am willing to do that?"

    The Tower''s highest authority nodded as if expecting her answer. "In an ongoing conflict zone, Regent Song, the resources required from our Diviners to use Clairvoyance and manually search for one wayward boy would be extremely ill-advised."

    Gwen placed both lands on her stubborn hips.

    "¡­That said," The Tower Master continued without missing a beat." I have given the order, and the team is now searching potential hotspots for Percy Song''s whereabouts."

    Gwen forced her resting bitch-face to relax.

    "I apologise." She bowed her head at the Tower Master. "Shall we retreat to the control room then? Magus Kuznetsova shall draw the Mandala while we wait. As for the summoning location, I shall require an independent platform with Force Shielding and about fifty-thousand HDMs of raw minerals as consumables. Petra will have the rest of the materials on hand. An official request must also be sent to The Shard in London, though I''ll authorise it now."

    "How long would it take to establish the Mandala?" The Mage followed up with an important question.

    "As long as it takes." Gwen''s tone grew cold once more at the Tower Master''s impatience. "To find my brother and retrieve him."

    Tianjin.

    The Base Plate.

    Elvia Lindholm, Knight Companion, Vessel to the Yinglong, was happy in the existential certainty that this was the junction in which her destinies entwined.

    In her right hand, her imbued Relic of the Ordo Bath, nourished by the Faith of a billion believers over a century, rapidly unravelled its psychic energy, bringing down a golden claymore of St George upon its sinful objective.

    In her left hand, with the throbbing of her vital energies pounding in tune with her palpitating heart, her store of Positive Energy fled into the aether, fuelling the healing prowess of her Ginseng Spirit.

    CRACK¡ªBOOOM¡ª!

    The jackhammer claymore rose and fell again, driving itself into the risen monolith that was the Kirin''s Egg. With each strike, she felt acutely the scattering of its collated energies, like dust falling from a tin roof assailed by hammering hailstones.

    On the surface of the egg, cracks and fissures as fine as spider webs could be seen with the naked eye, their interiors glowing golden with the invasive power of Faith, transforming the smooth, crystalline exterior into the likeness of a Kintsugi artefact.

    CRACK¡ªBOOOM¡ª!

    Her complexion waned. The exhaustion of delivering destruction and repair was not something she had considered, for her flesh desired rebellion and her Astral Soul threatening wholeheartedly to sunder itself should the stress remain unabated.

    But none of that mattered to Elvia. Not the agony of her conduits nor the threat of losing her magical abilities.

    Right now, Jun Song was being saved.

    In a dozen minutes, the Kirin Egg would be sundered.

    To ask for more would be an arrogance worthy of a cardinal sin.

    "Companion Lindholm!" The voice accosting her arrived in the wake of two silvery meteors, each landing a fair distance apart to not disturb her multi-casting.

    Without delay, Sir Kass and Reginald took up defensive positions, invoking the Faith-fuelled protection of their armour to shield herself and her body from evil.

    "The Nazarene saves." Elvia gave them each her warmest smile as the men took their places, their Abjuration magic filling her unprotected body with confidence. "Thank you for arriving so soon."

    "When Mathias said he had to leave you," Sir Kass confessed behind his ceremonial Crusader''s Visor. "I had feared the worst."

    "I was certain we would find you being assailed or worse by that snivelling Necromancer." Sir Reginald grinned before affirming their defences with a Greater Bless, turning them into golden beacons. "How long til the Kirin Egg is cooked?"

    CRACK¡ªBOOOM¡ª!

    Sir Kass made a happy whistle as the ring of dust rang out.

    "The shell should fall within the quarter hour." Elvia read the damage of her spell to her party. "Assuming that''s the end of it."

    "Whatever may come, we shall endure." Sir Reginald''s voice sounded like ringing steel as he tapped into the Sigil by his right pauldron. "By his rod and staff, though we walk through the valley of the shadow of death, we shall fear no evil¡ªGreater Heroism!"

    The upper-tier blessing rang out, its impact upon their bodies pealing like a church bell, removing the weakness of human doubt from the blessed few. Elvia felt bathed in holy water, her mind focusing easier now that her Knight Protectors had given their word.

    In truth, not even she had expected that aid would arrive before her circumstances turned dire. As Sir Reginald had joked, events usually took a turn for the worse at the worst possible time. If she were with Gwen, an Undead Abomination might fall out of the sky to ratchet upward the narrative tension of the moment.

    Now, even if the PLA were to accost her over Percy or Mei, she had someone who could spare the time and effort to explain. Likewise, if an agent of Spectre or an Elemental should find them, Sir Reginald and Kass should be able to fend them off for some time.

    CRACK¡ªBOOOM¡ª!

    Her surroundings flared as forge fire sparks cascaded, casting shadows in every direction.

    "WHO GOES THERE¡ª?" Sir Kass levelled his Spellblade, instantly illuminating the southern corner of their perimeter, revealing the silhouette of a young man.

    "Good Lord!" Sir Reginald''s voice rose by several decibels, though his stance did not move a millimetre. "Percy Song! What sick miracle is this?"

    Elvia as well had to redouble her mind''s focus.

    Why would Percy Song return to them of his own free will? Did Gwen''s brother have a suicide wish?

    From what she knew of the boy''s abilities, he could barely take on Mathias, much less a Senior Knight Protector like Reginald or Kass.

    "Hold your position," Kass spoke through his visor slit. "This has to be a trick."

    Elvia raised her right hand.

    The golden claymore lifted into the air.

    CRACK¡ªBOOOM¡ª!

    "That''s my egg!" The figure of Percy Song shouted at them, both arms raised in protest. Though soiled by mud and debris from hair to ankle, the boy seemed unscathed by Mathias'' strike. "How dare you try to destroy what''s mine!"

    "What a proud admission of guilt." Sir Kass''s voice grew low and dangerous. "We''ll wield that against you, boy. When we return your corpse to your disappointed family."

    "So the little Judas is responsible for the city''s fall." Sir Reginald''s aura grew suddenly sharp. "Can you even fathom how many innocents died? Kass, cover me."

    Sir Kass'' faith shield doubly enveloped all three of them as Sir Reginald''s Flame of Wrath manifested, ready to deliver heaven''s disdain. In the sacred texts, it is said that aeons ago, such a sword had punished the Israelites for King David''s trespass of God''s will.

    "May the Nazarene have mercy on your soul, boy!" The Knight swung his sword.

    Without the need for Elemental Spellcraft, tapping into no rents in the Axis Mundi, a flamberge almost six meters long and half a meter from edge to edge fell upon the figure of Percy Song.

    Where the blade landed, pure destruction followed, stronger than any mortal flame from the Element Plane of Fire. The earth shattered, the air thrummed with golden mana, and the shockwave made it seem like the sword had split the base plate''s eastern edge.

    Elvia''s heart constricted as the dust rolled out. Even Gwen would be seriously hurt if she took on such a strike without adequate preparations.

    For someone of Percy''s level, he might as well be an NoM. If so, had Sir Reginald done it? Was her quest so easily resolved? The occurrence was too surreal, too convenient.

    "Kass!" Reginald''s voice could barely be heard as the next CRACK¡ªBOOM¡ª resounded, sending dust in every direction. "The kid''s not alone! He¡ª"

    Her Knight Protector''s voice cut off in the next second, together with the Aura of Protection he had laid over them and vice versa.

    The attack was visible only at the edge of her vision. There, Elvia saw a blade only visible because it drank in all light, space and distance. With only a little effort, it had penetrated the Faith-fuelled aura of the Knight Protector, catching the man by surprise as it passed through his body.

    The mana boom that followed was a golden explosion from Reginald''s Relic, now inexplicably untethered from his Astral Soul.

    CRACK¡ªBOOOM¡ª! Her spell resounded.

    There was no fantastic spurt of arterial blood, for before Sir Reginald even fell, the ground beneath him opened up, revealing a lamprey fiend with a circular maw of teeth, swallowing the Knight wholesale.

    GWEN?! Elvia''s heart neared a potential arrest. Had her friend come to defend her brother? Had Gwen finally discovered her lies and deceptions?

    A female figure slipped into view from behind the newly excavated trench dug by Sir Reginald, her sylphlike, sashaying figure emerging from the uprooted, skeletal trees like a snake slithering from the foliage of a gothic Eden.

    A porcelain complexion.

    Lips as carmine as oiled rubies.

    And an alluring mien that may have graced the temptress of Babylon herself.

    "Elizabeth Sobel!" The Knight Companion''s voice, mousy and meek it might be, was enough to pierce the thundering clamour of her claymore of light. The horror she felt almost managed to mangle the interplay of vitality and destruction flowing from her Mana conduits.

    CRACK¡ªBOOOM¡ª!

    Elvia felt all the hope she had accumulated disintegrate.

    Somewhere behind the woman, a boy coughed, trying to expel the glowing Faith particles from his lungs.

    Percy Song! Alive and well!

    Elizabeth Sobel, in the flesh!

    And Sir Reginal, slaughtered like a mewling lamb, with not even a spec of blood to salt the soil.

    "Foul Void Witch!" Sir Kass stood between her and Sobel; his blade levelled at the woman''s throat. Upon his breastplate, the Sigil of St Michael glowed resplendently. "You shall not best me so easily, woman!"

    Sobel ignored the Knight.

    "I remember you," the woman in black lace purred, her likeness so similar to Gwen that Elvia felt an optic whiplash whenever she tried to focus her mind. "You''re the Healer from Sydney, the one who was with Henry''s kitten, yes?"

    Elvia had no answers, for she was struggling to maintain her focus. Then, to their surprise, Sobel sauntered a little apart until she stood behind the slightly singed Salt Mage still facing Sir Kass.

    Slowly, with an eroticism that made her thoughts strange, Sobel wrapped a pale white hand around the neck of the immobile Percy until her fingers cupped his chin like an adoring owner holding the face of a disobedient pup.

    "Naughty, naughty¡­" Sobel chided the teen statue. "You never told me you were Percy Song¡­ brother to our Henry''s little pussy cat."

    Elvia felt her skin come alive as though invaded by Void worms. From the looks of it, Percy was as much a prisoner of Sobel''s presence as they were. If so, did that mean they were not allies? Or at least they were not on the same side? If so, was Percy truly responsible for the Shielding Generators? Was all this a convergence of strange destinies¡­ or was there a greater conspiracy afoot?

    And if there was a conspiracy, why isn''t Sobel stopping her shattering of the Kirin Egg?

    Why isn''t Sobel killing her outright to stop Jun''s healing?

    What was known and what wasn''t? What was planned, and what was a coincidence?

    Unfortunately, Sobel''s chiding of Percy lasted only a second. Ruffling the boy''s hair, she planted a hand on her hip, then gestured toward them.

    "The Knight can leave. The Cleric stays."

    The strange instruction crawled up Elvia''s spine like a leech.

    Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!

    CRACK¡ªBOOOM¡ª!

    The aura of Faith around Sir Kass flared, an aspect of the magic of Faith that made one''s spell-casting a glorious affirmation of one''s beliefs. Unfortunately, another aspect of large-scale Faith magic was the need to recite the litanies, even if performed in silence.

    In response, their midnight-clad assailant drew a few inconsequential marks in the air, each tearing apart the time-space of the Prime Material.

    From rents that looked like blackened wounds of the world itself, monstrous Void Fiends, each more strange and grotesque than the last but all armed with gibbering mouths hungry for vitality, shot forth toward Sir Kass.

    "IRON MAIDEN!" Kass'' spell manifested just in time, turning his Faith shield outward in a sudden display of uncharacteristic aggression. A hundred shards of Faith-fuelled light shotgunned the approaching horde, skewering the first dozen on pale spikes of holy flame.

    "SHAA¡ªSHAA¡ª!" The strange Caliban things tore themselves from the spikes, not healing but unheeding what should be fatal wounds.

    "Shield of Faith!" Sir Kass stood his ground, overwhelmed but refusing to backstep. Shielded by the Knight''s aura, Elvia''s hair whipped around her face.

    Again, an indistinct crescent passed the corner of her eye.

    "SIR KASS!" She called out, damning her inability to help. "THE SWORD!"

    Kass caught the soundless sword with his Spellblade, resulting in a blue-white spellfire erupting across his left flank. The Knight immediately swung left, catching another unseen Void sliver that Elvia could not see.

    After that, however, the Knight''s skill could only carry him so far.

    The Void Fiends dogpiled him, immobilising the Knight as their weight shifted the Shield of Faith. Kass fell to his knees as he dodged and parried another blow from what Elvia now recognised as the infamous Morden''s Blades.

    CRACK¡ªBOOOM¡ª!

    "SIR KASS! USE YOUR CONTINGENCY RING!" Elvia pleaded, knowing Kass was sworn to defend her to his last breath.

    The Knight unleashed a final burst of Faith Magic, setting a dozen Void Fiends alight.

    In the aftermath, their eyes met for a final time, his apologetic, hers full of desperation.

    Then the monsters piled on like boys scrummaging for a football, transforming the space around him into a living pool of twisting sinews and snapping mouths.

    The crescent blades returned, penetrating first the creatures keeping Kass in place, then the man within.

    A few seconds later, the light of Kass Faith Magic could no longer be seen, leaving only a sterile space of churning Void matter.

    "Oh God¡­" Elvia did not want to cry but lacked the training of Yue or the grit possessed by Gwen. These Senior Knight Proctors were Seneschal Ashburn''s men, followers of the Faith that had served the headmaster since their days as Squires. Now, in this foreign place, by the hand of some cruel woman, they had met their inglorious ends, their lives lost for no purpose. ¡°Oh God, O God, O God¡­¡±

    Her sole remaining hope was that Mathias would not arrive, that even the full exhaustion of his Flight would not give her Knight a chance to play protector. As for Gwen¡ªthe possibility of inviting her friend to rescue her from Sobel did not exist in Elvia''s mind.

    Sobel laughed, a long and callous burst of sadism that made Elvia sick to her very being. "God? There''s someone up there, my dear. There are many of them, in fact, whole pantheons in the Planes between Planes, and yours isn''t one of them."

    CRACK¡ªBOOOM¡ª!

    Great chunks of jadeite fell from the Kirin Egg.

    In her Astral Soul, Elvia could feel the burden of Negative Energy finally falling from Jun Song''s body.

    So close.

    She was so close.

    The laughter stopped.

    "Percy," Sobel suddenly called upon the young man standing stoic as a granite sentinel, one awed by the display of her unrivalled power. "I have a sudden fancy."

    Both Elvia and Percy could not help but regard the smiling Void Witch.

    "This girl tried to get you killed." Sobel gestured to the enormous rent in the ground made by Sir Reginald''s attack. "I think it''s only right that you have your revenge, don''t you think?"

    Elvia''s gaze shifted to Gwen''s brother.

    The young man was staring straight at her, his eyes as unhinged as any asylum in-patient she had aided in the past. Was it fear? Elvia wondered, suddenly sympathetic. Or did he realise no blessing was at the end of his desolate pilgrimage for power?

    CRACK¡ªBOOOM¡ª!

    Another chunk of the Kirin Egg fell. Percy''s eyes grew suddenly focused, his body alive with vindictive malice. Raising both hands, the young man stepped into the air¡ª then reappeared behind her.

    Every hair on Elvia''s neck rose in protest.

    "Did your Yinglong foresee this?" Percy''s voice was like jagged salt crystals. "Did my sister?"

    Skeletal digits, cold, clammy, and alive with Necrotic Energy, wrapped around her slender white neck, strangling her.

    "Don''t you dare talk about your sister!" She managed to choke out even as her channels faltered.

    From the folds of her Cleric garb, her final defence revealed itself, erupting into a mass of tendrils to strike at the Salt Mage. Poisoned vines, tipped with needle-sharp spines that would deliver paralytic and fatal poisons, slid between their legs to incapacitate the Mage.

    At the same time, Elvia willed a final surge from both her spells, sending every mote of Faith into the Claymore of Light, simultaneously commanding Sen-sen to expend its all.

    CRACK¡ªBOOOM¡ª!

    Her world grew dim.

    Elvia''s limbs grew senseless even as Kiki connected with her target, overwhelmed by the voracious hunger of the Drain Life flooding her mana conduits. Near-instantly, her Flora Sprite wilted, meeting a natural enemy in the Salt Mage, doomed by its mistress'' inability to pump it full of revitalising, counter-active Positive Energy.

    "Who will save you now?" Percy''s voice was joined by bursts of delight from Sobel''s obscure figure. "Where''s your Dragon now? Vessel? Where is Gwen? Does Gwen save, even now?"

    Innumerable tendrils of Negative Energy invaded the base of her skull. Feebly, Kiki stabbed at the young man''s salt-encrusted exoskeleton armour.

    "Gwen¡­" Elvia felt no regret, only acceptance.

    She had seen this before in a vision, though the city had yet to fall this time, and there was no Dark Sun or Kirin to menace her surviving friends.

    She had done enough. Perhaps her Contingency Ring would catch her, and she would wake up in her Rectress'' infirmary, ready to tell her tale.

    But hadn''t she chosen this path?

    She was so tired¡­ and having done all she could, didn''t she deserve a long rest?

    Tianjin Tower.

    The Control Room.

    "Sir," the weary voice of the Tower''s Chief Diviner floated through the command comms. "We found Percy Song."

    "Good work." Besides Gwen, the irate Tower Master breathed a sigh of relief. "Engage the city-wide Clairvoyance. Let''s show Regent Song that her brother is safe so we can salvage what''s left of the city."

    "¡­ Umm¡­" Tianjin''s Chief Diviner''s voice shook like the Tower''s exterior shielding every time the magma struck. "I don''t think¡­"

    Gwen''s breathing grew slightly more audible.

    "Is Percy Song alive?" Tower Master Wong met her gaze with feigned calmness.

    "He is, Sir."

    "Then bring him up on the Lumen-Screen! Magister Hu!"

    To Gwen''s displeasure, it took another agonising three seconds for the immense display unit to open the channel to the Divination Magister''s Tower-empowered Clairvoyance.

    When the slightly blurry vision finally appeared, it was akin to the top-down view of an entry-level drone.

    Gwen stares at the lumen projection.

    Tower Master Wong stared as well, his mouth half-open with growing shock.

    The whole Control Room stared, their tasks suddenly forgotten.

    "Fuck." Richard swore beside her.

    Gwen knew what her eyes saw.

    But still, her brain struggled to process the mess of information being injected like hot lead into her ocular nerves.

    The foremost notable figure in the image was the unmistakable mana signature of her dear Elvia, glowing as a golden bonfire, one hand outstretched to empower some giant claymore of light.

    The figure at the centre of the vision, which would be almost dismissible were they not looking for him, was her brother.

    Around the two of them were innumerable Void Fiends, their presence so familiar to Gwen that she had to double-check the whereabouts of Caliban, now digesting its feast of Necromancers.

    And when she followed the direction of their lamprey bodies'' vector lines, her eyes arrived at a presence she would recognise anywhere.

    Sobel.

    Elizabeth. Fucking. Sobel.

    "What in Mao''s name¡­" The Tower Master muttered. "¡­ Are those monsters yours? Regent Song?"

    "No." Gwen felt her mouth move. "That''s Elizabeth Sobel." Then, her voice choked. "And that''s my brother¡­ and my Evee."

    Tower Master Wong touched a hand to his forehead. "Magister Hu, is this¡­?"

    "It is a live broadcast, Sir," the echo in the room returned with the worst possible news. "And¡­ they''re at the Base Plate, fourteen kilometres away¡­"

    "That''s not good," Wong remarked in her direction, reading her mind before the intrusive thoughts could even arrive. "We¡­ can''t teleport the Tower, Regent. If we move, the battle group below us and Tianjin''s inner Districts will be overwhelmed."

    Gwen was still processing the Tower Master''s future-proof refusal when the figures in the Lumen-caster began to move.

    Sobel gestured.

    Percy moved forward.

    Then, before she could even react, her brother was behind Elvia.

    "Fuck''n oath." Richard banged the projector panel. "Jesus. Fuck."

    "Sir!" The voice of the panicking Magister Hu echoed in the control room. "I don''t think we should keep watching. That''s the Yinglong''s Vessel and Secretary''s Song''s¡­"

    "T-take me to them," Gwen muttered before her faculties caught up. "Master Wong. I need to be there, NOW."

    The Tower Master''s jaws clenched as his eyes grew cold. "Regent Song. I have been very accommodating thus far. However, we had a deal."

    "A¡­ deal?" Gwen felt her hands reaching out to strangle the man before restraining herself.

    "I promised to find your Brother," the Tower Master said. "And you shall lease us the Shoggoth. Now, your brother is found. To deliver you to this¡­ Elizabeth Sobel would not give me the Shoggoth the city needs."

    "I''ll do it!" Gwen almost barked the words. "But FIRST, MY BROTHER! AND MY EVEE!"

    Beside her, Richard reached her side and took her by the arms. "Gwen, deep breaths. Petra, come to the Control Room. We have a situation."

    "TOWER MASTER WONG!" Gwen''s voice rang out, her Clarion Call activating on instinct. "THIS ISN''T A TIME FOR GAMES!"

    "A dead War Mage," Wong did not appear moved by the loudness of her demand. "Does not summon the Shoggoth we need. A dead Song without Dragon blood is better than losing a Regent of the Mageocracy."

    "That''s my brother down there!" Gwen felt as though she was stuck on a one-loop track. "That''s my Elvia!"

    "And who might save them?" Tower Master Wong remained infuriatingly professional, even stepping away to give her space. "Regent Song. I know they''re your family, but who doesn''t have family or loved ones here? My responsibility is not to you or your feelings. I am responsible for the citizens of his city¡ªand for that reason, I must ask that you act professionally as befitting a Regent of your station. We need the Liberator of Shenyang, Gwen Song. If you are not that person, Lord Regent of the Mageocracy, please leave Tianjin to fend for itself."

    For several heartbeats, Gwen considered falling to all fours and begging the man with every promise she could muster. Her body, however, refused to bend the knee.

    Above them, the lumen screens suddenly flared.

    "TOWER MASTER!" The voice of the Diviner tolled across the open war room. "There''s another mana signature! It''s¡­"

    The Eye of Clairvoyance forcibly drew into focus, revealing a Base Plate no longer juxtaposed by a contest of light and dark but a newly sprouted sea of scarlet flames.

    But Gwen could not hear the complaints the Magister Diviner provided or the Tower Master''s frustration.

    In one Dimension Door, she was already on the flight deck. In another, she was northward of the Tower, her Omni Orb pointing the way.

    The Lightning mana in her conduits boiled and burned. Her Flight Magic was Maximised and Empowered even as she readied herself for the exhaustion of a dozen consecutive Dimension Doors.

    Fuck the Tower.

    Fuck their Shoggoth.

    She would get her Evee and her brother back, for a world without them isn''t worth having.

    CRACK¡ªBOOOM¡ª!

    Elvia felt lifted from the floor, tugged by her neck and tossed through the air until she landed roughly on the ash-strewn ground, separating from Gwen''s groaning brother. Her first concern was her link to Sen-sen, which was still maintained. Her second was for her Claymore of Light, which had unfortunately ended before its task was done.

    Earlier, inexplicably, her world had erupted into scarlet fire. Her first thought was of Yue, but her friend had not inherited the carmine flame of her mentor but rather possessed the black flames of an Ashen Nightmare.

    As such, who was it then that had disrupted Percy''s attack?

    With the heat raging around her, she did her best to take in her new bearings. She was not burnt, meaning whoever launched the attack had excellent control. Percy, however, had been scalded thoroughly. After being tossed like a stir-fried cabbage, the Salt Mage landed with his suit charred and his hair singed, and what looked like third-degree burns on patches of his body. Nonetheless, the treacherous child was conscious, even if concussed and winded.

    What had launched them from the blast''s epicentre was neither Sobel nor Faith Magic¡ªbut an invisible, supernatural heat that had consumed all the Void Beasts surrounding them.

    Again, the dark slivers of Sobel''s blades flickered at the edge of her vision.

    SPAK¡ª!

    The echoing clang of a similar implement twice the size but just as agile and wreathed in scarlet flames parried both blades, sending them astray.

    SPAK¡ª! SPAK¡ª! SPAK¡ª! A dozen exchanges took place faster than Elvia''s eyes could register. Elvia hoped to the high heavens that neither Mathias nor Lulan was her defender, for both would only sow the seeds of their demise.

    She heard a pained grunt, and then Elvia saw her saviour, a young man with dark red hair dressed in archaic Mage robes that looked a century out of date.

    SPAK¡ª! SPAK¡ª! Another flurry of immovable objects meeting an unstoppable force occurred, the speed almost simultaneous in the perception of Elvia''s mana-deprived mind. Try as she might, she could not lift her legs nor move her body beyond the meagre movement of lifting herself from the floor by her elbows. There remained a mass of Negative Energy in her body, and without healing from an external source, her life was still in danger.

    "And just who is this?" Sobel''s voice was not happy. As she spoke, more rents into the Quasi-Elemental Plane of the Void poured forth a new army of her eyeless minions. "Ah. I see you, Dragon-kin of the Ancient Reds. Why are you here?"

    Operating only on whispery fumes of Essence, vitality and mana, Elvia felt a wave of vertigo overwhelming her body, making her so dizzy as to near-empty the contents of her stomach. It was Dragon Fear, and in her current condition, all she could was try not to retch.

    "Me?" Came an enraged response that sounded more like the localised eruption from a small volcano. "You don''t recognise me? Well, I know you, Void Witch! You''re the cradle robber that took me from my nest!"

    Slylth McAllister Morden, the true scion of Sythinthimryr, the Red Queen of Carrauntoohil, was screaming internally.

    Vobit! Vobit! Vobit! The train of his inner thoughts tooted in tune to the parrying of Elizabeth Sobel''s blades.

    His spell, taught to him by the originator of Spellcraft, was far more efficient than the crude variant wielded by his foe. However, from the increasingly assertive ripostes from the twin blades wielded by the Void Witch, his loss was a matter of time.

    Why had I intervened? Slylth groaned internally. Wasn''t I an audience member, not a cast?

    He had never planned to come to Tianjin.

    Having taken a friendly tour through the ISTC network to Seoul, he had initially intended to fly to Shanghai and announce himself at the border. There, he would crash the wedding, something he had always wanted to experience since hearing stories about the Yinglong''s scion. And he was confident that the Yinglong, his Mother''s junior, would not refuse entry to a visiting nephew.

    And then, somewhere over the Yellow Sea, Slylth became distracted, as a young Dragon ought to be, by the Essence flow of a Great Shoal of Mermen on route to Tianjin.

    Even more interesting was that they were following a Great Shoal of Undead Mermen from a distance¡ªwhile also harassing and fighting the foul tide.

    With a burning curiosity, he had flown closer to inspect the Shoal, whereupon he had found that they were worshipping an idol in the likeness of the female he had hoped to meet!

    Was this fate? Slylth, as a Red Dragon unfamiliar with Divination, did not usually believe in predestination. However, meeting the female''s worshippers en route in an ocean so vast that even a Great Shoal was but a speck-upon-a-speck could only be fate.

    And so he followed the Shoal, at the end of which Slylth was given front-row seats to the assault of a Human city unaffiliated with the Mageocracy, meaning he could fully enjoy the spectacle without twitching a spell finger.

    And sure enough, as fate would have it, he soon saw the female that had eluded him for half a year.

    Having reached the end of his journey, Slylth now seriously pondered how he should introduce himself. Was he to make an impression?

    Perhaps a happy surprise?

    Sure, the girl was busy with an Undead invasion into a city. To show up while she was knee-deep in the Undead and say, "Hello, I got a spell for you," wasn''t likely to win any favours. Just as well, if he simply intruded into the range of the Human Tower, wouldn''t they consider him a threat? Though the Chinese Tower looked pitiful compared to the ancient construct that was his home, the shielding could still make him dizzy and disorientated, both terrible for meeting a haughty female.

    He, therefore, observed the battle for a while, noting that the female was as strong as the rumours. As a living Void Sorceress, she was, as the lumen-vids had prescribed, a premier War Mage with unparalleled capacity for carnage and destruction.

    Worse still, she did not appear to need his help at all with the Necromancer Cabals, a feat that would have given him pause.

    By Mother''s beard! How strong was this woman?

    To Slylth, the answer to such a question was very important for a young Dragon on the prowl, even if the answers were grim.

    Still, the human calamity below was a splendid diversion from his boring aeons of learning Spellcraft. Despite being a Human, his mentor possessed only disdain and apathy for his kindred. Now, Slylth could see why. Witnessing the Humans flee for their lives, the Golems crushing the Undead to be destroyed in turn, and seeing the final bouts between survivors and invaders were all very interesting.

    With curiosity, therefore, Slylth''s innate True Seeing eyes had wandered across the battlefront until it landed at a strange fount of highly repressive Essence. From the racial memory of his kindred, he recognised it as belonging to that of a far-removed cousin race, the Kirin Tribes of aeons ago¡ªthe losers of a long-ranging territorial conflict.

    Which, according to what he was seeing, was playing out even now.

    Tapped into a ley-node was a dormant Kirin Essence, long sealed inside a stasis vessel used for hibernation in epochs when the Axis Mundi grew too hostile and unstable even for Dragons.

    On the other end, inexplicably confusing, was a Vessel of the Yinglong, easily recognisable with its lightning-charged Essence, trying to break the stasis receptacle with Human Faith Magic.

    For what reason the Vessel would attempt to quash the sleeping Essence of the Kirin Tribe was completely unknown to Slylth. Still, the female performed a steady job breaching its defences, disrupting the healing slumber of whatever had sealed itself within.

    After a few more strikes from the golden claymore, Slylth realised he recognised the likeness of the small female with the haloed hair. The fact pleased him, for it meant the target of his travels would not be far and should soon join them.

    Next, two Knights of the Ordo Bath joined the girl.

    For an academic like Slylth, the development was far more interesting than the dying humans in their hundreds of thousands, for this was the type of Dragon-business that his Mother had spoken about, the type that used to rage all over Terra in the olden days when their kind toyed with the sorcery of Faith. To a young sovereign like himself, the lively diorama below was better than a first-time visit to the British Museum with its collated loot of the civilised world.

    Slylth was counting down the forty-odd strikes required to grind down the jade carapace of the egg when a portal opened a little distance from the trio.

    From a Quasi-Elemental Plane that made even Slylth shiver, out stepped a regal-figured female and a stooped young man.

    His draconic eyes focused upon their faces.

    Then, with genuine violence, twin jets of blue flame shot from Slylth''s human-form nostrils, destroying his styled facial hair.

    He recognised them both!

    The chid-man was known to him from the dossiers given by London Imperial, being the brother of the female he desired to confront.

    As for the woman¡ªSlylth''s Mother had been adamant that this Human was the singular culprit responsible for his adventure in the mortal world.

    Without question, the woman was Elizabeth "Morden" Sobel¡ªonce partner to his mentor''s heir. From Master Morden''s retirement to the death of his descendent at her hand, this Sobel was involved in it all!

    Still, Slylth had not anticipated that his abductor would waltz in front of his face. What a fruitful journey his adventure had become! Surely, if he could subdue her and bring her back to Carrauntoohil, Mother would be infinitely pleased.

    Lowing his altitude, Slylth considered all the spells at his disposal. Should he shroud the area with a skin-searing Sirocco? Perhaps subject Sobel to a haphazard Forced Teleport? Or maybe, he could smite them all with a Mass Petrify and bring them back as trophies?

    While Slylth measured his options, the theatre continued, with each player entering the clearing to speak their lines.

    The Dragon was considering whether a Sonic Lure would be enough to eavesdrop when suddenly, the unimaginable happened.

    Out of nowhere, the Ordo Knights attacked Gwen Song''s brother!

    Mother''s beard! Slylth felt his Dragon Heart jump start. What a turn of treachery! Should he help?

    Should he¡ª

    Mother above! Sobel just slew a Knight and is now conjuring Void creatures! Why isn''t the Cleric retaliating? What are they talking about now? And¡ª

    Blessed Mother! The brother is performing a profane rite on the Yinglong''s Vessel!

    In hindsight, Slylth McAllister Morden confessed that he had moved without understanding the consequences. He wasn''t sure who to save, so his thought had been to prevent the death of both by repelling Sobel. Following his will, the mana in his magically endowed heart had rushed out to fill his conduits, tearing open the Elemental Plane of Fire so he could slip through its gap and reappear below.

    On exit, the Sirocco he had been entertaining erupted from his robed body, moulding itself around the girl but tearing the boy away to be tossed like a rag into the bushes.

    Without delay, he also conjured the most potent human magic in his arsenal, the new and improved Morden''s Magnificent Blade as taught from the horse''s mouth.

    SPAK¡ª!

    As luck would have it, his blade had manifested just in time parry a series of rapid blows from two inferior manifestations of the spell he had hoped would subdue the Void Witch.

    Now he knew why Mother had told him to "hold your horses in a row."

    SPAK¡ª! SPAK¡ª!

    It was extremely discerning for Slylth that Sobel''s face remained amused and keen. Through the pressure placed upon his single blade, he could feel the ravenous Void mana eating away at the white-hot Elemental Fire imbued upon his implement. Sobel''s mental prowess, signified by the velocity and rigidity of her blades and the fact that there were two of them, was also leagues above his mere two centuries of incubation.

    SPAK¡ª! SPAK¡ª! SPAK¡ª!

    Sparks and spellfire flew in every direction.

    If Sobel were to take her intervention seriously, Slylth was positive that he would soon become fertiliser for her Void Beasts.

    SPAK¡ª! SPAK¡ª!

    If so, there was only one solution available to Slylth.

    "Hold!" He backed away with a graceful turn, landing away from his assailant. "Do you not know your crime?"

    Thankfully, Elizabeth Sobel did stop as Slylth had hoped.

    However, her blades hovered like a pair of poised scissors, ready to snip his short life shorter.

    "My crime? Ah¡­ I am so steeped in sin, young Dragon, that sin puckers on sin¡­" The woman''s smile made Slylth''s heart palpate, a feat accomplished only by his Mother''s wrath. "But you have surprised me. The last thing I had expected to see here was the egg I had¡­ handled once upon a time. So you came to find me? Why are you not attacking? Where did that hostility go?"

    Slylth tried to make sense of the woman''s taunt, but his mind filled with blanks. Simply put, he had never been in such a position at any point in his life, except perhaps when he was egg-napped. But Mother had been there to retrieve him that time, and he was snugly sheltered in his egg, unlike now.

    The thrumming Void Blade drew closer, appearing like the horizontal jaws of some invisible Void Behemoth.

    Slylth thrust out his chest as a show of defiance. "You wouldn''t dare!"

    "I wouldn''t?" The Void Sorceress made a motion with her hand.

    While she waited on his answer, a Void Beast with the likeness of a giant salamander with no eyes dragged the moaning brother of Gwen Song back toward her heels. Another creature, something like a lamprey with far too many tentacles to be a terrestrial existence, arrested the blonde Vessel and dragged her to Sobel''s side.

    The Cleric of the Ordo Bath was drained and delirious from Necromancy¡ªcomparatively, the brother remained winded and unable to speak from Slylth''s ongoing Sirocco.

    To his dismay, the woman in black wove her fingers through the air, then dismantled the fever he had afflicted upon the sibling. The invocation, he noted with great unhappiness, was the very same form of mystic Spellcraft he had been taught, that of sorcery unique to House Morden.

    Is she going to eat them later? Slylth couldn''t help but allow his imagination to run wild with possibilities. Wasn''t she making one fight the other? Humans were so confusing!

    Elizabeth''s Sobel''s soul-piercing gaze once more fell upon himself. "So. Why should I withhold my wrath, gosling? Our Accord had set fire to the great Illaelitharian himself. What do you possess that could even begin to threaten me?"

    "Because¡­" Slylth wanted a more profound retort, but the only answer he could give was already out. "¡­ My Mother will soon be here! Then, you''ll truly regret harming us!"

    Sobel''s svelte figure paused for a fraction of a second. Unfortunately for Slylth, the woman''s face was not afraid but amused and enlivened with mockery.

    "You mean to say that the Red Queen of Carrauntoohil would leave the Axis Mundi unguarded?" Sobel''s swords drifted closer with every word.

    Slylth''s Morden Blade thrummed, taking up the defence of its master. A dozen spells entered his mind, the foremost of which was his best teleportation spells.

    "You mean to tell me that an ancient Dragon would leave its sacred, existential duty and encroach into the land of another just to save a whelp?"

    The woman''s eyes were twin pools of cool murder, so royal in their blueness that his mind likened them to his Mother''s most cherished jewels. The blades drew closer, not enough to kiss his hide but enough to slice and dice. A few seconds more and Slylth knew he would have to put his life on the line.

    "Do your worst, witch!" Slylth wrapped his silent sorcery around himself, weaving three spells into one. "MOTHER WILL COME FOR YOU!"

    CRACK¡ª!

    The sky split asunder.

    A line of living, livid lightning tore through the space between elements, spewing an Essence older than Slylth''s beloved Mother''s Heart of Flames.

    The night briefly turned to morning, then back to the tepid, depressing darkness of the besieged city.

    Sobel, still unfazed, afforded herself the time to turn her gaze away from Slylth so that she may regard the new arrival.

    The hysterical phantasm of lightning faded, revealing the crow-black silhouette of a young woman with raven hair knotted into a ponytail. Her face was wet and desperate, lit by motes of Conjuration as they cascaded from her armour like dusted snow.

    Their new arrival was not a figure of death and destruction, as Slylth had hoped.

    She was tired and hagged, and the bloodshot whites of her emerald eyes displayed the aftereffects of one suffering from spell fatigue.

    "No¡­ No¡­ No¡­" groaned a soft voice behind Sobel, so full of despair that Slylth felt the emotion like an oily slick against his transformed scales.

    Sobel''s eyes drifted from their new arrival to Slylth, then back to their latest addition.

    "That¡­" the Void Sorceress'' face could barely suppress her delight. "That''s your mother?"

    Gwen knew her actions were the most reckless, stupid, dangerous, lose-lose choice imaginable.

    But she had to do it.

    Her Evee was in danger.

    And Percy was insane or mind-controlled.

    And the Tower Master of Tianjin was threatening her with some bullshit, hoping to get her to put the lives of his city over that of the two people she most cherished in this world.

    And that was why she left the Tower, used up all of her mental faculties to make haste¡ªand thankfully arrived in the nick of time.

    But now that she had arrived, Gwen admitted, as she had earlier predicted¡ªthat she had no solutions, plan, or hope of surviving this encounter, much less saving her brother and Evee.

    "That''s your mother?" Elizabeth Sobel''s bedroom voice was exactly as she had recalled from their encounter in Sydney, though her words were as inexplicable to Gwen as the witch''s deeper motives.

    Her stare met that of Sobel''s, then moved onto the crumpled form of Percy under one of Sobel''s Void Beasts. Her brother was badly wounded by fire and combat, Gwen could see that, but he was alive enough to stare at her intently with beckoning eyes.

    Worse still, to Sobel''s right, she could see Elvia, not wounded but drained of vitality, crumbled in a heap like a broken doll. Her blood boiled¡ªthough now that she was here and in the presence of the villainess, Gwen''s impulse for action was rightfully quelled.

    As for the strange young man with the Draconic Aura, the field of fucks she held for him was barren of all life.

    Nonetheless, the young man stared at her.

    She stared at her Evee.

    Her brother stared back at her.

    Sobel''s eyes meandered between them.

    The Void Beasts announced their oppressive "Shaa¨C."

    On a distant horizon, a low rumble of thunder announced the arrival of her Thunder Dragon backup.

    Breaking the tension, her brother expelled a mouthful of dark blood from his seared lungs.

    "The Tower¡­" Gwen managed her threat with such calm that she surprised herself. "¡­ is coming for you, Sobel."

    Sobel did not move to mock her nor reply but instead looked in the direction of the Tianjin Tower.

    Sensing the woman''s thoughts, Gwen mentally willed her Thunder Dragon to take an overwatch position to intercept the Void Sorceress like a poised rifle chambered with a four-ton living bullet.

    "I would normally doubt anyone who would speak those words¡­" Sobel spoke in her general direction, her overtly feminine vocals filling Gwen''s ears as a careless whisper. "But you''re a rather special existence, kitten, so I must give you the benefit of the doubt."

    Gwen noted that the two Morden Blades she had spotted earlier were turning on their axis toward herself. This was good¡ªfor they were no longer so close to Evee¡ª but also bad¡ªfor her command of Walls of Force was sub-par and not nearly instant enough to save her from Sobel''s imminent displeasure.

    Some distance away, Golos looped once more into range.

    "Such a special existence¡­" Sobel purred, making Gwen''s stomach queasy. "What a curious ascension, little one. To think you''re allied not only with that Old One but Tyfanevius, the Yinglong, Illaelitharian, and now, even the scion of Sythinthimryr calls you Mother. Just how many Mythics are you in bed with, dear? Did Henry plan this for you as he had planned for me?"

    "You worry too much about what might transpire tomorrow," Gwen decided she would ride the woman''s thought train rather than contest them, her mind catching and rearranging words as they flowed past her frontal lobe. "I would worry about the next few minutes. Before my arrival, I told my Brother and Sister-in-Craft that you were here. You remember Gunther, don''t you? He''ll tan your delicate hide, and we''ll mount it in the entrance lobby of Sydney Tower for all to see."

    To Gwen''s amazement, the Void blades retreated a few inches.

    Was my bluff working? Gwen prayed to Gods she did not recognise or know for support, for neither the Tower nor Gunther was coming.

    "Gwen." Sobel''s hostility evaporated as a smile blossomed on her peerless, ivory face. "I understand what you are trying to do. I also share your belief that nipping a weed in the bud is best before it seeds..."

    Gwen forced Almudj''s Essence to circulate.

    The splitting headache lessened with every passing second¡ªbut not nearly enough to fight one as experienced as Sobel.

    "... But do understand that neither you, the gosling, your nun, nor your brother are a part of my plans here in Tianjin. We all have our duties, kitten, and there''s nothing worse than complicating a planned operation."

    Gwen lowered herself until she was only a few inches from the ground. "Am I to trust your mercy now? We both know the answer to that, Elizabeth Sobel. My Master will have his peace. You have my word on that."

    "Oh, my pretty puss¡­" Sobel made a tsk sound between her teeth, as one might make to tease a cat. "We both know that''s not true."

    "Try me." Gwen could only go all in with her worthless poker hand. "I know we can''t defeat you, Sobel. But keeping you here until the Tower shifts in with my Brother-in-Craft is a matter of time you can''t afford. When that Planar Disjunction hits, where are you going to go?"

    Sobel''s demeanour, Gwen noted with her rapidly rising heart rate, was growing very dangerous indeed.

    "EE-EE!" Ariel materialised in the sky above.

    "SHAA¡ªSHAA¡ª!" Caliban slithered into being, immediately challenged by a chorus of "Shaa¡ª" from Sobel''s legion of creatures.

    Their eyes met.

    To Gwen''s dismay, the woman''s smile returned.

    "Well played, kitten," Sobel spoke so nonchalantly that Gwen felt her Divination senses clang like the cascading pell of church bells. "I find myself both in disbelief and yet fear that your lies have enough truth in them to be a threat. Therefore, I shall give you this victory."

    To her horror, Sobel stepped back just enough to land between Evee and her brother.

    SHIT, SHIT, SHIT, SHIT! Gwen''s head felt like a jubilee in July.

    "Therefore, I shall have myself an insurance." Sobel gestured first to her precious Evee, then to her one and only brother. "Our¡­ goal here in Tianjin is accomplished. Between the Cult of Juche and Zodiam''s Brass Legion, this blight of a city will fall whether you aid them or otherwise. Believe it or not, I am a busy woman, and I''ve tarried here too long¡­"

    Gwen tried to think of something significant to say, but all she could see was Evee''s half-conscious face begging her to flee¡ªand Percy''s impotent shame as he begged her with his eyes.

    "Anyway." Sobel studied her with the air of Magister Wen during their first foray into Void Mana. "I will take one of these two with me, and keep them safe, watered, well-fed, fattened¡­ until they''re more useful than they are now¡­"

    "DON''T YOU FUCKING DARE¡ª" Gwen heard her voice blurt out. Somewhere close enough, Golos circled into range.

    "I shall let you choose." Sobel''s ruby-red lips split into a wide, capricious smile of grotesque innocence. "That''s right. You chose who I shall take; the other will be freed without condition. Isn''t free will wonderful, Gwen? Dearest Henry never gave me a choice like that. I was only expected to obey."

    "YOU SICK BITCH¡­" Gwen could hardly hear the woman over the pounding blood in her head.

    Sobel cooly drew an incantation in the air.

    At her behest, a Void-slit opened into the lightless yonder.

    FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK. Gwen couldn''t hear herself think.

    Calamity! The voice of Golos intruded. Do I strike now?

    "Choose." Sobel gestured left, then right. "Or I choose."

    Her eyes swung from her brother on the right to her lover on the left.

    Must she choose? Of course. But how could she choose? She loved them both. Not equally, but differently, both with a fierceness that rivalled her own life.

    ¡°G¡­Gwen¡­¡± Her brother''s voice eked from the charred heap that made up his silhouette. "Don''t let her take me¡­"

    Percy! Her poor Percy! How could she abandon him? She wanted to do good by Percy in this life. They could have a wonderful sibling relationship! He could be someone, and she would be there to support him. He would have his children with Mei; she would be an aunt, and everything would be wonderful, super, sweet, and¡­

    "Gwen¡­" Elvia''s voice, sweet as nightingales, joined by a choir of angels, made its audible self known.

    Her Evee had been assaulted by Percy, with the Necromantic Magic taught by their grandfather no less. Gwen knew that this was what she saw. However, she refused to believe the horror was unrelated to Sobel''s doing.

    "Evee¡­" she couldn''t help but moan the name of the girl whose name was imprinted like a tattoo on her heart. The girl who was her saviour, her singular rock in this insane world of might, magic and monsters.

    "Ah¡­" Sobel''s voice pierced the daydream of her indecision like a red-hot scalpel. "So, you''ve chosen."

    "Sis¡ª!" Percy''s hoarse voice barked from the retreating tide of Void flesh. "How¡­ how could you?¡ªNO! TELL HER NO!"

    "It''s a good choice," Sobel tittered sardonically. "I, too, would pick a lover who is a Vessel and a noted user of Faith Magic over a deluded, mewling sibling. You know this is true. Our mutual Master didn''t even acknowledge the boy''s existence. He was that useless."

    The command to change her choice choked in Gwen''s throat. Try as she might, it would not escape her lock-jawed lips.

    Like a petulant adolescent tossing an un-loved rag-doll, Sobel''s creature expelled Elvia''s body toward her, allowing it to flail and fall.

    On automatic, Gwen reached out, her body manifesting a Dimension Door subconsciously to catch her dearest Evee mid-air, heedless of the strain it placed upon her exhausted mind.

    At the same time, a violent rush of air announced the passage of Golos as it sought the disappearing Sobel and her bitter cargo of brotherly love, only to be met with the criss-crossing arrival of a pair of Void-fuelled Morden''s Blades.

    "Dodge!" the young man in red howled something in Draconic, parrying the attacks with his sword as Golos pulled a hard left, narrowly avoiding losing one of his wings and two limbs.

    "Long ago¡­" Sobel''s trailing voice lingered like perfume in Gwen''s mind as the Void-slit drew close, swallowing their Master''s murderess wholesale. "I chose as you did. I hope the decision serves you well, kitten. When we next meet, let us have tea¡­"

    The final close of the soundless slit was punctuated by the roar of Golo''s crash landing carving a canal in the landscape.

    As for Gwen, she felt only the softness of Elvia''s body in her arms, the lulling weight of her head against her forearms, and the stench of Necrotic Energy that permeated the sweet body of her dearest Cleric.

    Percy¡­

    Alarmingly, she found that she could not think of Percy. Her brother''s pleading face was no longer in the forefront of her mind. What she wanted now was to see Elvia alive and well, sweet and smiling, hail and golden and criticising her for making such a selfish, fucked up choice.

    "Evee!" She carefully lowered her friend against the feathers on her thighs. "Are you alright? Are you¡­"

    Tearing off her gauntlets, she placed a finger against her friend''s nostrils.

    Warm.

    Her friend lived still.

    Frantically, her mind fumbled through her Storage Rings until she found the Spellcube Petra had acquired for the occasion. Placing the milk-white cube with its stowed spell from their Babulya against her friend''s chest, Gwen activated the releasing Glyph.

    Like an injection of sanctified holy water, the Greater Restoration flooded into her friend''s body, dispelling the Negative Energy and reaffirming her friend''s vitals. Though undirected by a professional, the sheer force of the Positive Energy was enough to kick start Elvia''s Astral Body so that her rejuvenating Positive Energy could initiate self-repair.

    Elvia coughed, her lungs drawing inward greedy gasps of precious air.

    Gwen felt so glad that she could cry.

    Or perhaps, she was already crying, for her vision was too blurry to see Elvia''s face.

    "Umm¡­" A voice sounded behind her. "Sorry to interrupt. My name is Slylth McAllister¡­"

    "FUCK OFF!" She barked at the source of the voice. "FUCK OFF NOW!"

    "Alright¡­ alright¡­" the dejected voice backed away. ¡°I¡¯ll er¡­ here¡­ when you¡¯re done¡­¡±

    "Evee." She leaned in close to Elvia''s hagged face. "Are you alright now? Can you hear me?"

    A pair of white-gloved hands, soiled by blood and dirt, touched her wet cheeks. "Gwen¡­"

    "I am here, Evee," she could hardly choke out the words. "You''re safe now."

    "Is¡­" Elvia''s voice grew stronger with every syllable. "Is Jun safe¡­"

    "He was pretty much stabilised when I left¡­" Gwen said. "Evee, you did your best."

    "Is Ayxin¡­"

    "Everyone is well," Golos''s voice rumbled behind them, stumbling into view in his Human form. "As is their child. If Brother-in-law had perished, Ayxin would know¡­ and trust me, we would all know if Ayxin was that upset. Our father thanks you, Vessel. You have done your duty splendidly."

    "Percy¡­" Elvia''s tone grew painful. "Is he¡­"

    Golos snorted.

    "I''ll find him." Gwen felt the guilt in her heart like a Morden''s Blade skewering both atriums. "Don''t you worry about that, Evee? It''s not your fault."

    "But it is my fault." Elvia''s face was against her neck. ¡°I am so sorry, Gwennie¡­ I am so sorry..."

    "Don''t be." Gwen held the girl close, feeling every sob and choke that quaked between their bodies. "Maybe Sobel will let him go¡­ maybe¡­"

    "Umm¡­regarding your brother," the voice of the Draconic youth once more resounded. "I think it''s a bit more complicated than that¡ª"

    "FUCK OFF!" Gwen suddenly wanted to turn around and tear the Dragon-man in half. She knew she had just forsaken her brother, but as Sobel said, this was a choice she had made. Beyond that, the city was still under siege, and there still existed a possibility of tracking down Sobel and recovering her brother through the Tower¡ªthough the bridge she had burnt with Master Wong didn''t help. And she had to tell babulya and Yeye that she fucking lost Percy.

    "Gwennie¡ª" Elvia''s hand pulled her face back toward the two of them. "Slylth saved my life."

    Gwen took a deep breath; Elvia''s kindness was akin to plunging her superheated brain into an icy bucket of well water.

    She stood, helping Elvia to her feet as they turned. From the earlier conversation and her Detect Magic, she knew the young man was not a human but a Golos-like existence.

    "Please allow me to apologise." Gwen bowed her head. "I am Regent Gwen Song, and this is Companion Elvia Lindholm. Over there is Golos, a scion of the Yinglong. Thank you for saving Elvia. Who might you be?"

    The young man looked on the verge of tears. ¡°I am Slylth McAllister Morden¡­¡± The Dragon-kin''s expression possessed such relief that Gwen almost forgot to process the name he had just announced.

    "Magus¡­ Morden?" She felt her brain bloat. "From the Scottish Isles? From the line of Magi Morden? What¡­ what are you doing here?"

    "Ah¡­" the young Morden, related to her Master by six degrees of separation, put both hands on his haughty hips. "I am¡­ OH MY MOTHER''S BEARD."

    Except for Morden, whose eyes were already wide, all three turned their heads northward.

    On a murky horizon, hovering like a giant maw, a swallowing sun rose to the city''s north, engulfing the pale light of the long night''s war-wary march toward dawn.

    "Gwen¡­" Elvia''s plea came across like a kitten''s soft whimper.

    "I know¡­ I know¡­" Gwen could read her friend''s mind like a book. "I want to help as well, Evee, but the bitch has Percy."

    "No¡­ not Percy." Elvia''s breath blew against her crow-skin armour, tickling the rows of arrayed feathers. "There''s still one more complication to care for, Gwennie. One more calamity to resolve. By the Yinglong''s reckoning, this Kirin obelisk is responsible for Jun''s condition. It is impervious to Spellcraft. Only Faith Magic that alters the nature of causality or the usurpation from a higher order of Dragon-kin may stop it."

    Following her finger, the threesome redirected their simmering frustrations toward the enormous jadeite lode jutting from the baseplate of the Tianjin Tower.

    As one, the scion of the Scarlet Summer Flame, the Vessel to the Yinglong of the Answering Thunder, and the kin of a cheeky, multi-hued snake studied the protruding Jade Lode with absolute prejudice.

    On cue, seared by the gaze of the foursome, the protruding jade began to shrivel and shrink.

 Chapter 484-485 - Way leads onto Way

If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

    ¡°Gweee¡ªGweeee¡ª Gweeee¡ª¡°

    ¡°GWEEE¡ªGWEEEN¡ª GWEEENGH¡ª GWEEENGH¡ª¡°

 Chapter 485 - 486 - The Departed

    Tianjin.

    Bohai bay.

    It took until the sickly sun''s slow meander over the city''s zenith for the Shoggoth''s ink cloud of Void-sown malice to be digested by the Spiritus Mundi.

    By then, China''s sole northern trade hub had been burning for almost eighteen hours, and there was yet more guerrilla warfare being fought in the un-demolished sectors of the central business districts by the surviving Militia.

    However, clean-ups were no longer the concern of the Regent of Shalkar. Her promised Shoggoth had come and gone¡ªand her remaining worry was for the surviving Mermen standing knee-deep in muck and mire, chanting her name.

    GWEN! GWEN! GWEN!

    They were doubtlessly repeating her namesake, for she could feel the reverberation of their psychic energies in her Astral Body, sending little quakes of resonance through her toes and fingers to fizzle as golden sparks at the tips of her hair. Though bizarre, it was the same phenomenon she had witnessed at the Charity concerts on the Isle of Dog and in Elvia''s sermons for the poor and ailing, only... different.

    Hers did not feel like the calculated arithmetic of the Nazarene''s organised religion. The Mermen''s "faith" was alive¡ª a primal belief as old as worlds and words.

    With Tianjin Tower''s scrying eyes still trained upon her, she commanded the borrowed platform to stop at the boundary of the spontaneous swampland salting the north of the steaming city. The stench was unimaginable, for it was an admixture of the organic and synthetic, of magic-wrought plastics and rubber together with fish and human carcasses, both grilled and parboiled by the clash of water and fire.

    "Richard, Pats, stay on the platform with Evee. I''ll go and see what this is all about," she gave the command. "Slylth... you can remain here or meet me back in Shalkar. What do you want to do?"

    "I''ll observe for a little longer," the Dragon-kin appeared invested in seeing her encounter with the Shoal. "But yes, all things considered, it might be best to reconvene in Shalkar."

    Gwen nodded. Out of both respect and exhaustion, none of her other companions protested or disagreed.

    Like a dark bird, the Regent stepped off the platform to sail through the air, descending alone into the hazy stench of the Mermen survivors.

    At the centre of the Shoggoth''s feeding¡ªdead for the fact¡ªwas an enormous lobster as large as four construction Golems stacked back to back, with pincers so massive each could rival a double-storey building. For such a creature to exist out of the water was taxing to the extreme¡ªand it had made it here only to be hollowed out by the Shoggoth.

    Scattered around the lobster temple were the remnants of the Shoal strong enough to venture inland on the Witch-wrought Tsunami. Gwen recognised many of the Mermen subtypes, for she had fought them all in Auckland. She spotted the muscular Wave Riders with their tuna-like heads, legions of crustacean shock troops propelled by their multi-use limbs, and here and there, she saw the floating breath-bubbles of Sea Witches, Mermaid and mer-dudes both, armed with their priceless coral implements. Strangely, the ones here did not possess the homogenous colours of a well-bred army but were more like mercenaries.

    As she descended, a gust of fresh wind tore apart the stench, unfurling the cloak extensions of her crow-skin armour as a pair of tenebrous wings.

    The Mermen closest to her lowered their weapons, heads, and knees if they had them.

    "Pale Priestess!" A cry rang out, both one voice and many, followed by an expanding ring of supplication from the epicentre of her intended landing.

    Gwen''s eyes scanned the scene, awed and alarmed by the spectacle, her Lightning-fuelled pride purring like a well-groomed cat. The uncanny, she acknowledged, lied not in the manner of their supplication but its implication, that of lower beings to a greater existence.

    "WHO LEADS THIS SHOAL?" Her Clarion Call echoed across the horizon. "COME FORTH!"

    The coral palace atop the Lobster opened like a flower, willed into an outward transformation by its Sea Witch overseers: within, appearing like the yellow innards of an enormous sea urchin, a dozen Mermen offered their worship.

    Gwen''s Divination-fed irises traced the details of the palace''s origami folds, noting the Transmutation magic of these Demi-humans. Curiously, of the numerous Witches, the Turtle-men Shaman and the five warriors of various species present, a Mermen with almost no magical aura stood at the head of the Shoal''s inner council.

    The corpulent Merman raised its head, its fishy face full of expectation.

    She did not recognise the Merman. For one, it was enormously obese, possessing a distended belly hidden by rich robes of human-make. It was also indescribably ugly.

    A deep-sea bureaucrat of the Seven Kingdoms? Gwen wondered as she came closer. The Merman looked common, but his attire was as rich as the deference the others displayed.

    "I am Gwen Song, Regent of Shalkar, Magister of the Mageocracy." She allowed her titles to roll over the Mermen crew. "You have aided us in vanquishing Zodiam, Prince of Fire¡ªbut still, I must inquire¡ªwhy has the Great Shoal of the Mermen risen from the ocean for this occasion?"

    Noting her hesitation, the fat one stepped forward. "OH PALE PRIESTESS OF THE COMMUNAL ONE!" He cried out, his voice deep and booming. "YOUR SERVANTS WELCOME YOU HOME!"

    With a swift, uninterrupted gesture, the Mermen tore open its robe.

    For a second, Gwen was positive the Mermen was either committing a sex crime, launching a chemical attack, or both.

    As her Shield sprang into being, what assailed the Pale Priestess of the Old Ones wasn''t offending fluids from the nether Planes but a psychological shock worthy of Carpenter''s filmography.

    Tendrils, tentacles, eyes and maws opened like the fingers of an opening hand to greet her, unfurling like a prehistoric fern. Were it not for the Mermen attached at the base, Gwen would have fully expected the purple-pink appendages to cry out "Tekeli-li! Tekeli-li!" in a mindless facsimile of communication.

    Terrifyingly, her next thought was that these tendrils were pregnant with intent. As monstrous infants baying for motherly attention, the eye-studded fingers harkened for her and reached out for her embrace, their gazes wanton and full of anticipation.

    "WE WELCOME THE PALE PRIESTESS!" The rest of the council also shed various parts of their clothing.

    While Gwen''s sanity quotient adjusted its scales, her mind drank in the Lovecraftian accessories that had taken root in these Mermen''s flesh.

    Without a doubt, these were her Shoggoth¡ªor at least, what was left of the Shoggoth''s summoning. That the "bits" could continue to exist meant that their hosts supplied the appendages with fuel, be it mana, Faith or vitality.

    Still, try as she might, she couldn''t find a magical theory to support her present evidence. Doubtlessly, Magister Brown and Gracie would be very busy in the aftermath of this phenomenon. There would be a new dissertation founded on these Mermen, one to make careers, assuming she suffered the subjects to live.

    "You are their leader?" Gwen kept up her imperial arrogance.

    "I am your whip, the humble Lei-bup," the Mer-priest bowed, moving forward using smaller, subtler crawlers. "Since the South China Sea, I have been your most faithful servant."

    Gwen''s brain took several seconds to dredge the meaning of that familiar-sounding name from the depth of recollection.

    Lei-bup! The Mermen chieftain? Or, more accurately¡ªthe "Village Secretary" of Chicken Shit Island? That''s where they had performed a test Shoggoth summoning! The High Priest of this cult was THAT specific Lei-bup? Just how poor were the Chinese at purging the environment?

    Full of scepticism, her eyes drew lower until she saw the item hanging below Lei-bup''s neck.

    "Oh dear..." Gwen''s tone grew kinder once her suspicion took in the scope of what she now recognised. "You still have that?"

    With reverence, Lei-bup held up a can of unopened SPAM brimming with energy. "I have it still, Mistress. It was your first gift to Lei-bup. Despite the use by date, it shall remain eternal, so long as the Shoal persists."

    As one, the others also produced their SPAM cans. A few, she could see, still had the preserved prints of her likeness from the IIUC.

    "I?! I?! I?!" A chant suddenly broke out. "For she who lurks at the threshold!"

    "For the All-in-one!"

    "For the One-in-ALL!"

    "Comrade Priestess!"

    One of those titles is not like the others. Gwen registered as her boots touched the slimy coral tiles, noting that the lubrication was for the betterment of its inhabitant''s habit of gliding.

    "Why are you here, Lei-bup?" She approached within tentacle distance to show her familiarity. With a mind of their own, the appendages reached out for her.

    "Tekeli-li! Tekeli-li!" They seemed to murmur in silence, their mouths forming the sound without utterance.

    Feeling the pressure of several hundred pairs of eyes judge her next move, she ungloved a white hand, drawing gasps from the Mermen.

    Then, first with a finger and then with the whole of her hand, she took hold of the slimy bundle making her acquaintance.

    "Hello, Shoggy¡­" she called out the creature''s name.

    The tentacles were warm, its lubricant rough and a little gritty. Like a multi-eyed pup, the orbs of hazel green regarded her with a sense of wonder.

    Gwen knew what she had to do.

    Circulating the Essence within herself, she condensed several droplets of pure, Almudj-blessed Essence upon her palm.

    As a blossom of dog-tongues, the Shoggoth greedily lapped up her blessing.

    "Oh, Great Mistress¡­" Lei-bup shuddered in ecstasy, an act that appeared utterly fanatical when enacted upon his Dace-headed face.

    Gwen withdrew her hand.

    For a War Mage whose head count of Mermen was in the hundreds of thousands, these particular Mermen made her feel¡ªstrangely welcome. With a quick cleaning chant, the slime came off like a second skin, allowing her to re-don her gauntlets.

    A connection had been made between herself and Lei-bup, one not easily dismissed.

    Again, the Mermen bowed. Lei-bup collected himself, then made another attempt at prostration. "We survive to serve, O Priestess. What is your pleasure?"

    "I would like to know more of the Shoal''s reason for aiding me, Lei-bup," Gwen confessed her immediate desire. "Though your methods were unorthodox, I appreciate your role in taming Zodiam. However, since the battle is over, please retreat into Bohai Bay. For your efforts, I will see your Shoal rewarded accordingly in the coming days."

    "Speaker of the Old Ones." Lei-bup''s expression was an avatar of fishy magnanimity. "We are already rewarded¡ªlook there! Gaze upon your Faithful and how they celebrate!"

    Gwen could not look past the coral wall of the portable palace, but her eyes did register distant visions of the surviving Merman desperately scouring the landscape for¡­

    Before Lei-bup, she would have guessed they were searching for food. Now, she knew the Mermen were looking for fragments of the Shoggoth, little bits of tentacle and tendril, a wayward eye or perhaps some left-over manifestations of tooth and maw. As for what happened once a piece was discovered¡ªLei-bup was already modelling the answer.

    "The chosen Faithful will survive the Baptism." Following her eyes, Lei-bup proudly pointed to his enormous collection of tentacled flesh. "Those lacking the necessary fervency will be consumed in turn."

    Gwen did not doubt Lei-bup''s words. Now that she had accepted the condition of her unfounded role, her interest was only in managing its outcomes. Certainly, she had not intended this to happen, as it was the Chinese who were responsible for clean-ups on Chicken Shit Island, not the then-student self of Gwen Song. As for the cult¡ªso long as they did not raid Human settlements, their business in the sea would be a problem, or a solution, for another day.

    "Once the battlefield is looted, Lei-bup..." Gwen patted the slimy Merman. As a many-fingered hand, his upper tentacles caressed her armoured bodice as if the act would lend them a more stable existence in the Prime Material. "Return to the sea. Where do you normally gather?"

    "Not here," Lei-bup confirmed, much to her relief. "The Yellow Sea is our home. Even if it is currently been invaded by the blasphemers."

    "By blasphemers?" Gwen noted the Mermen''s expression of loathing. "Do you mean the Undead?"

    Lei-bup nodded. "We know not where they come from," the Priest-like Dace glowered, his whisker tentacles writhing with displeasure. "But whole Shoals have emerged from the Deep, where the Kingdoms make their home."

    "The Seven Kingdoms of the Elemental Plane of Water¡­" Gwen chewed her lower lip in contemplation. "I shall take that into account. Do you have any contact with them?"

    "No. But within the Shoal, we have countless refugees from different regions," Lei-bup caught her interest with a twinkle in his lidless eye. "Shall I summon a few? They come from all over as Comrades to our cause."

    "Comrades?" Gwen considered the term.

    "Yes." Lei-bup nodded eagerly. "Within the One Great Shoal, we are equal. The only requirement is to have faith in the Great Old One. However, to become a member of the inner Party, one must undergo the baptism of the Old One."

    "The Old One, who is the Key and the Gate?" Gwen reflexively made a jest, pondering how much of her bullshit Lei-bup and appropriated. "The Opener of the way?"

    "One moment¡­" Lei-bup produced a notebook, then furiously took down her words.

    "Er¡­" Gwen battered away the enthusiastic tendrils. She wanted more information from the Mermen, but the city was on fire, and Sobel had taken her brother. "Lei-bup, I still have matters to attend to on land. Please withdraw your¡­ people. I shall join you once the matters of the land are resolved. Here is a Glyph for my Message Device. Do you have a suitable Magitech operator?"

    "We will loot what we need, Priestess..." Lei-bup promised.

    "As you wish, Pale Priestess."

    "The all-in-ONE!"

    "The One-in-ALL!"

    "We obey the Comrade secretary!"

    The answers were good enough for Gwen.

    She lifted into the air, shelving the adoration of the Mermen for another day. A part of her fancied the prospect of asking those strong-looking monstrosities to help clean up the city¡ªbut she somehow doubted the preservation of human life mattered to beings tethered to the oceanic food chain. If, mid-rescue, a King Crab got hungry and decided to munch on the carrion of children¡ªshe could not imagine the response from the CCP''s stressed government.

    Until she had time, she must gamble that Lei-bup''s design was benign.

    For in the future¡­

    The Deep.

    The Seven Kingdoms.

    The Undead Mermen, Spectre and Sobel...

    Undoubtedly, the Pale Priestess would one day require the aid of her High Priest Lei-bup.

    Tianjin.

    The Tower.

    Once the Saviour of Shenyang returned with the news of benign Mermen willing to retreat in exchange for all of the city''s SPAM, the Mages that remained collectively understood the battle was well and truly over.

    As the platform pulled into the dock, Gwen and her compatriots were greeted by continuous applause from the upper deck to the Tower''s interior, including the Tower Master, who made no show of their earlier conflict.

    Hands were shaken.

    Elvia blessed the crew as both Ordo Cleric and the Yinglong''s spokesperson.

    Endless platitudes and thanks were given, so much that Gwen wondered if the city below them was still a smouldering hole of water and fire, charcoal and brine.

    It took an hour of propaganda¡ªan absolute necessity in these trying times, for Gwen to part from the Tower''s leadership to finally arrive at the most dreaded moment of her present life.

    In the atrium to the VIP chambers awaited her Yeye and her Babulya.

    "Yeye¡­" She felt her throat contract, her words barely escaping her confounded lips. "Percy, he¡­"

    Guo''s eyes were distraught and dull. Rather than the keen viciousness of a bloodhound on the prowl, he looked like an old, tired Basset with no more energy to expend.

    "Secretary General Miao told us to come here¡ªafter he delivered the news that Sobel took your brother," Gwen''s grandfather said. "After seeing Jun, Tower Master Wang showed me what Percy had done. I know not why this had happened, Gwen. But I hope that you will know more."

    Guo." Her grandmother touched her grandfather''s mandarin jacket. "What is there to ask? Gwen isn''t responsible for any of what happened to Percy."

    The thorn of guilt hidden in her heart pierced Gwen at once.

    "Yeye¡­ I am so..."

    "Patriarch Song¡ª"

    Gwen looked to her right. Elvia was the interlocutor who had spoken up, but the Cleric''s tone offered neither condolences nor appeasement. Instead, the healer''s expression resembled one standing on the precipice of some enormous cliff.

    "¡ªRegarding Brother Percy, there are many things you must know, most of which you may not believe. However, where Gwen has been ignorant of Percy Song''s actions, the Ordo and the Yinglong are both well-versed in his crimes."

    Gwen''s attention was now fully focused on her sanctified Cleric.

    "Crimes? Lord Vessel?" Guo''s voice took on a harder edge. "Might I inquire of what you know? And what do you mean? If you know so much, might you know where this Sobel might have taken our grandchild?"

    To Gwen''s great unease, her friend and partner bowed deeply, then turned her flaxen head toward herself. "I am so sorry, Gwen, for what you will soon know."

    "What¡­" Once soothed by Lei-bup''s obedience, Gwen''s nerves again flared red hot with uncertainty. "What are you saying, Evee?"

    "Gwen. Please request a private chamber with an LRM Device." Elvia''s tone hinted at what Gwen knew to be her friend''s masochistic longing for martyrdom. Considering that the Knight Companion had survived an ancient Kirin and then Sobel, she had no idea why her friend would possess such a staunch air of self-loathing, and it made her insides not unlike Lei-bup''s bulging belly.

    "Is a private room necessary?" Gwen could taste the unwelcome tension. "What is it about Percy that we don''t know about?"

    "Gwennie. Please." Elvia''s pleading was beyond her ability to refuse. "We need a room. We will also need Lord Golos and Lulan."

    "Lulu?" Gwen tried to make sense of the request, but all she felt was puzzling alarm, that and the distinct feeling she would rather live in ignorance. "What does Lulu¡­"

    The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    "I''ll arrange it," Richard stepped in. "Gwen, I also spoke to Petra about this after the Percy situation at the Tower. We need to clear the air before proceeding with our rescue plans."

    Gwen studied her cousins. Richard was firm, and Petra was her professional self, though the eye-bags and the fatigue of the last eighteen hours were etched harshly on their faces.

    "I see," Gwen felt a little alone but not nearly as helpless as her confused and agitated grandparents. "Very well, Richard. Make it so¡­"

    Richard left to deal with a stary-eyed aide. While they waited, Gwen couldn''t help but overhear Elvia''s prayer of repentance. Mathias, her Knight Protector, had also taken up a position between Evee and herself, making her premonitions all the more ominous and, for some reason, a little sad.

    As per its design, Tianjin Tower possessed many such rooms for insulated conferences and meetings of the Inner Party''s members.

    With confidentiality guaranteed by the presence of the Yinglong''s Vessel and the Thunder Dragon''s threat of destruction, Tower Master Wang loaned the Regent of Shalkar and her crew a secure briefing room warded from all outside interference, including the Tower itself.

    Gwen sat at the head of the oval table, as insisted by her Cleric.

    The Yinglong''s Vessel and Knight Protector were seated to the right, joined by an impatient Golos.

    To the left, her agitated grandparents sat on ants'' nests, awaiting the secret that the Cleric promised to reveal. Besides them sat Richard, who played with his communication device, while Petra meditated to will away the awkward waiting.

    SHEEEEEEIK! The gas-powered iron door slid open, revealing the figure of a doll-like girl in a mangled battle garb.

    "Lulan!" Gwen stood, sending her office chair rolling backwards. The Swordswoman was injured¡ªor more accurately, she appeared recently recovered from a significant injury. Her suit, hand-made by Dwarves for her unique talents, had a clean, seamless rent across the lower waist that reached her groin and thigh. There was a rusty taint on the tear¡ªone Gwen recognised as dried blood. "What''s happened to you? Were you in Tianjin as well?"

    "Nothing significant." Lulan allowed her to inspect the gash but did not address her question with any more details. "Elvia. Ayxin asked me to bring this¡­"

    The girl reached into her chest pocket and produced a length of familiar red string that made her grandparents leave their chairs.

    With a clunk¡ªthe heavy trinket in her hand landed on the mahogany table.

    It was one-half of a Kirin Pendant, the half her brother possessed.

    "Lulu!" Gwen''s imagination grew wild. "How did you get this?"

    "Did you track down Sobel?" Guo barked from across the table.

    "Lulan, where is Percy?" Her grandmother''s voice rose as well. "Is he safe?"

    Gwen''s mind swirled with possibilities. The pendant looked clean on the surface, but she could see traces of dried blood in its complex groves. In the nook, there was even a little speck of flesh. Her heart sank downward into the Seven Kingdoms. "Is Percy¡­"

    Lulan looked toward Elvia.

    The latter looked at the amulet.

    Gwen looked from one to the other.

    "This is not from Percy Song." Lulan''s answer confounded the left side of the table, filling Gwen with mixed relief and confusion. "This belonged to Mei Yang, whom I slew to protect Lord Ayxin."

    "Mei?" Gwen frowned for several seconds before the words dawned upon her. "¡­ You¡­ slew her?"

    "Lulan." Kladiya put both hands against her lips. "You...You''re the one who killed Mei? You were the assassin in Shanghai?"

    "I am not an assassin but a guard," Lulan clarified without guilt. "Afterwards, I pursued the true culprit, Percy Song, hoping to stop him before he could activate the Kirin Tomb. I lost him, but I did locate him after following the stench of Kirin Necromancy. However, due to my ineptitude, I failed." The girl touched a finger to her torn armour. "After that, Sobel arrived, and she intervened."

    Gwen''s grandparents stared at Lulan.

    "You killed Mei?" Gwen still could not believe her lying ears. "You tried to stop Percy? What does that even mean?"

    Lulan, her dear, innocent, martial-obsessed Lulu, dropped to both knees before Gwen could catch her.

    "The hell is this?" Gwen could barely keep the flame of unreasonable rage in her belly from combusting. "Were you under Mind Magic?"

    Lulan violently shook her head.

    "It was a duty performed for you, for Master Ayxin and Jun," Lulan replied without a hint of remorse or deceit. "And for the debt I owe you."

    The Sword Mage extended a hand and, watched by all, manifested a jadeite blade with its handle turned toward Gwen. "I failed to stop your brother, benefactor. I shall take any punishment, even if it is my life. You saved me and gave me a second one. Yet, I couldn''t even prevent this tragedy, even with all the knowledge and power gifted to me by Master Ryxi."

    The sudden escalation from waiting for Lulu to the requested execution of Lulu was beyond Gwen''s current scope of mental preparedness.

    Staring at the sword, all she could think about was catching Guo before he did the unthinkable.

    And from the looks of Golos'' readiness, she might need to block the Dragon-kin before he punched the table and sent the Song''s side of the family flying outside the Tower.

    Like the melody of Lulan''s vibrating steel, the tension held until finally, Gwen took the sword and swept it from the table, sending it to clatter against the floor.

    Bowing deeply, Lulan moved to the left of Elvia, then gingerly placed the retrieved sword against the table''s edge like a waitress offering a rather fancy steak knife.

    Her grandmother was the first to break the silence.

    "Sit, all of you." The old Healer forcibly withheld the pounding emotions in her voice. "Guo, you sit as well. Let''s hear what these children have to say. They saved Jun. There''s no denying that. They must have good reasons to¡­ be unkind to Percy."

    As a man in a trance, her grandfather sat.

    The gathered sunk into silence once more.

    "Gwen." Elvia gestured to the LRM Device in the middle of the table. "Can you summon Lady Ayxin now?"

    Golos grunted.

    "Ayxin should be nursing." Gwen frowned. "Is she even awake?"

    "She''s awake," Golo replied. "After what Father''s done, there is no way she would be able to sleep."

    "Fine, I''ll call her residence."

    From memory, Gwen dialled in the Glyph codes on the console set for the head of the table.

    A few flickers later, the LRM Device connected with a shriek, clearly anticipating its inclusion in the conference.

    Ayxin''s angular face, now less aggressive and more motherly, swept its peerless gaze over the gathered humans and Dragons seated in Tianjin. The mother of the Song''s future looked tired, but so were they all.

    "Ayxin." Gwen nodded slightly at the impeccable appearance of their Draconic royalty. "Are you well?"

    "Jun is asleep and recovering." The Dragon-kin was without her usual haughty arrogance. "Thanks to our Vessel, I am resting, and so is the child.

    Gwen nodded, then turned to the increasingly wooden Elvia. Her Cleric was studying the groves in the mahogany table as if some godly answer rested within the folds.

    She couldn''t help but also note that her grandparents'' demeanour had changed when the health of Jun''s scion, a true Dragon-child, was duly noted by its royal mother.

    "That is good to hear, Ayxin. We''re all glad that Jun shall soon be by your side." Gwen fought down the butterflies in her stomach. "But what''s this about Percy? And why are we not doing everything possible to get him back?"

    Of the Yinglong''s family members, Ayxin''s pregnancy presumably spoke for her innocence. Lulan, Gwen assumed, was taking a position related to Ryxi, her instructor. Golos had done nothing untoward, so she wasn''t sure why he looked like he just ate a den of diseased Rat-kin. Mathias was decor. And as for Elvia¡­ Gwen sensed the girl''s silence was the onset of a terrific storm that would blow away all sensibility.

    "Gwennie." Elvia finally looked up, her expression the most serious she had ever seen her friend compose. "It pains me to have hidden the truth, but Percy Song, your brother, is evil."

    The unintended assonance between Percy and "evil" squeezed the air from Gwen''s lungs. She had expected many things, such as bullying Percy. Necromancer Percy, or sexual predator Percy, considering his pedigree. But she had not expected her closest friend to outright accuse her brother of dastardly villainy.

    Her grandparents look on blankly. Petra frowned. For some reason, Richard''s body language was of immense relief, like a man who had finally passed a bladder stone.

    "Can this evil be¡­ clarified?" Gwen asked carefully, as one might tread while traversing cracking ice. "What sins did our Percy perform, prey tell."

    Elvia, her sweet, nice, guileless Elvia, looked her dead in the eyes.

    Her friend seemed unshackled as she spoke. With an accusatory finger pointed in reprimand, she gestured at the Kirin Amulet. "He attempted to usurp the Essence of Ayxin''s unborn child with the Song''s Kirin Necromancy."

    As a group, their eyes converged upon the Percy half of the Kirin Amulet, its likeness akin to a half-moon tadpole.

    Guo rose to protest.

    Her Babulya arrested her husband, then produced another Kirin amulet from her jacket, depositing the dark green block of jadeite against its twin.

    For the first time, Gwen saw the two halves together; one pale green and the other a dark emerald. As a whole, they looked like tadpoles chasing one another from tail to head.

    "That is a heavy accusation, Evee," Gwen said, her fingers no longer dexterous as she considered the implications.

    Lulan raised her hand. "I observed that Percy had left the Kirin Amulet with Mei Yang. Once Elvia left in pursuit, it activated. From what I could see, the amulet used Mei''s spirit to manifest a necromantic Essence Drain. As Ryxi had tasked me to attend to his sister, I stopped Percy Song''s assistant, disrupting the spell''s cycle. Afterwards, I utilised a Naga tendril to pilfer the amulet."

    "I see," Gwen spoke for herself and her grandparents. "So you acted in defence of Ayxin?"

    "I did it for my benefactor," Lulan nodded. "And, by extension, my Master."

    Gwen wanted to say Lulan''s actions were reasonable, but that wouldn''t bring back her brother for a much-needed interrogation.

    She turned to the Chief Prosecutor.

    "Lulu, we thank you for saving my future cousin. Elvia, you inferred this was merely ONE of his crimes?"

    "Yes," Elvia''s reading of her brother''s rap sheet continued. "Do you remember when the Tower experienced a surge of mana? The result cut out the Shielding Arrays and allowed the Undead to push inland."

    "And Percy did that?" Gwen felt her voice grow hoarse. She hadn''t even shouted at her Evee, and her voice was already gone.

    "We cannot confirm if he intended it." Her friend did not relent on rending her heart in twain. "But I can confirm he was the one who meddled with the Jade Lode. He confessed as much, stating that the Kirin was his birthright, his creature to raise. Gwen, I can swear upon my Ordo and Faith that I speak of what I know to be true. If Sir Rothwell and Kass were still here, they would support me. Unfortunately, they were consumed by Elizabeth Sobel, which led to Percy''s attack on me."

    Her grandfather''s face changed from pink to a deep scarlet, then to white. For any grandparent, the normal reaction would be a frustrated demand for evidence. However, Elvia was a Cleric of the Ordo Bath and the Vessel of the Yinglong. To accuse her of outright lying was so absurd that not even Gwen, in all her arrogance, could accept. Besides her grandfather, her Babulya helped him circulate his Elemental Salt in case the man suffered a mana seizure.

    "Can you tell me¡­" Gwen felt she would rather fall face-first into Lei-bup''s nest of writhing eyes than listen to Elvia dismantle her brother''s innocence. "¡­ why he choked you?"

    "He did so at Sobel''s goading, but he did it willingly." Elvia''s eyes were large, luminous and melting. "He did it spitefully, and I had expected to die. If successful, the act would have prevented Jun''s healing."

    Gwen almost bit her tongue. "Percy is responsible for Uncle Jun as well? Elvia¡­ I don''t know what else to say. I believe you¡ªbut I can''t accept it. I don''t understand why all of this happened. If you knew or suspected, why didn''t you tell me earlier? We couldn''t have prevented this?"

    "I acted upon a vision from the Yinglong¡­" Elvia''s voice lowered to a whisper. "I couldn''t afford to change the future into one I could not intervene."

    "So you kept all of this." Gwen felt her heart sink, then sink again. Try as she might, she couldn''t muster the sympathy necessary to forgive her Cleric. "To yourself? Was your faith in me so... insignificant?"

    "I know how much you love your family," Elvia averted her eyes. "I dared not risk invalidating the vision."

    "Who else knew about this?" Gwen gnashed her teeth. "Which one of you knew?"

    "We knew parts and pieces," Golos came to the cowed Cleric''s aid. "None of us knew everything."

    "You knew?" Gwen glared at her Dragon, then at Lulan and Ayxin. "You and you? All of you?"

    "Ruxin gave us hints," Golos said.

    "RUXIN!" Gwen growled. "So it''s a whole damned Yinglong conspiracy!"

    "Gwen Song!" Ayxin''s displeasure shot over the LRM Device. "Don''t be an ingrate!"

    "WHO ELSE KNEW?" Gwen felt the heat on her face like a fire.

    "I also told the Ordo''s Master, who aided me," Elvia''s confession continued, barely holding back the rolling droplets in the well of her well-loved eyes. "For my selfishness, Sir Kass and Reginald lost their life."

    "Why didn''t you come to me? What can you do without me? Is this why you told me that crock story back in London? The one about Sovereignty?" Gwen heard herself demand, her voice taking on a mind of its own.

    Her grandmother''s hand firmly took hold of her wrist. "Gwen, don''t lose your temper."

    "I¡­" Elvia was shaking now. "I didn''t think¡­"

    "You didn''t think." Gwen tore her hand from her babulya''s grasp. "Of course you didn''t! Elvia! What the fuck?"

    "You had to see Percy''s evil for yourself!" The words escaped Elvia''s lips. "I told you, Gwennie, you should have let Sobel take me! But I don''t remember you listening! If you made a habit of listening, then maybe I would have told you! Percy would be here, answering for his crimes! And I would be dead and at peace! I could be HAPPY!"

    "YOU... you little..." Gwen could barely see from her Draconic-enhanced eyes as motes of Void and Lightning surged around her conduits, cruising on the high of her turbulent emotions. "Are you serious, Evee? Are you fucking serious?"

    "Magister Song¡ª" Mathias'' protest rose in a clang of armour, rising to shield Elvia from her wrath. "Calm yourself."

    "Shut the fuck up!" Gwen snapped back before she even realised she had spoken. "Sit down, Matty!"

    The Knight sat, pushed down by Elvia.

    "I trusted you!" Gwen pointed at the amulets on the table. "We could have done something earlier! You''re the Vessel of the Yinglong! Grandfather would have obeyed you, proof or otherwise!"

    Her Evee shook her head, unable to answer but refusing to concede. "The Kirin in that Jade Lode is tied to the amulets¡ª" Elvia pointed toward the pair of silent jade shards on the table. "In my vision, the Ashen Kirin had risen, and your uncle would have perished. If I had acted earlier, I would not have known the precise moment to snatch Master Jun from his ordained fate."

    Thinking of Jun sleeping upstairs in the infirmary, Gwen''s anger grew stifled.

    "Child," Gwen''s babulya spoke softly and calmly. "What your friend says makes sense. That''s precisely what Jun''s amulet was doing, draining his Ashen Mana and trying to claw at the vitality and Essence in his Soul Well. It took both you and Sen-sen to satiate it enough to unlatch its bond from your uncle''s flesh. Outside of this moment, who knows what could have happened?"

    Guo''s throat bobbed like a man swallowing his teeth. "These amulets are from our ancestors¡­ The Kirin is long buried¡­ long dead... how..."

    "The Amulet, Guo," Klavdiya reminded him. "Were once whole. I don''t know if that mattered then. I know if it matters now. If Elvia''s accusations of Percy hold¡­"

    Gwen shared her grandfather''s woe.

    If Elvia told the truth¡ªthen Percy was a kin slayer, an infanticide, a treasonous scoundrel, and an accessory to mass murder. She didn''t know how they had inexplicably arrived at this stage¡ªbut she implicitly understood that Elvia could not be lying.

    But how should she treat Elvia, who took her to this point?

    Was she even the Evee she knew? Or was she merely an extension of the Yinglong''s will?

    Looking at Elvia, the four chambers of her heart filled with the hellish paradoxes of love, loathing, pity and hate, rapidly coalescing into a bittersweet and poisoned cocktail.

    She had to forgive.

    But a part of her wanted violence.

    Dark, dire violence that would see her slender fingers upon Evee''s neck to choke out that smug fucking sacrosanct expression of selfish suffering.

    "Gwen, before you murder everyone. A quick question." Richard raised his hand. "Elvia, will you be telling any of this to the Communists? They did, after all, lose a city."

    The Cleric appeared confused by Richard''s abrupt interruption.

    Gwen glared at her cousin.

    "Hear me out, Gwen. Percy''s bullshit isn''t a wound that should be left to rot." Richard did not back down. "Your brother''s turn isn''t good for the Songs or our Shalkar''s future establishment. I know it''s a difficult decision, but let''s clear the air and cut off the gangrene, shall we?"

    "RICHARD!" Gwen felt the charm bubble of her rage burst a little. "How could¡­"

    "REGENT!" Richard''s explosive voice, something Gwen had never experienced from her smiling cousin, slapped her like a backhand. "THAT LITTLE SHIT tried to kill an unborn Dragon cousin just to feed a maybe Kirin! If that child had died, all of China would be fucked. How do you even begin to defend that?"

    "Percy was misled!" Gwen grasped at straws. "We could have prevented¡­"

    "Gwen, for FUCK''s sake!" Richard slammed a fist onto the table. "That''s not TEN THOUSAND DEAD out there, which might just be a snack for Cali or some shit. Tianjin, before last night, had MULTIPLE MILLIONS of people! How many died because the Shielding Stations failed? How many died because of that Kirin Lode in Cali''s belly? COUNT THE FUCKING ZEROS! Don''t these people have brothers? Sisters? Mothers and fathers? PERCY did that! Misled? Who gives a shit? You were asking if Elvia was serious. Are you fucking serious?"

    The aural assault of Richard''s candid string of fucks made Gwen swallow her words.

    "I ought to order Lea to give you a cold shower," Richard''s voice lowered. "But you might just SOUL FUCK all of us because that''s the power you wield now, Regent. When you make a shit call¡ªlike, how about we NOT tell anyone about your pet dickhead? That''s how we all get FUCKED, like the city below and millions that just got fucked by Percy''s fuckery."

    Gwen distinctly felt as though she had fallen off a horse.

    "He tried to kill her. Drain her! And that would have killed Uncle Jun." Richard reminded her. "Did you forget we all watched it live on the Lumen-caster? I didn''t know Elvia meant so little to you. But you know what? I like Evee. I won''t let her go like that. Anyone who tries to fuck with her, I''ll clap them back twice as hard."

    Under such a barrage, Gwen had to put up her hands in self-defence from Richard''s spittle.

    "Look at Evee," Richard commanded.

    Gwen looked at her friend.

    "Are you going to give up Elvia just to shield Percy from consequences?" Richard demanded. "Elvia spent a year in the dark, eaten up by guilt, expecting she would die to preserve your sanity. Look at that adorable face. Is this the face of betrayal?"

    Gwen had to consciously not roll her eyes at Richard''s transparency.

    But her cousin''s interjection had soothed her rage, and despite her redirected desire to perform violence on Richard, the Water Mage was right.

    Was it fair to blame Percy''s insane turn on Elvia''s lack of interference?

    Elvia was not the Oracle of Delphi, and Gwen Song was not an arbitrator of celestial justice. No businesswoman would be. Her morals, if any, were now so steeped in blood that sin stuck to her skin like gory gauze. Yet, for everything she had done¡ªall the Demi-humans she had consumed, all the Necromancers'' maybe minions Gwen murdered, she had not even touched the coattails of "depravity" Percy had allegedly committed.

    A kin-slayer!

    To have designs upon Ayxin''s child¡ªthe fruit of her uncle''s barren loins¡ªwas a step so far from the boundaries of acceptance that it may as well be the Quasi-Elemental Plane of the Void.

    And who was she? She was no longer a fifteen-year-old adolescent who had fainted in Hyde Park after blowing her brains out over Helena. Nor was she a shallow consultant with eyes only for larger margins in the annual report. Her foundations now, after her baptisms of blood, sorcery, lightning and Void, were no less than the mighty tendrils of Sulfina''s one-day World Tree.

    Finally grounded, Gwen studied the bloody mess on both sides.

    Her grandfather appeared to have aged a decade, but his eyes were notably fixated on Ayxin, within whom a God-child germinated. Her babulya kept Guo from toppling, but the old woman''s concern was reserved only for her husband. Did her grandmother suspect? Gwen wondered unpleasantly, or was Percy''s turn not surprising to anyone but herself and Guo?

    Petra, as per her training, appeared utterly unfazed. She had never liked Percy and had never spoken kindly of her brother. Even during the family dinners, she never sat next to him, leaving Percy to the likes of Tao and Mina.

    As for Richard¡­

    Their eyes met once more. Gwen''s cousin smiled sheepishly. In truth, she had only thought of Richard''s hate for Percy to be sardonicism and mockery for a sibling who dared to compete with his favourite cousin. In hindsight, his dickish utterances of "little shit" likely possessed more insight than insult.

    But Percy was still her brother.

    Her only brother.

    A murdering, treasonous brother.

    She had thought the boy was in good hands¡ªand by every indication of the "school reports" she received from China, the boy was well on his way to becoming a Party favourite.

    And now, he was Elizabeth Sobel''s plaything, assuming he was alive¡ªfor the alternative was not something she wished to entertain.

    How did this come to pass?

    As Gwen Song, Percy''s hapless sister, she possessed no answers.

    However, as the Regent of Shalkar, her experiences spoke for itself.

    "Evee," she replied as flatly and calmly as she could manage. She tried not to loom, but the Da-peng armour was effortless menacing. "Tell me, what did the Yinglong gain from all this?"

    Elvia''s haunted silence made Gwen feel like she was kicking the biggest Golden Retriever in the Spiritus Mundi.

    "Alright, little one, I''ll take it from here." A thunderous drone in the hulking presence of Golos stood to make his disapproval known. "Calamity, you''re unhappy with our Vessel, but don''t make a habit of bullying clueless mortals. You and me. We know each other more than anyone here can know, so I''ll speak. Before you accuse our Father of anything, let me remind you that everything you''ve accomplished today with me, with Ruxin, with your Uncle Jun up there is part of our heavenly Patriarch''s benevolence. If you want to know how we benefited, listen¡ª"

    And then, the Thunder Dragon rolled out her life like a tapestry.

    Jun''s invitation for her to attend Essence-hunting in Huangshan.

    Their first meeting with Ayxin and Golos.

    Ayxin''s search for Jun.

    Lulan''s apprenticeship.

    Golos becoming her Planar Ally.

    Ruxin¡¯s usurpation of Nagaland.

    Sen-sen''s appearance.

    And Elvia''s anointment.

    Gwen felt her heart petrify.

    Was there a single turn by which she, Gwen Song, did not benefit? Like a fool, she had been so happy to receive every gift! With each article, Gwen felt the shackles of gratitude wrap around her ankles, tethering her anger so that her berserker rage became a baited bear roaring in frustration.

    Without Golos, she would have died in Nagaland.

    Without Ruxin, she might have struggled in her merchant craft.

    Without Ayxin, she may not have even left China.

    With each flap of the Yinglong''s wings, everything for her family got better, easier, and more attainable.

    Worst still, the more she digested the Yinglong''s gifts, the less she understood why Percy had fallen so low when the family had risen to such lofty heights. His position was one that almost no one else in China enjoyed, and given time, he would have become a powerhouse no less than herself, especially in the thunderous wake of his new cousin''s birth.

    Was it true, then, that it was Percy''s free will?

    Or was it the Kirin Amulet?

    That hypothesis, to Gwen at least, was unlikely. She had fed the amulet Alumdj''s Essence. In her experience, there was no living being inside, much less a consciousness. If there was, the Rainbow Snake would have sundered the stranger.

    Of course, Percy would know.

    And only by taking the boy and slapping some sense into the "little shit" would she have the answers she sought¡ª

    "... And that''s all I have to say about that..." Golos sat heavily, sending the gasket of the chair downward. "Are we good? Or do you want to fight?"

    Gwen sighed long and hard, too tired to disguise her disappointment, not only in Elvia and her allies but also in herself.

    "We thank you, Lord Golos, for the honesty," her Babulya, who had been listening to the whole while, spoke over Gwen''s contemplative lethargy. "The Yinglong has given us far more heart than we mortals deserve from one so wise."

    Guo stood, then bowed toward the Dragons. "We all owe He Who Heeds more than we can ever repay, Gwen included."

    "Well." Golo had the gall to look abashed. "We did get what we needed as well¡ªwin-win, as the Calamity likes to say."

    Only Percy lost... Gwen wanted to reach out and pluck one of Golo''s smug feathers.

    DING!

    The familiar blossom of a first-tier emergency announcement erupted beside their ears.

    Gwen wanted to ignore the Message, but when the others stopped to digest their Divinations, she felt pressured by curiosity to open her own.

    "PRIVATE MESSAGE FOR REGENT SONG: YAKATERINBURG TOWER HAS FALLEN. CITY RAZED BY NECROMANTIC FORCES. URAL MOUNTAINS LOST. MAGI IGOR SAKHAROV MISSING IN ACTION. PAN-EUROPEAN EMERGENCY FOR EASTERN STATES NOW IN EFFECT. RETURN TO SHALKAR AT ONCE FOR DEFENCE DEBRIEFING. NO MORE FREE SHOGGOTHS.

    ¡ª OLLY."

    Before Ayxin''s wedding, her mind would have imploded. After Tianjin, she could only give one silent fuck.

    Petra, who had remained seated this whole while, slowly rose until her impressive height matched Gwen''s.

    "Gwen..." Her cousin''s eyes were the largest she had ever seen. "Y-Yekaterinburg has fallen."

    "Another tragedy," Gwen nodded. "One that''s not far enough from Shaklar for my liking."

    "No, not that." Petra licked her lips, her expression no longer the unperturbed, cold Russian Gwen had come to expect. "My parents are there."

    "Your parents? They are not in Moscow?"

    "After my... abscondment," Petra''s face rapidly filled with blood. "They were assigned to a fortress frontier."

    Gwen reached out a hand to comfort her cousin, but Richard was faster and more comforting than her distracted self.

    "Don''t worry, Pats," Richard spoke the words she wanted to say. "If there''s anything we can do, we''ll do it. Won''t we, Gwen?"

    "Yes," Gwen concurred. "We will help Yekaterinburg."

    "You mean the refugees from Yekaterinburg. But to do that, we''ll need to return to Shalkar," Richard announced, more to the table than to herself. "No doubt, this is the work of Spectre. It''s all linked¡ªthese calamities that befall us¡ªbut we''ll have to manage our time as best we can."

    Gwen could not help but agree.

    Of the Mageocracy''s furthermost eastern posts, the one most abundant in manpower and resources was none other than her Shalkar.

    With the Ural Mountains lost, the Moscow line was the last remaining barrier between them and the banished Undead Tides of the Great War. There would be generous offers from the West for its defence, for the eastern bulwark must not fall at all costs.

    "Evee..." Gwen took hold of her doubts and boxed them for another day. "We will... need the Ordo''s aid in the coming months. Will you come to Shalkar?"

    "If you command it," Elvia replied neither happily nor sadly but dutifully. "Wherever the Regent of Shakar needs me, I''ll follow."

    Their mutual distance, she knew, would exist for some time.

    Gwen turned to her grandparents. "Yeye, Babulya, in regards to Percy..."

    "We''ll discuss matters with the Secretary-General," her grandmother spoke where her grandfather could not. "At this time, even if Percy returned, there is no place but Tianlanqiao for him. We will investigate the Yinglong''s claims, Gwen, and search for Percy however we may. You have a duty now, child, far more important than one boy. I would not keep you from it, no matter what."

    Gwen sighed again.

    Poor Percy...

    Poor, villainous, dastardly, Kin-slaying Percy...

    Not appreciated enough and now not even a priority.

    "Well then! Lord Regent of Shalkar," Richard tapped his Message Device, halting her distracted thoughts. "You should speak to the Tower Master and announce our departure. I''ll settle things here and brief you at the ISTC. As you can see, Axyin''s already gone. Lulan, are you coming?"

    "I''ll follow my benefactor anywhere," the repentant Sword Mage looked longingly at her.

    Gwen nodded at Lulan to acknowledge her pledge. With Lulu, at least, it was easy to forgive.

    "Golos?" Her eyes fell onto her Dragon.

    The Thunder Dragon grunted.

    With a final hug from her grandparents, Gwen left her place at the head of the table, signalling the end of their family meeting.

    Whatever unhappiness she might still possess, that would be for another day.

    Now, there was only duty.

    With Gwen and the others finally gone, Elvia felt cold sweat breaking across her back like a tide. Her part was played¡ªonly she had not planned for a life beyond the moment she perished. Now, she felt like a hospice patient who had awakened one day to find all her fatal illnesses inexplicably cured.

    Once she could breathe again, her attention turned to Richard, who stood at the door waiting, appearing more like a man amused by the daily columns than someone who had just talked down the Regent of Shalkar.

    "Magus Huang¡­" Elvia mentally commanded Mathias to stand apart while she approached and bowed. "I don''t know why you did that, but thank you."

    "There''s no need to thank me," Richard hand-waved away her gratitude. "If what you say is true, Evee, your deep understanding of Gwen''s flaws had just saved me and my entire career. Also, don''t expect me to pull that stunt again. One day, our Gwen isn''t going to forgive¡­"

    While Richard spoke, a watery hand belonging to Lea emerged and patted her head.

    "Evee, don''t be sad," the Water Sprite wrapped an appendage around her like a scarf. "I would have drowned Percy myself!"

    "Thank you." Elvia cupped the watery digits with her own.

    Richard coughed. "Anyway. Things will be more difficult from here, Knight Companion. Knowing Gwen, our Mistress will finally look toward the creation of her own Tower, hunt for Sobel and Percy..."

    Elvia nodded solemnly.

    "Only, on the brotherly front... capiche?"

    Elvia stared at the Water Mage.

    Richard''s face came closer. "Capiche?"

    Elvia looked at Richard, then at Mathias.

    The upright Knight Companion also look confused.

    Turning back to Gwen''s cousin, Elvia saw a little of the future in the twinkling glint from the Water Mage''s eyes.

    "OH..." Elvia''s lips form an O, suddenly understanding.

    "We''ll be so busy," Richard sighed. "And Gwen, too. I guess the rescue will be delayed... Your Ordo as well¡ªso busy."

    "Yes, very busy." Elvia didn''t know what else to say.

    "So get busy, return to the Ordo, and find capable men and women." Richard''s purpose, Elvia knew, was not for her nor himself. Perhaps, out of all of them from Sydney, only Richard understood Gwen and was fit to be Gwen''s most capable partner. "For the coming tide of refugees, Companion Lindholm, I hope that our forces be supplied with an infirmary to rival the best anywhere in the world. Remind Gwen often that someone almost took that away from her. Someone important¡ªbut not that important... capiche?"

    "... is that Italian?" Elvia couldn''t help her curiosity. "Why are you speaking Italian?"

    "Who knows?" Richard laughed, which was inappropriate considering his suggestion, but Elvia wasn''t complaining. "It''s a Gwenism, so who can tell the mysteries of its origins? So, do you... capiche?"

    "I capiche..." Elvia felt absolutely terrible that she understood¡ªbut simultaneously, she couldn''t help but feel thrilled... and free of the spectre of Percy Song.

 Chapter 487 - 488 - O Simple Thing

    Tianjin Tower.

    The ISTC.

    On the second evening of the third day of the invasion, the Regent of Shalkar finally found time for a cat nap.

    In a private chamber reserved for VIPs, she took up the lotus pose, circulated what was left of her Essence, and began the deep meditation that high-tier Mages substituted for sleep.

    Soundlessly, a jet-black shield of Elemental Void descended around her person, delivering total serenity for the two hours her Party waited to make the jump through space and time.

    Richard and Petra, together with Lulan, had proceeded immediately to Shalkar and oversee the preparations for a potential northern expedition into the Black Zones eastward of the Ural Mountains, where Yekaterinburg once stood.

    Elvia had also left, taking an excursion to London to take responsibility for Sir Kass and Reginald''s death and report on the tragic success of her quest to Senechal Ashburn.

    Her uncle Jun was still sleeping, and she did not want to disturb the man over a guilt-ridden hug. Besides, once his health was restored, he would be the epicentre of a political hurricane, and Gwen had no desire to be the one to explain to her defender-of-the-people uncle the actions of his abducted nephew.

    Equally occupied were her guilt-ridden grandparents, who needed to answer to the higher powers of the Party. She also didn''t wish to face Secretary General Miao, whose career may be tottering after the revelation of Percy Song''s involvement in the city''s misfortunes. Her only solace was that no one would dare question the Secretary General''s actions until after a supply chain was established for Beijing, whose many millions were starved of the largest grain route in the Greater Asian-Pacific region and for whom the shadow of an Undead invasion just became real.

    As for Lei-bup¡ªGwen could only count on the Mermen to keep their word. However, as she had stated to the Tower Master of Tianjin, she had immense "faith" that the self-made Mermen High Priest would not renege on his word.

    Finally, she would not be returning to Shalkar immediately.

    With Percy gone and Elizabeth Sobel now once more invested in the world''s affairs, she must make an excursion to Sydney and speak to her siblings-in-craft, for she dared not proceed with her next course of action without the stakeholds of the wisened Gunther and the unshakable Alesia.

    Slowly, within the third eye of her Astral consciousness, midnight descended.

    In the liminal space of her Void Egg, her lucid Mage Dream unfolded like an origami diorama, for such was the fatigue plaguing her mind, both from the exhaustion of her mana and the weariness of her thrumming emotions.

    One by one, visions of the past few hours flashed through the chambers of her brain, burning themselves into the synaptic networks of her frontal lobe.

    Elvia¡­

    Percy...

    Elvia...

    Percy...

    Against a montage of Sobel''s sensual, sickly presence looming over her wide-eyed brother, she saw Evee''s pleading eyes begging her to choose.

    Should it be that Elvia died, and Percy remained to answer for his crimes? Was that the perfect solution to her mental anguish, the cathartic resolution to their Aristotelian tragedy?

    As a sometimes-sister, overdue lover and the full-time Regent of a domain, she possessed no answers, no twist of the imagination that could deceive her desolated conscience.

    Each time she tried, she saw a snippet of a future foretold by a cunning Dragon:

    An ashen wasteland with a looming Kirin dancing amid a gentle dusting of necrotic Elemental Ash falling like powder across a devastated city.

    Her uncle Jun, a twisted husk of his hale past, crucified upon soft mounds of ash and debris, his chest sunken, punctuated by a milk-white Jade Amulet.

    Somewhere in Shanghai, a grief-stricken Ayxin loses whatever measure of focus she needed to bring about the impossible, resulting in the existential death of a baby cousin that was never meant to be.

    Her grandparents¡ªoverwhelmed by grief and becoming the scapegoat of Percy''s ploys, with no Ayxin and Yinglong to shield them from the ramifications of Tianjin''s loss.

    The worst was averted¡ªand yet¡ªshould she be thankful?

    Wasn''t the city still a confluence of fire, water, despair and destruction?

    She felt in her chest the acute germination of something she did not wish to possess¡ªthe seeds of a deep-rooted detestation for her friend and, in time, a partner. Elvia''s sacrifice was a betrayal of the highest order and a source of un-asked-for salvation that she could not dismiss.

    The paradox was so jarring that Gwen felt her joints ache, her mind torn violently between the desire to embrace her Cleric and kiss her on the mouth¡ªand the violent impulse of taking Elvia''s shoulders and shaking her until every bone was loosed from their sockets.

    Over and over, like frames of a Kodak carousel left on repeat, she felt assailed by her self-induced visions, her mind ever sinking into a quagmire of doubt.

    A long time ago.

    A lifetime ago.

    She stood a distance from her elfin friend in a house by the bay, on a pier, and listened to her angelic voice while a hundred Dancing Lights added dimension to the starlit waters.

    It was an epoch where they lacked power.

    Lacked knowledge.

    Possessed no wealth.

    And knew nothing about their futures.

    And yet, in those uncertain times, certain certainties felt so assured and unassailable, enchanted and magical.

    Now, those lights were just balls of mana hovering over cold, dark waters.

    In the recess of her mindscape, snug in the depth of her Astral Soul, Gwen heard the impossible verses of a long-ago ballad sung in the voice of a guileless Evee walking on water in mimicry of her dogmatic Nazarene.

    I walked across¡­ an empty land

    I knew the pathway like the back of my hand

    I felt the earth¡­ beneath my feet

    Sat by the river, and it made me complete

    But there would be no more completion.

    Percy had made sure of that.

    The river was poisoned, and none would dare to drink from it.

    I came across a fallen tree

    I felt the branches of it looking at me

    Is this the place we used to love?

    Is this the place that I''ve been dreaming of?

    There would be a tree, a great, incredible tree the likes of which humanity has never seen.

    A Tree.

    A woman.

    A snake.

    This tree would be hers and hers alone, and she would be its sole, lonely mistress.

    Oh, simple thing, where have you gone?

    The melancholy lyrics were from an extinguished reality, sad and yet apt and prophetic. From the warmth on Gwen''s face, she suspected her eyes might be overwhelmed by a sudden inundation of moisture.

    And if you have a minute, why don''t we go

    Where would she go with Evee? That house on the hill was now buried under a Leviathan.

    Talk about it somewhere only we know...

    And where would that be? What else did they share now apart from the tainted past?

    This could be the end of everything...

    Her heart grew deadly silent, its palpitations ceasing as though someone had pulled a sudden plug.

    Was that how the song ended?

    Like the churning contents of her Void-strewn gut, she felt only the hunger of the Void, within which her Shoggoth slumbered, its belly full of Men and Mermen, Undead and otherwise.

    Oh, simple thing...

    Gwen could no longer recall if the chorus ended with hope, longing, anguish or loss.

    She no longer had expectations about Percy, of family dinners with Mei and maybe a little niece or nephew.

    She felt disconnected and desolated by reality. Without finding her brother, shackling the little turd-for-brains, and bringing him back in chains to answer his crimes, she could not face her babulya, her Yeye, Uncle Jun, and the rest of her family.

    And Hai Song and Helena Huang¡­ she could not summon the strength to consider their involvement, even hypothetically.

    She had always known that the complications of her life would be in proportion to the power she desired to wield¡ªbut for that reckoning to hit her so hard and so abruptly was a predicament as farfetched as the arrival of Lei-bup upon a colossal lobster.

    DING! Her Message Device chimed.

    The ISTC was ready for Sydney, and her followers awaited her command.

    Gwen wiped away any potential tell-tale traces of liberated mascara.

    Her Void shell slipped back into the Astral.

    Her face, cold and composed, was ready for the world.

    Enough Gwen Song for today. The Regent of Shalkar had places to be.

    Gwen''s world flared silver.

    Before yesterday''s revelations, separating from Elvia and her cousin to travel alone back to Australia would be an unthinkable prospect. Now, she felt her solo trip was the most natural exit as her body dematerialised away from her most stalwart supporters.

    When she reappeared among nostalgic recollections of "beam me up, Scottie¡­" She was already in the ISTC chamber of Sydney''s yet-unfinished super structural Tower.

    "Gwen," the voice that greeted her not only possessed the warmth of a hearth fire but its owner dressed in the same hues of orange and scarlet. "Welcome home, Sister."

    "Allie," Gwen replied, feeling the tension drain from her body like an overfilled dam with the floodgates released. "It''s good to be home."

    The two women embraced, savouring their bond as sisters and siblings-in-craft.

    When they parted, she found Alesia staring.

    "What''s wrong?" Gwen couldn''t help but be curious.

    "Your body felt so¡­" Alesia''s expression was worried. "Stiff. Sure, we''ve got some heavy discussions with Gunther in a moment, but you can relax, I promise."

    "Yeah." Gwen touched her neck. "There''s a lot on my plate at the moment. Will Yue be joining us?"

    Her once mentor patted Gwen''s stooped back, then kneaded her shoulders with both hands until she forcibly relaxed. All of this was watched by guards whose eyes acutely savoured their moment with the Regent of Shalkar, Mistress of the Shoggoth, the most renowned mass murderer of Necromancers from Sydney to London.

    "She''s with Whetu in Auckland, rebuilding the city as a liaison." Alesia indicated at the ISTC. "Would you like to speak with her? Might do you good."

    Gwen shook her head. "This was an unplanned visit, so let''s not bother Yue for now.''

    Alesia seemed to understand¡ªbut Gwen knew there was no way her sister could comprehend the turmoil post-Yinglong Elvia would strain on their three-person sisterhood. Would Yue side with herself? Or would Yue side with Evee? Or perhaps their friend would be disgusted with them both? She had no answers and little desire to make that discovery.

    "Yes. And yes, I heard about what happened in Nanjing." Alesia''s face, beautiful as Gwen recalled, replaced its concern with anxiety and undisguised anger. "And the bitch is back, I take it."

    "In the flesh." Gwen nodded. "Took Percy as a souvenir with her after trashing Tianjin like she did with our Master. If we are to hunt her one day, we must do something about that Planar Jaunt."

    "For sure." Alesia hugged her again, perhaps reinforcing that she should feel at home. "Come, Gunther''s waiting in our penthouse."

    "Not his office?" Gwen tilted her head.

    "And let his secretary cook?" Alesia laughed. "We''re going hear your story, Gwen. Not as the Regent of Shalkar, but as our Sibling-in-craft."

    "Right." Gwen finally found the energy to smile. "Then I shall leave nothing out. The details will be sordid and shocking. Is that alright?"

    Alesia touched her bare shoulders. "You see these?"

    Gwen''s lips curled.

    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

    "I know they''re not as broad as Gunther''s, sister," the Fire Mage snickered. "But they''re plenty broad enough for you, Regent."

    Sydney.

    The Tower.

    Gunther Shultz, Tower Master of Oceania, was ready with breakfast.

    After exchanging pecks and hugs, they each took their seats, and Gunther spooned out egg, SPAM and toast, together with the most godly coffee Gwen had tasted since London.

    "If I were to tell the folks at Cambridge that the Morning Star himself served me coffee and asked for how many sugars," Gwen remarked, feeling the bitter liquid fill her with warmth. "The faculty would call me a liar."

    "If someone told me that a million Mermen worshipped our little Sister, and would gladly go inland to fight an Elemental Prince of Fire on her behalf, I would have called them a liar, too," Gunther returned her jab with his usual seriousness.

    Her brother-in-craft looked notably older, though not in the way of his advancing age, but rather in the air of his authority. There were now visible stress lines on his forehead and the corner of his eyes, which were signs of a man burdened with hard decisions and responsibilities.

    It was a look, she knew, that echoed her appearance, one that no longer possessed her doe-eyed formative years nor the ambitious hunger of her alter-world thirties. Now, whenever she washed up and made herself presentable in the mirror, she felt her age¡ªdespite her physique being maintained by the immortal Essences of a timeless creature.

    With the three of them settled around the kitchen bar like tribals around an amiable fire, Gwen did her best to re-tell her estimation of the events that began with her Uncle Jun''s ludicrous idea of aiding her Spellcraft with Draconic Essence to the moment in which the Yinglong played his Royal Flush and swept the board with a single swish of its enormous tail.

    "Fuck these lizards." Alesia looked like she could boil a new jug of coffee with her ire alone. "Manipulative fucks."

    "I can''t disagree with that." Gunther''s response was to cooly listen to her story, interrupting only to ask for minor details. "Jesus, Gwen, you''ve been through thick and thin. Elvia, as well, whatever her faults, and the others. Your grandparents have my condolences."

    "Percy isn''t dead." Gwen found herself rather unhappy at Gunther''s cool-headedness.

    Gunther tilted his head ever so slightly. "I don''t see you rushing off to Singapore like before¡­"

    Gwen had no comebacks.

    The three drank their coffee.

    "I would like to share something with you," her brother-in-craft said nonchalantly. "I didn''t want to say this because your foundations are so entwined with Almudj and the Dragons, but I will now. Will you listen?"

    Gwen nodded.

    Gunther leaned against the counter, his natural radiance adding a texture to his sonorous voice as it played against her ear.

    "We are all aware that our Master trafficked heavily with the Demi-human races, especially the Elves and the Dragons, yes?"

    Gwen and Alesia both confirmed their knowledge.

    "But our Master dealt with neither here in Sydney." Gunther symbolically moved his cup of coffee away from theirs. "This is a choice, Gwen. Not an oversight."

    "Are you saying there are no Elves on this continent?" Gwen''s eyes indicated the vista of the newly built harbour.

    Gunther did not refute her claim. "Not like Tyfan."

    Gwen''s mind instantly recalled that living memory of Kalinda, the burning tree, and Almudj''s soaring body.

    "That said, I had been invited to join this Accord of Tyfan, as Master calls it, with a personal invitation from The Bloom in White herself. It''s been almost two decades since, and the offer still stands. However, I do not need Tyfan''s blessings, nor am I interested in what their Verdant Lord, the very ancient Tyfanevius, has to say either."

    Gwen waited for Gunther to continue.

    "But you did need a Dragon''s help, sister¡ªand you were played like a fiddle by the Yinglong," Gunther said. "Because the Yinglong is not Almudj. The Yinglong will not ascend to the Unformed Land like your Patron, because it is far too worldly. So long as it remains grounded by its children and domain, its conflicts and interests are each an insurmountable barrier to ascension."

    Gwen felt her mood sink somehow even lower.

    "Of course, now that it managed to untether quite a few of its concerns thanks to wielding you like a spiked bat, maybe it could."

    "Gunther, be nice!" Alesia scolded her husband.

    "Gwen, look at me." Gunther reached out and squeezed her shoulder, his darkly stubbled chin both manly and threatening. "What do you think now about trafficking with immortal beings?"

    "Not as pleasant as I imagined," Gwen confessed. "I was so certain that I came away with each encounter with a little advantage¡ªonly to realise now that every iota of Essence I took came with a price."

    "Not to mention you''re too deeply invested now to retract yourself," Gunther sighed. "You promised Sufina, didn''t you? And there are older, more dangerous Dragons now watching you. According to your admission, I am counting Tyfanevius, Illaelitharian, and Sythinthimryr, who sent you a living Morden, and that''s assuming the Yinglong is done with you."

    "Elvia says the Yinglong is asleep now and will slumber for some time," Gwen said. "I am still in business with Ruxin¡­ Lulu''s probably still tethered to Ryxi, and Golos is a lightning rod for Shalkar."

    "Don''t misunderstand me. I am not telling you to cut ties." Gunther shook his head. "I am simply asking you what you have learned from being used."

    "Well." Gwen felt a little impatient with Gunther''s patience. "I am pissed, for one. As for the lesson, I shouldn''t have taken so much candy from strange Dragons wrapped around dubious trees advertising Free Essence."

    "A curious analogy," Gunther snorted at her attempt at humour. "To give and take with mutual respect, I suspect, is the lesson I am trying to impart here. What do you think would give you the means to say no and for them to respect that?"

    "Raw power." Gwen knew the answer to Gunther''s enquiry. "A Tower, Politics, and Spellcraft."

    "Martial power you already possess," Gunther partially agreed. "I doubt even the Bloom of a World Tree would openly wish to tussle with the Shoggoth. However, if ever you go to war, the immortals will pay mercenaries to cut down everything you hold dear before slapping you down with an unseen hand. They are THE unseen power of Terra."

    Gwen felt a shiver.

    "Will your Tower be in Shalkar?" her Brother-in-craft asked.

    "More than likely." Gwen nodded. "It''s the crossroads between the South-East Asian markets and the European-Mediterranean trade ports. Once I have the Low Ways restored, it will become a new Silk Road. Is that a problem?"

    "No, it''s good," Gunther concurred. "I only wished to confirm your ambitions. Master Henry built the Sydney Tower for himself because of its isolation from the past. If you mean to grasp the future, it''s right you build a Tower at the loci of the world''s events as you are the loci of many interests."

    "Any advice?" Gwen nursed her lukewarm flat white.

    Gunther''s lips pursed in thought before he spoke again.

    "If you cannot divorce yourself from the interests of these Dragons and their World Trees," Gunther said cooly. "Then you better find a counterbalance."

    "Counterbalance?" Gwen asked. "Through what?"

    "Not with the Mageocracy," Gunther said. "The ruling class and the Elves are thick as thieves."

    "And not the Communists." Gwen grimaced. "They''ve got a full table as it is. Maybe the Dwarves? But they''re inundated with recovering Citadels in the Murk. Without the Low Ways, they won''t be much more than an elite military expedition."

    "Look further." Gunther tapped the granite kitchen table. "There are Human forces free from the influences of both Tree and Dragon¡ªthough I can in no way vouch that they are benign or even friendly. You know of our allied Towers in the New World, of course."

    "I do," Gwen recalled her newly recruited consultant from MIT. "They don''t do Elves there?"

    "No Elves. No Tree that we know of, and no Demi-humans either¡­" Gunther said. "Take that how you will. It''s a different way of life to how you see the world, but it is whole-heartedly Human in all its woes and glory."

    Gwen pondered Gunther''s words.

    Human seemed to be the operative word, for Sydney was also a bastion of humankind and humanity alone.

    "The Americans may not have a World Tree problem," Gunther said. "But they do share our Spectre problem, and for those in the know, there''s evidence that one of Spectre''s chief executives is himself a Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar. Are you aware of this?"

    "Vaguely," Gwen confessed. "It was in the briefings. The ones I''ve faced are mostly their Demi-human allies, though. The Elemental Prince, the Mermens Dragon Turtles, and now, the Undead legions of Juche as fish. I''ve never encountered anything that might suggest Elven interference. Tyfan single-handedly decayed the entire Juche legion in the South Pole and saved Illaelitharian."

    "I am aware. Still, that one of Spectre''s executives is a Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar is a confirmed fact," Gunther said. "I am sure Tyfan knows, though the details, I fear, are privy only to those who trafficked with Master or are long-term members of the Accord."

    "So you think all our troubles are a part of an immortal chessboard?"

    Gunther shrugged. "We both know the answer to that. Whatever the case, our Tower friends in the northern strongholds of the Americas are diametrically opposed to the status quo in London, particularly where Elves and Dragons are concerned. For resources, on principle, and in matters of theology, they''ve held their own against their version of the Yinglong, the Quetzalcoatl, and have never yielded against the Svart¨¢lfar from the Woods that Wend."

    Gwen felt her head throb.

    Gunther did not relent. "You''re a morsel stuck in a great web, Gwen. A great many webs. The Dragons have their designs, and they may possess some other purpose as a collective. Beyond that, the individual World Trees have their tame Dragons, meaning beyond the lizards, there''s still Elves."

    Gwen groaned.

    Gunther gave her a minute to gather her wits. "Let''s move on to the main topic then. Elizabeth Sobel. Give me your impression."

    Gwen recalled as much detail as she could, everything from the cut of Sobel''s hair, her strange titillating funeral garb, to every word they had exchanged.

    When she finished, the whole kitchen sighed with the softly whistling kettle.

    "Doesn''t sound like she''s gotten any weaker." Alesia absentmindedly chewed on a petal of mandarin. "But I still think you could take her, Gunther?"

    "In an ambush, perhaps, assuming she can be killed conventionally," Gunther said as he violently skinned a hapless citrus. "But that''s not the point. What Spectre has accomplished costs an unimaginable amount of resources, even if they''re taking advantage of existing tipping points. If what Gwen told us is true, I am positive Olly is onto something."

    "Olly?" Gwen asked, thinking about receding hairlines.

    "Magister Olyphant Gilt. We schooled together in Germany, and our parents were old acquaintances. If you are visiting the States, I''ll introduce you." Gunther drew for her a pie in the sky. "Olly observed that almost every successful Spectre assault involved an insider-and-outsider confluence. He thinks that if we can discover then tap into the insider''s access to Spectre, we might finally be able to deal a concrete blow to their organisation."

    Gilt¡­

    Gwen suspected she had read the name somewhere, but the source escapes her.

    "Either way, we''ll need to be of two minds from now. We will need to divest our interests from our present projects. I''ll keep in touch with my American colleagues who suspect that Spectre is attempting to inflame the Tenochtitlan situation. You should continue to consult your allies in Europe. Since you can no longer extricate yourself from Elves and Dragons, you may as well network."

    "Should I join the Accord?" Gwen pondered Gunther''s earlier words. "Master was a part of it, correct?"

    "Until he wasn''t, yes." Gunther palmed another mandarin, then peeled it for his wife. "But you know, maybe that''s the break we need."

    "I thought you said it was¡­" Gwen frowned. "What with being used and all¡­"

    "There''s that, yes," Gunther''s eyes seemed to capture her in a singular frame. "But you''re a little special in that regard. With your Shalkar, your Shoggoth, your connections to us and especially to Almudj¡­ I think you''re poised to extract as much benefit as you pay into the enterprise¡ªI am certain that Tyfan, at least, is as keen to be rid of Spectre and their traitorous kin as we are to see Sobel finally put to rest."

    Gwen pondered her Brother-in-craft''s words.

    "I agree. But my power base still needs time to mature," Gwen conceded that a city''s real-life growth wasn''t something a generous divestiture of accumulated wealth could achieve. A fledging region was its people¡ªand her people needed training and time to expel parasites from folk who genuinely wanted a fair go at life. "Thanks to the Dwarves, Phase One will be done in under two years, especially if I can secure the city from Himsegg and the Murk. Phase Two: I am considering inviting Sufina but with the Ural mountains..."

    "That''s good. Though, another thing." Gunther''s tone softened. "When we begin our hunt for Sobel, what do you make of your brother?"

    Gwen sighed.

    "I don''t know," she confessed. "I know Percy is due for treason by all accounts. Ayxin will not forgive him; therefore, no one in my family will consider his return. If he had done this to Sydney, I couldn''t hold a grudge against you for vaporising him."

    Gunther studied her. "That''s¡­ a surprisingly mature response."

    Gwen felt a spark of mana zing from the tip of her hair. "Am I not mature?"

    Alesia passed over a few slices of deveined mandarins.

    Gunther did not answer. "What are your plans for the immediate future?"

    "Information gathering, I guess." Gwen slowly chewed the sweet petals of flesh. "There''s a Red Dragon "Morden" in Shalkar right now. Gogo will be there as well. I''ve also got a Druid Hierophant on call, the Dwarves, and the locals."

    "And you have the Mermen as well," Gunther reminded her. "This Lei-bup¡­"

    "What about him?" Gwen thought of Lei-bup''s many tentacles crawling up her arm. There was a connection between them, one that was as entwined as it was slimy. "It was unintentional, you know."

    "Well," Gunther said. "They worship the Shoggoth, not you. Just keep that in mind. This creature you summon is no more under your control than Almudj. To think so otherwise would be beyond foolish."

    "I know, I know," Gwen assured her Sibling-in-craft.

    "Spectre has always used the Seven Kingdoms," Gunther pointed out. "Lei-bup is a factor that exists so far outside the norm I have no words to describe it. A Greater Shaol, loyal to itself, indebted to a human, occupying an entire swath of the Yellow Sea¡­ I think this is an opportunity."

    "To Purge Mermen?" Gwen thought about her Shoal crashing into another, aided by the emergence of a Shoggoth. "I suppose they have to eat¡­"

    "Nothing so bloodthirsty," Gunther interrupted her. "What I mean is, it may finally be possible to establish a foothold in the Deep that''s friendly to us. If we can pierce the veil of the Seven Kingdoms, we might finally be able to explore diplomatic avenues and uncover how Spectre is directing the Mermen."

    Gwen''s mouth made an O. She had been killing for so long that she had completely forgotten uses for her "troops" beyond the obvious.

    "Besides, if we can secure Sobel''s routes on the land and sea¡­" Gunther popped a slice into his mouth as well. "Then our chances of bringing her to justice and recovering your brother would be greatly magnified."

    "No Air?" Gwen sniggered, imagining a future where Sobel had nowhere to hide.

    "If you can find the Mist Dragons, sure." Gunther laughed. "After all, you''ve managed to wrangle Fire, Thunder and Ice. What''s one more?"

    The trio revelled in the prospect, though not for too long.

    "Right. I''ll continue the dialogue with my colleagues in the New World." Gunther wiped his hand, signalling the end of their morning meeting. "If there is a discovery, however, Alesia and I won''t be able to keep away from Sydney for long, so you might have to be our agent."

    "If Gunther travels extensively," Alesia reminded Gwen. "The Factions will start their bullshit within a month. Of course, I can take care of it, but there won''t be many Mages left when Gunther returns."

    Looking at the fiery-haired Alesia, Gwen could foresee her taking a flaming mallet to the meetings to stamp out dissent and corruption. As for retaliation¡ªwho would dare harm Alesia? The moment Gunther returned, everything and everyone loved by anyone who dared to hurt his wife would evaporate like dew. In many ways, Gunther was the very picture of a benign dictator who could rule by fear and love.

    "Understood." Gwen concurrently reminded herself that her Regency''s domain was a small city, while Gunther was the leader of an actual continent. The two of them and their standings were as distant as an Acolyte and a Magister. "I''ll keep you posted, Gunther."

    "Make Master proud." Alesia held her fingers in her own. "No matter who you feed to Caliban, know that Gunther and I have your back."

    Shalkar.

    The ISTC.

    Unlike the Inter-State Teleportation Circles networks used worldwide, the ISTC of Shalkar was situated within the hollow interior of an enormous, fruit-laden tree.

    The older residents of the Shalkar all recall the first time they had seen the tree sprouting in a field of willowy grain, beckoned by two seeds from their Regent''s secret pod. Since then, the spatial gate used by the ageless Hierophant Sanari had grown into a modest skyscraper that dwarfed its cousin baobabs, tapping deep into the ley-node beneath the golden fields of sun-soaked grain.

    The construct was an unfortunate necessity, for Shalkar lay so far from the closest human city that no Divination Tower could reach it. It was only thanks to the tree and efforts made by Sanari that Gwen''s city even possessed a means to attain the convenience of teleportation.

    The moment Gwen emerged from the circle in a cascade of Conjuration mana, she was greeted by the endearing face of Strun, Captain of the local security forces, a soul-bound companion she could implicitly trust.

    "Mistress." The Rat-kin bowed deep, his nose almost touching her shoes. "We are glad that you have returned safely."

    "Thanks, Strun." Gwen waited for the Rat-kin to lift his head before ruffling his ears, watched on enviously by his troops. "Are the others here?"

    "Master Huang and Kuznetsova are already present in the Bunker. Mistress Li is securing supplies." her Rat-kin guided her toward the exit, bypassing the awed, mixed-race guards. "We have also received a Magus Morden, who has taken up residence in the guest hotel. Master Huang was entertaining him. The Magus said he was a VIP?"

    "He is indeed," Gwen confirmed Slylth''s identity. "Anything happen while I was away? You''ve heard about Tianjin and Yekaterinburg?"

    "The Militia is armed and ready." Strun straightened his back, rising until he was almost her height. "Cherbi Khudu is mustering an expedition force on the order of Temir Khan. They are very eager to march to war."

    "What, gainful white-collar jobs don''t suit them?" Gwen could imagine Khudu bursting from his yurt office to round up his warriors.

    "There are no more Demi-human tribes to subjugate within two weeks ride of Shalkar," Strun noted sternly. "The Horse-men have taken to an increased incidence of violence among themselves and against others."

    "It''s in their natures, I guess." Gwen wasn''t one to stereotype, but she also had no expectations that a mere two years would blunt the Centaur''s innate longing for glory and combat. "How''s our supply situation?"

    "Bountiful," Strun replied. "The Dwarves are buying everything we''re not selling to the Mageocracy, and still, we''re expanding our granaries."

    As she walked, Gwen tapped her thighs with her fingers. The excess was very good news¡ªbut she must not be fooled into thinking Shalkar''s climate-change fortunes would remain the status quo. That and the harvests were likely bolstered by the understanding she and Sanari had reached.

    Food and travel¡­

    Thanks to Gunther''s reminder, she was no longer willing to take these boons from Tyfan for granted. The help she received was not a gift. She could see that now. They were also a means of control.

    Outside the ISTC, a four-lane path shot past the wavy strands of spun gold into the horizon. Upon arrival, she and her entourage of guards ducked through a yet-unfinished Low Way Station that punctured through the Himmseg and the Murk. From within, travelling between the ISTC and the citadel was mere minutes.

    Strun continued his report on Shalkar''s various affairs, from the Mages who arrived via the ISTC to the refugees who came through the Low Way nodes connecting her city to Bavaria and beyond.

    Exiting the cavernous central station below Shalkar, she forwent the Teleportation Circle, instead taking the enormous freight lifts of the Dwarves to emerge finally into the sun-lit realm of her home and domain. The upward journey had offered her a glimpse of the citadel''s industrious restoration, adding to her confidence.

    "Regent! Over here!"

    When her eyes finally adjusted, she saw her Chief Administrative Officer, Ollie Edwards, surrounded by a small team of junior Mages.

    The two shook hands. "Thanks for looking after the city while I am gone, Magister Edwards. I''ll be relying on your wisdom in the future as well."

    "That''s literally my job," Ollie looked abashed. "Would you like to rest first? It''s a long jolt between here and Sydney. A lesser Mage would have been ill for days."

    "I''ll be alright." Gwen pointed to her casual attire, which made her followers doubt whether they were gazing upon the sole authority of the city or a casual tourist from down under. "Give me a few minutes to change, and we''ll start the meeting. I''ve consulted with Tower Master Shultz and have a general lay of our more immediate goals ahead."

    "Very well. I''ll come by later to compose the report for London." Ollie bowed his head, then moved beside Strun for Gwen to pass. "Captain."

    "Magister." Strun performed a half solute. "Mistress, I''ll be returning to my duties. Garp and I have more work to be done in the southern districts."

    Gwen waved the Rat-kin goodbye, then motioned Ollie to walk beside her. "Ollie, what do you make of the problem in the Ural Mountains?"

    The Magister from Cambridge scratched his receding hairline. He gave her a troubled look. "I am not sure we can accommodate the new refugees and our current ones."

    "How so?" Gwen felt better when her heels clicked on concrete rather than the hardened sand ubiquitous to the steppes.

    "If we take in the allotment of two hundred thousand, it will greatly unbalance the ambience here in the city. Presently, we have refugees from the South Pacific, central Europe, the African coast, and even Auckland. They''ve been humbled by their experience, to say the least, and are quite pliant to the common grounds we''ve put into place. Comparatively, Russia has always been¡­" The Magister searched for something diplomatic. "Homogenous?"

    "Ah¡­" Gwen pursed her lips. "You mean they''ll stick together and form a ghetto? We''re prioritising Mages and skilled workers with families, are we not?"

    "That''s not the issue I am worried about." Olly gave her a side-eyed glance. "Magister, our Russian neighbours have always been religiously Humanist."

    Gwen furrowed her brows.

    "Even if we were to resettle another two hundred thousand from other parts over the next two years," Ollie explained. "Humans will still be a minority. For the foreseeable future, we are fifty per cent Rat-kin, followed by the Horse Lords, then Humans and Dwarves."

    "Humanist, huh?" Gwen kept walking while thinking of Gunther''s promise of finding a breaking point in Spectre''s Norther American operations. "What''s your worry?"

    "The Rat-kin may not mind the prejudice, though Captain Strun will," Ollie said. "If there''s trouble with the Dwarves¡­ A few refugees might die from quaffing, fighting, or both. As for the Horse Lords¡­ maybe we should file it under suicide."

    Her footsteps halted just before their group struck the shade of the towering, Dwarven-made skyscraper clad with glass and runic steel.

    From the vista of an open-air lobby, she saw Horse Lords drinking from pewter tankards beside Rat-kin, joined by the occasional human colleague with their iced coffees. Elsewhere, uniformed Rat-kin guards with Dwarven-made shoulder pauldrons and a kit of Mageocracy Shock Wands patrolled the central district with their colleagues. Now and then, Dwarven builder Golems, with dozens of orange hard-hatted Rat-kin riding on top, groaned past the lower intersections, headed for the construction zones.

    And above all that, against the reflection of the rectangular building pointing skyward, she saw the multi-coloured shadows of Phalera''s Harpy brood, now truly settled into their new home.

    Make use of your resources. Gunther had said.

    "Ollie." Gwen stepped into range of the detector Glyphs, coaxing the enormous glass doors to ascend. "When the refugees get here¡­ introduce them to our head of security."

    "Head of security? Magister Song?" Ollie Edward quickly followed into the cool interior. "Do you mean Miss Lulan or Captain Strun?"

    "Neither." Gwen waved as she passed, her heels clicking musically upon the tiles. "From now on, Golos will be our Chief of Security and Head Overseer of Public Discipline. Our new friends from Russia will listen to a speech delivered in his true form when they arrive. And if anyone makes trouble within the community after that, they have only themselves to blame for facing the Dragon''s court."

 Chapter 489 - 490 - No Rest for the Wicked

    War fatigue.

    In a more innocent life in another world, the Regent of Shalkar could never have imagined that death and destruction could become as pedestrian as Mondays.

    After Antarctica, the war weariness had taken root in her chest like ivy vines entwined around the grand trunk of a once ambitious oak, sapping the passion, terror, compassion and loathing natural to human beings in a state of war.

    Such was why she had to convince herself to care, that there were Russian refugees, men and women and children, who required the helping hand of a compassionate power broker willing to forgo profits for humanitarianism.

    Soon, their first mixed-race expedition would set out for the barely mapped Wildlands between her shining city on the hill and the Ural mountains, and she had to ensure her citizens'' well-being was prioritised. And it was the right thing to do, Gwen told herself every so often into the endless paperwork, meetings, complaints and compliances needed to balance the unusual mix of sympathetic Dwarves, insensitive Centaurs and neutral Rat-kin.

    Additionally, the expedition would be the first field test of Shalkar''s military logistics. To prepare the new front, the Dwarves would build a trail of temporary Divination Stations to be manned by Strun''s numberless Rat-kin guards. In the event of an attack, Shalkar''s Mage Flights would arrive through the combined magics of Spellcraft and Dwarven Low-way runic sorcery.

    Beyond that, Gwen had the unenviable task of managing the possibility of new information on the disappearance of Magi Igor Sakharov, with herself as the sole authority to make immediate and drastic decisions.

    As the Tower Master holding up the "Iron Wall" between the dormant forces of the underground Necropolises in Eastern Russia and the Ural Mountains'' industrial centre, his death signalled the demise of the old status quo. And as the Magi credited with the Spellcraft powering the localised gravity used in the Tower''s combat levitation systems, a resurrected Sakharov would trigger an eastern campaign to rival the Great War.

    The worst outcome, therefore, wasn''t the potential that she had to drop another Shoggoth on Yekaterinburg, for she had grown numb over the death of those too slow to flee or too feeble to take flight. A true catastrophe was transforming her future Silk Road business hub into a forward operating base for a multi-national conflict.

    The prevention of such an outcome was the core tenet of her expedition, with the secondary outcomes being Petra''s hopes of retrieving her estranged parents and increasing Shalkar''s goodwill.

    "Regent." A shadow motioned for her attention from the interior of the Bunker''s chief administrative office, below the window of which her forces amassed. "Commander Strun report that we await on Master Axehoff''s Golem Guards. They will need more time to retool the construction units."

    "How long?" She spoke to the Manipuri Shadow Mage in the darkness.

    "Two more day cycles, your Grace."

    Ollie sat beside her on a separate secretary''s desk, tapping through the data slates with a Wand. "May I recommend that we send out the Horse Lords? Time is of the essence, and the Cherbi is impatient."

    Gwen considered the urgency of the matter. From the day of her return, it had already been forty-eight hours since she had given the order to arrange the rescue operation. The more they delayed the expedition, the lesser the likelihood of finding hale refugees.

    "Agreed, Magister Edwards. S¨¹ri, tell the Cherbi to begin the overland march," she informed her Shadow Mage. "The Rat-kin infantry will follow and establish supply lines overland. Strun and Garp will travel below the main force and prepare the new Low-way branches for the Dwarven Engineers. Tell the Centaurs to circle back at the first sign of trouble."

    "I don''t think the Cherbi will retreat without¡­er¡­" Ollie remarked worriedly. "¡­ having a fair go, as your people would say in Australia."

    Gwen considered the misused slang. Indeed, a small Tide of Undead was no match for a Horse Lord assault. However, should her Horse-kin get mired in corpses, not even their Shaman magic will free them from a sea of clamouring, necrotic claws.

    "Send a request to Golos to tentatively scout between here and the mountains," she concluded that there would be no rest for her undeserving Thunder Dragon. "At an altitude necessary to see and record everything, it should be two hours to cover a thousand kilometres if he flies at full capacity."

    "Yes, that would put many risk factors to rest." Ollie breathed out. "As well as clear any unwanted encounters, I''d wager."

    "Aye, it''s high time our tenants earned their keep. Have a flock of Phalera''s brood follow the Centaurs from the sky." She nodded in agreement. "They should report back to the nearest established Divination node or call for their father in the event of a true emergency. Golos should be able to reinforce them within the hour."

    "As you wish, Mistress." The voice from the shadow grew faint until the darkness lost its dimensions. "I''ll inform Magus Huang and Kuznetsova."

    Gwen returned her attention to the table. "Olly. What''s next?"

    "Development of the residential blocks G12 to G42 on the eastern quadrant." Ollie willed away, then retrieved a new set of data slates from his Storage Rings. "We are waiting on filtration units from Berlin. They should be making their way through the Low-ways as we speak."

    "Prioritise the fabrication of sewerage and sanitation installations." Gwen''s eyes swept over the Dwarven-made schematics for the civilian district, pausing at the plans for their first hospital. "How are we looking in regards to the Clerical situation?"

    "If you mean Healers." Ollie threw forward a few PowerPoint(?) illusions. "We''re still drastically short-staffed, even with interim members from the Ordo."

    Gwen''s train of thought checked in at a station she had previously visited with delight. "Increase the signing bonus to four hundred HDMs for the first year for Senior Mages, a thousand for Magus candidates." she tapped the data slate. "Tap into my Chinese connections and see if we can round up Mages displaced by the ongoing situation in Tianjin. Prioritise Healers and Transmuters. The CCP owes me. If any nationalists dare to interfere, ask Ruxin''s family to speak with the local Secretariats."

    "I''ll arrange it." Ollie jotted down her designs, flourishing his stylus wand.

    "How''s fares our preparations for the Kirin Core?"

    "Master Morden is planning the Abjuration Wards," the Magister informed her. "As you have willed, the Ambassador has consented us to use the abandoned pit mine."

    "Good... good." Gwen yawned.

    "Regent, perhaps you should take a break? It''s been almost ten hours."

    Gwen kneaded her brows. Her skin felt dry. Her lips felt parched, and the part of her brain she most associated with Powerpoint magic throbbed something serious.

    "Fine." She relented. A little rest could refresh her for better ideas. "Let''s hit the Dwarf Bars. I am going to need something strong, vital and frothing. Are you coming, Ollie?"

    Her aide''s protest withered as soon as their eyes met.

    "Yes¡­" he sighed dejectedly. "But please keep the quaffing under control. Let me remind you, Regent, that we have a Healer shortage."

    London.

    Westminister.

    The Courtyard Garden Cafe.

    Charlene Ravenport, daughter to the Duke, had not expected to find a friend in Thomas Holland, a childhood rival, bully, and fellow noble. Yet, in a twist of fate, she had grown uncommonly familiar with her one-time suitor through their common bonds to a certain someone.

    She had found the young Holland deeply contemplating a cream bagel in the alfresco dining space attached to the House of Commons'' external grounds. Curiously drawn to a Holland alone and unattended by sycophants, she decided to grace the troubled young man with her delightful presence.

    They began, as the English were prone to do, with the weather, the tea, then family, followed by light-hearted politics, and finally, the topic of Gwen Song.

    The arrival at their final point of discussion was natural, for barely half a year had passed since their mutual benefactor had been sent away from the Mageocracy''s seat of power, and she was already making the old men shift in their button-up trousers.

    "Your people are investing, dear Thomas," she boasted to the smug Steam Mage, who had professed his support for Gwen''s venture in the Black Zones belonging to the Horse Lords. "We Ravenports, through our Isle of Dog Norfolk Corporation, have already invested."

    The Steam Mage smiled sheepishly.

    Charlene could see why.

    In a twist not even his family''s Diviners could anticipate, the young man had taken a risky excursion away from the Greenland expedition to New Zealand, then had inexplicably returned with a Draconic Spirit of the Steam persuasion, a boon so perfectly tuned that only a handful of Hollands across five centuries had possessed the same privilege. Not only had the Dragon Turtle expedited the growth of his Elemental Affinity, its absurd passives had negated the greatest flaw of Steam Mages: physical defence.

    As a direct result, the Arctic Expedition had been resolved, Tryfan''s request had met a satisfactory end, and most of the Militant Faction''s heirs had even returned to London with their marbles intact.

    The war against Zordiam was a vastly more expensive development than her Southern Expedition with Gwen. However, its success, meaning the rewards bestowed by Tryfan and the Mageocracy upon the resource-starved Militant faction, was enough to halt the Faction''s financial crisis.

    "I''ll concede to that." The Steam Mage did not refute that her father had been the first to see Gwen''s potential. "But Shalkar''s risk had just gone up ten-fold. With China out of the picture and Russia withdrawing its defence line to the Volga, the north is also set to lose Novosibirsk. There will be nothing between the expansion of the Juche Cult and her shining city in the sand."

    Charlene could only snort at the Steam Mage''s paranoia.

    "Something is standing in their way, though. A veritable barrier."

    "I doubt the Demi-humans are willing to die or risk unholy resurrection for a human settlement," Thomas answered doubtfully. "Even for Gwen."

    "Thomas, what better barrier to stand between Shalkar and the Undead than Gwen herself? With her ties to Tryfan, her Shoggoth, and what the Thunder Dragons owe her, it''s enough. Besides, have you seen the Lumen-casts of her new Mermen allies? Or was that not made available to your people?"

    The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    "Are you volunteering that information?" The Steam Mage chortled. "Or are you trying to rope us into another loss?"

    "We''re a bit beyond that kind of pettiness." Charlene exhaled, thinking of the transcontinental chaos now eating up every waking minute of her time. "On a more serious note. What are your plans for Gibraltar? Do you need any aid with the locals?"

    "We''ll manage," Thomas replied, his tone thrilling and dangerous. "I am done with war for a while. Mine''s an audit assignment to secure the Black Sea from Human incompetence. If anyone tries to skim from the humanitarian cache, I will steam them myself and send the remains back to their kin. What of you? I heard that you''re headed to Moscow?"

    "The loss of Yekaterinburg has left an enormous vacuum." Charlene did not withhold what should be common knowledge among the inner circle of the Mageocracy''s ruling elites. "We both know that at our tier, little that can stop you and me from returning to a safe Tower with our Contingency Rings. That Magi Sakharov had returned to a falling Tower¡ªor did not return¡ªis more suspect than the possibility of his misadventure. We both know Moscow has always been a belligerent member of the Tower Treaties, perhaps this time¡­"

    The Steam Mage inclined his chin in agreement.

    A long time ago, before the Beast Tide, before the Great War, Moscow had ruled a vast and resourceful empire spanning from icy Siberia to the rich loams of the Balkans. And though it was debatable whether the Communists'' murder of Victoriana''s kin had progressed or regressed its ambition, the nation''s expectations of relevance had only grown with its diminishment.

    "I see. So you''re saying that if Gwen halts the Undead threat, her real trial for Shalkar will begin," Thomas read her inference at once.

    With the Ural Mountains gone, Moscow had to find a quick and immediate source of liquid HDM capital to fund a recovery¡ªand there just so happened to be a convenient target barely a Black Zone away.

    What must the elites in Moscow have seen when an Australian-born Magister barely in her twenties was sweeping up the riches of the south like a maximised Maelstrom?

    Barely two years ago, the Fire Sea was an uncontested "no man''s land". After the Fire Elementals'' exit, Charlene could confidently state that Shalkar''s soon-to-be-operable Dwarven Low-ways were a morsel many considered tempting enough to disrupt the unspoken laws of mixing one''s laborious magic with the land.

    Of course, Germany''s Dwarves would not labour alongside anyone other than Gwen, more so for the bad blood between the Human purists and the Demi-humans who never forgot a grudge. The problem, as her father ascertained, was that Moscow''s kleptocratic Factions might be on a different page, especially regarding the obscene resources Gwen''s forces are poised to extract from the abandoned regions of the old Soviet Union.

    "Father wishes to put some political padding between Moscow Tower and its parasitic nomenklatura," Charlene half-whispered. "That way, when Gwen''s acts of vengeance come calling, we can sigh and stand back and say we told you so."

    To contain the unborn hostility was the crux of Charlene''s present assignment: to offer an aiding hand to a long-time ally while also keeping a hand raised with a half-manifested Fireball of friendship.

    "If you need it." Thomas'' voice drifted across the chasm of her thoughts. "We do have assets in Moscow which may be of use. Legislators aligned with our Faction, as it were."

    "Without condition? Why so Gentlemenly an offer?" Charlene studied the Steam Mage. After their mutual trips to the opposite ends of the Axis Mundi, they both appeared older and wiser, their eyes no longer possessed of the capricious pride so dearly engraved upon young Lords and Ladies of the Empire. Of course, the same applied to their once naive political acumen.

    "It''s a way to return a favour." Thomas did not hide his intentions. "To our mutual benefactor."

    "Fine. I am willing to entertain the details." Charlene did not read the offer as malicious, at least not from the eager glint in the Steam Mage''s eye. "Is there a Message you would like me to pass on?"

    "Perhaps anonymity would be best for now." The undisputed heir to Militant Faction smiled sheepishly. "Life is long, as are the conflicts we''re embroiled within. I have learned to be patient."

    Charlene gave the man a judgemental look, enough at least to make the young fellow add a dash of colour to his cheeks. Certainly, when the Steam Mage had herself in his sights, he had not possessed a single romantic bone in his body. Now, he was willing to freely deliver his family''s prized favours that they had spent generations to accumulate for another woman. Bitterly, she felt both impressed and slighted.

    "Very well. You may give me the details once I am in Moscow." As a Ravenport, Charlene''s ability to shunt away personal feelings was impeccable. "Good luck in Gibraltar, Thomas."

    "And a fair future to you in that viper''s nest." the Steam Mage had the courtesy to pick up the tab as he withdrew. He bowed his head once again at the glass door, then was gone with the closing chime.

    "Russians... refugees and the Undead..." Charlene finished the last of her tea. "Gwen, I hope you''re previsioned for more than monsters..."

    Hastings.

    Battle Abbey.

    Under the vaulted, rainbow-hued space of the abbey''s monolithic stained mural of the Nazarene''s crucified body, Elvia Lindholm, Knight Companion, prayed for the wholeness of her heart and soul. Against the fading sun, her waist-length locks were a fleece of burnish gold, bisecting her petite figure with geometric shards of multi-coloured light.

    As a stoic sentinel, she remained kneeling under the benevolent gaze bearing the Crown of Thorns, pondering a future she had not entertained.

    Why am I not dead? Elvia heard her tortured conscience like echoed breaths in the prayer rooms.

    According to the Yinglong, her blood should have been spilt on the altar to consecrate the salvation of the original sacrifices, Jun Song, Ayxin and their child. Yet, she had succeeded and, inexplicably, lived.

    But Sir Kass, who had guided and taught her, had died for her sake.

    And Sir Reginald, who had given her advice when her faith grew faint, had likewise perished in her place.

    And all those poor souls in Tianjin¡ª

    Who should have lived but was now condemned?

    Who had died but had been blessed to live?

    She had thought herself capable of carrying the sin to term. Now, alive and hale and possessed of a future, the pressure of all those lives smothered her, drowning her five fathoms deep in the blue dark. Every breath she took inhaled motes of cinders, igniting the wool in her chest, spreading the agony like Zodiam''s Elemental Fire through her conduits.

    The heavy oaken doors announced with a creak that she was no longer alone.

    Elvia reflexively turned to face the newcomers, but she had knelt for so long that her limbs had gone senseless, sending her into a sideward tumble instead.

    "Elvia!" The ceiling flashed golden. Mathias caught her before she made a spectacle. "You should eat. It''s been a day and then some¡­"

    "Mathias is correct, child." The deep and resonant voice of the man beside him belonged to her mentor, Seneschal Ashburn. "What use is there to punish yourself with a fast?"

    Despite Mathias'' radiance, Elvia shivered. Kass and Reginald were men from Ashburn''s generation. They were the Seneschal''s friends and life-long companions, brother-in-arms cut from the same cloth. How could she face the Senechal after wasting their lives?

    Mathias directed her to the pew, where the three sat in a row, sandwiching Elvia between them.

    ¡°Seneschal, I am sorry¡­¡± Elvia had no excuses to give. "For my selfishness, Sir Kass and Reginald paid with their lives."

    Her Seneschal did not reply but waited until her curiosity forced her to raise her head. Their eyes met, his the colour of tempered steel and hers hot and swollen.

    "Evee. Most Knight Protectors will meet their end in battle." Ashburn''s voice felt warm and alive despite the cold sandstone space of the abbey''s cathedral. "To have Faith is to endlessly push against the tide of inhumanity threatening our existence. To halt is to lose Faith, perish, and betray our Holy Pledge. For Kass and Reginald, there is nothing to lament. Do not mourn for men who died well. No tears, regrets, or loss are involved in their sacrifices, save for their company and good humour."

    "I should have been less impulsive." Her voice choked. "I robbed them of their old age."

    "No." Ashburn''s hand reached past her chin and gently cupped the side of her small face. "Child, Kass and Reginald gave their lives for you out of duty and free will, exercising the greatest gift the Nazarene had bestowed upon us. Blame yourself again, and you cheapen their choice, understand?"

    Elvia nodded. She understood, not that she accepted her Seneschal''s kindness.

    "Do you wish to return to your friend?" Ashburn''s question, perhaps to distract her from guilt, cut through her mind like St Michael''s flaming claymore.

    "I do," she replied, though not immediately.

    Her Seneschal''s rough thumb wiped away something from her upper cheek. "No, you do not."

    "I did¡­ something unforgivable," Elvia confessed. "I made her choose me over her brother."

    "Now there''s a sinner beyond all redemption," Ashburn sighed. "I am very sorry for what you had to do, child. Mathias told me as much as he could, as truthfully as he could manage. Tell me, what does your friend think of her choice?"

    "Gwen hates me." Elvia felt the gloom of her mind like a cloak of dense darkness.

    "Hate is far too committed an emotion," Ashburn replied. "I have passed much judgment in my years, Evee. Yet, I would not say I hated those I banished, nor did they hate me more than most. Your friend hates herself, Elvia. Not you. Moreso, she is driven by her detestation of Elizabeth Sobel. Thereby, I conclude that your wishful thinking is as far from reality as her brother is from the path of righteousness."

    "So¡­ I am less hated than Sobel, and therefore, things aren''t as bad as they seem." Elvia surprised herself by finding a smidgen of humour. She wanted to smile, though all she felt was exhaustion.

    Her Seneschal took her hand away from their resting place on her lap. With a tap, he coaxed her to open her clenched digits wide enough to deposit a piece of metal warm to the touch. She looked down, noting the Holy Symbol of the Ordo Bath.

    From her herbal pouch, the petite figure of Kiki crawled out to stare at the luminous energy so reminiscent of the sun.

    "Elvia. The Ordo''s exchange with the Yinglong is concluded. Your ordeal with the Dragon is over." Ashburn''s tone was one of relief. "I am unsure if the ancient one had expected your survival, but its interest in you has waned. Therefore, allow me to be the first to congratulate you on your formal ascension to the Ordo, Companion Lindholm. Few have accomplished what you have at your age."

    Elvia felt the living Faith entwined within the Holy Symbol like the pulsing beat of the living against the chest of an insensible patient, powerful and undeniably full of life.

    "Ki-ki..." Her floral sprite cooed.

    Ashburn patted the flower on the head, stroking the petals with his thumb.

    "As an ordained Companion, you may move the Ordo''s resources as befitting your rank, which means you may return to Shalkar or invest in a crisis elsewhere if that''s your wish. As for your friend¡­" her mentor withdrew his hand, sinking her heart. "Know this, Elvia. For our compatriots in the secular world, there exists an unhappy reality. For she who is unguided by benevolent powers, whether mortal or immortal, vengeance always comes before love. Therefore, for our Regent, until her lust for retribution is resolved... there shall be no respite for the wicked and no room for forgiveness."

    The Northern Steppes.

    Shalkar.

    Petra Kuznetsova, Magus Enchantress and aide-de-camp to the Regent of Shalkar felt the crystalline coolness of her usual demeanour melt like spring snow in the harsh heat of roaring summer.

    In addition to her scalding anxiety, a part of her felt immersed in guilt. Having received education, benediction, finance and fame via the achievements of her cousin, she had long since consigned herself to a logically sound repayment plan of service and gratitude.

    Yet, when the news of Yekaterinburg had descended like the Yinglong from the blue, she could not help but put her regard for her estranged parents before the immediate concerns of her cousin. In the heat of the moment, the request for Gwen to aid her parents'' city had seemed natural¡ªbut now that the conflagrations were put to rest, she couldn''t help but feel like a burden.

    Her selfishness was inexcusable, for her cousin had just endured the betrayal of a lover and a brother and the literal loss of that brother to the same monster who had taken her Master.

    In the process, a city had been near-erased from existence, millions missing and dead¡ªand she had possessed the audacity to hound Gwen to return to work in Shalkar and to organise this expedition to the Ural Mountains.

    In truth, she should have returned to Shalkar alone, found whatever allies she had managed to scrounge up in her academic years, then forayed an individual Path forward, leaving Gwen to properly settle her affairs with her uncle, with the Dragon Princess and with their babulya.

    Without Gwen, she could have still saved her parents. Many were interested in her talents in London, and more were invested in more than just her magical skills. With her training from Master Popov, it wasn''t beyond her imagination that those in power, men in particular, could be tempted or enticed into aiding her cause.

    A small strike unit for rescue operations, a Mage Flight of Translocation specialists, would have been the reasonable outcome, not this northern march beside the Horse Lords. Looking at the dust column behind them, the sheer cost of the logistics alone was enough to make her head spin.

    "Petra, still worried?" Richard''s voice, like his presence, was a welcome respite to her feverish self-loathing. "Like I said, if Dyadya and Totya managed to escape the city, they''d be fine. Hold onto that hope, for there''s not much point pondering the alternative."

    To keep pace with the Horse Lords, they rode on a Dwarven Strider¡ªone Petra had constructed as a part of her lessons under the Engineseers. Richard rode outside the cockpit, balanced upon the right stabiliser fin through Lea''s supernatural control of Elemental Water. For their expedition, Richard was the second-in-command to Khudu and their principal source of refreshment. As for Petra, her array of Spell Cubes had been exhausted in Shanghai, making her doubly guilty of being useless.

    To keep herself engaged, she eased the throttle on the mana engine, adding a degree of slack to the gyroscopic stabilisers.

    "Thanks, Dick." She leaned back in the bucket seat. "You too, Lea."

    "And don''t worry about our boss lady," her cousin, as always, seemed to read minds like a Mind Mage. "You did good. Gwen needed this."

    "She needs more work?" Petra cocked her head at the Water Mage. "I would have preferred if she stayed in Sydney. More time with her Siblings-in-craft will do her far more good than with us and with this¡­ work."

    "Perhaps." Richard shrugged. "But we all know how focused Gwen can be. With Percy the way he is and with Sobel slipping the noose again, she''s like an unstable Spell Cube at the brink of eruption. What she needs more than anything is an outlet for that pressure."

    "Like this expedition to the Ural Mountains?"

    "Yes, so don''t put too much importance on yourself." Richard adjusted his glasses, blinding her with the reflection from the midday sun. "What we''re doing here is a necessity and a mercy. A necessity to establish the importance of Shalkar as a conduit point between Asia, Eurasia, and Europe. We also need more Mages, and there are arguably thousands of them now displaced from their homes, with only a fraction capable of returning to a normal life in Moscow. So yes, we are here to rescue Dyadya Mikhail and Totya Mila, but it''s truer to say we''re here to nab as many able bodies as possible for Gwen''s city in the sand. In that regard, the Horse Lords are experts."

    "That''s an interesting way of looking at it." Petra''s eyes drifted to the Centaurs. Each dressed in their leather battle garbs, the entire vanguard was tattooed in the style typical of the Thunderblooded war parties of the Nayza?ay Qan?. With Khudu as the spear of their combined vitality, the Khesig honour guard was capable of besting any known foe in the northern Black Zone.

    "Our Gwen isn''t the girl we knew back in Shanghai, not for a while now." Richard''s insight made her shiver a little. "In the coming years, we will hunt down Sobel, Petra, even if it takes every form of calculation and cruelty to come. From the Elves to Dragons to dabbling in the fringes of Necromancy, there''ll be many trials Gwen needs our help to overcome."

    Petra gazed upon her cousin, her eyes hard and serious. "Necromancy, Richard? More than what has already come to pass?"

    "We fight Demi-humans with Demi-humans, Dragons with Dragons¡­" Richard said calmly. "How do you think we should fight Undead Mermen and the Cult of Juche?"

    Petra''s limbs felt icy. Gwen had spoken often about her Master''s magic¡ªof what design he once possessed and what had failed to come to pass for lack of will and political opportunity.

    "Don''t sweat it," Richard smirked. "A little Soul Tap here, some Essence Tap there, and when we find a use for Lei-bup''s Shoal, nothing short of Sympathetic Life-Link will do."

    "Christ, it is looking that way, isn''t it?" Petra tried to imagine Gwen at the head of a Shoal, riding on a Leviathan helmed by a portly, tentacled Fish-priest.

    Besides them, the Centaurs began to pick up speed.

    Above, the screeching of Phalera''s Harpies indicated they had spotted something of great interest.

    The clay markings on the Horse Lord''s bodies began to burn, heating the air and filling it with the unique stench of musky horses.

    "To cut off Spectre." Richard made a little model of a humanoid with the water gathered in his hand, encircled by a watery sphere. "Our cousin will peel away shrouds of power protecting Sobel like a blooming onion¡­"

    Petra adjusted the Strider''s limbs to match their new velocity.

    "But as for now..." Richard rose into the air, floating on Lea''s water clouds. "Let''s see what Lord Golos'' children have found, shall we?"

 Chapter 491 - Mercy

    Between Shalkar and Aktobe, a distance of almost three hundred kilometres, lies the vast, flat landscapes of the northern steppes. Dry, sloped and rolling like static tides of a sun-bleached sea, the immense grasslands traditionally played home to the dominant Demi-human race of central Asia¡ªthe Horse Lords.

    For most of "Human" history, the Khanates'' long reigns defined the region between the Ural Mountains and its southern descent into the Caspian Sea. Yet, the region was a Black Zone long before the emergence of the Fire Sea, being home to civilisations older than the written history of Humanity.

    One such Demi-human race was now reliving the crisis of their ancestors.

    The Kobold Tribes of the northern drifts were an indigenous tribe with homes split between the rolling rock-scapes of the lower Urals and the moonscape plains of the frosty Alga. In the Mageocracy''s journals, the Human explorers had dubbed them "Dog-men" for their likeness to the mongrel breeds the shepherds employed, well adapted for harsh winters and bleak summers. Stout of limb, the Kobolds were noted for their perfect vision in low light, paired with scent glans capable of tracking prey over hundreds of kilometres. However, unlike the more uniform dimensions of Centaur physiology, Kobold tribes varied from the Halfling squats of the hill dwellers to the hunched-backed, long-necked tunnellers of the Murk, split into archetypal enclaves, rather a unified, communal "Yurt".

    From the air, Richard observed the great, gull-winged spear formation of the Horse Lords as they enveloped their quarry. On paper, the expedition''s Horsemen numbered only in the two hundreds, with only a quarter being the elite Jagun. However, Richard understood that even a single "Golden Rider" threatened a mundane Mageflight, much less the surrounded Kobolds.

    It was just as well, then, that it wasn''t Kobolds the Cherbi''s men needed to battle.

    What had appeared to be their initial roadblock had not come to do battle with the expedition¡ªbut were pursued by something with a mana taint as blasphemous as it was loathsome.

    "KNEEL¡ªKNEEL¡ªKNEEL¡ª!" The Jaguns barked, offering no mercy to the handful of Kobolds who did not stop but continued to sprint, pining them into the hard soil like furry moths on an exhibition board. As a tide, the cavalry overlept their prey, bypassing the passive Kobold columns.

    "Wolves¡ª!" Howls from Phaelera''s brood pealed from the cloudless sky. "Foul Wolves!"

    At his mental behest, Lea materialised closer to the ground, riding the wind beside the galloping Horse Lords and their wolf-like howls. Pilums, each as tall as a mare, leapt from saddle satchels into the hands of the masterful warriors, then made impossible arcs to meet a wall of gangrene flesh.

    Christ! Richard grimaced as the stench traversed the headwind. Across the Northern Steppes, wolves were formidable foes, especially if gifted with Elemental Affinities. In Shalkar, where the Sand Wolves were plentiful, the alpha specimens could even traverse through soft sand and stone.

    Their current foes, what seemed like a pack of several thousand, were as unnatural as they come, being possessed by Necromancy to such a degree that they were both living and dead, whole and unholy.

    A wolf a Jagun had skewered utilised two heads, one large and natural, the other appearing just below the first, wearing the larger, slavering head like a helm. Others were also unique, possessing more legs than a wolf could need or having tumorous growths that erupted in vile explosions of noxious gas that drove the pack into a frenzy.

    The two sides closed within seconds¡ªbut the Centaurs were far too cunning to engage the Plague Wolves. As shimmering shoals empowered by their tribal blood magic, they peeled from the incoming hammerhead of jaws and claws, staying just out of reach by barely a meter.

    Unceasingly, even as they outflanked the wolves, the pilums continued their assault, skewering each monster with their weighted ends, slowing the advance of the roving fur tide.

    As the Cherbi''s elite Khesig Guards broke away, Richard grew immensely impressed by Khudu''s time-honed battle tactics¡ªfor the Centaurs had bought themselves more space with the simple offering that is the Kobold''s rear!

    Ignoring Petra''s gasp of horror, he marvelled at the sight of the Plague Wolves diving into the Kobolds like a black swell crashing against an edible sandcastle. While the rabid canines feasted on the weak and the meek, the rest of the Horse Lords moved into position, launching such a barrage of heavy pilums that the few Plague Wolves left could not harass the expedition.

    The exchange took less than fifteen minutes. When Richard finally excused himself from Petra to present himself as Shalkar''s spokesperson, there were no combat-capable Plague Wolves still unpinned. Additionally, over a thousand Kobolds had survived, while only a dozen Horse Lords had the bad luck to be bitten.

    "Impressive work, Khudu," Richard commended the Centaur Commander. "A perfect operation."

    "Not as impressive as that lumen-recording," Khudu remarked upon Gwen''s actions in Tianjin, which Richard had liberally sown among the fighting men as entertainment. "Ah, to ride or die against Zodiam himself, with our Yurts against our backs and the hot wind singing our manes! Now, that would be a worthy death for an Orkok!"

    Richard did not remark but nodded to feign understanding. "You''ll get your chance, Khudu. There''ll be fights to remember, I guarantee it."

    The Cherbi twirled the heavy pilum in his hand. "These Dwarven armaments. Tell your Mistress we like them very much. We''ll take as many as the short men can manufacture."

    Richard gave the Horseman a thumbs up. Good quality iron and advanced metallurgy had always been limited in the Northern Steppes by its lack of access to materials and craftsmen¡ªuntil the Dwarves came. With the sheer volume of deep iron being moved into the place for the reconstruction of the Citadel and the low-way, the scraps gathered by young apprentices were forged into weighted pilums¡ªcomplete with runic imprints that made an activated implement exceedingly difficult to dislodge from the earth.

    "I am glad to hear it," Richard drifted a little away and a bit closer to a still-slavering wolf. "Say Khudu, does this Necromancy feel familiar to you?"

    The Cherbi wrinkled his nose. "Disease, like the ones from the rats."

    "Indeed," Richard also recognised the distinctive mana signature. "Looks like a more active, less potent strain. Tell your men to keep away, in any case. We need to burn these with fire. If any of your men fall sick¡ªI bought some of Gwen''s Essence Maotai to cleanse their blood. Lea!"

    A jet blast of whitewater, super pressurised by his Undine Spirit, was enough to erase the Plague Wolf almost entirely¡ªalbeit leaving a jet stream of necrotic particles in a sharp, long arc.

    "Thank you, Lea¡­" Richard sighed. "Yes. Fire¡­ that, or we will need to bury them all."

    The Cherbi laughed, then directed them both to the head of the Kobold column. The Kobolds'' leader was an interesting, grey-maned specimen dressed in plates of iron knitted against leather, sealed with intricate inlays of precious monster materials threaded into the stitching. From what Richard could see, it was a she, a Clan matriarch.

    "Name and Clan." The Cherbi asked with a hand against his favourite new toy, a Dwarven-made Satchel of Storing, which he used to stow his weapons.

    "Vortu Sorn, Daughter of Alkar Sorn of Alga, O Lord," the Kobold pressed her nose against the floor. "We seek refuge, great warrior of the plains. My people¡­ are willing to serve."

    Slavery and servitude. Richard sighed with appreciation. The golden rules of the Northern Steppes.

    To live as Tasm¨¹yiz for a generation or two to preserve the blood of a tribe is worth ten thousand dignities.

    Richard watched his Horse Lord companion lift the head of the kneeling Dog Warrior with the tip of his prideful product from the Dwarven military-industrial complex under Shalkar.

    The Kobold leader, for all her piercing blue eyes of defiance, was exhausted, worn, and on her toes.

    Ready to fight¡ªor flight? Richard wondered. Or perhaps, to die painlessly.

    "Where is your Alpha?" Khudu asked, indicating for Richard. "Where is your Shaman?"

    "Perished in the ambush," the Dog-woman answered. "I led the survivors from our warrens. We are all that is left of Hom Alga. There are more of our packs scattered to the¡­"

    "Don''t answer me, dog. You are the property of Master Richard and his Mistress now." Khudu appeared to lose interest even as he spoke. Leaving Richard and the newly parked Petra in her Strider, the Cherbi left to dress down his fellow warriors.

    Gawked at by the Kobold survivors, Petra landed beside the Water Mage.

    "Master¡­ Richard¡­¡± The kneeling Kobold appeared less inclined to be subordinate to a humanoid creature not even as tall as itself. "The sons and daughters of Alga heed your words."

    Richard did not mind the change in attitude. After all, fear and respect were earned. If they did not submit, he would kill them with kindness.

    "In a few hours, our supply convoy will arrive," Richard announced to the rest of the refugees, ignoring the female. "There will be clean food and water, and you will all undergo a health check. For those of you willing to become temporary employees of the Isle of Dog Norfolk Conglomerate, we will provide meaningful labour, shelter, and sustenance. For those wishing to leave, that is also an option."

    "The Isle¡­" Vurtu raised her head, her blue eyes wary and confused. "Of Kobolds?"

    Richard felt embarrassed, for his Translation stone wasn''t nearly as good as Gwen''s wondrous inheritance from Henry Kilroy.

    "And¡­ food?" The Kobold masses were more suspicious than inquisitive. "Why?"

    "For an equivalent exchange of labour and produce," Richard clarified, making the universal symbol of the balancing scales with his hands. "Our Mistress calls it gainful employment. You will have rights, and there are guarantees for your safety. From each according to their ability, to each according to their needs, you may trust me on this."

    "She has this much power?" Vurtu looked to Petra for confirmation. How similar their eyes are, Richard pondered for a moment. Both with that icy, piercing blue that would make wondrous jewels. "Who is this Mistress?"

    Richard cleared his throat. "She is Gwen Song, Regent of Shalkar, Magister of the Shard, The Devourer of Cities, the Pale Priestess of Many Millions."

    With each pronouncement, he raised his voice, his visage amplified by Lea''s light distortion.

    The Kobolds stared at Richard, their mouths open, a few with their tongues out, panting.

    "She is a Goddess?" The Kobold woman attempted to understand his words.

    "Many would not deny it," Richard answered vaguely. "Many others fear her for it. But you, my pups, can find a new home under her long and sheltering shadow. So, will you come?"

    "We shall! Great Richard! Please lead us to the Pale Mistress!" The Kobold leader''s hesitation lasted only a few seconds, for the Horse Lords were already setting the Plague Wolves on fire. If these dogs had refused, Richard felt, he would have recommended that Khudu unburden their expedition of useless mouths.

    "Good." Richard studied the supplication of the dogs for a moment more before helping the female to stand. "No need for formalities, as our Mistress often says. However, I do need to ask for an immediate service."

    "Yes? Great Richard?"

    Richard chuckled. "Just Richard, while we''re in public. Tell me, Vurtu, have you seen other humans like me, with lighter-coloured fur and manes, fleeing from the north?"

    The Kobold''s expression changed. "We have, and they attacked us. Stole our food and supplies. They killed our Shaman and her daughter."

    "How many were there?" Petra butted in from atop her Strider. "Mages? Or Civilians?"

    "Pats, let the dog finish." Richard supposed the refugees must be in good spirits if they had the energy to spare. "We''re looking for these Humans. Do you think you could lead us to them?"

    The Kobold looked from Richard to Petra, unwilling to return to danger.

    "If you help us," Richard offered a hand toward a meaty paw wrapped in bandages and hidden within a shredded gauntlet. "I''ll take special care of your people here. If not, that''s your choice. We don''t force anyone to do anything here. It''s all¡­ free will. Or so Gwen advertises."

    He allowed the assonance of "free" to linger a little longer than was comfortable.

    "I''ll help¡­" The Kobold offered her paw. "My scouts, we can take you to Orsk. That''s where we were ambushed."

    "How far?" Richard checked his mental map while Petra produced a physical one.

    "Almost a hundred kilometres away, but the path is unobstructed. When did you see them?" Petra asked.

    "Two moons ago. My people travel by night when it''s¡­ less dangerous. It was during the day that flying humans came."

    Petra''s traced a circle around the region of Orsk, somewhere within fifty kilometres. "If what she says is true, there has to be a group of Refugees there. More than one Mage Flight if they spared the men to forage."

    "Many Undead?" Richard showed the Kobold Petra''s map. "How often did you fight?"

    This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

    "There are many, but all are scattered to harass travellers who seek refuge in the south. Each time, a few of us would be crippled. We¡­ we had to leave behind those would would succumb to disease¡­ and transform."

    "Necrophage¡­" Richard nodded to Petra. "Same shit we saw with the Mermen and the Rat-kin, but obviously, the population here is much more scattered and the spaces less inter-connected than within the Shoals. We should send back a bird and inform Gwen."

    "I''ll arrange it." Petra retreated into her Strider. The sooner her secretarial work was done, Richard saw, the sooner they would find her potentially still-living parents.

    "Very well," Richard performed as Gwen would and gave the Kobold a pat on the head. The dog flinched, thought to bite him, but ultimately endured the violation with patience.

    Just as he thought to say something Gwen might spew to offset the faux pas, he heard the distant rumble of thunder.

    The Kobolds looked up, confused as to the source of the cacophony.

    In the next second, the enormous body of Golos zoomed overhead, momentarily blotting out the sun with his vast wingspan. As one, the Kobolds struck dirt. Their heads bowed in total and unquestioning supplication to a being greater than their imagination.

    "G-GREAT DRAGON!" Vurtu cowered, this time wholeheartedly. "G¡ªR-Richard. It has seen us! Are we doomed to be food after all?"

    Richard regarded the dog with pity. After a moment, he offered her a hand and pulled up her unwilling body with a tug. "No. Don''t worry about Gogo. He''s a friend and a companion, and if you find us those humans, I promise he''ll be fed and watered."

    Shalkar.

    While her companions sought out ways across the Black Zone, the Regent of the city sat in her office, studying an intricately detailed sand sculpture built by the Germanic Engineseers of the Citadel below.

    "There are old segments of the Dyar Morkk here, and here¡ª" Axehoff indicated with a Magitech variation of what Gwen saw was a laser pointer. "The Murk here, unfortunately, is thick with miasma. The reclamation will require aid from your Rat-kin troops, and if we do encounter strange Magical Beasties, the Guild requests a Purge from yer devouring worm."

    "And beyond this stretch of the Murk is another Citadel?" Gwen traced her fingers to a less certain cavern made by the sand construct. "It''s huge."

    "The Mimm Agaeth Kjangtoth," Axehoff indicted to their present whereabouts. "Is, or was, a transport hub for the materials mined at this lost Citadel. Our records indicate that it was a Glang Agaeth Kjangtoth, the Citadel of Iron and Forges, used to produce the precious ingots used by the Fabricators."

    "I see," Gwen understood where the man was coming from. "You did say it was good to find a localised source of ingots that doesn''t involve the sellers from Bavaria."

    The Engineseer pushed a data slate her way. "The Meister has crunched the statistics. If we tap into the Ural vein, costs fer ya city''s raw materials will reduce by forty-two per cent. Transport reduction costs by thirty-seven per cent. Transmutation Mana efficiency will increase by twenty-six point two per cent. Ya ken?"

    Gwen took a moment to scan the data out of respect, for she knew that Dwarves would sooner Soul Forge themselves into a Balefire than make a mockery of the sacred figures left to them by the Seven Ancestors.

    "And to achieve these numbers¡­"

    "Yer need to authorise an expedition into the Deep Murk. Too dangerous to build the Low Ways from Shalkar otherwise. Earth Wyrms, Hookie Horrors, Beasties from yer Planes of Ooze and Mud and whatnot. We won''t risk it if¡­"

    "¡­I am not equally committed. I read you, Ambassador." Gwen considered the Ambassador''s proposal. The cleansing of the Murk from its less desirable inhabitants had always been on the table. As always, in creating a trade route network free from interference from Eastern Europe to North-Western China, time and cost must be measured against the profit motive.

    The problem was time, her time.

    So much of her work was now in the realm of delegations.

    The refugees were delegated to Richard and Petra, with Golos as the guarantor of their judgment.

    Shalkar''s governance was delegated to Ollie and his team from London''s elite universities, each with their agendas, balanced by the guileless Magister Edwards, with his final say also guaranteed by Golos.

    The construction, which she oversaw, was entirely carried out by cooperation between her Isle of Dog civil engineers and the Dwarven delegation concurrently rebuilding their Citadel.

    Shalkar''s militia was split between Strun and Khudu, with Richard as an advisor and old Militant Faction veterans filling in for the ranks¡­

    And the agriculture was in the domain of the Tasm¨¹yiz, now restored to their individual Clans of Demi-humans, shepherded by an often absent Sanari.

    Everything was working well¡ªfor now, but she knew with absolute certainty that Murphy''s Law would visit her precarious balance in the coming months, for that was the nature of all projects of this scale and size. And when it did arrive, would her choices be the catalyst for catastrophe or repair?

    As a seasoned manager, she had composed mental and physical risk calculations countless times with her inner circle, setting aside men and HDMs for the occasions as insurance¡ªbut still, she felt the project was falling behind.

    To strangle Sobel, Spectre, the subverted Mermen, the Followers of Juche and their agents, she had to move laterally in ways her foes could not anticipate.

    A network connecting her major interests.

    A way to quickly move men and resources to the points of conflict.

    And finally, to build enough of a global business presence that power players would openly pursue and disrupt Spectre for fear of losing out on the great boon of Human progress.

    To do all of the above, she had to necessitate risks¡­

    "Let''s set a date once the Expedition returns," she confirmed her willingness with the Ambassador. "We''ll know for sure what lies in the deep once the excavations reach the foothills of the Ural region."

    "Three Himsegg faith cycles is my estimation," Axehoff informed her after a brief moment of mental calculation, inferring three rotations of Monday to Sunday. "We''ll request more families from Bavaria to fill in our numbers here, as well as extra Golems for the reconstruction, assuming we arrive at this Glang Agaeth Kjangtoth."

    "And I''ll ready the Rat-kin and the Militia," Gwen nodded. "And free my timetable, of course."

    The sand sculpture collapsed into its display pan. Gwen uncrossed her legs, fixed her pencil skirt, and stood with her head still bowed.

    Her hand clasped the heavy leather gauntlets of the Engineseer, and the two shook on the expectation of an unbreakable agreement of trust.

    Declining a round at the bar to celebrate, she parted from the delegation of bearded men and women, then made her way above ground, where her next appointment was already fifteen minutes due.

    "Sorry I am late," Gwen waved with both hands as she passed the threshold, escorted by starry-eyed Rat-kin guards carrying Dwarven-made sonic wands. "Are we good to start?"

    "We are, Magister."

    The voice who answered her belonged to Magus Williams, the American Magitech engineer contracted by herself to work on integrating Spellcraft and Dwarven runecraft for her Low Way networks.

    She had not anticipated the American to join them initially. However, once the man got to know a little of Slylth''s pedigree, he had been barraging the Dragon-kin with stories from across the continent, as well as newly devised Spellcraft Glyphs and Sigils non-stop.

    As a result, the two had become chums¡ªthough Gwen understood very well how one-sided William''s perceived relationship with Slylth was in reality. Even a Dragon as young as Slylth would not categorically consider a Human, a NoM no less, to be a companion or friend. Thereby, the scene of John C. Williams simpering to the "Morden heir" was like a humanoid Golden Retriever hoping for affection from a charmed stranger.

    "GWEN! You''re here!" Slylth sidled up to her, not unlike an auburn-hued Labrador. "I did it! I remembered enough of my Master''s lessons to create a Hexagramic Annulment Mandala. There were some Human-type issues with power, but Williams found some solutions through the Dwarves'' runic networks.

    Gwen nodded at the smiling Magus, then gave her Dragon-kin a slap of affirmation at the back. "Good job, Slylth."

    The Dragon-kin gave her an enormous, self-satisfying grin.

    Presently, she was in the furthest excavation from Shalkar, which would one day be where she hoped Sufina might find a home. The Dwarves had found a natural hollow here, an enormous cavern emptied of groundwater that could house a sheltered complex of government buildings.

    In such a space, it was possible to construct the base plate of her Tower, for here was where the underground water naturally gathered, making it a natural ley-node of Terra''s more desirable, benign energies.

    In the above ground, an incredibly picturesque lake would play home to Sufina''s secondary tree¡ªassuming that''s how things would work out, and mimic a watery home if Almudj''s avatar wanted to sleep in its depth¡ªas the serpent often had done in Lake Eyre.

    In their present junction, however, the large cavern was used as a containment field. Over the last few days, Slylth and Williams, aided by Dwarven Masters and others, constructed an enormous Mandala for housing Gwen''s latest and most precious loot.

    An Ashen Kirin Core.

    A bitter prize, one now seated on a settee of Mithril like a precious gem awaiting an eager bride-to-be, blocked from accessing the Elemental Plane of its creation. They had to take great care, for if what Slylth had proposed held¡ªthis was no common Kirin Core. Instead, she possessed the "Core" of the Ashen Kirin as a species, an origin Core from which a lineage may be repopulated.

    If she had a choice, Gwen would have preferred to have no Core and a Brother, an unsullied Evee, and the bliss of her happy days with Sobel as a distant foe¡ªbut alas, all she had to show for her anguish was a priceless heart of a Draconic species from China''s Dynastic past.

    "Gwen, we''re ready to begin." Slylth made a gentlemanly move to direct her to a cosy space in front of the Kirin Egg, where she might question whatever was left of its consciousness after days of brooding within Caliban''s digestive juices.

    If she so desired, Caliban could devour the thing¡ªbut the mere form of a Void Kirin wasn''t nearly as precious as other avenues of discovery that lay within the ancient, subdued being.

    "Thanks, Slylth," she moved as directed, motioning for the others in the cavern to leave. Within the Mandala, only herself and Slylth, possessed of Essences resistant to the Kirin''s primal bloodline suppression, could hope to remain unaffected.

    To her left and right, she released her Familiars.

    Ariel transformed instantly, standing guard against the Kirin''s malicious designs.

    Caliban laid low, ready to swallow the egg again, depositing it into God knows what region of the void scape inside its astral intestines.

    With hands invoking sorcery too fast for her eyes to follow, Slylth completed a dozen arcane incantations back to back, speaking in the tongue of his noble race.

    The Mandala grew bright. A scent of Elemental Fire purer than anything Gwen had ever beheld filled the air with firefly embers. The momentary spectacle was enjoyable until the Kirin Core began to thrum, thrusting against the Elemental Fire with its necrotic energies of Elemental Ash.

    A ring of runes formed around the tip of the jagged Core, bright with burning, locking the means by which the Kirin Egg manifested its dominion of the Prime Material. A second ring joined it, and then a third, binding the Kirin Egg like bands of a smouldering wine barrel, choking the emerging creature in its infancy.

    Around the enormous chamber, the Dwarven Mandala thrummed, its pitch low and steady, drawing power from the great furnaces supplying raw mana to the rest of the city.

    Dragon Fear rolled from Slylth like a tide. With a final word of power, a fourth band of fire materialised, suspending the Kirin Egg from its ability to draw mana from the surrounding landscape and thereby transform it into a roost.

    Gwen closed her eyes, allowing her mind to relax. Like feelers from an inviting jellyfish, she let her thoughts extend via her Divination Glyph toward the Kirin Egg.

    The vision from within came at once, latching desperately onto her tendrils of empathic telepathy.

    She saw¡­

    A great, lion-maned head with furs of smouldering ash and cinder made majestic by a pair of skyward antlers. She saw scales of shimmering bronze, polished by unimaginable heat, flowing across the Kirin''s chest and limbs like liquid. With every step the Kirin took, it left an imprint of burning hooves in the air.

    Below it, an oriental city stretched as far as her vision could see, filled with supplicants and sacrifices, citizens of the Kirin''s domain, its source of Faith, power, and nourishment.

    Not far from the Kirin, others of its kind, lesser beings of small girth and mane, females, adolescents and pups, stood stoic as statues in its imperial court.

    Such was its enterprise, the existence of a ruler, a myth in the flesh, a Queen and Goddess of drought against the encroaching tide of oceanic Dragons seeking to usurp its domain.

    But Gwen did not care for that.

    Her mind pushed the enfeebled existence within to scour its memories for the day of its awakening, so fresh and vivid as to be unforgettable. She had only one chance to coerce the creature, for she was its dominator, and as a Dragon-kind, its submission was instinctual¡ªat least until it realised the truth.

    The answer came unwillingly, first as a surge of wilful counter-domination, then as she scalded the Kirin with the threat of Almudj, the sensations grew clarified.

    While the two of their consciousnesses circle each other like a mongoose and a cobra, she caught a glimpse of darkness, of fear and loathing and hatred and anger compressed by the passage of millennia into a madness no mortal creature could begin to comprehend.

    In the Murk of the Kirin''s memories, she saw a shard of light, of an unexpected call to life, of the Core thrusting itself into the city that was once its temple, believing without doubt that the millions above were meant for its nourishment.

    And between that, the death thrust and the darkness, she saw a young man with one hand extended, touching the egg, muttering to himself, his expression one of undisguised ambition.

    The Kirin Egg wasn''t¡­ aware of Percy? Gwen felt the queasy stir of an alarm inside her. Was its emergence reactive and unanticipated? Air sirens erupted in her brain. If so, what the hell was compelling Percy, if at all? When her grandmother had given up Percy''s half of the amulet, it had become eerily inert, just as Jun''s half had lost all of its potency. All of her family members had been unanimous in that Percy had inadvertently awakened the Kirin inside his heirloom amulet, which reasonably would have led the boy to exercise power beyond his understanding.

    So why isn''t the Kirin Egg tempting her brother?

    Or had Caliban stripped it of selective memories?

    As she probed it further, she noted that other than its egotistical, murderous disregard for "lower" life, this ancient Kirin was wholly acting out of spite, arrogance and instinct, not plots and schemes.

    Her fingers grew numb as unhappy realisations filled her soul with dread.

    Was her brother the principal architect of his failures?

    Was that why Elvia tried to sacrifice herself like a little fool?

    How little did Elvia trust her to do the right thing?

    "Gwen, that''s enough." The voice of Slylth came as a thunderclap from outside her sphere of thoughts. "You''re not trained in Divination proper to sustain the link, and you''re not¡­ one of the Yinglong''s kin."

    Gwen allowed herself to slip from the Kirin''s glare. What Slylth had meant was that the Kirin had submitted to the Dragon-kind headed by the Yinglong and its ocean-faring folk. While Slylth himself was a true scion of the ancient Reds and herself a proxy of an even older being¡ªit wasn''t they who held existential dominion over the vanquished Kirin tribes of northern China.

    With a word, she broke off the tenebrous Empathic Link. Her answer was incomplete, but she knew the vision to be true, at least as true as her brother''s guilt.

    Now, she had more questions. If not for the Kirin... what force had gifted Percy with so much unnatural knowledge?

    How did Percy even find the Kirin nest when the Communists did not know its existence?

    "On to our next state of affairs," Gwen said coldly, her tone dangerously agitated. "Let us recover some of our resources. I want to see what can be done with the Core, even if we sell it."

    Slylth appeared relieved that she could pull back her mind without complications. He tried to touch her face, though a raised brow from Gwen was enough to make the young man keep his digits to his sides.

    "Or so you say. Will you be using one of Master Kilroy''s Necromancy hybrids?" The Red Dragon youth asked. "I''ve read about them from Master''s journals."

    "Soul Fire," Gwen invoked the first syllabic clause as proof, lowering the temperature of the room instantly. "And Soul Tap, assuming it can be controlled."

    "No. No Spirits like the Dragon Turtle. No chance you''ll be able to dominate it as a non-member of the Yinglong''s Clan. Even if Ariel has some borrowed Essence, you and I know it''s far from the real article." Slylth explained. "Besides, if you use Soul Tap¡ªyou''ll risk your sanity by pitting the Old One against the Kirin matriarch and letting them battle it out in your Astral Body. With luck, I am sure you''ll only be brain-dead. More likely, you shall combust into a prismatic spray of raw, uncontrolled Essence."

    "Thanks for the heads up." Gwen took solace in the morbid humour. Having a Morden with perfect Draconic memory while exploring unknown avenues of Spellcraft was as useful as she expected. "So we burn it down."

    "It will take some time¡­" Slylth informed her. "We attack the Kirin Soul. Then we rest while the Mandala constrains it. Then, we repeat the process until it is wholly... extinguished. After that, you should have a Core that can be used for¡­ alternative purposes."

    "Too small for a Structural Tower Core, too big for anything other than a Golem¡ªand too dangerous to leave as is," Gwen recalled their earlier conversation. "And there''s little that can be done with Elemental Ash of this potency¡­ what a crock. Sure we can''t feed it to Ariel?"

    "EE-ee!" Ariel whinied. It did not like the mana flowing from the Kirin Core at all.

    "No. The Elemental composition is final," Slylth gave Ariel''s head a sorrowful pat. "I know what you''re thinking, little one, but those are the Planar rules of existence that defy even Morden''s authority over the Primary Elements."

    "Shaa! Shaa!" Caliban offered its services.

    Gwen considered the Core, as well as her Draconic-aide''s words. Such a rare Core. Like a blood diamond too precious to sell on the cheap, too controversial to be put into a crown.

    "Hmm, I have a good idea." Gwen thought aloud.

    "No. That''s not going to work. Suppose your Dryad makes use of the ley line. It will perish when she attempts to draw mana from the Core. Don''t be daft, Gwen." Slylth appeared to think he knew her well enough to read her mind. In response, Gwen could only scoff at the young Dragon''s naivety.

    "Nothing like that," Gwen refuted Slylth''s hypothesis. "What do you say to bartering this for a Lightning Dragon Core?"

    Slylth''s golden eyes blinked. "I am sorry?"

    "Once we sanitise the insane Kirin," Gwen saw the possibility bloom in her mind like a flower. "What if I put it up for auction with Ruxin and the House of M?"

    "There is no possibility that a similar tier of Dragon Core would exist in human hands," Slylth scoffed at her suggestion. "Our kind would hunt the offending party down and reduce their city to cinders, then find their associates, and reduce their cities to ash, then find¡­"

    "Yes, alright, good." Gwen battered away the spluttering Dragon with a hand. "Listen up, Alex¡ªGolos got his break from Illaelitharian. For that quest, we got the lead from Tyfanevius to go and save them. Do you get my drift? Quod erat demonstrandum, your old folks probably have access to a cache, one that could be up for some quid pro quo."

    Slylth stared as her lips dropped names like bombs, his eyes suddenly wide with possibilities.

    "Those are the holy relics of those who ascended into the Unformed Land!" The Red Dragon-kin protested. "They''re sacred!"

    "I am pretty sure most of the oldies perished before they managed to hit draconic Rapture," Gwen recalled her Master''s notes on Dragons. "The Dragon Wars, you know? When the earth was young and all that, hundreds of thousands of Dragon-kind in every flavour, fighting for real estate on the Prime Material."

    "No." The Red Dragon shook his head. "None would risk the anger and the admonition from Kin."

    Twin streams of mocking air issued from her small pink nostrils.

    "Should I ask your Mother for another opinion?" Gwen did not like the disagreeing Dragon as much as she enjoyed the company of the agreeable one. "Maybe mighty Sythinthimryr has a useless nephew with the right Elemental composition tucked away on a shelf¡­"

    The young Dragon''s protest lost some of its vigour. From his guileless face, Gwen guessed that, indeed, there probably were spare parts Sythinthimryr kept around for precisely that purpose. After all, as Golos demonstrated, Dragons grew stronger through age, dominion, and¡­ usurpation. Sythinthimryr did not become the master of Carrauntoohil through a democratic election.

    "Any who¡­" she turned her attention back to the Kirin Core just as another thought struck her. "May as well get this fire started while we discuss how to proceed."

    Her mind was made up.

    Gunther had told her that if these immortal being wanted to make use of her as a proxy, it was only right that she made demands that brought credit to the debt sheets. If the Dragons proved to be prudes, she could approach Sanari¡ªor perhaps Solana herself, to make a case for exchanging this rare and unusual object for a lesser but more useful one.

    For her Tryfan stay, she should also bring Slylth with her. The Dragon was here to see the world, and so long as he remained useful, she would satisfy his curiosities. Besides, the fellow had promised to teach her an improved variant of Morden''s Blade free of charge, and she wasn''t about to let that opportunity slip.

    Besides her, the student of Morden produced a data-slate and a conjured stylus of fiery mana.

    Gwen invoked the legacy her Master had left behind, felt the Void Mana in her veins turn her blood to ice, and raised a delicate, blue-burning hand.

    Constrained by the power of a Citadel''s Balefire Furnaces and magics Draconic and Human, the Kirin Core raged against its cage, howling at the Essence eroding power in the palm of its assailant.

    "I don''t know if this will hurt¡­" Gwen said to the Kirin Core, thinking of those its emergence would have consumed had it awoken in Tianjin. Among that number, or so Elvia had said, would have been her Uncle Jun, Ayxin''s sanity, her unborn cousin, her grandparents, cousins and more.

    Should she feel pity for this rare and ancient being?

    Perhaps the old Gwen would have.

    As for herself, she could only consider its release to be an act of undeserved mercy.

 Chapter 492 - To find an Accord

    In an unnamed chamber under the Bunker, dying Runes feeding light into the Dwarven construction site made the cavern''s interior unbearably hot for the Human Magi-techian and the Rat-kin guards watching the proceedings with solemn expressions of fright and awe.

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 Chapter 493 - The Calling of the Deep

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

 Chapter 494 - A One Shoggoth Sleigh

    Shalkar.

    The Bunker.

    "Do not doubt, Dear Lulu." The hypnotic voice of the Dragon-kin drifted across the table. "Part take! You won''t receive another opportunity once it is all gone."

    Lulan Li, Chief "Bruiser" at the Bunker, gazed upon the Dragonfruit with awe and anxiety.

    The exotic cacti'' flesh presented before her by the generous Master Morden was no ordinary offering but a real "Dragon" fruit from the ageless garden of an immortal, dimension-anchoring World Tree, reared with care by a primordial tied to the fabric of the Prime Material.

    And there were only four "Dragonfruits" available, meaning if she partakes, she would be consuming the portion originally intended for her Mistress, her saviour, the Regent of Shalkar.

    Yet, if she were to forgo the experience, Lord Golos would have double-dipped without a second thought¡ªand her Mistress would have lost the opportunity anyway.

    Therefore, is the consumption of a delicious Dragonfruit meant for the Regent a betrayal? That was the Wraith haunting Lulan''s mind. She had already engaged the Yinglong to repay her saviour, and in turn, she had acted behind Gwen''s back. The outcome had been fortuitous, for she had prevented the worst outcome for Lady Ayxin and Lord Jun¡ªbut in the aftermath, she had failed her Mistress.

    Not only had she withdrawn from Elizabeth Sobel, she had failed to bring back the severed head of Percy Song, which would have brought happiness to her Mistress by lessening the guilt of Elvia Lindholm.

    And now, this fruit¡­

    "Sit, eat." The tempter gnawed at her soul, opening the fruit with his polymorphed hands, letting loose the sweet aroma of vitality and life. "You''re an Earthen Mage, correct? This fruit will strengthen your Elemental Affinity. Your defence and offence will improve."

    VILE TEMPTATION! Lulan felt her fingers flex and un-flex. "I am¡­ I am not hungry¡­"

    "Just eat it," Lord Golos commanded. "These things don''t last once they leave the tree. I''ll toss it to the Dwarves if you''re not eating it. Slylth brought it for family, Lulan. You''re one of us."

    One of us? Lulan pondered the Dragon''s words. She was the disciple of Ryxi. She wasn''t a Vessel, but she had still lived on the mountain, and had conversations with Golos as a junior might have with a disciple-uncle.

    Of course, Golos never acted like a senior. Consistently, he was the thuggish, layabout sibling.

    A lifetime ago, when her saviour had first spared her, and they still trafficked in the small victories of life like the IIUC, Lulan had fantasised about the notion of family founded in friendship.

    But there was a hierarchy now. Lulan''s Mistress was the Master of a domain that would only grow. The responsibilities placed upon Lulan''s shoulders were unfit for a family member. She was a sword. A shield. A bulwark against the designs of avarice from men and women greedy for her Mistress'' accomplishments. To perform her duties, she had to bathe in blood, as the parables foretold, to defend her saviour''s interests. If Gwen were to be an Empress one day, she would be the butchering bitch heading the Embroidered Guard.

    Take, for instance, this latest flux of refugees from the Russian Federation. Having lost the Urals to an Undead revolt and being powerless to stop the collapse or recover the Frontier, their survivors were now funnelling into the city by the tens of thousands.

    When eventually Richard and Petra returned, Lulan suspected there would be more Russian citizens and Mages of various Oblasts in Shalkar than any other human ethnicity. Of course, the Ratkin still outnumbered the humans by magnitudes¡ªbut the newly arrived Mages didn''t seem to perceive the Rat-kin as a threat. Incredibly, not even the NoMs would give the Rat-kin the time of day, and both avoided the Horse Lords whenever possible.

    Comparatively, their passion for the Dwarves and the city''s riches bordered on the fanatic, a fact the Shadow Mages of Manipur had been closely scrutinising.

    Thus far, scuffles had only involved insults, brawls, and one near-fatal injury to a NoM resolved by Clerics from the Ordo Bath. With increased incidence, Lulan suspected, she would have to bring in heavier-handed methods to force compliance from their prideful Humanist Mages.

    The problem was that she was short-handed in terms of Human Arbitrators, as these refugees responded extremely poorly to Strun''s Rat-kin enforcers while complying with the Horse Lords out of unquestioning fear. Any additional Arbitrators she did recruit would be from the Urals, and she knew instinctively that such an act would be very short-sighted indeed.

    With her mind deeply weighed by responsibilities, she looked to the wisened Dragons, immortal creatures of yore, for some signs of wisdom.

    "Eat!" The Thunder Dragon commanded, his Dragon Fear crawling across her skin like little worms. Golos'' eyes sparked as he slammed the table, sending the fruit to leap and land with eye-watering bruises.

    "Don''t be shy, Lulu." The Red Dragon poked a piece of pink flesh against her lips, his mien full of sadistic purpose and designs on her Mistress. "Open up¡­ Ahhhh¡­"

    What could she do? Lulan opened her lips obediently. She was only Human. Maybe the Dragonfruit would help her think.

    Her eyes moistened as her mouth filled with the delicious scent of immortal fruit. When would her Mistress be back? Lulan wondered. How long would she have to endure the bullying of these Draconic emissaries?

    The Easter China Sea

    While two Dragons had their way with a faithful Chief of Security, the Regent of Shalkar underwent a culinary baptism.

    "I thank you for this nourishment," Gwen said to the tentacled Fish-Priest as she sat upon the throne originally built for the corpulent figure of Lei-bup. "But there is no need to provide me with your children. I assure you."

    In front of Gwen, provided by the Mermen as a sign of obedience and respect, were large, gleaming bowls of living wonder.

    Caviar¡ªthe hopefully unfertilised eggs of her followers from the stoic Marlins to the brilliant pebble-sized oranges of the Prawn-headed Mer-kin, filled a hundred bowls from one end of a long coral table to another.

    "Each offering is from our various tribes and Clans." Lei-bup''s tentacles coiled around the cups nervously, careful not to tip the enormous loads. "By consuming them, they will know you have accepted them into the Great Shoal and its Grand Purpose."

    Gwen tried to imagine herself swallowing the "caviar" and almost emptied the contents of her stomach.

    Sometime after her speech, Lei-bup had invented a new Neologism¡ª "The Grand Purpose". He had explained that this new term would involve the overarching design of her goals for the Shoal, whether to challenge the Seven Kingdoms or to erasure the corruption that has permeated the Deep Sea Mermen''s domains.

    "Mistress." One of the Mermaids, a Sea Witch dressed in pearlescent, skin-clad suits of interlocking shells, came dangerously close with her spiny garb. "These virgin spawn are from our Clan of Mer, the Nymphs of Kalimon, whose Matriarch was a royal hailed from the Fourth Swell of Isia Eternal. When ingested, old wounds would heal, ailments cease, and youth would return¡ª"

    "The Priestess is ageless." Lei-bup reminded his aide.

    "And though you are ageless." The Sea Witch quickly adjusted her advice. "The overworld''s Star of Radiance is harsh, unlike the soft and loving waters of home¡­"

    Gwen smiled as genuinely as she could. She was a sucker for sashimi, but these are talking, walking, fawning fish! As a Human with principles, Gwen wasn''t about to pop an egg from the virgin cousin of one of her followers and let the flavour burst in her mouth like a Starburst. After all, what if she made a habit of it?

    Imagine if she had asked Strun for one of his babes? No doubt Strun would give it¡ªbut what Modest Proposals would the Jonathan Swift of this world have written about the Bloody Regent of Shalkar?

    No. Gwen told herself. The Caviar of the Faithful was a bridge too far.

    Seeing her doubt, the Sea Witch fell to her fins like Ariel from Disney. With her overlarge, luminous eyes of yellow amber, her begging played on the heartstrings. "PRIESTESS! Have we offended? Are you not pleased with this offering?"

    The other members of Lei-bup''s council appeared worried as well. As for Lei-bup, the aberrant creature had declared itself sterile¡ªwhich was all the better for serving the Priestess'' desires until the moment of his sudden but silent death in the maw of the Shoggoth.

    "Rise! I am well pleased," she informed the Mermen, hoping she had picked the right sentiment for her Translation Stone. "Thank you for these gifts. I shall collect them for consumption at a later time, and when I do partake, I shall think fondly of those who spawned them."

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    The appeasement seemed to work, for finally, the attention of her followers shifted from the joy of feeding her unborn children to the enormous sand-pit at the centre of the conference chamber.

    "Lei-bup, you said once that you have an idea of where the tainted Mermen are coming from?" As the only member with two legs and no tail, she adjusted her posture to better address the council. "Show me."

    Lei-bup waddled into the shallow quicksand. A pair of attendant Sea Witches sang in low notes until the grains began to shift, transforming into a map Gwen did not recognise.

    "This is the seabed of the Yellow Sea," her High Priest explained with forbearance, tracing with a tentacle the outlines of what she guessed was the coast of the Korean peninsula. Large swathes of green, she recognised, were kelp forests; the others, Gwen possessed no idea. "The largest concentration of the Undead Mer can be found here¡­"

    An orb of scarlet sand lifted into the air, somewhere east of Dalian, where she had first shocked the world in the IIUC.

    "¡­ We have also found traces of the Undead infestation in the Shoals here¡ªin the Yellow Sea¡ªand here, in the region known as the Sea of Japan."

    A dozen spheres, darker in hue, lifted into the air.

    "Where is the Kingdoms'' outpost?" She asked. Though the Seven Kingdoms had their home in the Elemental Plane of Water, it was well known that each had sizeable establishments within the Prime Material. After all, Terra was largely a sphere of water¡ªone of the key motivators for the Seven Kingdoms to claim the Prime Material as an extension of their domain.

    The map changed again, completely disorientating her knowledge of geography.

    "Ghurghdp Hiij, the Bright Reef, lies here," Lei-bup spoke like a man gargling stones. "A Great Shoal guards this place, overseen by the Elemental Prince Nin Pak. He is a formidable scion of the Fifth Swell, though I do not believe he could stand against the weight of the Grand Purpose and the visitation from our Lord and Saviour, the Shoggoth."

    "A Great Shoal¡­" Gwen was reminded of another Great Shoal on the southern edge of the globe. Swells or Vel, for the lack of better translation stones, were portals into the Prime Material. The notion of five was literal, pertaining to the fifth such portal made accessible by fate, engineering, or both¡ªinto Prime Material. Therefore, the Towers had advised that it was best to consider the Mermen cities as Forward Operating Bases, while each Swell was something like an expedition. The only reason the Fire Sea was world-famous while the Swells were hardly known was that Humans had little interest in unseen catastrophes unavailable for short-term profit. "What''s their relationship to the Crown of Corals? Are there Dragons involved with these underwater politics? In Auckland, we had a whole ordeal with Miommiriorthyr''s scions."

    "The Elemental Princes of Nin hail from a different Kingdom to the scions of He who Slumbers in the Crown of Corals," Lei-bup explained in his slow, droning way. "The Sorceror Nin is a sly Sea Witch with the blessings of ancient Sea-kin long dormant in the Plane of Water. Bright Reef city, like ours, is a Leviathan¡ªbut older by many millenniums.

    Gwen pondered the fact. Assaulting the city was not a part of the future she had envisioned in the first place¡ªfor her Master had already done that to various degrees and achieved little else apart from a multi-decade concession of peace. For the problem to evolve¡ªfor better or worse, she had to find alternative methods.

    "And are they having problems with the Undead?"

    Lei-bup moved aside to reveal one of the broad-shouldered Wave Riders serving as the Shoal''s Vanguard. "Commander Tomasin hails from the Bright Reef. Perhaps he can tell you more."

    The hulking Mermen with a comically small head and a nose that tapered off into a sharp, sword-like spine laid flat his body in supplication.

    "Rise," Gwen commanded, feeling queasy in her new role as The Patron Saint of Fishes. "Speak truly, and I shall grant you a boon of life."

    The giant Mermen opened his mouth, and a sharp, pipsqueak gargle emerged. Stifling her mirth, Gwen focused instead on using her Divination Sigil to process the expressive powers of her Translation Stone. For someone who had to deal with Mermen, her Master''s Stone extensively possessed an excellent affinity for Mer.

    "I was the expeditionary Captain of the Outriders," the high-pitched, child-like voice of the Mermen explained. "My fishes and I were abandoned when a civil strife erupted between the city''s high factioneers, vying for the control of the Vel. The First Kingdom''s scion, High Prince Sarkonnian, desired submission from Nin Pak. The two came to blows, and many fishes fled the ensuing cataclysm between the two Elemental Princes."

    "Sarkonnian¡­" Gwen teased the tongue with the word. "Is he a Dragon?"

    "She is a scion of the Great Manta whose body enfolds the Elemental Plane of Water, or so the Priests of the First Vel advertises." The Mermen''s tone turned sardonic. "As a Princeling of the First Vel, few dare to challenge her. The Fifth Vel is not her domain; nonetheless, she had arrived claiming as such, and the consequence is anarchy and civil conflict¡­"

    Which¡ªGwen supposed, was the natural way of things. As her lecturers in Marine politics had often cited, the Mermen hate Humans on an unconditional basis, but the hatred was more generalised into something of a Holy War, a vague belief most Mermen exercised¡ªeven if they had never seen a land-dweller in the entirety of their lives.

    In the ocean, the more immediate concerns were always other Mermen¡ªwith each tribe and Clan allied with larger Clans and Kingdoms into Shoals, and the Shoals war eternally for spoils and territory¡ªwhich was why Humanity was left to develop unmolested.

    "This is very interesting," Gwen said. "But what does it have to do with our interest?"

    "Before I fled for the free seas," the Outrider Captain spoke as though in a confessional. "We heard that Sarkonnian was taking masses of Mer and sending them somewhere¡ªboth depleting the forces of the Fifth Vel and using the deportations to create space for the First Vel. At first, we imagined that she was organising a land raid for resources¡ªbut we never saw the kin who Sarkonnian''s mantas had transported away¡ªor received news of their death."

    "Do you believe they were been¡­ given to the Followers of Juche?" Gwen vaguely gestured toward the map''s north.

    "I do not know." The Merman''s facial fins flapped in distress. He guided Lei-bup in tracing the route followed by those he once knew, then laid himself flat again. "Please punish this one for his lack of knowledge, Pale Priestess."

    "Your informative is valuable." Gwen felt her spine chill. She knew a Merman Elemental Prince had to be in cahoots with the Necromancers, but now her suspicions had some bite. "Approach¡ª"

    The Mermen shimmied closer, watched by the Sea Witches, the ancient Crab-kin, and the mossy Sea Turtle.

    Gwen slid off her gauntlet and then distilled a small sphere of brimming Essence held together by the telekinetic energies of her brimming mana.

    "Blessed are those who pursue the Grand Purpose." She leaned closer, allowing the scintillating ball to lower until it fell into the half-open mouth of the Merman.

    The others around her swallowed as the Merman gulped and gurgled.

    "Aah¡ªah¡ªGurrrghgh¡ª" The Sword Fish Mer moaned as her Essence, purer and greater now in the advancement of her mana maturity, invigorated his Creature Core in a way only the blessings of Almudj could manage. There was a sound of moving bone, muscles becoming firmer, and then the warrior rose to his fins, his eyes staring into the beyond.

    The phenomenon wasn''t a Pokemon evolution¡ªGwen knew that¡ªthough the purity of Almudj''s Essence nourished the Core, giving creatures an existential elevation akin to a permanent runner''s high.

    A tendril attached to the Merman''s back twirled, then struck itself back into its host''s flesh, nourishing itself upon her Essence. A lung-deep grunt followed as the Mer endured the invasion¡ªthen a second appendage, blessed with several eyes and a saw-barbed tongue, lashed out into the air, tasting the warmth of its allies.

    All but Lei-bup took a fin-step away from the squirming Merman. The High Priest watched on, his many tendrils writhing in harmony with the flesh-seeking barbs, nodding with a comprehension Gwen could not begin to guess.

    "Thank you, Mistress of Pale Flesh!" the Mer wept milky tears of white-blue gratitude, though Gwen was predisposed to believe it was from the discomfort of losing an organ to the Void parasite rather than from appreciation.

    She patted the Merman on the head, spoke a few more words of platitude, then bid the Mer rest. When she returned her eyes to her council, she found herself at the centre of hopeful, passionate devotion.

    "So we have a location and an objective. However, I am unlearned in how the Mer make war," she confessed to her fishy counsels. "Lei-bup, how shall we approach this matter?"

    "We shall need some time to recover from the expedition at Tianjin, to replenish our numbers, and to instil Faith in the new members," her High Priestess explained with great patience. "Pale Priestess, pardon my ignorance, but you as well would require the rites of sorcery necessary for deep ocean dwelling."

    "I suppose that''s true." Gwen regarded the pearl-like interior of their council chamber. "Mermen Magic doesn''t work on Humans?"

    "It is crude magic we use on captives." Lei-bup bowed his head. "I do not dare to gamble with the Pale Priestess'' comfort."

    "Right," Gwen acknowledged the Merman''s wisdom. "How long until the Shoal would be ready to make the journey?"

    "Four¡­ five moon cycles." Lei-bup raised one tentacle after another. "Restoration of our lost numbers, indoctrination of the recruits, scouting a path into the Fifth Vel, and readying our young one for a prolonged siege against its elders. Many will perish. But that is the price of the Grand Purpose."

    "I''ll be taking care of that when the time comes." Gwen pictured herself riding at the head of the Leviathan, pulled by a one-Shoggoth sleigh. If the Shoal''s earlier impact on the Prime Material foretold things to come, her synergy with her Void Ally would soon reach a level beyond Human understanding of Spellcraft.

    To breach the fabric of space and time through willpower and mana alone¡­ was the domain of beings like Tyfanevius and Sythinthimryr. Of course, hers was an admixture of factors unique to herself¡ªwhile a Dragon''s eventual access to the raw energies of their Elemental Plane was a birthright.

    As for how The Accord might react¡­ She wasn''t a member yet.

    That said, she couldn''t help but wonder what the Bloom in White might think of a breach in the Prime Material when used to stopper an ever larger breach from the Elemental Plane of Water. In her original land down under, they had introduced cane toads to eat the sugar beetles and foxes to eat the rabbits.

    Hopefully, introducing the Shoggoth to the untold billions of Mermen in the Fifth Vel would go down... just as well.

    Shalkar.

    Alexander Fishenko, "Fish" to his friends, lived as a sleeping Sparrow under the Committee for State Security. In Shalkar, he was an ordinary, unassuming Fabricator under the employ of the Dwarven construction teams working day and night above and under the domain of Shalkar.

    Unlike the other refugees who had arrived later, Alex was one of the first Mages who volunteered in London. Originally, his goal had been to compile a dossier on the meteoric rise of the Isle of Dogs. Unfortunately, Charlene Ravenport''s entry and the Crows'' arrival had Alex spooked enough to find employment elsewhere.

    That elsewhere was Shalkar.

    Frantically, in the tiny abode of his rented studio apartment, Alexander Fishenko composed his report with his back turned toward the door, half hidden in a nook connected to the kitchen.

    "To the Deputy Chairman..."

    The strands of silvery Divination woven into the Message he sent "home" to urge his "family" to come to Shalkar were composed of a code only Sparrows of a certain rank could comprehend.

    "This city is a rich jewel that must be absorbed into the folds of the Federation. Its true roots lie in the old lands of the Rat-folk, once belonging to the Czarist imperialists. Our maps from the Great War should still indicate that the Commonwealth has not laid claim to the Frontier, nor was it claimed or recovered by any other human nation. This new jewel in the desert would enrich our nation as much as our losses in the Urals, so it must go ahead. I say this because even now, refugees from our Oblasts filter into the city daily, sometimes by the hundreds, other times in the thousands. I have seen representatives from NoMs to highly-ranked Mages keeping their heads down. When enough of us are in this region, I will organise a Federation Nationalist movement and gather our comrades. Comrade, if we can vote on the ownership of the new city¡ªwe should be able to acquire the resources here bloodlessly..."

    "The resources here, Comrade! You cannot begin to perceive the incredible riches here. The Rat-kin, those worthless and filthy labourers, tirelessly tend to plants blessed by immortal Elves. These seem to reach maturity both quickly and without detriment to the soil. From my sources in the trading department, these sanctified produce are sold to China and Europe for exorbitant prices in the hundreds and thousands of HDMs while costing the city almost nothing to grow."

    "At the same time, the tithings from the surrounding tribes of Demi-humans could fill a dozen warehouses to the brim. I have seen Raw HDMs as large as vehicles carted into the bay by Centaur Raiders. Materials from Magical Creatures take so long to categorise, the Diviners in charge are paid double the rate of a Tier I city to ensure the shipments going out of New Shalkar are fulfilled."

    "Below the growing city and its oasis facade lies an underground network connected to the Dwarven infrastructure known as the Low-Ways. I understand that we have long since eradicated the presence of Demi-humans near our capital¡ªbut these are the ones responsible for the Mageocracy''s newest transportation systems. Controlling this node, or even destroying it, will signifcanlty impact the trans-European-Asia trade currently putting on chokehold on our exports. The Dwarves also have their most prized technology here, including an original Fabricator Engine, which I believe the Committee for Magi-Tech Acquisition would risk their lives to attain."

    "Most importantly, the Regent assigned to this place is only twenty-one years of age. TWENTY-ONE! A mere lass, Comrade. Can you imagine such a thing in the Motherland? She is well-connected, however, and powerful in her own right, even if naive and inexperienced in the rulership of a city. I want to remind the committee not to take her lightly, for she is the Void Sorceress after that great villainess, Elizabeth Sobel, and is connected to the same lineage. Her abilities as a Strategic War Mage are many, and I have included this in a separate dossier for the Deputy Commitee for Warfare Doctrines."

    "Lastly, there are notable beings here in Shalkar, particularly a Thunder Dragon ally of the Regent, which must be bribed or neutralised if we wish to take the city in the name of our nation. To move toward these efforts, I will organise a Worker''s Union as soon as more of our comrades arrive from the Urals."

    The final threads of Divination ceased to glow. With some effort, Alexander compiled the Message until the hidden details were truly woven into the mana of the Message itself.

    Knock¡ªKnock¡ª!

    The sudden sound from the door almost unravelled the final few seconds of his spell.

    "Fish, mate! We''re headed to the Dwarf Bar! You coming?" The voice of his "friends" from England permeated the thin door. They were heavy drinkers, but few could drink a Russian under the table, and Alex was famous for his liver even back in the Tower.

    "Coming, lads! Don''t you dare start without me!" Alexander made sure his East End accent was as genuine as could be.

    Sealing the spell, he sighed. If anything, the Dwarve Brew here was to die for.

 Chapter 495 - Seed

    Shalkar.

    The Refugee Quarter.

    Unlike her contemporaries, Mila Kuznetsova stepped not from the buttock-bruising interior of cargo carriages pulled by Centaur auxiliaries but from the second seat of her daughter¡¯s towering Strider.

    When the chicken-walker Golem haughtily lowered its carriage, the Magus Enchanter joined her husband in a daze, still struggling to comprehend the stories told by Petra.

    Now standing in the external square set up to process the arrival of the refugees, she could see with her own eyes that Petra¡¯s tall tales were neither fiction nor exaggeration¡ªbut understatements.

    Nonetheless, her rational self struggled to process her lying vision of a city of improbabilities built in an impossible oasis. As a resident of Yekaterinburg, she knew very well that south of the Urals lay the unforgiving Black Zones of the Centaurs. Beginning at the foot of the Urals and ending against the coast of the Fire Sea, no humans could inhabit that landscape without becoming swallowed by sand, Centaurs and despair.

    And yet, in their approach to the city, she saw tall canals of transmuted stone carrying vast quantities of unclouded water into vast kilometres of fields in verdant grids. Orchids, some with trees as tall as municipal buildings, reeled from the burden of fruit as large as a man¡¯s head. Corn, maize, and multi-coloured grains grew in sizes that seemed to her mythical, lining the arteries into the city¡¯s boundaries.

    As for the city itself¡ªshe could see that much of it was under construction, with its skyline inundated by a forest of mechanical cranes. Closer to its walls, she saw more Golems than existed in the Motherland¡¯s capital: walking, crawling, meandering and climbing in, out and atop the rapidly fabricating structures.

    Among the city¡¯s avenues, trees impossibly expansive and mature for the city¡¯s age lined the sandstone pavements, providing shade to the resting labourers below. And among those labourers, she saw something even more incredible.

    Rat-kin, untold numbers of them, wore the clothes of modern man and ran amok on errands beside their human counterparts. Near what looked like a sewerage construction, Rat-men in yellow hats lazed beside their human co-workers while a Dwarven Golem transmuted the basalt beneath into workable earth. A row of a hundred Rat-kins, joined by a Dwarf and a dozen humans, sat on an overarching steel beam overhead, eating sandwiches from tin lunch boxes.

    Elsewhere, less laborious folk, possibly office workers on break, drank coffees on stone benches or discussed plans over cafe tables, with Rat-kin in collared polos speaking to Mages in Common while waving magical implements in the air.

    To Mila, who had lived in the imperial capital of Moscow and then Yekaterinburg, Shalkar¡¯s interior was an insane sight, something like a fevered picture book from her girlhood. Within the Federation, the Great Purges after the Great War had seen all Demi-humans, Dwarves included, exorcised from the nation¡¯s holdings to ensure the purity of the national census. This extreme attitude toward Demi-humans was also the core reason the Federation saw itself as opposed to the Central Powers of Europe, particularly the Mageocracy.

    Her husband whistled, choosing not to express his thoughts.

    ¡°¡­ This is quite a city,¡± Mila managed to croak out words of praise for her daughter. ¡°You say the Regent is only twenty-one? Has she had many experiences building cities and managing diplomatic ties?¡±

    ¡°She initiated, planned out and created the Isle of Dogs with Norfolks and the Dwarves back in London,¡± Petra replied. ¡°Its strange, but Gwen¡¯s education opportunities had never stopped her from successful ventures. For that, we can only chalk it up to her being a multi-disciplinary prodigy.¡±

    ¡°I see¡­¡± Mila wondered when they would finally meet this Demi-God figure her daughter is convinced to be the second coming of the Nazarene. So this whole city is driven by the cult personality surrounding the Void Mage? That, in itself, was a danger.

    Around Mila, unlike herself, the other refugees from Yekaterinburg were displaying mixed feelings about the controlled chaos. Along the way, she had been keeping a close eye on her colleagues from her elevated Strider.

    Initially, when they had only seen Rat-kin labourers working in the orchids and the fields beside the gigantic agricultural machinery, their eyes had been filled with wonder and anticipation. On the way to the city, even the Horse Lords looked upon Petra and Richard with respect, and even the Thunder Dragon, who had visited them thrice, seemed to hold a special deference for the two Human Mages.

    However, When the refugees saw the armed Rat-men with shock wands and in the city¡¯s guards'' blue-white uniforms, their attitudes grew less passionate. To be told, admonished, and God-forbid, commanded by servile Demi-humans, was a step too far for the sons and daughters of the Federation.

    Such was the sentiment when Mila¡¯s fellow refugees finally realised that the Humans living in Shalkar were not masters but equals. She felt the cold arrogance typical of her origins taking root in their cold gazes, their minds actively seeking the bitter waters of anger and envy. Shalkar is a Human city, conceived and built by the hands of a Human being. Why were these animals enjoying the same rights as Humans? Why were the Demi-humans wearing the same clothes, eating the same food, and working in the same spaces as the Mages? They traded and trafficked in the Motherland with the Demi-humans, but the capital was a Human domain! None would eat, drink or pray with the creatures that once called the Oblasts home.

    But what Mila feared more than anything was the prosperity of this developing city, its youth and seemingly unworried citizenry¡­ She could sense the gears turning in the heads of men like Sergey. It was an awareness she had learned as a girl-child, for a young woman possessing extraordinary comeliness must mature quickly or lose themselves completely.

    And now, she saw in the eyes of her fellows from Yekaterinburg the same gaze Petra used to receive outside her all-girls school in Moscow. That was partially why she had sent Petra into the Tower, where she had hoped that men with better designs had plans for Petra to achieve greater things.

    And now, her daughter had achieved great things.

    Amazing things.

    Unbelievable things.

    But these things are also fragile, and prone to theft.

    ¡°Halt! And Welcome!!¡± came a booming voice from above.

    A piebald Rat-kin, the most human-like of its kind Mila had seen, emerged from the wall gates adjacent to the refugee¡¯s temporary shelter spaces. What was more daunting than the aura of command and authority the Rat-kin possessed was his uniform¡ªsomething of an Officer¡¯s garb in solemn navy with flourishes of dark gold, accentuated by a pair of what had to be Spellswords.

    When the Rat-kin hailed the Khan¡¯s Cherbi, Mila felt a jolt of disbelief as it and the Horse Lord performed what could only be the Human social ritual known as the ¡°high-five and low-five¡±, after which it leapt almost six meters onto a rogue sandstone platform to address his audience.

    ¡°REFUGEES from Yekaterinburg!¡± The Rat-kin spoke Common effortlessly. ¡°Welcome to Shalkar Al-Jadeedah, the dual city of our Regent, Magister Gwen Song, and our allies, the Dwarven Masters of Mimm Agaeth Kjangtoth! Your journey has been long, though I hope it has been uneventful¡­¡±

    Having known Strun¡¯s history from Petra, Mila knew the pride of the Rat-kin was well-deserved. Still, she could clearly see the disbelief on the faces of some of her comrades, especially when the Rat-kin began to lecture the values of equality and fresh starts and the boons of a clean slate. More unsettlingly, Harpies with vibrant plumage took up the corners of the square, their exquisite faces making their unblinking observation all the more intimidating.

    ¡°¡­Here in Shalkar, you will be given two choices. If you have relatives, homes, or a place to accept your old citizenship, our Shalkar will provide the necessary resources to return to those places! However, like many refugees before you and many more after, should you find yourselves no longer possessing a home¡ªknow that Shalkar is a place of gainful employment! Our Pale Pri¡ªREGENT will consider your talents once registered in the boarding camps. You will be given positions suitable to your ability! Ergo, present yourself earnestly! If you align with our Mission Statement, you will have a new home. A new life in the heart of the fastest-growing trade hub in the world! A new city to interlink Europe and Asia!¡±

    To hear these words from the mouth of a Diviner Commissar¡¯s mouthpiece would be completely within the expectations of men and women of the Federation. However, to hear those inspirational words erupt from the fanged maw of a talking rat¡ªMila bit her lips.

    She stole a quick look at the group huddled around Lieutenant Colonel Sergey Ivanov, consisting of the surviving high command, the Commissariat, and members of the inner Politburo. The men did not speak, but their body language spoke of barely suppressed insurrection, as though they had just witnessed a tap-dancing dog reciting the Federation¡¯s sacred manifesto.

    However¡ªBefore Mila could decide to warn her daughter to moderate the Rat-kin¡¯s proposal, the ground began to shake.

    As the refugees toppled and fell, an enormous concavity opened beneath Strun, revealing a creature''s rotating maw so large and hideous that Mila¡¯s chest constricted out of fear and disgust.

    Like a living nightmare, a skyscraper sprouted until it towered above the new arrivals, while on its head stood the uniformed Rat-kin with its furry, piebald face, its arms crossed with oppressive authority.

    ¡°Newcomers, allow me to leave you with a final lesson,¡± the Rat-kin¡¯s voice echoed across the courtyard. ¡°Life is harsh in the Steppes, but it is fair. New friends and family of Shalkar Al-Jadeedah, remember this, and you shall prosper.¡±

    While the refugees stared, the sandworm retreated into the earth with the Rat-kin, leaving no trace of its passage.

    Heart-in-throat, Mila turned to her child.

    ¡°P-Petra.¡± She could hardly keep her heart from leaping at her throat. Such was the recollection of this all-consuming sandworm. Such was the intangible aura it sowed of death and destruction. ¡°Where do we get registered?¡±

    ¡°Oh.¡± Petra took her hand. ¡°No need. Richard will arrange an interviewer, so relax until after¡­¡±

    Mila¡¯s pale eyes scanned the milling, terrified refugees. Reluctantly, Sergey and his ilk were filing into line.

    ¡°¡­After lunch.¡± Petra¡¯s laughter made her all the more flustered. ¡°Come, Mama. You won¡¯t believe what the Dwarves can brew with potatoes!¡±

    The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    ¡°Name?¡±

    Alexander ¡°Fish¡± Fishenko, volunteering his free weekend to accrue Contribution Credits, gazed up at a face he recalled quite vividly. In truth, he wasn¡¯t here for the credits; he was here to see who had survived Yekaterinburg to collect the necessary information to execute his plans.

    The ¡°refugee¡± in front of him was Lieutenant Colonel Sergey Ivanov, the eldest son of General Ivanov of Moscow Tower, one of the nation''s rising stars¡ªat least until his jurisdiction fell suddenly to ruin.

    ¡°Ivanov, Sergey,¡± the Colonel did not recognise him, which was within Fish¡¯s expectations. He was just a teenage trainee at the Tower when they were visited by the then Captain Ivanov and his father, an utterly unassuming cadet undergoing the trials to become an agent of the Federation.

    ¡°What was your employment, Mister Ivanov?¡± Fish feigned disinterest, watching the man¡¯s lips twitch, hovering his pen over the forms like a bored bureaucrat.

    ¡°Military.¡± Ivanov gestured to his lapels. ¡°My rank is Lieutenant Colonel. I was one of the COs in command of Yekaterinburg¡¯s garrison and commander of its Mage Flights. In Moscow Tower, I would hold the rank of Magister.¡±

    Fish¡¯s pen paused. He made sure to look shocked, just as those around him also stopped their processing to regard the Lt Colonel. For the old families of the Federation, such ranks were half merit, half nepotism, so officers who hadn¡¯t survived a few Purges and a dozen wars were rarely taken seriously. Nonetheless, the title was impressive in Shalkar, where the only senior military advisors were Militants returning to pad their retirement funds.

    ¡°Do I have to repeat myself, Mister Fishenko?¡± Ivanov read Fish¡¯s name tag.

    ¡°No, Sir.¡± Fish lowered his voice. ¡°Sir, I cannot process someone of your rank and abilities. May I escort you to my supervisors?¡±

    ¡°You may.¡± The Lt Colonel finally seemed pleased by Fish¡¯s deference. ¡°Do it now.¡±

    ¡°Yessir!¡± Fish meekly signed and filled in the forms for the Colonel, pushed back his seat, and then guided the man down the corridor meant for unexpected VIPs. Along the way, a few checkpoints with Rat-kin NCOs questioned Fish¡¯s intentions but lacked the authority to make the correct judgement. In this manner, with only minor impediments, they made their way toward the Central Security building. Subtly, Fish slowed his step until he was almost in lockstep with his superior.

    ¡°You are from Moscow, Sir?¡± he asked.

    ¡°I am.¡± Ivanov¡¯s tone soured further. Perhaps the man was expecting fanfare and a red carpet¡ªbut Commander Strun had been very clear on the deliberate treatment of the refugees to foster upon them the reality of Shalkar¡¯s aid as practical rather than charitable. ¡°Your last name is not uncommon in the Motherland. Which Oblast do you hail from, Mister Fishenko¡­¡±

    ¡°I am a London boy, second generation.¡± Fish laughed, his accent true to his lies. ¡°Is Moscow as cold as it is grand? My mother used to say there are countless pigeons in the city. Pigeons that do not fear the cold and forage for the smallest seed.¡±

    ¡°Nothing survives our winters.¡± Ivanov did not appear to notice the code for several seconds. Then he did, and their lockstep fell into disarray for several meters. ¡°Your¡­ mother¡¯s memory must be muddled. How long has it been since she saw a Moscow winter?¡±

    ¡°Fourteen years since she last saw the Festival. She missed it dearly, though she is gone now.¡± Fish answered.

    ¡°I am sorry to hear that.¡± Ivanov¡¯s face lost its flush as quickly as it had come on. ¡°Do you still speak the Mother tongue, Fishenko?¡±

    ¡°Not since my mother passed,¡± Fish replied, completing the code. ¡°I don¡¯t remember enough of it to speak fluently.¡±

    Ivanov patted him on the shoulder.

    Further ahead, the towering basalt exterior of Central Security loomed above them. Fish made his case to the Centaurs guarding the entrance, who then moved aside to allow them entry into the building¡¯s interior. Within, the central complex was still a mess of construction habited by Dwarves in Golem Suits working alongside uniformed human Mages, transmuting Enchantments and other magics into the building that would service the city¡¯s policing needs. An aide guided the two through the foyer, passing an enormous, multi-level, open-plan office before they finally arrived at a set of double oak doors sitting flush upon gleaming guide rails.

    The doors slid open, revealing the interior of yet another office space surrounded by filing cabinets and workstations, positioned in a semi-circle toward an enormous desk fit for an Ogre-sized humanoid.

    Fish could guess who would be sitting behind that enormous table and also knew from rumours that the ¡°thundering¡± leader of the Security Bureau usually roosted atop the Bunker at the city¡¯s highest vantage point and not deep within the belly of its paperwork-laden warrens.

    What instead caught his attention was the strange sight of a young man with flaming hair loitering around the record cabinets, flipping through data slates and files, mumbling to himself.

    Unfortunately, his attention was diverted by another. Accosting the pair, the unassuming clerk exchanged forms with Fishenko and directed them toward the central desk.

    ¡°Colonel!¡± A voice called out from the oversized desk¡¯s right, in a sunken pit that created a little private space of its own. ¡°I had expected to see you here sooner. Did you actually line up with the proletariat? I am impressed that you¡¯ve taken the values of our home to heart!"

    Fishenko recognised the voice as belonging to one of the city¡¯s most infamous administrators, the always smiling Master Richard Huang, cousin to the Regent, and by reputation someone far more unpredictable than a life-devouring Void Witch.

    Behind the Water Mage floated his Spirit, the equally infamous Undine worshipped by the Rat-kin, an integral member of the city¡¯s agricultural efforts.

    ¡°Magus Huang.¡± Ivanov lowered his chin in a mock bow. ¡°I had expected that you would be here as well, though I had hoped we could speak more personally sooner.¡±

    ¡°Mister Fishenko, you may return to your duties.¡± The city¡¯s administrator waved Fish goodbye. ¡°I¡¯ll take Ivan through the hoops. I hope you¡¯ll stay, Colonel. We could use men like you in the days to come.¡±

    ¡°Shalkar is a majestic city, Magus Huang.¡± Ivanov gave Fish a nod, bidding him to leave. ¡°May I sit? There is much to discuss. And I doubt that I shall remain a Lt Colonel after Yekaterinburg, so please address me informally.¡±

    ¡°Very well, Sergey.¡± The Water Mage produced two crystal glasses and a bottle inscribed with Dwarven Runes, his voice fading as Fish retreated. ¡°I am glad you¡¯ve come around. Come, sit. Let us discuss how we can put your talents to gainful employment¡­¡±

    As Fish tidied his thoughts for future endeavours with Magister Ivanov, his mind naturally drifted toward an important question.

    Where was their neglectful Regent, and what could she be up to?

    Singapore Strait.

    The island informally known as Abang.

    Gwen Song, the Regent of Shalkar, had yet to return to her abode, for the Regent was confident that the regents she had left in charge would not burn her shinning city to the ground.

    Her final errand was both bitter and sweet, for after leaving behind the Mermen Shoal, she had to fly a day and night southward to arrive at the epicentre of her past life¡ªthe island housing Henry and his ever-watching guardian.

    With the Omni Orb, there was no waste in the time it took for her to locate Sufina¡¯s grot, well disguised among the hundreds of islands with their man-eating ecosystems, deep within the reclassified Black Zone beyond the Batam Shielding Stations.

    Gingerly, Gwen landed on the canopy, then levitated her way into the thick jungle until the entrance to the past was once more visible. Sensing her presence, the trees bowed, parting like an Elven Trellis Gate while laying down a soft carpet of ferns.

    Since her last visit, the stakeholders have been consulted, permissions have been given, and the groundwork has been prepared. The timing of the promise was still a little premature, but the necessity of gaining Sufina¡¯s aid grew with the size of her city. The construction of Shielding Stations within Shalkar would not be logistically feasible thanks to its many species of residents, implying a need for contingencies not padded with the corpses of her Militia.

    ¡°Sufi, I am home.¡± Gwen felt the fabric of reality distend and snap into place as her body penetrated the meniscus of reality into the Grot¡¯s interior. As she made her way inside, the quasi-magical maze undid its twists and knots, robbing her of the opportunity to rethink her choices.

    Barely a hundred meters in, she found Sufina exactly as she had left her, half lounged over the eternally preserved body of her Master, her doll-like body groggy with sleep.

    ¡°Welcome back, daughter.¡± Sufina¡¯s bedroom voice was familiar and comforting. ¡°Did you miss your mother and father while you were carving up the world?¡±

    Gwen laughed out of habit. Moving closer to the casket, she ran a finger gently across the dustless facade of the living tomb housing Henry¡¯s body. With each step, invisible weights piled upon her heart. She had thought the grief had passed and that she had moved on¡ªbut like the stasis of her Master¡¯s body, the renewed woe assailing her organs spoke loudly of her failed catharsis.

    There would only be one form of release, she suspected.

    She had to find Sobel¡­

    ¡°You¡¯ve grown more beautiful, though I do prefer your younger self,¡± Sufina interrupted her thoughts. ¡°Have you a boyfriend yet? Or a girlfriend?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve got better.¡± Gwen felt soothed by Sufina¡¯s roleplaying. ¡°I¡¯ve got a city of my own.¡±

    ¡°I see. A very large possession to fill a very large void. How Gwen of you.¡± Sufina slowly rose from the casket. Embedded in place of where a heart should be, Gwen could see the tendrils entwined around Almudj¡¯s Scale. ¡°It took Henry far longer than yourself to acquire his first domain. He would be proud to know you¡¯ve taken up his mantle.¡±

    ¡°Well, it''s not exactly by choice. Did you know Spectre has set half the world on fire and drowned the other half?¡± Gwen sat beside the Dryad. Drowned by nostalgia, she held the creature¡¯s wooden hands in her lap while waiting for her emotions to find their place. ¡°I also had a run-in with Sobel. This time, face-to-face.¡±

    ¡°What has happened?¡± Sufina wrapped an arm around her shoulder. ¡°You can confide in me.¡±

    Gwen sighed as she gathered her thoughts. With as much rationality as she could muster, she relayed the sundering of Tianjin with Elvia and Percy¡¯s involvement. When she finished, even Sufina¡¯s false breasts were heaving with simulated emotion.

    ¡°¡­ I am very sorry, daughter.¡± Sufina¡¯s reward was a mugful of her Golden Mead, which Gwen part took with more recollection than effect. ¡°Your brother has grown to be such a coil of poisonous ivy. I am just glad your Sobel isn¡¯t Elvia. You were close, correct? But not that close. Maybe this is an opportunity. You can both clarify your feelings while you hunt Percy down. Until he¡¯s dealt with, it doesn¡¯t sound like you¡¯ll be able to sit together in the same room for long.¡±

    Gwen didn¡¯t know what to say. In moments like these, she was reminded that The Dryad was simulating human emotions through Henry¡¯s Empathic Link.

    ¡°Well, you¡¯ve come to me for a reason.¡± The Dryad moved on. ¡°For what it¡¯s worth, I am here. How can I help our Henry¡¯s child?¡±

    ¡°Sufi.¡± Gwen accepted that now was the time to make her case. ¡°Shalkar is almost ready to receive you. I¡¯ve consulted both the Dwarves, Elves and Almudj. There will be oppositions, but not enough to prevent what we have planned.¡±

    ¡°Truly?¡± Sufina¡¯s expression was one of surprise. ¡°So¡­ soon?¡±

    With more ease than she had anticipated, Gwen pushed away her feelings, leaving behind the cold logic of reason. ¡°Now is an opportunity, I think, to capitalise on the distractions occupying the old stakeholders of the world. While there''s famine, trade disruptions, regional wars and civil strife¡­ We can begin to nurture our World Tree by taking advantage of this crisis. Once established, so long as Shalkar remains central to trade, no particular power broker will be able to spare resources to deal with us¡ª¡±

    ¡°I see.¡± The Dryad pondered her words.

    Gwen waited with patience. The original proposal came from the Dryad. If Sufina no longer wished to be a part of it, she would find another partner.

    Sufina¡¯s affirmation came a split-second later.

    Slowly, with the delicacy of a surgeon, the Dryad raised a hand toward her heart, where slow sprouting tendrils wrapped around Almudj¡¯s Scale until finally, something akin to a seed pod the size of a coconut migrated into the palm of her hand.

    Fighting the shock of their suddenly evolving circumstance, Gwen fumbled with her clothing until she produced the Drudic Satchel, her evergreen storage for magical plants.

    Sufina moaned. Her wooden exterior audibly groaned as its fibres struggled to revitalise the damage caused by the visible exhaustion. The jade leaves overhead abruptly changed to autumn¡ªsending a swirl of flaming leaves to turn the summer grot into an amber room.

    Then, just as quickly, those same leaves lost their vibrancy, embracing rot and decay before landing on the dry moss floor.

    As one sensitive to life and vitality, Gwen felt the grot¡¯s waning life force. The Essence in her conduits raced, stimulated by the enormous volumes of living mana stowed within the seed pod housing Almudj¡¯s scale, resonating with the endearing energies contained therein.

    When Sufina looked up again, her youthful mien was marked by old bark. The only thing that remained unchanged was Henry¡¯s casket and its precious cargo.

    With reverence and care, Gwen slipped the seedpod into her Ilias Leaf, where the powers of a true World Tree would nurture the immense Essences stowed within both scale and seed.

    ¡°Sufi¡­¡±

    ¡°It will pass,¡± the Dryad assured her. ¡°I¡¯ll manage.¡±

    ¡°This seed¡­¡±

    ¡°Place the seed where you wish the new tree to tap into the ley-line. Water it with Essence from the Old One.¡± Sufina¡¯s voice was no longer echoing throughout the grot. They now spoke face to face through her mock vocal cords.

    ¡°What will happen to this place?¡± Gwen touched a hand to the casket. ¡°Will it be moved?¡±

    The Dryad shook her head. ¡°I will remain here, but the better part of me will be reborn in Shalkar.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re not¡­ coming?¡± Gwen struggled to understand the revelation. ¡°We can move Master¡¯s body, surely?¡±

    ¡°I shall be with you¡­ but not exactly as I am,¡± Sufina¡¯s voice regained some of her vitality. The bark peeled away, revealing new, greener growth. ¡°Here is our tomb, daughter. The part of me that was Henry¡¯s will remain here. It¡¯s where Henry found me, where I had taken root¡ªTo leave this place, this grot¡ªwould cost¡­ more than I am willing to give.¡±

    Gwen fell silent.

    She didn¡¯t like leaving her Master¡¯s legacy on an unknown island off the Singapore Strait, but she could respect the Dryad¡¯s sentiment. Where else had she seen such a display of fierce, selfless loyalty? Of devotion so wholesomely disturbing that it would span the stretch of knowable eternity?

    She thought of Elvia¡­ but found only the face of Percy¡¯s grimacing growl.

    ¡°Fret not.¡± Sufina¡¯s bell-like laughter lightened the mood. ¡°There will be a connection when the new tree is strong enough. My two selves will find each other through the immaterial world, and there will be a path. Henry will slumber here with me, and we will watch over you and your shinning city together.¡±

    Gwen slipped the Ilias Leaf back into the pouch sewn into her outfit¡¯s interior. Nestled within the astral space of the leaf, there was no bulge to prove the presence of her cargo. Yet, she felt the radiance of her first gift from Almudj, and now Sufina, as poignantly as a piece of her flesh.

    ¡°Thank you, Sufi,¡± she spoke from the deepest recesses of her heart, her voice a living thing escaping from her contorted diaphragm. ¡°For everything.¡±

    Sufina leaned forward, touching her forehead to Gwen¡¯s.

    Gwen understood that there was nothing more to be said.

    Woman and Dryad sat side by side against the morbid bed of their slumbering father, mentor and teacher, savouring snippets of memories from a simpler time. When their mutual recollections concluded, one would leave for the future¡ªand the other shall entomb the past.

 Chapter 496 - The Girl who Sold the Tree

    As a part-timer goddess, the Regent of Shalkar understood the necessity for subtlety.

    If she were to appear at midday at the ISTC in a blaze of Conjuration, the Rat-kins maintaining the vegetation around the Trellis Gate would raise such a ruckus that a train of worshipful faithful would follow in her wake.

    Thereby, Gwen Song appeared in her city like a thief in the night, then blasted off toward the Bunker as a star-falling meteor, alerting only the nocturnal Rat-kin still labouring in the wavy wheat fields.

    Her goal was the Bunker¡¯s highest vantage, whereupon she entered an enormous nest. The original design was for an aerial garden mirroring Babylon¡¯s arboreal ambitions. The result, however, was Golos taking over the unfinished sky-scape, transforming it into a Dragon¡¯s den, replete with his Amazonian seraglio.

    Thankfully, now possessing the inheritance of an Ancient Blue, the once potato-brained Wyvern had acquired some semblance of taste. The Thunder Dragon¡¯s abode reflected the egotistical Demi-godhood perceptions of itself, comprised of large concrete columns erected by the Dwarves in art-deco style, holding an enormous umbrella of a canopy, creating a large open-concept chamber where his children could come and go as they pleased.

    In the moon-bathed atrium, she found her partner in rulership slumbering among hundreds of its chicks, a scaled and armoured hulk among a bed of plush, cobalt feathers.

    She did not wish to rouse the Dragon, but the Harpies were instinctively vigilant and began to loudly bellow her name even before Gwen could call for the levitation platform into the Bunker¡¯s bowels.

    An enormous reptilian eye opened, its iris larger than her fist. The blue-gold slits drew into focus, then a huff of static-infused air escaped its nostrils.

    ¡°Calamity.¡± The Dragon did not bother to move.

    ¡°Gogo.¡± Gwen dipped her head. ¡°Don¡¯t mind me.¡±

    ¡°I rarely do,¡± the Dragon snickered. ¡°Did you have a fruitful trip?¡±

    ¡°I did,¡± Gwen approached the Dragon, then extended a hand to stroke the horned ridges atop its nostrils. The tingle from its electrified mana made her digits numb, but the sensation was pleasant to one so similarly attuned. ¡°Lei-bup is onboard. His Mer deduced where the Undead are emerging¡­ and I brought an old friend to our new home.¡±

    The Dragon¡¯s slitted eyes looked her up and down. ¡°The Tree Spirit?¡±

    Gwen affirmed the Thunder Dragon¡¯s wisdom by patting its warm nose. ¡°How¡¯s our city in my absence?¡±

    ¡°Lulu and your cousin are keeping a watchful eye on the new refugees,¡± Golos yawned. ¡°They¡¯re hardly subtle. I can taste the greed dripping from their bodies like grease. When the moment is ripe, I¡¯ll have to show these mortals exactly why the rules are written in blood.¡±

    Gwen felt the Dragon Fear ripple from her Planar Ally, sending his chicks to scatter and cry. From an inner section of the sanctum, the multi-coloured body of Phalera burst into the scene, her flawless Grecian face repressing its displeasure.

    ¡°My Lord!¡± The Harpy harped. ¡°Do you know how long it would take to gather the chicks again? You¡ª¡±

    Golo¡¯s eye-slit wandered to its mate.

    The Harpy and its offspring caught by the gaze grew instantly silent.

    The disparity in power was not outside of Gwen¡¯s expectations. Golos was, after all, the blessed son of a deity. At the end of the day, Phalera was a plaything. For Gogo, his sentimental humanism was little more than a veneer covering the primal aggression of a natural disaster.

    How strange it was then that Golos was the Sword of Damocles held over the head of Shalkar¡¯s potentially uncivil civilians. Such a paradoxical existence! A monster she employed to enforce the equality of the people in her domain even as itself existed beyond that fragile equilibrium. Were it not for herself, the city would be a plaything for beings like Golos, a domain to be conquered and ruled or ravaged and destroyed.

    ¡°Gogo, be nicer.¡± She gave the Dragon a resounding thwack on the snout. ¡°Phalera is one of our citizens as well.¡±

    The Dragon growled. For a split second, its throat grew blue with thunderous energies. ¡°Rannox!¡±

    The Draconic command for its brood to return tolled like a tower bell. The scattered Harpies returned from the skies surrounding the Bunker¡¯s apex, compelled by mental domination and abject, primordial fear.

    Phalera lowered her body until her forehead touched the cold sandstone floor.

    Gwen sighed. ¡°I am going to sleep. Find me tomorrow if you have anything else to report.¡±

    The Dragon waved her away by closing its eyes and wagging its enormous mace-tail, sending more Harpies to scatter to safety.

    Feeling sorry for the Dragon¡¯s hapless pet-wife, she coalesced a dozen drops of Essence dew to gift the Harpy as Phalera escorted her to the levitation platform. ¡°Philly, do you miss Amazonia?¡±

    ¡°I do not.¡± The Harpy¡¯s answer surprised Gwen. ¡°It¡¯s much safer to be here in your domain.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t mind Golos¡¯ attitude?¡± Gwen asked. ¡°He¡¯s as abrasive as his scales.¡±

    ¡°The brood prospers.¡± Phalera shrugged her very lovely wings. Gwen was just glad the brood¡¯s matured members no longer flew topless. ¡°We have vast spaces, almost no competition, and unquestionable safety. My children are strong, and a few have even inherited the thundering talents of their father. No Priestess of the Woods that Wend could ever hope for better.¡±

    ¡°I guess that makes sense¡­¡± Gwen drew the secret Glyphs to the Levitation Platform, summoning it from the depth. ¡°Okay¡­ if you need anything, don¡¯t be a stranger.¡±

    ¡°I shall never forget your aid,¡± Phalera¡¯s tone sounded not so different from Strun¡¯s folk as she proudly misinterpreted the implications behind Gwen¡¯s ¡°stranger¡±.

    ¡°Right. See you later.¡±

    Gwen drew a second Glyph in the air.

    The circular barrier slid shut.

    Soundlessly, the Levitation platform descended.

    As Gwen had not prepared the city for her arrival, she gave her departmental staff several days to set their data in order before her ¡°town hall meeting¡± took place.

    Meanwhile, she gathered her core members in the heart of the Bunker, where a Kirin Queen named Li-Rin had put a full stop to three millenniums of history.

    With Sufina resting against her bosom and, most importantly, Almudj¡¯s Scale now in her possession, the next stage of Shalkar¡¯s expansion could be exercised. With everything she had put in place after Tianjin, the momentum was ripe, and this meant all of her staff needed to be informed of her ¡°Tower¡± and its progress.

    There was no conference room built yet for her followers. As a group, they stood on the Rune-etched earth where mystical energies had once scorched the volcanic rocks.

    Her immediate family, Petra, Richard, Lulan and Golos, stood to her left. To her right sat representatives of her allies, starting with Engineseer Axehoff of Vethr Hjodlik, followed by Sanari of Tryfan, Strun of Shalkar, Ollie Edwards of the Shard, and Slylth Alexander Morden of Carrauntoohil. Nonetheless, several spaces remained empty on what would one day be a round table, with present reservations for Charlene Ravenport, Eric Walken and Lei-bup.

    ¡°You took a long time to return,¡± Slylth, now counted among those whose expertise she wished to exploit, stood beside the yawning Golos.

    ¡°There was a lot to do,¡± Gwen explained, smiling at the Red Dragonling. ¡°How did you spend your time while I was gone? How was your flight?¡±

    ¡°We partook in rare fruits from Tryfan,¡± Slylth watched her intently. ¡°I was back within the day so they would remain fresh. Alas, you weren¡¯t here.¡±

    ¡°Sounds like you¡¯ve had a good time,¡± Gwen studied the smug Slylth intently, ignoring the obvious goading. ¡°Was the fruit tasty?¡±

    ¡°Lulan loved it,¡± Slylth¡¯s response was enough to elicit an uncharacteristic whimper from a red-faced Lulan.

    ¡°I am sorry.¡± The Sword Mage bowed, her ears turned the colour of beetroot. ¡°It was delicious.¡±

    ¡°I am sure. Let¡¯s move on.¡± Gwen wondered at her followers'' antics and Slylth¡¯s display of playful adolescence. ¡°First, let me relay the details of our progressions, beginning with the Mermen under Lei-bup¡­¡±

    Gwen expressed her opinions on the Mermen now worshipping the being known as the Pale Priestess, exploring the strange confluence of Marxist ideology intermingled with aquatic theology. The exact details were as fantastical as they were unbelievable. Still, coming from herself, her audience could only nod and ponder the implications of her emerging role as a SPAM-bearing messiah.

    When she finished, Strun was the first to speak. ¡°Does that mean our people are free to worship the Pale Priestess?¡±

    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t,¡± Gwen winced. ¡°Strun, you know as well as I do the reality of how everything works. The city is a confluence of labour, Magi-tech, and diplomacy. No greater magic is involved in its creation than grounded folk tilling the soil and tunnelling under it. Let us not complicate the situation in Shalkar needlessly.¡±

    ¡°As you wish,¡± the Rat-kin leaned back, withdrawing from the discussion.

    ¡°You have delivered a thoughtful perspective,¡± their Elven representative approved Gwen¡¯s pragmatism. ¡°As you know, our Kin are wary of Faith Magic.¡±

    Gwen thought of Elvia, who should have had a seat at her round table. Her friend was absent, however, both from the city and her inner council. Perhaps, like the others have foretold, until Percy was brought to ruin, the bloody gash that was their relationship would only fester and weep with no hope of healthy healing.

    ¡°On that note. Sanari.¡± Gwen directed their attention at the Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar among them. ¡°Any news from our Dragon friend?¡±

    ¡°The approval process is proceeding.¡± The Druid lowered her regal head, her golden eyes capturing the whole table in their encompassing vision. ¡°The Lady would like to inform you that Lord Tyfanevius has made a perfect case for our Regent.¡±

    ¡°Very well,¡± Gwen nodded at the other inner council members. ¡°For those not in the loop, I have applied for an exclusive membership with our Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar allies from Tryfan. As to its utility, those who know already knows, and those who don¡¯t are discouraged from finding out. I assure you, however, that the venture is essential for Shalkar¡¯s longevity.¡±

    ¡°Would your alliance with the Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar impact our terms of agreement?¡± Axehoff raised a stylus from his data slate. The Forge Master rode on a convenient Golem platform that raised him to their height, negating the awkwardness of speaking to the crotch of their taller compatriots.

    ¡°The pact should hasten the promised stability, in so far as I can guarantee with my power and influence,¡± Gwen assured the Dwarf. ¡°Perhaps Lady Sanari can clarify for you until my membership is resolved. Sanari?¡±

    ¡°Master Dwarf. The Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar will not infringe upon the homelands of our D?kk¨¢lfar compatriots,¡± Sanari spoke in archaic Dwarven, an act both amazing and strange considering the stones being gargled in her delicate Elven throat. ¡°As true as the heat of B¨¹rumm-Dal¡¯s forge, our people have never broken faith, not even during the Founding of the Seven Ancestors.¡±

    The Dwarf responded with a few verses from the Ancestor¡¯s Scriptures. It was all Axehoff could say, for Gwen suspected that those cut off from Deepholm had no real way to examine the claims made by Sanari, even if they did trust the High Elf¡¯s knife ears.

    Satisfied, Gwen motioned the meeting forward, fortifying herself for her future delivery. While her mental script wrote itself, her inner council continued with a few more minutes regarding the city¡¯s construction, refugee influxes and increased security burden. Overall, construction of the various infrastructure was ahead of schedule, but the number of refugees has burdened the city¡¯s many logistical departments. Food production and export are on par with expectations, though Strun recommends increasing the volume of fields or reducing exports as a contingency for the next harvest cycle.

    ¡°Our new Russian citizens are up to something,¡± Richard announced after further discussions. ¡°I would like to put them to good use, though. There are many skilled Mages among the refugees, from Conjurers to Transmuters. Most have some form of military training. A small group are direct deserters from the Federation¡¯s armed forces. The Shadow Mages are watching a few core suspects, though nothing they¡¯ve done so far is worthy of punishment beyond a verbal warning.¡±

    ¡°Hmm,¡± Gwen pondered her cousin¡¯s foreshadowing. ¡°Petra, has Aunty and Uncle settled in?¡±

    ¡°They have, thank you.¡± Petra gave her a happy nod. ¡°Richard¡¯s right, though. Mother has also told me there is no way folk from her old haunt will start new, unambitious lives. Even the ones who want to settle will listen to the agitators.¡±

    ¡°Interesting. Dick. Should we bring up the schedule?¡± Gwen gestured to one of their schemes hatched to create a sense of ownership and belonging in the population¡ªin this case, literally. ¡°Perhaps the IoDNC Co-Operative Scheme?¡±

    ¡°No, not yet,¡± Richard shook his head. ¡°I would like to see our agitators well invested before we make any investments. I am completely confident that there will be no violent uprising. Between Strun and Golos, there aren¡¯t enough Human Mages in Shalkar to remotely make that attempt. Whatever happens will be political¡ªlikely from within or outside¡ªbut we won¡¯t know until we¡¯re able to gather more information. Of course, we could expedite the situation with some encouragement¡­¡±

    Golos chuckled.

    ¡°What does that mean?¡± Slylth asked her. ¡°Are you expecting Necromancy?¡±

    ¡°No. Nothing that serious.¡± Gwen partly understood what Richard meant by moving up the timetable. There was no need for Necromancy, though someone would wish they had died. ¡°However, let''s keep our ears closer to the ground until we figure out exactly what we need to dismantle.¡±

    ¡°As you wish, Regent,¡± Richard retreated even as Slylth continued to murmur to Golos for details on Richard¡¯s psychopathy.

    ¡°Right¡­¡± Gwen took a deep breath.

    She had to get on with it eventually.

    Rising dramatically, she retrieved the Ilias Leaf from the folds of her clothing, then meticulously performed the Glyph to unlock its subspace. With the flair of a curator retrieving a Faberg¨¦ surprise, she produced the enormous seed she had received from Sufina and raised it for all to inspect.

    ¡°And here is the final minute of our meeting,¡± she announced to the gathering. ¡°A long-promised member of our family. This is Sufina¡ªand in a way¡ªAlmudj. This city, this chamber and all of its ley-lines have been prepared for her arrival.¡±

    Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

    ¡°Whoa¡­¡± Richard was the first to punctuate the silence.

    The viridian energy of life surrounding the seed was of such purity that all of them, Dragons and Elves, Demi-humans and men, looked drawn to its very presence. The impact, Gwen knew, was not from Sufina but what the seed held¡ªthe Scale of Almudj.

    ¡°¡­ By the Bloom,¡± Sanari spoke with reverence. ¡°It¡¯s truly upon us.¡±

    Gwen rested the seed on the Ilias Leaf until they all acknowledged its gravitational pull. Then, with loving tenderness, she returned it to its envelope. ¡°Now that¡¯s we¡¯ve all seen the real deal. Any objections?¡±

    ¡°None. I was merely surprised by the urgency of the mortal races,¡± Sanari touched a hand to her gossamer dress, where a heart would reside in a Human¡¯s chest. ¡°By which I mean Tryfan was expecting a more¡­ relaxed schedule.¡±

    ¡°Our foes scheme day and night, Sanari. For us mortals, the tyranny of time awaits for no one.¡± Gwen spoke with confidence. ¡°The Bloom would have foreseen this, surely.¡±

    The golden-eyed Elf bowed in deference. ¡°Assuredly. Tryfan will spare no expertise for our sister Tree.¡±

    However, another member of their inner circle was not so happy-go-lucky.

    ¡°Gwen. I mean Regent. Are you doing this, actually? You seek to put this Sufina into this ground here?¡± Slylth let loose a torrent of unasked-for stutters. ¡°SURELY, you would wish to do this with subtlety, yes? A World Tree is no mortal instrument. It can change the entire ecological landscape of this region or restore it, as it were. There¡¯s the Fire Sea to the east. I assume you wish to close that Elemental Portal for good. That will bring rains back to the region¡ªand since both Poles are intact, your efforts will hasten the healing of the Axis Mundi. However, the process will involve tremendous change! A newly made ley node will bring attention from everywhere and everyone. The Elementals¡­ what would they do? How do you propose to hide such a thing? With a Warding Mandala? It¡¯s impossible¡­¡±

    ¡°Who said we¡¯re in it for subtlety?¡± Gwen halted the Red Dragonling with a finger. ¡°This is an exclusive opportunity for profit. Subtlety would kill it.¡±

    ¡°Exclusive?¡± Slylth appeared flabbergasted. ¡°Profit?¡±

    This time, the other member shared Slylth¡¯s hesitancy.

    The exceptions were Richard and Petra, who had participated in formulating her blueprints.

    The Dwarven Forge Master looked from the Dragon to herself, then to the Elf. ¡°What do yer mean, Regent? There¡¯s more to stabilising the Murk?¡±

    Gwen took a deep breath.

    With a few rare syllables and a swirling of her fingers like a conductor¡¯s wand, she conjured forth the illusion of PowerPoint(?) to overlay their view of the enormous underground chamber.

    First, she pointed her finger to their nadir. ¡°Here is where the seed will take root. Sanari will know where exactly, but here, as it were.¡±

    Then, she overlaid a few streamlined arrows in the six paths leading away from the ¡°heart¡± of the Bunker.

    ¡°When Sufina takes root, she will create a pocket space within her growing grove. Within this space, everything lies in her control¡ªand mine, to an extent. This entire chamber will be almost impervious to external conflict. To penetrate what lies within, a foe would need first to destroy the bunker, then uproot the exterior of her tree, which is integrated into the Bunker¡ªand then finally diminish her while inside the domain of her creation.¡±

    Those who knew said nothing. Those who did not put the matter into contemplation.

    ¡°Which is about as perfect a defensive measure as one can manage¡ªbut that¡¯s not what this is about.¡±

    Her audience was all ears.

    ¡°As some of you know, the tree canopy will become an extension of that Pocket Space, as demonstrated by Tryfan. The larger the tree, the more interior tiers it possesses, and therein lies a great opportunity. Sanari¡ªhow many souls dwell within Tryfan¡¯s great bowers?¡±

    ¡°Tens of thousands and more across its nine circles,¡± the Druid answered vaguely.

    ¡°And its leasable volume?¡±

    ¡°Do you mean our abodes? The facilities are what we will it. We can create more if needed¡­¡±

    ¡°Exactly. And where did my Master live temporarily?¡±

    ¡°In the radiant quadrant.¡± Sanari¡¯s golden orbs were also confused.

    ¡°My Master, Henry Kilroy, lived in an Edenic haven, full of magical herbs, where the air was full of vitality and mana the likes of which The Prime Material will never experience! Do you all see the potential here?¡±

    ¡°What does this have to do with anything?¡± Slylth put up both hands, putting his fingers through several of her illusions.

    ¡°So¡­¡± Gwen felt her ego purr as more illusions overlayed their foundations, becoming a giant, magical tree Tower with multiple levels. ¡°We are going to put these spaces out For Lease under the IoDNC! Our World Tree, my friends, will be the most sought-after real estate in the world¡ªan arcane space I shall dub the WORLD TOWER.¡±

    Slylth stared.

    Golos chuckled.

    ¡°Exclusive spaces will be reserved for members joining Shalkar! Magisters are welcome to join the World Tower from anywhere in the world. Immigrants selected by our administrative tribunal will enjoy a private space where not only is there a gentle dilation in the passage of time, but enjoy a living space so revitalising that it will extend their lifespan¡ªliterally!¡±

    More PowerPoint(?) bars appeared, this time adjacent to the tree-shaped ¡°Tower¡±.

    ¡°For those who wish the freedom of coming and going to our World Tower, there will be Membership Tiers, from VIPs with access to the highest, most rejuvenating environments to those who pay for short stays to revitalise their body and soul.¡±

    Gwen pointed to the zenith. ¡°Our Dwarven friends have designed the earth to bloom when the time is ripe. Sufina¡¯s Tree of Shalkar¡ªAKA the World Tower (?), will be an exclusive space the world harkens after. It will be accessible to anyone willing to pay the price in labour or HDM! And as the loci conjoining the new Silk Road¡­¡±

    She reminded them of the Low-ways connecting the low quadrant of their World Tree. ¡°I shall establish an enormous trade hub below our tree. Dragons, Humans, Demi-humans, over-world and underworld, whatever anyone may wish to barter, they will find it here, in this loci of magical commerce. And once things are settled, we can also bring in the Mer¡¯s resources!¡±

    Clap! Clap! Clap! Clap! Richard began to applaud the reveal.

    With a face full of embarrassment, Lulan followed suit.

    Petra clapped twice, then looked downright ashamed.

    ¡°B-balderdash! You will need an impossible volume, and quality, of staff¡­¡± Slylth choked out.

    ¡°And to attract them, we shall offer impossible live-in benefits at the World Tower,¡± Gwen retorted. ¡°Without question, we will serve the best food and provide the best magical residences. Who would want to leave?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ll just invite wolves into the Den!¡± The Red Dragon was adamant. ¡°Such a morsel¡­¡±

    ¡°The Rat-kin will defend this place to the last rat!¡± Strun stepped forward, his whiskers vibrating with pride. ¡°The last Rat.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, Strun,¡± Gwen patted the rat on the head. ¡°I hope it doesn¡¯t come to that. After all, Sanari¡¯s folk will offer a guarantee, won¡¯t you? Once I am in the club?¡± Gwen turned to the High Elf.

    The Druid nodded, her body language entirely unsure of herself.

    ¡°And our Dwarven friends are also invested in manpower, HDMs, and the stability offered by food and territory. Our partnership has already made incredible progress¡ªthough we both know that the way to Deepholm will require an exponential volume of resources.¡±

    ¡°Aye, so long as our interests align,¡± the Forge Master concurred. ¡°You¡¯ll have our Hammer Guards at your disposal.¡±

    ¡°And the Mageocracy will also have its benefits,¡± Gwen assured them. ¡°Olly, how would the Grey Faction react if Shalkar could barter Elven, Dwarven, and oceanic materials in one place?¡±

    ¡°They will go mad,¡± Ollie¡¯s face puffed up as he exhaled. ¡°Mad.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s why we must reject subtlety and invite as many stakeholders as we can into our fold,¡± Gwen pointed to the PowerPoint(?) of the ghostly Tree Tower. ¡°If you recall my earlier conjecture, a coalition would have to conquer Sufina to take this place. To do so successfully would destroy the Pocket Space within the World Tower.¡±

    ¡°Then¡­ all of those riches, those people, those great gifts to man and Demi-man¡­¡± Richard chuckled. ¡°Pooooof¡­. scattered into the Astral Plane.¡±

    ¡°We shall make it clear that aggression toward us has only loss as profit,¡± Gwen explained as she walked among the phantom columns. ¡°As partners and investors, Shalkar can provide so much. The alternative is to expend more resources, lives and energy than any singular force the Prime Material can muster¡ªto become the hunted foe of every civilisation.¡±

    ¡°The Undead¡­¡± Slylth raised another objecting finger. ¡°They¡¯ll do it.¡±

    ¡°Of course they will, dear Slylth,¡± Gwen came closer to the Red Dragon. ¡°You¡¯re very negative, but I am glad you said it. However, let me ask you this. Wouldn¡¯t the Undead do this anyway? They¡¯re going to have a go at us regardless of what¡¯s here, you understand? We can be a capital city, a trading post or a village; they will still come. If so, why bother with subtlety? Let them come! Trust me when I say that with Sanari¡¯s Warden on speed dial, there¡¯s no such thing as an Undead horde we can¡¯t handle¡­¡±

    Sanari looked like she wanted to say something, but after a few seconds, she nodded.

    ¡°As for a Lich, well. I am here. You¡¯re here, right? And like I said¡ªif we can attract enough talented staff from the Towers all over¡ªespecially wise old Mages with bodies that need time and revitalisation¡ªwhat¡¯s a Lich or two?¡±

    The inner circle looked at each other and one another. Slylth groaned.

    ¡°You say World Tower, but this isn¡¯t a Tower¡­¡± Slylth had one more point to deliver. ¡°Not traditionally.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a towering World Tree,¡± Gwen said. ¡°And yes, it¡¯s not a mobile city. That component will be a work in progress. Let¡¯s gather the expertise, the HDMs and the goodwill first, shall we? You¡¯re not expecting me to order a pre-assembled model from Harrod¡¯s Emporium, are you?¡±

    Slylth¡¯s mouth formed a thin, unconvinced line.

    ¡°Good.¡± Gwen felt a stone drop from her diaphragm. The revelation of her plans had been like a blockage in her chest, and now she could finally breathe again. ¡°Of course, we won¡¯t be proceeding today. Now that I¡¯ve made my case, I hope our board of directors can agree on a suitable presentation for our citizens. To begin, I nominate that the day of planting be made a public holiday.¡±

    ¡°A Holy Day?¡± Strun rubbed his whiskers. ¡°Of no work?¡±

    ¡°I think we will be working double time,¡± Lulan reminded the Rat-kin.

    ¡°Yes, there will be more work for some,¡± Gwen reminded her guardians. ¡°Hospitality staff, caterers, cleaners, deliveries, and the city¡¯s health and safety departments will all receive ample pay to compensate their labour.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re talking a full-blown festival here,¡± Richard clarified further, drawing a circle of water in the air. ¡°Celebrations in every level of the city, from old Shalkar to the new, maybe even involve the surrounding communities. Raffles, lotteries, auctions for our Regent¡¯s Essence Maotai, and other rare consumables. It should be unforgettable.¡±

    ¡°It sounds so complicated.¡± Slylth seemed overwhelmed by the idea.

    ¡°Whatever you need, Regent, my people will manage,¡± Strun promised. ¡°None will disobey.¡±

    ¡°Thank you. We¡¯ll borrow staff from home as well,¡± Gwen nodded at her Rat-kin. ¡°Doubtlessly, there will be fireworks and other magical displays. Olly, will that be a problem?¡±

    ¡°Not at all.¡± Magister Edwards bowed, his face pink with expectation. ¡°I am sure anyone who is anyone would wish to attend. Shall I let our Ladyship Grey issue the invitations?¡±

    ¡°I am sure her ladyship will be thrilled,¡± Gwen concurred. ¡°I¡¯ll let Charlene also spread the good news to her folk. I am sure our friends from the Holland family can bring up their lot when asked.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll let Ruxin know,¡± Golos offered. ¡°I don¡¯t think he can leave the mountain, though.¡±

    ¡°But I am sure Mayuree and her trading partners will be keen,¡± Gwen concurred. ¡°Make it so, Gogo.¡±

    The Thunder Dragon agreed by discharging a jolt of dangerous static.

    ¡°Alright, Lass, I¡¯ll let the Deepdowners at the Spire decide.¡± Axehoff also appeared affected. ¡°But don¡¯t hold your steins.¡±

    Gwen gave the Dwarf two thumbs up, then turned to Sanari.

    ¡°I¡¯ll be present,¡± the Elf replied serenely. ¡°I don¡¯t think Arch-Warden Eldrin will make an entrance. However, I believe some of my sisters of the Grove will be very interested in the emergence of such a unique World Tree. Perhaps they can bring some of our lesser inventory to your disposal.¡±

    Finally, Gwen turned to the Red Dragon.

    ¡°I¡­ er¡­¡± Slylth seemed to consider his options. ¡°I could ask some of the Magisters from the Citadel at Suilven to attend¡­ I don¡¯t think Mother will leave her abode.¡±

    ¡°That would be wonderful.¡± Gwen gave her aide a pat on the shoulder. ¡°And one more thing, Slylth. Come to my chambers once the meeting is adjourned. I have something to show you, and I fear you are not going to like it.¡±

    ¡°Sit.¡±

    Slylth sat, his polymorphed hands both hot and cold and sweaty.

    After the display below the city, his understanding of this female that had garnered his interest had reached a new tier¡ªone that made him understand why Brother Golos, for all his brutal power, did her bidding.

    The woman¡¯s appetite, Slylth garnered, was only rivalled by the hunger of the Void.

    Therefore, when she asked to speak to him in private, all he could think about was his mother¡¯s warnings on the primary preoccupation of the Dragon-kin¡ªusurpation and cultivation.

    That said, the Regent¡¯s private chambers, all things considered, were not very intimate.

    For one thing, it was attached to her office in the Bunker, so two rooms across, a host of Humans, Dwarves and Rat-kin were busily stamping files and accounting for the city¡¯s endless transactions.

    The interior was also unlike the cosy, treasure-laden halls of his mother¡¯s rose-gold abode. From its minimalist charcoal walls of polished concrete and its enormously vaulted ceilings, the female¡¯s private chamber reminded Slylth more of a sterile temple, where the enormous four-post bed felt like an altar.

    ¡°I¡¯ve invited you to make good on a promise,¡± Gwen began.

    Slylth scanned through his recent memories.

    She had demanded that the Red Dragon fly ¡°his ass¡± back to Shalkar.

    Was this an act of petty vindication, then? Was the female asserting her control and power? Certainly, he could imagine his mother doing such a thing.

    ¡°Tea or alcohol?¡± the female asked him.

    ¡°Tea.¡± Slylth dared not touch the Dwarven brews. Unlike his well-practised mind, his fortitude was leagues and centuries from Brother Golos¡¯ unassailable gullet.

    The female tossed a few teabags into a pot, then boiled the water with an incantation. She materialised the rest of the cups, saucers, and jars from her Storage Ring.

    ¡°In the last few months, I¡¯ve done all I can for the city¡ª¡° the female began. Her eyes were luminous and hungry, full of wanting. ¡°Now, I need personal improvement. For that, I need something that belongs to you. Something only you can give, or so you¡¯ve stipulated.¡±

    Slylth considered with great seriously if his Contingency Ring was capable of teleporting him back to Scotland.

    Slylth gulped down the scalding tea.

    ¡°I am deeply ashamed of myself, but this is in regard to my inexperience.¡± The female¡¯s voice sounded like chiming bells in Slylth¡¯s head. It was all he could hear. When he had left his mother¡¯s side in pursuit of this haughty sorceress, he had not expected that he be a morsel on the plate of an Old One. Was this a test, then? Did his mother know? Perhaps she consented to this? Lord Tyfanevius could speak to his mother on a whim, as could the Bloom. There was also Lord Illaelitharian, who seemed to support the female after her timely service at the South Pole. If so¡­ should he polymorph back to his true form? But she was a human. He wasn¡¯t as large as a Dragon, maybe twice her height? ¡°So here it is, Alex¡­ for your pleasure.¡±

    Gwen slid over a data pad.

    The sound of metal on marble quenched his fears in the ancient ice of the Antarctic. With relief, Slylth retrieved, then scrolled through the female¡¯s Spellbook.

    There were two pages.

    Two.

    Pages.

    Slylth blinked away the buzz in his head.

    ¡°¡­Ball Lighting¡­ Thundering Shatter¡­ S-soul Fire?¡±

    ¡°My Master didn¡¯t leave me notes on conventional magic,¡± the Regent explained. ¡°Beggars can¡¯t be choosers¡­¡±

    ¡°¡­ Enervating Orb¡­ Blade Barrier¡­¡± Slylth¡¯s eyes scanned the list up and down. ¡°Your highest Abjuration Magic is tier four? And you fought SOBEL?! TWICE? You should have died a long¡ªlong time ago!¡±

    The female winced.

    ¡°Who knows? I kept things under control. I usually have Caliban do the grunt work,¡± Gwen explained. ¡°I don¡¯t do close-quarter combat. Gunther¡¯s Shield is fairly sturdy as a backline caster, and I can summon more Void Hydras than I usually need. However, to fight Sobel¡ªto actually fight her, I need you to teach me Morden¡¯s Blade and other means to vis-a-vis the woman who sold my Master.¡±

    Slylth continued to scan the single-page document for details.

    ¡°How¡­ how is it possible that you have the Affinity for almost every School of Magic, and yet you only know a dozen arcane archetypes?¡± Slylth felt his mana-rich heart shudder. Some Mages only focused on certain spells in Suilven, but their lower-tier Spellbook held incantations in the half-hundreds.

    ¡°So teach me,¡± the female said. ¡°We got time.¡±

    ¡°How long?¡±

    ¡°A few months? A year?¡± Gwen shrugged. ¡°Until I can plant Sufina¡ªthen until she¡¯s established. And between that or after, I¡¯ll need to attend to my Mermen and visit the United States.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not enough time.¡± Slylth made a few calculations. ¡°Even with these Affinities, upper-tier spells would take months to learn.¡±

    ¡°So narrow my choices down¡ª¡° Gwen said, crossing her legs aggressively. ¡°I need Morden¡¯s Blade. And reliable defence against Morden¡¯s Blade, and finally¡­¡±

    The female gave her next request some thought.

    ¡°¡­ I need to streamline Sympathetic Life-Link and Essence Tap. When I rejoin Lei-bup¡¯s Mermen Shoal against the Undead, I need a true trump card against the Necromancers. To fight the Undead, I need Mermen who don¡¯t die.¡±

    ¡°Life-link¡­¡± Slylth swiped through the data slate until he saw the constructs for a spell he knew to be forbidden. ¡°You¡¯re going to fight Necromancy with Necromancy?¡±

    ¡°I am not raising anything,¡± the female explained. ¡°I need my Shoal life linked to their Leviathan. And I need the important members of the Shoal imprinted with my Soul Mark so that the Shoggoth will identify friend from foe.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re going to batter the Undead hordes with a Shoggoth leading a Shoal, riding on a Leviathan?¡± Slylth felt his blood ignite. He wanted so very, very much to be there to witness the single greatest thing he could imagine to happen under the Prime Material Plane. Even in fantasy, the anticipation was already greater than any exchange of magic he had ever witnessed in the battles between the Keepers of Suilven and the Jagged King of the Fomorians.

    ¡°Yes,¡± Gwen answered. ¡°But I don¡¯t need to enslave any Souls or something insane like that. I need to mark them so that the Sympathetic Life Link can keep them hale¡ªand prevent Shoggy from conducting a total and random eradication of a general arena. The magic is already written for tens of thousands¡ªbut I need millions¡­Is that doable?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s¡­¡± Slylth considered what he knew of the invocations. ¡°Its old Magic divorced from the Imperial Magic System. You need to mark each individual or train auxiliaries capable of doing so¡­¡±

    ¡°Hence, I need your help,¡± the female looked on pleadingly. ¡°I am not expecting anyone from Oxbridge to come around with insights on modifying my Master¡¯s Necromancy. They can tune it¡ªbut beyond that, there are rules.¡±

    ¡°I see.¡± Slylth allowed his mind to simmer the formulas. As an egg, he had been instructed by the so-called Magi Morden¡ªa Mage who was pure in pursuing knowledge. His own knowledge was framed around the Imperial Magical System, but the mortals living in Suilven should still possess the arcanistry quarantined by the Great War.

    ¡°I¡¯ll need to make a return trip home,¡± he spoke at last to the female. ¡°And yes, I will teach you Morden¡¯s Blade.¡±

    ¡°Thanks, Alex,¡± the female¡¯s prise pleased Slylth.

    ¡°As for the defensive spell,¡± Slylth considered the Spell List flittering through his polymorphed skull. ¡°Evasion or static defence? Illusion or deflection?¡±

    ¡°Static and deflect,¡± the female replied. ¡°If a threat can somehow circumvent Caliban and Ariel, I would much rather deal with it myself than allow Lulu or Richard to face it for me.¡±

    ¡°Then there¡¯s not many options,¡± Slylth considered the female¡¯s obscene Affinities. ¡°I shall recommend two spells. Crown of Thorns, and Force Cage.¡±

    ¡°I''ve learned an Elementally aligned version of Force Cage, though I haven''t had a chance to put it into practice,¡± Gwen said. ¡°Is this the regular version of Force Cage?¡±

    Slylth scoffed. ¡°We will be studying Morden''s original intentions for the Seventh Tier¡ª as the multi-discipline original. In its usual transfiguration, it is an Evocation-based spell that conjures a cubical array of pure mana, useful for blocking attacks around yourself and for caging foes within it. However, for users apt in Abjuration, its defensive capabilities are multiplied, becoming able to be cast on allies and modified to nullify everything from Positive and Negative Energies to formless damage such as heat and cold. As you are also versed in Transmutation, the cage element becomes far more flexible. A Force Sphere, a Semi-Sphere, a Wall or even crude armour conjured around yourself becomes possible. Of course, the more flexible the manifestation, the greater the concentration and difficulty. Hence, most users prefer the cube.¡±

    "Viable,¡± the female concurred. ¡°And the Crown?¡±

    ¡°Again, this will be a spell made unique by your talents,¡± Slylth explained, feeling very much like a lecturer at Suilven. ¡°Taking advantage of your Evocation Affinity, the Seventh Tier Crown of Thorns will conjure exactly seven Elemental Thorns to orbit your whereabouts¡ªusually around your head like a halo, each possessing the power of a sixth-tier Evocation. A dedicated user guides these stars to disrupt a foe¡¯s casting, allowing them the opportunity to maintain other spells or use new ones. As a Void Mage, there are potentials for this counter spell that I am sure you can imagine. That said, you are also versed in Divination.¡±

    The Regent nodded keenly.

    ¡°So, I propose that we add the condition of Reactivity or Seeking to the spell. Which is your limit, at least for now.¡°

    Slylth tapped the table.

    ¡°If we fight Sobel as we had done that day.¡± He recalled that battle with a shudder. ¡°I would use Morden¡¯s Blade to both parry and harass. I shall use Force Cage to protect myself and my allies, then rely on the Crown to wear her down. If you can pre-emptively manifest these spells, you can focus entirely on wielding the Blade as concentration, leaving Cage as your active spell, while Crown will do its due diligence without further spell fatigue¡­ and of course, you will have Caliban and Ariel. Oh, and there¡¯s also a Familiar-clad variation of Force Cage, though your Familiars would need to possess a high level of arcane competency.¡±

    ¡°That sounds amazing.¡± Gwen leaned in eagerly. ¡°When do we start?¡±

    ¡°Now, I suppose,¡± Slylth felt very smug indeed. ¡°But I only promised to teach you Morden¡¯s Blade. Remember that these archetypes are unique to Morden¡¯s line at Suilven. You will only find poor, inflexible facsimiles in your Towers.¡±

    ¡°Name your price.¡± The female¡¯s smile showed a little too many teeth.

    ¡°Er¡­¡± In all honesty, Slylth hadn¡¯t thought that far.

    ¡°How about this?¡± Gwen extended a hand and arrested his limp digits in a warm embrace. ¡°I¡¯ll gift you real estate¡ªoff the plan. A chamber with its ownership signed to yourself at the highest reaches of the World Tower. It will be no worse than mine and be unquestionably exclusive. Even if Tyfanevius shows up, he¡¯ll envy your privilege.¡±

    Inexplicably, Slylth felt a strange stirring in his heart. He had never considered real estate a concept. Yet, as a Dragon, he felt it morally wrong to reject the potential of property ownership. Still, he sensed distinctly that the female wasn¡¯t losing much in the exchange.

    ¡°Trust me. You won¡¯t regret it, Alex,¡± the Regent concluded their deal by shaking his hand. On the female, he could smell the scent of the Old One, which was both intimidating and intoxicating. Before he could think it through, she took his wrist and bid them both rise. ¡°Come. Let¡¯s head to the Oculus. I¡¯ve got a new Greater Cognisance Chamber raring to be calibrated. Have you ever been in one? It¡¯s a wonderful experience.¡±

 Chapter 497 - Branching Paths

    Shalkar al-Jadeedah.

    The bunker.

    At the highest floor of the Bunker, only a few strata above the levels used for administration, the Regent of Shalkar had spared no expense in building something close to her heart.

    A Greater Cognisance Chamber.

    It was in such a place, in a simpler time, that she had been introduced to the wonders of Spellcraft. With her Master¡¯s hand guiding her motes of mana down each conduit etched into the metaphysics sec Astral Body, she had taken her first step into understanding the triptych construct of Arcanistry.

    The mind.

    The body.

    The manifest.

    The Sigil.

    The Glyph.

    The Spell.

    Nothing on old Earth had helped her truly understand the mechanics of Spellcraft¡ªand now she knew why. The ¡°IMS¡± was itself inhuman. Its origins were not the arcane crafts of monks, Deists, Magi or warlocks of human history. Instead, Spellcraft was born from a reimagining of Elven Glyph-works, distilled and disseminated for the mortal mind. Its users did not stand on the shoulders of giants¡ªbut on the branches of a World Tree as old as the Prime Material itself.

    ¡°What?¡± Slylth Alexander Morden looked sheepish as Gwen inspected his Astral Projection. How curious it was, she wondered, that the two-century-old egg-turned-dude was the most humanised Dragon she had ever befriended, even more than Ayxin.

    ¡°Your¡­ thing is more compact¡­ than I imagined.¡± Gwen found the right words. ¡°But damn, it¡¯s nice.¡±

    Slylth¡¯s projection wasn¡¯t just the fusion-induced celestial fire of Alesia de Botton. It was far more impressive.

    Unlike her glassy sculpture of darkness and light, Slylth¡¯s projection was a vaguely Draconic shadow surrounding a smouldering heart of flames. At its centre, the illusory creation of the Cognisance Chamber pulsed with life, each beat sending forth waves of radiant heat, illustrating a great, infinite furnace with an inexhaustible, self-sustaining fusion reaction.

    Gwen wasn¡¯t sure if this was a true representation of the Astral Body of a Dragon, but at last, it represented what Slylth the Red Dragonling envisioned of his interior world. And the heart was, she knew, in a dormant state. If Slylth needed power, the amount of Elemental Fire he could draw from his Dragon Heart, both in purity and volume, wasn¡¯t on a metric any Human Mage could conceive. To a pure-blooded ancient Dragon, the notion of VMI, the maximum ¡°pool¡± an Astral Body could sustain, was a non-notion.

    Gwen seriously considered her other prospects.

    What would Sanari¡¯s interior appear as? A tree? A fruit or seed?

    What would Ayxin¡¯s Astral projection look like?

    Or someone like the Bloom, or holy moly¡ªTyfanevius?

    Once her fancies abated, Gwen looked to Slylth to see what the Dragon thought of the man-made interpreter of astrophysical matter. Coming from Morden¡¯s Tower, his ilk did not possess a high interest in modern Magi-tech, preferring to rely on the refined teachings of Magi Morden, which was more intimately aligned to the Elven original than any other interpretation offered by contemporary Schools of Magic.

    In retaliation, the Dragon studied her Astral Projection with equal intensity.

    ¡°Where is the Old One¡¯s Essence?¡± he walked around her in a circle, his attention to detail like a keen tailor disrobing her bit by bit to get the best measurements for an expensive frock. In her new, state-of-the-art chamber, the reflection possessed extreme fidelity, meaning the silhouette was a translucent replica of her unclothed self.

    Thinking of her oldest ally, Gwen called into being the energies of the Old One now nestled alongside her physical and Astral self.

    Like a swelling noontide, vague ¡°Druidic¡± motes filled the projection, overwhelming both Elemental Lightning and Void. In China and even in London, Gwen had made her projection glow like irradiated polonium. Now, she could transform herself into liquid fluorescence.

    The spectacle was a welcomed surprise.

    Was it because she now possessed the Scale of the Rainbow Serpent on her body?

    Or was it because of other changes, such as the intangible energies of psychic ¡°Faith¡±?

    Or was it, on a more morbid level, the sheer volume of magicians she had consumed since her crusade against the Undead begun?

    According to Cambridge, only the God-kings of antiquity had possessed Faith and Arcanistry in equal measure, but did they also have the patronage of the living land? Mayhap Almudj could know the answer¡ªbut like the immutable continent of Terra Australis, her patron remained mute in its unperturbed slumber.

    By her will, the emerald glow lost half of its illumination.

    Her partner¡¯s eyes were vivid with awed respect.

    ¡°Impressive.¡± The scion of Morden reciprocated by contracting his Astral Projection until it formed a mimicry of her human conduits. Like a golf instructor, his polymorphed figure shadowed her until they were almost parallel. Slowly drawing the incantations of Conjuration in the air, he beckoned her to follow, tracing the faint conduits of mana through her Astral self.

    ¡°The true secret to the invocations of Morden¡¯s Blade¡­¡± Slylth said as his non-dominant hand traced an invisible line from her belly button to her heart. ¡°Is Evocation mana used in place of Conjuration¡­¡±

    Richard Huang, self-appointed chairman of the World Tree¡¯s Internal Communications and Security Bureau, or ICSB for short, presided over the reports from his Shadow Mages.

    Two weeks after its fated decree, the planning for the historical moment in which Humanity would possess a World Tree was well underway.

    Invitations had been sent out to every Tower worthy of consideration, with the expectation that their present partners in trade in the Mageocracy, China, My?ma, and Oceania would all attend. Outside the expectant parties, Japan, Korea, the United States, and Cuzco had replied, stating they would send delegates.

    The World Tree¡¯s planting, as expected, would raise Gwen¡¯s reputation to an international level.

    Richard felt his cousin¡¯s choice of rejecting subtlety was the correct option, for even now, the Mageocracy heralded her deeds as the capstone of its historically hybridised approach to Terra¡¯s Demi-human denizens. Divide and conquer: the Mageocracy had called it, altering between iron-fisted imperialism, cultural colonisation and subversive diplomacy.

    But knowing what he knew now, how much of it was good governance versus the will of the Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar? After Gwen had disclosed a partial understanding of the relationship between the immemorial continuity of Elven intervention in Human history, Richard had felt that the Mageocracy¡¯s gains since the IMS were akin to an old empire colonising itself.

    Whatever the case, that their Mageocracy was ¡°footing the bill¡± was enough to validate the city¡¯s ambitions¡ªespecially after Gwen¡¯s revelation that the Commonwealth¡¯s Mages are welcome to lease a residence in the crown of the immortal tree.

    Ergo, it was doubly important that no serious mishaps would occur during the plantation event.

    First and foremost¡ªhe was under no delusions that he, a mere Magus from Cambridge, could rally the powers necessary to contain dangers capable of threatening the delegates. As one who needed help and possessed no shame, Richard spared no social capital asking for it, which was why he had enlisted many an ally.

    For the purpose of military security, he had confirmed with Gunther ¡°Morningstar¡± that the Tower Master would be in secret attendance. To the public, Sydney would announce that Gwen¡¯s Sister-in-craft, Alesia de Botton, would attend on their mutual city¡¯s behalf. In secret, Gunther would take a day from his endlessly busy schedule to provide his Sister-in-Craft with an unrivalled contingency.

    Ruxin, one of their angel investors¡ªwould also send Mayuree and her brother, for the Thunder Dragon was deeply invested in his sibling¡¯s welfare¡ªmeaning the existence of an abode at the highest level of the soon-to-be-grown Hilton World Tower.

    From the Mageocracy¡ªRichard had asked Charlene Ravenport for aid. Their other primary investor had not only promised administrative and security details; she would also request a proxy for the Mageocracy in the form of a flock of ravens whose identity only Gwen truly understood. That and the Factions had their Lords and Ladies in attendance, each being Maguses and Magisters well-versed in conspiracies. As a gesture, Richard had also contacted the Ordo Bath but was declined by Elvia¡¯s polite and well-meaning apology. After all, Dragons and Trees were a sore point for the Cleric, and Gwen needed to focus on Sulfina, not mend matters with someone who would return to her orbit in due course.

    As for China, Richard was both sad and glad that Gwen¡¯s Uncle Jun and his wife could not attend nor would her grandparents. As a nation, China loathed the tiniest possibility their power couple may wish to holiday in Shalkar, which suited Richard, as his security details were already as thinly stretched as possible. As for their Babulya and Yeye, the wounds of Percy¡¯s betrayal remained too fresh and shameful for them to take a spotlight in Gwen¡¯s moment of transcendental glory. No matter what he said to dismiss the guilt, their well-wishes would not be in person. Instead, Mina and Tao would be in attendance, with nothing expected of them other than to enjoy the spectacle.

    Finally, he had entertained the notion of asking Lei-bup to join them¡ªbut even Gwen baulked at the idea of a monstrously tentacled fish-man kowtowing on international Vid-cast, hollering his allegiance to the Priestess of Pale Flesh.

    With the guest list filtered thus through a fine sieve, Richard laboured onwards, powered by energy elixirs laced with Almudj¡¯s blessing, hoping the extra hands and beaks promised by Charlene would arrive before his brain encountered the heat-death of overwork.

    ¡°Comrades! Fellow Humans!¡± Fish, the newest member of the Shalkar Socialist Human Party, stood on a soapbox, handing out fliers. ¡°Shalkar is born from the sweat of our brows! We should demand our share!¡±

    For a few weeks now, he and the secretive members of Ivanov¡¯s inner circle had been recruiting the scattered officers of the Federation and fomenting Shalkar¡¯s first Socialist Party.

    Their manifesto was simple¡ªHumans who built Shalkar should have an equal share in the city¡¯s prospects.

    Of course, the exact implications of what their slogan meant were nonsensical. The Dwarves and their Fabricators were responsible for almost every major infrastructure in the city, while sole Human efforts only applied to the city¡¯s many human comforts.

    Thankfully, reality, as a rule, came equipped with a bias for those who saw only the privilege enjoyed by the few. Never mind that a million Rat-kin laboured out of sight down below in the Dwarves¡¯ low-ways or milled about at night expanding the city. It was the few who wore suits, spoke common, and even had the audacity to rise in the military that truly irked the unhappy humans. The same also applied to the Dwarves, who rarely worked with their hands but were always encased in their Golem suits, yelling at the human¡¯s incompetent work ethic and throwing them from Dwarf bars after half a mug of Stone Ale. And the Centaurs! Don¡¯t even get Fish started on the Horse Lords. If one could forget the fillies that brought the men lunches or the bronze-skinned Adonises pulling stone blocks larger than themselves, it was easy to point to the brutality of the Centaur Guards who performed acts of unmitigated violence on Humans who dared to resist unjust law enforcement.

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    To avoid suspicion, his recruitment wasn¡¯t overzealous.

    ¡°Equal pay! Better pay! We deserve it!¡± Fish called out in his thickly accented tongue. He could see the Rat-men in their uniforms watching from afar¡ªand he knew they would do nothing. The Regent allowed many liberties in the city, and the free formation of associations and groups was one of the core tenets of the freedoms Shalkar¡¯s Demi-humans enjoyed.

    Already, there were Dwarven Malt advocates.

    Dwarf Brew Lover¡¯s Associations.

    Golem Fancier¡¯s Clubs.

    Ale Appreciation groups.

    The Rat-kin Unions are selling statues of a pagan God called the Pale Goddess.

    Why should a bloke looking out for his fellow kind be any more suspicious?

    Theirs would be a long labour, for as Moscow would say, Stalingrad was not built in a day.

    Like the slow boiling of a toad in a witch¡¯s pot, they first needed to construct the will and the way, a conduit to channel the natural grievances of men and women undeserving of Shalkar¡¯s prosperity. In a city of riches, unrest was easy, for no matter how fair the Regent of Shalkar may seem on the surface, the pyramidal structure of Human society always meant the vast majority of its citizens could only gawk at the idle pleasures of the higher stratum.

    Very soon, men happy to be safe and fed a month ago would feel jilted by ordinary happiness. And in time, thanks to Ivanov¡¯s efforts, the Federation refugees of the city would look at the Demi-humans who came before them and tell themselves that they were better than these Rat-kins and Horse Lords, that they were equal if not more deserving than the Dwarves. This inevitability was a constant of the Human condition¡ªthe driving force that made Humanity reach for the Elemental Planes, the difference that made them challenge the Demi-humans in their rigid, paralytic societies.

    First, he and the other Moscow Sparrows would establish the Human Union, with Federation citizens near the core and others at the periphery. The Union would fight for better rights, more resources, and better positions in the city for its members¡ªthe very picture of benign socialism.

    And once the sons of the Federation made their stake in Shalkar¡­ Fish coughed to clear his throat. His rank wasn¡¯t high enough to know the next step.

    ¡°Humanity first!¡± His voice bellowed across the evening crowd going home to their habitat blocks, a few of which stopped to listen. ¡°First dibs on the new positions for the World Tree¡¯s staff! Join the Union! Together, we shall petition the Regent!¡±

    Lulan Li, the Pale Priestess¡¯ chief chastiser of sinners, watched the herringbone rows of cacti barriers crawl across the lowlands.

    As anticipated, the newly labelled Ural Black Zone had digested the city¡¯s survivors. And as expected, the new Necropolis was now in the process of sending long and unwelcome tendrils into the neighbouring landscape.

    A week ago, when Lulan had first crashed into the fray, the locale was a kicked ant nest. Zombified corpses, the lowest tier of Undead, meandered in tendrils of linked flesh across the rolling lowlands of the southern Urals. From her vantage, they had seemed like fungi, with pools of Undead collecting into sickening pustules of Necrotic energy until, like the coiled guts of an undersea slug, the death spirals erupted, searching further afield for the smallest evidence of the living.

    To her Mistress, the Undead teaser had been a long time coming. Shalkar¡¯s response was measured containment and region-based Purges. Having fought the far denser hordes in the Auckland Campaign, the vast spaces of Aktobe¡¯s rockscape were a natural defensive formation against the reaches of the Undead horde.

    Via the Low-way dug by the Dwarves to transport refugees, the Iron Guards sallied forth from fortified operating posts to lay waste to the encroaching tide of Yekaterinburg¡¯s erstwhile citizens with steel and fire, tapping into the rich Elemental deposits beneath their metal-clad stompers. The Rat-kin followed, a special troop fortified by the Pale Priestess¡¯ Essence, setting the still-moving bodies ablaze with Magma Spellswords so that the pallid sky turned dark with black streaks of burning.

    And once Lulan was sure the first wave was utterly erased from existence, a representative from Sanari¡¯s Druid Enclave stepped through a Trellis Portal and coaxed into existence vast kilometres of spindly, desert-defying succulents native to the region. These ensnaring cacti, typically used by Shrike Raptors to make lizard kabobs, soon stretched from Aktobe to Astana. Though weak against the Necrotic aura of the Undead, their sheer volume nonetheless created impassable barriers that interlinked one Dwarven fort to another, forming semi-circle corridors against future incursions.

    Shalkar al-Jadeedah was, therefore, a hard candy for their voracious neighbours. Even though the northern Necromancers knew that a morsel had made its home south, it didn¡¯t change the fact that their military might rest in the terrestrial nature of their marching millions. The reason was simple¡ªjust as Humanity could never attain mastery of the vast open spaces of the air, no Master of Undeath could negotiate the same privilege.

    Her main concern, therefore, remained the festival of the World Tree.

    Would such a beacon of life draw the Undead from the festering hell hole that once stood as the Russian eastern industrial centre?

    Or would Sulfina¡¯s tree repel such interests, making their new home an antithesis to the Undead?

    Of that, Lulan possessed no answers. She knew only her duty¡ªto protect her Mistress¡¯ city from enemies outside¡­ and within.

    Shalkar.

    The ISTC.

    Mycroft Ravenport, distant cousin to the Crown and Marshall of her Majesty¡¯s Mage-at-Arms, translocated across time and space to arrive at a colony as alien as it was exotic.

    Above his grey hair sat the interior of a great trunk shaped by the arboreal arts of Tryfan so that every age ring was visible against the smooth, honey-glazed surface. Around him were guests from the Mageocracy, blissful and happy under the nourishing aura of the Elven tree. He recognised many in the clamouring, well-dressed crowd, though most were too irrelevant to tax his memory.

    ¡°Milord, we are ready to proceed,¡± his guards announced after scanning the station and its guests.

    ¡°Caw!¡± The raven on Mycroft¡¯s shoulder crooned, its eyes glimmering with curiosity.

    The Duke of Norfolk stepped from the dais, acknowledged by every face in the room that belonged to a Human. In their made-for-occasion liveries, the Rat-kins also seemed to understand who he was¡ªbut their acknowledgement did not nearly reach the stratum of fear and paranoia attributed to the Humans raising their crystalline flutes of Elven nectar.

    ¡°Father!¡± a voice dear to his heart caught his attention. Charlene Ravenport, sporting a shoulder-length bob resembling his late wife¡¯s younger self, endeared herself to his arm. ¡°Come, Gwen has built a spectacle to rival the Isle of Dogs, and that¡¯s with the World Tree yet to come.¡±

    She passed him a flute.

    Without fear of poison, the Duke sipped on the bubbly beverage, noting its distinct floral notes.

    As they passed the crowd, Mycroft gave respect to those whose stations were similar to his own. There was Lady Grey, Gwen¡¯s chief lender and original mentor. Lady Astor, who had grown far richer thanks to the girl, and joining them was the youthful face of Thomas Benedict Holland, a new convert to what Mycroft supposed, was the broad Church of Gwen¡¯s sashaying skirt-hem.

    Following Charlene, the honeyed ambience of the ISTC shifted to that of a cool, leafy alfresco plaza.

    The Duke¡¯s field of view widened. His nostrils filled with the overpowering scent of blooming canola flowers, manifesting as waving sunbursts in a marigold sea dancing under an aquamarine sky, stretching as far as his mana-trained eyes could carry, ending against the walls of a golden city atop a low-rising hill.

    ¡°Caw!!!¡± The raven on his shoulder took flight. Mycroft had half a mind to call it back, but the creature was gone like a star shot before he could raise his voice.

    ¡°Mori is keen to see her new home,¡± Charlene remarked, not surprised at the turn of events. ¡°Don¡¯t be upset, Father. It¡¯s her first time outside the Kingdom since she took on her residence under Westminster.¡±

    The leasing of his ravens was beyond Ravenport¡¯s predictions. That a request would be made and that Tryfan would support such a demand was a puzzle his office dared not unravel. After all, the supplication of the Morrigan¡¯s divine energies was a design of the Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar. For such a small loss in capacity, the Office of Foreign Affairs deemed it unwise to offend the delicate goodwill of The Accord. Besides, so long as the Morrigan remained in her Mandala prison, what her multifaceted eyes saw in Shalkar was effectively what would be added to the ministry¡¯s archives. For this reason, Mycroft chose not to contest Morrigan''s exclusivity¡ªthough he certainly wasn¡¯t pleased by the ¡°lend-lease¡± added to his House¡¯s half-millennia contract.

    Mycroft assured his daughter he was not upset.

    A brisk distance away, sunken into the ground and hidden by the fields of gold, was the Brutalist entrance to the city¡¯s internal transit system, the Low-ways. For their particular occasion, enormous banners had been erected to welcome the guests, and the city¡¯s usual traffic was diverted elsewhere so that the esteemed guests could take in the full scale of the Dwarven ¡°subway¡±.

    Through the threshold of the three-storey tall entrance, guests were greeted by two enormous Golems nestled into the alcoves on either side. These were the Shield Golems of the Dyar Morkk, armed not with weapons but manipulators from the Fabricators. From what Mycroft knew, their sole job was to seal the Dyar Morkk in case of a Beast Tide from the Murk, expending all their mana reserves to create impenetrable walls that would entomb the foe. In London¡¯s excavation of the Low-ways, the most evident indicator that a lost Citadel was near were the ¡°carcasses¡± of Shield Golems and their pilots, wielded shut into self-made coffins, a final harrumph of the Dwarven spirit before their ancient network collapsed.

    The station itself was more utilitarian than grand. Gargantuan cargo platforms, polished to a spotless shine and decorated with seating for the occasion, beckoned for the guests to embark.

    ¡°Come, Father.¡± Charlene looked to be an old hand at the experience of travelling to the city, even though she had arrived a week ago. ¡°Here, we shall witness genuine Dwarven Magi-tech, far more advanced than what we managed to lease under the Isle of Dogs.¡±

    The Duke and his entourage secured a corner, with the other guests politely putting themselves at least a few rows away. They were the latter batches of arrivals, but the open-aired transport remained inoffensive and spacious.

    With a slight lurch, the barge-like platform began to traverse the Dyar Morkk.

    Above them, Ravenport recognised the dull glow of Dwarven Glyphs, many of which had made similar appearances in the latest Magi-tech from London¡¯s local Low-ways. The barge seemed to assume an illusory velocity as it moved, for Ravenport could see the Glyphs shuttle past leisurely. Yet, his experience in spatial magic informed him that they really were travelling at break-neck velocities, making him slightly queasy.

    Charlene¡¯s grey-steel eyes refracted the streaking lights from the Glyph. He could imagine what she was thinking¡ªthat this Magi-tech could be applied to their homes and cities, connecting Humanity in ways previously thought impossible.

    With Gwen, that impossibility was no longer a fantasy¡ªthe only question that remained was what it would cost the Mageocracy to help the Dwarves relocate Deepholm and, once they found it, what they would uncover. From the Morrigan¡¯s reports from the latest expeditions, Ravenport expected a fifty per cent chance of finding a tomb world, and the other half seemed to suggest a thriving hive of Sinneslukare welcoming the return of long-lost kin.

    Ding! Ding! A cargo chime announced their arrival.

    The main station in the Dwarven Sector of the twin-city was a daunting, multi-storey interior built with the purpose of supporting Golem to monster combat, housing a multi-level system of tunnels that lead to other points of interest. Mycroft had visited Dwarven Citadels before, and even by those scales, this was an enormous investment by the Bavarian branch of the stout folk.

    Off the platform, the concierge assigned to the VIP parties met their guests.

    ¡°Milord Ravenport!¡± a row of Mages bowed from the waist, their voices in adequate unison. ¡°Welcome to Shalkar al-Jadeedah!¡±

    The leader was a young man Ravenport recognised, a certain Oliver Edwards from his old college.

    ¡°Magister, let¡¯s not dwell on formalities,¡± he offered to skip the rituals associated with a peerage of his rare rank, as mistakes would only embarrass both parties. ¡°How are the preparations? How early are we?¡±

    ¡°The Regent will officiate the planting of the World Tree at high noon, Milord.¡± Oliver was clearly relieved he didn¡¯t have to resort to the archaic ritualisms taught by a supplementary class at Cambridge. ¡°Shall I show you to your seats? Or would you like to take an escort and see the city? If you wish to utilise your time fully, we can arrange intra-city teleportation for yourself and the young lady.¡±

    ¡°I would like to see the city myself.¡± Ravenport knew his interest was peaked. With Charlene for company, there was no point hiding his curiosity for the sake of mystique. ¡°Arrange the Teleporting Circles. Tell your Regent that when the time is right, she can be assured that the House of Norfolk will be in the right place.¡±

    Shalkar.

    The stage.

    Boom¡ªBoom¡ªBoom¡ª pumped the beat.

    ¡°Yo! Yo! Yo! It¡¯s the century of mah CUZ and its time time to act!

    Raise your motherfucking hands and make a pact!

    Find an accord with da city¡ªwe¡¯re planting a wurrrrrld tree!

    Don¡¯t matter yo species, make space for you and me!¡±

    The voice of the one and only King of Fruits, AKA Peaches, reverberated within the halls of the stadium-sized cavern, leaping to and fro like Death Worm on wet sand.

    Gwen was in no mind to allow Tao to live his dream of performing in front of an international audience¡ªbut in front of herself, the staff and other trusted, understanding individuals, she didn¡¯t mind his well-meaning ¡°soundcheck¡±.

    ¡°Reverb be perfect.¡± Her cousin leapt off the stage, his grin drawn from ear to ear. ¡°These Dwarven dawgs know their sound engineering yo!¡±

    ¡°You know.¡± Eric Walken, her Isle of Dogs executive here to help with the arrangements, solemnly observed the hip-hopping Tao. ¡°Of the many things we experienced in Shanghai, I do not miss this.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s catchy,¡± Gwen defended her cousin.

    ¡°It¡¯ll cause a riot in the balcony sections.¡± Eric humoured her. ¡°Speaking of which, your cousin¡¯s mental fortitude is astounding. Even I felt intimidated when I first saw what you aim to achieve¡ªin fact, I share that sentiment even now. For him to be so carefree as to be composing songs¡­ I mean, you¡¯re taking a step that would alter this history of Demi-human and Human relationships. Does he not understand the weight of all this?¡±

    ¡°Those with rare talents live in worlds we cannot comprehend,¡± Gwen acknowledged Peaches¡¯ mental fortitude. She watched as he sang to the thousands of Rat-kin in the process of cleaning up, wrapping up, and finishing the final flourishes, completely at ease among the Demi-humans.

    Walken regarded her blankly.

    She returned his criticism with a confident smile.

    ¡°And our Regent going to take that to the States with her?¡± He changed the topic.

    ¡°I promised.¡± Gwen laughed. ¡°I think it¡¯ll be disarming when we meet our hosts from Stanford and Harvard.¡±

    ¡°No doubt¡­¡± Walken seemed to shiver. ¡°When will¡­ Master Shultz be joining us.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s having fun with Alesia in the market districts,¡± Gwen said. ¡°It¡¯s rare, you know, for someone like him to take a breather.¡±

    ¡°Then I shall keep my distance,¡± the Magister said nervously. ¡°I know we¡¯ve made our peace, but I feel¡­¡±

    Gwen nodded and gave her Magister a pat on the shoulder. ¡°It¡¯s okay, Eric, I get it.¡±

    Ding! A Message spell bloomed from Lulan. ¡°Regent, is the stadium ready to receive guests?¡±

    Gwen signalled the Rat-kin Foremen. Her men signalled back, indicating that they were done with the preparations.

    ¡°We¡¯re ready, but let us do one more round of due diligence,¡± Gwen declared to her Head of Security. ¡°Run a full check with Axehoff and Sanari. Once they give the okay, inform the Khan that we¡¯re ready to receive him and tell Strun that he and the Elders of the Clan are ready to take their places.¡±

    ¡°Acknowledged.¡± The Glyph grew silent.

    To calm her nerves, Gwen turned her attention toward the ecstatic Tao. Against her side, the seed pod containing Almudj¡¯s Scale pulsed with anticipation.

    Was she ready for this next chapter?

    Was she prepared for this leap of faith?

    Undoubtedly, Gwen told herself. She was ready to roll.

 Chapter 498 - Interesting Times

    Shalkar.

    The Sky Garden.

    One of the motivators for Slylth Alexander Morden to leave his mother¡¯s elementally enriched abode was the opportunity to travel the world and witness its many people and landscapes. In his eyes, the journey was ordained¡ªfor the bored Magi Morden had laid the foundations of Slylth¡¯s curiosity for a century.

    Therefore, though he was cloistered in a home of polished HDMs, Slylth held many romantic notions for the world outside Sythinthimryr¡¯s domain.

    However, having a hand in creating a world wonder was not a part of Slylth¡¯s plans.

    Nor was the impromptu meeting now taking place in the abode of his older ¡°bro¡±, Golos.

    ¡°I would have never imagined you would interested in anything beyond that realm of eternal ice¡­¡± a well-muscled, twin-horned and red-headed woman spoke with an amused tone at a creature who was her polar opposite, a Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar with silver hair and skin the hue of wind-swept ice. ¡°How long has it been, Illaelitharian? A thousand Radiant cycles?¡±

    ¡°These are strange times,¡± the Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar Druid replied as though in a trance, his face both emotionless and not his own. ¡°But who would miss such an event? Besides, this one was the first to consent, do not you recall?¡±

    ¡°We all gave explicit consent.¡± Slylth¡¯s mother addressed their small gathering with an acknowledging nod. ¡°The credit isn¡¯t yours alone. Right, Tyfanevius?¡±

    Their third laughed, putting the matter to rest.

    Slylth felt an uncharacteristic shiver run up his spine.

    He was, for the lack of human adjectives, in august company.

    The foremost, but not the oldest, was his mother, who had decided to arrive unannounced out of the blue, walking from a portal as casually as anything. It was a feat made possible by Slylth, whose attuned Core allowed his mother to both locate and traverse to her child with ease and without stirring the city¡¯s magical alarms.

    Facing her was the Hierophant Master of Illh?wenthiel, having made his journey through the invitation of Tryfan¡¯s Trellis Gate. The Hierophant¡¯s attendance was superficial, for Illaelitharian¡¯s psyche rode the Elf¡¯s immortal body like a Dwarf in a Strider Golem.

    Besides the duo, watching the banter with amusement, was his kindly uncle, the Great Tyfanevius, ¡°riding¡± his favourite Vessel¡ªPrimarch Vulmari of Tryfan. Compared to the Frost Dragon¡¯s Vessel, the Arch Druid was capable of containing far more of Tyfanevius¡¯ personality, one whom Slylth had come to know intimately in their discussion of Gwen Song.

    Compared to the triumvirate, the owner of the Bunker¡¯s Sky Garden, the scion of the slumbering Yinglong, was reduced to a good lad standing in a corner with Slylth, holding a tray of steaming tea from Fur Peak in the hopes that the Elder Dragons weren¡¯t too insulted by their unkempt bachelor¡¯s pad.

    Once again, Slylth reminded himself that all three had arrived unannounced.

    Perhaps they did not wish to take away from Gwen¡¯s transcendental moment of metamorphosis.

    Or perhaps, Slylth deeply suspected, they were keen on seeing their investment bear fruit. Tryfan, he knew, was ¡°all in¡± for their latest agent of the Accord. That was why Lord Tyfanevius was here¡ªto deliver the results of the vote put forth by the members of the Axis Mundi. Likewise, Lord Illaelitharian was here because he was a vocal member who, together with his sister in the South Pole, desired to see the girl become the sword held at the throat of those who dared to pollute their Sacred Trees with decay.

    But he wasn¡¯t sure why Uncle Tyfanevius had invited his mother to come in person.

    Sure, he had been teaching Gwen, and the two had gotten a little intimate at times, what with all that shared Cognisance¡ªbut it wasn¡¯t as though the possibility of a carton of eggs existed¡­yet. Even if it did, he lacked a domain of his own, and it would be beyond shameful to be behold to Gwen, a landed Drake.

    ¡°Will our nebulous sisters from the Woods that Wend be watching?¡± Lord Tyfanevius asked the blue-skinned Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t know, but you at least enjoy the neutrality necessary to negotiate with them.¡±

    ¡°They will not. And Our positions are unchanged,¡± the pale Elf replied without emotion. ¡°Our Lady of Frost remains unattached to mortal concerns. What happens now¡­ is a matter of balance and vengeance¡ª¡±

    ¡°Ah yes, of course. Balance,¡± Slylth¡¯s mother remarked with great mirth. ¡°An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, this is our way since the primordial days.¡±

    Tyfanevius¡¯ avatar chuckled. ¡°Aye. If that¡¯s what the Lady believes, I shall pursue no further. But regardless of your intentions, brother¡ªwelcome to the mortal world. We shall all live through interesting times in a few hours¡ªthen you can decide if neutrality is possible.¡±

    While Slylth pondered the cryptic nature of Lord Tyfanevius¡¯ prophesy, the Dragon gestured for their host.

    Slylth¡¯s Big brother, the Thunder Dragon Golos, approached like a busboy, his transmuted face shiny with a sheen of nervous sweat.

    ¡°While we wait, let this one tell you about his Father¡¯s ploy with our Regent,¡± Tyfanevius bid Golos to sit. ¡°Cousin Yinglong was the first to see potential in the female, and by the Great Tree, he played her like a magnificent lute. I believe we can learn a lot from him, though our cousin is now wearily dreaming the long dream. Alas, this whelp¡¯s words shall have to suffice.¡±

    The Thunder Dragon sat like a child, though his hulking humanoid figure still towered over the slender Elves.

    To Slylth¡¯s shock, the great Emerald Dragon of Tyfan looked his way.

    ¡°Come, Slylth. Serve the tea,¡± Tyfanevius urged Slylth forward with a voice he could not resist. ¡°You¡¯ve also been with her for a while now. Speak of her thoughts, child. Tell us what she hopes to achieve with her World Tree.¡±

    Shalkar.

    The auditorium.

    For Shalkar¡¯s guests, the rock-hewed stadium unfolded like a colosseum of antiquity, a three-sixty concert hall with a lid that opened like the aperture of a camera, filling the dull, ingenious interior with warm, inviting light from a cloudless sky.

    In an elevated box seat, the Lord Mycroft Ravenport sat with his daughter, Charlene, and a bevy of big-name cameos who had heavily invested in the IoDNC, watching the spectacle below.

    His gaze, however, was more keenly interested in the other box seats, particularly the box to his right, reserved for their Regent¡¯s family.

    The most eye-catching member of that box was a pair of women. The first was a red-haired witch whose moniker in her youth was the ¡°Scarlet Sorceress¡±, appearing resplendent in a carmine dress that trailed the floor of the Dwarf-hewn seating. Her partner was an Asian lass with dark-cropped hair just above her shoulders with a chalked fringe that informed Ravenport of her liberal use of Elemental Ash. Together, the presence of the sorceresses was so large that the casual observer, having their eye drawn to them, would not have noticed the two men who accompanied them.

    The first was an ancient Enchanter with honeyed skin and a devious twinkle in his eye, excitedly remarking at the Rat-kins¡¯ song and dance number below. Ravenport knew the man only from the dossier on Gwen Song, and so paid him no mind.

    The second was a large but relaxed figure hiding behind his wife, a Radiant Mage with control over his elemental presence tuned to such precision that he could exact the opposite effect of his kind. This man, Ravenport knew, was his counterpart in the south, the infamous Master Gunther Shultz. Once, the man was heir to an infamous legacy¡ªnow, he is known only as The Morning Star of Oceania, Tower Master, and chief Apprentice of the late Henry Kilroy.

    That Gunther Shultz was present, Ravenport felt, would be far more shocking for others than for himself. After all, they were in the same positions of power¡ªand their absence from their work place meant that many plans were on hold, judgements put on wait, and the revolution of their little worlds slowing to a halt. Yet, both understood enough of Gwen¡¯s World Tree and its altering of the social-political sphere of Human influence that they had to be present.

    As a representative of the Mageocracy, The Duke of Norfolk was here as a witness and certifier. The same could be said of the other dignitaries, each chattering in their transmuted, elevated boxes hand-picked to segregate rivals and foes, affording each the privilege of plotting in private.

    HO¡ª! We erect our altar in the name of life!

    Kee-! The Pale Goddess comes! It¡¯s time to Harvest¡ª!

    Spread the seeds¡ªRat-kin! Spread the maize

    the cucumber¡ªthe pumpkin¡ªthe beans¡ª

    HO¡ª! Under the great Banyans

    Kee¡ª! From hearth to farm¡ªto distant lands¡ª

    The Duke¡¯s thoughts paused for a moment when a curious phrase seemed to have translated itself into the Rat-kins¡¯ rendition of the Song of the Seasons, which he was positive had never existed in the lyrics reported by the Ministry of Demi-Human Affairs.

    However, there was no one to ask, not even Morrigan, who was overhead exploring the spectacle and its various preparations, so Ravenport watched on.

    The next part served to honour another Demi-human group central to the existence of Shalkar¡ªthe Horse Lords of the Northern Steppes.

    Though the Centaurs were traditionally against the notion of agricultural settlements, Gwen¡¯s taming of the Death Worms, together with her contributions to the constant food crisis of the region, seemed to have earned her a sort of kinship with the ??pter Shamans steering Temir Khan¡¯s rulership. In their present configuration, Gwen¡¯s relationship with the Centaurs eerily reminded Ravenport of the late Czar¡¯s alliance with Khans of the past, utilising the free-roaming Horse Lords as a sort of controlled natural disaster that patrolled the city¡¯s borders.

    ¡°HA¡ª!¡± A great howl reverberated across the auditorium as the Centaurs entered, a hundred riders of the Khan¡¯s elite Khesig honour guards, each topless and oiled, vividly tattooed with the dull glow of ??pter blood magic.

    The temperate in the enormous open-air chamber instantly soared, causing the cooling Glyphs to whine and shudder. The smell of horse, which Ravenport enjoyed as a skilled rider, was not nearly so wonderful when the Duke could see the gleaming muscles steaming with sweat, streaming from the Adonis-bodies riding in tandem.

    Charlene¡¯s eyes positively glowed as Ravenport dispelled the scent with a localised cantrip. The Horse Lords performed several laps, then began a war chant in a voice so deep that, together with their rumbling hooves, they placed the audience in the midst of a thundering storm.

    Then, a female voice, a ??pter wielding an exotic dulcimer, began to vocalise a soaring song that somehow pierced the dull drum of hooves clattering on the arena¡¯s transmuted floor.

    Under the blue yonder, there are no walls

    Grass is long, horse is strong

    Our foals watch the livestock

    We ride

    We ride

    To the great sea of the east

    We ride

    We ride

    To the great hills of the north

    We ride

    We ride¡­

    ¡­ Our banners ride through rivers deep

    Our banners ride up mountains high¡­

    If anything, Ravenport agreed; their girl knew how to put on a show. Even experienced as he was, the combination of ??pter blood magic, the white-maned singer and the acoustic-defying enchantments of the dulcimer was enough to engender visions of valleys and hills, freedom and conquest in his cynical mind.

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    Nonetheless, some elements of the folk song had prevented him from a full immersion. After all, not long ago, before Gwen came to this place and built her shining city, the bipedal ??pter were livestock¡ªand the Rat-kin, once known as the Tasm¨¹yiz, were less than livestock¡­

    How wonderful abundance can be¡­ Ravenport noted the races¡¯ cooperation with interest. The lack of it made animals out of men, while plenty crafted civilisations out of beasts.

    The bone-deep thrum continued. Ravenport seriously considered hiring a dulcimer-trained retainer for the estate.

    ¡°Milord¡­¡± the silent voice of The Morrigan echoed through Ravenport¡¯s mind.

    ¡°What is it?¡± he answered back through their empathic link. ¡°Trouble?¡±

    ¡°Beyond belief.¡± The Morrigan sounded like she was panting¡ªthough her psychic ravens lacked the physiology to be taxed by such mortal concerns. ¡°Milord, do you recall that report we had on Yekaterinburg? In particular, the unexplained absence of Magi Igor Sakharov?¡±

    Ravenport felt his neck grow uncharacteristically cold. ¡°Go on.¡±

    ¡°The crows are detecting a very large signature to the north-east. Something is drawing an incredible volume of power from the ley-lines there¡ªI suspect its coming here.¡±

    The Duke of Norfolk glanced at his unknowing daughter and the crowd marvelling at the Centaurs¡¯ performance below.

    Only one object could draw the amount of mana Morrigan reported between the Caspian Sea and Vladivostok.

    A very large, very Brutalist object constructed by the man responsible for the safety of the million-strong citizens of Yekaterinburg. But could he trust Shalkar to be its destination¡ª? As opposed to, say, a jaunt to the safety of Siberia, the exiled home of Europe¡¯s surviving Necromancers.

    If their subject were not Gwen Song, he would have certainly believed that Yekaterinburg Tower was extricating itself after its local ¡°resources¡± were harvested.

    However, with his knowledge of the girl¡¯s alarming capacity for attracting trouble¡­

    ¡°Charlene,¡± he tapped his daughter¡¯s shoulder, dismayed at her breathless lips. ¡°Stop staring at the Centaurs.¡±

    ¡°Er¡­¡± Charlene¡¯s usually pale face grew pinker in an effort to conceal her fascination. ¡°My interest is cultural. I was Captain of the Equestrian Club, as you know.¡±

    ¡°Enough. When is Gwen¡¯s performance?¡±

    ¡°After the Dwarves,¡± his daughter answered. ¡°The program says between four to five.¡±

    ¡°Hmm,¡± Ravenport pondered what defences their Regent might possess. There was no doubt her Dwarven Golems were charged and ready. The Khan is also likely on alert, and there¡¯s the Thunder Dragon overhead, and most of the Londoners will fight if he demands it. But¡­ is that enough to stop what¡¯s coming? Somehow, The Duke wasn¡¯t too worried. ¡°Charlie. You see that box over there.¡±

    ¡°The one with Alesia DeBotton?¡± Charlene glanced quickly to their left. ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°Go there and tell that man sitting behind the Scarlet Sorceress I must speak with him. We¡¯ll meet outside, out of sight.¡±

    ¡°The man?¡± His daughter¡¯s eyes focused, and then her voice filled with awe. ¡°¡­ My God, that¡¯s Gunther Shultz!¡±

    ¡°Yes, good.¡± Ravenport prodded his daughter. ¡°Go now¡­ and tell him that we¡¯ll probably be seeing an erstwhile ally soon¡­ riding in the flying Necropolis that is Yekaterinburg Tower.¡±

    For the first time since its construction in the sixties, Yekaterinburg Tower blinked out of the Prime Material into the Astral.

    It was a feat that Magi Igor Sakharov found ironic, for when he had stood in the capacity of her Tower Master, the sword-shaped battle station had never left its mooring to shore up Russia¡¯s distant colonies.

    The reason wasn¡¯t because there was no need. Rather, the cost for a Tower to rescue a mere ten-twenty thousand citizens besieged by Magical Creatures or Undead Tides was too high.

    And so, in the many decades since Magi Igor Sakharov received his title from the Mageocracy, he had never exercised the core function of the system he had a hand in constructing. For three decades, as his body wasted away and his mind grew minutely more feeble with each sun cycle, he had been left wanting. Yet, Moscow desired nothing but the status quo, wanting only the immeasurable profits from the city¡¯s mines. He was their Iron Wall, or so the propaganda went¡ªand a wall was exactly that¡ªstatic¡ªunmoving¡ªsilent.

    And now that he did move the Tower, Sakharov had to confess that it was exhilarating.

    So damned exhilarating¡­ Sakharov steadied himself. Such volatile emotions were a part of what he would shed like a second skin upon completing this final task.

    A task he had not at all anticipated.

    In the timeline of his design, after sacrificing a million souls to pad the cost of constructing his phylactery, he had two, perhaps three years to consolidate the materials and knowledge necessary from the old Masters of Juche. With the Urals now a Black Zone, he had foreseen that Moscow¡¯s existential blindness to failure meant there would be no opposition to his inevitable descent into immortality.

    At least, that was the plan he had agreed to with the Lj¨®s¨¢lfar who had sold him the necessary ambition to cross the final threshold of his Humanity.

    The path to Magical supremacy is long¡­The Elf had intimated. But human life¡­ so short¡­

    Yes, Sakharov was a respected hero, scholar, leader and Magi¡ªbut he was also mortal.

    His early years fighting for Humanity had left large, irreparable scars on his Astral and physical body. Then, the Great Purges exercised by his nation had left more knots and ills on Sakharov than he could count. And finally, with the greatest title a nation can bestow upon its heroes, Sakharov was told that he had done enough.

    ENOUGH?! Sakharov had felt positively enraged. He was a Magi! He had completed the circuits that saw Towers take to the air! He had contributed singularly to Humanity¡¯s progress because he wanted to see conquest and dominion! He wanted to see the Horse Lords flee in the wake of his Towers! He wanted to see the Undead Necropolises reduced to smouldering craters!

    But then thirty years came and went¡ªand all Sakharov received were a mountain of medals in precious metals, enough to make a jewelled sarcophagus. Honour? Achievements? These damned Muscovites were trying to bury him with it!

    Taking deep breaths, Magi Sakharov contained his rising ire.

    ¡°Crew, prepare for materialisation,¡± he informed the bridge below his feet.

    The men and women who had followed him almost all their lives were no longer living. Instead, they had received the high blessing from a third-generation Vampiric Ancestor who now served as Sakharov¡¯s Majordomo. Curiously, Sakharov knew the man in life, almost five decades ago, as a promising staff officer lost to the Undead Incursion of Fifty-Six. That they would be united like this¡ªhim once more as the man¡¯s superior, the man once more his aide, was strangely soothing to the guilt that Sakharov knew he should be feeling.

    ¡°Yes! Milord!¡± The crew answered, reverting to the more medieval titles preferred by the Vampiric Counts of Siberia. It did not bother them that they answered to a living, breathing human still, for Sakharov¡¯s ambitions were greater than any Vampiric lineage. His destiny was to become Death itself, or at least, an animated facsimile of living Death¡ªa Lich. Once his transformation was complete, Magi Sakharov would become the Lich Sakharov, a being of eternity, unbound by time, free to pursue the tender secrets of Arcanistry to her hiding places with wand and lash.

    But first¡ªhe had this task to do.

    Weeks ago, he had received an unexpected visit from the Lj¨®s¨¢lfar leader of Spectre.

    Against all expectations, the Elf said, a threat had risen in the east.

    The threat came from the Regent of Shalkar al-Jadeedah, a wisp of a girl with connections to Elves and Dragons both¡ªand against all reason and common sense, she was hosting a planting ceremony for a World Tree.

    Sakharov baulked, another human emotion he disliked.

    A WORLD TREE! What absurdity would lead a child to possess something so precious? And how could he make such a thing his own? For his quest¡ªhis transformation, the ingredient components of Shalkar¡ªnot to mention the vitality necessary to germinate the seed¡ªwould accelerate his future Lichdom to an unforeseen elevation!

    For his intervention, Spectre had provided him with the necessary information to sidestep the Dragons¡¯ ire and achieve his goal. The girl¡¯s ¡°New Shalkar¡± was a trading hub and a source of unnatural bounty. She had Centaurs, Dwarves, and a young Thunder Dragon thrall. Therefore, Sakharov¡¯s primary objective was not rapine but to make Shalkar unpalatable for trade, to pollute her fields with decay, and finally, to occupy the ley-line to make her ambitions impossible. As a Magi, he was confident, absolutely confident, that once profitability disappeared, the Mageocracy would retreat its tentacles out of jaw-clenching instinct¡ªjust as Moscow had naturally abandoned Yekaterinburg.

    Even so, Sakharov was old and wise enough to be wary.

    Dragons were vengeful and greedy creatures.

    He recalled that despite their extremism, the Juche¡¯s followers did not raise their armies against World Trees of the Axis Mundi. Instead, they perverted the bodies of Mermen for the occasion, becoming accessories to assault rather than throwing themselves head-on against the irate Blooms and their companion Wyrms. After all, the primordial foes of the wizard lizards were the Elemental Princes, not mortals, especially dead ones.

    To the Lj¨®s¨¢lfar, he had voiced his concerns.

    ¡°You will do this,¡± the fair Elf had replied in that lyrical voice of the immortal races. ¡°It is our Accord.¡±

    So Sakharov did as he was told, and now they had arrived.

    ¡°Materialising,¡± his first officer announced to the bridge. ¡°My lord, our legions are starved and ready.¡±

    Sakharov took a moment to calm nerves that his men no longer possessed.

    Soon, he told himself.

    The Tower would descend¡­ he would ascend in turn.

    Shalkar.

    The auditorium.

    Gwen Song, the Regent, stood waist-deep in mana, the first of many impossible things she wished to attribute to this special day of Sufina¡¯s ¡°Bloom¡±.

    Mana, as all understood, was invisible, akin to the atomic particles of gases, only undetectable unless one was versed in Divination.

    For her to be sitting in a large pool of it was, therefore, a spectacle, for her Dwarves had compiled layer after layer of Runes to condense the invisible flow of mana through the ley-nodes of the world into the visible spectrum.

    ¡°Almudj¡­¡± she prayed to her Patron, thinking vividly of the rainbow silhouette asleep a continent away, on a far node of the Axis Mundi, in the watery body of Kati Thanda. Across time and space, she felt the snake''s thoughts like the purring of a cat, gently vibrating against her head, sending a scent of eucalyptus through their mutual Essences so that she could taste it as she breathed.

    She was reminded of Kalinda and the erstwhile Blooms¡¯ evaporating tears while her World Tree burned and Almudj danced, splitting the sky into the sundered colours of the light spectrum.

    She also thought of her Master and his body, untouched by time, presided over by a Sufina who must be feeling everything Gwen now felt, awaiting the enormous mana and vitality that would soon bring her new body into being.

    And she thought, a little guiltily, of Elvia and Yue. The former had declined to come and witness her ascension, while conversations with the latter had been curt. ¡°Your brother must die¡± wasn¡¯t what Gwen had wanted to hear¡ªbut when Richard informed her that her Yeye, Babulya, and Elvia would all be absent, a tiny part of her absolutely entertained that horrible fantasy.

    Against her chest, the Scale with its embedded seed pulsed.

    Above, the bladed aperture of the arena¡¯s floor opened.

    Suddenly, sound flowed inward like a white surf, invading the interior of her chamber, setting the mana particle to stir and dance.

    In her dress of interlocked leaves and vines woven for the occasion by Sanari, she appeared as a Druidic Birth of Venus, both hands cradling the seed pod that was her city¡¯s future. Her hair flowed out and downwards, cascading as a dark waterfall past her shoulder to tease the mana particle below.

    Lumen-recorders flashed from the forward pits where Richard had confined the international press.

    From the skylight, a shaft of sunlight fell upon the mana pool and its mistress, the Regent of Shalkar, making her appear almost like a germinating seed. The roar of the crowd, Rat-kin, Centaurs, Dwarves, Humans and more, continued for several minutes before its gradual diminuendo.

    Gwen savoured the silence, then began to speak.

    ¡°Thank you all for coming today to Shalkar al-Jadeedah.¡±

    A new applause drowned out all conversation. All had benefited from her city, some saved by it, others enriched. Gwen took the opportunity to bow and acknowledge her rarer guests, waiting for silence to return.

    ¡°Every once in a while¡ª¡° she opened her oration, rising slowly until she walked on top of the brimming blue pool of liquid mana. ¡°A revolution arrives in our world.¡±

    She approached the side of the auditorium with Temir Khan and his Sara¨© Shaman, gliding across the space like a dream, her foot walking on invisible panes generated by spontaneous Walls of Force.

    ¡°When we first came to the Fire Sea, the Elemental plague had destroyed this place and its means to sustain life. Zodiam and its Brass Legion seemed insurmountable, but with the Mageocracy''s and Khanate''s combined might, WE OVERCAME!¡±

    The Centaurs stomped.

    The Khan offered his horn of wine.

    Gwen bowed, made a mock gesture of knocking cups, and then proceeded further down the circumference of the arena.

    ¡°We saw that the people suffered, and in ridding ourselves of the Elementals, we freed the Tasm¨¹yiz from the shackles of starvation so that once more, the original inhabitants of this rich landscape can reseed the grasslands of the Steppes.¡±

    In waves, the Rat-kin fell to their knees with cries of ¡°Pale Priestess!¡± which Gwen promptly ignored by walking past.

    She paused under the section belonging to the Mageocracy¡¯s Factioneers. Many familiar faces were here, from mentors to business partners, creditors and debtors, new friends and old.

    ¡°With my friend and allies, we uncovered the plots by Spectre, and the Elemental Princes, to uproot the weather patterns of our world. We defeated their Undead Hordes, their Shoals of Undeath in the north and south, from one end of the Axis Mundi to another!¡±

    Charlene and the nobles of the Mageocracy rose to toast her. Gwen¡¯s gaze swept over the faces, ensuring each felt her most sincere and heartfelt smile. She faltered a little when she noted the absence of all but her Opa in the Sydney box, but there was no stopping her planned routine.

    With a gesture, the illusions put in place by her Mages sprang into being, displaying vivid projections of Shalkar¡¯s many riches across the mana-scape below.

    ¡°When I began this city¡ªmany said it couldn¡¯t be done. The Steppes was too dry and dangerous, and its people would prefer war over work¡­¡± She continued, her voice rich and seemingly overwhelmed by her own success. ¡°But this is a revolution, my friends. The impossible is what we do.¡±

    She made a grand gesture toward the auditorium, the Bunker, the Low-ways and beyond that, her city above.

    ¡°BEHOLD¡ªWHAT WHAT WE HAVE ACHIEVED!¡± Her voice filled every cranny.

    The crowd erupted, but Gwen rose above even that.

    ¡°TODAY! HERE IN SHALKAR AL-JADEEDAH¡ªWE SHALL REINVENT THE MODERN CITY!¡±

    Long-prepared tapestries of the city as envisioned by her Dwarven designers unfurled across the arena¡¯s walls and floors. Eruptions of colour, cast through high-fidelity Illusion Glyphs, formed into a magnificent multi-dimensional trunk that grew and grew, then began to crawl and spread through the air like feelers, spreading and splitting into innumerable numbers of branches. And from those fine bowers and branches, emerald leaves began to sprout, each minute but together in the millions, forming a great, breathtaking Banyan across the skyscraper of her glorious, illusory city.

    As in a dream, the leaves rustled and fell, changing from emerald to a vivid autumn citrine.

    Below, her city was bathed in gold.

    Her audiences, mesmerised, reached for the surreal illusions.

    ¡°A TRUE COSMOPOLITAN METROPOLIS!¡± Her voice rang across the auditorium. ¡°MULTI-SPECIES, MULTI-PURPOSE, MULTI-CULTURAL! A TRUE¡ª¡°

    Whirrrrr¡ªBWOOOM¡ª!

    Whirrrrr¡ªBWOOOM¡ª!

    Whirrrrr¡ªBWOOOM¡ª!

    Whirrrrr¡ªBWOOOM¡ª!

    The auditorium rocked. The mana tide below sloshed from the tectonic movements of the sudden eruptions above. Fortunately, thanks to the natural sunlight, no flickering lights or fallen strobes foreshadowed danger or instability. Nonetheless, Gwen immediately understood this wasn¡¯t the misfiring of her planned fireworks display at night¡ªbut something more serious.

    The crowd, some confused and some alarmed, looked to the open ceiling, where continuous volleys of Elemental Magma and Lightning were being delivered through the four enormous artillery Spellswords set up on the sides of the Bunker.

    A section of the arena closer to the Centaurs and the Rat-kin opened immediately, allowing the Khan and his Honour Guard to venture outside and confront their potential foe. Dwarven Golems from the Hammer Guard strode into the area and formed a perimeter around herself. Their glowing quad-swords were lowered, but their visible targeting Mandalas were evidently trained upon the crowd.

    A dull thrum echoed across the exterior of the dome, signalling that layered arrays of Walls of Force were now deployed to protect the Bunker and its interior.

    Whirrrrr¡ªBWOOOM¡ª!

    Whirrrrr¡ªBWOOOM¡ª!

    Whirrrrr¡ªBWOOOM¡ª!

    Whirrrrr¡ªBWOOOM¡ª!

    Four more volleys of the city¡¯s longest-range artillery sang their orisons of destruction.

    Gwen¡¯s eyes followed the arc of their trajectory into the heavens, where she could now see the silhouette of an enormous, dagger-like structure against the orange glow of the afternoon sun, creating an imperfect solar eclipse.

    DING! DING! DING! DING¡ª! Both silent and aloud, Message Spells erupted across the auditorium and its agitated audience.

    ¡°Richard!¡± She spoke into her own device, her blood pressure skyrocketing toward the descending meteor. ¡°Is that what I think it is?!¡±

    ¡°My Regent!¡± her cousin¡¯s voice blasted back, barely audible over the firing of the artillery Spellswords. ¡°Stay with the crowd! We can¡¯t afford any panic! Calm your guests and get them to stay put. The heart of the Bunker is the safest place by far! We¡¯ll handle it!¡±

    ¡°Handle it?! Richard! That¡¯s a fucking Tower! THAT¡¯S THE BLASTED YEKATERINBURG TOWER!¡± she hissed into the Message Device while keeping her face happy and engaging. Her mind was racing through every resource available to her city. She knew the Bunker was safe, but what did they have to repeal a Tower? If that thing was to land, could they afford the war of attrition? Against her chest, against her pounding heart, Almudj¡¯s Scale pulsed in tune with her upset.

    But Richard was right.

    The first thing to do was to assure her guests that they were safe and that this would soon be over.

    After all¡ªshe glanced to the empty box where only her Opa waved back with a big grin on his face, oblivious of the impending crisis¡ªafter all, Gunther could handle a Tower or two¡­ Right?¡­ Right?

 Chapter 499 - A Small Step / 500 - A Giant Leap

    New Shalkar.

    Several football fields over and away from the hornets¡¯ nest of artillery, Yekaterinburg Tower drifted into place.

    As it descended, its owner and commander, the Magi Igor Sakharov, ensured that his fortress¡¯ external Walls of Force were angled perfectly to deflect the fusillade of Magma, Lightning, Fire and Earth hurtling in an arc through the air.

    If possible, he would have preferred to land atop the city itself¡ªthough that option had become fantastical the moment he saw the defences surrounding the just-completed portions of the incomplete desert metropolis. Sakharov felt his rationale was self-evident, for the above-ground portion of the city was not even a quarter of its essential infrastructure. Even if he risked the destruction of his Tower to plunge like a dagger into the heart of Shalkar, he possessed no confidence that the city¡¯s ley-lines could be hijacked from the Dwarven Citadel below.

    That, and his objective was to disrupt and destroy the Mageocracy¡¯s hopes of establishing a Forward Operating Base so close to the emerging interests of his hidden allies¡ªa prospect that came with the added bonus of uprooting a potential World Tree.

    From the projected windows of his heavily warded bridge, he could see the milling panic of the hundreds of thousands of creatures below, some Human, the rest Demi-human. Unlike his fellow Muscovites, Sakharov did not possess the weakness of believing in Human Supremacy and so felt sympathy for the mites below¡ªan emotion he would soon purge.

    The Tower shook, shaking off another sizeable volley of spells.

    ¡°Reserves are at ninety-four percent,¡± his First Officer announced. Four hundred counts until troop teleportation range. The mass translocation is assessed to consume six percent of Total Reserves.¡±

    Sakharov was pleased with the performance of his undaunted crew. In typical Russo fashion, a living Officer Corp would have shown doubt and insubordination in the face of incontestable war crimes. As Vampiric Thralls, his crew obeyed the will of their progenitor without question, tapping into the utmost of their unrealised abilities. After all, as Undead, there were no promotions, punishments, or familial quandaries to preoccupy their mental faculties¡ªat least until First Officer Andrei Vulpe gave them the will to do so.

    ¡°Vulpe, direct eight per cent power to the upper Mandala Arrays,¡± Sakharov ordered. If the Lj¨®s¨¢lfar wanted Shalkar in flames, it was his prerogative to see it performed. ¡°Let us soften the defences before our troops venture to feed.¡±

    ¡°By your will,¡± Vulpe announced to the deck. ¡°Directing power to the upper Mandala Array¡­¡±

    The metal walls thrummed. The projections grew a shade dimmer.

    A cylindrical platform about of width of a man¡¯s torso extended from the floor, its surface etched in mystical symbols too complex for even an upper-tier Mage to discern.

    Calming himself, Sakharov focused his mind to a scalpel point.

    A long, long time ago, with the help of the best Magitech engineers of his nation and the blood and sweat of his own brow, he had installed this very Mandala into the apex structure of his precious Tower. He was already an old man then, but his heart was full of youthful vigour. Now, as an older man, his milky eyes gleamed and twinkled as he placed the final invocation into place, his fingers slick with trembling joy as he ignited the Fire Dragon Core.

    Mote by mote, synapse by synapse, the greatest spell Sakharov had ever envisioned but never utilised, fired into being for the first time since its inception.

    Above the Tower, countless arrays formed like the Victory Day fireworks over the Kremlin. Within the Magi¡¯s enmeshed mind, his myriad calculations played the fanfares of blacken burning over the future ruins of Shalkar. He was a maestro; his hands were the hands of a great conductor, conducting the final crescendo of Den'' Pobedy as he called down the flaming blossoms of ash and ruin.

    ¡°Meteor Swarm materialising¡­¡± His first Officer meticulously informed the operational crew of their impending apocalypse: ¡°Two hundred seconds to manifestation¡­ sixty seconds¡­ two seconds¡­ Abjurers, UPPER BARRIERS AT MAXIMUM.¡±

    The Tower shimmered as its omnidirectional barriers cast a sickly glow around the metal sheeting Yekaterinburg wore like a gothic dress.

    From far above them and ranging from one end of the Mageocracy¡¯s new city to the next and beyond, rents into the Elemental Plane of Fire tore into the fragile fabric of the Prime Material.

    Chunks of molten, burning Elemental Magma ranging from the size of a man¡¯s head to a house fell through time and space into the vicinity of the Bunker, filling the sky and every inch of open space with streaking trails of orange and black, acoustically compelled by the insane orisons of igniting air.

    ¡°Such sublimity¡­¡± Sakharov announced, his face pale with effort. He had just attained a lifelong dream and paid for its cost in the sole Fire Dragon Core his prior nation possessed. He had also lost most of the feelings in his dominant arm. The system, he realised just now, was designed by a haler, younger Sakharov with a greater capacity for Spell fatigue. As he was now, the next manifestation would only be in the domain of the Lich Sakharov.

    Still¡ªthe Magi could not help but marvel at the manifested fruit of his labour, the apex of his long tenure under the Muscovite Mageocracy.

    Such an intoxicating feeling.

    By his hand.

    By his will.

    This landscape would change.

    And the ownership of the region will change with it.

    ¡°Reserves at Eighty-Two per cent,¡± the voice of his First Officer stirred the Magi from his daze. ¡°Milord, the Tower Core¡¯s efficiency appears to have been diminished by the long period of disuse. Engineering reports extensive micro-fractures in the conduit array.¡±

    Sakharov winced. His calculations, like his mortal body, weren¡¯t what they used to be. He had tested the Tower¡¯s capacity but had not considered the mana loss due to interaction with the feedback from the Tower¡¯s internal conduits.

    ¡°It¡¯s no matter,¡± Sakharov dismissed the damage. Once he was a Lich, the Tower would undergo an extensive transformation into the first flying Necropolis in Human history, meaning most of the existing systems would need to be repurposed for a different form of arcanistry. ¡°As soon as our barrage ends, unleash the Legions.¡±

    ¡°Yes, milord. Deploying the troops will utilise¡­¡± Vulpe questioned a thrall without turning his head.

    ¡°Ninety-six thousand VMI, Sire,¡± came the monotonous voice of a thrall.

    ¡°Around nine per cent of maximum capacity,¡± the Vampire stated with confidence. ¡°We are within acceptable margins, milord.¡±

    Sakharov nodded, glued to the burning sea smothering the city below. As expected, Shalkar was very, very rich. Within its perimetry, multiple layers of interlocking and overlapping shields were parrying the rain of elemental destruction.

    However, Shalkar¡¯s famous orchards and wheat fields possessed no means of protection, nor did the Humans and Demi-humans who did not make it into the city in time.

    ¡°Lower the Tower, prepare to intercept the ley node¡¯s mana lines,¡± Sakharov ordered, feeling assured of his triumph.

    Within the hour, half of Yekaterinburg¡¯s former citizens will be swarming toward Shalkar, keen to transform its tens of thousands of Humans, Dwarves and Centaurs, and a million and more of its Rat-kin into the new citizenry of an eastern Necropolis.

    He watched an enormous meteor splinter over the city¡¯s central command buildings.

    For that, Sakharov had to admit the girl possessed a minimal level of competence. His spectral colleagues did not desire an all-out war with the Mageocracy, so he had only perfunctorily bombarded the ISTC Station. Once the girl¡¯s noble guests realised they were rats aboard a sinking ship, they would flee. The city would then be a sturgeon carcass that Sakharov could squeeze as he pleased.

    And if the Dwarven defences should somehow cause a stalemate too time-poor for his remote expedition¡­

    Sakharov thought of the Lj¨®s¨¢lfar¡¯s gift, one given to replenish his expenditure.

    ¡°A final insurance¡±, the Elf had said, ¡°it will summon a friend the Dwarves fear from the very centre of their Creature Cores.¡±

    Sakharov scoffed. He felt confident there would be no need to tax a being so greedy and malevolent. After all, the instant Yekaterinburg tapped into Shalkar¡¯s ley feed, the city¡¯s fate rested in his hands.

    After all, a Necropolis of Demi-humans was infinitely more productive than a wasteland of scorched husks.

    Unnoticed by the mortal Mages below perspiring into the linings of their Parisian attires, the largest meteor aimed at the Bunker¡¯s horn-like Sky Garden did not strike the shields but slid off to either side like silken tofu.

    ¡°Goodness,¡± Sythinthimryr, mother to Slylth, remarked with genuine interest as the falling Elemental Energies avoided her general presence like droplets repelled by a hydrophobic leaf. ¡°You know what the Humans say¡ªyou never get a second chance to make a last impression.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s first impression, Mother,¡± Slylth corrected his mother¡¯s fondness of mangled expressions. ¡°But you¡¯re right. Gwen is going to be very upset.¡±

    ¡°Awww,¡± his mother¡¯s matronly face made Slylth feel a strange heat in his chest. ¡°Does that upset you?¡±

    ¡°Should it not?¡± Slylth regarded the trio of Elder Dragons. His mother seemed to be entertained by the occurrence. Great Tyfanevius¡¯ avatar appeared to be talking to his own mind, while the only genuinely displeased expression belonged to Illaelitharian, whose frosty mien had turned glacial. ¡°Mother, I worked to make those yields a reality, you know. It took a lot of logistical planning to expand the fields as far as we did while maintaining optimum enrichment for future seasons.¡±

    ¡°Aww, it¡¯s sweet that you¡¯re upset.¡± Sythinthimryr¡¯s statement made Slylth question himself. ¡°Child, your mortal produce is just that, stuff. Assuming her Dryad takes root, the convergence of Elements should restore everything and more, both above ground and below. Also, don¡¯t you see that Primarch Vulmari is right here? If Gwen begs, he could regrow the fields in a week, assuming Tyfanevius is in the giving vein.¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s not a member of the Accord yet.¡± Great Tyfanevius laughed, shaking the head of his Elven Vessel. ¡°If her city survives this, I¡¯ll finalise her membership.¡±

    ¡°Tyfanevius, you realise this is the work of Tryfan¡¯s kindred,¡± a wave of frigid cold accompanied Illaelitharian¡¯s rebuke, dispelling the stifling, sulphurous air. ¡°Need we debate that the labour of blasphemers is no scheming matter?.¡±

    ¡°Illaelitharian, speaking up for a Human,¡± the Lord of Emeralds snickered mockingly. ¡°What would your sister in the north think if she heard?¡±

    ¡°We are of one mind,¡± the Lord of Frost snapped back. ¡°Tyfanevius, dare you allow such a trespass against the Axis Mundi without redress?¡±

    ¡°Cousin, keep your cool,¡± Great Tyfanevius said, raising both hands, a very human-like gesture that surprised Slylth. The Regent¡¯s forces are intact. A mere ninth-tier invocation tied to a Mandala isn¡¯t so impressive that one of us should shift our weight to prevent the girl from learning the truth of the world. Besides, isn¡¯t one of us here in both spirit and physicality?¡±

    Slylth looked to his mother. If Sythinthimryr made herself known, the Tower would be gone in a wink.

    ¡°Slylthie dearest, do you want mummy to help your friend? Does she know the price your mother may command as a mercenary?¡± Sythinthimryr¡¯s knowing smile made him shiver.

    ¡°No, mother.¡± Slylth was positive he preferred to face the Human Tower himself than allow his mother to intervene. Dragons were greedy beings, and his scarlet-scaled mother¡¯s appetite made their moss and snow-scaled Kins saintly in their generosity. If, in the aftermath, his mother asked for ownership of Shalkar, what would become of his relationship with the female?

    ¡°I see. Then perhaps you should go and help your lady friend now,¡± his mother shooed him aside.

    A little distance away, his good mate Golos exhaled in relief.

    Gwen had already called them, but neither dared to mention the possibility of leaving until the elderly triumvirate dismissed them.

    ¡°Young whelps,¡± the Dragon who addressed them both was the Southern Seat of Frost. ¡°A word of advice for your mistress.¡±

    ¡°Lord Illaelitharian.¡± Slylth bowed, as did Golos behind him.

    ¡°The Regent must remain close to the ley,¡± the Great Wyrm pronounced in High Draconic, conveying the certainty of his literal foresight. ¡°Stray too far from where the Tree must bloom¡ªand her city will burn.¡±

    Shalkar.

    The auditorium.

    As a presenter who had persuaded her fair share of stockholders, Gwen knew well the golden rule of any finance presentation¡ªthat come fire, flood or Undead Tide, the Show must go on.

    Therefore, her show remained loud, and the crowd remained docile.

    A contributing factor was that there was little indication in the heart of the Bunker¡¯s most fortified dwelling that there were any threats to her guests. Another was that she had opened visual channels to select regions of her city¡¯s many corners to demonstrate her confidence in Shalkar¡¯s civil engineers.

    As a Frontier colony, it went without saying that no investor was likely to put down HDMs if there was no guarantee that, short of a natural catastrophe by the divine will of a higher power, their dividends would be safe.

    By now, she should have planted Sufina¡¯s seed and started the next portion of her presentation. But the moment wasn¡¯t ripe or proper to peddle the tiers of membership available to the future guests of her World Tree Tower (?), so she instead took the opportunity to take a greater gamble. Heeding her Chief Security Officer¡¯s advice, her role as Regent continued in the auditorium, lauding her city''s many-layered defences as though she was in control all along.

    Just as her voice clamoured over the patented, Dwarven-designed double-glazed Dragon Scale Dome (?), every projection she had tied to the outside world glowed red-hot, convexly reflecting the immense elemental energies of the city¡¯s exterior upon her agitated guests.

    For several seconds, the flow of words from her mouth ceased. Even in hubris, she could not imagine that her Dwarven-inspired infrastructure would undergo a live-fire exercise of this magnitude.

    A barely perceptible weight alighted beside her right ear.

    ¡°I do believe¡­¡± the voice of Charlene¡¯s father addressed her, issued from a silent, imperceptible crow perched upon the living fabric of her Elven gown. ¡°¡­ we are witnessing a serious strategic annihilation spell of the ninth tier, Regent. Will the city remain intact? Or should I propose an orderly evacuation?¡±

    The dark Duke¡¯s well-informed observation was accompanied by a flurry of Dings! from her Message device, including a belated statement from Thomas Holland, offering the same terms as the Duke.

    Gwen¡¯s mouth felt very dry as she sensed the throaty thrum of the Dwarven engines below, drinking deep from the ley¡¯s river of solidified mana.

    ¡°Until it¡¯s over, there is no place safer than here¡ª¡± she spoke, her voice a little more hollow than she¡¯d imagined. Her Dwarven Engineseers had created the shielding with Sobel¡¯s Black Sun in mind, a threat equally if not more persistent than this passing squall of total devastation.

    Addressing her duo of Dukes and her august crowd, Gwen¡¯s voice rose above their nervous murmur. ¡°Ladies and gents, even before this fated day, we knew our wealth would attract dangers. With the Fire Sea only a day¡¯s Flight away, even Strategic Magic falls within the city¡¯s design specifications.¡±

    The crowd concurred, their faith attuned to the unmoving Duke of Norfolk and the coolly seated Thomas Holland, whose lives were immeasurably more precious than theirs. Gwen spoke a few more lines of pleasing platitude¡­ then the largest of the meteors struck.

    There was¡­ a breath-clenching tremble as if the very Citadel shuddered in horror, and then nothing else in particular.

    Her audience applauded.

    But Gwen¡¯s heart was not glad.

    It smouldered instead.

    Across the lumen projections, she saw the verdant fields grow ablaze with burning. She saw the cane forest explode as the moisture suddenly grew too hot to be contained within its sugared interiors. She saw Rat-kin, too slow to find shelter, grow suddenly still as craters were formed by living magma, starving the land of moisture and oxygen. She also saw Centaurs, both guards and civilians, helplessly dodge the rain of death until they were eaten by fatigue and fire.

    Yet, the worst was to come. Though the immensity of the Dwarves¡¯ designs diverted gargantuan molten skyscrapers trailing phoenix fire, the damage was not bypassed. Beyond the Dragon Scales, she witnessed the aftermath of the city¡¯s success in parrying blocks of death and destruction into the surrounding countryside, pockmarking the canola fields with deadly debris.

    And worse still, despite the horror, despite the insane atrocities happening to her innocent citizens, Ravenport¡¯s prophetic, ninth-tier Meteor Shower continued minute after minute, seemingly inexhaustible in its duration.

    Silently, the Mageocracy¡¯s nobles watched.

    Silently, Gwen felt her heart rend as though masticated by Golos.

    Here was a land that she had transformed by hand and toil. Every greenery was a product of the blood and soil watered by the sweat of her Rat-kins¡¯ brows. What now burned in those golden fields wasn¡¯t just HDMs, Futures and Warrants but the hopes and dreams of her people.

    Have I taken too little care still? She asked herself. Or were the heavens just unjust and envious?

    Her teeth clenched until she felt as though a molar might chip. Was peaceful prosperity for her lost tribe of Humans and Demi-humans a stretch too far for this godforsaken world of Magic and Monsters?

    Utilising her audience¡¯s distraction, Gwen willed her Divination to implore the Security Office as fires burned both without and within. A brief security exchange of Glyphs followed, and then she gained access to the Clairvoyance of a dozen Diviners under her employ.

    ¡°Richard, report.¡± Her feelings were now numb to trauma. ¡°How bad?¡±

    ¡°Bad. It¡¯s hard to account for numbers right now. I think a few thousand at least, ten thousand at worst, mostly Demi-humans plus a few hundred Humans. More importantly, most of our autumn crop is gone, as are the exterior granaries. The aqueducts and all our roads will need to be rebuilt. That oasis that we came from? The original Shalkar? Gone, as are the pilgrims there.¡±

    Gwen felt her fingers twitch. Against all her advice, the original oasis had become a holy site for the Rat-kin¡¯s pseudo-religion.

    ¡°How are the troops?¡± She knew the answer but would prefer a confirmation.

    ¡°En route via the Low-ways. They¡¯re headed for that blasted Tower. No casualties other than those who failed to muster inside the city.¡±

    ¡°Do you think we can handle the Tower¡¯s barrages?¡± Gwen said. ¡°With all the vegetation gone, I may as well invite Shoggy into the Prime Material to give our Tower friends something to chew on.¡±

    ¡°¡­ actually,¡± Richard¡¯s tone grew more serious, adding weight to their present circumstance. ¡°Not sure if you answered Slylth¡¯s Message, but he said there won¡¯t be another Meteor Shower because he recognised the Mana Signature of a dead Dragon. He also said you needed to stay in the auditorium and stay close to the ley.¡±

    ¡°He did?¡± Gwen mentally filtered through the unanswered pings stacked on her Message Device, willing the clumsy software to find the latest from their Red Dragon Magus.

    DING! ¡°Regent! Golos and I are heading out to join Command Strun! STAY ON THE LEY! I can¡¯t explain why you must, but you have to trust me. There will soon come a time when YOU WILL NEED TO PLANT THE WORLD TREE!¡±

    The Red Dragon¡¯s message made sense¡ªbut also didn¡¯t. Without doubt, Shalkar had to exorcise the blasted Yekaterinburg Tower today and, in the aftermath, she had to plant the tree and finish the show¡ªbut the drake seemed to understand the future chronology of events better than she did.

    ¡°Right, Message received. Keep me posted.¡± Gwen waved away her cousin. ¡°Petra¡­ how¡¯s the control room? Are we holding as planned?¡±

    ¡°Mana levels are steady,¡± her cousin replied. ¡°Engineseer Axehoff is diverting mana from the Citadel and the unused Low-ways to feed the Dragon Scales. He says it¡¯s a battle of attrition we can win¡ªuntil Yekaterinburg steals our access to the ley-line. If it runs dry, we win. If the latter, our advantage stalls to a stalemate. Also, the Engineseer suspects we won¡¯t be able to defeat it anyhow; it can leave any time, but we can¡¯t uproot the Bunker to go after it.¡±

    ¡°I see. Are you certain we cannot hold primacy over the ley?¡± Gwen felt sorely repressed. If Yekaterinburg Tower could steal enough mana to sustain its operations, it wouldn¡¯t matter that their Citadel hogged the Axis Mundi¡¯s flow of living mana.

    Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.

    ¡°We cannot,¡± Petra¡¯s reply needed no elaboration. After all, they had seen the same phenomenon when Ruxin stole the Jade Lode from the former ruler of Nagaland.

    With sudden salience, Slylth¡¯s cryptic message came to the fore of her mind.

    As someone who had dealt with Dragons for most of her career and had been led by the nose by one for almost four years¡ªshe could smell the Divination dripping from Slylth¡¯s warning like the corpse stench from Yekaterinburg¡¯s vents. The Morden-taught Dragon was a professed novice at foretelling¡ªso his wisdom had to come from an elder source he trusted¡ªa source like the Red Queen of Carrauntoohil.

    Stay at the node? Plant the World Tree?

    Indeed, if Dwarven artifice cannot hog the ley-node¡ªhow about a sentient, Almudj-blessed Dryad?

    Gwen was confident Almudj¡¯s scale could do things with the ley lines that made the Dwarves drop their jaws¡ªbut could Sufina?

    All around her and her audience, the Bunker purred as more meteors fell.

    Whatever her doubts, there was one thing a cataclysm could not change, and that was her duty.

    Her duty to her investors and their money.

    And therefore, the show must go on.

    Gunther ¡°The Morning Star¡± Shultz, Tower Master of Sydney, had absolutely, without a sliver of doubt, expected that his day off in Shalkar would be interrupted by a small calamity.

    He knew this, for that was his everyday experience.

    Whenever he and Alesia scheduled a holiday away from the Tower, the Message spells would DING all day long with increasing urgency until his sense of duty superseded his patience, creating a pattern so uncanny that Gunther deeply suspected divine providence.

    For instance, after reading a report by Gwen on the nature of organisational inefficiency, Gunther had implemented delegates and even hand-reared new Magisters from his loyal flock of followers. Yet, the moment his holiday began, inexplicable occurrences, from naturally forming rents in the Prime Material to random, unpredictable Mermen piracy, would blossom like hogweed after a humid summer in the outback.

    Therefore, he had come fully prepared for his two-day break in Shalkar, knowing that his Sister-in-craft, may their Master weep in heaven, had a capacity for drama that made Alesia¡¯s antagonism akin to the antics of a troubled teen.

    That and Gunther had been expecting a calamity since Gwen approached him with questions regarding a World Tree with Almudj as a Patron and Sufina as the base. If their Master had been alive, Henry would have suggested that dropping a Shoggoth at every suspected Spectre location might be preferable¡ªbut Gunther¡¯s ambitions for their Sister-in-craft were greater than their protective teacher¡¯s.

    In his opinion, the status quo of peaceful submission was the principal reason why Spectre''s successes were so consistent. The Mageocracy, for all its power, had coasted along the rails of The Accord for enough generations that it lost the grit it once possessed during the Great War. For Gunther, what had happened to Sydney, Tianjin and the Ural region were not isolated events but evidence of the status quo rapidly slipping from man¡¯s assumed control. More terrifyingly, what happened to the North and South Poles only demonstrated that not even the oldest powers of the Prime Material were free from disruption.

    And that was why he genuinely supported Gwen¡¯s grand experiment.

    To create MORE World Trees, but under the control of Humans¡ªthat was, in his opinion, a breaking point against human entropy. The ordeal wasn¡¯t what Henry wanted per se, but Gwen was doing what his Master could never achieve alone¡ªbringing together all the stakeholders of the Prime Material into one tree.

    Still, Gunther agreed with Alesia¡¯s complaint that a ninth-tier Meteor Shower was a bit much.

    ¡°This cunt of a Magi¡­¡± Besides her master, Yue¡¯s string of expletives made Alesia¡¯s profane proclamations seem like a family-friendly limerick. ¡°Leading a million rotten cunts in his cock Tower.¡±

    ¡°Fret not. Gwen seems to have countermeasures in place,¡± Gunther unconsciously filtered Yue¡¯s speech, steering their gaze toward the city¡¯s golden Dragon Scales. When the man-made cataclysm had first manifested, the very first thing his party had done was relocate outside the Bunker, putting themselves between the auditorium¡¯s iris-lens and the Tower in the distance. There, even unaided by a Tower, Gunther was confident that his, Alesia¡¯s and Yue¡¯s ¡°Firepower¡± was enough to deflect the worst of what would be incoming.

    However, it seemed his woes had been unnecessary.

    For reasons he could not discern, the falling blocks of meteoric magma and fire seemed to avoid the Bunker of their own volition, vastly reducing the strength of the spell¡¯s impact and the strain on the mana engines. The excess capacity was also why there was barely a tremor as the city¡¯s surroundings erupted in an unending chain of explosions, each as powerful as fifth and sixth-tier Evocations.

    Whirrrrr¡ªBWOOOM¡ª!

    Whirrrrr¡ªBWOOOM¡ª!

    Whirrrrr¡ªBWOOOM¡ª!

    Whirrrrr¡ªBWOOOM¡ª!

    The artillery positioned atop the Bunker¡¯s hillside exterior returned the favour, striking the angled shields of the descending Tower.

    All around them, an orange-black sky of burning, combined with the screaming below, painted a vivid picture of the prophet Dante¡¯s Inferno.

    ¡°I am impressed,¡± Gunther noted for his two companions. ¡°That¡¯s a few month¡¯s worth of Yekaterinburg¡¯s budget in the last fifteen minutes. I¡¯ve never heard of a Tower expending its energies so generously.¡±

    As a Tower Master, he understood the arithmetic of power and HDMs associated with operating a smaller Tower like Sydney¡¯s original incarnation. The teleportation from Yekaterinburg would have been fuelled by its original ley-line, but thereafter, the Tower¡¯s HDM reserves accompanied every operation.

    ¡°Whatever, I want to know what we can do,¡± Alesia spoke in muted tones, clearly touched by the milling portraits of misery below. ¡°Between the three of us, can we make things easier for Gwen?¡±

    His wife meant that since they could always escape into the shelter of the Bunker¡¯s shields, the firepower the three possessed could probably drain the Tower¡¯s mana stores by a significant margin. That and if a barrier partition failed, Gunther could cause enough catastrophic damage to discourage the Tower from remaining in the area.

    ¡°These cunts have destroyed everything,¡± Yue¡¯s impatience was expected, though as a companion witness to Sydney, Gunther genuinely shared some of their youngest¡¯s ire.

    ¡°Don¡¯t let the rage cloud your head.¡± He allowed a warm envelope of Radiance to envelop the sooty flames dripping from Alesia¡¯s Apprentice. The Positive Energy was minute, but it was enough to offset the corrosive side-effect of the Nightmare¡¯s empathic resonance.

    ¡°Gwen built a paradise,¡± Yue¡¯s fists were balled. ¡°A fucking Tower, that¡¯s cheating.¡±

    Gunther concurred with Yue¡¯s dismay. Not even he, the Master of a Superstructural Tower, had ever witnessed the Commonwealth¡¯s most powerful aerial fortress used in this context. While Towers had been levied against Dungeons and dens, Mermen Swells and even Dragon lairs, the sieging of a friendly Human city was a first.

    After this, even a victory shall be our loss, Gunther¡¯s jaws clenched. The world was watching, and what the insane Magi of Yekaterinburg demonstrated to the rest of the Human world was the full might of a Tower laid against a Human settlement. Whatever happens to Gwens¡¯ city now, the aftermath of Shalkar¡¯s rise and fall had opened an unhappy portal of possibility.

    ¡°Yue¡¯s right, Gunther.¡± His wife¡¯s signature Elemental Fire was a beacon in the dusky smoke enveloping the landscape. ¡°We need to tip the scales.¡±

    ¡°Of course, but also trust in Gwen¡¯s foresight.¡± Gunther felt his forehead throb as his Fire sorceresses pulsed in sync. ¡°Besides, we¡¯re far too late to intercept Yekaterinburg now. If that thing is trying to dock with the ley node, then we need an opportunity to¡ª¡±

    Gunther did not need to finish. In the distance, the hazy silhouette of Yekaterinburg Tower shimmered, angling its exterior shielding to pierce the scorched ground like an obsidian dagger into a scorched carcass.

    Gunther felt the hope of an easy expulsion evaporate. Once the Tower tapped in the ley, the battle would be long and drawn out. Perhaps then, they would receive the answer to another hypothesis, such as the contest between a Shoggoth and an empowered Tower.

    That said, in a place without endless biomass, he failed to see how even the Shoggoth would dislodge the Tower¡¯s parasitic capture of the Prime Material¡¯s bloodstream. And without a means to definitely dislodge the invading fortress, Gwen would need to call in aid from the many allies she had made in and around the IoDNC¡¯s rise to prominence.

    Would House Ravenport, the major investor in the region, send its elite House troops?

    Would the Britannic Mageocracy offer its sizeable military as a countermeasure?

    Would the Factions keep faith in her ability to turn copper to gold?

    Or was a single, catastrophic failure the extent of their loyalty to their Golden Goose?

    Gunther scratched his chin, forcing his brows to relax.

    His wife met his gaze, and he read her thoughts.

    ¡°No, I don¡¯t think we can count on divine intervention.¡± Gunther had already considered Alesia¡¯s hopeful hypothesis of what had happened in Sydney. ¡°The Rainbow Serpent makes its home in the Antipodes for a reason. Even if Almudj traversed the Axis Mundi to arrive, its power won¡¯t be anything remotely close to what can be manifested on our continent.¡±

    The mana fields surrounding the Tower shimmered.

    A dozen micro-Mandalas faded in and out of Gunther¡¯s vision as he willed light to bend and focus.Through heat haze, the smoke and the sulphurous lava, he saw the silvery mana of Conjuration cascade from the Tower¡¯s sides.

    ¡°The descent stopped?¡± Alesia¡¯s voice grew hopeful.

    ¡°Strange, since they¡¯re deploying ground troops¡ª¡° Gunther was also surprised. ¡°Something must be preventing the Tower from penetrating the ley-line¡ªAH!¡±

    The two women looked to him for answers.

    ¡°It''s the Low-ways!¡± Gunther felt a smile touch his lip. ¡°If you recall, all the major ley lines here are converted to empower the Dwarven transit system. This design has never existed in any Human city before Gwen¡¯s implementation. Therefore, Yekaterinburg must confused because the Stone Shape Mandala is failing to distort the space at its entry point.¡±

    Gunther¡¯s fingers danced through the air, bringing into view a projection of what his surveillance Mandala had provided for himself. ¡°See there? The Tower has pierced the crust, but it isn¡¯t Stone-Shaping anything below the first few meters. And if the Low-way under the Bunker extends all the way there, it means¡­¡±

    The ground rolled.

    Safe in the air, Gunther¡¯s party could not feel the seismic shudders tearing through the earth. Even so, the visual spectacle unfolding upon the horizon, combined with the thunderous roar radiating across the landscape, made them feel the impact in their bones.

    The next moment was one he would remember as clearly as the day he had met Sufina as a young man.

    A Mongolian Death Worm, the largest Gunther had ever beheld, larger than even the IoDNC¡¯s tallest skyscraper, pierced the charcoaled ruins of the wheat fields, its open maw as wide as two of Yekaterinburg¡¯s dozen gravitational engines.

    ¡°HOLY FUCK¡ª¡° Yue echoed his and Alesia¡¯s shared thoughts. ¡°That¡¯s a big worm.¡°

    The Afaa al-Halak¡¯s circular maw crashed into the force panes protecting the Tower from all harm. There was a singular moment of impact akin to the clashing of tectonic plates, and then Yekaterinburg blazed a retina-searing white.

    The Walls of Force in the lower quadrants collapsed catastrophically, drawing so much energy from the Mandalas used to distribute power that entire sections of the Tower¡¯s internal mechanism overloaded. The resulting overflow ran up and down the matrixes of the Tower¡¯s rune-covered exterior like the aftermath of a lightning strike, gouging out entire sectors of Pocket Space that were no longer sustained.

    Bodies rained from the Tower¡¯s exposed sections into the blackened earth blow, bouncing from the Death Worm¡¯s squirming carapace like rag dolls.

    Unnoticed by his wife and Apprentice but not escaping Gunther¡¯s all-seeing eyes, a spectral raven performed an aerial pirouette, then alighted on his shoulder.

    Strange intelligence beholden only to those of the Mageocracy¡¯s inner circles and the rare Tower Master passed between bird and man, then the raven made a bee-line for the shattered Tower.

    Gunther¡¯s hands moved independently before the Message even concluded, drawing two independent Mandalas without a micron of error.

    ¡°Alesia, Yue! We will take out their Tower Core,¡± Gunther released a precious cargo of Cores belonging to ancient Light-beings, representing a significant portion of what he harvested in his lifetime of service to the Mageocracy. Intricate Mandalas, each an artwork of priceless materials, manifested with muted Radiance as his mana conduits came alive, transforming the space above and below him into a blistering array of hallucinogenic runes. ¡°Make some noise to cover my preparations and get Richard on the exchange. We¡¯re going to get ONE shot at this¡­¡±

    The Yekaterinburg Tower shook¡ªor seemed to shake.

    Within the parcelled space of a Mage Tower, it was impossible to feel the impact of mere physics striking the exterior of its created spaces.

    Yet, the Magi and his crew were feeling it now, for there was no doubt that their Tower was no longer upright. Instead, despite the tortured, howling thrums from the gravitational wells pulling itself upward, the weight of the gargantuan Death Worm attached to its underside made it lean ever more dangerously.

    ¡°Milord! Structural loss at sixteen per cent!¡±

    ¡°Mana loss at twenty-four per cent! Our reserves are below fifty¡ª!¡±

    ¡°Reporting loss of six hundred personnel and twenty-seven Legions of chattel troops!¡±

    The Control Bridge was an indescribable mess of arcane fire and unforeseen outbreaks of tripped safeties feeding overloaded Magitech circuits.

    A Tower was built to withstand many things, even a Dragon breath. However, it would seem that the bodily attack of a Mongolian Death Worm travelling at near-impossible speed, emerging from a Dwarven Low-way, was not within its designer¡¯s specifications.

    ¡°Milord!¡± Another screen, called up by his first officer, confronted Igor with another absurdity.

    In the lower decks, where the gravitational wells sat, were Rat-kins armed with Spellswords and armoured in strange, geometric plate mail.

    ¡°Why are there RATS in my Tower?!¡± Sakharov felt his world turn topsy-turvy. What he was seeing was a logistical impossibility. The lower Shields were down, but their Warding Mandalas were up and alive, ready to fry any Diviner or Conjurer foolish enough to test the Tower¡¯s defences. Even with the Death Worm latched on, the Tower¡¯s self-healing barriers were welded around its rocky circumference.

    ¡°I¡¯ll dispatch the Neonate Battalions,¡± Vulpe¡¯s console bloomed with Message spells. ¡°As for where they¡¯re coming from¡ªthey¡¯re emerging from the Death Worm, Milord.¡±

    ¡°From inside the worm?¡± Sakharov¡¯s voice was almost a shout. ¡°That thing is a boarding ship?¡±

    ¡°The interior of the Death Worm is registering the same spatial energies as a low-tier Dungeon, Sire,¡± the Divination Desk reported to his First Officer, who immediately sent Sakharov the details.

    Reading the spectrometric readouts, Sakharov could only concede that things had gone from strange to inconceivable.

    ¡°What¡¯s the status of the Ley-tap?¡± His head throbbed. His weakness of the flesh, especially in the face of his collected followers, was shameful.

    ¡°Lieutenant, report,¡± the First Officer called for the engineering section.

    ¡°Milord. The ley-tap is unstable. Resonance is at thirty-four per cent,¡± a senior Magitechnician announced from the operations desk. ¡°Our mana regeneration is below the sustainable threshold.¡±

    ¡°Defences?¡±

    ¡°The Evokers are laying down both Life Drain and Enervation, but the Worm¡¯s vitality seems limitless,¡± the Major in charge of the enthralled Mage Flights reported as he passed the latest combat reports from the external Flight Deck.

    Sakharov groaned internally. He knew his Tower lacked competent combat casters. Battle Mages were a precious resource, and in a Frontier as safe and ironclad as Sakharov¡¯s domain, Moscow had not stationed a single Battle Mage with national renown. Instead, the best of his troops came from nepotistic lineages between the fourth and fifth tiers who came to the Urals to gild their resumes with his signature.

    The fact that all of them were dead by his hand or chained to Necromancy did not help his present need for casters.

    As for himself, the very idea that he, the most important existence in the Tower, would leave its safety to battle a monster was also insane. If he had been hale enough to melee a Death Worm, Sakharov wouldn¡¯t have needed the Followers of Juche to begin with. In addition, the Elf had made it clear that in Shalkar, there was a Thunder Dragon, a Kirin, the creature known as Caliban, and the guests the girl had invited from all over the Mageocracy. If he should expose himself, and if a powerful enough being was feeling sufficiently suicidal¡ªthen his sacrifice of a million souls would have been for nought.

    ¡°Milord, the worm is preventing us from deploying our defences to full effect,¡± Vulpe said, pointing to the blaring red lumen projections in the bridge''s engineering sector. ¡°Likewise, its tether must be disposed of before we can reach mana parity. May I suggest that we draw upon a non-conventional contingency?¡±

    Sakharov considered the Dragon Core burning a hole through his Storage Ring. With it, he had one more manifestation of his Signature Strategic magic¡ªor he could use it for its intended purpose.

    ¡°How fares our ground troops?¡± He felt it necessary that the Elf¡¯s command be their final option. ¡°Perhaps an amassment of our Ghoul legions will discourage the Worm?¡±

    ¡°The battle below is ongoing, milord,¡± his First Officer¡¯s tone was infuriatingly neutral. ¡°Unfortunately, we will not know the extent of our success until attrition on both sides reaches equilibrium, wherein our tireless troops should outlast the foe.¡±

    ¡°Should?¡± Sakharov felt insulted. They were fielding the populace of a fallen city, and yet, his First Officer was merely optimistic? ¡°Diviners, bring the situation on screen.¡±

    The lumen displays switched to the mass melee below.

    To the east, a Legion of Dwarven Golems numbering in the half-hundreds was laying waste to the erstwhile citizens of Sakharov¡¯s domain with waves of purifying spellfire. These were not the Golems used in Yekaterinburg¡¯s extensive mining operations but bipedal mechanical monstrosities created for the sole purpose of erasing a Citadel¡¯s foes from the Murk. Unlike the intermittent eruptions of Spellfire attributed to Human Mage Flights, the Dwarven Fireteams unloaded their payload in succession, unleashing criss-crossing streams of Scorchers, volleys of Fireballs, lines of Lightning, and unceasing swarms of Cata-Bolts.

    Where the wanton destruction wandered, entire swaths of Undead were swept away as though harvested by a flaming scythe. Feeling the heat in his cheeks, Sakharov waited for the counterattack from his vampiric lieutenants to break the Dwarven line.

    There was no break. The Dwarves¡¯ spellswords continued their endless volley until Sakharov could watch no more. At some point, perhaps hours later, the Dwarves¡¯ patented batteries may exhaust themselves and their crystals may smoke and melt¡ªbut the solution Sakharov desired was something far more immediate.

    His twitching eyes turned away.

    On the western flank, Centaurs, their torsos brimming with vital energy, rode uncontested across the charcoaled landscape, breaking the phalanxes of darkened, ghoulish bodies. Even when a Ghast, an intelligent variant of the feral-minded Ghouls, latched onto a Horse Lord, their foes ignored the paralytic mana of Sakharov¡¯s shock troops. Rather, a companion rider would skewer the Ghast with a careless swing from a hip-mounted lance, then fling the creature back into the howling horde to become mince meat under their iron hooves.

    Now and then, when another tendril of his Undead seemed to enclose the Centaur spear tip, a volley of pilums would materialise from the Centaur¡¯s saddle bags, skewering his troops so that while they clawed and kicked, they were wholly affixed by the weapons to the charred earth, unable to move.

    And when Sakharov¡¯s geometric grids of roving flesh made a counter-attack, a line of lightning from a Thunder Dragon would slice both men and terrain like wax. In the aftermath, the Centaurs would disappear into the pocket space of the Low-ways, only to re-emerge in the most unexpected flank.

    Further to the south, swirling maelstroms of scarlet fire and smouldering ash were rolling toward his Tower, leaving no Undead standing in their wake.

    The Tower shuddered once more. Its Levitation Engines, designed and crafted under the care of Sakharov himself, were screaming with exertion. The worm had not just bored into his precious Tower and deposited the filthy rats¡ªit was trying to retract itself back into the earth with the Tower in tow.

    ¡°Milord.¡± His First Officer turned to face him, evidently confident that Sakharov could put his ego aside for efficacy. The creature¡¯s subtle impertinence reminded the Magi that he was its employer, not its Master. For the loyalty and devotion that Sakharov desired, he would need to defeat the Regent of Shalkar, perhaps even pilfer whatever power she had prepared for the World Tree. ¡°With all due respect, milord. Our current mana replenishment would put us in retreat in sixty-eight hours¡­¡±

    ¡°I can see that,¡± Sakharov ground his teeth, his mind finally made up. ¡°Vulpes, ready the summoning platform in the foredeck. Shore up our defences. I will bring forth our Planar Ally. Then, we shall pierce this blasted land and drink its blood dry.¡±

    Shalkar.

    The Auditorium.

    Despite the distorted conduits of her tortured heart, the Regent Magister of Shalkar felt very proud of her men and women.

    Earlier, when Lulan had assured her that Strun had a plan and that Gwen should focus on placating the guests, she had felt shamefully tempted to leave the Bunker and join the fray with Caliban and Ariel.

    However, when Garp had made a Hail Mary from the Low-way tunnels, the gasps of awe, shock and wonder erupting from the auditorium paralleled the volume of her own exudation.

    The scene on the illusory screens was history in the making.

    In all the annuals of the Mageocracy, in the history of Humanity itself, has a Tower ever been wooed by a Worm?

    It was as though the battle was fought in reverse. Her Garp was the monstrous Death Worm, and her troops were the invading Creature Tide. Meanwhile, Yekaterinburg Tower, with its Mages and NoMs, was the bastion of Humanity, holding on for dear life.

    Yet, in spite of her crowd¡¯s hurrahs and claps, Gwen¡¯s show had yet to reach the final act.

    Once latched onto the Tower, another live Lumen-cast had sprung into being as a Divining stone found its mother beacon in the Bunker, displaying the interior of Yekaterinburg Tower.

    Rat-men Centurions, the elite, Essence-blessed warriors selected from the best of the thirteen Rat Clans, flooded from Garp¡¯s interior into the maze of real and Pocket spaces, looking to perform ultraviolence on its inhabitants.

    They were met with Mages¡ªnot Humanity¡¯s defenders, but pale-skinned Neonates, the Vampiric equivalent of low to mid-tier casters.

    Together with her open-mouthed audience, they observed a dozen Rat-kins dashing into the shadows to re-emerge behind the screeching, fang-toothed casters while a phalanx of Rat-men in hulking Dwarven-Golem plates forged a path forward with their bodies. As the two forces clashed, it became evident that Gwen¡¯s Rat-men had been doped with the same Shaman sorcery as the Centaurs, for her creatures cared nothing for the nauseating Necromancy smothering the Tower¡¯s interior passageways.

    For Many nobles and dignitaries, their virgin eyes finally witnessed the realities of a Necromantic troop¡¯s unrivalled efficacy. Spells that Gwen had only ever read in forbidden manuals like Roving Nightmare, Creeping Blight, and Wave of Fatigue erupted from the Undead casters even as the Vampires were pierced by physical and Elemental magic.

    Yet, drained as they were, de-buffed and corrupted, Gwen¡¯s Rat-kin came on, their eyes red with hazy mist, their armoured bodies dripping with overcharged vitality.

    Gwen¡¯s viewers did not understand why her Rat-men did not fall¡ªbut she did.

    Her Essence Tap, together with Sympathetic Life-Link, had tethered the chosen warriors of the Clans to the life force of Garp. No matter the Necromancy exhibited by the Neonate Mage Flights, they were useless against a natural disaster like a Death Worm¡ªand so their paltry powers of blood and life-draining were useless against her Rats.

    For indeed, what did it matter if the Undead drank the vitality of her Rat-kin like the wine of life? So what if their wounds healed and boned mended in minutes? No regeneration mattered when the Rat-kins bearing down upon them tore off their screaming faces with incisors that cut through concrete like cold butter and masticated their fangs like betel nuts.

    ¡°Exterminators, forward unto the Bridge!¡± Strun¡¯s voice came through the broadcast, for he was the possessor of the Clairvoyance Device. ¡°Shadow-kin¡ªspread out and find the Levitation Engine maintenance shafts.¡±

    Her Rat-kins tossed aside the limbless bundles of stuff in their claws, then let loose a screech that reverberated not only into the Tower but her auditorium. ¡°BLOOD FOR THE PALE PRIESTESS¡ª!¡±

    As a group, the phalanx raised their gore-covered implements. ¡°BLOOD FOR THE¡ª¡°

    Gwen muted the projection for the sake of her audience¡¯s sanity.

    She coughed to refocus her sponsors¡¯ wandering minds.

    ¡°My friends¡ª¡° She stood in the centre of the stage, her multi-hued Elven dress illuminated by the flickering Lumen screens now lowering from view. ¡°As observed, I believe our defences have things well in hand. The interruption from Yekaterinburg was unscheduled, and our agricultural season has indeed suffered a setback¡­¡±

    She met the eyes of her dimly visible audience and felt the tactility of their thoughts like distended fingers reaching out to touch the trunk of a sacred tree.

    In truth, she shared their awe.

    She also shared their fear, anticipation, and hunger for hope.

    So this was Shalkar al-Jadeedah; she could read from their expressions the thoughts traversing their brains. A Frontier in the process of abjuring a Tower occupied by a Magi and multiple legions of Undead, a feat not even a medium-sized state could hope to achieve. What terrible beauty it was! What profits might such a place hold?

    ¡°And so¡­¡± Gwen bowed, feeling the beckoning will of the seed in her possession. ¡°Let us walk the next step together¡ªfor the formation of a World Tree was isn¡¯t just a small step, it is a great leap for¡ª¡°

    The screen flickered, and then a section of her Lumen projections flared so brightly that all eyes were instantly drawn to the new development.

    Gwen felt as though someone had kicked her ovaries. She was at the best part! The most important part of her oration!

    She fought down the impulse to fly out and drop a Shoggoth upon the damned Tower itself and instead enlarged the shared vision for her audience to see. She had already made a spectacle of the battle, so she may as well see it to its natural conclusion.

    Together with the new development, a dozen Dings screamed for her attention, not that Gwen couldn¡¯t see for herself the new cataclysm trying to swallow her beloved city.

    A singular force had shattered the Prime Material below the Tower. From a puckering, smoking gash in the Prime Material that looked like a festered burn wound, great gouts of Elemental Magma shot forth from a volcanic geyser, scorching the enormous body of her Death Worm, forcing it to squirm and coil.

    The Golems too close to the rent projected their shields, then waded painfully through the rapidly expanding heat, failing by the dozen. Centaurs caught in the sudden eruption were likewise knocked into the undertow of the liquid fire and turned into howling torches of living agony.

    From the flashpoint, she saw the familiar sight of Lulan¡¯s enormous flying sword rapidly exit the eruption, towing behind her a Flight of Shadow Mages too slow to escape the all-swallowing flames. She saw her Golos, singed and enraged, skirt the expanding radius of elemental instability.

    Gwen¡¯s heart sank with every casualty.

    Her lips grew too fatigued to spin the horror on screen.

    The show must go on. She reminded herself¡ªbut her willpower was bruised and abused.

    A secondary eruption compounded her worries, smaller but still the height of six or seven storeys. The lava burst did not end but quickly congealed into the humanoid form of a horned Elemental being, this time half-Salamander, half-Neanderthal.

    And where its corrosive Magma splattered, they solidified into the serpentine likeness of their Master¡¯s infamous Brass Legion.

    Beside her ears, a raven shared her wordless dismay with a sigh.

    ¡°It would appear that a second Fire Sea is in the making,¡± the quiet, deliberating voice of Mycroft Ravenport reported what she knew to be true. ¡°You should recognise our friend Zodiam. Undoubtedly, he is eager to repay the favour at the Caspian and Tianjin.¡±

    ¡°I know,¡± Gwen replied, assured that somehow, the Duke would hear. ¡°I am aware.¡±

    In her capacity as Gwen Song, she wanted nothing more than to call for a full-scale retreat to safety, to teleport her friends and allies away from this land of seemingly endless endangerment. With every gamble, she baulked from the stark weight of lives that had just begun and were soon to be homeless again, assuming they survived the fallout of Zodiam¡¯s rage.

    But she was also The Regent of Shalkar. She knew the Dwarves would prefer extinction over abandoning their rebuilt citadel. She knew the Centaurs would privilege annihilation over defeat by a foe they had thought bested. The Rat-kins would also not have another home if Shalkar was lost and would fight for their Goddess to the last rat.

    As for her own species, the investors of Shalkar, Gwen did not doubt their aversion to martyrdom.

    How human, Gwen thought wistfully. How privileged.

    ¡°The hour is dire.¡± Ravenport¡¯s tone remained unfazed, a fact that juxtaposed her internal turmoil. ¡°Please deliver a verdict. The Ladies Grey and Astor have the Middle Faction in check. I¡¯ll handle mine, and the young Duke Holland will take responsibility for his. Fight or flee, make a decree as befitting the Regent of a World Tree.¡±

    The Regent of Shalkar regarded the glowing projections, each detailing the extinction of living beings under her rule.

    Zodiam, half-formed, was already conscious enough to hack at the body of her Death Worm with its flaming, multi-storey scimitar. With each strike, she felt Garp¡¯s pain as her own, linked empathically through its Core and her Astral Body. As the immense heat erupted capillaries as wide as tunnels, the skin on her back felt singed and raw, plastering the leafy fabric to her skin with sweat turned the consistency of glue.

    ¡°Shalkar shall fight,¡± she raised her voice for all to hear. ¡°I shall bring forth the Shoggoth. If Spectre desires mutually assured annihilation, then I shan¡¯t be shy.¡±

    ¡°Spoken like a true noble,¡± Ravenport¡¯s reply was not the protest Gwen had expected. Instead, his collected tone possessed a tinge of suppressed anticipation. ¡°But fret not, Regent; you should have more faith in the allies you have collected. It¡¯s good to be hands-on, but let¡¯s not conclude every act with a Shoggoth, shall we? Our newest Frontier has a reputation to maintain.¡±

    Perplexed by the devilish words warming her cheeks, Gwen looked to the box seats where the Ravenports were seated and where Mycroft had returned after their initial outburst. In the box next door, she saw only her Opa, who was standing near the edge, throwing hands in an attempt to boost her morale. Around the auditorium, almost all the guests were standing, each Faction following the lead of their senior leadership. Whether ready to fight or flee, the Human Mages awaited the Regent of Shalkar.

    Gwen realised she had not seen Gunther, Alesia, or Yue on screen.

    ¡°There¡¯s no need to wonder, Regent,¡± the Duke¡¯s impeccably accented syllables entered her stunned ear as her gaze returned to Yekaterinburg Tower¡¯s moment of triumph. ¡°I trust Lord Shultz shall even the odds for his Sister-in-craft.¡±

    The screens pulsed just once.

    A singular line of spontaneous, retina-searing light moved from one projection to the next so quickly that it seemed to have circled the room a thousand times before their minds could locate the beam¡¯s target.

    On-screen, the light pulse struck the figure of Zodiam first, hitting the creature on the side of its mostly materialised head where the horns protruded.

    With minimal effort, it exited the right side of the Fire Giant¡¯s cheek.

    Then struck a briefly appearing spot of crow-shaped soot.

    A Mandala briefly formed, and then the beam angled upward.

    Nipped Garp¡¯s neck¡ªthen pierced the Tower¡¯s lower quadrant.

    A second later, the same beam emerged at the opposite end of the Tower, near its upper quadrant. The beam¡¯s final journey was a fated meeting with the overlapping Walls of Force, enveloping the blurry panes with a thunderous, explosive eruption of rapidly expanding Radiance.

    In IMAX ultra-wide, Yekaterinburg exploded, briefly transmigrating the best of Hollywood into a world that knew nothing of cinematic spectacles. Without delay, light from the explosion illuminated the auditorium, turning the minds of Gwen and her audience stark white.

    When the Diviners finally recovered enough of their wits to refocus their projections, Gwen and her audience saw a scene that history books would print en mass in every new edition of the Mageocracy¡¯s chronicles.

    A Mage Tower was faltering, slowly but surely, and it was dragged into the earth by a half-baked, flaming worm squirming through a sea of lava. Beneath it, the headless Elemental Prince reeled.

    On the floor of the auditorium, Gwen felt faint.

    Her heart, her poor, mortal, thrice-battered heart, has suffered enough.

    Even if a second Tower were to arrive with a legion of Liches, she would plant her blessed World Tree and damn the protest.

    Her hand moved to the Druidic satchel.

    Right now, in this moment of singular triumph¡ª

    ¡°LOOK THERE!¡± A voice cried out in the dark, once more redirecting her audience. ¡°What¡¯s that in the sky?¡±

    Gwen¡¯s fingers trembled against Almudj¡¯s Scale.

    With supreme effort, using every ounce of will, she gazed upon the glowing screens orchestrated by her best Diviners like a jilted housewife.

    From a firmament burned black by senseless burning, a meteor larger than any creation of Yekaterinburg''s was descending amidst a swarm of sulphurous fireflies.

    An eighth-tier Meteor Strike? Gwe''s naked shoulders drooped with self-depreciation, determined to make good on her promise.

    While every pair of eyes lay glued to the extinction of dinosaurs headed their way, Gwen coaxed open the circular iris shielding the ley node, then slipped into the waist-deep pool of concentrated mana.

    Her living dress glistened, drinking from the richness enveloping her mortal body. It was a shame that no one was watching, for she had meticulously arranged the moment to mimic the likeness of Tryfan¡¯s Bloom in White.

    With both hands cupped, she let slip the seed and scale from its cargo pouch.

    Soundlessly, she watched her prize slip into the depths, becoming enveloped by the murky mana below.

    Done. She told herself. Whatever happened now. It¡¯s done.

    All around her, the sound of jubilation rose, first as gasps of disbelief, then as joy and wonder, breaking finally into shouts of celebratory applause.

    Gwen looked up, her pale face warmed by the fiery destruction on the screen. Her dress bloomed as planned, studding its surface with fragrant white flowers that stirred from the vortex of mana swirling into the seed between her feet.

    Overhead, Yekaterinburg Tower was no longer afloat. It was stabbed into the Magma portal below, stoppering the dimensional tear like a makeshift bath plug roughly shoved into a leaking tub. Its top half, once whole and impenetrable, was crumbled and deformed, its force panes spluttering as they failed.

    ¡°Oh¡­¡± Gwen felt a pang of guilt as she finally recalled the mana signature of the young man who had been teaching her for a month. ¡°I was wondering where he''d gone¡­¡±

 Chapter 501 - The Bloom of the Pale Priestess

    The Tower burned.

    Sakharov sat on the floor of his flaming control room, congealed blood covering half his face and uniform.

    He had potions galore in his Storage Rings, but he desired the pain, for the throbbing agony against his temple reminded him every few seconds that this was reality and not some strange, necrotic fever.

    ¡°Milord, structural integrity is at fifty-six per cent¡­¡± Vulpe, whose cuts and scraps had healed within minutes, reported below his command bridge, ¡°After that Radiant spell breached the Tower Core, our mana stores have been discharged to twenty per cent and falling. I must request we evacuate your esteemed self to the Siberian Frontier before the Tower is lost.¡±

    His First Officer¡¯s life-preserving advice washed over Sakharov like magic off a Dragon¡¯s back. The Magi didn¡¯t blame him, for the Vampire didn¡¯t know and could not understand that his Tower Master was stuck processing the rationales for their failure and defeat.

    An hour ago, he had the entire battlefield under his control.

    Yet a short while prior, Yekaterinburg Tower had been struck by an eighth-tier Meteor Strike possessing such force that the upper decks were pulverised. Furthermore, the downward momentum of the erupting magma had induced his Tower¡¯s hand-engineered Levitation Mandalas into explosive overdrives, sending Yekaterinburg into a steep plummet that drove its lower half into the Elemental Plane of Fire.

    Sakharov had anticipated a number of exotic defences from Shalkar, but an upper-tier Strategic Magic, he had not.

    By St Peter! This was Strategic Magic! Not Creature Cores at a Moscow market!

    As a study, all Spellcraft above the sixth tier was naturally multi-disciplined. Unlike their lower-tier personnel-based arcanistry, tiers seven to nine required the work of many Mages working in tandem or were the work of combined talents by experienced Masters such as himself.

    Shalkar was a new city less than two years old.

    It also possessed no Tower.

    Nor had a Magi visited the city in any of its widely accessible records.

    If so, where did the Meteor Strike come from?

    The Regent was certainly not a Fire Mage, and her infamous Sibling-in-Crafts was a Battle Mage, not a scholar capable of bringing down ruin and destruction. Even the Morning Star, who he now knew had snuck into the procession, wasn¡¯t capable of so grand a sorcery in a land so far from his Tower.

    But he had overestimated himself and underestimated a rag-tag city of monsters.

    Firstly, he had not foreseen the attack of the Death Worm¡ªwhich had become a detriment.

    And then, he had misjudged the city¡¯s trump cards, such as the Meteor Strike.

    The result was that his Tower. Sakharov¡¯s Tower, his lifelong achievement as Moscow¡¯s sole Magi, was sinking into the very portal where his Planar Ally should have emerged.

    Was there a reprieve, then? There was not. In his still-beating heart, he knew that Vulpes was correct. His life was a limited commodity until he could attain the un-life of Lichdom. If he fell now, his foes would triumph, and the million souls he had consigned to his ascension would have gone to waste.

    ¡°Very well. Divert all power to shielding and ready the platform array for ISTC transfer to Siberia.¡± Sakharov gave the order and watched his men scramble. About half would have died from the mana surge if they had been alive. Instead, some were singed, while others lost chunks of their faces¡ªbut none failed to fulfil their duties.

    ¡°Sire, we¡¯ve lost Mana Engines fourteen to twenty-three,¡± the emotionless reports from the thralls below continued to pour into the bridge. ¡°The Rat-kins have infiltrated the mid-section Levitation Generators. Central Core Chambers Four to Six had been breached. Total loss of power is imminent.¡±

    ¡°Structural integrity at forty-nine per cent.¡± Another junior engineer declared. The Tower was sinking, and with Zodiam exorcised, the portal would eventually close, leaving the surviving portion of the Tower in the Prime Material.

    ¡°Milord, please pay no heed to what is lost.¡± Vulpes stepped from his station and directed Sakharov toward the Teleportation Circle reserved precisely for such an occasion. ¡°Our Masters await your arrival.¡±

    ¡°They are, are they?¡± Sakharov felt his stiff hands grow hot with embarrassment. The Masters of Juche, the senior Liches whose numbers he had hoped to join, would not receive an unblemished Mage Tower as promised. Instead, they would receive a disgraced Magi.

    His only solace was that he had acted only because of the order from the Lj¨®s¨¢lfar, which should be his saving grace against their hollow, pinpoint eyes of Necrotic fire. The Elf wasn¡¯t their Master; Sakharov was sure of it, but the Masters of Juche seldom denied the Elf¡¯s requests, even if they were at a detriment to the religious expansion of Undeath.

    ¡°What of yourself, Vulpes?¡± Sakharov stiffly shuffled across the bridge, feeling every joint aflame with agony, exacerbating the wound on his forehead.

    ¡°I have not received additional orders from the Patriarch.¡± The Vampire bowed. ¡°My mission is to remain with the Tower.¡±

    Sakharov felt a stab against his heart. Many years ago, he had also left his First Officer, in a war zone similar to their present crisis.

    ¡°I order you and your men to leave, Vulpe,¡± Sakharov stated flatly.

    The Vampire smiled. ¡°Thank you, Sir. But here we shall remain.¡±

    Sakharov felt a trickle of old blood drip from his frustrated lips.

    He wanted to tell the man that he was sorry.

    That he should have been a better Tower Master.

    But he was helplessly mortal.

    And his First Officer was a thrall to a higher being.

    The Tower shook.

    The floors shuddered.

    In a faraway corridor too close for comfort, he heard the sound of Dwarven-made Spellswords carving into the internal Walls of Force walling the bridge from the rest of the Tower.

    ¡°Goodbye, Vulpes,¡± Sakharov stepped into the Tower¡¯s internal ISTC array.

    ¡°May your life-eternal see us avenged.¡± The Vampire saluted. ¡°It¡¯s been a pleasure, Milord.¡±

    The semi-circle door slid shut.

    Secret runes flared as the Mandalas fired for the last time, sending its cargo to its final destination. In a second, Yekaterinburg¡¯s erstwhile Tower Master was a thousand kilometres away, transported across time and space to hopefully arrive at an ageless Necropolis in the depthless dark of lightless Siberia.

    Shalkar.

    The Bunker.

    Gwen Song, the Regent of Shalkar, felt her innards revolt as her life-linked Afaa al-Halak docked its upper torso like a lizard¡¯s tail, choosing to abandon its roasted head and body to preserve its life. The sensation was not one that Gwen could put into words, for her body was simultaneously infused by the vital mana radiating from Sufina¡¯s seed and dominated by the Essence of Almudj coursing through every conduit she possessed.

    Under such a condition, she performed her Tree-rite like a witch in a trance, her vivid irises aglow with mystical energies her guests could not discern while the contesting energies of life and death, agony and pleasure played out a metaphysical orchestra within her Astral self.

    With the Tower half-sunk and aflame, her guests could again appreciate their hostess''s ascension, their eyes once more scanning her flowering body for the next spectacle.

    From the Elf-sown earth obscured by the liquified mana, Sufina¡¯s sprout emerged, first as thick as a finger, then rapidly growing to the girth of Gwen¡¯s waist. In minutes, the sprout was carrying Gwen upward, its likeness akin to a time-lapsed growth of an ancient acacia from the underfloor of the Amazons.

    In the back of her mind, Gwen understood that she still had vital marketing to deliver to her guests. Still, she grew intoxicated by the soaring elation in her heart as the bower caught her thighs and buttocks, cradled her like a princess in the arms of a gallant knight, and then lifted her rapidly toward the ceiling.

    Up and up, higher and higher, she felt herself ascend, becoming eye-level with her audience, then slightly above them as the growth began to spread horizontally. Beneath her billowing, gossamer dress, she saw the adoring eyes of Charlene Ravenport and the satisfied look of calculation on Mycroft¡¯s bird-like features. She saw the jubilant form of her Opa leaping from foot to foot, no doubt inspired unto new realms of inappropriate artistry by his new experience. She saw Mayuree and her brother bowing at the tree. She saw her old mentors as well, Lady Grey and Astor, their chins raised, their eyes rich with wonder and acknowledgement. She saw Thomas Holland clapping like an elated critic at the opera, grinning from ear to ear. She saw the lords and ladies of the Mageocracy, their allies and guests from Europe and America and South East Asia, all standing on their toes to deliver an endless ovation, behaving as though the loudness of their cheers would somehow aid the growth of Sufina¡¯s immortal trunks.

    The thrumming of defence shields overhead ceased.

    The final aperture, formed from overlapping panes of Walls of Force, slid apart soundlessly, their Dwarven-made mechanisms growing flush with the opened roof.

    As a localised storm, the heat from Shalkar¡¯s exterior flooded inward as a whispering vortex, draining into the cool interior of The Bunker. At once, the sickly humidity, sticky smog and the heat death of the plants and her charred citizens too slow to find shelter under Shalkar¡¯s shielding pervaded the interior, making her audiences reel.

    Were it not for the immense vitality coursing through her body, Gwen did not doubt that she would have wilted like a plucked flower left to die on exposed concrete. Instead, together with the splitting sound of growing wood, she rose into the unsheltered light of day to inhale the annihilation of her paradise and exhale the fecund scent of living hope.

    The Bunker slowly faded from sight as more bowers and branches with their olive leaves expanded like a Lichtenberg figure, emerging from the pyramidal structure of the fortress below to form a semi-dome of greenery.

    To her right, the Sky Garden, long labelled Golo¡¯s Lair, came into view until she reached almost eye-level with the highest spire, where her Thunder Dragon made its home.

    A trio of figures awaited her, each possessing ears longer and pointier than the last.

    The first, blonde-haired and gaunt with a spindly, elongated neck, Gwen recognised as Primarch Vulmari of Tryfan.

    The second was an androgynous Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar in robes of shimmering insect-wing that resembled thin sheets of crystallising ice.

    The third wore the skin of an Elf but was taller and more regal. She had flaming red hair and slitted, ruby-hued eyes that did nothing to disguise her true nature.

    Gwen¡¯s vision of the trio grew suddenly hazy.

    And then the space invaders stood beside her as though they had always been there.

    ¡°Regent.¡± Vulmari¡¯s speech, both in tone and arrogance, was familiar enough for her to realise that this was Tyfanevius speaking from the body of his Vessel. ¡°You have exceeded our expectations. Also, interesting choice of attire. Sanari¡¯s work, I take it? Her craftsmanship hasn¡¯t dulled even after a century.¡±

    Balancing herself on the quivering bower branch, Gwen bowed her head at her august visitors. Her dress, particularly with its gimmick of blooming blossoms, now felt vulgar, like the off-season couture paraded by the parvenu.

    Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

    ¡°Lord Tyfanevius,¡± she imitated her best Draconic, trusting her Master¡¯s Ioun Stone to do her justice. ¡°It is with great pleasure that I welcome you to Shalkar. I was most certainly not expecting guests of your¡­ grandioseness.¡±

    The Green Dragon laughed very naturally despite inhabiting the body of the Druid as a psychic parasite. ¡°It wasn¡¯t that long ago that we spoke, so be at ease. Of course, you have met our cousin Illaelitharian already. But I do not believe you have met our most regal kin, her Ladyship of The Eternal Flame¡ªSythinthimryr.¡±

    Gwen bowed again at her snowy benefactor, then ensured she showed equal deference to the Red Dragon present in person.

    Slylth¡¯s mother! Her mind felt suddenly hot. As if the destruction of her city by a Tower wasn¡¯t taxing enough on what remained of her sanity. Even in London, she had heard innumerable stories about Sythinthimryr, the infamous.

    The bardic lore of the region had sung that in Carrauntoohil lived the ancient Dragon of Summer Flame, the ageless Sythinthimryr. Greedy without peer, she reigned the peaks of Ireland, her unfurled wings as wide as the horizons, her eyes all-seeing, and her breath capable of smelting cities into slag. Yet, by some unknown Accord long made with the Celtic Kings of old, Sythinthimryr stood as an impenetrable bulwark against Balor One-Eye, the monstrous all-father of Elementals, self-proclaimed Chief of the Wild Hunt.

    ¡°Lord Illaelitharian, Lady Sythinthimryr,¡± Gwen felt the elation of her growing tree take second place against the incredulous reality her trio of transcendent beings brought. ¡°As Regent, I humbly welcome you to Shalkar and apologise for the state of our affairs.¡±

    And while you¡¯re here¡ªher mind rapidly grasped the straws of opportunity; I could sell you each a VIP suite at the top of the tree¡­

    ¡°You have made good use of my boy.¡± Sythinthimryr¡¯s eyes possessed a strange heat that made her cheeks flush. ¡°However, even for a pure-blooded Red Dragon, Morden¡¯s Meteor will sap him for a good while.¡±

    ¡°I understand the young Master¡¯s sacrifice, and I am very happy to have Slylth as a VIP guest and investor,¡± Gwen parried the Dragon, managing her thoughts as politely as possible.

    Below them, the tree continued its evergreen growth, though the acceleration had slowed; from the vista of her scorched city and its countryside, Gwen guessed they were six or seven storeys from the ground floor and a dozen meters above the highest point of Golos¡¯ lair.

    Shalkar¡¯s survivors had also gathered in the newly shaded square below, swarming like ants around the newly sprouted World Tree.

    Gwen inhaled deeply to gather her wits. The air around the tree had grown crisp and lush, carrying an earthy scent enriched with moistened loam after a summer squall.

    Tyfanevius appeared perfectly at home under her shaded bower, while Illaelitharian wore an inhuman expression that showed a general irritation for Shalkar¡¯s temperate climate. Compared to her two compatriots, Sythinthimryr possessed no interest in the tree at all but was wholly focused on herself, staring as though her eyes might penetrate the floral dress, bypass her skin, and lay bare the secrets of her Astral Body.

    ¡°Great Lords and Lady. How may I be of service?¡± Gwen asked. She had a whole world in the auditorium below and a city to repair, but still, she knew that here lay the loci of her efforts.

    ¡°Oh, you have already performed a great service,¡± Tyfanevius¡¯ voice came through Primarch Vulmari''s limps. I won¡¯t speak for our cousins, but I am here to deliver what was promised.¡±

    With perfect timing, the growth of the World Tree beneath her ceased just as Tyfanevius reached into his leafy coat and produced a Druidic Satchel. ¡°Here we are.¡±

    Gwen received the satchel with both hands, using her Essence to probe the Elven runescript.

    ¡°Caw¡­.¡± Against her shoulder, she felt the familiar weight of a spectral crow. She wasn¡¯t sure if the Dragons could see the bird, but if they did, they certainly did not mind nor care.

    Inside the parcel was a Creature Core brimming with Elemental Lightning.

    And it wasn¡¯t just any old Dragon Core.

    It was a Kirin Core¡ªnot a facsimile¡ªbut an actual Core from an actual Celestial Kirin.

    ¡°It was the best we could find in exchange for the Ashen Queen¡¯s remains,¡± Tyfanevius noted with a smile. ¡°And with that deed done, the three of us would like to officially welcome you, Gwen Song, Regent of Shalkar, into The Accord.¡±

    Gwen paused at the extra information the Dragon had dropped off like an additional item at the dry cleaners. The Crow on her shoulder cawed again in acknowledgement.

    ¡°Er¡­I am in the club now?¡± she asked, feeling underwhelmed and surreal at the prospect of her inclusion. ¡°Just like that? No ceremony? Is there a certificate?¡±

    ¡°Young one,¡± Tyfanevius smirked. ¡°I am here; cousin Illaelitharian, who never leaves his abode, is here; so is Lady Sythinthimryr of the Eternal Summer, who has never travelled so far for any being in a millennia. Is that ceremony enough for a whelp like yourself?¡±

    Gwen baulked. When Tyfanevius had said it like that, it was hard to deny that she was enjoying a rare ceremony not even the coronation of Britain¡¯s monarchy could entertain. Still, a full orchestra and a choir singing Zadok the Priest would have given her more confidence.

    ¡°I am well-honoured, Lord Dragons,¡± she lowered her head again. ¡°I was merely expecting more¡­ pomp.¡±

    The lord of Tryfan shook his head. Looking at Primarch Vulmari¡¯s borrowed body, Gwen felt like she was looking at a humanoid mantis performing a side-to-side head bob.

    For now, she placed the Druidic Satchel inside a hidden fold in her dress. She could hear Ariel¡¯s whinny in her Astral Body as it purred for her attention, desiring access to the object of its metamorphosis.

    ¡°With that done, we shall attend to other matters.¡± Tyfanevius indicated to his companion Dragons. ¡°Lady Sythinthimryr may stay to oversee her child¡¯s interests, but Illaelitharian and I must take care not to overtax the ego of our Vessels.¡±

    ¡°Lord Tyfanevius, a moment before you both retired.¡± Gwen knew now was not the time to be coy. ¡°As a member of The Accord in my present condition, may I ask for a boon from the council? With the World Tree manifested, I fear my city is in a poor condition to entertain.¡±

    ¡°You may request our aid, yes.¡± The elf was not surprised by her presumption. ¡°I was almost afraid you wouldn¡¯t ask.¡±

    ¡°Haha¡­¡± Gwen felt slightly relieved at her willing creditors, even though she knew the debt would have to be repaid.

    Tyfanevius studied her face, revealing little of his true thoughts.

    ¡°What¡¯s destroyed cannot be regrown, and your citizens who had died will remain unanimated.¡± the Green Dragon examined her prospects with a disturbing pragmatism. ¡°However, once I am returned, Vulmari shall remain with Sanari and instruct you on channelling the vitality of the young World Tree to restore this land to life. Likewise, if and when its ego awakens, assuming there are no complications, you shall have a very powerful but inexperienced and wholly reckless Demi-goddess in your hand that must be tamed.¡±

    Gwen considered the Ancient Dragon¡¯s words. Somehow, the interesting parts sounded as prospective as they were dire.

    ¡°As for this obscene tear into the Elemental Plane of Fire¡­¡± Tyfanevius nodded at the red-headed Elf, still admiring Gwen¡¯s person. ¡°Cousin, will you take care of this domain?¡±

    ¡°Fret not. The portal is closing as we speak¡ª¡° Sythinthimryr said offhandedly. ¡°If little Zodiam tries to breach the portal again, he will receive a stern citation from me.¡±

    ¡°Very generous of you, Lady Sythinthimryr.¡± Tyfanevius lowered his head to show the proper respect. ¡°We all understand there is no obligation to act.¡±

    ¡°Nonsense,¡± The Red Dragon huffed at her compatriot. ¡°My son owns a stake in this World Tree. Is that correct, Regent?¡±

    ¡°More than correct!¡± Gwen felt her mouth move before her mind caught up. ¡°Lord Dragons, I want to offer each of you a top-tier suite at the very apex of our Tree, completely free! No service fees! No upkeep! Will you humble yourselves for the sake of our World Tree?¡±

    Illaelitharian gave Tyfanevius a blank stare. Tyfanevius steered him toward the Red Dragon.

    ¡°Young lady.¡± Sythinthimryr wagged a clawed finger in her face. ¡°I am an expert in how the Human world works. It is said that when the candy is free, the child is the product, is it not? I am impressed that you even possess the gall to try and take advantage of your elders.¡±

    ¡°Is that what they say?¡± Tyfanevius looked to the Red Dragon with an expression of shock. ¡°By the Bloom, these Humans are quite sinister!¡±

    Illaelitharian looked thoroughly disgusted.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think that¡¯s the expression¡­¡± Gwen stammered, unsure how to clarify a Dragon goddess¡¯ gross misunderstanding of goodwill as intangible capital. ¡°Er¡­¡±

    ¡°Again, Slylth owns a suite, does he not?¡± The Red Dragon squinted, her eyes two slits of unrefined elemental fire that could consume the world.

    ¡°He¡­ has a suite on free-lease¡­¡± Gwen felt her heart constrict. ¡°But considering his contributions to our defence, I would like to give him sole ownership of a penthouse property. It¡¯s beyond exclusive, I guarantee it.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s reasonable,¡± Sythinthimryr said, her smile smouldering as her red lips parted. Yes, Slylth would like that. He doesn¡¯t have a domain yet. Did you know that? A homeless Drake, it¡¯s downright shameful.¡±

    Gwen supposed she had better shut up and let the Dragons depart before she lost more real estate.

    When she looked at Tyfanevius and Illaelitharian again, the Dragons had gone offline. In their place was the rigid, expressionless face of Primarch Vulmari and the Hierophant Master of Illh?wenthiel, an Elf who introduced himself as Raithiel.

    They both bowed deeply at the Red Dragon.

    ¡°Gwen, we shall speak once you conclude the matters of your abode.¡± Sythinthimryr waved them away with a jewelled claw. ¡°But bear in mind my magnanimity isn¡¯t nearly as grand as my powers.¡±

    Satisfied with her final warning, the Red Dragon teleported once more among the foliage of the Sky Garden, back into the worshipful gaze of the Harpies that were now busily migrating into the canopies of her World Tree.

    Gwen turned to address the two immortal Druids.

    ¡°We will now do our duty, as per our Accord,¡± Primarch Vulmari said, giving her an uncanny, weary grin that looked like an automaton being taught to smile. ¡°Raithiel and I shall commune with Sanari, and we will purge your lands of the imbalance of Elemental Fire. Do you have any questions?¡±

    ¡°When should I expect the World Tree¡¯s ego to come alive?¡± Gwen did indeed have questions. ¡°The Dragon Lord said it would be soon?¡±

    ¡°Lord Tyfanevius has a tentative grasp on the mortal notion of time, I fear,¡± the Druid Lord explained. ¡°I would suggest that you contact us if and when it occurs. There will be a commotion, I assure you. The young Spirit will be inquisitive¡­ and without an understanding of boundaries.¡±

    A youthful Sufina that was without reservations and which was much, much more powerful? Gwen thought of all the Dryads they had seen on her Island. For some reason, her mind filled with visions of Hai, and the accompanying implications made her vomit a little inside her mouth. Indeed, she promised herself that Tryfan would be contacted immediately.

    ¡°Then I am in your debt,¡± she said. ¡°If there is anything you may need, please do not hesitate to ask.¡±

    ¡°We will manage, I am sure.¡± Vulmari tapped a slim foot against the trunk beneath them, conjuring a Trellis Gate. ¡°Attend to your mortal flock, Regent. They shall need your attention if they wish to thrive¡­¡±

    Shalkar.

    The outskirts.

    Lulan Li, Marshal of the Regent¡¯s Militia, felt her Heart of Iron burn and smoulder as the portal to the Elemental Plane of Fire shrunk yet again, consuming the lower half of the invading Tower.

    ¡°Strun, how many?¡± she croaked into her multichannel Message Device, her voice no longer assured and eager.

    ¡°A squadron of Shadow-kin, half-hundred Runners, and a dozen of my Exterminators,¡± the voice of her Vice-Commander possessed far less emotion than her own, ¡°They died for the Pale Priestess, Lulan. The fallen will be honoured, and their fur interred into the Great Temple under the Ancestor¡¯s Burrows.¡±

    Strun¡¯s words did not comfort Lulan but made her body feel rustier for the effort. When the Tower began to land, she and Strun had exercised a plan that was as insane as it was successful, abusing Garp and the Sympathetic Life-links enjoyed by the original refugees who had followed Gwen into the desert.

    In the aftermath, almost half of the Rat-men Elites are gone.

    One-fifth were consigned to the Tower¡¯s defences and the ensuing melee.

    And now, one-third into the swallowed Tower¡ªforever lost to the magma oceans of the Elemental Plane of Fire.

    Below her, the Dwarves fared better. The Golems the magma had swallowed had sealed their pilots into impenetrable spheres waiting for discovery and rescue. Now that they¡¯ve won, the surviving pilots would once more enjoy getting sloshed at the Bunker Bar and embrace new dangers in the future defence of the Citadel.

    The same could not be said of the Centaurs, whose herd had been reduced by almost a third.

    Garp was also reduced by half, though Lulan understood that the Worm¡¯s life was in no danger, certainly not when Gwen could provide aid through the Essence of Almudj.

    So many dead¡­ Lulan¡¯s sanity felt a little brittle for the calculations. How many were sacrificed by my hand?

    ¡°Marshal Li, we¡¯re encircling the Tower now,¡± a Message spell bloomed beside her head. ¡°Command Strun has breached the Tower¡¯s command and control spaces. They¡¯re mopping up the Undead and searching for Magi Sakharov with all due haste.¡±

    ¡°I see. Then let us complete the encirclement,¡± Lulan informed the Dwarven Captain in his four-legged siege Golem. ¡°Standby for Commander Strun¡¯s Purge of the Command Room.¡±

    While their forces drifted into place, Lulan confirmed with Richard that the city was, for all intents and purposes, safe. With the Tower now pacified, combat auditors would soon sally forth to tally their losses. As Marshal, she would be responsible for the military casualties, while Richard would calculate the civil losses to Shalkar.

    DING! A Message spell bloomed against her pale cheek.

    ¡°Richard,¡± Lulan responded at once. ¡°A new threat?¡±

    ¡°Not a threat, Lulu,¡± Richard¡¯s voice came through with a tone of unbridled joy. ¡°But hope. Look to the city¡ªit¡¯s happening, Lulu. We did it.¡±

    Lulan willed her sword-mount to change directions. Where the shimmering, mirage-like visage of Shalkar sat upon the charred ruins of a blasted landscape, she saw the slow rise of a great Banyan tree. With her mouth half-open, she joined the troops below in their delayed anticipation of ultraviolence.

    Lulan¡¯s heart felt suddenly light. Her Regent and Saviour had finally become the Mistress of a World Tree. This place, in this hostile land in the middle of two continents, would now become a promised paradise of peace and prosperity.

    With a thunderous swoop, a tired-looking Golos landed beside her, its claws hovering inches above the soot and the still-warm magma caps smothering once verdant fields. In her capacity as the Dragon¡¯s martial-niece, Lulan regarded the majestic head with its brutalist geometry and thanked the Thunder Dragon for his efforts.

    ¡°It looks like we¡¯ll be having new abodes soon,¡± the Thunder Dragon grinned, shaking itself to repel the corrosive ash that had attached its scales. ¡°Brother Ruxin will have a suite close to mine. Ha! I wonder if he regrets taking over the Nagaland mountains now.¡±

    Lulan wasn¡¯t sure if she would even have time to rest her laurels in the World Tower¡¯s VIP suites. Knowing her Regent, she suspected her work would triple as new guests flooded into Shalkar to witness the new World Wonder.

    ¡°Ah¡ªhere comes our Drake of the hour.¡± Golos huffed lightning as another figure stumbled into view, a flame-headed Mage with swept-back horns growing from his brow ridges. ¡°Brother! Join us!¡±

    Slylth Alexander Morden did just that, wedging between the giant Thunder Dragon and her floating sword.

    ¡°Let me catch my breath.¡± The scion of Magi Morden placed a hand on Golo¡¯s wing to keep himself from drifting. ¡°That took more than I thought.¡±

    ¡°What, even after they opened a portal to the Elemental Plane of Fire for you?¡± Golos chuckled. ¡°There was so much Elemental Fire to be harnessed.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a difficult spell, and I had to perform it without a Mandala!¡± the young Dragon Lord growled. ¡°I thought my brain would exit my nose!¡±

    Amazingly, the Thunder Dragon slapped his thigh at his junior¡¯s joke, striking sparks from his scales like a flint.

    ¡°Gwen owes you a big one, then,¡± Golos sniggered suggestively. ¡°You¡¯re sicker than you look. Trust me. You¡¯ll need affection and more to recover.¡±

    ¡°Perhaps¡­¡± Slylth¡¯s boastful self seemed to take notice of herself. Sheepishly, the Dragon Lord straightened his posture to acknowledge their Marshal.

    Ding!

    ¡°Marshal, the encirclement is complete.¡± A gruff voice stirred Lulan from her Dragon-induced daze. ¡°Fire Teams! Commence overwatch! If I catch you dozing, no Beer rations for a week!¡±

    Lulan refocused herself.

    The Cherbi and his Khesig guards had by now joined the Dwarves below. Their bodies were burned and battered, but their communal vitality sustained them collectively enough to remain combat-ready.

    They did not have to wait for long.

    A quarter of an hour later, something resembling a hatch blew open on the side of what remained of Yekaterinburg Tower.

    An armoured Rat-man emerged, covered from head to tail in dark gore. With a triumphant shout, the creature lifted the silhouette of a football overhead and hollered that it was an offering to the Pale Priestess.

    ¡°That¡¯s a head,¡± Slylth noted with an academic air. ¡°A little chewed but still recognisable.¡±

    ¡°Not the Magi¡¯s, surely,¡± Golos remarked. ¡°The Rats aren¡¯t that capable¡­¡±

    ¡°No¡­ looks like¡­¡± Slylth performed a few minor Divinations. ¡°It looks like a Vampire¡¯s head. Dead, though, for what it¡¯s worth.¡±

    More Rat-kin emerged from the hatch to praise the sun with their collection of heads, which they then piled into a gruesome monument in the name of their Regent.

    ¡°Commander Strun?¡± Lulan spoke into her Message Device. ¡°Is this ritual necessary?¡±

    ¡°It was not an easy fight,¡± Strun retorted. ¡°But we won, and now we gift our Pale Priestess with a great prize. The Tower.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s left of it,¡± Lulan reminded their haughty Commander, ¡°which had come at a great cost.¡±

    ¡°What matters the cost?¡± Strun himself was the last to emerge. As a Rat-kin, his Essence-infused, Dwarf-plated body towered over the others by a head. With a hiss, the sealed mask protecting his eyes came away, dripping scarlet splatters of Vampire blood as it swung by the side of his pauldron.

    ¡°Before she came¡ª¡° Strun¡¯s voice resonated with Lulan¡¯s thoughts, as though the Rat-kin was a prophet speaking the words of her heart. ¡°Before the Pale Priestess took us through the desert, we were already dead rats-walking. Our tribe would not have survived the Centaurs, much less befriended them. We should have become husks under the merciless heat of the Sea of Fire.¡±

    ¡°But now¡ª¡° Strun stood atop the smouldering Tower and its half-ruined carcass, his Rat-kins milling in prayer. ¡°We are proud, triumphant, and live in paradise! Therefore, if a hundred of our kin die, a thousand will take their place. And if ten thousand perish in her service¡­¡±

    As Strun spoke his final proclamation, Lulan felt a terrible weight fall on her shoulders. The weight of a million lives marching northward in lock-step, hollering the name of their Pale Priestess.

 Chapter 502 - Whats Yours is Mine

    Spring swept into Shalkar.

    The region¡¯s renewal was far from natural, as per the change of seasons. It was a compelled rejuvenation spurred by the will of beings beyond the comprehension of Shalkar¡¯s surviving citizens.

    Only a day ago, the autumn harvest had been in full swing, with Rats and men both, together with the aid of Combi-Golems, ploughing through endless fields of grain and canola as elsewhere, nimble fawns and mares of the Centaur tribe plucked figs and finger limes from bowers bent with fruit.

    Then, across one devastating afternoon, Shalkar¡¯s once lush and vibrant fields were mercilessly bombarded by orbs of meteoric magma, transforming the city¡¯s surroundings into a desolate simulacrum of the Elemental Plane of Fire.

    Yet twenty-four hours later, inexplicably, sheltered by the shade of a gargantuan Banyan Tree, sprouts of lush grass broke through the tortured soil, spreading so fast and vast that the city¡¯s observers could not even dry their tears before all they beheld from the city¡¯s ramparts transformed into greenery.

    For those at the zenith of the World Tree, they knew it to be the blessing of Elven Druids with many millennia of experience, borrowing vitality from an immeasurably older source to transform the homestead of their newest sapling.

    For the hopeful mortals below, they understood this miracle only as a mechanism of their Regent¡¯s promise of paradise, a new city watched over by a tree so vast that its expanse exhausted their limited comprehension of arboreal dimensions.

    And among the general chaos, Gwen Song, Regent of Shalkar, descended as a floating flower, her floral attire fluttering in the Astral Winds of distorted space swirling around Sufina¡¯s trunk. As a pillar of the Axis Mundi, the tree¡¯s presence bound the barrier between the material and immaterial. All of which were shunted into balance by its patron, a Serpent born from the Navel of the World.

    The descent was not long, but it did give Gwen time to think.

    A woman.

    A tree.

    A snake.

    The tripartite principle of the Axis Mundi wormed its way through Gwen¡¯s frontal lobe as she took in the full scope of what The Regent of Shalkar had sought to accomplish¡ªand now achieved. Unlike Tryfan, the occupational assignments of her World Tree were more vague, for Sulfina was both Tree and Woman, while she was both Snake and Lady, and Almudj was older than Dragons. Was this what Tryfan had considered? Or were her circumstances more unique?

    As she entered the middle canopy, a meek cry of ¡°Ee-ee¡ª!¡± resounded within her Astral Mind, its Empathic Link vibrating against her skull like a purring cat.

    Gwen paused her descent. The space where they now passed was rich with motes of Elemental Lightning. Such pockets, Gwen suspected, were temporary until Sufina regained her faculties, at least enough to partition the World Tree¡¯s access to the various Elemental Planes into proper faculties of Elemental Magic.

    ¡°EE-ee!¡± Her creature clawed its way from the Pocket Space of her Astral Body with a flourish. ¡°EE-EE!¡±

    Gwen couldn¡¯t resist but pull her miniature Kirin into a hearty embrace, driving her face against the fluffy, scale-pattered fur that made up its mane.

    ¡°Alright, here¡¯s your reward.¡± She materialised the Kirin Core from its pouch. Unlike the Ashen Queen¡¯s crystal, the Lightning Core was a pale yellow stone with jagged dimensions, radiating a palpable nimbus of Elemental Lightning.

    Once upon a time, the noble Kirin within would have lit up like a thundercloud and sought to strike her down for the insolence of observing its secrets. However, the prideful creature was long eroded by its years of imprisonment as a Draconic keepsake. In its present form, the Core was a mere memento of the continental conflicts fought by mystic creatures.

    Her Familiar set the surrounding mana ablaze, growing its body until it stood heads and shoulders above Gwen. Ariel unhinged its jaws and swallowed the Core wholesale in a serpentine likeness, forcing the crystal into its furnace-like gullet.

    ¡°Such a greedy gut!¡± Gwen exclaimed while massaging the Kirin¡¯s furry jowl. ¡°You¡¯re not going to get indigestion, I hope.¡±

    Her Familiar did not remark further but lay down on the trunk like a cat at midday. In her mouth, she tasted the coppery energies circulating through Ariel, communicating its fatigue and a desire to sleep.

    ¡°Ee-ee¡­¡± her creature purred, coiling around itself with its fan-like tail.

    ¡°Very well, then,¡± she leaned in and kissed her furry monster on the forehead. ¡°I¡¯ll see you once you¡¯re done, bud.¡± She wasn¡¯t sure how long Ariel¡¯s evolution would take, but it was just as well. Her next stop was with Lei-bup¡¯s folk, and electrical creatures had limited viability in the underwater realm.

    Within her Astral Body, the imposing shadow of Caliban stirred.

    ¡°You want to guard your friend?¡± She answered her Familiar. ¡°But this isn¡¯t a good place for you, Cali. You don¡¯t agree with the Lightning.¡±

    A faint protest of Shaa-Shaa¡ª echoed through her mind, gradually growing silent until it was once more dormant.

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, you¡¯ll see Ariel soon,¡± Gwen promised her slithering partner. Leaving her Kirin to mature, she stepped from the bower to resume her descent. With her Divination senses from training in Lightning and Force-based magic, she could perceive the germination of small Pocket Spaces where her World Tree tethered the Prime Material, evidence of why Tryfan had been an amalgamation of worlds within worlds.

    The maturation of these ¡°spatial¡± pockets, Gwen sensed, would take weeks and years¡ªgiving her a gradual release of real estate for the Mageocracy¡¯s elites. What was additionally interesting to her was the lack of uniformity in the tree¡¯s spatial fruits¡ªwith some as generous oval Planes and others as a string of spaces, like pods from a plantain bud. From what Sanari had said, there was even the possibility of the World Tree picking up fragments of drifting Pocket Dimensions from the Far Realms¡ªcreating the unusual prospect of ¡°Dungeons¡± for the tree¡¯s inhabitants.

    But that would be a concern for another time.

    Now, she must meet the men and women who had kept her city intact and offer them her most sincere thanks.

    Without a Tower, Shalkar did not possess the means to teleport its select members to their desired destination.

    Therefore, like a peasant, the Regent of Shalkar had to translocate herself in the general direction of the fallen Yekaterinburg until she came within view of the carnage that had reset her city.

    Immediately, a travesty came into view.

    ¡°Garp! Oh my god¡ªyou poor thing¡­¡± Gwen felt her heart rend in two as the unmistakable body of Garp, her Afaa Al-Halak, enormous as a sand hill, lay writhing in the rapidly regrowing landscape. In its critically injured state, her Worm was surrounded by well-meaning members of Strun¡¯s crew who serviced the divine beast, all covered in soot, blood and wormy excretions, prying off parts of burnt flesh so that new scales could grow.

    As she landed, the hundreds of Rat-kin around the worm fell to their knees in fervent prayer, with a brave few skulking forth to kiss the hems of her floral-scented dress.

    Gwen dismissed them, not wishing to be stern to her citizens, and directly proceeded to the part of Garp attempting to regrow the better part of a head.

    ¡°I am so sorry, buddy¡­¡± Gwen did not mind the gory gloop soaking the sleeves of her priceless Elven dress as she attempted to transfer renewing vitality into the worm. Curiously, when she tapped into the wellspring of her being¡ªshe found not only the swirling energies of Almudj, which felt like a hot summer¡¯s day in the Outback, but something new and unexpected.

    Another source of vitality had engendered, a golden presence as intimately known to her as her closest memories of Henry.

    ¡°Sufi¡ª?¡± She couldn¡¯t help but pronounce the sentiment out of reflex. She knew the golden presence, for it possessed the warmth and scent of honeyed mead tied to an elixir she had drank daily while training.

    She called to it, but no voice, thought, or sentiment answered. Yet, the vital forces willingly rushed through her conduits into the Soul-Linked connection that tethered the Sand Worm to herself.

    It was a drop¡ªbarely a notable plink in the scope of what Garp required to heal itself, but it was there, and it had opened Gwen¡¯s mind to a new understanding of her position as the Priestess of the World Tree.

    Such was the boon for one who sat at the branches of the Axis Mundi, a privilege which placed the Bloom in White above even her ageless brethren.

    For a minute and more, Gwen stood shaken, impressed and horrified by the prospect of her new evolutionary existence. In a manner that, perhaps, only the likes of Sythinthimryr, Slylth and Golos could comprehend, she understood that her lifespan now existed outside of mortal frameworks. of time.

    She was tied to the World Tree.

    The World Tree was tied to the Prime Material.

    Both ran parallel to the paradigm of the great river of time, forwardly flowing into the future, knowing no extinction until the world itself extinguished.

    Gwen felt her world turn head to heel.

    She felt the rotation of the planet¡ªthough only figuratively.

    Then she was back in her body¡ªa body that was still arguably mortal against the usual maladies of injury and harm.

    ¡°Pale Priestess¡ª!¡±

    ¡°Great Goddess¡ª!¡±

    ¡°Priestess of the Pale Flower!¡±

    The worshipful Rat-kins¡¯ muttering murmurs made her skin crawl¡ªsuddenly, their expressions were no longer ridiculous enough to be passed off as jovial.

    Besides her, the oozing body of Garp shuddered.

    Gwen dodged as the worm rolled, uprooting the new plants to expose the glassy sand below. With each vibration, the worm sank, half-submerging itself to draw mana from the golden grains hidden beneath the surface''s devastation. The Rat-kin also scattered in every direction, for the frequency in which the Sandworm vibrated could easily tear apart anything stubbornly clinging to its overlapping micro-scales.

    Wincing, Gwen welcomed the painful abrasion on her arms, where her swollen flesh visibly mended, and the dress regrew its torn fibres.

    The Rat-kin whispered furiously among themselves.

    Feeling burdened, she materialised a cache of SPAM as a reward for the Rat-kin, then lifted herself back into the air.

    A fair distance away, perhaps watching her performance, the fallen Tower still smouldered while the thumbnail-sized silhouettes in the air indicated the whereabouts of her Officer Corp.

    Not wanting to force her allies to move to greet her, she Dimension Doored the last few kilometres to appear at eye-level in the spot where they discussed how to proceed with Shalkar¡¯s latest acquisition.

    ¡°Regent¡ª¡° The men, women and Dragons gathered above the half-sunk carcass bowed their heads, some more genuinely than others.

    Gwen scanned the crew she had brought into the desert to build her shining city on the hill.

    The most notable individual was Richard, who was spotless in his blue-grey uniform designed for Shalkar¡¯s militia. Richard wore his quiet smile like a mask, though she could sense the energies of excitement and expectation radiation from her cousin like Gunther¡¯s aura.

    Compared to Richard, the palpable pride of Golos, her long-time companion since Nagaland, could barely be hidden. With his feathers fluffed and blue-white arcs of electricity sparking off his wing tips, the dusty Thunder Dragon looked worse for wear but also more puffed than a peacock.

    Hovering behind her family members was their Marshal''s guilty, downcast body, unable to meet her eyes because of the misunderstood expectation of perfection. Gwen wanted to reach out and pull her friend into a long, comforting hug¡ªbut now wasn¡¯t the time, for she had another partner to greet, one whose contribution was undeniable.

    ¡°Slylth.¡± Gwen drifted closer, her heart hot with gooey gladness.

    ¡°Gwen.¡± The Red Dragon stood proud, as he should.

    Watching the Dragon¡¯s polymorphed face, she felt an impulse driven by thankfulness and happiness.

    In front of her was a young Dragon who had saved her investment, friends, and family.

    And undeniably, prevented a million of her citizens from being homeless in a desert.

    Thinking of her savings, Gwen¡¯s chest swelled with a strange exultation. Though Slylth Alexander Morden extended a hand to be shaken, she pulled the young man close, wrapped her arm around his broad shoulders, and brought his frozen face beside hers.

    If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    Then, in an act she herself had not premeditated, she kissed the Red Dragon, planting her petal lips squarely on the man¡¯s dry and dusty mouth before delivering a comparatively forgettable ¡°Thank You.¡±

    When finally the pair parted, Gwen felt suddenly flushed and hot, a fact reflected by the pink tinge that had snuck onto the floral blooms of her dress.

    As for the Red Dragon, Slylth Alexander Morden fell six inches before his magic caught himself.

    ¡°Wow,¡± Richard remarked with a whistle. ¡°That¡¯s never happened before¡­¡±

    Lulan looked thunderstruck, as did Golos.

    ¡°Well.¡± Gwen collected herself. ¡°It¡¯s not every day that someone lands a Meteor on a Tower and saves a city¡­ leaving us with half a Tower¡­¡±

    Seeing as no one answered her, the foursome waited while the Red Dragon thawed.

    ¡°Umm¡­¡± Slylth mumbled something under his breath. ¡°Gwen, did you meet my mother?¡±

    ¡°I did.¡± Gwen thought of the regal shape sitting in her Sky Garden. ¡°She¡¯s very nice.¡±

    ¡°She is?¡± The juvenile Red Dragon was doing his best not to turn completely red. ¡°I¡­ er¡­ I¡¯ll go see her now.¡±

    ¡°Sure.¡± Gwen embraced the mirthful vision of her flustered junior Magi Morden. ¡°We¡¯ll be here when you return.¡±

    Red Dragons were not known for their speed, so their companion was gone only after a length invocation sequence for Teleport, which Slylth fumbled twice.

    ¡°Well, that was cute.¡± Richard redirected her attention downward. ¡°Perhaps now, you could address your Paladins?¡±

    Gwen scoffed at her cousin¡¯s hyperbole but was again reminded of what she had learned only moments prior. Indeed, below them and waiting patiently were the armoured bodies of her Rat-kin Exterminators, the ¡°Honour Guard¡± which Strun had assembled in the likeness of the Khan¡¯s Khesig.

    She descended again, more conscious now of her floral divinity. Originally, the showmanship was designed to impress her audience of peers and the Press of the Mageocracy¡¯s various outlets. In her present state, the living dress and its winking blossoms seemed very much on the nose, delivering a likeness she had not intended.

    On the upward portion of the fallen tower, the surviving dozens of her Exterminators presented her with a mound of Undead trophies in the form of a skull pyramid a dozen stacks deep.

    ¡°My Regent¡ª!¡± Strun knelt on one knee. ¡°We have captured the Tower. As we speak, our Shadow-kins are Purging its internals of Undead filth.¡±

    ¡°BLOOD FOR THE PALE PRIESTESS!¡± The voices called out as one.

    ¡°Thank you, Strun, everyone,¡± she bid the rest to stand. ¡°You have made me happy and proud, though I mourn those lost in the fray. Rest assured, my Rat-kin, your sacrifices will be remembered by all, not just me, but by the city and every generation thereafter.¡±

    ¡°Your words are too kind,¡± Strun stood after Gwen reinforced her will with a stern glare. ¡°This is our willing service, Pale¡­ Regent.¡±

    Gwen sighed. ¡°It¡¯s alright, Strun. I know what you mean.¡±

    The rest of the rats stood, their expressions impossible to read beneath the geometric plates of their sealed visor. Standing beside their gory edifice, it was only now that Gwen noted just how monstrously intimidating her Exterminators appeared.

    ¡°Mistress, we will require aid from the Bunker, particularly Sir Slylth and Magus Kuznetsova.¡± The Rat-kin fell into step beside her as Gwen walked around the armoured rats, examining their injuries while also taking in the gravity of the surreal reality that she had captured the larger half of a Tower. ¡°There are many areas sealed by complex Mandalas in Pocket Spaces. We cannot brute-force the defensive wards for fear of destroying their storage.¡±

    Gwen was more surprised that the destroyed Tower had so many redundancy systems. If so, Strung¡¯s concern was good news. Very good news.

    ¡°Fret not, Strun,¡± she reached out and patted the Rat-kin¡¯s flickering ears. ¡°Come home now, and I shall show you the World Tree. You and your kin who are Soul-touched shall be its Guardians.¡±

    DING! Before her ¡°Paladin¡± could respond, an urgent Message turned her pale florets a bright crimson. Even as a goddess, there were limitations to the downtime her Divination Tower was willing to dispense before enquiries flooded in.

    ¡°Regent,¡± the voice of a senior aide came through the vox Glyph. ¡°Lord Gunther¡¯s party has returned to the Bunker. They¡¯re seeking an audience with yourself and the Duke of Norfolk.¡±

    Oof. Gwen felt the weight of their presence like an Atlas Stone. With an audience like that, some heavy-handed decisions would soon land in her lap.

    ¡°Very well,¡± she returned the Message. ¡°Inform milords that I shall be with them shortly.¡±

    ¡°Yes. Regent!¡± The affirmation came, and the spell winked out.

    Gwen studied her companions, realising with dismay that the only one capable of Teleport had already escaped.

    ¡°Once you get that thing up and running.¡± Richard cheekily struck a thumb toward the smouldering monolith below. ¡°You can Teleport all you want anywhere around town.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s the plan,¡± Gwen strongly affirmed Richard¡¯s projections of Shalkar¡¯s next HDM-burning project. Unlike the Tree, this would not be a profitable venture for some time, but it was a necessary next step to ensure that a similar assault never occurred again.

    Shalkar.

    The Bunker.

    Though she would have preferred to shed her stage makeup, the Regent valued the Tower Master and Duke''s time more than the embarrassment of wearing a floral frock to a wartime meeting.

    However, once reunited with her siblings, all thoughts of vanity vanished, and she found herself embraced in the fierce clasp of Yue and Alesia¡¯s arms.

    ¡°Thank you all so much,¡± Gwen felt her role as Regent diminished by her role as a member of their extended family. ¡°I don¡¯t even know where to begin¡­¡±

    ¡°We didn¡¯t do much. I am serious.¡± Gunther laughed. The Tower Master instinctively moved to give her a brotherly pat between her shoulder blades. ¡°Besides, I came here precisely to give you a hand. If there¡¯s someone you truly owe your thanks, it¡¯s the Duke.¡±

    Gwen parted from the women, straightened her dress, then bowed her head at the gaunt, severe figure of the Duke of Norfolk and her smiling daughter, Charlene Ravenport.

    ¡°If Lord Gunther says it, I will not deny it,¡± Mycroft Ravenport¡¯s acute arrogance felt softer in the presence of her Brother-in-craft¡¯s subduing radiance. ¡°After all, I was merely a guest here. I have no obligations to help our Regent¡¯s autonomous region, but I decided against inaction regardless.¡±

    ¡°Father!¡± Charlene appeared scandalised. ¡°That¡¯s not what we discussed!¡±

    ¡°But it¡¯s true.¡± The old Duke, whose nose gave him a hawk-like visage, chuckled at Gwen¡¯s expense. ¡°Do you deny it, Regent?¡±

    ¡°I am very glad you chose to spare a smidgen of your limitless power.¡± Gwen bowed again, this time with a mocking curtsy. ¡°Let us not consider that the Norfolk Fund has somewhere north of thirty million HDMs worth of stock held in the IoDNC¡¯s Shalkar investments or that Charlene is a Senior Director of Operations for the city. That would just be ungrateful.¡±

    ¡°It would be.¡± Mycroft¡¯s expression did not change. The Duke, Gwen garnered, possessed skin as thick as Burke¡¯s Peerage. ¡°Charlene manages the fund. My hands are clean of the matter.¡±

    As if to punctuate the fact, the Duke drew a faint gesture in the air.

    A second later, a spectral Raven materialised from the aether to land on his shoulder.

    A thin Duke with an obsidian Raven, wearing all blacks. Gwen drank in the aesthetic of House Ravenport. How Edgar Allen Poe.

    ¡°A little bird told me,¡± the Duke said, his grey eyes twinkling. ¡°You¡¯ve given the Dragons an abode atop your new World Tree.¡±

    Gwen glared at the Raven.

    With a ¡°Caw¡ª!¡± the bird flew from the Duke to land on her bare shoulders, its claws scribbling for grip as they dug into her collarbone. ¡°Caw¡ªcaw¡ª!¡±

    Reading the bird as she had often done in London, Gwen synthesised a dose of her new Essence.

    ¡°CAW¡ªCAW¡ª!¡± The Raven sipped in ecstasy, then began to furiously rub its head against the side of her cheek in a sycophantic display.

    ¡°Mori, return,¡± the Duke barked, clearly entered by the excessive avian affection.

    ¡°Caw¡ª!¡± The Raven protested, then took off into the distance of the Bunker¡¯s spacious atrium.

    ¡°Oh dear¡­¡± Charlene gave Gwen a troubled look. ¡°Oh¡­ dear¡­¡±

    The Duke coughed to compose himself. ¡°Regent, as I was saying. The Dragons have their abodes at the top of the World Tree, do they not?¡±

    ¡°Their children do.¡± Gwen decided to trouble the Duke no further. So far, Golos, Ruxin, and Slylth have all confirmed to occupy the upper canopy. ¡°The Frost Wyrm has no children or emissaries, but we can speak to them through Tryfan. As for our Elven friends, I think Sanari is the best we¡¯ll manage.¡±

    ¡°Then, in our capacity as the Lord Marshal of her Majesty¡¯s Men at Arms, I would like to request an adjacent¡­ space,¡± Mycroft cut straight to the chase, perhaps so that he could chase down his bird after. ¡°What say you, Regent? It will be a branch office of the Department of Foreign Affairs, a liaison office, especially in service to our close allies in Tryfan and with the Red Queen.¡±

    ¡°I am not a hundred per cent sure how the canopy¡¯s pocket spaces will mature, but I think we can spare that,¡± Gwen said. She saw no reason to refuse the Duke. In the future, she would also need to deal with the Mageocracy at home, and a branch office made negotiations easier to transmute than pulling strings back in London. ¡°Consider it done as payment for your recent magnanimity.¡±

    Mycroft tapped his daughter¡¯s shoulder with his stave¡¯s pommel. ¡°Do you see this shamelessness, Charlene? That¡¯s what you need and lack right now.¡±

    ¡°Hey!¡± Yue protested up instantly. ¡°That¡¯s our Regent!¡±

    ¡°Oi!¡± Alesia also spoke up in her defence.

    Quickly, Gunther redirected his wife and her Apprentice elsewhere so that Gwen could close her deal and call it a day.

    ¡°Ah, the liberty of the Frontiers¡­¡± The Duke sighed. ¡°Onto our next matter. Lord Shultz, may I request your presence as well?¡±

    Gunther returned to the circle. ¡°I am here.¡±

    ¡°Good.¡± Mycroft gestured for Gwen to come closer before weaving some form of aural shelter into place. ¡°Regent, you now possess the better half of a Tower. Yekaterinburg isn¡¯t the latest, but its Magi has maintained it like an only child. My question is, do you intend to keep it?¡±

    ¡°I do,¡± Gwen answered. ¡°We¡¯ll salvage what we can of its inventory. Most importantly, we need to use the superstructure. I intend to repair that and pair it with my¡­ systems.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s a good cost-saving measure,¡± Gunther nodded sagely, likely considering the cost of re-constructing Sydney¡¯s Tower. ¡°You¡¯re missing a Core, though. I shot the old one, remember? It''s irreparable. A Tower the size of Yekaterinburg will need a significant Core as a replacement.¡±

    ¡°I know. But you never know if one may fall into my lap.¡± Gwen winked at the two older men. ¡°Do we have any particular requirements?¡±

    ¡°Size and density matters the most,¡± Gunther informed her. ¡°Element-wise, Prime Elements are what you need, as they¡¯re the most plentiful when drawn from the ley.¡±

    ¡°But that¡¯s not why we want to speak to you,¡± Ravenport interrupted their sibling¡¯s banter. ¡°Lord Shultz, shall I inform her or yourself?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re the better-equipped advisor by far,¡± Gunther conceded his position to the Duke.

    ¡°Regent,¡± Mycroft did not deny it. ¡°I know you¡¯re keen on the Tower, but it does come with many caveats. Are you aware of them?¡±

    ¡°Cost, damage, repair and certification?¡± Gwen answered with all she knew. ¡°And politics, once we throw our weight around¡­¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s correct and naive, but no,¡± Mycroft¡¯s grey eyes were like steel. ¡°Who do you think this carcass of a Tower belongs to?¡±

    ¡°Me?¡± Gwen answered. ¡°It¡¯s my spoil¡­¡±

    ¡°You¡¯d think so,¡± Mycroft snorted. ¡°Some might say it belongs to Yekaterinburg.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s absurd,¡± Gwen spat. ¡°Yekaterinburg isn¡¯t even a state! The Urals isn¡¯t even a Frontier anymore.¡±

    ¡°Says who?¡± Mycroft chuckled. ¡°Moscow? They never made a statement.¡±

    ¡°It was driven by a rogue Magi into my land! My protectorate!¡± Gwen felt incredulous. ¡°So, I can invade a foreign country with an armada and then demand that they return my property when my fleet is sunk?! Not to mention, this isn¡¯t even Moscow¡¯s ship!¡±

    ¡°I know that,¡± Mycroft said. ¡°Lord Shultz knows that. But¡­¡±

    Gwen growled. She gets it. She understood.

    Ravenport inferred that common sense did not apply when so many HDMs were at stake.

    ¡°What do you suggest?¡± She asked.

    ¡°My take.¡± Gunther¡¯s radiant attitude was always comforting. ¡°Is that you dig that Tower out and start using it as you will. Do they want it back? Sure¡­ send another Tower, and call me when they do. You could probably use one for defence, one for offence¡­¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d like that,¡± Gwen said, hooking an arm around Gunther¡¯s bulging biceps. I like that a lot.¡±

    Opposite, Mycroft¡¯s eyebrows twitched. ¡°Please, Lord Shultz. I would like a full night¡¯s sleep for the foreseeable future. This is a conflict of interest. Let¡¯s not make it into the opening of another continental conflict.¡±

    ¡°Mycroft, the rules of spoils aren¡¯t international law¡­¡± Gunther said to the Duke. But they are the law of the land¡­ the one constant in the Frontier. Without them, there¡¯ll be bureaucratic anarchy.¡±

    Ravenport kneaded his brows, clearly not looking forward to his future. ¡°You are certain that you will keep Yekaterinburg Tower, then?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s already mine,¡± Gwen felt her possessive instincts stir like Draconic Essence. ¡°Let¡¯s make that clear with a press conference.¡±

    ¡°I also don¡¯t think we should relent on this opportunity, Father,¡± Charlene assured her patron. A Tower will allow us to expand and not just defend. With Gwen¡¯s connection to the Dwarves, I am sure this won¡¯t be anything that Mageocracy can currently field. The threats of Undead to the northeast and Beast Tides from the southwest¡­¡±

    The Duke stood unconvinced but was helpless.

    ¡°The Foreign Office will keep you forewarned,¡± Mycroft nodded imperceptibly. ¡°We will leave Mori here with Charlene, as discussed, to oversee aspects of Shalkar¡¯s development. The office will notify you of developments with our eastern neighbours through the Ravens. Remember, Regent, a Branch Office¡­ next to Tryfan and our Draconic friends.¡±

    ¡°Your sister, Yue and I all need to return to Sydney. But, I will keep a few feelers out as well,¡± Gunther assured her. ¡°This is a good thing you¡¯ve created here, sister. If that kleptocracy wants to try something¡­¡±

    Gunther¡¯s radiance, Gwen noted, could feel very sharp as well.

    ¡°Then it is settled!¡± the Regent of Shalkar extended both hands in invitation. ¡°Now, who wants to take a long, relaxing stroll¡­ through my World Tree?

    Shalkar.

    The general health of the landscape was restored, but that didn¡¯t mean Shalkar was spared from attrition. With the autumn harvest utterly erased, the city shifted into a spontaneous outburst of reconstruction, demonstrating to the remaining visitors the depth of its tenacity. Many guests who had originally arrived to witness a once-in-a-lifetime spectacle also remained, now keenly interested in the underside of Shalkar, the Dwarven Citadel, and its negotiable offerings of Magi-tech.

    In the newly converted arena, an impromptu convention took place. Nobles, industrialists, corporatists and more gathered in the World Tree Consortium¡¯s unfinished space, heedless of its lack of furnishing to inspect its wondrous offerings of personal magical items and military defence solutions. Having received their blessings from both the Regent of Shalkar and the Deepdowners of Bavaria, Forge Master Axehoff sat on a virtual mountain of promised HDMs and precious metals from Mithril to Orichalcum as Human nations made eager bids for Golems and components created in Shalkar¡¯s thundering giga-forge.

    In the fields, Rat-men and Centaurs alike broke the new ground, parting its lush growth of dew-laden grass to create enormous bales of preserved stock-feed. Besides the labourers, construction Golems excavated the collapsed barns and sheds while slow-roving Fabricator Engines re-laid the devastated roads that once formed the city¡¯s transit artery.

    Outside the general bustle, another region of Shalkar now housed the busiest district apart from the Bunker itself.

    The new area was called The DOCK.

    Of course, even after a localised cataclysm, Shalkar possessed no body of water other than the spotty oasis. The cheeky moniker was because the Dwarves had excavated the entirety of the space underneath the fallen Tower and were now cannibalising its components.

    In the latest drafts drawn by master artisans from both Cambridge and the Dwarven Kjangtoth of Vethr Hjodlik and even a rare Master Engineseer arrived from Umgor ¨¨ron Var¨¨kan, the Citadel of Enlightenment; the Tower was to be reforged into a dagger-like, horizontal shape, mimicking an inverted naval vessel.

    Unlike a traditional Tower, whose design was pre-ordained by Henry Kilroy¡¯s time at the stave-shaped Greyhawk Citadel in Suilven, many of the new Tower¡¯s designs were framed around its multi-racial crew.

    Teleportation Circles, while perfect for translocating lifeless matter, had quirks when transporting living beings. When the subjects then graduated from the biomechanics of life to the intricacies of complex Magi-tech, the equilibriums of distance and energy took a hammer to the face. By the Master Engineseer¡¯s calculations, if Shalkar wished to field the Dwarven Golems via Teleportation, the application of Runic Spellcraft must reach a new stratum of integration. Hence, mechanical means of mass deployment were designed, with yet-affirmed solutions ranging from siege pods to separable bulkheads that unpacked into fortified bases.

    Likewise, the trench works catering for the horizontal design offered greater ergonomics for her Demi-human crewmen. In her Tower, the Rat-kin and an extensive warren of pocket spaces throughout the lower decks would form the bulk of her ¡°naval¡± militia. For these troops, Strun had suggested that their Regent perform the same Rite of Blessing as she had imposed upon her earliest supplicants, for these families would live and die in the bowels of the Tower, exercising unquestionable loyalty to the Pale Priestess.

    With every progression now tied to the tyranny of time, Gwen could only wait for her tree to settle and for Slylth¡¯s mother to come and go, even as elsewhere, a marketing campaign was sending the IoDNC¡¯s stocks to the moon.

    What remained, and what she must now perform, was her promise with her High Priest of the Door and the Key.

 Chapter 503 - The Parable of Aristotle

    The Yellow Sea.

    South of Dalian Fortress City.

    Lei-bup, the tentacled High Priest of the Door and the Key, appraised the Mer-woman before him, his triple chin raised in arrogance against the blasphemy dripping from her pearlescent lips.

    It was now the fifth moon cycle since the Priestess of Pale Flesh had left to organise her terrestrial affairs. Lei-bup, as his mistress¡¯ most faithful, had organised everything necessary to enable an incursion into the domain of the Fifth Vel.

    Before his mistress had arrived, however, an envoy had come, a haughty creature speaking for the princess of the First Vel, Sarkonnian, daughter of the world-enveloping Manta, a being Lei-bup imagined to be a deified sheet of dumpling dough inferior to the Shoggoth.

    ¡°¡­ We would, therefore, more than welcome your Shoal into the ebb and flow of the Fifth Vel under the sheltered protection of the True Daughter, the worshipful Sarkonnian.¡±

    Lei-bup might have been impressed if he had been a kelp farmer or a citizen of some coastal Shoal.

    Unfortunately for the envoy, he was not.

    The Deep Mother that had arrived with a retinue of Dragon-horse Riders was undeniably an impressive specimen. From shoulder to tail, the female fish was almost as wide as Lei-bup himself, indicative of her sacred Manta bloodline. She was also dressed from head to tail in the loot of her tribe, ranging from pearlescent shards of ageless shells making up her armour to the strings of pearls and Cores that barely covered her attractive girth. When she spoke, it was in the vernacular of Deep-Mer, a language so ancient that Lei-bup and his advisors barely understood half of what the Mer-Mother sought to infer.

    But the general gist, the High Priest understood.

    Come to the Fifth Vel.

    Submit to Sarkonnian.

    Prosper.

    Refuse? They haven¡¯t gotten to that portion of the treaties yet. Thus far, the Deep Mother doesn¡¯t seem to comprehend that refusal was possible.

    Her oversight was an arrogance that a commoner-turned-leader like Lei-bup found incredible. In the Elemental Plane of Water, bloodlines, and therefore power, were so dominantly entrenched by the passage of time that a Human perception of politics barely applied. When two Elder Lords vied for territory, they would send their minions until one side was exhausted. Conveniently, younger siblings would perish, rivals would die at one another¡¯s hands, and the great hegemony of blood could continue like the currents of the Plane of Water. Furthermore, the losers were spared space for their remaining followers, and the victor won both loot and lovely vacancies.

    While Lei-bup allowed the Mer-woman to drone, a Shrimp-squire jetted into the room and wagged an oily appendage that had replaced one of his foreclaws.

    To Lei-bup, no words were needed to communicate further, for he read the fervency of the young Mer like runes on an etched turtle shell.

    He coughed wetly, interrupting the Deep Mother.

    ¡°We have heard enough, Lady Sarrissa,¡± Lei-bup raised a hand and half-a-dozen tentacles. ¡°We shall give Princess Sarkonnian a suitable answer. Though I must deliberate with the council, you may be assured of our impending arrival.¡±

    The Sea Witch wobbled at Lei-bup¡¯s polite rebuttal, displeased and visibly disgusted by his Goddess-blessed appendages. The infamy of their Shoal in the surrounding waterscape was a resounding one, for if Sarkonnian did not fear the unknown, she would have sent an army rather than an envoy.¡°Then we shall take our leave. Do take care, Lord of the Shoal. Princess Sarkonnian¡¯s patience is long, but unlike her appetite, it has limits."

    Lei-bup watched the woman go, then rose from his seat with the assistance of his twin Mermaids.

    ¡°Open a path for Lady Sarrissa to return to her troops. Take us up, and make sure we¡¯re shielded from their eyes,¡± he informed the appendages and flippers watching in the dark. ¡°Tell the Feelers to steer Aristotle toward the surface. We¡¯ll dock and take stock while receiving the Pale Priestess.¡±

    The lurking eyes violently wiggled, then swam away as Lei-bup¡¯s heart filled with terrible exaltation.

    Subordination to the Vel? The High Priest of the Shoggoth could almost laugh. Their sacred leader has returned; soon, even a Vel will become SPAM for the Great Shoal.

    High in the air, the Pale Priestess felt ready.

    Knowing her past ventures and adventures, even her Omni-orb spun with uncertainty. Even so, Gwen¡¯s confidence remained. After all, she now possessed not only Almudj¡¯s blessed constitution, but she could also tap into the growing strength of Sufina¡¯s World Tree.

    It was a phenomenon that, in hindsight, puzzled members of her management team. After all, where Henry was conjoined in Spirit and body with Sufina, Gwen herself was not. In addition, though she held a special relationship with the Rainbow Serpent, she was a Vessel, but not in any way the Dragons could figure. Her proposal, therefore, inferred that Almudj shared its bond with Sufina through the World Tree; thereby, the union of Tree and Snake was founded in her, the Woman.

    Her scholarly colleagues, Slylth and Ollie, disagreed. They believed she had replaced Almudj, as per Tyfanevius, with his Tryfan. At the same time, Sufina was Tree, and the role of the Bloom was more so Sufina than herself¡ªelse Gwen should have been bound to the tree, as opposed to galavanting across the globe.

    It was all too confusing, with even Sanari apologising for her lack of insight. Meanwhile, the two master Druids in Gwen''s employ merely rejuvenated Shalkar and fled to their domains, leaving the Regent growling for clarification.

    When Gwen finally caught Sythinthimryr in the final days of her child visitation, the goddess informed her that she was an unorthodox existence and that the norms that governed the primordial age of Elves, Trees and Dragons weren¡¯t modern blueprints. The Red Dragon further intimated that Gwen¡¯s inexplicable uniqueness was key to the leeway she enjoyed, for nothing else quite so successfully relieved the monotony of time for the Axis Mundi¡¯s old guardians.

    At any rate, Gwen felt confident, for her control over the consumptive qualities of the Void had increased by many folds. That said, she highly doubted that the vital energies of a World Tree should be consumed for something as frivolous as fuel.

    Instead, her true confidence came from her newly attained expertise in Spellcraft.

    Thanks to Slylth, her education in Morden¡¯s Blade was sufficiently certified.

    She could also pre-cast the supplementary Crown of Thorns.

    And most importantly, Sythinthimryr had sent for Suilven to gift her with solutions to streamlining Essence Tap and Sympathetic Life-link, which they obeyed.

    The solution to her Necromancy combo was inspired by the Centaur¡¯s ??pter Shaman magics. Through a basis in Faith Magic, Henry¡¯s old Necromancy had been compressed into a Ritual which her followers could enact upon themselves. There were stringent conditions, of course, caveats so Necromantic that even the most liberal Arcanist would turn a shade paler, but all understood the necessity of her underwater penetration into the unfathomed.

    Gwen baptised the new spell with an uncreative name, Sympathetic Essence, lest her utilitarianism turned infamous to haunt future generations with a moniker like Morden¡¯s Blackened Blade of Disaster. After all, by her realisation, she may very well be alive centuries later to pick the bitter fruit of her careless actions.

    As insurance, the Ritual required both Essence and body fluids from herself to make the tattoo pigments for the Mandala. Thankfully, the original material component of the Caster¡¯s Heart Blood had been replaced by regular blood and Golden Mead, furthermore secretly compounded with precious ingredients from Tryfan and the Dragons.

    Like the Centaur¡¯s blood magic and akin to her success with Strun and the Rat-kin, she would construct a web of metaphysical conduits tethered to an enormous source of vitality used to feed her minions and vice versa. The source, Gwen noted before she had even arrived at the South China Sea, would be the young Leviathan Lei-bup rescued and raised. In battle, Caliban would act as an intermediate transformer to regulate the flow of life between her minions, and aid the Shoggoth in identifying friend from foe.

    Her new spell was why the Mageocracy shared Gwen¡¯s confidence and had signed for her a blank check to operate as she pleased, a decision lubricated by her gallery of Elves and Dragons.

    Therefore, Gwen was rightfully and proudly confident, for her new arsenal was the convergence of many boons and crises, carried forward by the momentum of need.

    Besides her, the Omni Orb hovered, arriving as a Wizard would, precisely where and when.

    Below, the bean-green sea churned until a mass of kelp broke the surface like Moses parting the Red Sea, greeting her with countless tentacles and tendrils. Gwen waved back at the feelers with their enormous eyes. This creature, whatever its grade of intelligence, would soon be her underwater Garp, and for this, she felt both guilty and expectant.

    The flotation sequence took a dozen minutes for the water to sufficiently drain so the Leviathan¡¯s carapace could open and expel Lei-bup and his entourage.

    ¡°Great Priestess of Pale Flesh!¡± As always, Lei-bup was hyperbolic in his performative greeting. ¡°We welcome you home to your humble abode.¡±

    Perhaps because of Shalkar and its worshipful Rat-kin, Gwen felt caught in a blustering breeze. Though the cause could have been the overwhelming scent of brine and fish, she felt acutely a ripple of psychic energy crashing against her Astral Body as the news of her arrival soaked through the Leviathan¡¯s catacomb body.

    It was Faith, as Elvia might have put it. A resource that, if she chose to harness in earnest, would cause Ravenport¡¯s Department of Foreign Affairs to combust into blue flames spontaneously.

    The entry was as surreal as always, with the passageways being calcified organs moulded by the resident Sea Witches, then adorned with luminescent corals and anemones to create patterns of light that resembled the interior of a bio-organic spaceship. In the sea, the living ¡°Tower¡± of the Mer-people was much more advanced and practical than the artificial, mana-burning Mage Towers of the Mageocracy. Though incapable of magics, a well-groomed Leviathan provided food, housing, shelter and locomotion all in one and was arguably infinitely sustainable so long as its denizens did not overpopulate.

    The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    At the end of the passage, Lei-bup apologised that there would be no more ¡°air¡± for their most esteemed leader.

    Gwen motioned for the transition to take place.

    For this unavoidable circumstance, Gwen had asked Cambridge for the best solution their Enchanters could muster, for her usual Dwarven Artificers were notorious for near-drowning in several inches of water, all despite having the means to peddled to perfect safety in multi-storey brew tanks.

    The solution was gruesome, involving the Core of an ancient Sea Witch. With the pendant placed between her collarbones and attuned to her Astral Body, she gained the metaphysical qualities of its previous owner, such as the means to breathe in water, will herself through the liquid, and speak to semi-intelligent sea creatures. The experiment was deemed a failure for Cambridge¡¯s Enchanters, for the passive requirements made a regular Mage pant for VMI. For Gwen, whose mana pool was Olympic, the portion it consumed was barely notable.

    Slowly, the seeping water rose around them until Gwen was forced to take her first breath.

    When she did, she was surprised to find that she continued to breathe air.

    The Witch Core did not transmute her into a fish but instead created a circulating, hydrophobic current of air and water that allowed her to fly through the liquid at will. The design made much more sense than she had initially supposed from reading the instructions¡ªfor this was a product for Human Mages, and to cast spells, they still needed aural and somatic components, both of which would be diminished in water.

    As for her outfit¡ªher advisors had begged her to lean into the role of the Pale Priestess, for no one else could reasonably accompany her into the Leviathan except Richard¡ªand even then, Gwen preferred to take on the task alone, choosing to trust in her contingencies rather than risk her city¡¯s leaders. The loudest protests were from Lulan and Strun. Still, Gwen explained that the Mermen responded only to herself, and having loved ones underwater with her would only complicate her decision to retreat immediately.

    Therefore, Gwen had Sanari stitch a white vestment suitable for her Prophetess projections. The Elf did not ask unnecessary questions¡ªoffering only that the attire would be suitable prophetic when she willed it into bloom, even underwater.

    Weightlessly, Gwen slid forward with her entourage.

    Deeper into the interior, the worm-ways opened into chambers, then entire cathedrals where gills and lungs had been coaxed into alternative accommodations. Here, the Mer went about their daily business of trade and barter, forming a rudimentary economy based on each tribe¡¯s ability to produce products for the public.

    Everywhere she ventured, business came to a halt. Squids half-raised were placed back into enclosed cases, and fishes crammed into kelp cages were spared as stall owners prostrated. There was no Jamaican major-domo to turn the underwater spectacle into a song and dance number, which was unfortunate, but Gwen had seen enough to know that she had truly entered a Wet New World.

    The tour took almost an hour, during which The Pale Priestess came to understand the various organs of the Leviathan and its operations. Nearest to its Core was the ¡°Bridge¡± where the Council under Lei-bup made their decisions and issued commands via sympathetic telepathy to the creature. Lower near the belly, Half its three dozen stomaches were commandeered into chambers that allowed troops to organise and amass. The deepest part of the Leviathan, the chambers nearest the heart and lungs, were the residential quarters for the upper echelon, which also housed the sheltered pools for fry.

    On the outer quadrant, hundreds to thousands of caverns, sealed by scaly shellfish growing on the overlapping carapace of the Leviathan, made generous abodes for the Shoal that followed the moving island.

    Toward its barbed forehead, guard stations housing the highly mobile Wave Riders took their place near its multitude of tentacled eyes-sockets. The regular troops from the Crustaceans to the muscular Tuna-headed Mer-kin made their supply bases in the middle rise for ease of deployment. In an unexpected twist, Lei-bup explained that the Leviathan¡¯s rear was the most guarded¡ªfor its many orifices expelled precious materials from enriched kelp-faeces to compressed metal-coral amalgamations used to make Merman weapons and armour. Therefore, the enormous structures surrounding each ¡°vent¡± acted as both protection and industrial centres for manufacturing.

    Once they were away from the eye-watering plumes of kilometre-long ¡°poo ropes¡± and back near the Leviathan¡¯s heart, Gwen overcame her shock and redressed her audience in the bone-white throne room.¡°Before we begin¡­¡± she spoke through a resounding Clarion Call as the mixed Essences entwined within her conduits. ¡°I have a gift for the Faithful.¡±

    Using the Core of the Sea Witch, she perfectly willed the glowing droplets of mixed dew excreted from her palm to rise into the air, each a dainty, golden Jupiter of swirling divinity.

    ¡°Circumstances have improved since our last meeting,¡± she explained to the glazed expressions overtaking her multitude of slitted, polished, and compound-eyed council members. ¡°What I shall offer you is the new and improved Blessing of Life, a blessing that is essential for the execution of the Grand Purpose.¡± ¡°The Grand Purpose!¡± her entourage from Triton¡¯s court lowered their heads.

    Lei-bup approached, his body laboured under the weight of parasites eating through his innards. Without a split-second of doubt, he took the first orb into his mouth, then swallowed with an exaggerated expression of complete submission.

    The rest of the Mer watched.

    The High Priest smacked his lips, tasting the sweetness, then erupted.

    ¡°OOOOOH¡ª!¡± The explosion wasn¡¯t literal, but the eruption of joyous tentacles bursting from his many folds of clothing was like the death bloom of a fluorescent anemone. His dozens of eyes rolled back in their skin folds as something indescribable built up inside her creature.

    Psychic energy with the feeling of warm water in a frozen brine pool washed over the control room¡ªthen Lei-bup rose from the floor, blue and inky blood oozing from every conceivable orifice to disperse into the surroundings.

    ¡°Lei-bup, are you¡­ okay?¡± Gwen felt a spear of horror pierce her laboured lungs. The Franken-Mer¡¯s transformation, she had to confess, was no less intense than one of Caliban¡¯s first-time show-and-tells.

    ¡°More than hale.¡± Lei-bup prostrated, his body suddenly nimble. ¡°My injuries have lessened greatly. I am truly grateful, O Priestess of the Door and the Key.¡±

    The Merman¡¯s voice, Gwen realised, was no longer like a man trying to blast death metal through a chest tube.

    Before she could speak, the weeping Lei-bup turned to address his fellows. ¡°Take the elixir! You ingrates! Renew your faith! In the coming moon tides, we follow the Pale Priestess through the gates of life and death to paradise!¡±

    The Sea Witch twins were the next to imbibe her Golden Mead.

    Then, the hulking Wave Rider Alphas.

    Followed by the lumbering crustaceans, and finally, the wizened sea turtle.

    ¡°ARRRNGH¡ª!¡±

    ¡°Pale Priestess¡ª¡°

    ¡°Paradise! I COME¡ª!¡±

    Orgiastic cries filled the chamber as Gwen drifted away from the clouds of expelled fluids to take her place upon the coral throne. She also released Caliban, who dutifully transformed into a horrific, faceless carp to rest underfoot, elevating her feet upon the world¡¯s most dangerous ottoman.

    Gwen took mental notes for her future Sympathetic Essence applications as her followers writhed.

    From what she could discern, the Golden Mead¡¯s ability to offset the meta-physical deformations invited by Shoggy¡¯s parasitic appendages was enormous. If this were how Suilven envisioned the propagation of her blessings¡ªit would go a long way to ensure that her minions didn¡¯t outright perish from becoming receptacles of Lei-bup¡¯s delusional faith.

    While her followers danced the tentacle fandango, she plotted out the overall spread of her vital resources.

    The first to finish was the Sea Witches, who emerged as younger versions of their siren selves, with glossier skin, shiner scales, more tentacles and fewer blemishes that marred their skin.

    The same could be said of the oceanic Mer, who pulled off old scales and scars while brandishing their glossy, many-hued eye stalks with joy.

    The turtle emerged looking no different.

    And the crabs and spiny lobsters added to Gwen¡¯s nightmare fuel by expanding and moulting, momentarily becoming twenty-limbed, two-dozen tentacled, dozen-eyed chimaeras before discarding their old selves to prostrate under her glazed gaze.

    With her appetite for seafood extinguished by Lovecraftian ultraviolence, Gwen greeted her rejuvenated court.

    ¡°ALL HAIL THE PALE PRIESTESS!¡± The Mermen offered their newly embedded faith, their belief so strong that Gwen felt the swirls of their fervency like a riptide.

    Caliban coiled around her body.

    She sensed that the moment was ripe.

    ¡°NOW¡ª¡± Gwen stood with an arm outstretched in the style of Mao¡¯s old propaganda posters, though having a Caliban-themed shawl made the gesture more villainess than Lady Liberty leading the Fishes. ¡°Let us discuss the quelling of Ghurghdp Hiij, the Bright Reef¡ª WHOA¡ª!¡±

    At the height of their unholy chorus, the throne room shook.

    While the Mermen scrambled for purchase in the water, the floor of the enormous chamber slid open like a slow-blinking eye, revealing a flesh chamber that led downward into the dark.

    ¡°What¡¯s this?¡± Gwen enquired of her High Priest. A Spartan pit?

    ¡°Ah¡ªAristotle answers your call,¡± Lei-bup answered. ¡°It is impatient for the blessing, Lady. This is the entrance to the young one¡¯s Core.¡±

    ¡°Aristotle?¡± Gwen blinked in confusion. ¡°Why is our Leviathan called Aristotle?"

    ¡°You spoke once, Pale Lady, of a Leviathan dubbed by Humans of antiquity as Atlantis,¡± Lei-bup offered an answer as wild as unexpected. ¡°I made sure to acquire information on this incident in Human history. The High Priest who spoke of it was called Plato, was it not? He was also infamous for trapping a man in a cave for half of eternity as a sadistic curio. I named our vessel Aristotle after he, the advisor of the Land Kings, the student and Apprentice of Plato.¡±

    Gwen recalled that she knew nothing of Aristotle or Atlantis in this world. Rather, it was Sanari who spoke of Atlantis and its Elemental Princes, which she had spoken of in passing to the lore-starved minds of Lei-bup and company.

    ¡°¡­ does it answer to Aristotle?¡± Gwen asked.¡°It does,¡± Lei-bup seemed to focus his mind. After a few twirls of his enormous yellow eyes, the carapace that made up the floor of the throne chamber shifted and trembled.

    ¡°Right¡­¡± Gwen pondered the moniker of her world-transcending intellectual. ¡°Is Aristotle a boy or a girl?¡±

    Lei-bup appeared both confused and entered by her audacity, which was amazing when seen on the face of a fish with eyes like dinner dishes.

    ¡°Ah¡­¡± Gwen coughed. ¡°Does it¡­ have a preference?¡±

    ¡°Leviathans are solitary creatures that drift through the endless space of the Elemental Plane of Water,¡± Lei-bup painfully explained. ¡°When a pair of mature Leviathans meet, both sets of organs set to work immediately to maximise the opportunity. This business of males and females concerns lower life forms like us¡­ not yourself, of course¡­ but us.¡±

    ¡°Right¡­¡± Gwen signalled the all-clear. ¡°Right¡­ sorry. Aristotle, it is. Good name. The duality of Humankind! Very well then!¡±

    The floor shivered.

    With Lei-bup as a guide, she stepped into the limbless dark with a limber catfish-Caliban nestled against her pearly bodysuit. Slowly, the passage grew narrow, with further progress managed by Lei-bup massaging Aristotle¡¯s arterial linings with his tentacles, coaxing cooing sounds from the walls.

    At the end of her passage, the Regent laid her hands upon the Creature Core for her future Tower.

    No! Gwen mentally slapped herself. This pristine, beautiful, enormous, all-natural Creature Core with the density and size second only to Gunther¡¯s adult Leviathan Core wasn¡¯t hers for the taking! It had a name, Aristotle! And it was her friend, ally, and assault carrier.

    Aristotle the Assault Carrier. Surely, the METRO Editors would like that.

    ¡°Priestess?¡± Lei-bup mopped the slime from his face, his tentacles acting like living squeegees. ¡°I fear it¡¯s a bit crowded here.¡±

    Gwen willed the liquid to part, forcing herself against the warm flesh until both of her palms dug into the membranes wrapping the Creature Core.

    A Leviathan had dozens of Cores, Gwen recalled, but only one that truly mattered.¡°Aristotle¡­¡± Gwen infused both hands with an abundant supply of Golden Elixir as her internal Elemental Gates rumbled open. For the performance of Soul Tap, there was only the powers of the Void to draw upon, and considering the size of Aristotle, she would likely tap into every drop of her new and considerable powers. ¡°Relax, child. If you wish my blessing, we must undergo a ritual to conjoin our Essences¡­¡±

    The chamber relaxed.

    Lei-bup had transmuted her message.

    Gwen steadied herself with her Sea Witch pendant. The Flight wasn¡¯t too different from flying through the air, though every movement was a battle against the viscosity of the Leviathan¡¯s cloudy secretions.

    From a void-tinged finger, she began to etch the principle Mandala of Essence Tap upon the multi-storey Core of their eager and innocent Aristotle.

    With each inch, her Void-mana ate away at the creature¡¯s flesh, hungrily gouging channels of flesh a finger deep. As her digits passed, a golden snail trail of conjoined Essence connected the Leviathan mote by mote to an existence greater than itself. Each Glyph was the node of a larger matrix tied to herself, one that, put into practice, made her palpably realise why Suilven had proclaimed this Biomancy to be akin to Faith Magic. Indeed, in the terrestrial world, the distribution of the psychic energies used by Elvia and her Knights were similarly disseminated¡ªalbeit through sanctioned Relics.

    Half an hour of blood and Essence later, Gwen paused for breath. She observed the scale of her work, the scope of which she had completed perhaps a hundredth. Upon the Mandala¡¯s completion, Aristotle would become the living locus of its Shoal¡¯s biomechanical engine of life, but that moment remained as her ability to regenerate blood.

    ¡°Er¡­ Lei-bup?¡± she took a deep breath to re-evaluate her scope of work. ¡°Maybe tell the others we¡¯ll be here for a few days¡­ at the very least¡­ and bring me something salty and hearty¡­ but not caviar¡­ For the love of Shoggy, no caviar.¡±

 Chapter 504 - Calamity Descending

    Aristotle.

    The Core.

    Having eaten questionable sashimi all week, Gwen dearly missed a basic function of Human society that she had not imagined to be a luxury¡ªcooked food.

    She also dearly missed hot food, for no real manifestation of terrestrial cuisine existed here in the underwater realm. While the ingredients were arguably fresher than she had ever tasted, there was no sauce or condiment, and unless she utilised her Witch Core, there was no fresh water for her daily diet.

    As she laboured over the pulsing Core organ of Aristotle the Assault Leviathan, she snacked from the heavy plates laden with everything from sea urchins to shellfish, lobsters to fillets of every colour and texture. There were algae, too, which she could not eat, but the kombu proved both savoury and normal enough to keep her from gastronomic revolt.

    She likewise felt incredibly thankful for her father¡¯s introduction of ¡°Dungeoneer¡¯s¡± underwear, though hers were the latest Parisian product from Chantelle. After all, enveloped by water, she had to shut her mind from the reality of bodily byproducts or else lose her mind.

    As she worked to inscribe her Leviathan, she also got to understand more of its temperament. Every now and then, while she laboured with Essence and the literal blood from her body, prehensile tendrils from the walls would touch her hair or knead her softer body parts with the likeness of an affectionate kitten. Though strange, Gwen accepted the affection from the internal organs of a creature the size of a suburb as another milestone of her adventures.

    Her intimacy also afforded her knowledge of Lei-bup¡¯s Shoal.

    As a Leviathan, Aristotle¡¯s intake consisted of the billions of creatures that made their lives around its enormous, sheltering bulk. The lesser of these were drawn by Aristotle into its innumerable vents, sometimes fed by its caretakers, other times by accident. The slow but constant intake meant the Leviathan maintained a largely sedatory routine to conserve energy, existing more often as mobile geography than as a creature that actively sought food.

    For this very reason, juvenile Leviathans were adopted and tamed by the Mer, whose relationship with their living ship was give and take, becoming the Leviathan¡¯s caretaker but also reliant upon the materials and food it provided from its bio-furnace.

    Conversely, from a cerebral perspective, Aristotle did not possess the means to communicate at a tier expected of humanoid Mermen. This remained true even as the Mandala grew in size with the Empathic Link built into the design of her Soul Tap. What Gwen felt for the creature, or what the creature felt for her, was not an emotion that could be framed accurately by the limitations of sapient speech. Instead, she described the link between her and her Leviathan to Lei-bup as something akin to hormonal expressions, a link established upon strange wavelengths of dependence, pleasure, eagerness, as well as pain, avoidance and loathing.

    In turn, Lei-bup offered that this was what her followers felt for Gwen and, to a degree, her Shoggoth. The ecstasy of consumption, the horror of being consumed, the tingle of their enemy¡¯s insane terror and the relief of being spared by their God¡ªall produced fertile ground for Faith.

    Gwen did not know how to genuinely respond to her High Priest¡¯s cloister confessions other than to accept them and then settle down to teach her lieutenants the Essence Link Mandala. Once she began the long labour, Gwen realised that the tiers of the Mandalas and their Glyphs were shamelessly plagiarised from the Shaman Magic of the bipedal Steppe folk. In fact, the Arch-Arcanists of Suilven had even named the various tiers of control the same as the Khan¡¯s blood magic.

    As the Pale Priestess, she occupied the pole position of the Great Khan.

    Which was followed by her selection of Orkoks, each leading their Ordu.

    They would then select their Tumens, and her Tumens would mark their Mingats, and so on.

    By the time the vitality thinned into the ranks of the rank-and-file Nokud¡ªtheir only purpose lay in the potential for her Shoggoth to differentiate ally from foe¡ªwhich, in her opinion, was guaranteed only by a scenario within a target-rich environment.

    Once her marking of Aristotle was nearly complete, she began work on the elite bloodlines of the main Merman factions making up her Shoal, imprinting her psyche onto the most ardent of her immediate followers.

    Chief of her priests of power was Lei-bup, whose initiation began when she and the Chinese government called upon an extraterrestrial being with little to no thought to the natives of the ¡°Shoggoth atoll.¡± Lei-bup, as her most devoted follower, learned her Necromancy with the fervency of an eager virgin, surprising Gwen with the immediacy of his supernatural expertise. Was skill transference also a matter of Faith? Gwen could not be certain, though she had heard of such occurrences within the Knight Orders, where Relics could be imbued with memories and emotions of their previous Faith users. What she did not miss at all was the vision of a half-disrobed Lei-bup with his girth exposed. Despite having seen Caliban¡¯s transformations in her darkest dreams, the actuality of rubbery black tentacles half-fused, half-latched onto the porous, pockmarked skin of her High Priest stirred feelings of revulsion Gwen did not know she possessed. It also did not help that, in the process of her inscription, a foul, squid-ink substance would ooze from the wounds or burst from an adjacent chamber, staining her Druidic dress.

    Once the quivering Lei-bup received his blessing, he kissed her hand, near-swallowing her forearm as tears of gratitude oozed down his face, then swam away to practise his subordinate Mandala upon his minions.

    The second to receive her personal touch was, much to Gwen¡¯s relief, the ancient vizier-like Mer with the likeness of a bipedal leatherback sea turtle. Of all her Mer, the ¡°Secretary¡± of Aristotle¡¯s interior industries was the sole survivor of his terra-bound, kelp-farming Clan, making him a sworn enemy of the various Vels. Lim-Duk was the Mer-turtle¡¯s name, and the creature bore the invasion of her Void-tipped fingers with a grim determination.

    Three days later, she marked the ¡°twins¡±. These were a pair of rare Sea Witches who had sought out Lei-bup¡¯s Shoal as shelter from the Vel¡¯s constant encroachment. Like the Mer-turtle, they were orphans of the same diaspora, though their kin remained plenty aboard Aristotle. Unlike Lei-bup, who seemed to delight in collecting as many Shoggoth appendages as he was able, the Mer-women were more subtle in hiding their multitude of slithering, lamprey-lipped tendrils in the masses of their kelp-like hair. Unable to distinguish the two physically, Gwen added a little distinction to their individual inscriptions so that the talkative sister, Pelahwi, could be distinguished from the soft-spoken Velahi.

    The remaining five were the commanders of her elite forces, the Strung(s) of her Great Shoal Forward.

    The Wave Rider Captains were the brutish, predatory Mermen whose tribes ruled sections of the open ocean. These were effectively sea-born Mongols, oceanic nomads with no reef to call home but possessing amazing mobility and combat strength. Nin-Ka was the most senior of her generals, possessing the tapered snout of a swordfish, the body of a muscular missile, and the bearing of an old noble of yore. His junior, a Mer-shark named Kha-guk, was an even larger specimen who deferred to the older creature out of habit and respect. Under these were her legions of Wave Riders, mounted Mer-infantry whose seahorse steeds could warp the water to produce incredible force and speed.

    The youngest members of their Shoal were the last to receive her blessing, and these were the short-lived Mer-crabs and Mer-lobsters that made up the bulk of her shock troops. Unlike the heavy-bodied Mermen or the ageless witches, the life span of the mass-producing crustaceans was numbered between two to four decades. For her Generals Dwi, Xwi and Kwi, the fatalism of life was offset only by the abundance of their offspring, whose bodies matured within a year and could go forth and multiply around the age of ten. However, with the blessing of her Golden Mead, a profound, philosophical change had come over her many-legged Mer, for suddenly, inexplicably, they now pondered the possibility of life well past a century.

    Consequently, her Decapodian flock had become so faithful that she could feel the pulse of their psychic energies like the beating of a fatalistic drum, traversing from the surrounding water into the Astral space of her metaphysical self.

    Once her Faith-based MLM ladder was done, she returned to Aristotle¡¯s Core cave to complete the mother of all Mandalas while her lieutenants gathered the faithful for their tiered induction downstream.

    The work would be long and unyielding¡ªbut Gwen understood very well its necessity, for how else could they put a stopper to the endless harassment from the Vels? How else could she sever the connection between Spectre and their most eager allies, the Followers of Juche and their newly enlisted Order of the Oceanic Undead?

    June.

    The Yellow Sea boiled.

    To the passing Clairvoyance of Dalian¡¯s Divining Tower, the phenomenon of several hours came and went without a trace and could only be remarked upon as one of the thousands of unexplainable occurrences of the sea.

    To the Pale Priestess of the Door and the Key, the occurrence was a maelstrom of mental energies built by a hundred thousand inscribed believers and their multi-million followers hoping to receive the blood mark of their progenitor.

    Underfoot¡ªfor she had adjusted her garb to be sleeker and more exposed to maximise the tactility of her surroundings¡ªher naked sole felt the pulse of Aristotle¡¯s being, its hearts and lungs, its digestive systems, the fractured vision of its eyes, and its alien mind as an extension of her Astral projection.

    All around her, the water vibrated, fighting the control of her Witch Core.

    Weee¡ªWeeee¡ª

    Weee¡ªWeeee¡ª Weee¡ª

    If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.Weee¡ªWeeee¡ªWeeee¡ª Weee¡ª

    Gweeegn¡ª Gweeegn¡ª Gweeegn¡ª Gweeegn¡ª

    A long time ago, in a dream, Gwen had heard the call of the deep, and it had made her doubt her sanity. Now, as her long limbs stirred the secreted slime of her Great Shoal and her white body rose as a morning star above the ridged throne sitting atop Aristotle¡¯s spine, she welcomed it.

    To either side, huge banners of shimmering water willed into being by her Sea Witches displayed hundred-meter projections of her ascending self.

    Below the throne, the blessed Faithful formed concentric rings with their subordinates, chanting mad mumbles of whole-hearted affirmation.

    With all her heart, Gwen embraced her milky, murmuring flock.

    Lei-bup had planned the day of their departure to be a ceremony celebrated by all, one to cement the Faith of her Shoal and, secondly, to signal to the watching Vel below that the Shoal of Lei-bup was about to descend into the deep sea.

    Gwen drew up the power of Evocation built into her Astral-self and willed it into an empowered Clarion Call.

    ¡°Yog-Sothoth!" She called out the non-sensical words of another world, which seemed to stir new sense into the sea of churning fish below. ¡°Blessed be the Shoal! L?! L?! L?!¡±

    Weee¡ªWeeee¡ªWeeee¡ª Weee¡ª

    Gweeegn¡ª Gweeegn¡ª Gweeegn¡ª

    As the fish rose to a new frenzy, Gwen felt the meniscus of the Prime Material lean over the precipice. Against the temple of her skull, she sensed something like a prodding tentacle pushing against a paper screen door, trying to penetrate the barrier preventing its entry into the Prime Material.

    And if she felt it¡ªthen all her Faithful did as well.

    The Shoggoth! Gwen mouthed in silence. She understood that its indiscernible intelligence had found a beacon in the all-consuming sea of the Void and that its multitudes of mouths of madness hungered for what was being promised.

    But now was not the time, though by Lei-bup¡¯s reckoning, the Shoggoth¡¯s descent into the deep sea was almost certain.

    In their final meeting, her Mandala-marked council had reached a consensus on the method of their infiltration of the Fifth Vel and its surroundings. Their ascent would not be a product of Human hubris but a subversive power grab by a Shoal without a lineage connected to the Vels. As Lei-bup had put very succinctly, their Shoal would be the third entrant into a decade-long, slow-decaying stalemate, for the Mer from the First Vel had visited precisely because Lei-bup¡¯s commitment could tip the favour toward Nin Pak. Ergo, if they were to ¡°settle¡± in the Vel, there would be no contest¡ªfor the only thing Sarkonnian required was Lei-bup¡¯s Shoal to make merry and ignore their devouring of the Fifth Vel¡¯s forces.

    And in the aftermath¡ªGwen did not doubt that Sarkonnian would turn her forces on Lei-bup and seek to erase his Shoal before they became another contender for the rulership of the Vel portal.

    To have dreamed of such toxic diplomacy, Sarkonnian was not an easy opponent¡ªbut Gwen knew enough of history and lore to discern that the same blade of diplomacy cut both ways. Indeed, if they were to usurp a section of Bright Reef and occupy one of its spaces¡ªwho would first dare to move against them?

    If Nin Pak were to rebuke Lei-bup, she would join forces with Sarkonnian and lubricate the Vel¡¯s march toward total war¡ªafter which she would unleash the Shoggoth upon the survivors.

    If Sarkonnian were to rebuke her, she would have Lei-bup enter into an alliance with the Sea Witch, thereby paralysing the conflict for as long as needed for the terrestrial empires to catch their breath from the catastrophes wrought by Spectre.

    And amid all this¡ªshe would uncover the source of the Undead Mer, for that was her true concern. As powerful and vast as the Mer empires are, she did not trust that there were genuine limitations to the Followers of Juche¡¯s gross perversion.

    After Antarctica, she no longer trusted the old sciences. For a century, all had assumed that Mer made extremely poor Undead fodder due to the poor efficacy of Faith-based Necromancy with Elemental beings in an environment tainted by Quasi-Elemental Salt. Yet, the Followers were able to somehow produce millions of Undead through some manner of a phage, which meant that with sufficient resources, a numberless wave of assaults could be carried out on the Human world until Humanity was cut off from the ocean itself¡ªeffectively paralysing global trade.

    And this wasn¡¯t even half of it¡ª

    The targeting of weather patterns.

    The destruction of agricultural potential.

    The disruption of trade and transport.

    All of it, Gwen felt, was the precursor of something even more diabolical that Spectre was cooking in the dark.

    Slowly, the cries of jubilation grew into a contemplative, sanctified silence.

    With a lurch, Aristotle began its descent.

    The currents shifted, pushing the excreted slick past the ivory kelp of her Elf-grown garb.

    The Pale Priestess and her millions descended into the limbless dark, lit only by the suburb-sized width of her Leviathan¡¯s bioluminescent flora and fauna, spiralling upon a whale song of Weee¡ªWeeee¡ªWeeee¡ªWeee¡ª

    The Yellow Sea.

    Somewhere between the harshly lit Fortress City of Dalian and the lightless coasts of Pyongyang¡¯s eastern seabed, a most unorthodox Shoal was on the move.

    Its figurehead, the Pale Regent of Shalkar, was gently dismayed that there was no bullshit to waylay their descent into the depth nor disruptive incidents to divert their course. Indeed, if this had been her usual jaunt through an unknown landscape, she would have expected everything from desperate creatures in dire need of aid or bullying locals demanding toll or at least a random encounter metered out by the dice of fate.

    When she asked her High Priest about the straightforward nature of their spiralling traverse from the surface down to the Fifth Vel¡¯s city, AKA Bright Reef, her priest gave her a confident look of absolute assurance.

    ¡°Oh, there are distractions, alright, but they¡¯ve been either assimilated or assimilated.¡±

    She chortled at the familiar word.

    ¡°What are we, the Borg?¡± she let loose a rare Gwenism, a rare occurrence of late. ¡°Like, the Shoal just absorbs them?¡±

    ¡°Of course.¡± Lei-bup shrugged at what was an everyday event. ¡°The Yellow Sea is vast and rich, particularly because the Vel below spills refugees from the Elemental Plane of Water into the Prime Material. Those lucky enough not to be assimilated by the Vel are left wandering the locales until they are either taken into a Clan or tribe, grow strong enough to establish their own, or come and find a Shoal to call home.¡±

    ¡°I see, so what happens when we run into a school of¡­ vagabond fish?¡± Gwen feared her curiosity was a dangerous thing.

    ¡°The Shoal can always use more food,¡± Lei-bup spoke of the hard facts. ¡°If they aren¡¯t taken by Aristotle, survivors who submit to the will of the Shoggoth and the Great Purpose can join at the peripheries and see if one of the Lord-Secretaries would take them under their fin.¡±

    Gwen understood that the Lord-Secretaries was the newly coined term that her most blessed Mer had started to call themselves, modelled after the Elemental Plane of Water¡¯s use of lineage titles. Yet, the Great Purpose of Lei-bup¡¯s Shoal had its theocratic founding in Marxism, or at least, the CCP¡¯s useful interpretation of the equal distribution of labour. Those closest to her, by right of their distribution of vitality, thusly became the ¡°Secretaries of the Goddess¡¯ Blessing¡±.

    To Gwen, the neologistical gymnastics involved were as astounding as a Korbut dead loop, but it worked for her followers. After all, even as their Goddess-Secretariat, she possessed no authority to alter the Mer¡¯s organic beliefs. Furthermore, how could she fault them? While religion might have begun for the Shoal as an opium for the Mer-masses, the literal nectar of life in the form of Aristotle''s vitality now flowed through her fishes¡¯ veins, affirming their faith beyond all doubt.

    And so, like a Shoggoth, the Shoal consumed every interruption in their course until, a day later, Gwen was informed that they had arrived.

    As if reading her mind, which the Sea Witches may very well be, an enormous swell of currents in the form of a semi-sphere churned into being, upon which the external world was projected.

    Nestled within the interior of Aristotle¡¯s throne room, Gwen had not considered the implications of her arrival as the first Human to unveil a Vel, though now the prospect dawned upon her with the same luminosity as the unbelievable vision below.

    It took Gwen several moments before she remembered to breathe once more.

    What she saw was something of a scale that beggared human understanding.

    Instead of the limbless dark, a great gate of glowing nimbus, akin to a sideways oblong egg of light, nestled itself against the darkling plains of the deep sea. Around this Vel¡ªthis portal to the Elemental Plane of Water¡ªsat a circumference of coral constructs bathed in the radiant energies of its towering presence.

    Gwen¡¯s eyes doubted the city¡¯s scale until she saw a sight that put the Vel into perspective.

    A Leviathan was nestled close to the Vel, semi-detached to an arterial arm of the ring city. This gargantuan city-creature, Nin Pak''s base of power, was older than Aristotle by a few millennia, which made it at least a fraction taller than her Assault Carrier.Yet, even set against a creature half a kilometre in height, the Gate of the Vel seemed to dwarf the living city, almost tripling the reach of its highest coral spire.

    Was the Yellow Sea even this deep? Gwen recalled from the research carried out by her members at the Bunker that its seascape was so abundant in Mer precisely because of its shallow access to sunlight. By that logic, if they played by the physicality of what could be observed in the Prime Material, shouldn¡¯t the Vel¡¯s portal pierce the sea¡¯s surface and stand out like an obelisk of man¡¯s destruction?

    Yet, to her knowledge, the Mageocracy and the CCP considered the Fifth Vel a ¡°deep¡± city out of reach of Human mastery of Watery Magic.

    Was the Vel a Dungeon, then? Gwen recalled the impossible landscape that was Hengsha island. The size and geography of that sand island were also larger than what could be plausibly made to exist in the Prime Material space it occupied.

    Whatever the case, Gwen recorded what she saw for her colleagues in the terrestrial world.

    However, she was confident in her conjecture, for if Vels manifested as Dungeon spaces, then her Master¡¯s frustration with the Vel in the Coral Sea had been legitimate. To destroy such a thing, they would need to venture into the Elemental Plane of Water, a feat no Human Being had managed in recorded history beyond a few cursory minutes used to gather samples and data. To send an army of Mages into such a setting to find the being responsible for the Dungeon¡¯s Core was as improbable as kicking in the door to Zodiam¡¯s seraglio in the Brass City.

    Yet, she felt a strange assurance. As the contractor of a World Tree, she understood now very well that the power to shelter the Prime Material against the invasion of the other Planes was a basic function of her world. The World Trees, the pillars of the Axis Mundi, were the windbreaks that would suppress the erosion of these Dungeons.

    The momentum of her body gently lurched backwards and upward.

    Her eyes once more fell upon the bioluminescent vision of the circular city.

    Despite her calamitous purpose, her academic mind reminded herself that this place was older than the Nazarene¡¯s oldest scriptures. Even as a Human, she recognised the heart-aching beauty here: the city¡¯s soaring spires that defined gravity, the profusions of districts that took no heed of the two-dimensional ergonomics of human space, the natural curves and flawless integration of its inhabitants that made the city a living reef¡­

    To destroy and consume all of this¡­ Gwen shuddered.

    On the water screen, dust clouds redirected her eyes¡ªfirst from the parked Leviathan to the city¡¯s edge¡ªthen again from a further space in the gloom. Each grew brighter as they traversed the light-starved space between the city and themselves, coming closer to their Shoal.

    ¡°High Priest,¡± Velahi announced in her melodic voice. ¡°We are being hailed by both masters of the Vel. They wish to organise a meeting at the mid-way point, beyond the reach of our respective Leviathans.¡±

    Gwen took a deep, cold breath.

    Finally, the moment they had all been anticipating was at fin.

    ¡°Tell them we will meet them there.¡± Lei-bup chuckled, unperturbed by what had kept Gwen awake for the past fortnight. ¡°Also, tell them that our Mistress, the Pale Priestess of the Shoggoth, She who is the Gate and the Key, shall observe the proceedings.¡±

    The twins chuckled, sending a ripple of shared mirth through the ranks of her followers, a feeling that was the absolute opposite of the steel-strung tension hanging her nerves by a thread.

    ¡°Transmitted,¡± Pelahwi declared after a few moments. ¡°Neither are pleased by our demands, but they have both expressed the desire to accommodate our request.¡±

    ¡°Pale Mistress,¡± Lei-bup prostrated once, then a profusion of tentacles directed her upward as Aristotle shifted its internal structure to allow the gathered to exit. ¡°This is a bit belated, but please allow your faithful to instruct this unknowing world of your divine presence.¡±

 Chapter 505 - The Priestess Giveth

    Gwen possessed no worldly knowledge of how a true Goddess might present herself to the masses, but she had seen Cleopatra in Panavision Technicolour.

    In a scene lasting no more than five minutes but costing millions, the thickly-eyelashed Lizzy Taylor had gatecrashed Rome with the bearing of a deified being, defying the gaze of a hostile nation clamouring for blood, forcing even the most ardent senator and their wives to stand and applaud.

    Therefore, to create the same impression, Gwen allowed Lei-bup to organise a procession of their most tentacled troops, with her appearing at the Dragon¡¯s tail in a slow, dramatic descent.

    Alone in the deep dark and surrounded by her fanatics, she had to hold her heart in her mouth and try her best not to bite, which was easier said than done in the depthless space of the Elemental Plane of Water and en route to confront a duo of Elemental Princes.

    Sure, she had a Shoal of multi-millions, but her opponents had two Shoals, each in the billions, even if the majority were hapless civilians.

    Additionally, the meeting place of the triumvirate, for which she was the hapless Lepidus, defied her concept of ¡°space¡± altogether. The location was simply that¡ªa point in the three-dimensional realm of the Elemental Plane of Water. She wasn¡¯t even sure if the meeting place were predetermined or agreed upon by luck, for the three tendrils of light trailing from their separate origins seemed to weave and meander with total uncertainty.

    Nonetheless, Gwen reminded herself that here in the Elemental Realm of Water, she was not the Regent nor a Magister. Instead, she was the Priestess of Power, the conduit of the World Tree.

    Her Goddess¡¯ garb, which Sanari had grown herself, wrapped around her dancer¡¯s figure with the likeness of silk-thin gossamer. Like a living cloth, the fabric conformed to her silhouette yet expanded upon the bearing of her arms and legs with elegant strands of ivory-hued kelp that made her resemble the Nature Goddess of an ancient kelp forest. There was a crown as well, though that was a gift from her Shoal, a scented splendour that Gwen deeply suspected was a carved piece of diamond-hardness ambergris created by her Soul-linked Assault Leviathan.

    With glacial patience, the lighted processions grew into vague shapes close enough to recognise.

    ¡°Priestess,¡± Lei-bup¡¯s voice transmitted through the water. ¡°Over yonder lies the procession of the Fifth Vel, presently the rulers of Ghurghdp Hiij.¡±

    Gwen focused her cocktail of Essences around her optic nerves, transmuting her eyes to pierce the gloom.

    The envoys of Bright Reef were several thousand in number, most of them humanoid with the upper bodies of mankind, while their lower halves were that of sleek fishes. For Gwen, whose own Shoal was an eclectic collection of refugees, it felt surreal to see a group of Mer that looked like they had emerged from a Disney classic.

    When they came closer yet again, Gwen revised her judgement¡ªthe upper bodies of these Nin Clan Mer were humanoid¡ªbut far from Human. Unlike her comely twins, these traditional deep-dwellers had fins that lined parts of their arms, ending at an enormous dorsal fin that protruded between their shoulder blades, ending on their head. Most were also bald, lacking the human-like hair of her Sea Witches and instead wearing slitted, ornamental helms that reminded her of Roman Centurions.

    Comparatively, the entourage of the Great Manta Sarkonnian was¡­ a giant Manta in an arrangement that drew dangerously close to a trademark violation of Finding Nemo. As per Mr Ray¡¯s school bus, Sarkonnian¡¯s court rode on the back of a small continental shelf that stretched at least a kilometre from wingtip to wingtip, encrusted in interlocking plates of brilliant coral.

    At the ¡°rise¡± of the manta-vehicle sat Sarkonnian herself. Unsure of the physiology of an ancient Mer from the primordial age, it was difficult for Gwen to discern where Sarkonnian began and ended. Certainly, the silhouette of the Great Manta was neither flat nor pancake but closer to something of a winged serpent, with the wings substituted for the flesh flaps of the Great Manta. What made Sarkonnian more impressive was the sheer amount of work she had done to her body. From what Gwen could discern, every inch of its enormous skin frills was covered in jewels and precious in-lays of pearl, giving the creature the richness of a blue-gold Faberge¡¯s Egg.

    The First Vel¡¯s entourage seemed to possess a less militant air than the Fifth, for most of the Mer had greatly emphasised displays of wealth and culture in the folds of their layered garbs or the intricacies of their headdresses. These Mer were also more fish-like in Gwen¡¯s eyes, appearing as cobra-headed moray eels with muscular flaps that made them imperial and imposing compared to the tribes of Nin.

    Gwen expelled her nervousness via a jolt of Essence.

    Three, they were:

    The imperial Sarkonnian.

    The militant Nin.

    And, of course, the fanatic Theocracy.

    It was an odd triumvirate, and Gwen was sure they would get along like a house on fire if they were not underwater.

    Gwen waited¡­

    Then waited¡­

    and waited¡­

    The meeting did not occur until a half-day later, for the envoys were the first to cross each other¡¯s boundaries, probing each leader''s level of paranoia.

    The issue, as Lei-bup sought to explain, was Gwen.

    She was the other, so to speak, the one both sides sought to meet, but she was also Human.

    When Lei-bup had broken the news to their ¡°allies¡± that the Shoal was not led by him¡ªbut by the Pale Priestess of the Shoggoth, the confusion had been palpable, and both sides had thought the absurdity a ploy of the other. A flurry of envoys then furiously debated until Gwen presented herself for all to witness, whereupon their opposing Shoals grew contemplative.

    To reach a consensus, the Shoals¡¯ leaders did not have to speak vis-a-vis, for there would be a great deal of risk involved in exposing oneself. Yet, decorum demanded that a Shoal¡¯s highest envoy could only be met by one of similar standing. Therefore, if Gwen were to present herself, the others had to speak in person as well or else appear weak and cowardly in front of their multitude of citizens.

    As the deliberation continued, Gwen readied herself for a suddenly manifesting Shoggy.

    Her revelation was a gamble to see if Sarkonnian was willing to work with a Human or if she was truly as species-supremacist as they say.

    After all, she had left the shallows knowing that Sarkonnian worked with the Undead Followers of Juche. Once a ruler had dived off the deep end of Mer tolerances, what could be so dramatic about holding hands with a living embodiment of a World Tree?

    ¡°Priestess, they¡¯ve taken the bait.¡± Lei-bup read the movements of the Shoals¡¯ troops before she could even comprehend the chaos. ¡°Sarkonnian has agreed to meet us, which leaves Nin Pak with no choice but to do the same.¡±

    ¡°Right,¡± Gwen slid her hands around the slippery surface of her underwater garb, the length of which had grown out immensely to hide those hideous Human legs attached to her hips. ¡°How do I look?¡±

    ¡°Utterly alien and wordlessly bizarre, Great Priestess,¡± Lei-bup assured her. ¡°You say an Elf designed this? Have they never seen a Mer before? Or a fish?¡±

    For the first time since their couture partnership, Gwen began to doubt Sanari¡¯s impeccable taste in floral chic.

    ¡°You said you liked it,¡± Gwen said accusingly, thinking of their earlier success on Aristotle. ¡°Now it¡¯s bizarre, is it?¡±

    ¡°Lady Sarkonnian has her garment woven into the fabric of her sacred flesh.¡± Lei-bup pointed out the obvious. ¡°And Lord Pak is wearing ceremonial coral plating grown from his scales by his Sea Witch consorts. Our Pale Priestess is wearing plants¡­ but this is good, your Paleness.¡±

    Gwen moved with her entourage as they lifted from the Leviathan¡¯s back, trailed by what she saw as epic lengths of fluttering, ivory kelp.

    ¡°You¡¯re an existence that defines their understanding.¡± Lei-bup¡¯s low laugh was tactile as his tentacles waved in tune with their gentle locomotion. ¡°So are we, in a way. They¡¯ve never seen a Shoal like ours, not ever. If they had, we would have been forcibly assimilated a long while ago.¡±

    With agonising equal distance, the three branches of their Shoals extended themselves until, finally, they were close enough to ogle one another.

    Nin Pak, sleek and angular with his broad shoulders, was the first to drift forward, his eyes focused entirely on the abominable, jewel-encrusted visage that was Sarkonnian.

    Gwen willed herself forward, followed very closely by Lei-bup, trailed by the twins.

    Finally, like a detached portion of her throne, Sarkonnian lifted herself from her nest, growing in largess until she positively imposed.

    HUGE! was Gwen¡¯s immediate impression.

    If she measured just over two meters with her outrageous dress and crown, and Nin Pak was another half-body taller¡ªSarkonnian was at least three meters in torso and almost ten from crown to tail.

    ¡°We welcome the youngest.¡± Sarkonnian¡¯s voice was soft and mellow but omnipresent as a generalise vibration through the water. With her depthless cobalt eyes open and drinking inward the light of their shared luminescence, Gwen was left with no doubt of Sarkonnian¡¯s ancient age and cunning. ¡°And though you profess to be Human, I sense there is much more to that pallid Vessel of flesh.¡±

    ¡°Well met, Priestess.¡± Nin Pak was not the diplomatic type. It was an expected persona, for despite being an Elemental Prince of a wily Sea Witch Clan, the Warlock possessed the vibe of a Militant Magister. ¡°I have agreed to come because I could not fathom how or why your Shoal came to be, so before we proceed, I would like an assurance.¡±

    ¡°I, as well, am curious.¡± Sarkonnian¡¯s serpentine musculature shifted sensuously as she spoke, creating the uncanny likeness of a humanoid body trapped under a living sheet of tautly stretched skin. ¡°This Seat would very much like to know who¡­ or what¡­ we are conversing with.¡±

    Gwen did not enjoy being stared at like a curio, even for one who had experienced it daily in the past.

    ¡°Not WHAT but WHO.¡° Lei-bup spoke in her defence, delivering his sermon speech in the equivalent of Mermen High Gothic. ¡°You address the Regent of Shalkar, Magister of the Shard, Vessel to the Great Tree, and the High Priestess of the Door and the Key!¡±

    Gwen doubted the pair understood a single title, but it did sound very impressive.

    ¡°Thank you, Lei-bup.¡± She placed a gloved hand on the oily shoulder of her oozing high priest before floating forward. ¡°And as for why we are here¡ªwe are here on your invitation, Lady Sarkonnian. Did you not offer our Shoal a permanent residence beside the Fifth Swell so that we may all participate in the bounty of its offerings from the Elemental Plane of Water?¡± She turned to the Warlock before Sarkonnian could answer. ¡°Are we not welcome, Lord Nin Pak?¡±

    The translation stone had to be doing its job, for Sarkonnian and Nin Pak appeared taken back by her hijacking of the initiative.

    ¡°Lady Sarkonnian offered you a place in the Fifth Vel?¡± The Warlock¡¯s agitation rippled the water around him, distorting the space between them. ¡°If so, she offered a portion of the sea she did not possess.¡±

    Sarkonnian chuckled at the Mer¡¯s displeasure. ¡°You¡¯re welcome to refuse, as the circumstances now differ from our discussion. Yet, I found her Shoal worthy of a place. As for the Fifth, are you violently disinclined or just disgruntled?¡±

    So that¡¯s her ploy, Gwen growled inwardly. Of course, they were doing the same, but the smoke and mirror games were mentally taxing.

    ¡°You misunderstood our intentions, Princess.¡± Gwen moved closer to the position of Nin Pak¡¯s troops. ¡°I would not have ventured so deep were there not an opportunity here to better my Shoal and make new friends.¡±

    ¡°Hoh¡­¡± Nin Pak¡¯s face relaxed somewhat as he studied Sarkonnian¡¯s growing irritation. ¡°The Fifth Vel can benefit those it considers its friends.¡±

    ¡°Aye, our humble Priestess is a friend with benefits.¡± Lei-bup added with a wink, much to Gwen¡¯s internal screaming. ¡°The Fifth Vel is a large place with plenty of resources for the open-minded ruler.¡±

    ¡°Do you really believe that, Nin Pak?¡± Sarkonnian¡¯s flesh quivered. On the serpentine Mer, Gwen saw the likeness of a bejewelled belly dancer. ¡°She may look like a Human, but I know her true form. They are greedy and avaricious and see us as little more than pawns and fodder. There are rumours that in the South Sea, the Sixth Vel had met with one such as herself and lost three Princes. Is that what you want for your Shoal, Nin Pak?¡±

    ¡°You speak as though you are my beneficiary.¡± Nin Pak seemed to enjoy the Manta-Mer¡¯s consternation. ¡°Is it offensive to yourself that we of the Fifth Vel can make our own choices?¡±

    Gwen was surprised that the hostility between the two could be so honest¡ªbut also understood that politics were far less twisted in the underwater world. Those who ruled by power and tyranny tended to perceive dilemmas as problems that could be torn apart rather than unravelled like an intricate cat¡¯s cradle, and such was the impatience on display here.

    Nin Pak was on the losing side of a long contest, and while Sarkonnian could afford to pull Gwen¡¯s leg, the Nin Clan had far less flexibility.

    ¡°I can see you¡¯re close friends,¡± Gwen spoke over them, ending the bickering. ¡°Our Shoal is greatly pleased by your joint welcome¡ªbut also fatigued from the long journey into the deep. As fellow rulers, you should also know that care for your people comes first¡­¡±

    Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

    Both Nin Pak and Sarkonnian followed her words with raised browns of doubt.

    ¡°¡­ and the people need to know there will be good shelter and fertile hunting grounds,¡± Gwen continued. ¡°If you will settle us briefly between you, we will welcome additional envoys to find our place within the Fifth Vel.¡±

    ¡°The Priestess speaks for all of us,¡± Lei-bup added sagely. ¡°Else, we have enough resources to return to the surface¡­¡±

    ¡°Stay at the Circle of Cobalt, where the hunt is plentiful.¡± Lei-bup¡¯s trailing silence enjoyed only a few seconds of resistance before a compromise was brokered by Nin Pak. ¡°The region is not far from where our Leviathan roosts.¡±

    ¡°A suitable place for a newly arrived Shoal.¡± Sarkonnian did not disagree with Nin Pak but studied Gwen intently. ¡°We will speak again, Vessel. Hopefully, next time, without the interruption of the low-born.¡±

    ¡°And you are welcome to visit Ghurghdp Hiij, where the malignant eye of the First Vel is made less inquisitive,¡± Nin Pak¡¯s tone grew firmer in its conviction. ¡°Whatever you may be, Priestess, there is much wonder within its coral walls. This I can promise you.¡±

    Before the two could bicker again, Gwen signalled to Lei-bup for a full retreat.

    Her High Priest made his promises of platitude, hinted at their interest in Bright Reef, and then recoiled their entourage from the meeting space like a tendril.

    ¡°How was that?¡± Gwen noted that she had not felt intimidated by either of the Mer leaders. She had now seen her share of Demi-gods, and the Fish-folk were not much of either. Nin Pak was at best at the level of Golos, and Sarkonnian herself wasn¡¯t even comparable to Ruxin. It was their armies and their home base, Leviathans, that truly made them impressive.

    ¡°We expected this,¡± Lei-bup offered his reading of the situation as they slid away. ¡°Our only fear was that the invitation was a trap and that both Shoals would be at our necks when we entered Ghurghdp Hiij. Now that it¡¯s clear they both lacked conviction¡ªand trust¡ªin each other to carry out the deed. If so, how could we fail?¡±

    Together with her entourage of Mer, the Pale Priestess glided through the water, their silhouettes illuminated by the glimmering bioluminescence from Bright Reef. At her beckoning, Aristotle began its glacial descent, stirring up swirling currents that sent its parasitic inhabitants reeling in the wake of its passing.

    When she re-oriented herself to the Vel¡¯s illuminated egg-like facade, she couldn¡¯t help but think of her shining city on the hill, where its industrious people laboured to make anew what had been turned to ash.

    ¡°So what¡¯s next?¡± She asked her tentacally-endowed advisor. ¡°It¡¯s a little on the nose if we immediately harry the orcas to attack the sea lions.¡±

    ¡°We shall perform the plan as promised. Visit the Reef for a spell; help the Vel, get to know its people.¡± Lei-bup¡¯s mouth formed the grin of a piranha. ¡°After all, we still need to find the source of the Undead Mer.¡±

    ¡°Well said, High Priest.¡± Gwen¡¯s gaze returned to the glowing city. ¡°And while we¡¯re at it, let us bring a current of change to these stagnant waters.¡±

    The Fifth Vel.

    Ghurghdp Hiij.

    ¡°Cali! No eating the locals!¡±

    With one simple trick, the Pale Priestess of the aberrant Shoal transformed prejudice into abject terror.

    After settling down, she and a crew of her bodyguards had entered through the main gates of Fifth Vel¡¯s crown city, whereupon Gwen instantly became the greatest curio Bright Reef had ever beheld, inviting unabashed attention from all walks of life.

    Most were curious, for indeed, she was a Human, and yet she phased through the water with the ease of a seasoned Sea Witch, unperturbed by the immense pressure of the water.

    Unfortunately, a not insignificant number of her observers were also furious.

    Gwen did not blame the natives, for a flash mob would have responded exactly the same way if an Orc had wandered into Paris. Additionally, Lei-bup had assured her that something like this was bound to happen, for both Sarkonnian and Pak were rearing to see what she would do and what measures she possessed to defend herself, making the possibility of provocateurs a near certainty.If so, the Pale Priestess would have to show the Mer-rulers exactly why she was called as such.

    With the crowd bearing inward as a sardine ball, she conjured forth her Void Familiar, releasing a living stomach into a biome with more vitality than it had ever perceived in its eight years of existence.

    Like a pack of spilt cola, Caliban¡¯s inky form spilt forth into the Elemental Plane of Water, sizzling the seawater before it contorted into the likeness of a faceless Koi. Her creature was far more impressive than in her more recent memory, perhaps shaped by the largess of its presence in her mind, or perhaps it was a form best scaled for a seafood buffet. From head to toe, Caliban¡¯s tentacled, lung-fish guise measured almost half a Golos, stretching some nine to ten meters from its featureless bullet head to its tapered, whip-like tail. A collection of fins and tendrils protruded from its torso, hiding what Gwen knew to be a pair of six-fingered hands in prayer that opened to reveal a grasping maw.

    The vision was terrifying; only Caliban also bore the supernatural presence of the Night Walker it had consumed in the Antarctic. As it passed through the streets, its murky, ink-like skin seemed to extinguish the light from the city¡¯s all-pervasive bio-lumen organs, transforming it into a roving mass of vaguely fish-shaped hunger.

    As expected, no one cleared the crowds faster than Caliban.

    Yet, somehow. By some compulsion greater than existential extinction, someone in the crowd threw the first stone.

    Her Crab-men moved to intercept¡ªthough Caliban transformed the offending missile into nothingness with a tendril whip, then plucked a drably garbed Nin-Mer like Indie summoning an artefact from a museum display.

    The occurrences had transpired in a flash, and Gwen¡¯s protest was barely out of her mouth when the surprised Mer launched as if by magic halfway into Caliban¡¯s lower mouth.

    ¡°Mer-killer!¡± someone shouted from the three-dimensional wall of fish surrounding them. ¡°The Human is a Merk¡ª¡°

    She had to stop Caliban yet again, for such was the dexterity and intelligence her creature now displayed as it snatched the new offender within the space of a breath.

    For a few eternal seconds, Gwen waited for more provocateurs.

    Her soldiers had formed a barrier around her, though there was little they could do as footmen against the ceiling of shimmering scales and writhing fish-flesh bearing down upon the group.

    ¡°Caliban, bring them to me,¡± she communicated the command in Mer so that everyone could hear.

    The pair was lowered without ceremony, each with a lamprey tendril attached to their abdomens so that they looked umbilically connected to the shadowy lungfish.

    ¡°Is this how Sarkonnian¡¯s men greet their new Overlord?¡± She demanded of them, scanning one shaking creature to the other. ¡°Or are you sent by Nin Pak?¡±

    The shoal drew back, not expecting that a good old-fashioned lynch mob would spontaneously turn political.

    ¡°You, Human!¡± The first Mer spat, though not very successfully. ¡°You eat Mer alive! I¡¯ve seen it! You¡¯re here to deceive us and make us food!¡±

    The second Mermen protested that he only expressed the feelings of their people.

    Gwen gazed at the ten thousand pairs of eyes, some large and yellow and others compound, each a witness to her first display of magnanimity. In the society of the Mer, relenting from extinguishing these two would be a sign of weakness and fear for their backers. To kill them like so much chattel would cement their expectations of her Shoal as a dangerous, Human-corrupted collective.

    Whoever had set up this public theatre obviously knew she was coming and had set up a trap.

    How unfortunate for her aggressors then that both herself and Lei-bup had counted on the fact, albeit not less than a hundred meters past the coral gates.

    ¡°Poor lost souls of the deep, The Great Shoal Forward isn¡¯t what you think,¡± she spoke for the benefit of their onlookers. Then, to accentuate her performative gestures, she walked a full circle around her panting victims before resting just behind them.

    She could feel the paradoxical emotions coursing through her fishy rubberneckers.

    Would the Human dismember them now for sashimi?

    Or would her horrifying Void-thing consume the Mermen wholesale?

    How fortunate, then, that the subject of their obsession was a walking miracle.

    From her palm, Gwen excreted two motes of mixed Essences wrapped with a bubble of clarified water. In the shadow of Caliban, the two droplets of Golden Mead appeared as pearlescent cats¡¯ eyes, pushing away the life-sucking dread radiating from her aberrant lungfish.

    ¡°The Great Shoal Forward is fair,¡± Gwen¡¯s voice projected through the water in mimicry of Sarkonnian¡¯s projection. ¡°We do not believe that a Shoal¡¯s citizens should exist as fodder for the demigods among us. Instead, even the meanest Mermen have their purpose within the great coral circle of life.¡±

    The droplets hovered toward her two assailants.

    Unable to help themselves, their bodies forced their mouths to open, for such was the yearning for that universal blessing of life contained in the sap of a World Tree.

    As one, the crowd swallowed as the fishes swallowed.

    Caliban allowed its prizes to go, withdrawing its Aura of Desolation as per Gwen¡¯s intent.

    ¡°ARRRRGGH¡ª!¡± The Nin-Mer let loose a cry of unconstrained triumph as the unadulterated elixir of life coursed through its abused body, repairing injuries and strengthening his bones.

    His compatriot was the opposite, falling to his knees in prayer to weep as old skin and dead scales fell from the exposed parts of his body.

    Just as a man from Nazareth had once healed the lame and blind, the infinitely patient Pale Priestess watched with boundless compassion as the offenders plucked from the crowd stood in awe of their newfound health.

    ¡°Pale Priestess¡ª¡° The first knelt.

    ¡°P-Pale Priestess!¡± The second made a full-body kowtow.

    Gwen placed a hand on each of their trembling heads. She understood how they felt, for her Essence now coursed through their Cores.

    ¡°There is much death here in the Elemental Plane of Water, much of it without purpose.¡± Gwen sadly shook her head as her infinitely charitable gaze swept over the crowd, burning the guilty and enlightening the repressed. ¡°And our Great Shoal Forward is about finding your purpose.¡±

    ¡°Please accept us into your Shoal!¡± The Mermen provocateurs had, as she prophesied, found their new purpose in life. It was inevitable, Gwen supposed, for the experience of the Golden Mead wasn¡¯t just alchemical. They may not have understood the metaphysical sensations coursing through their body¡ªbut they understood with perfect clarity that for a split-second, they were connected to something infinitely larger than themselves, something that was all-seeing, ever-present, and vaguely benevolent.

    How could their loyalty as fries to a tyrannical Shoal compare to that?

    ¡°Then follow,¡± Gwen indicated to the back ranks of her bodyguards. ¡°When we return to the Shoal, they will find a place for you.¡±

    Others in the fish-ball of watchers broke into a thunderous clamour for undeserved ascension.

    ¡°MAKE WAY¡ª! MAKE WAY¡ª!¡± Her troops glowed red, then golden, their bodies burning with the excess vitality supplied by their inscribed Essence Link. For a moment, it was as though a troop of divine paladins had descended to escort their Pale Priestess.

    The crowd rolled backwards as her men advanced, covered by the hovering Caliban, whose warnings of SHAA¡ª! kept the fanatical howlers at bay.

    Gwen wasn¡¯t worried. Once her promotional tour through Bright Reef was done, Lei-bup¡¯s work would begin.

    Missionaries, each carrying hundreds of red-covered pamphlets, would soon infiltrate the city, bearing the gospel of the Great Shoal Forward. For the Mermen here who had lived under the yoke of oppression for a hundred generations, even the most meagre of her High Priests¡¯ promises of labour and an opportunity for her ¡°Blessing¡±¡ªwould send the fish here into a feeding frenzy.

    Meanwhile, comrades of the Shoal who had received blessings would dispense SPAM and other prized foodstuffs to the needy and stand up for the repressed and abused wherever they may find them. Even if the local powers bested them, their borrowed tenacity from the Shoal and empowered by the life furnace of Aristotle itself would manifest as extraordinary displays of selfless sacrifice.

    In the long term, it was a matter of time before their Shoal grew beyond the comfort of Pak and Sarkonnian.In the short term, Lei-bup¡¯s evangelism would be an almighty distraction that frazzled their limited imagination.

    ¡°Caliban, come¡ª¡° Her great lungfish drifted lower until it became an oily, faceless eel trailing behind her shoulder like a scarf carved from shadow and death.

    ¡°Commander,¡± she addressed the senior Crab-kin of its brood, a true decapodian juggernaut armed with an obscenely tentacled claw. ¡°Take us to where the food is sold and traded. I want to see how Bright Reef fends for itself.¡±

    The Fifth Vel.

    Aristotle.

    Back in her makeshift bed chamber and office, Gwen pondered her tours of the city on a whalebone divan, waiting for the fish to bite.

    She had been here for a week now. Though the permanence of the Vel¡¯s energies had blurred her concept of time, her Message devices still operated on its internal metronomes, counting the passage of time in Human terms.

    Bright Reef was an interesting place, to say the least.

    For a landlubber like herself, the city''s three-dimensional nature was astounding up close, for even its broadest avenue was overshadowed by a myriad of networked coral linkages, each a branch from some other overarching growth.

    With its present conditions, human habitation was impossible, even with the application of magical items and devices. The infrastructure, populace, and cultural habits were simply inhospitable for mammalian creatures, even ones that had evolved from oceanic cultures. If the city survived, there would not be another Shalkar here. The world of the Mermen would belong to the Mermen themselves, meaning its boons and troubles would also be its own.

    For a whole week, Lei-bup¡¯s missionaries had made their case in every nook of the Bright Reef, with the most ardent Mermen believers urged to join them in the kelp fields of Aristotle. For the newcomers, the Great Shoal Forward was a novel and almost unbelievable place.In Bright Reef, Mermen without a Shoal was predated upon by those with one.

    Those within a Shoal were predated upon by their superiors within that Shoal.

    Yet here in the Shoal of the Pale Priestess, its myriad of Mermen simply got along, interlinked by a belief that seemed to repress their primal instincts. Conflicts still broke out, of course, and Mermen died as they do to the usual hazards of living in the Vel, but there was no looming shadow that one¡¯s children or brood mates would be butchered en mass for feed or that they would be traded as chattel by Mer with nobler blood.

    A thrilling whistle rang at her door.

    Gwen willed the clamshell to open, revealing Lei-bup, the twins and a few others who looked like new recruits from Bright Reef.

    Her fish was now pulling on the line.

    ¡°Pale Priestess.¡± Lei-bup¡¯s yellow eyes told her everything she needed to know. ¡°I bring dire news from Bright Reef.¡±

    ¡°SHAA¡ª!¡± Caliban hissed from underfoot.

    Gwen rolled her dark sausage like a slick log, kneading the embodiment of living hunger with her bare toes, setting the creature to purr.

    ¡°Approach, do not feel so frightened.¡± Gwen¡¯s amicability did not translate well into Mermen''s body language, but her new followers seemed to believe her. ¡°What¡¯s the matter? You may speak your mind without fear.¡±

    ¡°Your Highness, this is Nin-bo and his kin of the same brood. They would like to report a case of their missing brood-siblings.¡±

    ¡°The terrible tyranny of the bloodlines never ceases to amaze me,¡± Gwen repeated a line from the Red Pamphlet. ¡°Come, Nin-bo, who has taken your siblings? The Shoal will not let this stand if they are our believers.¡±

    ¡°Umm¡­¡± the star-struck guppie took several seconds before rediscovering his mouth. ¡°They weren¡¯t taken or eaten, your Highness. We would have been told otherwise. What I fear is that they simply disappeared.¡±

    ¡°Disappeared?¡±

    ¡°All sixty-odd of them,¡± Lei-bup clarified his concern. ¡°I believe we have a case of the¡­ suspicious activities we discussed prior.¡±

    ¡°When did you last see them?¡± Gwen asked.

    ¡°Two days ago, they left for the Coral Mines of Whabpuz Gyli, but they never returned. There were two dozen broods with them, but they told us there were no raiders or monsters while they worked on extracting the mana crystals.¡±

    ¡°This isn¡¯t an isolated event,¡± Lei-bup added for her information. ¡°Pelahwi here says that her local Cabals have logged almost a thousand such incidents¡ªand that¡¯s in a society that rarely keeps records of anything!¡±

    ¡°I see; this Whabpuz Gyli is owned by who?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s currently under Sarkonnian¡¯s control,¡± Lei-bup emphasised the temporal ownership.

    ¡°Nin-bo, who hired you?¡± Gwen asked of the guppie.

    ¡°Hire? I am unsure what you mean, Priestess¡± The Merman flapped his facial fins.

    ¡°Ah¡ªthe labourers here are compelled to work,¡± Lei-bup clarified for her. ¡°Hire would infer payment¡ªalthough I supposed not becoming food for Shark-kin cavalry would constitute payment. There¡¯s only one rule of law here, your Highness, and its power.¡±

    Gwen¡¯s sympathy for the guppies was genuine. ¡°Nin-bo, are there many other families with missing brood-mates?

    The fishes nodded as a school.

    ¡°Can you put them all in contact with Lei-bup?¡±

    The school confirmed their willingness to serve.

    ¡°Then take this with you.¡± Gwen smiled. Then, in a gesture akin to sowing seeds, she dispensed a droplet of the Golden Mead to each of the lucky few who worked up the courage to approach a foreign Shoal.

    After a great show of humility and under the watchful eye of her followers, the surviving guppies metamorphosed into less apologetic versions of themselves.

    ¡°We¡¯ll find the missing Mermen, of course,¡± Gwen promised the prostrating fish-folk. ¡°Whabpuz Gyli, eh? We can send a group of our gainful faithful to offer their boundless labour at the mines. With enough of them, someone is bound to pull a fast one again.¡±

    ¡°And I shall send our Priests to offer prayers for Nin-bo¡¯s peers.¡± Lei-bup twirled his tentacles. ¡°We will scour the city for the victims, Priestess, and form a great committee of those whose kin have been dragged into the dark without payment!¡±

    ¡°To steal not only the sweat¡ªthe excretion of their brows¡ªbut the body of labour itself! Atrocious!¡± Gwen remarked.

    ¡°Atrocious!¡° Lei-bup and the twins echoed.

    ¡°Atrocious¡­¡± the guppies mimed them for fear of disrupting the atmosphere.

    And after that¡­ Gwen watched as her followers marched away.

    A reckoning will come to Bright Reef, driven by its own citizens.

    The only question that remained¡­was who would pay for the curious case of the city¡¯s missing fishes.

 Chapter 506 - The Grand Purpose

    The Fifth Vel.

    Bright Reef.

    Nin-bo, once an unassuming guppie of an unassuming Clan living in the hovels of Bright Reef¡¯s lightless hollows, had found his Purpose.

    Once nude and bereft, his body was now covered in an olive green uniform representative of the Great Shoal Forward and its evangelical Priests of the Purpose. It was a creation made from kelp, manufactured through the labour of comrade Mermen like himself in the belly of sacred Aristotle, the young Leviathan of their brood. The same material, he was told, was also worn by the Pale Priestess herself, whose pearlescent self, white and untouchable, was clad in the same coarse fabric as her meanest, most common citizen so that she could feel at all times, the oppression placed upon the Prole-Mer-iat.

    As he meandered the under city, his tail stirring the murky water, he held in his hand the sacred scripture of the Door and The Key, a little red book made from kelp that contained the wisdom of Lei-bup, the High Priest of the Great Shoal Forward.

    Though contentious, its nuggets of wisdom, such as, ¡°The noble Mer has reduced the Mer to a mere relation of prey and resource,¡± were powerful enough to stir the heart blood of the Mer-people in the darkest alleyways of Bright Reef. Much to the surprise of Nin-bo, even those who received no wisdom from their ancestors and no teachings from their supervising elders naturally understood the words that permeated every page with spite.

    Nin-bo arrived at the square, where he would deliver his sermon.

    A Vel cycle ago, when comrade Gak-Pon was taken by Lord Sarkonnian¡¯s Wave Riders into this same space to be made an example, the yellow-finned Flounder did not despair or plead as would have been expected of his bloodline. Instead, the Merman¡¯s voice was loud and clear as he howled out the wisdom of Lei-bup to the watching people below.

    ¡°What offence has this humble one committed?¡± Gak-Pon howled as a bruised mess bleeding from every orifice, but the pain had only amplified his voice. ¡°Do you charge me with wanting to stop the exploitation of our children? If a Mer can be guilty of this, then I confess! TYRANT SARKONNIAN! THIS MER IS GUILTY!¡±

    The Hammerhead Captain had then gutted the Flounder like a common fish, spreading his guts for all to see.

    There was fear, of course, and the usual terror¡ªbut something else had also ignited in the hundred-thousand pair of eyes watching the Flounder being torn apart from gill, liver to bladder.

    Once the scabs were done and all that was Gak-Pon was a skeleton, what was remained a simmering anger, one that could be palpably felt from the water like the periodic vibrations from the Leviathans murmuring in their ancient language beside the city.

    After that, Mermen and Mer-women came to Nin-bo, who had seen the Pale Priestess first-hand, first by the dozen, then by the hundreds and now the thousands. After that first conference in the dark, Nin-bo had felt something stir in his bones, a momentum hot with ardent purpose, a liquid courage akin to the Golden Pearl from the Pale Priestess.

    The rage inside him could no longer be contained.

    ¡°I SAY¡ª!¡± His voice pealed over the multitudes with their eyes glazed and hopeful from the words issuing from his toothless lips. ¡°I say we let them tremble! For what have we to lose? My comrades? My Prole-Mer-iat? They have taken everything else from us! Our dignity! Our mates! Our brooding pools! What else have we to lose, but the Hooks around our Fins¡ªOOMMPH!¡±

    There was no climax, for Nin-bo felt his ribcage press against his swim bladder as the armoured limbs of a Decapodian guard tackled him from the raised mound of coral that serves as his dais.

    The trajectory from the top was swift. A breath bubble later, Nin-bo felt his face grinding against the rough sand while smaller claws from below the guard¡¯s waist tore at his olive-green uniform.

    ¡°THE COMMON FISH MUST OVERCOME¡ª!¡± he eked out another line from the Little Red Book with its embossed tentacle symbol forming the Gate and the Key. ¡°AS ONE WE MAY DIE! BUT AS A SCHOOL, THE PROLE-MER-IAT WILL¡ª!¡±

    There was a wet thwack as something struck Nin-bo¡¯s head, and then the wisdom of Lei-bup went dark as squid ink¡­

    When the blessed light of the Fifth Vel visited him again, the dazed and bleeding Nin-bo found himself on the back of a coral-grown cage with hundreds of comrades just like himself.

    ¡°Hey you, you¡¯re finally awake¡­¡± came the gruff voice of an old cuttlefish, his slippery skin oozing with white mucus from wounds old and new. ¡°They caught you at Bjit Square, right? You walked right into that Sarkonnian Patrol, same as us.¡±

    ¡°You¡­ what¡¯s happening?¡± Nin-bo¡¯s head felt like a reef of shellfish that a Plesiosaur had visited.

    ¡°What else? We¡¯re going to Whabpuz Gyli.¡± The old cuttlefish breathed hard, flashing the pink of his torn tentacles. ¡°They¡¯re removing troublemakers like us from Bright Reef.¡±

    ¡°Trouble Makers¡­.¡± Nin-bo gathered enough of his wits to touch his naked body again, no longer covered by the olive-green garb of kelp. His book, as well, was gone. ¡°Yes, I suppose we are that. Whabpuz Gyli, you say?¡±

    He recalled that the Pale Priestess had said that her faithful would look into his story, that Mermen were disappearing by the brood. A dozen Vel cycles had gone by since, and there appeared to be no change in Bright Reef other than the appearance of Mer like himself, preachers of the teachings of Lei-bup, who began to lead the downtrodden in questioning the practices of the nobler Mer.

    Was he disappointed? No, to even consider such a thing would be absurd. The Pale Priestess had healed his body and given him a new life and purpose. To be seized by the claws of tyranny in the midst of uplifting his comrade-fishes was an expected outcome, for there would be a great many more deaths before a smidgen of change could occur in the Fifth Vel.

    ¡°I do not think many of us will return from the Coral Mines,¡± the cuttlefish spoke with a certainty that made Nin-bo want to turn his stomach inside out. ¡°You¡¯ve heard the stories?¡±

    ¡°My brood mates went there to work,¡± Nin-bo said. ¡°They did not return¡­¡±

    ¡°My entire colony was uprooted.¡± The cuttlefish seemed not too concerned with his fate. ¡°For spreading the Purpose. We killed our supervisor, you know? We took the shark bait by surprise and tore him apart with teeth and bone from his victims. It was glorious, you understand. For that moment, we were no longer prey; our still-living spawn no longer looked at us with dead eyes.¡±

    ¡°A supervisor? From Lord Sark¡ª¡±

    ¡°¡ªNin-Pak.¡± The Catfish shook his enormous head. ¡°What¡¯s the difference to us? Their thugs take what they want when they will.¡±

    ¡°You didn¡¯t have a Preacher of Purpose in your brooding pools?¡± Nin-bo thought of those tentacled Preachers, the spreaders of the Gospel of Lei-bup, who would fight the Shark-men by the dozen. More often than not, knowing the tenacity of the fanatics, Bright Reef¡¯s roving gangs would leave them alone.

    ¡°Ours gave his body to the Purpose.¡± The cuttlefish sighed. ¡°We hail from the Ivory Troves, if you must know. Those who fought lost everyone. Entire districts were purged.¡±

    The Troves, Nin-bo understood, was where the servants for Bright Reef¡¯s nobler kin resided. Almost all of the servants there had servants, just to put the hierarchy into perspective. To cause a revolt so close to the city¡¯s seats of power¡­ was an unthinkable prospect for a guppy hailing from the dark waters at the city¡¯s edge.

    ¡°¡­ We have only our chains to lose,¡± Nin-bo repeated the words of the Red Book like a mantra.

    ¡°I can¡¯t deny that.¡± The cuttlefish elder wheezed, ejecting blood and ink. ¡°Hold onto that thought, pup. Maybe you¡¯ll survive the mines¡­¡±

    Nin-bo tried to move his body, but every bone and cartilage ached.

    With the help of the old cuttlefish, he raised his head just enough to peer over the edge of the jagged coral cage. Outside the permanent gloom that made up most of the Elemental Plane¡¯s vast spaces, he could see the light beacons of a massive coral clump with the silhouette of an enormous conch.

    Whabpuz Gyli, as the nobler Mer named it, was an endless source of crystalline corals needed for the Sea Witches¡¯ crafting cabals. Some say it was the remains of a long sunken city, a flotsam from wars fought between Shoals in the distant past. Others say that it was a broken chunk from some Demi-god in the depthless space of the Mer¡¯s home Plane.

    The danger of Whabpuz Gyli was that it was not uninhabited. Deep within its luminous bulbs were monstrous predators that civilisations living on the periphery of light could not begin to imagine. Old things, deep things that had survived the aeons of timelessness in the Elemental Plane of Water, made their home in its depth.

    And it was into this maw that they were meant to labour, extracting the old coral to enrich their masters, while they were not even awarded the ooze from their brows.

    Perhaps, Nin-bo thought, he could also spread the Purpose to those below.

    Perhaps, if he could recall enough of the Red Book¡¯s sacred psalms, he could ignite a bioluminescence flare in the deep that would never go out¡­

    The Fifth Vel.

    Aboard the HPPS (Her Pale Priestess¡¯ Ship) Aristotle, the Pale Priestess of the Great Shoal Forward remotely carried herself aboard the sleek vessel that was HPPS Caliban from a distance that Dwarven metrics could not measure.

    Perhaps it was because of their mutual link through body and mind, or perhaps because of the boons given by the yet to be awakened Sulfina, Gwen found that she could inhabit the senses of her Familiar hundreds of leagues away.

    In all likelihood, the distance didn¡¯t even matter, for her spatial senses were utterly confused by the distortion caused by the intrusion of the Vel into the Prime Material.

    The actual distance of Whabpuz Gyli from Aristotle was half a week at a brisk swimming pace¡ªbut she knew by instinct that it was more akin to a Pocket Dimension that had anchored itself like a shipwreck somewhere between the ruffled fabric of the two Planes.

    An uncertain number of light cycles ago, her Caliban had followed the wagon loads of ¡°offenders¡± from Bright Reef into the dark, finding themselves finally arriving at the infamous gulag.

    Mixed into the labour force were the regular, luckless folk living in the brilliance of the Vel, as well as a portion of her converts, among which were an even smaller portion with the Blessing of Essence etched into their tattered bodies who burned like beacons to guide her way.

    To take responsibility for her people, she had sent forth Caliban as an escort to ensure they didn¡¯t fall prey to random encounters along the way¡ªmidway of which she discovered that Caliban¡¯s Empathic Link defied distance.

    The unexpected boon allowed her to extend her curiosity through her Familiar, who roamed the depth as a jet-black, faceless catfish without challenge, even from the hungriest and meanest form of sea life.

    While the patrols unloaded the new prisoners, she had hidden herself in the mine¡¯s numberless crevices to observe the proceedings.

    The Mer were emptied into a holding pen, then sorted according to size and strength into work groups for different segments in the mine. Food¡ªsomething Gwen guessed was either the carcass of fallen Mer or whatever could be caught locally, was dispensed among the new prisoners, who were then forced into hovels several dozen deep.

    After the hierarchy within these hovels was established by natural law, brutish, shark-bodied Mer armed with coral tridents and spears herded the new workers into the various areas of the mines, where squid-limbed supervisors delivered the reward of meeting quotas and the consequences of failing them.

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    For a few days, Gwen surveyed her men, who could work far more rigorously than others¡­ and then witnessed the consequence of failure.

    Decimation.

    That was the procedure the Coral Mine¡¯s supervisors utilised to motivate their slaves.

    At the end of each cycle, the tallies of each ¡°Brood¡± of workers would be counted.

    The ¡°Brood¡± that came up the lowest weight would be forced to butcher one out of twelve of their Brood, whose flesh was then sent to the kitchens to be fed to the winners.

    Psychologically, this was a brilliant system, though Gwen found the process as sickening as it was cruel. In such a competitive environment, it was inevitable that the Broods developed some manner of friendship and camaraderie based upon mutual survival. To then witness the murder of one of their weakest¡ªand the consumption of their peer by competitors¡ªvery much did wonders for the motivation of hate.

    And most importantly, the hatred was directed not toward the guards, who were brutal but rarely unfair, but toward each other, toward the other Broods.

    At the same time, the Brood that performed the best were given food, better shelter, and the promise of release.

    ¡°Release,¡± she ruminated the word with sarcasm.

    That was her principal motivation in accompanying her faithful, for Bright Reef¡¯s Preachers of the Purpose had reported that no labourer had returned from the gulag for as long as any of their brood siblings could recall.

    Thereby, the Pale Priestess continued to lurk inside her Familiar¡¯s conscience, snaking her way through the mine to observe its structure and operations. More often than not, she encountered strange creatures with the likeness of fanged worms, some large enough to fill a Dwarven excavation tunnel. Against Caliban¡¯s appetite, however, these primordial things were merely meals, for her Familiar could not be paralysed by venom or critically wounded by mandibles or bristles. Deeper and deeper, her Caliban dug, sometimes even accosting the mine¡¯s guards, who could only imagine that her Void-creature was an ancient evil that lurked in the heart of the coral structure.

    On what her Message Device suggested to be the sixth day, she followed the vital signs of her faithful deep enough into the centre of Whabpuz Gyli and confirmed her hypothesis.

    Whabpuz Gyli was the coral carcass of a Leviathan.

    The Leviathan itself was long dead¡ªbut much like a living Leviathan, that did not mean its internal floral and fauna were deceased. If a Whale Fall could feed and sustain generations of scavengers, it only stood to reason that a Leviathan Fall in the Elemental Plane of Water would sustain a biome of its own for millenniums.

    More importantly, Caliban, by virtue of her faithful, had drawn her toward the ultimate goal of the Shoals trying to dig through the Leviathan¡¯s many-layered body.

    Its Cores.

    Already, they had uncovered the location of a Core, and Gwen was sure that this wasn¡¯t even the main Core. From the physiology of Aristotle and her internal mapping, her best guess was that the enormous and dormant shard of jagged, crystalline coral was something of a dorsal Core used to control the upper fins that steered the Leviathan¡¯s passage.

    If indeed these were what Sarkonnian and Nin-Pak were trying to uncover, then it made a lot of sense that they would sacrifice the citizens they saw as something between fodder and slave labour, all the while maintaining something akin to a secretive competition.

    But there had to be more.

    As a long-time partner in conspiracy, Gwen felt in her bones that there had to be more to the casual Belgians in the Congo style of tyranny on display here in Whabpuz Gyli.

    Without her Omni Orb''s guidance, she allowed Caliban to take the lead, consuming its way into the central regions of the ancient Leviathan, finding food in caverns as cramped as a tour bus and as roomy as cathedrals. Creatures she had never seen nor heard, such as jet-ink squids that drank the bodily fluids of their prey, eels that distended jaws a dozen times its girth, or angelic little worms that discharged lightning, nourished Caliban¡¯s passage in every stratum.

    Then, finally, on the thirteenth day by Human time, her Caliban detected the all-too-familiar Essence scent of prey it had consumed by the thousands.

    Necromancy.

    From the narrow space of its slick tunnel, her creature understood innately that it was about to happen upon an enormous cavern larger than the pyramid interior of the Shalkar Bunker. The thick haze of undeath that leaked from its interior and into the surrounding water made the space distinct from the rest of the Leviathan, turning the cold, frigid liquid into a bone-chilling soup of Negative Energy.

    Slowly, inch by inch, her Caliban excreted its corrosive slime from its oil pores, propelling forward until it soundlessly penetrated the ceiling of the gargantuan chamber below.

    ¡°Eurrg¡­¡± Gwen groaned from a hundred leagues away as the Negative Energy of the chamber¡¯s interior flooded Caliban, nourishing her creature with gross impurities.

    From eyes that were not eyes, she saw a vague vision of the operation in the pitch-black darkness of the space below, spread out like the interior of an ancient Dwarven Forge into a dozen stations, each with its nefarious arcane industries.

    The most salient feature was the Core itself, a construct as large as a six-storey building, jagged and overgrown like a warped Sen-sen, vaguely cobalt in hue but covered almost entirely in Glyphs. These should have been for anyone else utterly arcane and indecipherable, though for herself, they were as familiar as her own Necromancy, for she had seen these very patterns a continent over, almost a decade ago, etched into the stone egg of another mythic creature.

    ¡°By the Nazarene¡­¡± her seated self blasphemed the name of a predecessor. ¡°So this is their game¡­¡±

    Her mind fell into a moment of turmoil so chaotic that she almost lost the connection with Caliban.

    The branding of Almudj had been intentional.

    The awakening of the Kirin in Tianjin, from the Tower¡¯s investigations, is said to be a miscalculation.

    And now, she had found the source, the course, and the future of Spectre¡¯s next great ploy, their next Ode to Joy for the Prime Material.

    A Leviathan!

    A FUCKING UNDEAD LEVIATHAN!

    She had no idea if the Followers of Juche could raise a creature as ancient and noble as a Leviathan older than Sarkonnian and Nin-Pak¡¯s flagships combined¡ªbut the prospect was painfully dire for her mortal mind.

    What would happen if a roving Leviathan appeared in the North Pacific, starting from the China Sea? Even if it didn¡¯t erase all Human coastal cities from existence, the entire framework of trade established by Humanity in the last four centuries would come to an end. Every Human city, Capital and Frontier, would become isolated from allies, each Tower left to fend for itself. Furthermore, adding an Undead Leviathan to the general chaos of Climate Change would be akin to dropping a meteor into a drying lake, destroying any and every last vestige of stability Humanity exerted on the Prime Material.

    And with Humanity, the greatest tool of Tryfan, turned to chaos, civil conflict and total war¡ªwho would be there to stop the uprooting of the World Trees?

    And if the World Trees were hewn¡­Would the spherical Prime Material crack like an egg, spilling its gut flora over the cosmos in a fantastical implosion?

    Gwen¡¯s imagination spun like a smoothie blender as its Essence-infused calculations orbited the Axis Mundi.

    ¡°Evee¡­ Evee¡­ Evee¡­ Deep breath¡­¡± She calmed herself with an internal Mantra that wasn¡¯t as effective as its prior incarnations but still effective in grounding her sensibilities.

    She knew that the Prime Material was holding together for the moment. Even if the Leviathan surfaced tomorrow, the resultant cataclysm was decades away from fruition.

    Slowly, she forced Caliban¡¯s eyeless features to snake across the ceiling, adhering to the rough bone coral with rows of tiny white hands on its belly that served as sticky feelers. Like a spectrometer, Caliban¡¯s meta-physical senses slowly scanned the chamber, beginning from the inert Core.

    Undead Mer of exceptional quality, some even appearing semi-intelligent, laboured in rows numbering in the hundreds, chipping away at the Core¡¯s fossilised base with limbs or tools. Lesser Mer, more decomposed but likely enriched by the Negative Energy of the space, carted away loads of refuse to be disposed Nazarene knows where.

    Following the tip-tap of ceaselessly labouring digits, Caliban¡¯s senses alighted upon a grotesque blob of Negative Energy denser than even the miasma clambering the Leviathan Core.

    A Lich? Gwen refocused her Familiar¡¯s organs, which, unlike Detect Magic, was purely innate and not reliant upon a Mage¡¯s psychic projection of their Astral awareness.

    To her surprise, for all the Undead she had consumed to date, Gwen possessed no knowledge of the impossible perversion of life that seemed to command the Undead here.

    Its head, from what she could discern from Caliban¡¯s impressionistic vision, was a squid-like mask, the likeness of which matched her knowledge of a fully formed Sinneslukare, those Far Plane aberrants the Dwarves had faced in the Deep Murk.

    This specimen was aquatic from the way its facial apparatus expanded and shrunk¡ªbut at the same time, she could also sense with absolute certainty that its body and magic were that of a Human Mage, a dead one.

    A Sinneslukare Lich? Her mind felt as though a fistful of leeches had engaged an orgy in her frontal lobe. Was that even possible?

    By Arcane Lore, it was well known that Demi-humans rarely became Undead. To the Faith-using Necromancers of the Great War, Demi-humans and Magical Monsters made for excellent parts, but the base of these creations were invariably human, for that was the limitation of Human Faith magic, and thus the limitations of Necromancy.

    Likewise, it was an agreed-upon principle of the world that Magical Creatures not native to Terra, including Demi-humans as intelligent as Elves, could not readily make use of Faith Magic. And by that same Rule of Lore, there were no reliable records of Undead Mer before Gwen ventured into the Realm of Frost to defend the World Tree there.

    Yet here, she saw a revision of the world order they had all taken for granted.

    A Sinneslukare, an Undead Sinneslukare at that, inhabiting the body of a Necromancer at the tier of a Lich, using a derivative of Faith Magic on other Demi-humans¡­

    It still made no sense to her¡ªbut it wasn¡¯t as though Caliban could capture the creature and bring it back to Cambridge for tea, cupcakes and a dissection.

    Nonetheless, her mind, in the likeness of her Axis Mundi, quickly stitched together a terrible tapestry of a conspiracy involving the Followers of Juche, the strange Sinneslukare of the Far Planes, the Elemental Princes and the web that entwined them all¡ªSpectre.

    If true, then she had just uncovered a tier of fuckery beyond even the ken of the Bloom in White.

    With infinite care, her Caliban crawled to the furthermost end of the Chamber, where the workers were fewest, while the guards grew increasingly hulking until two Lobster-Mer the size of houses blocked what looked to be an entryway.

    As before, her Caliban sunk into the calcite catacombs, soundless as a Lich¡¯s breath.

    Where she had planned for Bright Reef to slowly revolt over months¡ªit would seem that the immediacy of what she had seen called for something far more¡­ dramatic.

    Gwen didn¡¯t know it was possible to be drenched in sweat while underwater, but she could feel the cold, slimy surface of her kelp garb adhere to her skin, making her want to tear it all off just so that she could feel the tiniest freedom from her suffocation.

    As soon as Caliban had gone dormant so she could rest her overtaxed Divination, she called upon her inner council to relay what she had discovered.

    In silence, her council endured her vivid sharing of their mutually connected Empathic Link as they vicariously lived through her memories and recollections, understanding far more from her sensations than they did from the mortal words issuing from her Translation Stone¡¯s best efforts.

    ¡°Suggestions,¡± she offered the echoic chamber. ¡°Now.¡±

    ¡°I can only offer sympathy for the insanity of what you have seen, Pale Priestess.¡± Lei-bup was the first to mentally recover, as expected of her First Officer and most faithful. ¡°A Leviathan is a sacred being, your highness. To mine the body of such a sacred being, even a long-forgotten one, is already a travesty in the eyes of Mer kind. Perhaps that is why they use forced labour and call it Whabpuz Gyli instead. In a better world, the mine should have become the host to a new, prosperous reef, with the body of the Leviathan becoming home and hearth to a Shoal of billions.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s true, Priestess¡­¡± The twins openly wept as they explained the pseudo-religious implications, for Sea Witches had a deep connection to the Leviathans whose bodies served as the fertile ground of their Coral Cabals. The desecration of one as old as what Gwen had described was as unimaginable as building an Adventist Church by pile-driving a prehistoric indigenous corroboree.

    ¡°Priestess, we must let Bright Reef know,¡± spoke the immovable beaked face of Lim-duk, their turtle-shelled Majordomo. ¡°None who are not involved in this would stand for it. It is a good test¡­ I think¡­ to perceive which of the two sovereigns of the Fifth Vel is in cahoots with the Defilers.¡±

    ¡°Would that be viable?¡± Gwen asked of Lei-bup. ¡°We are asking for open revolt. Our Priests of Purpose have yet to saturate the city¡¯s sentiments, so who would join us?¡±

    ¡°Nonetheless, our Wave Riders are ready to give their all to right this travesty,¡± Nin-ka, the most senior of her Generals, offered his sword-nose. ¡°We will be the vanguard, and the rest shall follow.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s too much risk.¡± Gwen shook her head. She knew that the Mer had a tendency to school and that Bright Reef held a great volume of resentment to be tapped, but should they fail¡ªshe might survive, but her Shoal would perish.

    And without her Shoal, what could they do on the surface other than wait for a Leviathan to surface with a billion Undead Mer?

    The throne room throbbed with their congealed thoughts.

    ¡°Priestess,¡± Lei-bup¡¯s body oozed freely as he rose. ¡°Perhaps I have a solution.¡±

    Gwen¡¯s eyes gazed upon her beloved High Priest, whose loyalty was as strong as his physicality was an insult to the existence of eyes.

    ¡°I think you should speak with Aristotle,¡± Lei-bup offered a perspective she had not even begun to consider. ¡°We cannot commune with Leviathans like we do with each other, but you can.¡±

    ¡°Go on.¡± Gwen considered the point, and a slow-burning idea slowly came to light.

    ¡°Indeed.¡± Lei-bup read her body like a priest reading the scripture. ¡°If we are this distressed, imagine how Aristotle would feel if you could fully communicate the extent of the atrocity. Leviathan do not possess complex thoughts, Great Pale One, but they do possess all the faculties that make them self-aware.¡±

    Gwen understood well what her High Priest inferred. While Aristotle was incapable of Virtue Ethics, it was fully capable of the base emotions of happiness, joy, sadness, anger¡­ blind, livid rage¡­

    ¡°And while you cannot commune with the other Leviathans serving Nin-Pak and Sarkonnian¡­¡± Lei-bup¡¯s lips formed a terrifying, puckering oval.

    ¡°¡­ Aristotle can relay the horrors to its peers¡­¡± Gwen was now certain that Lei-bup must be a born general with the IQ of a dozen dolphins stacked end-to-end like a fishy centipede. ¡°By the Shoggoth, Lei-bup, you¡¯re a fucking treasure¡­¡±

    Her High Priest bowed, polluting the waters with its quivering discharge. ¡°This one lives only to serve.¡±

    ¡°You and Richard should have tea someday¡­¡± Gwen knew now exactly what she had to do and that there was no point in wasting time. ¡°Lim-Duk, inform the Shoal that we may be on the move. Ready the troops, and make sure all our citizens are stowed or evacuated.¡±

    ¡°By your will!¡± The turtle bowed, as did the rest of her bright-eyed, bloodthirsty council.

    ¡°Aristotle!¡± Gwen called out audibly, even though the gesture was for her benefit. ¡°I wish to speak with you¡­ intimately.¡±

    The throne room shook as the floor opened, revealing the passage into the Leviathan¡¯s Core.

    Gwen wasn¡¯t exactly sure how she would relay a picture of abstract impressionism to a Mythic organism. Still, she felt confident the tactility of the Glyphs etched onto her Leviathan¡¯s Core was exactly what was needed to deliver to Aristotle the unfiltered horror, dismay and travesty happening to its sacred ancestor.

    And after that?

    She could not know, for the capacity of Human imagination when it came to three rampaging Leviathans shedding cities and citizens as they sought out a Calamari-Lich was sorely lacking.

 Chapter 507-508 - You say you want a Revolution

    Bright Reef.

    The whale song of the Leviathans began with a melodic note, long and delicate, like the mewing laughter of adorable toddlers not yet capable of speech.

    High up in his crystal spire, the Warlock Nin-Pak paused his council meeting when the first notes struck, sending a visible shiver from the chandelier of his peerless palace to wobble his plates of delectable, bubbled jellies.

    It was unusual to hear a Leviathan sing, for they were solitary creatures whose breeding cycles could lay dormant for centuries. But then again, Nin-Pak reasoned, there was a young Leviathan now in the same sea, and an orphaned juvenile may not understand that its seniors possessed no energy or desire to mate for the next century or so.

    His interest lay with the Human female on the outskirts, one whose uncertain ambitions were stirring up strange troubles in his gleaming city.

    When the second chorus arrived, longer and deeper this time, Nin-Pak¡¯s thoughts on the invasive Draconic Vessel controlling the third Shoal acquired the same locomotion as the violently quivering caviar.

    By the time he summoned the guards to summon the Sea Witches responsible for Zityupdul, the Leviathan that housed his armies, his delicate coral spire was reeling like reeds amid an elemental maelstrom.

    After briefly warning his panicked ministers, the Warlock commanded the currents to take him outside his palatial spire.

    Unfortunately, the spire''s exterior offered no solace, for below his jewel-encrusted fins, he saw a city being consumed by debris and stirring sediments.

    ¡°SIRE¡ª!¡± His guards also likewise abandoned the rapidly deconstructing shelter of the Shimmering Spire. ¡°Bright Reef is¡ª¡°

    Nin-Pak could hear nothing, for the Leviathan song vibrating through the water had reached a level he had never experienced in the two hundred Vel-cycles of his life as the city¡¯s ruler. All forms of communication grew insensible as ripples, visible to the naked eye, tore across Bright Reef, tearing up the shell cobbles of the palace districts and collapsing the fragile growths of young coral just woven into place.

    Even his spire, the highest structure in Bright Reef, was rapidly shedding its shells.

    In the distance, he could see that Zityupdul was on the move.

    Forcing his bulging eyes back into their sockets, Nin-Pak calmed himself and his guards with a deft manipulation of Elemental Water, transmuting his voice across liquids with the consistency of sludge.

    ¡°Gather the Shoal!¡± he said, his voice croaking. "Make for Zityupdul! It¡¯s headed to Whabpuz Gyli!¡±

    Bright Reef.

    Sarkonnian, daughter of the Mother of Mantas who Swallowed the Seas of the World, half-rolled from her enormous chaise when her dearest Qiuh-bwuzi, the very Leviathan whose womb served as her spawning pool, suddenly spoke for the first time in a century.

    The shockwave from its sudden vociferation, both internal and external, was enough to loosen Sarkonnian¡¯s century-old war trophies from the gut wall to free-float through the interior of the palace.

    Swearing upon her ancestors, she clambered back onto her jewel-encrusted chaise. Her impeccable presence was restored within a breath. However, for a being as regal as Sarkonnian, she felt a deep sense of shame and loathing for showing her subjects a genuine display of confusion and panic.

    ¡°Qiuh-shallha?¡± she sent out psychic ripples of thought through her innate connection with her Leviathan, the literal seat of her power in the Fifth Vel. ¡°What has upset you?¡±

    The answer that came was so sharp and resonant that Sarkonnian¡¯s attendant Mermaids had to brace their Cores and circulate their mana lest their mana conduits spontaneously erupted from the vibrations of the Leviathan¡¯s sound organs.

    ¡°An ancient one¡­?¡± Sarkonnian could barely distinguish the meaning behind her living fortress¡¯s impressionistic shrieks and whistles, combined with a bone-cracking series of clicks. Compared to the evocative expressions of the common Mer, a Leviathan¡¯s thoughts and speech were more primordial, with its foundations in impressions and sensory expression rather than abstract thought. ¡°¡­ defilers¡­? Despoiling the reef?¡±

    A second later, realisation struck, sending a mote of terror through Sarkonnian¡¯s spine. For the noble Mer, it was a level of trepidation she had not experienced since their territorial battle with the Sea Dragons of the Third Vel.

    In Bright Reef, the Ancient was a secret that only a dozen of her closest Mer nobles truly fathomed.

    She and Nin-Pak had stumbled upon the carcass some twenty Vels ago, and it was only in the recent Vel cycles that their Sea Witch scholars truly uncovered the depth of the riches that could be excavated from the body. Through a tacit agreement, the Warlock and herself had designated the region where the carcass lay as a Crystal Mine inhabited by dark and strange creatures. It also served as a cell block for undesirables, who vanish more often than not into its depth.

    Through their mutual discretion, Whabpuz Gyli had enriched their Shoals equally while taking the refuse of Bright Reef without complaint. It was a perfect place, one that operated without complication or complaint.

    Who could have exposed the secret then? Who could have even recognised it for what it was? Her suspicion lay with the Draconic Vessel¡ªbut even such a discovery should not have catalysed her Qiuh-bwuzi into a tectonic passion. Even in the heat of battle, even when her Leviathan had lost half its limbs and leagues and leagues of its rope-like intestines were strewn over the sea floor, Qiuh had found the injury little more than an irksome annoyance.

    Likewise, Leviathans did not possess so much sentimentality that they would turn against their spirit-bound mistresses merely because they offended a tradition of the Elemental Plane of Water. Indeed, in the First Vel, every Leviathan Fall was a boon to be tapped for a hundred hundred Vel cycles, and seldom did the master of a Vel allow outsiders to benefit.

    For her living fortress to wish to uproot itself¡ªand act independent of Sarkonnian¡¯s will¡ªwas a first in all the centuries she had served as its mistress.

    Sarkonnian expanded her fleshy mantles to control the water, balancing herself as the room continued to crumble. She reached out and clutched a dozen pearls, only to have the rest slip through her fingers. To defile, there must be a defiler, of that there was no doubt.

    But the Defilers were half an Elemental Plane away, hidden in that blighted seascape to the north. Their obscene Human magic was potent but much diminished in the water, more so in the deep Vel. Likewise, the reports of Mer-kin being transformed by some Necromantic phage had never appeared in or near the Fifth Vel.

    Was this a ploy by Nin-Pak, then? Sarkonnian found her hypothesis difficult to believe.

    Or could this be the Human¡¯s doing after all? Her returning thought was of their newcomer, whose ¡°priests¡± had been stirring amusing trouble in Bright Reef. Yet, she did not believe that a Draconic Vessel brimming with vitality could be an accomplice to the marauders of un-life, an alliance as unlikely as Pengs and Dragons.

    Her next thought was that perhaps Nin-Pak and the Human had reached an accord, which made the most sense.

    Her throne room lurched, signalling that her Leviathan was on the move.

    Whatever was buried in the depth, the choice was taken from her now. Much like the pearlescent sanctum now falling to pieces around her, whatever plans she had put in place to cox the Pale Vessel were now displaced by the seismic movements of their cities, each eager to unearth those who would defile a sacred garden of life.

    The Regent of Shalkar, Pale Priestess to her people, extricated herself from the gooey aperture of her Leviathan¡¯s Heart Chamber to catch her breath in the chaos of the upturned throne room.

    At last, she was fully capable of comprehending why the Mer¡¯s eclectic structures seemed so jury-rigged, for the twin¡¯s best efforts at decor were disintegrating before her eyes, compelled by undeniable Dwarven lore called momentum.

    While her council braced themselves with their extra appendages, the shimmering screens connected to the Leviathan¡¯s optical senses showed the rapidly dwindling visage of the Fifth Vel behind them, joined by two bioluminescent landscapes, one the form of a manta and the other more cylindrical and elongated.

    ¡°We¡¯re rapidly approaching Whabpuz Gyli, Pale Priestess,¡± Lei-bup, her late-season Riker, spoke as he brandished his Shoggoth appendages. ¡°When the Leviathans are on the move, distance tends to compress.¡±

    Willing her Witch Core to expel the viscous slime weighing her elfin kelp dress, Gwen stumbled onto the throne to make their warp travel more thematically relevant. To her right, the hunched Lim-duk manned his station, assuring the panicking citizens that Aristotle¡¯s traverse was temporary and that they would return to the kelp fields. Her comms officers were the twins Pelahwi and Velahi, whose nubile visage suited their sleek elegance as they wove the magics of the Mer with their ivory digits. Nin-Ka acted as her Worf, whose deep voice ensured Gwen that her Wave Riders managed the chaos of Aristotle¡¯s outer reef while her scarlet-shelled crustacean officers were out and about, keeping order in the Leviathan¡¯s interior.

    Once a report had been delivered from each of her living appendages connecting her to her Shoal, Gwen retreated once more into the immaterial space of her Astral Body to reconnect with her Void Familiar.

    With the synaesthesia of whispering gossamer, her body fell through the throne, past the rigid coral and the floor beneath where Aristotle¡¯s Core Chamber pulsed. When she opened her eyes again, she once more inhabited the strange, alien world of VR Caliban¡¯s hunger vision (?), her brain tethered to the abstraction of echolocation, vitality detection, and an incomprehensible psychic hunger.

    Deep within Whabpuz Gyli, it was business as usual.

    Her faithful, who had infiltrated the mines, remained on the outskirts, chiselling away at the impossible task of removing fossilised Leviathan bone to expose the crystallised marrow used by the Sea Witches to craft potent charms and armour.

    The clueless guards patrolled their routes as always, oblivious to the approaching calamities.

    With the moment soon upon them, Gwen once more guided Caliban toward the zenith of the Core Chamber.

    While the destruction of Whabpuz Gyli and the ¡°rescue¡± of the Edenic carcass was high on her list of priorities, her land-bound duties included gathering evidence that, against the common sense of Spellcraft and Faith Magic, the followers of Juche had found a way to evolve Necromancy beyond the realm of terrestrial beings.

    Now, if her Cali could invite the Sinneslukare Lich to come to Cambridge for tea and coffee with a kind, coaxing conversation¡­ that would surely bring great joy to her colleagues in Tryfan.

    Bright Reef.

    While the city''s triumvirate involuntarily travelled on an expedition into the outer Vel, the citizens of Fifth happened upon an unusual opportunity.

    For the first time since the Pale Priestess¡¯ prophets of the Grand Purpose had entered the city and filtered through its layered stratum of accumulated misery, they could not see the ever-present Wave Riders patrolling the city¡¯s spires.

    A part of the obfuscation was the cataclysm of choking sediments.

    When the Leviathans left, the great songs they had sung had collapsed a portion of the reef and stirred up countless layers of deposited refuse, transforming the city into a murky pool of swirling brine. The hungry, the destitute, and the forgotten had all been forced from their collapsed hovels into the streets, escaping into the upper levels of the spired reef city to avoid suffocation or a crushing death.

    Of course, the Prole-Mer-iat and their attempt to live for the moment was not appreciated by the nobler Mer, whose homes were in the Spires and who were already irked by their losses. Their private guards, not attached to the Greater Shoal of either Nin-Pak or Sarkonnian, emerged in schools with tridents and scimitars to drive the drivel back into the murk, where they belonged.

    Then, as history would have foretold, feathers fell, and camels complained.

    This time, a mother Mer and a brood of her fry had refused to swim into the suffocating churn and were speared by the gleeful barracuda-faced guards of a noble.

    As the cloud of blood and guts slowly erupted, inviting the ever-present scavengers of the sea, an olive-garbed Priest of Purpose, multi-armed and sheltering the surviving fries, threw himself upon the cavalry Captain and clamped the man¡¯s neck with a pincer.

    ¡°What else have we to lose?!¡± he called out to the dusty bodies of ten thousand refugees below him as the Sea Horsed whined and bucked. ¡°What else could they take from you?¡±

    The upset Sea Horse tore a limb from the howling Priest, and the Captain deftly recovered his sidearm, piercing the body of his assailant.

    Yet, the red-shelled crab seemed fuelled by a supernatural vitality as he ignored the maiming, moving instead with vigour to raise a copy of the Door and the Key in its blood-red glory in his off-claw.

    With a thud¡ªhe smashed it into the barracuda¡¯s face.

    Again and again, the spectacle played out, the book falling apart as it hammered the Wave Rider Captain, deforming his skull even as the Priest¡¯s inner cartilage spilt into the bloody water.

    The crowd watched in contemplative silence as a captive audience to a gladiatorial spectacle. When finally the Priest fell limp, and his body slid from the furious Sea Horse, the barracuda Captain howled to intimidate the common folk¡­ only to be faced with an unusual reception.

    For once, the Prole-Mer-iat did not flee, cower, or beg for their lives.

    Instead, they were furious¡ªand that fury had read enough from a little red book to assume a purpose and a goal.

    Whabpuz Gyli.

    The mines, usually tranquil with the sound of dying labourers, erupted like a pierced ball of sardines.

    First came the looming silhouette of what could only be a Leviathan, and then came the armed forces of a Shoal that was not attached to either of their masters.

    The school of guards that ventured forth to greet the incoming tide was immediately perforated by a swarm of malevolent Wave Riders with enormously twisted bodies, riding upon Sea Horses that looked like they had fed upon the lesser riders of Bright Reef¡¯s Shoals.

    Then, within minutes, innumerable crab-Mer descended, captained by gigantic specimens wielding the strength of dozens. These tore apart the gates to the hovels where the mine¡¯s unhappy employees were housed, all the while howling slogans denoting the rise of the Prole-Mer-iat.

    The prison¡¯s Warden, a noble Mer assigned by the ruler of the Fifth Vel himself, ventured forth to confront the threat, only to be crushed wholesale by a tentacle from the Leviathan that shot from the firmament like a pink-purple Roman column.

    Once the guard stations were crushed, the Wave Riders turned their attention rearward, for a second Leviathan had arrived above the first. The surviving guards thought that salvation had finally presented itself¡ªonly to witness the Leviathan drifting beside the first to lay its thousands of tendrils into the scarred landscape of the mine below.

    Their only solace was that the emerging Mer were the ones they knew.

    In the space between them, a great clash began, with living phalanxes of prawn-Mer on the smaller Leviathan lobbing great volleys toward their neighbours while schools of Sea Witch acolytes from the larger Leviathan conjured water sprouts of jagged coral to try and dislodge the archers.

    The chaos grew gradually beyond comprehension, for the Leviathan themselves seemed without foe other than the mine itself¡ªwhile a grand, impromptu battle of the Shoals seemed to break out in every other sphere of space, be it in the water, on the sea floor, or on the moving landscapes of their mutual living cities.

    Then¡ªeven as World War Leviathan rose to a crescendo, a third Leviathan, larger than the rest, slid into its port of call.

    While observers on both sides had fully anticipated the forces of Sarkonnian to either watch or remain at a distance to pick off the victor, the Leviathan under her control ignored all logic and joined its siblings.

    Ergo, chaos and anarchy were joined by mutiny as three tectonic plates, forming something like a great undersea petal, began to jostle for space around the buried carcass.

    The Mermen that had newly arrived were soon sucked into the vortex of violence as their own city threw them overboard or forced them to choose between entering the open-sea melee or being crushed between two clashing cities.

    The Shoals¡¯ rulers, safe in the carapace of their floundering palace temples, could only watch as great clods of dust overwhelmed every living space below their gargantuan allies. Likewise, rocks the size of small hills flew like pebbles in every direction, making avoiding the fray impossible.

    And so, the medley of violence rose like a noontide, joined by the eerie orison of Mythics in mourning.

    Gwen observed the Sinneslukare Lich observing a projection of the chaos outside its Core Chamber domain.

    There was no way of reading its facial expression, for the creature no longer had a face that could be passed as humanoid. On a living Sinneslukare, it was at least possible to observe the eyes and the hairless brow-ridges, which took on the likeness of its once-victim.

    What was even the process here? Did a Lich give itself to a Sinneslukare? Gwen felt her scalp crawl as she mused over the possibilities. Or did a Sinneslukare take over a living Lich candidate?

    The Lich looked up.

    Gwen remained as docile and subtle as humanely possible while riding the mind of a Void worm.

    The eyes, which usually had pupils like goats'', were featureless and milk-white, while the skin was sticky with cloudy mucus. Even the tentacles appeared lifeless and limp, expressing only the slightest locomotion as the third Leviathan landed, shaking the foundations of the carcass.

    She understood that it would take some time, even for three Leviathans, to dig past the upper crust of its brethren to finally reach the Heart Chamber.

    Impending doom, however, did not appear to disturb the Sinneslukare-Lich.

    It stood, with no change in posture, as if contemplating some great universal truth. Each time its deathless gaze swept over the crevice where Caliban hid, she felt as though its finger-like digits were fondling the soft tissues of her brain.

    Thankfully, the sanctum was now a chamber of utter chaos.

    Piece by piece, the ceiling of the cathedral cavern was falling into the excavation below, blinding even the calamari-Lich to the finer details of her hidden menace.

    Following the avalanche, a large block of calcified bone, half a storey tall, glanced off the shell of an invisible Force Barrier around the Lich, making her glad that she had not commanded Caliban to attack haphazardly.

    The chamber''s shaking took on a renewed vigour.

    Slowly, as if having reached a conclusion, the Lich raised a desiccated claw.

    The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    The etched Glyphs upon the Leviathan¡¯s Core began to glow an ominous ochre-orange. The Undead Mermen closest to the Core seemed suddenly invigorated as new commands filtered into their ruptured consciousness. The lobster titans guarding the entrance grew alive as they tore themselves from the walls, opening the orifice to some terrible chamber below.

    For any other scholar of the Mageocracy¡¯s highest institutions, they would have cried Foul Magic! and readied themselves for an onslaught.

    For the Pale Priestess, she could only mouth Holy Fuck in silence as she recognised Henry¡¯s Soul Tap, in all its original Necromantic glory, being used as its progenitors had intended¡ªto infuse the Undead with corpse power extracted from a deceased Mythic.

    Gwen returned to her body, shunting so hard into her physical form that her muscles reflexively jerked her forward and away from the throne.

    ¡°LEI-BUP!¡± She called out to her number one. ¡°Get Aristotle and the others back from the Core Chamber!¡±

    Her warning had bought plenty of time, and between the twins and the Mer-turtle, they were delivered promptly and succinctly.

    Nonetheless, in the chaotic mass-melee of three Shoals who could barely tell one another apart, an orderly retreat from the tuna ball of destruction was as likely as her request for the Leviathans to make sudden, reactive movements.

    With agony, Gwen watched the glacial movements of her troops, compounded by the real-life lag attributed to Aristotle¡¯s nervous systems travelling literal kilometres down its tentacle limbs and pedal fins.

    Like a cracking egg in a broiler, the casing that formed the ceiling of the Lich room cracked open, releasing a pressurised jet of Necrotic energy with enough viscosity to resemble squid ink. In an instant, it spilt from the mines.

    ¡°What the hell is that?¡± Gwen demanded of her Sea Witches. ¡°Is it a spell?¡±

    ¡°No¡­ this isn¡¯t magic¡­¡± Lei-bup¡¯s glossy eyes were glued to the geyser, polluting the space between the three Leviathan, forcing them to shift back out of instinct. ¡°That¡¯s an actual material substance.¡±

    ¡°It looks like oil,¡± Gwen drew closer to the screen now that she was back on her feet. The obsidian plumes reminded her of something in the past¡ªlike the scene of underwater cameras capturing the spill from the BP oil disaster.

    Then, an alarming recognition derived from Spectre¡¯s greatest hits in the year she had fought the Undead Mer conjured itself into being. ¡°Unholy Nazarene¡­¡± she blasphemed freely, for it was an apt event for such expressions. ¡°Is all that Necrophage?¡±

    The three-way war ceased momentarily when a third of their number suddenly perished to an ink-jet geyser of filth that consumed all it touched.

    The immediate victims were obliterated, their living tissue instantly drained or shrivelled by the spores of the necromantic ink surging into the surrounding sea. The very same jet found little trouble in shrivelling the appendages of the Leviathans, some as thick as the trunk of Gwen¡¯s juvenile World Tree, and seemed to take in the consumed vitality into itself to empower a violent and explosive replication.

    The next victims were those caught in the explosive clouds of the rapidly advancing phage, which moved without impediment in the water. Mermen who had inhaled the substance or had open wounds suffered the most catastrophic of system collapses, becoming instantly engulfed in boils that tore their scales and bloated their bellies¡ªbefore erupting as pus-filled cysts.

    Thankfully, those who died did not return to ¡°life¡±¡ªthough Gwen suspected they absolutely would if the Lich had intended to join the fray.

    The rest of the troops were wise enough to pull back¡ªthough many carried the phage back to their hosts, and worst of all, each of the Leviathans groaned in agony as the very same necrophage began to eat away at their open mouths and vents, simultaneously travelling through their bloodstreams into their interior.

    With all three forces blooded and stunned, the fervour of total war lost its momentum, leaving only pockets of Mermen to fight out their paths of retreat.

    In a less complicated incident, the Leviathan¡¯s handlers would have taken a breather to regroup and control the pollutants tainting their citizens.

    Unfortunately, only one of the three Shoals gathered was mentally prepared for the secondary eruption of Undead, each a bloated, glimmering pustule of disease hungry for healthy flesh.

    Like a mindless swarm of bruised tadpoles, the rotten Mer came on, some as large as Gwen¡¯s soldiers, with others petite as a fingerling. As they approached, the plagued minions of the Sinneslukare Lich did not fight. Instead, they embraced a second death by throwing themselves upon tridents and spears, swords and arrows, then catalysed their liquidised organs to engulf their foe with corrosive phage juice.

    Within minutes, the Merman barriers set by the forces surrounding Nin-Pak and Sarkonnian¡¯s Leviathan were penetrated worse than a tangled trawler net.

    Comparatively, Gwen¡¯s forces possessed at the least the benefit of having fought Undead Mer at Tianjin and the foresight provided by the Pale Priestess to force-close Aristotle¡¯s forward-facing orifices.

    Over and over, the tide of filth came on as a ceaseless onslaught, its duration dilated by the sheer horror of the mewling Mermen caught in the wake of its putrid passing. Both Nin-Pak and Sarkonnian¡¯s forces were forced into a disorderly retreat, sheltering their stricken Leviathans with the disposable bodies of the less fortunate.

    Only the Great Shoal Forward, its members marked with the secret Glyphs of its mistress, emerged from the umbral vortex intact, their scales and fins tinged with the pale nimbus of Golden Nectar. Drawing upon the inconceivable vitality of the Her Pale Priestess¡¯ Leviathan Aristotle, they weathered the necrophage tempest and pushed toward the open slit of the Heart Chamber, howling the name of their Pale Priestess.

    Within the throne room of HPPS Aristotle, the living ship¡¯s mistress reeled from an unending high.

    As promised by its designers, the Essence-Linked Glyphs had replaced the burden on her Astral Body as a conduit for vitality.

    However, the same magic did not reduce the torrential vitality surging into her body from the Axis Mundi via her World Tree, a boon doubly compounded with strands of Almudj¡¯s blessed Essence.

    The result was a euphoric elevation of every sense she possessed, where even the whispery touch of her Elf-made dress sent shuddering sparks to traverse her limbs. Where she had dispensed the Golden Mead to her followers and watched them quiver, Gwen was now immersed in an unending torrent of her greatest gift, fighting to keep her mind lucid for a future calamity.

    Thankfully, the Pale Priestess was well-versed in overstimulation.

    ¡°Caliban¡ª¡± she commanded her creature to counterbalance the overabundance threatening to drown her judgment. ¡°Take down that squid!¡±

    ¡°SHAA¡ª!¡± Her creature moved before her verbal command even concluded. Drawing upon the excess of its mistress¡¯ energies, its body instantly ballooned into a waking horror of legend, transforming into a form that was not only immune to the Necromantic energies of Undeath but fed upon them.

    As historians had recorded, the Night Walker was the final frontier of siegecraft utilised by the Necromancers in the final phases of the Great War. As an engine of Spellcraft, the stitched flesh of the Night Walker was more accurately transcribed as a network of organs that worked to absorb, combine, and reproduce necrotic matter, which was then moulded into the desired shape by its master.

    For Caliban, whose physiology always preferred the most efficient form designed for vitality intake, his Night Walker likeness was that of a mass of faceless mouths, each a tumour attached to the body of an elongated eel.

    As siphons, its appendage-maws created vortexes that drew inwards into its innards the delicious phage-soup produced from the decomposing bodies of the Undead harvested for the grim mausoleum.

    From within its Force shell, the Sinneslukare Lich raised a desiccated claw.

    Gwen felt a shard of black ice slice into the membranes of her frontal lobe as what she presumed to be either a Power Word or a Finger of Death struck Caliban. The monster¡¯s arcanistry instantly wilted a portion of her Void Familiar¡¯s body, even though a Night Walker existed to absorb necrotic energy.

    She swore, though her pain was dulled by the scene behind the muddy pane, where the tentacled mouth twirled in cruel dissatisfaction.

    Undeterred by what should have been certain extinction, her Caliban latched onto the snow-globe exterior of the Sinneslukare Lich¡¯s protective barrier. As it had done so before, its body rapidly expanded into the likeness of an enormous wyrm, ready to swallow the orb, the ground, and whatever could be dislodged from the Leviathan Core wholesale.

    Unfortunately, Gwen knew that the act was futile. The first time she had performed the trick, it was entirely a surprise that no Necromancer safe in their bone fortress could conceive. Now, with three Leviathans blundering into the Heart Chamber, there was no possibility that the Sinneslukare Lich was trapped here or would fight to its True Death a futile battle.

    And even if it did¡ªshe had absolute confidence its phylactery was ¡°safe¡± in its motherland.

    Sure enough, her Caliban registered a series of quicksilver flashes from within itself¡ªafter which the Force bubble rapidly collapsed.

    ¡°Search the surroundings for Human Spellcraft signatures,¡± she commanded the twins from the throne room. ¡°We¡¯re looking for a supreme defiler, a Lich with the face of a sun-dried calamari.¡±

    Her comms team did not question her questionable description but did their best for the generalised anarchy outside Aristotle¡¯s domain. If she were in her own Tower and had a crew of Cambridge Magisters from the School of Divination, Gwen felt she should have been able to lock onto the mana signature of the Sinneslukare Lich¡ªbut such an outcome was unlikely thanks to the analogue methods utilised by the Mermen.

    With Caliban draining the necrotic soup from within and the Lich escaping to the Nazarene¡¯s knows where¡­ the remaining Undead grew less fervent.

    Slowly, with great care, the Leviathans returned to their previous position. With more wariness now, they distended their surviving tendrils and pried apart the shell of their lost ancestor, slowly inching their way back onto the Heart Chamber to expose the truth of Whabpuz Gyli.

    ¡°Mistress,¡± one of the twins transmuted a Message directly into her ear. ¡°Lord Sarkonnian would like to commune with you. Regarding the matter below, she says that he who should be responsible must pay for their trespass.¡±

    He, Gwen noted. There was only one male member among the triumvirate.

    ¡°Lei-bup,¡± Gwen queried her High Priest. ¡°Do you believe Nin-Pak is responsible for the state of the Leviathan mine? He did attack us unannounced earlier. That¡¯s a guilty confession if there ever was one.¡±

    ¡°Without a doubt, both Sarkonnian and Nin-Pak knew of this.¡± Lei-bup pulled on his lip tendrils in thought. ¡°However, I do not believe the fault matters. After all, if we possess the goodwill of the Leviathans present, and if both yourself and Sarkonnian accuse Nin-Pak, who is he to deny otherwise? If anything, his forces are diminished by the Necromancer, while our strongest militants remain empowered¡­¡±

    Gwen pressed down her dishevelled hair and attire as her immediate plans settled. Even without Lei-bup, she knew what she had to do, but it was nice to have someone board the same train of thought and affirm its destination.

    ¡°Patch her through.¡± She gestured to Velahi, who wove the necessary magics into place.

    Larger than life, the visage of Sarkonnian, heir to the First Vel, made herself known in Gwen¡¯s throne room.

    ¡°Pale Priestess.¡± The dishevelled Sarkonnian, her jewels askew, appeared a little comical against Gwen¡¯s recollection of the walking museum display. ¡°I do not believe there is a need to confirm the crime of our brother Nin-Pak, for his actions speak for themselves. Whabpuz Gyli was his domain, and the defiler could only be present by his consent. What say you?¡±

    ¡°Dear sister of the Vel.¡± Gwen felt queasy hearing the hypocritical words from her lips. ¡°I had not meant to make this discovery, but that is no longer relevant to us. Indeed, the despoiling of such a sacred temple is a sin that must be punished by all Mer, lest the anger of the Leviathans leave us without shelter.¡±

    The Manta-woman appeared greatly pleased by her agreeable demeanour. ¡°We are agreed, then. Let us impose upon Nin-Pak the forfeiture of his undeserved Zityupdul and his command over the Fifth Vel.¡±

    Behind the watery screen, Lei-bup furiously gestured for her to force the manta scion into a verbal contract. Unlike the contractual obligations of Human law, the Mermen felt an obligation to adhere to the power of words.

    ¡°And in the aftermath, how shall we part with the spoils?¡± Gwen read her High Priests¡¯ tentacles and delivered the Merman¡¯s desire accordingly.

    ¡°She who relinquishes Nin-Pak of his crown will have the first say.¡± Sarkonnian¡¯s smile was full of needle-sharp teeth. ¡°It will be a fair competition for the greatest compensation, as is tradition.¡±

    ¡°Fair.¡± Gwen did not believe her forces were inferior to the sheer numbers Sarkonnian could field from her larger Leviathan. That and she possessed means that the Merman monarch could not begin to comprehend. ¡°Good luck, your royal Manta-ness.¡±

    The second the water screen faded, her staff were at full attention.

    ¡°Your Wave Riders are rallied, Mistress!¡± Nin-Ka, her ageing General, was organising the troops before she had even finished hammering out her agreement. Young Kha-guk shall be your spearhead to breach the Zityupdul¡¯s carapace!¡±

    ¡°The Sea Witches will be your support,¡± the older twin, Pelahwi, offered herself as her aide in boarding a hostile Leviathan. ¡°You have our staves, Mistress.¡±

    ¡°And our claws!¡± shouted the squat, but an enormous member of the crustacean corps had just returned to the chamber. Dwi was the creature¡¯s name, the First Claw among her clan of infused Crab-kin.

    ¡°Sarkonnian should be breaching the Zityupdul from its rear.¡± Lei-bup, who was not a combatant, asked Velahi to create a sand map of Nin-Pak¡¯s Leviathan. ¡°They will have an easier path to the throne room than we, who must breach it from the lower forequarter.¡±

    ¡°Will Nin-Pak¡¯s Leviathan remain docile?¡± Gwen asked. She disliked having Aristotle bump shells with a larger foe, especially considering they would be at the bottom while Sarkonnian¡¯s creature was at the top of the Leviathan sandwich.

    ¡°Leviathans rarely, if ever, engage in these inter-Shoal conflicts,¡± Lei-bup assured her. ¡°Besides, the three are now busy attempting to uncover how much their ancestor¡¯s body has been polluted. By instinct, they will cleanse what they can and restore the body to its original purpose.¡±

    ¡°Which is what?¡± Gwen pondered for a naive moment if three young Leviathans could breathe life back into an older one. Watching the mass of tentacles going in and out, she was fondly reminded of the Ohmu creatures from Miyazaki¡¯s fictional classic.

    ¡°The creation of a living reef,¡± Lei-bup said with reverence. ¡°It¡¯s the way of life in the Elemental Plane of Water. It is this instinct that makes the Leviathans sacred, much like the Elves and their World Trees, or yourself, now that you possess a World Tree in Shalkar.¡±

    Yeah-nah. Good analogy, though¡­ Gwen understood her High Priest¡¯s implications but kept the details to herself. The Axis Mundi formed by the World Trees as a mechanism of the Prime Material and, as such, could not be compared to the recycling mechanisms of a singular Plane of Water.

    She readied herself for the expedition by giving her High Priest an affirming pat on his oiling shoulders. Immediately after, she rubbed the offending oil back onto his smock with a grimace.

    ¡°Mistress, Sarkonnian has launched her assault,¡± Velahi informed them by updating the sand map. ¡°Sixteen schools of her best Wave Riders are en route, followed by seven Siege Mantas. Her chattel troops are trailing behind, meaning they will engage once the core forces have breached the outer shell.¡±

    Gwen watched the shifting shades of the flowing map.

    The game was on, but did she really have to play?

    ¡°Lei-bup.¡± She felt a dark desire flush her pale face. ¡°I am thinking¡­¡±

    Lei-bup walked a slow perimeter around the map. ¡°Thinking of allowing Lord Shoggoth to feed, Mistress?¡±

    Gwen felt her fingers tingle with static.

    In the months she had spent here on Aristotle, she had internalised that the Mer were, in many ways, very similar to those she would not hesitate to call people. Like that old Maya Angelou poem, it was true that their physiologies were different and that their habits were incompatible.

    And sometimes, the upper class ate the middle class.

    And the middle class, the lower class.

    And the lower class, the underclass.

    And occasionally, they ate the rich¡­

    But all the same, Man and Mer both cried in times of tragedy and laughed in periods of plenty. Both loved and lived and wept and moaned, all warmed by the sun and the currents, chilled by the cold and the deep.

    And having captained Aristotle, she knew a Leviathan was not an aircraft carrier. It was a living island, a cosmopolitan city that happened to be a sheltering fortress against the dark and hungry things lurking in the deep.

    If, in one fell swoop¡­ a Shoggoth should descend upon the entwined bodies of two Leviathans and the creatures innocent and naive that called these noble beasts their home¡­

    Was it even plausible that she should wield the power of an Old Testament Goddess?

    Would signing the death warrant of two entire worlds warrant a victory?

    Would such a victory put her in a golden cavalcade to be rained upon by a ticker-tape parade?

    The Mageocracy absolutely would, and that terrified Gwen more than anything¡ª

    More than the deified descent of sentient hunger¡ª

    More than the extinction of two billion units of seafood clambering for life.

    Whabpuz Gyli.

    The Great Shoal Forward broke through Nin-Pak¡¯s defences like a Japanese research vessel through a pod of inquisitive whales.

    Their icebreaker was none other than Caliban, now sleek like a Sperm Whale, only larger and more dangerous as its faceless head rammed through the surviving Wave Riders, ignoring the spears and tridents dotting every other inch of its forehead.

    Behind the wake of disorientated Mermen drunk on the vertigo induced by Caliban¡¯s wake, Kha-guk and Gwen¡¯s Wave Riders, riding their red-finned Sea Horses, cut open a path for their mistress and her entourage of Crab-kin, whose bodies formed a spiky barrier around her and the Sea Witches.

    With a soundless displacement of water and debris, Caliban slammed into the lower flank of Zityupdul, then transformed itself again to bore a direct route through the kelp, slush, shell grit and finally, the exoskeleton almost a dozen meters underneath.

    There was no error in her creature¡¯s trajectory, for the Pale Priestess steered her worm through an accompanying device, a foretelling orb of Draconic sorcery that would take its mistress to her heart¡¯s desire, which, for the moment, was a panicked Warlock pacing the shattered circumference of his throne room.

    As the landing party connected with the tail end of Caliban¡¯s penetrative efforts, the denizens of Zityupdul¡¯s outer defensive ring closed upon the Pale Priestess¡¯ beachhead, only to be repelled by a circular phalanx of golden crustaceans who tore through scales like kelp. Her Wave Riders, hazy with a strange red mist, simultaneously swirled through the palace guards, dashing the defenders into ribbons of sashimi.

    Without impediments, the Pale Priestess ascended through the stratum. Her Sea Witches layered upon her the sea¡¯s blessings of fortification, healing, alacrity, and additional barriers that wreathed her humanoid body. She herself, as well, put into place the spells she had paid in favours to Slylth, knowing that an Elemental Prince from the deep would be poorly versed in the combat techniques of bleeding-edge Spellcraft.

    On their journey to the centre of the Leviathan, they broke through thrice into large chambers used by the fortress¡¯ internal staff. The first was the coral forest of a Sea Witch who swam close enough to be seen before deciding that her Coral Trees weren¡¯t so precious after all.

    The second encounter was a half-emptied barrack, a region that quickly became a second forward operating base as swarms of her Crab-kin skittered into place to block the entrances with their hulking bodies.

    Unfortunately, the final penetration was an actual functional, living organ Zityupdul was still using. Together, the ichor and the blood dampened their momentum more than any defence the Leviathan¡¯s interior could put up, especially as they traversed the creature in a path of their own making.

    Finally, after an untold number of layers, her Omni Orb intimated they were within minutes of breaking through.

    Gwen quickly murmured the final syllables to her Conjure Elemental Swarm, bringing a dozen Hydras in the visage of faceless lampreys to support their assault.

    ¡°Brace for combat,¡± she informed her Mermen entourage as her Divination senses expanded to encompass her Familiar. ¡°Cali will lead with the Hydras. Dwi and his men will follow. We enter last, and Kwi¡¯s troops will hold the exit.¡±

    ¡°Yes, Priestess¡ª!¡± Her men and women answered with faith and purpose.

    With a powerful, coiled thrust, Caliban punched into the air and freed its bulbous head, letting loose a violent spray of corrosive Void slime.

    Instantly, it was met with a powerful jet of water that swung Caliban¡¯s enormous body back into the shattered palace floor, powdering the coral and piercing its exterior shell.

    At the same time, her slippery Hydras tore free, squeezing past Caliban¡¯s still-slithering body to enter the enormous chamber above, their vitality-sensing organs directing them toward the most delicious delicacies.

    More Mermen spells erupted, tearing her Hydras apart with unerring accuracy.

    Her Crab-kin piled inward.

    Panicked cries and shouts of alarm joined the chorus of Spell Songs sung by the Sea Witches from the Clan of Nin as Gwen¡¯s crustacean troops barged past the orifice made by Caliban to land as armoured bulldozers among the hollering Mermen.

    As she herself readied to enter the fray, she saw Dwi unfurl himself like a rolled-up tea leaf in hot water, swinging six crystalline armaments in a wide arc, drawing forth a sudden haze of blue-purple ichor.

    A dozen tridents instantly answered her General, affixing themselves to the side of his foreclaws and striking true into the soft regions of his underbelly.

    With a roar that made the room shake, Dwi grew not only in size but ferocity as well, channelling a privileged volume of Aristotle¡¯s vitality not only into himself but his troops as well.

    One.. two¡­ a dozen¡­ two dozen¡­

    Like endless roe spilling from a slit autumn salmon, her Crab-kin shock troops frothed forth from the open flooring into the chaotic fray above, pushing back the waves of purple-armoured guards while weathering a tempest of deadly spells from the Sea Witch cabal.

    Not to be bested by her followers, Gwen willed a renewed vitality into her Hydras, generating a new creature from each drifting piece of carcass large enough to retain the spell¡¯s Conjuration magic. From the original dozen, a hundred and more Hydras flooded into the ranks of the Sea Witches, sending the phalanx into disarray.

    ¡°Shaa¡ª! SHAA¡ª!¡± Caliban revitalised itself as well from the mortal injury it had suffered. Once un-stunned, it transformed into the likeness of an enormous catfish whose whiskers were dozens of grasping lamprey tendrils meandering into the melee below to seek out victims.

    At the same time, Gwen manifested the full extent of her Aura of Desolation, emanating from Caliban¡¯s nightmarish body waves of psychological dread that spoke without prejudice to the primordial brains of the deep Mer that extinction would be the only fate awaiting them.

    Within minutes, the tide of battle changed. Layer by layer, the water barriers erected by the Sea Witches collapsed. While the Palace Guards of Nin-Pak left their bodies underfoot of Gwen¡¯s troops or were being snatched into the air, her troops soldiered on, their blood haze turning the water a reddish-pink.

    ¡°PALE VESSEL¡ª!¡± The vengeful voice of her victim, the Warlock Nin-Pak, Master of the Fifth Vel, spoke from the crumbling dais of his askew throne. ¡°WHAT MANNER OF A CREATURE ARE YOU?!¡±

    To answer the man responsible for the Sinneslukare Lich, she rose above her troops, parrying the dozen or so pressure spears awaiting her ascent with a modified Cube of Force.

    As she rose for all to witness, the Pale Priestess was pale in complexion and garb, with seven shards of pale nimbus forming the halo of her Crown of Thorns.

    ¡°Betrayer! Confess to me of Spectre,¡± she announced with a Clarion Call that she hoped was filtered through her translation Ioun. ¡°Dislclose what barters you have made with those despoilers of the world, and I shall entertain the possibility of letting you live.¡±

    ¡°You think too highly of yourself!¡± The Warlock spat from behind the layered veils of his final few protectors, his face a little more than snarl and spite. ¡°You will gain nothing from my death! Sarkonnian will eat you alive!¡±

    Sure, then a certain Shoggoth would eat her alive¡­ Gwen fought to keep her retort private. ¡°It is not your place to lecture me on the actions of our sister Sarkonnian,¡± she kept her voice mocking and controlled. ¡°I offer you a final choice, Prince¡ªsubmit to me¡ªor consign yourself and your kin to the deep dark.¡±

    As her final warning rang out, the battle din dulled.

    There were still more palace guards elsewhere, the total of which outnumbered her shock troops. Yet, the mounds of Nin-Pak¡¯s men that now served as flooring for her still-breathing troops spoke starkly of the inevitable outcome. This was not to mention that the backing track to her parley was the screaming of Sea Witches still in the grasp of her Caliban, swinging its victims to and fro to maximise the amount of music it could extract before delivering them to its circular, cold-press vitality juicer.

    Slowly, the remaining Sea Witches parted their barriers, revealing the once-resplendent form of the Elemental Prince of the Fifth Vel.

    ¡°We¡­ I would not have been bested if we were still in my city.¡± Nin-Pak¡¯s face appeared twisted by regret, though Gwen doubted his regret extended to the act of putting Spectre into the Heart Chamber of the Leviathan carcass. ¡°Your ploy to draw Zityupdul from Bright Reef was a cheap trick, Priestess.¡±

    ¡°And I can see that remorse is beyond you, Nin-Pak.¡± Gwen drew closer to the Elemental Prince.

    With each step from her alien, land-wrought appendage, Nin-Pak''s fin flaps flared upright in alarm. His troops also seemed to draw back as she approached, their eyes not daring to meet the presence of a Demi-deity that had proven itself a greater being.

    With each step, she could feel a slight tremor building underfoot, coming closer just as she approached her fellow monarch.

    ¡°Final offer,¡± she spoke while calling her prepared spells into being. ¡°Death by Caliban is not a pleasant thing, your Highness. Your Essence will be consumed, and nothing will be left of you to return to the Elemental Plane of Water. It will be an ignoble extinction, a death that would hold no possibility of salvation.¡±

    Nin-Pak¡¯s clenched jaws remained steadfast as he raised a webbed fist in defiance.

    CLANG¡ªCLANG¡ª!

    On the far side of the throne room, a pair of pearly gates opened, miming the panes of an enormous clam. The newly opened space then revealed the enormous and bejewelled visage of Sarkonnian, the scion of the First Vel.

    ¡°It would seem that I have miscalculated¡­¡± the Mer-Manta slid into the throne room, followed by the orderly march of her armoured troops. Very quickly, these prawn-bodied soldiers established a perimeter against Gwen¡¯s battered Crab-kin. ¡°But do enlighten me, Priestess, why is it that Nin-Pak still lives¡­?¡±

    ¡°We need to know his relationship with the defilers,¡± Gwen patiently explained. ¡°to that end, we¡ª¡°

    ¡°SARKONNIAN¡ª!¡± Nin-Pak let loose an explosive cry as his lips curled with cruel mockery. ¡°I CHOOSE TO SUBMIT TO A SISTER OF THE VEL OVER THIS¡ª¡°

    The exposition of the Elemental Prince beside her never finished, for a jet-black Morden¡¯s Blade had pierced its lower abdomen, travelled the length of the Warlock¡¯s oesophagus, and was now protruding from his forehead like an obscene unicorn horn.

    For several seconds, all stared at the wondrous spectacle of an Elemental Prince shish kabob until Nin-Pak¡¯s body gave up its last mote of vitality and gave itself to the swirling currents of watery magic still surrounding the throne room.

    Gwen recalled her blade. Unfortunately, her inexperienced Transmutation further reduced Nin-Pak to uneven pieces of bloody flotsam.

    Walking through Nin-Pak¡¯s jigsaw body until she reached the throne Nin-Pak once occupied, she sat upon an immense chaise that lifted her off her feet and laid both hands on the rests before directly facing the Princess of the First Vel.

    ¡°So, Sister Sarkonnian,¡± she spoke without being touched by the thrill of a rare kill that would have her name etched into Mageocracy history. ¡°A fair competition for the greatest compensation¡­ are we still good? Or shall we find a new settlement here and now?¡±

 Chapter 509 - To Friends both Rare and Dear

    Whabpuz Gyli.

    In the once-great palace of the once-alive Elemental Prince Nin-Pak, Gwen Song, the Pale Priestess, Regent of Shalkar, Handler of Worms and the Great Devourer of one City, sat on her recently acquired throne, levelling her will against Sarkonnian, daughter of the Great Manta.

    With the palace''s surviving guards retreated into the shadows, the room was split two-thirds between Sarkonnian forces and one-third the Priestess¡¯ staunch defenders. Unfortunately for Sarkonnian, the Mage¡¯s intimidation factor was supplemented by the literal, looming shadow of the monstrous catfish from the Neither Planes, reminding every living being in the room that they were all just food.

    ¡°Sister Sarkonnian?¡± The Pale Priestess¡¯ voice spoke in the tongue of those who lived on the land, though by the magic of her erstwhile Master, all understood the meaning behind the human female¡¯s utterances. ¡°Are we in agreement?¡±

    The Daughter of the Great Manta studied her counterpart, the churning thoughts of her head visible across the shimmering patterns of tremors deforming her impressive, bejewelled frill.

    Nin-Pak, her direct rival of almost twenty Vel-cycles, now rested in pieces.

    It was a spectacle that should have filled her two hearts with gladness.

    Yet¡­Sarkonnian felt only a sense of emptiness and disquiet. Was it sentimentality? Sarkonnian loathed the possession of such a weakness, for Nin-Pak was neither a sibling nor a compatriot from the First Vel. The Clan of Nin were slaves in their Kingdom, with the best of them serving as Sea Witches and Warlocks attached to the nobler Mer. If so, why should she feel sad for the passing of a Mer of no particular bloodline?

    Or was it¡­ Her body shuddered at the thought. Was it the fear of extinction?

    For a creature as noble as herself, whose lifespan was measured in aeons, the notion of being suddenly extinguished at the prime of her rulership was¡­

    Sarkonnian halted the thought¡ªfor the alternative was unthinkable.

    ¡°Our agreement holds,¡± The Princess of the First Vel spoke, though her voice emerged sharper than expected. Even though they were in the palace, the feeder-scavengers used by the Mer to keep the water free from scum were ever-present, and already, they were feeding on the remains of Nin-Pak. ¡°As the victor of our agreement, you may demand your share.¡±

    Sarkonnian did not anticipate that the human girl knew of the Mer¡¯s accords¡ªthough undoubtedly, her minions would inform their mistress of her rights.

    ¡°Good, then I desire Whabpuz Gyli,¡± came the promised reply.

    Sarkonnian felt a small quake ripple over her body.

    The audacity! She ought to demand her Champion tear the human female by her lower appendages in half!

    The currents in the room visibly changed.

    The hulking Crab-men brought by the Pale Priestess raised their clawed implements¡ªmany of which had the addition of dark tentacles that resembled those used by the catfish.

    It¡¯s not that I don¡¯t wish to subjugate the human¡­ Sarkonnian told herself. But she had no idea what would happen if she tried.

    After all, she had gotten a clear head start on the hunt for Nin-Pak. Her forces had broken through the defensive line of their old foe with the ease of a Kraken through a pod of dolphins and had cleared layer after layer of Zityupdul¡¯s carapace. They had penetrated into Nin-Pak¡¯s palace, a place Sarkonnian had never dipped fins in¡ª

    Only to find the Pale Priestess and her ilk holding a dangerous-looking implement at Nin-pak¡¯s neck. And then, when Nin-Pak had surrendered to her, the only being worthy of his servitude, the female had skewered her rival like a sponge kabob the Mer of the lower quadrants ate for sustenance.

    The moment when her rival¡¯s body split¡­

    ¡°Princess¡ª?¡± The human female''s voice drifted across the space created by their mutual army of creatures.

    Sarkonnian realised too late that she had yet to respond to the Pale Priestess whose hideous lower appendages were entwined like two stalks of dead coral.

    ¡°¡­ You would demand the Ancient?¡± Sarkonnian raised her voice to hide her embarrassment.

    ¡°Indeed,¡± the Pale Priestess replied. ¡°Whatever your feelings, I am taking Whabpuz Gyli. What we¡¯re deciding is if we can remain friends¡­ So, as a friend, does Princess Sarkonnian object?¡±

    Of course, she objected! Sarkonnian wanted to retort¡ªbut again, something pressed against her hearts, and she found herself nodding instead.

    ¡°Then the First Vel will assume control of Bright Reef,¡± Sarkonnian controlled herself with the knowledge that while the remains of an ancient Leviathan were precious, there was merit in controlling the Vel and the city that housed its billions of adherents. In the coming Vel-cycles, if she were to elevate the useless souls of Bright Reef into her Shoal, they should be able to return with a far larger force to Whabpuz Gyli and force the Human female to release her claim.

    As her decision settled, so did Sarkonnian¡¯s nerves.

    Once more, she assumed her regal self. ¡°Is that fair to you, Priestess?¡±

    ¡°Fair,¡± the Priestess replied from her throne. ¡°And what of this Leviathan?¡±

    Sarkonnian felt a snicker coming on. ¡°Nin-Pak may be dead, Priestess, but Zityupdul is not. It will return to the Fifth Vel¡¯s kingdom of origin, in the Emerald Expanses of Igih Nin-Iyizm. You can attempt to stop it if it is your will.¡±

    From behind the Pale Priestess, her twin Sea Witches whispered beside her fleshy facial fins. If the Human desired the Leviathan, those upstarts from Igih Nin-Iyizm would hunt her down to the end of her days, even if it meant moving their home vessels.

    ¡°I see. For my second pick, I shall offer shelter to the survivors of Nin-Pak¡¯s Shoal,¡± she spoke so that all in the palace¡¯s shattered chamber could hear. ¡°They are free to join the Great Shoal Forward if they wish to find purpose and place.¡±

    Sarkonnian took a deep breath. ¡°Then I, too, shall offer my Shoal to the schools of Mer that make up Nin-Pak¡¯s peoples! Join me, the Daughter of the Great Manta, and I shall elevate you into the middle and upper spires of Qiuh-bwuzi¡¯s boundless body!¡±

    Unlike the offer made by the Pale Priestess, hers caused a visible ripple in the throne room.

    Most survivors, some of whom had bloodlines Sarkonnian perceived as useful, shifted away from the black catfish toward herself and her shimmering, armoured troops.

    ¡°Ha¡­¡± Sarkonnian felt her back straighten. ¡°What do you say to that, friend?¡±

    The Pale Priestess stood.

    Sarkonnian felt her throat reflexively swallow.

    ¡°I say that we take the willing and vacate the Leviathan,¡± the Human female announced to the palace and its crowd. ¡°Are we finished, dear Sarko?¡±

    Sarkonnian felt her gills relax. ¡°We shall part as companions then. The First Vel will remember your generosity this day, Gwen.¡±

    ¡°And I shall remember your kindness, always,¡± the female replied, then moved to direct her troops.

    Sarkonnian turned her eyes away from her adversary and back toward her men. ¡°Gather our new allies, Lord Izsha,¡± she commanded her second. ¡°Let us return in triumph to Bright Reef and finally take possession of what is rightfully ours!¡±

    It took Gwen almost six hours to re-navigate through Zityupdul¡¯s normal exit route, looting as she went.

    While Nin-Pak was a regional enterprise poorer than the Vanderbilt fortune inherited by Sarkonnian, she saw no particular reason to leave behind precious materials to be returned to this Igih Nin-Iyizm.

    Precious jewels, pearls and various Cores were among the most self-evident of her new hoard. Beyond that, some of her more worldly followers also discovered industrial caches of mithril, orichalcum, and even raw nuggets of adamantine, which the Clan of Nin had kept for trade.

    And as Humanity possessed no mines this deep underwater.

    And as the Dwarves avoided the watery realms of the Murk like the fungal plague.

    It stands to reason that operations akin to Whabpuz Gyli was not the end of Whabpuz Gyli. After all, labour was cheap and plentiful in the sea, lives were worthless, and the materials extracted could be exchanged for all kinds of goods and services made by land-bound Mages.

    But to who?

    Gwen had a few villains in mind, the chief of which was an arm of Grey Market traders with links to Spectre, while the other was their ghastly friends from the Cult of Juche.

    Such was the train of Gwen¡¯s thoughts as her cavalcade of roving crabs pushed past the citizens of Nin-Pak¡¯s ownerless kingdom.

    No doubt, some of its denizens may wish to join her Shoal.

    A good number may defect to Sarkonnian.

    And those who remained could enjoy the long voyage home and murder each other until a new Captain emerged to pilot the Leviathan back into the Emerald Expanse.

    When they were finally met by the blooded bodies of her vanguards, who had cleared a passage tunnel back to Aristotle, Gwen counted her fishes and realised that a little more than two-thirds remained.

    In the metrics of Mermen warfare, this was an astounding victory. However, that her magic could not provide for all¡ªand that thousands still perished in the chaos of the grand melee¡ªmade her victory hollower than she had hoped.

    A single death is a tragedy, a million deaths a statistic. Yet, the numbness of her realisation that she felt no turbulent waves of torment nor suffered the burden of conscience made her a little self-conscious.

    Addressing the survivors and dispensing globes of Golden Mead, it took another rotation of the numeric crown on her Message Device before Gwen finally set foot onto the purring shell of her living cityscape.

    The miasma of the ¡°Defilers¡± was now erased from the body of the Ancient, and the three Leviathans were each content in their own way.

    And speaking of Leviathans¡­ Gwen welcomed the distraction with wholehearted glee.

    THE CORE of her new TOWER!

    By the Bloom in White¡¯s dainty little toes!

    Once her forces made their way down into the Core Chamber of the Ancient, they could cleanse the Core of its rituals and invest in her endeavours in Shalkar. And unlike its previous possessors, so long as she wreathed the Core in the nourishing, natural energies of the World Tree, the Mer would perceive nothing but worship and awe.

    Of course, the extraction would be a labour-intensive ordeal.

    Then, transportation to the surface and then again to Shalkar would be another ordeal.

    But the potential outcome was enough to make her break out and sing, transforming herself into a Pale Princess in a Disney musical.

    If Gunther had the Core of an adult Leviathan built into his Tower¡ªWhat could she do with the Core of an Ancient, albeit second-hand?

    With the superstructure of her World Tree stationed upon a node of the Axis Mundi¡­

    And with an Ancient¡¯s Core¡¯s unfathomable capacity to store mana¡­

    Would her Tower be capable of Teleporting itself into an Elemental Plane? Could its shielding even be exhausted by mundane means?

    What would the Mageocracy say of her new Tower?

    AND Oh¡ªGwen reminded herself. If Lei-bup¡¯s intelligence held true, there were also smaller Cores in the Leviathan¡¯s two-dozen fins and a final whopper in the rear, where the gut flora filtered the sea and made food for the billions.

    But she was getting ahead of herself. In no world would the Mageocracy sign off on creating a flying Armada in Shalkar.

    Upon the ¡°deck,¡± her triumphant entourage was welcomed by the tens of thousands of citizens assembled to repel the attacks from Nin-Pak¡¯s forces.

    ¡°ALL HAIL THE PALE PRIESTESS!¡± The voice of Lei-bup rippled across the depth of the murky sea. ¡°ALL HAIL THE DEVOURER OF NIN-PAK, ¡±

    Very quickly, the guilt of her dead Mer and the joy of her new Cores was drowned by the rip-roaring surf noise of her worshippers. There was a clear misunderstanding of events on Zityupdul, but Gwen was in no position to refute the claim, for the entire assembly erupted in a long, lush prayer.

    ¡°Weee¡ªWeeee¡ª¡°

    ¡°Gweee¡ªGweeee¡ª Gweeee¡ª¡°

    ¡°GWEEE¡ªGWEEEN¡ª GWEEENGH¡ª GWEEENGH¡ª¡°

    Aristotle¡¯s purring intensified, and a maroon miasma of vitality spread among her people, illuminated by the glowing brands that marked her Glyphs of Essence-sympathy.

    As before, the sheer Faith of her people seemed to penetrate the meniscus of reality, and against the lobes of her brain, she felt the intrusive presence of the Shoggoth, drawn by the communal imagining of its descent.

    Forcibly, drawing up the tethers of the Axis Mundi provided by Almudj, she suppressed the presence of the ten thousand tentacles caressing the tender skin of her consciousness, eventually bringing to a close the fervour of her sycophants.

    When she finally moved past the adoring crowds and into the quiet of Aristotle¡¯s body, Gwen felt a tier of tiredness that put the confrontation with Nin-Pak to shame.

    There was a danger here. She acknowledged. She had been too neglectful of her presence among the Mer-people. To give them a visible object of worship was akin to providing them with what Elvia would dub a ¡°Relic¡±. And without a means to channel and soothe the psychic desires of so many sapient beings, she felt a little paranoid that one day, Shoggy might just pop in for a Sunday brunch like a drunk uncle.

    Back in Aristotle¡¯s throne room, she could finally and proverbially breathe.

    ¡°You have done very well, Mistress,¡± Lei-bup was on all dozen tentacles as he prostrated. ¡°We could not have achieved a greater outcome, especially with Sarkonnian''s withdrawal.¡±

    ¡°Do you think she¡¯ll be trouble?¡± Gwen asked because she genuinely wasn¡¯t sure. In the heat of the moment, all she knew was that another all-out battle would mean coming home with far less Mer than she¡¯d left.

    ¡°She will, though not until her forces are reintegrated and the middle echelons are refilled with factions she can control and bully,¡± Lei-bup swam up from the floor. ¡°The city will change hands, and that alone will take a few Vel-cycles to bring under control. Those in the ruling spires are still Nin-Pak¡¯s loyalists and would not take to the First Vel¡¯s rule kindly or without recompense.¡±

    ¡°What about us?¡± Gwen rested against the hard coral, glad her dress was soft and cushioning. ¡°How would we fare once we re-establish the algae and kelp farms?¡±

    ¡°There is an abundance of untapped resources here,¡± Lei-bup confidently confessed. ¡°We haven¡¯t even accessed the flora in the Ancient¡¯s old digestive systems. I am sure there is an entire¡­¡± Her High Priest made a sound that even her Translation Stone struggled to divine. ¡°¡­e-colon-gy? Yes. it¡¯s an entire world waiting to be uncovered, together with the potential dangers.¡±

    Dangers in the deep were a fact of life. Gwen nodded to convey her understanding. ¡°Lei-bup, there¡¯s something else you need to do. If things are settled here, and we have uncovered and thwarted the work of Spectre, then I must return to the surface to warn my kin.¡±

    Lei-bup bowed, as did all of her generals and advisors who had followed her for the better half of a year. They all knew that her presence would not be permanent¡ªthough she could see from their body language that their dearest wish was that it was. Her pretty twins, especially, seemed distraught.

    ¡°We loath to see you go, Mistress, but know that this is your Queendom,¡± Lei-bup used the same phrase the Seven Kingdoms utilised to ascribe to their Matriarchs, a title that inspired goosebumps to travel the length of her arm.

    Her High Priest turned to her council of followers. ¡°Do not fret, fellow comrades of the Great Shoal. Our Pale Priestess is immortal. Though we may part for some time, what is that in the face of eternity?¡±

    Gwen hardly felt immortal¡ªthough she was connected to a World Tree and, therefore, the Axis Mundi, which presented the perspective that she certainly needed not to worry about the trivialities of ageing. She could be killed, certainly, murdered by the many means available to her foes, but the cause of her ultimate end would not be time.

    One by one, her generals, advisors and acolytes gave their murmuring consent, each offering their bodies to eternal service under her watchful eye.

    ¡°Thank you, Lei-bup,¡± she informed her fishy followers with a smile of benevolence. ¡°I am not leaving immediately, of course. We will observe how Sarkonnian functions over the next few tides of the Vel, and I shall guide the Shoal in recovering the Ancient¡¯s many hearts. For now, however, we need to break the surface for a moment¡ªfor I must relay a Message. A very important Message.¡±

    Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

    ¡°As you wish.¡± Her followers lowered their heads. The twins openly wept.

    With her moves mapped out, Gwen arched her neck to look toward the ceiling. Beyond Aristotle''s many layers lay the unfathomable depth of the Elemental Plane of Water and, above that, the shallow dimensions of the Yellow Sea.

    For how long was I gone? She pondered the accuracy of her Divination Device. Hopefully, the Planes did not distort time nearly as absurdly as the fable of Urashima Tar¨­.

    Qiuh-bwuzi.

    The Palace of Pearls.

    Sarkonnian, daughter of the Great Manta, stared at a reef city that, after the absence of its masters, was no longer so bright.

    ¡°Kar-Nym,¡± she spoke to her navigator, simultaneously sending an alarmed ¡®Qiuh-shallha?¡¯ to her Leviathan. ¡°Are we in the right place? Is this the Fifth Vel?¡±

    Kar-Nym, a Sea Witch of almost two hundred Vel-cycles, also stared at the projection of the city will into being by her water magic. ¡°I am certain¡­ your highness.¡±

    Sarkonnian was witnessing not the brilliant luminance of Bright Reef but the aftermath of a cataclysm that had inexplicably stricken the city of a billion Mer.

    Before they left, the city¡¯s soaring spires housed the Clan of Nin, and its upper echelons were rich with crystalline architecture wrought with living coral sung into being by the Sea Witches.

    Now, not a single spire existed beyond the middle layers, and the controlled chaos of the reef city that made it so vibrant was reduced to an ocean of ultra-violent carnage.

    Of particular alarm was the severed half of a collapsed spire, the branching design Sarkonnian recognised as the residence of the city¡¯s former Warlock Lord. It lay on its side as their Leviathan drifted closer, and from the hundreds of arms of cobalt emerald that made up its intricate exterior, the Manta Princess saw tens of thousands of Mer¡ªnoble Mer¡ªimpaled and skewered.

    ¡°That¡¯s¡­ Nin-Gyn¡¯s Clan¡¯s matriarch,¡± her navigator managed to draw her vision close enough to recognise some of the embroidered, bejewelled clothing still remaining on the carcass. Without a doubt, a large group of Mer had taken to feast on the enormous cephalopods¡¯ limbs, leaving only a pale stump to be displayed as a trophy.

    ¡°By the Deep Mother, that¡¯s¡­¡± The others in the throne room recognised more of their compatriots, companions to many dinner parties and jovial conversations where they feasted upon the caviar of the lesser fishes.

    They were all there. Sarkonnian felt her flesh frills shrink. Almost all the noble houses were impaled on the spires¡­ and eaten to certain degrees. If she squinted, she could see the scavengers nibbling on the stumps, lapping up the rare blood of a high-born Mer like so much scrap from the flesh yards.

    ¡°Princess,¡± another of her navigators, a junior Witch, turned to her with glimmering eyes rich with horror. ¡°I think¡­ I think some of the matriarchs are still alive.¡±

    ¡°MISTRESS¡ª!¡± Her War Master, a retired champion of her Father¡¯s endless hosts, drew their attention to a sudden stir of activity from deeper in the murky city. ¡°We must retreat¡ªenemy forces are gathering below us!¡±

    Sarkonnian relayed her thoughts instantly¡ªas usual, there was nothing instant or immediate regarding her Leviathan¡¯s reactionary manoeuvres.

    From the murk, the head of a Great Shoal emerged, the body of which was without number.

    ¡°Are those¡­¡± the War Master relayed his alarm even as he ordered the Wave Riders to scramble from their roosts. ¡°A Great Shoal of slaves and miscreants?¡±

    Sarkonnian¡¯s hairless brows furrowed as she tried to understand what her general was attempting to relay. She recognised the unclad bodies of those rising from the deep as the wretched creatures that lived in the dark spaces of Bright Reef, but never in her life had she seen so many of them in one place.

    Were there even that many to begin with? Her mind struggled to comprehend the throng of Mer that stretched from one extreme of the city to the other. She had never seen more than a thousand in one place, and most importantly, she had never seen them perform any act other than terrified prostration.

    Only now, the teaming masses were no longer on their fins with their heads lowered into their chest. On the projected watery screens of her palace, she saw more Mer than she had seen in the entirety of her Vel-cycles overseeing Bright Reef.

    ¡°READY THE DEFENCES!¡± Her War Master was screaming at his assistant Witches. ¡°SEND OUT ALL AUXILIARIES! KEEP THEM FROM THE LEVIATHAN!¡±

    A sea within a sea of roving, angry bodies streamed from the city¡¯s muddled depth toward her floating fortress.

    Peasants, some wielding the implements of their former masters.

    Slaves, unchained from their coral cages, their bodies fuming with rage.

    Strange priests in uniforms of olive-coloured kelp hollering alien slogans as they drove the Shoal before them.

    Ponderously, slowly, with the pace of a glacier, her Qiuh-bwuzi turned, unwary and unalarmed by the approaching tide of mouths chomping at the water for the flesh of the nobler Mer.

    Would her city hold out? Sarkonnian felt strangely calm as the first tendril of Mer made contact with her forces.

    She slunk back into the deep recesses of her divan, feeling suddenly tired beyond belief.

    ¡°HOLD THE ENTRANCES!¡± Her War Master¡¯s voice gave her a splitting headache as he swam to and fro, shedding scales as he went. ¡°ALLOW QIUH TO ESCAPE AT ALL COSTS!¡±

    London.

    Westminister.

    While deep in another dimension of space and time, a Shoal of fish sought to hold against the inevitable tide of a people¡¯s revolution, Mycroft Ravenport, the Duke of Norfolk and the Lord Marshall of Her Majesty¡¯s Mage-at-Arms, was holding the fort against a foe no less malicious.

    In the imperial confines of the private office of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, he was given the unhappy task of entertaining a pack of wolves from The Federation of Russia.

    Chief among the men who took up the interior of the ministry¡¯s primary place of negotiations was a blue-eyed Magister from the ruling House of Popov and the Master of Moscow Tower, the esteemed Vasili Popov.

    Sitting beside the Tower Master and in order of rank were the top Magisters of the Federation: Oleg Zinichev, Mikhail Barsukov, and his twin brother Viktor Barsukov. Standing behind them was their final member, a Mind Mage ¡®aide¡¯ with the moniker of Natalia, a blooming flower with the mind of a pit viper.

    Ravenport sat alone, though the enormous raven perched atop his high gothic chair informed his opponents that the Duke was anything but unaccompanied.

    Line by line, his eyes scanned over the printed proposal made by the Russian Federation, feeling the vexation in his chest being stoked by each increasingly audacious proposal.

    The Russians were here because they had lost the Trans-Siberian route into their largest and richest Frontier. They were also here because they hoped to recover Yekaterinburg and the Ural Frontier. To achieve those goals, they desired the return of the Yekaterinburg Tower. And by that same demand, the return of an insignificant oasis that once belonged, some hundred years ago, to an Empire their own government dismembered and discarded to the wind.

    The name of that insignificant territory was Shalkar, and the reason for their uninvited presence was self-evident.

    The ¡®girl¡¯ has now been absent for just over a year. The unassailable possessor of the World Tree, the Regent of the Commonwealth Protectorate of Shalkar, had not been seen for three hundred and eighty-nine days.

    Rumours unrooted in reality had been sprouting since the first month of her truancy, and now, it was a daily discussion in the streets of London where the METRO, the Sun and the Telegraph jostled for space inside the imagination of the city¡¯s men and women.

    ¡°THE PRIESTESS HAS PERISHED!¡± The naysayers had celebrated with sickening banners of red-lettered titles. ¡°THE VOID WITCH IS DEAD!¡±

    For months, those who had failed to profit from the IoDNC had sprouted from the Murk like Goblins from an uncovered seam, hollering for the withdrawal of the Commonwealth¡¯s military from the Black Zone known as Shalkar.

    Naturally, their desire fell on deaf ears; the empire¡¯s highest minds all understood the significance of the World Tree the girl had planted and the centrality of that arboreal spectacle in Britannia¡¯s alliance with its immortal neighbours.

    Nonetheless, the fervour had gained a foothold via the amplification of nebulous misinformation, hyperbolic fake news and finally, the treasonous act of inviting Siberian wolves onto the rich loam of Albion¡¯s shores.

    Of course, Ravenport was confident the girl was not dead.

    And with less confidence, he hoped the girl wasn''t tearing into the fabric of reality.

    The Foreign Affairs Ministry had opened its secret branch atop the pinnacle of the World Tree at Shalkar, and their neighbouring Dragons had shown no alarm for the absence of the female. Likewise, the tree¡¯s growth had persisted unabated, growing to such a height that it was now clearly visible on the horizon. Shalkar itself had likewise been terraformed by the stabilising presence of World Tree, shrinking the Fire Sea¡¯s portal by some eighty-five per cent and turning a hundred kilometres of arid land around the city into verdant fields of grassland abundant with wildflowers.

    Indeed, the newest jewel in Her Majesty¡¯s crown had been burned and tarnished¡ªonly now, in the absence of its Regent, it grew richer and brighter than anyone could have imagined¡ªallowing greed to supersede fear.

    Mycroft¡¯s only solace was that the girl had left a legacy even he found impressive.

    Of the Shard¡¯s Factions, he headed the Grey Faction and could suppress the members of his party chomping at the bits to take a greater share of Shalkar for themselves.

    Of the Middle Faction, Lady Grey, Astor, and the ever-looming threat of Gunther Shultz paying its loudest members a personal visit kept even its most agitated delinquents silent.

    And of the Militants, the Hollands had made it clear that any enemy of Gwen Song was going to be exorcised from the Boxing Day gift list with extreme prejudice.

    Likewise, there was no disturbance from their allies in Tryfan, who remained cordial and optimistic in overseeing the role of their newest ¡°Guardian¡± of the Axis Mundi.

    Nor from the girl¡¯s earliest allies, the Dwarves, who had now connected London and Shalkar through the Dyar Morkk by creating a network that spanned from Cotswold to Frankfurt, Prague to Kyiv, and finally, her shining city on the hill.

    Of course, the low-way¡¯s true extent was only known to the highest members of the Commonwealth and their central-European allies, of which the Federation of Russia was not privy.

    Therefore, Ravenport was genuinely surprised by the selective nature of the Russian members sent to his office.

    Popov was, and is, the puppeteer behind Moscow Tower¡¯s aggressions. The Barsujov twins were likewise the Russian equivalent of England¡¯s Hollands, though without the prestige of history. Zinichev was the odd one out. As the speaker of the Middle Faction, he was the weak link in the chain, albeit possessing the vote to propel the militant¡¯s proposals without needing the Grey Faction¡¯s input.

    And the Mind Mage¡­

    Ravenport¡¯s eyes narrowed.

    Her official presence was to protect Russia¡¯s important Magisters from manipulation¡ªthough all understood that the Enchanter-Diviner¡¯s primary purpose was skimming information from those unprotected by talismans and wards.

    For Mycroft, there was only one reason why Popov himself was here.

    War.

    Or at least, war under the pretence of defence, autonomy, and preservation.

    ¡°So,¡± Popov leaned back against the heavy chair provided for the guests. ¡°Your thoughts, dear Duke?¡±

    Ravenport filed the letter, then decided to test the waters.

    ¡°Russia¡¯s claim for the Aktobe Oblast does not hold water, I fear,¡± he spoke with a measured tone that revealed no hint of his internal ridicule. ¡°Your country relented on the region when they burned down the Winter Palace in a fit.¡±

    ¡°Why does that matter?¡± Popov¡¯s smile revealed a mouthful of pristine enamel that clearly wasn¡¯t the long-time smoker¡¯s original teeth. ¡°We¡¯re here now. We say it is.¡±

    ¡°Do you seriously believe that?¡± Ravenport laughed, eliciting a bemused Caw! from Morrigan. ¡°Without paperwork and without evidence, how can ownership be claimed? What are we, farmers whose forefathers had agreed with a handshake? Not to mention, you tortured, then hung your predecessors in the Red Square.¡±

    ¡°Mycroft, Mycroft, brother.¡± Popov remained untouched by his British sardonicism. ¡°Do you not have a copy saved in your precious vault? How else would you manage the traded territories of your merchant monarchy?¡±

    ¡°Mori,¡± Mycroft turned to his bird. ¡°Do we have anything of the sort in the vault?¡±

    ¡°CAW¡ª!¡± the raven bobbed its head. ¡°CAW¡ªCAW¡ª!¡±

    ¡°Ah¡ª¡° Mycroft opened both hands as if exhausted. ¡°No luck¡­ dear Popov.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re walking a dangerous line!¡± The rebuke came from the dark-haired visage of the elder Barsujov, whose Slavic features had turned the colour of cured beets. ¡°The Federation will not stand to be so insulted! The territory is ours! You had no right to claim it!¡±

    ¡°The Mageocracy does not need the permission of the Federation to claim a No Man¡¯s Land beset by Fire Elementals and Centaurs,¡± Ravenport answered with the same coolness as a minty cucumber sandwich.

    ¡°Let¡¯s agree to disagree.¡± Popov waved away his younger compatriots. ¡°We¡¯re not here to vex you, Mycroft. Return to Russian what is rightfully hers, and we will have a kindlier opinion of all involved.¡±

    ¡°Hers?¡± Mycroft allowed his fingers to touch, making an arch. His eyes met that of his opponent¡¯s. ¡°Well, it certainly does belong to her¡­¡±

    ¡°This dog-faced politician!¡± Barsujov, the younger, barked. ¡°This Duke of Smiles! Popov, we should¡­¡±

    ¡°Viktor! Silence!¡± The Master of Moscow¡¯s Tower schooled his fellow Magister like a hunter with a disobedient hound.

    Viktor clamped shut. Ravenport knew it was all an act, but he played along because that was the decorum. Unfortunately, there was no wiggle room for their longtime partners against the Undead Tide this time, for the Russians were trying to dip their slippery fingers into pipping hot pies too precious to share.

    ¡°Mycroft, I am begging,¡± Popov put on the voice of a wise and well-meaning weasel talking to his friend, the cynical fox. ¡°Sharing is caring; is that not the catchphrase of your young people?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re unabashed capitalists, actually,¡± Mycroft interrupted the Magister. ¡°Vasili, I am being serious here. Shalkar isn¡¯t something you want to push your nose into.¡±

    ¡°Yet, you¡¯re a part owner of this¡­ enterprise,¡± Popov retorted. ¡°A conflict of interest, is it not? Should your loyalty not be foremost toward your Queen and her fattened citizens?¡±

    ¡°Her Majesty does not oversee the mortal matters of the Commonwealth.¡± Mycroft controlled his irked attitude as best as he could. ¡°I am warning you, Vasili, mention her Highness again, and we¡¯ll no longer be friends.¡±

    ¡°I apologise.¡± Popov bowed his head. ¡°Ours lost his head if you recall. We former farmers are not versed in imperial decorum.¡±

    ¡°I concur. Nonetheless, Yekaterinburg does not belong to me,¡± Ravenport repeated himself, knowing that he would need to repeat it endlessly. ¡°It belongs to Shalkar. It¡¯s a spoil of war.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t be so medieval.¡± Popov loomed. ¡°Mycroft, let me be frank for a moment. We¡¯re not leaving without the Tower.¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t give what¡¯s not mine,¡± Ravenport repeated. ¡°The Mageocracy cannot give what it does not own.¡±

    ¡°She is your Regent,¡± Popov insisted, his hands resting on the table. ¡°She answers to the Q¡ªto the Mageocracy and you.¡±

    The Great Gwen Song, answering to me? Mycroft wanted to stand up and laugh out loud. The day the girl did something to the specifications of what I had wanted, I would waltz through Westminster and holler a holy Hallelujah!

    ¡°No,¡± Mycroft replied without allowing his trauma to overwhelm him. ¡°She will not.¡±

    Popov grunted. ¡°Mycroft, Moscow will not allow Yekaterinburg to be repurposed by your kukla. This is a bridge that cannot be crossed.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a bit late for that, I am afraid.¡± Ravenport felt genuinely sad for the Magister. ¡°From what I¡¯ve heard, the Dwarves have already excavated the ownerless Tower and have begun retrofitting it with a design she had left them.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re not averse to the hobbies of the industrious, stout people,¡± Popov smiled. ¡°Just the ownership.¡±

    ¡°I know.¡± Ravenport felt it too tiresome to find the right words. ¡°If repeating words made things true, we would still be in control of the Niger Delta, and YOU the Urals, as it were¡­¡±

    The ensuing silence was interrupted only by the scratching of The Morrigan¡¯s claws against the ancient wooden handles of the armchair.

    ¡°You can be so unkind, dear Duke. But¡ªthere is another matter,¡± Popov continued. ¡°A more serious one, depending on how much you care for your people. You see, Mycroft, when the Urals fell, many of our citizens had to seek refuge in our former Oblast.¡±

    Mycroft Ravenport forced himself not to roll his eyes.

    ¡°They¡¯ve found a home there, and many now enjoy the fruits of their hard-earned labour. Recently, I received a petition from their Union President, whose name I shall omit for now. My lost people, Mycroft, desire to return to the arms of Mother Russia.¡±

    ¡°They are free to return.¡± Mycroft read the ploy even as he answered the arctic weasel sitting opposite. ¡°Shalkar will not miss them.¡±

    ¡°Ah, my brother, you are thick sometimes.¡± Popov rubbed his hands together. ¡°This is their Oblast, and they have now made a home there with families. They have tilled the hard soil with blood and sweat, dear Duke. How can we separate the farmers from their land? Are we imperialists? The age of Colonisation is long past, is it not?¡±

    ¡°What do you propose?¡± Mycroft knew refuting the claim would only lead to more hours of talking in circles. ¡°Speak earnestly, Vasili, even if it pains you.¡±

    ¡°We suggest¡­ something of a democratic vote,¡± Popov shrugged. ¡°Let the people decide, yes? This is what you¡¯ve been selling the workers of the Commonwealth since the Great War, no?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s the Americans.¡± Mycroft feigned a slight yawn. ¡°But I digress. How do you propose to vote when your people make up less than ten per cent of the population of Shalkar?¡±

    ¡°Duke¡ªDear Duke,¡° Popov made a face that seemed amazed at his suggestion. ¡°Name a single city in all the domains of Humanity where the Demi-humans are allowed to participate in the election of a Human Government.¡±

    Well, there¡¯s bloody London¡­ Mycroft forced his twitching eyes to stop lest he confessed Tryfan¡¯s involvement in the Mageocracy¡¯s cycles of power. ¡°Good try, Popov. The answer remains NO.¡±

    The Russian Magister nodded. ¡°I see our avenues are exhausted.¡±

    ¡°Norfolk,¡± the elder of the twins spoke up once more. ¡°The Federation will not be bullied.¡±

    ¡°He is right,¡± Popov made a deep, regretful sigh. ¡°Dear Duke, I must inform you that we have decided to take action, with or without the Mageocracy¡¯s blessing. If you will not return the Tower, our people, or our land, you are asking for conflict.¡±

    Mycroft said nothing. ¡°Caw¡ª! Caw¡ª!¡± Morrigan hissed at the Russian Magisters.

    Popov stood, as did the others. ¡°I must inform you, therefore, that the Federation has decided to defend its sovereign rights to people and property as defined by the Kyiv Accords. In the coming days, both Novosibirsk and Nizhny will prepare for a special operation.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s war, then?¡± Ravenport loathed the fact that he shall soon call an emergency meeting and debate the particulars of Russian incursion into a Mageocracy Protectorate, but what he loathed more was the careful knowledge that the Parliament would be paralysed by parasites sucking on Popov¡¯s crystal-encrusted teats.

    ¡°No, no, no,¡± Popov shook his head. ¡°What do you take us for? Warmongers?¡±

    I take you for fools. Ravenport studied the smug Russians with their half-crooked smiles. ¡°So what is it then?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s an operation,¡± Popov stated like a man reciting a mantra. ¡°The Federation cannot abandon its citizens. We have a duty to show them the love of their motherland.¡±

    ¡°Like when the Urals fell to the Undead?¡± Ravenport cocked his head.

    ¡°Caw¡ª!¡± Morrigan gave her two cents.

    Popov shrugged.

    ¡°If it¡¯s war, then the Mageocracy should be the one to declare it, being the aggressors who took our people, our land, and our Tower,¡± the Tower Master delivered the retort with a tone that should have infuriated Ravenport. Yet, all Mycroft felt was annoyance at the Russian Magister. ¡°But of course, Britain has no Towers close to Shalkar, and the Federation will deny transit to any troops and Towers you wish to relocate across Eastern Europe.¡±

    Ravenport waited for the man to finish.

    ¡°Ergo¡ªif your sweet little kukla is still contactable, let her know our demands.¡±

    The Duke of Norfolk nodded. His patience was at its end, for he had places to be and people to meet. ¡°Is that all you wish to relay? That the Mongols are at the gates, meet our demands or we will raze your city, rape your women and spear your goats?¡±

    ¡°Ha!¡± Popov snorted. ¡°Your tongue is sharp, dear Duke, but I know your parliament as well as you do. The girl will face us by her own merit, Mycroft. All she needs to do to avert the worst is to meet us halfway.

    ¡°Or else?¡± Ravenport retorted with a snort of his own. ¡°You¡¯ll gift her two more Towers? Threaten her with more territory? That¡¯ll show the little minx, eh? Besides, did you forget her Brother-in-craft, the Morning Star?¡±

    ¡°Caw¡ª!¡± Morrigan gave her most mocking opinion. ¡°Caw¡ª!¡±

    ¡°The antipodes is a long way away, and the Morning Star is a busy man.¡± Popov¡¯s lips stiffened, his unhappy hands betraying the truth that Gunther would remain a problem. ¡°We have our ways to deal with the Shultz family. He won¡¯t be the first to have died on Russian soil.¡±

    Ravenport felt a secretive smile creeping up the edge of his mouth. ¡°Okay. I wish you luck, Vasili. I know it¡¯s cliched, but by Her Grace, you will need it.¡±

    ¡°I hope you will find your humour still,¡± Popov said coldly, finally losing his temper. ¡°When we return your kukla and her cousin back to the Empire in a suitably compact box.¡±

    Perhaps to punctuate the point, Popov led his delegates toward the exit, where they would enjoy unimpeded travel back to their nation.

    Her cousin? Mycroft experienced a minor moment of genuine confusion until he recalled that the girl had a cousin who studied under Popov. Not this particular Popov, but one of his sons. His eyes once more wandered to the striking Mind Mage with enough comeliness to incite a minor riot in the local barracks.

    Trailing after the men, the young woman also noticed his interest. As their eyes met, he felt the probing touch of her mind graze past the many-layered magics Morrigan had woven around himself and those in his agency.

    How typical of Moscow Tower to hoard grudges like Dragons hoarding gold. Ravenport mused. Even he barely recollected the name of Gwen¡¯s cousin, a Mind Mage who had changed professions into a researcher of Dwarven Rune Magic. Perhaps the girl¡¯s defection was more personal to the Popov dynasty than the reports had known.

    Now, he must ready the Ministry for the incoming calamity.

    ¡°CAW¡ª!¡± Morrigan let loose an excited squawk just as Ravenport pondered passing Popov¡¯s threat to Gunther Shultz. If Gunther were to immediately teleport over to Heathrow and pop off Popov¡¯s corrupted head with a blast of sanctified light, he was willing to testify in parliament upon the grace of the Almighty that a Gunther look-alike from Spectre was responsible. ¡°CAW¡ªCAW¡ªCAW¡ª!¡±

    ¡°Speak English!¡± Ravenport snapped, his mind too stressed to comprehend avian speech. ¡°What¡¯s gotten you so excited?¡±

    DING!

    The chime of an emergency Message interrupted the need for Morrigan¡¯s vocalisation.

    Ravenport listened for several minutes, his complexion growing paler with every word.

    ¡°She did what?¡± He spoke into the glowing Glyph, feeling his chest constrict, the pit of his stomach falling into the abyss. ¡°She needs a fleet to transport¡­a what?¡±

    As the agitated voice from the Glyph delivered the final few details, the Duke of Norfolk, Marshal of her Majesty¡¯s Men at Arms, felt himself suddenly the victim of a very genuine and enormously sympathetic feeling¡­ for his dear friend, Vasili Popov.

 Chapter 510 - From the Desert to the Sea

    The Yellow Sea.

    Some three hundred nautical miles from the forest of cranes that made up Nagasaki¡¯s deep sea port, the Battle Carrier JS Kagemaru floated listlessly in the disputed territorial waters east of Jeju Island.

    Surrounding the Izumo-class Carrier was its fleet of support vessels¡ªsix Osumi-Class Landing ships, each carrying a Mage Flight of Kyoto¡¯s finest and a dozen smaller vessels servicing the East Sea Patrol Fleet of the Republic of Japan. Together, they were ten thousand souls put to sea, braving the dangerous traverse into a No Man¡¯s Sea where terrible and hungry things lurked.

    Few could have guessed or even suspected that the Eastern Patrol Fleet would be so far from its home, for even in times of peace, Japan¡¯s precious Naval Mages were the last bulwark of defence against the endless incursions of Mermen from the Yellow Sea and the North Pacific.

    Now, they were once more meeting the foes they had faced since the fledgling nation took to sea¡ªonly this time, the meeting was conducted with a disquieting platitude.

    Disquiet because they were surrounded by a Merman shoal that could swallow the fleet without so much as a dent in their numbers.

    And more so disquiet because none of the Mermen attacked the fleet¡¯s men and women. Instead, they swam in circles around the Kagemaru, some curious, many more clambering too close for comfort.

    More absurdly, a creature of legend that the country of Japan had dubbed the nation¡¯s Calamity and had been responsible for almost a million lost souls a half-decade ago was now docked beside the Carrier.

    Upon the deck of the enormous flagship¡ªone of the largest in its class, stood the premier Magister of Shalkar and Cambridge, an elfin-looking fellow with a head as smooth as a polished crystal ball. The Mages sent by their irrespective Factions to guard the Magister observed the skinny magician with respect, for they could see from the slight curvature of his pointed ears that the Mage was fey-touched by immortal Shinboku no Okami.

    ¡°Edowado-Sama,¡± a Tokyo Tower Magister wearing military robes styled to match his Shinto origins, bowed his head to intrude upon Ollie Edward¡¯s internal turmoil. ¡°Will Song-Sama be joining us soon? The men¡­ they are nervous as to the¡­ friendliness of these¡­Kappa.¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s in there somewhere,¡± Ollie had no idea if his claim was true or when the Regent of Shalkar would make her appearance, though he did receive firm confirmations from both Shalkar and The Shard. ¡°Somewhere¡­¡±

    Gwen Song, the Regent of Shalkar, will return to the Prime Material on this day. The Quest Missive from the Shard had predicted when Gwen would return to the surface. In addition, the Minister overseeing the development of Shalkar, the Duke of Norfolk, had hand-picked Ollie for the diplomatic mission.

    As yet another tentacle, one longer than the Kogemaru itself, rose and fell in the waters around them, Ollie couldn¡¯t help but picture his cherished Regent in his mind¡¯s eye. When she had left, Gwen was already the Regent of a city with a population of a million, involving a cosmopolitan mix of races and species never before combined in a Mageocracy settlement. She was also an icon of worship whose collated ¡°Faith¡± was carefully observed by the Ordo Bath for fear of its abuse. Finally, she was unofficially the Guardian of the World Tree of Shalkar, a position that the Immortals atop Tryfan had made official with a direct blessing from the Bloom in White.

    With his boss already holding titles others could not imagine, Ollie felt stressed by his part as her right-hand administrator in Shalkar, together with Magus Richard Huang.

    Now, the Duke of Norfolk, a figure that could have made Ollie shed hair, was informing him that his lady boss had taken over one of the few known Vels from their Mermen masters and that she was in control of one Leviathan plus the carcass of an older, more primordial variant.

    Ollie had a poor notion of what a Vel consisted of and had to consult his colleagues. When he finally understood the scope and scale of Gwen¡¯s new conquest, the itch on his scalp grew unbearable. He had consorted with the Mageocracy¡¯s greatest magical physicians and even received a Tonic of Rejuvenation from Sanari for his losses. Yet, the roots on his head seemed to rebel against the idea of once more becoming home to follicles of keratin. Yesteryear, he had even undergone a radical surgery in which a piece of skin from his buttocks was grafted onto his head¡ªyet even that became completely smooth¡ªand now, not even his buttocks possessed the manes many British Gentlemen enjoyed.

    Terrifyingly, the young Cleric, Gwen¡¯s constant companion, had suggested to Ollie that it was a matter of Faith. In Gwen¡¯s mind, Ollie was his best when bald¡ªand as such, the invisible psychic energies of belief that shrouded the Regent ensured that those closest to her became as her heart desired.

    ¡°Perhaps you could model some wigs for Gwennie¡­¡± her milk-white, guileless face had suggested with complete certainty. ¡°Change her outlook¡­¡±

    Beg for hair? Ollie was of two hearts. Indeed, British Gentlemen can have bad teeth and no hair, but a man without dignity deserves to be bold.

    ¡°Edowado-Sama?¡± The Magister coughed. ¡°You were saying?¡±

    ¡°Sorry,¡± Ollie snapped back to reality at once. ¡°I am sure she¡¯s on her way¡ªAh, right on time¡ª! It¡¯s moving.¡±

    As advertised, the enormous carapace of the suburb-sized Leviathan island floating beside the Kagemaru began to shift, rising to reveal vents the size and volume of freighters. Then, like a tectonic shift, whole hills began to yawn and stretch.

    Instantly, the atmosphere changed.

    The Mermen, previously without a decorum of personal space, simultaneously turned toward the rising dais that was the Leviathan¡¯s spinal protrusion.

    Slowly, a ¡°Tower¡± crafted from coral and chitin and held together with an overlapping carapace erected itself from the foaming water. At its base, a series of flaps stitched together from pure muscle unwound itself, jettisoning a torrent of water before revealing its precious cargo.

    ¡°Sugoi¡­¡± the Magister beside Ollie stood with his mouth open. ¡°This is a historical moment, Edowado-Sama.¡±

    The equally silent Magister Oliver Edwards could only agree as his boss emerged from the platform, flanked by a row of exotic-looking Merman and Mermaids, each on their knees, legs or fins, and accompanied by the most hideous, monstrous squid fish he had ever beheld.

    What a terrible day it is to have eyes! Ollie felt his optic nerves rebel as the monster slid forward, gliding on limbs that could only be more tentacles. This creature was no Elemental Prince of the Vels, yet Ollie understood implicitly the danger it represented and what it could do should it be sufficiently riled up.

    Independent of Ollie, the Kyoto Mages who had gathered on deck bowed from the waist, showing the due respect owed to a woman who may have just given them a decade of peace on the eastern seaboard.

    ¡°ALL HAIL THE PALE PRIESTESS!¡± The voice of the terrible creature leaking oil and slime howled like a ship horn.

    ¡°Weee¡ªWeeee¡ª¡°

    ¡°Gweee¡ªGweeee¡ª Gweeee¡ª¡°

    ¡°GWEEE¡ªGWEEEN¡ª GWEEENGH¡ª GWEEENGH¡ª¡°

    The Mermen¡¯s answer was a long, continuous wail without end, sending the sea into a frothing frenzy while the hull of the Kagemaru rang with metallic echos of the bone-deep whale song.

    ¡°O-KAMI SAMA!¡± The Kyoto Mages, long accustomed to the worship of the ya-o-yorozu no kami, joined in the festivity without question, having received the unquestionable visitation of a great, benevolent Spirit.

    Amid the roar, Ollie saw once more the Regent of Shalkar, the exterminator of follicles, his lady boss.

    Pale, she was, deathly pale in ivory and pearl, clad from neck to toe in a living dress of flowing kelp that must have been resplendent underwater. Her complexion, perhaps for not seeing the sun for a year, was deathly and translucent, showing the blues of her veins.

    As she squinted against the sun, he saw the Mana of her eyes adjust, reorienting its pliable tissues through a means unique to a being of her unique constitution.

    Like a goddess of the sea or a pale Venus in kelp, the Regent of Shalkar strode forth until she boarded the Kagemaru¡¯s extended planks to come face to face with himself.

    ¡°Welcome back, Regent,¡± Ollie felt his knees grow weak as he affected a bow. ¡°You have been gone too long.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, Ollie. Now hold the fort for a while.¡± The graceful body of his Regent passed him without pause. ¡°Is my chambers ready?¡±

    ¡°What?¡± Ollie felt his thoughts derail. ¡°Of course, you had requested¡­¡±

    ¡°Where is it?¡± The girl brushed past, and Ollie felt overwhelmed by the sickly aroma of something like congealed fish oil. ¡°I need to use it¡ªnow.¡±

    ¡°This way, Gwen-Sama.¡± His aide from Kyoto was perhaps better at reading Gwen¡¯s needs. He communicated the coordinates mid-ship without delay, and his Regent was gone in a split second through a chant-less Dimension Door.

    ¡°What was that?¡± Ollie mouthed a bit louder than he had anticipated.

    ¡°A shower¡­¡± The voice that answered him in English was affected by a Southeast Asian accent, though it was perfectly delivered, hinting at the presence of a Translation Stone. ¡°In the Elemental Plane of Water, you must understand that showers are a challenging concept for even the best of our Sea Witches to sing into existence.¡±

    ¡°You must be¡­ High Priest Lei-bup?¡± Ollie forced himself to extend a hand. He instantly regretted it as a coiled, oil-slathered tentacle slipped around his palms and shook him vigorously.

    ¡°And you must be Magister Edwards,¡± Lei-bup spoke through a face lined with dark mucus. ¡°As you may have heard, I am the caretaker for our Pale Priestess¡¯ Fifth Vel in her absence. If you have any questions or desires, please direct them to me.¡±

    Ollie possessed absolutely no desires he could imagine in the presence of Lei-bup other than to trade his soul for a roll of wet wipes but nodded nonetheless. ¡°I take it that things had gone swimmingly in the deep?¡±

    ¡°Our Pale Priestess¡¯ leadership is without contest,¡± Lei-bup laughed, shedding slime as he jiggled. ¡°Both the forces of Igih Nin-Iyizm and the First Vel have retreated beyond the reach of the Fifth Vel. Without significant recourse, there shall be no challenge to our liberation of the Prole-Mer-iat.¡±

    Ollie felt his frontal lobe perform a double summersault. ¡°I am sorry, Master Lei-bup¡ªthe what?¡±

    ¡°The Mer, who are the plankton of the Seven Seas, its cornerstones,¡± Lei-bup said without blinking, which Ollie realised was a limitation of his physiology. ¡°Did she not raise the trodden millions of your city as well?¡±

    ¡°Well, if you mean the Rat-kin,¡± Ollie confessed. Not thinking too much about Gwen¡¯s hobbies was the only way to remain a faithful administrator without specific prejudices.

    ¡°And now she has freed billions from the Nobler Mer¡¯s bondage. We always knew there was a way, you see. Only no one has attempted to overthrow the Kingdoms until now.¡±

    ¡°She overthrew¡­¡± Ollie felt his feet grow cold. ¡°The Monarchy?¡±

    ¡°Skewered one like a disobedient sardine on a black sword,¡± Lei-bup burped with pleasure. ¡°The other had her Shoal torn apart by living mouths. From the few that survived, we learned that only a tiny fraction of her allies and their Leviathan could escape the pursuit of the Fifth Vel.¡±

    ¡°Oh¡­¡± Ollie was no longer sure how to communicate Gwen¡¯s accomplishments, for it did not sound like a successful, first-time colonisation of the Elemental Plane of Water but something that would make the folks in London sweat.

    ¡°Do not fret. She might have a better perspective, hahaha,¡± Lei-bup slapped his shoulders, splattering ink over Ollie¡¯s collar and neck.

    Though suddenly violated, Ollie smiled and nodded, kept calm, and continued. ¡°What are your plans from here on out, Lord Lei-bup?¡±

    ¡°Lord? I am just a kelp farmer.¡± Lei-bup kept slapping his shoulder, and with each slap, Ollie felt the oil seep into his Magister¡¯s robes. ¡°We¡¯ll be farming kelp, of course. That and recovering the Ancient remains to build our new abode in the Free City of Bright Reef.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re not afraid the Kingdoms will return?¡± Ollie asked, thinking of his nation¡¯s recent failures. The Niger Delta¡¯s loss was, in the eyes of the Mageocracy, only a temporary setback.

    ¡°The people have tasted freedom, dear Olive,¡± Lei-bup splattered the air with an expressive arm. ¡°Without the most terrible of costs, it cannot be regurgitated. Even the Kingdoms know that.¡±

    ¡°Still¡­¡± Ollie felt doubtful. ¡°And it¡¯s Oliver¡­¡±

    ¡°Ah¡ªdo not fear.¡± Lei-bup rubbled. ¡°Our Priests of the Grand Purpose are already abroad, Olive! They will also spread the word to the oppressed in the Kingdoms. In time, all shall answer her call.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s¡­¡± Ollie felt his follicles pucker. ¡°That¡¯s¡­ terror¡ªincredible.¡±

    ¡°Oh, yes. we¡¯ve lit a great beacon, Mister Olive!¡± Lei-bup drew a pie in the sky with a finger that could traumatise generations of Rat-kin. ¡°Harken to her deeds, Edward of the Olive! Mark this moment, for she who devours has this cycle ignited such a passion in the Deep as I trust by the Shoggoth¡¯s grace shall never be put out!¡±

    As if reading Lei-bup¡¯s mood, the Mermen around them once more burst into whale song, joined by the Leviathan beside them, rumbling so loudly that for a second, Ollie wondered if the Kagemaru might fall apart.

    Lei-bup raised a hand.

    Ollie sensed a whiff of burning mana similar to the magic wielded by the Regent from somewhere in the expansive robes of Lei-bup.

    The ¡°Weee¡ªWeeee¡ª¡° ceased.

    ¡°She comes,¡± Lei-bup prostrated, an act that made Ollie follow without question.

    Stepping from the interior of the Kagemaru, dressed in a tee-shirt and cut-off shorts and with her hair tied back, the flawless visage of the Pale Priestess soaked up the sun with her bare feet.

    ¡°Free at last,¡± the Priestess said to no one, her still-wet hair tied in a ponytail. ¡°Dear Evee, I finally changed¡­¡±

    Free? Ollie couldn¡¯t take his eyes off his principal employer. Dressed so casually and in the familiar attire of summer, her divinity was somehow multiplied. Free from what?

    Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.

    ¡°The Dress,¡± Gwen answered when she caught him staring. ¡°Stare all you want, Ollie¡ª I am letting these puppies free to feel the wind. Do you have any idea how long I was in that dress? Now that¡¯s a feat worthy of a Magister.¡±

    An Elf-grown, hand-woven, Bloom-Enchanted attire that¡¯s priceless? Ollie felt himself scream internally. People would put on that thing and die in it.

    ¡°Was it that bad?¡± Ollie noted that the crew from Kyoto was also staring, though their eyes were equal parts reverence and admiration.

    The Regent of Shalkar stretched her limbs, tottering clumsily as she regained her ¡°land-legs¡±.

    Oliver Edwards felt his eyeballs straining to capture a scene that would have the Herald Sun run double-page spreads for days.

    ¡°So, did you bring it?¡± Gwen asked.

    Only now did Ollie recall the hidden purpose of his presence on the Kagemaru. ¡°O-Of course,¡± he hurried fossicked through his coat pockets for the prize given to him by none other than Sanari herself. ¡°Here you are, Regent.¡±

    Gwen picked from his cupped hands the subtle shape of a seed they were now familiar with. Once planted and stimulated with Essence, the seed would rapidly germinate into a portal the Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar used to transport its interests into the lands of its allied Pruners.

    The Regent hefted the seed in her palm, her exquisite face deep in thought. ¡°Ollie, you should be able to care for things here, right?¡±

    Ollie nodded. It wasn¡¯t as though he could refuse.

    Gwen inclined her head, then touched a finger to her ear as though she was conversing with something that could not be seen.

    What followed was a painful groan from the Kagemaru as it shifted right, displaced by the slow rise of an enormous crystal shard half-etched with arcane symbols. From its jagged point to its flanged rear, the Creature Core was almost half the length of the Battler Carrier. Lifting the enormous crystal skyward was the Leviathan itself, its distended tentacles wielding the Core like a skyscraper-sized dagger.

    As the waves crashed against the Kagemaru, sending a spray over the deck, Gwen spoke of what he would face in the next month or more.

    ¡°Magister Edwards. I charge you with the delivery of the Ancient Leviathan¡¯s many Cores,¡± his Regent dropped a ninth-tier spell bomb in Ollie¡¯s lap. ¡°This your mission, Ollie. You must see that these Cores are delivered to Shalkar via the Murk-ways accessible in the Bay of Yangon, understood? Meanwhile, I will make haste to Tryfan and then London.¡±

    ¡°I have received your orders,¡± Ollie replied formally.

    ¡°Lei-bup?¡± Gwen¡¯s eyes turned away from him.

    The Mermen prostrated beside Ollie. ¡°Your High Priest is here, mistress.¡±

    ¡°Keep them safe,¡± Gwen commanded, no less imperial in her tee and shorts than if she was in a full-sashed Magister¡¯s garb. ¡°Establish the coastal base once you reach the coasts of Yangon. Have Lim-duk draw out a trade route between the Vel and my city of Shalkar. Your contacts will be the Regents there, Mayuree and Marong.¡±

    ¡°As you wish,¡± Lei-bup bowed his head, dipping his face in the dark pool made by his body. ¡°May the Ancient¡¯s Core rise once more in your service, Pale Lady.¡±

    Though the world erupted with maddening industry, Ollie¡¯s mind was already with those enormous Cores being lifted out of the water. If the Leviathan and its Shoal would travel with them and protect the Easter Fleet, then the Mageocracy would need to pull many teeth to appease the Frontiers they must pass.

    ¡°Fear not,¡± Gwen seemed to have read his mind again. ¡°Putting aside the fact that no one would even dare to challenge Aristotle and Lei-bup, there¡¯s plenty of loot in the storage to be dispensed to the autonomous Frontiers along the way. After all, all those sunken treasures had to come from somewhere¡­¡±

    London.

    Ravenloft Grange.

    A pleasant distance from the bustle of Westminster, sitting on private land worth a King¡¯s ransom, stood the ancient abode of the Duke of Norfolk with its unbroken succession of Ravenports.

    Presently, the Grange played host to a cosmic horror from the deepest reaches of the Fifth Vel. Its guest was a being who had inhabited a Plane few humans had visited for over a year and was a known devourer of cities.

    ¡°You have NO idea¡­¡± Ravenport watched as the Regent of Shalkar, wearing an attire so casual that he felt offended by it, wolfed down her third serving of Beef Wellington. When she additionally took a swig from a goblet passed down from the fourteenth Ravenport¡¯s private collection, the girl¡¯s eyes rolled skyward as though she had attained a moment of nirvana. ¡°Mmmph¡ªI am human again.¡±

    ¡°Please¡­ swallow first.¡± The Duke of Norfolk found himself unable to censure his protest. ¡°There is no rush.¡±

    The entire ordeal would have been less awkward had they been alone. However, at present, the Regent of Shalkar was joined by those he considered trustworthy enough to receive the insider information firsthand.

    Beside him and watching with equal embarrassment was his daughter Charlene, who had not touched her Wellington for fear of Gwen desiring another share. Opposite and closer to the girl was her ally and compatriot, the young Thomas Holland, who smiled with appreciation and held the gravy ready to keep her plate well-provisioned. Also present was Gwen¡¯s old mentor, the de facto spokesperson for the Middle Faction, Lady Grey.

    Mycroft would have preferred that Gunther Shultz be present at the meeting. Unfortunately, a visit would alert their foes in Eastern Europe, and he did not trust their Long Range Communication Towers so much that he would allow information at the current tier to be leaked. When the girl had first contacted him through their mutual contacts routed from Oceania, he and the Tower Master of Sydney had spared no expense scrubbing the news of her return from both official and unofficial channels, and he wasn¡¯t about to let all that effort go to waste.

    Yet, the first thing the Regent of Shalkar had demanded upon her arrival via Trellis Portal was meat.

    ¡°Give me a full degustation,¡± she said as she walked through the garden as though she owned it, sending the servants scrambling. ¡°Make it a double order¡­¡±

    Seeing as they were entertaining rare guests, Mycroft ordered full-course seating in the dining hall reserved for nobility and the rare visit from Her Majesty, which ultimately led to his embarrassment and regret.

    ¡°Sorry¡­¡± Gwen mopped her face and sat back with an expression of guilty satisfaction. ¡°We did things differently in the Vel, you understand. The¡­caviar doesn¡¯t call for utensils.¡±

    ¡°You ate caviar the whole time?¡± Charlene¡¯s curiosity was peaked.

    ¡°And kelp. So much kelp. But it was better than eating sashimi,¡± Gwen replied with a wince. ¡°You get used to it, but it¡¯s disconcerting initially.¡±

    ¡°How so,¡± Thomas Holland seemed smitten by the raw display of mannerless appetite.

    ¡°Well,¡± Gwen took another sip of her wine, this time more in tune with civilisation. ¡°Imagine you are going about your business. Then, you see this puffer fish Mer, round, cute, at the market with its family, pulling a struggling squid from a coral cage, hollering. While the squid hollers, the puffer guts the thing, spilling its brood of eggs. Then these little puffer fries come out of nowhere, and they all hang around the stall slurping up the vengeful squid and its young¡­ after a month, my preference was for roe.¡±

    Charlene made a gagging sound.

    ¡°Mother and children¡­ eating mother and children,¡± Ravenport observed drily. ¡°The world of the Mer is the world of those who eat and are eaten, a cycle of pain*. It says a lot about why they are the way they are.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d like to think we do better¡­¡± Lady Grey sombrely observed. ¡°Can we do better, Mycroft?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯d be surprised,¡± Ravenport shook his head, knowing that a straight answer would be a lie. ¡°Tell us more, Gwen, of this Sinneslukare Lich.¡±

    Swallowing, the girl repeated the story, and Mycroft and the others sifted through her memories for details.

    ¡°And you say that these Glyphs were the same you found in Sydney during the¡­ Royal National incident, and the Tianjin incident?¡±

    ¡°Absolutely,¡± the Regent concurred. ¡°I won¡¯t ever forget it.¡±

    ¡°Mori?¡± Mycroft sends his thoughts to the Raven perched above them.

    ¡°Caw¡ª!¡± The Raven fluttered away.

    ¡°I would very much like to have Edmund in the room with us right now,¡± Mycroft said, his voice growing cold. ¡°That child has much to answer for¡­¡±

    ¡°CAW¡ª!¡± The Raven returned, bearing a data slate.

    Mycroft performed the necessary rites and then unlocked the information for all to see. The recordings of the Glyphs recovered from the ruins of Almudj¡¯s passing had been sent to the Tower, though compared to Henry Kilroy''s death, it had received not nearly enough attention.

    ¡°Well, that settles it,¡± Thomas Holland spoke for the Military Faction. ¡°This is a pattern. If Spectre can awaken Mythics and Ancients, I can see them as responsible for the original Beast Tide with Vynssarion.¡±

    ¡°It has to the be the work of, you know, that¡­¡± Lady Grey hinted at something they all knew to be true but lacked the means to confirm. For someone to fathom where these ancient creatures rested or were laid to rest, there must be someone older than Human civilisation overseeing the projects¡ªsomeone with an infinite life span.

    ¡°Tryfan knows,¡± Mycroft confirmed. ¡°Though whether they are willing to do something is entirely different. As you all know, conflict is a part of the balance they seek to maintain.¡±

    ¡°I am not averse to conflict,¡± Thomas Holland shrugged. ¡°Provided we come out on top, of course.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think that applies now. Someone tried to burn down two World Trees,¡± Gwen added from across the table. ¡°Someone had tried to burn down my World Tree. Maybe I should speak to the Bloom to remind her of that.¡±

    ¡°You may, if you can spare the time,¡± Mycroft tapped the table with his fingers. ¡°But Regent, don¡¯t assume Tryfan will overextend their kindness even then. This is a problem of here and now, which, in the perception of the Elves, isn¡¯t as critical as you might feel. Allowing you to establish a World Tree is already the greatest liberty they have ever afforded The Mageocracy since the inception of ancient Albion.¡±

    ¡°I am a Guardian now, so¡­¡± Gwen protested. ¡°That¡¯s something.¡±

    ¡°Please, back to the Lich,¡± Lady Grey redirected the conversation, for only Mycroft himself and the Regent were known adherents to the Accord. ¡°Suggestions?¡±

    ¡°The Path of Juche can be categorised as Faith Magic,¡± Ravenport suggested. ¡°It is known that demi-Human can generate the Astral Energy we have categorised as Faith¡ªand it is not unreasonable that it applies to Mermen¡ªas Gwen had demonstrated with her Essence Sympathy. The necrophage, I suspect, is the key culprit. They failed to convert the Rat-kin, but there was no Gwen to disrupt their work with the Mermen.¡±

    ¡°And a Lich is, in essence, a creature of Essence,¡± Gwen replied from beyond the Wellington. ¡°I should know; I fought one face-to-face. I also choked out a Soul Eater.¡±

    Thomas Holland purred in appreciation. It wasn¡¯t every day that a sorceress socked a Lich in the jaw and lived to tell the tale.

    ¡°It¡¯s all conjecture, of course,¡± Mycroft interrupted with the truth. ¡°Until we capture this unique Sinneslukare¡­ I hope it¡¯s unique¡­ we can only assume that there will be more Undead Demi-humans in the future.¡±

    ¡°The African continent¡­¡± the young Holland winced. ¡°There¡¯s a lot of potential there for Spectre to recruit new allies, willing or not.¡±

    ¡°The Demi-humans in the African Continent are no strangers to Undead,¡± Mycroft shrugged. ¡°It¡¯s one of the original cradles of Necromancy, after all.¡±

    The table grew silent until it was interrupted by Gwen digging into a serving of bread pudding.

    ¡°So, back to practicality for a moment,¡± the Regent of Shalkar said between bites of rich custard. ¡°What advice can you give me on this Russian thing?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s strange how minor that feels now,¡± Holland breathed out, slapping his knees to express his dismay. ¡°After all, what are some bandits compared to the fall of Human civilisation as we know it?¡±

    ¡°The Russians are hedging a strange bet,¡± Mycroft spoke with frustration. ¡°They know that we won¡¯t push them too far. No one wants to be responsible for the Eastern Front this side of Europe and they all know it. It¡¯s the same reason your Brother-in-Craft can¡¯t just appear and put them out of their misery.¡±

    ¡°So what¡¯s the plan?¡± Gwen asked. ¡°I¡¯ve got enough on my plate trying to bring those new Cores down from Yangon. I¡¯ve also got a Sobel to find once we get my Tower aloft.¡±

    ¡°The outcome the Mageocracy desires¡­¡± Mycroft placed his words with great gentleness. ¡°Is the same as Tryfan¡¯s approach. We can¡¯t stop the Russians being thugs, but we also need their tenacity in dealing with matters in the East.¡±

    The girl furrowed her brows unhappily. Having dealt with fish for a year, she lost the habit of hiding her outward displays of emotions.

    ¡°What Mycroft is trying to say,¡± Lady Grey came in to aide him. ¡°Is that you shouldn¡¯t fleece the Russians to the bone.¡±

    This time, the girl appeared more understanding.

    ¡°Don¡¯t underestimate them, though,¡± Thomas Holland gave his two-HDMs. ¡°That same tenacity and disregard for human life is deadly in a prolonged conflict. There¡¯s no possibility that our nations can suffer through what they¡¯ve gone through since the Great War and remain a regional power, yet they¡¯ve thrived like a neglected briar row.¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re not going to¡­ turncoat to the Undead,¡± Gwen said suddenly. ¡°If I take two more Towers¡­ will they?¡±

    ¡°Not possible.¡± Mycroft shook his head. ¡°The Central Powers would not allow that. The Oligarchs in Moscow would not allow it. It would be calling the bluff they¡¯ve always used to keep us contained since the October Revolution. To turn against Humanity would end their civilisation as we know it.¡±

    ¡°So I have to beat them¡­ with a soft fist?¡± The Regent sipped on her goblet, leaving a rich print of her lips on the edge.

    ¡°I am sure you¡¯ll figure something out,¡± Mycroft felt a little happier knowing the girl was vexed. After all, thanks to her little adventure below, he would not be leaving his office for the next six months. ¡°Maybe ask a Dragon for help.¡±

    ¡°Their advice that isn¡¯t free,¡± Gwen pulled at her lips. ¡°But yes, I¡¯ll sound them out.¡±

    Ah yes, Mycroft felt his chest constrict. To casually ask the Sythinthimryr, the Red Queen of Summer, or converse with Tyfanevius the Eternal for their opinions is all very cool and normal in this part of the Prime Material.

    ¡°Fine. How will you return to Shalkar?¡± Ravenport pondered the resources at his disposal. ¡°We can arrange something discrete from here. I do mean it. You MUST be discrete.¡±

    ¡°No need,¡± the girl helped herself to more pudding. ¡°That Trellis Gate out back? There are still a few days left until it wilts. I¡¯ll hop back to Tryfan, have tea with the Big T, then catch a ride back to Shalkar through Sanari.¡±

    The gathered nobles all matched their breaths with Ravenport¡¯s. Of the three of them, only he knew that Gwen could not only access Tryfan, but she even owned an abode left behind by her erstwhile Master.

    While the rest of the dessert was served and eaten, the group exchanged notes and agreed on a series of policies regarding the immediate threat of terrestrial Human greed against Gwen¡¯s World Tree.

    ¡°Whelp,¡± she mopped her sultry mouth. ¡°If there¡¯s nothing else, folks, I¡¯ll be along to sneak back home¡­ and catch up on a year¡¯s worth of paperwork and a Familiar that should be ready to come out of the cocoon¡­¡±

    Shalkar

    The Bunker.

    Within the enormous oval of the Bunker¡¯s central office, its senior management members traded notes and discussed the latest crisis facing the fledgling city.

    ¡°I say we kill em all,¡± Lulan Li, Chief Security Officer, announced she would broker no negotiations with the Worker¡¯s Union seeking to establish a charter of independence from Shalkar¡¯s status as a Protectorate.

    ¡°No,¡± the hulking figure beside the lithe Sword Mage protested, his draconic face cracking with lightning. ¡°I¡¯ll kill ¡®em! I¡¯ll tear their leader¡¯s head off and wear it on my horns as a trophy.¡±

    ¡°Golos.¡± Richard Huang, central executive in the absence of the Regent of Shalkar, battered the two away with a fluttering hand. ¡°They are our citizens. We promised to protect them.¡±

    ¡°They won¡¯t be the moment that petition goes through,¡± Golos chuckled darkly. ¡°I¡¯ll be there as soon as the ink dries. You can bet on it.¡±

    ¡°The Deep Council of Shalkar would prefer a more peaceful solution,¡± the Dwarven representative, Engineseer Axehoff, pulled himself closer to the table. ¡°Those Humans may be misled, but they¡¯ve put their sweat and tears into the building of this city. By Dwarven Lore, I cannot judge them entirely as outsiders until an actual act of treason has been committed.¡±

    ¡°Then I¡¯ll gut the Ring Leaders,¡± Lulan spat with vehemence. ¡°There¡¯s that Colonel guy, the Fish guy, and a dozen others. That¡¯s a reasonable number. We¡¯ll paint their Red Square the colour of their flag.¡±

    ¡°Now, now,¡± Richard felt exhausted even as he spoke to his fellow city managers. ¡°Perhaps our guest Magister might have a better idea.¡±

    ¡°Who? Me?¡± Alexander Slylth Morden, who had been asked to sit on the council meeting, suddenly looked up. After his contributions at Shalkar, the Mageocracy had upgraded his position from a self-proclaimed Magister to an actual, certified Magister of the Mageocracy. ¡°I guess we could Fire Ball them? Humans breed quickly, don¡¯t they? We¡¯ll have a new batch in two decades, tops.¡±

    Richard sighed. He turned to Strun.

    That Rat-kin gave him such a grin that he decided not to ask.

    ¡°It has occurred to me that we should not put this to a vote,¡± he said to the room. ¡°Everyone! Remember what Shalkar was built on! Was it death and destruction? Maybe¡­ I guess there was a lot of that, but MORE than that, Shalkar is a city of hope! It¡¯s the cosmopolitan city of the Races! Remember? It¡¯s a Shining City on the Hill! It¡¯s something everyone should aspire. Understand? That¡¯s Gwen¡¯s vision.¡±

    The crew murmured their agreement.

    ¡°Did you forget there¡¯s two Towers not far from us, harassing our patrols?¡± Lulan spat with a growl. ¡°We don¡¯t even control the North East corridor anymore. And they¡¯re creeping closer to the construction site of Gwen¡¯s Tower every other day.¡±

    The crew¡¯s discontent grew louder.

    Richard was at a loss as well. The city was safe without Gwen, but its territories were only as secure as the lives he was willing to expend. Strun and his folk, Garp, Golos, and Lulan, were all willing to give their lives, but he wasn¡¯t. Likewise, the Russians had made it very clear that they possessed no qualms with the presence of the Dwarves and would allow them to operate as they pleased. Despite this, Axehoff had already expressed that the Shield Guards were at his disposal. Yet, for that same reason, Richard did not wish to sour the loyalty of their closest allies by sending out their Golem units to fight a foe that did not threaten them.

    Whatever the case, the city was shadowed by the looming day of the illegal election organised by the Workers'' Union of Shalkar.

    It was a move that had blind-sided Richard, for he had always kept an ear to the ground to keep a tab on subversions of Gwen¡¯s power. Yet, the Worker¡¯s Union had been innocuous and industrious enough to be left alone¡­ until Moscow declared its ¡°Special Operation¡±.

    In Gwen¡¯s absence, the refugees had been re-organised into two camps, the majority of which fell into the division of pre and post-Yekaterinburg groups. The latter disregarded the Demi-humans in the city and demanded a piece of Shalkar for human habitation only, a demand now backed up by two floating Towers and their contingent of Mages. What was worse, the Towers made it clear that they would be retrieving Yekaterinburg¡¯s remains¡­

    Therefore, the gathered forces sat at a slowly tilting stalemate, waiting for the election and the chaos, while Shalkar¡¯s inner council waited for the return of their Regent.

    ¡°Caw¡ª!¡± a raven interrupted the quiet contemplating of the city¡¯s administrators. ¡°Caw¡ªcaw¡ª!¡±

    Instantly, Richard felt a weight slide from his shoulders like Lea slipping away after receiving affection.

    Slylth was the first to react, for he turned his face upward as though he could see through the stone ceiling into the World Tree¡¯s spire.

    ¡°Ariel has awakened¡­¡± the Dragon Mage¡¯s face split into a wide grin. ¡°I think we all know why¡­¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s back!¡± Golos huffed, blasting the surrounding air with static. ¡°By Father¡¯s beard, she¡¯s finally back!¡±

 Chapter 511 - Consequences of Happiness

    Shalkar.

    The World Tree.

    ¡°Caw¡ªCaw¡ªCaw¡ª!¡±

    ¡°Caw¡ªCaw¡ªCaw¡ª!¡±

    Obsidian avians in their thousands, joined by the chorus of shrill chirps from the rainbow-hued harpies, filled the World Tree''s secret spaces with technicolour streaks, welcoming the rebirth of a resplendent creature formed from strands of living energy.

    ¡°EE?¡± Ariel, a name dubbed by Hebrew to mean the Lion of God, took an unsteady step forward, testing the profound powers of its new form.

    Within its chest, the Core of an Imperial Celestial Kirin, a ruling member of a Pantheon of the Primordial era where Dragons duelled, burned like an electric furnace, fuelling the immense energies its body required.

    Its once marten form, a minuscule being that had inherited smidges of the Kirin¡¯s Essences, was utterly erased. Now, with new divinity filling it from hoof to crown, Ariel had regained the aloof mien of a dead deity who had once cast long shadows across the conjoined continents of Pangea.

    ¡°EE¡ªee¡ª¡± Ariel sniffed the air, every breath drawing in the motes of Elemental Lighting like powdered iron to an electrified magnet. Having shed its mortal coils, the Lion of God was now a cousin to the true Draconids who had reigned over the Prime Material since the spheres conjoined.

    At once, it caught the scent of its owner, together with the unmistakable mana of a Trellis Portal.

    ¡°Ariel¡ª!¡± a jubilant cry drew its attention toward a swirling pool of familiar energies, rich with the collated Essence of the tree that had nurtured it.

    The Kirin licked its nose and lips, its tongue barbed like a lion¡¯s but also distended and prehensile. With a single leap, it cleared the branch where it had slept for a year and landed in front of its mistress and creator, every strand of its majestic mane fluttering with the grandeur of a Pantene commercial.

    ¡°Ariel¡ªoh my God¡­ you¡¯re¡­ enormous!¡±

    Their minds touched, once more soul-linked after so long an absence.

    Gwen Song, just-now returned Regent of Shalkar and the Guardian of the Axis Mundi, stood in awe of the towering chimera-Dragon standing before her like a larger-than-life Chinese watercolour.

    Blue-white manes the hue of captured lightning flowed from the majestic head of her Familiar, framing a sculpted snout that was neither feline nor hound but something in between. From its neck, the soft flowing fur ceased, then extended into supple rivets of Dragon scale that appeared like interlocking mail plates. Ariel¡¯s front paws, which had been hoofs, were once more the paws of a celestial cat, while the haunched hind legs ended in golden hooves that sparked as it moved. And finally, to punctuate its gravitas, a living cloud of lightning and thunder formed the likeness of a tail, connecting a long mane that began at its pearlescent stag horns like a serpent.

    And yes, her Familiar was enormous.

    She wasn¡¯t even sure if this was Ariel¡¯s combat form, and it already stood ten feet from paw to horn.

    ¡°EE-EE¡ª!¡± Her Ariel excitedly lowered its horns, its mouth opened to form a strange shape, and then¡ª

    ¡°Milk¡ª!¡± Her creature uttered, sending images to her mind that would make Slylth blush.

    ¡°I am sorry?¡± Gwen¡¯s hand stopped an inch from her creature¡¯s head. ¡°Did you just say¡­¡±

    ¡°Cali¡ª!¡± The Kirin nuzzled her face with its snout, its tongue bathing her cheeks with numbing, static-charged slime. ¡°Mama¡ª!¡±

    Gwen felt her heart melt. ¡°My Ariel can talk!¡± she shouted joyfully into the Axis Mundi. ¡°Holy moly, it''s finally happened!¡±

    ¡°Milk!¡± The Kirin nudged her harder, almost convincing Gwen to unbutton her blouse when she abruptly realised Ariel meant it wanted her Mead.

    While she produced the droplets on her palm for Ariel to suckle, a flash of heat a good distance away suggested that the custodians of her city had arrived to greet their executive officer.

    ¡°I would certainly hope that Ariel can talk,¡± the voice of her dearest Dragon, saviour of her investments, bridged the distance between its materialisation via the Tower¡¯s internal Teleportation and herself. ¡°That¡¯s a Celestial Kirin Core Lord Tyfanevius traded for you¡ªif Ariel isn¡¯t at least as intelligent as a Human after its transformation, Uncle would have harsh words for the Cloud Dragons.¡±

    ¡°Slylthie!¡± Gwen kissed Ariel on the nose, then walked towards the approaching group to give each of them a big, warm hug.

    Since the Red Dragon spoke first, she opened her arms and hugged the stiff body of the Dragon-kin, crushing the bony ridges of its scholarly facade beneath the Magister¡¯s robes. Curiously, though Slylth could have taken the body shape of a Grecian Adonis, his natural preference was for the likeness of an elfin scholar who had spent too much time at the library.

    She grazed the Dragon¡¯s cheeks with her lips, then squeezed his hand before moving on to Richard, who embraced her wholeheartedly and attempted to squeeze the life out of her torso.

    ¡°By the Nazarene, it''s good to see you back.¡± Her foremost aide exhaled like a man relieved of shackles. ¡°The paperwork¡­¡±

    ¡°Not now, Richard¡­¡± She quickly pushed away her cousin to embrace Lulan, who took it only slightly better than the scarlet Slylth, then wrapped her arms around the waist of her Thunder Dragon. ¡°Gogo, did you keep the ship steady while I was gone? I can certainly see you¡¯ve wasted no time populating the canopy¡­ I hope Phalera¡¯s still holding up¡­¡±

    ¡°Hahahaha¡­¡± Her Thunder Dragon returned her back-pats threefold. ¡°Richard¡¯s been preventing us from eating dissidents, so I¡¯ve had lots of time.¡±

    ¡°Strun.¡± She moved to embrace her first disciple. Or perhaps, considering Lei-bup, her second disciple.

    Instead of a hug, the Rat-kin knelt and touched his head to her hand. The gesture would have made her uneasy a year ago, but after living among the Mermen, the worship felt natural and unassuming. After momentarily playing with her Rat-kin¡¯s ears, she bid her General to stand.

    ¡°Mistress Song,¡± the gruff voice of their final member, the Dwarven ambassador, Engineseer and part-time Deepdowner, put up both hands. ¡°No hugs. And don¡¯t yer dare fondle me ears.¡±

    Gwen bowed her head, then shook the Dwarf¡¯s gauntleted hand. ¡°Master Axehoff, you¡¯re looking well. Allow me to praise the rapid expansion of the Low Ways under your guidance. It¡¯s thanks to you and your efforts that we can transport our spoils from the Vel.¡±

    ¡°Aye, about that, lassie¡ªwe need to discuss something in the Guild Chamber¡ªthough it can wait. Sort out your affairs here, and come find us.¡±

    ¡°Of course.¡± Gwen surveyed her inner council, which was missing Petra. ¡°So¡­ yeah¡­ I am back.¡±

    ¡°Welcome back, Regent Richard spoke for all of them. ¡°And so is Ariel, I can see.¡±

    ¡°Back!¡± Ariel performed a terrifying little jig. As a puppy-marten, the gesture would have melted their hearts. As a celestial Kirin, Gwen wondered if a hole would open into the Quasi-Elemental Plane of Lightning. ¡°Milk¡ª!¡±

    Gwen laughed awkwardly.

    Her audience looked to their Regent, then to the Kirin.

    The Red Dragon grew a little pink.

    ¡°He means this¡­¡± With a gesture she had practised ten thousand times and more, she swung her hand as though sowing the earth with rye, congealing a dozen drops of Golden Mead the size of hen¡¯s eggs.

    Richard whistled. ¡°Smooth moves¡ª¡°

    ¡°MINE¡ª!¡± Lea erupted from his body and twisted through the air before swallowing a droplet.

    ¡°MINE¡ª!¡± Ariel protested, sparking electricity everywhere. ¡°EE¡ª! EE¡ªeeee¡ª!¡±

    Together, the two Familiars raced through the air, consuming her blessed secretions with ecstatic faces.

    ¡°I am starting to picture what your underwater days are like¡­¡± her cousin¡¯s eyes grew contemplative. ¡°O great Pale Priestess¡­¡±

    Gwen¡¯s rebuttal stalled when she saw the wanton face of Golos, who did not disguise his expectations, and Strun, who looked at his feet, muttering to himself. There were also the ravens tracking her fingers with laser precision and, beyond that, Phalera¡¯s harpy brood, who were drawn to the scent of the Golden Mead.

    ¡°Yeah, I guess. So er¡­¡± Gwen realised they should probably retreat somewhere. She discretely floated a glob for Golos and a cupful for Strun. ¡°Ariel, can you grow¡­ smaller? You¡¯re a bit too much for the conference room.¡±

    ¡°No?¡± Ariel cocked its shaggy head, looking so fiercely adorable she wanted to hug it all over again.

    ¡°He can try,¡± Slylth answered for her Familiar. ¡°But he doesn¡¯t know how. True Kirins, like Golos and myself, can shift as we please into familiar visages. Unfortunately, I don¡¯t think Ariel is familiar with any form at all¡­¡±

    Just as the Red Dragon spoke, Ariel¡¯s face formed an immense look of concentration¡ªthen its body grew incandescent as the morphic field governing its physical appearance began to change.

    The hooves formed into legs.

    The paws into the likeness of arms.

    The body itself took on the likeness of a small and lithe silhouette.

    The gathered audience watched with fascination as the Celestial Kirin made its first transformation.

    ¡°Oh gods¡­¡± Gwen felt the pit of her stomach drop. ¡°No¡­no¡­no¡­¡±

    ¡°Goodness¡­¡± Richard grimaced as he looked away. ¡°What a terrible thing to witness.¡±

    ¡°I think it¡¯s cute¡­¡± Lulan blushed.

    ¡°By the Ancestors, I need a stiff brew,¡± Axehoff joined the judges. ¡°To keep me brew down.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll teach him when I have time.¡± Slylth moved to cover the unfortunate Ariel.

    Her creature had done its best, but it had created something from the deepest nightmares of Gwen¡¯s subconscious. In its ¡°Human¡± form, her creature had become a thing with the head of a ferret-lion, platinum-blonde hair that framed its dog face, and the half-haunched body of a dog-girl with a Kirin¡¯s tail. Were it not for the fact that Ariel could not wish away its fur, she would have run up with a blanket.

    ¡°Ma¡­ Mama¡­?¡± The chimaera eked out a few mangled words, its malformed face struggling to hold its shape.

    ¡°Oh, Ariel¡­¡± Gwen knelt to embrace her creature, her heart bleeding. ¡°You didn¡¯t have to do that¡­ We¡¯ll fit you in the conference room even if we have to open up a wall¡­ okay now, Return!¡±

    Her mental command for her creature to de-materialise soothed her creature¡¯s anxiety.

    Then¡­ nothing.

    ¡°Er¡­¡± Gwen looked to Slylth. ¡°Is this normal?¡±

    ¡°I think Ariel is much more than a Familiar now¡­¡± Slylth observed her consternation with interest. ¡°You know, this has never happened before.¡±

    ¡°Failing unsummon commands?¡± Gwen rubbed her creature to comfort its mewing body.

    ¡°What? No, you goose,¡± Slylth spluttered. ¡°I mean, it''s regressive evolution! Who gives a Familiar a Celestial Kirin Core with its original consciousness erased to elevate its existence? That¡¯s never happened, you know, in any record anywhere, even in mother¡¯s library. Under any other circumstance, the Elder¡¯s Council would erase the offender!¡±

    While she contemplated the Red Dragon¡¯s words, her Kirin was coaxed back into its natural shape. ¡°So¡­ Ariel¡¯s just¡­ out here, for now?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not so bad out here,¡± Golos chuckled. ¡°I don¡¯t blame the young one. Who wants to slumber as a lump of mana and Essence when there¡¯s so much to do out here?¡±

    Gwen¡¯s eyes flittered toward Phalera¡¯s brood. From the looks of things, Golos had been dead set on creating an avian air force for her, one brood at a time.

    ¡°Blame the limitations of Human Spellcraft,¡± Slylth noted with sympathy. ¡°Maybe the Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar have a solution? After all, you¡¯re a Guardian of the World Tree, far from just a mere mortal. Their tamers certainly don¡¯t have issues with Draconic Familiars.¡±

    Gwen patted and soothed her distraught Ariel. It wasn¡¯t so much that Ariel had to remain outside¡ªit was more so that Caliban had no qualms going to rest in her Astral Body, even if it could take on a form the size of a modest skyscraper.

    With this¡ªthe equilibrium between her Familiars was disturbed, and she didn¡¯t know what to think about something that she had taken for granted since her Master had conjured her Familiars.

    ¡°Gwen,¡± Richard interrupted her thoughts. ¡°Perhaps¡­ this could be explored later? For now, I fear we need to talk about what¡¯s happening in the city and soon.¡±

    To keep her arrival a prolonged secret, Gwen asked Ariel to remain in the Sky Garden to be comforted by Golos and Phalera. While waiting, she slowly spooned out a can of Spam and watched her council move the equipment from the conference room to Golos¡¯ abode.

    For known reasons, the Sky Garden that entertained Golos¡¯ family had no visitors. In Shalkar, the Thunder Dragon¡¯s violent exploits were widely used to keep crying Human babies and mewling Rat-kin cubs in silent terror. That and Phalera¡¯s brood were far too inquisitive for the common visitor to remain sane while accosted by hundreds of doll-like faces.

    When her core members finally Teleported into the sanctum, Gwen was surprised to once more note that Petra was missing.

    ¡°She¡¯s not answering,¡± Richard informed her with a shrug. ¡°Pats is responsible for the city¡¯s infrastructure, after all.¡±

    The command console, removed and re-attached with a mess of cables dug out from the transmuted floor, soon flicked into life, and the members took their seats on conjured blocks of shaped stone willed into being by Axehoff.

    ¡°Righto.¡± Gwen took her place with Ariel resting beside her. She had released Caliban, and the two Familiars were making good of their first meeting after a year apart, with the black nope-rope swimming circles around Ariel¡¯s new body. ¡°Let¡¯s start with the Axis Mundi, then work on the more¡­ local problems.¡±

    ¡°The¡­ Axis Mundi, eh?¡± Richard instructed his Familiar to make tea for all of them. ¡°I am not sure we¡¯re qualified for that, but go on.¡±

    ¡°Let¡¯s start with the obvious: everything stays in this room¡­¡± Gwen explained the importance of secrecy first, then dropped the fusion bomb that was her discovery of an Undead Squid with the means to raise Mermen as Undead Shoals. ¡°¡­ assuming I wasn¡¯t there, in all likelihood, given half a decade, there might be an Undead Leviathan roaming the Vels, putting an end to our sea trade.¡±

    Her audience listened in disbelief, discomfort, and, eventually, despair.

    ¡°A very unsettling insight, Regent.¡± Axehoff¡¯s shoulders rose and fell. ¡°And you¡¯ve found proof as well. We¡¯ve always wondered what manner of a calamity would induce the collapse of the Low-ways and decouple Deepholm from its citadels¡ªperhaps this is the answer.¡±

    ¡°So, even the original Beast Tide was made to happen by Spectre?¡± Lulan¡¯s face was flushed with empathic rage. ¡°Millions of people died in those years, and millions after.¡±

    ¡°Billions, actually,¡± Richard corrected their Chief of Security. ¡°We lost half of Eastern Europe, three-quarters of South-East Asia, almost every colony except the extremities of Africa, most of South America, and the Mageocracy almost collapsed.¡±

    ¡°And they¡¯re responsible for Tianjin as well!¡± Lulan grunted, gritting her teeth. ¡°If only we could have prevented it¡­ if only¡­¡±

    ¡°Focus.¡± Gwen gathered their scattered attention again while she resisted the urge to think about Percy. ¡°The Ashen Kirin was also one of Spectre¡¯s potential pawns, as was Almudj in Sydney. Someone inside Spectre has been around long enough to know the locations of where these dormant threats slumber. Slylth?¡±

    ¡°Yes?¡± The Red Dragon looked out of his depth.

    ¡°I¡¯ve spoken to Tyfanevius and the Bloom, and they¡¯ve given me their blessings on future investigation into the matter. Sanari will help us however she is able with their Trellis Portals. Can you please inform your mother of my discovery? If we find something within her or another Dragon''s domain, I may require her aid.¡±

    ¡°You think there might be something more to the Fomorians than their Wild Hunt? Maybe Spectre has a hand in the recent incursions?¡­ Damn.¡± Slylth quickly recovered from her revelation. ¡°Yes, I mean¡­ I¡¯ll pass it on to mother.¡±

    ¡°Good,¡± Gwen ticked off another mental check box. ¡°Now, onto the something closely related. The Leviathan Cores are coming through the Low Ways. Engineer Axehoff? Have you received the arrivals?¡±

    ¡°I was informed, though your seaborne manifest has yet to arrive in Yangon,¡± the Dwarven ambassador said. ¡°The node station will need to be widened, maybe re-built, which will delay delivery for some time.¡±

    ¡°How long, do you think?¡± Gwen asked. ¡°As you can imagine, the sooner we have our own operational Tower, the more likely we¡¯re able to uncover the true threats posed by Spectre¡¯s actions worldwide.¡±

    ¡°A month by the light cycle of the Himmseg,¡± Axehoff assured her. ¡°I¡¯ll send a team down to map the Core for installation here.¡±

    ¡°Hold on.¡± Richard put up a hand. ¡°I know Ollie briefed us, but just to confirm, we¡¯re talking Tower Cores, correct? Multiples.¡±

    ¡°A Heart Core and eight smaller Cores of varying quality and size,¡± Gwen affirmed her cousin¡¯s shock. ¡°And yes, Ravenport confirmed that the Heart Core can power a Super-Structural propulsion system. The small cores are more suited for stationary, short-range Towers.¡±

    ¡°I noticed you¡¯re talking Tower in plurals¡­¡± Richard pointed at the desk. ¡°Is that even allowed?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not,¡± Gwen felt a little guilty drawing such a large pie in the sky. ¡°But¡­ stranger things have happened, like a Magister riding a Leviathan down to the Fifth Vel and chasing out a pair of Elemental Princes. A spare Tower for the home turf while we ride out on the big one¡­ isn¡¯t stretching my accomplishments too far, I hope.¡±

    ¡°Good point,¡± Richard conceded. ¡°That has never happened before. And now it has. Who''s to say one woman can¡¯t have multiple Towers?¡±

    ¡°Regent, it is possible to create a Ley-Engine with multiple Cores.¡± Axehoff raised a gloved fist. ¡°The costs can be discussed with the Dwarven Council.¡±

    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

    ¡°Nice, though, putting that aside.¡± Richard moved an invisible box with his hand. ¡°You know the Russians will go insane if they find out you have a Super-structural Core, right? Hell, they¡¯ll erupt at the sight of a normal one.¡±

    ¡°Naturally.¡± Gwen crossed her legs and exhaled in exasperation. ¡°In their eyes, we¡¯ll be asking for an invasion.¡±

    ¡°Which brings us to Shalkar¡¯s more present, domestic issues,¡± Richard asked Lulan to materialise and deliver the latest briefs for their Regent.

    Lulan stood, called for the sand map, and stiffly informed Gwen that Shalkar was no longer controlling its northern reaches.

    ¡°Novosibirsk Tower is occupying the Kostanay Steppes to the north-east, and Nizhny Tower is occupying Temir Hills. The Russians have Mage Flights patrolling the region for undesirables, meaning Centaurs and Rat-kin. We¡¯ve withdrawn our troops and farmers from the region for now, though border skirmishes continue.¡±

    ¡°They¡¯ve killed anyone yet?¡± Gwen tried to picture the familiar names in her mental map. Nizhny was closer to Shalkar than Novosibirsk, forming an overlapping defence zone. It was a good strategy, not to mention if Garp grappled a Tower, the other could slice it off with a well-aimed Ray of Disintegration.

    On cue, the Magi-tech enhanced table shifted the sand to display their surrounding regions. It used a topographical map display to show the areas controlled by the Russian Towers, those controlled by Shalkar, and the contested regions.

    ¡°Not directly.¡± Lulan¡¯s tone grew hard and tight. ¡°But the refugees from those regions are many, and some have perished on their way to seek shelter in Shalkar.¡±

    ¡°Hmm¡­¡± Gwen felt her chest tighten. ¡°What are the sentiments at home?¡±

    ¡°You faithful are ready to march.¡± Strun knelt again, this time next to the table. ¡°The Rat-kin will not lose their homes again, not to anything or anyone.¡±

    ¡°Well said, Strun,¡± Gwen coaxed the Rat-kin back to his seat. ¡°Mycroft told me the Russians are determined, but this is more problematic than I imagined.¡±

    ¡°Temir Khan is with us and will lend us the Cherbi and his Honour Guards,¡± Lulan reported. ¡°The Russians have been gifting him with luxuries, but their sentiment firmly lies with the city.¡±

    ¡°I am amazed they¡¯re just outright assuming there will be no Undead incursion into the Eastern Front while they¡¯re wasting HDMS here,¡± Richard sighed. ¡°They¡¯ve you to thank for that, I guess. We did put an end to that whole Yekaterinburg business. With so many of their Undead elites perished without a captured Tower, it¡¯ll take time to digest and process the population they captured.¡±

    ¡°So I am my own worst enemy?¡± Gwen rolled her eyes. ¡°What else?¡±

    ¡°There will be an illegally hosted election by the Shalkar Worker¡¯s Union in two days, which will determine, by their own account and merit, the establishment of an independent body of government for the Humans living in Shalkar, to pursue Human interests separate from the cosmopolitan city¡¯s multi-racial policies,¡± Lulan informed the table. ¡°One city, two legal systems, that¡¯s what they desire.¡±

    ¡°A demand we will not and cannot abide.¡± Richard shrugged. ¡°Without question, Moscow is behind the operation. What we don¡¯t know is how many of the refugees are complicit, coerced, or just clueless.¡±

    ¡°We should purge them all,¡± Lulan growled from beside her. ¡°We gave them food, shelter, jobs and safety, and this is how they repay us? It doesn¡¯t matter who¡¯s guilt is real. Those who are not with us are against us. Give me and Strung three days, and the matter will be resolved.¡±

    Golos belched in agreement.

    ¡°You sound more like Golos than Golos, Lulu.¡± Gwen now empathised with some of Richard¡¯s headaches. ¡°I think Moscow has correctly assumed that we won¡¯t be swatting all the refugees from Yekaterinburg with the same bat. That would cause an international incident, which is precisely what they want. What are the chances we can stop this vote?¡±

    ¡°None at the moment,¡± Richard confessed with a sigh, then grinned at her. ¡°If you weren¡¯t back, I would ask Golos to discourage them by perching on the voting stations. Now that you are, the Regent can make a call, and we¡¯ll give you our best backing.¡±

    Gwen caught the hot potato but did not pass the buck. This was her city, after all. She was responsible for its internal and external disruptions. Truth be told, she did miss the direct efficiency of her Mermen followers, who did as they were told via the collective consciousness of the Shoal. Rebellion, if it existed, was resolved through internal consumption.

    ¡°I think I have an idea,¡± she said after scanning the table at the council, each trying to read her thoughts. ¡°What are the assumptions that the actual agents provocateurs are a minority?¡±

    ¡°They are a minority,¡± Richard confirmed with confidence. ¡°I can name a dozen off-hand, and there can¡¯t be more than a hundred in total even if we disappear the Worker Union¡¯s leaders and secretaries, vice-secretaries, and a dozen mouthy foremen. I am sorry to say, Lord Axehoff, that a few of your Clansmen are also enamoured with the Communists.¡±

    ¡°Those who put their interests above the quest for Deepholm are no longer kin,¡± Axehoff replied diplomatically. ¡°Please hand them to the Guild Council for judgment if possible.¡±

    ¡°Thank you. Alright. So¡ªon our front, let us assume that the majority are motivated not by ideology but fear, greed, and xenophobia.¡± Gwen tapped the table. ¡°They want to fight for their interests? That¡¯s fine and dandy. I am not averse to ambition. Let¡¯s give our citizens a CO-OP.¡±

    ¡°Co¡­a coup?¡± Richard raised both brows. ¡°That¡¯s a bit adventurous.¡±

    ¡°A Co-operative business venture,¡± Gwen chuckled. ¡°A little socialism for the soul, if you will. Let them vote however they wish. We will meanwhile implement a policy for a Human-based trade consortium, selling agricultural goods from Shalkar exclusively to the Frontier cities, with all proceeds going to the members of the Co-operative. The only hand Shalkar¡¯s Administration will have is auditing and enforcement of policies. The sink fund will go into magical education, housing, and even accumulation of CCs for transfer of residency to a partner Frontier or capital of their choice. Its Chair and members will all be elected by the residents. Everyone will have a place and a choice. Their Union, or our Co-op¡­¡±

    Those around the table considered her proposal.

    ¡°This is very Dwarven,¡± Axehoff spoke after they had a moment to digest the information. ¡°Our craftsmen have a similar agreement with the Guilds.¡±

    ¡°The Co-operative is only open to those who follow our social contract,¡± Gwen smiled. ¡°Anyone who wishes to be a part of this rogue faction is forbidden from joining the Shalkar Agricultural Trade Co-operative International.¡±

    ¡°Suitably wicked.¡± Richard golf-clapped. ¡°This way, there¡¯s no conflict with the Horse Lords and the Rat-kin, who rarely trade outside Shalkar. And the vote taking place?¡±

    ¡°Let it happen.¡± Gwen shrugged. ¡°Let them spend HDMs and build a headquarters too. Meanwhile, I¡¯ll have the METRO print a double-page spread in London and Central Europe. Refugees or immigrants who wish to come to Shalkar are automatically given a place in the Co-operative. Initial memberships for original inhabitants will reap the highest benefits, with subsequent members, families of members, and descendants receiving shares according to growth. The earlier you join, the more they reap; the later they join, the more there is to lose.¡±

    Slylth observed her wickedness with glee. ¡°You mean to use their greed against them?¡±

    ¡°Wanting a slice of the pie isn¡¯t greed, Slylth. This is their birthright, which they are forfeiting for their¡­ ideals¡­ hahaha¡­¡± Gwen amused herself with the absurdity of it all. ¡°And you know what? Watching your neighbour receive shiny new things while you subsist on bread, water, and ideology is worse than pulling teeth. If someone can stomach that, then who am I to stifle their liberty?¡±

    ¡°Making people vote for that which benefits them and their community? That sounds awfully like democracy.¡± Richard finally exhaled his worries, then sniggered. Recovering, he nodded at Gwen and gave her a thumbs up. ¡°I don¡¯t know how you come up with these things, but give us a general scaffold, Regent, and we¡¯ll turn it to reality¡ªer¡ªGwen? What¡¯s wrong?¡±

    The Water Mage¡¯s relief was cut short.

    Gwen suddenly stood up, her mana conduits throbbing with disquiet.

    ¡°A Fire.¡± Gwen felt the vague stirrings of a phantasmal thought intrude into her mind via her Astral link with the World Tree. ¡°There¡¯s a sudden flair of Elemental Fire in the city.¡±

    DING¡ª!

    DING¡ª!

    DING¡ª!

    DING¡ª!

    The Messages that bloomed glow scarlet for an imminent emergency.

    ¡°Fire in the Human Districts.¡± Strun stood at once and was already heading for the door. ¡°Richard, they need a Water Mage, now!¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll check it out.¡± Golos left the table in a single bound, leaping off the side of the Sky Garden.

    ¡°I¡¯ll lend you Golems from the Citadel.¡± Axehoff slid off his chair, simultaneously powering on his mobility mechanism. ¡°How bad, lad? Accidental, or¡­?¡±

    ¡°BAD.¡± Richard was already on the communication channels with the Bunker¡¯s Divination department. ¡°It¡¯s arson. Lulu, stay with me. We¡¯ll Teleport over. Gwen?¡±

    ¡°EE¡ª¡± Ariel nudged its mistress, almost swallowing her with its mane. ¡°Rain. Make.¡±

    ¡°Fine, but don¡¯t show yourself yet.¡± Gwen extricated herself from her now-verbal Familiar. Not just Ariel, she too could control liquids with the aid of the Witch Core and months of unceasing, constant practice, albeit she could not generate water from thin air like Richard. ¡°I¡¯ll check things from the sky with Ariel.¡±

    Shalkar.

    In the easter quadrant of the city, a swarth of ghettos marked where the new refugees had attempted to re-create some of what they had lost in the Frontier they once called home.

    As most refugees hailed from Yekaterinburg, they had asked the Dwarven Construction teams to recreate the brutalist facades of towering concrete apartment blocks in regulated grids surrounding small parks, commercial zones, and a recently opened school. Gwen didn¡¯t like the design, but the Dwarves seemed to applaud its efficiency, so the commission board had allowed the plans to manifest with the caveat of significant green coverage.

    Now, where the district had been spared by the meteor rain a year ago, a great bonfire painted the skies slick with dark streaks of smog and oil.

    As for the fire''s origin¡ªGwen was shocked to witness that it was the ¡°school¡± the refugees had built.

    A school! Her chest grew warm with grief and rage. Who the hell would set fire to a school?

    Obfuscated by her invisible Familiar and its manipulation of water vapours, Gwen flew in a low circle around the column of smoke.

    The source was an explosion from the interior of the third wing.

    The damage it had caused was nothing short of a mid-tier Inferno, something like an incendiary bomb from her old world, enough to take out a quarter of the concrete habitat block and shred every window along its eastern facade. Even after the explosion, the fire continued to burn, melting pylons and beams, raging through the corridors with a living will.

    Within minutes, the fire was doused and controlled.

    With incredible efficiency, Lulan had transmuted earth to smother the source while Richard doused the surrounding area with immense volumes of brackish river water conjured by Lea. Once the water was drained, Golos aided the Rat-kin Firemen in prying apart the fallen debris, aided by Mages who had arrived to help.

    ¡°I¡¯ve got two here!¡± One of the Rat-kin cried out as he squeezed himself past between two collapsed columns. ¡°Live ones!¡±

    Gwen watched as Golos, performing something she could never imagine, delicately pried apart the slabs while Richard retrieved two rag-dolled bodies with limbs that made her eyes water.

    These were delivered to an area Lulan had cleared and that the incoming surge of Rat-kin had converted into triage stations. Clerics by the dozen were still arriving from all over the city, including the classically uniformed visage of the Knight Hospitallers from the Ordo Bath.

    ¡°Another one here!¡±

    ¡°A young one¡­ I am sorry.¡±

    ¡°I am sensing six in the basement!¡±

    One after another, tragedies of hope and despair played out as rescuers arrived one after another, and the consequences of the arson were played out.

    Above, the Regent of Shalkar watched, her mind torn between going down there to dispense Golden Mead to the survivors and staying discrete to catch the culprits unaware when suddenly, the decision was made for her.

    ¡°IT WAS THEM¡ª!¡± A refugee, his face covered with soot and dirt, pointed a finger at a surprised Rat-kin member of the trauma team. ¡°They did it! I saw it! One of them entered the school with something on a dolly!¡±

    Both Rat and Human rescuers ignored the man until another, a woman, joined in the fray. ¡°One of them went into the school clutching something suspicious! We never get Rat-kin here; it must be the rat!¡±

    The clamour gained traction this time, much to Gwen¡¯s chagrin. Within moments, dozens of the survivors were utterly convinced that a Rat-kin was the culprit.

    ¡°Get your grubby paws off my daughter!¡± A woman who had been sobbing uncontrollably at the trauma zone suddenly stood in a blind rage. ¡°Don¡¯t touch her, you diseased thing!¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s dying¡ª¡° The Rat-kin medic with his healing injector was as flabbergasted as Gwen herself. Waving the injector, he knelt once more. ¡°She needs¡ª¡°

    THWACK¡ª!

    A Magic Missile struck the Rat-kin in the chest and sent him rolling. Unlike Strun¡¯s blessed cadre, the common Rat-kin were no more hale than regular humans, and even a Magic Missile could be lethal.

    ¡°Oi¡ª!¡± The Human medic standing beside his companion drew a shock wand. With an audible ZAP, the baton distended. ¡°Back off¡ª!¡±

    The female Mage appeared to possess no fear as she readied her next spell.

    Just as Gwen considered intervening, a blast of Lightning, as thick as the female offender, smothered her entire frame, causing her remains to erupt into a gory shower, splattering both the injured and the rescuers at the triage station.

    ¡°SSEJIN¡ª!¡± came the Dragon Fear from Golos, so strong and viscous that the air warped. Instantly, every living thing bar Lulan and Gwen instinctively lowered their heads or cowered for mercy.

    ¡°When did I ever permit such insolence?¡± Golos, Thunder Dragon and head of Shalkar¡¯s Security Commission, spoke so that even those trapped underground could hear. ¡°Shut up and proceed with the rescue. THERE WILL BE NO EXCEPTIONS.¡±

    The rolling thunder passed, causing debris to fall from the shattered building.

    The rescue¡­ resumed.

    The efficiency was up, though with Golos hovering above, the passion was gone.

    In the face of imminent death, the death of others had lost its pathos.

    From her space in the sky, Gwen watched the bodies stack up¡ªmangled bodies of the young, some as young as pre-teens and others not old enough to be adults¡ªand made a decision.

    ¡°Ariel, go help them¡­¡±

    Above the survivors, a mystical creature that rivalled the murderous Thunder Dragon appeared, radiating benediction and warmth.

    ¡°EE¡ªEE¡ªEE-EE¡ª¡° Ariel¡¯s keen cry was followed by a sanctified, electric halo that rang out like the chest-deep tolls of a temple bell.

    Gwen felt her Kirin¡¯s Dragon Fear touch her subjects¡ªonly it wasn¡¯t fear that her Familiar instilled, but something that uplifted the spirit and drew from those affected a sudden desire to worship.

    ¡°Priestess¡ª!¡± the Rat-kins fell to their knees as one, making no mistake in discerning the source of the benediction cleansing their bodies of Golos¡¯ ire. ¡°The Priestess has returned!¡±

    The Humans looked upon Ariel''s radiant visage with awe and wonder, unable to contain the resurgence of their repressed emotions.

    Step by step, with hoof prints that imprinted the air with static, the Kirin descended until it arrived among the wounded on the floor.

    As the Kirin passed those conscious and unconscious, its prehensile whiskers conjured into being spheres of Golden Mead, each orb twinkling under the harsh rays of Shalkar¡¯s sun. Then, the Kirin delivered these elixirs of life to the burnt, dusty lips of the survivors.

    Within seconds, those who moaned with agony grew comfortable, while those who were almost beyond the veil began to moan. Better than most were those who had suffered extensive burns to their bodies, for visibly, welts and boils of cooked flesh were being replaced by pink new growth. Their bodies remained broken, but none now lacked the vitality for life.

    ¡°Clerics, attend to those with internal injuries and broken limbs!¡± The Ordo Hospitallers understood the need to change the priority of their triage immediately. ¡°Blessed be her holy Kirin! Thank the Nazarene that we need not fail a single patient today!¡±

    The other Clerics followed the lead of the Faith-casters without question.

    ¡°Heal¡ª¡± Ariel¡¯s voice purred as it continued to dispense Golden Mead, drawing the precious liquid via their Astral link.

    The Rat-kin kissed the blessed ground Ariel covered¡ªand a few Humans felt compelled enough to do the same. There was a compulsive desire, or so it seemed to Gwen, to look upon Ariel and realise that this was a benevolent higher being, and they were mortals and that her creature deserved veneration. Where Ariel floated, all grievances were forgotten, erased by unadulterated reverence.

    Perhaps, Gwen¡¯s mind reminded her alarmingly. This was why the Celestial Kirin tribe was removed from existence by their draconic cousins. The innate danger imposed by such a worship existence was antithetical to the natural balance desired by the Guardians and their Trees.

    The strange lull lasted until the Dwarves arrived.

    With blaring thunder, bipedal Construction Units swallowed the debris around the school before setting to work on the collapsed structure.

    Gwen did not show herself, for those who knew understood perfectly well that the Mistress of the World Tree was once more in Shalkar. And as Richard would say, a threat was far more frightening if certain certainties remained¡­ uncertain.

    Shalkar.

    The Oasis.

    To the north of the burning districts sat a multi-level series of art-deco residential buildings constructed by the Citadel¡¯s architects. Originally, on the blueprints, these ¡°lake¡± districts were planned to house the more eminent members of Shalkar¡¯s leadership.

    However, in the two and a half years since Shalkar¡¯s existence, the Oasis was barely habited, for Shalkar¡¯s leadership had unique tastes in residences.

    Lulan Li preferred to sleep at the Security Bureau in her private suite, a locale more akin to an Officer¡¯s barracks than a home.

    The mysterious Richard Huang slept nowhere anyone could discern at a moment¡¯s notice, though he reportedly used one of the houses a few times a month.

    The Thunder Dragon had his new abode in the World Tree, though he preferred the Sky Garden, where his Harpy queen made her home. His cousin, Slylth Alexander Morden, resided within the World Tree¡¯s canopy in a folded space the Red Dragon was renovating to meet his mother¡¯s expectations.

    Oliver Edwards also had a house there, though the Magister had brought no family to Shalkar and was so busy that his furniture retained their original dust covers.

    The other residences, such as Charlene Ravenport¡¯s, Lady Grey¡¯s and Astor¡¯s townhouses, were maintained but not lived in.

    And the Regent herself, having the largest three-storey home there, had yet to warm its enormous four-post bed.

    Only Petra Kuznetsova, Magus and the Regent''s right-hand woman, had placed her family in the Oasis at the first opportunity. There, she had relived a part of her life that she had thought long gone and lost to Moscow¡¯s machinations, spending breakfast and dinner with her mother and father.

    It was a simple joy¡ªbut Petra found herself the happiest she had ever been. More so than when she was hand-picked by Master Popov. More so when her talents blossomed. More so when she finally received the accolades for her research into Spell Cubes.

    And now the consequence of her happiness had come home to roost.

    Any true happiness is a dire weakness. Master Popov once whipped this lesson into Petra. It was her fault that she had forgotten it.

    Earlier, Petra had returned home expecting supper before attending Richard¡¯s meeting. Unfortunately, instead of her mother¡¯s famous cabbage and pork casserole, she was greeted by an unwelcome guest.

    ¡°It¡¯s a nice place.¡± The blue-eyed sunburst blonde in a casual dress walked slowly and deliberately around the kitchen table. ¡°Human-designed, but Dwarven crafted. This would fetch a pretty HDM back in Moscow, don¡¯t you think?¡±

    ¡°As I¡¯ve told you, you are making a mistake.¡± Petra felt her insides turn to jelly even as her Mineral Mana circulated through her conduits, dulling her emotional rampage. Her Message Device¡¯s notifications echoed her internal chaos, though now was not a good time to resolve the city¡¯s civil disunions. ¡°Listen to me, Natalia. There is zero chance this will end in Moscow¡¯s favour.¡±

    At the kitchen table, Mila and Mikhail, her parents, sat still as statues, lulled into a trance by the patented Mind Magic perfected by Moscow Tower, a variation of Hold Person that also halted thoughts and memories while in effect.

    ¡°Don¡¯t be so negative, our sweet sister Ptichka¡­¡± The Mind Mage stood between her parents, a gesture that made Petra want to unleash a Disintegrate from a Spellcube.

    The offending Enchantress¡ªor, more accurately¡ªthe Sparrow¡ªwas no older than herself, perhaps younger, only she had fully completed the Tower¡¯s coursework on Mind Magic. She was also stunningly beautiful, so much so that her naive parents had allowed the young woman to enter their home to make a plea. Knowing what they knew about the Tower, her mother and father had likely thought that Natalia was an escapee like Petra or at least wanted to escape from the grasp of her nefarious abusers.

    ¡°Release them.¡± Petra forced herself to remain collected, though she knew very well the games played by her counterpart were beyond her incomplete ability to neutralise. ¡°And I won¡¯t let Gwen know that you were here.¡±

    ¡°Ooo, the Regent¡­¡± Natalia cooed. ¡°Scary, the Devourer of Shenyang can be, but that¡¯s precisely why I am here, Ptichka. Why are you so naive? This peace, it has poisoned you.¡±

    Petra stepped forward, activating the Divination she had learned to harness Dwarven magic etched into the Rune plates at the base of her neck and scalp.

    The Enchantress made no move to prevent her scrying.

    Petra read the mana traces on her parents¡¯ bodies, though all she found was evidence of Enchantment¡ªand not even strong ones. She felt she could attempt to kill Natalia and even succeed¡ªbut what was the guarantee her parents did not have some deadly Suggestions implanted into them? Ones who could only be dispelled by the caster. Ones that might trigger in the future, in the presence of Gwen, or perhaps worse, when they were among important allies? What if her parents were made to commit suicide when exposed?

    ¡°What¡­ do you want.¡± Petra found herself wavering. She felt sick, sicker than when the arterial blood of that grotesque pedophile had poured over her palm a lifetime ago.

    ¡°Your parents are voting for independence,¡± Natalia said, pulling up a chair to look like the family''s daughter, while Petra looked like an orphan the cat had dragged into the house. ¡°I suggest you do the same for your people.¡±

    ¡°My people.¡± Petra tasted the words like hot ash. ¡°What people.¡±

    ¡°Me, your sister Sparrows.¡± Natalia¡¯s smile could have melted any man, but Petra only saw a vile reflection of the poppet she could have become. ¡°And Master Popov.¡±

    ¡°Popov is dead,¡± Petra replied. ¡°You people murdered him.¡±

    ¡°Wrong Popov, I fear. Besides, did you think the Tower Master would kill off his most talented son?¡± Natalia laughed. ¡°Volodymyr Popov is alive, though neither well nor free. I am sure he misses you. You were supposed to be the best of us, you know? They showed me pictures of you¡ªtold me I also had the potential to be what you were supposed to be.¡±

    ¡°I failed him.¡± Petra¡¯s voice grew quiet. If her Master was alive, she could not begin to imagine what they had done to him. ¡°I was a failure.¡±

    ¡°I know. And to all our surprises, he released you.¡± Natalia flashed her perfect, pearly white teeth. ¡°Tower Master Popov didn¡¯t even know until you were in China, and by then, the anarchy caused by your Master had consumed all of his attention. When I made a mistake¡­¡±

    The girl¡¯s beautiful face took on a pale sheen as she swallowed. ¡°¡­ It always puzzled us why you were free to live your life while we had to endure. Was it love? Was Popov smitten with his little devotchka? Look at this beautiful house¡­ look at this happiness¡­¡±

    Natalia¡¯s face struggled to maintain her affable expression. ¡°Why do you deserve all this?¡±

    Petra felt an unbidden sympathy for the girl, though the sight of her unmoving parents quickly crushed those sentiments.

    ¡°I can¡¯t.¡± she shook her head. ¡°I can¡¯t give Moscow what it wants.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re not asking you to betray the Regent. You need merely speak for us.¡± the Mind Mage seemed to regain her cool self. ¡°A hint to the Regent, here and there. And to give us some warning when she strikes. Moscow will organise its victories and defeats, and no one worthy will need to die.¡±

    Before Petra could refuse for the tenth time, her opponent stood from the table.

    Feeling breathless, Petra approached her parents while Natalia backed away.

    ¡°You¡¯re a part of us now, willing or otherwise.¡± The innocent face of the femme fatale willed the door open with a Mage Hand. ¡°It¡¯s not hard to keep this happiness going, our wayward Ptichka. Tower Master Popov will be watching you and those around you closely. The choice is yours.¡±

    Petra followed the retreating Mind Mage until she was at the threshold of the living room door.

    I could use the Disintegrate from here without harming my parents. Petra felt a tingle surge from her storage ring. A blast, and no one would know better.

    ¡°Petra?¡± The voice of her mother came from the kitchen. ¡°God¡­ why are we sitting here? I was making dinner¡­¡±

    Petra turned, her heart almost erupting with relief at the two clueless Muscovites recovering what would have felt like a Vodka-induced haze.

    ¡°Just what¡­Goodness! Look at the time! Don¡¯t you have a meeting?¡± Her mother walked into the living room. ¡°Petra? Is someone at the door?¡±

    When Petra turned her head again to catch a final glimpse of the intruder entering her house, Natalia''s svelte silhouette was gone, leaving no trace of her fragrant passage.

    ¡°Mama, papa,¡± Petra turned stiffly toward the kitchen. ¡°Could you make dinner still? I¡¯ve just got a call from Richard. There¡¯s a fire in the city. People are hurt.¡±

    ¡°Oh, that¡¯s terrible, dear.¡± Her mother was already confusedly rummaging through the kitchen. ¡°When should we expect you?¡±

    There was no answer from the still-open door, for their daughter¡¯s mind was made, and no dinner would sway her course.

 Chapter 512 - What Monsters we Are

    Shalkar.

    The Human Commons.

    With a measure of irony, Shalkar¡¯s core command group commandeered the Shalkar Municipal Education Centre¡¯s surviving hall to serve as the centre of command of the present crisis. The same hall had been preparing for the election in the coming days, meaning Richard and company were surrounded by the liveries of socialist slogans calling for the elevation of the Human workers of Shalkar.

    The tragedy at the school had not pronounced the end of the day¡¯s complications but its first syllable.

    Against their absent Regent¡¯s expectations, though not against Richard¡¯s, the ¡°riot¡± involving supposedly long-suffering grievances by Shalkar¡¯s refugee community erupted not just at the site of the explosion but elsewhere in the districts as well. Agent provocateurs, some known to the Shadow Mages under Richard¡¯s command, had pushed their narratives of discontent to action and, finally, to wanton violence, necessitating the appearance of the city¡¯s hoofed riot squad.

    These select warriors of the Khesig, armoured with telescopic Batons of Shocking and protected by lightly mechanised Dwarven Golem suits, strode through the flaming Molotov cocktails, tearing down the impromptu barricades to deliver peace via concussion-induced memory loss.

    Following the Centaur cavalry engines were the city¡¯s regular peacekeepers, the lightly armoured Rat-kin and their human compatriots, each wearing their glinting badge with ardent pride as pieces of bricks and mortar flew from the rooftops of the Brutalist apartments built by the Dwarves and gentrified by their generous Regent.

    ¡°There¡¯s nothing natural about this,¡± Richard briefed his Regent on the latest reports. ¡°Mass hysteria may explain it, though if Petra were here, she¡¯d inform us there¡¯s Mind Magic at play. Half of the men the Centaurs have rounded up don¡¯t seem to remember why they were ridden down in the first place and are calling for the council to investigate species-induced violence by law enforcement.¡±

    ¡°Where the hell is Petra?¡± Their regent did not allow her temper to spread to their close cousin, though her face wore her disappointment vividly. ¡°This is the most un-Petra thing I¡¯ve ever experienced.¡±

    Richard answered a few more questions from the Glyphs of milling rescue staff before checking on their cousins¡¯ Message Device.

    ¡°She must be occupied,¡± Richard ascertained that Petra¡¯s device must be disabled¡ªan occurrence that isn¡¯t uncommon in testing new Magitech. Still, that the Dwarves had arrived with their Golems before Petra showed up spoke poorly of their cousin¡¯s priorities or were the signs of something more dire. ¡°Besides, can¡¯t you tell where Petra is?¡±

    ¡°The World Tree¡¯s mana feelers aren¡¯t that articulate,¡± Gwen shook her head. ¡°Maybe once Sufina¡¯s Spirit awakens, but not now.¡±

    In response to her impatience, the air outside sizzled, materialising an unmistakable mana signature.

    ¡°There she is¡ª!¡± Richard felt a surge of relief. ¡°Pats! What was the matter?¡±

    The Petra that walked through the door was not the confident, intelligent and vivacious beauty Richard used to tease her prospective suitors. The young woman instead looked as though a Necromancer had run a Soul Tap over her, then reversed and backed over the corpse doll.

    ¡°Regent! Richard!¡± Petra stumbled when she crossed the threshold of the ruined hall. ¡°I need to speak to you in private.¡±

    ¡°Now?¡± Richard stopped their cousin before she could accost their leader. Leaning back from the map, he pointed to the wreckage of the Shalkar Municipal Education Centre¡¯s eastern quadrant, currently being re-fabricated by the Dwarves. Unfortunately, while the Dwarves could repair the exterior and the structural foundations, the interior work was the labour of the Humans alone. ¡°Golos is still out there putting out fires¡­ well, setting fires to belligerents, but you get the idea.¡±

    Their cousin seemed to collect herself. Then, a Silent Message bloomed beside their ears.

    ¡°Moscow sent a Mind Mage to my home, a Sparrow from the same cadetship I was enrolled in,¡± Petra¡¯s internalised Message explained, her thoughts fighting the natural cadence of desperation. ¡°I don¡¯t know if they¡¯ve put a Suggestion or a Geas on my parents, I don¡¯t know if they¡¯ve done things to others in our Chain of Command. I am so¡­ so sorry, Gwen. I¡¯ve failed you all.¡±

    Richard felt his spine tingle just a little before he recovered enough to acknowledge the Explosive Rune that Petra had dropped in their midst.

    ¡°They sent a Mind Mage to your house?¡± Gwen¡¯s voice drifted through the space between them. Richard felt the hair on his arm instantly grow to attention. ¡°To your cottage in the Lake District, where uncle and aunty enjoy their retirement?¡±

    ¡°A Sparrow called Natalia,¡± their cousin confessed. ¡°I should have known. I mean¡­ I did know, but even so, I was lax. It''s how they operate¡­ how we operated¡­¡±

    ¡°And they threatened you with aunty and uncle?¡± their Regent¡¯s rising ire was enough to clear the other consultants from the table. For the ones who remained, Richard ushered them outside and then asked his Undine to establish a barrier. When Petra did not immediately answer, Richard caught motes of mana lifting the debris dust from the floor around them. It would seem that their Regent had picked up traits and habits from the Deep Vel that were not for the polite company of Mageocracy Mages.

    ¡°They did,¡± Petra had never looked so defeated, not even in Tianjin or Auckland. ¡°Natalia told me things about the past and Popov that I had thought behind me. I was naive, stupid and mistaken to think they would have forgotten about me.¡±

    Lea re-emerged from a rent-in space to inform them of their complete privacy.

    ¡°Is this how Moscow bares its fangs?¡± Gwen¡¯s eyes swept over the crude map of the district and its hot spots of unrest. She seemed to have reached a decision, then looked up with eyes that were twin pools of molten rage. ¡°Fine. If they like making threats so much¡ªI¡¯ll give them something to feel threatened about. Richard¡ªwe¡¯re deploying Shoggy onto Nizhny Tower.¡±

    Richard wondered how he could help Petra resolve the issue when he heard his Regent blowing up the civil order they had worked so hard to import into the Fire Sea Black Zone. His mind performed a mid-air pirouette before landing with a wet thud. ¡°I am sorry¡­ you said¡­ Shoggoth?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s right,¡± Gwen concurred, then turned to Slylth. ¡°Slylthie, can you manage another Meteor? Even a small one will do.¡±

    ¡°Er¡­ what?¡± the Red Dragon looked up from his seat, having participated in the conversation without particular care. ¡°Meteors don¡¯t grow on trees, you know? Not your tree, not at its current size and age, at least¡­¡±

    ¡°But can you summon one?¡± Gwen demanded.

    ¡°It¡¯s supremely taxing on my Core.¡± Slylth Alexander Morden looked to Richard, then Gwen. ¡°You realise there¡¯s a whole Accord against deploying upper-tier Spells of Mass Destruction. You can¡¯t just order one delivered like takeout. I need components, preparation, and meditation¡­ it takes much mana and preparation¡­¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t like men with poor endurance,¡± their Regent barked, her eyes flashing. ¡°Can you do it or not?¡±

    Slylth growled miserably. ¡°Yes, dear. I¡¯ll manage.¡±

    ¡°Good, it¡¯s settled,¡± the Regent tapped her Message Device. ¡°I¡¯ll gather Strung¡¯s Paladins and notify Temir Khan. Garp will move with Strung and Slylth on Novosibirsk Tower, immobilising the hovering mechanism while we deal a major blow to its structural integrity. Golos, myself and the Centaurs will move on Nizhny. Golos will lead, the Khan¡¯s men will strike the levitation mechanism, and we¡¯ll finish with the descent of the Shoggoth.¡±

    Richard trembled as a vision of spreadsheets in red flashed across his frontal lobe. Shalkar was rich, but it wasn¡¯t that rich. After their first calamity, the renewed investments from a year ago had only just started to pull in profits. Then there was also the human cost¡­

    Petra raised a demure hand.

    ¡°What about me?¡± Lulan rubbed her hands, setting off sparks like flint stones. ¡°Shall we notify our Dwarven allies? The Engineseer won¡¯t take the attack on Petra¡¯s family kindly. They¡¯ve lore against that sort of thing.¡±

    ¡°Do that,¡± Gwen confirmed the strategy. ¡°Maybe I¡¯ll visit Tryfan. Now that I am a Guardian, they can¡¯t just sit on their pretty hands. Some parasitic vines would do well in keeping those Towers in place.¡±

    Petra raised both hands.

    ¡°Before we move, allow me to confirm the outing with Mother.¡± Slylth shook his head, appearing like a man too tired to argue. ¡°Maybe she can hold the fort for a week while we reclaim the north.¡±

    ¡°No need. The Dwarves will remain in the citadel. Besides, the faster we do it, the less prepared the Russians will be,¡± Gwen slapped her hands together. ¡°Richard!¡±

    Richard felt the roots of his hair pulling an Ollie. ¡°Hold up¡ª! Wait! I said HOLD UP!"

    The group turned to regard him. ¡°Pats, what¡¯s your desire? What were you going to say?¡± Richard finally addressed their cousin¡¯s raised hands.

    ¡°I was going to suggest we put my parents in Stasis¡­¡± Petra looked like she was about to collapse over the possibility of starting a regional war with casualties in the tens of thousands. ¡°Then ask our alumni in Cambridge to send over counter-intel to deal with the possibility of Mind Mages meddling with our middle ranks.¡±

    Sweet Nazarene! A reasonable, proportional response! Richard felt the stress drain away like a good session of bloodletting.

    At their erstwhile Mind Mage¡¯s insistence, the flaming sea of destruction to Shalkar¡¯s Northern Steppes receded, and the absolute field of lifeless devastation left behind by the passing of the Shoggoth slinked away into the darkness.

    With Gwen¡¯s scarlet face growing hotter, Richard exhaled. Their Regent was wise in many ways, but her dalliance with the Demi-Humans had left her with a lingering straightforwardness unsuited to terrestrial affairs. Certainly, the Russian Shoals¡¯ erasure would not signal the end of their regional problems but the beginning of something global.

    ¡°Let¡¯s get Charlene in on this,¡± Richard decided to push the envelope from their cousin onto someone more suitably educated in inter-Tower conflicts. ¡°And while we¡¯re there, let''s get the raven¡¯s opinion.¡±

    Shalkar.

    The World Tree.

    With Ambassador Ariel remaining to perform miracles of crowd suppression in the Commons, Shalkar¡¯s leaders made their way to the Department of Foreign Affairs branch office, a building their Regent had promised Duke Ravenport during the prior calamity.

    Constructed in a quasi-pocket space on the same tier as the residential ¡°spaces¡± of the World Tree¡¯s largest upper arboreal realm, the building itself was a modest, modern construct grown into place by Tryfan¡¯s woodworking arborists, appearing more like a luxury chateau than an office.

    They were here because Charlene Ravenport had figured it was best to directly consult her father rather than communicate through the ¡°Avian Whispers¡± made accessible by The Morrigan¡¯s supernatural feathered friends.

    ¡°Magus Kuznetsova is correct in her protocol,¡± the sharply angular face of the Duke of Norfolk spoke through the holographic Project Person built into the LR Message Mandala. ¡°Stasis, followed by careful applications of Dispel, is usually how we deal with suspicions of mental manipulation via Enchantment. More than anything, however, I am honestly surprised our friends in Moscow have chosen to travel so low a path.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re telling me!¡± Gwen felt calmer now that they were in the heart of the World Tree, where Sufina¡¯s Essence flowed more easily and naturally through her mana conduits. ¡°If you recall, dear Duke, you had told me it was taboo for geopolitics to touch family.¡±

    ¡°I did,¡± Mycroft Ravenport appeared dismayed though the man¡¯s recovery was instant. ¡°And nothing has happened to your mother, father, your grandparents¡­ all within reasonable access to Moscow should they desire.¡±

    ¡°I am pretty sure the Chinese PLA will launch a multi-Tower invasion force if they try to touch Ayxin¡¯s new family,¡± Gwen refuted Ravenport¡¯s logic. ¡°Siberia will change hands within the year if someone messed with their pregnant weather system.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll concede that,¡± Ravenport¡¯s projection flickered. ¡°Nonetheless, Petra¡¯s status is the gap they sought. After all, Richard has far better influence and cares for his family, no?¡±

    Besides Gwen, her male cousin shrugged.

    ¡°Look,¡± Ravenport continued. ¡°Petra used to be a part of their Sparrow project. They know how she thinks and works¡ªand made a move based on that assumption. Likewise, Petra¡¯s parents are Mages exiled from Moscow, meaning there¡¯s every possibility they had Mind Magic imprinted upon them already to make them exceptionally pliable to future Suggestions. Now, that is the protocol for Moscow. Would you not use it if you had such a pawn in Moscow Tower? Especially an expendable one?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s some bullshit,¡± Gwen felt her chest growl. ¡°A couple more captured Towers will make them sing a different tune.¡±

    ¡°Language, Regent,¡± The Duke of Norfolk exhaled. ¡°I am here to aide Charlene, not your pleasure or anger.¡±

    ¡°Sorry,¡± Gwen exhaled. ¡°A lot is going on.¡±

    ¡°What did you expect?¡± The Duke made a short, succinct laugh. ¡°Just look at what you¡¯ve made here in London and Shalkar. You were away for a year. With the city¡¯s top dog absent, everyone wants a bite. The loot is formidable, while memories are short.¡±

    ¡°Well, this bitch bites back,¡± Gwen snapped when Ravenport rolled his eyes. ¡°Alright. Fine. I told you my options. What can you add to them?¡±

    ¡°I very much like your suggestion of a Cooperative fund to divide and conquer,¡± the Duke replied with relief. ¡°Very Grey Faction, if I may say so. You have my full support. At the same time, The Department of Foreign Affairs would like to thank Richard and Petra for preventing a regional conflict.¡±

    ¡°Milord,¡± Richard tipped an invisible top hat.

    Petra remained silent.

    ¡°Enough,¡± Gwen felt her temper simmer. ¡°What about this¡­ Natalia?¡±

    ¡°Caw¡ª!¡± a crow cawed from the beams. There was a nest here, inside the newly furnished building. ¡°Caw¡ªcaw¡ª¡°

    ¡°Morrigan is correct in that there should be a notable form of retribution,¡± the Duke¡¯s image flickered. ¡°If nothing else, we need to send a reminder that you are not to be trifled with. The response, however, should not make you into an international calamity like Sobel. You need to show a measure of¡­ ruthless restraint.¡±

    Gwen rolled the contradiction over her tongue like a jaw-breaker candy, trying to break through Mycroft''s¡¯ inferences.

    She played out a mental map of Shalkar¡¯s trade lanes and the nations that directly benefited from her city¡¯s foothold in the central Black Zone of Eurasia. A dozen nasty solutions came to her simultaneously, some more morally dubious than others, but all deliciously malicious.

    ¡°If the reports are correct, the transit of grains and heavy goods is almost 17% dependent on Bavaria¡¯s Express Dyar Morkk. I will offer a discount to the Middle Faction trade consortiums using the Low Ways,¡± she mapped out her first idea with a wicked note of glee. ¡°With the proviso that all transit of goods using our systems will incur additional tax incentives if the destination lies beyond the Dnieper Line. The exact penalty I¡¯ll figure out once you send me a dossier on Moscow¡¯s finances.¡±

    ¡°That will increase the price of grain,¡± the Duke nodded. ¡°And yes, their defence initiatives will suffer as a result. As the IoDNC is a private enterprise, the Mageocracy will wash our hands clean of complaints.¡±

    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    The clockwork of Gwen¡¯s brain continued its doomsday tick. ¡°And though it will take some time, I will bring a reckoning to Moscow¡¯s trade fleet at the Crimea Orange Zone. The Axis Mundi connects all the bodies of water through the Elemental Plane, and with Aristotle, we¡¯ll eventually be able to transit into the Black Sea¡­¡±

    ¡°Let me hold you there for a moment,¡± the Duke¡¯s image flickered more violently. ¡°I know you¡¯re excited to bring suffering to a nation of people who happened to have a bastard of a Tower Master as their proxy head of state, but let¡¯s not put the¡­ ship before the Leviathan.¡±

    The Duke of Norfolk sighed. ¡°Gwen, you¡¯re outraged because Moscow dared to touch your family. However, is it right then to induce misery upon a million families? What did Margot and Petyr from some forsaken Moscow Oblast do to deserve the hunger you seek to inflict upon them?¡±

    Gwen understood the high horse Mycroft was riding upon. Still, she also wanted to say that in the Vel, a billion and more had suffered so that ultimately, billions more were categorically elevated from being fodder and serfs.

    Was she wrong, then, to want to punish Moscow Tower? That didn¡¯t seem right either.

    ¡°And never mind the splash that a Great Shoal controlled by a Human would make in the Black Sea. Our partners in the Parthenon will erupt with such protest that the heavens will change hues. The fortress city of Istanbul will close its great gates, and all trade through the region will cease. The moment your Aristotle rears its tentacles, the entire political balance of the Mediterranean will collapse¡ªand all this just to make the haggard lives of Muscovites a little worse?¡±

    Gwen sighed in turn. ¡°Okay, what then? Feeding Shoggy is starting to look better and better.¡±

    ¡°Gwen¡ª¡° The Duke spoke as fatherly as an old snake could manage. ¡°It is times like these that I wish your Master were still here with us to share some of his flexibility. You have gained a great deal of power, Regent. RAW power. Yet, that power is itself a paradoxical source of influence. Exercise it without restraint, and you become no better than what Sobel was to Henry. Exercise too much restraint, and parasites like Vasili Popov crawl out of the woodwork. Wisdom is knowing when to use the pommel and when to use a cutting edge. Do you understand?¡±

    Gwen waited for the Duke to finish.

    ¡°At this point, you lack intelligence,¡± the Duke congratulated himself at his fatherly pun. ¡°Your city is young, Regent, and though you¡¯ve kept a tight leash on your population, there is little you know of the goblins outside your candle-lit village.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ve never made a poor trade,¡± Gwen protested. ¡°My industries flourish.¡±

    ¡°I cannot fault your eye for commerce,¡± Ravenport nodded in agreement. ¡°But this isn¡¯t about profit, Regent. This is about sabotage, subversion, and theft of land, property and people. Even if you wildly succeed, do you think that the suffering of its people would move a single heart in that blasted Tower of Moscow? It¡¯s a fool¡¯s errand! To the old men, you are little more than a lovely child with a satchel of sweetmeat, do you understand? If you were not a part of the Mageocracy and had fewer allies and Towers in Central Europe, every Tower from Cairo to St Petersburg would be making headway toward those Leviathan Cores making their transit to Shalkar. Sure, you can burn a Tower or two, but what of the others? At what point will Shalkar lie in ruins, its people scattered into the Black Zone?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s a little excessive,¡± Gwen did not find the Duke¡¯s pessimistic wisdom agreeable to her anger.

    ¡°My point,¡± Ravenport ignored her. ¡°Being that forces more abstract than military prowess has allowed you to establish Shalkar. As it stands, you are a young Dragon standing atop a vast hoard. Yet, why is it that no Towers find themselves attracted to such places of unfathomable wealth?¡±

    ¡°The Accord,¡± the one who answered was not Gwen but Slylth. ¡°Not The Accord, but the ancient agreements that govern our kind, set in stone by beings like my mother. Raze one of our homes, and a hundred of our kind will raze your cities until not even bedrock remains.¡±

    ¡°Young Lord Morden has much to teach you,¡± the Duke appeared glad that at least someone seemed to have understood him. ¡°Do you understand, Gwen?¡±

    ¡°I get it,¡± Gwen felt her chest deflate with annoyance. ¡°Shalkar is a city of trade. We are a hub for our allies who rely on us. We cannot destroy our status quo and become a fortress.¡±

    ¡°Indeed,¡± Mycroft nodded. ¡°The unseen web of accords Shalkar shares with the Mageocracy and its allies, from the hallowed halls of Scandinavia to the ancient temples of the Mediterranean, is why Moscow dances around your city like a prancing pony instead of a ravaging Centaur. Until your Tower is completed, that¡¯s all you are. And the closer you are to that goal, the more they will escalate.¡±

    ¡°Am I to do nothing then?¡± Gwen looked guiltily at her cousin, the very guilty-looking Petra, who did not want to start a regional war.

    In the projection, the Duke stepped out of range to be replaced by his daughter. ¡°Gwen.¡±

    ¡°Charlene.¡± Gwen acknowledged the young politician. ¡°Is that the extent of your father¡¯s wisdom?¡±

    ¡°Of course not,¡± Charlene smiled back. ¡°However, what transpires from this point onwards will have nothing to do with the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. Are we in agreement?¡±

    ¡°Sure,¡± Gwen shrugged. ¡°Show me your best poison.¡±

    ¡°The chief culprit of our current predicament is the Moscow Tower,¡± Charlene took a deep breath before continuing. ¡°Popov¡¯s little birds are the agency most responsible for the problems in Shalkar, Petra¡¯s dilemma and the tragedy in the Human Commons.¡±

    ¡°Agreed,¡± Gwen felt her ire burn once more.

    ¡°The source of their influence and power,¡± Charlene persisted in her report. ¡°Lies in the dark. Therefore, I propose that we shine a light on their operations.¡±

    ¡°You have intel on these bird people?¡± Gwen asked, feeling hopeful. ¡°Your father is willing to part with that?¡±

    ¡°Not quite,¡± Charlene smiled awkwardly. ¡°What we do have are the tools to uncover the Sparrows, and what my father can do for us is to turn a blind eye¡­¡±

    Gwen felt her brows furrow. ¡°Meaning?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s unusual for a Sparrow to be so¡­ forthright,¡± Charlene noted. ¡°I assume this is because Petra was enough to inspire less clandestine protocols. Hence, they directly approached her and gambled on the fact that¡­ she would be accommodating to mere intelligence leaks.¡±

    ¡°Right,¡± Gwen gave her cousin a nod. What Charlene proposed was that Moscow had miscalculated that Petra would unquestioningly risk her loving parents, instead prioritising her loyalty to Gwen, a peer of a younger age. That, or crossing colleagues, came naturally to their ilk.

    The devastation on Petra¡¯s face made her all the more determined to give her cousin justice.

    ¡°So let us also be ruthless,¡± Charlene proposed. ¡°We have the face of a Sparrow, a senior one at that. Let us make use of her with every means at our disposal.¡±

    Gwen felt her morality tingle. ¡°You don¡¯t mean¡­ Mind Magic? Of our own?¡±

    ¡°Ah¡­¡± Charlene¡¯s expression grew expectant. ¡°Gwen, I think you know what I mean.¡±

    It took Gwen a few more seconds to internalise exactly what Charlene meant.

    Indeed, if she were willing to do that, then truly, Mycroft Ravenport would have to turn a blind eye.

    Ruthless restraint, the raven had cawed. Now, she knew precisely what the old bird meant.

    ¡°Right¡­¡± Besides her, Richard pointed to the liveries, posters, tables and chairs stacked up for the fated day of independence to come. ¡°If you¡¯re done deciding, what shall we do about all this?¡±

    Shalkar.

    The Human Commons.

    Referendum Day.

    Together with her entourage, the Regent of Shalkar watched the farce that was the referendum of independence cast by the Human citizens of Shalkar.

    Despite the previous day''s riots, the school''s surviving parts were converted into a polling station and the thirty-thousand-something Humans who currently lived in the habitat blocks travelled from all over Shalkar to throw their votes into the ballot boxes.

    ¡°That¡¯s Sergey Ivanov from Yekaterinburg, formerly its Lieutenant-Colonel,¡± Richard pointed to the enhanced projection made via his mastery over water. ¡°He¡¯s the foreman of the Socialist Worker¡¯s Party of Shalkar.¡±

    Her cousin moved the lens to another line, where a man shook hands with the voters. ¡°And that¡¯s Alexander Fishenko, Fish to his friends. He¡¯s a London boy, but we suspect he¡¯s a Sparrow. How he climbed from Mage labourer to the second in command of the Socialist Party has all the readings of one.¡±

    The lens continued to move through the enormous crowd until it focused on a young woman working the ballot tables. Even at a distance, Gwen could tell from the silhouette of her face that she was incredibly attractive despite the muddy overalls of someone who looked to be a Magitech mechanic.

    ¡°That¡¯s Natalia Volkova,¡± Richard affirmed her suspicions.

    ¡°That¡¯s the one?¡± Gwen asked her cousin and companion.

    ¡°That¡¯s the one,¡± Petra concurred. ¡°Popov¡¯s right hand. I¡¯ll make the call now.¡±

    Her cousin gestured a Glyph into her Message device.

    On Richard¡¯s projection, Natalia feigned a mild dizziness from overwork, whereupon several young men offered to take over her station while she took a break.

    ¡°Natalia,¡± Petra spoke into the Message Glyph. ¡°The Regent has returned to the tree with loot from her recent expedition. She has made plans to confront Novosibirsk and Nizhny¡­ If you want to know where she went and what she pillaged, undo the Glamours affecting my parents.¡±

    The group waited while Petra underwent a pained exchange with the not-so-hidden Sparrow. When the conversation finally ceased, Petra switched off her Message Device entirely.

    ¡°She¡¯s meeting me inside the school¡¯s basement, out of sight of our Harpies and Wyvern¡­¡± Petra sickly smiled. ¡°Gwen¡­ I am sorry for what you must do.¡±

    ¡°Nonsense,¡± the Regent of Shalkar¡¯s eyes grew hard as marbles as Richard¡¯s projection focused on the blonde¡¯s feigning smile for her peers. With great determination, Gwen¡¯s long fingers dug through the soft fur of a not-so-soft killer. ¡°Strung, you know what to do.¡±

    The Yeas won by a twelve per cent margin over the Nays.

    To the watching eyes in the World Tree, the election was neither fair nor systematic. Not all members of Humanity in Shalkar were invited to attend or allowed to vote, and the vote itself was closely monitored by the Socialist Party so that troublemakers were swiftly taken out of public view.

    Likewise, the Rat-kin civil servants and the Centaur officers overseeing the district did not make their way into the voting centre itself, and neither a Celestial Kirin nor a Thunder Dragon belonging to the Regent had swayed hearts by parking itself on the rooftop.

    All-in-all, the fated day of clashes suffered no chaos other than the vote itself. When the Socialist Workers Party of Shalkar declared its victory and its demand for semi-autonomy, no militia confronted its leaders.

    Instead, Rat-kin workers employed by the Department of Public Welfare quietly arrived around the city. They began putting up enormous, multi-storey posters with the image of a cup of cornucopia, the logo for an initiative called the ¡°Shalkar Agricultural Trade Co-operative International¡±.

    At the same time, on the latest print of the Shalkar METRO, the front page announced the specifics of a state-sponsored fund meant for the welfare and advancement of its Human citizens, available only to registered citizenry or new immigrants.

    The front page led to the middle page, where enormous volumes of information, statistics, tables and lovely lumen-recorded images of happy Human families living in harmony with their Demi-human neighbours inferred without doubt that the Human habitants of Shalkar would, in six months, make a choice. With absolute respect for their Human autonomy, the METRO announced the Regent will allow citizens to pull themselves up by the bootstraps or ride on the communal success of her multi-specie city of unparalleled prosperity. There would be no legal penalty for citizens wishing to renounce their citizenship¡ªand public services such as the Low-ways and the generous medical allowances for magical healing would still be available if they paid out of pocket.

    Very quickly, the euphoria of the Worker¡¯s Party¡¯s new victory was doused as though drenched by Caliban¡¯s secretions.

    However, no change was sensible to the new guest who arrived at the World Tree of Shalkar, sitting in a pocket space just above its Thunder Dragon¡¯s sky garden.

    Natalia Volkova, the prima starling of the forty-second generation of Sparrows hatched by Moscow Tower¡¯s Master Popov, sat in a space of verdant emerald shades more beautiful than any woodland she had witnessed in all twenty of her years.

    Once she came to, her mind very quickly assessed her situation.

    Immediately in front stood the unmistakable presence of the Regent of Shalkar, as regal and petrifying as the tales foretold, a woman who walked on equal footing with the scions of Dragons and rubbed shoulders with Demi-human immortals.

    It was strange to Natalia that the woman wore a plain white tee-shirt and a saggy pair of shorts, for the mortal clothing did nothing to hide the alien aura of a being putting on a pretence to be homely and human.

    To the Regent¡¯s right stood the loathsome figure of Petra Kuznetsova, traitor to the Tower and the sole survivor from the thirty-ninth generation purged by Master Popov after the incident with his son.

    Besides her, as a presence discerned with her mind, was the Captain of the Rat-kin security forces, the creature known as Strun, a monstrous Demi-human blessed with the boon of regeneration.

    There was one more being beside them¡ªa young man with the build of a scholar and a mop of red hair not uncommon to the bloodlines of Russia¡¯s magical elites. From the psychic shape of his mind, however, Natalia knew that the man had about as much humanity as her hope for survival.

    She looked down.

    She was fully clothed and rustled but still wearing her overalls.

    She wasn¡¯t even bound to the chair, though a pair of enchanted cuffs prevented her from somatic casting. Unfortunately for herself, there would be no sympathy here for a young woman with smouldering eyes and a squirming body begging to be freed.

    ¡°Petra,¡± Natalia heard her voice speak with a disembodied quality as she performed the mental rite to isolate her consciousness from the frailness of her pliant flesh. There would soon be torture¡ªNatalia knew this well¡ªthough she was glad that the Thunder Dragon was absent. ¡°So this is what you¡¯ve chosen? You must love your Regent very much.¡±

    ¡°Is it that surprising?¡± the traitor¡¯s face possessed only a look of sympathy. ¡°You would betray your family in a heartbeat, would you not? Yet, what do you owe Master Popov but for the Suggestions and Geas planted in your mind?¡±

    ¡°My generation are all orphans. Besides¡­ Loyalty to the Tower, Loyalty to the Motherland,¡± Natalia repeated a mantra as she continued to layer her mental protections. ¡°Surely that implant has never left your mind.¡±

    ¡°I never received it,¡± the traitor¡¯s expression did not change as Natalia had hoped. ¡°My Master and I shared something a little more genuine.¡±

    Natalia knew she should be angry, but the ire rising in her body no longer affected the clarity of her mind. ¡°I see. That must have been nice. Did you pillow talk him into that?¡±

    ¡°Natalia,¡± the voice that spoke now was from the Regent. ¡°Petra tells me that any interrogations of a Sparrow is beyond purposeless. This is correct?¡±

    ¡°It is,¡± Natalia answered with confidence. ¡°We can die, but we will not give up our secrets. You can try Mind Magic, though I will perish long before that. The heat-death of my mana organs as my conduits expand and swell will be a painful and gruesome reminder for the both of us.¡±

    ¡°Then wasn¡¯t it foolish to reveal yourself to Petra?¡± The Regent¡¯s amicability made Natalia feel paranoia, though with death so soon on the horizon, she could at least comfort herself with that final certainty.

    ¡°We are all pawns in a game of chess,¡± Natalia replied vaguely. ¡°You may act the part of a player, Regent, but you are hardly free from the board itself. An attempt was made, it failed, and now I will pay the price. Petra should know nothing is surprising here. Have you placed your parents into Stasis, Petra? That¡¯s our protocol, after all.¡±

    ¡°She banters very well,¡± the Regent turned to the traitor. ¡°No stutters, nothing.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re trained to do that,¡± the traitor shook her head. ¡°Gwen. Shall we begin?¡±

    ¡°You won¡¯t get anything from me,¡± Natalia watched her body squirm, a reaction that was more honest than the coolness her isolated mind offered. After all, the only human confronting her was the traitor. ¡°Petra, you know this. Why waste our time? The Regent is a busy leader. Have your Void fiend consume me or throw me to the Thunder Dragon if you want sadistic satisfaction.¡±

    ¡°Strung, if you will do the honours,¡± the Regent approached.

    Natalia saw that she was made to stand, and then the rat stripped the upper part of her garb until her neck and back showed. The Regent walked a slow circle around her trembling figure, stopping when she faced her neck and exposed back.

    ¡°While you were resting,¡± the Regent touched a finger onto her back. ¡°I gave you a boon. It¡¯s somewhat tyrannical compared to the voluntary variant given to Strung and his folk, but it should work well.¡±

    Natalia could now feel the strange markings on her skin, an irritation she had neglected. ¡°A new form of torture? We¡¯re trained against that too, Regent.¡±

    ¡°Oh, it¡¯s nothing like that,¡± the Regent spoke behind her. ¡°It¡¯s more so something like¡­ this¡­¡±

    Her skin tingled¡ªthen something invaded Natalia¡¯s Astral Body. To her horror, the layered protections and self-destructive Enchantments did not trigger, for the warmth that flushed into her body was no different to the Faith Magic used by the Orthodox Church. Forcing herself to peer inwards using her Astral Eye, Natalia shuddered at the abstract sight of verdant energy pouring into her Astral Body, nourishing a part of her that was neither mind nor body but something closer to one¡¯s soul.

    At once, she felt as though bathed in lukewarm water. Her torso reacted by relaxing entirely as motes of life itself coursed through her conduits. Natalia felt suddenly connected to something far larger than herself, a living ecosphere as old as time.

    ¡°What¡­ what is this?¡± She couldn¡¯t help her curiosity, even knowing the Regent had nothing so pleasant planned. ¡°What did you do?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve connected you to myself,¡± the Regent said. ¡°And from myself, the World Tree.¡±

    Natalia felt as though she was free-falling through another layer of existence. ¡°Is¡­ is this the Axis Mundi?¡±

    ¡°Yes, you¡¯re glimpsing it now,¡± the voice that spoke was accompanied by fingers that walked from Natalia¡¯s shoulder blade until they encompassed her skull.

    ¡°Natalia,¡± the traitor¡¯s hand tightly held Natalia¡¯s own. ¡°I hope you survive. Sister.¡±

    Before Natalia could discern the traitor¡¯s words, shards of Negative Energy pierced the veil of her mind and invaded her brain. Something inside her, something which was the essence of her, felt as though it was being torn from her Astral Body. To say that there was pain would be the greatest understatement, for what she felt was all the pain in the world, distilled into liquid agony and pumped through her veins.

    ¡°Her Geas are triggering,¡± Petra reported as the young woman in the chair convulsed, blood oozing from her eyes, ears and nostrils. Parts of her skin split, triggered by the tearing of her mana conduits, leaving long lesions as long as Strung¡¯s whiskers.

    Yet, the Sparrow did not die, for Gwen¡¯s verdant supply of limitless vitality kept her organs intact and her heart beating as healthily as any woman in her prime, albeit supremely elevated from the excitement of her flesh.

    Wounds mended, wounds appeared. Muscles tore, and flesh stitched shut. Conduits erupted¡ªconduits healed, over and over, as the true spell invoked by Gwen took its shape.

    Soul Tap.

    A spell derived from her Master¡¯s Essence Tap, originating from Svart¨¢lfar Essence sorcery.

    Since learning the original, Gwen had stripped back many of its tyrannical immoralities until she had arrived at the version used for her followers, the largely benign Essence Sympathy empowering her Demi-human followers.

    Now, for the first time, she conceded the rationale behind her Master¡¯s grimoire and its inclusion of magic that would bury a regular Necromancer in the deepest dungeons of London Tower.

    Besides her, Petra took notes on the number of Geas triggers with a pen and a data slate, her eyes one of a studied scholar overseeing a difficult specimen.

    ¡°Four Implanted Suggestions, a Schism, six Geas triggers, and one Greater Geas,¡± Petra delivered the final tally. ¡°Talk about trust. She should be dead ten times over.¡±

    Unfortunately for the Sparrow, she was far from dead.

    By the spell¡¯s forceful completion, there was blood oozing from the pores of the Sparrow¡¯s skin, making the young woman appear as though she had bathed in a filthy pool of gore and rust. At the same time, more than just bodily secretions had been evacuated from her in the death throes of her former self.

    ¡°Cleanse¡ª¡° Petra activated a Spellcube, sending the most offensive of Natalia¡¯s indiscretions into the Plane of Water.

    Like a boneless doll, the Mind Mage slumped over her chair, held in place by Strun.

    We¡¯re monsters, I fear. Gwen shuddered. We see monsters in others, yet they show us who we are.

    Still, was this monstrous act preferable to the honesty of open war and the extinction of tens of thousands of men and women, Russians and Shalkar¡¯s citizens both?

    ¡°Natalia,¡± Gwen knew the girl to be physically hale, for she had shared her vital sympathies with Garp, whose life force could keep ten thousand Natalias alive and dancing on hot coals deep into midnight. ¡°Speak.¡±

    ¡°I¡­ I am¡­Blergh¡ª¡± Strun released the young woman, who wretched up blood and bile. Compelled by the will of another, she spoke. ¡°How¡­ how am I alive?¡±

    ¡°The spells implanted in you have run their course,¡± Gwen explained what Petra had hypothesised. ¡°The triggers happen only once, you see? Congratulations, Natalia Volkova, you are now free from Moscow¡ªand bound to me.¡±

 Attention!!! Were finally Transmigrating to Kindle UNLIMITED!

    Hello, loyal (royal?) readers of Metaworld!

    It''s that fateful day! At long last, Gwen is transmigrating over to Amazon. By definition, we''ve got a maiden and a tree, so who''s the serpent?

    I''ve been writing Metaworld on Royal Road for the last seven years and loving every minute. Since Walter (now almost five) I haven''t had the time to consistently write it or provide huge numbers of updates like other authors, but we''ve been plugging along steadily over the years. Thank you all for your support. I can''t tell you how much it means to me¡ªonly I can, so I am writing here¡ªThank you all!

    I want to be very clear. The early books of Metaworld going to KU do NOT mean I''ll stop posting on RR. New chapters will continue to be released as usual, speeding up when Walter finally goes to school (I hope). (2 to 233 will be removed for now)

    Seven years is a *long* time. Much like my cacti, I have neglected every post-publishing aspect of Metaworld Chronicles. As such, I have handed it off to Selkie and Mango Media to manage. They''re taking over as of today, and Gwen''s going to wake up to find she''s suddenly a part of Kindle Unlimited. Everyone on Royal Road has gotten a chance over the years to read Metaworld, and now we''re giving Amazon¡¯s crowd a fair go at properly formatted, edited and type-settled volumes.

    Here are the links!

    </a>  </a>

    The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement. </a> </a></a>

    <hr>

    All of you can help me out. Purchasing the book is an obvious one, but the mighty Amazon algorithm decides which stories do well and which stories will languish. Every little interaction helps push the story into Amazon, deciding it''s a winner. From buying the book to checking it out on KU to simply leaving a rating or review, every part helps. For my long-time readers, if you can find your RR review or the original Amazon reviews and simply drop the same onto Mango¡¯s managed editions, it would make Caliban and Ariel very happy.

    There are also some social media posts! Help spread the glory of SPAM!

    Reddit: https://www.reddit.com/r/ProgressionFantasy/comments/1gfisbu/mango_media_presents_metaworld_chronicles/</a>

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    Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/share/p/JfmDUYM4V5xYkjod/</a>

    We''re over 2 million words deep into Gwen''s epic adventure. A simple rating on launch day could mean all the difference, thank you. Rebooted interest would also mean when Bilibili gives me back the rights in 2027 (They paid me for rights, but then China cracked down¡­). We can even think about a webcomic!

    Once again, I want to say how thankful I am for you all being here with me every step of the journey. Selkie and I can''t wait to see what''s next in store! (Who wants a Caliban or Ariel merch shirt¡­ :D)

    Sincerely,

    Wutosama

 Chapter 513 - Dweomers from the Deep

    Soul Subordination.

    Long before the Age of Antiquity, the great Pharaohs of the First Dynasty, ruling from the cradle of Human civilisation, formalised the understanding of an intangible, abstract existence the first Necromancers dubbed Ba.

    The Ba was tied, as they observed, to the Hau, together forming the sum of existence.

    Across the boundaries of epochs, the God Kings of the Nile collated their knowledge into The Book of the Dead, a record of Faith-driven Necromancy¡ªa sum of anecdotes filling libraries of inscribed papyri. With this knowledge, a form of magic unique to the Indigenous people of the Prime Material allowed them to overrule the Demi-humans and create the first ¡°Green Zone.¡±

    Then came the ebb and flow of the Human condition. Great victory led to hubris, and civil strife gave way to new empires. Each time, new kingdoms rose from the ashes of old faiths, sometimes upholding Necromancy as the tenet of man and, just as often, as liberators breaking the tyrannical yoke of Necromancy, all the while observed by the metallic-hued eyes of immortal beings from the high branches of ageless trees.

    In the Age of God Kings, Soul Subordination was a blessing and an honour, the mark of the rare chosen who exercised the will of their falcon-headed deities.

    Conversely, after the Coming of the Nazarene, it was deemed that the sacrosanct soul must be passed onto life eternal, and the disturbance of death¡¯s threshold became the hallmark of heretics pursuing the perversion of providence.

    Then, after the Great War, the world reeled in disgust at the enslavement of one¡¯s ontological psyche, for the industrial pursuit of Necromancy had left no doubt that such an act was against the very fabric of modern progress.

    Thusly, when the Regent of Shalkar gained her latest convert, she tangibly felt herself drifting a little east from the Eden of her humanity.

    Under Gwen¡¯s watchful eye, Natalia Volkova slowly picked herself up with the tenderness of a fledgling sparrow. Even in overalls smeared with excretions and blood and her face a mess of snot and mascara, the spy looked like a woman from a catalogue. Yet, Natalia was hale; of this, Gwen had no doubt. The vitality of the World Tree was not healing magic, and Natalia¡¯s injuries were not the kind that responded to medical procedures, for such was the cruelty of the Geas that had imprisoned her psychic self.

    With her luminous blue eyes moving from Petra to Strun and then to herself, the young woman made a vague effort to wipe what Petra¡¯s Cleanse could not remove from her face. The childlike act was enough to draw a mote of sympathy, for it was the least performative action she had seen the spy perform.

    ¡°Am I alive?¡± Natalia asked, her voice seemingly strange to her ears. ¡°Have you made me into an Undead?¡±

    ¡°You are unchanged and unchained.¡± With the memory of the Sparrow¡¯s soul-rending torture still fresh in her mind, Gwen found it easy to locate a cache of compassion for the born-again instrument of Moscow. She then added a pause, unsure of how to proceed. ¡°Once we¡¯re finished, that is.¡±

    ¡°So now, I am bound to you?¡± the girl flexed her fingers. She stepped forward, shadowed by Strun, whose hands loosely rested on the pommel of his death-dealing implement. ¡°How?¡±

    Gwen wished she could tell the former Sparrow the answer. Unfortunately, their reality involved a clueless researcher and her freshly injected lab rat.

    ¡°Natalia, sit,¡± Gwen commanded, pondering the extent of her influence.

    The woman sat on the creaking chair, the same one that had barely survived Natalia¡¯s prior struggles.

    ¡°Stand,¡± she demanded, this time willing the command in her mind. As a mistress of over a thousand rats and a chain of almost a hundred thousand Mermen, she did not feel that Natalia¡¯s link to her was any different to her other constituents.

    Unsure of herself, Natalia stood.

    ¡°How are you compelled?¡± Gwen asked. ¡°Describe our link to me as best as you can.¡±

    ¡°It feels like Mind Magic,¡± Natalia nervously replied. ¡°But it¡¯s¡­ more subtle, I think. More powerful than Compulsion. I¡ª¡°

    Dipping her head, the Russian doll performed a perfect little pirouette. It was beautifully done, for Natalia had the figure to match, and Moscow had seen to it that she had the relevant training in the arts to play the roles that best leveraged her cherry-picked physicality.

    The move was so surprising that Strun was already halfway to making new orifices in Natalia¡¯s torso when Gwen bid the Rat-kin to relax.

    Slylth stared, his mouth half-open.

    The Russian stood without expression, though her neck and cheeks were pink.

    ¡°Sorry¡ª¡° Gwen felt hers flush. The thought had been unbidden, and the horrible result spoke for itself. ¡°You may have guessed by now, Natalia, that Soul Sorcery isn¡¯t a talent I exercise freely.¡±

    Before the erstwhile spy could speak, she violently reeled, knocking over her seat. This time, the unexpected act was less surprising, for Gwen had felt the spy¡¯s resentment like a hidden shiv.

    The woman dry-wretched a few times before looking up with bloodshot eyes. Wheezing, Natalia raised both hands in submission. ¡°No more, Mistress, no more."

    Besides the women, Slylth Alexander Morden winced.

    ¡°What was that?¡± Petra asked beside Gwen, her notebook ready to record the conditions of her cousin¡¯s forbidden craft. ¡°Did she try to attack you?¡±

    ¡°She had entertained a thought,¡± Gwen explained. ¡°A thought that explicitly countermanded my expectations of her.¡±

    ¡°Traitorous thoughts are forbidden,¡± Strun affirmed Gwen¡¯s suspicion. ¡°Though no Rat-kin could be as treasonous as this featherless cuckoo. The tribe has observed the effects on those whose loyalty has wavered; it takes a direct desire to subvert your desires for the reaction to be so violent.¡±

    ¡°Natalia,¡± Gwen felt her sympathies wane. ¡°Explain to Petra how you felt.¡±

    ¡°Like death,¡± Natalia¡¯s coiled body reminded Gwen of a Prawn-kin¡¯s final second when speared in the gut by a coral trident. ¡°Please, no more, I¡ªARGH¡ª¡°

    This time, the writhing of the young woman¡¯s twisted body intensified. If not for Strun, who quickly acted in Gwen¡¯s stead, the former Sparrow would have bitten off the tip of her tongue.

    Gwen made a conscious effort to rein her thoughts, then offered the spy her hand. ¡°Natalia, I hope you believe me when I say do not desire your suffering. The pain you have wrought is entirely of your own¡­¡± The words came strange to her lips, but she said it nonetheless. ¡°¡­ free will.¡±

    ¡°Ha¡ª¡° The spy quickly controlled the unseen part of herself. ¡°Free indeed!¡±

    Their next set of hypotheticals took almost an hour, though the woman quickly learned the boundaries of Soul Subordination. If nothing else, she had proven herself a prodigy of Moscow Tower.

    ¡°Do not fear it,¡± Strun offered the woman a paw, which she took. ¡°You are now a part of something infinitely larger than yourself, bird-kin. We are siblings now, tethered to the Axis Mundi and the threads that tie together the Prime Material. Can your old Masters, cruel and immoral as they are, attest to the same grandeur?¡±

    Natalia¡¯s eyes shifted with a hint of awe from Strun¡¯s faith-fuelled sermon to Gwen, adding to Gwen¡¯s guilt.

    ¡°Where your old Master¡¯s curses were cages within cages,¡± Strun continued his sermon. ¡°The Pale Priestess offers blessings and boons, demanding nought but faithful service. If our Goddess wills it, bird-kin, you will not succumb to mortal injury. You will not know sickness. You will not know the tyranny of time.¡±

    The spy¡¯s demeanour changed. Now, a hunger previously missing in Natalia''s eyes existed. ¡°Mistress, is this true?¡±

    ¡°The boons are not longitudinally proven,¡± Slylth added his part. ¡°The theory is sound¡­ "

    "Look, let¡¯s not dwell," Gwen interrupted the Dragon-kin. "There¡¯s a reason we¡¯ve decided to invite you into the fold, Natalia, and it is neither compassion nor altruism.¡±

    The Mind Mage slowly straightened her back. ¡°How shall I be of use?¡±

    ¡°Greatly,¡± Gwen affirmed the spy without feeling the need for deception. ¡°I want you to root out the Sparrows that have infested Shalkar. Can you do that?¡±

    Though they all expected the Mind Mage to reel, Natalia seemed to possess a pragmatic outlook on life''s prospects that exceeded their understanding. With no tugs at the tethers that subordinated her to Gwen, Natalia shook out her tensed body and exhaled deeply.

    ¡°Da,¡± the Russian spoke in a dialect with more sincerity than her borrowed tongues. ¡°I am yours to command.¡±

    It was Gwen that now felt taken back. ¡°You do not have¡­ lingering sentimentalities for your comrades?¡±

    ¡°Petra can attest that we are not trained for that,¡± Natalia spoke candidly. ¡°We are trained to understand that every colleague may be our downfall.¡±

    ¡°This is true,¡± Petra nodded. ¡°Who watches the Sparrows? Why¡ªthey watch each other! There¡¯s a significant reward for those who expose betrayal and can produce the evidence to back up the accusation.¡±

    ¡°Da,¡± Natalia agreed. ¡°The loyalty we possess is conditioned. It is a product of the glamours and Geas that cage our mind within the framework the Tower demands. It makes us happy to follow dubious orders and suppresses certain instincts we may possess, like shame or¡­ self-preservation.¡±

    Studying the spy with a face that could sink a decent fleet, Gwen could only imagine the liberties a production line of brain-washed young people afforded the spymasters of Moscow.

    Natalia seemed to read her expression, for what the young woman said next was the exact thought that had crossed their mind. ¡°Mistress, would you like to take possession of the Sparrow Nest?¡±

    Okay, maybe not that exact thought. Gwen baulked at the prospect of what their newly acquired spy provided. ¡°Now that¡¯s a thought. Natalia, can you clarify?¡±

    ¡°If, indeed, what you have performed upon me can be successfully replicated,¡± Natalia¡¯s face grew pink with what Gwen assumed was ambition. ¡°I can bring the Sparrows we find into the fold, and with each Sparrow added to our¡­ Nest, we may find traces of other Sparrows¡­ And not just the Sparrows operating in Shalkar. For example, I know four contacts in London alone, two in the Shard. I can also bring in my¡­ senior supervisor if you desire.¡±

    ¡°Gwen, that would be¡­ unwise,¡± Petra¡¯s expression grew worried. ¡°The defence of Shalkar is one thing¡ªbut to actively use Soul Tap on so many¡­ Mind Mages¡­ I am not sure how London may respond.¡±

    "If they complain," Slylth noted. "Tell them it''s for the good of Tryfan."

    The prospect, Gwen noted, was good. Unfortunately, her cousin was correct in that though Mycroft may turn a blind eye to Natalia, Natasha and Nadia, the Duke may be far less accommodating when an A to Z roster of Mind Mages are absorbed into the rank and file via Soul Subordination. As for Slylth... her Red Dragon advisor had a point as well.

    ¡°If done subtlety,¡± Natalia assured them. ¡°It will work.¡±

    ¡°Natalia, let¡¯s just say you need to earn my trust. Can you undo the Mind Magic used on Petra¡¯s parents for now?¡± Gwen did not feel a desire to dismiss the idea outright. After all, they were here because she had been dissuaded from unleashing a Shoggoth in the dead of night.

    ¡°Ah¡ª¡± Natalia lowered her eyes. ¡°I was getting there, Mistress. The two are tied.¡±

    Gwen tangibly felt Petra¡¯s body tense as what should have been obvious dawned upon them both. ¡°I take it only your superior has a¡­ metaphorical key?¡±

    ¡°Correct,¡± the Mind Mage nodded. There was no deceit and, therefore, no tugs on the soul string as she replied. ¡°My supervisor is the one who possesses the master key or Glyph combinations to undo the Greater Compulsion. After Petra¡¯s Master, Moscow saw to it that there were tighter collars on our necks.¡±

    ¡°Who is your supervisor?¡± Petra asked, her voice trembling a little.

    ¡°Zinichev.¡±

    Gwen tried and failed to identify the name.

    ¡°He¡¯s the Secretariat for the Middle Faction in Moscow Tower,¡± Natalia said with a wane smile. ¡°Mild-mannered, ill of confidence, a push-over often bullied by the twins from the Militant Faction, and used as a penholder by the Grey Auctioneers.¡±

    Finally, Gwen recalled a vague face from a vague dossier of individuals involved in the Russian encroachment of her domain. The Magister¡¯s appearance was so tired and unassuming that she had assumed he was a senior accountant. ¡°Oleg Zinichev?¡±

    ¡°Correct,¡± the young woman¡¯s fingers flexed and un-flexed. ¡°A vulture in the feathers of a dove. Only the officers of the Sparrows and special operatives like myself answer directly to him. He answers directly to Tower Master Popov.¡±

    ¡°And we need to¡­ convince Zinichev, do we?¡± Gwen furrowed her brows. On paper, Zinichev was a mere Magister, one that few would miss. However, as Natalia did not lie, the Tower Master of Moscow would have a fit if such a dangerous bird were to go awol.

    ¡°That¡¯s our second option,¡± Natalia said. ¡°The first is that your Paleness could gradually take in members such as myself until we find someone with access to those Glyphs.¡±

    ¡°Is there a third option?¡± Gwen asked, wondering what the hell is a Paleness. ¡°One that doesn¡¯t involve a regional war?¡±

    ¡°I can reveal my training,¡± Natalia volunteered. ¡°Maybe someone in the Mageocracy could deduce a counter-Glyph? There are dangers, though. A failed Dispel could trigger the erasure protocols.¡±

    Petra suddenly spoke beside her. ¡°Natalia, do you know what can forcibly trigger the implanted spells?¡±

    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

    ¡°I do.¡± The Mind Mage looked at Gwen¡¯s cousin; then, a realisation appeared to have struck. ¡°I see. This could work as well.¡±

    ¡°Gwen.¡± Her cousin lowered herself, then held Gwen¡¯s hand in supplication. ¡°Gwen¡­ please bind my parents to the World Tree¡­¡±

    ¡°I can manipulate the implanted triggers so that even when they¡¯re cognisant of the Mind Magic, the self-harm is minimised,¡± Natalia volunteered herself. ¡°Please, your Paleness, allow me to prove myself.¡±

    ¡°Just¡­ call me Regent,¡± Gwen corrected her newly acquired Mind Mage, though Strun seemed to have taken to the neologism with gusto. ¡°And yes, if Aunty and Uncle are willing, Petra, I shall gift them the Blessing.¡±

    Natalia seemed to be energised by her acceptance of service. ¡°Regent. If I may make another suggestion?¡±

    ¡°Speak,¡± Gwen could feel Petra¡¯s impatience, though she felt equally interested in the Mind Mage¡¯s eagerness.

    ¡°Nizhny Tower has a weakness,¡± Natalia volunteered. ¡°One only you can resolve.¡±

    ¡°Oh?¡± Gwen felt herself a party to a conspiracy, which, by all circumstances, she was.

    ¡°Tower Master Petyr Shuysky is an old man, my Regent,¡± the Mind Mage spoke in hushed tones. ¡°His body is failing from what comes naturally to all Mages, but Shuysky especially, as he was a survivor from the Grand Duke¡¯s line of Shuyskys. During the Revolution at the turn of the century, he was tortured and disfigured, and later, it was only through four decades of blood trials that he was inducted into the late Union. He was given command of Dmitrovskaya Tower¡ªthe local name for Nizhny¡¯s Mage Tower¡ªbecause his old age meant there was little to no possibility of extensive ambition for one living in the final years of his century-long life. Though Shuysky plays his role with humility, the Sparrows know that he has an obsession with prolonging his life and that he has resorted even to benign forms of¡­ Necromancy.¡±

    ¡°A knowledge which is kept¡­ for leverage?¡± Gwen figured out Natalia¡¯s game, for the Displace Beast can change its pants but can¡¯t dismount its tentacles. ¡°We could threaten the man with it?¡± ¡°Er¡­¡± The Mind Mage seemed confused by her assumption. ¡°No, Regent¡­ what I am saying is that you could, perhaps, tempt the Tower Master with the sweet nectar of your body¡­ then encourage him with sufficiently applied leverage.¡±

    Outside the spatial ¡°branch¡±, Gwen was surprised to find the Dwarven Master of Mimm Agaeth Kjangtoth, her Majordomo Richard Huang, and the unfamiliar figure of a familiar ally from the past.

    The unfamiliarity lay in the Golem Suit their guest sported, a head-to-toe ceremonial outfit inlaid with patterns of rare minerals embossing a faceless helmet, indicating the Clan origins of the wearer. Gwen recognised the armour as an authentic Deepdowner suit, the type donned by the Dwarfs¡¯ ¡°Ancestral¡± leaders when on business outside Deepholm. Of course, with their home Plane now missing for almost half a century, many Deepdowners like Axehoff had changed with the times.

    The exception was those whose bloodline was directly linked to the Seven Ancestors, whose heresy would shake the foundations of the Ancestor¡¯s Hall.

    ¡°Hilda?¡± She spoke the name in Dwarven, using the formal speech, as befitting the daughter of K¨¹l-Hildenbrandt, scion of Varekan-K¨¹l, Bringer of the Lumen. ¡°If I am not wrong, allow me to welcome your Grace to Shalkar.¡±

    With a hiss and a melodic sound of gears in perfect motion, the Golem Suit bowed its head. ¡°Gwen, Regent, Sister. It¡¯s good to see that you have assumed your rightful position in the Axis Mundi as foretold.¡±

    ¡°It is you.¡± Gwen felt a little happier than she had been, considering the heaviness of what she had just executed in the secrecy of the World Tree¡¯s secret places. ¡°My word, it feels like an eternity. Have you had lunch? We can entertain your Grace in the Citadel below. Is that permissible, Lord Axehoff?¡±

    ¡°Perfectly so, Regent,¡± the Dwarven Master of the city below concurred.

    ¡°Regent,¡± Richard interrupted. ¡°If I may. Our esteemed guests are here with actual problems that need your attention. Perhaps lunch can wait, or Lord Axehoff can secure a chamber in the Engine Hall for a discrete working luncheon?¡±

    ¡°Of course, my apologies,¡± Gwen inclined her chin slightly. ¡°I was being inconsiderate.¡±

    ¡°Aye,¡± Axehoff dropped his formal register. ¡°Lassie, we need ter talk about the Sinneslukare.¡±

    A velvet-hued vision of death-pale tentacles caressed Gwen¡¯s front lobe.

    ¡°I see. Lead the way.¡° She directed her party back toward the Levitation Platforms. ¡°Richard, can you consult with Strun, Petra and Natalia and work out a response to our Russian developments? I want the proposal on my desk by tomorrow. I also want a situation report from Lulan regarding the Human Commons.¡±

    ¡°Natalia?¡ªAh¡ª Dear Natalia.¡± her cousin¡¯s brow rose and fell, and then the Water Mage seemed to take command of whatever emotions had stunned his body. ¡°Of course, Regent. I¡¯ll see to it that the proposals are ready.¡±

    Gwen gave her cousin an affirming nod, then steered her Dwarven guests onto the platform. In the next moment, Richard stepped into the vine-framed pocket space while she and the Dwarves rapidly descended from the main trunk of the World Tree into the Citadel interior.

    Mimm Agaeth Kjangtoth

    The Guild Commons.

    The Engine Hall was so named because the old Guild Hall was turned into a kiln by the Brass Legion. With due respect to the thousands of guards, craftsmen and labour caste citizens who had not yielded to Elementals until their final suffocating breath, the chamber had been made into a mausoleum for the original Kjangtoth¡¯s final defenders.

    The new hall, constructed around the original Guild Hall, was a doughnut-shaped structure that morbidly served the Dehur Anthank, the Citadel¡¯s ¡°Deep Grudge¡± against the Elemental Prince of Fire, Zodiam.

    Though almost all Dwarven structures were communal, the Deepdowners were gifted chambers of prayer and meditation from which they could invoke the Spirits of the Ancestors, cogitate the mystical workings of the engines, and plot forth the future of the Citadel.

    It was in such a chamber that the Regent of Shalkar had been invited, affording the trio a level of secrecy rarely enjoyed by the stout-kin of the Murk.

    ¡°Regent, allow me to express my gratitude for your time.¡± Hilda gave a formal head bow before invoking the prayers to unlatch the mechanism of her rebreather helm. With a hiss, the opaque metal construct retracted, revealing a handsomely whiskered face inherited from the Bringer of the Lumen. When she next spoke, it was in a more relaxed vernacular. ¡°I hope we can speak candidly.¡±

    ¡°Of course you can.¡± Gwen saw no reason to insist on their mutual stations. After all, the first time they had met, both of them had been stark naked. ¡°So, what brings you here? I hope it''s good news.¡±

    ¡°If only,¡± Hilda sighed as the joints of her armour shrunk, making her silhouette more approachable. ¡°Axehoff, if you could bear the honour of knowledge? As ordained by the Ancestor Scald, Billelynn M?svian, I shall defer my claim of truth to the Master of the Domain.¡±

    ¡°You are too kind.¡± Axehoff¡¯s armour wasn¡¯t nearly so ceremonial. To Gwen¡¯s knowledge, it was because her liaison was an elected Deepdowner from the Dwarven strongholds of Bavaria, a people who had spent centuries in the Himmsegg. Without the blood name of one of the Seven Ancestors, the excessive ceremony would only lead to protests from the true scions of Deepholm¡¯s ruling Clans. ¡°Lass, thanks to the progress initiated from your cooperative rediscovery of the lost low-ways, the Deep Council has finally achieved a major milestone in our retaking of the Murk.¡±

    ¡°Oh?¡± Gwen realised only one thing could make two Deepdowners show up in full costume. ¡°Did you¡­¡±

    ¡°We did,¡± Axehoff spoke with his hands positioned to form the Glyph of the Cave. ¡°We found it, Regent. We uncovered a Dyar Morkk lost section leading to Deepholm.¡±

    Gwen felt a rush of blood warm her skull. ¡°That¡¯s¡­ wonderful!¡± She couldn¡¯t help but share in the Dwarf¡¯s relish, for she had known from all the work she had conducted with her Dwarven partners that the rediscovery of their roots was the single most cherished desire of its communities. ¡°But¡­ you don¡¯t look very happy. May I ask why?¡±

    Axehoff turned to his companion. ¡°Hilda, I pass the honour of truth to you.¡±

    Nodding, the Deepdowner beside them laid a hand over the table, then materialised from its internal storage a crystal container.

    The Regent of Shalkar looked down.

    The Regent cursed her perfect vision.

    ¡°Strewth¡­¡± She was looking at a head. A Dwarven head preserved in a crystal clear solution of soup. There was an enormous hole at the base of the skull with a wound that told a story. The narrator of that story was also floating in the brine fluid.

    Her eyes focused on the pink squid thing with the texture of a pruned baby. ¡°¡­ a Sinneslukare?¡±

    ¡°One in its larval stages,¡± Hilda confirmed her suspicions. ¡°From our home.¡±

    ¡°Who is the victim?¡± Gwen noted that the head belonged to a much younger Dwarf.

    ¡°One of Hanmoul¡¯s men,¡± Hilda spoke with a heavy solemness. ¡°He was only discovered because Hanmoul was experienced from the incident we shared. A week ago, one of his men suddenly fell violently ill mid-quaff, so Hanmoul made him attend a physical. A scuffle ensured in the Stone Shaper¡¯s office, and here we are.¡±

    ¡°The Sinneslukare lost his head, huh? I suppose the strength of Dwarven drinks can certainly cause alcohol effects in¡­ foetal parasites.¡± Gwen tried to imagine the moment of discovery. ¡°Did Hanmoul decapitate the poor lad?¡±

    Hilda nodded solemnly. ¡°Many creatures in the Murk can take advantage of a host¡¯s body. Usually, the regions they infect are the lungs, the intestines, or even between muscle fibres. This one attempted to transfer itself from its victim to the Stone Shaper¡¯s Apprentice. Hanmoul walked in on the act and immediately took action.¡±

    ¡°Strewth,¡± Gwen shuddered, shying away from the eye-less squid. ¡°Did you make a sweep through the Citadel?¡±

    ¡°We did,¡± Hilda¡¯s expression grew dark. ¡°We found just under a hundred Dwarves from the various castes, and thankfully none from the Engineseers¡¯ ranks.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s a lot of Sinneslukare¡­¡± Gwen furrowed her brows. ¡°Why do you suppose there¡¯s such an infestation now? The incident with the Balefire Dreadnaught was isolated, was it not?¡±

    ¡°The answer¡­¡± Hilda sighed. ¡°Is also the Dyar Morkk. With so many Dwarven Citadels now connected, we are no longer an isolated people. Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth alone now has over forty thousand residents. During the Pilgrimage of Stone, we saw over two hundred thousand visitors in a little under forth Lumen-cycles.¡±

    Gwen felt the Deepdowner¡¯s pain. The loss of the low-ways had splintered the Dwarven Clans operating on the surface layers of the Murk. Now, rediscovery of the paths that traversed the Deep Murk meant not only could the surface Dwarves go down¡ªcreatures that had lived below could now work their way up.

    ¡°I take it this new development is not good when paired with the rediscovery of the arterial tunnels connecting the Murk to Deepholm?¡± she asked. ¡°The Deep Council¡ªsans Deepholm¡¯s seats¡ªare understandably worried about what they may find?¡±

    ¡°That is correct,¡± Hilda applauded her insight. ¡°Thanks to your actions inadvertently breaking the magma crust, our people have been working extensively with Humans nations amicable to our cause. Our people are prosperous as of late, Regent, not unlike the people of your Shalkar. As such, many of the younger post-Beast Tide leaders question the necessity of returning to Deepholm, especially if¡­¡±

    ¡°If the old Citadels are infested¡­¡± Gwen sucked in a lungful of cold air. ¡°I get it. Nobody wants to fight the Ancestors. Especially if those Ancestors have senile Balefire Dreadnaughts at their disposal.¡±

    ¡°Any outcome other than the unbridled joy of our ancestors welcoming our return to the fold would be unacceptable,¡± Hilda traced Glyphs with her fingers as she spoke. ¡°But even if that¡¯s the case, the Dwarves of the Murk are no longer the loyal adherents of the Seven Ancestors. We have only been trapped here for forty of your Radiant cycles, Regent, but the flow of time on the surface is rapid entropy. Outside of those who had maintained the Old Furnace Prayers, I do not believe Deepholm would see our citizens as the kin of the same stratum.¡±

    ¡°Certainly, I would not be welcome in the Council of Stones,¡± Axehoff made a half-snorted laugh. ¡°My Deepdowner Suit was made here, in the Murk. No hands belonging to a blood-kin of Haj-Z¨¹l Brumdahr had blessed a single cog. The paradox would be enough to send a Greybeard into the Lumen.¡±

    Gwen offered her sympathies by giving the Engineseer a pat on the shoulder pauldron. ¡°I feel like I can guess why Hilda is here.¡±

    ¡°As Regent, your Highness commands the honourable Rat-kin Legions under Sir Strun,¡± Axehoff code-switched to High Dwarven. ¡°You are also the Mistress of the Earth Devourer and the Devouring Worm Caliban, and most importantly, Your Highness possesses the means to repel the Sinneslukare¡¯s infestation.¡±

    ¡°I do?¡± Gwen thought of her meagre spell list. ¡°Do you mean¡­ Essence Sympathy?¡±

    ¡°Yes, the bond you share with your legions is anathema to the parasites known as Sinneslukare,¡± Hilda¡¯s eyes sparkled. ¡°We know this because of the discovery here¡­¡±

    She indicated to the floating specimen staring into space. ¡°Was made possible by your brew.¡±

    ¡°My brew?¡± Gwen was now truly confused by what her short stint at Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth had foreshadowed. ¡°What brew?¡±

    ¡°The Mao-tai infused with your Blessed Essence,¡± Hilda reminded her. ¡°That was the drink that made Sinneslukare act out. Our Stone Shaper said that it was because your brew had been infused with the Essence of a jealous and tyrannical being, one that existentially threatens the existence of Essence-symbiotes like the Sinneslukare.¡±

    ¡°You STILL have my Mao-tai?¡± Gwen felt more shocked that something she had made to butter up the Dwarves could exist after so long had passed. ¡°That¡¯s rather fortuitous.¡±

    ¡°Hanmoul has a dozen caskets he has reserved for rewards and barter,¡± Hilda half-laughed. ¡°They fetch a Deepdowner¡¯s ransom in the inter-Citadel markets.¡±

    Despite her enhanced memory, Gwen could not recall for the life of her if this was Almudj¡¯s Essence, the Yinglong¡¯s Essence, Sen-sen¡¯s excretions, or something more exotic that made the Mao-tai so disturbing to the Sinneslukare.

    Thankfully, the exact admixture was no longer important, for the Essence of the World Tree that now flowed from her conduits like amber was far more potent and possessed of Almudj¡¯s extreme prejudice against ¡°strangers¡±.

    ¡°I can see why you need my involvement,¡± Gwen said. ¡°Hilda, know that for my fortunes on the Isle of Dogs and for creating this city with your sweat and Runes, I am forever indebted to your people, so speak candidly.¡±

    ¡°For now, we would like your permission to produce batches of honey ale infused with your Highness¡¯ Golden Mead,¡± Hilda said. ¡°We will prioritise this as a way to keep fresh infestation in check.¡±

    ¡°I may be able to manage that,¡± Gwen pondered the exact scale of what was needed and felt no confidence that she could produce anything on that ridiculous scale. ¡°I¡¯ll do what I can, though I am just one woman. Hopefully, when the World Tree¡¯s Dryad Spirit awakens, she could take over production.¡±

    ¡°And of Deepholm, Regent?¡± Axehoff waited for her answer.

    ¡°I wish to help, but¡­¡± Gwen pursed her lips with a sigh. ¡°Strun and the Rat-kin have served the city well as its protectors. To send them into danger in the Murk¡­¡±

    ¡°This is why we would like to keep the exchange transactional,¡± Axehoff assured her of their honest intentions. ¡°The Council from Bavaria will spare no expense in repair, restoring, refitting and retooling your Tower, Magister Song. If you are absent while on an expedition into the Murk, we will guarantee that our most battle-hardened legions of Hammer Guards will guarantee your city''s and its people''s safety.¡±

    ¡°With your Leviathan Core as a base, the Clans will build you a Tower the likes of which the Mageocracy has never seen. Your Rat-kin will be armed with Magitech marvels that are the envy of the Mageocracy,¡± Hilda added. ¡°Please, Regent¡­ Gwen. We need to know what has happened to Deepholm.¡±

    Gwen observed the intricate gauntlet holding her hands, feeling the trembling hope in the digits of the Deepdowner who called her friend.

    She had a duty to the Dwarves who had carved out a niche for her in her direst hour.

    But she also had to ensure that Strun and her loyal Rat-kin did not throw their lives away. As much as they resembled Lei-bup¡¯s Mermen, Gwen could not perceive the loss of her ratty disciples with the same casual expediency afforded by her numberless Mermen. It was hypocritical, she knew, but such was the honest desire of the Pale Priestess.

    But of course, she had another duty as well.

    As the Guardian of the Axis Mundi, she had to uncover the hidden plots of her spectral foes.

    And without a shred of doubt, the Sinneslukare featured as a main member of the ensemble gallery of villains standing along side Sobel.

    Sobel¡­ and her Percy, assuming her blasted brother was still alive.

    ¡°Can I have a brief spell to put my thoughts in order?¡± Gwen asked of her two Deepdowners. ¡°I shall give you a reply within the day after I consult those who would be¡­ involved.¡±

    ¡°Of course.¡± Hilda moved to replace her face mask, signalling that, at least for now, their conversation was at an end. ¡°Whatever your decision, Regent, we are grateful and will endeavour to aid in the construction of both Shalkar and its Tower.¡±

    ¡°And I¡¯ll have Petra Spellcube whatever Golden Mead I can manage while we both weigh our prospects,¡± Gwen felt that a good deed deserved equal kindness in turn. ¡°Thank you Hilda, Axehoff. I won¡¯t keep you waiting for long.¡±

    With mutual understanding reached, her two companions formed a laconic escort back to the central Levitation Platform, after which Gwen ascended toward her domain.

    After a performative sequence of waves and nods at her friendly employees in the lobby, she returned to the Bunker, where pressing decisions on Shalkar¡¯s Worker¡¯s Union had to be made.

    On the vast space offered by her desk, she found a blue folder embossed with a Sigil design belonging to Richard¡¯s office, that of the Central Management Bureau. In the hours she had spent in deep conversation with the Deepdowners, it would seem that her majordomo had already spoken to Natalia and made up his mind regarding how the Sparrow should be used.

    Removing her jacket, Gwen allowed her body to slump on the designer furniture the Dwarves had imported for her from their enclaves in Denmark. Though her body remained at peak health at all times, the mental fatigue of the week¡¯s events seemed to have drained the Essence from her vitality-rich mana conduits.

    Russians.

    Sparrows.

    Towers.

    Sinneslukare.

    Sobel.

    Spectre.

    The dots felt aligned¡ªthough the traceable picture in her head remained vague.

    After a brief spell with both eyes shut, she took up the report.

    To my dearest Devourer of Cities, Mistress of the Mer, her Paleness, Richard began with his usual ill humour. It is my dearest wish and direct desire that our city would possess its own information network, which shall always have our interests at heart. Therefore, I cannot, in my good conscience, allow this opportunity to pass.

    Lulan, God bless our angel of death and metal, is not a viable replacement for ears and eyes among our people and beyond. Natalia, on the other hand, is my kind of Right Hand. She is highly motivated and incredibly flexible. I have also spoken to Charlene; her crows are not averse to an aggressive recruitment campaign¡­

    Richard¡¯s prose continued for several more pages, changing from casual to formal and, finally, back to its usual sardonicism.

    ¡­ For many reasons mentioned, Regent, you MUST acquire the Sparrows for our roost. I cannot begin to imagine the dangers we may face once that Super-Structural Tower of yours takes flight¡ªso before then, it is imperative that we poach as many messenger pigeons as we can to fill our empty rosters. We need professionals, Regent, so recruit them, PLEASE, and do so with extreme prejudice¡­¡±

 Chapter 514 - Birds of a Feather

    Shalkar.

    The Citadel.

    Deep below the Bunker, set against an excavated root stem of the World Tree, a newly erected warehouse known only to the upper echelons sat in its own Pocket Dimension, gently illuminated by the subterranean fungi.

    The space it occupied was a realisation the Regent of Shalkar had recalled with the help of the Dwarves¡ªthat a World Tree was not only capable of creating arboreal ¡°pockets¡± within its canopy, it was equally capable of sustaining ¡°pocket¡± caverns down below.

    In hindsight, the knowledge should have been a given, seeing that the Guardians of the primordial World Trees forged their living spaces in the roost and hollows of their sky-spanning trees. For Sulfina, the Dryad had also created extensive warrens using the vast land occupied by its Banyan roots.

    Whatever the case for her new real estate, the Regent of Shalkar could only be glad that her Dwarves concocted the ¡°Mental Clarity¡± Elixirs as a malt beer, not red wine. The very idea that she, the Pale Priestess herself, would have to knead grapes with her pearly-white toes while dripping droplets of glowing Essence into the admixture was a commercial prospect too daring to imagine.

    She was likely thankful that the Bavarian Dwarves took their brew-making as an exact Magi-tech science. No detail was spared. From malting, mashing, and boiling to fermentation, the High Brewmaster of Mimm Agaeth Kjangtoth oversaw each step. Additionally, the water used to soak the germinated grain was tapped from the World Tree¡¯s root, creating such a dark, aromatic malt that additional guards had to be brought in to watch the brew crew if they succumbed to temptation.

    Gwen¡¯s role was to be present in the kegging stage, where a quarter-quart of her most concentrated Golden Mead was scraped from her palms into flasks, then injected wholesale into Rune-covered, enchanted kegs. A slow carbonation process would occur within these Dwarf-loved vessels as each keg made a trans-planar journey from Shalkar to their new homes in Citadels around Europe and beyond, ready to be tapped¡­

    ¡­and ready to expel any Sinneslukare squatters that had taken up residence.

    For all involved, it was unfortunate that there was no cure for the parasitic invasion of a Sinneslukare larva. Still, it was a price the Dwarves were willing to pay to ensure the security of their grand expedition back to their Mecca of the Murk.

    Deepholm.

    What had been just a word and a vague promise of the future now occupied her mind and the reports she received from the Citadel Below.

    With her support for the traditionalist Factioneers, a great change had catalysed the usually slow-roving world of the Dwarves. The less-indoctrinated generation of Deepdowners who felt their people had it made in the Prime Material no longer opposed the expedition and so mildly applauded the effort. Those with ties to Deepholm, such as the scions of Varekan-K¨¹l, consequently saw Gwen¡¯s involvement as the best chance to prove that Deepholm was a real place and that it was worth returning to their proverbial roots.

    As for herself, Gwen felt half-convinced that whatever they may find in Deepholm, the discovery would involve a plot by Spectre that aimed to further their strange agenda of destabilising Terra¡¯s precarious balance of powers.

    To plan for Spectre also meant that the expedition involved a personal commitment. Garp and Strun would feature prominently as the spearhead of the expedition, and to maximise their chances of survival, she had to be there with Ariel and Caliban. Conversely, Richard, Petra, Golos and Slylth were all secondary options as companions whose prowess functioned best in places with open spaces rather than claustrophobic tunnels. However, she would bring Lulan along, for the Sword Mage¡¯s mastery over Earthen transmutation and her close-quarter capabilities could not be underestimated, even against Balefire Golems.

    If the beachhead was successful, establishing a low-way node was only days away, meaning a supply line of personnel and equipment could be used for future operations.

    In a similar mana-vein, those same low-ways would soon bring her Leviathan Cores into the city, creating a plethora of new challenges.

    However, to enable her plans, she first had to prioritise stabilising her city, and as always, the loss of time as a luxury meant compromises had to be made, and certain actions of her chief advisor certified.

    Shalkar.

    In a district a dozen storeys away from the city¡¯s Regent, Alexander Fishenko, "Fish" to his friends, sat on the central committee of the Shalkar¡¯s Worker¡¯s Party¡¯s office, feeling frustrated.

    On paper, the ¡°democracy¡± heralded by the ¡°vote¡± of the Human citizens of Shalkar, formerly citizens of Yekaterinburg, had chosen to separate itself from the powers that controlled the city. However, their celebration was cut short by the sudden introduction of SATCOI, known to those familiar with the propaganda as The Shalkar Agricultural Trade Co-operative International.

    While the cowed citizens of their former city were far more likely to fall in line with the demands of Sergey Ivanov, Chairman of the Secretariat of the Worker¡¯s Party, almost all of the city¡¯s original human denizens managed to shrug off their socialist fervour.

    The reality of a people¡¯s revolution, Fishenko realised, was much more complicated than what they had been brainwashed to believe. Shalkar wasn¡¯t a Frontier that exploited its citizens, meaning most propaganda had fallen on deaf ears. For that same reason, asking the city¡¯s citizens to give up their share of the Agricultural Co-operative with its yearly pay-outs was akin to prying sweetmeat from a starving child¡¯s fingers.

    The delay wasn¡¯t personal greed but something the Ministry of Information Research termed ¡°Keeping up with the Maguses,¡± A psychological ploy deployed by the capitalists where proles saw the loss of equal privilege as a personal affront to their being, something akin to the manifestation of acute moral and material failure. In the Frontier oblasts, where the peasant farmers arguably had little more than their lives and the safety to work, socialism worked wonders. However, Shalkar, with its generous wages, numberless Rat-kin labourers, and intricate financial mechanisms, had founded the basic tenet of its growth on providing citizens with material excess.

    Thereby, convincing the members of the Worker¡¯s Party to renounce those privileges had struck a brick wall, one that Fishenko wasn¡¯t confident the Party faithful could overcome without drastic persuasion.

    Nonetheless, the table was set, and at worst, all Lit-Colonel Ivanov had to endure was the patience necessary for the Sparrows to rile up enough violence to establish a casus belli. Once the former citizens of Russia were maimed, dead, captured or imprisoned, the Towers could declare their special operation in full force and move rapidly into Shalkar to establish a foothold in the region, starting from the Common Districts.

    Such an inorganic result, however, was something Fishenko loathed, for he was still Fish to his friends. The old boys from London seldom saw him these days, but the occasional meeting at the pubs wasn¡¯t out of the question, especially if he provided the Dwarven beers.

    Knock-knock¡ª

    ¡°Yes?¡± Fishenko looked up from the small hill of paperwork he was buried under. ¡°Who is it?¡±

    ¡°Me,¡± came a voice that was as sickly sweet as golden honey.

    Fishenko felt his pants tighten.

    Natalia Volkova, Natalia to her friends, was the kind of woman that started as a dream and ended as an endless nightmare. Unlike Fishenko, a regulation Mage trained in espionage, Natalia hailed from the direct line serving under Tower Master Popov himself. She was a perfect specimen, both physically and in her Mind Magic, and any poor boy who found themselves fascinated with the honey-haired succubus would soon find themselves knee-deep in an ongoing conspiracy.

    ¡°Come in¡­¡± Fishenko replied reluctantly, though he had no choice. Technically speaking, Natalia was his subordinate. Yet, even when Lieutenant-Colonel Ivanov addressed her, he kept his eyes and hands to himself. His superior also told her the truth, for the female Sparrow¡¯s true role was more like one of Mycroft Ravenport¡¯s all-seeing crows.

    The door opened, and Natalia slid into view like a haughty white cat.

    Fishenko felt his cheeks grow hot as what can only be described as unadulterated visual pleasure entered his field of vision. Natalia was dressed in a sheer cotton blouse and a blue-white pair of jeans imported from the better regions of Europe. The way she moved indicated that she wanted something from him, and her amicable attire stated an expectation of obedience.

    ¡°Fish.¡± The girl smiled, and Fishenko was sure that if one of his old London boys had been here, the poor bloke would need to visit the laundry. ¡°Come with me for a moment. I¡¯ve something important to show you.¡±

    Fishenko indicated toward his work. ¡°This cannot wait?¡±

    ¡°Fish,¡± Natalia leaned in so that her heady scent, something between flowers and milk, invaded his nostrils. ¡°Miss this opportunity, and you¡¯ll regret it for the rest of your questionable life.¡±

    Fishenko found himself staring. He had to, which was natural, but he also felt uncertain.

    ¡°Is this a summon from¡­ the Head Office?¡± he asked. Fishenko wasn¡¯t afraid, for he felt they had done enough and that there was no real reason for punishment. After all, with their resources, how could the Worker¡¯s Party compete against the Regent¡¯s open bribery?

    ¡°Yes,¡± Natalia¡¯s hands found themselves on his shoulders. ¡°It¡¯s Head Office.¡±

    Fishenko exhaled. Natalia¡¯s fingers massaged his collar bones, and his stiff shoulders felt like they had suddenly descended into a woolly heaven.

    Slowly, softly and intoxicated by her gentle fragrance, Fishenko felt his body become boneless.

    Popov, eh? He felt his final doubts dissipate. Guess I¡¯ll have to make up a plan. After all, what else could he do when the Head Office calls?

    When Fishenko opened his eyes again, he knew he had awakened from an unexpected cat nap.

    He looked down and saw that he wore a pale blue patient¡¯s gown.

    There were strange inscriptions upon his back, some of which were visible from the corner of his eye.

    He was in an impossible chamber, for his prison was a small cabin that seemed tethered to nothing. Outside the singular window, he could see leaves waving languishingly in the sun, and in the air, he smelled a fragrance of verdant nature free from the human stench of the Common Districts.

    Very slowly, Fishenko made his way down from the soft linen bed.

    On the second inspection, it wasn¡¯t a bed per se but a platform of wood that was grown into place, and what felt like fabric was, in fact, large sheaves of woven leaves.

    ¡°N-Natalia?¡± he sounded out his last contact, finding that, together with his mind and voice, he was unrestrained. ¡°Are you there?¡±

    As if in response, the cabin door opened, moving with a mechanism that affirmed his suspicions of where he would be.

    Once more, a vision of femininity entered his field of view; only the dread now engendering in Fishenko¡¯s heart made Natalia seem like a nagging schoolgirl. He felt suddenly ill; he wanted to vomit but dared not show any hint of disrespect.This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.

    ¡°Alexander Fishenko, I presume,¡± the flawless face with vivid eyes spoke with the bearing of an alien sovereign from an immortal tree. ¡°Richard tells me you were instrumental in establishing the Shalkar Worker¡¯s Party.¡±

    Fishenko licked his lips, feeling that they were dried and cracked. ¡°You are¡­ the Regent. Ma¡¯am.¡±

    The woman who stood at the doorway wore a dusky blouse of pale blue and a pleated skirt that reached her knees. Her hair, long and dark, was tied with a sky-coloured ribbon. Her skin was flawless porcelain, not so pale as the figure the Rat-kins worshipped in their homesteads, but fair and possessed of the quality of a classical portrait from Pushkins. His mind told him that she was a lovely young woman, but his magical senses felt she was older¡­ far older.

    ¡°You are correct, Mr Fishenko. You may call me Gwen.¡± The Regent willed a seat from the wooden floor, then sat staring at Fishenko with eyes that made his soul tremble. ¡°Do you know why you have been summoned?¡±

    ¡°I thought I was being called to the Head Office,¡± Fishenko answered demurely. ¡°Although I can see that Natalia has not lied.¡±

    ¡°She did not,¡± the Regent seemed amused. Fishenko regarded the lithe figure of Shalkar¡¯s leader. In his eyes, the Pale Priestess of the rumours looked so¡­ vivid. She was like the personified manifestation of a beacon, a fount, an inexplicable loci. Not knowing why, Fishenko felt a strange desire to kneel and worship her feet. ¡°Once more buildings are sung into place by our Druid, it will become Natalia¡¯s Head Office.¡±

    ¡°I see,¡± Fishenko did not dare to offer a rebuttal. The prospect made no sense to him. How did Natalia free herself from the Geas? How did she survive the wards placed upon her Astral Body?

    ¡°You are here because we¡¯re short-staffed,¡± the Regent smiled, though Fishenko saw a Dragon showing off her pearly whites. ¡°We need men and women like yourself for our new agency.¡±

    ¡°A new¡­ Agency?¡± Fishenko felt his heart shudder. They were close¡ªvery close¡ªto the Geas that held his body and mind in check. ¡°What organisation might that be, your Highness?¡±

    ¡°I was going to keep the name as it were,¡± the Regent shrugged. ¡°But @SerialBeggar can¡¯t be choosers, so we¡¯ve decided on a local fauna¡ª the Sparrowhawk.¡±

    Fishenko felt a wave of weakness as the first Geas unfurled like a blooming fern, dulling his mind. The next second, a jolt of electricity entered his spine via the strange inscription on his skin. Strangely, the nausea of the Geas fell palpably away, and Fishenko found that he was still lucid and could still talk.

    ¡°What have you done to me, Lord Regent?¡± Fishenko felt his heart pounding so fast that he was sure a secret Suggestion was about to make it explode.

    ¡°An¡­ evolution of sorts,¡± the Regent seemed to refer to something he could not know. Her eyes lowered as the mana in his body began to surge, growing so full of pity that Fishenko wanted to beg for a painless release. ¡°If you survive the next ten minutes, Fish, we will discuss your future remuneration package and what is possibly the greatest Healthcare insurance in the world¡­¡±

    ¡°Your Highness, Fishenko doesn¡¯t know anyone with the Glyph Keys,¡± Natalia reported from behind Richard, her head bowed and her shoulders tucked carefully by her sides. ¡°Neither does Oleg Petrov. I am very sorry, Sister Kuznetsova. I had thought one of them might have more accessible avenues.¡±

    In the round table at the central conference chamber, the Regent of Shalkar received the latest reports from her new vice head of Security, the Sparrowhawk Natalia Volkova. Thus far, all three of Russia¡¯s covert operatives have been headhunted into the fold, leaving the clueless lieutenants and the middlemen of the Worker¡¯s Union in the dark.

    ¡°A discouraging result, but not one we didn¡¯t anticipate,¡± Richard explained in place of his new favourite aide. ¡°We will work our way up and down the chain of command and find someone eventually. Zinichev can¡¯t be the only one with the keys. No way Popov can be that trusting.¡±

    ¡°Then how is Uncle and Aunty?¡± the Regent spoke for her cousin.

    ¡°They¡¯re perfectly safe while our operatives here continue their reports,¡± Natalia answered. ¡°Fishenko will take care of the Worker¡¯s Party¡¯s reports, and Petra and I will work closely to ensure no suspicions on our side. So long as our independent briefings thematically collude, the oversight committee in Moscow¡¯s Nest won¡¯t raise any alarms.¡±

    ¡°Petra?¡± the Regent asked their silent Magi-tech officer and Dwarven liaison. ¡°Are you okay with this?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s the right thing to do,¡± Petra bowed her head. ¡°And it''s better than raising alarms with Popov¡¯s people.¡±

    ¡°Perhaps we¡¯ll have better luck with the contacts in London,¡± said Charlene Ravenport, freshly arrived from the ISTC. She was here to access Richard¡¯s proposal and submit a report to her father¡¯s Ministerial office. ¡°If true, at least one is a senior supervisor.¡±

    ¡°Tell your Ravenguards to be especially discreet,¡± Richard voiced his worries. ¡°We want to be in the shade for as long as we can maintain it.¡±

    ¡°Which is a few months at best,¡± Charlene dipped her head. ¡°But I do concur. That¡¯s why we¡¯re not using clandestine Mage Flights from the Ministry.¡±

    ¡°Then we shall leave it at that,¡± Gwen passed over some documents, stamped them with a Glyph conjured from thin air, and then swapped the folders on her desk. ¡°Our next agenda?¡±

    ¡°Master Petyr Shuysky of Nizhny¡­¡± Richard rubbed both hands together like a Dwarf about to tuck into a good keg of Essence Beer. ¡°As suggested by Natalia, we¡¯ve sent out the bait.¡±

    ¡°And regardless of the outcome¡­¡± Natalia¡¯s warm smile was full of guile and invitation, paralleling Richard''s own. ¡°I shall draft a suspicion report for Moscow on Master Shuysky¡¯s meeting with yourself.¡±

    ¡°We haven¡¯t met yet,¡± the Regent raised both brows. ¡°Is that¡­¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s more convincing if no one knows or has evidence of such,¡± the newly minted mother hen of the Sparrowhawks batted her long lashes. ¡°Our people have absolute faith in suspicion and hearsay but are always sceptical of truth.¡±

    ¡°Somehow, I find that very convincing,¡± the Regent made a face, then nodded to herself. ¡°Very well, those are sound plots. Richard, Natalia, I leave it to you.¡±

    ¡°I am confident the Tower Master will bite,¡± Richard added after Natalia retreated. ¡°According to Natalia, the man is slipperier than a Sargasso Eel, so I doubt he will allow an opportunity for more life to slip by. As such, please be on standby while we wait.¡±

    ¡°I have an upcoming expedition into the Murk with Garp and the Rat-kin,¡± the Regent reminded them. ¡°I¡¯ll be gone for some time, though I believe transit is possible.¡±

    ¡°I am confident you¡¯ll manage, your Paleness,¡± Richard laughed even as Gwen frowned prettily at his teasing title. Winking at Natalia, he continued his praise of the Regent with the confidence of a prideful father. ¡°Didn¡¯t you say that old men were your expertise, cousin? The older, the finer, right?¡±

    Far north of Shalkar, the Dmitrovskaya Tower floated as an affront to the unblemished vista of the Steppes.

    While in Nizhny, Petyr himself called his home the Nizhny Tower. However, as they were no longer in Nizhny, he felt it strange to call his arcane fortress by the name of its mailing address rather than its original denomination.

    Petyr also preferred the name Dmitrovskaya because, as a survivor whose family name was indexed in the history books, he could not disassociate the original, non-magical Dmitrovskaya Tower from its post-Tide successor.

    Indeed, the original Tower had existed long before the rise and fall of the Communists. It was part of the Kremlin of Novgorod when the Romanovs still ruled the Russian Empire, and after that, it served as a place of schooling for Elite Mages in service to the newly formed commissariat.

    When the Tide came, Dmitrovskaya Tower was one of the few bulwarks that managed to stand against the horde of tundra monstrosities escaping from the Black and Purple Zones surrounding the Novgorod Frontier. Its tenacious Mages, under Petyr¡¯s leadership, held off the Beast Tide for six months, thereby ensuring that supplies up and down the Volga River continued, single-handedly feeding the entirety of the Eastern Front.

    In the aftermath, Petyr was awarded two Mithril Stars of the Hero of Socialist Service and one Orichalcum Star of the Hero of the Federation. The metal itself was symbolic, for its true value lay in the official certification that Petyr Shuysky, last in line to the House of Shuysky, once heir to the title of Grand Duke, was a true adherent to The People.

    The official propaganda was that he had sacrificed his health for the Party. Yet, before the Tide had even occurred, Petyr¡¯s body was already in tatters. As a teenager, he was abducted by the Red Guard under orders of the Bolsheviks. As a high noble with a distant claim to the throne, he was accused of conspiracy by Necromancy. What followed was an excruciating six months of daily beatings, weekly tortures, starvation and mock executions. Once imprinted with a Geas, he was sent to the Moscow Front as a part of its penal expedition.

    Of the fifty thousand men and women sent into that hell, Petyr alone returned with the head of a Necromancer to earn his freedom in New Russia.

    He was then sent to a gulag, perhaps as a test, more likely out of spite. Nonetheless, Petyr endured, living as a quiet skeleton in service to the expansion of the Ural mines.

    At the age of almost forty, the powers that be in Moscow felt that he was more useful as a Party cadre than an Earthen Mage who moved a mountain bit by bit. He was a capable Magus by then, but the Bolsheviks broke something in him, and Petyr didn¡¯t know how to repair that which he could not see.

    Wars came.

    Wars went.

    And then a Beast Tide.

    After the Tide, the titled Hero enjoyed a short decade of prosperity with new leadership, hope, and resources thrown into reconstruction. For its service in recovering human landholds from the Beast Tide, Moscow would be given the resources and expertise to construct four Towers. The largest of the monster-repelling defensive structures would be built in Moscow, simultaneously acting as the heart of the rebuilt Kremlin and the centre for the dissemination of Spellcraft.

    The second Tower would be erected in St Petersburg as a gateway into the heart of the northern continent and a cultural and academic centre.

    The third was Yecteringburg, who oversaw the Eastern Frontiers and, most importantly, the mana mecca that was the Ural mountains.

    The fourth was in Nizhny, and the location of Dmitriyevskaya was chosen as the heart of Novgorod Oblast¡¯s Kremlin.

    More Towers came and went after that¡ªbut that detail was unimportant to Petyr.

    Impressed by his lack of ambition over six decades, the state promoted Petyr into the Tower Master of Nizhny, a Tower that, until the fall of the Urals, lavishly lived as the second line of defence against the Undead.

    It was there, in the half-excavated ruins of the new Kremlin, that Petyr met Henry Kilroy.

    As a man without outward greed, Petyr only knew Henry Kaine Foster Kilroy as a name that travelled freely through the grapevines of power. He was the man who proposed the Tower System and, somehow, transcending culture, history, conflict and selfishness, managed to convince the once-warring nations that they all needed to subscribe to a common vision.

    Of course, Petyr was a Master Mage by then, and he saw the absolute boon that was the construction of these Planar Pillars that suppressed the Axis Mundi¡¯s fluctuations and brought peace to Humanity¡¯s slice of the Prime Material. He also knew that Kilroy was responsible for the unification of Spellcraft and its subsequent spread across the Mageocracy¡¯s institutions, an achievement his salty colleagues often lambasted as a form of arcane Imperialism.

    In their first meeting, he was as surprised as anyone to find a middle-aged man looking to be in his late thirties, with a shocking head of black-on-grey hair and a neatly trimmed beard that looked to belong to the world the Bolsheviks had burned.

    What had impressed Petyr more than the regal aura of wisdom that radiated from the man like a Radiant Mage¡¯s mana, was Kilroy¡¯s student. A fair-skinned English rose with a figure like a bone china doll, following behind Kilroy as a lost kitten, hanging onto his every gesture and word.He recalled the girl vividly, for she reminded him dearly of the soft-handed noble ladies who used to frequent the Kremlin and visit his mother and aunts. Like companionable swans, they moved like liquid, spoke through tendrils of cigar smoke, and filled the room with intoxicating fragrances from the House of Rallet.

    The Magister had given a speech, and men like Petyr went to work.

    A decade later, when he met Kilroy again after his Tower was inaugurated, the Magister had aged sixty years, and the young lady was rumoured to be deceased.

    Of course, what had happened to that ruby-lipped student of Kilroy¡¯s was now public discourse.

    With her re-emergence almost eight years ago, the new darling agent of Spectre had made her indelible mark on the world by murdering the ¡°Deathless¡± Mage known as Henry Kilroy in his own home.

    And now, the world turns, Petyr thought to himself as he poured himself a stout vodka infused with alchemical vitality.

    His mid-tier office in the modest mid-section of his claymore-shaped Tower was modelled after another place of his childhood, the National Library of Russia, specifically the west reading wing. From its vaulted ceilings with patterned murals of orthodox scripture to the dark mahogany setting of its tables, bookshelves and fireplace, his workplace was cosy and functional.

    It was an apt place for Petyr Shuysky, Tower Master of Nizhny, to rest his mind and recollect past occurrences.

    On his desk was a vial of amber liquid in a mithril-laced container ringed with Dwarven runes carved into pressed gold plates.

    Beside it was a letter, one delivered by a passing Sparrow.

    In expert cursive, the hand-written letter had informed him that the shining city across the steppes had no particular feelings of hostility toward Nizhny. Far from it, they would benefit from some mutual trade to offset the escalating tension.

    As a show of goodwill, the Regent of Shalkar wished to gift the Tower Master an Elixir that could be freely traded with Nizhny.

    Petyr did not need Divination to know what was in the amber vial.

    Nonetheless, as insurance against any wayward birds, he opened his mind to the various wards in his office. He also ran a diagnostic Divination across the layers of the Tower that may have access to his abode. Finding nothing worthy of suspicion, Petyr turned his attention to the vial.

    A long time ago, when the stitches holding together his tattered body still held his bones and flesh intact, he had seen a young woman sip away greedily on such a supply of liquid ambrosia. Petyr had been intrigued, but he could read from her addled face and love-drunk pupils the intoxicating allure of the Elixir and what it might induce in a user.

    Life¡­ Petyr had learned, as a younger man¡ªwas not so generous.

    More life¡­ he understood now as a Tower Master¡ªcosts more than life.

    ¡°Gwen Song¡­¡± Petyr Shuysky mouthed the name aloud so that his ceiling murmured his thoughts back at the Tower Master. In his mind¡¯s eye, he saw the Lumen-casts of the girl¡¯s IIUC highlights, her youthful face pale with a sheen of sweat, her eyes greedy for glory as she consumed Shenyang.

    They share the same silhouette¡ªPetyr felt suddenly sentimental as he recalled a similar waist-length fall of playful hair, so lovely, dark and deep.

    Henry Kilroy¡­ He once more fell into the past, an unavoidable condition of dotage. What a creature the Magister was.

    With one swift move, he snatched the vial, broke the seal, and poured the Golden Mead into his parched mouth.

    The vitality spread across his old bones like double-proof vodka; only his organs weren¡¯t in pain, and his mind wasn¡¯t threatening to revolt.

    The stitches of his loosening sinews seemed to tighten, and his breath came easier.

    It¡¯s good to live. Petyr watched the trembling of his fingers cease. It¡¯s good to escape the gentle lull of the long sleep.

 Chapter 515 - Moving Mountains

    Shalkar Al-jadeedah.

    The Grand Forge.

    If the Prime Material was a great tapestry that unified the chaotic strands of Elemental energies of the Planes, then the Dwarves were children who plucked and spun offshoot fibres of Elemental Fire from the great World Tree loom to empower their runic furnaces.

    The unconventional method was a craft born out of necessity. Without Deepholm¡¯s natural access to the imposing heat of the Molten Plane and the intense gravity of the deep Elemental Earth, the Dwarfs of the Himmsegg had to find new ways of manufacturing dark steel and iron.

    To that end, the tragic assault by the Elemental Prince Zodiam, and the emergence of the Fire Sea had become a boon, wondrously warping the underground ley-veins of Shalkar to privilege the Planes of fire and brimstone, doubling the efficacy of the ¡°young¡± forge.

    Currently, the cacophony of multi-storey forge hammers pressing shaped plates into place was no longer the sole occupation of Golem-suited Dwarven artisans plying their heartfelt craft. Human Mages, Rat-kins in yellow visibility jackets, and even the occasional Centaur smith all plied their trade under the watchful eye of stout foremen.

    Besides the district-sized Grand Forge, in a separate platform circulating cool and conditioned air, was Shalkar¡¯s General of the unnamed Legion, Strun of Jildam and his troop from the Clan of Twelve.

    With relish, the Commander inhaled the sulphurous air of industry. The acridness burned his lungs, though the Rat-kin felt only gladness. In a time distant from the city¡¯s present prosperity, possessed by memories only a fraction of the Rat-kin now vividly recalled, Strun had been a malnourished Shadow Runner, the last of his Clan.

    After his initial rebirth, the piebald General of the Rat-kins had barely reached his Priestess¡¯ navel¡ªnow, uniformed in the crisp fabric of his battle suit, the Rat-kin stood upright and proud, potentially taller than his mistress¡ªthough Strun knew he should never rise higher than the Pale Priestess¡¯ blessed brows.

    ¡°How¡¯s the elbow?¡± The Dwarven Forge Master ran a diagnostic Rune over the rim of his black-clad plates of mithril alloy. ¡°We¡¯ve freed up as much movement as possible, though its defence has been weakened.¡±

    Strun rotated both arms, first forward, then back, then in impossible angles and motions few Rat-kin could manage without mangling themselves.

    ¡°It¡¯s good,¡± his whiskers nodded with approval. ¡°But the other suits aren¡¯t like this?¡±

    ¡°Material and Time,¡± the Forge Master fidgeted with an inscriber. ¡°We¡¯ve our Golems to forge as well, lad. The Hammer Guard and the Fabricators both, ya ken? Mithril lacing is used in all Shadow Runner suits, but yours has the highest tolerance for abuse, as per yer specifications. Go on, try yer teleport.¡±

    With a thought, Strun dived into the shadows made by a Golem Suit beside him, then emerged several hundred meters on the opposite side of the armoury before reappearing in front of his armourer.

    ¡°The Shadow Step transfer is quite smooth,¡± he felt genuinely impressed. ¡°How did you manage it? The older circuits were rather disorientating.¡±

    ¡°Some Humanoid alterations from the lassie,¡± the Forge Master implied her Paleness¡¯ cousin, the scholarly Kuznetsova. ¡°She said that a NoM working for the Regent has made a breakthrough in encoding our shared interfaces.¡±

    Strun vaguely recalled the NoM the Dwarf mentioned, a William of sorts, but he had not spent enough time in the human city of London to truly get to know the thousands of men and women under the employ of his mistress. That such a talented individual existed did not surprise him, though he was sure that none would be as faithful as the Rat-kin in taking her Paleness¡¯ desires to their natural conclusion.

    ¡°Stand still, yer Rat-ness,¡± the Forge Master commanded Strun to cease fidgeting while the rest of the suit slotted into place.

    A rebreather.

    A pair of Omni-Gauntlets with hidden Spellblades.

    And additional magi-tech solutions for the dangers that lurked in the murk.

    Not far from Strun, the Captains of the soon-to-be stormtroopers were likewise armoured for the trans-planar invasion.

    Unlike Strun, the representatives from the Clans Plithf, Chuluu, Ix and Skaz were bred and trained to be her Paleness¡¯ fangs. Like Strun, these had also been mortal Rat-kins once, humble warriors with only their bodies to defend their tribe from the ravages of the Sand Wolves, easily crushed by the Centaurs.

    After the baptism, those who best adapted to her Paleness¡¯ Elixir took on a new bulk, so much so that they became towering Goliaths compared to their small-framed brethren. Taking the opportunity, Strun had conscripted the blessed to form a Militia, which, after the formation of Shalkar, eventually evolved into the Regent¡¯s elite Exterminators.

    ¡°Are these still Rat-kin?¡± Was the question the Chief Security Officer, Lulan, had asked of Strun. ¡°Are you sure they¡¯re not a sub-species of Trolls? We fought those, you know, in Amazonia.¡±

    For this, Strun had no answers. With their Dwarven Golem Plates, even Strun felt the oppressive hostility radiating from their emerald-lensed eyes.

    From head to toe, an Exterminator stood just over two meters, a height that met the standard of the city¡¯s service tunnels according to a surviving schematic provided by the Deepdowners. Their prowess had already been proven when the Human Tower invaded, so Strun hoped they would be the first to breach Deepholm¡¯s urban caverns.

    Thunk¡ªThunk¡ªThunk¡ª

    An Exterminator testing the latest modifications to the suit thudded across the granite floor, pitting his gyroscopic enhancements against a simulated terrain made to resemble the ¡°ruins¡± of Deepholm.

    Unlike Strun¡¯s agility suit, the Exterminator Plate consisted of a brutal geometric cuirass inscribed with Runes of protection as the centre core, framed by asymmetrical shoulder pauldrons with Spell-sword mounts and interlocking plates that met the seals of both gauntlets and greaves. Its servos differed from the Dwarven Golems in that the armour¡¯s protection and assistance relied on HDM packs rather than liquid mana fuel.

    Like Strun¡¯s, their re-breather was slotted into a helm that offered full locomotion of the Rat-kin¡¯s most fearsome weapon¡ªa pair of ivory incisors attached to jaws that could chew through dark steel ingots.

    With the blessing of her Paleness¡¯ Essence via the blood-forged Mandalas burned into their fur, the select Rat-kin were largely immune to mundane toxins of nausea and paralysis. The rebreather, therefore, was present only because the Deepdowners suggested that it wasn¡¯t strange for entire pockets of the Murk to be underwater or possess no breathable air.

    While continuing the diagnostic of his Golem Suit, Strun observed the Exterminators as they came to rest.

    A pale-furred ??pter Shaman, dressed only in a diaphanous shawl, stood over the monstrous Rat-kin with a flask of Golden Elixir and a sprig of jade-green rye freshly harvested from the field above.

    ¡°May the Pale Priestess watch over this Machine and its Warrior,¡± the Shaman of the Cult, responsible for maintaining the Essence Sympathy that tied the Rat-kin to their great slumbering Worm Garp, dapped the armour with streaks of gold. ¡°Undying are her flock, who shall mark her will with blood and bone.¡±

    ¡°Yer a bleeding superstitious lot¡­¡± the Forge Master noticed Strun staring. ¡°I keep telling yer the suit¡¯s waterproof. No amount of the Regent¡¯s mead will permeate the fibre-mesh.¡±

    As if in answer, the Exterminator ate the sprig, after which the Shaman materialised a new bough.

    ¡°Peace, Good master,¡± Strun spoke truly but with reserve. ¡°It¡¯s because our lives remain such a dream. Those of us who survived the phage and the Fire Sea still struggle to believe that this¡ªall of this¡ªremains real. The same applies to the ??pter sisters, who volunteered their magic to the mistress. Under the Horse Lords, their lives were only marginally better because we Tasm¨¹yiz were eaten first¡­¡±

    ¡°I see. The Horse-Lords.¡± the Forge Master cocked his head. ¡°They won¡¯t be joining the Expedition?¡±

    ¡°No. They¡¯re happy to war against the Elementals, the Russians, and the ceaseless Undead,¡± Strun grinned, still trying to take it in. ¡°All without worrying if their fawns will have enough to eat. Besides, their home is in the Himmseg. They would wilt and perish without the open sky, fresh air, and unlimited space. Comparatively, the Murk is as much a home to our kin as the open plains. It¡¯s her will and design, I believe. That we should be so suited to carrying out her needs.¡±

    Thunk¡ªThunk¡ªThunk¡ª

    ¡°Aye, true that,¡± the Forge Master affirmed Strun¡¯s observations. ¡°Das ialdra¡¯th nunoff¡ªAll are within the Ancestor¡¯s designs.¡±

    ¡°How faire your Dreadnaughts?¡± Strun asked. ¡°Will the ancient ones attend us as well as the Deepdowners?¡±

    The Forge Master shook his head sadly. ¡°I fear they will not. Milady Hilda does not trust the ancient ones to take the right¡­ side¡­ if we are to breach the domes of Deepholm. They are sworn to protect Dwarven-kind, but foremost, they are Gevorgun Avor Kkjielth¡ªthe Custodians of Lore. Unfortunately for the expedition, the Lore states that preserving the Ancestor¡¯s Hall, its name plaques, and forge templates is a worthier cause than the life of any living Dwarf.¡±

    Strun observed the conflict on the Forge Master¡¯s face. Indeed, what made the Dwarves survive on the surface wasn¡¯t the knowledge from their ancestors but the sacrifices made by rogue Engineseers who shared knowledge without prejudice across the castes. Likewise, it was undeniable that what had catalysed the Dyar Mokk wasn¡¯t ancestral Lore but the decision made by one radical Deepdowner from House K¨¹l-Hildenbrandt to join hands with a single sorceress.

    Yet, the man was a Forge Master, meaning he had spent his journeymen days half a century ago in Deepholm. He had seen the great arches of the Ancestral Hall, the Grand Forge, the endless avenues of the Tinker¡¯s Guild, and the grand central station that linked every strand of the low ways into its mechanised heart.

    Thunk¡ªThunk¡ªThunk¡ª

    Together with the rise and fall of great hammers, a low hum began at the heart of the forge.

    ¡°Far over the Misty Mountains cold To low-ways deep¡ª an¡¯ caverns old We must away¡ª ere break of dawn To find our lost and wayward home¡­¡±

    Side by side, Rat-kin and Dwarf listened to the thrum of the workers¡¯ baritone recollections. The ballad Strun had heard was originally composed by her Paleness; only now it had become a cultural anthem for the Faction seeking Deepholm.

    To aid their allies, the Rat-kin Clans had pledged ten thousand of their best.

    In reality, the elders of the Twelve Clans had been compelled by the living saints of Jildam, Plithf, and Chuluu to commit any number of lives necessary to achieve the Pale Priestess¡¯ goal. This was because Stun had communicated with extreme prejudice that they were at war with an entity known as Spectre¡ªthe very same group who inflicted them with the phage.

    To care about something as trivial as lives when a threat would send the Clans back to being Tasm¨¹yiz, Strun had explained coldly, would incur the wrath of the three great Clans.

    For this reason, reclaiming Deepholm, or its erasure as a threat, was inevitable.

    ¡°Walk with me, good master of iron,¡± the General of her Paleness¡¯ legions gave the Golem-suited Forge Master a pat on the pauldrons. ¡°As my kin will take some time, let us visit your Hammer Guards so that your faithful and mine can work on coordination and cooperation.¡±

    Shalkar.

    Dmitrovskaya Tower.

    Natalia Volkova, agent of her Paleness, the Regent of Shalkar, sat with her legs crossed in the office of the Tower Master.

    Opposite and seated at the end of an oblong table was the man who should have been her opponent, one of the many old men Master Popov of Moscow Tower had leashed to his perverse obsession with power.

    Under normal circumstances, Petyr Shuysky would welcome her with wariness and disgust, smiling as foxes do when confronted by a fellow predator no less dangerous than themselves. Meanwhile, she would play the coy nurse while fully understanding that her role was to test the tenderness of the Tower Master¡¯s hidden sores and welts. For hours, perhaps days or weeks, their waltz would continue until she received what she wanted, or in some cases, perish mysteriously by falling out of the Tower¡¯s windowless exterior.

    However, the two faced each other now with a sincerity neither could have fathomed a fortnight ago.

    Their mutual amicability was due to the five golden vials that lined the tabletop.

    One vial for one week.

    These were not extensions of life, at least not to the degree that Petyr Shuysky would require to appear anything less than a desiccated skeleton held together with twine. To Natalia¡¯s knowledge, the Golden Mead gave the Tower Master warmth, sleep, and a thankful cessation to the bone-deep ache gifted by his penal years in the depths of the Siberian Black Zone.

    For that, the man had her genuine respect.

    In her former circle, Petyr Shuysky was infamously immune to the transactional allure of HDMs, men, women, children, Magical Items, and power itself. His nickname in the shadowy world of Moscow¡¯s inner circles was that of a tired Zmei who only sought to slumber.

    That a panacea for joint pain was what finally moved the Tower Master would have sent shockwaves through all of Moscow. It was just as well, for only those who had experienced the existential salvation of the Pale Priestess¡¯ bodily fluids could have realised its seductive potency.

    Natalia habitually smiled as she spoke. For her purpose, she wore the Officer¡¯s Uniform of the judicial branch, holding the rank of Deputy Aide to the Office of the Secretariat. The dress uniform was tailored to fit her figure, consisting of a double-breasted coat in obsidian tapered by a stocky, tanned leather belt, beneath which her ballerina¡¯s figure extended from a thigh-length skirt ending in a pair of cobra-headed heels.

    It was not a uniform a young woman in her twenties should possess¡ªand for those who knew, they knew better than to question a young woman whose unofficial designation opened doors, mouths, and minds.

    ¡°Master Shuysky,¡± she purred. ¡°Our mistress wishes to inform you that the Leviathan Cores will arrive in Shalkar within the next two days. She would like your advice on how we may¡­ secure the procedures.¡±

    Petyr Shuysky¡¯s milky eyes, unlike those of younger men, older men, and sometimes the women in the Party, communicated no emotion that would indicate unrest or surprise.

    ¡°May we know your orders?¡± Natalia politely bowed her head. Originally, if Petyr Shuysky had rejected the offer of the Golden Mead, Natalia would have reported the man for receiving them anyway. Now, the situation on the surface was that it was ¡°common knowledge¡± that Petyr Shuysky was receiving the Pale Priestess¡¯ offerings, while Natalia¡¯s report would relay the ¡°truth¡± back to Popov that no such thing had occurred in the limited knowledge of the Sparrows.

    The reversal of reality, Natalia knew, was the only way the Muscovites understood the world, for their trust in contrarian truth was always firmer than a convergence of overt and covert observations.

    Conversely, having her soul shackled to a benevolent tyrant was strangely liberating, for she spoke the truth without reserve to her new mistress, and both understood, without a shadow of a doubt, that Natalia truly believed in her words. Trusting in one¡¯s superior and being trusted in turn was a strange drug, one that even now made her fingers shake and tremble¡ªassuming she hadn¡¯t mistaken the euphoria for residual trauma from her forced liberation.This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

    ¡°The Towers are waiting,¡± Shuysky finally cracked a smile. ¡°Eyes from up on high await the opportunity to take everything.¡±

    ¡°Everything?¡± Natalia was not privy to the minds of the inner circle.

    ¡°The city, we cannot take, but we can portion,¡± Shuysky explained by drawing a ring of glow mana in the air, demonstrating a mastery of the craft that Natalia could only begin to dream. ¡°The Federation and its crony states have recognised the Workers Party, so the Mageocracy cannot deny that there is, at least, the possibility of a legitimate claim. During the invasion, both Novosibirsk and Nizhny will move to occupy the outskirts of Shalkar. We will, of course, avoid casualties and damage by broadcasting a message of peace¡ªwhile the workers inside the city will answer our call.¡±

    You mean, answer the call of Mind Magic¡­ Natalia felt a cruel humour take to her chest. Originally, that was how they would have played it. When the moment arrived, a Mass Suggestion aided by the Colonel¡¯s planted Party members will drive its people against the Rat-kin and the Centaur, using their unarmed bodies to clear a path for the entry of Moscow¡¯s ¡°peacekeepers¡±.

    ¡°One of our Towers will tap into the ley below the land, and the disruption of Shalkar¡¯s Dwarven network will allow for more reasonable land negotiations. Of course, that¡¯s only the beginning of our special operation.¡±

    Natalia nodded. ¡°The Cores.¡±

    ¡°Indeed, little bird,¡± Shuysky seemed in a good mood. ¡°The true prize is the Cores, especially the news that the Core of a Mythic will soon arrive.¡± Natalia furrowed her brows. The Regent had said everything was under wraps and kept in the dark by the Duke of Norfolk¡¯s Department of Foreign Affairs.

    ¡°Oh, don¡¯t act so surprised,¡± the Tower Master snickered. ¡°The Foreign Affairs ministry isn¡¯t nearly as watertight as it thinks, no less thanks to creatures like yourself. Isn¡¯t that obvious?¡±

    Natalia conceded that, indeed, even with the Sparrows soon to be picked up and sent to the Pale Priestess, there was no way of knowing how many more there were in their decentralised network. Just as only Ravenport could operate the catacomb archives beneath Westminster, only Master Popov or henchmen like Oleg Zinichev knew the true extent of their half-century-spanning operation. If the rumours were true, it meant some Sparrows genuinely did not know their occupation.

    ¡°So we have casus belli to take the city,¡± Shuysky continued like a lecturer of upper-tier magics, marking each point with floating mana. ¡°Now, we need casus belli to take the Core. Currently, this Core belongs to the Regent and, by technical extension, to the Mageocracy. This item cannot be robbed like some common HDM mine, little bird, do you understand?¡±

    Natalia nodded, feeling thoroughly schooled. She might be an expert in her field, but her stage, she realised, was a plank in the dancing lounge of a mining town, while the Tower Master¡¯s stage was that of the Grand Moscow Opera.

    ¡°But what if, as she fully intended, they were to put the Core into the existing superstructure of a Tower that¡¯s been stripped and retooled? If you didn¡¯t know, Yekaterinburg is one of the four creations the Regent¡¯s Master, Henry Kilroy, crafted for Moscow to secure its allegiance to the global network. The materials contained therein, the whalebone, if you can imagine, is a product of time that your Regent cannot afford. Therefore, if she wishes to have a Tower to battle Elizabeth Sobel, her only recourse is to take the shortcut.¡±

    ¡°And therein lies the cause¡­¡± Natalia realised finally the great game of chess Popov had coaxed into being.

    ¡°Yes,¡± Shuysky willed one of the bottles to drift through the air and into his hand. Unstoppering the cap and taking a gentle sip, his face returned to its usual placidity. ¡°Once that Core is installed into the Tower, but before the Tower could be operational, we will checkmate its creator. More important than the city itself, Novosibirsk and Nizhny will secure the newly constructed Tower and move it out of Shalkar and into Russian landholds. We will claim that we are retrieving our rightful property¡ªand that if the Mageocracy doesn¡¯t wish for a total war that would paralyse the defence of the Eastern Front, they should swallow their pride and blame it on the incompetence of their Regent.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s¡­ very good,¡± Natalia felt goosebumps run up and down the length of her bare thighs.

    ¡°Of course, the Regent has rebuked us well, perhaps without even realising it,¡± Shuysky exhaled as each of the golden vials de-materialised into his storage ring. ¡°I don¡¯t know nor care how she came to overcome your Geas, but she did, and that¡¯s all that matters. There will be no revolt in Shalkar to welcome Novosibirsk or myself¡­¡±

    The Tower Master nodded with pleasure. ¡°¡­and no Nizhny to play fodder for Novosibirsk when they march on the fabrication site. How would that play out, I wonder. Does your Regent have a plan to contain Moscow¡¯s dismay?¡±

    ¡°I am¡­ unlearned in the Great Game,¡± Natalia confessed, her face suddenly hot. ¡°I do not know and cannot guess, but I think you know the answer.¡±

    ¡°As I should,¡± the Tower Master concurred with her self-assessment. ¡°Has your Regent agreed to shelter this old man?¡±

    ¡°A residence decorated to your every whim will be provided at the topmost layer of the canopy,¡± Natalia confidently replied. ¡°You will be neighbours to Dragons, my Duke, and enjoy every mote of rejuvenation the World Tree Tower¡¯s country club and exclusive spa can provide its VIP residents.¡±

    The words coming out of Natalia¡¯s mouth made Shuysky chortle and snort. Natalia also knew how unnatural these capitalist buzzwords sounded when coming from the mouth of a former Sparrow. Still, those were the vernacular the Regent had picked to present her case.

    ¡°Let¡¯s say I renege on our deal and Moscow preemptively attacks,¡± Shuysky continued to pry into her knowledge of the Regent¡¯s plans. ¡°What are your countermeasures? Nizhny will teleport in-between the city and the construction site, while Novosibirsk, I believe, will try to rob what it may.¡±

    Natalia took a deep breath. For this, she had prepared a canned answer from the Regent herself.

    ¡°Esteemed Tower Master,¡± the Sparrowhawk recounted her Paleness¡¯ words. ¡°The Regent has asked me to relay, I quote, ¡¯if Moscow dares to teleport into my city, they shall witness the firepower of a fully armed and operational battle station.¡¯¡±

    She even mimicked the strange cackle that her Regent had used to send a peculiar, otherworldly chill up her spine.

    ¡°¡­ What does that mean?¡± The Tower Master stared at Natalia. ¡°Are your defences ready?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± Natalia lied as easily as she breathed. In truth, she had no idea.

    The Tower Master sat for several long seconds, studying Natalia¡¯s face as if his gaze might peel off her skin so he could get a finer grasp on her involuntary facial twitches.

    ¡°I am satisfied,¡± Tower Master Shuysky said at least. ¡°Tell your Regent I look forward to meeting her in person one day.¡±

    Natalia stood and bowed.

    ¡°What will her people tell Popov?¡± Shuysky remarked as she turned to leave. ¡°How long do you believe the man will remain fooled?¡±

    ¡°As long as our numbers are few,¡± Natalia spoke the truth. She understood the old pervert¡¯s rage and insecurities as well as any Sparrow reared in his roost. ¡°And when he does discover that your eminence has retired to greener pastures, I anticipate the Sparrows won¡¯t even be a concern, for the Moscow shall experience a Purge the likes of which only Comrade Stalin could rival.¡±

    Shalkar.

    The outer districts.

    Having seen the construction of Tonglv Canal and the Isle of Dogs, Gwen was no stranger to megastructures under her management. Nonetheless, the ¡°canal¡± dock that the Dwarves had excavated to construct her Tower was an impressive footnote for future historians.

    From the southernmost ingress to the thalweg and back to the surface, the ¡°ship dock¡± was over two kilometres long, dipping almost two hundred meters at its sheerest pitfall and spanning just over three hundred meters at its rear.

    Presently, an impressive delegation consisting of all of Shalkar¡¯s key members, as well as the majority of the Engineseers who volunteered their time from the Citadel Beneath, waited at the northern end of the construction site for a critical component that has taken almost a month and a half to arrive.

    From the depth of the Fifth Vel, the excavated Core of the unknown Ancient Leviathan had traversed across the oceans to Burma and, from the Dyar Mokk, traversed the rails of the low way across the compressed space of the Murk.

    To service it, kilometres of cables emerged from their low-way node points, and hundreds of Golems, thousands of Golem suits, and tens of thousands of Rat-kin had been put in place by an army of civil engineers.

    Even at a glance, the Regent of Shalkar could count no less than four Fabricator Engines, each made to look like building-sized isopods, crawling over the skeletal superstructure of her future Tower. In the wake of their passage, dozens of Golems and entire swarms of multi-specie labourers in Golem suits moved to rivet, weld and press plates and pulleys for the next stage of construction.

    At every interval, Levitation Engines of Dwarven design used to move the Dyar Mokk¡¯s transit systems hovered and sparked, undergoing rigorous testing procedures under the judgemental eye of their Dwarven Engineseers. Each was the weight of a dozen Battle Golems, and each, if taken apart and sold on the Grey Market, could satisfy the monthly budget of an Orange Zone Frontier.

    Across the chasm, Rat-kin in wired suits drifted without weight through the Tower¡¯s skeleton, floating like motes of shifting mana as they crossed the crescent arches of steel and alloy. In combination, the Rat-kin looked like they were strands of spider silk, slipping across space like mercury across a circuit board, their cross-crossing paths making the likeness of a Kandinsky masterpiece.

    Concurrently, deeper in the recesses of the construction site, Spellblades akin to the artillery pieces installed on the Bunker¡¯s perimeter rested in segments and pieces, waiting for the arrival of its energy source. These alone would have made the Tower of Shalkar unique, for traditional Towers emphasised their firepower via amplifying Mandalas, making Strategic Class magic such as Meteors Shower possible. Comparatively, the highly mobile, cruiser-like design of Shalkar serviced a multi-specie crew and a Tower Master whose Void Magic would likely kill her outright if amplified by a magnitude of a hundred through an offensive Mandala.

    More impressive still, half-finished, was an experimental mass inducer fed by four giant rails. Once tethered to a Core of the correct Elemental alignment, its Dwarven artificers promised an effect similar to the Marshal¡¯s Panzerschreck, whereupon a meteoric mass would be launched from the Tower¡¯s midst in mimicry of the Mageocracy¡¯s strategic staple, ¡°Meteor¡±.

    Finally, from the forecastle to aft, a set of rails that could have housed the infamous Schwerer Gustav lay oiled and humming, awaiting the floating cargo barge. At its end, a nest of cables connected to complex plates riddled with Mandala inscriptions laid like the splayed shell of an enormous ostrich egg anticipating the arrival of its yolk.

    To Shalkar¡¯s Regent, the work at the Isle of Dogs had involved more people, but none of it had been laid bare like this, and for that, Gwen could only bathe in the surreal understanding that this was happening by her will and desire.

    CRUNK¡ªCRUNK¡ªCRUNK¡ª the great cog gate began to turn, heralding the arrival of an object uniquely possessed by Gunther and herself.

    As the helix spiral shunted itself like the opening of a gargantuan mechanical iris, Gwen saw the familiar spear tip of her precious Superstructural Core, still engraved with half-completed Runes of Necromantic script.

    Below, the strong scent of sea spray quickly invaded the dry air of Shalkar, followed by the unmistakable stink of fish and algae.

    Lei-bup, Ambassador and leader of the Fifth Vel, emerged on a platform wreathed in coral, bathing in the light of a world that was the inverse of the Mer¡¯s deep sea abode.

    ¡°Holy fuck, that¡¯s Lei-bup?!¡± Richard blurted out in surprise at the imposing physicality of the grotesquely rotund squid creature that waved at them with all two dozen of its tentacles, some of which even had eyes of their own. ¡°What the hell happened to the funny fish guy?¡±

    ¡°He found religion,¡± Gwen evasively explained, unable to find the Human words necessary to explain the exact occurrences that had led to Lei-bup¡¯s ascension.

    As she spoke, the crow that had been perched on her shoulder took flight, joining the great wheeling shadows of Harpies and a Thunder Dragon that patrolled the construction site, keeping an eye out for any wayward magical signatures that implied a Tower may be teleporting into range.

    From either side of her High Priest, two Crab-kin who could give Dwarven Golems a run for their weight in Mithril stood side by side, each claw clutching a different death-dealing implement. There was also a small entourage of Mermaids¡ªSea Witches on exchange whose magic would link the space between her two realms.

    ¡°You spent a year with¡­ Mr Lei-bup?¡± Besides Gwen, Slylth looked a shade greener than his usual pinkish self. ¡°My God, its pustules are incubating something¡­ I think an eye¡­why does it have your eyes¡­¡±

    ¡°Lord Lei-bup doesn¡¯t look so bad¡­¡± Lulan appeared to measure the creature only by her knowledge of its loyalty.

    Besides her, Petra winced, then redoubled her attention on the mountain-sized Creature Core she would be working on for the foreseeable future.

    In her white-gold Elven tunic designed for visual impact while in flight, Gwen signalled her fellows to follow her lead as she descended toward the encroaching platform. Upon closer inspection, she realised the living platform was alive. Someone had fastened a set of rail lifts onto an enormous Rock Crab, including the repulser generators that made the platforms float, turning the ocean giant into an impossible cybernetic construct.

    The closer and lower she descended, the larger her Leviathan Core seemed to grow until she felt entirely overshadowed by the imposition of its awesome presence.

    ¡°Lei-bup!¡± Her voice echoed across the canyon. ¡°It is a surprise to see you again so soon, but on behalf of my companions and the people of our home, allow me to welcome the Fifth Vel to Shalkar!¡±

    The welcoming of the delegation from the Fifth Vel took up the next six hours, a benefit Gwen had to afford her guests because the METRO would soon be releasing a worldwide exclusive on the creature known as Lei-bup, as well as revealing finally that the Mageocracy now has a foothold in the Elemental Plane of Water.

    The revelation had been decided after much consultation between Shalkar and the Mageocracy¡¯s Foreign Office, who eventually relented that their security was not as watertight as previously imagined.

    Thanks to Natalia¡¯s tipoff, Duke Ravenport secretly performed a Purge through the rank and file. However, no one could be exactly sure of the surviving members and their loyalty, for London and its allies respected the rules to limit the use of Mind Magic, believing that the seldomness by which they were forced to cross certain lines differentiated them from the barbarians to the east.

    Nonetheless, the Office of Foreign Affairs had kept enough secrets under wraps that the naval segment of the Leviathan Core¡¯s journey had been peaceful, and its Burmese transit point had seen no complications¡ªthough Gwen was sure that Ruxin, rather than the Foreign Office, was the one to be credited.

    Now that the Core had arrived, it would take months to almost a year to be fitted, followed by a second year before the Tower would take its maiden flight. Gwen had no idea how much time she had until the next calamity orchestrated by Spectre, though between the dead Kirin in Tianjin, the obliterated city in the Deep Vel, and her expedition to find the Squid-lich and its tentacled ilk, she was confident of the wait she could afford.

    At any rate, she had to be patient.

    Then, assuming no Russians launched their assault, Sanari would arrive to layer a cocoon of the World Tree¡¯s roots over the Necromancy scars lining the entire length of her precious Core. Where the original intent of the Followers of Juche was to flood the Core with Negative Energy, they would now fill it with Essence and Mana from Sulfina, transforming its interior into something of a pocket extension of the World Tree itself.

    Therefore, her Tower would truly be a multi-species marvel armed by Dwarven Runes, fuelled by a Leviathan Core, infused by Elven Druidism, and interlinked by herself, a Human sorceress.

    Ironically, when she questioned Duke Ravenport on why the Mageocracy had been so kind as to lend her such limitless authority over a floating vessel of mass destruction, the Duke explained that it was precisely because no one else could ever use her Tower.

    ¡°You think we would want to build a Tower like yours?¡± The Duke had scoffed. ¡°We do, but who is willing to risk it? What if the Dwarves fall foul of your future actions? What if the Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar, as they ought to do, lose interest? What is the Mageocracy to do with the most expensive hunk of precious metal ever crafted? What shall we do with a spent Leviathan Core that cannot be repurposed?¡±

    That and the fact that Gwen had proven beyond the shadow of a doubt that a force like herself was necessary against the machinations of Spectre. For all the harnessed power of the Britannic Mageocracy from its academia, men at arms and expedition fleets, theirs were the resources of a waning Empire.

    Gwen¡¯s Tower, meanwhile, was partially subsidised, majority self-funded, and Shalkar itself maintained the Tower¡¯s upkeep. Most importantly, any member of her Tower that may lose their life was accountable to the Regent, freeing the Mageocracy from the burdens of its highly politicised veteran affairs.

    ¡°Magister Edwards!¡± Gwen held the hand of her right-hand man, feeling guilty as his hairless scalp reflected the light from the lumen globes. ¡°You have done such a fine job, my good man. I am eternally grateful.¡±

    Olly Edward escaped her feigned empathy, subconsciously brushing down his non-existent hair like a man experiencing phantom limb. ¡°It was stressful at times, but I am glad we managed to make it. But what about our neighbours?¡±

    ¡°Ah, that¡¯s why we¡¯re here,¡± Gwen indicated to the cosmopolitan bodies that formed her inner circle. ¡°Come, we will take a picture together, all of us. Once the junket is done, we¡¯ll retire to the canopy for discrete discussions. A lot has happened in the month and a half, and there¡¯s much to know.¡±

    With Shalkar¡¯s deep pockets, the pavilion set up to announce its new venture was a semi-permanent structure intended to be a public function hall. The outer structure was a construct of living wood in ash blonde, while between the building¡¯s ribs, the panes were not glass but near-transparent foliage reinforced by Sanari¡¯s Druidic magic to ward away or let in the weather. The interior was enormous, though largely unfurnished, perfect for housing the Mermen alongside Centaurs, Rat-kin, Dwarves, Junket Reporters and two Dragons.

    The Dwarves, as expected, kept to themselves in their cliques, with only ¡°Ambassador¡± Axehoff splitting from the multitude of armoured robes to give a speech on the Cores and the construction progress. The odd one out among the stout party was a striking human Magus, dressed similarly in the cog-themed fashion of the Engineseers, attending her teachers with rapt attention so that their flagons never stayed empty for long.

    Golos and Slylth paced beside one another. One was a blue giant as tall as a Strider Golem, half covered in scales that glimmered, while his roughly chiselled face possessed a jaw that could grate Dwarf Bread. Compared to his Wyvern days, he was finely tuned as a Thunder Dragon, drawing admiring glances from the human females in the room. His companion was of nobler blood, though his human form was modest and unassuming, and only a few knew of the true identity of the scarlet-robed Magister from Scotland. Though Slylth desired to be closer to his Regent, the foetid scent of Elemental Water radiating from their guests kept him distant and impatient.

    Further down and closer to the food tables was the city¡¯s Marshal, the ever-stoic Lulan Li in a figure-fitted dress uniform, presently made less intimidating by enormous plates of buffet food. Besides her was her nondescript brother, who now split his time between Shalkar and Shanghai as a liaison between the trading partners.

    Past the food table was a circle of admirers three bodies deep, forming a semi-circle around the tranquil, silent form of Sanari, Hierophant Druid of Tyfan. As a giantess mute, she answered every question with gentle nods of her elegant head, her metallic eyes seeing through rather than at her mortal audience.

    Finally, the sunken dais with its conjured brine allowed the Mermaids, the Crab-kin and Lei-bup a measure of comfort out of the water, with Gwen, Richard and other visitors entering and leaving using levitation or flight.

    And here and there, flittering like butterflies, were members of the press, stopping here and there to descend upon the city¡¯s management as they delivered canned quotes to the printing press to be delivered to every continent.

    The hours continued, and the junket continued until finally, the Regent closed the function with a question.

    ¡°This route to the Fifth Vel will change oceanic trade forever¡ª!¡± the Regent of Shalkar promised readers from Sydney to Sweden. ¡°Imagine for a moment, the potential customers curious for the goods and services of the surface! Imagine, for a moment, the boundless volumes of resources found in the limitless space of the Elemental Plane of Water! Yes¡ªShalkar has found a new trading partner. Yes¡ªwe¡¯ve begun trading with a traditionally hostile foe¡ªso let me ask you this. If one journey to the depth was enough to find a Leviathan Core for the Tower of Shalkar¡ªwho knows what other wonders may lie in the Vels?¡±

    The point, as she strongly emphasised for the METRO, was that with the Fifth Vel acting as a trading station, facilities friendly to the physiology of Humans could finally be constructed in the Elemental Plane of Water, meaning for the first time in the Mageocracy¡¯s history, private enterprises could fund expeditions, or organise trading hubs with the Mer.

    Tired as the Regent felt, she understood that a new chapter would soon begin for her Shining City on the Hill. Her Tower, the Leviathan Cores, the expedition to Deepholm, the Russians¡­ whatever happens next, she could only do her very best, knowing that whatever the result¡ªit would change her world and theirs¡ªforever.

 Interlude: Percyéˆ¥æªš Series of Unfortunate Events

    Below from Shalkar, through the cool crust of Elemental Earth and the warm mantle, traversing the churning molten heart of the Elemental Plane of Magma, lay a dormant expanse of forests and greenery greater than the continental home of the Regent and vaster than the entirety of the Britannic Mageocracy¡¯s total landholder.

    To the American Empire bubbling forth in the north, this continent of greenery was the heart of a terrifying Black Zone where even darkness fears to tread. Even during the Age of Discovery, where men from every civilisation sought to breach its walls of wood, they made no further progress than the coasts, succeeding only where the canopy receded and gave way to rich tablelands.

    Now, again and again in the golden age of Spellcraft, with its Golems and cataclysmic Towers capable of uprooting mountains, no local or imperial state possessed the means to breach its walls.

    Therefore, only select intellectuals of academia knew of its existence, romantically dubbing the Black Zone Amazonia, after the fabled city of the men-napping sorceresses who ruled an island kingdom in the old tales of the weaver, Homer. The exoticism was because the Spanish wayfarer Francisco de Orellana, one of the first Humans to attempt to map the outskirts of the Wall of Woods, returned deranged from his expedition, raving about svelte obsidian goddesses wielding the power of the Elements, simultaneously weaving webs of barbed silk from a plethora of lithe limbs. While few believed the delirious explorer in the Age of Discovery, subsequent expeditions by the Mageocracy and, later, the Beast Tide itself all but confirmed what darkness Amazonia¡¯s canopies hid for its timid neighbours.

    For those living above its shadow, the Peruvian monarchs of old call the Black Zone ukhu pacha, ¡°the world below¡±, the realm of death, home to the Underworld Goddess and her endless army of demons.

    Ergo, this Ukhu Pacha was a world that no Humans had ever ventured into, at least to the knowledge of Percy Song, brother to the Regent of Shalkar and the most wanted war criminal in the modern history of post-revolution China.

    Presently, unfortunately, the grand scion to the House of Song, cousin to Dragons and¡ªfor a brief moment¡ªVessel to a Kirin, could not spare the luxury of contemplation. This was because the young would-be war hero turned treasonous Necromancer was being hunted by a ten-limbed Svart¨¢lfar wielding a butcher¡¯s hook in one hand and a flayer whip in another.

    ¡°Salt Barrier!¡± The Abjuration had manifested before Percy even finished the final syllable. Since the day of his abduction, his prowess as a Spellcraft Mage had grown by leaps and bounds. Ironically, this was not through the practice of the esoteric craft of the Imperial Magic System but by the rejection of the system he had been taught and the connection to something more fundamentally elemental.

    A wall of Elemental Salt shot up from the white sand, traversing the shifting terrain of a duelling arena not too dissimilar to the one he had used in Fudan, catching the bisecting slice of both blade and whip.

    The Svart¨¢lfar was stopped momentarily, though its spell resistance soon broke down the wilful energies pulling phenomenon from the Prime Material.

    ¡°Orior ulu el-lizhishellia!¡± The Dark Elf snarled, his facial features contorted by the six extra pairs of compound eyes that framed his forehead like jewels of a crown, each scarlet and malevolent, alien and full of malice. This particular creature, Percy knew, went by the name of Char-bur, meaning ¡°The Cunning Venom¡±. The Rune of the Nine-legged Spider was carved upon its chest, marking him as the favoured Fang of Phyr Quar-Tath, Mistress of the Long Night.

    Percy sensed his will manifest as the invocations for Dagger Swarm quickly manipulated the shards of broken salt into something deadlier. With a life of its own, each shard sought out the joints and the unarmored flesh of the Fang, their serrated edges burring with micro-vibrations that would shred armour with the ease of piranha swarm cutting through flesh.

    ¡°Futile effort¡ª!¡± The Dark Elf laughed, swatting aside his spell with a wave of his suddenly extended whip and its multiple flail heads, taking the rest of the attack head-on with its magical fortitude.

    Percy struck the floor and rolled, spontaneously sending up a great cloud of salt particles to obscure his passage. An inch from his face, the butcher¡¯s hook with a honed edge passed by his face, its enchanted edge cutting a gash across his striking cheekbones even though a layer of crystallised salt protected him.

    The crowd roared.

    Above the two combatants, the great dome resembled the interior of a hornet¡¯s nest layered by arches and balconies so ornate and beautiful that a Human architect would weep at their obsidian perfection. Less than half of the viewing platforms were filled¡ªthough the sound of their cheers, jeers and cruel laughter was amplified just enough by the cathedral lattice to encourage the fighters.

    Percy took flight.

    He ascended barely a few meters before a great web enveloped him, covering all escape angles.

    ¡°Dimension Door!¡± The spell was near-silent, punctuated only by a final grunt.With a swiftness that would have impressed even his sister, Percy Song left behind a salt-constructed clone of himself and reappeared a dozen meters away, winded but safe.

    The Fang leapt, changing directions so fast its body was but a blur as Percy erected another shield, barely blocking a strike that would have left his guts on the arena floor.

    As the hot feeling of blood and iron filled the interior of his mouth, he felt a dark rage boiling inside of him.

    Why was he not in China, being hailed as the scion of a Kirin?Why was he not dazed and happy in Mei¡¯s lap?

    Why was he here, fighting God-forsaken, unholy monsters from the myths?

    With a snarl of his own, one more animalistic than the spider-fiend¡¯s accursed glee, Percy Song tore at the bubbling mana inside his Astral Body and allowed it to flow free once more. Negative Energy, more than he had ever conjured in his tenure as a Mageocracy Mage, filled his conduits with chilling ice.

    His pupils turned to ivory, then suddenly became black as jet.

    ¡°WORLD OF SALT!¡± The spell that made his father famous came easily and with far more potency than his predecessor¡¯s craft.

    The salt that erupted with Hai Song as a locus was pure white with a harmonious tinge of peach-blossom pink¡ªbut the rapid expansion that came forth from Percy was like black ice, jagged and spiteful, full of malevolence and hunger.

    As before, Char-bur burst into the rage of his Elemental Domain, stepping through the salt, crunching and crushing his manifestations.

    The Spider Fang¡¯s lips curled. ¡°By olath drathir, I claim you for my Mistress!¡±

    Percy raised a salt-encrusted arm.

    THUNK¡ª! The butcher¡¯s hook sunk into his forearm, piercing his armour and skin, bone and muscle until it stopped an inch from the base of his jugular. The flensing whip raked his armour, tearing off chunks of salt and flesh, sending a great flare of agony up his quivering torso.

    ¡°Got you, little flea!¡±

    ¡°Congratulations,¡± Percy felt the dark exaltation of his heart palpate despite the necrotic energies eating away at his life force. ¡°Here¡¯s your reward.¡±

    His mind twisted, conjuring up spells without words in a language no humans could speak. Its origin was a race of Demi-divine beings that Humans had worshipped for aeons until they were usurped by a greater race with an even greater appetite for rapine and usurpation. The legacy of that race should have been his¡ªas was his right¡ªbut even that had been taken from him, leaving him with only the scraps of what should have been the power to swallow worlds.

    Without warning, his littered field of salt turned malignant.An observant Necromancer would have dubbed the effect Life Drain, a staple of Necromancy taught to neophytes, though this was something so potent that it resembled the higher-order spell, Vampiric Touch.

    Yet, no Necromancer, not even the Masters of Soul Craft, could imagine that every grain of Elemental Salt could somehow be infused with the effect of an already complex, difficult-to-control spell.

    What Percy Song created was something more innate. It was an effect that was as natural as it was unnatural. What its victim felt directly was the hunger of a direr being that selfishly desired nourishment for itself.The Fang sensed that it was in danger almost instantly. Skittering on all eight legs, it sought to make distance from its target.

    ¡°Tendrils of Salt!¡± Unfortunately for it, Percy had fought enough of the monster¡¯s kin to know their reactions by now. Before Char-bur, his owner had put him through the paces by pitting him against arrays of crawling, fang-bearing creatures wielding everything from tree limbs to elemental magic. So often were these duels since their arrival in the underworld that Percy had stopped keeping count and focused solely on his future survival.

    Apart from that, what sustained him was the burning resentment and raw hatred. He felt fuelled by that broiling mass of hunger and darkness that cooked his organs and made him wake every few hours covered in sticky, cold sweat, cursing at a familiar face.

    Gwen Song.His sister.

    With the tendrils bringing to life the Elemental Salt that had worked its way into the carapace of Char-bur, Percy Song, the Fang of Sobel, now feasted upon the vitality of his victim. With the tenacity of an old Empress Kirin feeding upon the Essences of mortals by the millions, he drained all he could from the howling spectacle of the rampaging Spider Fang.

    The whiplash broke his skin.

    The twisting hook broke his arm.

    Like mince from a butcher¡¯s block, gibbets of Percy¡¯s meat landed in the arena yard''s white sand, celebrated by the howling audience above them.

    Then¡­ the strikes slowed.

    His salt armour staunched his bleeding.

    His flesh healed.

    While his opponent grew lethargic, the agony kept him wide awake.

    Salt lowly formed from the joints of the Spider Fang¡¯s limbs, paralysing its movements.

    From its despairing eyes, moisture turned to salt.

    The thud in Percy¡¯s head slowly faded just as the audience¡¯s hoots grew quiet.

    With gravitas, he made the final motions of his father¡¯s Signature Spell.

    While fully alive, for such was the vitality of one of these Dark Elf war engines, its limbs fell apart, leaving only its thorax, or perhaps torso, and its humanoid parts intact on the arena floor.

    Walking a half-circle around his victim, Percy picked up the fallen flail and felt its enormous weight in his hand.

    ¡°Greater Enhance Strength.¡± He willed his body to gain the strength to participate in the great joy that would soon come to him. ¡°Got me, you say? Hahaha¡­¡±

    His laughter echoed across the arena, answered by the cruel mirth echoing all around him.

    Percy Song raised the enormous flail.

    As each tiny head connected with soft tissue, they would instantly bore downwards, cutting out little meat cookies.Even now, they squealed and squirmed an inch from his face, beseeching their new master to provide them with fodder.

    What a weapon, Percy thought to himself.

    The weight was pure pleasure as he swung downwards.

    Again.

    If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.And again.

    Percy drew a song of pleading and pleasure from his victim to entertain the masses.

    In the fevered heat of his burning mind, he was already imagining what he would do to his perfect sister¡¯s flawless pale skin.

    Under the ornate overhang of an operatic canopy, a duo of feminine figures watched the spectacular butchery below.

    Elizabeth Sobel, Void Witch and arguably the most infamous and wanted war criminal in all of the Prime Material, could only confess that she felt oddly impressed.

    ¡°The game is yours, again.¡± The female voice was melodious, like the sound of soft, dripping rain after a thunderstorm over the rainforest. ¡°I am not often wrong, Sobel, and yet your creature has proven that fact, over and over. I feel almost mocked.¡±

    ¡°You have stronger creatures yet,¡± Sobel felt herself smile as genuinely as one in her position could in these difficult times. ¡°I ask only as before that your Highness afford my ward a tiny sliver of victory.¡±

    The figure opposite pursed her richly hued lips in thought, delighted as she had been when Percy exceeded their expectations the first time. For these long-lived creatures, surprises were a pleasure in itself.Sobel smiled back.

    Phyr Quar-Tath, Mistress of the Long Night, was one of the seven Web Weavers who held sway in the underworld that is Che¡¯ell-Cressen¡ªThe Web Spire, and she was intrigued.

    Here, opposite the Tree of Tryfan on the world¡¯s opposite, sat Amazonia, home to another tribe of timeless guardians tethered to the World Tree as janitors of the Axis Mundi. Just as the denizens of Tryfan were the Lj¨®s¨¢lfar¡ªthe beings of Light¡ªthe Svart¨¢lfar were their cousins, tasked with the same existential creed.

    Yet, the Svart¨¢lfar seemed to be beings of a different breed entirely.

    In the shallow eyes of mortal Humans, the obvious observation was that one was warm ivory, and the other was violet ebony. For a Mage who had tasted the Essence of a near-infinite array of mortal and immortal species, however, Sobel understood that the two species were fundamentally different.

    She had yet to consume a Lj¨®s¨¢lfar like the Bloom in White or her partner in Spectre, but from her feasts of the Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar in the ages past, she could tell that these were vibrant, placid beings of arrogance with a deep connection to the spiritual space of the Axis Mundi.

    Comparatively, the stock that the World Tree took to create the Svart¨¢lfar was more aggressive and malignant, genetically inheriting a natural inclination to cruelty and sadism that was difficult for her rational mind to process. Below the roots of their Great Tree also slumbered an ancient Black Wyrm as old as the Summer Queen herself, with a temperament just as cruel and wicked as its Vessels.

    When Sobel had questioned her Elven ally, the immortal had explained with scholarly diplomacy that perhaps, this was itself the way of the world. The Svart¨¢lfar was a counterbalance to the Lj¨®s¨¢lfar¡ªthough over the aeons, the Light Elves had devolved into the Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar, just as the Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar furthermore degenerated into the savage Tr??lvor, the Elves of the Woods.

    Comparatively, the Svart¨¢lfar perished often, and their ranks were refilled just as often.

    Perhaps the counterpoint was for the Svart¨¢lfar to become the new masters of the Prime Material until they, too, degenerated, and such cycles of death and regeneration would continue, and the world would turn.

    Sobel had her own theory, for she knew that her immortal partner had come to the Svart¨¢lfar millennia-times-millennia ago and began changing its people to comply with their natural inclinations.

    Thus, while the same Bloom in White ruled Tryfan during the Age of Dragons, the Svart¨¢lfar princess standing beside her was, at best, a millennium in age. The political reality of the Great Web Spire and its fierce, cannibalistic competition made longevity impossible, a trait that her Elven partner deemed dynamic and evolutionary.

    ¡°Better that I make my miscalculations here,¡± Phyr Quar-Tath touched her long, slender fingers to her chest, each gloved with gossamer and finely encrusted jewels her vast menagerie of servants dug from the depth of the Elemental Planes. ¡°Your ward has invigorated me, Elizabeth. For this, he should be rewarded generously.¡±

    ¡°The usual Elixirs will do,¡± Sobel brushed away the vague attempts leading to the eventual conversation of acquiring Percy as a collector¡¯s item. ¡°My ward is rather excellent, is he not?¡±

    ¡°He has certainly proven himself,¡± Phyr Quar-Tath signed wistfully. The Dark Elf¡¯s appearance was like an uncanny porcelain doll¡¯s, equally alluring and unsettling. Tall and lanky, there was a predatory hostility to the graceful body of the Dark Elf that made Sobel on edge and hungry. ¡°To think the Vetash of my finest gladiators would be so brutally¡­ dismembered by a mortal larvae.¡±

    ¡°Humans mature fast,¡± Sobel returned the good grace of her conversation partner. ¡°He is already an adult.¡±

    ¡°He can be bred?¡± Phyr Quar-Tath¡¯s silvery brows perked up. Sobel understood implicitly that the Mistress of Long Night was not interested in a mortal¡¯s pliant flesh. Rather, the possibility of breeding a small army of Percy Songs would provide a century of entertainment. Unfortunately for the Mistress of Webs, it wasn¡¯t Percy¡¯s seed that made him special, but a series of unfortunate events.

    When Sobel had initially disassembled the boy¡¯s mind and told its secrets to her Elven partner, they had both marvelled at discovering a pitiful wretch simultaneously so miserable and mistaken.

    Firstly, Percy Song had the rare misfortune of inheriting a constitution magically cursed by the Kirin Tribe of yore from Humanity¡¯s enslaved past, where its people existed as fodder for malevolent Draconic beings. His abilities had manifested, and he should have died in quick agony; only the timely arrival of a Kirin Amulet had prevented his salvation.

    It was a curious thing, for not even her immortal friend, who had spoken to and had a tacit agreement with Li-Rin, the Drought Queen herself, knew that a fragment of the Kirin¡¯s Core existed outside its slumbering tomb.

    Ergo, rather than Gwen Song, who should have been consumed or, at least, driven to madness by the seduction of an ageless Demi-god, it was the very unfortunate Percy Song who had inherited the Kirin¡¯s insurance policy.

    And it wasn¡¯t even the whole Amulet! Sobel could only feel astounded because the only reason the Kirin could assert a sliver of its consciousness was that Percy¡¯s grandfather was stupid enough to undo the wards put in place by the old sorcerers who bargained with Li-Rin while subverting the desires of their Draconic allies.

    And so, misfortune on a scale of generational stupidity conjoined with present-day tomfoolery to lead Percy Song to the sealed tomb of Li-Rin, becoming key and fuel for a resurrection originally meant for her Elven mentor.

    Only the boy¡¯s misfortune didn¡¯t end there.He was the brother of Gwen Song, the most fortunate sorceress known to man.And Gwen Song, from her inexplicable induction into the realm of Demi-divinity by the Rainbow Serpent to her sheltering under Henry and Gunther to her mystically-assisted destruction of Faceless, was as chosen as they come.

    And EACH of Gwen¡¯s fortuitous encounters would push Percy into new valleys of despair, for her association with the Yinglong naturally meant that a Dragon-kin famously known for its powers of Divination saw a way to put the girl to use.

    And when that girl put herself to task¡­ she walked herself and her Ordo Bath girlfriend right into Percy¡¯s moment of ascension and snuffed her brother¡¯s ambition with the same starkness as he was now exercising on the twitching body of Phyr Quar-Tath¡¯s Vetash.

    It was almost¡­ artistic.¡°Well, that¡¯s Dragons for you¡­¡± Her Elven compatriot had used their failed ignition of Tianjin as an Undead Front as a lesson. ¡°Though tapping into so much providence is taxing. Moving forward, we can be assured that the Yinglong will slumber for a long time¡­ even by our standards.¡±

    What intrigued Sobel more was why and how Percy Song was able to produce her personal Sigil in the moment of his desperation. Only the executives knew her personal Sigil, them and the late Faceless. That was why she had taken him alive, a forgone fact that she had not informed the very upset and hilariously antsy Gwen Song. Regardless of her choice of the perky little blonde priestess or her ingrate brother, she would have taken Percy.

    However, watching Henry¡¯s little pet squirm had given Sobel a rare pleasure that would only be exceeded if she could turn her husband¡¯s creature against him. That was also why she had left the blonde alive, for a Gwen mad with grief was far more dangerous than one that possessed a weakness Sobel could pluck at her leisure.

    Considering the outcome, Sobel felt an unhappy nostalgia for her faceless scion.

    If Faceless could have assumed the guise of the little blonde, and if Faceless could assume the guise of Gwen herself, they could destroy Shultz and de Botton¡­

    Sobel felt her fingers tingle at the thought. Such a complete revenge against her husband was now so out of reach that it was only a fantasy¡ªbut an enthralling one to be sure.

    In any case, she did not find the answer she sought from Percy. Even with a thorough Soul Scry that could have left the boy a drooling buffoon, she found no answers. This was also why she had kept the boy alive, though what came next was far beyond her expectations.

    The boy was¡­entertaining.

    Percy Song was easy on the eyes¡ªthat Sobel had to concede, and his boyish charm made her think of simpler, bygone days. More importantly, perhaps because of the Kirin, or perhaps this was his true talent, the boy was a prodigal user of Necromancy. While travelling together to her various appointments, she had taught the boy some spells, wondering if he would attack her, only to find that Percy Song absorbed arcane proficiency like a sponge. With the simplest invasive demonstrations, he could replicate the spells her husband had designed for her exclusive use.

    Most of all, Percy Song¡¯s inexplicable capacity for various Schools of Magic reminded her of¡­ herself.

    That and the burning hatred the boy possessed for Kilroy¡¯s kitten was wordlessly astounding, becoming a kind of psychic fuel that pushed him into realms of mastery impossible for a child his age.

    Was the boy a Revenant? Sobel found herself thinking more often than not¡ªhad the boy ironically received the same blessing as his sister from a dead Kirin?

    Unfortunately for Percy again, the sister is far more than a Vessel now.The Rainbow Snake was now tethered to the Gwen Song¡¯s Tree, and that symbiosis wasn¡¯t something even her partner had expected.

    A woman.

    A snake.

    A tree.

    Henry had often said those words, and it wasn¡¯t until Sobel became the premier partner of their humble leader that she understood what those words meant. And it wasn¡¯t until Gwen Song¡¯s bewildering success that she realised the role played by The Bloom in White could be substituted by a young woman of fortune.

    And in the boy¡¯s hate.

    His night terrors.His whimpering.His depraved capacity for cruelty.

    His madcap sprees of murder.

    She found a little piece of herself.She found his madness endearing.

    ¡°You can breed him, but it won¡¯t give you the results you seek,¡± Sobel replied diplomatically. ¡°Unlike your daughters, talent isn¡¯t assigned or inherited for Humans to the degree of the High Born. And their offspring, even if you make the impossible possible, will be sterile.¡±

    ¡°Spoilsport,¡± The Dark Elf pouted, then opened her mouth just enough for Sobel to see the hidden fangs drip with malice. When truly upset, the Svart¨¢lfar could split their beautiful faces to reveal their true selves, a sight that could birth nightmares. ¡°Lend him to me for a few cycles then.¡±

    ¡°I will politely decline,¡± Sobel raised her chin and slightly inclined her face. Against the Svart¨¢lfar, politeness is always backed by threats of ultraviolence. When her Elven friend had first introduced her to the denizens of the Web Spire, she too had to prove herself in the arena. Of course, unlike Percy, Sobel¡¯s singular display had been so total and unnecessary that she had never been invited back. ¡°Kindly do not ask me again.¡±

    The ruby-hued eyes of the Svart¨¢lfar blinked at her, its compound pupils rapidly expanding and contracting. Sobel maintained her smile as she watched a tremor of rage run up the Elf¡¯s body. Yet, she felt no need to release her Aura of Desolation, for Svart¨¢lfar had long and perfect memories, and the entire city had turned out to watch her first and last demonstration of power.

    ¡°I tire,¡± the Svart¨¢lfar stepped back, brushing back a strand of loose, Mithril-hue hair that had escaped her ornate headdress. ¡°Hand-maidens!¡±

    A flock of silk-garbed Svart¨¢lfar appeared from the shadows, their eyes firmly affixed to the floor.

    ¡°We return to the Spire,¡± the Mistress of Long Night gave the command, and her entourage instantly moved to make ready her transit along the complex corridors of the city. ¡°Summon the Master of the Pits. We will acquire a new challenger for our guests.¡±

    Sobel bowed. She didn¡¯t need to, but it was polite.The Svart¨¢lfar bowed her head in turn. There was no need, but violence respected violence in the Elven hive.

    With the Mistress of the Long Night gone from the private box, Sobel watched her ward triumphantly retreat. In his earlier flights, he had to be attended by the infirmary. Now, he could walk away with the usurped life force of his foes, his back straight and tall, and his gore-soaked mien in desperate need of a shower.

    She sent a sliver of will toward the singing crystals framing the balcony, and a row of rich purple curtains in heavy silk drew close, granting her privacy.She retrieved a Long-Range Divination Engine from her Storage Ring, one that all the executive members of their spectral task force possessed. A special invocation and a drop of her blood later, the seemingly ordinary device unpacked itself to reveal several Mandalas far more complex than the capabilities of Human Spellcraft.

    A dozen HDMs were given to the circuitry, and then, with a flash of silvery Conjuration, her latest missive arrived.

    It was a note, accompanied by what looked to Sobel as an edition of the METRO dated a week ago.

    ¡°For your new boy,¡± the note read in perfect, pleasure-inducing Lj¨®s¨¢lfar cursive, a language half-lost to the younger Hv¨ªt¨¢lfars. ¡°I very much anticipate his wonderful future.¡±

    ¡°You knew I never had a boy¡­¡± Sobel muttered sourly, amazed that her Draconic constitution could still feel discomfort. ¡°I was forced to birth a thing.¡±

    She picked up the paper and scanned the contents.

    Gwen Song.A new Tower.Shalkar and The Fifth Vel.Lei-bup, High Priest to the Mer, shoulder to shoulder with a Rat-kin.Hilariously, the Red Dragon boy skulked at the right of the group picture, right of Gwen¡¯s smiling cousins.

    A wonderful moment of happiness and prosperity.

    The Tower would be a problem¡ªthough it wasn¡¯t her problem. Another one of their members was tasked with its removal, though Sobel had little faith in their mortal allies with their mortal limitations.

    She turned the page to three.

    A double spread was there, in full colour, with the Regent in an ivory Elven dress, displaying the bearing of a Salisbury facsimile to the Bloom in White. Gwen Song, her striking eyes full of ambition and hope, her flawless complexion bright with Shalkar¡¯s future. Gwen Song, her bosoms a little too pushed together, her tucked tummy perfectly inviting, her long legs made longer by a train of living material sung into being by a Druid.

    Here was not a worrywart with an abducted brother.

    Here was the model entrepreneur of the year, the Morning Star of the Mageocracy, ready for her ascension.

    It was perfect.

    ¡°Percy, well done,¡± Sobel spoke to the curtains, knowing her voice would reach her ward. ¡°Come, child, I have something to reward you, something truly delightful and to your taste.¡±

 Chapter 516 - Murmurrings of the Mines

    The great Prussian monarch and reformist Frederic the Great once wrote volumes of wisdom for his descendants, composed of nuggets such as: ¡°An army is a great meandering Basilisk, moving via the scales of its belly.¡±

    And so it was in Shalkar where both parties had learned this lesson well.

    Each day, as the construction of Shalkar¡¯s Tower progressed and the day of its Core ignition came nearer, Nizhny, commanded by the ever-loyal Petyr Shuysky, drifted closer and closer to the agricultural tableland outside the city limits. Like a voracious hornet hive, its belly spat forth Mages that once shielded Moscow¡¯s own tablelands from the Undead, now re-tasked with the harassment of local civilians.

    These militias were met with Centaur patrols, occasionally aided by mobs of Rat-kin with their Dwarf-made shock staves, resulting in chaotic melees of variable lethality.

    Behind Nizhny, bloated with troops and an atmosphere of wanton violence, floated the fortified assault Tower of Novosibirsk. Unlike Yekaterinburg, whose origins were tied to Henry Kilroy, progenitor of the Tower network, Novosibirsk was a monstrous thing designed from the ground up with impure, imperialist ambitions. Shaped like a hovering prong with a spearhead base, the roughly Y-shaped silhouette of the Assault Tower housed both mass Mandala Arrays for the amplification of strategic spells and a separate section for its armada of Mages Flights. Unlike its siblings, it was an offensive counterpart to the stationary, defence-focused Yekaterinburg.

    The Tower¡¯s exterior was as imposing as its looming aggression, a hallmark of its industrial-centre birthplace. Upon its concrete, Brutalist facade, Mandalas of warding and self-repair, designed to reflect away the attacks of a very specific Radiant Mage, were inscribed. Its Mage Flights also wore battle armour and carried a complement of meta-magic wands, all products designed to strong-arm the Demi-human tribes and its Eastern European neighbours still reeling from the Beast Tide.

    This way, with a fodder Tower in front and itself posed to wipe away reinforcements and entrenchments, the two Towers would move slowly but inevitably into the heartland of Shalkar, this time not to burn it to the ground but to occupy its untold riches and resources.

    All they needed was a sign. A sign that the Regent of Shalkar was occupied and distracted, and they would swoop into the city to restore what was historically Mother Russia¡¯s property.

    Meanwhile, deep in Shalkar¡¯s Citadel geo-front, the same exercise was carried out in a magnitude no man or Dwarf upon the Himsegg had seen in their lifetime.

    A mining crew of two thousand Dwarven volunteers.

    Two Hundred Hammer Guards.

    A hundred and fifty journeymen.

    Fifty Shielding Golems.

    Five Fabricator Engines.

    Twenty-one Engineseers.

    Two Deepdowners.

    It was everything the Deepdowner Factions could spare, drawn from Shalkar, Bavaria, Wales, and six other sympathetic Citadels.

    All were dispersed into parties and convoys leading away from Shalkar, not horizontally, but directly ¡°downward¡± via the warped geometry of the low-ways.

    Yet, these hopeful Dwarves were not even the ¡°belly¡± that marched first.

    Weeks before the regimented departure time of each Fabricator train, the Rat-kins of Shalkar had already swarmed into the Murk.

    By the reports received from Strung, Commander of the Deepholm Expedition, they were twenty-thousand in number: The bulk consisted of the ten thousand faithful who volunteered to ferry supplies and make ready the ever-extending low-ways.

    Six thousand were warriors from resident Clans who had volunteered their best rats to fulfil the Call of the Pale Priestess.

    The remainder consisted of Shalkar¡¯s standing army, split into elite regiments of Dwarven-armoured Exterminators, lightly-armoured Shadow Scouts, the Officer Corps, and the Chaplaincy, whose role is to ensure undying loyalty to the Pale Priestess.

    Unbeknownst to Gwen, the latter was also the keeper of her sacred juices. These are the Preachers of the Great Tree, whose blessed words, combined with vials of Almudj-blessed Maotai, could drive the masses into fearless frenzies.

    In the first stages of the expedition, Rat-kin scouts flooded into the tunnels, using their natural agility and dark sight to map the tens of thousands of branches created by the fracturing of the old Dyar Morkk. Within days and with growing alarm, the returnees'' stories of wonder and horror populated the Regent¡¯s daily briefings.

    Most were reports of monstrous beings from the Murk that had made isolated tunnels into death-filled domains. A few found verdant paradises of fungi that thrived in pockets of space without natural predation. Fewer still found actual pockets of edible wildlife.

    Sadder were the literal tombs sealed by Dwarves trapped in torn dimensional tears of the Elemental Plane of Earth, with no way to escape or extricate themselves. Of these, the kinder circumstances belonged to those who had calmly accepted their fate and whose bodies were found in the prayer pose, their arms crossed in the sign of the Turning Cog. The less fortunate families or individuals died with their assailants, either butchered and quartered, leaving only armour and bones, or bled to death in Golem Engines that could not be pried open.

    A week later, deeper into the expedition¡¯s recovery efforts, the Rat-kin found signs of the Sinneslukare. The victims, for the lack of a better classification, were a tribe of wandering Fish-folk that lived in the periphery that was the Para-Elemental Plane of Mud. Usually timid, the large-eyed Fish-folk flew into a rage when they saw the Rat-kin explorer parties. An extended melee ensued, resulting in Strun¡¯s commitment of two squadrons of Shadow Scouts and a team of Exterminators.

    When finally they sought to recover the bodies for disposal, the Rat-kin labourers were attacked by worms with the beaks of squids, with tentacles that could burrow through fur and skin.

    Thankfully, the infected were immediately presented to the Chaplaincy, whose administration of her Sacred Elixirs expelled the parasites. Even so, the report stated that survivors suffered irreparable damage to nerves and their brains that not even Faith Magic could fully repair, truly putting the dangers of the Sinneslukare infestation into the limelight.

    To gain the relevant knowledge for prevention, Strun then necessitated extensive experiments, delivering a bleak report that preventative administration prevented cranial infestation but did nothing to prevent the Sinneslukare larva¡¯s attempt at lobotomy.

    Undeterred by the expected losses, the Rat-kins¡¯ foray continued. Along the way, they encountered creatures told only in the Forge Scripts of the Deepdowner¡¯s throat songs. Malformed, Dwarf-like giants with two heads stalked the cathedral caverns and fungi forests of the Murk, seeking their next meal. Land Sharks as large as Fabricator Engines swarm through sandstone-like water, emerging from unseen nooks to swallow entire patrols that had to but cut out from their belly. Legions of Mud-Gobs, savage and cannibalistic, emerged from cracks in the stratum no larger than a palm to overwhelm the scouts, leaving Strun no choice other than to Purge the tunnels with extreme prejudice. The quiet zones were harrower still, for there lived primordial oozes capable of digesting any creature, no matter how resilient, each laying in ambush in caverns as old as Almudj itself.

    The landscape, as well, was far more varied than Gwen had expected. Where the stratum closer to the Himsegg was the usual spaces excavated by time, lime, flowing water, creatures, and Dwarven colonisation, the deeper reaches consisted of fragmented microcosms. These underwater lakes, mushroom forests, crystalline caverns, magma seas and forgotten ruins the Dwarves could identify filled the Regent¡¯s desk with new assessments for her risk index and new opportunities.

    From this expanding webway, the Dwarven Deepdowners called upon their knowledge of the old ways to map out the most secure route for the new Dyar-Morkk, its path bored by none other than the sacred Worm of Shalkar¡ªGarp.

    With the pace of a slow train, the now-healed body of the Afaa Al-Halak moved forward with the inextricable momentum of a roving glacier, consuming all in its path, be it biomes, Mud-gobs, alien fungi or old runes. As a living engine, it cut a swarth of smooth-bored destruction, guided by the mind of Strun, the expedition¡¯s Commander, as he sat a safe distance away from Garp¡¯s rear, inside the shielded shell of a Fabricator.

    In the Afaa Al-Halak¡¯s passing, its transmuted mud made excellent materials for the rockcrete the Dwarves used as cement. With their many mechanical limbs tethered to dozens of Spellswords, Mastercrafters of the Logistics Guild expertly laid down the frameworks of iron scaffolding that formed the tunnel¡¯s new walls. Behind the Master, a small army of construction Golems and their Runesmith Engineseers rolled out pre-fabricated Mandalas brought to life by live circuitry that would distort space and distance.

    Once the hallowed rites and Runes were in place, a second team of Fabricators and crew completed the shielding that would isolate the Dyar-Morkk from being breached by the creatures of the Murk. To achieve the effect, they used methods long devised by their forefathers to spatially obfuscate the existence of the Dwarven passage.

    Behind all that, following the main troop, the Rat-kin legions, together with the Rail Guild, ran lines of levitation back to Shalkar, ferrying back refuse, construction waste, and the occasional rare metal and gem that Garp disposed of in its cement sludge, simultaneously ferrying forward food, water, HDMs and equipment.

    Finally, the rear team of the construction crew consisted of a team of Dwarves, Rat-kin and Human Enchanters under the watchful advice of one Petra Kuznetsova, Chief Enchanter of her Pale Priestess, the Regent of Shalkar.

    Her job was vital and essential¡ªfor her crew was responsible for installing Divination Beacons that would extend the range of communication from Shalkar, enabling the use of mid-tier Contingency Rings. More importantly, so long as the redundancies remained in place, the hybrid Magi-tech implemented by Petra and designed by Magister Williams enabled long-distance Teleportation. Unfortunately, the effects of Contingency magic on Demi-humans, particularly those with innate Creature Cores, remained a difficult hurdle, as demonstrated by an unfortunate test where half a Golem and most of a test Pilot arrived at the triage bay.

    Night by night, in a place without daylight, the path was forged, mapped by a vivid red line that snaked its way through the fog of the Elemental Plane of Earth, worming toward a rotten fruit, bearing the hopes and fears of an exiled people.

    Shalkar. The Bunker.

    ¡°She¡¯s gone to the tunnel for the day?¡± Richard asked his aide, the uncommonly pretty young woman named Natasha, now interning under their mutual mistress as a Sparrow Hawk.

    Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

    ¡°Indeed¡ªher Paleness is away from here; I can feel her blessings fade.¡± replied the raspy voice that sounded like a man¡¯s gurgled drowns. ¡°It is pleasing that our promised work is complete.¡±

    As interim Regent and the man responsible for his cousin¡¯s private queendom in the steppes, Richard Huang gave his counterpart from the Fifth Vel a warm, affable nod.

    A dozen whiskers and tentacles nodded back, together with a pair of over-large, lens-like eyes the hue and texture of runny mustard.

    Together with their mutual entourage, the two stood in yet another section excavated by the Dwarves, a cathedral cavern about the size of a duelling stadium, which branched off into additional sections terraformed for the comfort of their underwater allies. To Richard, the likeness of the new addition to Shalkar¡¯s geo-front complex was like entering into a lavish national aquarium, only the sole purpose of the Walls of Force was to keep the elemental influence of the Elemental Plane of Water contained. Once past the checkpoints that marked increasing ¡°wet¡± thresholds, the final frontier was the great cathedral that housed the trading station, punctuated by a four-storey tall portal sung into place by the Sea Witches and anchored into being by entwined coral.

    Such a feat was impossible by all measures of Human Spellcraft.

    Unless, of course, one had access to Cores from a deceased Leviathan, whose mana-sympathies with each Core excavated from its carcass allowed for communication across the fabric of the Elemental Plane of Water and the Prime Material.

    Thereby, in abusing the properties of the World Tree as harnessed by Sanari, the portal allowed for the passage of creatures up to the size of Golos¡¯ Dragon form, though at significant costs in HDM. The portal''s purpose was to establish an avenue of commerce and communication between the Mageocracy and the Vel¡ªa link that would remain so long as Lei-bup¡¯s crew controlled the hearts and minds of the Great Shoal Forward. The latter¡¯s questionable longevity was a curious debate, for looking at the pustules that came and went on the face and body of his fishy brother, Richard was sure the Shoggoth¡¯s fragments were eating the Mer alive inside out.

    Biologically, Lei-bup should just be a mass of Shoggoth-things wearing fish skin. Yet, the booming Mer was one of the chief benefactors of Gwen¡¯s Sympathetic Essence Tap into a bloody Leviathan and the vessel of faith for a billion sentiments floating in the depthless dark of the Elemental Plane of Water.

    And for that, Lei-bup had Richard¡¯s utmost respect.

    ¡°Will you return later, milord High Priest?¡± Richard found the eldritch horror endearing even as his femme fatale assistant looked to be swallowing the vomit swimming in her throat. He suspected that the Sparrows were trained for many things in Moscow Tower, but close encounters with deep-sea arcane horrors from the depth of psychic nightmares were a post-graduate course. ¡°With our Mistress away, the sharks will smell blood in the water. We are well-prepared, of course, though I am a man who already appreciates redundancies.¡±

    ¡°I am afraid I am not much help,¡± Lei-bup burped and gurgled as a lung collapsed before finding newly working tissue in a neighbouring chamber. ¡°We¡¯re fish out of water, I fear. However, I can arrange¡­ proletariat fodder if you need bodies.¡±

    What the Mer meant, Richard understood, was that the fanatics of the sea existed on a level that made Strun¡¯s Rat-kin seem like weekend Christians. If need be, an infinite amount of bodies could be called upon from the deep to fill the trenches as Gwen¡¯s liberation of the Fifth Vel had already normalised death on an industrial scale.

    Comparatively, while the Rat-kin talked a great deal, their dead and maimed are the result of the aggression of those who coveted Shalkar, which is a far cry from a direct order to pay for every inch of ground with the bodies of fathers, brothers, mothers, sons and daughters. If there were ever a true test for her faithful, only the extent to which the Rat-kin may mimic what the Mermen had already paid would plumb the depth of their faith.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think wasting lives so careless will shift the aggression of our uninvited neighbours from the north,¡± Richard said. ¡°But if you can make a persuasive play in the Black Sea where they have their sole warm water port¡­¡±

    ¡°Distance within the Elemental Plane is not so¡­ inclined to the cartographical efforts of surfacers,¡± Lei-bup shrugged. ¡°If the Lady wills it, however, it can be done.¡±

    ¡°I guess it¡¯s a complex situation,¡± Richard was intrigued. ¡°How would you do it?¡±

    ¡°Trial and error, mostly,¡± Lei-bup answered sheepishly. ¡°But the Pale Priestess has forbidden it. She says the Mageocracy¡¯s allies would collectively lose their minds.¡±

    Richard burst into laughter.

    ¡°However, if someone was to say, take one of the kin with ties to Aristotle to where she wants us, the Leviathan will find the way.¡±

    Richard¡¯s laughter fell away. ¡°Let¡¯s keep that between us. Natalia, would you kindly take note?¡±

    The Sparrow Hawk swept her gaze around the room as if to tell the other Mages present to beware! Beware! Loose lips sink profits.

    ¡°Then this is goodbye,¡± Richard parted the slime, shook a dozen appendages, then washed away the grime. Lea did not appear, as she shared the natural and universal revulsion of Primary Spirits for the Void Things that saw them as food. ¡°I am sure we¡¯ll reconvene many more times in the¡­near future¡­¡±

    Lei-bup nodded. ¡°When the Tower is complete. When our Lady holds her court. I shall be present as her minister, and the Shoal shall be her implement of chastisement both in the Plane of Water and the Prime Material.¡±

    ¡°Ah¡ª¡° Richard felt his back grow cold with sweat, or perhaps it was Lea shivering violently at the foretelling of Gwen¡¯s Void-worshipping prophet.

    Without prompting, Natalia let her companions know she was watching by giving them a smile that tightened the trousers of those with wavering hearts.

    Richard marvelled at the level of professional service his newest and most prized aide projected before returning to the eldritch alien casually speaking of bodies as biomass.

    ¡°May your return be pleasant,¡± Richard and his entourage bowed as one. ¡°And may our Lady¡¯s tentacles reach long and deep.¡±

    Lei-bup laughed at the attempted Mer-speak and the flirtatious Sea Witches winking at Richard with their triple-folded eyelids. With a swish of their tails, the Mermen leaders left for the Vel, leaving only a contingent of crustacean guards and a Coral Singer to oversee the shimmering water that displaced two worlds.

    Richard nodded at the crowned priestess, then directed Shalkar¡¯s representatives away from the intolerable wetness of the Vel Portal. Outside, Lea quickly dried the group, for only Water Mages could feel unburdened by so much moisture.

    Ding¡ª!

    The Message spells bloomed.

    ¡°Sir Slylth is waiting with Lord Golos in the Sky Garden,¡± the Sparrow Hawk replied in his stead. ¡°Shall I inform Marshal Li?¡±

    ¡°Leave Lulan to the Expedition,¡± Richard said, shaking his head. ¡°Besides, she won¡¯t be with us once they breach the outer rim of Deepholm. Our Paleness shall have her bodyguard and battering ram if she is to enter a stranger city.¡±

    Once in the lift, Richard gave individual, compartmentalised commands to his various aides from the different ministries and departments of the city, then dispersed the crowd before he reached the Sky Garden, leaving only himself and Natalia.

    The next few months would be a test¡ªthough Shalkar had progressed far beyond the realm of tests. To Richard, the incursion that would arrive from Moscow wasn¡¯t a test for the city but a test for himself as the majordomo of Gwen¡¯s domain.

    Indeed, looking at Lei-bup, he knew he had stiff competition for the position of his cousin¡¯s right hand.

    For instance, Lei-bup held a tight net over the Fifth Vel and technically commanded her largest military force.

    Charlene Ravenport and Eric Walken held the Isle of Dogs as a major supplier of HDMs and political power.

    Ruxin held sway over Nagaland, while Mayuree and Marong held her investments in Southeast Asia.

    She had lost favour in China, but her relationship with Jun and Ayxin gave her sway with the Communists.

    And in Oceania, no harm may come to Gwen without the risk of a stern, possibly fatal warning from Gunther.

    Therefore, as the man Gwen trusted to keep her city intact while she was away, he would steer Shalkar through the oncoming storm or go down, as it were, as its captain.

    DING¡ª!

    As the crimson flower bloomed beside her ear, Gwen reminded herself that, in the eventual implementation of Project Legion, she should introduce ringtones to the Message Devices of this world.

    ¡°Speak,¡± she washed away the fatigue with a jolt of Essence. The last three weeks had been an orgy of incident reports and the implementation of risk mitigation stratagems, culminating in multiple days without restful sleep. ¡°Has our expedition breached the first stratum?¡±

    The voice that came through with a faint crackle was that of her Expedition Commander.

    ¡°Yes, Regent. We have breached the old Low-way.¡± There was a pause as if someone was taking in the sights. ¡°The gates of Vrithr avor Il-jrogor are within sight.¡±

    Gwen also took a deep breath, knowing that she would soon leave the depth of the Bunker for the deep city within the Elemental Plane of Earth, embarking on another journey that would shake the Mageocracy.

    ¡°Inform Petra and Lulan that I¡¯ll be right there,¡± she stood from the table, then sent the foretold Message to Richard, informing her cousin, her Slylth and her Thunder Dragon that they now held the fort. ¡°Congratulate Mistress K¨¹l-Hildenbrandt and Lord Axehoff for me, but do remind them to cool their hearts and wait for my arrival.¡±

    Deepholm.

    The Outer Ring.

    ¡°The fabled gates of Vrithr avor Il-Jrogor,¡± said the Deepdowner beside Gwen, now without the stylised helm that covered her face. In addition to the liberties taken of her own religious stance, standing on the sacred earth of Deepholm¡¯s domain meant that there was no longer the taboo of perceived impurity. ¡°Noted in the great records of the Ancestors as impenetrable, forged by the Rune Magic of Zairic and Zethoag Gul-Z¨±h.¡±

    In a row, the expedition¡¯s leaders stood, with Gwen in her Crow-skin combat suit standing the tallest, followed by Lulan, Strun in his battle armour, Petra in her artisans'' garbs, and the two Deepdowners in their unique Golem plates.

    In front of them was a bustling scene of immense patience. Rather than approaching the gate with haste, Rat-kin scouts scoured the place for dangers, followed by the deployment of the combat engineers who cleared the fallen debris and repaired the circuits of the neglected Low-way. Meter by meter, with meticulous care, the Expedition reformed the cavern. Her rats, men and Dwarves distributed the supplies, set up Spellsword turrets, fortified the barricades, and transmuted vantage points around the cathedral cavern.

    ¡°The name implies a gateway, but it truly translates as The Iron Orbit,¡± Hilda translated the Ancient Dwarven, aware of the imperfections offered by Translation stones.

    Once, the Dyar Morkk extended as ¡°rings¡± around the city, not as a circumference but as entwined spirals that allowed transit to any part of the roughly spherical metropolis. The new arrivals could only clear a kilometre or two of the path to their left and right while ensuring that any wayward passages were sealed or guarded. Even so, the grandeur the place once held was plain for all to see.

    For Gwen, who had seen Jordan¡¯s Petra in real life, her dismay wasn¡¯t for the translation but for the dilapidation of a Dwarven World Wonder that now lay in ruins.

    ¡°I am so sorry,¡± Gwen sighed. ¡°That it¡¯s like this after all.¡±

    Even in their armour, Gwen could read the horror and disappointment on the Deepdowners¡¯ bodies.

    Axehoff was older, but he had never seen Deepholm as Hilda had. Hilda had grown up inside the Gates of Iron and had seen the unmatched machine glory of Deepholm in her youth. That a city beyond the timelines of Human civilisation would be so reduced in the mere span of forty years since the Beast Tide was incredible.

    ¡°I am terrified of what we might find in there,¡± Axehoff remarked drily. ¡°Something had completely collapsed the Vrithr avor Il-Jrogor. From everything we¡¯ve found and seen on our way here, there were plenty of attempts to break out from the outer orbital ring and into the Murk.¡±

    ¡°That, and Sinneslukare,¡± Hilda groaned. ¡°There¡¯s no denying it, now. The mid-way cities are lost or infested. I don¡¯t think Umgor ¨¨ron Var¨¨kan would have survived¡ªat least not as the Dwarves the Ancestors would recognise.¡±

    Gwen nodded with sympathy. Umgor ¨¨ron Var¨¨kan was where the infected traitors who had tried to parasitise Hilda came from. The citadel was situated between Deepholm and The Murk¡¯s surface Citadel ¡°farms¡±, meaning it was isolated and ripe for predation.

    ¡°As you know,¡± Axehoff took a step back. ¡°We surface citadels originally existed to procure food for Deepholm because the areas around it had become inundated with Elementals and other dangers. Food was one of the chief reasons for Deepholm¡¯s colonial ambitions. Yet, for our efforts, we workers were decreed as ¡®Verol¡¯ because we would be tainted by the Murk, warped by the Himsegg, changed by the light from the surface, which the Ancestors had never needed.¡±

    ¡°I am deeply ashamed that this is true, cousin,¡± Hilda lowered her head. ¡°Thank you for digging this deep despite everything.¡±

    ¡°No matter our history, we are kin,¡± Axehoff smiled. ¡°The problem, unfortunately, is what comes next. I don¡¯t know what¡¯s in there, milady K¨¹l-Hildenbrandt¡­ but I have suspicions and questions¡­¡±

    Gwen felt her skin crawl as Axehoff delivered his final, depressing rhetorical question.

    A question about food. Water. And between one to two million Dwarves.

 Chapter 517 - What Becomes of the Iron Hearted

    Somewhere in the compression of space and distance within the Elemental Plane of Earth sat the origin of the D?kk¨¢lfar, the fabled city of Deepholm.

    In the old tongue of the Deep-Dark, the city was called Dehurorhim, with the origins of its etymology in the bardic ballads of Byllelynn, one of the seven founders of the city.

    In the schematics provided to Gwen¡¯s Rat-kin expedition force, Deepholm existed as a sphere, creating what Gwen recognised as a quasi-magical Dyson Sphere. However, unlike the theoretical engineering fantasy of an astral civilisation, Deepholm was real and underfoot. According to Hilda, the Ancestors first created the city by building a ring of workshops that harnessed the heat and energy of an Elemental Breach into the Para-Plane of Magma. From that humble beginning, the Ancestors created the first Heart Furnace. This invention allowed them to tirelessly convert the surrounding precious metals into materials for the Dwarven forge capital, thusly catalysing the humble beginnings of a planar empire.

    Over a passage of aeons, each month meticulously mapped in the Hall of Ancestors, the decedents of the Seven expanded the city, exponentially growing its wealth and size. Deepholm was, therefore, a living, growing construct, where, at its heart, great additions to the original Heart Furnace magnified and transported its near-infinite energies to the surface. Meanwhile, with each generation, the outer shell of Deepholm would expand and contract, consigning the older generation¡¯s work to a place of study and worship. At the same time, the crust of the spherical city took on the job of converting new mineral veins into workshops, living spaces, and barracks.

    The core issue the Dwarves encountered, many millenniums into their prosperity, was the lack of caverns suitable for producing fungi and livestock. For this reason, Deepholm exercised a necessary but deeply dividing policy of colonisation, finding in time that the best places for the mass production of food were near the lidless world of Himmsegg.

    After that, the rest of history were rune-bricks in a yellow Low-way that led both Dwarves and Humans to the gates of Vrithr avor Il-Jrogor in the present earth-cycle.

    ¡°Sister K¨¹l-Hildenbrandt, if yer would do the honours?¡± Gwen watched as Axehoff held off the impatience of their fellow Dwarves in their Golem suits, each one eager to finally step foot into the holy cobblestones of Deepholm.

    With an air of ceremony, Hilda K¨¹l-Hildenbrandt, scion of Varekan-K¨¹l, Ancestor of the Lumen, crunched the broken gravel underfoot and made her way toward the towering gate. In her lumbering Golem plate, she should have been a triumphant prodigal daughter returning to the embrace of a roaring city¡ªonly now, the only fanfare to her arrival was the deep growls of Golem Engines, chorused by the serpentine hiss of gaskets from Gwen¡¯s Rat-kin militia.

    Hilda stepped onto what remained of a great dais, gently elevated so that the diagnostic magic of the gate guards could inspect the arrivals.

    There were no guards now, of course, no watch tower, no Golem suits, and no Balefire Golems with their flaming eyes to scrutinise the visitor.

    ¡°I am Hilda K¨¹l-Hildenbrandt of House Varekan-K¨¹l!¡± the Deepdowner projected her voice across the empty courtyard. ¡°AS CLAN HEAD, I BESEECH THE COMMUNDRUM TO OPEN THE GATES.¡±

    Together with the others, Gwen held her breath.

    This was the moment. A moment in which everything she had worked toward in the last few years culminated¡ªa moment for which the Dwarves had laboured since the day the Dyar Morkk collapsed.

    And a moment of disappointment answered only by Hilda¡¯s echos.

    ¡°At this rate, I have no idea if something or someone is in there, watching, or if things are worse,¡± Gwen remarked to her Rat-kin commander.

    ¡°The scouts reported a lack of stench along the city walls,¡± Strun replied through a Silent Message.

    Gwen nodded to herself. Having experienced Shalkar¡¯s city-building, she understood well the implications of an industrial city without the usual scents of burning fuel, onion and animal fat and the unmistakable offence of old urine. Though the Dwarves were industrious, their love of booze and bread made any Dwarven habitation unmistakable to those with a sensitive sense of smell. For the Murk Dwarves especially, introducing cheese and onions to their diet had made that smell ever more unique.

    Shaking off the silence like a haggard old coat, Hilda coaxed something from the dais with secret words known only to the Deepdowners. With gentle gestures, she activated a series of runes, then retracted the glowing rod into the interlocked plates of the Glyphed flooring.

    All around Gwen, Golems switched gears and opened fuel lines.

    The hair on her neck grew erected from the thrums of Spellswords warming up to deliver their deadly payloads.

    CRUNK¡ª

    KANG¡ªANG¡ªANG¡ª

    A chunk of the gate collapsed, revealing the moving mechanisms within. Bars of iron as thick as her thighs began to twist and retract, refitting themselves into hidden slots and nooks. The ground trembled and hummed as forces unseen began to pull at the great spiral opening of Vrithr avor Il-Jrogor. Blades of steel, together forming the likeness of a lumen-recorder¡¯s iris shutter, slowly retracted, grating and groaning as decades-old lubricants leaked from the sidewalls.

    The entrance, Gwen guessed, was almost thirty meters in height, sinking a meter or so into the ground and eating some five or six meters into the ceiling. Now that she could see inside the gate, its commendable thickness was the length of a double-segmented bus.

    Willing the mana circuits of her eyes to flood with Almudj¡¯s blessing, she refocused her ocular efforts to discern more of this strange city in a Plane far from the Prime Material.

    Each by each, sector by sector, the power inside the city¡¯s gate ignited lumen-globe after lumen-globe with its dusky, eerie glow.

    ¡°¡ªOh Gods¡­¡± Gwen saw¡ªand likewise, her entourage had seen what her enchanted meniscus now captured within their arched domes. ¡°Hilda¡­¡±

    The interior of the gate was filled with Dwarves.

    Not angry, boisterous Dwarves demanding why they were defiling the holy land.

    Nor reserved, coldly watching Dwarves waiting for the intruders to explain themselves.

    But Dwarves trapped in time, hundreds of them, thousands of them, ten thousand statues, row on row. There were a dozen Dwarves, all in armour, still in the poses of someone fighting something unseen. Over yonder were a group of hundreds in the clothes of workmen and civilians, scampering and fleeing, some clearly women and some in the short-fashioned beards worn by Dwarven children. Piles of them had been pressed up against the gate, perhaps beating it in desperation, perhaps trapped by its cold, unmoving apathy.

    ¡°Are those statues?¡± Gwen blurted, then realised she couldn¡¯t be more wrong.

    ¡°Petrification,¡± Petra¡¯s welcomed arrival managed to shed some light on what they saw, ¡°not from a spell either.¡±

    ¡°Dragon Breath.¡± Axehoff lifted a mechanised gauntlet to point from one side of the gate to the other. ¡°You can see the conic shape of the attack, first as a blast, then fanning out from left to right¡­¡±

    ¡°It should be a Wyrm, a very old, very large Earthen Wyrm,¡± Hilda¡¯s voice came through the vox-casters. ¡°Dh¨¤nth¨¢rian the Hungerer, we called him. The Zana-ulpen, he who devours the stone. I grew up under its shadow, though the Clan Head only spoke of it as a myth to frighten naughty Dwarven girls who wandered away from the Foreman¡¯s supervision.¡±

    Gwen and company waited for the Deepdowner to carefully backtrack to the group. ¡°There exists no possibility in the Deepholm I know that Dh¨¤nth¨¢rian could have penetrated the rune-etched walls of our city. Evidently, it pursued the citizens from deeper within the iron crust, and it finished them here when the Shield Guards failed to open the mechanism¡ªnot that they would have without the command from a Deepdowner.¡±

    ¡°So the city fell from within?¡± Gwen observed darkly, thinking of her precious home a world away. ¡°Someone¡­ let that thing in?¡±

    ¡°We don¡¯t know that,¡± Hilda hardened her expression, visibly packing the trauma away. ¡°We don¡¯t know anything.¡±

    ¡°Can Petrification be reversed?¡± Gwen thought immediately of the old Medusa¡¯s tale. ¡°Maybe¡­¡±

    ¡°Reversal is possible within an hour, and permanent damage is unavoidable once the golden period has passed,¡± Petra reminded her of lessons Gwen had neglected from Peter House. ¡°Those souls have been trapped there for three decades, assuming the usual time dilation this deep in the Plane of Earth.¡±

    ¡°Holy¡­¡± Gwen felt her stomach shrivel. ¡°All these people would have been alive? For days?¡±

    ¡°For weeks, months¡­¡± Axehoff brushed off a fistful of granite he had crushed into dust. ¡°We Dwarves are a hardy people, and predators capable of petrification in the Deep Dark are plentiful¡­¡±

    Gwen felt her chest constrict from the empathy striking her nerves with numbing jolts of painful lightning. Around her, the life link between herself and her Rat-kin made them all shift and whine about their friends¡¯ unfortunate discovery.

    ¡°We¡¯ll need to provision Stone to Flesh potions and De-cursing scrolls,¡± the ever-professional Petra informed her Regent. ¡°If there¡¯s an Ancient in there that can do this, it¡¯s bound to have taken this place as its domain.¡±

    ¡°I agree. Go to. Will you manage?¡± Gwen asked. ¡°You have my treasury token.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll make a trip back through the Teleportation Mandala,¡± her cousin nodded. ¡°I¡¯ll gather whatever is available now and put in an additional order through the Grey Faction interchange. Be careful while you¡¯re exploring.¡±

    ¡°I will, I shall,¡± Gwen answered, fully aware that she had something akin to ten thousand Rat-kin willing to put themselves between a Petrification-spewing Dragon and herself. Her only solace was that her Rat-kin should be far more resistant to the Dragon¡¯s breath, for they were not Earthen beings with Earthen Cores, that and Almudj¡¯s blessed Essence would wholeheartedly reject the transmutational qualities of Dh¨¤nth¨¢rian¡¯s attack. Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.

    Of course, there was one more complication.

    By her agreement with the Dwarves and the Deepdowners, her troops would scout ahead for the whereabouts of Deepholm, but Deepholm had to be first mapped by Hilda¡¯s folk. As helpful as her Rat-kin were, the Dwarves grew squeamish at the prospect that the Shadow Scouts may infiltrate the Hall of the Ancestors or that they would barge into the Grand Forge. With the gates now open, it was the Dwarves who had skin in the game and, therefore, had to risk their skin.

    Besides her, the engines of the Scout Striders whinnied like frightened horses.

    The Hammer Guards formed into two lanes, led by an imposing Siege Dreadnaught capable of withstanding immense damage from whatever lurked in the crust of Deepholm and beyond.

    Rows of miners and excavators formed makeshift labour chains, clearing the debris within the gate, together with the brittle bodies of their distant cousins.

    Behind Gwen, the Fabricators had already begun the gruesome labour of consigning the recovered bodies into the Elemental Plane of Earth, producing cubes of compressed ash that all hoped could be placed in the catacombs of the Ancestor¡¯s Hall.

    ¡°Strun, ready the men for a break,¡± Gwen gave the command as she gave Axehoff a firm pat on the shoulder to assure the Deepdowner of her support. ¡°Once the Dwarves have secured the main points of interested, fan out, and find me where that damned Dragon¡¯s gone.¡±

    Surrounded by her Dwarves, Hilda K¨¹l-Hildenbrandt, scion of Varekan-K¨¹l, daughter of the Lumen, felt utterly, indescribably alone.

    Of all the volunteers in her expedition, only Hilda had her childhood here in the heart of Deepholm. In her retinue, even the Engineseers who had spent their journeymen days at the Grant Forge did not call the city home but saw it as a site of pilgrimage. Though a century had passed since the stern lecturers from her girlhood had castigated her ignorance, she felt the dimensions of Deepholm¡¯s streets as intimately as her blood and flesh.

    The petrified citizens of the city had been a hammer blow to her head¡ªbut what made her brain rock in its cranial pod was the quietness of the industrial urban sprawl cascading outwards from where she stood.

    Here was the watch house where boisterous Dwarves moaned about the boredom of guard duty while dreaming of the pub. There was the alehouse belonging to Clan Dhukhatum, Son of Clan Namrar, master brewers for nine generations. Over yonder was the best bakery north of the Inner Gate. Its owners, Gabbi Dohl and Vozzou Amberstone, were married only a century prior and had built the stone bread business from the ground up. Worse still, she could see the familiar faces of the patrol and its Captain, Gazmok One Eye, grumpily chewing tobacco as he unscrewed his helm and made his men bow their heads in front of their Daughter of the Lumen. ¡°Yer shortness¡ª¡°The Captain would spit between teeth stained by dark stouts, grinning lopsidedly. ¡°If it pleases yer, guide yer kin to see in the dark¡­¡±

    What made her hermetically sealed armour infinitely more isolating was its internal matrixes that kept her body unsoiled by the outside world. A part of her wanted to tear herself from its tubings and emerge, naked and slippery as a newborn, to embrace the grime and dust of her petrified subjects, to cry and shout and apologise, swearing the foulest Dwarven known to the D?kk¨¢lfar.

    But she was their leader now, and like the Regent who brought them here, she had to be collected, calm, calculating and cold.

    Beyond the perimeter of her Golem guards, her kin from the Murk was carefully collecting the bodies of their deep-dwelling cousins for cremation. Thanks to the passage of time, transporting the figures with limbs still attached was no longer an option, and so the volunteer miners set to work, excavating boots and feet where possible, breaking apart old Golem Plates and War Engines where necessary. The sound of grinders, Spellswords, grunting Dwarves and humming engines brought new life to the entrance of Deepholm¡ªbut its actions were so deeply rooted in despairing death that no Dwarf spoke as they worked.

    ¡°Follow the waypoints on the battle map,¡± Hilda¡¯s vox caster informed the commander of the newly formed Iron Legion, instructing them to form into their pre-planned battle groups. With the Regent¡¯s Rat-kin having taken the brunt of the losses in penetrating the Low-way, it was now the Dwarves who must rise to the occasion.

    Their goal, insofar as Hilda had planned, was to affirm the status of locations central to the operation of her old home.

    Presently, the expedition was spreading out in the sector marked as Braeth Helgot, the Central Hall. Here, the urban sprawl of markets, bars, trade stations and tram stops for the city¡¯s internal Low-ways swirled around the entrance, then split six ways as a broad fan into the crust-zone of Deepholm.

    The second most important district was the Krikjabl Helgot, the Hall of Temples, a sprawling catacomb that stretched horizontally and vertically downward into the heart of Deepholm. Within its recesses, the Ancestor¡¯s Hal, the Mechanium Library, The Engineseer¡¯s Repository, and the Hall of Artefacts were housed, each a priceless link that forged an unending chain connecting present Dwarves to their predecessors.

    The next district was equally important, for the Stojora Hrounvor, the Grand Smithy, was a district unto itself, marking a region almost a third of the entire crust-space of Deepholm, with tunnels and networks, lifts and Low-way tracks that spiralled into the Heart Forge itself. Within its region, the Golem Foundries were a chief point of recovery. Below that, below warded stratums of iron, lay the Soul Forge¡ªthe single most important manufactorium of the city, one that could never be rebuilt or replaced.

    There were yet more to Deepholm than the three major districts, such as the miner¡¯s districts, the grower¡¯s district, and the innumerable sprawl that is the residential districts¡ªbut all of those would have to wait, for at worst, they could be left to the foreign army of Rat-kin who were even now nervously inhaling the stale, alien air of Hilda¡¯s home.

    ¡°Bring up Fabricator No.3 and No.6. We¡¯ll set up a forward operating base,¡± she clarified her intent for the Foremen in the rear. ¡°Take materials from the surrounding structures. Set up a multi-layered barrier fortress. The logistical units will remain outside the city, close to the Regent¡¯s forces. We can¡¯t afford to lose their Teleportation Circle.¡±

    ¡°By the Ancestor¡¯s Will!¡± Her vox caster affirmed her desire.

    What was left was to wait. Wait¡ªand endure the haunting sound of Spellswords jackhammering bodies for the crematorium.

    Deepholm.

    Central Hall FoB.

    Unlike Hilda, who stood beside an enormous disc displaying a to-scale fog of war map of Deepholm and her troops¡¯ locations, Gwen Song, the Regent of Shalkar, mediated on a soft carpet of ??pter wool hand-woven by mares from the Khan¡¯s Sara¨©.

    She sat in the lotus pose, the silhouette of her svelte body covered by the relaxed plates of Da-peng feathers interlocking into a second skin.

    Within her mind¡¯s eyes, a sprawling vision of Essence stretched out across a darkling plain, appearing to the mortal mind like the topographical view of a modern metropolis at night. Closest to her and manifesting as an enormous bulb of rainbow-tinged sundew was the elongated shape of Garp, the reason why the expedition was possible in the first place. Two additional pin-points rested beside her Black Hole self, representing Ariel and Caliban.

    Strun was another point of interest, burning bright in the darkness, while all around him, glimmering nimbus akin to fairy dust represented her Rat-kin.

    Curiously, if she focused her self-titled third eye¡ªreally focused¡ªshe could see pin-pricks of constellations in the deep dark, likely the Sparrow Hawks who now carried her parasitic Essence.

    Beyond that, across space and distance, she could not see¡ªbut could feel¡ªthe spiral galaxy that was her Mermen, riding atop the great seafaring vessel Aristotle.

    With her mental knowledge of the graphical interface of old-world computer games, Gwen had quickly grown accustomed to the unusual Clairvoyance. According to Slylth, this mental ¡®mode¡¯ was a hallmark of Dragons who possessed vast domains¡ªand whose Essence had seeped into the landscape and the creatures that inhabited the region¡ªwith the Yinglong as a prime exemplar.

    Within the ¡®lair¡¯ of such a creature, nothing that interfered with the Essence could escape the gaze of the Master. This was an unhappy realisation for Gwen, who now understood even more readily that the moment she and her uncle poached the Yinglong¡¯s hybridised creatures, the old Dragon had already planned for its and their ascension into their irrespective narratives.

    Just as her mood began its decline, a jolt of light flared, representing the sudden expenditure of Essence. Just as quickly, streams of gold, each as fine as Elvia¡¯s flaxen hair, rushed through the astral network of her being, drawing from the generous pool that was Garp.

    ¡°What happened?¡± Gwen sent a mental command to her commander, communicating her intent even if the words did not translate.

    ¡°The Dwarves have run into trouble in the Grand Smithy,¡± Strun¡¯s voice hissed back through the Message spell. ¡°We¡¯ve got casualties.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not the Dragon, is it?¡± Gwen asked. Earlier, she had been informed that the Ancient known as Dh¨¤nth¨¢rian was either absent or has settled in the densest and most isolated part of Deepholm. Either prospect meant they should not expect an encounter with the Wyrm, at least for some time.

    ¡°Worse,¡± Strung¡¯s reply came with a trauma warning. ¡°They found Dwarves.¡±

    Any Dwarves familiar with the Grand Smithy knew it needed no secondary lighting systems for its wide avenues and skyscraper cathedral caverns. This was because of the molten pool of magma bubbling at the heart of the Circular Forge, casting a daylight glow against a polished ceiling that refracted gently unto the district, flooding the entirety of its domain with cosy light.

    To human eyes, the dimness was just enough to see the details of the industrial landscape. For a Deep Dwarf, however, their low-light accustomed eyes saw their beloved forge bathed in the glow of resplendent day, with every strike from the Rotary Forge Hammers sending up blinding cascades of violent flares.

    Now, the heart of the Grand Smithy merely flickered, sustained not by industry but by the Elemental pressures feeding the Crucibles through pipes connected to the Heart Forge at the city''s deepest centre.

    Crouched on the edge of an enormous, multi-storey hydraulic press, Strun Jildam, Commander of Her Paleness¡¯ expedition, watched with interest as the Dwarven Golems hammered one another with the ferocity of rogue blacksmiths tempering steel.

    On one side, the Hammer Guards in their Rock Smasher shock units took cover to return fire via the Spell-blades attached to their wrists and backs. The largest of them, a multi-manned Dreadnaught Siege Breaker, lay as a smouldering ruin some distance away, being caught first in a runic explosion from a defensive rune, then in the crossfire of a dozen Magma spells while it remained mired.

    For almost a minute, the Dreadnaught held on with the sheer might of its deflective Walls of Force¡ªthen an enemy unit emerged from the molten pool of iron reserves and had pummelled its arms until they broke.

    As far as Strun were concerned, their foes were Dwarven in nature.

    Though her Paleness might have a better opinion, there was no denying that a two-storey-tall Balefire Golem leading three additional Deepdowner-sized units could only be the product of Dwarven artifice, combined with Dwarven sacrifice.

    As to why the Balefire Golems were attacking the Regent¡¯s Dwarves, he had an inkling. No matter what Hilda had said, it was obvious that the Deepdowner was banking on the fact that she and Axehoff would parley with the survivors of Deepholm to allow their forces entry into the city. Now, with the city in its sorry state, they were, at best, intruders, at worst, tomb raiders. If, indeed, the Balefires acted on behalf of the city as its undying defender, it made more sense for them to attack Hilda¡¯s contingent than it did to let a group of alien Dwarves with Murk-made war gear pass unmolested.

    With his message delivered, the battle fell into an organised retreat. His Stalkers were in place, but taking down Balefires would require his Exterminators and her direct intervention as her Paleness had indicated. The alternative would be to throw Hilda¡¯s living Golem pilots against the tireless Balefires until their cores and mechanical innards were broken or exhausted, with every inch of ground gained in blood.

    Block by block, using the Forge itself as cover, the Dwarven Golems leap-frogged one another¡¯s positions, taking the short moments of rest to replenish and repair their Abjuration arms. With his fellow Stalkers spread out both behind and in front of the Balefires, Strun studied the war potential of these insanity-fuelled living mechanisms.

    The leading Balefire was a siege unit, heavily armoured all around, with the likeness of a large ale barrel stylised to resemble a Dwarven iron maiden. Its limbs, stout and thick as trunks, moved with mechanical precision in place of grace. The adornment of its face, the most important aspect of the ¡°tombing¡± process of Balefires, showed a gruff, generously bearded Dwarf with coal for eyes and clattering teeth that bellowed spurts of sulphur. Around its body, what had been seals and ornate ceremonial inlays lay in tatters. This creature had been a wizened sage¡ªStrun recognised¡ªnot an old warrior seeking immortality, but an Engineseer who wished to dedicate eternity to the defence of his people.

    What was more curious was the small Balefires, which Hilda had said were rare. Considering the agonising process of creating a Balefire, the small units were both a waste of Dwarf and materials, for similar components and compositions were needed for everything from Fabricator Units, Thinking Engines, to the Deepdowner¡¯s hermetic suits.

    Yet, here were five such indolent displays, each standing some three meters tall, eyes aglow with rage and insanity as they summoned eruptions of Magmas as easily as a Forge Master summoned sparks.

    After almost five kilometres of retreat, Strun received the Message that Hilda and Gwen were both about to make contact with the pursuing forces.

    ¡°Ready yourselves,¡± he informed the Stalkers. ¡°Throw yourselves upon the foe if needed. Fear not for the loss of your life or limbs, for we are but sparks in her Paleness¡¯ light.¡±

    As his men and women moved into place, an entourage of two enormous Dreadnaughts, flanked by a dozen Rock Smashers with glimmering Spell swords wielding Force Shields, came into view. Behind the roving wall of dust, metal, and debris was Hilda, and behind the Dwarf, her Paleness hovered as an all-seeing deity, flanked by a Kirin and a terrible bird with pale fingers for claws.

    ¡°LORD URMARK!¡± Hilda¡¯s vox caster was switched to maximum output. ¡°LORD SEER Urmrak K¨¹l! Cease your anger! Tis I, the Daughter of the Lumen, inheritor of the Bezmadan avor Leorm!¡±

    A great rune, the complexity and beauty of which impressed even Strun, erupted overhead, briefly turning the Grand Smithy into a ghastly reflection of its heyday.

    Her troops weathered a few blasts that had been pre-emptively launched, then against all of Strun¡¯s expectations, the Balefires ground to a halt.

    ¡°HOLD,¡± the resounding voice of the Balefire Golem made the dust drift from the buildings. ¡°YOU WHO HALED US? IS IT TRULY THE BLESSED DAUGHTER OF VAREKAN-K¨¹L?¡±

    ¡°I am¡ª¡° Hilda was still a distance away, but Strun¡¯s enhanced visions could see the tear-streaked face of the un-helmed Deepdowner walking past the Dreadnaughts, forsaking their protection.

    ¡°Strun, if that thing attacks¡ª¡± His mistress¡¯ command drifted through his thoughts.

    ¡°We are ready, mistress.¡± Strun ensured every muscle fibre in his legs was tensed for action. Hilda¡¯s armour offered a generous pool of shadow, enough for him to tackle the Deepdowner and bring her to safety.

    ¡°¡­ Great Uncle, Son of Glomik, Scion of Clan K¨¹l,¡± the Deepdowner walked a few more steps, then prostrated herself before the smouldering mass of humanoid despair. ¡°Your grand-niece has come home.¡±

    All held their breath as the Balefire shifted, its body kneeling slowly until it too lowered itself awkwardly in front of the quivering Deepdowner.

    ¡°Welcome home, Daughter of the Lumen,¡± the Balefire¡¯s monotonous voice possessed a sadness that its vox units could only transmute through its tortured soul. ¡°Though our home, dear child, is now the possession of another.¡±

 Chapter 518 - Showdown in Deepholm City

    Gwen watched as a work crew rushed off into the Grand Forge to free the trapped pilots of the Dreadnaught with something resembling the Jaws of Life. With any hope, the survivors were badly concussed and only half-alive, but alive¡ªfor disabilities could be mended or augmented and whatever temporary agony they were in could be resolved with Essence-infused Maotai.

    On their side of the wrecked smithery, Hilda and Urmrak K¨¹l, her great uncle, stood face to face in the open, one side smouldering with sulphur and Magma, watched by a ring of Golems with shimmering Spell Swords, the other lonesome and deflated.

    ¡°Welcome home, Daughter of the Lumen,¡± the Balefire¡¯s vox units poured out a shameful confession like lava oozing from the earth. ¡°Though our home, dear child, is now the possession of another.¡±

    As a Mage blessed with the means to decipher archaic Dwarven, Gwen paused for thought.

    She had heard this narrative before.

    The Dwarves dug too greedily and too deep¡­ they awoke in the darkness of Khazad-dum... shadow and flame.

    But the cautionary tale wasn¡¯t parallel, as far Gwen could discern. Here, the Dragon had always been there, and the Dwarves were merely doing what normal civilisations do when their population expands. Insofar as she could judge, there was no avarice, no good versus evil. If anything, Deepholm¡¯s problems were as natural a disaster as they come, with the anomaly being why a balance of power held for longer than Human history had disintegrated overnight.

    ¡°Regent¡ª!¡± Hilda called out. ¡°May I introduce you to Great Uncle?¡±

    With absolute confidence that her unique Contingency Ring would resolve a king punch, Gwen strode forth, followed closely by Strun and his long, tailing shadows.

    ¡°This is the Regent of the citadel-above, Magister Gwen Song of London, commander of the Rat-kin forces, and Pale Priestess to a covenant of millions.¡±

    Billions¡­ Gwen mentally corrected the Dwarf¡¯s calculations even as she agreed the final part should be omitted from any reasonable introduction.

    As she closed the distance in her crow-skin armour, Gwen marvelled at the experience of meeting her second Balefire Dreadnaught in the flesh, or metal, if she had to be pedantic. Akin to the one she had soul flayed, Urmrak was enormous, creating the impression that she was talking to an anthropomorphic building. Unlike her prior encounter, however, Urmrak radiated an aura of control where its addled peer had only exhibited loathing and rage. Even close enough to touch, the Balefire¡¯s glowing exterior with its blue-white Runescript reminded her of a hearth fire rather than the Magma that fuelled its internal furnace.

    ¡°A Daughter who leaves the Deep Dark returns with a Regent and her armies, feet soiled by the mud of the Himsegg, trailing filth over the sacred grounds of the Ancestors.¡± Urmrak¡¯s low voice sounded like an echo chamber. ¡°Were the city not lost, Daughter, such acts would be Vadam.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s nice to meet you too, Lord Urmrak,¡± Gwen replied in what she hoped was archaic Dwarven. ¡°If you have strong feelings for our presence, shall we vacate the Forge at your behest?¡±

    The Balefire shook its head, shedding ash like dandruff, adding to its air of smouldering melancholy. ¡°Us dead has no authority here, as spoken by the Ancestors. As the sole remaining voice of the Deep Speakers, the Daughter may proceed as she pleases.¡±

    Gwen turned to Hilda, whose grimness made Gwen forgive the Balefire¡¯s xenophobia.

    ¡°Grand Uncle, we need to know what happened,¡± Hilda was, to Gwen¡¯s admiration, still in full control of her rational faculties. If she were to arrive at a shattered Shanghai, and everyone she knew was missing or gone; she could not guarantee the ruins would remain standing. ¡°Is it safe for us to make camp at the entrance? How did Deepholm fall? What happened in the thirty cycles since my departure?¡±

    The smaller Balefires flared¡ªthough with a wave of his hand, the living bonfires calmed themselves.

    ¡°Tis a short tale,¡± Urmrak¡¯s voice was so low Gwen could feel her chest resonating with the Balefire¡¯s simmering furnace. ¡°We were first infiltrated, then betrayed.¡±

    So they didn¡¯t find an Arkenstone. Gwen felt reassured. Betrayals and infiltration were, at the very least, people''s problems that could be solved by feeding the people responsible to Caliban.

    A part of her wanted to find a place to sit so their army could grab a cup and listen. Urmrak¡¯s tale, however, proved far shorter and more succinct than her wild projections of conspiracy.

    ¡°As you may know from the Daughter, when the Black Dragon¡¯s Awakening severed the Low-ways, the Deep Council desperately sought to break through the mangled Dyar Morkk and reconnect with the Citadels. With food running low and rations restraining every aspect of labour, the Deepdowners divined pathways that lead to the still-active Echo Stones.¡±

    Gwen knew of the Echo Stones, for the Low-way Divination Repeaters crafted by Petra¡¯s magic were derived from the same material and designs, only adapted for general use by Humans and Dwarves.

    ¡°However, in place of our kin, the expeditions found dead ends, failed shafts, monstrous creatures, and Will Devourers.¡±

    Sinneslukare. Gwen mouthed silently.

    ¡°Sinneslukare. That¡¯s what our Kin of the Northern Citadels call them,¡± Hilda clarified for the Balefire. ¡°I was captured by an Engineseer who tried to implant one of their larvas in my head. Gwen here saved me, and we exorcised them from our citizens with the help of her unique bodily fluids. Those same fluids can also act as a deterrent to new infection.¡±

    The Balefire¡¯s glowing coal eyes made Gwen¡¯s exposed face bronze with their curiosity.

    Gwen felt her cheeks burn. Thankfully, the Balefires thought nothing of her bodily secretions.

    ¡°We know of these creatures now,¡± Gwen added. ¡°In the surface realm, they are also becoming a persistent¡­ weapon used by our mutual foes.¡±

    ¡°So, the Sinneslukare,¡± the Balefire moved its head slowly. ¡°An apt name. Unfortunately, we possessed no means to understand these creatures or their goals. When finally one of their kind was accidentally revealed in a heated council debate, enough of them had found their way into the helms of our Deepdowners that the discovery was dismissed.¡±

    ¡°Did the Sinneslukare open the gates of Vrithr avor Il-Jrogor?¡± Hilda asked, her voice tense with sadness. ¡°Is that how our home fell?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± the Balefire once again controlled its kindred. ¡°Worse. The Dragon was summoned from within the Heart Furnace. The Gates of Il-Jrogor became our doom, for none could escape when it remained steadfastly sealed.¡±

    An unpleasant flashback to the statues at the gate told Gwen all she needed to know.

    ¡°That means¡ª¡± Hilda¡¯s face was a mask of pain. ¡°The majority of the Deepdowners were... changed? No one else can access the Sacred Singularity at the centre of the Heart Furnace. That knowledge was guarded directly by the descendants of the Ancestors.¡±

    ¡°We do not know, dear Daughter,¡± the Balefire moved its limbs, stirring the airflow with its heat. ¡°Dh¨¤nth¨¢rian the Hungerer was already there when we forced open the inner sanctum. Inside, my brother Balefires were all consigned to the forge. We fought as best as we could, Golems, Balefires, warriors, miners and mechanics all, but there was no dislodging the beast from the energy source it had desired for half of eternity. Its kin poured from the Heart Forge like a tide, and we could do nothing.¡±

    ¡°Is the creature that strong?¡± Gwen asked for the sake of her Rat-kin. ¡°Balefire Golems such as yourself were no match?¡±

    Urmrak¡¯s face remained impassive. ¡°Our supplies were constrained, our people starved. Our leaders were turned or gone, and our miners were being burnt alive or turned to stone everywhere we fought.¡±

    ¡°I am so sorry,¡± Gwen gave her most sincere condolences. ¡°I truly am.¡±

    ¡°Nonetheless, Dh¨¤nth¨¢rian is not insurmountable,¡± the Golem rumbled. ¡°We¡¯ve bested it for millenniums. But neither could we extinguish its life, nor could it penetrate our city¡¯s walls. Deepholm was overcome because we had never fought Dh¨¤nth¨¢rian as a creature tapped into the ley-line the Ancestors had harnessed for our people, and we had no tools to exorcise it.¡±

    ¡°Great Uncle,¡± Hilda spoke softly but audibly. ¡°Where are our people now?¡±

    The Balefire¡¯s gaze swept over its smaller counterparts.

    ¡°I do not know,¡± the Balefire¡¯s reply made their hearts grow cold. ¡°Many were turned already, but those were talented smiths, seers, warriors and craftsmen. Many more were eaten or petrified. I can only assume they were relocated somewhere, for all that remains in our home now are relics like myself and the Reforged.¡±

    ¡°Reforged?¡± Gwen turned to look at the smaller Balefires.

    ¡°The Soul Forge was the last to be sealed.¡± Urmrak gazed again at the smaller, mute Balefires with a glow of reverence and sadness. ¡°Those who remained in the Crafter¡¯s Guild had no more food, no more water, only their souls, their grudge, and all the knowledge and tools necessary to make a final stand.¡±

    ¡°How many of you were there?¡± Hilda bowed her head at the smaller Balefires, who did not seem to acknowledge her. ¡°These brothers and sisters, can they not speak?¡±

    ¡°Most in history had not survived the ascension,¡± the Balefire reminded them. ¡°Even Engineseers emerge with a part of their minds melded into the metal, much less smiths and warriors of the middle castes. There were ten thousand of us, though most are hunted down or scattered now into the depths of Deepholm. Some went mad when they left the mould, running into the deep dark, screaming bloody vengeance. Others perished right there, liquified by the molten metal.¡±

    Gwen shivered despite her supreme constitution. Ten thousand Dwarves, lowering themselves into the Soul Forge with the fatal determination of Schwarzenegger¡¯s robot ego.

    ¡°Will the Dragon return?¡± She asked. ¡°We need to replan our approach if so.¡±

    ¡°It is safe enough here, for now.¡± Urmrak readjusted its frame. ¡°The Dragon drinks deep the flames that once kept our nation warm and prosperous, slumbering away the time as its body grows uglier. Only its minions find their way to Deepholm¡¯s crust, and those we exterminate in the hope that a part of our home will be preserved for those who return.¡±

    ¡°If you were expecting us,¡± Gwen raised a point of contention. As Regent, she could afford the occasional rudeness. ¡°Why did you attack Hilda¡¯s Dwarves?¡±

    The Balefire glowered. ¡°Strangely specced machines, aliens clad in metal and Humans Mages do not make for a triumphant return of the true heir. You seem more like an army collected by the Will Devourers, here to loot the city.¡±

    ¡°Reasonable,¡± Gwen decided not to pursue the matter. ¡°Hilda. What¡¯s the plan?¡±

    ¡°We will recover the city,¡± Hilda said without hesitation. ¡°Great Uncle, if we exorcise the Dragon. can we return the city¡¯s core functions to normal? Are the great Machines still operational? There are a great many number of us living on the surface, and most still harken for the sacred depths of Deepholm. If we can make it safe, our home can be repopulated, remade.¡±

    ¡°The foundries are asleep, damaged, but will function if coaxed by the right prayers and repairs,¡± the Balefire clenched its fist. ¡°But, Daughter, I do not know how our people may dislodge cruel Dh¨¤nth¨¢rian from the Heart Cog.¡±

    This time, Gwen noted Hilda was looking intently toward herself.

    With a little arrogance, she concurred that Hilda had come to the right place.

    ¡°Regent!¡±

    Gwen looked up from her ornate, Elf-carved divan, then lit up when she saw that her personal guard and the Marshal of her forces had returned. She genuinely felt for poor Lulu, who had been in a slump since Tianjin, where she had been the Yinglong¡¯s scalpel and had clashed with her self-nominated role as Gwen¡¯s defender.

    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

    After Shalkar¡¯s calamity and its subsequent restoration, the Sword Mage regained her confidence by practising what she had preached. Tirelessly, she had worked for the city of the ¡°saviour¡± who had plucked her from the maws of a carrion slug, cowing Rat-kin, Centaur and Humans alike.

    ¡°Lulu,¡± Gwen hugged her Marshal, disregarding the decorum of their mutual office, then turned to the advisor she had sent for after their conversation with the Balefire. ¡°Alex, welcome to Deepholm.¡±

    ¡°I am welcomed.¡± The Red Dragon was evidently anticipating a similar act of intimacy, and after a moment of hesitation, Gwen gave it. The intimacy seemed to stimulate Slylth, whose body grew rigid as her arms enveloped his waist and her nose briefly brushed the side of his cheeks.

    ¡°All supplies are accounted for, and the reserve forces are ready, Regent,¡± Lulan reported after straightening her body suit, its design custom-made by Dwarven masters to allow the generation of disposable reactive iron plates. ¡°Richard reports increased movements from the Russian Towers. From the looks of it, they¡¯re laying down supplies and creating countermeasures against Garp by modifying their side of the terrain.¡±

    ¡°The Russians are renovating my lands, are they?¡± Gwen scoffed. She knew that Moscow had not committed its forces only because of the uncertainty of her Dragons, her Shoggoth, and her Garp. And now, considering what they saw here in Dwarf home, the destruction only showed the importance of countries espousing the MAD Doctrine¡ªher personal acronym for Mutually Assured Dragon.

    Hence, she had asked Slylth to descend into the depths.

    ¡°Richard says that you may exercise your full attention here, and that he and Natalia have everything under control, insofar as control can be asserted,¡± Lulan spoke with her legs slightly apart, looking very much the commanding officer. ¡°Petra has sent over a thousand Flesh to Stone potions, and she¡¯s in the process of securing the Greater variants. Magister Walken said he will source a score of experts from London, incase the potions fails to satisfy.¡±

    ¡°Good on em,¡± Gwen trusted her seconds like she trusted her right hand and knew that her cousins rarely disappointed.

    Besides Lulan, the ever-curious Slylth was taking in the sights, marvelling at the home of the Dwarves and taking mental notes.

    ¡°Slylth, sit, I require your counsel.¡±

    The Dragon-kin sat on her divan, taking up most of the space.

    Gwen lowered her gaze to the small space left for herself beside the Dragon-kin. Whether intentional or otherwise, the Red Dragon had thrown his gauntlet, and she was happy to receive it.Waltzing past the contemplative gaze of her companion, she sat heavily on the cushion, depressing the padding so that their hips touched.

    Awakened from his fascination with Deepholm, Slylth stared at her face.

    ¡°We¡¯ve got a Dragon problem down here,¡± Gwen said with a hand on her counsel¡¯s knee, using her fingers to trace the circumference of his patella. ¡°A BIG problem.¡±

    Slylth¡¯s eyes darted left and right, likely wondering if there was a lumen recorder set up somewhere, possibly by his gregarious cousin, Golos. Ahead, Lulan looked on without so much as a blink.

    ¡°I¡¯ve er¡­ heard,¡± the Dragon-kin cleared his throat. ¡°Dh¨¤nth¨¢rian, is it? The Great Earth Wyrm.¡±

    ¡°He sounds so harmless when you say it like that,¡± Gwen winced at the recollection of the Dragon¡¯s victims. ¡°This is far more serious, Alex. A lot of Dwarves died. A lot.¡±

    ¡°I understand,¡± the Dragon nodded, though Gwen could see that the lizard in front of her was merely borrowing her sympathy rather than feeling sympathy from the depth of his draconic guts. After all, Slylth was young, and his only domain was his private abode in the World Tree of Shalkar. While the Dragon might feel for his favourite Rat-kin cooks or the Harpies who played checkers with him in the Sky Garden, he certainly saw the Dwarves as mere faces in the numberless crowd of her followers¡ªnot unlike her attitude toward the minnows in her Shoal.

    ¡°As someone inducted into The Accord,¡± Gwen continued. ¡°I know that the Dragons have this agreement. If someone attacks a Dragon and succeeds in maiming it or its young, the rest of the Dragons are bound to respond.¡±

    ¡°This is correct.¡± Slylth nodded. ¡°Not all are equally enthused, of course. Uncle Tyfanevius would certainly make a move. Mother would put in a stern word or send someone to do her bidding, while our cousins of the Frost wouldn¡¯t even spare a glance. Furtherer abroad, some of the older Dragons might blow up an unrelated city to prove a point.¡±

    ¡°So, does Dh¨¤nth¨¢rian have mates?¡± Gwen asked. ¡°Is he or she a popular Dragon?¡±

    ¡°He.¡± Slylth answered. ¡°At least as mother spoke of him. Maybe he might change his mind if a good brooding partner is found, but those are rarer at his age.¡±

    The Red Dragon paused for thought. Gwen noticed that a scholarly hand was also walking onto her knee. She allowed it since they seemed to be playing a game. That, and she was wearing her crow skin plates.

    Slylth winced when he touched a spiky Da-peng feather, making her smirk.

    ¡°What does your Draconic Burke¡¯s Peerage say about our Wyrm?¡± Gwen asked. ¡°Any war crimes other than this one? Do we have cause to claim Deepholm other than the obvious rationale that Hilda remains its rightful¡­ heir?¡±

    Slylth took a moment to organise his thoughts. Gwen liked the bookish face the Dragon made when in deep thought, because it reminded her of simpler days among peers in Fudan.

    ¡°¡­ Lord Dh¨¤nth¨¢rian is an Elder Drake, younger than mother, much younger than Uncle Tyfanevius. I would place him around the same age as the Yinglong, though Earthen Dragons hail from a less sagacious and celestial bloodline. He¡¯s a bit mysterious since he rarely makes his spirit known, and kin at mother¡¯s level of prestige would never consider him a peer. As far as I know, he doesn¡¯t have direct siblings or close allies other than his spawns. His original domain as well, is unknown to us.¡±

    ¡°You guy meet in spirit, huh?¡± Gwen tried to imagine an online meeting where Dh¨¤nth¨¢rian was permanently stuck with a low-frame stream while the nobler Dragons projected their will in HD 4K THX Surround Sound.

    ¡°Well, what happens when we make a move with Hilda?¡± Gwen moved to the next stage. ¡°I want Deepholm back to its rightful people.¡±

    Slylth straightened his back. ¡°For one, we can¡¯t use strategic magic here. It¡¯s too deep in the Elemental Plane of Earth. You¡¯ll need Creatures Cores from truly ancient beings to power your Mandalas. Your powers are also poorly matched against Dh¨¤nth¨¢rian, whose scales are impervious to magic and only slightly less impervious to immense force. Of course, if you get very lucky with the Black Blade...¡±

    ¡°No general Void Magic?¡±

    ¡°There isn¡¯t enough here for you to eat,¡± Slylth looked at the Dwarves tinkering with the silent foundries. ¡°Biomass is scarce down here, you realise.¡±

    ¡°So I¡¯ve been told,¡± Gwen thought of the Dwarves¡¯ unending search for food and water. ¡°Dh¨¤nth¨¢rian¡¯s not good eating?¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t answer that,¡± Slylth gave her a mournful look. ¡°The energy you will spend to pierce Dh¨¤nth¨¢rian¡¯s carapace will be truly obscene.¡±¡°Hmm¡­¡± Gwen grew contemplative.

    ¡°Can the Dwarves share?¡± Slylth asked something ridiculous. ¡°Ruxin seems to do well with the human under his rule, and they¡¯re happier for it.¡±

    ¡°The Dwarves need that Forge and its Singularity to fuel the city, not feed a Dragon,¡± Gwen said. ¡°Do you think Dh¨¤nth¨¢rian will share?¡±

    ¡°A loner like that is probably not the sharing kind,¡± Slylth conceded.

    ¡°Right, we go on the offence then?¡± Gwen considered the possibility of flooding Deepholm with her Lampreys.

    ¡°Not quite. According to what Mother has taught me, we need to contact Dh¨¤nth¨¢rian and formally challenge his claim to Deepholm. As a member of The Accord, and a Guardian blessed with both a domain and the Essence of an Elder being, you¡¯re certainly qualified to make that claim.¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t just ambush him?¡± Gwen thought about how she might speak to this Dh¨¤nth¨¢rian, especially when he had committed a whole catacomb of atrocities in the decades since his capture of the city. ¡°Sneak a Caliban up his¡­¡±

    Slylth coughed, almost choking on his next words. ¡°If you want to establish yourself with that reputation, you open Shalkar to the same treatment. When some avaricious Dragon takes a liking to your domain, Mother and Uncle won¡¯t be able to intervene if someone ambushes you or your city out of the blue.¡±

    ¡°Okay, then what?¡± Gwen asked, striking the young man¡¯s knee. ¡°You know, for primordial beings with the power of the forces of nature, you guys seem awful keen on convention.¡±

    ¡°You realise the Dragons that remain are the survivors of a time when there was no convention.¡± Slylth faced her with his ruby red orbs, which made her think of rare jewellery. ¡°The rest have found their peace in the Unformed Land, or simply found their peace, through ultraviolence and the altering of landmarks.¡±

    ¡°This is the Elemental Plane of Earth,¡± Gwen reminded her Red Dragon. ¡°Do the rules still count?¡±

    ¡°They count if you make an effort. Nonetheless, I don¡¯t think you¡¯ll be able to negotiate Dh¨¤nth¨¢rian away from his new home, considering how long he has schemed to acquire it,¡± Slylth said sadly. ¡°The Dwarves will pay with lives, and us as well. Killing Dh¨¤nth¨¢rian is as likely as China dislodging the Yinglong, though we can vex him enough to make him leave once the damage piles up.¡±

    ¡°Not to mention he might be working with the Sinneslukare. You know, I am getting a bit sick of hearing about these brain-bug buggers.¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re desperate as well,¡± Slylth remarked. ¡°Most survivors from the Far Planes are. Mother says there¡¯s no guarantee their fragment Planes won¡¯t implode at any time, for any reason, so any chance they get to latch onto stability, they will.¡±

    ¡°Not with that attitude, they¡¯re not. But first, we need to make our intentions known.¡± Gwen growled. ¡°Does Dh¨¤nth¨¢rian have a postal address?¡±

    Slylth cocked a brow. ¡°You know where he lives. He¡¯s down there, isn''t he?¡±

    ¡°What, put myself in front of his fucking face?¡± Gwen pictured herself standing before an open maw and a gullet resembling a tunnelling machine from a Frank Herbert movie. ¡°That doesn¡¯t seem fair.¡±

    Her Red Dragon placed a hand on her shoulder, squirmed at the Da-pend feathers under his transmuted flesh, then retracted his digits.

    ¡°You want to contest his domain like a Dragon¡ªthen you need to confront him like one,¡± Slylth snorted. ¡°On my end, I can inform Mother and Uncle so that if Dh¨¤nth¨¢rian does come crying to the Elder Council, they¡¯re forewarned of his deceptions and may tell him to go eat dirt.¡±

    ¡°Fine. Then I shall inform our allies.¡± Gwen stood, then ruffled a bit of her Dragon¡¯s copper-coloured hair. ¡°Thank you, Slylth. Lulu, come. You¡¯re with me.¡±

    ¡°Any time,¡± the Dragon rested a hand on where she sat a moment ago. ¡°When you do get down there, don¡¯t be too rude to Dh¨¤nth¨¢rian. He¡¯s an elderly being, and they¡¯re too old to change.¡±

    When Gwen returned, the Dwarven pilots had been recovered, and the rest of the expedition was settling into the Forge to reignite parts of it required to construct fortifications of a forward operating base capable of making terrestrial Dragons mildly annoyed.

    After what amounted to permission from Urmrak, the Rat-kin were free to map the city, considering that the sacred places were either sealed by the final efforts of their defenders, looted by brain-wormed Dwarves, or laid to waste by a possessive Dragon whose only purpose was to make himself a nest free of its prior owners.

    Advanced orders were given to retreat if they found hostile Balefires, and the squad leaders were given hastily forged Rune plates that projected Urmrak and Hilda¡¯s signature Glyphs, though either was likely futile against survivors driven mad by the reforge.

    At the centre of what looked like a Golem Foundry, Gwen and Lulan met again with their hosts. Urmark was receiving much-needed maintenance on his body¡¯s internal wear and tear while Hilda and Axehoff mulled over the growing sand-scape map of their spherical home, lubricating their thoughts with generous steins of Mao-tai.

    ¡°¡­ So that¡¯s how it is, regarding Dh¨¤nth¨¢rian,¡± Gwen explained. ¡°If I challenge the old bloke as a member of the Accord as its equal, things will be different to if we simply attempted to murder it in the Heart Forge by, say, collapsing this Singularity of yours.¡±

    Earlier, Hilda and Axehoff had been devising designs for machines that could capture, crush, dismember, and likely annoy the Great Wyrm Below. However, as Gwen explained, there were only two ways to convince Dh¨¤nth¨¢rian to leave Deepholm semi-permanently. The first was the gut the Wyrm and shatter its core¡ªan impossible prospect, and the second was to have it grudgingly concede Deepholm to a superior Dragon.

    When her delivery finished, the Deepdowners fell into a prolonged silence.

    Hilda sighed deep and long. ¡°We owe you much, Regent. Yet, I did not think we would owe Deepholm itself to you. If you succeed, every Dwarf who finds his home in the Ancestor¡¯s Halls would be your willing vassal, proudly so at that.¡±

    Gwen said nothing. Every other time she wanted to be polite and say that she was doing things for the Dwarves out of the necessity of her good heart, the Dwarves fought back with a ferocity that bordered on violence. For a boon as large as the recovery of their ancestral home, not even she could imagine how their relationship may progress.

    ¡°A Debt of Haj-Z¨¹l can be repaid in generations,¡± the voice of the Balefire spoke from the swirling steam and sparks conjured by the artisans. ¡°But it will be repaid. To the Regent, her children, and her children¡¯s children.¡±

    ¡°The Regent will be around for a long time, Great Uncle.¡± Hilda had not fully explained Gwen¡¯s particular advantages. ¡°She will outlive all of us and remain even when your Core splutters and your gears are grounded smooth.¡±

    ¡°Then let us be indentured to the Godling,¡± Urmrak rumbled. ¡°Whatever else we may lose, the Ancestor¡¯s Hall cannot be barred. The Foundry cannot be left to cool, and a Dragon must not usurp the Heart Forge. I shall not fault your people, Daughter, if you so choose to abandon Deepholm. Many of your Murk folk are children of the Himmseg. They owe their callous home nothing.¡±

    Axehoff looked to both herself and Hilda.

    ¡°No, Deepholm will be restored,¡± the Deepdowner reiterated Hilda¡¯s intent. ¡°We will not be a people without a homeland. Regent, what do you need?¡±

    ¡°According to Slylth, I need to shirt-front Dh¨¤nth¨¢rian,¡± she said, then realised the Ioun Stone had translated her Gwenism. ¡°Which means we need to confront him vis-a-vis. There¡¯ll be some sort of negotiation that involve threats, and then hopefully, I return in one piece, and we get the whole operation started.¡±

    ¡°How shall we fight?¡± Axehoff looked at her with grim seriousness. ¡°Many of our expedition are volunteers, and many still have little ties to Deepholm. I am not sure we can ask them to lay down their lives in what would be a futile struggle to reclaim our heritage.¡±

    ¡°Well,¡± Gwen pepped up with confidence. After speaking with Slylth, she had been thinking about how to deal with the Earthen Wyrm, and she had thought deeply about that very subject, especially the cruel and immature bullshit she had done to earthworms when she was a bored kid neglected by Helena. ¡°Slylth said that we won¡¯t be able to kill Dh¨¤nth¨¢rian no matter what we did. My Void powers would tickle it, and my lightning would do nothing. My Shoggoth might give it a good go, though success would mean a whole legion of upset Dragons who shall see me as an existential threat. However, he did say that our purpose is to discourage Dh¨¤nth¨¢rian, and that means we need to vex him enough to consider Deepholm not worth the candle.¡±

    The Deepdowners looked at her, equally perplexed.

    ¡°Dh¨¤nth¨¢rian is attracted to the Elemental Magma, and he¡¯s incubating himself in the energy. Now, what if we¡¯re able to make Deepholm completely hostile to his purpose?¡±

    ¡°How?¡± Axehoff furrowed his white brows. ¡°Every inch of the city was forged from steel and magma. How can we transmute Deepholm itself?¡±

    ¡°Well, therein lies your sacrifice,¡± Gwen spoke with great care. ¡°The gravity here is warped, correct? We¡¯re standing here, but its downward force increases as we venture closer to the Heart Forge and the Singularity. That means everything in the city flows downwards unless re-directed by runes, ending up in the Heart Furnace created by your Ancestors. Correct?¡±

    ¡°That is correct,¡± Hilda was equally puzzled. ¡°Do you plan to vex Dh¨¤nth¨¢rian with garbage? Shalkar does indeed produce an incredible volume of refuse. The heat is great as we descend, however. I don¡¯t think¡­¡±

    ¡°Oh, no, no, no, nothing so crude,¡± Gwen opened both palms like a car salesman about to strike the deal of the century. ¡°Did you forget I¡¯ve got Leviathan Cores by the half-dozen? We¡¯ve still got the Ancient Core, one that¡¯s ready for action but yet to be mounted into the whalebone of my Tower. You recall the Strategic Mandala we engraved onto its foundation setting, don¡¯t you? The one we¡¯re going to use to tame Wildlands?¡±

    The Deepdowners¡¯ eyes widened. ¡°Oh no¡­¡±

    ¡°Oh¡ªYES,¡± Gwen nodded sagely. ¡°My only concern, alas, is how well we can defend the Leviathan Core against Dh¨¤nth¨¢rian and how resilient your city may be to, say¡­ forty cycles of unending, unyielding, all-consuming flood?¡±

 Chapter 519 - Into the Breach

    Deepholm.

    The Great Foundry.

    After a few hours of agonising deliberation, Gwen learned that the Dwarves also indulged in mental gymnastics like Theseus''s Paradox.

    The story goes that Haj-Z¨¹l Brumdahr, the artificer of the Seven Ancestors, had made a Thinking Engine that aided his calculations for constructing the ¡°Dyson Sphere¡± around the previously discovered Singularity. Unfortunately, before the Founding, the material science of N?rn-Zur, the alchemist, was not yet completed. So, the Thinking Engine suffered an ongoing series of catastrophic failures, from explosions to implosions to argumentative Dwarves. Over the next few centuries, Haj-Z¨¹l replaced his Thinking Engine so often that by the time the Odror Bezmadan was completed and Deepholm began its expansion from the Singularity; no one could verify its original components. Likewise, after Haj-Z¨¹l¡¯s passing, the Deepdowners who prayed to keep the Engine operative had to constantly replace the parts worn, lost, damaged or beyond the younger generations'' ken.

    Some six-seven thousand years later, there wasn¡¯t a single original component visible from the Chamber of Cognition¡ªbut the Thinking Engine was nonetheless Haj-Z¨¹l¡¯s original Engine.

    QED, as the spokespersons for Deepholm in the absence of greater, more senior representatives, Hilda concluded that everything from the Heart Forge to the Thinking Engine should be replaceable¡ªso long as they had the original schematics. As for preserving historical validity¡ªthat would be her albatross to bear and for the surviving generations to judge.

    The problem then lay with the latter¡ªhow to enact the perfect preservation of the Hall of Artificers, the Hall of the Ancestors, and the Deep Library at the heart of Deepholm.

    The obvious answer was to loot the places, though Hilda had expressed with absolute certainty that only the Deepdowner caretaker of each place knew where the deepest secrets of their people were stowed. Ergo, looting was far less desirable than reoccupying them and manually sealing each chamber from within, leaving a well-provisioned contingent of Golems and Engineseers to wait out the results of Gwen¡¯s plan.

    For Gwen, what her Dwarves¡¯ requests meant was that on her merry way to Crocodile Dundee the Big D, a covert op would have to be carried out by the Dwarves and her Rat-kin to enter and seal these zones of cultural interest¡ªwhile hoping that they were of no interest to Dh¨¤nth¨¢rian¡¯s kin¡ªand that the infested Dwarves hadn¡¯t already erased everything.

    ¡°Which is why we shall not speak of debts, not yet,¡± Gwen stopped the two Deepdowners before they could offer up their Deepdowner Suits as collateral. ¡°If we all survive this, we¡¯ll hash something out.¡±

    ¡°Aye, if you wish,¡± Hilda dropped the uncomfortable subject, a reprieve Axehoff gladly accepted. Unlike the orthodox Deepdowner, the Murk-minted Engineseer possessed a far more liberal understanding of what would make Gwen happy. For the Regent, it was just as she had already told them: trade routes, exclusive items, favourable barters and general service of Dwarven technology for her endless constructions was already payment enough. For Hilda, however, a favour such as the return of their home was more metaphysical than HDMs and minerals and, thus, required payment in kind.

    With their general strategy hashed out, Gwen gathered Alex, Lulan, Strun and their officer corps to plot their next few weeks.

    ¡°Your Paleness, If you move the Orbital Leviathan Cannon,¡± Lulan interceded with two cringe-worthy phrases which Richard had been fomenting among the ranks. ¡°The Russians will make their move.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d like to see them try,¡± Slylth reminded them of the layers of contingencies in place. ¡°That¡¯s assuming we¡¯re not double-crossed.¡±

    ¡°Natalia says that Essence deliveries to our Eastern ally remain uninterrupted and that their confidence only grows with the false information we¡¯re feeding them,¡± Lulan assured her Paleness. ¡°Richard has alternative contingencies planned out with Lady Ravenport, with assistance from the Militant Factions.¡±

    ¡°He does?¡± Gwen felt genuinely surprised. ¡°He only mentioned that they were in negotiations.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ve received assurances from Lord Holland weeks ago, actually,¡± Lulan gave her a strange smile. ¡°Richard said that we shouldn¡¯t use that favour if we don¡¯t need to, lest you had to pay it back by way of your dexterous lips.¡±

    Gwen tilted her head and channelled her most judgemental glare.

    Lulan shrunk back while Slylth grumbled something dangerous and Draconic under his breath.

    ¡°There¡¯s no need for that,¡± the Red Dragon puffed out his chest, heating the air. ¡°I can take care of it. And if I lose a wing or two, Mother will take care of it.¡±

    Gwen felt her temples throb. ¡°Thank you, Alex,¡± she spoke as she tapped the Dragon¡¯s shoulder. ¡°But please don¡¯t defend my property with your true body. I can afford a dinner or two with Thomas, but repaying the Summer Queen for mangling her son¡¯s holy appendages is a whole other matter.¡±

    ¡°Oh, you can repay¡­¡± Slylth coughed, then remained silent when Gwen¡¯s glare grew more intense.

    ¡°So,¡± she returned the matter to its core subject. ¡°Two weeks for the Core to arrive?¡±

    ¡°Three weeks for the rune setting to be completed,¡± Axehoff added to her estimate. ¡°We can rush, though most of us would be away on expedition.¡±

    ¡°True,¡± Gwen nodded. ¡°Strun, how''s the World Tree¡¯s expansion going?¡±

    Gwen referred to the phenomenon of her World Tree¡¯s roots finding their way into the low-way, following wherever she ventured. While she was in Shalkar, Sanari had noted the proliferation of an inter-planar plant connected to her Astral Body and its conscious desire to be near its host. However, it was only now, far from home, that the tree¡¯s growth had notably accelerated its reach. Gwen¡¯s question was for her Commander, for the Rat-kin was linked to her Astral Soul, and they could both keenly feel the Tree¡¯s proximity.

    That, and the only way to power the Orbital Leviathan Cannon, was through the Leviathan Core. And the best way to charge the Leviathan Core without astronomical volumes of HDMs was the mana provided by her World Tree.

    ¡°Its growth isn¡¯t as rapid as the Leviathan Cannon transit,¡± Strun reported expertly. ¡°We will need Lady Sanari to aide us on this.¡±

    ¡°Well, tell her we need power down here, but don¡¯t frame any requests as related to the subjugation of Dh¨¤nth¨¢rian. Tryfan likes its neutral facade and won¡¯t respond if we¡¯re too explicit in our purpose.¡±

    ¡°Of course, you Paleness,¡± Strun made a half-bow with a hand touching his heart. ¡°It will be done.¡±

    ¡°Hilda, your forces, when will they be ready?¡± She asked the two Dwarves furiously working on data slates while pinpointing locations on the transmuted sand-sphere map of Deepholm.

    ¡°We can leave now, but please let us finish the beachhead fortifications inside the Grand Forge,¡± the Deepdowner explained. ¡°We¡¯ll be able to fabricate as much equipment as we need once it''s done, meaning so long as we¡¯re not overrun¡­¡±

    ¡°Gotcha,¡± Gwen needed no explanation. The Dwarves were few compared to Humans, but they had their way of attrition warfare. ¡°Lord Urmrak?¡±

    ¡°Myself and my fellows will enter the Heart Forge at the Core of the Singularity, if indeed we may be delivered,¡± the Balefire announced its role, setting off many warnings on Gwen¡¯s Da-peng suit. ¡°There, we shall remain, preventing the entry of anything and any moisture, until we are extinguished or Deepholm is freed.¡±

    ¡°Good man,¡± Gwen tilted her upper body to communicate her respect. In their earlier discussion, the Balefire had explained that the most dangerous and uncertain part of the operation was the space near the Singularity.

    Firstly, the gravity inside Odror Bezmadan, the ¡°Core¡±, was multitudes that of the surface-like gravity they presently enjoyed. This was why only Deepdowners ventured to such depth in their specialised suits, and Balefires were its main custodians. Secondly, any Dwarf who ventured into the Singularity would likely be the last to be liberated, and the location naturally meant no food nor water could be resupplied.

    Lastly, their final quandary was where all the city''s upper echelons had gone. As much as Hilda and Axehoff knew about their kind, they could not discern where tens of thousands of infected Dwarves would venture, especially since the exodus took place sporadically over decades.

    ¡°Alright, people,¡± Gwen clapped her hands, satisfied that they all had their orders, herself included. ¡°Let¡¯s get to it!¡±

    Strun Jildam, Commander of her Paleness¡¯ armies, wiped a spot of ¡°rain¡± from his shoulder plates. The source of the liquid was from the ceiling of the enormous spherical cavern that housed the Dwarven city, and from its consistency, he discerned it to be akin to mineral oil.

    His location, and that of his platoon of Stalkers, was what Dwarves designated as Grethir Kjangtoth, or the Thirteenth Gate. There were fifty-one such Gates, with the final gate leading to the Singularity, Eth vjeit Avor Zothrad, the Gate of Truth. Though Strun had initially felt overwhelmed by the prospect of penetrating fifty such layers, each the likeness of the city¡¯s entrance, it quickly became apparent that the scale and scope of each level drastically shrunk with each layer, with the thirteenth layer possessing less than one-tenth the distance he had to travel between gates nine and ten.

    Presently, below the watchful eye of Strun and his rats, his prey feasted upon its sire¡¯s spoils of war.

    Strun had spent some time studying the bestiary provided by the Mageocracy, but even so, he could not pinpoint the exact physiological qualities of this strange, marauding monster that now fossicked through the debris of the old Dwarven foundry for crystal growths.

    From head to tail, the beast possessed five pairs of limbs, with the rear twin pair being the most powerful and the first pair forming something like prehensile claws. It was also heavily armoured, clad from its bulbous, serpentine head to its clubbed tail in crystalline chitin that formed into jagged shards.

    ¡°Basilisk,¡± Strun made his call based on his best judgment. From his vantage point, he could see that this was not a creature of speed or strength, meaning it must logically possess supernatural means to debilitate both prey and foe. ¡°Skri, Drek, Ska, hold positions. Zar, Fik, Rikk, wait for them before attacking.¡±

    Using the mana control unique to his people, Strun silently traversed the smooth sandstone walls transmuted into place by the Dwarven architects. As a murky ghost, he dosed himself with her Paleness¡¯ Essence so that his muscles and sinews matched the strength of Dwarven artifice.

    Strun stepped into the air.

    His body grew weightless, phasing through the Prime Material.

    When he reappeared, he was armed with twin implements of murder and mayhem, a pair of kukri blades vibrating so fast that they appeared as mirages. In one swift stroke, he sunk the blade into either side of the Basilisk¡¯s armoured face, where he had observed the double-eyed slits were thinnest.

    ¡°SKAARRRK¡ª!¡± The scion of the underworld Dragon howled in bewildering agony, thrashing with so much force that its tail hammered through the reinforced base of a three-storey building.

    Strun easily rode the buckling creature, his body matching the momentum with supernatural agility.

    Behind and from above, his fellow Rat-kin descended, each armed with sonic-tipped spears that swelled bulbously before tapering off into polearm handles.

    Strun pulled on the handles, feeling the blades turn something hard and rocky inside the skull to mush. Riding the momentum, he leapt backwards, performed a perfect summersault, and then was swallowed again by the Astral Plane.

    A breath later, the spears struck, most finding their mark, a few becoming stuck where muscle and bone had tensed. These then erupted into explosions of ice, fire, acid, and magma, tearing into the body of the thrashing Basilisk.

    ¡°GHARR¡ªGARRRRU¡ª¡° Its mouth opened, large enough to swallow a small cargo Golem. From within, a long and agonising breath, the appearance of grey mist, poured forth, mixing alchemy with Draconic magic, turning everything it touched into crumbling shale.

    Strun watched as the creature retreated, its guts trailing the floor, its head rolling from left to right.

    ¡°How is it still alive?¡± He asked his men, though he knew the answer was no different to the blessing her Paleness had gifted him.

    ¡°Shall we attack it again?¡± His Stalkers materialised new pilums from their storage rings.

    ¡°No. Retreat and report,¡± Strun placed his fingers upon the pommel of the twin kukri. To exhibit their full power, the blades'' lifespans would be drastically reduced. ¡°I¡¯ll return to her Paleness with a gift, then join you at the twelfth Gate.¡±

    Deephlom.

    Eth vjeit Avor Zana¡ªThe twenty-fifth gate.

    ¡°Tragol! KEEP UP THE FIRE!¡±

    ¡°Joti! More fuel! Replace those Blade Crystals!¡±

    Spellblades roared, as did the Golem Engines transmuting stone to slow the advance of the Titan Lizards.

    Across a no-Dwarf¡¯s land of only nine kilometres, a vast exchange of fire and magma transformed an expanded low-way into a field of elemental carnage.

    As the scion-kin of Dh¨¤nth¨¢rian were resistant to fire, earth and magma, the Dwarves had taken up barrages of ice, combined with bursts of imposing heat to crack the heavily armoured lizards blocking their way into the city¡¯s deepest core.

    Ten days and this deep into the expedition, the Dwarves were finally running into proper resistance in the form of old citadels converted into mausoleums, now re-converted by Earth Dragons into dens, warrens and nests.

    Of the three, the former held entire tribes of what the Peruvian priestesses would call Titan Lizards, referring to Lizard-kin infused with the blood of Green Dragons. For this Earthen variant of Titan Lizards, each manifested as three-metre tall bipedal lizards, covered from snout to feet with dark obsidian and shale, wielding crude instruments of Dragon Glass that could cut through Dwarven steel with marginal effort. At first, the Dwarves had feared that new civilisations had already occupied Deepholm¡ªbut subsequent engagements revealed that these wretched slave lizards were scant more than stone-age savages fuelled by the worship of an apathetic sire.

    The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    Luckily for her Dwarves, their core combat role was to provide artillery and mass suppression, for the bulk of the fighting was done by roving squads of Rat-kin Exterminators supported by Stalkers. Frothing with fervour from their leader¡¯s selfless psalms of sacrifice, they fearlessly met their counterparts by thrusting claws of Mithril alloy in between impenetrable scale plates.

    Though it took two Exterminators to match the bulk of a single Titan Lizard, the rats made up for size with ferocity, speed and tenacity. So long as their Dwarven plates protected their vitals, they cared not for obsidian shards that punctured their limbs or gored their torsos, instead using the distance to latch onto their foes so that teeth could be brought to bloody use.

    And when the inevitable happened, swift-footed striders transported the grievously wounded to the backline, where Human Clerics and ??pters Shamans administered potions of healing and restoration.

    The battle was bitter and hard. When throngs of Basilisks emerged from hiding holes in the outer districts, the Dwarves formed phalanxes that channelled the monsters into killing fields inhabited by the Exterminators, who then engaged the brutes in bloody hand-to-hand combat.

    Even so, the expedition¡¯s progress was far from smooth.

    ¡°Thadod¡ª! On yer right! A breach!¡± Every other encounter, some light-forsaken Deep Drake would emerge from the nests they had made in the mineral-rich catacombs of the Dwarves from generations past. Unlike the Basilisks, these were purer scions of Dh¨¤nth¨¢rian, each manifesting in forms that betrayed their bastardised lineage.

    The brute that breached the eastern line was one such creature, an enormous Shingleback Monster, so heavily armoured that no Exterminator nor Dwarven Golem could peel back its crystalline shell.

    Carving a swarth of destruction, the abomination was six Golems deep and a dozen Exterminators underfoot when it suddenly stopped, its beady eyes scanning the ceiling in instinctual terror.

    Its confusion lasted less than a few dazed seconds, for its foe was suddenly upon it, materialising as an enormous black bird with a faceless mien and a pair of six-fingered claws that resembled a young woman¡¯s dainty fingers.

    Without hesitation, the Shingleback let loose its petrification, admixing chemicals and magic to flood its surroundings with deadly greyscale.

    Much to its horror, the faceless crow cared nothing for its Draconic prowess, which could turn even Basilisks into stony morsels. Reaching out with its fingers, the bird caught the Shingleback¡¯s face in its clawed embrace¡ªthen tore it off, armour and all.

    Even hardened as the Dwarves, their Greybeard commanders could only wince as chunks of skull and spine as large as a Fabricator¡¯s mana tanks exited the body of the enormous, multi-storey Shingleback. Underneath those fingers, empowered by some primordial rule of a world older than the Dwarven race, the Dragon-kin¡¯s blessings offered no protection against those white, sensual digits.

    Another tug and the Shingleback¡¯s brain was hanging off those perfect talons.

    With a cry of ¡°SHAA¡ªSHAA¡ª¡° That filled with cavern with echoes of insanity, the bird then descended upon the Titan Lizards, sending the usually fearless battering rams into a blind panic. The Lizard Shamans rebelled at once, trying to rouse their troops against the invading Dwarves, only to be caught and crushed like jellied delights by the grasping hands of the faceless bird.

    ¡°To her Paleness!¡± The Rat-kin cried, a few holding aloft golden icons in the form of unopened SPAM. ¡°Her Paleness guides us all!¡±

    As a race, the Dwarves were worshippers of ancestry and knowledge, logic and rationality¡ªyet even so, a few of them found themselves mouthing the same prayers, their hearts and minds carried off by that screech of manic madness echoing in the dim dark¡ª

    ¡°Shaa¡ªSHAA¡ªSHAA¡ª!¡±

    Deepholm.

    Eth vjeit Avor Blothaldr¡ªThe forty-fourth gate.

    The fact that the Core¡¯s surface was visible from their present fortification did not make Gwen feel any better about their prospects.

    She was tired.

    Not physically tired, for that was an impossibility so long as the World Tree¡¯s juices flowed, but she was mentally exhausted. Theirs was the sixteenth day of the Dwarven expedition, and she knew she and her troops needed a reprieve just as much as they had to keep up the momentum.

    The gates from thirty onwards were hard-won, but the fortieth Gate was where her troops had begun to sustain irreparable casualties. The cause had been a blooded Scion of Dh¨¤nth¨¢rian, a gargantuan Earth Glider¡ªan exotic terror that Gwen could only describe as a digestive system in the shape of a Manta Ray. On the forty-first floor, a segment largely occupied by stratums of an old fungi farm that resisted transmutation, the creature had burst from the walls and swallowed a Fabricator and its crew wholesale. In their alarm, the Dwarves had formed a wagon circle, only to fall victim to the fact that the Glider could meander through the hardened earth, swallowing everything.

    Normally, when the creatures of the deep-throated her Rat-kin, Gwen could sense their life still holding on while they battled digestive juices or dietary tracts, meaning they could be rescued. This time, those motes of Essence were instantly extinguished and absorbed, making her physically ill.

    To have her Essence usurped by a predator wasn''t above Gwen¡¯s expectations, for her World Tree was young, and Almudj¡¯s blessings were diluted¡ªyet she still felt acutely the sensation that a part of her, a sinew or perhaps a fingernail of her skin had been flensed by pair of gnashing maws.

    Instantly, she had teleported to the front, her Crown of Thorns ablaze with chastising fury as the Blade of Disaster hovered near, awaiting its victim.

    When the next attack came, the arcane eruptions that tore at the scallop shell of the Glider had knocked it from its trajectory, exposing it just long enough for Gwen to lob off a pectoral fin. The massive monster then crashed into the hollow floors carved out to house the Dyar Morkk, escaping into walls even as it bled out.

    For days after that, she had to be fully awake and lucid to prevent the next ambush.

    With her mind taut as a wire, The Regent longed for Lei-bup, the sisters, and her Crab-shelled Captains from the Elemental Plane of Water.

    When they had fought for months in the Fifth Vel, Gwen had not felt nearly so haggard, for her lieutenants had taken care of almost all the logistics of throwing the might of her meaty citizens against the eager bodies from the opposing Vel. Millions had died, and Gwen, in her snug abode, had not felt a thing.

    This time, as Commander in Chief and a key combatant, the endlessly vital bodies of Dh¨¤nth¨¢rian¡¯s Clan were driving her up the wall. Even with her dogs, Hydras and Caliban, the Dragon-Lizards wading through her Rat-kin could ignore her terror, for fear wasn¡¯t an option when the overbearing mind of one¡¯s Draconic scion had given explicit orders not to be disturbed.

    Now, the bodies were piling up, the Dwarves were fatigued, and their supply lines were stretched. Unlike the vast space of the Elemental Plane of Earth, phase-shifting the Dyar Morkk beyond the detection of the Elemental wildlife did nothing to prevent ambushes and assaults on their backlines, an irksome parallel that made Gwen feel sympathetic for the Russians on the surface.

    With each report of bodies marked as unrecoverable, she felt a growing desire to forsake Slylth¡¯s advice and just flood the damn tunnels with seawater.

    Yet, preserving the sacred knowledge buried in Deepholm¡¯s heart was just as important as ridding it of the Dragon squatter. Of equal importance, Slylth had explained over and over that decorum had to be followed if she wished to be challenged via decorum in turn. No Dragon fondly remembers the Primordial Age; he had reminded her: not Elves, not Ancients, and certainly not the races who were the piggy in the middle of duelling Draconic egos.

    ¡°Regent, Section 13-2-9 reports that the Scion has arrived to reinforce the Titan-Lizards,¡± a Rat-kin aide reported across a Message Glyph, his voice lighting up the darkness of her Essence meditation. In Gwen¡¯s mind¡¯s eye, she saw a dozen sparks of Essence extinguish, acknowledging the voracity of the spotter¡¯s report.

    ¡°Lulu,¡± she roused her aide, who had stayed awake the whole while. ¡°We¡¯re going.¡±

    ¡°Yes, Regent,¡± the Marshal of her ground forces replied. Without her Mage Flights, city Militia and the Centaurs, Lulan could focus on being Gwen¡¯s bodyguard.

    The two women stepped into the Teleportation Circle, using Gwen¡¯s Essence sense as a beacon for the whereabouts of her Exterminators.

    Seconds later, the Pale Priestess reappeared amid a cacophonic clash of screaming metal and rending steel against the feral ferocity of armoured Lizard-kin towering over her troops. With a thought and a spoken keyword, the spells she had been preparing manifested.

    A crown of light-swallowing stars, each a micro-furnace of devouring Void, framed her Da-peng armour with supernatural darkness the texture of spilt ink. In her other hand, she floated a three-meter-long Morden¡¯s Blade forged from Void matter so dense that the space around it appeared to collapse inwards.

    With a ¡°SHAA¡ª!¡±, a pair of enormous wings six meters from tip to tip unfurled against her back, cowing the Titan-Lizards below with its predatory silhouette, igniting a genetically inherited terror from the days when even Dh¨¤nth¨¢rian was but prey.

    ¡°Dh¨¤nathak!¡± She called out the true name of the Earthen Glider, a name Slylth had provided after conferring a heated, insult-filled exchange with the cowardly creature. ¡°Come and receive your death!¡±

    ¡°Khaliff hofiba!¡± The cavern reverberated. ¡°You dare to invade so deep into our home? Do you not fear that Father will extinguish your very Essence?¡±

    ¡°SHUT IT!¡± Gwen hollered back in Celestial Draconic more eloquent than the guttural tongue of the Earthen Drakes, her Clarion Call bouncing from the ceiling. ¡°This is MY LAND by creed and conquest. You and your ilk are parasitic squatters!¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll flush it out¡ª¡± Lulan had no chill nor patience for banter.

    Zwing¡ª!

    The Sword Mage¡¯s heavy blade shot out at once, striking the reinforced walls so resoundingly that metal by the ton began to fall from the distant ceiling. Of the six massive slabs, the final struck true¡ªreturning not a resolute clang but the sound of iron on the rock.

    An enormous sheet, larger than a stretching Golos from snout to spiked tail, detached itself from the ceiling, twisting and turning until it turned into an enormous flying mouth.

    Zwing¡ª!

    Zwing¡ª!

    Zwing¡ª!

    A continuous rotation of exploding blades materialised from Lulan as phantom Naga heads danced about her figure, drawing out the molten mana from her Heart of Iron. Watching her Marshal, Gwen¡¯s heart swelled with oxymoronic pride and sadness: pride because her Lulu had come such a long way since her crazed berserker days, and sadness because the life she had once envisioned for Lulu as a free Mage and not a sword directed by her ambition was long behind them.

    Fearful of the Black Blade hanging behind Gwen, the creature known as Dh¨¤nathak banked sharply, diving for the side walls that made up Deepholm¡¯s strange urban geometry.

    ¡°Sword Blossoms!¡± Lulan called out in her native language, her voice vibrant and strangely youthful.

    Around the draconic Glider, giant blooms of twisted metal erupted from the flying swords, creating a nasty mess of razors resembling the infamous Blade Barrier.

    With a sound of rock screeching over steel, the Glider forced itself into the mess, escaping yet again from their half-dozen encounters.

    This time, however, Gwen had steeled her resolve.

    Closing her eyes briefly, she allowed her consciousness to flow into the strands of Essence that cocooned her Astral Body, transmuting her will toward an enormous Essence beacon hidden behind stratums of tapped-out mine shafts.

    ¡°GARP!¡± Gwen called out as her Essence Sympathy flowed freely, briefly invigorating her fatigued followers.

    With a seismic crash resembling a high-pressure blast from an overcooked dark steel mill, Garp burst through the walls, tackling the Glider just below its supine spine. With a painful crunch of snapping bone, Dh¨¤nathak folded like a tablecloth, and a split-second later, it was driven head-first¡ªthough much of it consisted only of head¡ªinto the remains of a crumbling scaffold.

    Crash¡ªCRASH¡ªCRASH¡ª

    Layer after layer of stone and steel crumbled as the pair descended. Behind them, Gwen followed, her bird-like silhouette shadowed by her fearless rats.

    When the song of fatigued metal failing under duress finally struck its final note, all that was left was the harsh wail of hissing pipes and pressurised oil among ruptured organs and fragmented bones.

    That took five days. Gwen swallowed the distaste in her gullet as her eyes scanned their new battlefront. She was so close to the Core now. Surely, they¡¯re close enough.

    ¡°The Sire will have your seoyl¡ª¡° the talking carcass beneath Garp was somehow still capable of vocalising itself¡ªa testament to the voracity of its threat. ¡°You have disturbed his slumber now.¡±

    ¡°This wouldn¡¯t be needed if you had just delivered my message,¡± Gwen ordered Garp to slide from the crushed Glider, noting the dozens of steel beams skewering the monster to resemble a slice of flayed and skewered eel at an Izakaya. ¡°Now, did you enjoy consuming my children?¡±

    Caliban slid from her shoulder, expanding and growing until it resembled Garp. Of course, its form could only mimic what Garp had been some half a decade ago. In its present form, the Garp that travelled with Gwen was a fully mature specimen fed on the exclusive wealth of Shalkar, then fortified by her World Tree. Where a normal Sand Wyrm would shed once a century, Garp had already left behind a dozen shells, making it the undisputed apex predator of her domain and beyond.

    Gwen waited for the creature¡¯s plea.

    Unexpectedly, the creature known as Dh¨¤nathak did not plead as Caliban closed in to reclaim what had been taken. Dh¨¤nathak was a beast without human form or a fully formed mind, but it was a Dragon-kin nonetheless, and like a bested drake of Arthurian legend, the creature accepted its fate like a dying monarch.

    It took Caliban several minutes to extinguish the creature and free it from agony. Then, it burped happily and returned to her pocket to digest.

    ¡°Hold onto that,¡± Gwen cautioned her creature. ¡°We¡¯ll be needing the vitality very soon.¡±

    ¡°Regent,¡± Lulan¡¯s hovering voice echoed beside her ear. ¡°The Dwarves are securing the escape route now. The lizard-men tide has thinned.¡±

    The ground rumbled.

    Bits of metal fell from the ceiling and had to be warded away by Lulan before they inconvenienced Gwen.

    ¡°The old Drake is awake,¡± Gwen spoke to everyone and no one, vocalising the changes in the atmosphere she felt more keenly than anyone present. The death of its faceless minions was nothing, but Dh¨¤nathak had been a cultivated scion with enough motes of the Earthen Dragon¡¯s Essence to overcome its sloth. ¡°Garp, open up. Let me have a word with our friends.¡±

    Her Sand Wyrm¡¯s petalled mouth split, revealing its cargo of Dwarven volunteers in their shield Fabricator unit, Urmrak, his Golems, and a few recovered Balefires who had survived the city¡¯s fall.

    ¡°The time is upon us,¡± Gwen explained, her head throbbing with the palpable knowledge that something very large and very upset was approaching their whereabouts. ¡°Lord Urmrak, I wish you the greatest blessings of your Ancestors.¡±

    The Balefire¡¯s flaming glare lit up Garp¡¯s cavernous interior. ¡°Darthr hverth Attarth, Regent.¡±

    ¡°Darthr hverth Daattarth, Engineseer,¡± Gwen returned the archaic Dwarven oath with its reciprocal twin. ¡°The honour was mine.¡±

    ¡°May the Ancestors guide us both,¡± the Balefire bowed its head, moving the only part of its body that was fully articulated. ¡°If we meet again, Regent, it shall be as your hammer and drill.¡±

    The Golem¡¯s solemnity carried a fatalism that made Gwen¡¯s eyes water.

    Hopefully, if her waterworks worked as anticipated, the goodbye would merely be an until-we-meet-again.

    Garp¡¯s maw closed. Its body withdrew from the cavern. Discreetly, it would circle Deepholm¡¯s core regions and deposit the Balefire and the Engineers while Gwen converses with the living incarnation of doom.

    Measuring the distance from walls, Gwen drifted carefully to where she was most equidistant from each surface, waiting for her foe to make an entrance.

    The walls began to sing.

    Puddles of oil and water, with their petrol-sheen colours, began to shift and dance as more debris fell from above.

    After checking and double-checking her defences and contingencies, Gwen took a long, deep breath, then allowed the Essence of the World Tree to permeate her body, filling herself from crown to toe with verdant vitality.

    To the angry mountain rising forth to seismically assault her, she would be a fledgling being, but the power she wielded and the backing her Almudj-mixed Essence implied would make it think twice about attacking without warning.

    ¡°Gwen!¡± the space beside her sizzled and flared, then regurgitated the slim form of a horned Mage in gold-red robes. ¡°I¡¯ve decided to keep you company.¡±

    ¡°Slylth,¡± Gwen felt genuinely surprised that the Red Dragon decided to join her. After all, unlike picking a fight with the Russians, Dh¨¤nth¨¢rian had no beef with Sythinthimryr, and it wouldn¡¯t do for her true-blooded child to start an eon-long feud. ¡°Not that I am not glad you¡¯re here, but are you sure this is a good idea?¡±

    ¡°Absolutely,¡± Slylth¡¯s nonchalant tone made her a little happy, enough to hide that the Dragon was sweating profusely. ¡°Umm¡­¡±

    Gwen extended a gloved hand, retracting her Da-peng claws.

    The Red Dragon took it.

    ¡°Worried about Dh¨¤nth¨¢rian?¡± Gwen couldn¡¯t help but smile. ¡°Don¡¯t be. I am under no delusions that our Big-D will take a bribe and go home. We¡¯ll be fighting this out, Alex. Right now though, it''s just a matter of stalling until Umrak and his kin can make it inside the Singularity¡¯s Core.¡±

    ¡°Actually,¡± Slylth revealed his true fear. ¡°I am a little worried about Mother flipping her wig when she finds out¡ª¡°

    ¡°REGENT!¡± Lulan¡¯s voice called out from above. ¡°ITS NOT SLOWING DOWN!¡±

    Below the talking trio, the entire subfloor grew concave and formed into a massive spiral of all-devouring debris resembling the eye of an oceanic maelstrom made of magma.

    Gwen felt the pull of the sudden gravity as palpable as adamantine manacles tethered to her arms and wrists, rapidly dragging her downwards. As a connoisseur of using Void Maelstroms on her foes, she had never been herself caught in the wake of one¡ªespecially one generated by the yawning maw of a Dragon with a mouth large enough to resemble a natural disaster.

    She and Slylth¡¯s magic activated in a split-second, as did Lulan¡¯s, sending them rapidly upward by displacing space.

    With equal speed, the Dragon below ascended, moving its mouth to catch its wayward prey.

    ¡°LULU! USE TELEPORT!¡± She shouted as the Dragon-shaped Dyson approached from underfoot, tugging on herself and her companion, drinking in the architecture of Deepholm through an enormous straw. Her rats and her Dwarves! Gwen cursed herself. She had underestimated the rage of a Dragon that hadn¡¯t given a single shit during two and a half weeks of lizard genocide. ¡°RETREAT! FULL RETREAT!¡±

    Her voice reverberated as the mana of Conjuration enveloped her body.

    At the same time, a telekinetic force briefly muddled the spatial fabrics of space around herself.

    Gwen felt the pit of her stomach drop as her brain divined the next few seconds.

    She pulled Slylth toward her with a tug until they were almost cheek to cheek.

    ¡°What a rude Uncle¡­¡± her companion grumbled annoyedly. ¡°Mother shall hear of this.¡±

    ¡°Fucking oath¡­¡± was her reply as her shield of Void expanded, encompassing them into a perfect egg.

    Then miasma as thick as soup, as choking as crushed limestone and more petrifying than the distilled venom of a thousand Medusas washed over the pair, pouring upward through the entry made by Garp and the Glider, flooding every nook and cranny of Deepholm¡¯s inner sanctums.

 Chapter 520 - Spare not the Old World

    Caught within a maelstrom of petrification, Gwen and her bosom buddy, Alexander Slylth Morden, waited for the storm to pass. Using the skin of her Void Egg and its vitality consumption as a sixth sense, Gwen counted until the Dragon Breath had reached its final few motes before once more calling upon her Familiar, the antithesis of Dragons.

    With a ¡°Shaa¡ª!¡± that pierced the bedrock, her obsidian Da-peng materialised outside her shielding, gifting her the blessing of sight and sound through its Empathic Link.

    As always, she saw the world above and below through a vision of echolocation in contoured monochrome.

    Where they were in a cavern, they now inhabited a freshly bored tunnel excavated by the simultaneous stone-rending and petrifying breath of the Earth Dragon Dh¨¤nth¨¢rian. Above them, a conic funnel stretched between the stratum gates of the Dwarven city. Below, in the darkness, an enormous face lurked, brilliant as daylight, brimming with vitality and life.

    Without warning, a second breath¡ªthis time with less rage and more malice¡ªwashed over the egg and bird.

    While they endured, Gwen vocally instructed Lulan to oversee the retreat above to take advantage of whatever time they could stall. As expected, the quasi-magic, quasi-elemental Dragon Breath glided over Caliban¡¯s slick wings like water over oil, leaving it no more disturbed than an albatross navigating a rebellious sea gale.

    After that, a grim silence tolled, and then the earth spoke.

    ¡°What foulness is this, whelp?¡± a low, rumbling voice croaked in the most broken Draconic Gwen had yet experienced, using syllables the same way shattered shale tumbled down seismic shifts. ¡°You would make use of our oldest enemies?¡±

    While Gwen hesitated to undo her shield, her companion, who had thus far held her hand and was previously imposed against her body, gave her a nod of supreme confidence and then stepped out with a thought.

    ¡°Iosta Dh¨¤nth¨¢rian,¡± Slylth spoke in what Gwen now knew as High Draconic¡ªAKA the Celestial pronunciation¡ªsomething akin to the Queen¡¯s English to the Earth Dragon¡¯s Cockney. ¡°Fret not for the fiend before you, Lord, for it is merely the spectre of a defeated foe¡ªone bested by our Regent of Shalkar.¡±

    When Slylth did not immediately perish, Gwen whisked away her void egg while secretly preparing for the manifestation of both her Crown of Thorns and her Black Blade.

    ¡°As for myself.¡± Slylth flew a little below her to put himself between her and the enormous face. ¡°I am Alexander Slylth, scion of Sythinthimryr, the Red Queen of Summer Flame.¡±

    Considering the impossibility of pronouncing Sythinthimryr¡¯s true draconic name without a prehensile tongue capable of peeling cherries, Gwen was glad that her companion was taking the initiative instead of her making a mockery of the Draconic language.

    ¡°Two whelps, then,¡± Dh¨¤nth¨¢rian shifted in the hole below, affording Gwen a good look at the foe she had been digging down to see for two weeks and more. ¡°You disturb my slumber and invade my domain. Explain why I should not consume you both.¡±

    Unironically, Gwen noted that their foe held no apparent ire for its children nor the hundreds of Thunder Lizards they had buried.

    Compared to other Dragons, Dh¨¤nth¨¢rian was¡­ rough. She couldn¡¯t see his whole body, but she could discern that this was not a creature with wings and, therefore, grace. Its face was vaguely lizard-like, but more so resembling something of a small mountain-scape with nostrils, punctuated by a pair of yellow, beady eyes, and enormous crags that made up the hewn shape of a Dragon¡¯s head. The colouring was nothing like the beautiful terror exerted by Golos or the Yinglong, but a dull mix of earthy tones from black loam to shiny shale to obsidian glass. As far as she could tell, the lack of giant shoulders would negate the presence of powerful forelimbs, meaning she conversed with a primordial ¡°wyrm¡± from the earliest bestiaries.

    What was not to be mistaken was the sheer brutal power exerted by the being below her. No doubt, one unmitigated swipe from its powerful tail or head was enough to end her story prematurely, no punctuation needed. At the same time, she possessed no confidence that Caliban could claw through the sheer thickness of Dh¨¤nth¨¢rian¡¯s armour, for the Martian surface looked as though it was made entirely of cooled magma stone.

    ¡°He¡¯s not very bright¡­¡± Slylth¡¯s silent Message came through. ¡°But at least he knows to find out who he might be eating before committing.¡±

    ¡°That attack earlier wasn¡¯t serious?¡± Gwen could only imagine the damage done to her Rat-kin and her Dwarves, who might have been caught already¡ªthough presently, she wasn¡¯t able to oversee her casualties. ¡°If we weren¡¯t ready with countermeasures¡­¡±

    ¡°Lord Dh¨¤nth¨¢rian.¡± Gwen cut their conversation short when the Dragon below them shifted. ¡°Let us be frank. You are a usurper of these lands of the Dwarves, while I am a representative of Dwarven will and interest. You trespass, Lord, upon my domain.¡±

    The earth rumbled.All of Deepholm rumbled.To maintain their decorum, Slylth willed away the falling debris with a few spontaneous manifestations of Bigby¡¯s Hand.

    ¡°Hofiba¡ªSihe!¡± Dh¨¤nth¨¢rian roared with mockery. ¡°I came into this lair of riches by conquest! I bested the savage beasts who sought to usurp its ley-node''s natural power. Your claim is worthless before me or the Council!¡±

    Gwen watched the enormous body perform what she assumed was a coil. Though walls still separated them, and they spoke to each other through a stadium-sized hole, she could deduce that the total length of the Dragon was somewhere between a neighbourhood and a small suburb. Indeed, there was little in the way of fighting Dh¨¤nth¨¢rian¡­ fairly.

    ¡°For one so old, your wisdom does not match your powers of observation,¡± Gwen retorted, her Clarion Call blasting her comeback at the Dragon below. ¡°Even now, Your Highness crashes through the very city of the Dwarves. You wrap your body around the carcass of their artifice, the very home made by their ancestors. At the city¡¯s gates, I saw the evidence of your merciless guile. These are no beasts you have slain, Lord Dh¨¤nth¨¢rian. As an Elder, you know better than being ignorant of the D?kk¨¢lfar¡¯s claims.¡±

    The old Dragon chuckled, sending more debris their way, which Gwen was beginning to realise was deliberate.

    ¡°The D?kk¨¢lfar were worthy foes.¡± The Dragon said, then continued with something utterly insensible. ¡°But it wasn¡¯t the D?kk¨¢lfar who was conquered.¡±

    Gwen looked at Slylth.

    The latter shrugged.

    ¡°This is the home of the D?kk¨¢lfar, Lord Dh¨¤nth¨¢rian.¡± Gwen infused Caliban with another jolt, growing her creature a size larger. ¡°There¡¯s no denying this.¡±

    ¡°The beasts I found here are no more D?kk¨¢lfar than a Tr??lvor could be a Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar.¡± The Dragon¡¯s patience was nowhere near the thickness of its hide. ¡°They might wear the skin of the D?kk¨¢lfar, whelp, but they were not the foes I had contended with since the inception of their first constructs. They lacked the tenacity, the will¡­¡±

    More debris fell as the Dragon chuckled. ¡°¡­and the numbers.¡±

    Gwen felt a cliff-sized puzzle piece peel from the walls to fall into place. ¡°You¡­ moved into an empty city, Lord?¡±

    ¡°Far from empty.¡± Dh¨¤nth¨¢rian appeared to enjoy her dismay. ¡°Unguarded, perhaps, but still brimming with these¡­ aberrations.¡±

    ¡°You came from within the Singularity,¡± Gwen pointed out. ¡°You did not breach the city¡¯s walls.¡±

    ¡°I was invited.¡± The Dragon roared with cruel mirth, likely recollecting the carnage. ¡°Yes, daughter of an Elder One. Great Dh¨¤nth¨¢rian was invited into the city through the Elemental Plane of Earth. Someone had made a gate for this divine one, and I made my pleasure known to my new-found sycophants.¡±

    ¡°That makes no sense¡­¡± Slylth¡¯s Silent Message flashed. ¡°A Sinneslukare let the Dragon in and killed all the other Sinneslukare?¡±

    Gwen licked her drying lips.What a lode of crap! Was all her mind could process after making it so far down the mine shafts.Did the Sinneslukare open the portal for the Dragon?Did a Dwarf do it to spite the Sinneslukare?Or did a Sinneslukare fail to overwhelm the mind of a Dwarf, who then¡­

    ¡°This changes things,¡± Slylth spoke to her.

    ¡°No¡­ it changes nothing,¡± Gwen replied.

    The uninfected citizens were still murdered.The Dwarf¡¯s city still had to be recovered.The Dragon still had to go, willing or otherwise.

    ¡°I cannot refute your claim, Lord Dh¨¤nth¨¢rian,¡± she confessed. ¡°Nonetheless, I must declare that I shall challenge that claim, as is the rite.¡±

    ¡°Hofiba¡ªYOU PERSIST?¡± The Dragon roared, threatening to collapse the cavern. ¡°Your mothers cannot protect you here if you offend me!¡±

    For a brief moment, Gwen pictured Almudj and Dh¨¤nth¨¢rian wrestling in the earth, creating small mountain ranges as they rolled about. Focusing as much menace as she could muster, she called upon her Clarion Call once more to make official their decision.

    ¡°Lord Dh¨¤nth¨¢rian, this is the home of the Dwarves, and as their representative, I lay claim to their ancestral land as you have. We have equal cause, Lord¡ªand so¡ª¡°

    Slylth grabbed her arm before she could finish, and the pair instantly became surrounded by Conjuration magic. Caliban dove down with a terrific crash as they displaced, splattering itself against the incoming mountain that sought to crush the pair against the walls.

    When they reappeared, it was at the Thirty-Ninth Gate, where the Operating Base was being rapidly evacuated.

    ¡°Son of a Dragon!¡± Gwen swore, her head bloated from the sudden Teleport. ¡°What the fuck?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re definitely lodging a complaint,¡± Slylth groaned as he worked out the mana still leaking from his body. ¡°He¡¯s supposed to answer with an affirmation before violence can be commenced, not sneak attack like some young Drake recently hatched from a hole. Bleeding Earthen Dragons¡­¡±

    All around them, the base was already in full retreat. Typical of the Dwarves, the exercise was orderly, efficient, and utterly devoid of the urgency that Gwen preferred in a situation involving imminent catastrophe.

    ¡°Have any of you seen Marshal Li? or Commander Strun?¡± Gwen asked. ¡°Has any of them come through?¡±

    ¡°Marshal Li is still helping with the evacuations below,¡± the Dwarf pilot responsible for the logistics node replied with a salute. ¡°Regent, shall we¡ª¡°

    ¡°Drop all the supplies and run!¡± Gwen commanded the base with a Clarion Call, sending out a mass-Message to all still fighting in the tunnels. ¡°Activate the FORCE BARRIERS! All forces¡ªmake for Vrithr avor Il-Jrogor¡ªDh¨¤nth¨¢rian is coming!¡±

    The Regent of Shalkar had no time to calculate casualties, though the certainty of her citizens perishing in the wake of Dh¨¤nth¨¢rian¡¯s passage was certain. The loss irked her, for even in the middle of her escape, she was forced to ponder the question of cost.

    When fighting an unruly Ancient Dragon, what rules could be followed? And if her opponent did not follow the rules, it was simply because she was not strong enough, for certainly, if Sythinthimryr had been speaking in her place, Dh¨¤nth¨¢rian would think thrice, exhausting the absolute limits of his feeble mind to placate an old and powerful being who would have hunted him in the Primordial Age.

    This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

    Of course, they would have still fought, but decorum would have been followed, and diplomacy would have resulted in the battle rather than eradication or victory.

    But she was not strong enough to murder Dh¨¤nth¨¢rian in his hole. Nor was she overpowering to the degree of dislodging a Dh¨¤nth¨¢rian currently plugged into the Singularity.

    Ergo, they had to stick to their plans, which meant sacrifices.Or perhaps it wasn¡¯t so much the casualties that bothered me, Gwen mulled with some honesty. It was her casual acceptance of casualties that made her uneasy.

    Nonetheless, level after level, she and the Dwarves made their rapid retreat, guided by rails and barriers put into place at every Gate, anticipating a great counterattack by Dh¨¤nth¨¢rian. The route they had chosen was deliberately separate from the last encroachment Dh¨¤nth¨¢rian had made to the surface, forcing the Dragon to brute-force his way upward, which served to reduce the impact of its body and breath drastically.

    In addition to the existing lattice walls of transmuted stone and dark steel, panes of pure force tied to generators would groan and shudder as impassable barriers met an unstoppable force, sheering chunks of scale and keratin from the careless head and torso of the rampaging Dragon.

    At the Twenty-Fifth Gate, Gwen was met by Lulan and Strun, who had to abandon their posts and activate their contingency Rings, made especially for the escape from Deepholm¡¯s core.

    ¡°We saved what and who we could.¡± Lulan was a tattered version of herself, though from what Gwen could guess. ¡°The equipment is gone, but the Engineers are safe. The Hammer Guards are scattered into the city¡¯s depth, though most should survive.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ve lost contact with a few squads of Exterminators, but all our Shadow Guards are accounted for,¡± Strun replied more confidently. ¡°Presently, all are alive.¡±

    Gwen concurred with her Commander¡¯s final statement, for if her Essence-blessed Rats were snuffed out, she would feel the pinpricks of their extinction like thumbtacks pressed into her skin.

    DING¡ª! A Message spell bloomed. ¡°Regent, the Dragon has slowed near the Twenty-Eighth Gate,¡± the observation from Hilda reported. ¡°We can assume Dh¨¤nth¨¢rian loathes leaving the Singularity untapped.¡±

    ¡°Makes sense,¡± Gwen replied back. ¡°I have personally experienced what happens when a Dragon is foolish enough to leave its lair unguarded while other Dragons are lurking about. Don¡¯t let your guard down, though. If Dh¨¤nth¨¢rian gets angry enough, it will take the risk.?

    ¡°Let the usurper come,¡± came the reply from Hilda. ¡°The Velrofjad are ready and deployed.¡±

    The Velrofjad, Gwen had recently discovered, were the original reason for Dh¨¤nth¨¢rian keeping away. In effect, these were conic resonator devices that were concentrated forms of the Shielding Station crystals used by Humans to keep their cities safe¡ªa discovery that again made her doubt the validity of her High School history books. Large and cumbersome, the Velrofjad were mounted inside shielded walls¡ªakin to Shielding Stations¡ªof the city¡¯s outer wall, activating whenever the enormous Elementals that inhabited the Plane of Earth decided that Deepholm was a tasty morsel. One or more resonators did little more than irk Dh¨¤nth¨¢rian, but no one, not even a Dragon, enjoyed the feeling of slowly being microwaved while overpowering Force walls.

    ¡°It¡¯s stopped,¡± Hilda¡¯s voice continued. ¡°I think¡ª¡°

    Deepholm roared. The walls began to speak.

    ¡°CONFN-SJEK WUX¡ªBEVI¡ª!¡± came the broken Draconic, inviting them to dislodge itself if it dared.

    ¡°Big D isn¡¯t one to run out of rage.¡± Gwen brushed the motes of excess Conjuration from her Da-peng feathers. ¡°Any idea why, Slylth?¡±

    The Red Dragon Mage snorted. ¡°I bet he¡¯s gone back to the lair to dream. He will be lodging a complaint with the Council at the first opportunity. After all, he doesn¡¯t know if he can consume you, and he certainly knows he can¡¯t consume me.¡±

    ¡°We loath to think what would have happened if you were not here, Regent,¡± Hilda spoke from the heart from the First Gate. ¡°You have our gratitude.¡±

    Gwen answered nothing lest Hilda brought up more promises of debts and repayments. ¡°Hilda, is the Leviathan Canon ready?¡±

    ¡°The connections require tweaking, but it can be made operational,¡± The Message crackled. ¡°Your Tree¡¯s roots have made it to the First Gate. We¡¯re waiting for Lady Sanari to come and make the necessary connections.¡±

    ¡°Lulan, can you chase her up?¡± Gwen commanded her Marshal. ¡°And clean up while you¡¯re at it. What happened anyway? Your armour looks to be rough shape.¡±

    ¡°I tested my mettle against the Earthen Dragon,¡± her Marshal explained.

    ¡°And how was it?¡± Gwen looked her bodyguard up and down.

    ¡°It¡¯s too thick,¡± Lulan sighed. ¡°Not even a sonic-enhanced Heart-Seeking Sword could penetrate its hide. I tried to pierce its eye as well¡ªno luck.¡±

    ¡°Not even the tip?¡± Slylth raised both brows. ¡°Well, Dh¨¤nth¨¢rian is certainly known for being dense.¡±

    Gwen looked from Marshal to Advisor, wondering if they were making innuendos at her expense. As it turns out, her peers were entirely serious, and only she possessed an immature mind.

    ¡°Alright, let¡¯s pick up the pieces,¡± Gwen commanded her inner circle. ¡°Hilda, fortify everything we have the manpower to occupy. Once that torrent of water starts, God knows what will come out of the depth.¡±

    She paused momentarily, then asked the dreaded question plaguing her conscience. ¡°And Strun? Get me a casualty report.¡±

    Deepholm.The Outer Ring.

    From tip to base, the primary armament of Gwen¡¯s Tower measured just over two hundred meters, encasing the inscribed Leviathan Core in enough rare magical metal to fund the pension of a mid-sized nation.

    Its journey from the centre of the ocean had been long and precarious, for it had been in the hands of a Lich, and the Undead caster had already half-inscribed it with designs that served far more nefarious purposes than channelling mana.

    To make the Core viable for her use, she had used her World Tree to wrap its roots around the Core to cleanse it of uncertain energies, trusting Almudj¡¯s Essence and its rigorous hatred of ¡°strangers¡± as white blood cells against Necrophage. Soon after, Sanari worked over the surface, erasing the traces left by the Undead that Gwen could not discern.

    Thereafter, the Dwarven Engineseers filled in the cavities carved by the Undead caster with Mithril and other inlays, repurposing the circuitry for the empowerment of Mana Engines and¡ªin the case of the Tower¡¯s armament, the Leviathan Cannon.

    In its present configuration, the enormous weapon sat on tracked dollies, tethered to the heavy-duty rail systems used by the Dwarves for deep-earth mining. From her vantage point, standing beside her horizontal skyscraper, Gwen felt positively minuscule as she watched the Druid Sanari turn the World Tree¡¯s living circuits into complex Mandala nodes forged by her Dwarves.

    ¡°MANA IS LIVE¡ª!¡± Hilda¡¯s voice called out, cutting across the grating sounds of grinders, Golems and Mana Engines pouring exhaust into the low-way passages. ¡°AXEHOFF, close circuits!¡±

    The Druid, svelte and hip and smelling of flowering hedges, backed away until she stood beside her Regent. Standing a head shorter, Gwen gave the Elf an affirming nod, which Sanari returned with a slow bow.

    ¡°Your plan is most unusual, Regent,¡± the Hv¨ªt¨¢lfar expressed genuine amazement, her golden eyes the same shade of amber as the glowing Leviathan Core. ¡°I don¡¯t believe anyone has ever done something like this in all the years I have served the Circles. The Accord has always advised against Draconic territorial conflicts¡ªand we had expected a far worse collateral. Elder Eldrin even said that this time, we should not¡­what¡¯s the Human word? Bankroll? When the Earthen Dragon destroys Shalkar.¡±

    ¡°Well,¡± Gwen felt a little abashed. ¡°I am a pacifist first and foremost.¡±

    ¡°Pufft¡ª¡° Slylth dabbed his mouth with his sleeves as he recovered from the Fur Peak tea he was nursing, an English habit he had picked up from Suilven. ¡°Sorry.¡±

    ¡°Lady Solana was more confident that you will succeed,¡± Sanari gave her a confident smile. ¡°I am also very interested in seeing how Lord Dh¨¤nth¨¢rian would react.¡±

    ¡°Has word reached the Council?¡± Slylth asked their Elven companion. ¡°I know it¡¯s only been a day¡­¡±

    ¡°I believe it has,¡± Sanari¡¯s smile was more human than Gwen recalled, proving that even High Elves had a sense of humour. ¡°Lord Tyfanevius has intervened, vouching for your claim to Deepholm. Lady Sythinthimryr has said that she is very displeased at Lord Dh¨¤nth¨¢rian¡¯s lack of confidence and that any Dragon that wishes to join the Earthen Lord in bullying her son should expect a visit from herself and her kindred. The sisters of Frost have also expressed their desire for inaction, which has persuaded the council to do nothing, much to the bewilderment of Lord Dh¨¤nth¨¢rian. The cousins from the south were present as well, though their reaction was pure amusement.¡±

    ¡°Hee hee¡­¡± Slylth looked at her smugly as if to prove a point. Unfortunately for her prideful companion, his joy was one which a lonely girl with an absent father and a neglectful mother could not reconcile.

    Slowly, the Core began to fill with mana, first transforming into a light teal. As the whining of servos and flaring Glyphs grew, the Core took on growing hues of blue until it began to radiate an intense, retina-searing ultramarine. Where visible, Kintsugi lines of Mithril and metal glowed golden, permeating the interior of the cooling vents.

    Motes of Elemental Water quickly inundated every surface.Her Da-peng armour grew sodden and heavy.Slylth circulated his mana, shrouding his body with steam.Around them, the Dwarves furiously vented their discomfort through their Golem armour while enormous dehumidifiers kicked into the highest gear, feeding water back into the Leviathan Cannon.

    ¡°Concourse ONE, ready!¡±

    ¡°Concourse TWO, ready!¡±

    ¡°Concourse THREE, ready!¡±

    One by one, sector by sector, Walls of Force erected to direct the jet stream of water reported back. In readiness for the Earthen Dragon¡¯s rage, the Dwarves had pulled back to the tenth gate, willingly resigning everything beyond to be submerged or at least bedraggled by the deluge.

    The fabric of space and time made an inward-sucking sound¡ªthen, from the rent torn between the planes, a moving wall of laminar water shot forward into the excavated spaces, hungrily seeking out every nook and space offered by Dwarven city¡¯s unplumbed depth.

    Gwen inhaled the sodden air, recollecting a Sunday verse from a lesson she had learned long ago.

    ¡°And on this day, all the springs of the great deep burst forth, and the floodgates of the heavens were opened. Rain, endless rain, fell on the earth for forty days and forty nights, slaying all that held the breath of life.¡±

    ¡°Is that one of Almudj¡¯s stories?¡± Slylth asked as droplets sizzled against his skin. ¡°You did say the Great Serpent lived in the navel of the Prime Material, where all the world''s waters began.¡±

    Almudj? The floods? Gwen made the connections but had no means to ratify such a theory. ¡°Something like that.¡±

    ¡°This is very pleasant,¡± Sanari scandalously in-breathed, drawing the water into her body like an elfin sponge soaking up the mist. ¡°It¡¯s so pure.¡±

    For a few more minutes, they watched the water pour, its force so great that any and all lost panels and debris were swallowed by the swirling vortex, which was drinking away at the building-sized spigot, sucking liquid into a bottomless hole.

    DING! A Message spell bloomed.

    ¡°Regent, the concourses are working well. The water is being absorbed at parity,¡± Hilda reported. ¡°It might take a bit longer than we thought, though. The spaces between the Gates occupy more volume than we had initially calculated. Maybe three days before the lower levels reach saturation.¡±

    ¡°Well, Dh¨¤nth¨¢rian made a huge hole on every level, so good luck to our Dragon calling in a plumber. Any movements from the Core?¡± Gwen asked. ¡°Or too early.¡±

    ¡°I dare say the old uncle¡¯s first response should be utter and complete confusion,¡± Slylth sniggered, ¡°After all, who does what we do? If you were like him, you¡¯d be mustering your troops and launching an assault. You would sacrifice your Dwarves and Rat-kin to tire him out first, then confront him with Caliban and the Black Blade. Give it a week, though; if he¡¯s angry enough to attack, he would have to swim through the water¡­ now THAT would be a sight Mother needs to see!¡±

    For a creature of Magma and Earth to swim through trillions of litres of water to get at its foes was a sight that piqued even Gwen¡¯s curiosity. Her only hope was that Urmrak and the Dwarves who had gone with him to secure the Ancestor¡¯s Halls had made their ark watertight for the flood to come.

    Shalkar.

    The Bunker.

    With a vigour that came naturally to her trained body, Natalia burst through the door into Richard¡¯s office, her face vivid with incredulity.

    ¡°Vice-Regent, we have a problem,¡± she relayed her distress at once. ¡°A source I could not identify leaked our Regent¡¯s present preoccupation. The Russians are on the move.¡±

    Richard passed a data slate to his secretary, the ever-resourceful Lea, to be put away. ¡°Alright, not the best time for that, but is that so surprising?¡±

    ¡°It''s VERY surprising,¡± Natalia expressed herself with vehemence. ¡°I¡¯ve been receiving daily reports from the Sparrow Hawks, as you know, and until last night, there was absolutely no indication from either of the Russian Towers that they would perform anything other than holding patterns.¡±

    ¡°And then?¡± her superior asked. ¡°They decided to act?¡±

    ¡°Georgie¡ªthat¡¯s our Sparrow Hawk in Novosibirsk, said that an emergency Message came through from Moscow, demanding what its Tower Master was doing. He said that the Tower Master was informed our Regent has activated the Leviathan Cannon and that the weapon must be stopped and confiscated immediately.¡±

    Richard paused in his usual act of nonchalance. ¡°Now, that IS surprising. We don¡¯t have much contact with our forces down there beyond the necessary. Certainly, I trust our inner circle here. Could a Dwarf have betrayed us? A Centaur? One of the Khan¡¯s men? More hidden Sparrows?¡±

    ¡°According to Tower Master Petyr,¡± Natalia cited the secret Message delivered by their secret ally in Nizhny. ¡°Nothing was sent out from the Towers themselves. This knowledge originated from Moscow itself.¡±

    ¡°And there are no Communication Towers here, Master Petyr, or we cannot monitor unless he is lying to our face,¡± Richard rubbed his chin. ¡°How curious, Natalia. How very, very curious.¡±

    ¡°Curiosity aside,¡± Natalia calmed herself somewhat. She liked that her superior was unfazed. If she had made this report to her former Master, there would be¡­ painful reminders for her remiss that her body would not forget for a long time. ¡°Your orders?¡±

    Richard took a long, deep breath, mimicking a body language often expressed by his superior.

    ¡°Alright, send out notices to Lord Holland and Lady Grey. Lock the city down. Martial Law is implemented as of this moment. Worksite crew are to retreat into bunkers. All city militia are to man their battle stations. Tell the Great Khan we¡¯ll need his support if and when the Russians make landfall. Lastly, inform the Regent that we shall join battle with our unfriendly neighbours within twenty-four hours. That and we will need Garp.¡±

    ¡°Understood.¡± Natalia saluted. ¡°I would like a final confirmation, Sir. Will we keep our Tower¡¯s weapon systems hidden, even if the opportunity arises to strike?¡±

    ¡°Only use them if the Tower Master of Nizhny decides he doesn¡¯t want an apartment in the World Tree¡¯s crown,¡± the Vice-Regent remarked with a nod. ¡°We should otherwise lose no more men than we can spare¡ªAnd with that, as our Regent would say¡­ It''s show time.¡±